#or how my table has many scratches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barbieaemond · 7 months ago

Text

And I dream of a grave

Header by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs 💕💕

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.

2K notes · View notes

glossgojo · 4 months ago

Text

the starks (cregan, robb, jon) headcanons

cregan who loves to be soft with you, loves to look in your eyes and hold your hand when you’re fucking. he’ll kiss every inch of your body, tell you what he loves about you, praise you to high heavens even when his pace is making your head hit the wall. he worships you night and day.

cregan who can be mean when he needs to be, usually you’re testing him on purpose or plainly asking for him to be rougher, he’ll always prioritize your safety and make sure you know to stop him if he goes too far

cregan who treats you like royalty after, he knows he’s bigger and stronger than most men, in many ways ;) , but he’ll be at your beck and call after leaving bruises on your skin from how hard he clutched your waist to drive you down onto him when you tried running from his girth, or gripped your thighs as he kept them open till your third orgasm was running down his chin

robb who is almost always fast and rough, he rarely has time to spare so when he does get some time with you alone in his tent he’s making it quick and dirty

robb has you coming undone on his fingers first of course, bending you over the planning table and making sure you’re well prepared and dripping before he takes you. he’s rough and passionate, pulling your hair, maneuvering you to his will and of course you love it

robb who always makes sure you come first, unless you’re under the table sucking him off between meetings that is. even then he’ll try and coax you to give him a taste and prop you up on his desk as he makes you gush onto his tongue while he sits like the king he is between your legs

robb who loves you endlessly and will always listen to your desires, even if he wants nothing more than to fuck you both dumb, he’ll treasure the times he can look into your eyes and get lost in the love there

jon who always wants you, it’s his constant state of being, any sign from you that you need him he’ll jump at and give back tenfold. (the biggest service dom in the world fight with the wall). in the beginning of your relationship he would get hard from a look alone and you had to adjust to his insatiable sex drive.

jon who could eat you out for hours and would much rather drink from you than touch a drop of water ever again. who loves when you tug at his hair when he’s down on you, he’s instantly groaned into and getting firm. when you’re in pain, when you’re sad, when you’re angry, when you’re just bored, jon will want to distract you. fucking you deep and slow, fast and rough whatever you need

jon who sometimes can’t control himself, especially when he’s nearly lost his life, and he’s fucking into you and breeding you again, and again, and again until his eyes look more black than anything else and you’re crying from overstimulation. he’s lost count of how many times he’s come nevertheless how many times you have and he can’t scratch the itch that he has to have you forever.

cregan, robb, and jon who live and die by “wear whatever you want i can fight”

cregan, robb, and jon are by nature protective and possessive but they never let bleed into controlling you, they only want you to be safe and no one dares to try anything when they’re over your shoulder, intimidating any and everyone possible

cregan, robb, and jon who can smell other people on you, chalk it up to the wolf ancestry, and immediately get irritated that anyone would dare get close to you, they need you to smell like them or just yourself. it’s something primal they don’t even realize until you’re coming back smelling like rancid fruit, nothing like your usual scent or their own. they’re on you in moments, holding you close and rubbing against you like a feral wolf

oh my god i was possessed by a horny demon writing this in one fell swoop

#jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow smut #hotd smut #hotd #got imagine #got smut #got fanfiction #robb stark x reader #robb stark smut #got headcanons #hotd headcanon #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark smut #glossgojo

1K notes · View notes

dxxdhood · 1 year ago

Text

convince me

pairing: wade wilson x gn!reader

summary: deadpool forced me to write smut where the two of you act out the position you see in an,,,, ahem,,, erotic video.

tags: smut (18+), fingering, penetration, slight degradation, finger sucking, dom!wade wilson, sub!reader

wc: 1.2k

“Babe, listen, the mistake we made was going to White Castle sober.”

“Excellent defense, Mr. Wilson. You ever think about switching to a career in law?”

“Can’t, my tagline doesn’t transfer across professions. Calling yourself the Lawyer with the Mouth is like saying you’re the fanfic writer who’s horny.”

He manages to make you chuckle, as usual, even though you were supposed to still be annoyed about your frankly terrible dinner. But walking back into your apartment has you less inclined to hold grudges, somehow. It’s probably the promise of cuddling up in bed together. Either that, or it’s all the hilarious nicknacks Wade keeps dropping off in your living room. The fucked-up Pikachu plush where the eyes and cheeks are swapped is particularly getting to you.

“Wait for me in bed, alright?” you say.

“Oh?” Wade waggles his non-existent eyebrows. “Is this little cutie planning something?”

“Yeah, planning to spend an hour in the bathroom,” you shake your head and fail to hold back a smile. “Find us a good movie to watch while I’m out.”

To nobody’s surprise, you both end up on a site that starts in p and ends in hub.

“Nobody can get into that position,” your inner critic bursts out of you at the best of times.

You can feel Wade smirking from where his face is tucked into your neck, cuddling you from behind. “Well, in the words of Clue 1985,” he runs a scarred hand down your waist. “Sure, they can. Let me show you.”

He nips at your neck, kissing at the sensitive skin of your jaw. You exhale, trying to calm the burning sensation building in your gut, but you struggle to stay patient when he starts sucking a bruise into your collarbone.

“Wade!” you gasp, trying and failing to stop your body from grinding your ass against him. He responds in turn, moving closer to you, his hard cock slowly rubbing against your ass.

He flips over, now perched on top of you and caging you in, arms on either side of your head as he kisses you. Every time he deepens the kiss, makes you feel like you’ll never want to come back up for air, he fucks with you by biting at your bottom lip or scratching his teeth against your gums.

You bang your fists against the mattress a few too many times, understandably annoyed with his teasing, so Wade grips both of your wrists with one hand and holds them above you, plastering them to the headboard.

The action has you moaning into his mouth, and the bottom half of your body continues to move on its own, grinding against the air now. You feel so desperate, your face heats up thinking about how much of a mess you already are for him. Wishing he would close the new gap between your bodies, you arch your back off the bed, trying to feel more of his body against yours.

He giggles, watching you wriggle around. “Hold your horses there, cutie. We’re not even at the good part yet.”

Wade brings a hand up to your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You’re so thrown off by the sudden show of affection that you don't even process him slipping a rough finger into your mouth.

“Suck,” he commands. And something about Wade only using a single word when he’s usually so noisy has you whining as you circle his finger with your tongue.

His big brown eyes are glued to your lips, watching them worship his finger like he’s all you’ve ever wanted. Around the time you start bobbing up and down his finger, he slips it out of you and pats your cheek.

“Good baby, such a good slut for me,” he whispers as he slides your shorts and underwear off in one motion. He slicks up the finger and you with a small bottle of lube and carefully starts slipping into your entrance.

“What? Where’d you even–” you snap your gaze sideways to your bedside table, which is curiously unopened.

He taps the front pocket of his pants, “Never leave home without it.” Did he really always have that in his pocket? At the fucking White Castle?!

He talks as he fingers you, pressing against your walls casually as if he isn’t making you lose your mind. “You look impressed, babe. Tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you groan as he reaches deeper inside you, adding another finger and stretching you further.

“As you wish,” he pumps his fingers at a faster pace, gripping your hip with one hand and bringing his face to your chest so he can lick at a nipple. A spark shoots down your spine and you can feel him chuckle as your body starts to shiver.

His fingers are pounding against your insides. You can feel yourself throbbing around him, clenching and wanting more, so he adds a third finger and fucks you at a punishing pace. You bite your own lip to keep back what was going to be an embarrassing moan, but he nips at your nipple and you let out a small shout.

Just as he finally starts reaching at that spot in you that has you seeing stars, he slips his fingers out. You're going to berate him for throwing you off just as the pleasure was building, but he already has his cock placed at your entrance, so close to sliding in.

“You ready?” he whispers, and you nod so quickly you think you may have pulled a muscle.

He releases a breathy moan as he slides all the way in you, reaching right where you need him but still stubbornly not giving it to you.

“Wade, move!” you cry. He responds by smacking your ass and pulling you into his lap. You’re seated on his thighs as he throws your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he starts thrusting in and out of you. The position has you feeling so much closer to him, like he has free reign to stroke every part of you.

You grip onto his shoulders and try to interlock your ankles together to help you hold onto him as he pumps his cock into you faster. Wade moans so deep it sounds like a growl and you clench around him at the sound.

“Fuck!” he cries before kissing you, harshly making out as his hips continue to piston inside you. You can feel the vibrations of his moans against your own mouth, and it’s enough to make your muscles twitch around him again.

“Shit, Wade,” you whisper. “I’m going to–”

“Yeah, babe?” he says in between kissing you. “Go, do it. Come for me.”

You rip away from his mouth and release with a moan, your entire body burning as you quiver around his cock. He leans his head into your neck and bites down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he comes, filling you so completely you never want him to leave.

You finally come down from your orgasm and relax in his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Wade is still panting, but he keeps kissing across your face, smiling when you reciprocate and kiss his forehead.

“You’re making every thought that passes through my head sound like an ABBA song,” he whispers, eyes closed.

“That might be the closest thing to a love confession I’ve gotten out of you.”

#wade wilson smut #deadpool smut #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x gn! reader #gn reader #dom character #sub reader #deadpool x gn! reader #marvel smut #marvel #deadpool #wade wilson #smut

3K notes · View notes

byexbyez · 3 months ago

Text

love me more | leon kennedy x f!reader

pairing: re4r!leon kennedy x f!reader

summary:

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

word count: 19k

warnings: 18+ towards the end, angst, yearning, marriage of convenience but there isn't a tangible convenience, strangers to spouses dynamic, grief/mourning, depictions of depression and low self-esteem, also trauma and anxiety, family issues, kinda touch-starved leon if you squint, domestic fluff if you try hard enough, non-linear and vague timeline, mentions of canon typical violence, alcohol and cigarette consumption, p in v smut, brief alternation of POVs, ada wong mention, suicidal thoughts, minor original character, minor character death, spoilers to the hunchback of notre dame, no use of y/n

notes: meant to post this on tumblr after i was done with it but that never happened so here, have it. took me 16 months to post it here lmao. english is not my first language. you have been warned. also beware of a whole lot of mitski and hozier references. enjoy!

➵ read on ao3.

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

Me and my husband We're doing better

—Me and My Husband, Mitski

It’s quiet. It has always been that way from the start. Your husband is late, which is not unusual. You sit in the somber light coming from your living room TV. You don’t like the overhead lights, which explains the abundance of lamps around the living room and bedroom in your home. Your husband found it strange that you never turned on the actual lights but it didn’t take him long to realize that you were right. Any kind of overhead light was annoying to him now. He blamed you for his headaches at work.

No matter how many times you told him that he could turn on the overhead lights he insisted that he did not like them anymore. “I like it like this,” he had said. “You’re right, it’s cozier this way.” His head was on your knee, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. You wanted to brush his hair away from his face and maybe scratch a bit as if he was a cat. But you didn’t, you had no idea what he would react like to such an intimate gesture. You turned your gaze away from his peaceful sleeping face to the TV you had been watching on low volume before he stepped through your home’s front door.

It was a fucking joke, really. Thinking twice, three times about touching the man that you call your husband.

You hear his keys jumble from the door. He didn’t tell you what time he would be home, so you didn’t prepare anything for dinner. It’s late anyways. You consider closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch but it hasn’t been long since he told you he could tell when you were not sleeping. You thought about the number of times you pretended and he could tell. Embarrassing. Now that your secret was out, you had to greet him awkwardly.

He calls your name. “Are you asleep?” His voice very faint.

“No,” you answer while untucking your legs from under your butt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He places the keys on the keyholder. “No lights?”

You reach to your side and turn on one lamp. “I didn’t realize the sun had set.”

“It’s past eleven.” Now that the lamp was on you could see his worried eyes. His five o’clock shadow prominent. “Did you eat anything?” he asks. You can’t tell if he hopes you did or not.

The moment you see the plastic bag in his hand, you shake your head no. Honestly, you were hungry because it had been hours since you ate a bowl of cereal as dinner.

He steps over your legs instead of pushing the coffee table away to make room for himself and plops next to you on the couch. “Brought Chinese,” he says and places the food bag on your lap instead of the coffee table. “You like their fried dumplings.”

You aren’t surprised that he remembers it. He was nice like that, maybe he thinks this is the least he can do. Soon after the wedding, he realized you did not enjoy cooking. It has never been a problem, he knew his way around the kitchen and knew of really good takeout places.

“Thank you,” you say softly while leaning on the table to place the noodles and the dumplings. “Leon, did you drink?” you ask when you catch a whiff of him.

“Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.”

That explains his lax attitude. He has his arm around you across the back of the couch, he’s sitting close to you. It’s because he wants to eat, you say to yourself. And he’s a little tipsy.

“Did you have fun?” you ask when you separate your chopsticks.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he says, watching you separate his chopsticks for him. “I had a drink by myself.”

“Only one?” you chuckle.

“One or two,” He cocks his head to your direction and grabs the chopsticks from your fingers. His fingertips are warm.

Unlike you, his body always runs hot. You remember the comment he made when he held your hand and cupped one cheek, kissing you after you two had said “I do”. His breath was hot on the lower part of your face. You somehow felt him everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s really hot, why are your hands cold?” he had whispered. It was unusually hot on the day you eloped. Leon had to dab his sweat away so often.

“I’m just nervous,” you had whispered back. The hand that he was not holding was trembling, surely, he could tell.

“No need to be.” That was what he said right before your first kiss. It was more of a short peck because he was a gentleman who didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

It was easier for him to say, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about. He looked really beautiful that day and it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You felt like you were committing a crime while signing your documents that sealed the fact that you were now married to Leon Kennedy. You wonder if he felt the same, knowing this marriage was not a real one.

You didn’t lie to anyone really, so why did it feel like you did? You never told anyone you were in love. You never told anyone this was legit. You just told your sister you were married and that Leon was a good man. She had shrieked over the phone, demanded that you quit joking. The moment she was convinced that you were not, she expected pictures of him. The only picture you had of him was from the day you eloped. He had taken your cold hand and placed it on his arm. His other hand on his stomach so he didn’t look awkward. You had raised your small bouquet of baby’s breath to your torso as well. You did not look as nervous as you thought when the photo came in the mail but Leon looked more handsome than you remembered. You emailed it to your sister.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. How the hell did you bag that man??? Do you have blackmail material against him?

We met at work, you replied shortly.

I thought you worked with dudes that are old as fuck.

We don’t work together. Met through a coworker.

Maybe I should change careers. I mean how hard can it be to train as a government agent???

You looked at the multiple question marks she sent after that. I’m telling your husband.

I showed him the picture and he agrees that he’s hot lol. He also would like to have you guys over.

So you both can ask him what he sees in me?

Hey, I’m only joking. We would really like you guys to come over. I want to meet my brother-in-law.

I’ll tell him but he’s very busy.

Sooo what does he do?

Like I said, he’s an agent. Mostly confidential work.

So you can’t tell me?

I really can’t.

You know what? It’s annoying that you can’t tell me what he does but I can understand. What I can’t understand is you getting married. Out of the blue. Without telling me.

That email left a bitter taste in your mouth. She could tell that it was not real. She knew that you were not easy to love. She knew it was impossible for you to get married. That’s why you stalled her invitation for nearly two years. You hadn’t even asked Leon because you did not know how he would react. He knew you had a sister across the country and that she was older than you but never asked about her for a while. You weren’t offended at his uninterest in your life. He didn’t have any reason to be interested in you.

He did say he was an orphan, that one time.

It all made sense after that, he didn’t like to talk about families. Maybe because he wasn’t used to belong. To belong to a family. Belong to someone. Think about them because he belongs to them and they belong to him.

All things considered, you thought Leon turned out more than okay. Closed off but very kind, gentle, understanding.

He leans forward and helps you split one dumpling into two with his chopsticks. His shoulder bumps yours and stays there because he refuses to let go of the back of the couch behind you. When you pull your sleeve over your fingers, he quickly eats one whole dumpling, leaving you with the smaller one that he helped you split and covers your hand with his.

“You cold?” He looks silly when he stuffs his face full of food.

“No.”

“Your hands are cold.” He doesn’t’ say like always but it’s there in his voice.

He doesn’t mind touching you when he’s in a good mood, mostly when he’s a little intoxicated like this. Usually, he’s not a touchy person. You’re glad he’s not, it reminds you that you definitely like him more than he likes you. He needs the little nudge of alcohol to let go of his inhibitions. He didn’t touch you until you gave him the green light on your birthday. He didn’t know what to get you as a gift so he got you yellow roses and the blandest birthday card known to man.

Happy Birthday, from Leon.

“It isn’t anything special, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

But it was special, it was from him; with his emotionally constipated, probably unintended curt message. You knew deep down he had a big heart. He cared enough to stop on his way to get you these. You didn’t think much, because there were times when you didn’t need to think about this, you just reached and hugged him around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. “They smell really nice. We need to get a vase for them.”

He finally put his arms around you and you felt the stiffness of his shoulders on top of yours. It was six months into your married life.

Yellow roses. He saw you as a friend. You were okay with it, as long as it meant he was not pushing you away. You were not terrible by any means. Boring and awkward, definitely. But you made it clear to him that he could talk to you about what he wanted when he wanted. He was adamant that it went both ways. However, you genuinely don’t think anything going in your life is worth talking about. Hence, he’s the one who ends up talking most of the time.

He rubs your fingers to bring them warmth. The air of the living room feels awfully similar to that one time he surprised you and laid his head on your lap. That one time you wanted to play with his hair but didn’t. It was just like this. Quiet despite the TV’s low volume, comfortable as the light coming from the lamps was soft on the eyes, smelling of alcohol as he was a little drunk. Unsure as your hands were cold and was this what being friends meant?

Sometimes he craved the quiet. He worked and worked and worked. Voices everywhere. Danger constant. His only quiet was home, you suppose.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

“I ate cereal,” you answer him.

“Has no nutritional value whatsoever,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s just me being lazy.”

“I don’t think we have anything in the fridge, I don’t blame you.”

You both finish your food in silence, you pretend to watch the screen in front of you the whole time. You hug your knees to your chest when you’re done and he looks like he can fall asleep any minute.

“How was your day?” you ask to keep him awake. You don’t want him to sleep here and have his back and neck all sore tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his shoulder and gives you a funny look through his long lashes. “Same as always.”

You admit to yourself that you love him like this. He seems free, happy even.

You decide to be bold and tap your shoulder for him to lay his head on.

He doesn’t seem to be thinking twice as he takes your offer and nuzzles his head on your shoulder. He’s taller and bigger than you, you suppose the position he’s in right now is not comfortable for him. He reaches back around the couch and the other hand crosses his abdomen, gripping your ankle that he is closest to. His thumb draws circles there and your brain short circuits. “How was yours?”

“My day? Nothing exciting. All paperwork.”

He hums as he squeezes your ankle, his hair tickling your nose and lips.

“You really need a shower, Leon.” You make up the courage to smooth down his blonde hair that is sticking up in every direction.

He hums again. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes, mister.”

“I’m tired,” he groans but doesn’t seem tired enough as he pushes his head and messes up your balance on the couch. You have to hold on to the arm rest as he keeps nudging you with his head.

“You’ll feel gross in the morning if you don’t have a shower.”

“You have a point,” he says but does nothing to get up. Maybe it was a bad idea to offer him your shoulder and unknowingly, your ankle. He’s never acted like a kid like this before.

You get up and turn off the TV before you offer him both of your hands. “You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk. Now get up and wash yourself please.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. You headbutted me.”

He takes your hands and finally gets up. “I think I ran out of shampoo.”

“You can use mine. Brush your teeth while I go get it.” You pat his back.

There’s two bedrooms in the house, one is for guests but you’ve never had guests over since you’ve both moved into this apartment. Leon uses the “guest” room downstairs. He insisted that you take the bigger room. He’s more like a roommate than a spouse.

He’s shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth like you told him to when you knock on his bathroom door and hand him your shampoo. He reads the fragrance and opens its cap to smell it.

“Well, you smell nice so I can’t complain,” he says, toothbrush still in his mouth, dribbling toothpaste everywhere.

You love him in moments like these. This is the moment the wife reaches and kisses the husband. Well, maybe after he’s done dribbling everywhere but you know how this moment should go about. He won’t be like this in the morning. You know very well that he is going to be sober and back to normal Leon. He won’t say anything about his drunk self because he knows you won’t as well.

“Don’t fall in the shower!” you shout as you go upstairs to your room.

“I’m not that drunk!”

The next morning, he sees you making coffee in the kitchen. It hasn’t been long since your schedule got aligned with his. He wonders how the hell you managed to adjust your sleeping hours to the point now you could wake up before him. He used to wake up before you because you often had late shifts.

“Morning,” he says as he smells the delicious coffee that you’re pouring into two mugs. He yawns, scratching an itch on his arm. He did not use to have a coffee machine back when he was living alone. You had brought it with you to this house and saved him from Starbucks’ morning rush hour.

You slide one of the mugs in front of him and give him a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He blows on the coffee before he takes a sip. “Much better now.” He clears his throat, his morning voice gruff. “I was thinking… We should commute together.”

“To work?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Where else?” he snorts. “What’s surprising? Why pay more for gas when we start work at the same time?”

“Wouldn’t that be…”

“It wouldn’t interfere with anything if you think about it. It’s stupid to take both cars to the same place.”

“I might work overtime,” you say and hug yourself.

He nods into his mug and seems like he wants to say more. “Then you can take your car. You’ve just started normal hours. Why are you eager to tire yourself out so quickly?”

So that we don’t have to be awkward around each other.

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

It is what you repeat to yourself over and over again. It was convenient to have slept with him. It didn’t have to be a big deal. You were lonely. You reckon he had to be, too. Because why else would he want to have sex with you? He did not love you or anything. You could only think of one thing when his face was buried in your neck. You still had his yellow roses. You had preserved them between your book pages.

As he was panting above you, hands grasping your hips with vigor, your thighs caging him in and burning, you felt like a rose stuck between thousands of words never read aloud. Yellow all over, sticking out like a sore thumb between words printed in the smallest font size possible, suffocating. Once belonged with other flowers but now settled down in a place where people thought you’d look pretty.

You hate the color yellow as much as you hate the word convenient. If not, more.

He sees you wince. He cannot guess the reason behind it is his choice of words. “What do you say?”

He is offering, you think. He still likes you enough to ask.

“Okay.”

“Good, we need to get groceries on the way back.”

People don’t whisper much now that it’s been nearly two years since you two announced to your close work circle that you were married. There were a lot of surprised faces at first, thinking maybe Leon was joking or something. People didn’t know you very well. You were only close with Cathy.

“Perhaps we should wear rings,” said Leon once over dinner. “People don’t believe we’re married.”

“Is that a problem? What others think, I mean?”

He stared at your face while chewing, you couldn’t make out what he was thinking thanks to the dim light emanating from one of the lamps. “They think it’s a joke. Is it so bad that I want to be taken seriously for once? You wanted a wedding dress, I want a ring.”

“When do you want to get them?”

That led to you choosing matching rings with Leon. Simple gold bands. You make sure to wear them to work every day because if you don’t, you worry people will start to whisper again.

First it was, Leon’s not the type to get married, he’s taking the piss out of us, is it April fools today?

Then it turned into: Oh God, he’s serious, he says he got married last weekend.

Eloped? To whom?

He said her name but I don’t remember it, said she’s in archives now.

He’s married to an archivist? How on earth did they meet?

Probably in Donovan’s funeral, saw Hunnigan introducing them.

That wasn’t long ago!

I know, right?

You know some of them thought you had a one-night stand and got pregnant from him. The rumors subsided when that didn’t turn out to be true.

However, people were curious about why Ingrid Hunnigan would introduce an archivist to an agent. It didn’t take long for your name to become known because you had recently switched departments. You had been a systems analyst like Hunnigan, working with late Cathy Donovan. You’d switched to archives after her funeral.

People greeted you when they saw you. Leon’s wife, right?

Yes, but not really.

The first time Leon ever saw you was during agent Donovan’s funeral. He’d gotten back from Spain just a week ago. He did not know agent Donovan well but her name echoed in every corner. She was good at her job. Most of the time, nobody had an idea what she was up to.

“Leon, I want you to meet Cathy’s partner,” said Hunnigan, holding the shoulder of the woman standing next to her.

You stuck your hand out for him to shake and told him your name. It sounded disconsolate coming from your mouth, your own name. Your eyes were dazed, you kept your mouth in a thin line. You didn’t even look at him properly as if this was the hundredth occurrence today, Hunnigan introducing you to someone.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about agent Donovan.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Right, she was great,” you said, your eyes straying elsewhere. It looked like Hunnigan’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you from crumbling down. You looked so small with your shoulders hunched forward. He cringed when he saw you rip out the flesh of the side of your thumb.

Hunnigan went on about Cathy Donovan’s accomplishments to him. You continued to pick at your thumb, him watching your side profile as you kept averting your gaze from people around you. You seemed to be dissociating hard.

“These two were inseparable. I tried asking Cathy to work with me on a small mission once and she praised her so much in turn, I had to suck it up and meet this woman myself as soon as possible,” said Hunnigan heatedly. “I’m such a big fan of Cathy’s, you see, I couldn’t be upset. I love seeing her work with the best.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you managed to say, a beat too late. “I need to use the restroom, be right back.”

Leon knew too well that losing someone was difficult, yet he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He furrowed his brows the moment his hand made contact with your upper arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t want to seem like he took pity on you.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You made the effort to look him in the eye when it was obvious as day that you were having a hard time keeping your head up.

Your voice barely came out, “Thank you.”

Of course, you did not recognize him the second time he saw you. It was his late celebratory dinner for his mission in Spain. His coworkers had planned a small one, saying he deserved it. Once he was done with his food, he excused himself saying he wanted to get fresh air.

Not too far from the restaurant, you were sitting on a bench alone.

“Those things will kill you, y’know,” he said, eyes pointing to the cigarette you were smoking.

His unexpected voice caused you to jump in your seat. You quickly put the cigarette out by stomping it with your shoe. “I don’t usually… smoke.”

He dragged his feet while walking to sit down on the opposite end of the bench. “You didn’t have to put it out.” Though he thought you were very considerate by doing so.

“Congratulations, for the mission.”

“Thank you— name’s Leon, by the way.”

You stuck your chin out to the direction of the restaurant, “Or so I heard in there.”

“We actually met before. At the funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember half the people I met there.”

“No need to be sorry. You seemed out of it.”

“Yeah, we worked together for a long time, Cathy and I.”

“Look, I know it’s hard and anything I say probably won’t make any difference—”

“You don’t need to—” Your voice quite literally got stuck on your throat, you composed yourself by bringing the side of your fist to your mouth and coughed into it. “I’m trying to get better. I’m here today, which is a miracle in of itself. I know people think it’s probably good to talk about her but I’m just not in the mood, okay? Thank you for your understanding but I don’t need to be reminded, it happened not so long ago.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, I know you mean well.” You started to sway your feet on the gravel. It was completely understandable for you to lash out but you seemed uneasy as soon as it was out of you. “Sorry, this is your happy day. I shouldn’t—”

“You realize how many times we said sorry to each other in this past minute?” he laughed. “Also, I lost a partner in Spain. I’m not that happy today.”

Your voice turning faint, seemingly regretting your flash of anger a moment ago, “You probably feel like you shouldn’t be happy.”

He nodded. “He helped me a lot but didn’t make it.” He saw your mouth open and stopped you there. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It loses its meaning when you say it too much.”

“Even if I mean it with my whole heart every time?”

“That means you’re sorry for a lot of things. It’s not healthy to carry that much weight on your shoulders.”

“Right, I’ll be like Quasimodo.” You hunched your shoulders even more forward. “Like the hunchback.”

“From the Disney movie?”

You giggled at his childishness. “Yeah, I heard there’s also a book about it.”

He looked at your squinted eyes and thought you deserved to be happy more.

As you two carried on your now meaningless conversation, he did not know that you were certain on resigning from your job and never turning back to it. You’d started to work on the archives that week, partly because your boss had foreseen you contemplating quitting all together and did not want to lose a highly valuable member such as yourself and partly because you had requested it.

At that point, you were absolutely aware of the fact that they feared you’d never turn back to your former position. And because Cathy didn’t have any plans of ever becoming alive, you also didn’t have any plans on returning. But you knew the reason behind them doing anything you asked was them giving you time to grieve. After that, the pressure would build even more and hopefully make you take your old place.

“It was Hunnigan’s idea,” you said to Leon after he asked you very kindly why you were here tonight. “Basically dragged me here. She thinks I should be around people more.”

“She’s right. I’m glad you came.”

Leon was cute, alright. That didn’t do him justice, actually. It was evident under the street light where the bench was that he worked out regularly. Biceps giving a hard time to his sleeves every time he moved, veins protruding on his forearms, his thighs looking like they’d help him carry ten people on his large back. And oh, his broader-than-the-horizon shoulders. An absolute unit of a man with cheekbones and jawline honed like a Greek statue. With his dark blonde hair falling on his face in that charming way and his oh so kind blue eyes, you knew he was out of your league.

His gentle aura making him seem like a Prince Charming or a white knight or whatever the fuck those Disney movies had.

You planned on never seeing anyone from work again, you had nothing to lose. And Cathy so would say to shoot your shot.

“I’m thinkin’ of getting a few drinks in me, want to tag along?”

“What do you have in mind?” He seemed interested, a good sign.

“You got any suggestions? And don’t say beer because I plan on getting wasted beyond recognition in like an hour.”

“Yeah, be careful. And don’t drink and drive.” The way he took a U-turn on his interest irritated you. You really thought he wouldn’t say no, you were getting along well, flirting even. “Did you come here with your car?”

“Yeah.” You tried to not sound upset. “I’m not a teenager. I’ll take a cab. Drinks will be on me.”

“Ah, thanks but I’ll have to refuse. They’ll probably wonder where I went. It’s my dinner, after all.” The polite smile he gave you was so infuriating.

You got up from the bench. He had the audacity to look you up and down after that. “Then please tell Hunnigan I’m sorry I left early, will you?”

“I will.” He fidgeted and crossed his arms. Oh God, you’d made him uncomfortable. It was just minutes ago he was sort of flirting with you. “Don’t drink too much.”

God, why did he have to be so annoying?

The next time you two met was at the closest pharmacist to work, few weeks after his dinner and your failed attempt to get him in your bed.

“One box of aspirin, please.” Your head snapped up at that voice. Unmistakably, Leon. With his broad back facing you, he hadn’t seen you yet.

“What can I get you, miss?”

Leon stepped over to the side when they called to you, still not looking at you.

“Eyedrops, please.”

“Miss, are you alright?”

To that, he did a double-take. You’d looked disheveled to the point of worry. Eyes and nose a few shades redder than the rest of your face, eyebags puffy and makeup smudged. With your now extremely frizzy baby hairs doing anything but their job of framing your face, it was apparent that you’d been crying.

“Yes, it’s just an allergy.”

“Can I get you anything for that?”

“No, thank you. I already have meds for it.”

Leon thanked when they gave him his aspirin and turned to you. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly left the pharmacist.

Surprisingly, you did wait for him outside. Why? You had no idea. Frankly, you were hoping to cry more in your car.

Approximately five minutes later, he came to you jogging lightly. He thrusted a water bottle in your hand. “Where’s your medication?”

“What?”

“For your allergy?”

“Oh, um—” You couldn’t find a lie fast enough, usually you were not bad at lying but the way he appeared to be worrying about your well-being was baffling to say the least. “I don’t have it, I mean—” You pressed the water bottle to your stomach and held on to it for comfort. “I don’t have an allergy.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Are you alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.” He looked at you and around you as though checking to see any injury. “You should drink up.” He motioned to the bottle and watched you take a gulp.

“Thank you. Oh, you should, too,” You tried to give him the rest of the water while his stare questioned you. “For your aspirin.”

“I already took it. I’m supposed to take it with water?”

“Yes, Leon. Have you been taking them without water this whole time? Then why did you bring me water?”

“I didn’t know that! You looked dehydrated.”

“That’s not good for you. Now I’m worried about your stomach.”

His blue eyes shined like he came to a revelation. “That’s why my stomach burns when I take them?”

How are you this stupid, you suppressed saying, if you had known him well enough at that time, you definitely would. You forgot for a second that you were annoyed at him for rejecting you few weeks ago and find yourself flabbergasted at thinking that he is endearing, in a way.

You made small talk with him about his lunch break and he insisted on walking you to your car.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said sympathetically once you stood in front of your open car door. “You still look…”

Like a truck hit me, you wanted to complete his sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It just happens time to time.” You tried to make yourself presentable by adjusting your blouse and hair.

“It?”

“Sometimes I cry for no reason. It happens randomly, too, I don’t know when and where I’ll be crying most of the time. Like, I’ll be reading something, it doesn’t have to be sad, I mean— I was reading reports before I came here. Sometimes it gets too much, like now.”

“Will you be okay driving?”

“Yeah! Talking with you definitely helped.” His apprehensive gaze pierced through you. You actually felt like crying again, your chest feeling tight, eyes burning. You stood upright with the support of your car door. “I’ll be fine, Leon.”

“I’m choosing to believe you. Drive safe.” He shifted his weight on one of his legs and seemed ready to take off.

“Thank you. See you around?”

“You probably won’t for a while,” he said to the ground, soothing the itch on his calf with his other leg’s shin. He looked up and squinted his eyes against the sun. “I got assigned a mission. I don’t know for how long.”

“Oh, I’ll be at your celebratory dinner then, if I get an invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know how it will go. I’ll only invite you if you won’t talk for the whole dinner but flirt with me outside again.”

“You didn’t need to embarrass me like that,” you chuckled nervously. “I wouldn’t say I’m a push and pull kind of woman.”

“You can show me what kind of woman you are when I get back?”

“Very smooth, Leon.”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll see you then.” Suddenly, he was distant again. This time you didn’t know what made him uneasy.

“Yeah… Be safe on your mission.”

He just nodded. You got in your car and gripped the steering wheel tightly until the sight of his leather jacket clad back disappeared. You hunched forward, shoved your forehead to the wheel and tried to take a deep breath. The crying spell didn’t go away as the tears burst down first and then the sobs jerked your entire body.

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

—Like Real People Do, Hozier

The inside of Leon’s car smells nice, he takes good care of it.

“I’m going to see my sister this weekend,” you say, averting your gaze from the way he steers the wheel with one hand. His other hand is on his knee, tapping away. The effect his toned arms have on you is humiliating.

“I think I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything that day. I can go with you. It’s your mother’s death anniversary, right? I think it’s time I pay my respects.”

It’s these things he says that leave you puzzled. He’s incredibly thoughtful, no matter who he’s talking to. He very well could have his day off-work for himself, but he asks anyway.

“Do you actually want to meet my sister?”

“I do. I hope to make a good first impression.”

You think about it for a second and end up telling him. “I sent a picture of you to her back when we got married.”

“How’d you get a picture of me?” he asks, appalled. The only picture he has of himself besides the wedding one is on his badge.

“Our wedding picture, dummy. We have one, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot.” You can’t complain because you keep it in a dresser drawer in the envelope it came in. He was on duty again when it came and you’d showed it to him once he was home. The left corner of his lips had curled up and for a second, you thought you saw affection in his eyes. “It came out okay? I was sweating buckets, but you—" he’d said and pointed a finger to your face in the photo. “Your hands were ice cold, I nearly asked you to paste your hands to my forehead just so I could cool down.”

“We still have the picture, right?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s in my room. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Yeah, they sent two. Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?”

“Give it to the mafia or hire a hitman to go after you, what else?” He lets out a hollow laugh. You want to record the sound and have it forever play in your ears. “I want to frame it and put it on my desk. People usually have pictures of their spouses and children or even their dogs on their desks, no?”

Yes, you know. You have pictures with your best friend and sister on your own desk at work.

It’s his way of saying you mean something to him.

You call your sister’s name as soon as you see it. “Why do you have this picture here?”

She’s carrying the empty plates to the sink as you hold on to her fridge’s door handle.

She looks up to see you pointing at your wedding picture. It’s on her fridge. You don’t even display it in your own house.

“You printed it?”

“I did,” she says. “It’s a good picture.” Her house is littered with pictures of her and her husband on different vacations, of you and your mother and her together in some.

“You just met Leon today.”

“And I think he’s great. You’re happy with him. That’s all I could ask for.”

You were happy since he was in a good mood the entire ride coming here. It was long but you two had a smooth ride and he amused you with his corny jokes and stories. You tore small pieces of bagel and fed him when he said he was getting hungry. He was tired from driving the whole time, but of course he didn’t have it any other way and jestingly banned you from getting behind the wheel. He did make a good first impression like he promised, although he kept bobbing his cramped leg. He’s now in the backyard with your brother-in-law, chatting about football, probably.

Your sister gets your attention by giving you a side hug and rubbing your back. “You’re my only sister, of course I’m going to have a picture of your happiest day.”

You hug her back around her waist. She even had photos of your birth in the living room. Your mom in a hospital bed, one day-old baby you cradled in her arms, your father hugging your mother and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. Did he know then, that he would never be there for you to look at you like that again?

“You remember dad, right?” you ask quietly. She was older and was able to tell stories about him to you. “How was he like? Before he left, I mean.”

“Like I told you, he loved us so much. I don’t know if it was the same case for my mom. She later told me she saw it coming, that he likely had another woman.”

“How did mom know?”

Your sister sighs and rest her head on top of yours. “She said she could just feel it. Said he felt distant. He used to come home late leading up to it, sometimes drunk. One day I woke up and he wasn’t home. Didn’t say anything, just abandoned us like that.”

There’s that sadness again, creeping up to your chest and placing a big rock there. You feel like you’re being crushed by it. Your mom had always been ambitious, had dreams for herself and her family, deserved so much more than what she got.

Leon’s laughing loudly in the backyard, your head whips to see the sight.

“Come on, go mingle with your husband. I got it from here,” says your sister and starts to place the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll go get us some beer,” says your brother-in-law and gets up from his chair. The weather is amazing today, your sister had set up a nice meal outside. Leon was getting along with them well. What more could you ask for?

You find yourself alone with Leon when your brother-in-law goes inside the house. You sit next to him and he promptly puts his arm on the back of your chair.

“How’s your leg?” you ask him.

“My thighs are sore,” he groans. “Good thing we’re not driving back tonight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You put a hand on his knee and start to massage, hoping it will help his aching legs. You’re even bolder than a few days ago. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It hurts here,” he says and grabs your hand, placing it higher on his thigh. “You can put more pressure, I can hardly feel it.” His thigh is firm and thank God, your hands manage to stay stable. You ball your hands into fists and start to punch lightly where he wants. The meat of his thighs doesn’t even jiggle, reminding you that he’s mostly made of muscle.

You focus up on his knees. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

“I can—”

“No. You’re tired, Leon. I want to drive, don’t make me upset.”

“Would you actually be upset if I—”

“Yes, very.” You pinch his thigh and that makes him press his lips together.

“They’re really nice, you know,” he means your sister and her husband. “I feel like an ass for not meeting them sooner.”

“You like them?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I do.”

“So, any propositions?”

“Huh?”

“Got asked for a threesome yet?” you smirk.

“I’m sorry?” He’s horrified and you find it funny.

“After I sent the wedding picture to them, they both said you were hot. I just remembered it.”

“I’d rather not know that!”

“Relax, Kennedy. I’m just joking. They’re not gonna ask you that.”

He visibly relaxes and puts you in a headlock in a play-fight manner with the arm that was behind you. His nose and mouth pressed up against your hair, he says, “I’ll just tell them I’m a one-lady type of man if they ever do.” You consider biting his arm.

“Can the lovebirds look up here for a second?” chirps your sister. She has come with her camera outside. “It’s the golden hour.”

Leon adjusts his head to look towards the camera and relaxes his hold on you, arm dangling from your shoulder, other hand engulfs yours on his knee, rings clashing.

“Aww,” your sister coos as she takes the photo. “I’ll send this to you.”

She doesn’t suspect a thing, probably because you’re not pretending anymore.

You splash your face with cold water after you’re done brushing your teeth in your sister’s guest room bathroom. Leon’s inside the room, splayed out on the bed, exhausted after today. It won’t be awkward, you say to yourself, hope to God your hands don’t start to tremble from anxiety.

Leon has taken off his t-shirt, bent one of his knees and put his hands behind his head. Not helping your case by looking irresistible. Even the tufts of hair under his arms are endearing to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asks once you sit on the bed next to him, back facing him. He knows you will visit Cathy too when you get back.

“I’m good, Leon.” You take off your ring and place it next to his on the bedside drawer. “Never been better, actually. I missed them.” You twist your upper body to face him. “Here,” you say as you place your newly washed cold damp hands on both sides of his face in attempts to cool him down.

He shivers, his shoulders going up slightly for a quick second. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. You’re silent, in part because you’re speechless before his beauty, but you also would like to try to give him a little piece of serenity he needs.

“This used to be my mom’s room when she was living here.”

He hums softly and opens his eyes, his hands coming up to hold on to your bare arms, the skin between his eyebrows pinched.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hands finding place on his broad shoulders.

He starts to rub your arms up and down, his hands stopping after a while to trace a strap of your tank top with his fingers. All of your worries about intimate gestures going out the window the moment you let his hands wander.

This is the tender domesticity that you’ve been longing for so badly, you want to thank him.

He scrunches his nose. “I wanted to kiss you, now I think it’ll be inappropriate.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your grip on his shoulders is now stronger, begging not to tremble. He feels lonely, he shouldn’t have come here. You have to swallow hard. “It won’t.”

His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, he’s staring at your lips like he doesn’t wish for anything else. “C’mere.” He tugs at your hip to get the lower half of your body up on the bed. He drapes you halfway on his torso.

Once you’re situated to his liking and casting a shadow on his face, he brings you down ever so gently to his mouth, massaging your nape. He’s hot all over, his mouth, his breath on your face, his chest, the hand that’s splaying his fingers on the small of your back. With his soft lips moving lazily against yours, you’re quite literally bursting at the seams. The muffled sigh he drags across your mouth tempts you to press your entire body to his harder and sling your leg across his hips.

His kisses turn into open-mouthed ones and he tastes like minty toothpaste and sunlight on golden hour.

A small noise comes out of your throat, hands straying down to his bare chest and he has to cradle your face to stop. “We should sleep.” His Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I seriously don’t want to disrespect your mother’s ghost.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he hugs your head and buries it to his chest, his chin resting on top. “You’ll apologize to her tomorrow.”

It’s okay, you think when you feel the low timbre of his chuckle on his chest. We’re okay. We’re doing better.

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done Sit in and watch the sunlight fade Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late There's no plan, there's no hand on the rein

—No Plan, Hozier

The fourth time you saw Leon Kennedy was at a bar. You thought his coworkers were going to be there to see him after his mission but it was just you two.

He had emailed you a day before, saying he asked for your email address from Hunnigan, inviting you for drinks the next day and apologizing for letting you know this late.

“Where’s everyone? Am I early?” you asked, despite noticing the table he was sitting at was for two people.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sight of him. He looked tired. He had a bit of a stubble and his hair was tousled. “No, you’re right on time,” he said, getting up to pull your chair for you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said, ridding yourself from your jacket. You actually put in the effort to look good that day. A nice outfit, a little bit more makeup, hair done.

As you sat down in front of him, a corner of his lips went up, “You look good.”

“The last time we spoke wasn’t my best moment.”

“How have you been?”

You placed your hands on the table and started to play with your fingers, anxious. “Since then? Better, I suppose. How about you? Your mission went well?”

“Depends on how you define well.”

“You’re still in one piece.”

“If only that was enough.” You didn’t get to see his disappointed expression for long when a server came up to your table and Leon quickly ordered a drink, asked what you wanted and waited with his hands together on the table.

Once the server was away, you slightly leaned towards him. “They should be grateful that they got their best agent back alright.” Although you couldn’t ask him any details about his mission, you knew he was a special agent that was good at this job.

“Hunnigan told me you’re in the archives.”

“Yeah, that happened months ago, before your dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I—uh…” Your throat felt dry under his piercing stare. “I wasn’t needed there anymore. So I transferred.”

“Really? I heard it’s quite the opposite.”

“Oh, they’re talking about me?”

“Yes, seems like they really want you to work with agents again.”

“I know that,” you said and dug your fingernails to the corner of the table, his eyes following the motion.

“What do you mean?” he said, scratching his jaw. “You said you weren’t needed.”

“I felt like I wasn’t being useful. I tried to quit. They tried really hard to keep me there. Now, they’re constantly asking me to come back after everything.”

“They do know how to squeeze the last bit out of everyone,” he nodded. “Are you happy with where you are right now?”

“As in life?” You rolled your eyes thinking about it. “What does it look like?”

“I was worried the last time I saw you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know, I looked miserable.” Probably looked like the physical embodiment of a cry for help, too. “Can we not dwell on it, please? I’m better now. But now you—” You reach and tap on the middle of the table. “You look like you need to sleep for days.”

“That would be great,” he sighed.

You kept looking at the door but no one from work was coming in. “Why is no one coming, Leon?”

“They won’t, to be honest with you. I only invited you.”

Your back was then one with the chair. “Oh.”

“I should’ve let you know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind the quiet,” you smiled. And then you realized, he was doing the same thing you were doing, pushing anyone and anything away.

Him reaching out to you, this was his cry for help. Why you specifically, you didn’t know.

“You told me you lost a partner in Spain, were you close?”

To that, he dropped his chin and stared at his lap. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t know him. We met under strange circumstances and ended up helping each other. I got the impression that he regretted a lot of things but wanted to believe people could change.”

“I believe people can change, for the better or worse,” you mumbled.

Your server came with your drinks. Leon didn’t waste a second and downed nearly half of his drink. “You tried to quit?” he asked.

“I did. I thought it was time for a little stability in my life. This is as far as I can get to it,” you said and took a sip of your drink which was the same one as Leon. It was strong.

“Stability. That’s unlikely in this job,” he scoffed, fingers tapping at his glass.

“Do you see it as impossible, Leon?” You desperately hoped he would say no, you needed to hear from someone that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.

He seemed to be thinking for a slow moment. “I guess, for some people, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“For you it would?” you inquired.

“I once thought I would marry my first girlfriend. I was like what? Twenty, twenty-one? I was really stupid and in love. If twenty-one-year-old Leon saw this, he would be devastated,” he said and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find someone who would understand what I do. It’s not like I can tell them. They’d be in danger because of me. I can’t ask them to trust me blindly. I wouldn’t want them to.”

“If someone was willing to accept you as you are, do you think..?”

“Who in their right mind would?” he groaned in exasperation.

“I would. But my situation is different, I have an understanding of what you do. I also can’t be in any more danger than I already am.” There was a beat of silence after you said that. The drink was definitely too much for you, you were sure. Your ears were burning hot, one hand coming up to cool one down with your nervous cold fingers, your eyes roamed the whole place. You chugged the remaining of your drink and wiped your mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he bolted and looked at your abashed face as if he was in a contemporary art museum, trying to understand what the artist meant with their absurd piece.

Feeling self-conscious, you fixed your hair and babbled out, “Why did you get into this line of work in the first place?”

His back straightened, shoulders rolling back. “I was… recruited.” You didn’t quite understand how but remained from prodding any further. “I was the best candidate for what they wanted. An orphan who didn’t have anything to lose.”

It really wasn’t going well for you. You wanted to bang your head against the table and avoid looking at him completely but after what he had revealed to you, you couldn’t be any ruder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

If Cathy were to hear about this, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Good job honey, that’s one way to woo a man. She would’ve said it in that sarcastic tone which she infamously was a master of.

“No, it’s fine,” said Leon. “You could do so much better than me, though.”

Have you seen yourself, you wanted to exclaim.

Your nostrils were wide, trying to sober you up by hogging as much oxygen as possible, you tried to remain calm, you were feral however. “Why do you keep putting yourself down, Leon? You know, you could’ve called your friends today and they would’ve come running to you. You’re a great person, they don’t give a damn about how successful your mission was. They’re happy that you’re back, that’s all. They are your friends, not the alcohol.”

He was dead silent, staring at his glass with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sorry for overstepping but I saw how they were trying to look out for you at the dinner. There wasn’t even a glass of wine there, celebration my ass. Everybody can tell you’re not fine. I don’t know you that well but even I can tell. What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. It’s self-destructive.”

He wiped his forehead. “You’re the one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hunnigan’s always talking about how you’re running away every time you see her. She has to drag you everywhere. She’s being nice to you, you could try appreciating that, you know? And you’re clearly stuck up on something, are you trying to repent for your sins or what?” He quite literally disarmed you with his icy stare.

“I’m not Catholic,” you retorted.

“Well, would you look at that. We’re more similar than I thought.” The smirk he had on was sardonic, the furthest from being friendly. You felt an urge to get up and never look back.

“Wrong,” you said as you crossed your arms. “I don’t expect alcohol to solve my problems.”

“Yeah, you’d rather run away from them. And that isn’t going well for you, is it?” He finished his drink and motioned for the server for another. “Also, stop being a hypocrite.”

“Excuse you?” you said with seething anger.

“Are you not trying to ‘get wasted beyond recognition’ right now, as you put it?” he sneered and pointed out your empty glass.

“That was one time, I usually don’t drink. And I’m not planning on drinking more.”

“Oh, did I ruin your fun?”

“Stop that,” you said through your gritted teeth. “Stop being mean. I’m not your friend. You don’t have to push me away. I don’t know why you invited me here. I can just get up and go, leave you with whatever you have up your ass that’s making you act like this. I’m only asking you to stop putting yourself down so much and you’re being all defensive. You know what, I don’t deserve this.” You got up from your chair, grabbing your jacket and purse.

He stood up quickly and tried to follow you. “Sit down, Leon. Your drink is coming.” You didn’t give him any chance to reply and threw the amount of cash that covered your single glass of alcohol on the table.

The walk from the noiseless bar to the nearest bus stop was not pleasant, to say the least. The air was biting cold, hitting your warm cheeks and making you shiver.

Leon only lost sight of you because he stopped to tip the server generously. He fucked up big time, he knew that. It was going to be a pain in the ass if you already jumped in a cab but he had hope that no vacant cab was passing the area on a Friday night.

He was stupid to think this would go smoothly. The last time he saw you, he was concerned about you. The way you’d casually admitted you were not fine was echoing in his mind. He wanted to see if you’d be there by the time he was back from duty. He admitted he was scared for you, for that woman who seemed so small during the funeral, for that woman who had a meltdown in her car in the middle of the day, barely hanging on.

He wanted to tell you today that maybe you should quit. But you had already crossed that bridge.

Maybe you wanted to help people, too. At least at the beginning. Now you wanted peace and quiet, because your life has been anything but. Unlike you, he gave up on that a while ago. He wanted to regard your daring words— I would— as being drunk, he really did.

Ada would never admit she’d want something like that to him, to anyone. Ada didn’t want a stable life, she would never live at a place longer than a month, work with someone more than twice. Even after all of their encounters, Leon still didn’t know what her actual motives were. Raccoon City, Spain, his last mission.

It was pitiful, the way his breath would hitch every time he saw a dark-haired woman wearing red out of the corner of his eye. His heart would pound in his ears for a quick second before he’d realize he was mistaken. He would allow himself, for a brief moment, that maybe it was Ada, here to see him. However, she was never the one to be sentimental. Her every action had a tangible intention that Leon could never guess.

But Leon knew she cared. Enough to save him every goddamn time he needed saving. Enough to ask him to come with her. If he was twenty-one, he would’ve chosen to tail behind her, ready to follow her wherever. Except he had changed, he was not naive anymore. He’d like to think he made the right choice by separating their ways back in Spain. He didn’t know if he was going to be used again.

He also didn’t know what would become of them. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to abandon the mission and ride off into the sunset with Ada yet a part of him wondered about their alternate universe in which he chose to follow her. What would have happened if he just hopped onto that helicopter with her? Where would she have taken him? Was she planning on greeting him properly after all those years? Was he ready to forgive her after Raccoon City?

Perhaps she would have dropped him off somewhere, with a phone number or an address, leaving him confused yet again. Maybe he would’ve reached out, met her in a different circumstance where they didn’t have to constantly run away from trouble. Maybe she’d be living in a small flat and then she’d ask him to come over. Maybe he’d continue to visit her, make himself familiar with her small space.

Except that was not feasible at all, since she was a fleeting kind of woman, just like all the moments they shared. Not there to stay. And none of these would happen, it would always be a different hotel room, different city, barring him from being constant in her life.

A puppy love, he used to think. Young, naive, credulous love. No, he realized, it got older and bigger, sicker. It was time to put it down, put it out of its misery.

He sprinted to the bus station, his hunch was right, you were sitting there, arms folded on your chest, alone. You looked up the moment you heard his footsteps. He left a few steps between you two and braced himself by putting his palms on his knees.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on your red nose. Probably from the cold, he convinced himself.

“What do you mean? You asked me to,” you grimaced.

“You said we’re not friends, so why did you come here?”

Your head turned opposite of Leon, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging yourself tighter. “I wanted some company,” you grumbled, the collar of your jacket muffling your voice. “I think Hunnigan’s right and I might need it.”

“Sorry I’m not a decent one.” He took slow steps to sit next to you on the narrow bench of the bus stop, his shoulder grazing yours. That made you perk up at him.

“I’m sorry for the things I said earlier,” you said, holding his gaze.

“You said a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m sorry for all of them, I crossed a line.”

“Don’t be, I needed the scolding.”

“I didn’t mean to scold you.”

He knocked his knee to yours. “Do you always regret the things you say immediately after? I was an asshole, you got angry, rightfully so.”

“But I was the one who started it,” you pursed your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not kids.”

“I, uh, called a taxi, should be here in a few minutes,” you said after a minute of silence.

“Okay, tell me something in the meantime.”

“What do you want to hear?”

His thumb caressed his brow, he was contemplating. “Would you consider marrying me?”

“What?”

“Would you marry me? If I asked?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Your eyes took in every inch of his face, searching for a sign, anything that might explain this. “Leon, are you drunk?”

“No, I’m nowhere near drunk. It takes more than one drink for me to get buzzed.” He crossed his arms, imitating you. “Think about it, we can both try to live calm and stable.”

Your face was contorted in confusion, still for a slight pause. “People don’t marry out of spite, Leon. They marry out of love.”

“Who said anything about spite?”

“You’re clearly angry at something or someone.”

“I am not.”

“This life you are living right now… isn’t quite what you planned, is it? Some things didn’t go according to plan and now you’re here, trying to steer the reins again. And you’re angry.”

“What are you, my therapist?” This time his comeback didn’t sound as if it was meant to hurt you, but to make the air between you lighter. “I guess I do resent some things, doctor.”

You went along with his enactment. “Admitting is a huge step Leon, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Now you be honest,” he said, bouncing his leg in impatience. “Are you in a relationship? Am I being creepy by cornering you like this?”

“I’m not and I don’t feel cornered. If I did, I’d just get up and go. You just saw.”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Experienced firsthand how you run away from your problems and I don’t mean it figuratively.”

You chuckled. “You are not a problem in my life.”

“Not a friend either.”

Your smile dropped. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”

He hummed, looking far away. “That’s probably your cab.” He got up, shaking off dust from his jeans. “Take my number before you get in and let me know when you make it home safe.”

You gave him your number but didn’t get to write your name in his contacts as the cab drew near. “Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t need to run after me,” you said as you handed him his phone.

“We won’t dwell on it,” he winked as he opened the back door of the cab for you. “And think it over, okay?”

“What?”

��My proposal. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient.”

“Tell me one good thing that will be convenient.”

“Uh, okay. Here’s two for you,” he said and held up two fingers. “A better healthcare plan and tax benefits.”

You laughed and the driver seemed annoyed that you were still standing in front of the open door. “I should get going.”

“Text me when you get home,” he said when you finally got in the car.

You texted him again two weeks after his ridiculous proposal.

Hi, Leon. Do you remember what you asked me after the bar two weeks ago?

Hi. Yes I remember.

Were you being serious or should I pass it as tipsy nonsense?

There was no response from him for a few minutes and you had started biting your nails nervously.

I was being serious. I wasn’t tipsy.

You stared at his short text longer than it took him to reply. You had already made up your mind but it felt cheap telling him over a text. This was not the proper way of doing this. You also didn’t know how to convey this to him, so you resorted to a playful text.

Ask me properly and I’ll consider it.

I’ll ask you again properly over dinner next Friday? I know a good Italian place.

The next Friday, he kept his promise and said those four words in a fancy quiet Italian restaurant. You said yes.

“I have a request,” you said, swirling your wine before taking a sip. “I want a wedding dress, not like a gown or anything. Just a simple white dress.”

“Sure, I already have a suit that I can wear.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The fact that you had to buy your wedding dress by yourself, no matter how simple you envisioned it to be, without Cathy by your side was making your ears ring, drowning out all the knife and fork clatter around you.

Here's my hand There's the itch But I'm not supposed to scratch

—Love Me More, Mitski

It’s four a.m. and you want to say you’ve actually seen it coming. Every time something good happens, its catastrophe follows eventually. Just like how Cathy’s mission was going so well until it wasn’t.

It’s four a.m. and the meal you’ve prepared for Leon has gone cold on the dining table. You thought he’d be hungry when he came back from mission, so you went out and bought ingredients, followed a recipe word for word, even made soup additionally just in case he didn’t feel like eating solid food after what his body’s been through. He said he’d be back at one a.m. and he hasn’t contacted you since. You’ve called and texted him numerous times but it was radio silence from him.

He had promised you, before you got married, that he would always let you know when he got back from a mission and he always did. He never once forgot because you were very serious about this, wanted to know as soon as possible that he was back safe.

It’s four a.m. and you feel like you’re going crazy, soaring into a heaving fit as each minute passes by.

The sound of his keys makes you clutch at your chest and before you even realize, your legs are walking you to the front door. He’s being quiet and you wait for him few steps behind the door. His steps are feather light, head bowed down to take off his shoes, he exhales a long breath as he places his backpack down.

He flinches when he sees your silhouette in the dark. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“You didn’t text me,” your voice breaks, your hands are clutching at the sides of your pajama shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“I forgot.”

Your tears threaten to fall down and you’re grateful that it’s dark and he can’t see. You bite down your lip strong enough to make it bleed. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you didn’t need to stay up.”

It’s not like you chose to, you physically couldn’t lie down or eat anything when your mind went all haywire, creating the worst possible scenarios it could think of.

“I, um, made dinner.” You point to the table. “But it’s gone cold, I can heat it up. Don’t know if it will taste any good, though. Did you have any chance to eat something? I mean, if you ate dinner, it’s been hours and you’re probably hungry—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I also made soup, so it’s easier on the stomach. You’re tired, right? Just eat some soup and then go to sleep. I’ll heat that up and there’s also tea in the pantry, supposed to help you sleep. Oh, I filled up the bathtub, I’ll go drain it, the water’s gone cold and you probably want to have a hot shower—”

He cuts you off again by blurting out your name. “Hey, hey, slow down.” His calloused hands come up to hold your shoulders and you let out a small whimper of surprise, your chin dropping to your chest. “I don’t want anything, I’ll just sleep.”

You shrug and escape from his hold, so he doesn’t ask you why you’re trembling like a leaf. “But shower…” you manage to make out and point to the direction of his room.

“Yes, I’ll drain the tub and shower, you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. He’s home, you repeat deliriously. He’s here, very much alive. The thought calms your nerves instantly.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights while navigating his home in the dark. You crane your neck to watch his silhouette move to his room. He opts to turn on the bathroom light first. You listen to the water droplets as you put away the food you made for him in containers. He says something you can’t quite hear when he gets out of the shower.

“Did you say something, Leon?” you raise your voice slightly.

“Yeah, did you clean my room?”

“It was messy. Thought it’d be nice to see it tidy when you came back.”

He doesn’t reply right away and your head turns to his direction as if he can see you through the door.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to.”

You actually cleaned the whole house when he was away, not that he had the chance to see it.

You were aware from the very beginning that this was what you got yourself into. You and Leon never promised each other love. But why are you feeling like this now? Stupid question, really. Because things have changed, you’ve grown to love him and you’re afraid. You’re afraid that one day you’ll have to face the world without him by your side because he has become your anchor, holding you in place where you now call home. It’s nice having his warm hands on you, it’s nice coming home to him.

However, in moments like now it feels like you’re playing house, actors going their separate ways after the lights go out. It awfully feels like you’re standing in the middle of a dark stage, curtains closed so nobody can see what goes down behind the scenes.

You’re in front of his door, first aid kit in one hand, knocking. “Leon?” You know he’s not sleeping. He can’t sleep well after he comes back from his missions, his insomnia making it impossible for him.

The door cracks open and you slide past him before he can say anything, perching cross-legged on the side of his bed, placing the kit on your lap before propping his pillow against the bedpost so he can sit comfortably in front of you. “Let me have a look.” You pat on the bed. “And turn on the lamp, please.”

You can finally see him when he does. The first thing you see is the big purple bruise on his side because he’s only wearing his sweatpants. His hair is wet from the shower, hanging to his eyes, eyebags dark and prominent, one of his forearms is freshly bandaged. Despite all, he’s standing tall in front of you.

“They already patched me up,” he says, showing his bandage.

You take his hand and draw him near, making him sit on the bed with one leg dangling from the side. Half of his face is illuminated like this and you can see the cut on his jaw in its full glory. Your fingers begin to work quickly, cleaning the wound all the while he winces by closing his eyes. “Seems like they didn’t take a good look at you. What happened to your ribs?” you ask to distract him.

“Got kicked. They’re not broken.”

You put the band-aid on his jaw and search his eyes as they open. He blinks slowly at you, understanding that you want to hear more. “Hurts when I breathe but it should be gone in a few days, it’s not that bad.”

You take his unwrapped hand in yours, the skin of his knuckles is very red, it probably hurts when he flexes it. You grab the ice pack you remembered to bring with you and place it on top on his knuckles.

“Not there,” he mumbles. “Put in on my shoulder, it’s really sore.”

You place the pack on the shoulder he points. He tries to turn his head that way but his face contorts in pain and he gives up, exhaling a long sigh.

“Did you have them wrap it up?”

“No, can’t be bothered to rewrap it later.”

“That’s why you have me to do it for you,” you hum, adjusting the ice pack. You’re closer to him like this, able to smell his soap and shampoo from his body. You can make out the shape of his chapped lips and yours ache to kiss his pain away, except you are overheated with grievance.

His eyes bore into you, taking you in. There’s an unassuming hand on your bent knee, squeezing lightly. “Did I scare you?” he asks.

“You promised me,” you gripe to him, fumbling with your fingers on your lap after you place the first aid kit next to you. “You promised me that you’d let me know when you were back. Of course I was scared.”

His forehead falls onto your shoulder, damp strands of hair pressed to the side of your neck as the ice pack tumbles down his back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says breathily.

He’s only called you by your name all this time, so this is new. And stomach lurching. Your cheek knocks the side of his head with your startled reaction.

“I have no excuse,” he murmurs. His palm on your knee slides up, leaving a burning sensation as it goes along your thigh, bypassing your hips and finding place on the curve of your waist.

“It’s okay,” you squeak when you feel his thumb caressing your ribs through your t-shirt.

You don’t remember ever sitting down with him, drawing lines about the nature of your relationship, lines that both of you never meant to cross, because you didn’t. You didn’t discuss anything about boundaries because at the time you were getting married, you didn’t know him much. Both of you assumed that it would naturally develop, silent agreements to come.

It was manageable before, now it confuses you to the point of ripping hair from your own head. There were times where you didn’t think twice about giving him a friendly hug, a pat on the back, a reassuring squeeze to his knee but after getting into bed with him, every action was testing the waters.

It wasn’t even a bed; it was the couch in the living room where you had countless dinners and conversations, the heart of the home, if you will. It felt shameful afterwards as if it happened in an open space, because it was quick and devoid of any intimacy, but it was in the confines of your own quiet home still.

You want to go back to the time when you were friends, and not what this was supposed to be. You want to go back to the time when you didn’t know how it felt to have him like that, when you didn’t know his touch would be so tantalizing, his lips unbearably addicting, his warmth conquering.

Initially, you thought you’d cross any bridge regarding him when you came across it, but there weren’t any bridges around to reach him to begin with. You quickly realized that he had burned them before you, for everyone. So, you painstakingly built each and every one of them with your bare hands, desperate to get to him. And him shaking them felt immensely unfair, all your hard work threatened to fall.

Your hand on his chest pushes him away ever so slightly before his hand drops from your waist. He hisses softly yet the action hurts you more than it hurts him. He yields to your touch, back leaning on his propped-up pillow, waiting for you to gather the scatter of your thoughts patiently.

“Stop confusing me, Leon.”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you exactly?”

“You’re my wife,” he says. Obviously.

“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“We never guaranteed that it would.”

“Yeah, I know that. All this time I thought maybe we were doing better, now I don’t know Leon, you’re confusing me. Either stop giving me hope or just say it outright.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”

His jaw ticks, lips curl in disdain. “How shallow do you think I am?”

“I know we never established any boundaries between each other but it’s gotten to a point where I don’t know how I should act around you.”

His face stays stagnant. “You can’t be serious. Your boundaries were set from the beginning. You never had a place for me in your heart.”

Time seems to stop for you in that dire moment, Leon’s blue eyes serving you a new wrench of dismay. “When did I give off that impression?”

“Our first anniversary,” he clarifies hoarsely. “We ate pizza on the couch, remember?”

You do, you even remember the Disney movie he had rented as a cheeky nod to time you two first flirted. The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I always wonder why you said yes to my proposal in the first place,” he said after taking a bite from his pizza slice. It had been a year since getting married, Hunnigan was the one to point out to him. Apparently, she was proud of herself due to the fact that she was the one to introduce you two.

“I thought of Cathy and what she would’ve said to me,” you said, watching the animated Quasimodo sing his heart out to the town below him.

“What would she have said?”

“That it is ridiculous and maybe I should say yes.”

“So, you thought of what Cathy would’ve said to you getting married but not your family?”

You turned your head to him, ready to get vulnerable. “Cathy was family to me.”

“I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yeah, we met when we were roommates back in college. She urged me to change majors and follow her path.”

“To become an agent?”

“No, she was the one who always wanted to be a special agent. I didn’t know what to do at first but somehow ended up working alongside her.”

“What were you studying before?”

“I was studying to become a nurse. Kind of in my sister’s path, she’s a doctor.”

He scratched his nape, looking ashamed. “I believe I never asked that before, sorry about that.”

You elbowed his side after taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, you better be sorry for not knowing what your sister-in-law does for work.”

He rolled his eyes upon your teasing. “Were they supportive of you changing majors? Your family, I mean.”

“My family’s always been small. It’s just me and my mom and sister. Dad’s never been in the picture. He left when I was a few months old. My mom raised us herself. And yes, she would support anything I did. She loved Cathy because she would make me do things I’d never do myself.”

“Your mom sounds like a great person.”

“She was. She died four days before Cathy did.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said, much more ashamed than before. You didn’t blame him, the first year of your marriage flew by really fast, with him on duty most of it. Forget sitting down like this to talk, you rarely got any chance to see him.

“Yeah, their deaths being so close fucked me up really bad. We were on mission. My mom was living with my sister then because she was sick. My sister didn’t tell me her condition was even worse than before.”

“Why?”

“Mom knew we were working on something big and begged my sister not to tell me. She thought she’d see me after I was done with the mission. I had a whole fight with my sister about it. I felt betrayed.”

“I think I would, too, in that situation.”

“I was so fucking unprofessional after that. I couldn’t keep on helping Cathy properly. And she—”

“It isn’t your fault.” He shook his head, meeting your gaze in the space between you two on the couch.

“I’m tired of hearing that,” you huffed.

“None of that is on you. It’s the truth.”

“It’s not. I knew the situation was going bad. Cathy tried to make me believe it was not. Somebody else had to be transferred to take my place instead. I insisted but I had to be taken out. That’s when we lost connection to her.”

“How did you know it was going bad?”

“I could tell from her voice. I know her better than I know myself. I failed to get her help. I should have never listened to her.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you? She clearly gave you wrong intel. You can’t send back-up until—”

“I could’ve made it seem like she requested back-up. That would’ve saved her, exterminated the mission, but saved her. I’d have faced the consequences of my actions sooner or later. If I did that and saved her, she’d be mad at me for years but who cares as long as she’s safe and sound?”

“I get it. I’d also have someone mad at me if it meant they’d be safe.”

“In the end, she died for nothing. The cult she was infiltrating dispersed after they killed her, all fled to different countries. It’s harder to track them down now. They’re everywhere.”

“You follow through with it? It would be impossible to track down each mission.”

“Why do you think I’m in the archives? I have access to mission reports. They don’t think it is bioweapon related, so sometimes they let me see them.”

Esmeralda was dancing along people’s whistles, captivating every man in the square.

“You said Cathy died for nothing but you actually don’t want that to be true.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you said, “Obviously.”

“You’re loyal,” he remarked. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to see her mission completed. Do you ever think of working as an analyst again?”

“Nope.”

From his expression you could tell he wanted an explanation, so you gave him one, “I don’t want to see people get hurt anymore. It’s a dangerous job, you know it. Why are you asking me?”

“No offense, but then why did you agree to marry me knowing I do the same job? If you’re scared of losing someone this much—it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You sighed, having a hard time thinking where to even start. “You’re going to call me crazy.”

“I would never,” he said, half-jokingly.

“Okay, I really did think what Cathy would tell me to do. I always listened to her, the whole time we got to spend together. She told me what she wanted to do with her life, told me I looked depressed with what I was studying and maybe we should join an academy together. She was larger than life, lit up an entire room with her presence, never spoke ill of someone, liked to help people in any way she could. I’ve always been shy, so she went above and beyond to find me decent blind dates.”

“She sounds wonderful. She was also your matchmaker?”

“In a way, yes. Dragged me to parties with her so I could have some fun.” You gave Leon a smile, recalling Cathy and her antics in your mind, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Nothing sounds crazy so far,” he reassured you.

Finished with your pizza, you dusted off the crumbs into the box and lifted up your knees to sit cross-legged facing him. “I couldn’t keep someone interested in me for more than two dates.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, his eyes traveling up and down.

“No, seriously. This one time, a guy left mid-date, told me he had a phone call, paid for the coffees and just left. I waited there for half an hour. It dawned on me when I couldn’t see his car outside. Didn’t call me after.”

Leon shrugged one shoulder. “His loss.”

You smacked his bicep playfully as a way of thanking him for his compliment. “I only went on these dates because Cathy thought it would be good for me. I had a few fights with my sister about Cathy and her influence on me. She thought I was like her puppet but I genuinely don’t think like that. I told you I knew Cathy like the back of my hand. It was the same for her. Never pushed me to do something I’d be uncomfortable with. Well, I’d feel awkward at times but it would be momentary, I’d learn so much in the long run.”

“That’s a very healthy way of looking at things. I’m still waiting for the part where you think I’d call you crazy.”

“I trusted her judgment because I knew she only wanted the best for me. She’d definitely try to set me up with you if we weren’t so busy all the time,” you said, lips curling into a roguish smile.

His eyebrows shot up, being brazen about it. “Oh, you’re saying I’d have her approval?”

Especially when you keep raking your hands through your hair like that, you wished to say. “Yes, you would.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“Well, she means so much to you, I feel honored that you think that way.”

A haze of grief washing over your heart, lungs expanding, you started, “I also… never mind.”

A comforting hand fell on you shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Now you have to say it, don’t leave me hangin'.”

“Here’s the crazy part,” you swallowed dryly. “Whenever I thought of my future, it was always with Cathy. I didn’t even think of getting married. I thought we’d retire together when the time came, she and Allison—her girlfriend—would live next to me. And if they ever had the chance, they’d marry and maybe have kids. I’d look after them like they were my own, be the best aunt. Isn’t it crazy, dreaming of looking after someone else’s kids and not yours? Sometimes I’d lay my head down and imagine myself in a little community, living next door to Cathy and her family, growing my own vegetable garden—though I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’d learn! I would also grow pretty flowers and give them out to anyone who decided to come over. Go to the bakery in the morning, greet everyone on the way and grab my breakfast fresh out the oven. I’d get so fat! Eating baked goods every day, sounds like heaven to me.”

“Indeed.” With a fond smile on his face, he took of his hand from your shoulder and fully turned to you, bending one leg up on the cushions. “I don’t think I met an Allison at the funeral, was she there?”

“She was,” you said, remembering the painful conversation you had with her. “She arrived really early and left before anyone from work came.”

“What happened?” he asked, noticing you ripping skin off your fingers just like you had been doing during that day.

“I tried to talk to her. She told me I was a liar and walked out—” Leon interrupted your chain of thoughts by taking your hand, preventing you from damaging your fingers further. “I couldn’t keep my promise to her. It’s awful. I told her before the mission that it was going to be okay, we’d done this with Cathy many times and I’d make sure to keep her in one piece.”

Your other hand had a death grip on your knee, nails digging and leaving indents to keep yourself grounded. “They tortured Cathy while she was captive. She died because she refused to give them any information.”

Leon seemed like he didn’t want you to continue, placed your hand in his as though he was reading your palm and started to fidget with your gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Tell me more about that dream of yours. I bet you wouldn’t even install normal ceiling lights in your house. It’d just be little lamps everywhere.”

Giggling, you said, “Yeah! I’d be that auntie that collects little trinkets and displays them all around her house. I’d learn how to knit and make so many ugly sweaters for God knows anyone.”

“So, no partner living with you? Just you with your trinkets?”

“There’s so many types of love and I just didn’t see myself in a romantic one. It just happened that I never pictured myself alone. That’s it.”

His hands slipped away after your raw confession, broad back straightening, appearing tensed up. Yet again, you couldn’t make out what his expression meant.

Esmeralda was now singing a hymn, Quasimodo staring at her in admiration from the shadows.

“I talked so much today, now’s your turn. I feel embarrassed that you know my abysmal attempts at finding love. How about you, Leon? You got any embarrassing stories that you can tell?”

His answer was quick and mischievous, “Yeah, this one time this lady just got up and left me at the bar. In the middle of an argument.”

You pursed your lips and bumped on his knee on the cushions, restraining a laugh you know he’d get satisfaction out of. “Don’t piss me off, that wasn’t even a date.”

“I had a girlfriend when I was twenty-one, she broke up with me before I started working as a cop.”

“That’s so long ago and not that embarrassing if I’m being honest,” you sniffed at him.

“I already told you about how I thought I’d marry her. I really believed my first ever relationship would live to see its future.”

Offering him a new perspective, you explained, “Well, technically it did, it just wasn’t a bright one.”

“Pshh,” he scoffed, turning to the TV, stretching before bending his arms behind his head. “Wait—you’re telling me I’m the only long-term guy you had?”

His late light-bulb moment pulled a chuckle out of you. “Turning it back to me again, okay. No, I did date a guy for nearly one year. And before you ask, he said I worked too much and wasn’t fun.”

Leon’s face scrunching as if he just ate something sour, he blurted out, “Where do you find these types of guys? Did Cathy set you up with this asshole?”

“No, actually, I found him myself.”

“Is he the one who made you think you’re not fun to be around?”

You were left stumped, unable to think of any answer.

“What? If he is, I disagree with him.”

“You only say that because I go along with your corny jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he chimed sarcastically.

Quasimodo was saving Esmeralda from the burning stake, the sign that the movie was about to end.

“Your dream,” he cleared his throat. “I could just picture it like a happy ending to a Disney movie. You know, they all have happy endings. Besides, I don’t think you’re insane for wanting a happy, peaceful life.”

“What’s insane about it is that I even imagined myself dying before Cathy. Getting buried before I got to bury her. I’ve never thought I’d live the day she wouldn’t, yet here I am… I wrote an entire script for the rest of my life in my mind, that’s why I spiraled down and down and down when it was not possible to play it out anymore. So, I stopped. It wasn’t healthy for me to continue obsessing over my ruined happy ending. I decided to live in the present. Write as I live on. Be more like Cathy, hopefully.”

There was little beer left in his can but he raised it anyway. “In the loving memory of Cathy Donovan, then.”

“I don’t have any drink left,” you gasped, lifting your can. “Cathy, I’m so sorry, you deserve the fruitiest of Martinis.” If Cathy was there, she would’ve laughed like a hyena, found it hysterical that you managed to call her fruity given the context.

After the honorary toast, Leon leaned back and intertwined his hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Phoebus and Esmeralda were passionately kissing.

“The novel’s ending was not family friendly, I guess,” you mocked.

“I haven’t read it.”

“If you’re planning on reading it, my lips are sealed.”

“Don’t know if I have the time. I don’t mind, tell me.”

“It’s painfully sad. Esmeralda gets hanged, Quasimodo pushes Frollo from the cathedral tower in grief and rage. That’s the moment he realizes he’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He also refuses to let go of Esmeralda, starves himself holding on to her dead body in her grave. Years later, an excavation group finds their intertwined skeletons and when they try to separate them, Quasimodo’s bones crumble to dust.”

“Now that’s vile.”

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart Baby, bang it up inside I'm not wearing my usual lipstick I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

—Washing Machine Heart, Mitski

“How would I know I’d end up here?” you ask him, voice shaking. “We didn’t promise each other anything, so I didn’t have any hope.”

You want nothing more than to ask him about the teddy bear keychain he has in desk drawer, why he holds onto it, ask whether you should be relieved that it no longer has a key attached to it.

There is that gut feeling, clawing at your churning stomach, that tells you he has someone. Someone else who knows him better than you, who is a better match to him, who makes him happier.

Someone he loves.

“But we had sex, it made me question everything and I’ve come to the conclusion that we were both lonely and weren’t thinking straight. You acted like it didn’t change anything, it almost made me go crazy. Please say something so I can finally understand, Leon,” you cry out.

“I don’t regret it,” he declares. “I don’t regret what we did. And I know how we started this marriage, I assumed it would always be the same after you told me your feelings.”

“I admit I’m hard to be with.” Your head hangs to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s hard for me to trust someone as much as I trusted Cathy. I’m sorry it took two years for us to be candid with each other. I used to be laidback about who I slept around with before. Now, I don’t know, I think twice about how I should touch you, talk to you. I used to think romantic love was not for me, so I wasn’t worried when you proposed because you didn’t expect it. I thought it wasn’t for people like us.”

“But you are capable of love,” he emphasized. “I know you are. You’re so good to me all the time. You stay up all night worrying when I’m not home, cook food for me despite your hatred for it, remember the smallest things and help me out, talk to me when I can’t sleep. I can’t even repay you for any of it and you still continue to be good to me. See, you’re speaking in a way that’s making me think there’s a chance that you love me and I still can’t say it back.”

Your silent tears unsettle him, this is the first time you let him see you cry. He has heard it before, the soft sobs and small chokes at night when you didn’t know he was awake.

You sniffle, “I know you’re capable of it, too, Leon. If the reason you can’t say it back to me is what I think it is, you definitely are.”

You quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“There is someone, right? You love them.”

His silence speaks volumes and it becomes your acceptance.

“Don’t let this thing between us hamper it, okay? I’m fine with it. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to keep up the faithful husband act.”

“Jesus,” he howls. “Just how terrible do you think I am? This thing between us is our fucking marriage. Not some situationship. Although I can’t make you think otherwise because you refuse to. I’m only gonna say this once, okay? I respect you enough to not sleep around behind your back.”

“Thank you, Leon, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You take both of his hands, wanting to remember the feel of him. “You love someone else and it’s okay. You’re better off with them. Hopefully they’re better at love than I am.”

You take off your ring and place it in your palm, caressing it. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking for this but I got so used to the weight of it on my finger. Can I have it as a keepsake?”

He grips your wrist tightly, grimacing. “What are you doing?”

“This is me letting you go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, voice thick. The way he places the ring on your finger again is a wretched overcompensation for not doing it before. You two didn’t have rings at the wedding and you were the one to place it on your own finger after purchasing them. “You’re running away,” he speaks in a hoarse croak. “Where will you go this time, hm?”

“I’ll resign and move close to my sister.”

His palms are cupping your jaw, fingertips in your hair. Him closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours is a way of saying I can love you if you give me time, I know I can.

“Stay,” he whispers, narrowing your whole world down to his warmth and you shudder from it. “Just tell me what you need.”

I need you to love me more, love enough to fill me up till there’s no crack left for me to write happy ever afters that will never come true. I need you to fill me full up, love enough to drown it out. Drown me out.

“Kiss me.”

“That I can do, honey.”

You know perfectly well that you’re selfish for wanting him like this. However, you yearn for the still of his hands on you, the irresistible feel of his skin on yours.

A kiss is placed on your temple, another one on your damp cheekbone, another on your jaw. Your eyes are closed the whole time he moves slow with his kisses. He grazes his nose beneath your ear, bringing you close to the brink of tears again. His hot breath is licking the other side of your face after, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“Scoot,” he says before gripping your waist and tipping you towards his torso. “My back is killing me like this.”

You’re afraid of hurting him with your weight but he insists, pulling you and placing you on his lap, getting you to straddle him, your thighs encasing his on either side. Your face a few inches above his, he tips his head back and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see a gash on his shoulder that disappears down his back which you didn’t notice before and you become aware once again that this isn’t the right moment to ask him for this.

“Leon—”

He can tell you’re about to get off him and he shuts you up by pulling you in a crushing kiss, pressing your chest to his with arms around your back so you won’t get away. “Stay here, don’t run away from me,” he says between labored breaths. His fingertips dance on your sides, making the hair on the back of your neck stand. He can probably feel your heart thumping crazy against his chest.

You caress the indent on his chin with your pointer finger, leaning down to kiss it. Leon lets out a delicious sigh, hands feeling up the sides of your thighs.

“Why did you kiss me at the wedding? There was no one to see,” you finally ask.

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the side trying to remember it. “The officiant was there. And the photographer.”

You nod and his lips are on yours again, tender this time. He opts to place quick kisses over and over again when he’s done being gentle. A chuckle escapes you when his nose bumps yours.

Fingers drifting under your shirt, he scratches your back up and down with his blunt nails. Any inch of skin he comes across, he kisses. Earlobe, jaw, neck, shoulder peeking through shirt. One hand splaying his fingers on your back, middle finger in line with your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the other one comes up front, lifting the front hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”

He doesn’t move the hand on your back when you’re taking it off, eyes dropping down to meet the new exposed skin. But you feel too naked, even though he’s wearing the same amount of clothes as you. You hug him around his neck, careful not to hurt him, bare chests pressed together.

He clasps the tops of your arms, biting the inside of one bicep.

“Ouch.” You retreat. “Why did you do that?”

“Let me see you.” He tips you backwards after his hand comes up to your nape, your butt slides on his lap, making you sit right on his crotch. He lets out a content hum, not embarrassed of his half hard erection. You cling to his biceps although his hand on the back of your neck is securing you in place.

A kiss is planted to the base of your throat and then to each collarbone. The hand on the front cups the underside of your breast, goosebumps rising on your skin. A wet kiss on the valley of your breasts, his breath cooling it. A low moan from you when he takes a stiff nipple in his hot mouth, finally giving it some attention. He twirls his tongue around it, teasing, before licking it right.

Your hips move involuntarily, rubbing against him through clothes all the while he sucks, kisses, grazes teeth. A jolt of electricity travels down to your core when he switches sides, underwear clinging to your sticky folds. You keen into him, pushing your chest out when he begins to suck a bruise under your breast. Your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his damp strands.

You discern his knitted brows and inclined back before tapping his shoulder. “Leon, stop.”

He halts the moment he hears you. The sight of a string of spit connecting his lips to your chest is obscene. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurting. You should lay down,” you say while standing up.

His eyes never leaving you, he gets off the bed as well. He seizes you under your arms, picking you up with ease. “See, honey? I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” He doesn’t let you protest and nips at your bottom lip before sloppily kissing you, tongue claiming every crevice of your mouth.

“No, put me down!” you wail, kicking your feet in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, setting you down on the floor. Your heated cheeks amusing him, he takes your hand and places it on the waistband of his sweatpants. “This is the only thing you need to worry about.”

You decide to be daring and slide your hand down, palming him through layers of clothing. “Fuck,” he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours, big hands pawing at your backside, fondling your ass. Your hand slips past his briefs, touching him without any barriers.

“Oh, just like that,” he encourages you when you pick up a pace. His abs tightening, it doesn’t take long for him to fully get hard. “Ah, wait—”

“Hm?” You look up at him, just holding him in your palm.

“Need to get a condom, be right back.” He squeezes your ass one last time. “You better take everything off,” he teases before stepping away to get to the bathroom.

Second thoughts come rushing to your mind the time he’s undressing and grabbing a condom in the bathroom. Maybe, you shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to make it harder for the both of you. You admitted loving him and he wasn’t able to say it back. But he told you to stay, he needs you, wants what you’re able to give him. And you desperately need to give him all you have, mind and body, even if it means for a short time.

Because you know you will never be able to love like this again.

Your thoughts are interrupted when a packet of condom is thrown on the bed in front of you, hands gathering your hair on one shoulder to return messy kisses to your neck from the back.

Your back meets his pecs, his erection snug between your bare ass cheeks, you sigh softly when his fingers find their way to your clit, making your spine tingle. You hold on to his forearm, clawing at his veins as he gathers your wetness from your entrance, back to circling your bundle of nerves with now soaked fingers. His bandaged hand urges you to spread your legs more before finding place on your throat. He ruts his hips against your ass, breathing loudly while you whine out incoherent sounds.

He groans your name, drawing your attention up to his scrunched face. “You’re so good to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper as he drags two fingers all the way along your slit, pumping them inside. The way you stretch around his fingers distracts him from the rhythm of his hips, making him still. But you crave the friction, arch back your own hips to get him to move again. Your hand winds around and finds his aching hard dick, thumb stroking the precum all over his angry red tip. Your head rolls back over his shoulder and you want nothing more than to properly see.

“Leon, I’m close,” you moan and push his hand away. “I want to see you.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he pants in your ear, tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, endowing him the sight of your glistening slit before laying down on your back, waiting for him to get on top of you. He parts your legs, taking a good look before smearing his tip on your folds, a mix of your wetness and his precum making it extra slippery.

“Please,” you manage to make out, one arm across your chest, another resting on his shoulder.

He rips your arm from your chest and pulls both your wrists above your head. “I said let me see you.”

He doesn’t let you fuss, fucking up his cock against your clit, allowing himself the bare feel of you for a little while.

He kisses your pout away before retreating to roll the condom on. You hiss as his tip breaches your entrance, legs trying to close on instinct, but he’s laying between them. He gets you used to the feel of him inside before you nod for him to move, slowly at first. Once your back arches and your hips shift, he gets the message to piston his hips faster.

He searches for the right pace just by examining you, what your face does when he tries something new, how your back arches, by the sounds you make. Not too fast, not too slow, he eventually finds an angle you particularly like.

“Too good for me,” he chants whilst thrusting, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head. You notice the absence of his ring but you don’t worry about it because you know he leaves it on his desk when he’s away for a mission, not wanting to lose it.

Your legs hug him around his waist, heels pressing him into you deeper. “Yes, yes, yes…” You keep singing his name when you feel it building up inside.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he grunts, listening to the slaps of skin and your frantic cries of pleasure.

“Good ‘cause I’m so close.”

He takes that as a challenge, making sure you reach your high before him. He watches as you do, walls clenching down on his length, lips chasing his.

He’s cooing in your ear between your gasps, coaxing your bliss out of you. “I know, honey, I gotcha. You can let go.”

Your mouth opening in a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you, hands trembling in his hold, legs trying to shut, your entire body quivering as you ride it out.

Irregular thrusts of his hips bouncing your breasts in front of him, he nestles his face between them, breathing in your scent. He noses the blossoming mark he left under there and moves slow, dragging it out as much as possible.

He sinks boneless on you, his weight feeling comforting rather than crushing. You embrace him as he softens out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He peels the condom off and lays on you for a while, head between your ribs, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away sweat from his temple, frowning.

“You’ll have to hop in the shower again.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, voice muffled and nasal. “And you’re coming with me, too.”

“Leon!” you shriek, playfully slapping his twitching bicep. “You shouldn’t tire yourself more.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was gonna ask you to wash my back.”

After a few minutes, you drag him in the shower, helping him soap his back. He stands under the hot rain when you’re cleaning yourself with his body wash, eyes and hands wandering, groping here and there. You smack his naughty hands each time, can’t help but giggle. However, he’s tired and sleepy, so he’s only playing.

You offer to change his sheets but he insists on doing it in the morning and tugs your arm to your room, preferring to sleep in your clean sheets. He nearly falls asleep as you blow-dry your hair, waiting for you in the bed.

As soon as you’re snuggled up to him, he tucks you to his chest, chin on your forehead. Soft sighs tickle the crown of your hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your pointer finger stops drawing circles on his pectoral muscle. “Mhm?”

“After your mom and Cathy passed away, how did you survive? There has to be a reason.”

“I actually planned to end it all after both funerals. I told myself to just get past that week. It’ll all be over in a week. But there’s my sister. She came with me to help with Cathy’s funeral. Forced me to eat anything she could cook while I lived on autopilot. She was washing my hair in the sink when I realized I can’t leave her behind. It’s just not fair. She has a wonderful husband but a husband doesn’t mean forever— I mean, look at what my mother got. A deadbeat husband who left her with two little kids. My sister doesn’t have any kids. Worst case scenario, her husband leaves her and—”

He retracts abruptly to search your face, hand on your cheek to steer you to him. “So, you wrote a script again. With a sad ending.”

“My sister is my only family left. I don’t want her to live unhappily.”

“Hey, I’m your family, too. Why are you talking like I’m not here?” He presses a long, soothing kiss to your lips. His fingers tip your chin up. “Look at me. What do you have in that mind of yours? What kind of script do you have for us?”

You lie. “I don’t have one.”

He smiles. “Good. Because we’ll write one as we go on.”

(a/n: a very short part 2 will be posted here in a few days, keep an eye out for that. ty for reading!)

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

#leon s. kennedy #leon s. kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #i forgot to post this on tumblr #leon kennedy smut

828 notes · View notes

frudoo · 21 days ago

Note

Your new Baker!Simon AU has me hooked! 🤩😊 Retired!Ghost baking away in the comfort of his home, just needing something to improve his lil’ therapy-inspired business… someone like Food-Photographer!Reader ;) You gotta tell me how absolutely OVERBOARD he goes with the dessert(s) when they schedule their first meet up. Pleeeaaaseeee?

I’m obsessed!!! ^-^ Can’t wait to hear anything else you come up with, dear Writer! Thank you for being you 🫡

Much love, keep yourself happy ‘n’ healthy and get Simon some more dough (Get it? Money = dough? But also dough ‘cause he’s a baker? Hahah. Hah…)! <3

Changed it up a bit 😉

Warnings: Body image issues, mentions of therapy.

Simon is up to his elbows in baked goods. There’s no room on the kitchen island for the tray of espresso-flavored macarons he just prepared, so he has to set them on the coffee table in his living room. On the overcrowded counter is an array of cupcakes of various flavors—chocolate, cookie butter, ube (Kyle made him try the flavor when the 141 went to the Philippines for a trip and he fell absolutely in love), all arranged on separate platters that match their color. Each treat is decorated with perfect swirls of buttercream or topped with shiny luster dust.

He can’t remember the last time he’d baked so much. Maybe it was Price’s retirement party? Honestly, he doesn’t remember much of that night, but boy does he remember the morning after. Simon can recall how he got every single scar on his broad body, but not one of those painful experiences even scratches the surface of that fucking hangover. Nevertheless, it’s been a long, long time since he’s baked so many sweets. He didn’t even eat breakfast before he started working, and that was… six hours ago? Bloody hell, how is it already nearly time?

One look at the clock and Simon is scrambling to get dressed—jeans that hang low on his waist and a simple black tee. Both fabrics stretch around the muscles he’s maintained despite the growing layer of fat around his belly. He pats his torso as he looks at himself in the mirror, cleft lip scrunched up in distaste. Maybe he should lay off of all those “quality control” taste tests. He doesn’t have much time to think about it before his doorbell rings.

God, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous in his life. Not through the amount of times he’s looked death right in the eye, not when his father would come clunking home absolutely hammered, not when he held Johnny’s hand to keep him awake and alert after Makarov shot him right in the temple. But you, this sweet, pretty girl who’s coming to see him—not even for a date!—has his fingers fidgeting and his heart racing in his chest. He sucks in a deep breath and counts to three, just like his therapist taught him, then opens the door.

Simon knows he’s in for it the moment he sees you look up at him in awe, trying to hide your shock with a crooked smile. Pretty round cheeks and a soft body—he’s doing his best not to look at the dip where your blouse exposes your cleavage—and plush lips that he’s dying to feel against his own. Fuck.

“I- uh… Simon? I-I’m here about the- um. My treats. Your treats! My camer- pictures! I’m here to take pictures of your… treats.”

The man can practically see the mental faceplant you just gave yourself, and for some reason, it calms his nerves. You’re human, and you’re real, and you’re beautiful. And you’re waiting for him to invite you in.

“Pleasure. C’mon in, jus’ mind the… er. The clutter.”

Simon opens the door wider and you thank him softly, gasping when you see the amount of goodies all over his kitchen and even overflowing into the living room. There must be at least a hundred cupcakes and a few dozen macarons. It stuns you for a second but his gentle hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality. You clear your throat and smile up at him.

“You really went all out!” You giggle a bit and Simon’s heart just about leaps out of his chest—he shrugs.

“Ligh’ work,” he jokes.

You’re embarrassed by the snort that slips out of you, covering your mouth as your eyes go wide, but Simon thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He needs to snap out of it. This is business. Simon runs a hand through his slightly overgrown hair sheepishly, gesturing towards the camera that hangs by a strap on your neck.

“Oh, r-right. Did you wanna be in the photos? Get you a nice new profile picture?” You ask with a grin, carefully slipping past him to examine his work more closely. “People typically like to know the face of the person they’re ordering from.”

Simon bites the inside of his cheek, debating. The military instilled such a strict rule in him. He never posts his face out of fear someone from his past will come knocking down his door to carry out a vendetta. He was thorough in his SAS days, never allowing himself to be caught without the infamous Ghost mask, but regardless, he deems it too much of a risk. He’s thankful you seem to understand his hesitation.

“We could do a picture of you holding up a tray so it’s just your chest and arms? I could crop your face out, or we don’t have to include you in it at all. It’s up to you.”

Too fucking sweet for your own good.

“Chest ‘n’ arms’ll be fine, love,” he grunts finally, offering you a small smile.

“Sounds like a plan,” you look back to nod at him before grabbing the camera from around your neck. “Where do you wanna start?”

“Wha’ever’s easiest f’you,” Simon hums, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to watch as you twist and turn every confectionary to find the best angle.

You’re quiet when you’re focused. The only sounds he can hear are the shutters of the camera snapping a picture or your footsteps as you step around the counter to capture every little feature of the whimsical delicacies. It’s odd. Simon doesn’t mind quiet—prefers it most of the time—but he can’t help but crave the sound of your voice explaining to him every single thought going through your head. He blames it on curiosity.

It takes all of twenty minutes for you to get every picture you need of his confections, with varying angles and lighting changes. You walk over to him and go through the photos, explaining every little detail you loved or why you changed up the order of things for a particular shot. Simon nods in approval—he genuinely could not tell the difference between most of them, but like hell he’s going to tell you that, not when you’re this close, looking up at him with that sweet, hopeful smile.

“Looks perfect t’me,” he breathes, giving you a soft pat on the back.

“Thank you,” you sniffle. “So… did you still wanna do that profile picture?”

“I- er, tha’s fine. Where d’ya need me?”

“Right over… here!” You gently grab him by his bicep and pull him to where there’s a blank wall and a good amount of light.

Simon stands in place like a studious muse while you rearrange some of his treats on one of his circular platters. You place the tallest cupcakes near the back, the smaller ones in the middle, then position the macarons in a way that showcases both their shiny tops and the perfect bake he got on them. Cautiously, you grab the tray and take it over to him.

“Here, hold it just- yeah, just like that. Perfect.”

You bite your lip when you carefully maneuver his arms into a position where the light captures the depth of his faded tattoos and prickling veins—you convince yourself it’s to give the picture more personality. Simon’s just glad that his face won’t be visible. He’s praying right now that you don’t notice how fucking red he’s gotten just from your delicate touches and the way you stare at his arms and chest. It makes him feel insecure and as a result he sucks in his belly. His heart skips a beat when you frown.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper, hesitating before lightly placing your hand on his stomach to encourage him to relax. “Looks better like this.”

In less than ten words—far fewer than his therapist has spoken over the past few years, fewer than every single uplifting word he’s written in his journals—you’ve managed to silence the unrest in his head that tells him he’s not good enough, if only just for a few moments. His breath hitches in his throat as you step back to take a final picture. Satisfied, you take the platter from his hands and set it aside, giving him a shy grin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep-”

“No, don’t apologize. I, uh… I needed tha’. Thank you,” his voice trails off as he looks down at you.

You nod shortly, sucking in a deep breath. He’s so close and it makes you dizzy.

“Right. I guess I’ll head out, and as soon as I get the pictures edited, I’ll send them to you?” You bite your lip and Simon has to resist the urge to lean in and take a nip for himself.

“Oh, please, take some o’this. I don’t know wha’ t’do w’all of it,” he scratches the back of his neck timidly.

Taking one last quick look around his house, you hum thoughtfully.

“I have an idea.”

#ask me!#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #baker!simon #simon riley x female reader

392 notes · View notes

gingersxng · 9 months ago

Text

Sex Addiction

Pairing: f!reader x San

Summary: your boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself and isn’t sorry about the consequences which follows

Genre: Smut 18+

Notes: sub!reader, rough dom!San, San has a sex addiction, San is really horny, public touching, nipple sucking, pussy eating, fingering, spanking, bruising, unprotected sex (always keep safe), cum eating, cream pie, many rounds, overstimulation

Words: 814

you were invited to a family dinner with your parents at a fancy restaurant earlier this evening but halfway through your boyfriend decided it would be appropriate to start playing with you under the table. caressing his hand on your squishy thighs and then further up your short skirt while holding a conversation with your mom. you felt your heart race and your body froze cause you were so scared someone would notice. you squeezed your thighs together locking his hand in between them to give him a warning. a deep chuckle escaped his lips. he pinched your thigh making you jolt up with a “ouch”. you threw a deadly glare at him and he honestly couldn’t care less cause all you got in return was a dirty smirk. “everything alright honey” your mom asked with a worried look on her face. “she’s been having bad cramps lately, I think I should take her home so she can get some rest” San replied squeezing your thigh.

and that’s how you ended up on your bed with your boyfriend sucking on your nipples and a hand inside your panties. “y-you really can’t restrain yourself c-can you” you moaned out trying to sound angry. San let go of your nipple and gave you a smirk sliding in two fingers inside your hole. “oh how well you know me..” he chuckled pumping his fingers faster. his actions made your back arch and eyes shut tight. this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened when you and San were out together, his sex drive was almost too much but you wouldn’t have it any other way seriously.

he pulled down your panties and rubbed your clit a few times before he dove right in. tongue gliding up and down your folds tasting your arousal. you put your hand in his hair pushing him down a bit, he groaned against your clit sending electric waves to your stomach. your moans were like angels singing in Sans ears and he could feel his cock twitch in his pants. your orgasm hit you like a train and you came all over his tongue, your body felt so heavy. San didn’t waste any time, he licked you clean and hurried to undo his pants letting his leaking aching friend out. “you don’t know how hard it is to keep my cock inside my pants when we’re out darling” his voice were deep and serious making your whole body shiver. he took his cock guiding it to your aching hole, being too excited like he used to get he didn’t give you a chance to adjust to him and you let out a whimper from the burn. he rutted into you like his life depended on it, your hands grabbing around him scratching his back. his eyes were pitch black and his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, San wasn’t that vocal instead he was growling and it always made your pussy clench around his cock sucking him all in. “fuck, I’m gonna cum if you keep clenching like that” “then cu- cum mmh inside me” you moaned out. he almost came just hearing you say that. he pulled out grabbing you by the waist flipping you over on your stomach. “on all fours now” he growled. with shaky legs you obeyed him.

he hit your ass cheeks very hard a few times which would leave handprints before taking hold on your hips squeezing hard while he pushed himself inside again. you felt tears rolling down your cheeks from the mixed feeling of pleasure and pain, San always used to go very rough on you when you had sex which meant you almost never had romantic and slow sex. “my beautiful sexy girl gonna get filled up good with my cum” he groaned throwing his head back. you felt your stomach twist and your mouth fell open when he put one hand on your clit and the other squeezing your ass hard while thrusting in and out. “pls S-Saaaannn!” you screamed, your legs almost gave out under you. “cum for me baby” he spanked you one more time with force and you came while letting out a loud broken moan. San pressed his hips into you and you could feel his cock twitch inside you, a big load of cum spurting into you. San pulled out watching as the cum was dripping out from your stretched hole all over your thighs, just the sight made him hard again. before you had time to rest you felt him pushing his cock in again.

“San you’re kidding…” you threw your head back to look at him. he gave you a sly smile letting out a little laugh. “when you have an addiction it’s damn hard to stop” he said bending over kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs as he started to thrust into you again.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #san x reader #san ateez #choi san #ateez san

1K notes · View notes

purplealmonds · 9 months ago

Text

Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹

(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired) ⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.

👁️Overview

Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.

---

🔎Scope

Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!

Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.

While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!

The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.

To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function.

The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers.

Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file.

---

Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!

---

🗳️3D Layout

As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.

And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!

---

🎬Production-Based Set Dressing

In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions.

🦊Kusuriuri

It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?

🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)

Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.

Salt Jar

Candlestick

Rat Trap

🦋Mononoke (2007)

The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.

Medicine Box

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Mirror

Ring

Geta Sandal

Necklace

Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)

Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)

Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)

Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)

Genjiko Blocks (Nue)

Train Ticket (Bake Neko)

Lantern (Anime OP)

Butterflies (Anime EP)

☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)

Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.

Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices!

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Comb

Movie Poster

Butterfly (Custom design)

---

🪭Official Merchandise

Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.

🎊15th Anniversary

Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO

Whiskey Glass & Box

📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi

Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)

Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)

📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa

Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2

Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel

Mononoke Vol. 1-10

🎭Butai Mononoke

Bakeneko Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees

Zashikiwarashi Manegi

💿Physical Media

Official OST CD

DVD Box Set

Yokai Pattern Fabric

---

Common Collab Merchandise

This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.

Amnibus

Wall Scrolls

Tenugui Fabric

Shot Glasses

Minoyaki Bean Plates

ANIGA-TER

Stickers

Can Badges

Canvas Prints

Anique

Diorama Acrylic Stand

Acrylic Blocks

Challenge Kuji

Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks

eeo Store Online

Folding Fan

Keychains

Can Badges

gj character G

Cushion

Acrylic Charms

Neo Gate

Satchels

Mini Badges

Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda

---

High-End Collab Merchandise

Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.

gj character G

Exorcism Sword Ring

Goodsmile

Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine

Folding Screen

Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush

Tote Bag

Kaya

Umbrella

Tenbin Kanzashi

Tabi Socks

Dress

Kotobukiya

Figurine

Mayla

Pump Heels

Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins

Tenbin Earrings

Hyper Earrings

Noitamina Apparel

Perfume

Tenbin Necklace

Folding Fan

Super Groupies

Purse

Wallet

Watch

Tsumuji Design

Exorcism Sword Necklace

Ofuda Bracelet

Useless Use Lab

Fragrance Set

Air Purifier

Three-Sided Mirror

#mononoke 2007 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke fanart #medicine seller #kusuriuri #モノノ怪 #mononoke anime #薬売り #mononoke #fan art #purplealmonds #2024

1K notes · View notes

lightseoul · 3 months ago

Text

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), cussing (bkg-typical), not many warnings needed for this one chat

words. 1.3k (i had to split it so that the chapter wouldn't be a whole ass novel. also for pacing purposes :0)

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 8, part 9

Your eyes lazily trail the movement of the colleague you speak to at most twice a year as they give a presentation up front, the words they’re uttering slowly turning into a slew of blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory like in that TikTok you saw before falling into a fitted sleep the night prior.

Without you noticing, November has finally rolled around, and with it came one of the most important meetings involving Bakugou, Kirishima, and the agency’s department heads aimed at preparing the leaders for the year-end processes and reports.

The very meeting that you find yourself barely getting through at this exact moment.

Tanaka, the said colleague, seems like he’s explaining a pie graph about Dynamight, Red Riot, and their sidekicks’ stats, you think.

You shake your head in an attempt to bring your attention back to what’s in front of you, but your efforts appear to have been in vain as your mind, once again, drifts to the past, and you find yourself mulling over what Mina said two weeks ago.

It’s something that hasn’t left your mind since then, trailing behind you like a damned poltergeist who doesn’t know when to let up.

And as much as you’d hate to admit it, it’s caused considerable confusion on your part, and you don’t like how it may have inadvertently affected how you act around Bakugou, too.

You’re more fidgety, now, and you’ve since beaten your record of how fast you get flustered and stuttery around the man. Although if he’s noticed this humiliating, inexplicable change in your behavior, he isn’t showing it.

At least, not by much.

His gazes have been lingering for a beat too long whenever you stammered your response instead of doing so calmly like you usually do…

“Hey.”

You sit up in sudden attention, dizziness instantly hitting you from having been violently pulled from your reverie. You look at Bakugou, who’s staring you down from the end of the table, and scan the area around him, only to realize that everybody has apparently left, leaving the two of you alone in the conference room.

“Wha—”

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment. Guilty.

He shakes his head in what you think is disapproval, stacking the documents in front of him in a neat pile. You take that as a cue to follow suit, gathering your folders in front of you and hurriedly standing up to beeline out of the room.

The last thing you need is for these glass doors to magically lock you in, too.

But you don’t even get to reach the doorway, ass barely lifted a breadth away from your cushy office chair when he speaks up.

“I overheard you in the breakroom.”

You freeze in your tracks, lifting your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Earlier this morning. You said—” he pauses, eyes shifting to your rear, “Sit back down, dumbass. Your knees are gonna kill you if you keep this up.”

You’re about to retort with a comeback when it dawns on you that the guy has a point, so you begrudgingly take a seat.

“As I said,” he shoots you a pointed look, “I overheard you saying you didn’t have plans for next week.”

“Next week?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, yeah,” you absentmindedly scratch your right cheek. “My family will be on vacation and all my close friends have plans with their relatives.”

One of his eyebrows raises in question, “And you won’t be tagging along?”

You shrug, “I don’t want to impose on my friends, and being with my family on a holiday isn’t exactly the most relaxing experience.”

Bakugou merely hums in response, seeming as if he’s pondering something in his head. Unable to sustain his gaze, you opt for looking around the room instead, suddenly finding the plain, gray ceiling wildly interesting.

A few moments pass before you decide that yes, this silence is going to kill you if you don’t get the fuck out now.

You lift yourself from your chair, “Well, I should get go—”

“Come over.”

As if you’re in a slapstick comedy, you, once again, freeze. “W-what?”

He clears his throat, “C-come over, to my parents’. For thanksgiving.”

You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before his eyes gravitate toward your rear again, only this time you plop back down before he can order you to reseat yourself.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow…”

He sighs like he’s teaching you basic ass mathematics and you’re not getting it. “The old hag has been begging me to let them meet you ever since, you know…”

The news of you two “dating” broke out. Right.

You mentally slap yourself for forgetting Bakugou had parents who would eventually also catch wind of your silly little dating scandal.

At the thought of meeting the people who raised Bakugou, your throat suddenly feels a bit too dry. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you manage to get out.

It’s one thing to go and pretend to be Bakugou’s girlfriend in front of the man’s fucking parents, it’s another to do so in this state that you’ve been in ever since that get-together with his friend group. You don’t exactly know why, but you’ve been fundamentally reconfigured since that fated night, and whatever the fuck is causing it, you’re sure won’t mix well with being in the same room as Bakugou’s parents. That, on top of having to act all lovey-dovey with their son around them.

You’re about to defend your case as to why they should just scrap the idea entirely when Bakugou responds.

“It’s either that or she visits us here in the agency.”

Your jaw drops, “Is that a threat?”

He draws his lips in a thin line, shaking his head. “It’s an ultimatum.”

“That’s more or less the same thing,” you counter.

“My mom likes to play with the shitty technicalities,” he retaliates, tone abrasive as ever.

You can only gawk at the guy as he shifts in his seat rather quite uncomfortably.

Is he seriously going along with his mom’s wishes now?

What happened to the ever-notorious Bakugou who just goes for what he wants without minding everyone else?

You study the man for a beat, weighing your options in your head. It’s obvious, which of the two is the wiser option. It’s a matter of going for where there are fewer pairs of eyes watching you and Bakugou’s every movement. But the real question is, why do you have to choose in the first place?

“I don’t understand,” you start, “Why can’t you just tell your mom that we’re not ready to do the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing yet?”

“Why don’t you be on the receiving end of her fucking nagging, hah?” he snaps, voice defensive and loud enough to make you jump.

“Okay, okay,” you immediately concede, tone placating, not willing for this to escalate into a fight. The last thing you need is for somebody in the building to overhear you, think you’re having a lovers’ quarrel or whatever the fuck they call it, and run to the media to gush all about it.

You’ve had enough media exposure to last you for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Chancing one last glance at your boss, you find him staring a hole into the pile of papers directly in front of him, a prominent scowl etched on his face.

His mom’s nagging must be weighing him down more than you thought.

As you study the visibly bothered man, you’re acutely aware of all the fight evaporating from your body, and you eventually find yourself slouching in your seat in what you reluctantly identify as defeat.

“…What’s your parents’ address?”

“Don’t bother,” he almost instantly replies. “I’ll pick you up.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make such a huge difference! have a lovely day ( ˘ ³˘)

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

557 notes · View notes

mrsmikaelsxn · 2 years ago

Text

A Malfoy And A Potter

masterlist

pairing: draco malfoy x female potter reader

warnings: fluff, kissing

summary: you and draco have been dating in secret but the secret comes out when you two attend the yule ball together

a/n: i am so sorry i have not posted in forever, i've just been busy with school and work, and trying to catch up on my reading goal for the year! it's almost summer break so i should be posting more again :)

song: sleigh ride - the ronettes

You were currently pushed up against the wall by your boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.

His lips roam the smooth skin of your jaw and throat. Peppering you with loving kisses while you play with his hair.

Both of you are breathing heavy and he brings his lips back up to your mouth as he kisses you. You let out a satisfied hum and put your hands on his chest.

You gently push him back a bit and he looks at you. "What's wrong, love?"

"Someone is going to see us," you whisper.

"Hm, well that sucks for them," he grins and kisses you again.

You push him and laugh, "I guess you're right," you smile.

"They're going to see us when we go to the ball tomorrow night, you do know that, don't you?"

"Well of course, I know that!"

Draco pulls you into his chest and rests his head on yours, "If Potter has a problem with you and me tomorrow, I'll be more than happy to practice some hexes on him," he glides his hand along your waist.

"There will be no practicing hexes, Draco," you pick up his hand and kiss it before walking out of his embrace.

"Boring!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby," you squeeze his cheeks. "Anyway, I'll be off to dinner now, you should come too," you start walking to the great hall and he follows you like a lost puppy.

You go in and sit with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. "Hello," you smile at them.

"Hi, Y/n," Hermione smiles.

"Hey, mate," Ron says.

"Greetings," Harry salutes you. You grin and salute him back.

"So, do you all have your dates?" You ask them. You already knew about Hermione's date, of course, you two are like sisters.

"Er- not exactly," Harry replies scratching the back of his neck.

"Same here," Ron sighs and drops his head onto the table. You cover your mouth to stop your laugh when he groans in pain.

"Welp, you two got under a day left," you clasp your hands.

"What about you?" Ron asks, "I've been wondering if you finally picked someone out of the two hundred people who asked you," he says with amusement.

"Oh don't be silly, Ron, it was not two hundred people!"

"Sorry- two hundred and seven," he corrects.

You roll your eyes, but it was true. You four have literally been tallying how many people have asked you, boys and girls. "Well, yes, I have a date."

"Really? Who?" Hermione asks.

"I suppose you'll have to see tomorrow," you exclaim with a smile.

You were in your room getting ready for the ball, slightly panicking. Hermione was already dressed and now helping you. "Y/n, you don't need to be nervous," she says as she helps with your hair.

"I know but-"

"No buts. You are perfect and you dance amazingly! Your date is very lucky," she smiles.

You relax a bit and look at her through the mirror, "Hermione, have I mentioned how much I love you?"

"Yes, yes you have," she takes her wand to finish your hair. You already did your makeup with some of her assistance. She claps her hands in excitement, "I believe it's time for the dress!"

You pick up the beautiful dark green gown. You had bought Draco a matching tie when you picked the dress out.

You put the dress on and flatten out some wrinkles.

"You look stunning!" Hermione squeals.

"You mean that?"

"Of course! Now, let's head to the ball!" Hermione links her arm with yours. You two make your way to the entrance when you start to panic again. For someone as well known and popular as you, you get social anxiety often.

"You go in first, I'm scared," you bite your lip nervously.

She sighs but nods. She gives you a quick smile with a thumbs up before she heads down the stairs and goes to her date, Viktor Krum. You peak through the curtain to watch. Ron's jaw drops when he looks at her and her date. He looks angry and you could almost laugh.

After pacing for two minutes you decided to just go down. You pull the curtain and try to sneak in without being noticed. Unfortunately, things don't always go the way you want.

There were an absurd amount of gasps as you made your way down the stairs, praying to Merlin that you didn't trip in your heels. The gaping gazes of the people there making you even more nervous.

You see Draco talking with his best friend, Blaise Zabini. Draco listens to his friend talk as he waits for you to arrive. He notices his friends eyes widened as his mouth opens a bit.

He furrows his brows and looks to see everyone staring at something. He looks and his eyes land on you. He feels all the air sucked out of him. He admires you and then snaps out of his trance and makes his way over you, who was smiling at him.

He holds out his hand and you place yours in his. He leans down to your ear and whispers, "I hope you know how ethereal you look, sweetheart," he pulls back and you blush. Another round of gasps fill the room and you hear a, "WHAT?!" You look over and see Harry rushing over to you two, "I- what in Merlin's name are you doing with Malfoy?!"

"Um, he's my date," you say.

Harry's jaw drops as his head goes back between the two of you. You laugh and shake your head.

Draco pulls on your hand, "I would appreciate a dance with my girlfriend while you continue gaping," he places his hand on your lower back and walks you to where people started to dance.

"GIRLFRIEND??!!"

5K notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Text

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside.

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?”

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light.

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat.

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside.

It’s good to be home.

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated.

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone.

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive.

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways.

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves.

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate.

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away.

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast.

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently.

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in.

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness.

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side.

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.”

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything.

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…” Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?”

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.”

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.”

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?”

“She won’t let me eat.”

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.”

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?”

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.”

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for.

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you.

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.”

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.”

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks.

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?”

“Avery’s always nice.”

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.”

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.”

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away.

“You comfortable enough?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.”

“But you had fun, right?”

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.”

“Exhausted?” you ask.

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.”

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.”

“You did not.”

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy).

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.”

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek.

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.”

“Love you, Steve.”

“Love you, too.”

2K notes · View notes

minarisplaything · 10 months ago

Text

Tour Break ft. Lisa and Jennie

pairings: Jennie Kim/M!OC, Lisa/M!OC rating: Explicit word count: 3.7k summary: A few months have passed since your last encounter with Jennie. When a tour stop brings the girls near your university, they decide to pay you a visit. PART ONE HERE. tags: size kink, semi-public sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, footjob A/N: may have gotten a bit carried away. hope yall enjoy!

After that night with Jennie, the following weeks leading up to their tour changed for you completely. Instead of preparing to go off to university, you began spending more time with your sister and her friends. It was an effective way to lose that embarrassed little sibling complex. Mostly though, it was because being around them offered more chances for Jennie and you to sneak off and fool around.

And boy did you two fool around. You had to have easily been the luckiest person in the country during that time. Eventually, though, it came to a close as they went back on tour and you went off to university.

You kept in touch through texts and sneaking in the occasional FaceTime when possible, but it wasn't until the end of your spring term that you got to see them again. It wasn't even a personal visit; it just so happened they were playing at the local stadium near your university.

You had received a text from Jisoo that you were to meet them for lunch later in the day. As happy as you were to see your sister, you found yourself anxious to see Jennie. It had been more than a few months now. Would she still be interested in your arrangement? Would she still be interested in you, or had the thrill disappeared? You supposed there was only one way to find out.

You walked through the front doors of the restaurant you were to meet them at, and the hostess led you to the table where they were waiting. Immediately, you were greeted with high-pitched voices and limbs swallowing you into hugs.

Okay, maybe you hadn’t completely gotten rid of the little sibling complex.

"You look so different with all that scruff!" Rosie exclaimed, running a hand over your chin, her fingers brushing against your stubble. “I bet all the girls on campus fall for this.”

“I do alright for myself,” you joked.

Some light-hearted laughter echoed in the restaurant and you found yourself scratching the back of your neck as you stole a look at Jennie. As everyone took their seats you placed yourself next to Jisoo and across from Jennie. You stole another glance at her but, to your disappointment, she seemed to be acting completely normal.

Of course she was, you silently chastised yourself, Did you expect her to suck your dick right in front of Jisoo?

“I want to hear all about it. How has your first year been?” Jisoo questioned, placing her chin on her hands.

"Really? You guys have been traveling the world and you want to hear about how school has been?" you asked.

"Duh! And make sure you leave in all the dirty details," Lisa chimed in, a smirk on her features.

"I think we can do without that part," Jisoo said, her face scrunching up.

"Speak for yourself!" Lisa retorted.

Her words earned laughter from everyone except Jisoo, and you felt yourself slowly beginning to relax. Among her many talents, you found that Lisa was an expert at lightening the mood in any given situation.

"Where do I begin..."

You proceeded to recount the events that had occurred in your first semesters at university. The parties - which Lisa seemed particularly interested in hearing about - the friends, your classes, and even the few girls you had what could loosely be called relationships with. Though admittedly, you might have intentionally overplayed those stories. Judging by the way Jennie’s expression subtly shifted when you told the stories, it had worked. Or, you hoped it had.

Christ, you were getting bold. Playing games with one of the most desired women on the planet?

"Wow, I can’t believe my baby brother is sounding like an adult," Jisoo said, placing a hand on yours as you finished. "You’re practically a man now."

You scoffed before pulling your hand away teasingly. "God, when did you get so sentimental?"

She laughed, hitting your arm playfully before turning back to the group.

"To be fair, I think he’s been a man for a while now," Jennie spoke up for the first time, her gaze zeroing in on yours.

You played it off with a laugh, but you could feel your face heating up. Beneath that, there was a tinge of fear. Was this payback for provoking her? It had to have been. Of course, Jennie had always been flirty, however where it had been innocent in the past, you now had a history. If it could be called that. And you weren’t exactly sure how Jisoo would react to that history. But you had prodded her, now you had to deal with whatever came next.

You took a sip of your drink, recovering your composure before changing the direction of the conversation. "So, how is the tour going? You guys are on the last leg right?"

There was a collective nod before Jisoo spoke, "It’s been wonderful. I really wish mom and dad would have let us take you to some of these places."

"Why do you say – THAT!?"

The last word came out almost as a high-pitched yelp and you immediately went into a coughing fit to try and mask it. Jisoo looked concerned, as did Rosie, while Lisa bore a smirk and Jennie seemed almost indifferent.

"Sorry, I must have gotten something stuck in my throat, go on," you coughed.

Jisoo patted you on the back to make sure you were okay before continuing her answer. You, however, were no longer listening. That was because there was currently a foot pressed against your inner thigh unbeknownst to anyone else. When you looked across the table, you had no doubt about who the culprit was.

Truth be told it was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Jennie stared back at you, the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips. Her eyes, meanwhile, were practically daring you to react and say something. When you didn’t, you swore her smirk grew more bold, her foot pushing higher against your thigh.

"…Well, we did New York in December, it looks amazing…" Jisoo continued on.

You nodded your head, trying to remain focused as Jennie’s foot rubbed up your leg until she reached the height she wanted. Her toes curled slowly as she moved to press against your crotch. At this point, you were already starting to get hard and had to move your chair in more so Jisoo or Rosie wouldn’t see.

"How was the crowd overseas? Good?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation and any attention away from what was happening underneath the table.

"Oh, they were amazing," Jennie spoke. When you turned your attention to her, she was simply smiling as normal, despite that the sole of her foot was now rubbing your erect cock through your jeans. "There was so much excitement and energy. I literally felt like the crowd was just going to explode."

While the other girls just nodded in agreement, you closed your eyes briefly. Lisa began speaking but at this point, you were barely registering what any of them were saying. Jennie’s foot continued to jerk you off over your clothing, rubbing you as furiously as possible without being noticed. At one point, her toes pressed against your zipper and you wondered if she just might free your cock from its constraints. That would be terrible. So why did you want it to happen so badly?

“Are you okay?” Rosie asked, giving you a glance.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, you're fine. You just need a drink," you said, trying to give your best smile before sipping your water slightly. You could see Jennie smirking out of the corner of your eye. You still didn’t know what she was playing at but you also weren’t sure you cared at this point either.

Rosie gave you a concerned look but they soon carried on with telling their tour stories. Your mind, however, was focused somewhere else. Jennie’s toes had worked down the zipper of your pants and had slid inside just enough to allow more contact with your hard cock, her sole rubbing against the stiff length as she jerked you off.

You tried to keep yourself together. You really did. But eventually, it got to be too much and you leaned back in your chair. You tried to disguise it as simply stretching but judging by the look Jennie was giving you, you doubted that was how she took it. You felt the pre-cum dripping onto her feet as she continued her assault. Fuck, you were going to cum. There was no way you would be able to hold out much longer.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jisoo asked, turning to face me. "You look like you're burning up."

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Maybe just a little hungry. Are the appetizers here yet?" you said, hoping your excuse would work.

"Actually, that's a good idea. I could go for some food too," Rosie chimed in.

"I'll check on the status," Jennie spoke up. "I need to use the ladies room anyway."

You let out a sigh of relief when Jennie's foot left your lap. But the relief was short-lived as you watched her stand up and make her way around the table. You held your breath, wondering if she would say anything but, instead, she placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it before walking away.

The contact was brief, and it could have meant nothing but you knew better. You were certain of it. She was just making sure that the message was sent.

"I'm going to head to the bathroom as well," you said, standing as you held your napkin over your lap awkwardly.

You quickly scurried away, following after Jennie, catching up to her before she made her way to the bathroom. "What the hell was that?"

Jennie looked at me with her eyebrows raised, an innocent expression on her features. Her words, however, were anything but, "What? Did none of your little campus sluts do that for you?"

"So you were jealous then?" you asked.

"Do I have something to be jealous about?" she said simply before making her way towards the ladies' room.

Maybe it was indignation, maybe it was anger; hell maybe it was just because you were still horny. Whatever the reason you found yourself following Jennie into the bathroom. As the door swung closed behind you, you grabbed her by the arm and spun her to face you. Your lips pressed hard against hers in a heated kiss.

Christ. It had been so long that you almost forgot how soft her lips were.

Almost.

You pulled her tightly against you, pressing your body hard into hers. Your tongue invaded her mouth, dominating her as the kiss intensified. Your hand traveled down her body, slipping under her skirt and grabbing a hold of her firm ass. You could feel that she wasn't wearing any panties.

"Hoping this would happen were you?" you muttered against her lips.

“Baby, I’ve been going commando for months now,” she whispered. Her breath was hot against your ear causing your cock to twitch from the sensation.

“God I’ve missed you” you muttered.

Not wanting to wait anymore, you got rid of your own pants, sliding them down past your knees. Jennie positioned herself up, using the sink as a counter and spread her legs for you; her wet, glistening pussy looking up at you in the eye.

You gripped the base of your cock, positioning yourself at her entrance and thrust yourself inside her.

"Fuck~!"

Jennie was still just as tight as you remembered and your hands immediately went to her hips. You started pumping her hard and fast, your hips snapping back and forth as her legs wrapped around your waist.

"Oh my God~" she groaned, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you into a deep kiss.

Her tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring the familiar territory.

Your lips locked in a frenzy as you both tried to express months of pent up sexual frustration. Jennie's pussy gripped you tight, squeezing and milking your cock as you fucked her.

“You thought you were cute with your little act earlier didn’t you?” you grunted as you pulled out and slammed back into her with more force than before causing her to squeal in surprise, and pleasure.

“You…liked it…didn’t you,” she shot back, her words coming out in short pants. Your sudden change in roughness caused her to move one hand to the sink, gripping tightly as her body shook each time you entered her.

Rather than answer immediately one of your hands moved to her throat, choking her lightly as you continued to fuck her, "It was embarrassing."

There was a brief moment of surprise on Jennie's expression before a devilish smile crept across her lips. "Someone's gotten into a few new kinks while I was away." Her hand rose to cover over the top of yours, imploring you to squeeze tighter as her fingers curled against your hand.

Not bothering to respond, you focused on the task at hand as you quickened your thrusts. This was different from your usual dynamic with Jennie but you didn't hate it. Far from it in fact. And clearly you weren't alone in that sentiment. You could feel her pussy clenching around you. Her breathing became heavier, her chest rising and falling, breasts heaving, and her skin flushed. It was an expression you hadn't seen in a while.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

Jennie nodded eagerly, biting down on her lip, stifling a moan as her orgasm was building.

You could tell she was close by the way her pussy tightened around your cock and the look on her face.

"Go on then, cum for me, Jennie" you grunted, releasing her throat and leaning down to kiss her once more.

As soon as you released her she gasped for air, her head rolling back against the mirror as she let out a loud cry, her body convulsing around you as she came hard. Her juices spilled down your shaft as you kept pounding her through her orgasm.

It was the sexiest thing you had witnessed since, well, the last time you had fucked Jennie. Finally she relaxed and elicited small moans as you continued to slide in and out of her, chasing your own release, knowing it wasn’t far now.

“I thought I’d find you two in here.”

Your mind registered the presence of a third voice, but your body was too far gone. Thrusting into the singer’s sweet pussy a few more times you felt your balls tighten. Grabbing Jennie’s slim waist you pulled her close against you before you erupted into her. Your hips jerked erratically a few more times as your seed shot to her womb.

“Christ…you weren’t lying about how much he cums, Jen,” the third voice said.

Unbeknownst to you, her eyes were fixated on your fluids currently leaking out of Jennie. It took another moment but finally your brain began to function properly again. You tore your gaze away from Jennie, to see Lisa standing there, hands on her hips and her tongue licking her lips.

“Lisa! Shit!” You might’ve jumped backwards were it not for Jennie’s legs still being hooked around your waist. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“You mean you’re not balls deep inside one of your sister’s best friends?” Lisa asked, manicured eyebrows raised.

You hesitated for a moment, “Okay…Maybe it is exactly what it looks like.”

Jennie, who had finally started to recover as well, brushed aside her sweat soaked bangs, “Relax. You don’t have to worry about Lisa.”

“You told her?”

“I came to my own conclusions,” Lisa answered. “We were both there on that dance floor, remember? Jen just got to you first.”

There was something undeniably hot about that. That two of the most desired women on the planet had wanted you, going so far to outmaneuver one another to get to you first. Briefly you wondered what it might’ve been like if that night had ended with the two of them. Boldly, you wondered if you might be about to find out.

“First come, first serve, Lili,” Jennie grinned. She pushed you back so she could slide from atop the sink, your release dripping down her thigh.

“You’re not jealous?” you asked, remembering her earlier reaction when you mentioned seeing other girls.

Jennie rolled her eyes. Her hand reached down, fingers curling around your cock as she slowly stroked you to cut down on your refractory period, “Are you comparing Lisa to one of these campus sluts?”

“N-no, not necessarily,” you moaned.

“Good,” Jennie kissed your cheek. “Then bend her over this sink and fuck her like a good boy before your sister starts asking questions.”

Yep. That did it alright. You were back to full mast from those words alone. You turned your gaze to see that in the time you had been talking to Jennie, Lisa had stripped out of her clothes. Your cock gave a twitch at the sight. Jennie was hardly the only one of Jisoo’s friends you had fantasized about. It was all three if you were being honest with yourself. Now here you were staring at Lisa’s toned, perfectly fit body.

Lisa bit her lip, smiling and giddy with excitement as she stepped towards you. She turned, wiggling her tight ass against your crotch as she looked over her shoulder at you, biting her bottom lip, "Don't be shy, stud. Jennie's told me plenty of stories."

That made you curious. It also made you not want to disappoint her. There was no sense of pressure, maybe because you just had your balls drained and any nerves along with it. Instead what you felt was an excitement and eagerness to get to it. “Are you sure you can handle it?” you asked, feeling confident.

Lisa merely winked at you and gave another shake of her tight ass, “Why don't you find out.”

You briefly spotted Jennie out of the corner of your eye, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation at what would come next. One hand grabbed Lisa's slender waist while the other pushed against her back, bending Lisa over the sink. She giggled as she gripped the white porcelain for balance, moaning when she felt your cock start to probe her entrance.

You found her already dripping from her sex, running your cock along her folds before roughly sliding into her. "Shit" you moaned, the feeling of her tight sex enveloping you from the start. Your thick cock was splitting her in half and you could hear Lisa moan as her head fell forward.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't you dare stop," she told you. "Give me all of it, stud."

You didn't need any further instruction. You kept working your cock into her until you finally bottomed out inside of her, your balls pressed flush against her rear. It was heavenly. How many people around the world wanted to do this? Yet you were the one fucking the Thai princess in a restaurants bathroom.

You reached forward, one hand wrapping around Lisa's neatly done ponytail and pulled back her head raising. Her eyes locked with yours as you began to slowly withdraw your cock before slamming back into her.

"That's so fucking hot," you heard Jennie say.

Had your attention not been solely focused on fucking Lisa you might've spared her a glance. As it was, you were entranced by the talented dancer; your rhythm steadily increasing as she propped herself up against the sink. Fucking Lisa’s lithe, fit body was a whole different experience. Each time you moved inside of her, you felt like you might break her. Like your cock might punch through her cervix and bulge against her stomach. And yet Lisa took every inch like a goddess.

“Shit. Shit. Shit” she chanted, her body shaking with each thrusts, her head still pulled back, “You’re going to fucking break me. Is that what you want, stud? You want me to walk on stage with a limp from being fucked so good, huh?”

Your cock swelled inside of her at the thought. The filthy words driving your passion. You watched your reflection in the mirror, pounding the global starlit from behind. Truth be told you almost didn’t recognize yourself. In the span of a few months you had gone from drooling over your sisters friends and nearly coming yourself just from some provocative dancing to taking charge and fucking Jennie and now Lisa.

It made you realize her words were exactly what you wanted to do.

"That's exactly what I want to do," you grunted in response. One hand moved to slip around her throat, squeezing lightly as the other still held her ponytail, "I want my cum dripping down your leg when Money plays and you're dancing on stage."

Lisa moaned, struggling to maintain a state of coherence let alone form a proper response to your words. Fortunately, Jennie was more than willing to provide commentary as her fingers played with her own clit.

"Yeah? Are you going to sit in the front row to make sure?" she asked.

"That's right," you grunted.

You didn't know if you'd ever be able to look at Lisa the same again after this. Let alone when she was on stage performing an array of provocative moves. But logic no longer mattered. You were completely lost in the moment, saying anything and everything as long as it heightened the moment.

Too much. It was too fucking good. It was —

“Oh f-fuck,” Lisa let out, her eyes rolling back.

Her body tightened, her walls squeezing your length as her orgasm hit like an ocean wave on a stormy night. You weren't far behind, in fact as she shuddered against you you continued to thrust into her tight pussy. You buried yourself deep inside of her when your own release finally hit, painting her insides with your seed.

By the end of it you were utterly spent. And you weren't the only one either. Lisa slumped against the sink, letting it support her weight.

"I think I...I need a few minutes," she babbled.

Jennie licked her fingers, cleaning them of her own release. "Don't worry, stud. I'll take it from here. You go back before Jisoo really starts to ask questions."

You could only nod dumbly as your cock slipped out of Lisa, your cum seeping out of her hole. Needless to say, this had been one hell of a reunion.

#blackpink smut #kpop smut #lisa smut #jennie kim smut #male reader #blackpink x reader #lisa x reader #jennie kim x reader #girl group smut

1K notes · View notes