#my fic: permanently lonely

[bonetrussle]

My take on a genderbent Enid Sinclair! This is a companion piece to a short fic I have in mind where Edwyn Sinclair is a performer (singer? actor? dancer? haven't decided yet hmm) who is forced to keep pretending to be a cis straight man, until a certain dangerous and mysterious individual arrives and shakes his world up :)

genderbent Wednesday's version pending!

[meejijis]

If I had a nickle for every time I got into a severely niche canon ships that has the trope gentle girl x brooding boys with spiky hair all while being the most lonely diehard shipper ever for both of these ships, I'd have two nickels

Which isn't alot but it's weird that it happened twice

[divinesolas]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[kisseobie]

day 5 of piwontober 24’ ✶ “wine pon you”

prompt: food play/biting/marks/drunk sex with hwang intak

pairings: intak x reader

warnings: nsfw (mdni), sex under the influence, dubious consent

word count: 5.1k

tags: alcohol use (only intak is drunk), clubbing, biting and marking, drunk sex, one night stand, stripper reader, smoking, infatuation, brief mentions of vomit, intak is whipped as hell lmaoo, rizztak 🙈, giggly sex, no attachment, pov switches, blowjob, vaginal penetration

a/n: hi everyone <3 i wasn’t expecting to take this prompt so i’m sorry if this sucks but hehe first kisseobie piwontober 24’ fic 💟 loveeeee me some sleazy intak so i hope u all enjoy! i didn’t use the foodplay prompt btw lol not my thing unfortunately..

sorry for posting so late by the way! :( i hope the unusually long length makes up for it :3

full piwontober 24’ masterlist here ❤︎ ིུ͠*:·.

buzzed bodies and a powdery scent of pungent perfume, it’s nothing out of the ordinary for intak, comforting even. he wouldn’t necessarily call himself addicted, but his feet drag him down a couple of blocks to the same strip joint more often than the man would like to admit. the establishment isn’t stellar in any means, nothing to write home about. the selections of liquor are not to intak’s liking, the rainbow lights flicker in a manner that’s almost nauseating, and the dj can’t bump a track for shit.

intak knows that an intense infatuation with a certain stripper isn’t necessarily something applaudable, and if anything, his roommate jiung would laugh his ass off at the revelation, but he can’t find it in himself to really care. not when you take the stage, chunky heels clacking against the shiny floor, bedazzled top hit with a beam of white light, cascading diamond-like forms across the walls. intak watches your every twist and turn so intensely, like the show was specifically crafted for his eyes only, a personal love letter addressed to hwang intak—signed xoxo, y/n.

intak watches as you slide effortlessly against the metal pole, the cool rod leaving a trail of goosebumps on the surface of your smooth skin. he likes that about you, that despite the fact that you’re just a mere fantasy for him, you’re human—something real. it presents itself in different ways, he’s been coming here long enough to notice the way your muscles sometimes tremble in exertion during a particularly difficult move, or how you subtly tuck away stray pieces of pretty hair that stick to the gloss on your lips. he notices it all. he wonders if you notice him too.

your dance routine ends and intak finds himself plopped on a lonely barstool, downing some bottom shelf bourbon—nothing out of his typical routine here, really. he can feel the blaring music, the thumping of the beat coursing through his entire being, only aided by the incessant hollers of drunk partygoers. it however, does nothing to distract his thoughts from you—pretty skin, pretty hair, pretty teeth, and a nice set of tits too. the man feels like a pervert, coming to the same shit club every weekend to get a glimpse of his sweetheart, the dreamy girl that most likely doesn’t give a damn about him. intak sighs, and then takes another swig.

“pretty boy is here again. sat right up at the front, probably trying to take a sniff at your panties or somethin’.”

“stop that. he seems nice.” you shoot back, but only snickers from the girls in the locker room follow. they think you’ve got some weird situationship going with the guy, you suppose.

you were aware of the mystery boy of course, he watched your every show without fail, drank his bodyweight at the bar, and ended the night by clumsily wobbling out of the club, only to come back the next weekend and follow the same tired routine. he is a pretty boy, you’ll give him that. dark eyes that twinkle ever so slightly, a lopsided grin permanently etched on his face when he watches you dance, lean body that accentuates his height well.

despite the fact that he’s charming, you don’t miss the way he adjusts his pants when you’re on stage, or how he sometimes leaves to the bathroom after you’ve finished, presumably to relieve the obvious tent in his pants when you roll your hips against the pole just right. he’s just another sleaze, a pretty one maybe, but a sleaze nonetheless. you sure aren’t fooled, even if his dedication to your performances is intriguing.

“hey y/n, if you don’t want him, i’ll take him. he looks pent up, the poor guy.” your coworker jokes, but you pay no mind to the teasing. you have a show to put on, whether the pretty boy watches or not.

meaningless conversation ends and you situate yourself on top of the dirty dressing room bench, slipping on your heels, a dazzling crimson red and eight inches tall. opting for no tights today, you examine how the shoe emphasizes the length of your shaved legs—in other words, you know you’re gonna make a few extra tips tonight. your mouth waters at the thought of buying yourself a nice breakfast in the morning, maybe a stack of blueberry pancakes with extra whipped cream?

after some waiting backstage, the club’s owner, a pudgy old man you’ve never quite gotten along with, announces your name with a cheesy slogan. a few men hoot and holler, clearly ready to eye you down like a fresh piece of meat for their tasting. the lights dim as the velvet cheetah-printed drapes part to reveal you in all your glory, dressed to the nines, even if the clothing you adorn is sparse. the music cues, and you walk, letting the crowd drink you in like a tall glass of wine. as you strut to the beat with a shimmery smile, you unconsciously scan the audience, eyes honing in on one man in particular. he’s here, of course he is, staring at you as if you hung the stars for him, and you might as well have, judging from the gobsmacked look on his face. you shoot him a sly wink before turning to the pole, gyrating your hips against the metal before latching your legs onto the very material. it’s exhilarating as it is exhausting.

a few dozen twists and turns on the rod later, your practiced routine finally comes to a close. the cheers are loud, they always are. you collect tips from wrinkly hands, blowing kisses and shooting winks at all sorts of men—married, recently divorced, rich, poor—it doesn’t matter to you, you aren’t one to judge. when you’re done collecting dollar bills and desperate notes with numbers scribbled across, your vision catches pretty boy making his way to the bar, greeting theo, the bartender always on night duty, like an old time friend.

“you come here often?” intak teases at taeyang, who stares back at him with his arms crossed, visibly unamused. the man gives it to intak straight, an admirable quality for sure, though some may call him too blunt for his own good. your show ended a few hours ago, and intak’s been perched on this very stool, drinking glass after glass, hoping it’ll clear his thoughts that seem to only focus on you.

“don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink? you look like shit. if you puke on my countertop you’re cleaning that shit up yourself.” theo scolds, but there’s no malice in his tone, a little bit of disinterest and concern maybe, but no malice. intak lazily raises his hand in the air with his head down, a nonverbal way of saying “i know, i’m gonna get going.” that taeyang can read every time with ease. the man with shoulder-length hair audibly sighs.

“she’s nothing but a fantasy man, let it go. you come here every weekend just to sit and watch a girl out of your reach. it’s getting pathetic.”

intak winces at the harsh words, but smiles nonetheless. he gets up with some effort and pulls a few crinkled twenties out of his pocket, slapping them on the table in between them with a, “always a pleasure talking to you, theo”. taeyang scoffs, grabbing the bills to place them in the register. “yeah yeah, get home safe.”

intak stumbles out of the stuffy club with a headache, already dreading the inevitable hangover he’ll have in the morning. he waves his arm around aimlessly, hoping to signal a taxi, eyes wandering around the street in boredom until they catch onto a familiar figure sat on the hood of a car. you’re wearing a fuzzy long coat, shielding you from the cold of the night as you cup your hand around a lighter. intak watches you take a deep drag from a lit cigarette, blowing the swirly smoke into the autumn air with an indifferent expression on your face. your hair blows in the wind, but you pay no mind to it, seemingly lost in thought. intak rubs at his eyes with closed fists to be sure you aren’t a figment of his imagination—he’s never seen you away from the limited space of the stage.

before he can talk himself out of it, the boy crosses the street, hands in his pockets as he takes slow, hesitant steps towards you. you’re even prettier like this, intak thinks, not faking a smile for some fast cash, wrapped up in a big coat that makes you look so incredibly small, scrolling on your outdated phone with sleepy eyes. he’s never seen someone so beautiful.

“hey.” are his first words directed at you, a little lame but they grab your attention nonetheless. you jump at his voice, clearly not expecting to entertain a conversation this late at night. intak waits awkwardly as you scan him from head to toe, a hint of what looks like recognization in your eyes. you give him a tight lipped smile, obviously nervous because of the sudden encounter. he can’t blame you, he supposes, not when you’re in this line of work. he probably isn’t the first man to approach you, and most definitely not the last either.

“hi?” is how you answer, hesitant but oh so curious. he’s always been a wallflower from what you know, watching from a distance but never one to approach. the change in routine is certainly sparking your interest, and you wait with bated breath for him to come clean, to reveal his true intentions towards you, good or bad.

“i’ve seen you dance a few times. you’re really good.” intak sheepishly admits, scratching the back of his neck all shy, as if he hadn’t watched you dry hump the floor half naked earlier. his timidness is frankly a bit refreshing, usually an attendee of one of your shows would have tried to get in your pants by now.

“thank you. i’ve seen you in the crowd, y’know. you never tip me, so i can’t be all that good, can i?” you tease, but the question does hold some truth in it. he hasn’t tipped you a single dollar since stepping in the club for the first time, another useless observation of yours.

“sorry.” he blurts out, cheeks red with embarrassment, like a kid who got caught stealing out of the family cookie jar. you hold back a snort at his flustered expression, you were merely teasing the boy. no hard feelings. “it’s all good. a bit curious as to why you come to see me every weekend though. or maybe you’re just here for the drinks, who knows.”

intak laughs at that. “when all the club supplies is whiteclaws and cheap bourbon? i could get better drinks at the supermarket.”

“well you’re right about that,” y/n affirms with a giggle. “so then, what is it? what draws you here every weekend, pretty boy?” you know the answer, but you’d like to hear it straight from the source. it’s more fun that way.

intak sighs, and then reaches his arm out to shake hands, to which you raise an eyebrow, but accept the kind embrace anyways. his hands are warm, a bit sweaty too. he sports no rings, and his fingers are a bit calloused, it makes you wonder what the guy does for work—welding, maybe?

“i’m intak.” a beat passes. you smile, all teeth and gums, and shake his hand in return.

“y/n. it’s nice to meet you, intak.”

intak’s room is warm, a welcomed contrast to the depressing weather outside. not the cleanest living space, with socks hanging from drawers and far too many lopsided posters pasted onto his walls, but strangely enough, it’s comforting. before now, hwang intak to you was always a man of great mystery, but his cluttered apartment humanizes him. there are a few framed photos propped up on his messy desk, old ones, showcasing intak as a young boy, smiley as ever with his arms draped over various shoulders of people you don’t quite recognize. he’s got some little notes written on the glass frames as well, one in particular catching your eye, a scribbled “my first drink EVER! it tasted like shit!!”. it makes you smile, similar to how the sight of an excited puppy playing fetch would.

as you snoop around intak’s bedroom, your thoughts start to wander to earlier tonight, when you took the stage and locked eyes with the man whose very space you’re currently occupying. his legs spread, chest puffed, jaw slack as he watched you perform with a needy look on his face, practically eye-fucking you across the dim room. it should have disgusted you, it definitely did with every other man who saw you as a mere object of their perverted desires, a sex symbol that they couldn’t live without. there was something different about the boy though, something that made you crave a single night with him. it’s why you accepted his offer to come over to his place with little to no deliberation, despite you swearing to yourself countless of times in the past that you’d never let a random man take you home.

intak’s currently in his bathroom, hyping himself up in front of his mirror as best as he can, fearful that he’ll screw this up and scare you away forever. he can be a bit clingy when intoxicated, sometimes sappy too—a fact that jiung can attest to. the boy would be absolutely mortified if his drunk tendencies landed him on the club’s hefty blacklist, so he takes a deep breath and gives himself an internal pep talk to loosen up: “intak, you’ve got this man. she wouldn’t have taken your offer to come over if she thought you were a weirdo. get back in there, bro.”

intak places a final kiss onto his flexed bicep as good luck, then cringes at himself before taking a deep inhale, brows furrowed in concentration. he walks out of the bathroom and opens his bedroom door, gasping aloud at the delicious sight he’s met with. you’re not wearing your coat anymore, nor your dancing heels, left very naked besides the crimson panties you wore for your earlier performance. your draped over his bed, leaning across the width of the mattress, supporting your weight with one hand planted firmly on intak’s bed, the other raised up to your line of sight as you examine your coffin nails before you take notice of intak’s presence. intak resists slapping himself across the face, not wanting to seem like even more of an idiot after you teased him just an hour ago for never tipping you during your shows. instead, he just stands and stares, gobsmacked at the view, you sat atop of his bed, perky tits out, nipples hard and waiting for his attention.

“you gonna stand there all night or..” is all you can manage to get out before the man takes fast strides towards you and pulls you into a desperate kiss. you moan into his mouth, tongue swiping against his, tasting nothing but bourbon and musk, the flavor provoking a throbbing heat to your core. his dominance seeped into the hot kiss, presenting itself in the way he grabbed at your cheeks roughly, how his tongue shoved itself in your mouth so sloppily, how his lips travelled to the nape of your neck, leaving bite marks in their wake. he was experienced for sure, and thank god for it, because the makeout sesh alone had your typically level-head clouded with yearning and lust.

without proper warning, intak’s calloused hands travelled to your boobs, the rough contact against your soft skin making you mewl. he groped at the flesh with eagerness, replacing his left hand with his tongue as he circled your bud with the wet muscle, flicking it with a deep groan. his mouth latched onto your left tit, suctioning the area with just the right amount of pressure. you let your hand slip into the tufts of his jet black hair, tugging at the strands every time intak bit at your skin. the boy maneuvered his head to give the same attention to your right boob, but not without replacing the left with his hand, his own spit thinly coating his palm as he squeezed.

a few minutes passed just like that, with intak worshipping your boobs like an artist intensely dedicated to their craft. the man unlatched his lips from your chest with a loud pop, placing a single kiss on each of your nipples before sitting back and admiring his work. your skin was now littered with red and purple marks, all from intak and none unwelcome. “pretty.” he remarks, staring at your tits like a man starved. the attention has you dripping, pussy weeping for contact, to which you subtly make an attempt at rubbing your thighs together to bring temporary relief to your aching cunt. intak takes notice of this, smirking at you, facial features sporting a knowing look.

“intak, wanna see you please.” you beg, craving to see what the man looks like underneath the thin layer of his clothes. “fuck, yeah, okay,” he responds, his voice breathless—all a result of you, only you. “it’s only fair i give you a show too, right?” he jokes, the lightheartedness soothing any nerves you may have had earlier. “right.” you affirm with a focused expression, before giggling back at him. intak steps a few feet away from his bed, eyes locked on yours as he cheekily pulls off his own coat. his black wife beater follows, giving you the liberty to drool at the view of his sculpted abs. your line of sight travels downwards, to where you can spot a prominent v-line, along with the beginning of a trail of pubic hair—not too long, but still present, not that you mind.

intak starts to tug at his belt buckle, but you’re quick to sit at the edge of the bed, feet tucked snug under your thighs as you replace his hands with your own. you free the boy from the tight constraints of his jeans, leaving him in only his boxer briefs. they’re red in color, almost matching the hue of your own underwear. you can spot the thick outline of his cock, already hard and practically slipping out of his briefs. there’s also a wet patch of precum oozing out of the elastic material, and you can’t stop yourself from drooling at the thought of tasting him.

before you free his girth out of its constraints, you leave a few sloppy kisses and kitten licks right on top of the cloth, his subdued scent and taste overtaking your senses. intak may be the only one under the influence, but you could get drunk just off of this, especially with the way the man bites his lip at your gentle contact, a strangled “fuck..” leaving his lips. you quit your teasing after a few more licks, pulling down intak’s underwear in one swift movement, almost immediately grabbing at his length with a closed fist and pumping at a steady pace. intak’s reaction is immediate, head thrown back with a loud groan, eyes momentarily rolled to the back of his skull as his hips buck upwards into your fist. you’ve barely done anything and the man already seems close to cumming—it’s as cute as it is dirty, the way he melts into your touch, so pliant and oh so desperate.

“y/n, let me fuck your face.” intak pleads, eyes as twinkly as ever. you reply by guiding his mushroom tip into your open mouth, slowly sinking your mouth onto his length as far as you can go. you look up at intak, mouth full of cock and tears threatening to spill from your lined waterline, silently giving the man a go at your throat. he wastes no time in thrusting into the heat, whimpering and swearing at the way you suction your lips. he speeds his hips to set a near animalistic pace, resulting in you spluttering on him as the force of his thrusts hit against the back of your throat. just as you’re about to tap out, pinch at intak’s thick thighs and catch your breath, salty seed slips into your mouth, coating your throat white. you pull off of him to cough and swallow, looking absolutely defiled in front of the man. for some reason, the fact doesn’t bother you one bit, instead, you only wish for him to rough you up some more, to give you his all, even if it’s just for a single night. even if come tomorrow morning, you’ll slip out of his blankets, leaving no signs that you were ever there.

intak hunches over your frame to capture your slick lips into a messy kiss for the nth time tonight. he can taste his ecstasy on your tongue, savoring the flavor far more enthusiastically than he would any drink served at your club. you loop your arms around his broad neck, pulling him closer and closer until you both are pressed flush against each other, with your back, a bit sweaty, meeting the soft fabric of his linen sheets. intak ruts his swollen, sensitive cock against your crotch, still shielded by your panties. despite the barrier of cloth, intak can feel how wet you are—he grins at that, knowing that he’s the one who’s making you all hot and bothered. he feels like he’s on top of the world, with the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, occupying his sheets and pleading for his touch.

“jesus babe, you’re soaked. all this for me?” intak muses aloud, obviously proud of himself at affecting you just as much as you’ve affected him. if he wasn’t so worried about first impressions, he’d pump his fist in the air.

“all for you takkie, now help me get rid of these panties already.” you demand, followed by a flirtatious wink that almost makes intak buckle at the knees. the man drops his head to where he has the perfect view of your crimson panties, contrasting beautifully against your shiny skin. red had always been his favorite color, after all. intak mimics your tactic on his cock from earlier, placing feather light kisses on your inner thighs, and eventually on your clothed mound, too. you whine at his teasing, but it’s only fair he returns the favor, isn’t it?

your scent is heaven on earth to him. delicate and strong at the same time, flowery musk coating his nostrils—it’s so irrevocably girl. the boy takes his sweet time inhaling your smell, completely ignoring your protests. you beg a little more, and always one to please, intak latches his teeth onto the waistband of the silk, tugging it off with his canines while looking you right in the eye. he’s so sexy like this, you think, in between your thighs, already pussy drunk, but slow enough in his movements so the pair of you can properly savor the moment. you appreciate his pace; it’s rare when a man doesn’t insist on sticking it in as soon as you’ve been undressed. intak is kinder than that.

his teeth continue to tug your panties down the length of your legs, until they slip off completely, leaving you completely bare are vulnerable. intak sweetly folds your panties and places them at the edge of the bed, knowing that they must have costed you a pretty penny, before shifting his unwavering attention to your sopping cunt. he stares for a bit, making you a bit shy to the point where you start to close up your legs, but intak is faster, prying them open with force. the dominance that he now exudes is salivating, and you wait, curious as to what his next move will be.

“pretty face, pretty hair, pretty tits, pretty pussy. how are you real?” intak questions you, but his deep eyes are still glued to your cunt, throbbing and calling out for his touch. light and gentle or hard and rough, it doesn’t matter anymore. you just want him, willing to take anything he’ll give you with obedience and a smile. it’s been too long since you’ve been worshipped like a goddess, rather than painted as prey for predator.

instead of intak touching you where you need him most, he leaves scattered bites across the skin of your inner thighs, completely neglecting your cunny to mark you instead. in reality, intak knows that no amount of biting will make you his, and he’ll be back at the club next weekend, watching you perform once more with a glass of bourbon in hand. the realization sends a pang of hurt to his heart, but he bandaids the wound by showing you a good time—a great time, even. it’s all he can do, and do it right he will. so he ignores the ticking of his obnoxious alarm clock, redirecting his focus once more to your cunt.

his digits reach out to explore your pussy, swiping and swirling around the surface in a plethora of ways. intak gauges your reactions to each touch, quickly catching on to what sensations make your legs shake and bottom lip wobble. oh how he’d love to get his mouth on you right now, have you fall apart on his tongue, but his cock throbs as he ruts his hips against his sheets, urging him to slam into your heat as soon as he possibly can. if he doesn’t, he might die this very minute, and so he does. removes his skinny fingers from your puffy bud, stands up and plants his feet onto his carpeted floor, grips onto your thighs to pull your weight to the edge of his bed.

“intak. condom.” you gently remind. as nice as he is, sexy too, you’d much rather protect yourself from some sexually transmitted disease, or worse, an unexpected bundle of joy that you cannot afford to bring into this world. not now, at least, and not with pretty boy intak.

“shit, yeah. sorry, let me get one real quick.” intak responds sheepishly, embarrassed that he’d let his lust take over without taking the proper precautionary steps beforehand. intak walks over to his bedside drawer, pulling out a wrapped piece of latex as fast as he can, clearly desperate to bury himself within your walls as soon as humanely possible. he repositions himself in front of you, cock standing tall, the tip red from the previous attention you gave it. he rips at the foil with haste, almost dropping the condom like a fucking idiot. you don’t let him linger in embarrassment, wrapping your manicured hand around his forearm before gently consoling him with a, “intak, relax. ‘s just me.”

that’s the problem, the fact that it’s you, is what intak thinks, but your words do help him calm down, even if it’s just a bit. he takes a deep breath and slips the rubber onto his length, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort. there’s none, of course, just pure lust, and your ready expression convinces the boy to sheath himself into your tight walls, pushing in inch by inch with little to no resistance—perks of you being so incredibly wet, he guesses.

you both moan at the stretch, the feeling so intense that intak may as well have crashed on top of you. he has half a mind to grip an arm onto the sheets, right next to your head. the position is awfully intimate for a one night stand, but neither of you have time to dwell on it when intak pulls his hips back slightly, only to piston back forward with a level of force you weren’t quite prepared for. the boy is quite literally the definition of pussy drunk, setting a desperate speed from the get-go and tucking his face into the nape of your neck. his lips are right underneath your ear, making it impossible to miss each and every one of his pathetically beautiful noises.

after awhile, intak adjusts the angle of his thrusts just a bit, and you cry out at the way his cock prods at your g-spot with the perfect amount of precision and pressure. “oh! right there, tak!” you moan out, attempting to meet his thrusts by pushing your own hips downwards. you clench around him in a vice grip, embarrassingly close already. it’s the first time a man has been able to draw out so many sounds from you, you’ve never felt so good before. intak nods at you each and every time you gasp aloud, egging on your, and his, inevitable orgasm.

intak breaks eye contact to look downwards, groaning at how your walls suction him in and leave a frothy white rim against the base of his dick. his length is coated with a sheen, certainly your wetness, and it only makes it that much easier for him to thrust into your gummy walls. the room feels about 20 degrees hotter now, with intak’s sweat dripping onto your chest like a leaking water faucet. he can’t smell the powdery perfume and whiteclaw breath from the club anymore, nose just picking up the scent of you—y/n.

a thumb circles your clit in quick motions, the final tipping point sending you to the edge with a pornographic, “fuck!”. your cunt flutters against intak’s girth, your legs tremble and spasm uncontrollably, eyes tearing up once again, no doubt ruining your carefully applied mascara as intak just fucks you through the most intense orgasm of your life. he’s not far behind, only pistoning into you a few dozen more times before unloading his cum into the rubber of the condom.

the pair of you stay silent to catch your breaths, intak still tucked within your cunt as he collects himself. a few minutes later has him pulling out of you with a hiss, cock sensitive from all the exertion. he flops onto the empty space next to you, turning his head to face you, you doing the same. you both giggle, still a bit breathless and so very satisfied.

you almost say something in the heat of the moment, something you’re sure to regret in the morning, but as you turn to look at intak once more, he’s fast asleep. a definite effect of all the drinks he had earlier. you lean over to place a single delicate peck on his cheek, dreading having to leave his side in the morning time, but you couldn’t get attached, not in this line of work. so you tucked yourself away from the boy—cuddling him would make it that much harder to leave him.

morning comes, as it usually does. intak wakes a bit later than usual, sunshine leaking through his thin curtains to shine directly into his eyes. he groans, sits up and stretches his arms real wide to wake himself up faster. as soon as a yawn exits his mouth, the man is hit with an intense headache that prompts him to grip at his forehead in discomfort. the events of the last night are a blur, but his lips remember sloppy kisses, ears remember giggles and whines, cock remembers a fair amount of attention. and then it all comes back to him. y/n.

he turns to his right, but there’s only emptiness beside him. the sheets, however, are crumpled in a way that suggest someone occupied the space not too many hours ago. but it doesn’t matter anyways. one night is all he asked for, and one night he got.

a knock at his wooden door startles intak, and a sleepy jiung enters the room with uncharacteristically hesitant steps. intak watches curiously as the shorter boy seats himself at the edge of his bed. jiung sighs, and then stares as intak with an expression full of pity that he doesn’t need right now. or ever.

“she was here last night, wasn’t she?” jiung asks, and intak can already hear the unwanted lecture that is sure to follow the question.

intak inhales. “yeah,” he chuckles, “she was.”

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© kisseobie, please do not repost my writing!

✶

[fushic0re]

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝘅 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗔!𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a prophecy has tied you to the feathered serpent god before you had even existed. now, it’s time to come home.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. possessive behavior. near death experience. smut; penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie (lots of cum bc i'm disgusting), breeding kink.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — this has to be the most excited i've been for a fic in a long time 🥹 i had a blast including a little bit of my culture's superstitions and lore. my sincerest apologies for any inaccurate yucatec maya translations, i used a translator website. the song the reader sings is "daughter of the sea" by sharm. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

⁀➷ “anak” - child.

⁀➷ “po” - a respectful term with no direct translation used when talking to someone of higher rank than you such as elders or your boss.

⁀➷ “mag ingat ka” - “be careful.”

⁀➷ “ka’a suku’un u?” - “cousin?”

⁀➷ “ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.” - "come with me to find the king."

⁀➷ "in yakunaj" - "my love"

⁀➷ "in k'áaté" - my one and only.

⁀➷ "le ba'alo' leti'e" - that is her.

⁀➷ "bienvenido tin wotoch ti', in reina." - "welcome my queen."

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, the ocean was your safe haven.

While others strayed from its depths for fear of the unknown, of the creatures that could be lurking down there, you had always been curious to know. There had always been an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched when it came to your love for the water. You frequented your local beach nearly every day, wandering aimlessly until you grew tired. Unlike others your age, your life was one of solitude. To an extent, you were content with it, for the ocean was your companion. It never judged you and always welcomed you. It listened when you spoke, carrying your worries far from you never to be seen again.

Nowadays, to your heart’s discontent, the ocean was not enough.

You were lonely. Truly lonely and feeling what it was like to be so for the very first time in your life. There were nights you stared into the abyss; eyes watery as you wished to drown in it. To be embraced by the one thing that was consistent in your life. Would you feel less alone then?

─

From the deepest point of the very sea you gazed into, the heart of a God grew heavy. K’uk’ulkan loved his people, adored them with every fiber of his body. Each and every one of the faces of those he ruled, dead and alive, were imprinted in his soul permanently. Every step he took was taken with them in mind. He prided himself for being a good leader, for doing everything and anything possible to keep his nation safe. After the events leading up to the alliance with the Wakandans, however, he did not know if that pride was deserved. He had made mistakes; misplaced his trust and allowed two of his own to die right in their very home. Namora, as loyal as she was, began to question his decisions. He was alone in bearing this burden with no one to rest his head on at night from the heaviness of the day.

What pained him the most? He knew he shouldn’t be alone.

He recalled the day he and his mother had been read the prophecy when he was a child clearly. The emotions he felt upon hearing those words spoken into existence were still fresh. There was someone for him. Just for him, and him alone.

“For His fealty, the First Son of Talokan shall be given a gift from the Gods; a descendant from the Heavens, a child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress. For as long as He shall live, She shall rule the seas by His side.”

Years passed. Those years slowly faded into decades. After the passing of his beloved mother, it became difficult differentiating when those decades turned into centuries. Still, there were no signs of his soulmate. His people knew of the prophecy. K’uk’ulkan was all too aware of the anticipation his children felt as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their queen. Yet, she never came.

He grew angry at the so called Gods for turning on their promise – at her. Where was she? he’d hiss. My people, our people, have come dangerously close to being discovered. I have nearly died defending them all alone. My wings have been ripped from my flesh. Why isn’t she here? The prophecy meant nothing to him anymore. Just as he was naïve when he entrusted Princess Shuri with seeing his home, he was blindly foolish for believing in a fairytale.

Namor was without love in more ways than one.

─

You didn’t remember falling asleep. There was no explanation as to how you ended up perilously close to the edge of the water, the violent thrash of waves serving as a warning to you. Still, you remained completely still as fear immobilized you. You racked your brain for any recollections of your previous actions. Nothing came up. You couldn’t remember anything after you came home from the market.

Nothing, that is, aside from a single voice.

It cooed to you, whispered your name like it had waited a thousand millennia to taste it upon its tongue. Sang to you like you were its favorite person in the entire universe.

Come to me.

Come home.

In yakunaj.

In k’áate’.

Come home.

Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you slowly stepped away from the ledge before rushing back home. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you tried your best to bury what had just transpired. You sought out every possibility – rational and irrational – that could have resulted in your odd behavior. You always went to the beach, maybe you just wandered there after dinner out of habit. Perhaps something went wrong with the batch of your usual tea and an ingredient that causes cognitive dysfunction was accidentally added to it. Maybe tomorrow morning you will wake up to a news report about your batch being recalled from all stores.

The explanation you vied for never came.

As time persisted, so did the bouts of blacking out, regaining consciousness, and finding yourself near the ocean. Each time, you got closer and closer to its waters. Every day after the next, you would feel the fatigue in your muscles from all of the walking. And yet, it did not stop you. You always found your way back to the ocean. It didn’t matter if you walked into ongoing traffic or if a concerned neighbor physically restrained you, the pull was stronger. Shamefully, you began to avoid leaving your home altogether. You couldn’t bear to face the condemnatory looks you were bound to receive. Whatever those in your area thought of you, you didn’t want to know. You were afraid enough of what you were becoming.

When you wake up from the next spell, you were waist deep in the ocean. Shivering as your thin nightgown stuck to your skin. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you salvaged any and all body heat. The gravity of your circumstances hit you all at once. Biting your lip, you held back your tears as your turned around and began making your way out of the water hastily. Just as your bare feet touched the white sand, you caught the eyes of the elderly woman who lived closed by. The two of you had never spoken, but her presence as a resident was always acknowledged.

“Sorry, po,” You spoke sheepishly, a polite and apologetic smile on your face.

Her expression was grave as she stared at you wordlessly. Silence stretched between the both of you and just as you were about to walk away, she harshly spat one single word.

“Magindara.”

Before you could seek clarification, she was back inside her small hut, the door slamming behind her acrimoniously. The only proof that the interaction with her was even real was the residual sting of her hostility and rage. Her persecution was the straw to break the camel’s back. Unable to maintain your resolve any longer, you fell to your knees and began to you’re your hands clutching at your chest in hopes to alleviate the pain. Humiliation, terror, anxiousness, and frustration were just a few of the emotions you were feeling. Even then, they were just the tip of the iceberg. As you cried to yourself, sand sticking to your wet limbs uncomfortably, you longed for nothing but someone to wrap you up in their arms – for someone to tell you that for once, everything would be okay. Just this once, you craved a life outside of isolation.

Once your breathing evened out, you stood up and leisurely began to talk along the shore. Soothing yourself in the only way you knew how, you began to softly sing.

“Beware, beware the Daughter of the Sea. ‘Beware’ I heard him cry. His words carried upon the ocean breeze, as he sank beneath the tide.”

Namora watched acutely as the quill in her king’s hands abruptly dropped to the floor. The warrior waited for the moment he would pick it up off of the ground and continue with his painting, but it never came.

“K’uk’ulkan?”

She received no response. His eyes held an indecipherable expression, one far away from the present.

“Ka’a suku’un u?” Namora repeated, her tone now carrying concern.

The King of Talokan turned to her for a split second before he stormed out of the room with speed she had never witnessed from him before. Namora was hot on his feathered heels, but the second she dived into the water, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Attuma!” She bellowed. “Ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.”

K’uk’ulkan was stunned when he first heard it – the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. He was livid with himself for being unable to find a better word to describe the voice, for “beautiful” was such an understatement that it was borderline insulting. Without hesitation, he followed it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it was coming from or who it even belonged to, he needed to find it. It called to him, turned him into a man possessed as he soared through the waters restlessly to get to it.

His head broke the surface, and that’s when he saw its owner – her. His soulmate.

She was the most exquisite living being he had ever laid his eyes upon. A gift from the heavens she was. Her beauty made him dizzy, his knees growing weak as he took in his beloved’s features. He admired her as she outstretched her arms, cupping the moon in her delicate palms. It paled in comparison to her. Everything did. Nothing could possibly compare. He remained paralyzed as she continued to sing, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach.

“Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea? Why this? Why did you forget your seaside days? Always the pride of our nation’s eyes, how could she go astray?”

The words of her melody pierced his heart. They reflected their journey far too accurately to be a coincidence. Did she know that she had always been destined for him? To be loved by the entire nation of Talokan? His lids fell shut slowly as he basked in her harmonies, feeling tranquil at last.

“I heard, I heard, across the moonlit seas, the old voice warning me. Beware, beware, the Daughter of the Sea. Beware, beware…of me.”

Namor studied her face as her song ended. He noted her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Her damp nightgown stuck to her body tantalizingly. The despair in her hypnotizing voice was palpable. All of the wrath and resentment he had once harbored dissipated. Oh, my love. I have longed for you too. He could do nothing as he watched you turn your back to him from above, only pray for another encounter. He rose entirely from the sea, the wings on his ankles fluttering in the air as he watched her in the sky until she was safe in her abode. A quiet splash could be heard from under him. Attuma and Namora stared up at him expectedly.

“Le ba’alo’ leti’e’.”

He nodded slowly, eyes burning holes in the spot where she once stood.

“A human?” Attuma questioned, his voice rigid.

Namor shook his head.

“’A child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress’.” Namor quoted the prophecy directly. “Bulan was a deity the heavens sent to the ocean to protect the moon from sea monsters. She is a siren; they are descendants of Bulan.”

“What is she doing on the surface?” Namora chimed in.

The king frowned, his fists clenching at his sides as he longed to feel her touch.

“She is lost.”  

─

Returning to the beach after the unpleasant encounter with the elderly woman who lived on its grounds probably wasn’t the most sensible decision. In your defense, however, nothing in your life was sensible nowadays.

Magindara was what she called you. A whole day’s worth of research, hundreds of Google searches, and several life crises later, you found out what it meant – siren. A subspecies of mermaids that were known for being especially vicious. You wanted to badly to laugh it off, to chuck it up to her being a senile old woman, but that was not an option. To do so would be like ignoring statistics. The facts of your life were laid out clearly; there was a connection between you and the ocean. A connection so strong that it bewitched you – mind, body, and soul. There were no traceable origins you could use to refute the woman’s claims. Afterall, you had no family. There was nothing more to do than return to the very place that could give you answers.

Your eyes darted everywhere in search of the familiar head of silvery locks. Once identified, you ran to her.

“Excuse me, po?” You called desperately, your eyes begging her for something. Anything. “What…what am I?”

She stared at you with a severe expression on her aged features.

“The man from the sea with wings on his ankles. Mag ingat ka, anak. He’s coming for you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Could you expla—”

“Do not come back here.” She warned. “He will drag you down with him.”

With that being said, she entered her home and slammed the door in your face for the second time. Vexation filled you as you were met with another dead end. A man from the sea with wings on his ankles. What the hell was that alluding to? Did the elderly have to always speak in riddles? Were you in danger? Why was he after you?

You dragged your feet as you trudged home dejectedly. You were already exhausted, not sleeping a wink once you returned home after your stint last night. Sleep was unfathomable considering you were haunted by unanswered questions. Once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, however, you could no longer ignore your body’s need for rest. Flopping down on your bed, you shut your eyes and instantaneously succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

That night was the last time you slept in your own bed.

The beach was eerily quiet, void of the usual sound of waves crashing against the shore. Seemingly, the ocean yielded to you, it’s queen, the second you stepped foot in its territory, entranced and guided by a single voice.

Come home. Come to me.

Your feet carried you to a cliff high above the sparkling midnight waters.

My love. My soulmate.

Home. You needed to come home. It was time. 

Come home.

Just a couple of more steps.

Come home.

This is your destiny. Fulfill it. Fulfill the prophecy.

Come home.

With that, you took one final step off the cliff and prepared yourself to plunder into the deep waters. Your feet were only in the air for a brief moment before a pair of strong arms caught you midair. Upon physical contact, you snapped from your trance with a sharp gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to panic.

A deep, gentle voice lulled you. It was then that you finally registered who it belonged to. The being who had saved you was the epitome is beauty. Everything about him exuded regality from the air of confidence and ease he carried himself with, to the adornments on his muscular body. A large gold and jade neck plate took up the most space on his expansive chest. Ropes of auriferous shells and opalescent-like pearls hung around his neck. Gilded cuffs were locked around his biceps, wrists, and ankles. You quickly noted the alabaster wings fluttering away attached to them, the very wings responsible for suspending the both of you in the air. Your eyes trailed to his delicately pointed ears, embellished with jewels just like the rest of him. The only clothing he sported was a pair of emerald shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The walls of muscle that were his thighs were on full display, the muscles of a man built to withstand the brutality of the ocean.

This was the man the elderly woman was speaking about. The man from the sea with feathers on his ankles.

That revelation should have scared you. Every alarm in your body should have gone off.

Escaping him should have been the only thing occupying your mind. You should have kicked and screamed until your throat was raw and bloody.

But you did no such thing.

Instead, it was the way he looked at you, gazing at you with the most intense smolder in his eyes that occupied your attention. He gazed at you with pure wonder, and held you delicately yet fiercely in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. Instinctively, you placed your hands on his bare chest, mindlessly tracing the dew drops sticking to his golden skin. The beautiful man shivered beneath your touch.

“500 years I have waited for you.” He whispered reverently.

Your mouth opened, prepared for a response that never came. Instead, your vision went dark.

─

You woke up to hushed voices and heedful, diligent hands. One set of hands languidly brushed your hair away from your face. Another daintily shimmied clothing onto your body once they were finished drying you off with the velvetiest cloth to ever touch your skin. The last set secured what you assumed was jewelry onto your wrists, neck, and ears. Upon opening your eyes, your assumption was correct. The dress on your body was stunning, embroidered with hundreds of crystalline beads. The jewels on your wrists alone were probably worth more than what you had made in your entire life.

The women who stood above you were unlike you had ever seen before. Their skin was a brilliant shade of cerulean. Vibrant, yet pleasantly understated. Masks covered their mouths and noses, but you could still see the bright smiles behind them.

“Hello,” You greeted shyly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Each of them let out a small cry, their eyes welling up with tears as they bowed earnestly.

“Bienvenido tin wotoch ti’, in reina.” They spoke warmly in unison, forming a gesture with their hands at you respectfully. Their mother tongue was foreign to you, but not for long. As if you had spoken it your entire life, your mind made quick work of interpreting it.

Welcome home, my queen.

Once again, you were puzzled. You had no idea where you were or who exactly that man was and why he had taken you here. You obviously hadn’t a single inkling as to what he meant by “500 years I have waited for you”. Now, these women were calling you their queen in a language you had never heard your entire life but somehow had the ability to understand perfectly.

The sound of feet pattering lightly gradually got closer and closer until the man of the hour stood before you at the foot of the bed. The women attending to you immediately turned their attention to him, bowing and forming the same hand gesture you had seen moments ago. He looked just as regal still, now adorned in a cape tucked into golden plates of armor on his shoulders. He regarded them gratefully.

“Leave us, my children. Thank you.”

They bowed to you both once more before swiftly making themselves haste. You now had his undivided attention.

“I hope you slept well. The healers said showed signs of exhaustion.”

“I—” You cleared your throat nervously. “I did, thank you.”

The barest hint of a smile graced his features. With graceful and controlled movements, he poured water into a glass and handed it to you.

“Do not be nervous.” He spoke lowly. “Speak freely.”

“Thank you.” You squeaked out again, taking a generous gulp of water before speaking again. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan. To my enemies, I am Namor. You are in our kingdom – Talokan.”

The water got caught in your throat mid swallow, causing you to cough obnoxiously. The man who you now knew as K’uk’ulkan, discreetly smiled to himself as if this was a reaction he had anticipated. Before you could blurt out another string of questions, he held his hand out to you.

“Come. I will remedy all of your concerns.”

As if you had done so a million times, you placed your hand in his and stood by his side. Namor lead the both of you through a series of corridors. Your eyes took in your surroundings with pure astonishment. Cavern seemed to be a secluded corner for the king, crystal waters surrounding its premises. Bits of glittery minerals were embedded into the sediment walls. An air of serenity blanketed the entire area.

From the corner of his eye, Namor gaged your reactions, his heart so full of unfiltered adoration that it felt like it would explode in his chest. His hand was still tightly clutched in yours like it was second nature. Subconsciously, you had drawn your body closer to his. He was a meticulous man of control and strategy, but at that very moment, K’uk’ulkan wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and kiss you breathlessly. The moment was cut short when you reached his study. He offered you a seat at his desk, drawing the door shut behind him for privacy. It didn’t take long for you to deduce that the murals painted on the walls were ones depicting the history of Talokan.

“Centuries ago, my people took an herb that allowed them to survive underwater. The herb was infused with vibranium. We are the only nation aside from Wakanda to possess it.” He began, his hands tracing over a painting of a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “My mother was pregnant with me when she ingested it. That is why I am the way I am – why I am the only one out of my people that can survive on both land and underwater, fly, and age slower than the rest. For this, they made me their king. Their god.”

You listened intently, fascinated by the discovery that they had remained a secret for this long.

“There was a prophecy made shortly after my birth. The gods promised me a soulmate.”

Turning around to face you, he bore his soul to yours through his eyes as he read the prophecy to you. With each word that fell from his lips, the world around you spun quicker and quicker. It made sense. It all made sense.

“I gave up on the idea of the prophecy coming true as time passed. In yakunaj, when you have lived as long as I have, seen as much as I have, happy endings are nothing but meaningless fallacies. But then, that night came…the night I heard you sing for the first time.”

He approached you slowly, cautiously like a wild animal that would take flight if startled by any sudden movements. What happened next made your eyes fill with tears; he knelt before you. This man – a king, a god – surrendered to you with no hesitation.

“I have finally found you…” He breathed, his orbs shining with devotion. “You are home. Why do you think you have no family? No one to trace your roots back to? You were made for me. Mine.”

Your face fell in between the palms of your hands as you wept. Quickly, your hands were replaced by his. He held your face in his hands like he was holding the entire world, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing away your tears.

“Why the tears, my love?”

You shook your head, placing your hands on top of his. The spark you felt every time the two of you touched could no longer be ignored.

“Why did they just now bring us together?” You cried. “We’ve both been alone for all this time, how could they not do something about it!”

“Shhh,” Namor cooed. “You think I have not been angry with them, my sweet? I have held myself back from tearing their skies and oceans apart just to find you. But what I feel for you right now in this very moment? That feeling will always win.”

The both of you said nothing more, for there was nothing that needed to be said. Your long lost love held you in his arms as you liberated yourself from what felt like decades of anguish. His grip never faltered even as you gripped his flesh hard enough to draw blood. Instead, he soothingly rocked you as he recounted the stories of his people’s origins. Talokan was a clandestine national treasure, one of the only things on the earth that had not been bastardized. That was all the doing of this wonderful being who had been promised to you.

“They were wrong about you. Your name.” You whispered. “You’re not without love, quite the opposite actually. The actions you have taken, the lengths you have gone to protect your people and your home, are ones of a man consumed with nothing but love. You can see it in how happy they are.”

With cautious hands, you caressed his cheeks. He preened against your touch, melting right into your palms. The world would never see the stoic warrior king falter, but already, you had him firmly wound around your finger. He could sit there for hours soaking in your ardor.

“Our home. Our people.” Namor corrected. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Lovingly, he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging the tip of your nose with his.

“Are you ready to meet them?”

He observed endearingly as your eyes widened as large as flying saucers as you nodded overzealously, a giggle tumbling from your lips. K’uk’ulkan noted once more how full of love he felt. He wondered if this was what your lives together would consist of, overcome with all of the possibilities. Was adoring you more than he did in this moment even conceivable? When your smile faltered slightly, worry filled him.

“I’ve never seen…myself.”

“I am honored to be the first to see your true form.”

The two of you stood, walking hand in hand out of his personal study and to the outermost cove surrounded with the most water. Inhaling shakily, you eyed what awaited below you with apprehension. You were not human, far from it, and yet it felt as if you and your true form were worlds apart. Namor was silent. He knew this was something you needed to do alone. The only form of assurance offered to you was a look of encouragement.

Slowly, you dipped one foot into the water and allowed the other to follow. Keeping your eyes closed, you focused on your heart rate as your body adroitly descended into the abyss of the sea. You could have easily fallen asleep if it weren’t for a tingly sensation disrupting your peace. It started small, gradually winding around you until all at once, currents of electricity bolted through your limbs. Instinctively, your lungs expanded, and you took your first gulp of air underwater. You ripped your eyes open in bewilderment when you didn’t choke on water. The clear-cut view you had of your surroundings despite no sources of light being near further consolidated your shock. A noise akin to a squeak and gasp escaped your lips and before you knew it, you were cutting through the waters with newfound ease until your head broke the surface.

Namor would have given everything to his name to capture the sight before him. There you were, beaming at him with unrivaled radiance. He stopped breathing when you lifted your tail out of the water. Just when he thought you could not be any more magnificent than you already were, you defied his expectations. The scales covering the muscle were a range of shades of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold. Towards the tips of your forked fin, they all blended into a rich shade of dark indigo. Your torso was bare but hidden behind your locks as they cascaded over your breasts. Namor could have gawked at you for hours if it weren’t for you playfully flicking water at his face. He felt light and dream-like as your melodious laughter echoed through the cavern. He decided then and there that your laughter was his favorite song. The scowl permanently etched onto his face fell. In its place, a smile so wide it hurt spawned. For the first time in centuries, he laughed so hard his abdomen hurt.

Powerless to his desires, he dove into the water after you, finding shelter in your embrace once more. Intuitively, your tail curled around one of his legs. He submerged the two of you back into the water and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours. Skin to skin, naked chests were tightly pressed against each other, your arms locked around his neck as your mouths feverishly meshed against one another. A barely audible moan slipped from your mouth right into his as his tongue pushed passed your lips. Namor voiced his pleasure with a low rumble from his chest. Pathetically, you could cry again right then and there. How could you have gone without this your whole life?

A loud clearing of the throat caused you both to cease your ministrations. Namor was anything but sorry as he pulled away with the softest expression you had seen on his face thus far. He regarded the two individuals standing in front of you – a hulking man with long inky tresses and an ornate headpiece resembling the skull of a hammerhead shark and a fierce looking woman with a feathered lionfish-esque headdress. Though both clearly high up in the royal ranks with a cutthroat reputation to uphold, they studied you and Namor with mischief.

“K’uk’alkan, they are waiting for her.” The man spoke.

“You might want to put this on before you go.” Spoke the woman, pulling an opulent bra top from behind her back and extending it towards you.

The state of undress you were in hit you like a bus. Your face felt like it was on fire from embarrassment, your lover pressing a tender kiss to your heated cheek. Tactfully, he maneuvered you away from the eyes of the warrior you now knew was Attuma. The woman, his cousin and second in command named Namora, expertly laced you into the garment.

“That was so embarrassing,” You mumbled to yourself once your modesty was secured.

Namor cracked a hint of a smirk.

“Attuma and my cousin expected nothing less from us. Now, shall we?”

─

Talokan was a magnificent sight. The agriculture was impressive, the vibranium rich soil working wonders for the crops. Sea creatures from colossal sized sea turtles, lengthy luminescent jellyfish of different colors, lively fish, and enormous whales to start were one with the Talokanil, peacefully existing with one another. The treatment you received from everyone was something you would never get used to. Despite not knowing you, they acknowledged you as if they had known you their entire lives. K reina perdida they called you with earnest smiles and misty eyes. Our lost queen.

But you were no longer lost.

It was evident in the way the orcas sang with you as you glided through the waters, seemingly understanding you in a way no one else could. Namor’s soul was finally content after seeing you swim freely, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as a couple of toddlers crawled around on your tail. His people loved you. Just as he thought they would. And you fit right in just as you were meant to. With further exploration of your physiology, the two of you discovered that like Namor, you could survive both underwater and on the surface, donning a set of legs seamlessly upon contact with land. Your strength, speed, and agility matched up perfectly with his. For hours, he chased you through the ocean, the both of you weaving in and out between walls of coral and tall beds of seaweed with dexterity. You truly were made for him.

A week later, you were officially crowned their queen. You and Namor ended the celebration with an intimate wedding ceremony in the cavern. After years of going without each other, neither of you had the patience to wait for a union on a grander scale. You both were enough – you would always be enough. And as he laid your bare body across the bed he occupied by himself for half a millennium, he was confident in that conviction.

You felt dizzy as he pressed his hard bulge against your core. The most heavenly noise to grace your ears came out of your now husband when you raised your hips to grind against it. Your hands liberally roamed his chest, now stripped of his jewels, before slithering to his robust back. Your nails drew tiny half moons as they dug into his flesh when his lips made their way to the column of your neck. The decorum of countenance he upheld was nowhere to be found as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth, lightly tugging your erect nipple between his teeth before he began to suckle. You cried out pathetically. His lips twitched, umber orbs now staring up at you with lust.

“You are so noisy for me,” He purred. “I have not even touched the most sensitive parts of your body yet.”

“Please,” You breathed. “Please, I need you,”

Namor made his way down your body, leaving no part of you untouched by his lips. Deftly, he gripped your thighs and place both of your legs over his shoulders. Gently, he kissed your dripping core.

“You have me, my love. Always.” 

His mouth took you straight to heaven. He devoured you like a man starved, tongue flicking your nub of nerves tirelessly with precision. Your thighs were already trembling, but he had just gotten started. Your orgasm crept up on you, the strongest one you had ever experienced. It left you heaving with your back arched off of the bed, unable to do anything besides chant his name like a mantra. But your beloved’s ministrations did not cease. He continued working at your core, now swollen and glistening from your juices and his spit. The second orgasm built up slowly, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each time he sucked your clit. The final straw was when you noticed his hips gyrating. He was pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. This time when you came on your lover’s tongue, no words or sounds were able to slip passed your mouth. You were quite literally speechless.

With a satisfied moan, he lapped up the rest of your arousal, cooing to you as you quivered and whimpered from hypersensitivity. His scorching body covered yours once more, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Namor held you tightly against him, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you steadied your breathing. It wasn’t long before you felt the head of his cock prodding your entrance. Gripping your face firmly, he forced your eyes open. The frenzied look in his eyes as he languidly sunk into you alone could have made you come for the third time that night. But alas, the universe was on your side. Instead, you savored that moment – the feeling of him. Every inch, every vein, ingrained into your memories for as long as you shall live.

“You feel incredible.” Namor panted, now beginning to steadily thrust. “You truly were made for me.”

You could only respond with wanton cries, too consumed with desire. The king began to piston in and out of you until he was fully pounding you into your marital bed.

“Namor!”

He grunted into your ear, pulling out of you for a brief moment to flip you onto your stomach. He plunged back into you and picked up right where he left off. This time, however, he was brutal with the punctuality of his thrusts.

“Am I your enemy, wife?” He taunted. “Are you even worthy of any mercy I have to spare?”

At this point, you could not even recognize the sounds you were making. They were debauched. Depraved. Combined with rhythmic percussion of skin against skin and the squelch of your wet cunt each time Namor entered you, the song you two orchestrated was one only for the lecherous.

“K’uk’ulkan,” You barely managed to murmur. “I’m s-so close, you make me feel so good,”

He hummed satisfactorily, driving into you even faster.

“You are, aren’t you, my sweet? That’s it, sing for me. Take my seed. Carry my children.”

“Please!” You screamed as your walls convulsed around his cock. Please come in me,”

With a shout and one final thrust, he released in you. Rope after rope, he filled you with his cum with proclamations of everlasting love on the tip of his tongue. His cock remained nestled deep within you as you both descended from your highs, keeping his spent from spilling. He shuddered at the image of you round and radiant carrying his child and just like that, he was hardening inside you once more. As you lay there, thoroughly cock drunk, he began to pull out of you and slowly push back in. This time, he was tender and gentle, unhurriedly focused on taking you apart for one final time that night. The two of you had centuries left together. There was no need to rush. Then again, Namor could live another 500 years with you by his side and still feel like it was not enough. He needed you forever, and then some.

“I love you,” He whispered against the blade of your shoulder. “You are everything.”

The next morning you would wake to the sight of your husband painting a new mural. One of a beautiful woman with the upper body of a human, and the lower body of a fish. By her side, a man with ears that pointed to the skies and wings on his ankles, their eyes locked and hands intertwined.

The beginning of your story.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Not sure if you've closed or open requests but

How do you feel about writing a Yan! Slime? Could be platonic or romantic up to you! Idk slimes are cute :3

(also I'm permanently gonna low key stalk ur blog since again yummy yan fics hope you don't mind me staying- /hj)

CW: Wholesome, romantic, stalker monster love ahead ❤️ proceed with caution❤️

Accidently pushed post whoops done now lol

The five year old boy burst through the bushes, tumbling awkwardly and unskillfully before slowly popping up onto his feet and swinging his stick sword forward. His sibling, (Reader), high stepped carefully over the branches of the bush their brother had just crashed through. (Reader) nervously held their own sword, following their older brother into the woods.

"Jay, can we please go back?" (Reader) whined, trying not to cry nervously as they "explored" deeper into the forest.

"Don't be a baby!" Jay chastised, raising his arms high above his head. "How are you gonna be a monster hunter if you're too chicken?!"

(Reader) grumbled, dragging their shoes in the dirt. "I don't wanna be a monster hunter.. I wanna go home! I'm hungry!"

Jay opened his mouth, and raised his fists, ready to say something when something moved nearby, plopping loudly into a pile of dry leaves. His big, childish eyes went wide with fear, immediately losing all confidence and hiding behind (Reader), holding his thin stick in front of his face defensively. He was too scared to speak, trembling into (Reader's) back.

The younger of the two felt a surge of strength, needing to protect their beloved big brother, so they gripped their weapon with both hands, scrunching up their chubby little face to appear tough. They stomped over to the bush the sound came from, holding their breath, unlike Jay who was hyperventilating. (Reader) removed one pudgy hand from their stick, and swiftly pushed back the little branches, exposing a tiny green blob.

Jay released a high pitched scream and took off running back home, dropping his stick.

The glob was vibrating, and (Reader) was instantly filled with sympathy, assuming the little ball of goo was shaking with fear. "Hey, don't be scared." The four year old cooed, dropping their 'sword' and sitting on their knees to be closer. "I'm sorry, I thought you were a monster." (Reader's) cheesy grin showed off their missing front teeth.

Whatever the green thing was slowly went still, and (Reader) could feel it looking up at them.

"My name is (Reader), and I'm," they looked at their fingers, focusing on holding up the right number, before practically shoving their fingers in the glob's personal space, "four years old!"

The goo reached forward, forming a little nub of a hand, touching (Reader's) fingers. It was surprisingly warm. (Reader) opened their hand so it could roll onto their palm.

"Burrrrble!" The thing happily gurgled, looking quite pleased despite it's lack of a face.

"Burble? Is that your name?"

"Prrrr?" It patted their hand, not understanding the question. (Reader) laughed, feeling ticklish.

"I'm gonna be your best friend!" They decided, cupping the slime with both hands, still giggling over the sticky tingling the little guy caused. "I'll visit you every day, and we can play together everyday after school!"

And (Reader) kept their promise, visiting every single day, for years. The two friends grew up together, Burble learning to speak (Reader's) language over time as (Reader) brought their homework into the woods to have more time with Burble while they studied. Jay kept Burble's existence a secret, but never got over his fear of the creature, so he kept his distance from the two while they played.

Burble had a difficult time not praising (Reader) for their heroics, because if they did it would reveal that Burble had been watching them at school. Living alone in the woods was isolating, especially as a monster, their presence frightening off animals of all species. At first it was just because of how lonely they were, wanting to leave the forest to be with (Reader). They turned Burble down, reminding them how dangerous it would be, now no longer the naive child who didn't understand that slimes were monsters. But, no one would know if Burble attached just a little piece of themselves inside (Reader's) backpack, just to hear their voice while they were away.

Fourteen years later, Burble had been practicing in secret, forming their naturally round body into a humanoid form, trying to perfect their appearance before they revealed themselves to (Reader). It happened so naturally, Burble falling in love with their one and only friend. They wondered if (Reader) could ever feel the same. (Reader) was just so perfect; they were kind and strong, preferring pacifism, but quick to throw themselves in danger's way to protect the ones they love, just like when they first met. Even at school, (Reader) would stand up for those being bullied on a regular basis, gaining a reputation for standing up for those too scared to protect themselves. And they never bragged about it!

The green slime learned so much about (Reader) through the way they interacted with others at school, and fell deeper in love everytime they opened their mouth. (Reader) was an angel on Earth.

(Reader) trudged into the forest behind their home, exhausted after field hockey but refusing to take even a day off from visiting their best friend. It was surprising, learning that Burble was less of a pet and actually a sentient being with thoughts and feelings, but that was even more exciting, being able to communicate with a species not known for their intelligence. Burble rolled onto view, now a very large blob the size of (Reader) if they tucked in their arms and legs.

"(Reader)!" They happily gurgled, jiggling up to the high school senior. "How was your day?"

"Same old, same old." (Reader) lied, still wearing their gym shirt because their original clothes got soaked with milk after they stood up to Cody, the biggest dick they ever met.

Burble knew this, however, and was fine with (Reader) lying, knowing they were just being humble. It made their non-existent heart swell. (Reader) pulled out a bunch of classwork, and a brochure slipped out from a folder. "What's that?"

"Oh, that's a pamphlet for a university. Admissions are coming up, so I've been looking around."

The green color lightened almost to a sick looking yellow. Burble hadn't heard anything about this! What did they mean?!

"Burble, you okay?"

"Does that mean you're leaving?" Burble's voice shook, wobbling their jelly body.

"Yeah, if I make it in, but that's still half a year away, so we have time-"

Burble cut them off. "Don't go."

(Reader) sighed, placing a hand on top of their friend's smooth body. "I can't stay with my parents forever. I want to go explore, meet new people, hopefully get a career a have a passion for."

"Then take me with you!" Burble shouted, heating up under (Reader's) hand, the yellow intensifying.

The now yellow blob lunged at (Reader), morphing into a humanesque shape, creating a beautiful face that looked to be on the verge of tears. Burble held (Reader) to the ground, trapping (Reader's) body with their arms and knees.

"Burble, what the hell?" (Reader) wasn't angry, or nervous, just confused, not understanding what had gotten into their childhood friend.

"You can't leave me alone, (Reader), please!" Burble was incapable of forming tears, but their body ached like they were sobbing, rumbling instead of heaving as they didn't need to breathe. They slammed their face onto (Reader's), knowing what kissing was from a picture book (Reader) had shown them as a child, but not quite understanding how to actually do it. Their newly formed lips moved against (Reader's) timidly, easily holding down the struggling human. Burble broke the kiss so (Reader) could gasp for air. "I love you, (Reader), please don't leave me!"

A hurricane of emotions ripped (Reader's) mind apart, struggling with accepting what was happening. Their first kiss was taken by their best friend, who was still holding them tightly against the dirt ground.

"Let's.. let's talk about this later.. I need to go home." (Reader) stuttered, overwhelmed by the emotions they never felt before rampaging in their skull. Burble sunk lower, melting over (Reader's) body to better prevent their leaving.

"No.. not until you promise not to leave me." Their voice was barely a whisper, begging for (Reader) to love them back.

"I-I won't leave you. We'll figure something out.. You've just gotten too big to hide and-" Burble's weight was heavy on (Reader's) ribcage. "we'll figure something out."

Satisfied, Burble sat up and rolled off of (Reader), slowly changing back to their natural green hue. "You promise?"

"I promise." (Reader) face a sad smile, still incapable of fearing their dear friend.

Burble smiled, barely maintaining their shape as they allowed (Reader) to leave. They trusted (Reader), even if (Reader) didn't accept their confession at that moment, there was no way they would break their promise. And, if for some reason they did, if someone like their nervous brother fear mongered (Reader) into abandoning Burble, they would always be able to find them. The green slime collapsed back into a ball, happily listening to (Reader) through the tiny piece of themselves still hiding in (Reader's) backpack.

"Please come back soon.."

[almostgenerallyalways]

mamas (don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader Category: angst / fluff / run-on sentences Word count: 3,1k CW: language, I’ve been to Texas once okay forgive me, divorce Author’s note: this was supposed to be a holiday fic but I got stuck on it and almost abandoned it, but here it is rescued from my drafts, shoutout to all the amazing tgm fic writers your writing truly astounds me

Summary: Every year around the holidays, you hear from your ex. This year when you don’t respond, he decides to show up at your door. 

2022

Jake UT  [November 23, 2022 at 10:24 PM]

Hey stranger

Visiting my mom for Thanksgiving

How’ve you been?

You ignore the message. How you’ve been in the last twelve months is not something you feel up to discussing with him.

You spend the next weeks dealing with crisis after crisis at work, leaning into the chaos like you have been all year. Your personal life? Garbage fire. Reconfiguring your entire pump setup two weeks before going to production, because the DoC slapped an import ban on one of your key suppliers in China? You’re on top of it.

But then, the week before Christmas, another message comes in:

Jake UT  [December 17th, 2022 at 3:47 PM]

Hey

In town for the holidays

Would love to see you if you’re free

Brett welcome too, of course

A pang in your chest, but curiosity gets the better of you, so you text back:

Thanksgiving and Christmas? Judy must be thrilled.

You’ve met Jake’s mom all of one time, ten years ago, but she made a lasting impression. Fiercely protective of her only son, she’d been wary of you at first (you were, in order of importance: Too non-Texan, too vegetarian, and too focused on trying to rescue an almost-due group project for your sustainable water management class in which no one was pulling their weight).

And yet, over the Thanksgiving weekend you’d spent at Jake’s mother’s house in Colton, she’d slowly warmed up to you. You’d asked her endless questions about her job as a project manager at Austin-Bergstrom, and she’d poured you half glasses of wine (still exotic, to you, back then) at the kitchen island, shooing Jake back into the living room.

She’d even called you, after you guys broke up, to say she was sorry to hear it, and to tell you to call her up any time you needed someone to talk to. You’d tried your best to keep your voice even, not to break down in tears for the seventh time that day, and never called her again.

* * *

“Dude. Put your phone away for two minutes.”

Jake looks up apologetically at his friend, and pockets the device. “Sorry. Just expecting a text.”

Sandeep holds out his bottle of Lone Star, and Jake clinks it with his own. “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry I wasn’t around at Thanksgiving, we were visiting Jed’s family in NC. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Jake takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid feeling like a balm to his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s been a big year, work-wise, so they owed me one. I wanted to spend some extra time with my mom.”

Bringing up his drink to toast again, Sandeep says: “Here’s to you, bud. And to getting that permanent assignment in California. At least we knew where to send our holiday card this year.”

Condensation drips down the neck of his bottle, and Jake spins it slowly in his hand, stopping himself from peeling off the label. He feels on edge, unmoored, despite this 6th Street dive bar being as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Sandeep’s got his number. “Seeing anyone else while you’re in town? I don’t know, Myers?”

Jake doesn’t look up, but feels his cheeks heat up fractionally.

His friend takes another swig of his beer. “I guess I should stop calling her Myers. You know, with the divorce and all.”

The bottle escapes Jake’s grip, and amber liquid sloshes across the table, into Sandeep’s lap. “Shit, Seresin! Grab some napkins, will you?”

* * *

 2012

 You’d always known there was an expiration date on this thing with Jake, which is why you’d been reluctant to meet his mom to begin with.

You wanted fundamentally different things. He, the Navy: Adventure, excitement, a chance to serve his country. You: Stability. A family. A place where you belonged.

Both of you: an opportunity to prove yourself.

It’s civil, as far as breakups go.

“You always knew I wanted to fly.” He says, over breakfast at Magnolia Café. There’s a hard set to his jaw that makes you soften in contrast, because of course you do, everyone who’s ever been near Jake Seresin for longer than ten minutes knows he’s always wanted to fly.

From your first date he told you about how Judy used to park him in her office at the airport when her summer childcare fell through; little Jake happily spending the day watching commercial jets taxiing and taking off in quick succession.

How her coworkers, the civilian engineers who’d stayed on after Bergstrom Air Force Base was decommissioned and commercialized, would regale him with stories about generations of F-4 Phantoms. Or the British Airways Concorde, one of only twenty of the ill-fated aircraft ever made, bringing the Queen to Austin in a little yellow hat. The Reconnaissance Air Meet bringing in the best fighter pilots from across all divisions of the military and abroad, to compete and show off their skills.

Jake would listen to them with stars in his eyes.

You pick at your migas, your appetite gone. “I know, Jake. I would never stop you.”

But you look at him, and you know your face mirrors his determination. “But I can’t come with you, Jake. I can’t start my career following you around from camp to base year to year. I’m forty-thousand dollars in debt getting this degree, and I need to follow my own plan.”

You haven’t moved in together, though Jake spends most of his nights at your tiny off-campus apartment, where you’ve made him countless cups of black coffee trying to fuel weekend study sessions. Where he would come in past midnight, back from the late shift at his part-time job at the H-E-B, and bury his face in your neck, waking you up even though you’d been asleep for hours. Where you would hold his sleeping head to your chest, his deep breathing somehow felt inside of you, and run your fingers up and down the bare skin of his back, trying to memorize him.

You’re twenty-two, you tell yourself. This is not the end of the world.

So you see him off at the front door, a box of his things clutched to his chest, and you force yourself to be strong. “You better be,” and you try to smile up at him, but you’re not sure you’re doing a convincing job, “You better be the best goddamn pilot the Navy has ever seen, Jake.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just puts down the box, and pulls you into a last embrace. You sink into it, the fundamentally safe feeling of his arms around you, then make yourself pull away after a minute, pretending you don’t see the wet stains on his shirt.

Later you look at all the spaces in your apartment he is now conspicuously absent from (no dog-eared volume of Game of Thrones on the nightstand, no boots by the door), and it hits you then; the crevasse he’s left in your life. It may run deeper than you thought.

* * *

Jake had gone to Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island, then designator-specific training in Pensacola, Florida, and done his best not to think about you.

It helped that his days were intense and exhausting. It helped that, on liberty weekends, girls would flock to him and his friends in bars.

It helped to be several states away from you.

It helped to be living his dream.

* * *

There is a bit of a backslide, that first Thanksgiving after, where you both think it can’t hurt to see each other for one drink, for old time’s sake, which ends in him taking you up against the door in your new apartment, your legs wrapped around his waist because he does not have the willpower or presence of mind to figure out the way to your bedroom.

He knows it was a mistake, at about five AM the next day, when the blue light of morning starts streaming through a gap in the curtains, illuminating your tousled hair fanned out over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of your chest so familiar to him he could cry.

Untangling himself from you hurts, and he does perhaps the most cowardly thing he ever will: he sneaks out before you wake up. But next week he’s shipping out, and the thought of the same dead-end conversation over coffee made just the way he likes it is unbearable, so he makes himself walk away.

Somehow it’s worse, the second time around.

* * *

You’d met someone else, like he’d known you would. He sees the engagement announcement on Facebook, browsing on his phone between drills, and likes the post. It’s the third year he’s been away, and he’s at TOPGUN by then, so he has a lot on his mind. He has a girlfriend, even, a local: cute as a button, beats him savagely at pool.

It doesn’t fully hit him until the first time he sees you with your then-fiancé, at a little holiday reunion of college friends. He sees you with that ring on your finger, another man’s arm around your shoulders, and he gets an acute sense of the alternate reality that could’ve been his.

It feels a little like losing altitude too fast.

Your initial reception of him is understandably frosty, but you seem too genuinely happy to hold a grudge. By the third round, when he sidles up to you at the bar, you give him a quick hug, looking up at him with a smile that squeezes his heart: “I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and pulls you back in, just for a moment, tucking your head under his chin. You smell like apple and magnolia, like nights spent with his nose pressed into your back.

You don’t invite him to the wedding, and he’s all too glad not to have to make up an excuse not to go.

* * *

Things settle, after that. Jake gets deployed and reassigned, breaks up with his girlfriend and eventually gets another. You get promoted to senior engineer, then project lead. You see each other, not every year but close enough, sometimes with your husband there, sometimes without.

He braces himself for the next Facebook post; that you’re pregnant, but it never comes. Over time, even that seems to lose some of its potential emotional impact on him.  

Until three weeks ago, when you don’t text him back.

* * *

 2022

 You kick your shoes off in the entryway, then head into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Before you can reach the tap, the doorbell rings, and for a second you think somehow, some way, your terrible Bumble date has followed you home.

Grabbing the biggest kitchen knife you own off the magnet strip over the sink, just in case, you creep back to the door, barefoot, to press your face up to the peephole.

You don’t really expect to see the guy you just left, the ice in your glass not even melted before you were thinking up excuses to get out of there, but you sure as fuck don’t expect to see Jake either.

The door feels heavier than usual as you slowly slide it open, or maybe you’re just a little stunned. The night air hits your skin, and you can make out the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

For a long moment, Jake just looks at you, but then he says: “What were you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

You follow the jut of his chin down the line of your arm, and contemplate the knife for a second, Jake’s sudden appearance having made you forget all about it.

“I thought someone might have followed me here.”

“Ah.” He says, a spark in his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile. “If you were going to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat, a knife is a terrible choice. I could give you some tips, though.”

Putting the damn thing down on your entryway console, you turn back to look at him. It’s not cold, exactly, in December in South Central Austin, but he looks underdressed: a long-sleeved light grey t-shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of a faded pair of jeans.

He looks good, you can’t deny it: he’s always had an immediate effect on you.

Jake, your somewhat gangly, sweet college boyfriend had it. Jake, ten years of military training later: older, filled out, fine crinkly lines starting to appear at the corners of his eyes (helped along by the California sun and God knows what far-off places), irrevocably still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

At that, his expression sobers, and he looks at you for a long moment before he says:

“You didn’t tell me.”

* * *

Fucking Sandeep, you think, rubbing the back of your hand across your eyes, because that fucker has not been subtle with the hints lately, tutting like a Victorian matron while you pass the time evaluating your Bumble matches with his husband during Monday night football’s ad breaks.

The granite of your kitchen countertop feels reassuringly cool beneath your thighs, and you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on the tile below:

“I wasn’t ready.”

Jake huffs, or so you assume by the little sound that escapes him, as you determinedly face only his sneakers: “It’s been a year. You sure told everyone else we know.”

That makes your head snap up, emotion rising in your chest in a way you don’t like, have always had to tamp down when it comes to him, these last ten years. “Fuck off, Jake. You know it’s different when it comes to you.”

He leans back against the fridge, arms folded, just slightly lifting his right eyebrow at you in that irritating way of his: “I could’ve been there for you.”

Fuck it, you think, all cards on the table then. “I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to exist on my own again after being married for five years to someone who didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was, Jake. Sorry my first impulse wasn’t to come cry on my hometown hero ex-boyfriend’s shoulder.”

His eyes soften, and he pushes off the fridge to come stand next to you, running his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter than a moment ago. “I’m being a dick. It’s just, you have to know, I would’ve been there for you.”

He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath: “It’s always been different when it comes to you too, sweetheart.”

You start to shake, a little, or maybe it’s your imagination. But your voice wavers as you say his name, everything about your tone a warning: “Jake.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head: “Our timing sucked, and I don’t regret our decision from back then. I’m proud of who I’ve become in the last ten years, and I’m proud of you. You think I don’t keep up with what you’re doing? The articles you’ve published?”

This stuns you, momentarily. “No, Jake Seresin. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t think you gave a shit about the latest advances in Texas drought management.”

Just being near him, the familiar smell of him bringing up memories you’ve had years to unsuccessfully repress, is overpowering.

He makes it worse by turning to you, face so goddamn heartbreakingly earnest as he says: “I couldn’t give you what you deserved, ten years ago, but I always told myself, if I was ever in a position to…” He swallows. “I tried to forget about it when you got married, I tried to root for you and Brett, I swear.”

His hand settles next to your thigh, not quite touching, and your hand comes down on its own accord to cover his. He straightens almost imperceptibly, uses his other palm to wipe a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

Cupping your face, he draws a deep breath. “I have a permanent assignment now, in San Diego. I know it’s…”

“Jake.” You interrupt, squeezing your eyes shut, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “I’m not remotely the same person I was back then.”

He moves to stand in front of you now, and you draw him in between your thighs. Suddenly it seems imperative that you feel him, that he holds you.

Dipping his head to yours, you can hear the smile in his voice, watery, tentative: “Then let me get to know you again. Get to know me again.” He leans one hand on the counter, the other tracing your cheekbone. “No pressure. I’m totally very cool about this. Whatever you want.”

You laugh, a little choked up through tears, but genuine. It feels liberating. “What if I say yes? How does this work?”

His smile broadens, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so goddamn close, nudging your nose with his. “Come visit me, for a start. I’ll show you the sights.”

You draw him in a little closer still, legs wrapping around his waist, one hand finding its way into his close-cropped hair, and you could cry for how familiar he still feels after all these years.

But when you close the gap between your lips and his, it’s like coming home and yet not at all: he’s different and rougher and sharper and it floods you with emotion, something big and terrifying and old and new.

He leans into the kiss, grinning, cards his fingers through your hair before he moves to cover your chin, your brow, the space next to your ear with kisses, and you remember this with a jolt to your heart – how singularly intense it is to be the focus of Jake Seresin, like the strength of the sun is aimed at you, how he never does anything by halves.

You take his chin in your hand, kiss him again for good measure, before saying, into the stubble of his jaw: “One visit. No pressure.”

The grin he gives you in return could power half this city: “One visit. No pressure.”

He dips his head to yours again, kissing the skin behind your ear as he tells you: “Southern California has a lot of drought problems, you know. I’ve actually been reading some really scary articles about it.”

.

.

.

i hope you enjoyed :):) - if you liked this I hope you’ll check out some of my other work:

where the wild things are (rooster x reader)

cross my heart (hangman x reader) masterlist

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Lonely This Christmas

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Dark and obsessive behaviour, stalking, smut, dubious consent. Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: On a rare occasion when her and Billy both find themselves home for Christmas at the same time, they admit they've always fancied each other. However, as things develop between them, she soon realises that for Billy it's something much more sinister than a harmless crush. Based on this request.

Author's note: For my darling @heimtathurs. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She walks up the pathway to the front door, the combination of the bitter cold and the handles of the plastic carrier bag cutting into her flesh causing her fingers to sting painfully. The cans in the bag clank noisily against each other as she jostles it from one hand to the other, raising her fist to knock at the door. Her breath comes in hot, cloudy puffs as she shifts from foot to foot, relief flooding through her as she sees the silhouette of her best friend, Lana, appear through the glass in the door.

“Let me in then!” She grumbles, pushing past and handing Lana the bag, once the door is open. “It’s bloody freezing out there!”

It’s December 23rd, and time for her and Lana’s annual tradition of Christmas Eve Eve film night - a ritual that they’ve managed to keep alive since they first met in secondary school, though as the years have passed their taste in films has matured and they can now sit and openly drink beer, instead of needing to sneak a bottle of MD 20:20 back and forth between them beneath a duvet, like they did as teenagers.

The location never changes - always at Lana’s parents’ house - even now that she’s moved out, she always comes home for two weeks over the festive period, and like clockwork the two of them sit on the sofa the evening before Christmas Eve and stare at the TV until they can no longer keep their eyes open.

She shrugs off her coat as she moves through the hallway, into the living room, the warmth from the central heating causing her skin to prickle with the pleasant rise in temperature. Rolling her eyes as she spies the DVD case for Die Hard on the coffee table, she sits heavily down on the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs beneath her.

“We watched this last year,” she says to Lana, who follows a few paces behind, having deposited the contents of the bag into the fridge in the kitchen, “It’s not even a Christmas film!”

“It’s set at Christmas, so it’s a Christmas film,” Lana shoots back, handing her a can of Stella, before flopping down beside her and cracking open her own. “And Bruce Willis in that vest? I’m gripped.”

She snorts a laugh, opening her own beer and taking a deep sip, enjoying the way the coolness of the bitter liquid fizzes against her tongue.

“How’ve you been anyway? Your mum and dad not in?”

Lana swallows and pokes at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Nah, they’re out for the evening, think they could use a break since face-ache moved back in. I’ve only been back here a few days and he’s already doing my head in.”

She feels her cheeks heat up at the mention of Billy. She’d met Lana’s younger brother when he’d started at the same secondary school as them and, although he was a couple of years below them, she’d always thought he was cute. He was tall, if a little on the lanky side, and his floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes instantly attracted her to him. She’d kept the fact that she fancied him to herself though, feeling it was inappropriate to lust after her best mate’s brother, especially a younger brother.

As the years had passed, Billy’s seemingly permanent cheeky smile had faded into a persistent look of misery. He’d done badly at school, left with failing grades and been rejected each time he’d tried to apply to join the army.

Meanwhile, Lana had flourished, leaving school with a handful of As and Bs. She’d enrolled at college, before enlisting in the army and from there her career in the police force had taken off. She’d moved away from home, had a place of her own and had made her parents proud.

Billy, on the other hand, had struggled with chronic unemployment, eventually falling in with an alt right group who had set him up for a potential terrorist attack. He’d barely escaped the explosion on Cranstead Gardens, and had never really pulled himself back together afterwards. His relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Becky, had broken down and he’d moved out of their flat and back in with his parents, where he’d been living for the last six months.

She hasn’t seen Billy since they left school, but Lana tells her all about him whenever they hang out or chat on the phone. She’s always felt strangely protective of him, where Lana and her parents have given Billy a hard time, she has opted for a softer touch, believing he just needs someone to understand him.

“You can’t be so hard on him,” she says, finger pinging against the ringpull of her can absentmindedly, “he’s been through a lot.”

Lana sighs, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s not paying any rent, never tidies up, isn’t bothering to look for work. We can’t help him, he won’t let us, doesn’t wanna help himself.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Skulking around upstairs,” Lana nods towards the staircase. “First Christmas he’s not spent at Becky’s mum’s in a long time and he’s taking it…well, I couldn’t tell you how he’s taking it, he never leaves his bloody room.”

She nods sadly, letting the topic go as they settle back into the sofa cushions as the opening credits for Die Hard begin to roll.

“I’m empty,” Lana says around twenty minutes into the film, shaking her beer can. “You want another?”

“It’s alright, I’ll go,” she tell hers, taking her empty and heading towards the kitchen, eager for a break from a film she had no interest in watching last year, let alone again this year.

She chucks the cans into the recycling bin, before opening the fridge and retrieving two more. She yelps as she closes the door, startled by Billy standing there.

“Jesus, Billy–”

“Sorry, sorry…” he mumbles apologetically, a tinge of pink dusting itself across his cheek bones, as he averts his gaze. “Wasn’t tryna scare ya, just came down to make a cuppa.”

She exhales through her nose, a smile tugging at her lips. “S’alright. How are you getting on, anyway? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” he says uncertainly, filling the kettle from the sink and then flicking it on to boil. “Guessing you heard what happened then?”

She nods, placing the cans on the side and wiping the condensation off of her hands onto her jeans. “Lana told me. I’m so sorry, Billy, I really hope you’re okay.”

He says nothing for a moment, dropping a tea bag into a mug, followed by a generous pour of milk.

Milk first. Ugh.

“It’s been hard, y’know,” he finally says, “tryna find work, but there’s fuck all out there. What are you up to these days? You’re looking well.”

The sudden shift in focus doesn’t go unnoticed by her, he’s clearly not keen to talk about himself, but she can’t help but smile at the small compliment, feeling herself grow bashful.

“Got a job at a marketing agency,” she tells him, “nothing fancy, but it pays the rent.”

She’s actually a high ranking executive, living in one of the area’s most expensive flat blocks and has a tidy sum saved away for a deposit to eventually buy a place of her own. She’s unsure of why she’s downplaying her achievements, perhaps on some level she feels she owes it to Billy to not rub her success in his face when he’s clearly having a rough time of it.

The kettle boils and Billy fills his mug, stirring the tea bag around with a spoon, before squeezing it out with his fingers, making her wince - that has to burn, but if it does it doesn’t appear to bother him. He discards the used bag on the side, before turning to her. She can see what Lana means about him not tidying up now, it would have taken two steps for him to put it in the bin, and he hasn’t bothered. The laziness almost makes her want to laugh.

“So you and Lana doing your film night then?” He asks, noisily slurping his tea, then fixing her with a soft, yet unblinking gaze.

The intensity of his baby blue eyes flusters her, and for a moment she forgets what he’s asked, feeling the same old butterflies from their school days return. She clears her throat, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the feeling.

“Y-yeah…I’m surprised you remember. You were a teenager the last time we did one of those with you here,” she smiles warmly.

He nods, keeping a hand wrapped around his mug, pushing off of the kitchen side towards her and suddenly she’s aware of just how tall he’s grown, her throat running dry as she feels the kitchen counter bite into her back as she presses herself against it.

She deflates slightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware when she’d been holding, a little disappointed when he brushes past her, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“I remember,” he says, a ghost of the lopsided smirk she loved so much from their school days playing upon his full lips, “remember what a racket you and Lana used to make pretending you weren’t pissed on that nasty blue stuff.”

She grins, her gaze dropping as she fiddles with the cuff of her jumper sleeve, thinking back to all those years ago. “Sorry, Billy,” she finally says, looking up at him, “we’ll keep it down tonight.”

“No worries, I’ll be upstairs,” he tells her. “Enjoy your film.”

“Billy?” She calls softly after him as he moves to go back upstairs.

He turns, looking at her questioningly.

“You’re looking well too, by the way.”

The dusting of pink that had appeared across his cheekbones earlier now returns in earnest and he gives a simple nod before turning and heading up the stairs.

She deposits his now cold, used teabag into the bin, then grabs hers and Lana’s beers from the side and goes back into the living room.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, her and Lana finish off Die Hard, then move onto Gremlins.

On the couple of occasions that she goes upstairs to the bathroom she can hear the sound of Billy playing Call of Duty through his closed door. She thinks about knocking to invite him down to join them, but figures if he had wanted to do that he’d have asked in the kitchen, so she leaves it.

They’re halfway through Jingle All the Way when she feels her eyelids start to grow heavy. She leans forward, placing her half drunk can on the coffee table and turns to Lana.

“I’m gonna have to push off home, babe, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Lana nods, pausing the film and sitting forward with a yawn. “Yeah, should probably get to bed myself. You gonna be alright getting home? Need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, it’s only down the road, I’ll be fine walking,” she insists as she puts her shoes and coat back on.

“Alright, well, text me when you get home, yeah?” Her friend says, pulling her into a hug.

“Course,” she smiles, hugging her back and heading towards the front door. “Have a great Christmas. See you for New Year’s.”

Lana waves her off and as the front door closes behind her, she’s about to head back down the pathway when the glowing ember of the end of a lit cigarette catches her eye.

She turns to see Billy leaning against the side of the house, smoking a roll up.

“You off?” He asks, exhaling a plume of smoke that’s made larger by the cold that clings to the puff of his breath.

“Yeah. Was good to see you, Billy,” she says, trying to ignore how her pulse races at the way the soft glow of the street lamp illuminates the sharpness of his side profile.

“I’ll give you a lift, if you want?” He offers, crushing his cigarette beneath his foot.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m only twenty minutes down the road,” she says, suddenly feeling awkward, putting her hands in her coat pocket.

“And you could be five minutes down the road if I drive,” he retorts with a smirk.

She sighs, her gaze softening. Not having to walk home in the cold would be nice, actually. “Yeah, go on then.”

Billy walks around to the front door, opens it and fishes around on the key hooks until he has the set he needs. They walk down the road until they reach a red VW Polo and he unlocks it.

“New car?” She asks nonchalantly, having expected to see his old silver Vauxhall Cavalier.

“Nah, this is mum’s. Haven’t had a car since…well…y’know.”

Since it blew up. Fuck, how could she be so thoughtless?!

“Oh god, Billy, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Do you mind just giving me a minute before you get in?”

She nods, keeping her hands in her pockets, watching as feels all around the car’s interior, checking inside the glove box and under the seats.

Checking for explosives.

He finally settles behind the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, attempting to calm his breaths.

“Honestly, Billy, I don’t mind walking…” she says quietly.

He looks up at her, as though just remembering she’s there. “No…no, it’s fine. I want to do it. It’s good for me, I have to.”

“Can I get in now?” She asks, giving Billy a reassuring smile.

He nods, and she walks around to the passenger’s side, climbing in and buckling her seatbealt.

Billy starts the car and they drive in silence for a few moments before he finally speaks.

“You must think I’m such a loser,” he mutters, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

She turns slightly in her seat, shocked by what he’s said. “I’ve never thought you were a loser. Please don’t say that.”

“I’ve got no job, no car, I live with my mum and dad, can’t even drive without needing to check I won’t fucking blow up first,” he scoffs, “don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not!” She protests. “You’ve been through so much, Billy, you need to give yourself a break.”

His lips quirk, he pulls a hand away from the steering wheel to pull at the collar of his t-shirt. “S’not just what happened though, brought it on myself dad says. I’ve always been a loser, ever since school.”

“I never thought you were,” she assures him gently, “I actually really fancied you back then.”

Billy draws in a sudden breath, glancing sideways at her as he pulls up outside of her block of flats.

How does he know where she lives? Lana must have told him.

“And now?” He asks, turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to look at her.

It feels as though all the air has left the car suddenly, as they stare at each other. She isn’t sure what possesses her, perhaps the three cans of lager she’s drunk throughout the evening, but she finds herself leaning over the centre console and pushing her lips against his.

He reciprocates, soft and unsure at first, but quickly gains confidence, his mouth moving against hers with more urgency.

She cups his face, her fingers grazing over the stubble at the corner of his jaw that he always seems to miss when shaving and she smiles into the kiss, enjoying its roughness against her fingertips.

Billy seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and she moans softly as it slides against her own.

Their pupils are wide with lust, the windows of the car fogged up when they finally part for breath, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

He strokes his large hand over the back of her head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I come up?”

She swallows thickly, not wanting to reject him, but knowing it’s not a good idea to rush things. “Not tonight, Billy, I–”

He jerks away, hurt flashing across his features, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Right, yeah, sorry, was stupid to think you’d want that…”

“No, no, it’s not that!” She says, reaching over and taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his scarred knuckles. “We’ve waited so long for this, I don’t wanna rush it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Can I text you then?”

“I’d like that,” she looks at him through hooded eyes, “let me give you my number.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Oh. Something else Lana must have given him.

“Alright then. Well, goodnight.”

She leans over and pecks him on the lips, then exits his car.

When she goes to sleep that night it’s with a smile upon her face, knowing that her childhood crush feels the same way that she does. In the back of her mind, she knows that Lana will go mad when she finds out, but that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it.

She is less than enthused when she awakens the next day realising it’s Christmas Eve and she needs to make her annual visit to her great aunt’s for room temperature sherry, mince pies and questions about why she isn’t married with children yet.

Her face lights up when she sees a text on her phone from an unknown number and realises it’s Billy.

She grins excitedly to herself, calling her great aunt and feigning a migraine, before showering and readying herself for her day with Billy.

True to his word in his text, the buzzer to her flat sounds an hour later and he is at her door a few moments later.

It’s awkward at first, as they both stand there sizing each other up, unsure of what to say or do, until he takes the initiative and steps forward to kiss her.

It all feels so easy and natural, as though it’s something they should always have been doing, and when he takes her hand in his as they walk into town she can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at how perfectly her hand slots into his.

They walk around the Christmas market together, hand in hand, drinking mulled wine. For the first time since they were at school together, she sees Billy laugh, a genuine, happy laugh. He makes jokes, a sparkle returning to his eyes and he looks so relaxed, she is finally able to see his potential again, all that he could be if he wasn’t constantly wallowing in self pity, lurking in Lana’s shadow and taking his parents’ criticisms to heart.

When he walks her home that evening, she doesn’t hesitate to invite him up. Gentle affirmations of “I had a nice time today” rapidly escalate to needy kisses as they tug at each other’s clothes. This is the Billy that she wants, and she sees no point in waiting any longer.

His large hands eagerly grasp at her hips as she pushes him down onto the sofa, straddling his lap.

They are a frenzied clash of lips, teeth and tongue, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling his head back slightly to mouth at his jaw and neck. He groans at the sensation, hips bucking up to meet hers.

When he slides down his tracksuit bottoms and boxers to free the ample hardness that has been pressing against her thigh for the last five minutes, she lifts herself, meaning to remove her tights. She gasps when his long fingers pluck at the crotch, tearing them open and pushing her knickers to the side.

His digits swipe through the wetness of her folds and she shudders against him. “You on the pill?” He asks gruffly.

She nods in affirmation, a whine escaping her as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, slowly pressing into her.

The sounds he makes against her ear as he thrusts up into her are lewd, but with every grunt and breathy moan she clenches around him. This is a purely carnal act of desire, fulfilling years’ worth of pent up animalistic need. There will be plenty of time for gentle lovemaking, but right now she just needs to feel him, and judging by the way slams her down to meet each quick thrust, jaw slack and brow furrowed, she is certain he feels the same way.

The throbbing of him inside of her, as he spills deep within her, drives her over the edge and she peaks with a strangled cry, tightening around him in quick successive pulses.

They remain like that for a long while afterwards, resting against each other on the sofa, in the darkness of her living room.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, you’ve got no idea,” he whispers eventually, once his breathing has returned to normal.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“I wanna stay, but–”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Billy, it’s alright. You should get home before your mum gives you an earful.”

They pull unsteadily apart, adjusting their clothes, and she walks him to the door.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” she smiles before kissing him softly, “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“You an’ all,” he murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug and then walking away.

Christmas Day is uneventful. Presents and a roast at her parents’, followed by an afternoon of board games and films.

She gets a happy Christmas text from Lana, and smiles when she gets one from Billy too - the first he’s ever sent her.

By the time Boxing Day rolls around, she’s already thoroughly fed up with her family and eager to be back in her own space. She grins when her phone buzzes with a message from Billy.

She pulls out her phone, thinking carefully about what to send to her best friend, before typing a message.

She arrives at Billy and Lana’s parents’ house an hour later and is given a warm welcome by everyone. It’s strange not being able to interact properly with Billy, considering how close they’ve become so quickly over the last few days, however, he carries himself with a confidence she’s never seen him have in front of his family before.

He stands a little straighter, actually bothers to make eye contact when he talks to people. It spreads a warmth within her chest to see him no longer looking so downtrodden and defeatist, she can no longer sense the anger that used to simmer just below the surface like she used to be able to.

His eyes find hers whenever no one’s looking and she can’t help the smiles that she directs his way.

The leftovers have been dished up and they’ve been sitting around the TV for an hour when she goes upstairs to use the bathroom.

Noticing Billy’s bedroom door ajar on her way back downstairs, she can’t resist a peek inside. She’d never dared go in when she’d come to see Lana when they were younger. She pushes the door fully open, nose wrinkling at the rumpled bed sheets and assortment of dirty socks and boxers that litter the floor, but smiles as she casts her eye over the Oasis poster on the wall and the acoustic guitar that leans against the chest of drawers.

She twiddles absentmindedly with the PS4 controller, when a box that’s been shoved haphazardly beneath the bed catches her eye. She drags it out, pulling out a scrapbook that sits on the top.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her blood feeling as though it runs ice cold as she flips through it. It’s filled with old school photos of her, plus newer pictures that have clearly been printed off from her social media accounts.

Rummaging further into the box she pulls out items she’d assumed she’d either lost or that Lana had borrowed on the occasions she’d stayed over - there are scrunchies, old lip balms, even a pair of her underwear. Disgust causes bile to rise in her throat, a mixture of fear and disbelief quickly spreads its way through her body.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Billy’s voice says quietly from the doorway, causing her to gasp as she looks up in fright. “Doesn’t matter now though, don’t need that shit anymore, not now I’ve got the real thing.”

“Billy,” she pleads, her voice shaking, “what is all this?”

“I’ve always wanted you, never thought you’d feel the same though. She looked like you, y’know,” he tells her, stepping closer and shutting the door behind him.

“Who?” Tendrils of icy fear spread to her belly, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, yet she stays rooted to her spot on the bed.

“Becky,” he says simply, “she was the spit of you. Only reason I went out with her, to be honest. I was gutted when she ended things, but she doesn’t matter now. Don’t need some cheap knock off, not when I have you.”

“Please, Billy, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, tears pricking her eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Job hunting, the bomb, none of it matters because I’ve got you.”

“Listen to yourself, this isn’t you,” she pleads, backing up on the bed away from him as he towers over her.

“You’ve seen how much better I am with you, you can’t take that away. I need you. And I make you feel good too. Look, you just need a reminder.”

He looms over her on the mattress, his hand darting between her legs and she whimpers.

“Billy, no, please…”

She wants to scream, to cry out and make him stop, but the thought of attracting the attention of Lana and her parents and them coming up here and seeing all of this is more than she can stand. So she lays there, lets Billy slide his hand up her skirt and into her underwear, hating the way her body responds to his trust.

“See?” He murmurs again the shell of her ear. “Only I can make you feel like this. Everything is gonna go my way now that you’re mine, you’ll see.”

Her vision goes watery, a combination of tears and building pleasure causing the poster on the opposite wall to blur.

She tenses as his fingers work her quickly towards her climax and she screws her eyes shut, shuddering with a quiet whine as she falls apart.

“There you go,” he coos gently, “I’ve got you now, and I’m never letting you go.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. Billy is a man with nothing to lose. He means it. He’ll never let her go.

[qveerthe0ry]

The D-Files

Summary: Something weird happens when Dieter tries to post his X-Files fanfiction Word Count: 14,941 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fox Mulder x Dana Scully Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: threesome, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, rimming, d/s undertones, poor explanation of time travel and quantum physics, it's a little cracky tbh Beta: the one and only @for-a-longlongtime obviously A/N: listen. I have ten episodes left of the whole series so if something is totally off and not accurate to x files canon just ignore me :) Also I'm absolutely aware of how completely ridiculous this fic is but I heard the voice of Dieter Bravo speak to me and could not ignore it Ao3 link

Curled up under at least three blankets, in just his underwear, stoned out of his mind (just weed— he’s California sober now) Dieter watches Mulder and Scully shake hands for the first time. 

The first time for them. 

He’s had to have seen this episode at least a thousand times by now. 

He’s in one of those funks again. His therapist calls it a depressive episode, but that’s so dramatic. He’s just a little bit down in the dumps thinking about how worthless he is and how no one’s ever really loved him before, not even his own parents, and how he hates himself so much he’s not sure if he would ever get rid of the guilt of letting someone else love him because he knows he’d just be a waste of their time.

It’s no big deal. Nothing an X-Files rewatch, weed, and a footlong Subway sandwich can’t fix.

Except this time, the way Scully and Mulder instantly mesh so well kind of makes him feel like he smoked too much pot. His stomach’s a little queasy as he watches him give her his undivided attention, and fuck, maybe this is a job above these FBI agents’ pay grade. 

He eyes that stupid notebook on his nightstand, still wrapped in plastic from the Amazon order. 

His therapist told him to start writing his thoughts down in a journal. He doesn’t like writing. It’s not what he does. He can’t stand those actors who think just because they’ve starred in a few movies means they should start writing them, or scrawling down some convoluted, conceited novel. Just fucking act, y’know? 

But as Scully throws herself into Mulder’s arms after knowing him for only a few days, and they both look so comfortable, Dieter rips open the packaging and swallows down the bile threatening his esophagus.

—

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here. What should I even write down in this thing? How lonely I am? Get in line, right? I’m not the only one. Even though sometimes it feels like I am.

Maybe it feels so bad because I know I did this to myself. Everyone always told me I’d always be a piece of shit. Even when I was young. And I just let their narrative take over and now here I am. The biggest piece of shit. 

It’s like Mulder. Everyone always called him Spooky and said he was too ‘out there’ and he ended up in the basement chasing Bigfoot. 

Except I don’t have a hot redhead in my life to balance me out or slowly fall in love with me.

And I’m not a tall, boyishly handsome, charming FBI agent. 

I’m just a washed-up actor, and a slob, and a drug addict. That’s probably why.

Golly gee, doc, this sure made me feel better.

—

He writes in his journal a bit here and there. He also slowly rots away in his bed, takes far too little showers and far too many THC gummies. He talks to his therapist two weeks later and tells her he’s been writing down his thoughts and her impressed hum and “That’s very good, Dieter” has him riding a high the rest of the afternoon. 

So he keeps it up. 

He doesn’t leave the house much, and when he does, he just wants to get back into his permanently affixed blanket fort to watch more X-Files and get high. 

He writes a little about his day, about what he’s mulling over in his mind. But as he reaches the end of season two, he’s out of his funk enough to start feeling horny again. 

Who wouldn’t, watching the world’s hottest FBI agents on a near constant loop?

So who can blame him when his journal thoughts get a little spicy?

—

God, Mulder’s such an idiot sometimes. So is Scully. They waste so much time getting on each others’ nerves. This entire show is just years-long foreplay. I swear they get off on irritating each other.

I irritate so many people, why aren’t any of them ever turned on about it? 

They should have just let them kiss in the first season. There could have been so much sex. All the motel rooms these two wasted! On the government’s dime, too! 

Rental car sex, alleyway sex, OFFICE sex. The Sex Files. That’s what this show should have been. 

I wonder if Mulder’s better at eating ass or pussy. I just know he’s freaky with all the porn and phone sex hotlines. And the auto erotic asphyxiation thing, can’t forget about that. I’d choke the shit out of him if he wanted that. With my hand or my cock, his choice. 

I wonder if Scully is freaky, too? I think she’d deny it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was filthy kinky. She always has to be in control. I wonder if she’d be like that in bed, too? I wonder if she’d get off on torturing me and making me beg. Or maybe she’s always so in control that she wants to relinquish all of it when she’s in bed.

—

Dieter remembers that fanfiction exists shortly after that. 

His dick is raw and he hasn’t even made it through half of the explicit entries on archive of our own. But everything’s so… Vanilla. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s a total sucker for tender, missionary love-making. But where’s the experimentation? Where’s the creativity? And why the hell does everyone think Fox Mulder is such a dom?

Just look at him.

He’s pathetic. Scully could have him begging on his knees with nothing but the snap of her finger and one of her sexy, stern glances. Maybe he’s projecting a little bit, but not much.

He gripes to his therapist about this while he avoids the topic of his greatest fear being dying without ever having a meaningful relationship in his whole life.

“Have you ever thought about writing your own fanfiction?”

And no, he truly never has. It seems like something so far away from appropriate given his profession. But then again, when has he ever been totally professional?

So he starts writing. At first he finds himself falling into the popular tropes— love confessions and sweet, romantic first times. Just little blurbs in his journal he ends up scrawling out with his pen. There’s enough of that already. He needs to explore the fun stuff with these two.

One night/early morning, he finally grabs his laptop from his rarely-used office. He snuggles up under all the blankets he can find, turns on The X-Files, and gets down to business. 

—

“I’m sorry Scully—”

“Don’t.”

Her icy blue stare pins Mulder in place. His pouty lips close and his sharp jaw clenches as he looks down at his feet.

“You almost got us killed!”

“I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, you know that.”

Scully doesn’t know what comes over her, but she crosses what little distance is between them to grab the back of Mulder’s hair and tug.

His jaw drops and as hard as he tries, he can’t stifle the whimper that slips from his lip. 

“You were reckless with your own life. You can’t— Do you know what I would do if anything ever happened to you?”

Scully’s sharp gaze softens. Tears prickle at Mulder’s eyes, partly from Scully’s death grip and partly because of the way her voice wavers. 

“Scully—”

“Get on your knees.”

——

Dieter fights the heavy, sharp arousal in his gut as he writes Mulder on his knees for Scully. He just knows he’d eat pussy like a champ, what with those sunflower seeds he’s always got between those pillowy lips. He’d be great at sucking cock, too. Dieter thinks they would look so fucking pretty around his own dick.

Or Scully’s strap. 

Perfect.

He stays awake for way too long, writing about Scully trapping Mulder between her thighs for hours, and then making him choke or her strap, and then making him beg and whimper and cry for it as she teases his prostate with her fingers. 

Scully’s so dainty, but the idea of her fucking into her big, tall partner with fury has Dieter leaking into his boxers as he types away. It takes all of Dieter’s willpower to write the sweet aftercare scene. Scully gently cleans up his cum and sweat and tears, telling him what a good boy he was as she pets his hair and kisses his face. 

As soon as Dieter writes the last words, he’s fumbling for his lube and dildo in the bedside drawer. He’s too worked up to prepare properly, and it burns, and he hears Scully’s disappointed tuts in his head as he fucks himself into a mess. 

He whines her name, and Mulder’s name, as filthy images of the two fill his head. 

He comes without even touching his dick. He makes an absolute mess of his sheets and just grinds into the puddle beneath him as he fucks himself through the aftershocks. 

And if he cries a little bit at the thought of two beautiful FBI agents telling him how good he was as they stroke his sweaty skin, that’s between him and his open laptop. 

—

“Do you think I should post my fanfiction?”

His therapist’s perfectly shaped eyebrows perk up. 

“Do you think you should post it?”

“I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird? An actor writing fanfiction about characters his peers portrayed?”

His therapist hums. He knows that’s his cue to keep talking, but they just sit in silence for a bit. 

“Do you want to post it?” She asks. 

He huffs. 

“I don’t know. What if everyone hates it?”

She shrugs and nods at him to continue.

“I’m afraid no one’s gonna read it. Or if they do, they’ll hate it. And leave mean comments.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

She hums again. Dieter rolls his eyes, half at her but half at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m a walking contradiction. I crave praise but I’m too afraid to put myself out there to receive any.”

“That’s not necessarily true. You’re an actor. It’s your job to put yourself out there and be consumed and reviewed.”

“Yeah but that’s not me, it’s just the guy they tell me to play.”

His therapist smiles. 

Shit. 

“I think you know what you need to do, Dieter.”

He does leave that therapy session crying, thirty minutes later. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. 

It takes him six days to work up enough courage to even make an account. And then another two days to pour over every single word he wrote, change it, change it back, wash rinse and repeat. 

When he finally works up the nerve to post it, his laptop dies just as he’s about to press the publish button. 

You gotta be kidding me, he thinks, maybe this is a sign.

But then he thinks about what his therapist would say, that things that are worth it rarely come easy, and that he should probably stop assuming everything is a sign, and so he plugs his laptop in and waits for it to charge enough to come back to life. 

It’s the longest four minutes of his life. 

He stares at the black screen in silence. He blinks at his reflection as he listens to the storm brewing outside his window, only flinching slightly as lightning illuminates his dark room. 

His heart leaps up into his throat when the screen lights up again. Everything’s right where he left it. All he has to do is press that little button. 

He takes one, two, three deep breaths with his finger on the trigger and then—

CRACK

—

Everything hurts. Like, bad.

Dieter groans and tries to blink his eyes open. It’s bright. He’s no stranger to waking up in an unfamiliar place with a terrible headache and no recollection of how or why he’s there. However, he hasn’t touched a party drug in a year and a half, and hasn’t even been to a party for even longer than that. 

He finally blinks away the sleep in his eyes. He’s on the cold ground. The grass is plush and dewy under him. When he sits up, the world spins around him for a few moments and he just barely keeps his stomach from emptying. 

He checks his pockets. At least he has his phone on him. No wallet, though. And he’s in his pajamas, which is fine, not unusual attire for most of his outings. 

He goes to unlock his phone but of course it’s dead. 

Shit. 

He looks around a bit more and all this scenery does not look like Los Angeles. There are hills in the distance that are much more rolling than the jagged peaks in California. The smell of campfire fills the air and it’s humid, he realizes. Stiflingly so. 

He stands up. His joints ache even more than they usually do, stiff and popping. When he runs his hand through his hair he’s got wicked bed head. 

At least he can make out a dirt path amongst the grass and trees around him. He follows it for a while, and just as he thinks he might be wandering to his own death out in the boonies he sees a little shack in the clearing just by what seems to be a lake. 

It looks… Strangely familiar, despite the fact that he’s certain he’s never been here before. There’s a sign that reads “Bait & Tackle” that’s seen better days and a big giant inflatable… something tied down to the roof. 

He scratches his head as he stares. He has the feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue, but it’s on the tip of his brain instead. 

As he approaches, a high-pitched growl startles him out of his daze. His eyes frantically search for the source, and as he walks closer he spots it.

A tiny little yappy Pomeranian, tan and fluffy. 

It hits him all at once. 

He gasps and moves toward the fiesty little thing as his heart pounds. There’s no way…

It snarls and yaps at him as he crouches down to greet it— him. 

Once he starts giving the dog butt pats and head scratches, it warms up to him pretty quickly. He searches for the dog tag hiding under all that fur and gasps as he reads it.

QUEEQUEG

“Oh my god, Queequeg, I thought I’d never see you again, buddy.”

The pup wags his tail at the sound of his name and Dieter goes down on his knees to accept him into his lap. 

“How are you real? What’s happening?”

Tears well at Dieter’s eyes as he holds this fictional dog in his arms, who’s been dead since season 3. Sue him, he’s very confused and vulnerable and it was the most devastating death of the series by far.

As he pets the derpy little thing, he tries to wrap his head around everything that’s going on. Last he remembers, he was holding his breath and clicking the mouse pad and now he’s here, in the middle of nowhere Georgia if he remembers his X-Files trivia correctly. 

Which means this sweet little pup is going to die in this… episode? And if he’s in the episode, that means—

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my dog!”

Dieter’s heart pounds, heavy and fast, like he’s done way too much coke. He looks up with wide eyes and it’s unmistakable, her bright red hair and sexy scowl and the lanky handsome man attached to her hip. 

“Scully?”

Dieter watches her face twist up in confusion, and watches Mulder’s eyebrows raise with a smirk on his face as he looks between him and his partner. 

“You know this guy, Scully?”

She squints at Dieter as they walk closer. He feels very warm under her gaze. He pets Queequeg’s head for comfort.

“No, I don’t. What’s your name?”

Dieter clears his throat. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

Mulder presses his lips together, trying to hide his amused smile as he nudges Scully’s side. 

“Should I?”

“Wait… what year is it?”

Scully’s face turns from annoyed to concerned. She kneels down in front of Dieter and looks into his eyes, and her gaze is too heavy, it spears right through him. 

“It’s 1995. Are you concussed?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean— Maybe. Probably, to be honest. It’s 1995?”

“Has been for five months, now,” Mulder supplies. 

Dieter nods. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“I think so… listen. You guys aren’t gonna believe this— well, Mulder might believe it— But I’m from the future.”

Scully’s concerned gaze turns right back to annoyed very quickly, and she stands back up to cross her arms. 

Mulder just chuckles. 

“How do you know our names?” He asks.

Dieter feels a little weird on the ground while they’re staring down at him, in a horny way, so he gently places Queequeg back on the gravel to stand up himself.

“Would you believe it if I said I’m from an alternate reality where you guys are the main characters in a cult classic sci-fi television series?”

Mulder blinks at him. Dieter shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly? That’s more believable than the time travel.”

Dieter smirks. 

“That’s such a Scully thing to say.”

“That is such a Scully thing to say,” Mulder agrees. 

“Oh my god.”

“I can prove it! I swear. C’mon, let’s get this little guy safe and sound in your cabin and I’ll prove everything.”

Mulder shrugs, and gives Scully one of his looks, the c’mon, let’s see where this goes look that Dieter’s so used to seeing. 

She just scoffs.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this. People are dying left and right, you’re on a wild sea-monster chase, and half the town is—”

“Wait, Scully, look at this guy. He’s going to tell you another body’s been found in the lake. Well— half of a body.”

They all turn to the man running up from the docks, and sure enough, it plays out almost exactly how Dieter remembers from the episode. Scully’s very focused on the legs floating in the lake, but Mulder keeps eyeing him in a way that makes him wish he was wearing something more than just flimsy pajama pants. 

“Scully…” Mulder mumbles as they walk back toward their car, “I think we should hear him out.”

“Hear him out!? We should be shoving him in handcuffs, he’s the only suspect we have that isn’t mythical.”

“I’d be into that, actually,” Dieter says, holding his hands out toward them, wrists pressed together. 

Scully grimaces and Mulder smirks but he drapes an arm around her shoulder in a way that seems suspiciously protective. 

“There’s not enough evidence to cuff him, but we can at least keep him close and see what else we can get out of him.” 

“Mulder—”

“If anything, he can just dogsit for us.”

The way they’re talking about him like he’s not even there makes the tips of his ears burn.

“I’d love to dogsit! I miss Queequeg.”

“What do you mean you miss him? He’s right here.”

Dieter winces. 

“Actually that’s a big plot point in this episode,” Dieter whispers.

They stop at the car and Scully glares at him, and Mulder looks a little bit like he’s just brought a stray dog home without her permission. Dieter kinda likes it.

“You never told us your name,” Scully grills.

“Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

Mulder huffs. 

“What kind of name is Dieter Bravo? Do you do adult films?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Fox?”

The way the giggle bubbles up out of Scully’s chest makes him preen. 

“Alright. Where do you live, Dieter?”

He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“Los Angeles.”

“Oh brother,” Scully grumbles. 

“How did you get here then?”

“Y’know, it’s the weirdest thing. I was writing a fanfiction about the two of you and when I went to post it, I think lightning struck my house and sent me here.”

The two agents stare at him in silence for so long that Dieter has the time to question every single moment that has led up to this. He determines that this is all his therapist’s fault when Mulder finally clears his throat. 

“You can bunk with me until we get everything sorted out, alright?”

Dieter straightens up and salutes him.

“Yes, sir, Agent Mulder.”

Scully rolls her eyes and turns to open the car door for him, but Mulder smirks.

“I think I kinda like this guy, Scully.”

——

Mulder’s nice enough to let him shower and lend him spare clothes that aren’t caked in mud and grass stains, once they’re back at the cabin. He cleans up in silence trying to wrap his head around this entire pickle he’s in, and how to go about making them believe him.

He’s got his work cut out with Scully, he knows this. But he works over every bit of information he can remember from each season, each episode, to remember something that couldn’t be denied. 

They’re doing their Scully and Mulder thing when he comes out with damp hair and Mulder’s clothes on. (He definitely had to will away a half-chub at the thought of being wrapped in his things.) 

They sit around the small living room with photos and paperwork all sprawled out and Dieter feels like geeking out a little bit. This is like the world’s greatest and most interactive X-Files museum. 

“Okay. I’m going to try to do this in the best way I know how. Just— Bear with me.”

They sit back in their seats, and Dieter lifts Queequeg onto his lap to take his place on the couch. He waits for them to give him a go-ahead, but neither of them are responsive. He tries not to feel so aroused by their focused gazes. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower, as a precaution.

“Okay then… let’s see… this is Season 3, Episode… 22? So. You guys just went through the whole Skinner thing, right? With his— his bad dreams lady killing that prostitute?”

“How do you know Skinner?”

“I told you, it’s a TV show. Skinner’s always busting your balls. Big tough assistant director business. He’s actually just a softy though, I think.”

Scully looks disinterested and a little annoyed, but Mulder’s starting to shift forward in his seat.

“What’s the show called?”

“The X-Files.”

Scully snorts. 

“How creative.”

“Okay, okay, I know. It sounds whacky. But I’ve seen the show a billion times over, I’ve been unknowingly preparing for this moment since the pilot aired.”

He takes a moment to determine what to say and how to word it before he continues.

“Okay… Well… Your first case together was that weird kid in Oregon that kept helping aliens abduct his classmates. Scully conveniently missed the UFO though. Ever the skeptic. Then… let’s see… Deep Throat turns up in the next episode. Scully, he ended up dying in your arms and his last words were trust no one.”

“Mulder, we’ve been bugged for 90 percent of the time we’ve known each other, this doesn’t mean anything.”

Dieter huffs and Mulder shrugs. 

“Keep going. Give us a deep cut, man. You gotta try harder than that.”

“When did you become the skeptic, Mulder?” 

The agent shrugs and raises his eyebrows to urge him to continue. 

“Okay… Scully, when you were at your god son’s birthday party, you told your friend that Mulder is a jerk.”

“Hey, what the hell, Scully?”

“No, I said he was just—”

“Obsessed with his work, yeah. After you called him a jerk though.”

Dieter hates to see the way Mulder’s eyebrows draw up in the middle. It’s kind of funny to see Scully so embarrassed, though. He figures he’ll keep what else she said to himself, about him being cute, because it looks like she’s praying that he doesn’t blab about it.

“You wound me, Scully.”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the time you shot Mulder in the shoulder.”

“You’re kind of a bully, y’know?”

Scully shoves at his shoulder to prove their point, and Mulder just laughs and leans into it. 

“Do you want to know what happens in the future? Wait, if I affect the future will the show be different? I dunno how I feel about that… new X-Files episodes in 2024 would be incredible. But what if the new episodes suck, though?”

“2024? That’s what year you’re going with?” 

Dieter nods. 

“It kinda sucks. We have smartphones and streaming services and stuff but also, you wouldn’t believe who the last president was if I told you. Also there was a global pandemic. Still kinda is one, but everyone’s just ignoring it. Actually, come to think of it, you guys would thrive in 2024.”

“Do we die before then?”

“Oh, no, no, the show just finished. And then came back and then— it’s a whole thing. But neither of you die.”

“Hmm.”

Mulder hums, and Dieter knows exactly what he’s thinking. Scully too, by the faraway look on her face. Total idiots. Why couldn’t he have landed at least after the first kiss. Or even the almost-kiss?

“Well, I’m tired, and this case isn’t going to solve itself. And Queequeg needs to go potty, so, I think we’re done here.”

Dieter’s whole body feels hot, like the time he was stabbed in the chest with that epi-pen. He shoots up off the couch so fast that Queequeg yelps and hops down to cower behind Scully’s ankles.

“Wait! It’s an alligator. Literally. It’s just an ordinary alligator killing these people. And if you let Queequeg walk into the woods he’s going to get eaten and if there’s one single thing you believe me about it has to be this, okay? For Queequeg’s sake.”

Dieter’s got his hands clasped in front of him, pleading. Scully looks startled and Mulder looks awed, but he’s desperate to drive this point home. 

“…Okay. I’ll keep him close. Thank you.”

They think he’s crazy. Scully does, at least. Mulder’s just quiet, uncharacteristically so. 

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” she sighs, grabbing Queequeg’s leash and hooking him up, “goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight Scully.”

Dieter sighs and sits back down. 

“She thinks I’m insane, doesn’t she?” 

“Welcome to the club.”

Dieter chuckles and looks to Mulder. He’s still got that pensive look on his face. It suits him, all brooding with that fucking jawline and those plush lips and sad eyes. He wants to kiss him so bad. He almost says it out loud, so used to his horny musings while watching this guy on TV that his filter is a little out of whack. 

Dieter doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Mulder tilts his head at him, confused. He opens his mouth and takes a breath but the door ripping open cuts him off. 

“Mulder, there’s something in the woods; Dieter was right. I think we should check it out.”

Mulder jumps up at her beck and call and seeing it in person is even more overwhelming, how he follows her without question and trusts her, so eagerly. 

“Queequeg?”

“He’s here, can you watch him?”

Dieter nods.

“Me? Yeah, yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

He doesn’t miss the amused look on her face just before the door slams shut behind them. 

He lies on the couch with Queequeg on his chest, enjoying the silence after the… everythingness of his day. He really wishes he could smoke some pot, but even if he could get his hands on some, he’s sure it would be weak as hell. And there’s the FBI agent thing. 

Dieter’s not sure how long he’s been staring at nothing and snuggling Queequeg when the cabin door finally opens again. 

“Did you catch the alligator?”

The eerie silence he’s met with makes him whip his head around. Scully and Mulder are staring at him. He’s pretty sure 80 percent of his X-Files fantasies have started exactly like this. 

“… We did. We caught it just in time to save Ted Bertram.”

“That’s the guy with the lake monster feet, right?”

They both nod slowly. 

Queequeg hops down from his perch on Dieter’s chest, so he sits up. 

“I told you. You guys believe me now?”

He watches as Mulder nods his head yes and Scully shakes her head no. All he can do is shrug and start wondering what’s next for him, in the year of 1995.

“Hey, do you guys need an assistant? I could tell you how to solve the next case! I think it’s the one with the mind control cable. Mulder, are you really red-green color blind? I think that was a major plot hole. How do you tell the difference between human blood and alien blood if one is red and one is green, then?”

“Mulder’s not colorblind,” Scully says. 

“Uhh… Actually, yeah. I am.”

“What? How did you pass the color vision test?”

“I’m colorblind, not an idiot. I can still tell them apart, they just look different to me than they would to you.”

“I— I can’t believe you’ve been colorblind this entire time.” 

Mulder shrugs. Then his brow quirks up.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. It might mess with the space-time continuum and— quantum physics, you know?”

Scully’s clearly had enough. She sighs and finally kicks off her shoes. 

“I’m grabbing a shower and clearing my head,” she says, “don’t— don’t let him out of your sight for now, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and half smiles at her. They both look pretty tired. He wants to remind them that he’s the one who traveled 29 years into the past today, but it seems like a pretty sore subject. 

They stand still and silent in the living room until Scully closes her bedroom door behind her, Queequeg in tow.

“You heard the woman. There’s a TV in my room.”

Mulder nods toward the other bedroom door and Dieter follows dutifully.

“Does it get the good channels?”

He hears Mulder chuckle and watches from behind as he sheds his jacket. He admires all those lean muscles in his back, now that he’s not wearing one of those god awful baggy suits. Maybe he should suggest a tailor, he thinks, and wonders if the later seasons would be filled with more eye candy if he did. 

“You know about that?”

“All the video tapes that aren’t yours? And the hotline lady that leaves messages on your answering machine? Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what porn is like in thirty years. You’re gonna love it.”

Dieter’s torn between looking away and staring shamelessly while Mulder unbuttons his fly. He settles for nonchalant, hoping his eyes don’t pop out of their sockets like a cartoon character when he notices the outline of Little Mulder. This is even better than the gray sweatpants in the Humbug episode. 

“I was hoping to kick the habit in thirty years’ time, actually.”

Dieter shrugs and his staring contest with Mulder’s crotch ends abruptly as he slides into a pair of pajama pants. Which is weird, because usually Mulder sleeps in his underwear. Must be the fact that he’s sharing a cabin with Scully.

Mulder throws Dieter the remote and settles onto the bed. There’s no couch in here, not even a cuck chair, so Dieter settles next to him. His whole body burns. God, if 20-year-old Dieter could see himself now, he’d ruin the pants he was wearing. 

The silence feels a little awkward, so he turns the TV on. Nineties TV is so simple. It’s easy to settle on a channel playing Invasion of the Body Snatchers and sink into the mattress under him. 

It only takes a few moments before he realizes Mulder’s staring holes into the side of his face. 

“What’s up?” Dieter asks. 

There’s so little room between them it’s making Dieter’s entire body throb along with his pulse. 

“You’re telling the truth.”

Dieter nods and tries to give him a reassuring smile. Mulder sighs and throws his head back onto the pillow. His eyes close and his brows furrow and his jaw does that sexy clenching thing again. It’s all Dieter can do to not bite at it and soothe the sting with his tongue. 

“What happens to us?”

Dieter clears his throat.

“I mean— I know, you shouldn’t affect the future, yadda yadda. I just…”

Fuck it, Dieter thinks, if I’ve already solved the case way before the episode is supposed to end, I’ve thrown everything off anyway.

“You end up together.”

Mulder lets out a big, long breath. His face instantly relaxes. His hands flex by his sides and Dieter goes out on a big giant limb and grabs one of them.

Mulder starts at the touch, but lets it happen. 

“When?”

“Way later than you should have shacked up, in my opinion.”

He grumbles. 

“My opinion, too.”

“You should make a move, then. I’m pretty sure at this point she’s only waiting for you to make a move.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s a whole thing involving a shapeshifting guy with a tail. Trust me. She’s got it just as bad.”

They’re still holding hands. Mulder hasn’t moved a muscle. An idea so bright pops into Dieter’s head that he’s certain there’s a lightbulb floating above him. 

“You know when you met Bambi on that cockroach case?”

Mulder nods. 

“She was so jealous. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“I— I thought so. But I also thought she was just annoyed with me, y’know, how she usually is.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“She was annoyed because she’s into you, dude. It was envy. Very, very clearly.”

He hums. 

“So? What now? Do I apologize for something that happened months ago? You apparently know Scully as well as I do, how do you think that’ll blow over? ‘Hey, sorry I made you jealous because you have a big fat crush on me.’ She’d deck me.”

Dieter shakes his head. 

“No, man. You need to make her jealous. So jealous she can’t deny why she’s upset with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I mean, why not just start right now, y’know? Get a head start on the whole thing. I mean, you’re here, I’m here, there’s only one bed…”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming onto me.”

“I would love to come on you, actually.”

Mulder laughs, and Dieter deflates a little at the sound. But when he goes to pull his hand away, Mulder cinches it in his own. 

“Dieter…”

“Mulder.”

“We’re doing this, then?”

Dieter nods like an overexcited puppy wagging its tail. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fox Mulder in his prime, how fucking lucky can one guy be?

Mulder glances at the door to make sure it’s open. The faint sound of running water can be heard from Scully’s room, and he thinks he smells her shampoo wafting out with the steam. 

Like two nervous teenagers, they shift to face one another. Dieter brings their joined hands together on his own hip. Mulder’s palm is warm on his skin where his shirt rides high, and it makes Dieter’s breath hitch. 

Slowly, Dieter urges him to keep his hand still with a squeeze before mirroring Mulder’s, creeping his hand under his shirt and feeling his solid, trim waist.

Mulder hums into his touch and Dieter realizes this man is possibly just as touch-starved as he is. He starts swirling circles into his skin with his thumb and inches forward, but those beautiful hazel eyes hold apprehension in their timid gaze.

“What if this blows up in my face?” Mulder whispers.

“It won’t. I guarantee it. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me?”

A soft grin tugs at Mulder’s lips and he nods, and it’s all the permission Dieter needs.

Christ, his lips are soft. Soft and plush and exactly how Dieter imagined only a million times better. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good, not on any drug, and they’re just kissing. 

It’s chaste until he feels Mulder’s tongue prod at the seam of his lips and then it’s filthy. As soon as Dieter opens his mouth to him, Mulder takes it with a grunt. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh at Dieter’s hip as he traces the arch of his bottom teeth. Dieter tries to keep up, but his brain constantly shorts out at the thought of who’s tongue is poking and prodding around in his mouth. 

He’s a great fucking kisser. His tongue tickles the roof of Dieter’s mouth and it makes him shiver, makes his cock swell against his borrowed sweatpants, against Mulder. 

He doesn’t seem deterred. Quite the opposite actually. He tugs Dieter by the hip and presses his own solid prick right up against Dieter’s, and they both groan into the sloppy kiss. 

“It’s been quite a while,” Mulder says. 

Dieter can’t tell if the huffed little laugh is directed toward the eager way he chases Mulder’s lips, or toward himself for being out of practice. He likes the thought of either. 

“For me, too,” Dieter mumbles. 

Mulder hums and rolls his hips. As their dicks press together and twitch, Dieter decides they are not naked enough by any means. 

He presses his hand up, up, bringing Mulder’s shirt with it and grabbing a handful of his sturdy pec, admiring how stiff it feels under his palm when his lungs inflate. He gets with the program, and Dieter pulls his own shirt over his head, then promptly salivates over all the lean muscles and wiry hair and pale skin in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It’s not until Mulder’s breath hitches does he realize he might actually be into this, not just their plan, but being here in bed with Dieter. His pretty hazel eyes are dark now, pupils blown out, and his chest is heaving, and the tent in his pajama pants is far too enticing to resist. 

Dieter reaches down to cup him through the flannel material and Mulder gasps and falls flat onto his back. His eyes close and his jaw hangs open like an invitation. Dieter wiggles and shifts to press up against the length of his side and to finally press his face into the crook of his neck. 

The hint of aftershave that’s been teasing him all day is now overwhelming his senses, sharp and spicy. Dieter is delighted to know that his skin tastes just as delicious as it smells, salty and heady under his tongue. Mulder’s prick throbs in his grasp and Dieter’s torn between wanting to tease him over his pants and feel the hot skin of his cock in his palm. 

“Feels good,” Mulder whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Dieter nips at his racing pulse first, then down to his jaw and the impressive five o’clock shadow he’s always been jealous and in awe of. The prickly hairs there tickle his tongue and lips, and he grinds into the outside of Mulder’s thigh for a bit of relief. 

“You think about Scully doing this?” 

The way Mulder’s dick jolts in his grasp is answer enough, but he speaks up anyway. 

“Yes.”

The admission is so hot it makes Dieter’s brain spin. He himself has thought of it many times before, Scully torturing him with teasing touches, her little sharp canines digging into his flesh, but the thought of Mulder thinking of it too… 

All those heated glances Dieter’s mulled over, he wonders how many of those were fueled by Mulder’s dirty thoughts about her. Wonders how many times he’s seen a flash of something in Mulder’s gaze and it’s been him fantasizing about getting Scully in bed. 

Dieter huffs against the heated skin of Mulder’s neck before he pulls back. His head his thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s fucking gorgeous. He lightens his touch, teases the underside of his cock with one fingertip, and delights in the pleasure scrawled across Mulder’s face. 

“How often?”

Mulder’s gravelly chuckle is cut off by a low groan when Dieter presses against his sac over his pajamas. 

“All the time,” he confesses, “every time.”

“In the office?”

Mulder whimpers and nods his head. 

“On the job, in the field?”

“God yes.”

Dieter hums, squeezes his balls to goad him into continuing.

“When she— when she’s so serious, it’s hot. She’s so smart, it turns me on.”

Dieter smirks. He completely sympathizes.

“You like it when she debunks you?”

Mulder whines and nods his head again. Dieter tries his hardest not to react to the sound of the water shutting off across the cabin, or Scully’s door creaking open. Instead, he shoves his hand down Mulder’s pants and hopes to god he keeps his eyes closed, hopes Scully’s ever present need to call out his name is tampered down when she inevitably hears him talking. 

Mulder gasps and raises his hips into the circle of Dieter’s hand, and his brows furrow as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

“Why?”

Mulder moans. 

“Because she— she balances me out. Makes me feel even. Whole.”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Aww, does she complete you, Foxy?” 

He scoffs but bites his lip when Dieter thumbs at his head and spreads his slick, sticky pre-cum all around. 

“Tell me what you think about, Mulder.”

His breathing is so ragged that Dieter thinks he should maybe be concerned. But he can tell things are about to come to a head, can hear Scully’s little footsteps inching closer to their room, pointedly quiet. 

“Her, I think about her body against mine. And touching her.”

As if on cue, fiery red hair peeks through the door frame. Dieter’s got his free hand up and a finger at his lips before Scully’s face can even twist up in concern and shock. He gives her a pleading look as she stands stock-still and wide-eyed. 

“Where would you touch Scully, if she was here?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere she wants me to. I just wanna make her feel good.”

Dieter turns his head back to Mulder to confirm that his eyes are still closed. They are, positively scrunched shut as sweat threatens to penetrate his brows and slip into his eyes.

“Do you wanna taste her?” 

Mulder’s breath hitches and his cock pulses and dribbles more against Dieter’s hand. 

“Yes, yes, so bad. I think about it every time I— every time I touch myself.”

Dieter turns back to Scully. Her hair is damp and her silky pajama top is unbuttoned more than it was just a moment ago. It just barely hides her heaving chest and he has a hard time not giving her away when he realizes his plan is working. Her lips are parted and wet, like she’s licked them, and god he really fucking hopes they don’t kick him out once this all comes to a head. 

“You do?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mulder nods, “I could spend the rest of my life down there and die happy.”

Dieter chuckles then, and Mulder does too, but he opens his eyes. It takes him just a second to blink and adjust but, ever the vigilant one, his eyes jolt toward the now closed bedroom door and Scully standing in front of it. His body goes stiff and still, aside from his prick, which twitches wildly in Dieter’s grasp. 

Mulder’s voice cracks amusingly around Scully’s name. She crosses her arms and lifts one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she shuffles to the foot of the bed. 

“Boys.”

Dieter smiles sheepishly at her. Mulder’s staring and gaping like a fish out of water, all tense now, one elbow on the bed so he can prop himself up. Dieter doesn’t miss the way Scully’s eyes trace over his naked torso or the activity going on at the front of Mulder’s pajamas. 

“Is it true, Mulder?”

He’s nodding his head before she can even finish the question. 

“Yeah, Scully. I—” 

He cuts himself off when Dieter squeezes and strokes him, and Scully’s gaze is locked on the movement.

“It certainly feels like the truth,” Dieter supplies. 

Mulder whimpers under him and Dieter swears he sees Scully’s ears perk up at the sound, like some kind of predator. 

“Mulder, c’mere.”

God, the way he follows so readily, like he always does, it warms Dieter’s heart just as much as it makes his dick throb. He kneels on the edge of the bed right in front of her. His cock is protruding obscenely out in front of him, but Scully doesn’t seem to care about that. 

No, she’s focused on his face instead where it’s settled gently between her dainty hands. God, the way they look at each other is so fucking intoxicating. Dieter’s bound by it, physically stuck on the mattress as he watches. 

Her brows furrow slightly as she looks at him, but Mulder’s face is slack, almost dazed as he meets her eyes. 

“What did he tell you, Mulder?” 

Mulder shifts awkwardly from knee to knee. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and she giggles under her breath. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Dieter laughs, and god, it’s so fucking weird. It’s like he’s watching a director’s cut. 

Mulder sighs, though. 

“We end up together, Scully. You and me. And I— I believe it. I believed it long before this guy showed up, and it… Out of everything I believe, everything I’ve been working toward… it might be the only belief I have that keeps me going.”

Scully’s gaze grows soft as his confession, and Dieter refrains from squealing in delight at how sweet Mulder sounds and how Mulder it all is.

“Why now, then?”

Mulder huffs and tries to turn away, but she keeps his face tight in her grasp. His cheeks are so pink. 

“Just worked up the guts, I guess.”

Dieter doesn’t miss the quick flicker of Scully’s eyes down to his lips. His fingers twitch with the urge to smash their faces together. 

She sighs and brushes some errant strands of hair from Mulder’s forehead. 

“Well,” she says, and her voice wavers with a heavy breath, “I’m glad one of us did.”

Mulder visibly melts. His shoulders slump and he leans forward into her touch. His face loses all of that tension from earlier, and his lips look loose when Scully’s own finally brushes against them. 

He’s so gentle with her, in a way he definitely wasn’t with Dieter. His hands are nearly hovering over her with how lightly he places them on her waist. His lips stay slack and still as he lets her control the kiss. The only thing giving him away is the comical bobbing of his prick disrupting the front of his pajamas, and there’s no way Dieter can blame him for that. 

One of Scully’s hands tangles in Mulder’s hair and produces a beautiful, high pitched sound that Dieter and Scully both react to. 

She pulls away. Mulder chases her lips, but her grip on his hair tightens. He curses under his breath with a face more flushed than Dieter’s ever seen on him.

Her eyes flicker over to Dieter and he feels like a deer in headlights. Why is he still here? Is this weird, is he being a creep for staying? 

“C’mere,” she mumbles, tipping her head to urge him to kneel right beside Mulder on the bed. 

He does, of course he does. He wants to be good for her, for them.

He kneels, shoulder to shoulder with the man panting beside him. He grasps his hands behind his back and waits patiently as she looks the both of them over. 

“What did I walk in on, Dieter?”

The way his name sounds coming from her low, rasping voice makes his spine tingle. 

“It was my idea, Agent Scully. I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue and the noise makes his cock throb. 

“And you went along with this plan?”

She looks back to Mulder and Dieter shivers. He instantly misses the warmth of her gaze. 

“I— yeah. I did... It worked, didn’t it?”

Scully’s eyes narrow, and Dieter can’t tell if Mulder’s an idiot or a genius for riling her up. He should have known Fox Mulder would be a brat. He thinks if he plays his cards right, maybe Scully will forget the whole plot and he can be her good boy while Mulder gets punished for his smart mouth. 

A whimper falling from Mulder’s parted lips knocks him out of his daze and he notices Scully’s grip all tight in his floppy hair. 

Fuck, he wishes that were him. Maybe he should mouth off too, maybe then he’ll get the attention that he craves. 

“Get on your knees, Mulder.”

“I am on my knees.”

Dieter gasps as Scully tugs on his hair and leaves him no choice but to scramble off of the edge of the bed, lest she rip all that perfectly coiffed hair out of his head. His shoulders rise and fall with baited breath when he’s finally sunken his knees on the gaudy rug on the hardwood floors. Dieter whimpers and no one’s even touching him. 

“You too, time bandit.”

Dieter gets whiplash with how quickly he gets on his knees for her. He breathes out a labored ‘yes ma’am’ and Mulder throws him a look of disbelief. He shrugs, what can I say?

They’re both rock hard for her, on the floor, staring up at her. She looks like an angel, or the devil, or maybe like God herself. Her breathing is suspiciously calm compared to their own, even though her nipples create tantalizing nubs at the front of her silk pajamas. 

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you.”

Dieter nods at her commanding voice. He wants to look to Mulder for— direction? Comfort? Some kind of trauma bonding? But he doesn’t. He wants to be good. 

He hears Scully behind them, bed creaking under her weight, sheets ruffling underneath her. There’s a pregnant pause where all of their heavy breathing can be heard and the anticipation is so much Dieter might explode on the spot. 

“Strip.”

Twin breaths release from both Dieter and Mulder and he swears he hears her giggle behind them. He’s quick to comply, tugging at the drawstring of Mulder’s sweats he’s borrowed and awkwardly shuffling them off while he tries to stay kneeling. 

He notices Mulder still motionless beside him. 

“Scully…”

Idiot, Dieter thinks. 

“Good boy, Dieter, doing exactly what I say.”

He can’t help the satisfied smirk that twists his lips up, or the way the back of his neck burns at the praise. In his peripheral, Mulder hastily shucks his pajama pants. 

He has a pretty cock. Dieter knew he would. Everything else about him is pretty. It’s long and lean, just like he is, and the upward curve of it makes him jealous. It’s going to feel so good for Scully, if she lets him fuck her. 

There’s more shuffling behind them, and he flinches when a pair of satin pajama pants land on the floor in front of both of them. He has to dig his nails into his thighs to resist the urge to turn around. Something nudges his arm. He doesn’t dare move his head, but from the corner of his eye he sees a pale, smooth leg and his breath catches in his chest. 

He hears Mulder curse under his breath and can nearly feel the tension in him vibrating out energy into this rickety old cabin. Dieter feels a gentle hand in the short curls at the back of his neck just a moment later, her nails scraping his scalp just right, and his leg may just start shaking like a dog’s.

“You want to taste me, Mulder?”

“Fuck yes, Scully, please.”

She hums. Her hand in Dieter’s hair stills. 

“Go on, then.”

A lightning flash of movement stirs beside him, but Dieter keeps dutifully still. He’s twitching in anticipation but he doesn’t dare turn to look. 

Scully sighs, all breathy and high-pitched, and Dieter’s never heard a more beautiful sound. Then Mulder whimpers, and it’s muffled by Scully’s thighs, and there’s a wet smacking noise and Dieter thinks this obscene music could be a platinum album. 

Scully gasps, and Mulder groans, and Dieter aches. He can smell her, a sharp and tangy scent of arousal underneath the flowery soap and shampoo. Her hand is still in his hair and it hasn’t moved since Mulder got down to business and he feels forgotten about but in the best way.

“Dieter, honey, you can watch.”

He breathes out with relief and shifts to get a good look of the action. She’s perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking. Her silky pajama top hangs open on her pointy shoulders and her perky breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Her nipples are a brownish pink that stand erect in a way that makes his mouth water like a leaky faucet.

Her toned, porcelain legs spread wide enough to accommodate Mulder’s shoulders. The man is greedy, and Dieter can’t see a thing aside from the triangle of copper curls on her mound. He wants to nuzzle them so bad, he wants to feel them tickle his nose, smell the arousal that catches there. 

“You taste so good.”

Mulder’s words are squished against her center. Dieter whimpers at the thought of her flavor. Her hand soothes through his hair. He wants to touch his cock so badly, but Scully hasn’t told him that he’s allowed. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. 

Scully moans, and Dieter watches her face fall slack with pleasure. 

“Feels good, just like that.”

Dieter can’t help the sounds that eke out of him, desperate and a little pained. He’s so hard that he’s lightheaded, but Scully’s firm grip on his hair grounds him just enough. 

“Don’t be selfish, Mulder.”

He makes a questioning noise between her legs. He looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth open, tongue out and flat against her slit. 

“Give him a taste.”

“Oh fuck, please.”

Dieter can see the reluctance in Mulder’s motions, like he’s struggling to break free from her orbit. He looks so fucking hot, absolutely wrecked. His plush lips are red and shiny and his chin is dripping and his pupils completely usurp his irises. Drunk, drugged off of Scully.

He leans away from Dieter to make room between her legs but she tugs his hair. Then she tugs Dieter’s hair, and their noses are bumping together before either man can put two and two together. 

He can smell her on his breath. It’s so intoxicating that he loses any crumb of decorum he may have had left. He licks a broad swipe from Mulder’s chin to his Cupid’s bow and groans at all the slick he’s able to lap up. 

Mulder’s mouth opens up to him, and he chases the taste of her off of his tongue, his teeth, his gums, anywhere. They’re both panting into each other's mouths, exchanging breath. Dieter feels a big, strong hand on his jaw and neck, and the contrast to Scully’s smaller, gentler touch has him leaking all over the rug underneath him. He feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to go even deeper, like even death won’t be enough. 

He waits for Scully to say anything about Mulder touching him. When she doesn’t, he takes it as permission to reach up and find purchase in his hair. His fingers tingle when they find Scully’s still there, and his whole body shudders and twitches when she links her fingers with his. 

“You want more?” 

It’s depraved, the way they both pull away from the kiss so fast. Dieter’s nodding and looking toward her, her glistening cunt, her smooth skin and her mischievous gaze. 

“Please, Scully,” Mulder mumbles. 

His head lolls back against Scully’s thigh so he can look up at her. He looks like he’s just run a marathon, the way sweat is beading at his forehead and his chest is heaving. 

“Yes, please, Agent Scully.”

She chuckles. The sound is torture and it’s bliss. She ruffles Dieter’s hair and he hums and leans into it. Mulder whimpers at the lack of attention, so she ruffles his too. 

And then she spreads her thighs even wider, like, gymnast levels of flexibility, and both of their eyes are drawn to the way her lips spread open in invitation, puffy red, her clit all swollen while she drips onto the old comforter under her.

“Think you can share?”

Dieter curses. Mulder whimpers against her thigh.

“Play nice, boys.”

Mulder looks at him with a heated gaze that makes him a little bit scared but really really horny.

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says, but he’s staring at Mulder. 

Be good, he’s trying to tell him through telepathy, we’ll get rewarded if you’re just good.

Mulder glances up at her, bats his pretty little eyes, and licks his slick lips. 

“Yes ma’am.”

It sounds more teasing than anything, but Dieter doesn’t miss the way she squirms when Mulder says it. He just has that effect, doesn’t he? Such a charming little shit. 

He and Dieter look at each other, assessing, when Mulder finally goes low. It’s a little bit awkward, at first. Dieter’s jaw prods at Mulder’s sharp cheekbone as they find a good position. 

He traces around her clit with a pointed tongue, delicately, so eager to work her up. He can hear Mulder’s tongue fucking in and out of her, a wet cacophony of sounds that make his ears ring. So much so that he nearly doesn’t catch the sounds of Scully’s breath hitching, her soft little mewls as her hips cant up into their faces. 

He’s hyper focused on her pleasure, so lost in it that he doesn’t even recognize how turned on he is until a heavy, warm hand wraps around his cock and he nearly blows his load. His tongue presses broadly against Scully’s clit when he groans. She curses and her hand tightens in his hair and it’s so much. 

He reaches out for anything, really, but Mulder’s cock is there, hard and proud and twitching when he wraps his hand around him. He finds solace in the fact that he’s leaking just as much as Dieter is, sticky and slick all the way down the underside of his shaft. His noises get breathier, and his tongue seeks higher ground just as Dieter’s travels lower. They lap at her folds together, briefly, trapping them between their tongues, trading their tastes as she whines above them. Dieter doesn’t even realize his free hand has grasped Scully’s slender hip until she squirms against it. 

All of a sudden, Dieter feels her go stiff under his grasp. Her hand tightens in his hair just shy of enough to make him lose it. She lets out stuttered little sounds and Mulder hums below him. 

“You like that, Scully?”

“Oh my god, Mulder.”

He groans and shifts and she begs and Dieter’s aroused haze clears enough to make him realize that he’s eating her ass. 

He makes a pained sound himself and sucks Scully’s throbbing clit into his mouth. She shakes, and her stiff body loosens just enough for her to roll her hips into them. 

“Don’t— don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna come.”

Neither of them would dream of stopping, not for anything. Dieter works his tongue in pulses against her clit as he suckles, and he feels Mulder slip a finger in between them just as she cries out, loud, and falls apart against their tongues. 

Dieter drinks up the way her clit jerks and pulses between his lips. He drinks up her gasps and breathy noises. He drinks up the way Mulder’s cock mirrors his own, twitching with pure arousal at the way she’s coming just for them.

They’re both humming satisfied sounds as they work her through it. Their hands on each other’s cocks have stilled completely, just a loose grasp as they coax every last bit of pleasure out of her until she’s lax and shying away from them. 

Dieter pulls away first. He watches with a sticky feeling in his chest at the way Mulder kisses her holes gently, and the skin around them, nuzzling between her thighs so tenderly. Both his hands free, now, Mulder soothes them up the outside of her thighs as they tremble in her aftershocks. 

Mulder’s babbling, Dieter realizes, once the ringing in his ears finally subsides. Just under his breath, a chant, over and over.

“So perfect, Scully, thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ, Scully…”

Dieter settles back on his heels to keep gazing at them. Scully’s hands both pet through his hair as he leaves wet kisses that make her pale thighs glisten in the dim cabin lighting. He’s panting harder than she is, and his prick dribbles and twitches, and he looks up at her through misty eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs.

She bends down at the same time he arches up and their lips meet in a kiss so blindingly passionate that Dieter debates whether or not he should look away. Only for a split second though. Because Scully moans into his mouth and licks herself out of it and Dieter grabs his throbbing dick at the base to chill himself out. 

Mulder’s fingers run through her damp hair so gently, but his jaw works and his mouth takes from her in stark contrast. They look so goddamn good together, it’s insane. He’s torn between holding off to see how this plays out, or coming all over himself in three strokes or less as he watches them together. 

“Come up here, Mulder.”

Her voice is intoxicating, it sounds so fucked out and blissful. She shuffles up the bed some and Mulder chases her, always touching at some point, until she’s lying back and he’s covering her body with his own. 

He dwarfs her. It’s cute, in the show, the way she’s always looking up at him with a craned neck. Now, it’s just filthy, how Mulder’s cock looks so fucking huge lying hard against her small frame. The way he has to scrunch himself up to kiss her so his prick doesn’t go anywhere it’s not supposed to, yet. The way her tiny feet rub up and down Mulder’s calves, only half their size. 

The way his hand eclipses her face when he cradles it and pulls away. How his thumb sweeps so easily from her lips to her cheekbone as he sighs. 

“Scully…”

She hums and closes her eyes and smiles, a sated and relieved grin that makes her look so serenely beautiful. 

“I know, Mulder,” she sighs, “me too.”

Dieter huffs. Chris Carter himself couldn’t have created a more Mulder and Scully-esque love confession. It’s precious. He might cry. 

Unfortunately, the sound makes them both look over. Scully’s all relaxed but Mulder’s hackles are all raised, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Dieter slowly moves his hand away from his leaking cock and feels himself blush from his face down to his nipples. 

He’s caught in their crosshairs, stuck, eerily still and silent. Should he offer to leave? He really doesn’t want to leave. Maybe he can just peek through the keyhole of the door and leave them to it. 

“You too, Dieter,” Scully says, “get up here.”

Relief floods through him and makes his limbs all tingly. He’s nervous as he stands, gently making his way to the side of the bed and settling one knee on, then the other. Mulder shifts to the opposite side of Scully, their legs still tangled, as he watches Dieter with emotion he can’t quite put a name to. 

Dieter practically purrs when he slides right into their space. His cock drags a sticky design onto Scully’s smooth thigh and he apologizes, but she just chuckles and gently scratches her nails along his scalp. 

“Are you both going to be good for me?”

The tone of her voice makes them both shiver. Mulder huffs out a laugh but Dieter gasps as she tugs a little at his messy, sweaty curls. 

“Yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

Dieter’s voice completely betrays him. He’s so turned on. There’s so much blood pumping to his cock that there’s a real and serious threat of him passing out. He hides his face in her shoulder and tries to even out his breathing and not hump her leg like an unruly dog. 

“I’ll be good for you, Scully.”

Mulder sounds a lot more in control. His deep, syrupy voice is just shy of even, only cracking on the second syllable of her name. Dieter feels the way she starts giggling before he hears it, her shoulders jostling with it. 

“You’re going to play by the rules, Mulder?”

He chuckles and it sounds dark, and Dieter opens his eyes to watch him smirk that irresistible smirk. 

“Hell, Scully, I’d write the rules over and over on the chalkboard to keep this going.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s still grinning. His eyes flicker to her lips and there’s no hesitation this time when they kiss again. It’s tame and loose, until Scully wraps her dainty hand around his cock and he groans. Dieter matches his sound, and he just can’t help it, he rolls his hips into Scully’s thigh as he watches Mulder melt into a puddle against her. She bites at his plush bottom lip before she pulls back. 

“Fuck me, then.”

“Jesus,” they both say in unison. 

Scully bites her lip to keep in her giggles and it’s cute and debauched and insane. She’s insane. She’s going to kill them both, and Dieter’s going to return to his reality with 8 less seasons of The X-Files, and a season finale where Scully gets locked up for double homicide.

Mulder shuffles to straddle her. Dieter watches his heavy eyelids flutter and his jaw hang open and knows he likely looks the same. His cock twitches heavily where it hangs below him, and Scully teases the underside of it with her fingertips. He shivers, and so does Dieter, where he rocks his hips gently into Scully’s smooth skin. 

“You’re sure, Scully?” 

Dieter turns away and hides his heated face in the duvet. It’s too tender and raw and he doesn’t deserve to watch them love each other like this. 

“Positive, Mulder.”

He hears them kissing, wet, smacking sounds that give Dieter goosebumps. And then a whimper, a huff, muffled into Scully’s mouth and he drags his face away from its hiding spot. 

Mulder’s inching inside of her slowly, so slowly, with patience Dieter couldn’t even dream of. He cranes his neck to watch her take him, inch by inch. She looks so tight, and he bets she is, if the way Mulder’s eyes are squeezed shut is any indication.

Scully’s head tips back and breaks their kiss. Her eyes roll into the back of her head before she closes them. Her chest is heaving now with shallow breaths, her nipples taut and inviting.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

Mulder’s hips stay flush once he’s all the way in and he pants too. It looks like it takes all the strength he has to just flutter his eyes open and look down at her. His brows furrow and he licks his lips and gasps. 

“Scully,” he whines. 

She smirks, and christ, Dieter knows she’s clenching around him like a menace. Poor Mulder. He’s got the restraint of a god, he thinks, Dieter wouldn’t have made it even halfway inside of her. 

She soothes him by brushing the hair from his forehead, all damp with sweat. She does the same to Dieter and he hums as her fingertips massage his scalp. 

Mulder pulls out just as slowly as he entered her. She‘s soaked. He can hear it so well in the stilted silence of the room. When he pushes back in, she sighs and tightens her fist in Dieter’s hair and he needs something. He rocks against her again, and again, and the steady friction makes him gasp. 

Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and guides him to her breast. His cock throbs, deliciously trapped between his stomach and her silky skin. His tongue tests the waters, swirling around the pronounced peak of her nipple. When she sighs and arches into it, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. 

The noises she’s making are perfect. High pitched, breathy, needy. She’s letting herself go to Dieter and Mulder and it’s gorgeous. He presses his cock against her even harder and closes his eyes and whines around the bud in his mouth. 

Mulder’s starting to pick up the pace. Dieter can tell by the way her breast is jiggling just slightly under his mouth. And the sounds, god, the filthy slick sounds coming from her cunt. He’s leaking all over her just thinking about what it must feel like, how snugly Mulder must fit inside of her, how warm it is. 

As if Mulder could read his mind, he gasps out and his hips stutter against her. 

“It’s so good, Scully.”

Scully arches her back to grind down onto him and moans his name and tells him she needs more and Dieter bites down on her tender skin. 

She jolts and tugs his hair and curses and he looks up at her as he soothes it with his tongue. 

She’s the poster girl of pleasure. Her face is twisted with it, every beautiful feature dripping with tension. The length of her neck is so apparent with her head thrown back, and her skin is pink and looks hot to the touch. She begins to bounce when Mulder fucks her faster and harder. Dieter wants to do something, anything to make her feel good. 

He replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing her flesh and teasing her nipple with his fingertips. He trails kisses up her chest, little love bites and suction until he reaches just below her ear. Her pulse is fluttering rapidly under his tongue, and she keens just as she turns her head and presses their lips together. 

They’re kissing. He’s kissing Scully. Oh god, her lips are so fucking soft against his. Her tongue ripples in his mouth and it tastes so good, minty with a hint of her arousal straight from Mulder’s lips. He whines and rolls his hips against her like he’s in heat, and he’s so close, and he wonders if she’d be mad if he came all over her warm, smooth, freshly showered skin. 

She jolts against him, against them, and bites down on Dieter’s lip with an almost pained noise. She turns away from Dieter and they both look to Mulder, who’s circling her puffy clit with his thumb as he fucks her. 

He’s looking to her for direction with a glazed expression. He looks like he’s hanging by a thread. 

“Here,” she whispers, and takes two of her fingers into her own mouth. 

Christ. The way her lips look wrapped around her two digits is sinful and debauched. Mulder must think the same, because he grabs her wrist and makes her stop. 

Dieter holds his breath as he waits for his next move. Is he going to pin her arms to the bed? Is he going to stretch them over her head and make her squirm on his cock, make her beg? 

It’s sweeter than that. Of course it is, with these two. Mulder brings her hand to his lips and kisses her palm, and then her knuckles. She sighs his name, and watches Mulder smile.

That soft, dopey smile gets an edge to it. 

“Let me, please,” he whispers. 

Dieter only gets the chance to be confused for half a second when he slips those two fingers into his own mouth. 

Scully gasps and moans and wiggles against him. Fuck, it’s beautiful. Mulder’s full lips take her all the way to the last knuckle and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks them. Scully’s hips squirm and rock and the way she moves against him is a sight. Mulder groans when Scully begins to thrust her fingers in and out, just a little, not enough to choke him but enough to make him close his eyes and sigh and start slowly fucking her again. 

They leave his mouth all wet and shiny. Mulder’s tongue tries to follow them and it makes Scully huff out a weak laugh. 

“You’re too good at that, Mulder.”

He hums, tries to hide his sheepish smile by ducking his head. But Scully grips his chin with her wet fingers to prevent it. His eyes struggle to focus on her, Dieter notices. He can’t blame him, it’s like staring into the sun. 

“Why don’t you show off to your little time traveler, huh?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart nervously from Scully to Dieter. 

“I— what?”

“Don’t be dense. Make him come. Make me come. You can multitask, can’t you?”

Dieter lies as still as the dead, afraid that if he moves maybe Mulder will snap out of this horny daze and tell him to get lost. He wouldn’t blame him one bit, either, but god he really wants to see this man’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

Scully chuckles at Mulder’s frozen stature. Or maybe she’s chuckling at the way Dieter’s heartbeat is pulsing through his dick against her thigh, dribbling all over it. 

“I bet you’re so good at it,” she continues to tease him, “with these pretty lips?” 

Mulder huffs and squirms when she rubs the pads of her wet fingers against his mouth. His tongue peeks out to taste them, coax them back inside him, but she doesn’t let him. 

“For me, Mulder?”

And Dieter can’t help but grin, because he’s never seen such a visceral loss of resolve so clearly before. Mulder closes his eyes and whines and nods his head. 

Scully makes a satisfied little noise, and her free hand sneaks down to squeeze Dieter’s slick cock, and he has to bite his own lip really hard to keep from losing it before the fun even begins. 

Then there’s some awkward repositioning and shuffling, mostly on his end. He kneels just above Scully’s head, and when he looks down she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from under his cock. He has to reach down to collect some of the pre-cum oozing out of him to keep it from dripping onto her gorgeous face, but she grabs his wrist and licks it from his fingers anyway. 

And then there’s Mulder, who’s slowly thrusting in and out of his partner like it’s second-nature, like auto-pilot, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Mulder,” Scully mumbles. 

The deep, breathy, commanding tone of her voice makes Dieter shiver. 

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Make us come. Then you can.”

He groans, and his hips stutter then slam into her. Dieter’s torn between looking at the blissed-out look on Mulder’s face or the mischievous look in Scully’s eyes. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Dieter asks. 

Like an idiot, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But how can he not? They’re so perfect, so made for each other, and he’s just some weird fucking guy. 

But then Mulder’s expression turns into something darker, determined, and he nods with glassy eyes. 

“C’mon, McFly.”

And that’s all the encouragement Dieter needs, really. He widens his knees to line his cock up with those shiny, plush lips. Mulder gives Scully one last glance before he’s craning his neck forward and closing his eyes. 

Scully and Dieter gasp at precisely the same time, just as Mulder’s tongue swipes at his frenulum. Dieter’s eyes lose focus as he watches Mulder open his mouth wider, then looks past to see Scully’s icy blue gaze fixated on everything going on above her. It’s like an erotic kaleidoscope, the way they’re all blending together in pleasure. 

He suckles on Dieter’s head, a little too hard, but he thinks it might be on purpose. He hisses and grabs Mulder’s hair in one clammy, shaking hand. His tongue works the underside of his cock as he fits more into his mouth, and Scully was right, he is way too good at this. 

Scully curses under them, and only then does Dieter notice she’s touching herself as Mulder keeps pumping into her with a shaky, stilted rhythm. 

“So good, Mulder.”

His responding moan turns into a whimper as Dieter’s prick slides across the back of his tongue and hits his throat. 

“Fuck, yeah, so good,” Dieter agrees. 

It’s more than good. It’s incredible, unbelievable. He watches Mulder’s shiny, puffy lips wrapped around him, so in awe of how gorgeous he is. His pretty eyes are closed, half concentration and half bliss as he slides in and out of Scully’s dripping cunt. 

It takes him a while to find a rhythm that works, but when he finds his groove he fucking finds it. Of course he’d be good at this, too. He fucks in and out of Scully once, twice, and then sinks his mouth down as far as he can on Dieter’s cock (all the fucking way— Jesus christ) and holds there while he pumps in and out of her some more. 

And Dieter’s so, so torn. He wants to be good for Scully, wants to challenge Mulder for her and keep up the show. He wants to hang on so she can crumble as she watches her partner taking and receiving so perfectly at the same time.

But he wants to be good for Mulder too. He wants to come in his mouth and give him the satisfaction of satisfying. He wants to let Mulder prove to Scully how good he is, let him make them both come and writhe under his skill and rapt attention. 

And it’s like Scully can sense it. With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his balls. It makes his fucking toes curl, makes him cry out her name and slam his eyes shut to stave it off. He’s being tagged teamed by the objects of some of his earliest sexual fantasies and it takes him biting his lip so hard he draws blood to keep it together. 

He realizes the noises he’s making are borderline embarrassing. He’s mewling and gasping and whimpering as she squeezes and strokes, as her fingers meet Mulder’s lips every time he takes him deep. He’s shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck Mulder’s mouth. And he’s sweating, and he hopes to god it doesn’t start to trickle down and land on Scully’s blissed-out face.

And then it doesn’t much matter, because those dainty fingers and well-kept nails travel back, across his taint, and press. 

“I can’t— I can’t, oh my god.”

Mulder hums around his cock in an echo of the noise Scully makes under him. He’s teetering on the edge, tensed up, out of his mind as Scully massages that spot and Mulder swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. 

And in sync, like they always are, in a way that takes him completely off guard but should be absolutely predictable, they unravel him. 

Mulder takes him down his throat and swallows, and the pad of one of Scully’s fingers taps his entrance, and he’s done. 

He might scream, if he’s being honest. There was never any hope for a warning, the way they ganged up to play him like a fucking fiddle. Mulder groans as the first explosive spurt of Dieter’s cum shoots down his throat. He pulls back as Dieter continues to spill with each spasm of his muscles, as he tries but fails to suck Scully’s finger up inside him. He writhes and curses and clenches Mulder’s hair a little too tight as he works through his orgasm. 

Mulder dutifully collects every last drop, extremely intent on keeping it from spilling down across Scully’s face. He is such a good boy for her. Mulder whimpers when she tells him so in her breathy, sexy way she does. His hips stutter inside of her just as Dieter slips from his swollen lips. 

He doesn’t get reprieve yet, though. Mulder’s long, lean body arches up, and his arm reaches to grab a fist full of Dieter’s hair and tug and oh, god, he might just come again.

Their lips crash together, and before Dieter can think of how metallic the taste is, Mulder’s pushing his own load into his mouth forcefully. Dieter takes it all, sucks it down and swallows as he pants against Mulder’s mouth. 

Then he thanks him, and he thanks Scully, over and over with baited breath until he collapses to the side of them, completely spent and overstimulated. 

“You did so good,” he hears Scully say. 

Only she’s not talking to him. 

She’s got both her hands on Mulder’s face. Her lips just brushing against his own as she whispers. He watches her hike her legs up to wrap around Mulder’s waist, watches Mulder sag into her so he’s plastered against her front. 

“Scully,” Mulder whines. 

“Harder, Mulder. Make me come.”

He kisses her one last time before he buries his face in her neck and obeys, pulling nearly all the way out of her before driving back in. She’s really vocal now, now that she has Mulder’s undivided attention, now that he can focus on fucking her steadily and deep and fast.

Her head is thrown back and she looks so fucking beautiful. Mulder should be looking at her, shouldn’t miss a moment of the way she looks as he’s making her fall apart. But Dieter can’t blame him, or the concentrated, almost pained look he has on his face that’s just peeking out under her chin. 

It’s crazy how she seems to be fucking him from under all his weight, but she’s doing exactly that. Her toned legs pull him into her, her hips arching to meet his, so frantic and hot. One of her hands is leaving red marks down his back and the other one is petting through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling so many gorgeous noises from him. 

Dieter couldn’t look away if he tried. His spent cock is twitching, trying it’s damndest to steal what little blood is left in his brain. He wants to help them along, maybe take Scully’s nipple into his mouth, but they’re both crushed under Mulder’s body in a way Dieter’s extremely jealous of. He could touch Mulder, could grab his pert little asscheek and squeeze. But he resigns to the sidelines instead, lets them share this intimate moment with only the intrusion of his eyes and heavy breathing. 

It’s over pretty quickly, anyway. Mulder starts babbling again, a great fucking look on him, there where he’s hidden in the pale crook of her neck. 

“Please, Scully. Come for me— I wanna make you come. I wanna be good, let me make you feel good.”

And she’s grinding her hips up as her back arches off the bed, no doubt catching her swollen clit on that enticing patch of wiry curls above his prick. She’s panting and gasping and then she’s shouting.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Mulder, oh my god! So good, good boy— I’m gonna come—”

And she does. Beautifully. She tenses up and then she shakes, convulsing under him, around him. She moans and mumbles through it, with her eyes shut tight and her cute little nose all scrunched and her mouth hanging open. 

It’s so beautiful that she outshines Mulder. Dieter barely even catches his groans, the curses under his breath as his hips stutter and grind into her. They both ride it out for a while, it’s like it’s never going to end. They writhe against each other and Mulder’s panting into her mouth as she tries her best to kiss his open lips. Their rhythm takes forever to slow, and even longer to come to a stop. 

It’s better than anything Dieter ever could have imagined. He’s already half hard again, just watching them be together, and that fact only makes him want to leave, disappear, let them play this out without some stranger in their bed. 

But christ he wants to stay and watch just as bad. 

Their eyes flutter open at the same time, and the smiles on their faces are as nauseating as they are precious. Scully looks like the cat that got the cream, and Mulder has the audacity to look sheepish. 

“I uh—” Mulder’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t pull out.”

Scully giggles. 

“I noticed.”

He huffs, and she smooths his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“I’m on the pill.”

Mulder sighs. 

“That’s— that’s good.”

Idiots, Dieter thinks. The situational irony is off the charts. His huff alerts them both, snaps them out of their little bubble to look over at him. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind. Scully gives him an amused little smirk and reaches over to pet his hair. 

“You were so good,” she muses. 

He shivers at her words and her fucked-out gaze. 

Mulder shifts on top of her, and they both gasp a little noise when he slips out of her, but they’re both focused on him. 

Mulder looks him up and down and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s about to kick him out of bed or kiss him within an inch of his life. 

He does neither, it turns out. Instead he holds the side of Dieter’s face in his big, sweaty palm and it’s so soothing that he closes his eyes and leans into it. His thumb strokes Dieter’s cheek while Scully plays with his hair and he could die happy here. 

“Yeah man, thank you. That was good— you were good.”

Dieter’s eyes open wide at that. They’re both looking at him with fondness— appreciation. His chest swells with a heavy feeling just as his eyes begin to sting. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

He just barely catches the confused looks on their faces before he hides his own, rolling over into his stomach to let his pitiful tears fall into the blanket below him. Scully ruffles his hair with a sympathetic coo and Mulder pats him on the back of his heated neck before he hears rustling and feels the bed shift. 

“Oh my god.”

Scully’s voice sounds horrified. For a quick moment, his tiny little pea brain thinks of Queequeg— is he alright, did he get out while they were occupied?

“What the hell?”

Mulder’s voice sounds much more amused. 

Confused, Dieter wipes his wet eyes in what he hopes is an inconspicuous move before he looks over his shoulder at them.

Scully and Mulder are both standing at the foot of the bed, looking equal parts mortified and puzzled. And they’re staring at Dieter’s bare ass. 

His bare ass that he now remembers is tattooed. Tattooed with Mulder and Scully’s face on each cheek, respectively. 

“Oh, ha— yeah. Maybe that could have proved it faster?”

His face feels hot. He’s had these asscheek tattoos for so long he sometimes forgets about them. He was young and drunk and high when he got them, but they still hold up. Full color portraits of his favorite FBI agents. 

“What do the words say?” Scully asks. 

Mulder takes one for the team and leans in closer to Dieter’s ass, and he wonders if his blush goes all the way to his buttcheeks. 

“Mine says the truth is out there, and yours says I want to believe.”

Dieter lets out a nervous chuckle and shifts, a little scrutinized, a little embarrassed, a little bit turned on at the way Mulder’s gaze settles over his body.

“When did you get these?”

“1998, right after the movie came out.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Two, actually.”

Scully shakes her head and looks from Mulder to Dieter’s butt, back and forth a few times. 

“I’ll give you this one, Mulder. Only because there’s no lake monster for you to boast about.”

Mulder preens, a satisfied smirk settling on his handsome face. 

“Finally,” he and Dieter say at the exact same time. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Brag about it in the morning. I’m tired— and my bed’s clean,” she throws her voice over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Dieter stays put. His ankles roll around in an attempt to hide his hesitation. He stares at the empty doorway and avoids Mulder’s lanky form. 

“You coming, Doc Brown?”

He’d be stupid not to follow like an eager pup. 

They all nestle into Scully’s bed. She’s in the middle, wrapped up in blankets, and the guys take either side of her. Dieter rests his head on her naked breast as she kisses Mulder goodnight, as Mulder’s fingers intertwine with his own over her smooth stomach. Their pillow talk lulls him to sleep and he goes to bed happy for the first time in years.

He wakes up alone, on his couch, in his own clothes, with his face smashed against his open laptop. 

A dream. It must have all been a crazy, weed and hormone induced dream. Best dream he’s ever had. He sighs, scratches his head and takes in his surroundings. 

Everything’s normal, exactly how he left it. Except, when he moves to his bedroom to mourn the loss of the day he never had, he sees a red and white trucker’s hat on his nightstand. 

Show us your bobbers

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | December 25th-31st 2023

Happy New Year everyone! May 2024 be better than 2023, and may season 7 be good to us!!!

Complete

Battle Born by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (NHL AU, Established Buddie | 11K | Teen): Buck comes down with appendicitis during the playoffs. He decides to play through it.

🔥 through tooth and claw (to where you are) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Post-S6, Hurt Buck, Getting Together | 18K | Teen): With a reverent hush, Christopher said, “Whoa, it’s so close.” And it was almost as though Buck needed to have that obvious fact pointed out to him before the vague dread of animal instinct that had been pooling in his stomach could solidify into a real, actionable fear. It’s so close. Something’s wrong. AKA: The Rabid Coyote fic

we’ve got something permanent (i mean in the way we care) by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (PWP, Breeding Kink | 7K | Explicit): Buck has baby fever and it’s Eddie’s job to give him what he wants. Kind of.

Here Where We Should Be (Kiss Me, It’s Christmas) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Christmas, Getting Together | 5K | General): It’s Christmas and Eddie decides he can’t possibly wait any longer to start kissing Buck.

well, I hate to be a bother, but it's you and there's no other by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure (Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Eddie starts dating again and learns a few things about himself. The most surprising one? He's actually ready this time. Now he just needs to get Buck on board.

in a little while (you will find some relief then) by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure (Hurt Buck | 10K | Teen): Buck gets a severe case of poison oak. He handles it about as well as you'd expect.

🔥 The Nearness of You by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Work Trip | 17K | Teen): Eddie reassured himself that he could do this. Other teams coming in were probably going to be staying at the same hotel in the same double rooms and it was very possible that none of them were going to be having sex. Or even lying awake at night thinking about it.

We Can't Succeed but We Love Trying by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (PWP, Breeding Kink | 15K | Explicit): In which Eddie has the thought that if Buck's gonna "donate" his sperm anywhere, it should be with, well. Eddie.

all it took was a backwards baseball cap by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit) : Or, the one in which Eddie loses his shit at Buck wearing a backwards baseball cap. Seriously, can this man get more attractive? Is he trying to kill Eddie?

drawstrings by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (PWP, Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Eddie helps Buck fix his drawstrings. How was he supposed to know it’d lead to him sitting in Bucks lap?

🔥 come with me, together, we can take the long way home (series) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Canon compliant | 105K | T to M):

Get me through the night; Make me feel alright (Post-S3 Finale | 11K | Mature): After an emotionally-gutting reunion with Abby, Buck turns to old coping mechanisms. Eddie helps him find a better way. In Uncertain Times, The Uncertain Rules Apply (Pre-S4 | 22K | Teen): Covid comes to LA. Eddie copes. Or doesn't. Holding out for Something More (Stuck in Reverse) (Post S4E3/Lone Star Crossover | 26K | Teen): LA is coming out of lockdown and the world is returning to some sense of normalcy. But going back to the way things were hurts more than Buck expected. While his therapist challenges him to confront what he really wants, the team takes a trip to Austin... and El Paso. so far from being free (S4E4: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance?, S4E5: Buck Begins | 46K | Teen): That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible.

carry my heart home to you by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Getting Together | 4K | Teen): After his parents join him for a therapy session, Buck starts to learn that some people are never going to be able to give you what you need. And some people are.

if you say it with your hands by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (S2 | 10K | Teen): Buck thinks it must be a habit he still hasn’t dropped from his days in the army, or maybe it comes with the territory of being a dad – but Eddie can nap pretty much anywhere. or, Eddie starts casually falling asleep against Buck, and Buck is very normal about it.

🔥 into thirty separate parts by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (S6 | 12K | Teen): “Theoretically,” says Buck, as soon as Eddie picks up the phone, “your ex writes a book about you.” There is a pregnant pause. “…Right,” Eddie decides on, finally. or, Taylor’s book comes out.

close friends (that you lowkey want to fuck, but in a totally platonic way) by rowan_wood/ @transboybuckley (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Instagram rolls out a new feature, and Buck doesn't totally understand how it works.

I'm still standing in the same place where you left me standing by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (POV Bobby, Hurt Eddie, Getting Together | 8K | Teen) Bobby deals with the ramifications of a misplaced confession

Keep My Heart Warm In Yours by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Christmas, Post-S6, Getting Together | 18K | Mature): Christopher decides that he wants to go skiing, Buck makes it happen and the cabin at the foot of the mountains turns out to be quite the romantic backdrop for their little getaway.

Hiding the Christmas Present (of You and Me) by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Christmas | 7K | General): Buck thought he was going to spend Christmas alone. His family decides to correct that assumption.

If I Fall, Can You Pull Me Up? by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Hurt Buck, Established Buddie | 7K | General): Eddie could pick Buck from a million miles away. Buck’s entire being was like one bright light in an otherwise cloudy sky. So, he was really interested to know why some stranger was wearing his boyfriend’s turnout coat and pretending to be him.

Used to Think That Lovin' Meant a Painful Chase by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Getting Together | 4K | Teen): It’d been fine when Buck had Eddie’s dick in his mouth. It wasn’t often that Buck got to see Eddie come undone but he’d been treated to a private showing and the pride he had being the one to take Eddie there was indescribable. But then things got… weird. Or maybe, it was Buck that got weird? He still wasn’t really sure where it started, to be honest.

for all the words unspoken by Maira/ @carrierofthepaperclips (Work Trip, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): "Buck." Eddie had already dropped his bag and was standing next to the bed, hands on his hips. "We've slept in the same bed before. I'm pretty sure we'll manage to do the same in this one, it's humorously large. Don't!" He held up a hand as Buck opened his mouth. His lips twitched, though, so Buck took it as a win. ... or, the one with only one bed.

underneath the tree by devirnis/ @devirnis (PWP, BDSM | 2K | Explicit): Frowning to himself in concentration, Eddie carefully folds the wrapping paper around the corner of the box. He has no idea how his mother makes this look so easy, even after she walked him through it earlier on FaceTime. Under the tree, Eddie’s present whines plaintively.

WIP

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 20K | 8/? | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 102/? | 276K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Love Ends. by rowan_wood (Exes to Lovers | 4/17 | 5K | Explicit): But what if it doesn't?

in my head by yourcatfishfriend/ @your-catfish-friend (Friends With Benefits | 8/9 | 30K | Explicit): Buck is confidently bisexual. Eddie isn't sure. Buck helps him figure it out.

Re-Read

🔥 Always, All Ways by ashavahishta/ @ashavahishta (A/B/O AU | 85K | Explicit): Buck’s the only omega in the 118. He’s got secrets, and walls a mile high. Eddie’s the alpha determined to knock them down.

[gunnrblze]

Reunion

Silly little unserious fic about the guys finding you in No Man’s Land. Had to get this sit-com bs out of my head lol.

CW: slight suggestiveness, general talk of death ‘n stuff like that.

One probably wouldn’t assume that every day during a war would be the same, unpredictability and all. But that wasn’t quite your experience, considering you did the same thing every day. Every, single, day.

You wake up, curse men for being so stupid, for starting wars and killing one another for material things…scrounge for food and water, mourn your losses around noon, work on securing a shelter again for the impending nightfall, and tend to your more physical wounds, lest you get infected and all your hard work goes down the drain.

No Man’s Land was shitty, but you’d stumbled right into the cesspool itself, somehow. Your family passing away from whatever the fuck started falling out of the sky however many years ago was shitty too. Being left behind when you should’ve died already wasn’t sunshine and rainbows either. But you couldn’t focus on that too much when every turn you made could, literally, get you killed.

Armed fuckers everywhere, you were thankful you played too much hide and seek as a kid, cause you’d surely be dead if you didn’t somehow blend in with your bland surroundings. Unable to understand what anyone was even saying -doomed with trying to be quirky in Highschool and taking French instead of Spanish like everyone else wasn’t paying off, apparently-all you could understand from these dictator puppets was sí, nada, and rojo? You weren’t too keen on trying to understand why you kept hearing about stuff being red, maybe ignorance was bliss after all.

You’re not entirely sure though, it’s hard to pick up on spoken words when the blood rushing in your ears is the only sound you can hear, second to the gunshots and explosions booming everywhere. What were you even doing at this point? Surviving just so they didn’t give you a merciless ending? Was it worth it to live like this? You didn’t know that either, but you’d be damned if you simply gave up just because the going got tough. What is it that America’s so proud of? Freedom and bravery and what not?

Navigating abandoned and destroyed land for mere survival wasn’t on your lifelong bucket list, but here you were, sweating half to death behind a chunk of some random rubble in a desolated office building.

Shoveling the scraps of food you managed to find down your sore throat, eyes that had permanently grown in the back of your head always scanning for any lone beret who could knock your head off with a single bullet.

It wasn’t peachy or anything, but the sound of a whining dog made you forget all about it.

Shoving yourself as far behind the rubble as humanly possible, backpack squishing against the wall, you prayed -or talked, something like that, whatever- to whoever may be listening, that whatever Fed dog was sniffling around wouldn’t pick up your scent.

Unfortunately, your luck seemed to dwindle these days, as a massive German shepherd decided to knock over a nearby half broken-in door.

You took that time to suck down a breath, before figuring an escape route. You had no idea where your nationalist friends loomed, so like always, you hoped that crawling from post to post would keep you hidden for long enough.

As quietly as you could on broken chunks of tile, you crawled out from behind said chunk of rubble, to an adjacent one a few feet away. The sound of footsteps and distant voices ripped through any ounce of self confidence you’d gained, and you went back to the blinding fear for a moment. White hot and, confusing? Why weren’t they speaking Spanish?

“Shouldn’t be anybody round, place is trashed, boys” a deep, older sounding voice echoed. No, no, you don’t like the sound of that at all. You hoped maybe whoever this guy was talking to would agree, but alas, it seemed there was always a voice of bigger reason.

“I dunno, dad…Riley’s picking something up I think” his friend, or son apparently, shot back.

Riley? The furry battering ram? Maybe that was good…? These guys didn’t seem to be of Federation influence, perhaps they’d hear you out at least before splattering the insides of your skull onto the grimy tile.

The little pitter patter of dog paws got closer in range, and it made all the random joint aches and pains in your body more pronounced, bones vibrating with fear once you realized you couldn’t get out of this building. The knife you pulled from your bag only shook pathetically in your hand, more of a damn fidget toy than anything you could defend yourself with at this point.

Shoved back into a near corner, you already clocked the two voices, and there had to be more ‘boys’ with them, unless of course the older voice was including their door toppling canine in that group address.

“What is it, Riley? Go get it” the second guy spoke again, his distant words sending an even bigger pang of fear through your chest. Go get it. Go get you.

Apparently, Riley’s a good boy, because moments later the dog was sneaking right in front of your makeshift hideout. Barking ensued and it made you flinch on instinct, eyes wide as you heard all sorts of footsteps jogging your way. You could only sit there, backing yourself further into the corner, crouched behind the rubble as you stared into the canines beady eyes.

No Federation symbol on his little vest, though. Not that you could really process that, before a large man with a stupid little green beanie on came into view. The rifle in his grip didn’t phase you much anymore, only the fact that he was pointing it in your vicinity and that he donned a certain look on his face did.

You didn’t have much access to mirrors these days, but you knew being stuck in this desecrated, excuse for a city left you looking rather…gross. But this wasn’t that kind of look, of course.

“What the hell?” Beanie said a little louder than you preferred. “Who are you?” He followed up with, lowering his little killing machine when he seemed to deny your presence as an immediate threat.

If that broad ass statement wasn’t enough, the near geriatric sounding man you heard first ran up right next to him, followed by a blonder man that looked a little bit younger than Beanie himself.

You didn’t respond, naturally, what the fuck do you say to three armed men and their yapping German shepherd? They stared at you like a science experiment, before dad, you presume, spoke directly.

“What are you doing here? Where’d ya come from, kid?” His voice was sharper and more harsh than you typically enjoyed, but they didn’t seem to want to turn you to dust just yet.

It appeared they clocked the way your eyes flitted from corner to corner, wall to wall and door to door, your body screaming at you to run, but paralyzed with fear, and the harsh reality that you couldn’t escape these three.

“Relax, we won’t hurt you” Beanie so kindly assisted, seeming to understand your predicament a bit more. You didn’t trust your sore throat to speak, so you gulped instead, shaking like a leaf with that hunting knife in your grip while you picked up on more voices through their radio chatter.

They weren’t Federation, thank god, but that was almost just as scary. Because you didn’t know who they were yet, and they seemed to be quite interested in figuring you out. Dressed to the nines in tactical gear, obviously soldiers with the massive guns and all. American, with the west coast lilt that didn’t actually quell your fear, just create another problem for you to solve with the little resources you had.

You didn’t like the tone of the Geriatrics voice too much, he was understandably suspicious of you as he told you to put the knife down. Your body moved on its own accord, sheathing it in your backpack as you fully came to the realization that these people decided what happened now. Beanie asked more cursory questions, arms crossed like the brutes they seemed to be, and you feebly explained you were lost.

Lost. An idiotic answer. Stranded in No Man’s Land, you were obviously out of your element, due to the simple fact you were still alive and kicking it, disheveled as you were.

You weren’t keen on giving them your name, and Blondie seemed to understand that before you went silent at the question, nudging Beanie and sending some kind of telepathic message to him.

“Dad, they’re obviously not supposed to be here, we’ll just take them back to base, get them outta here at least?” Beanie said, his own uncertainty making the empty pit in your stomach blossom. Dad seemed to agree, but gave you a side eye that your own mother couldn’t even dole out that well.

You relented more quickly than any of you thought you would, including yourself. You knew it was game over the moment Riley The Dog spotted you. They seemed to hash out a plan rather immediately, and the idea of being helped, even by strangers, did seem a bit deserving on your end.

Your creaky knees burned as you stood up, tentative and unsure about this arrangement, despite your desperate need for assistance. You weren’t deciding to go back to this ‘base’ with them, you were being led back to this base with them. Beanie explained that they’re Army, and it still didn’t quite help. You shuffled along the split flooring of your abandoned little office shelter, checking every exit again, wondering about that escape shot one more time.

Blondie clocked you again though, apparently the silent and observant type, because he nudged his old man, who swiftly turned to you, his eyes expressing an unspoken knowledge. The knowledge that you were beyond outnumbered.

“We’ll get you back to our base, get you squared away from there” he said as if it were that simple, clearly trying not to bug out at the knowledge that someone survived all this. You wanted to explain there was no where to square you off to. That you were alone, but they seemed to already know that. They didn’t ask nearly enough questions, you thought. But then again, you didn’t have much to expand on.

The three of them moved like a unit. Water flowing through oil, smooth and sure, despite your awkward presence lingering shortly behind Geriatric, his offspring nearing either side of you. Caging you in. Riley The Dog seemed to skip ahead, content with scoping things out for them first.

Apparently, three -four- isn’t quite a party yet though, because two other sets of heavy footsteps sounded outside the building, the chatter on their radios picking up more. You hadn’t really listened to what Geriatric muttered into said radio when they’d first found you, too busy trying to tame your nervous system.

But apparently they valued a buddy system.

Two men, just as large and brutish, rounded the corner as soon as the four of you walked out of that broken down door, courtesy of the shepherd that trotted off to god knows where.

They seemed both surprised and unsurprised to see you. Expecting your tagging along back to base, from what you could tell, but still unprepared to witness a living civilian in No Man’s Land.

“What’s their name?” The bald one asked, a gruff in his voice that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. That’s how you knew your brain was scrambled, finding these square ass men attractive even in the slightest, when all they were offering was a little ‘help’ during arguably the worst time of your life, was a bit insane.

But you’d gone a little insane, so maybe it was understandable.

After Geriatric stepped off to the side with Baldy and the dude in the mask, whatever that get up was about, you only heard his more hushed voice. Discussing the pertinent problem you seemed to create just by existing.

The twin towers idled next to you, sharing silent looks as they combed over your appearance. Your hair ratty and clothes dirty, covering your battered up skin well enough, some stray cuts and scrapes that you weren’t able to take nearly good enough care of made you look straight out of a survivalist horror film. Donning a suspicious blood stain on the waistband of your cargo shorts, something everyone seemed to be thankfully ignoring.

Until now, at least.

“Are you hurt?” Beanie asked with some kind of concern, motioning to your blood stained pants that’d given you away long before you could even stand up and flaunt your crooked gait.

Your blank stare made everyone fall flat for a moment, all five men standing like robots, looks being shared and eyebrows being raised. Obviously you were fucking hurt, but not enough to mention it, in your opinion.

Your mere head shake didn’t extinguish Beanie and Blondies curiosity though, but their father seemed to want to get the show on the road, so long as you could actually walk down said road.

You trudged behind the five of them, making off putting eye contact with the masked one for a moment, his eyes lighting a path of unease down your spine, whether he meant to or not.

They cut off into the woods shortly after exiting the blown-to-bits plaza you’d wandered into. Beanie seemed to be concerned with your health, asking another time if you were sure you could walk. You’d be annoyed if it weren’t for the obvious hobbling and coughing you were doing with every step.

You insisted though, what was the alternative? One of the avengers would just haul you over their shoulder until you arrived on the scene where this ‘Kick’ fucker was apparently waiting for you all?

Yes, apparently so.

“Hesh, help them, son” the Geriatric called out without even turning around. First you noticed the name that was finally given up. Hesh didn’t sound any less silly than Beanie in your head, but you were forced to digress when said man stopped and turned to you, pointing to his back.

Apparently the grimace on your face was noticeable, a smirk cracking on his lips as he slung his backpack off, handing it to Blondie whose arm was already outstretched, standing to the other side of you.

“Familiar with the piggy back ride? We’ll be walking for a while, and you’ve clearly got something wrong under that bloodstain” he added as he motioned to your stained waistband, as if his knowing look wasn’t enough.

You felt silly, felt even sillier when your knee jerk reaction was the most petulant eye roll you’d ever given. But you found yourself digressing again. The large cut on your hipbone hurt too much to keep going like this. So you stepped closer as he squatted down, and climbed on his back like a monkey.

It wasn’t really funny, nothing about the situation was, but the absurdity made you roll your eyes again, earning a smirk from Blondie who picked right back up with the trek. In any other circumstance, you’d probably feel a stir down south with the way this man held onto you. Hands cupped under the backs of your knees to hold you up, was as innocent as innocent could be.

But again, you’d gone a little off your rocker the last several months, so being chest to back with a hot sweaty soldier who carried you like you were a sack of flour almost did something to you.

The three musketeers up ahead seemed to be chatting more, Baldy with a near permanent scowl on his face as the six of you moved through this too warm thatch of forestry. The masked one was quiet as he spoke to their Ringmaster, but not as quiet as Blondie was, who hadn’t even so much as muttered anything yet.

You willfully ignored all the aches and pains in your body up until now. The reprieve of being carried piggy back took pressure off your brittled bones and squeaky ass joints. Hesh didn’t seem to sweat having your weight on his back until the terrain got a bit more hilly.

Your insistence that you could walk again on your own was shut up very quickly by a shush from grumpy dwarf up ahead, everyone stopping at once. You peeked above Hesh’s head some more, only to see a group of berets in the distance. That not so funny feeling returning to your stomach, gut wrenching and definitely ruining the more pleasant one that’d somehow bloomed.

Your head shot down on instinct, wrapping yourself more around the green giant you were hanging off of, who seemed to have the same idea, securing your legs further around his waist as he crouched down.

Everything was a bit of a blur from then on, yelling and guns going off, your last view being the sunlight shining through the tree tops before you and Hesh fell over as a unit.

Not even cognizant enough to feel the intense ache on the back of your head, fortunately. Just a hand around your scraggly wrist and another somewhere near your waist.

And that goddamned dog barking.

[oceanlipgloss]

WATERCOLOUR

ANDREALPHUS.

+ warnings: angst, mentions of blood and death.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Was this what it’s like to wash away one’s sins?

The water was warm on his skin. The sky may have been weeping blood above him, but that was just the shower. The enamel tub was dyed crimson, as though painted with watercolour. Molten garnets trickled down his pale flesh.

Soap makes foam that’s white in colour. Water is clearer than crystal. Red are the tears of his sick victims.

He couldn’t see, but she could; she watched the pure water turn a morbid hue. Ugly, turbid. She watched cherry-red get bleached into the shade of unhealthy peaches.

Water of nauseating colour.

Like watercolour it trickled down his closed lids. Tears of pale blood.

A vicious sight.

So much gore.

Starving burgundy snakes slithered with ominous slowness into the water. Were they his own hissing sins, or those of his violent destiny?

When he was a child, the world had bared its sharp teeth at him. He had so many enemies.

There are children who enjoy dipping their soiled brushes into clean water just so they can admire the way colour swirls and makes the liquid unrecognisable, changing its very identity and composition.

Despair is like that too at times, isn’t it...? Pain destroys some souls and mangles others beyond repair and recognition. The victims begin to wonder who they are, and whose mistake everything was.

Who was it that fucked up? Was it the people, fate, God? They themselves, perhaps? Each and all of those factors together?

So many questions, but no definite answer. Life’s complexity is a displeasure. Why do things have to be this way, stay mysterious forever?

Endless millennia to think about, thousands of subjects to ponder. There are those who have the time to contemplate, and those who disappear early. Maybe much too soon.

Her touch melted his skull. Soft. It was soft. With her breakable hands she tried to erase the evidence of his hatred. With her breakable hands she tried to clear the proof of his anguish.

Behind his lonely back, she radiated warmth.

The cold bathroom floor was wet with murky water under her feet.

Creamy was the scent of soap and rancid was the smell of blood as they twirled into one in the air, lacing the steam.

Everything could have made one feel queasy. Even him. He was marred, bloody.

Yet, with a swollen heart aching from heartbreak for his misery and lust for his body, she merely thought about how he was so sad and so very pretty.

He felt better, but she was only washing his hair. It’s not that important. It’s not permanent. Tomorrow he would once again think about something dark, something else.

Death can be nice sometimes.

After all, he was alone. He had no one. So had he not promised revenge, if it were not for bloodlust and justice, he would have liked to disappear, too.

+note: finally got around to finishing this WIP that's way past its expiration date. It's so old it was beginning to rot. Depressive episodes and stress normally paralyse my 'writing-brain,' but this was another one of those rare times in which that was not quite the case. I was still somewhat reluctant at certain parts, though that's pretty normal anyways—and surprisingly enough, I managed to continue writing with a sort of ease. Thank you to the torment for taking this damn WIP out of my way, I suppose.

On a side note, long before the game's ordeal I was clueless about how to continue all the 'What in "Hell" is Bad?' WIPs I had, so I scrapped 98% of them. As of now, I have one WIP for each of Leviathan and Andrealphus, but I'm stuck and still debating whether to finish them or scratch them out as well. Besides, the displays of greed and the in-game mess lowered my desire to write 'What in "Hell" is Bad?' fics to near 0. However, albeit the fact that I no longer feel compelled to do so, I guess I'll likely write if ideas visit me. Normally, it would be hard to resist writing an idea I like, of course.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜����𝙤𝙨𝙨

[definitelynotshouting]

Idk if this is Hunger AU canon or my own personal fanon but

one of the "calling cards" that the Watchers used in Evo was bedrock

bedrock is unbreakable by a player

perfect for trapping the player you're using as a Watcher incubator

and the texture looks rough af

when you get desperate you often try to do stuff to escape even if it's impossible, right

so what I'm saying is

probably one of the last things player!Grian did was tearing his hands to shreds trying to break bedrock out of sheer desperation

which makes all the passages in your fic where he's staring at his hands even more *gestures vaguely*

(idk why I typed this out in this format but it felt right so I'm going with it)

MAN OKAY THIS IS SUPER COOL i especially adore how youve connected it with the way i keep having Grian stare at his own hands???? which ftr is smth ive only just now realized i do all the time AKDBWKDJKSSJ this is JUST like the scarian jaw kisses thing HELPPPP 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 but thats such a cool thought!!! And utterly angsty i love it >:]

Its also made me realize i dont think ive ever actually told yall what did happen during that interim where Grian was captive as a Player before he died and became a Watcher, so buckle in i guess as i try to explain this one to yall (obligatory cws for captivity, parasitism, violated autonomy, body horror, and major character death discussion)

Yknow the world borders the life series has?? It was like that, but tiny. Maybe a couple chunks' worth of space to move around in. He spawned into a savannah biome and the Watchers specifically in charge of keeping an eye on him (pun intended) penned him in with the borders, implanted the specially-coded larva, and then retreated back just outside the server's barrier code to, well. To Watch.

So post Evo dragon fight the Watchers convinced Grian to join them without telling him what that entailed. They then proceeded to whisk him away to the server cluster's dev crystal, which is where the remnants of this Watcher colony made their semi-permanent home. There, held together basically only by the Watchers' ability to manipulate code, they had Grian make a brand new server.... and immediately trapped him in it.

He spent a year there slowly dying, eaten from the inside out by a parasite that was collecting his memories, copying over his stats and personality, with very limited space and resources to get by with. I know he built a tiny house out of acacia, but it never got any bigger than a starter base. He lived off of mostly bread and the meat from a few animals that spawned in with him; he primarily used stone tools, because those were what was most readily available. It was a very terrifying and lonely year, where all access to the outside world was cut off, and he was meticulously watched over to keep from dying while the larva inside him continued to grow and destroy him.

The Watchers were mostly hands-off in terms of interaction, but they did do regular check-ins to ensure the larva was alive and that there was no danger present to its host. Hostile mobs were carefully warded off, and Grian spent most of his time alternating between begging them to let him go (they never responded), trying to figure out ways to escape (it never worked), and tending to baseless chores just to keep from going out of his mind as his body grew weaker and weaker and more unstable around him.

I have a lot of feelings about this tbh, bc its just such a bleak scenario to think about-- trapped in a tiny cage with something killing you from the inside out, and your captors wont even talk to you about it properly. Being left otherwise to your own devices, with the terrible, lingering knowledge that, even if it was under duress, you still agreed to this. The fact that, after a certain point, after your questions and pleas are summarily ignored and brushed aside, you finally realize: you aren't meant to survive this. You are going to die.

A juvenile Watcher's first meal are the emotions during their host's last few moments. Grian was no exception; he cracked his way out of his own ribcage, and, without meaning to, amplified and feasted on Player!Grian's agony and terror as he died. With their memory codes finally disconnected, Grian had to watch himself through the eyes of a stranger as his terrified consciousness dissolved and his body fell apart into nothing more than loose strings of code.

Only then, still weak and flailing and helpless, was he was brought into the colony proper, in order to teach him how to be a Watcher. It wouldnt be for another few years before Grian gained the strength, control, and insight required to make his desperate escape. In total, i wanna say he spent somewhere between.... 4-6 years??? with the colony against his will. It would take another 4 for him to finally scrape together the courage to contact Mumbo and finally ask him for an invite into the Hermitcraft proper

One of these days i do plan to write that reunion, actually, which i'll add to the series as another prequel just like all the words that i forgot to say, which takes place roughly 6-8 months after Grian finally joins Hermitcraft. And if yall want to read an absolutely fantastic fic that deals with the moment Watcher!Grian was born and Player!Grian died, you should absolutely check out my friend @raichett 's fic Divergency, which ive pretty much canonized bc it REALLY hits the nail on the head for that situation.

Okay this got a lot longer than i meant it to sidhskdjej also those timeframes are a little squiggly bc i havent fully settled on where they fall on the general timeline. I wanna say Grian had been a Watcher for abt a decade by the time Mumbo got him onto Hermitcraft, though, so thats the loose timeline im working off of when i talk abt this :] anyway thanks for giving me an excuse to write this all out!!! while your idea about the bedrock isnt necessarily canon, i absolutely ADORE it and can totally see Grian just tearing up his hands while scrabbling against the world border.... utterly heartbreaking we fucking LOVE to see it. Thanks for sending in your ask!!! I always love seeing what you have to say about hunger au!!! :DDD

[particular-one]

I noticed ur request are open I just have to request something aslo had this idea for awhile now I tried my best to explain it detailed hope this ok

May I request a crossover fic fan heng x Genshin impact reader where reader based of electro archon Raiden shogun and maybe reader gets transported to astral express /honkai star rail universe and Mets the team I Aslo wanted to elaborate on raiden past and how she is very closed off perosn due to her past experiences with people and is very hard to make Friends

Until she Mets dan heng and they grow close bond and maybe helps reader try return her homeland . You know how raiden has two forms maybe her body is unstable like in honkai universe (like how in story quest for Genshin Ei (Reader) body want able to be in control due to shogun and she had battle her puppet self in like the boss fight verison in game maybe she unlocks this form in Plane of Euthymia to keep herself from the effects of erosion. So Reader created the puppet Shogun to ensure immunity from the decay of her physical body.While in the Plane of Euthymia, maybe reader loses control of herself like in her new form shogun and Dan heng and the team have to reason with her I hope this makes sense I was trying add shogun past best I can plus I desperately wanted crossover idea like this Dan heng since I adore him I hope this request is ok fill free to ask questions and I hope this request idea makes sense 💕I just adore Dan heng sm and love ur work plus raiden shogun Ei is my fav so YEY

pairing. dan heng x raiden ei!reader author’s note. i had to revisit shogun’s story quests cz it’s been a while i’ve gotten invested in the storyline of genshin but i enjoyed writing this (i hit the word limit with the text block too😭). i took a little creative liberty around the story of hsr so i hope it’s to your liking. :]

◇ — before you were recruited by the astral express, you were a lone drifter with a mysterious past. this universe was very much different than your own, so it was only natural for you to close yourself off with anything foreign — which is, pretty much everything. ◇ — it had been welt that located you in a nearby planet, but sent both march and dan heng to investigate. you were classified as an anomaly, and truthfully, welt had his suspicions about you at first — it was clear you did not belong to this world (but neither did he, hence why his curiosity was stoked. ◇ — to say that dan heng was merely intrigued by you is an understatement. he was downright mesmerized, that march kept teasing him on the way back. still, you were waaaaay harder to crack than anyone they’ve had on the express. you only agreed to stay with them because himiko had sensed that you were looking for your home, and promised to find a way to help you safely return. ◇ — despite the fact you’ve been with the astral express for a month, you seemed to just pop up with your presence undetected around the express, sometimes even scaring pom pom. since you did not have a permanent room on the express, dan heng offered to let you sleep in the archives. yet, during one night, he found you sleeping on the couch of the express instead. whenever he found you like that, he grabbed the singular blanket he had in his room and draped it over you. ◇ — among all the members, dan heng was the first one you warmed up to. you were always grateful when he seemingly checked up on you to make sure you were alright at night (though you had pretended to be asleep, you could always see him checking). you ended up trying to cook for him… but despite the rock hard bread, dan heng felt touched at the gesture. though he had a hard time swallowing after that. ◇ — somehow, you slowly started participating around the express. you returned march’s very chirpy greetings, you sometimes made the occasional remark that always turned everybody’s heads towards you and you sometimes shared a serene smile with dan heng, which .. made march envious because she wanted a smile from you too! dan heng knew how much returning back to your home meant to you and had stayed up in the archives trying to look for a way to get you back home — though he sometimes underwent a slight cognitive dissonance on helping you to get home, since he didn’t want you to leave the express this sudden. ◇ — due to your powerful nature, welt and himeko assigned you to go trailblazing with march and dan heng. you could easily demolish your enemies which march always finds cool and remarks on it every time. dan heng finds it cool as well but he isn’t as expressive as march about it. however, as you engaged in more battles and rumours of your god-like powers spread across the universe, it was only a matter of time an enemy faction took notice and decided that they wanted to take you for themselves. ◇ — the astral express fought to keep you safe from them, but amidst the struggle, dan heng protected you from a fatal blow which resulted in him getting severely injured. seeing him injured because of you drove you to guilt and made you remember the grief of losing everyone you loved to erosion. you went berserk against the enemy faction and successfully wiped them out, but you suddenly disappeared from the astral express. ◇ — when dan heng recovered, he was worried sick when himeko mentioned how you suddenly distanced yourself from the express and disappeared without a moment’s notice. he took it to the archives yet again to figure out where you might be, and not long after, he and welt surmised where you might possibly be — the planet they first found you in. ◇ — you were different than how they remembered you; since the fight, you had withdrawn back into your plane of euthymia and allowed raiden shogun to take full control of yourself outside. the astral express fought against your puppet to not only try and crack your shell again, but also to get one of their beloved members back.

“she’s so strong—!” march yelled from the back, just as dan heng deflected another hit from the shogun’s spear. he had always admired your strength; it had always been a delight to fight side by side with you, but never against you — that was for sure.

he knew this … puppet was not you. in truth, dan heng had sensed for a very long time that you were grappling with some sort of internal conflict, but he didn’t expect to be validated like this.

nor did he really expect that he would be fighting you as another you, that is.

still, dan heng had been extra careful not to land a devastating attack on you — well, puppet you. he didn’t really know how these cases work, but in the event that that was still you, he didn’t want to hurt you by accident.

that would be the last thing he had wanted to do.

every inch of his body was aching, his muscles felt like they were burning with how much dan heng was pushing them. he still hadn’t fully recovered, but he jumped right into this mission with only you your safety in mind.

“dan heng! behind you!”

he had been too tired to notice that the shogun was right behind him, sword raised up and ready to inflict an attack. dan heng could feel his body freeze up as he tried to get himself away — though, to his surprise, the shogun moved past him to unleash a lightning strike on …. the shogun?

was he that tired that he was now seeing double of you?

you — the you with the sword — looked back at him with a confused expression, before going back to engage with the other you. but the fleeting look you gave him was a look he could always recognize a mile away. “that’s y/n!”

immediately, march was by his side as he stepped outside the area where you were fighting the shogun puppet. “they’re both y/n, dan heng— but they’re fighting each other???” he shook his head. “no— the one with the sword. that’s our y/n.”

march didn’t seem all that convinced until welt nodded. “right. we have to stay out of her zone so we don’t block her line of sight.” dan heng’s hand gripped cloud piercer tightly just as he watched you jump right back into fighting the puppet.

“but we can’t just leave her alone—” march started, but welt placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “we won’t. we just have to find that opening.”

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

it was a constant back and forth. with the express supporting you at the back but never directly interfering, you were the one who directly battled the shogun. you withdrew back to your plane of euthymia in shame for endangering dan heng, so you were surprised to see him and the others here.

they care more about you than you had initially thought.

the shogun was relentless in battle — but you had instructed it to be like that. the shogun was meant to be flawless and firm; yet, here you were: battling against it for full control of yourself, and to be able to reunite with your friends.

with your newfound will, you pushed yourself to the limit to finally face your fears head on. it was time to put an end to this.

“dan heng, now!” the voice sounded like welt, but at his command, you watched as dan heng leapt in the air and into the battlefield. his cloud piercer raised just as he timed his attack on the puppet just as you unleashed another lightning strike. the impact had been enough to send you back, that dan heng immediately dropped back down to catch you in his arms.

you could see the shogun lower their spear, it’s form no longer in pristine condition as it once was. your own puppet was staring at you, its eyes glancing at dan heng, who still had you in his arms, and to the rest of the astral express. without another word, the shogun turned back and disappeared into the plane of euthymia, but not before giving you a nod.

“are you okay, y/n?! what was that? where are we?” you never thought march bombarding you with a million questions would comfort you as much as it did now, but you really did miss her, and the rest of the crew.

“you guys… came back? for me?”

dan heng helped you up, but his arm never left you. “of course we did.” he had a furrowed expression in his eyes, but they shone with the brightest concern. normally, you didn’t want anyone taking pity on you, but you simply relaxed in his arms.

they did care. he still cares.

the thought of home and eternity had always staved off the cold in your heart, but the feeling of being in dan heng’s arms had sent enveloped you in a warmth that you’ve frankly never experienced before.

you could hardly suppress your smile, and seeing dan heng return it to you made the warmth in your chest spread even further.

you could definitely get used to this.

written by carlyle (@particular-one) copyright: all content belongs to particular-one on tumblr (2023)

[lorebite]

HERO OF THE DAY | L.K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could only wonder where you went wrong with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to talk to you, Lieutenant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More training never hurt—right?”

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

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

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

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

“You really think I can make the cut?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged. “We all have our vices.”

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

“Let me see your hands.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you stop me then?

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

“You were watching me.”

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

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

“That’s enough.”

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

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

He bit his lip. “Yes, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking pathetic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please—please, Miss. I—I—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S—so rough. Mhm!” He whimpered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming with you.”

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please be careful.”

You nodded. “Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s in the interrogation room.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, (Y/N)—I was so worried.”

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

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

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

“Leon, I promise. I’m fine.”

“What the hell even happened out there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you trust me?”

He nodded. “I do. Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Leon—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this – what is all this about?”

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

“It’s nothing.” He murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can explain.”

“Then fucking explain.”

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

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

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

“No. I—I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Yes, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leon—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At last, you nodded sheepishly. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything, honey.”

“Please never cut your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Still here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right now? Probably blowing your mind.”

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

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

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

“I want you, too.” You smiled. 

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare tease me about this.” 

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

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

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

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

“See? You’re doing it right now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me.” 

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

“Alright. Point taken.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it,” he whined. 

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

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

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

“You’re unbelievable.”

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

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

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

He was already fast asleep.  

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

“Shit, shit, shit!”

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

The only thought on his mind was to find you.

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

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

“What is going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can do this—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stick close to me. Am I clear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re going in. Stay on guard.”

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

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

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

“LEON!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your panting finally slowed when you tackled the initial bout of panic but your body continued to tremble. Leon chewed his lip as he watched you; your eyes were lidded. He could see the hard movement of your chest as you heaved every breath with difficulty. This didn��t look good. He struggled to shove down his mounting terror as he stared helplessly at you, his hands still covering your wound with pressure. Warm tears began stinging the corners of his vision.

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

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

“I’m – I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“Please stop talking.” He said hoarsely.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you die on me. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have to get her.”

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

And survive they did.

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ready to go.”

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

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

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

[mikashisus]

TO MY NAME, TO THE HILLS !

SUMMARY: he showed up in your dreams like a phantom, and left your life as quick as the breeze that brought him to you. but nothing could have prepared you for the way his presence lingered even long after he was gone.

PAIRING: kaedehara kazuha x gn!witch!reader

TAGLIST! @wystiix @pixelcafe-network

warnings: angst if u rlly RLLY squint. imagery of drowning(?) + suffocating

word count: 847

notes: idk wtf possessed me while i was writing this but i kid u not i was so locked in that i literally dissociated LMAO if only i could be this locked in on schoolwork sighs. anyw uhhh i think i peaked here ngl.

heavily inspired by yaelokre and their new song 'my farewells to the fields'. i was originally gonna title this with the name of the song, but i have a kaeya fic planned with the same name so i decided not to. also this totallyyyy doesn't take place in my RSE au... smile. also it's not stated anywhere in this, but the mc is a witch :p

this is my third entry for the @/stellaronhvnters halloween event! prompts: witch + scarecrow!

The first time you met him, it was in your dreams; In a world that felt way too far out of reach, yet so close all the same. 

The sun was sitting permanently at daybreak, and the air felt thick and still around you. It was suffocating, like being stuck under a pile of potato sacks. 

You could only make out a few features of his face— white hair tied to the side with a few strands set free to frame his face, dulled red eyes as sharp as a hare’s that bore straight through you into the precious organ secured in-between your ribcage. 

His clothes were tattered and torn in some places, and a lone instrument was strapped to his back. He carried a journal with him, a cecilia pressed neatly between the pages as a bookmark of sorts. His lips were thin and pink, pulled into a small smile that was as unnerving as it was welcoming. 

The hat covering his head blocked your direct view of his face, but it was no matter. He already revealed his striking eyes to you seconds before. 

His mouth opened, his voice as soft as a whisper and as fleeting as the wind that carried his poetic words afar. A hand reached out, encompassing your vision. You felt like you were submerged underwater, watching from above as he moved and talked in slow motion. 

The movement of his lips was hard to read, but you could hear his words distinctly— like a twig cracking in a silent forest. Like an echo in a cave. 

The hand reaching towards you lifted, and your body moved with it, and now you were no longer submerged in that wispy realm of distorted voices and sounds, and you could feel your body moving on its own as he led you astray. 

You couldn’t remember his voice, not anymore, and you could barely remember why he spoke to you or what he said, but there was one thing that stuck with you— his music. 

He strummed his lute with a fierce, powerful hand. It resonated in the earth beneath your feet, hit every nerve ending in your body; from your toes to your head, and flowed throughout every vein. It whipped amongst the trees, rattled their branches and rustled their leaves. It bounced off the wind, soaring and flying into the sky like an angelic choir. 

Too stunned to move, you watched as the man entranced you, leading you further and further into this dream-like wonderment. 

The farther you walked, the further you grew from reality, and the heavier your steps became; as if you were wading through water currents that tried desperately to push you back out into sea. But you were stubborn, and you fought, eager to follow this man back to shore. 

He took your hand, and you could feel the coldness of his touch on your skin as he whisked you into a dance of beasts and horns. You hummed along with his singing, allowing him to lead you into this trance. You followed his movements and copied them. You stored the memory away in the back of your mind and felt the fabric of his clothes underneath your fingertips. 

It was smooth but prickly, like a cornstalk. The fabric of the long cape was tattered with tassels on the edges and firmly knit together like a potato sack. The cecilias tucked into his collar smelled sickly sweet, invading your senses and further dizzying your already hazy mind. 

Before you could ask his name, he was gone, and you were left by yourself in the woods. That was no dream, if the cecilia wrapped firmly in your fist was anything to go by. The Autumn breeze wafted through the trees, causing the chimes on your porch to trill a lovely sound. 

It passed over your warm skin like ice water on a fresh wound, and you found yourself shivering. That was no dream, and that man was no figment of your imagination. You picked up the crumpled piece of parchment laying by your feet, inspecting its contents. 

“We will meet again, in some corner of the world. Find me in the future.” 

So, that is what you did. 

You went searching for the man of straws and cecilias, with whom you shared a dance. The man made of the same fabrics that you had in storage in your house. The man of peculiar origin, who— now that the hazy veil was lifted from your eyes —was anything but human. 

The song he sang echoed in your head like a siren’s call, and the chimes on your porch danced with the wind. The hills in the distance sang of tales of ancients, and the forests weaved those tales into reality. 

In the future, you set out for those hills and left the forests that wove your tale in its pages. The hills jumped to life, and so did you— for you would be reunited with the man who oddly resembled the scarecrow in the storybook collecting dust on your bookshelf.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.