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mo0nfairy · 8 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SIX !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 12.3k.

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, gender neutral reader, smut (not involving reader), murder, death, violence/gore, suic1dal tendencies, suic1de attempt, alcoholism, weaponry, panic attacks, ptsd, hallucinations, & sleep paralysis.

leon kennedy's yandere traits are . . .

clingy, heroic, & territorial

──── Leon Kennedy hates sunlight in his eyes. Yet still, he finds himself basking in the warm rays.

When the sun hits the window just right, ensnaring the room in its golden hues, he bathes in its light the same way he'd lay in a hot bath. The lulling warmth melts his muscles and eases his body. After he falls asleep in the office after another unsuccessful investigation, your sunset is there for him. When he passes out after a drunken night at the bar, your sunrise is there for him. You're looking down at him always, embracing him in splotches of sunlight.

For a while, Leon thought he knew what it meant to be alive. To touch the hands of guttural pain; to feel the jagged juts of his past nestle against him. But, after that horrid night six years ago, after the exposure to sunshine he did not know existed, he truly touched the scorching surface of rock bottom.

And it is killing him. All because of a singular person.

Y/N L/N. The name he will never forget.

Leon remembers your exuberant eyes, your adorable mannerisms, the glimmer of your smile; he will never forget how you sparked the beginning of his life in Raccoon City.

He remembers the orange lights had swayed in his vision. How everything was stuck in a blistering sea of vertigo. Listening to the fire crackle and creatures groan, Leon coughs from the tickle caught in his throat. There is a weight pressed to his chest, something akin to a cushion. White. Artificial fabrics, a plastic touch. An airbag, maybe?

September 28th of 1998. The memories all return to him like a violent supercut. The yell of his name, the squeal of the brakes, the collision afterward. His precious Jeep Wrangler had now been flipped upside down and he was now caught in the savagery of the aftermath. The blood rushing to his head has the world swirling around him, lulling him into another state of unconsciousness. Leon touches the passenger seat with his red hands, terror ensnaring him upon realizing the seat was empty.

Something blurry in his trail of vision grips his attention. Through the shattered window, a figure stumbles through the brume of the flickering streetlights. Blue glares frame the dirt-stained "R.P.D" sign and the figure hastens towards its doors.

A whimper of your name is stuck on his tongue, as words get trapped in his congested throat. Don't leave me. In Leon's efforts to escape, his foot gets caught on the gear shift. He pulls with all his might, despite the twists and strains his ankle endures. Y/N, please don't. Shards of glass fall from his hair as he wrestles his way out. A few pieces manage to leave shallow nicks against his flesh. Come back to me.

Leon then plummets to the wet pavement, finally free of his demolished car. Frivolous debris and fresh corpses litter his path. His newly-purchased white sneakers (which he bought solely to show off to you) are splattered in the disgusting matter. Stumbling, he is able to persevere through all of this and he quickly trudges through the wreckage.

Leon barrels through the doors of the R.P.D. and surges through the police department. Bullets pierce through the skulls of pedestrians and coworkers roaming the building. Blood paints his body like rainfall. All while he is searching for the face that will end the torment reigning havoc through his mind.

The holding cells are inspected thoroughly while Leon's disposition is one of acute desperation. The adjacent areas are consumed with infected prisoners, all of which he promptly executes. Much to his dismay, however, the rookie does not find you sitting at a bench or clinging to the rusted bars. It is all empty, leading him to become more frantic in his search for you.

Something navy blue then captures his attention. Left on the floor of a cell is a name tag. Something small and wet with blood.

Leon takes the object into his fingers. His heart wrenches when he reads the name stamped on the plastic. The familiar "Mizoil Gas Station" is printed above "Y/N L/N".

A gasp fills the empty silence. Y/N... Where did you go? Why did you leave me?

"Hey.”

He jerks around to the intruding voice.

"Who is that?"

"Stay sharp."

Behind him is a rotting face with dead, paper-white eyes staring right through him. The zombie towers over him, growling for a bite. Leon yanks Matilda from his holster. The action is swift. Adept. Exactly the way he was trained. The echo of a gunshot permeates through the large expanse and fuses with the squelching sounds of brain matter oozing from the zombies' open skull. The corpse falls to the grimy floors with a thud and once more, silence returns.

The click of stiletto heels treads closer to Leon. On the threshold of the prison cell, a woman walks into his train of vision.

Ada Wong.

Finally, a human! Leon thinks to himself. He is quick to take advantage of the company of a normal, uninfected person. The pestering questions he has all tumble out out his mouth like an avalanche of blabbering nonsense.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone!"

Her lack of articulation urges Leon to continue.

"My name is Leon Kennedy."

He takes a breath before continuing.

"The person I'm looking for- they, um- they're about... this tall." He holds his flat hand up to demonstrate your height. "Their eyes are Y/E/C. Well, maybe not like an exact shade of Y/E/C. It's more like a softer, prettier-"

She scoffs, cutting him off from his incessant rambling. Turning her heel, Ada begins to walk away from the pathetic mess she stumbled upon.

"Wait! Their name is Y/N!”

The woman halts.

“Y/N L/N! Please, you have to help me find them!"

Body tense, her eyes peer at him through the dark barrier of her sunglasses. Her arms weaken, once sternly folded over her beige trench coat.

"They're my partner... Please..."

Ada's lips part. From them, a sharp inhale.

Leon begs her with desperate worry, encompassed in a vehement frame of mind. His plead is spoken with such clarity, Ada can only assume it as truth. And the prospect of you belonging to someone else cuts like a dull knife. It is gross, it is nauseating. Unnatural. Like worms slithering around in her stomach, trying to escape the heart-shattering effect this information has on her.

Then, there is the anger. The betrayal is like a song too loud, the resentment like sheer alcohol on her tongue. Everything manifests into a spirit so overwhelming that Ada cannot find air to breathe. This blanket of rage stirs with her sorrow like two conflicting chemicals. The reaction sparks something iniquitous.

So, in turn, she does what she does best.

Lie.

"Y/N is dead."

A silence settles in the room.

Leon stares. That is all he does.

He stares at Ada and tries to scrutinize her to find some other truth. Anything other than this.

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

Ada speaks with defective emotion. The words land mercilessly and hit with ruthless force.

A harsh ringing noise permeates around Leon. He covers his ears, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He shakes his head no, as though he merely disagrees with fact. It's not true. It can't be! Losing grasp on the only good thing in his life is something he will not accept. He refuses to.

You are his sun. What is existence without its warmth? What will happen to Earth without its necessity?

How can he possibly survive without you?

Ada rolls her eyes at the dramatic scene now playing out at her hand. She ignores her own hypocrisy, of course. If she had learned of your demise, only God knows what blood-curdling reaction she would have. When it comes to Leon, however, every blink of his eye and twitch of his muscle has her riddled with irritation. Does he not know how lucky he is? Ada would endure any pain if she knew she had the comfort of calling you her lover. It is a dream she would kill to make reality.

Leon soon collapses to the floor. A shot of pain courses through his knees from landing harshly on the cement. His hand clutches over his heart, absolutely gutted by the torment forced upon the organ.

Ada then leaves this lie where she puts it down. She struts out of the prison cell, thus continuing her search for wherever in Raccoon City you may be.

You do not need a boyfriend. Especially one as pathetic as Leon Kennedy.

The man in question has been rendered into a puddle of blubbering nonsense. Questions still fill the silent air. How, when, why? Why did it have to be you? The one person on this disgusting planet who did not deserve it. Why couldn't you have just stayed with him and let him devote his life to protecting the precious gem of your life? Why? Why? Why?

Leon has already lost so much, you were the very last thing keeping him afloat. You are his life preserver in the middle of the ocean. He has now succumbed to the thrashing waves, as he was always destined to be swallowed by the sea. Saltwater permeates his lungs and his limp body sways with the lulling current. As though this is what his life was always meant to be: crawling after happiness just to have it yanked away when he gets too close. In the end, his sugar-sweet delusions will always sink down to the ocean floor.

Tears do not escape Leon, no matter the weight of the pain. He does not care for anything but you. Now that you have left him, nothing else matters. Therefore, no emotion can be elicited from him anymore. He has been touched so violently by this intensity, it eradicated any surviving nerves.

His handgun had been left on the ground, a few feet away from him. Assumably falling from his grasp after his knees gave out. He takes the weapon and it shivers in his trembling grasp. It's blurry in his gaze, as his entire vision is overwhelmed with stupor. Should he? God knows he wants to. What is there left to experience in life without you there with him?

As he guides the barrel of his gun to his temple, the static ringing in his ears accelerates in volume. Somehow, though, Leon does not feel fear. He does not feel anything. No dread, no despair — just sheer, hollow nothingness. It infuses his entire body like a roaming virus, ensuring it does not leave any traceable fragments of emotion.

A quivering finger hovers over the trigger. One pull and he will be free.

Leon presses his finger down.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing happens.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

"FUCK!"

Leon chucks the gun to the ground. His yell comes out guttural, a touch away from being a growl.

The clatter of Matilda's impact is not enough to appease him, as this swamped nothingness is more than he can endure. In a fit of defeat, Leon balls his fists and punches the cement floor. Agony surges through his entire hand and blood smudges his knuckles. The sound of his bones cracking still does not satisfy him in the slightest. Nothing can aid him now. Absolutely nothing.

With heavy legs, Leon stands to his feet. He holds his broken fist close to his chest and limps out of the empty prison cell. As he meanders through the station, he finds a set of car keys to a police cruiser on the corpse of his former co-worker. Despite claiming the title of "hero" when he first earned his badge, he does not intend to help anyone tonight. He couldn't save the only thing he ever loved, what kind of hero fails to do that?

The screaming of pedestrians and desperate pleas for help fall on deaf ears. The vehicle's engine rumbles and Leon's dead eyes stare at the road ahead. He leaves Raccoon City forever in his dust.

Six years have passed since the night you were taken from him. Leon wants to die, that much is for certain. The only thing preventing him from giving in is the fact that people need him. They all fail to see that he needs you, as he always will. Besides, he’s got some last few words he wishes to tell Umbrella before he bids this life farewell.

This is his life now. And in a morbid way, he thinks it is romantic. He read somewhere that if a swan dies, their surviving mate will fly into the sky and let themselves plummet to their death. Is that you and him? Should he put the final puzzle piece in your happily-ever-after and end it all? When the sun shines through the window and he wakes up without you again, however, Leon cannot romanticize the empty shell he is trapped within. He is desperate to know why you couldn't have taken his body with you on your way to heaven. Why death couldn’t have brought him eternal peace the very second you passed.

These several years have been spent drowning in alcohol. Leon has no preference for whatever booze he consumes, either. Anything that will make him forget it all will do the trick. At the bar with concerned bartenders or in his almost-empty liquor cabinet at home — he’ll take whatever he can get his hands on.

All his nights are now spent beneath the golden lights of the local bar. Dawn is spent crying on the kitchen floor with a queasy stomach. His days are all the same, too. Saving the lives of helpless citizens, he never forgets how the glimmer of gratitude in their eyes should have been yours.

This night in particular was no different. Leon has nearly drunk the entire bar's alcohol supply in hours. He imbibes a glass of whiskey and cringes at the cheap taste. Too sweet. Poorly made. He does not mind this, however, as anything that can ease the pain is satisfactory enough. And just like any other night, Leon is thinking of you. He watches the ice cubes dance in the cup, arms lazily resting on the sticky countertop. If only things were different, then he wouldn't have to be in this shit-hole right now. He could spend all his nights with you, instead. God, he misses you.

"You look lonely."

Leon didn't have to look up from his glass to know what was happening. At a place like this, it was inevitable.

He never took to heart whenever his coworkers teased him with names such as "pretty boy" or "Leonardo DiCaprio." It seemed to be a "chick magnet," as they so called it. So, when another stranger approaches him with that familiar glint in their eye, he knows what they want from him.

"I can fix that."

Leon looks to where the woman is sitting beside him. Like he does with every courting, he searches her for any remnants of you. If he were honest with himself, these people served as a good distraction. Enough bottles and he can delude his fuzzy brain into believing it was you standing beside him instead of another stranger.

The sight is blurred from his intoxicated state, but his judgment is clear as day. Her face shape and height contrast from yours. She is an inch or two shorter. Her smirk is sensual, not as toothy and adorable as your vivacious smile. Her body is entirely different, as well. Too bony, with wonky proportions that were nothing like you. The only similarity was her eye color. Your exuberant shimmer was missing, but the collection of hues shared puny similarities.

Eh. Good enough.

"Daddy! S-So big- fuck!"

The blaring sounds of heavy rock playing outside the motel room do not ease the headache Leon has, nor does the vociferous calamity of this woman. She doesn't sound anything like you. Too submissive, too goddamn insufferable. In his head, he can only imagine the dulcet sounds he could pull from your pretty lips. This woman was ruining that heavenly fantasy.

"I told you to be fucking quiet."

He uses his strength and pins her harder against the squeaking mattress. Insufferably irritating moans are muffled upon shoving that loud mouth into the pillows. Leon squeezes his eyes shut and puts all attention to the image he has painted in his mind.

You'd be different, much different. He can only imagine you beneath him like this. Harsh demands formed from your dulcet voice, commanding his every move and action. Telling your puppy dog to make you feel good with the promise of a reward — the thought alone never fails to send a shiver through his body. Leon is sure your golden voice praising him is all he needs to die happy.

"Fuck, 's too much. Daddy-"

The reverie shatters as quickly as it was formed. His calloused hands find the woman's hair and he forces her further into the pillows. She is not opposed to being treated roughly in the sheets, discernible in the way her moans and mindless babbles increase in volume.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Leon would be different, too. Much softer than this. He would handle every inch of your skin like he's unmasking an archeological masterpiece. God, he couldn't treat you roughly even if he wanted to. Ruin every orgasm of his, leave his body littered with bruises and scratches. He would be a slave to your every whim, as pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other. And in return, Leon would still touch your body with the same glass-like softness he is only ever capable of treating you with.

He buries his face into the stranger's shoulder and inhales the scent of their perfume. It is nauseating and nothing like you. Artificially sweet and too strong. Leon desperately fills the plot holes in his fantasy and imagines you dolling yourself up for him. Maybe after a tireless day at work, he would arrive home to you greeting him with a surprise. Where you got all dressed up for his eyes only and allowed him to indulge in your body again and again and again and again.

He can only imagine the look in your eyes when you call him your puppy, your husband, your good boy.

The thought sends him over the edge.

It is not a euphoric unfolding. It is sharp. Gross and weak. It is merely something to help him get by, even just barely. At least tonight Leon was able to finish inside a warm body instead of the plastic toy he keeps in his bedside drawer.

He doesn't even remember the name of this stranger. However, that doesn't matter when loud whines of your name jump out of his throat instead. The word tumbles from his mouth as though if he spoke it enough, you would materialize into this bed with him.

The unsatisfied woman does not overlook this. Another person's name shamelessly moaned by the man she thought she would have some late-night fun with, is he serious? She rolls her eyes and escapes from his sweaty hold. As she dresses herself, rehearsing how she'll tell this horror story to her friends, Leon stays on the bed. He does not try to stop her from leaving.

The afterglow is feeble, but he merely pretends it is as strong as he knows it would be with you. He wants to ensnare his body around yours and reaffirm just how deeply he loves you. He just wants to be with you again, no matter what the circumstances are. In the sheets after Earth-shattering sex with the love of his life or back in the grimy streets of Raccoon City, he will take anything if it means looking into your eyes again.

The door closes with a slam. Leon is now alone. But, then again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like, after all.

2,327 days and counting since he lost you.

If you asked him all that time ago where he thought he'd be right now, he would answer with the hope and happiness he only had then. He'd sit cozy in the little cabin in the woods you and he would occupy, he was sure of it. Summers would be spent in the sunlit lakes and Winters would be spent huddling for warmth by the fireplace. Years would pass like this. All laughter and kisses, snuggles, and healing hearts.

These fantasies haunt him like a horror-flick ghost floating around an attic, as it is what his life could have been had he not failed to protect you. He could have you in his arms this very second, but because of his God-awful driving skills, your body was left behind in the rubble of Umbrella's mistakes. It is what he devoted his entire career to now: tearing down that damned corporation. It is why he is in this motel room, to begin with, where he rots in these musty sheets and sleeps with people he can't remember the names of.

Images of you and him sharing smiles flicker through his brain and lull him. Your eyes are the last thing Leon sees before he falls asleep.

It is a light slumber. He does not dream, he is merely unconscious. When he wakes an hour later, it is like he has not slept at all. As if the short period of time passed in a sheer blink. This is what his sleeping schedule normally looks like nowadays, complemented by the heavy, storm-grey bags beneath his eyes.

The sheet draped over his waist leaves him cold. The Winter weather creeps into the room and engulfs his naked skin in goosebumps. When Leon tries to grasp more of the cheap blankets to drape himself in, he is at a loss when he finds himself unable to move. Almost as though a weight had forced him back onto the bed. He can't move even a muscle; he is wholly and utterly paralyzed.

There's a soft footstep that permeates. Leon's eyes dart around the room, but there is nothing to perceive in the dark emptiness. When he tries to open his mouth and question if that woman has returned, his jaw remains locked shut.

Another footstep. He searches for anything to defend himself from whatever monster lurks in the shadows.

Then, another step. There is no doubting someone is in this room with him. He tries to regain mobility of his body, scrambling to use his fists or to find his gun.

"Leon?"

Something blooms within him. A vibrant, healthy flower persevering through the fiery ashes.

"It's me..."

Home. That is the only word Leon could use to explain your voice. Like the swirling scent of oven-fresh cookies made by his grandmother. Like the imagination in his mother's voice when she read him a bedtime story. Like the scent of freshly mowed grass when he plays outside after school. The cadence and inflection of your words bring a sense of comfort like no other. Honey-sweet in the purest form.

Through the dust-ridden curtains, the hues of streetlight seep into one corner of the room. You step into the light, midnight shadows framing your features. You're dressed in the exact clothing he last saw you wearing, in the absence of all that blood and grime from that night. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes bore into him as you step closer. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, a smile grows on your lips and robs him of all coherent function.

Leon can't but wonder if this was it, if he had died on this disgusting motel bed and you were finally taking him back into your arms. He doesn't even mind losing all sense of mobility, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Neither his face nor his body can physically react to the rush of emotion that comes with your presence, but it is more than perceptible in his eyes. Sky-gray irises drowned in oceans of fervor. Baby blues overwhelmed with shimmering, flamboyant love.

"If only you had just heard me out, then I could actually be with you right now." Your words, as heavenly as they sound, confuse Leon.

You tuck some fallen wisps of blonde hair away from his face and he swears it is real. His heart hammers like a snare drum. This is real, it must be real, it has to be.

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me. Then neither of us would be in this mess, would we?"

Something shifts in your gaze. That smile he loves so much is torn away and replaced with a scowl. There is now a perceptible rage in your expression, drowned in hollow emotion that clenches his heart.

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!? Like everything we have means jack shit to you!"

No, no, no, no, no! It's not like that! She means nothing, she is nothing! He only used her as a placeholder for you! There isn't a single redeeming feature about her that compares to you. Jesus Christ, how could he want anyone else when you exist?

Leon tries to respond, he really does. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how badly he wishes he could go back six years and change it all. How many hours he has spent with his hands clasped in prayer, apologizing relentlessly to the sky and hoping you'll hear him from down here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.

You stand from the bed, hands balled into fists at your side. "You're not gonna say anything? Just lay there and look at me like I'm nothing but-!"

A figure then barrels at you from the shadows. Your infuriated rant was cut short with a gut-wrenching shout when you are knocked to the ground. Saturated flesh peeking from dead skin and groans of hunger plunging from their slack mouth — a zombie had leaped from the darkness and sunk its teeth into your shoulder. Blood spouts from your wound and cascades down your body. You plead for Leon to help you, that he not leave you behind like he did all those years ago. And so desperately, Leon tries to.

A scream is locked behind his closed mouth as he tries to wrestle his way back to you. It pries and fights to escape, as though the force of his shout would be enough to convince this brainless creature to leave you be. Eyes blown wide with dizzying panic, all he can do is watch. His toned chest, sheen with sweat, rises and falls with rapid movements. Muffled whimpers of horror escape from the subtle crease of his mouth.

With every beating second your life fades away, the more Leon latches to any vigor he can grasp. His efforts to save you are overwhelmed in sheer desperation. He cannot let this happen all over again; he cannot lose you a second time. It would kill him, he is sure of it.

Something twitches in his finger. Then his foot. And for a moment, hope flickers in his mind. He can save you and atone for what he failed to do before. When the squelching sounds of flesh torn asunder fill the silence, that hope wears thin.

Like a bag of sand, Leon is able to drag his limp body across the mattress. His jaw weakens, to where sounds of despair are granted the ability to escape in roaring fervency. Off the side of the bed with the speed of a slug, he hits the ground with a harsh thud. Hauling himself onto his stomach, a verbiage of your name leaves his mouth.

He begins to crawl helplessly to where you are, only to stop in his efforts when he finds nothing. The lights from outside still seep into the room and the racket sounds of rock music still play from a room over. But, you have vanished. Leon stares at where you had fallen, scrutinizing every detail for any resemblance of you.

Misery strikes like a gunshot through his chest. Why did he fail again? Why can't he be enough, even for just once?

Why do you always leave him in the end?

He is alone again. Sat by himself on top of the soiled motel carpet and used condom he had frivolously thrown across the room. But, once again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like. And now, it is what the rest of his life will likely be encompassed in — empty solitude and hopeless dreams of you.

Leon does not sleep for the rest of the night. He is far too restless from the stressful events, terrified of watching that scene play out all over again. The digital clock on the bedside table provided minimum light, where the vibrant red numbers tick away. All he does is lie in this mess, watching the hours drift away.

A dark blue soon ensnares the sky. Birds squawk and sing. Dawn has finally arrived and so does the sun, bathing the room in its glowing orange and pink hues.

Your sunrise welcomes him, once again. The warmth and its serenity fails to placate him, though. Sitting here, he realizes how much of a fool he was to believe it was you in some form. The very second you left, you took everything warm and bright with you. You left him cold and empty and lifeless. You nestled the sun behind your resting eyes when your life faded away.

Cuddling up with you in that imaginary cabin is the only thing that can vitalize him. Two cups of steaming tea, watching the wind sway through the trees from the porch. Oh, the things Leon would take to bring this fantasy to life. To bring you back into the warmth of his arms is all he could ever need, where you will be safe and forever alive.

6:02 AM on the clock, Leon is expected at work in the following hour. Without a morsel of energy left in his feeble body, the thought of standing on this grimy floor overwhelms him with disdain.

Despite how badly he wishes to beat all scientists involved with Umbrella to a bloody pulp, he must take a course of action that abides by legal standards. To do this, Leon must work behind the scenes, ensuring every nail and screw is fastened with flawless finesse. This slow journey toward his goal of tearing Umbrella to shreds has taken a toll on him. No punching bag to take his rage out and his anger nestles itself into his body. Once Umbrella is six feet under, only then will he grant himself permission to join you and let Earth reclaim his body.

Today, Leon is now a part of the Torrents: a Capture-Force team designated to take down Umbrella's rumored return and prosecute those working for them. He has been assigned to replace someone on the team upon their suspension for "severe mental issues,” or whatever that entails. Alcohol heavy on his breath and bags beneath his eyes, Leon arrives at work for the day. He walks through the doors of a sanctuary Umbrella was confirmed to have been located at but has since fled from.

"You're late."

Leon doesn't care to look at the voice, as he already acknowledged and dismissed the vibrant "7:39 AM" on his wristwatch. They should be grateful he was even here in the first place and not rotting in bed.

"Not exactly rooting for employee of the month. Do I look the type?"

Leon's comment causes him to let out a quick huff of laughter. This new guy is much more amusing than his previous coworker, after all.

"Tyrell. Call me 'T."

He takes his hand out for Leon to shake, which he ignores. Tyrell stuffs his hand back into his pocket upon his refusal to reciprocate. An awkward silence settles between them.

"Leon. But, you knew that already."

The blonde then walks away from his new acquaintance. He can't recall the last time he had one, no less a genuine friend. The only person he put honest effort into discerning was you. Everyone else was just painfully bleak background noise stood behind your radiant aura. There is no one in the universe he wishes to befriend anymore, not when you're gone.

Leon treads through the building in search of the office organized by the team. Working behind a desk provides him his wanted rest, but taking part in the action scene provides an acute distraction. With his hands covered in blood and his fingers reeking of gunpowder, it is the most peace he can feel. Punch after punch, shots upon shots — the thought of you is eased little by little. The memory of you still lives on, but it is ephemeral moments like this where Leon can forget it all.

Several workers walk through the halls with heavy boxes marked "EVIDENCE". Others photograph imperative scenery around them, while some are busy scribbling on their notepads. Leon passes all of them without a second thought. However, two of his coworkers in particular capture his attention.

They both guide a surviving patient through the hallway. A young man holding a file in his hands and a perceptible fear in his eyes. The man then swiftly, albeit pathetically, throws himself at Leon and the file is shoved against his chest upon impact. A few of the files' contents slip from the folder and splat against the tiled floors. Hands curled around the sheepskin hems of his jacket, the man begs Leon for his help.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone."

Leon's stare is harsh. Cold and empty. Any living creature would surely keel over beneath that terrifyingly vacant gaze. The man, riddled with desperation, perseveres through this fear and continues to plead.

"They're my best friend... Please..."

The guards quickly shuffle over to the scene. Their hands grip the man's shoulders, but do not apply any further pressure. They look to Leon, waiting for the demand of their superior.

And without breaking eye contact, Leon speaks.

"Get him out of my sight."

They do as told, nearly shoving the man to the ground in their efforts to escort him out of the building. The hopeless gleam in his eyes should have sparked some form of guilt within Leon. Looking into that man's eyes, however, he feels nothing. Leon instead shifts his gaze to the ground. There, right beneath his boot, the sight of something causes his heart to quicken. Swiftly taking it into his gloved hands, his breath is then yanked from his chest.

In the polaroid is no other than you.

Snow engulfs the ground and you’re dressed in a large coat that practically swallows you whole. Pine trees blanketed in the white matter surround you. With chunky mittens on, you form a heart with your hands. Snowflakes descend from the sky, a few landing on your shoulders and knitted hat. Behind you, a stack of plastic sleds. You're captured with that smile of perfection on your face, the very smile that could rival the sun.

How...?

How did he have this? Leon could've sworn he had every picture of you...

He crosses the hallway in several large strides and finds him in mere seconds. With every sliver of strength in his body, Leon tears the man from the grasp of the guards and shoves him against the wall.

"Where did you get this!?" His voice has been reduced to a gruff timbre. A horrifying whisper.

Gesturing at the Polaroid, the man looks at him in bewilderment.

"W-What are you talking about-?"

Leon's forearm pushes against the base of his throat, pressing harder and arousing choked gasps from his throat.

"I won't ask you again..."

"Me! Me, I-I took it! I took the picture!" The man, wide-eyed and terrified, desperately exclaims the truth. However, his answer seemed to be the exact opposite of what his interrogator wished for.

Calloused hands clasped around his collar, Leon pulls the man back before shoving him back into the wall. A blood-curdling crack, then a grunt pervades the air. The unmistakable scent of iron diffuses from the man's skull, inevitable from the force of the hit. Leon practically snarls through his heavy breaths.

"When!? When'd you take this fucking picture!?"

The man slurs out his answer, now rendered delirious from the strike his head endured.

"Jan... January... La-Last January..."

The world then shatters around Leon.

The tumultuous clamor of everything falling apart before his eyes robs him of any coherent, proper function. These past six years play out like another nightmare. Every sip of alcohol, every aimless nightmare, every mediocre hookup — it all crumbles and joins the rubble of the destruction.

This whole time... This whole time you...

His vision blurs as the revelation settles, swimming through a void of vertigo and devastation. A sharp ringing permeates around him. It complements the sound of his hyperventilating breaths and hammering heartbeat. The firm grasp he once held on the man weakens, to where he scrambles away from Leon and his violent antics.

This whole time you were...

Alive...?

Leon turns his feet and stumbles away. Sweat seeps down his face and then his neck, staining the musk-stained clothes he had not washed in weeks. The sheer luminosity of the white lights, white walls, and white floors do not aid him in his attempts to soothe his sorrows. There's a sudden tightness in his chest. Leon brings his hand up to the painful ache, falling in his efforts to mend his affliction, once again.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The new voice could easily be spoken from miles away. Vanished and impossible to discern. Leon tries to clutch the walls to maintain his stability, but this inevitably fails him, as the shock derived from this epiphany sends his weak body to the unforgiving ground.

"I'm dying..."

He can hardly recognize his own voice. It is now a higher, fearful pitch than he is used to. The other person speaks once more, but he cannot perceive what was said. Their words are merely a quiet boat in a thrashing ocean.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

This feeling of realization bubbles in his chest and infiltrates every inch of his form. His chest is overwhelmed with panicked breaths. Up and down, up and down. The stranger then sprints away from Leon. Their shouts for a doctor are distorted, now an echo Leon cannot discern.

Voices from his past speak to him from all directions. As though the very walls surrounding him were taunting him. Mocking every failure of his.

"Leon- LEON-!!"

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!?"

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him."

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me."

His world has been torn to paper-thin shreds. Then, it all goes dark. Leon is left alone and unconscious in this vast abyss of nothingness.

Tyrell sighs in frustration. He wonders why this team has such a knack for hiring people with "severe mental issues".

A harsh cut to reality is what Leon was next met with. Inside this shoebox-sized hospital room, ragged belts are restrained around his limbs. Doctors rush in and out of the blinding-white room. A myriad of drugs course in his system, intended to ease the rampant panic pumping through his body. The aftermath of his panic attack was fresh, yet still, all Leon could think about was you.

How you, his sunshine, his sweet baby, have been alive all this time.

Leon thrashes and fights against his restraints, as though you were just outside the door, waiting for him to come scoop you in his arms and close the distance between you at once. For the umpteenth time, several nurses race into the room and sedate him. Again, he is forced into another fit of unconsciousness. This routine will go on to repeat numerous times. Knowing you are out there somewhere, alone, makes for a man inconsolable.

Several days pass before Leon is brought to a state of mediocre tranquility. His heart is still rampant, but with fear of more time wasted without taking proper action, he abides by the doctor's demands. He will do anything to get to you, after all. Kneel before God, succumb to the Devil. Face him with the most torturous, humiliating, gut-wrenching fate with the promise of your return and he will simply smile in response. Leon will lay with blood painting his teeth and purple bruises caked into his skin, unhinged with euphoria knowing you are the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Mere picoseconds had passed before he sprung into action. He is swift to return to his work. Fervently, he begins scouring through every detail Umbrella left behind to pinpoint the exact location you reside at.

The most valuable piece of evidence was security camera footage. A prominent clue that made Leon's stomach coil like a snake ensnaring itself around its prey. Outside of the window to your bedroom, the night-vision camera highlights the scene of two intruders. With careful ease, they pull your unconscious body through the room and flee to the adjacent forest with you in their arms.

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira are their names.

Or, as Leon prefers to refer to them, two names that have now been added to his lengthy list of those who will face his wrath.

The team has theorized the two have been working for Umbrella and were assigned to sneakily escort survivors to a new location. Due to this, patients still in this present location are now being sent to a hospital guarded by the Torrents. A place where they will be kept far away from Umbrella's grasp. What the team can't piece together, however, is why the two never came back to take more survivors. They had plentiful opportunities, but you, Y/N L/N, are the only missing patient. Or, as the team has now assigned your code name as, "Baby-Eagle".

Now, Leon is coursing through Spain. Guns strapped in their holster, knives out at the ready, and a reveling rage in his eyes — he counts every second spent away from you. The chilling temperatures gust against his skin like sharp teeth as he practically tears the country asunder. All that matters is finding the face that has been stamped in every dream of his for the past six years.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He still can't believe it. You are alive.

If Leon grants himself permission to revel in this fact, he will lose what little control he still possesses over himself. God knows how much he needs the slivers that still remain. These feelings, despite all, have kindled strength Leon never recognized. A new spark; a fresh, riveting chapter. Emotions which only you, some sort of sorcerer, are capable of conjuring.

A day has now passed of his relentless search. More and more does fear cradle Leon. Like a warm blanket nestled around his heart, he is horrified by the silence that ventures through the land of Los Iluminados. The mere thought of potentially stumbling across you, lifeless, is enough to evoke a gag from the back of his throat. He cannot handle that. He cannot lose you again.

The dim light of dusk irradiates the loading docks. Every rushed step Leon takes causes the decrepit surface to moan weakly from the weight. He scrutinizes every shipping container, every nook and cranny, every barrel splattered with yellow paint. He becomes increasingly more ridden with desperation as his lasting hope begins to flicker.

Leon turns a corner and finds it: the sight he has been crying every night to see for six years. His mouth speaks before his brain can emulate these soul-crushing sensations.

"Y/N...!?"

You turn your head to the intrusion. Leon is shocked he had not died right there beneath your gaze.

You, his epic, undying love, rest there as though Botticelli painted you as the focal point for 'Birth of Venus'. Sat against some paper sacks like Venus stood on her scallop shell, Leon has never seen a sight quite as perfect as this. Strikingly similar to the pearl Venus resembles, you and her are pure and exquisite as you are brought to life. In a way, it is precisely the events which take place now. Six years wrestling with the burden of your death, only for you to be reborn before his very eyes like the natural, divine God you are. Absolutely, irrevocably perfect in your stance.

Leon stands frozen in place. Staring at this work of art, this utter masterpiece mere yards away from him. He is then taken aback when he feels something wet trickle down his cheeks. What he assumes to be rainfall is actually... tears?

All these years, he has begged the universe to feel his emotions. Or to feel anything, for that matter. It will not bring you back, as he wholly prayed for every night, but it would bring temporary, weak relief. Right now, as though you had some form of superpower, Leon cries. He cries like he has never before. His face twists into an ugly scrunch; he can feel the hot tears and stringy snot seep down his skin. He listens to the gut-wrenching sobs protruding from his chest and holds his hand over his heart, overwhelmed by the intensity the organ is enduring.

Despite the tragic scene, Leon has never been happier. The journey these six years have taken him on has been rough. Irrevocably soul-crushing. Seeing you here, beautiful as you always were, makes everything worth it — utterly, indubitably, and completely.

Then, someone else interrupts.

Ada Wong, a few years older, steps into view. Guarding you from the unwelcome intruder.

The epiphany strikes like a broken heart. It is not betrayal, as he has never trusted Ada. Rather, it is a flood of humiliation. It is absolute shame, unadulterated and pure. How could he have been such a fool?

All this time, Ada had kept you with her. She was the reason he was apart from you; she was the distance that stood between two soulmates. That must be the story, right? She sunk those acrylic claws into your pretty skin and took you away from him, spewing lies about your death and granting Umbrella access to you.

Leon is hit with this epiphany. Hit with what he perceives to be the truth. And it makes him alive with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it...?"

The silence is shattered by his voice. Sewn with fury and nestled deep inside him. His attention, once solely devoted to the love of his life, has now been shifted towards someone else. The one he believes to be responsible for these six years of sheer agony.

"This whole fucking time-!"

In one swift motion, Leon storms over with his fingers clenched to his holster. You stand from the paper sacks and use your body as a shield between Ada and him. Your hand ghosts over Leon's chest to prevent any more unwanted violence. And how unaware you are of the sheer impact your physical touch has on this man.

For a moment, just a fleeting second, Leon is able to overlook the context of the circumstances. Your hand barely makes contact with his body, and from them, he can feel your warmth. The same warmth he has been chasing after; the same warmth he has killed himself over and over to try and retrieve again. It is like a gentle breeze, like tepid bath water. Somehow, your simple touch has pacified his rage as though it were merely child's play to you. Something Leon never thought was feasible.

And just like always, Ada Wong is there to shatter yet another trance.

"Have you really gone so far off the deep end, that you think you could ever amount to being their boyfriend? You truly believe you deserve that title?" Ada laughs. A deep, mocking chuckle. "Are you really that delusional or just naturally blonde?"

You look at Ada and speak for the first time.

"'Boyfriend?'"

An expression of puzzlement is plastered on your face. In return, their heads whip to stare at you, brows furrowed while searching for confirmation.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Leon was never my boyfriend...?"

Their confusion deepens. Ada questions how she could have so foolishly fallen for a fantasy this dumb boy created. Leon questions why you are telling her such lies. You've been dating for almost seven years now, what are you talking about?

"Y/N/N, you don't have to lie to her. You know I won't let her hurt you."

Now, it is your turn to be just as perplexed as they both are. What the fuck is he talking about?

As you're busy scrutinizing him for an explanation, Ada grasps hold of your forearm. Protectively and with softness, she guides you away from the deranged antics of Leon. You lean into her touch in response, as your trust in her is stronger than whatever you feel for him. Especially after the events you and Ada have both endured today.

The man in question, however, does not favor this action. With a swiftness that makes you dizzy, Leon shoves her off of you. Ada falls to the ground from the force of his strength but gracefully springs to her feet. Eyes narrowed and hunting knife in hand, she is ready for battle.

A shriek then falls from your mouth when Leon takes his pistol from its holster but is replaced with shocked silence when Ada kicks the gun from his grasp with her stiletto heel. A stab towards his chest is easily blocked by his meaty forearm, but she still manages to retaliate and surges a punch across his jaw.

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible for you to keep up with the speed of it all. When Ada drops to her feet, encasing her leg around Leon's ankles and sending him to the floor, the loud clamor of his harsh landing takes you back to a few days ago. That bang! is all too familiar. The fire of gunshots out of Jill's gun and the pounding of their fists against flesh — these memories return more harshly than before. Your heart hammers with dread and adrenaline, as though the same inner turmoil has returned yet again.

Once again, who do I choose? The clingy customer at Mizoil, the overly affectionate Superwoman, or myself?

In a state of pure instinct, you do what you predominantly fail at the most. Run.

You don't anticipate how close they may be behind, or if two of your past lovers may be waiting somewhere in the forest. You do not pay these thoughts any attention, for that matter. Focused entirely on the path ahead, you run like you never have before. And if it weren't for the rampant adrenaline coursing through your system, you could say you've become familiar with this forest. It is almost ridiculous how much you have raced past all these trees. Burning lungs, numb legs and all — oh, this is really getting old.

When a sudden force knocks you to your feet, you can feel yourself begin to succumb to lethargy. The relentless sprint and post-laser-induced pains have become too much for your body to endure. Shifting your gaze up, however, you are met with a burst of energy when you see that you have collided with... A person?

Thick gear is strapped to his strong body. Glasses are rested upon the bridge of his nose. This is the first stranger you have seen in months and you do not know how to handle it.

"Oh, shit. It's really you..." His concerned gaze peers at you through his foggy eyewear.

When his fingers ghost over your arm, you flinch away from him. You do not mean to do this, but your body, riddled with turmoil and trauma, reacts before your brain can.

"It's alright, it's alright..." His voice goes softer. "My name is Tyrell. I'm here to help you."

He reaches a cautious hand out to you, as though you were a feeble, terrified animal backed into a corner. Your trust has been worn thin, but whatever fight left in your system has entirely perished. You cannot run anymore; you cannot defend yourself. If this is death, then you will welcome it with open arms. At least you can say you've made it this far.

Lifting a shaky hand up, you let out a gentle gasp when you make physical contact with him. With tender encouragement, Tyrell brings you to your feet. Your tired legs wobble as though you were a baby fawn. Touch that does not inevitably follow with romantic expectations is something foreign to you. This level of kindness has almost become a stranger. Although you would never verbalize it, his touch feels good. It is a comfort; a softness.

Before you know it, your eyes flutter shut. Your body fails you and you collapse into Tyrell's arms. Now, unconsciousness comes as a solace, instead of that familiar trepidation.

And so engrossed in their own feral need for dominance, neither Ada nor Leon had taken notice of your sudden disappearance.

Fresh bruises and blood splatters permeate their bodies. What neither of them realizes about the other is that Leon fights hard, yes, but Ada doesn't fight fair. In a matter of several seconds, she takes the man to the metal floors, once again.

Leather heels pressed to his neck, she points his own pistol to his face.

"Now stay down."

Leon has never been one to back down. Even with death staring directly into his eyes, never once has he begged. However, with you here, alive, he can't bear to be torn from you again.

"Don't... Please, I-I'll do whatever you want. Just please don't take me away from them. Not again..."

Ada is nearly struck dumbfounded by this new side of him. Leon Kennedy, the savior of the president's daughter, one of the few survivors of Raccoon City, is begging for his life? What has she done to this man? Or, above all, what have you done to him?

"Tell me what Umbrella wants with Y/N."

Leon's eyes trail off behind her, seemingly searching for something with frantic movements. Her words had merely gone through one ear and out the other. His silence is only met with frustration.

"I've kept you away from them for this long." Her finger moves to hover over the trigger. "I can easily turn those six years into forever."

"Where did Y/N go?" Leon cuts her off.

Ada nearly snaps her neck with how fast she turns around. Dark eyes scanning the loading docks, her stomach sinks into a sea of dread when she cannot find you. Leon scrambles to his feet and searches alongside his nemesis. Shouts of your name echo into the gloomy skies; their hammering hearts could rival a war drum.

From here, yet another search for you begins. And between them, there is now an unspoken agreement, a newfound alliance. Although their plans rarely come to fruition, they have both found a conclusion together. The two are now wholly focused on the scheme they will achieve or die striving for.

Find you, ensure your safety, and keep you forever in their arms.

A warm, wet rag pressed against your forehead is what you awaken to next. The sudden shift into consciousness causes you to jerk back. Your eyes burst wide, scrutinizing as much of your environment as you can.

You're finally out of that dark forest. Now, you've been rested upon a dilapidated couch. Damp clothes are still stuck to your body, but a thick comforter has been draped upon you. The golden lamplight highlights Tyrell, who sits on the coffee table beside you. With a bowl of water and a rag in his hand, he looks at you with a concerned gleam in his gaze.

You are brought to a mild sense of ease once you comprehend your surroundings. You do not have it within you to trust anyone, but for some reason, this man has brought tranquility you cannot explain. Safety has become a rarity. And you gobble every breadcrumb of it you are able to garner.

"Welcome back." He jokes. His tone is still quiet, as it has been. Careful.

Your throat aches, but you still speak.

"Where am I?" You nearly cringe at how scratchy, how pathetic your voice is.

"My house." This does not calm you. Tyrell notices.

"Hey, no one can get you in here. You are safe, I swear it." His assurances help ease you. He, once again, takes notice of this before continuing.

"I'm sure you have a 'lotta questions for me, huh? I got some for you, too."

"Umbrella. What do they want from me?"

"That's a good question because I don't know either. It's what we're trying to figure out." You furrow your brow, to which he answers to your confusion. "I work with a team called the Torrents. We've been tasked with locating Umbrella and finding any survivors. You were top of our list, 'Baby-Eagle'. Now that you're safe and sound, my teammates can finally get some sleep."

Your smile grows at that nickname. God, when was the last time someone elicited a genuine smile from you?

"We think they may have been testing on some of the patients they have. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Then, the dread settles with the realization. Jill and Carlos were right this whole time. When you would travel to the ends of the Earth to defend that corporation, it was all for a lie in the end. When Jill and Carlos saved you from them, you paid them back with cruelty and distrust. You left them both in the dust when all they wished to do was save you. Should you have ever left them?

"What about Carlos Oliveira? Jill Valentine? We know they had, um... taken you. If you're willing to talk about them, I'm all ears. 'Got all night, anyways."

There Tyrell goes again. The voice of reason in a bubble of incoherent regret.

"All I-um... All I remember is being at the sanct- er, Umbrella. I drank some tea and then I woke up in Jill and Carlos' house. The next several months, they-uh, they convinced me we were in a... relationship, of some sort. Matt- or Umbrella, found us in the end. They all hurt each other. Real bad. Then, I ended up here." Your words are quiet and broken, but Tyrell manages to pick up every cracked piece of your voice.

"Okay. I see..." He nods. "Do you think Jill and Carlos could have possibly been working for Umbrella?"

This question leaves you taken aback, evident in your dramatic reaction and scrunched face.

"God, no! They despised Umbrella. And I... I defended Umbrella. I thought they helped me, I thought they were the good guys. Every time Jill and Carlos talked shit about them, I would get so-" You interrupt yourself with a coughing fit.

Reaching to his side, Tyrell holds a plastic bottle of water in his large hands. The prospect of drugs floating through the liquid fills you with apprehension. However, with your throat on fire, you eagerly take the bottle and nearly down the entire beverage. Tyrell is one of the good ones, he wouldn't do that to you. You're sure of it.

"It's alright. You don't have to answer any more of my stupid questions, don't worry. All you 'gotta do is rest."

If you were more conscious and without the weight of fresh trauma, you'd make a joke of how he should be a voice actor with such a soothing voice like his. Tyrell's hand finds your shoulder and softly guides you back down to the couch. You ignore the unfamiliar, teenage-love-like bolt of electricity that flows from his touch and you follow his lead. When your head hits the rough fabric of the pillow, you let your heavy eyes fall.

When a door down the hallway bursts open, you cannot tell if you had been asleep for hours or if you had slept at all. Without Tyrell's presence, that all-too-familiar sense of terror returns. When you are barely able to discern his muffled voice through the walls, that terror is slightly diluted with ease. The context is what lies outside this room still has you riddled with fear.

Then, like every cheesy romance film you've ever seen, Leon Kennedy stands on the threshold of the living room entrance.

You are barely allowed a mere second to process his presence before he is barreling for you. His arms, thick and warm, ensnare around your waist. He exhales your name with a breathless tremor, burying his head further into the crevice of your neck. And you melt into him. After everything you've been through, a hug is something you are in dire need of. Leon croons in response, latching onto you tighter. Nestling himself closer against you like a touch-starved, needy puppy-dog.

"Oh, sunlight... I was so worried...!" Although this man has suffered drastic changes in the six years you've been without him, he never seems to have let go of that saccharine tone. Unbeknownst to you, you are the only one capable of summoning that side of Leon.

Although you feel safe in the comfort of Tyrell's home, there is still that stagnant terror fizzing in your stomach. A myriad of questions overwhelm your brain. What has happened? How much time has passed? Where is Ada?

You weaken your hold on him. He does not like that. "Leon. Please, I need to know-"

"Shh..." He interrupts, his hands trailing up your form until they grasp hold of your face. His grip on you, tighter than ever, shifts so he can gaze into your eyes.

"Just let me look at you..."

And that he does. Seconds, then minutes pass. All Leon does is stare directly into you. As though every inch of your irises were being studied to memory by him. As though he was pulling the depths of your soul to the surface of your eye, all for him to gawk and goggle at. It should make you blush and avert your gaze, as the characters normally do in those romance movies. However, you can't bring yourself to. You feel uncomfortable and scrutinized. As though you are restrained to a metal table for strangers and doctors to poke and prod at.

The doorbell then rings and the echo roams through the halls. You are broken from this entrance with Leon, but he is not. God, how could he?

With you here, all the cruelty he has been faced with is now wrapped together in a pretty bow. It was all a present, he now realizes. Everything that has happened led him to the personification of utmost, perpetual happiness. So, you must forgive him if he finds himself staring for too long (not that he even realizes, for that matter). It is impossible to fathom the flood of euphoria rushing through him, hence the dumbfounded, love-struck expression stamped on his face.

"Y/N..." He exhales, honey dripping from his voice.

Although he does not wish to close his eyes, Leon cannot imagine a better time to kiss you. Where the music swells, the candles glimmer, the moon gleams. It is what he has been dreaming about for six years, after all.

Just as Leon leans in, his intentions are cut short. Someone else, once again, interrupts.

Tyrell avoids the death glare from Leon and focuses on you, oblivious to how this action is the root of Leon's fury.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Someone was just here for you, Y/N."

Carlos and Jill are the first people who enter your mind, here to take you back to the affection-ridden toxicity of their humble abode. When Tyrell holds his hands out and displays what this stranger left, however, you're taken aback.

"She claimed to be your wife...?"

Tyrell informs you with uncertainty in his voice.

"And she left this."

What he then gives to you is a plushie, one you remember all too well. It is an opossum, the very same opossum you cuddled with every night during your time at the sanctuary. You've missed him very much whilst you were stuck with Jill and Carlos. Despite your expressed wishes, they never made the effort to retrieve your darling opossum. Why cuddle some measly fabric and cotton when you can cuddle them instead?

You let out a sigh of relief. Thank God it is not those two at the door.

The only striking difference in your fuzzy friend is the blood-red ribbon tied around the opossum's neck. Wedged between the silk and faux fur is a folded piece of paper. Both Tyrell and Leon watch as you open the letter, digesting the contents written on the surface.

In red ink, "Wait for me, petal..." is written with flawless, cursive handwriting. Beneath, a dandelion is drawn. The pappus drifts through the wind and scatters across the paper.

Ada?

Why is she here? Where has she been?

Or, more importantly, how the hell did she find your opossum?

A rough, sharp gasp sprouts from Jill's throat when she awakens.

A flickering light sways above her, the sight blurred in her tired gaze. Her body aches from the awkward position she was unconscious in. Lifting her weakened body up, Jill discerns several bodies, painted in blood and grime, that had been splayed in a frivolous mess. There are miscellaneous documents scattered amongst this violent disarray. Shifting her distorted gaze, she finds two metal doors that had been sprung open. How the hell did she get inside of a truck? What caused it to crash in the first place?

Using the dented walls for support, she stumbles forward. Black dots dance in Jill's vision for a moment, before returning to a hazy blur as she staggers out of the vehicle. With an abrupt grunt, she collapses into the mud. Her hands, stained with dirt, hold her ribs in an attempt to ease the stagnant pain.

For this simple moment, Jill is alone in the world. When the most important thing in her life finally flashes through her mind, the pumping of her heart accelerates.

Y/N... Where did you go?

Memories of her last encounter with you return, as well. It harbors terror like no other. She speaks your name and it sprouts from her throat in a desperate call.

Jill's breath quickens when she discerns a voice. The indubitable sound of someone crying for help echoes through the forest. She turns to the source with hope and worry shimmering in her eyes. Oh, it's her baby, her butterfly! You need her help!

"Y/N...! I'm coming..." Her voice is weak, but her attempts are the entire opposite.

Jill limps through the forest, clambering over wreckage with frantic effort. Averting her blurred gaze to the sound of cries, her face drops when she finds something entirely different.

That doctor you are evidently so infatuated with is stuck beneath a pile of rubble. His face appears as though it had been sunken in. Drowned in a mess of gore.

And sitting on top of the doctor is no other than Carlos Oliveira, whose fists are painted in that same gore.

His clenched fists plunge into Matt's face over and over and over again. His teeth are barred and bloodied like some sort of animal. His voice is several octaves lower than ever before, all guttural growls and grunts like some sort of rabid creature. It is something Jill has never seen before. Not in Raccoon City, not when they took you from the sanctuary, not even when she took you out for a ride on her motorcycle. He is now a monster in its absolute form.

However, Carlos is not something she is concerned with at the moment. She hurls herself over to the two and shoves Carlos off of Matt. He falls to the ground with a loud thump and a harsh curse. Jill ignores his dramatic reaction, before climbing atop of Matt and ensnaring her hands around his red-stained neck. Jill then proceeds to interrogate him of your whereabouts.

"What did you do to them? Where the fuck did you take them!?" Jill does not recognize herself, either. Her voice has morphed into a low, violent tone, an inflection she never knew she was capable of producing.

Matt does not respond to her pressuring questions. He chokes and gurgles on chunks of blood, teeth, and spit. His eyes, now puffy and swollen from the relentless blows they have endured, gape at her in confused terror. However, not that Matt could even be given the chance to respond. Jill glances at the sudden movement in her peripheral and is met with Carlos' fist striking her cheek. The force of the punch sends her to the dirt.

"This is all your fucking fault, Jill!" Her ears almost ring from the sheer volume of his shout.

Once again, it is a side of Carlos she has never seen before. She can take a punch, that's for damn sure. God knows she's handled worse. But fuck, is he out for blood right now.

"If you had never taken Y/N outside, they never would've wanted to leave in the fucking first place!" The tremble in the back of Carlos' throat jeopardizes his intimidation factor. Of course, he is crying, Jill sighs to herself.

Her lanky fingers press into the damp ground to stabilize herself. Before she can bring herself back to her feet, however, something catches her eye. A single document among the millions. She takes the closest one into her grasp and reads through the classified contents. With that damned Umbrella logo in the corner, Jill is fully aware of what evil, corrupt plans await her in the following passage.

As Carlos sobs like a child behind her, whimpers of "my baby" and "come back to me" filling the silent air, she scours through the information printed on the page. Three names are stamped in bold: Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, and Y/N L/N. More survivors collected from Raccoon City, they claim. There are reports of your physicality and state of being, accompanied by their predictions on how you'll react to their new testing. "Las Plagas" is what they refer to it as.

At the very bottom of the document, most imperatively, is a series of coordinates to their new location.

With this newfound, fruitful information, Jill trudges over to Carlos for additional aid. When she finds him practically tucked into a ball, sobbing his lungs out, she cannot restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

"Get up. Get up, pussy, come on-!" When she tugs on his arm, he pushes her harshly away from him.

"You don't understand!” Brown eyes, overwhelmed with tears, glare at her in accusation. “I can't live without them..."

Jill is swift to counter back. "Neither can-fucking-I! And we will never see 'em again unless you man-up and fuckin’ listen to me!"

This grabs his attention.

"So, are you just gonna sit there and fuckin' whine about it or are you gonna help me?"

With a sniffle, Carlos nods in agreement.

"Good. Now get your shit together and find me a goddamn map."

Jill does not waste another second before springing into action. She begins with a thorough scrutinization of the scene of the crash, searching for any specific landmarks that will inform them of their current whereabouts. When all she finds is a street sign made of decaying wood that reads "Los Iluminados," she knows her luck is wearing thin.

When Carlos announces with a cracked voice his discovery, Jill limps with urgency to him. Nestled beneath the passenger seat is a map, crumbled and stained with filth. Jill yanks the paper from his hands and searches for the street they are currently stuck on, while also discerning the coordinates Umbrella had disclosed in their document.

Meanwhile, Carlos chokes out demands left and right. Asking her what all of this is for, and how this will help him in his efforts to reunite with his sweet bumblebee. Despite his irritating questions, she does not respond to him. She is too engrossed in her own head, manipulating her detective skills.

"There." Jill finally breaks her fit of silence.

Presenting the map to Carlos, she points to where the coordinates line up.

"That's where Y/N is."

A beat passes as Carlos, too, inspects the contents before him. Then, he snatches the map from Jill's hands. He storms off in the direction she advised with a desperate vengeance in his disposition.

When Jill takes a step to follow him, something clutches around her ankles. With a sharp gasp, she looks down to identify the sudden matter. When the hopeful fraction of her mind told her it could be you, she was met with disappointment when she finds Matt. Whining and pleading for her help, blood still oozing from his butchered head and seeping into the mud below.

Jill stares at the man with absolutely nothing in her eyes. She, instead, snatches a loose, sharp twig from the mess of detritus scattered around. Before Matt can obtrude another helpless plead, she drives the stuck directly into his eye. Blood squirts from the fresh wound like a fizzy soda. One last gurgle for air and his body finally goes limp.

She spits on his corpse. Then, Jill turns back to follow Carlos on his trail.

Wherever you may be, she will find you. Even if it kills her.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I TRY TO FALL FOR HER TOUCH,

BUT I'M THINKING OF THE WAY IT WAS . . . ❞

long wait but we back again babyyyyy

gif creds :: leon.

1K notes · View notes

softspiderling · 5 months

Text

illicit affairs - part two | r.c

summary:

"Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

OR; Rafe makes an outrageous suggestion and you? You give in.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of drugs, talk about sex (nothing graphic yet) but the later parts will have smut, so 18+ MDNI!

word count: 2k

author's note: pt. two out so soon?? there's gotta be smth fishy going on 🤭we finally get into the PLOT! i hope you enjoy my lovelies, don't forget to leave a comment/like/reblog or share your thoughts with me in the inbox.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. two: "it's born from just one single glance"

A week after the party, it was the first Friday in a while where the four of you didn’t go to a party. After spending a day out of the sea to test out Topper’s new boat, you got picked up some pizza and settled down in Rafe’s living room, where you were still in the same spot several hours later. The empty pizza cartons were stacked on the floor and the four of you strewn out on the couch and various seats.

“You want another drink?”

Rafe was waving his empty glass in front of you, a lonely ice cube clinking in it, an expected eyebrow raised.

You squinted at him, nodding. “Can you get me a coke please?”

“Sure.”

Kelce perked up in his seat at the prospect of another drink. “Hey, can you get me another beer?”

“No,” Rafe answered, without even looking back as he left for the kitchen. “You know where the fridge is.”

“What?” Kelce muttered with a frown, looking over to you as he slumped back down. “You know where the fridge is, why is he getting you a coke?”

You only shrugged with a grin, making yourself comfortable on the couch now that you had more space, while Topper clapped Kelce on the back in consolation.

“Come on man, you know she’s his favorite.”

“Hey!”

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, you shucked it at Topper, making him yelp when it hit him square in the face.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right next to you,” you scowled. “And I’m not Rafe’s favorite.”

“You’re a clown if you actually believe that.”

“Fuck you, you’re a clown.”

Topper tossed the pillow back at you, narrowly missing your head by an inch and the pillow fell to the floor behind the couch, landing just in front of Rafe’s feet as he returned.

“I was gone for five minutes, what are you guys fighting about now?”

“Precious over here thinks she’s not your favorite.”

You glowered at the other two boys, while Rafe settled back on the couch next to you, pressing a can of coke into your hands. He took a sip of his drink, eyeing you briefly and shrugged, pursing his lips in agreement.

“Nah, you’re definitely my favorite.”

You stuck your tongue out at Topper when he gave you a knowing look, instead focusing on opening your coke. “Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything, you two shitheads don’t make it hard for me to be anyone’s favorite.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kelce grunted with a frown and you raised a brow at him.

“You literally had sex in Rafe’s bed last year,” you said, before turning your attention to Topper. “And you’re still obsessed with Sarah.”

Rafe let out a noise, making clear that he was fully agreeing with you. “What she said.”

Topper, while satisfied he had proven his point, still rolled his eyes and Kelce crossed his arms, annoyed.

“I hate it when they team up like this.”

“Shut up and get your beer.”

The next couple of hours passed easily, just as it always did when the four of you came together to talk shit. While you did enjoy going to parties every now and then, you really appreciated just hanging out with your friends and talking about everything and nothing in the safety of the four walls of Rafe’s home.

Only you and your boys. Just the way you liked it.

“Alright, I think it’s time for me to go,” Topper said, breaking up the group with a yawn, shaking his head to stay awake as he sat up. “I’m beat.”

“Can you give me a ride?” Kelce asked, standing up and Topper nodded, turning to you.

“Do you need me to drop you off too?”

You stretched your arms, legs long draped over Rafe’s lap as you laid lengthwise on the couch. It was nearing one am and you really should make your way home, but you were far too comfortable to move, having spent most of the day in the sun, which was catching up to you now.

“I think I might stay for a while longer, thanks though.”

Topper clicked his tongue, ruffling your hair, messing it up for good measure as he and Kelce said their good byes, their voices getting quieter as they strolled to the front, the door shutting in its hinges. It wasn’t long after until you could heard Topper’s truck start, and then pull off the estate grounds.

Finally, it was quiet enough for you to hear the music, which was drowned out by Kelce’s constant yapping. You loved him but he was such a chatter box when he drank beer.

“Isn’t Sarah coming home tonight?” you asked into the sudden quietness, combing through your hair with your fingers, trying to get rid of the knots that have formed since you’d laid on the couch for the whole night. The estate had been quiet apart from the four of you causing raucous in the living room.

“Please,” Rafe scoffed. “She’s staying with John B more nights than not, I’m this close to kicking her out for real.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, leaning up to shove his arm a little. “She’s in love. Leave her alone. And don’t act like you don’t enjoy being the man of the house and having it all to yourself.”

Rafe grinned to himself, shrugging his shoulders a bit like you weren’t absolutely right. Like you said, you knew him. “Eh. Maybe. House tends to get a little quiet sometimes... Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

“Give me a break,” Rafe huffed. “You know damn well you’re not one of my hook ups. They don’t get to stay till the morning,” he paused, turning his head to look at you inquisitively, and you knew that look all too well. He was about to be nosy. “What about yours, anyways?”

“My what?”

“Your hook ups, precious. Haven’t seen anyone around since Jack.”

You shrugged. “Cuz there wasn’t anyone else since Jack, you know that. And he wasn’t a hook up, he was my boyfriend.”

He was quiet, but you could basically hear the gears in his head turning. “I know you’re not into hook ups and shit, but don’t you need to get off sometimes?”

“And risk hooking up with weirdos like Moany? No thank you. I don’t need anyone else to get off.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I know, jesus. I’m just saying… Sex by yourself isn’t as good as sex with another person. If you know what they like. Not everyone has freaky requests like Monique. And if you’re compatible, you know the sex can be insane.”

You eyed him suspiciously, not sure if you liked which direction this was going. He wasn’t about to suggest the two of you having sex…. Right? Because that would be just crazy.

“… jus’ getting sick of having to get to know a new girl every time, ‘s exhausting.”

“You know you can have sex with a person more than once right?”

Rafe scoffed, leaning his hands behind his head. “Yeah, but then they start getting comfortable. I don’t need that right now.”

You waved your hands around, trying to stop Rafe’s train of thought before it could get any further.

“Rafe, stop beating around the bush. The fuck are you on right now?”

He swirled his drink around, downing the last of it before shoving the glass on the table, looking at you.

“What if… We fucked?”

“What?” you stared at him incredulously, like he had just grown a second head.

“I mean, not relationship wise. Casual. Friends with benefits.”

“Friends with benefits,” you echoed, dryly. “Are you insane?”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head at you, not bothering with a reply. You thought that was the end of it, trying to calm your heart down, as it was nearly jumping out of your throat, when you felt Rafe’s hand splaying across your bare legs. His fingers brushed your inner thigh, making you tense and you glared up at him.

“Seriously Rafe?”

“Seriously Rafe?” Rafe mocked you, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear, the other hand starting to trace circles into the skin of your thigh, like it was the most normal thing for him to do. “We both know that if you didn’t want me touching you, you’d have kicked me half ways across the room already.”

You wanted to protest, but your words died halfway down your tongue, knowing it was no use with the way Rafe was looking at you. Also, he was a 100% right. Turning away, you stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore how his finger tips left your skin tingling, thinking of the most random things to calm yourself down.

There was no use of lying to yourself, a part of you wanted to say yes.

You knew Rafe didn’t do relationships, has never had a girlfriend in all the years you’d been friends. What if being friends with benefits was the closest thing you could be for Rafe? Not only his best friend, but a step further? What if this was all you could get with him?

“This is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Exactly. You’re my best friend, I don’t have to tell you anything because you know exactly what I like and what I don’t.”

“Not when it comes to sex!”

“Okay okay, calm down, I was just making a suggestion.”

Rafe trailed off, dropping the topic, his fucking hand still on your thigh. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell that he was biting back a grin, and you hated to think that you were going to give in.

“We’re not telling anyone, you hear me? Not a single soul. Especially not Top and Kelce, they would never let us live this down.”

He turned his head, the corner of his mouth ticking up knowingly. He was your best friend after all, he knew what to say to convince you of his argument. “Those two knuckleheads don’t need to know everything we do,” Rafe said as he leaned in, but you stopped him halfway, your hand on his chest.

“If this affects our friendship in any way, or or…. If it gets awkward or someone… Just, we stop, okay? No lying to get your dick wet.”

“Have I ever lied to you, precious?”

“Uh, yes. Remember when you, Top and Kelce snuck into my gard- oomph.”

Your sentence was cut short when Rafe pressed his lips against you in a soft kiss, his hand cupping the back of the neck. He pulled away, his breath hot on your face. Your lips parted a bit, shock coursing through your veins. You had wondered how it would feel to kiss Rafe for so long, and you had to admit, that the real deal was so much better than anything you could’ve imagined.

“You talk too much,” he mumbled against your lips and you rolled your eyes, brought out of your haze. This was still Rafe. Your best friend.

“Shut up.”

Fisting his shirt, you pulled him closer to you, lips hot as they interlocked. He leaned forward, both of his knees bracketing your waist, one hand moving from the back of your neck to the front, so he could cup your face. Suddenly, you were surrounded by him and if you weren’t so distracted by Rafe’s tongue slipping into your mouth, you’d be freaking out right now. This felt like a fever dream; your hands moving automatically down his torso, sneaking under his shirt, nails grazing his chiseled abs and when Rafe let out a honest to god whimper, you knew you were done for.

There was no going on back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: am i sorry about the cliffhanger? ask me later👀

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx #drew starkey

717 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 3 months

Text

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 014 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. modern royal au. explicit smut, 18+. fingering. angst. unedited. toxic characters & toxic relationships. fluff. romance.

notes. feedbacks / reblogs/ comments are appreciated <3

wc. 11k

series masterlist

[ FOURTEEN ] you say, “I don’t understand,” and I say, “I know you don’t.” we thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won’t.

The night couldn’t come close to what Rintaro had dreamt of.

Laughter rang throughout the house, the gentle murmur of the ocean harmonizing with the convivial conversations, a moment that felt both timeless and precious. The beach house, aglow with soft, ambient lighting, mimicked the warm murmurs of his heart.

Rintaro sat between his brothers on the living room, a sense of profound contentment washing over him. His gaze swept across the scene before him: his family, radiant and effervescent, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames of a nearby bonfire. His brothers’ cheeks reddened by the liquor, their faces pulled back in laughter. They shoved one another as they fervently pressed on the game’s buttons, teasing and shoving one another.

He marveled at the simple pleasures – the shared stories, the clink of glasses, the playful banter that filled the air with a blatant sense of belonging.

The night was redolent with the scent of the sea, mingling with the fragrant notes of jasmine and citrus from the garden – he’d ensured to fill the surroundings with anything but vanilla in hopes of pleasing you. Leaning back on the couch, Rintaro watched as the waves lapped gently against the shore, their rhythmic cadence a soothing counterpoint to the lively atmosphere. The stars, scattered like diamonds, adorned the velvet sky – reminding him of you. How your eyes shone and glimmered like stars, or the way your face lit up each time he came close.

You no longer hated him. Or if you did, you hated him less.

You were finally looking at him like how you always used to.

In that moment, Rintaro felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude Everything felt right in his world. The beach house – a sanctuary where memories were made and love was rekindled. The laughter of his brothers, the shared glances and secret smiles. He felt connected to everything around him.

“What was that all about?”

Rintaro faced his brothers. The others who stayed around were huddled around the couch playing Mario Kart, their attention honed in on a deeply absorbed Tooru, determined to win.

“Yeah, what was that?” teased Atsumu, taking another swig of his drink. “Since when have you and Maiko become close?”

Tooru rolled his eyes. “We were always close.”

“Was close, until you got married,” corrected Osamu before sharing a knowing look with his twin. A split second later, and the twins erupted into laughter, the sound mocking and echoing. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for her.”

“I’m not. Don’t be stupid,” Tooru’s clicking on the controls got louder. “We just… fighting gets old sometimes, alright? You grow up eventually.”

“I’m pretty certain not fighting is not the same as ‘oh, I scored a point, let me run to my wife and hug her!’”

Rintaro and his brothers sniggered. It was the sight, indeed – one that both confused and amused all of them. The married pair had always been like cat and mouse, with Maiko being the cat and Tooru the mouse who ran away at the mere sight of her. But something had changed, something had shifted between the two. No one knew where it began, or how it happened. It was just there. A change so sudden Rintaro might’ve gotten whiplash, and wondered if Tooru had ever been interested in you in the first place. Or maybe he’d been so blinded by jealousy he assumed everyone was going to steal you away from him.

The thought of it made the liquor taste bitter on his tongue.

“The rest of you should get married and see for yourselves,” mumbled Tooru, “Might make you man up, too.”

His brother received a chorus of noncommittal grunts. None of them were in no rush to get married, more so because the Queen might arrange one for them. There’d been whispers here and there already how the twins might be next, and neither seemed ecstatic by the idea. Osamu was more on the neutral side, whilst Atsumu passionately went against it.

“Speaking of marriage, you and the Princess have been… oddly fond of each other.”

Rintaro’s eyes flickered to Osamu, brow raising at the hidden implications of his otherwise innocent tone. Although he knew his brother well – nothing was ever innocent with Osamu. He was merely a more discreet version of his reckless brother.

“We were always fond of each other.”

“I meant to say that she does not look like you she hates you now.”

“That’s because she does not,” affirmed Rintaro, feeling pride swell in his chest. He felt confident enough to believe in his words. He knew he’d been a good husband – he’d been attentive to all your needs, let you pull on the reigns and ordered him around like he wasn’t the Crown Prince. Curiously enough, Rintaro did not mind. He rather enjoyed that you were speaking with him again, and you’d tolerated him enough to even smile around his presence. That, and you’d finally let him hold you each time you slept. To say he was in heaven would be an understatement.

“We are finally heading in the right direction.”

“Right,” Atsumu scratched his nose, clearly not believing it. “If that’s what you say, sure. Congratulations on your everlasting marriage, brother.”

Rintaro bit back his tongue. Refusing to let his brothers ruin his night, he quickly stood up and bid them farewell. Find my wife was his only thought in that moment. He saw you rushing upstairs a while ago, but did not follow since you didn’t hear him calling out for you. Not that he thought much about it – he knew hosting and attending to everybody must’ve been quite stressful for you. You’ve been running around in circles.

Now that the night was ending, Rintaro’s only desire was to tend to you, and hold you close.

Taking two steps at a time, he quickly reached the bedroom. He hadn’t realized how eager he was to lay his eyes upon you. And as ridiculous as it sounded, he’d missed you. Having his brothers around meant both your attentions were divided. That could be changed, though. Everyone would soon retire in their rooms, and he could have you all for himself again.

Rintaro stepped quietly into your bedroom, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the expansive glass walls, casting a silvery sheen over everything it touched. He paused at the entrance, his breath catching as he saw you standing by the window. Your silhouette framed against the vast, star-studded sky. You’re wearing nothing but a silky white nightgown, the sides of it falling down your left shoulder to reveal a strip of bare skin. Bathed under the moonlight, he would’ve thought you were an angel who fell right before him.

Lost in thought, you gazed out at the night scenery.

The gentle waves of the ocean shimmered under the moon’s gentle caress, and the distant sound of the sea breeze whispering through the trees filled the air. The sight of you, bathed in the ethereal glow, made his chest tighten with something unfamiliar. Something alien, something stranger. You looked almost otherworldly, an arm wrapped around your center, and he found it impossible to look away.

The delicate curve of your neck, the lines that made up your profile – everything about you in that moment was perfection.

Rintaro felt his heart swell. Had you always been this beautiful? He knew you were attractive; he wouldn’t have bothered wasting his time on someone he didn’t find pretty. But you were always more than just a pretty face. You were so beautiful, so enchanting, standing there like a figure from a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. He was afraid just as he was bewitched – afraid he’d wake up and find none of this was real, and captivated by how ethereal you looked.

It seemed difficult to wrap his around the fact you were his, because how could he have been so lucky?

He approached you slowly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you murmured, sensing his presence without turning. It made him smile and pause on his tracks, his gaze fixated on your back before his eyes flickered towards the glass. Through the reflection, he saw you looking back at him, your lips pulling into the smallest of smiles.

His heart stuttered in his chest. Stupid – that’s what he felt. He was as nervous as a schoolboy. “Yes,” he replied softly, his voice full of emotion. As if pulled by an invisible string, Rintaro stepped closer to you – close enough he could inhale the scent of your shampoo and bury his nose in it. That’s exactly what he did. Weak when it came to his wife, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him, resting his cheek at the top of your head. “But not as beautiful as you.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes shining with the same light that illuminated the night. A smile played on your lips, and in that shared moment of silent connection, he felt an unspoken bond deepen between you. The night, the scenery, the serenity of their surroundings – it all paled in comparison to the beauty he saw in you.

He understood now – why men went to war and put their lives on the line because they believed in something. Because they had something, or someone, worth protecting. Now that you were in his arms, pliant and soft, wholly gorgeous and utterly his, he knew he felt the same.

He would gladly go to war for you.

In fact, there was nothing he couldn’t do for you, because of you. He understood now why people get married, because if this was how his daily life was going to look life, then it seemed a real shame that he could not live forever. A lifetime with you wasn’t enough. And for a brief moment, Iris’ face flickered through his head. This time, the image of her did not fill with him with adoration, or raging jealousy, the blinding effect of greed. He felt nothing but animosity towards her in that moment, his heart chiding him because how could he have been so stupid?

She was nothing like you. She couldn’t – and would never – come close to you.

Rintaro’s eyes softened as he studied your features. Your eyes were red, and dark circles lined them. “Hey,” he nudged your forehead with the pads of his knuckles, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating in his throat. It didn’t seem like it was nothing, but he didn’t push. He trusted you would tell him when you were ready. For now, he simply wanted to have you like this – in his arms, breathing in his scent, and eyes closed as he swayed you from side to side.

“I missed you.”

Your lips wobbled as you fought back a smile. “Did you now?”

Rintaro was not good with words – never have, never will. He decided in that moment it would be best to convey the emotions he couldn’t express through actions, kissing the top of your head and spinning you to face him. With your face cradled in his hands, Rintaro leant down, his lips gently – but passionately – meeting yours.

It isn’t his first kiss. But it felt like it was in that moment, his heart rampaging inside his ribcage when you made a small sound of surprise. The sound echoed through him, and he groaned, finding the last bits of his restraint breaking like a rusty chain.

Unable to help himself, he gathered you in his arms. Tapping you once on the ass, you immediately jumped into his hold, your legs wrapped around his waist. It was a blur after that – he’d fallen on the bed with you on top of him as soon as the back of his knees hit the wood. It’s nothing if not messy, just as it was sensual and slow – painfully and excruciatingly slow. Yet he couldn’t go fast, refusing to pin you down on the bed and take you hard.

Maybe it was the moonlight flittering in the room. Maybe it was your feminine, soft scent that made him lightheaded and heedy with desire. All he knew was that he wanted the moment to last, wanted to cherish every single thing he did.

So, slow it is. He was slow and took his time as he flipped you under him, using his knee to settle himself in between your legs. Your eyes are blown wide, the mounds on your chest rising up and down with each staggered breath. It filled him with a sense of achievement knowing he’d been the one to cause your undoing. Smiling softly at you, he dove in for another kiss, moaning all throughout at your taste – like red wine, soft and swirling at his tongue. With deft fingers, he reached over to slide the straps of your nightgown down your shoulder, pulling away to pepper small, heated kisses over the skin. You’re breathing hard the entire time.

And your hands are everywhere – tugging at the buttons of his shirt, pulling at the annoying pants he’d kept on. His laugh is muffled as he presses them to the nape of your neck, licking and sucking until you were keening under his palm.

He decided not to torture you any longer. Sliding his lips back to your mouth, Rintaro gently pushed you back to the pillows, his fingers finding purchase at your heat. The moment his hand came in contact with your damp underwear, you whimpered, and he greedily swallowed down the sound. You were so beautiful, so unreal.

Pushing the material to the side, he pushed two fingers and curled them in. Your reaction is instantaneous – pushing your hips off the bed, tilting your neck to the side as you gasped in his mouth. He took the chance and slid his tongue, sucking on yours while his mind ran a mile a minute.

It was as if his senses had been amped up to two.

The rustling of the sheets, the squelch of his fingers in your cunt, and the lewd, slick sounds of your tongues dancing together. It wasn’t long before you’re falling apart in his hands. Moaning, you tugged at his hair, the slight sting nearly driving him crazy. You did this to him; making him fall prey to your desire, making him bend his will at whatever you pleased. He realized you could stab him at this moment, slit his throat, abandon him – he would’ve died a happy man. Seeing you sprawled out before him, your nipples peaked and hard through the thin material of your nightgown, lips bruised and shiny with saliva. You’d never been more beautiful in his eyes.

And when you called out his name, not Your Highness, not my Prince, just Rintaro, he allowed himself to sink deep into you.

Rintaro has reached nirvana. With one hand holding you down by the hip, and the other cradling your face, his thumb caressing your lower lip, his eyes are locked with yours. The world could come crashing down, and nothing could tear his gaze away from you. He drinks you in greedily – every fluttering lash when he thrusts deep, or the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you squeezed tight around him. Beautiful, mine, mine mine mine – his throat constricts with the affection he’s trying so hard to hold back. He wanted to fuck you hard enough you left a deep imprint on the bed, the shape of your bodies embossed on the sheet. To slide in deep, and carve a space for himself inside you that no one else would reach.

He was a mess, and so were you. Wet, sloppy kisses that were more tongue and teeth than lips, with you holding onto him for dear life. It makes him chuckle, only for that same sound to come out garbled and chucked each time you tightened around him. And when you come, your cream outlining a ring around his cock, eyes shut tight and lower lip held captive by your teeth, Rintaro only had one thing in mind: marriage was a beautiful thing.

“You,” he croaked out, feeling a lump form at his throat. He couldn’t understand why his eyes glossed over with tears, or why the mere sight of you brought out with him emotions he was unfamiliar with. “I adore you.”

You reached over to cup his face, your eyes unreadable. “We should rest.”

The sheets were damp, your bodies sticky and uncomfortable. Yet Rintaro couldn’t pull away from you, not even if he were to be forcibly taken away. This is where he belonged – deep inside you, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling and your hands intertwined until your wedding rings clinked at the contact.

Here is where he belonged.

Kissing you one last time, Rintaro lets his arms fall around you. He collapses at your side, still buried in your warm, wet heat. He’d been mumbling sleepy nonsense as he tugged you closer to him, an arm wrapped around your midsection, your legs and his just one confusing entanglement. Slowly, his heart returned to its normal pace. It’s no longer screaming, rather humming your name. Nothing felt more right. You were there, your cheek resting on top of his bicep curled under you.

Drawing circles over your bare hip, the delicate scent of roses enveloped him, subtle yet intoxicating.

It was your scent, a fragrance that clung to you like an invisible halo. He couldn’t stop himself from breathing in deeply, savoring the floral notes that seemed to blend seamlessly with the night air. You smelled like grace and elegance, of tender moments shared and memories cherished. Like a princess from a fairytale, he thought, smiling into your skin, because you were a princess. His princess, his wife.

He loved the way you smelled, your fragrance lingering into the sheets and onto his skin long after you’d fallen asleep. Each inhalation was a revelation, a moment of pure, unadulterated connection he’d never felt before. Delicate and profound – you were kissed by the morning dew, fresh and timeless. He cherished it, breathed it in just in case he forgot before looking out the window.

Outside, the whole world stayed still. His Kingdom was out in the open, all for him to take. It was his – the land, the people, all the wealth and power one could wish for. Yet Rintaro felt no attachment to it.

The real treasure was there, in his arms, sharing the same bed with him.

The realization that he wasn’t desperate to be King anymore made him tighten his hold on you, his face buried at the crook of your neck. This was all he wanted now. To live the rest of his life like this – with you, in this home. But he knew it couldn’t be that easy. He had to sever all ties from his past before he could move onto the future, and fully enjoy the present.

Tomorrow, he would break up with Iris.

Tomorrow, he would tell you those three words he’d never uttered before.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

Through the efforts of the royal staff, the palace became a veritable spectacle of opulence and grandeur, transformed into a shimmering paradise befitting for the ninth prince’s debut ball. Crystal chandeliers hung like clusters of starlight from the vaulted ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the marble floors that gleamed underfoot. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and floral arrangements that exuded a heady perfume – one that made Rintaro feel squeamish inside his suit.

Guests in their finest attire filled the grand ballroom, a sea of jewel-toned gowns and sharp tuxedos. The air buzzed with the lively hum of conversation, punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and bursts of laughter. An orchestra played a waltz, the music weaving through the crowd and inviting couples to the dance floor, where they glided with grace and precision.

Scanning the ballroom, it was a kaleidoscope of movement and color. Dignitaries, ambassadors, and nobles from far and wide had gathered, their presence a testament to the importance of the occasion. The most influential figures in the kingdom mingled effortlessly, their animated discussions ranging from politics to the latest fashions. The sheer number of luminaries was staggering, each one adding to the ball’s prestige and splendor. Leave it to the Queen to turn a young boy’s important day of his life as an opportunity to establish connections and flaunt her power.

At the center of it all stood Prince Tobio, resplendent in a tailored suit that accentuated his princely bearing. His eyes sparkled with excitement and gratitude as he moved through the crowd, graciously accepting well-wishes and gifts. He was the epitome of charm, engaging each guest with a smile that radiated genuine warmth.

Tables laden with an array of culinary delights lined the edges of the room, each dish a masterpiece of gourmet artistry. From delicate hors d'oeuvres to decadent desserts, the kingdom’s finest chefs had given their utmost best to impress. Servers moved with practiced elegance, ensuring that no glass went unfilled and no plate remained empty.

It was a beautiful ball, Rintaro had to admit. A ball he would’ve greatly appreciated were he not occupied digging his hands into Iris’ hip, her gown fisted under his palms. She tasted even more exquisite today, her lipstick had a touch of cranberries, and he could faintly taste fizzy champagne from her tongue.

It was an unspoken agreement between the two that they would keep their hands to themselves during public events like this. But it was far from being easy – not when Iris wore a tight-fitting gown that accentuated all her curves, leaving very little to Rintaro’s imagination. He’d seen it all, of course. He’d kissed and licked at every spot and corner of her body. He’d memorized the way she tasted on his tongue, or the face she made when he knew she was about to come. He knew all that, and still couldn’t get enough of her. Before the Princess could react, he’d already dragged her into the nearest hallway, his lips furiously crashing with hers.

Screw the party. It wasn’t like his presence was needed; all the Princes had attended. Surely they would not notice the absence of one.

Iris moaned into his mouth, her perfectly manicured nails running upward his suit. She broke free from him to breathe for a moment, but Rintaro was unbothered. He’d turned his attention to sucking down on her neck, his mind flaring with possessiveness. A strategically placed hickey for everyone to see would please him – but it would also make Iris mad at him.

“Your Highness, we should stop this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Iris,” he mumbled, uncaring as Iris wove her hands through his thick hair. “We’re just having fun, are we not? It’s not like anyone can see. I made sure we would be alone.”

“It’s not that,” she flattened her palms over his chest and gave a gentle shove. It’s enough for Rintaro to pull back, studying the way her lower lip puckered out – just like how she always did when she wanted something from him. “I just… I think our relationship is pointless. I don’t see this going anywhere.”

Rintaro chuckled, tipping her chin upwards to make her look at him. “Where would it go? You’re married. I’m in line for the throne. We couldn’t have any more than what we have now.”

“That’s exactly why we should break up. I’m married, and I’m tired of being passed around between you brothers like I’m some sort of toy. I’m a princess, Rinnie. I deserve to have more dignity than just being your… plaything, or whatever.”

“You are not my plaything.”

“I am not your wife, either.”

He stepped back. Tipping his head to the side, he let his eyes roam over Iris’ figure. She was gorgeous, that much was evident. She had sinful curves, her golden skin radiant as if she was touched by the light itself. It was fitting, he thought. Iris burned bright like the sun – passionate, fiery, and scalding. He’d known her long enough that she would stop at nothing to get at what she wanted, but her dilemma was not something he could easily offer her on a platter.

“Is that what you want, then? Title and dignity?”

Iris was a Princess by marriage, one arranged by the Queen herself.

However, Rintaro thought bitterly, no amount of elegance lessons or femininity practices could change Iris at her core. She was a Princess only by decoration, the twinkling tiara on her pretty head an accessory she received from being associated with his brother. But she was not regal – her temper too short, her lies too deceiving, and her smiles too empty.

He loved her, yet somehow the thought of sharing the crown with her felt wrong. Now that he thought about it, not even Princess Maiko would make a fitting Queen – not that Tooru would ever be in line for ascension. It was just a realization. Iris was too hollow in her heart, and Maiko was too childish.

None of them would make good Queens.

Iris shook her head, the tendrils of hair left to frame her face swaying at the motion. “I want security. I don’t want to keep fooling around with you if it risks my position. Unlike you, I don’t have a sweet, dear mother who would catch me if I’m kicked out of the Palace.”

Rintaro gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Fine. I’ll be King, then. And once I ascend to the throne, I’ll have you and my brother separated, and you shall be mine for the rest of our lives.”

She looked like she wanted to laugh at his face, which shouldn’t have to hurt as much as it did. “This is a ridiculous plan. You’re not serious, are you?”

His lips twitched. Somehow, he wanted to wipe that smug look off her face. It was a face he’d seen enough from his tutors and governesses – all too familiar with their disappointed shakes of their head, their pitying looks whenever Rintaro aimed too high. Just stick to the books, they said, there is no need for you to be great. Follow only what is expected of you. Rintaro detested that, to fit into their image of how he should and shouldn’t be.

Levelling his hard gaze with hers, he ripped himself away from her body. Scalded, burnt – that’s how he felt each time he was with her.

“Watch me.”

Rintaro stood at the edge of the ballroom, his keen eyes sweeping over the glittering crowd. His heart was set on finding a suitable potential wife, someone who embodied innocence and modesty. He sought a woman whose presence did not draw undue attention, someone who exuded a quiet grace that promised loyalty and submission. He needed a woman who would be malleable to the wife he wanted, the Queen he needed her to be. Even if it was only to prove a point to Iris that he could succeed, Rintaro still felt that he could not take his decisions lightly.

He had to consider the throne, the mother of his children, a future Princess and a potential Queen.

Observing the throng of guests, his gaze flitted past the more striking and flamboyant ladies who basked in the limelight. They were all stunning, of course. He’d be lying if his gaze did not linger longer than what was seemed acceptable whenever the ladies giggled at his attention. Nevertheless, his attention lingered on those who seemed to blend in the background, their beauty understated and their demeanor serene. Surely one of them would catch his eye. That’s all he wanted – an unassuming, plain, and dull doll whom he could shape to be good enough to stand next to him. He was the Crown Prince, after all.

He looked and looked – and there you were. In a dark blue gown, your eyes downcast in shyness. You moved with an elegance that spoke of gentleness and humility, smiling politely at everyone who greeted you. Still, he could tell you felt out of place. You stuck out like a sore thumb, plastered at the wall, staring out into nothingness and looking like you’d rather be anywhere than here.

And the best part? No other men approached you.

With his goal in sight, Rintaro approached you, impressed with the way you carried yourself with quiet dignity, your every gesture imbued with a subtle charm. You seemed unassuming, yet your eyes held a depth in them that intrigued him. He smiled to himself, deciding that a demure maiden like you might just be the perfect match he was seeking.

“Splendid ball, is it not?”

“Your Highness,” your eyes widened, and Rintaro awaited it. A crack in your composed stature, a flaw for him to point out. Yet, you did not stutter despite your initial shock, your features schooling into that of well-practiced manners in the blink of an eye. “A most wonderful ball, indeed.”

As the Prince surveyed you, his eyes were drawn to your modest adornment. You wore a simple necklace and earring set, understated yet remarkably elegant. It was vastly different from the layers and chunks of crystals the other ladies wore. It was then that recognition sparked in his mind – the jewelry was from a rare collection that had once captivated Her Majesty. He could still remember that day clearly; his mother’s disappointment when she learned it was already sold. Very rarely did the Queen not get what she wanted, but to think that you – simple, quiet, and shy – would be the one to snatch it right under Her Majesty’s nose.

He had to admit, you piqued his curiosity and admiration.

“My baby brother is finally on his path on becoming a man,” he continued, effortlessly swiping a flute of champagne when a servant passed by. You were quick to follow his action, and Rintaro couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name, and your face… Have I seen you around before?”

“Probably not, my Prince. These events are not really my thing.”

He didn’t doubt that. Shortly, you introduced yourself, shocking him as he learned you were a daughter of one of the three noble clans that helped his ancestors build the Inarizaki Empire. He hid his surprise by taking a sip of his drink, and pretended to be nonplussed.

“A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

“How very kind of you, my Prince.”

Deciding you couldn’t be any more perfect, Rintaro cut to the chase. “Are you married?” he’d blurted out, amused by the way your brows shot up. A quick glance at your gloved fingers showed that you were ringless, but so was he, and his heart was still taken by another. “Or, to be married?”

“No. I’m… as available as a lady can be.”

“Then I suppose you would not mind entertaining a Prince bored out of his mind for one night, do you?”

The internal dilemma is written all over your face. It’s obvious you didn’t want to dance, but who are you to say no when the Crown Prince has his hand outstretched?

“Oh, uh… I don’t think you would want me as a dance partner, Your Highness. I have been told I have two left feet–”

“Don’t worry about it. You can step on my feet if you require,” he encouraged, “Come on. Will you really deny your future King a dance?”

“If you insist…”

Forcing a smile to yourself that was more shy than uncomfortable, you eventually placed your hands on his. A perfect fit, if he dared to say it.

The orchestra struck up a waltz, and Rintaro led you to the dance floor. As you began to move, there was an initial and pronounced awkwardness, your hesitance palpable. You were able to follow his lead with precision, your steps flawless and elegant, yet your body was stiff with discomfort. You even stepped on him once or twice, grimacing and quickly apologizing – much to his chagrin. He hadn’t realized one could look so adorable in their conquest of trying not to crush his toes. Despite your unease, however, you danced with a grace that naturally came to you.

As the dance progressed, Rintaro’s eyes scanned for Iris. He found her stood beside Kiyoomi, her husband uninterested and unresponsive as ever. He had his back turned to her, his eyes closed as he leant against the wall. Nursing a drink in her hands, Iris’ gaze connected with his, her eyes narrowing at Rintaro’s hand resting on your waist. Then, her gaze flickered upwards to smirk at him – daring him, challenging him, to prove his words.

Rintaro clenched his jaw. He’d been so distracted by Iris he didn’t notice you’d stepped on his toes again until a short laugh bubbled up from his throat. It surprised you both – neither of you had expected he would find it funny. But he did, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to you.

When the music finally ceased, you both shared a knowing smile before doubling over in silent chuckles. Rintaro pointed at his toes, faking injuries until you were apologizing again and again – your eyes lighting up in joy.

“You are a splendid dancer. It is a shame you look like you would not entertain me for a second one.”

You placed a hand to your chest. “Of course I would never say no to you, Your Highness.”

“So you would not mind if I asked you for another dance later?”

“If it is what you would like.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

He led you off the dance floor after that, compelled with a desire to actually speak to you. And so conversations were had, and he soon discovered your intelligence and wit, the humor lighting up your face and bringing a warmth to your demeanor. It was a warmth people from the Palace lacked, a genuinity in them he never knew was possible.

Your laughter, a sound he found unexpectedly enchanting, softened your features, making you even more beautiful. In those moments, he realized with a pleasant surprise that he enjoyed your company. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed that hard, or spoke so easily with someone like he’d known them forever.

Could it be fate, then? Was he always meant to find you?

Shaking his head in laughter, his bangs fell into his eyes. “You are very pleasant company to have. I’m surprised no one has snagged you for themselves yet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nobody is interested.”

“I find that a shame. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“There are just more eligible, more charming ladies out there. One with more charisma, and a little more grace–”

“But they do not have your humor. Or your wit,” tracing his gloved fingers to the curve of your cheek, Rintaro’s voice lowered as he spoke softly. “Or your beauty.”

The moment your breath hitched, Rintaro learned of a new desire: to learn what other reactions he could pull from you. It made him want to learn of all the most heart-fluttering lines, to memorize poetry and recite them to you, if only it would make you turn away, abashedly, once more.

“You are too kind, my Prince.”

“I am only being truthful,” he smirked, “And I have always been a lover of all that is beautiful.”

As the evening wore on and Rintaro spent more time with you, your innocent charm and unguarded nature became increasingly apparent. He felt a calculated determination solidify within him. You were the perfect person to be his Princess – not because his heart yearned for you, that was impossible. He had Iris already. Rather, your genuine demeanor and lack of guilde made you an ideal figure to shape and influence, a malleable partner who would submit to his will and fortify with his position without the complications of a more independent, fiery spirit.

You were simple, quiet, and boring. And the plan was simple enough: win your heart, marry you, become King, and cast you aside once he could finally be with the one he loved. Rintaro knew with absolute certainity when that time came, you would be too deeply in love with him. And when one was in love, one would forgive.

“You came.”

“It would be considered treason if I didn’t.”

Ah, yes. You and your quick remarks. It was one of the many things he liked about you. Smiling to himself, he pulled you deeper into the gardens. “Come. Follow me.”

It had been exactly three days since Tobio’s debut ball, three days since he’d laid his eyes on you. Rintaro wasted no time formulating his plan and putting it into action. He immediately called on you, made a formal visit to the Yuzuru Estate, and finished reading The Art of War if only to impress your father. That night he found out your father was also the Kingdom’s general, Rintaro hesitated. You seemed too important a figure to depose when the time came. But the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

He would be the future King, and the General was loyal to the crown and whoever sat in it. He would simply do his best to win your parents’ favor – which wasn’t all that hard. As soon as he arrived, your mother was swooning, and Rintaro knew he’d already won.

Today marked the first of your many dates. In a year or two, he would finally marry you.

Walking through the gardens with your hands shyly brushing against each other, Rintaro struggled to contain his emotions. It was his first time wooing a lady, much less be with someone who he’d never known before. Things were different with Iris; she approached him first. But with you… Rintaro felt that he had to be careful. Precise. Perfect.

He’d stayed up all night searching up on good date spots before deciding to invite you to the Palace. He didn’t think a public appearance for a first date would be good. Sure, he liked you, but things could still go wrong. But here in the privacy of his home, it felt more natural to act like he was this charming, effortlessly smooth Prince he wanted to present himself as.

Thankfully, the day was beautiful.

The morning sun bathed the palace gardens in a soft, golden glow, casting delicate shadows among the vibrant flowers and lush greenery. As you strolled through the grounds, he spotted you standing by a rose bush, your face turned towards the sky, basking in the gentle warmth of the new day.

For the first time, he saw you clearly in the daylight, and the sight took his breath away.

Your beauty, which had been understated under the dim ballroom lights, now seemed to radiate with an ethereal quality. The sunlight danced on your hair, highlighting its hues, and your skin glowed with a natural luminescence. The simplicity if your attire, a pale yellow dress, unadorned by the elaborate jewels of the previous evening, only served to enhance your natural beauty.

Your eyes, bright and clear, reflected the sky’s azure, and your lips curved into a serene smile as you inhaled the fragrant air.

Unknowingly, his mouth opened before he could think twice about it. “I thought you were beautiful in the moonlight, but seeing you for the first time in daylight… you are nothing short of bewitching.”

The smile on your face faltered, your fingers nervously twisting the fabric of your dress.

“Your Highness, if I may be so bold–” you sucked in a breath, grimacing, “–why are you interested in me?”

Rintaro blinked back in confusion. He was the Crown Prince. He was wealthy, handsome, and powerful. Shouldn’t any woman he showed interest in look delighted? Why did you look baffled instead?

Scratching his ear, his brow furrowed. “Do I have any reason not to be? I enjoyed my dance with you, and so did our conversations. You are… different from everyone I’ve met. I found myself unable to stop thinking of you ever since I held your hand in mine,” he said, surprising himself that he actually meant what he said. “When I formally called to your parents to court you, they welcomed me like I was their own son. I knew immediately I wanted to give their daughter the whole world and nothing less.”

Your pretty face pulled into a frown. “But you do not know me yet.”

He gestured to the gardens around you. “That is what we are here for – to get to know each other.”

“And if you do not like what you learn?”

Ah. So that’s what you were worried about?

He wanted to call you out for being silly; he would never choose someone he did not think was good enough for him. Love or not, he needed a woman he wouldn’t be ashamed to marry. However, he kept that sentiment to himself, because he, too, was curious on who you were beyond the surface.

“Test me, my Lady. You’ll find I might like you more than you’ll know,” he insisted, carefully picking out a rose and picking out the thorns. Your eyes widened in panic, but he merely brushed you off with a reassuring smile. Once the rose was picked free of its thorns, Rintaro offered it to you. “So tell me. What exactly can I do to win your heart?”

You giggled, twirling the rose between your fingers. “I believe you could win anyone’s heart. You’re a Prince, after all.”

“I do not want to steal anyone’s heart. I only want yours,” he smirked, basking in the way you hid your flustered face behind the rose. He couldn’t understand this sensation – like a flower blooming in season, his heart slowly unfurling as he leant down to your level, using his fingers to delicately pry the flower. It truly is a shame; you didn’t need to hide your lovely face so much.

“Are you saying if I were not a Prince, I would not even be worth your time?”

You huffed, turning away from him. Behind you, you could hear Rintaro laugh, the both of you knowing you were determined to not let the Prince read you like an open book. “I think… even if you were a Prince, I would appreciate it if a man took his time to get to know me.”

“I see,” he says, unfazed by the challenge. “It’s a good thing I have all the time in the world – there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than know you, my Lady.”

The palace gardens lay before you, a hidden paradise veiled in the delicate glow of twilight. He gently guided you along the cobblestone path, his heart pounding in anticipation. This was your first date, and he listened to every word that escaped your lips. Everything you wished for was going to be his bible now, his guide into winning your heart. Not a word spoken by you was left unheard, and Rintaro already had your heart mapped out inside his head.

As you walked, the gardens seemed to come alive. Each flower and leaf whispering secrets of the past. The air was heavy with the fragrance of blooming roses, their velvety petals a riot of colors against the lush greenery. And when you walked past him, he vaguely realized the scent was emanating from you, too.

Rintaro stopped by a secluded alcove, where an array of moonflowers and lillies bathed in the sinking glow of the sun. He turned to you, his eyes reflecting the gentle light.

Reaching out, he gently took your hand and led you closer to a cluster of white lilies, their pure, delicate blooms standing tall and proud. “You remind me of these lilies,” he continued, his voice low and sincere. “Graceful, elegant, and timeless. They possess a quiet strength, a beauty that captivates and endures.”

You looked at the lilies, then back at him. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” you whispered, voice tinged with awe.

He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. “Nor have I, until I saw you. Just as these lilies thrive here in this garden, I hope you’ll find your place in my life, bringing beauty and grace to every moment we share.”

Your nervous giggle echoed through the alcove. “That’s a little fast, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies. You couldn’t blame me for getting excited,” at his words, you both shared an easygoing laugh.

Soon, he fell into step beside you, enamored by the way you fit so perfectly beside him like this – with him standing tall in his boots, and your steps falling in sync with your dainty heels that peeked out often from your dress.

“What would your dream life look like?”

“Dream life?” you hummed to yourself, your hands joined d behind your back. “I guess… I’d want to live by the sea – with a nice, beautiful house. I want it big enough that I feel like I could walk there forever and not get tired, where there’s a sunroof and plenty of glasses so it looks like I’m being bathed by sunlight each time. That sounds perfect, does it not?”

“It does,” he could picture it already, this house of yours. It’s only the first date, and Rintaro was already eager to go out and find this house you dreamt of. And if it did not exist, then he would have to build it with his own hands. “Does this dream life include being with a loved one?”

You snuck a shy glance at him. “Well, of course, but it never crossed my mind I might get married for love someday.”

“Let the world surprise you, my Lady.”

The two of you stood there, surrounded by the fragrant blossoms and the gentle glow of dusk, the world narrowing to just the two of them. Thought not yet in love – and he could never be – Rintaro savored every moment spend in your company, enjoying your conversations and the shared laughter that echoed under the orange sky. In your presence, he felt a rare ease, a comforting companionship that hinted at deeper – more intimate possibilities – yet unexplored.

And when you gazed up at him, with your head tilted down and peeking up only from your lashes, your smile shy and reserved, Rintaro knew he had to see you again. Soonest, at best.

“May I call on you again?”

You dipped into a curtsy. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“A call you would heed, I’m hoping?”

Biting your lip, you nodded. “I’ll be there. You know I could never refuse a Prince.”

A week later after your first date, Rintaro realized – much to his dismay – that he does not have any pictures of you. With flaming cheeks, and a hand to cover his face, he quickly typed your name on the Internet. There aren’t much results, as he expected. But there was one article, dated six months ago when you were sighted travelling with your mother in Greece. You’re in a flowy, white sundress, waving shyly at the cameras. There’s a hibiscus tucked at your ear, the flower the exact same shade as your lipstick.

Rintaro’s arm draped over his head.

“What am I doing…” he muttered to himself, and with one eye peeking at his phone, he saves your photo and sets it as his phone wallpaper.

It’s around your eleventh date when he decided that he wanted to take you out personally, sans the security team and the cameras following around. It wasn’t anything extravagant; just a simple, romantic dinner at your favorite restaurant. It went like any other date – peaceful, enjoyable, memorable.

The night wasn’t any different than the others. At least not until he’d dropped you off at the Yuzuru Estate. You’d been so beautiful that night in your dress, the fabric cascading like silk spun from dreams. You’d always been like that – dreamy, a tad too good to be true.

Driving you home along winding lanes dappled with moonbeams, Rintaro sensed the weight of the moment poised delicately between them. Halting at your place, he stopped you before you could move. He was a gentleman, he should open the doors for you, but his touch felt different. He felt different. His gaze traced the contours of your face, where the shadows danced upon it. In that suspended breath, in the silence of his car where he could hear the rapid beating of both your hearts – and he thanked the Gods he wasn’t the only one nervous – Rintaro leaned in.

The first touch of your lips set his nerves on fire. Like fireworks exploding within him, his stomach tumbleweeding and crashing, like being sucked into a black hole and drowning in non-existence.

It isn’t his first kiss – that was Iris. But it might as well be his first kiss, with the way he’s immediately hungering for more. To kiss you harder, press against you with more ferocity than he ever thought he was capable of, and to pull you onto his lap because you simply weren’t close enough. No, he wanted you to take up every space and inch of his life. To breathe in the same air you did, to exist under the same stars and moon. You could consume him and he would thank you for it.

Was this how first kisses felt like? If it was, then he would willingly sacrifice one of his idiot brothers in the hopes you felt the same. That he’d made your first kiss a good and memorable experience, instead of feeling like it’d been stolen just like Iris did.

All too quickly, the moment ends. The need for air makes you both pull apart, eyes wide and breathing heavily. The kiss is short but sweet, one that Rintaro would stay up all night thinking about over and over again. He almost regretted it, how it was over sooner than he’d liked – until you leaned in and kissed his cheek, mumbling a quick “thank you for dinner!” before running out the car, and disappearing behind the gates.

Rintaro fell back into his seat. Any other time, he would’ve felt upset you didn’t let him escort you back the house. He’d let it slide for tonight – only because you were embarrassed, and that sneaky cheek kiss was enough to appease him.

He doesn’t pull out from the driveway until you were waving at him from your bedroom window. Windows rolled down, he waved back, and headed back for the Palace.

The entire ride back, Rintaro had his thumb swiping over his lips every so often.

Your lip gloss still lingers, and he can’t help but wish you’d been his first kiss instead.

Tonight, Rintaro whispered to himself, tonight he would tell you everything.

On the secluded stretch of sand where the ocean collided, Rintaro had meticulously laid out a tableau of romance beneath a canopy of stars. Each detail spoke of his adoration: a gossamer canopy adorned with twinkling lights gently swayed in the sea breeze, casting a warm glow over the fine linens and flickering candles. Seashells adorned the table, their iridescent surfaces reflecting the moon’s gentle caress.

A carafe of chilled wine stood ready, its glass catching the shimmering light of the evening tide. Nearby, a small fire crackled, casting a warm, inviting glow amidst the cool embrace of the night.

As Rintaro amidst the romantic dinner he’d prepared, a nervous anticipation fluttered in his chest.

Tonight, amidst the symphony of the waves and the whisper of palm fronds, he would finally reveal the depth of his heart. It would be more than a confession – it was also the right time to ask for your forgiveness. Until now, he still couldn’t believe you chose to be by his side after everything he did. How you chose to protect him, and risked meeting men alone, all to save his reputation. He’d hurt you, over and over, and you’d chosen to stay loyal, over and over. He had to make sure tonight was perfect.

He’d been so desperate he turned to his brothers for help: Osamu prepared the meals, Tobio went out to buy a bouquet of flowers, and Kiyoomi helped him decorating the table. Kiyoomi seemed hesitant at first, scowling down at him when he knocked down his brother’s door. Rintaro couldn’t blame him – he’d been an awful husband to you, no excuses. But he could be better. He would be better. And after seeing his sincerity, Kiyoomi eventually stopped grumbling and helped him.

“Don’t mess this up. This might be your last chance,” he’d warned Rintaro, and he couldn’t agree more. “And for the record, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for her.”

When Rintaro woke up that morning and you weren’t beside him anymore, he felt true fear for the first time. He felt like he was brought back to that time you’d gone for Itachiyama, and left him behind. That bone-chilling fear of seeing your side of the bed empty was enough to wake him up.

He couldn’t restart over from zero, but he could try. He would go down on his knees to beg for forgiveness if he had to. He’d do anything – absolutely anything – just to win your heart once more. He’d done it before, he could do it again. Only this time, he promised to keep your heart safe. Rintaro didn’t want to hurt you anymore.

But before he could confess to you, he had to get this over with first.

With the sun dipping low on the horizon, the sky painted in hues of melancholy gold and crimson, Rintaro made his way silently toward the beach. The gentle lapping of the waves provided a solemn rhythm to his steps, each footfall heavy with the weight of his purpose. There, amidst the soft, shining sands, he spotted Iris, her figure a silhouette he’d immediately recognize against the backdrop of the fading day. She sat with her shoulders slumped, her gaze distant and eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The air around them hung heavy with the unspoken knowledge of what was to come.

In the quietude of the moment, Rintaro approached with a heavy heart, knowing that their time together would soon unravel like the receding tide.

“Hey,” he mumbled, crossing his legs as he filled in the space next to her. Beside him, Iris rested her cheeks on her arms, her knees drawn together. Rintaro sucked in a breath. Iris looked… miserable. Her skin was dull, and dry. If he’d seen this side of her months ago, he would’ve reached over and wiped the tracks of dried tears on her face. Pulled her into his arms as he consoled her, and maybe even joked he’d beat up whoever made her cry.

But he couldn’t do that now. He didn’t want to, either.

Looking at Iris felt like looking at a stranger. Rintaro had loved her for a long time – ever since he was eighteen. Now, eight years later, and she still held a portion of his heart. Not romantically, but he’d known her forever. She’d been his first kiss, his first love, his first time, his first everything’s. She was the one who’d taught him how to handle his alcohol, the one who told him it was okay to not be so perfect, and when the time came – the one who’d been the reason Rintaro found you.

He couldn’t hate her, not really. Iris wasn’t a bad person; she was just misunderstood. She was lonely, desperate, and didn’t have a place to call home. She had nothing at all before she was suddenly thrown into a loveless marriage with a man who couldn’t stand her. And how could he hate her? He was just to blame as she was.

He was just as lonely as she was.

“Hey,” she greeted back, her voice cracked and broken.

“Are you alright?” he couldn’t help but ask, bumping his shoulder with hers. The contact didn’t set his skin on fire anymore, and Rintaro pursed his lips as he recalled it all – the times he’d obsessed over her, only for it to disappear. Like it never existed in the first place. In the back of his mind, fear loomed over him again – because what if that happened to you, too? What if, one day, you looked him in the eye and couldn’t recognize him anymore? What if one day, all the love you had for him vanished into thin air, too?

“I’m okay,” Iris said, even if they both knew she didn’t mean it.

“Kiyoomi told me you barely left your room.”

She chuckled, the sound mocking and muffled as she buried her head in her arms. “Pardon me if I didn’t want to join your play pretend of house. My entire stay here has been awful. You’re all acting like… like everything is okay.”

Rintaro sighed, “Listen, Iris… I know what we had was complicated. You’re married, and I was young and foolish. We did things we weren’t supposed to do – things we cannot take back,” he admitted, finally braving to reach over and cup her knee. Iris didn’t react, didn’t move or pull away. She remained frozen where she sat, save for the slight shake of her shoulders. Rintaro’s heart ached. “What we had was special, and I cherished it, cherished you, but I think we should finally end things.”

“You’re breaking up with me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. One Rintaro couldn’t deny.

“Yes.”

Iris lifted her head, her face tear-stained as she laughed. “You should’ve done that a long time ago, if you weren’t so damn stubborn.”

Despite himself, Rintaro’s lips pulled into a bitter smile. “That would be my fault. I thought I was in love with you.”

“Are you not?”

“I don’t know,” he said, even though his heart was screaming no, no I don’t. “I always thought it was going to be you. You were the only one who I ever wanted this much, and when I found out you married my brother, I thought my world was going to end. That I was put on this Earth just to suffer and watch you fall for someone else when that should’ve been me. But then she came, and – and marriage is not so bad. If it’s going to be like this every day, I would gladly endure the troubles of the throne. I can do anything as long as she’s by my side,” the words are spilling out of his mouth, his heart, before he could stop himself. Rintaro clutched at his chest, watching the way his wedding ring glinted with the sunset. “I’m not sure if it’s love, but I do know I can’t watch someone I care about slip through my fingers again. I lost you already; I can’t lose her, too.”

“You’re giving up on becoming King? Just like that?”

“Not entirely. The throne is my birthright,” he reminded her, hating the way she always seemed to doubt him even in their end. But he was tired, so tired, that he no longer argued. “I just want to enjoy my marriage, Iris. And I think that’s something you’ve always wanted too.”

“So that’s it. We’re over.”

“We are.”

“Good,” she sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her palm. The relief on her voice was palpable, and Rintaro lifted his head to look at her – watching the way her face broke out into a giddy smile. “Because I never wanted to be with someone like you in the first place.”

“Someone like me? What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you know, Rin?” she turned to him, her smile cruel, and her eyes so cold it brought a chill down his spine. But nothing could compare to the dread he felt when he heard her next words, and that’s when he knew – his life would never be the same ever again.

The morning unfolded with a gentle whisper of anticipation when you returned to your room, a cryptic note left behind by Rintaro. It bore a simple request: “Dress up for tonight. Meet me at the beach.”

You loathed the way your heart fluttered with a blend of nervous excitement and curiosity. You loathed yourself even more for what you let happen last night – with him making love to you, and worshipping your body before you’d fallen asleep in his arms. It was slowly becoming torture. You didn’t know how to act anymore, how to keep up this act. How could you have been so foolish – believing that he could buy you a house and ignore his girlfriend, and suddenly that made everything okay? Because it didn’t. It didn’t change the fact that he loved her first, he loved her long enough that he’d gotten her pregnant.

It hurt even more the longer you pondered about it – did he know the entire time? Was that why he’d suddenly become sweet? The longer you thought about it, the more you felt sick to your stomach whenever you entertained the possibility that maybe he didn’t know.

Maybe he’d just truly had a change of heart.

Maybe he’d finally fallen in love with you.

But if that was real, all would change once he found out he was going to become a father. Iris couldn’t get rid of the baby – it was a royal child, unborn or not. She must’ve known that, too, otherwise she wouldn’t be so desperate. And what would happen next? You could lose Rintaro and Kiyoomi all at once.

You crept out of your husband’s arms the moment you came to. He was still fast asleep, looking so at peace and unaware that it felt wrong to leave. But it felt even more wrong to stay, so quickly exited the room and started early. Breakfast was served, the other Princes started playing again, until you couldn’t handle it anymore – pretending everything was fine, pretending like you couldn’t notice Rintaro’s longing stares at you from the other side of the room. You avoided him under the guise of tending to your guests, and it wasn’t long enough before he’s kissing your cheek, and went upstairs to disappear.

That was when you saw his note.

Now, you stood before an array of delicate fabrics and jewels. Choosing with care, you draped yourself in a gown of celestial blue, its silk like a cascade of moonlit waves against your skin. Jewels, glinting like captured stars, adorned your neck and wrists, adding a subtle sparkle to your reflection in the mirror.

As evening descended, you made your way down the beach, the scent of night-blooming flowers mingling with the soft rustle of your gown. There, your eyes caught sight of candles lit in the distance, a scatter of petals around a table and two chairs. The glow of lanterns and the shimmer of a thousand stars above awaited you like a secret garden of enchantment. There, beneath the velvet sky, you stood in quiet expectation, your heart racing with the promise of an eventful evening.

The dinner set up, adorned with its evening charms, you awaited Rintaro’s arrival with a patient grace. You stood there, rubbing your hands down your bare arms with growing unease as the minutes stretched into an eternity.

Each passing second seemed to amplify the rustling of the wind, heightening your senses to every distant footfall and murmur of the night. Your fingers, intertwined nervously, betrayed the inner turmoil mirrored in your furrowed brow and the anxious flutter of your heart. Time itself became an adversary, teasing you with its slow passage as uncertainty wrapped around you like a shroud.

The breeze picked up, whispering the unspoken question – where was he?

With each unanswered moment, your apprehension deepened, casting shadows upon the once-hopeful tableau of your rendezvous. When he finally appeared, a chill seemed to settle over the air despite the warmth of the evening.

Rintaro’s handsome features, usually a portrait of princely composure, were now etched with lines of sorrow and eyes that spoke of turmoil within. In his trembling hand, he held a bouquet of deep red roses, their velvety petals trembling as if mirroring his own unsteady emotions. Every movement he made seemed to carry the weight of a world crashing down upon him. The carefully chosen attire that once adorned him with regal splendor now draped over a figure that seemed to struggle beneath its weight.

As he approached, your eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes – of secrets unsaid, of a heart breaking under the strain of unspoken burdens. The bouquet he offered, usually a gesture of affection, now felt like a peace offering. A plea for understanding amidst the raging sea of emotions crashing against the shore of your fragile marriage.

The question hung at the tip of your tongue. Do you know? you wanted to ask, your fingers trembling and your eyes welling up with tears when Rintaro pointedly avoided your gaze.

“Rin,” you pleaded, closing the distance between you two as you stepped closer to him. Please, say something. Tell me, do you know? Did she tell you?

The questions die at the back of your throat as Rintaro closes his eyes, leaning forward and kissing your cheek. Your husband had never felt so far away than he did in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, and pulled away. His words were loud and clear, yet his gaze was distant – like you weren’t even there in front of him. “This was a mistake. We should get divorced.”

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otkuhotgirl · 3 months

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─── 𝐌𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 .

# with roronoa zoro.

in which zoro’s refusal to bathe is never-ending, much to nami’s discontentment — and your amusement.

⎰ & fluff. implied fem!reader. no y/n used. suggestive. zoro being stinky. me trying to be funny.

WC: 1.6K !

the light from the midday sun threatened to slip through the thick and darkened lenses of your glasses, forcing your eyes shut. warmth enveloped the many bare pieces of your skin as though a particularly startling — yet not quite unwelcome — hug. waves crashed against the sunny, humming a peaceful and gentle lullaby, with tendrils determined to guide you towards the vague pathway of dreams. a contented sigh trespassed the shut surface of your lips. limbs losing strength and sounds losing focus, it was but a matter of time until sleep claimed your consciousness.

until the interruption — rude, may you add — of those precious passage of seconds.

nami groaned for what seemed to be the uptenth time within less than half-an-hour. with the rise of an eyebrow, you placed the sunglasses above your head and peeked out at her abhorred figure, knees pressed to her chest and an enraged expression as she sat on the wooden-made sun lounger. with a sigh, your sunglasses returned to its previous position as you shifted your attention towards the bright-blue sky.

“what’s the matter?” you inquired, placing a hand underneath your head for further comfort.

“it’s been nine days,” the navigator hissed, to which you frowned.

“since what?”

“zoro’s last bath,” robin clarified from where she, too, had sat to sunbathe, her glance lingering to the page of the book she held.

“two days more than his usual,” nami continued, exasperatedly gesturing to the swordsman, who slept heavily at the furthest edge of the deck, his broad back pressed to a corner.

the sun was neither kind nor comprehensive with his lack of care towards his skin’s health. it licked at the tanned muscles as though a starving beast, whose motives and eagerness you could quite understand. due to the mere tank top he wore and the usual green bandana tied around his forearm, he’d be left with terribly mismatched tan lines, which usually meant him spending the rest of the week shirtless on deck to even them out.

not at all a terrible scenario, you mused with certain malice, having the fantasies of sweat and pleasure and bites interrupted by nami’s continuous complaints.

“his stench surpassed luffy’s! how can i enjoy the peace and warmth of the day with an open sewage on deck?” the navigator whined as you choked with restrained laughter over the comparison.

a splash accompanied by chopper’s cries and usopp’s shouting made it known that your captain had fallen in the sea mid-fishing. yet another splash indicated that someone had come to his rescue — jimbei, if you had to guess.

“considering the amount of times luffy dove underwater accidentally, it’s of no surprise that he’s smelling better,” robin noted with her usual factual tone, absentmindedly flipping a page with an amused grin.

“that’s not something for him to be proud of,” nami whined, throwing her weight back onto the lounging chair.

“maybe they’re competing to see who can withstand the longer without a bath,” you chimed in.

“wouldn’t sea bathing count then?” robin curiously noted.

nami observed the pair of you with utter terror — whether due to your nonchalance or the mere thought of such a competition taking place, you did not know.

the strong and characteristic scent of sanji’s perfume invaded both your nostrils and line of thought as he approached with a tray elegantly supported by his palm. three colored cocktails were above it, and the cook held himself with pride.

“a beverage for the ladies to freshen themselves during this scalding afternoon?” he offered smoothly, to which you beamed before accepting one — as did the other two women.

“see?” nami pointed out, taking a sip from her cocktail. “sanji has a pleasant scent. like a person who bathes everyday should.”

the contained manner with which he held himself vanished as he melted and fell down on his knees, shouting promises of love and adoration tangled with nearly unrecognizable words of gratitude. you moved your head closer to his neck, sniffing. sanji fell with his back against the deck, limbs spread as though a starfish anchored to a rock by the shore.

“too perfumed,” you decided, returning to your previous position.

“i will stop bathing for you, light of my life, rarest treasure of my seas, golden hand whose fingers hold the chain of my will,” sanji declared with a pompous and desperate tone, kneeling as he searched for your hand.

“no, you won’t!” nami shouted with nothing but rage, and you could see the gears turning inside her head: the awful prospect of the one and only man of the crew who bathed everyday, losing this costume all of the sudden.

“no i won’t, my beloved nami-swan, the thunder who restarted the beating of my heart and ignited the flames of love within me!” the cook agreed, turning towards her.

“pity,” you noted, sipping on your cocktail. sanji stopped mid-sentence, as if malfunctioning.

“you’ll break him,” robin said with certain amusement.

neither had the chance to test that theory whatsoever, as luffy’s drenched figure latched itself on sanji’s back, shouting for meat as per usual. once the cook left the scene with the captain on his trail, a second of peace lingered before nami, yet again, returned to the previous subject.

“i forgot men and bathing weren’t your thing,” she stated, to which robin peeked from her book with certain intrigue.

“i mentioned that at the island we last visited,” you explained to her, and the archeologist hummed.

“how did it came to that?” she had asked, absentmindedly returning to her book, though you had known the woman for long enough to catch on the genuine interest and the scheming behind that exterior. she caught onto something.

“the flirty and laidback opponent at the latest island we mentioned, who kept asking us our type in men and women,” nami clarified.

“and i’m presuming that you answered him,” robin concluded, observing your figure.

“muddy and hardworking,” you grinned with certain pride. “he was so beaten up, i doubt he can even manage to remember it.”

“besides, he was tidy,” nami added. “as in, wearing a stronger perfume than sanji’s and whining at a bit of grass, kind of tidy.”

“so, it was a diversion?” robin had asked, her tone amused. “to get him out of your feet?”

you shrugged. “not exactly.”

“enlighten me,” she replied at last, nearly laughing at her own train of thought. “wasn’t zoro paired up with the two of you on the last island?”

nami’s entire expression shifted to one of numbness. your posture straightened and the sunglasses slipped to your lap as a consequence. the navigator was fuming, eyes so intense it was as though they could ignite at any given moment.

“this is your fault!” she shouted, pointing an accusing finger towards you.

the defensive words had abandoned your mind and tongue as nami raised from her seat. without a second thought, you jumped from yours and ran through the deck, the navigator hot on your trail.

“fix that!” she demanded, her loud tone gathering the general attention and pinning it to the both of you.

you thought about the sweat dripping from his muscles after a particularly harsh battle. the seasalt etched to his body. the dried redness of his blood contrasting against the tanned tone of his skin. the mere prospect of maiming that sculpture built by memories and victories with your fragrances and soap and lotions left a sour taste to your tongue. so, you turned on your feet towards the one place you knew nami would never dare to follow — at least, not under those circumstances.

zoro opened his eye, awake due to the commotion. upon witnessing your sprint, a grin etched on his features as his arms traveled from his chest to his nape; as his legs spreaded out in one lazy, yet effective, invitation. once you were close enough, you slid on the deck, and zoro grabbed your waist smoothly to press the side of your body against his chest. the swordsman sat you on his lap effortlessly, and you guided your face to his pressure point, taking in the mixture of sweat and salt and steel.

a whisper of the scent of ointment and gauze from the treatment of his previous endeavors lingered still. minuscule particles of sand, from when he rolled and dug during a battle, scratched against the tip of your nose, and adorned his skin as though beach-kissed freckles. zoro was edges and violence and scars. yet, if one learned where to guide one’s eyes, the brutal exterior would melt into a pool of steel with recollections drawn with passion and effort. luckily, as it seemed, those small little details were sheltered from the external world: hidden through a mist of undeniable stench.

nami ceased mid-run and choked in disgust, covering her nose and mouth as zoro raised an armpit on purpose.

“cheater,” she accused, pointing to you yet again before turning towards zoro with a grimace, “and you, take a shower, you stenching brute.”

“can’t,” zoro answered with undeniable cockiness, hugging your shoulders. “m’girl likes me muddy.”

the navigator contorted her face before throwing the towel and deciding it was best to sunbathe further away. you threw your head back with a genuine smile to observe the swordsman as he smirked, guiding his free hand further down to give your ass a harsh squeeze.

“wanna take it to the crow’s nest?” he offered, a veil of lust settling in his glance.

“have you washed your dick today?” you inquired, precise and straightforward.

the swordsman groaned and leaned his head back on the mast, shutting his eye. “later.”

you hummed, following him suit to take a well-deserved nap, aware that you’d need the energy for when he decided to hop on that damned sink, returning with his pants drenched from the water and malice etched on his face.

muddy and hardworking it is — but with some limits drawn.

— 🐈‍⬛ as tsukumo yuki once said: i like ‘em stinky. and honestly i get her. romanticizing zoro’s stench because why not?

#one piece #zoro #zoro roronoa #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #op #op x reader #op x y/n #op x you #op zoro #divider by saradika

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acupofqueercoffee · 3 months

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“Beneath the Dragon’s Eyes”

Rhaenys Targaryen x Female Reader (+Meleys)

wc : 2700+

cw : older woman x younger woman // also, they make out in front of meleys, hence the name // a touch of fluff and a sprinkle of spice

finally took matters into my own hands muahahaha 😈 i love my red queens so gotta include both of them, and ofc, rhaenys speaking high valyrian 😮‍💨

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Zephyrs in Driftmark can be unforgiving at times, especially in the break of dawn. It crawls through little gaps from the castle’s stone walls, running its frigid fingers over every part of your body that is left exposed by your thick covers. One cursed touch of it, and immediately, the shivers come in a tidal wave, iciness crashing down your frame the way waves break the sandy shore.

Peeved to be so rudely awaken, you burrow deeper into bed, pulling the covers over your head to hide in your warm, little cocoon. Still, the trembling persists as though your early morning visitor has left a piece of itself behind in the very depths of your core, for coldness continues to swell from within. On your temples, your blood throbs so fiercely in your veins to the point that you think they may pop any moment now, an awful sensation that is well-nigh torture.

A part of you is inclined to believe that such is the punishment for the sin you have committed yesternight, but even if it is to be the case, the better part of you harbour not a dot of remorse. Why should you when there still lingers traces of her presence, subtle but certainly detectable on the delicate piece of fabric that is presently held close to your chest, a keepsake. Admittedly, not willingly given. Rather, stolen in a moment of irrepressible desire. But a keepsake nonetheless. The handkerchief is simply a square piece of cotton cloth, elegantly lined with lace, as white as milk, but her initials, in blood-red cursive, are embroidered on one corner of it.

Pressing the soft material to your nose, and drowning in the faint scent of sea breeze and firewood that is uniquely and so undeniably your Princess Rhaenys’s, conjure up memories from last night. Within the secrecy of your room, one of the privileges of being the Princess’s Handmaiden, with the stolen little piece of herself nestled over your nose, your fantasies have gone uncontrollably wild. Teeth biting lips, fingers journeying south, sweat blooming into beads, body writhing in ecstasy. Suffice it to say that by the time you drift off, you are thoroughly drained. Only the sea scented breeze catches wind of the name that sweetly, thickly drips down your lips in a sacred whisper, and the moon, the sole witness to the rivulets that shimmer on the inside of your thighs beneath its silvery light.

A cascade of warmness that envelops your body at the mere thought of your lady is all it takes to fend off the cold. Cheeks rosy and ears buzzing, you suddenly feel very feverish. By the side of the bed, a window sits on the wall, the clouds beyond the frame drenched in artistic reds and oranges at the hands of the slowly rising sun, and in need to cool off, your fingers curl around the latch to push it open.

Your respite is fragile, short-lived, shattering like a glass on impact, once an eddy of wind, strong and sudden, swirls into your humble dwelling. The intruder leaves everything untouched other than your little keepsake that is stolen right under your nose. Slipping through your fingers, it flutters akin to a bird preparing for take off, before being escorted through the window, and you watch, a gasp on your lips, while the relentless breeze sends the precious piece of your lady flurrying down, and down, and further down. Your heart drops along with the handkerchief by the time you realise where it has disappeared into.

In your haste to retrieve your prized possession, you have forgone, or rather completely forgotten, the decency to slip into something more suitable for the weather. With a simple nightdress precariously hanging on your frame, your bare feet pad through the winding halls and down the grand staircases as you slip past bustling servants, too engrossed in their respective works to pay you any mind. By the time you reach the entrance to the crypt, you observe from behind a pillar. Only when you have made certain that the two dragon-keepers are locked in an animated chatter do you emerge from your hidden spot, running past them in a blur of movements.

The bowels of the castle are off-limits to many servants save a handful of guards and the dragon-keepers. It is after all home to Meleys, the Red Queen, Princess Rhaenys’s beloved dragon.

Amidst your descent into the foreboding darkness, the beast inside your chest pounds against its cage, wild and frantic. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of dragon, and there, in the shadowy depths of the cavern, you can outline the form of Meleys, her scales shimmering like rubies in the faint glow as she appears to be slumbering, coiled and relaxed. Granted, you have feasted your eyes upon the dragon from afar with no small amount of wonder whenever your Princess takes her out for a flight across the ocean, but it is only given that you will be hypnotised by such a spectacle right before your very eyes, the sheer magnitude and majesty of the Red Queen filling you with intense awe.

A sudden, swift whoosh of her tail sends something aflutter into the wind, and the sight of it spills ice along the length of your spine. Caught on a jagged stone, between you and the dragon, is your lady’s handkerchief.

You have just barely plucked the delicate fabric between your fingers when a low, rumbling growl, seeming to come from the very bowels of the earth itself, shakes you to your core. Slowly, you unstick your eyes from the ground only to find twin orbs of molten gold locked onto you, burning with such malice and ferocity that the force of it alone sends you stumbling back. She rises, hackles raised, and only when a person emerges from behind her large body do you understand why the dragon is being so alarmed.

“Daor, Meles!”

(No, Meleys!)

You are in equal parts absolutely terrified of the doom looming over you, and ridiculously enamoured of your lady’s mother tongue reaching your ears in a tentalising caress.

“Ryptēs. Lykiri.”

(Listen. Be calm.)

One colossal wing unfolds, a protective barrier shielding her rider from you who she deems a possible threat.

“It’s alright. She’s not a threat.”

You can see from where you sit in a sorry little heap, still frozen on the ground, that Princess Rhaenys’s hand has planted firmly against her dragon’s side, offering reassuring strokes that seems to effectively pacify the massive creature. Little by little, her red wing lowers to fold gracefully against her side, and in doing so, reveals to you your lady, comfortably dressed in her dragon-riding attire. There is a steely edge to her face, lips pursed, and gaze stormy when she turns to look at you.

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing here?”

So, she demands, and you stand before you answer, or at least, you try to, but the suddenness of it encourages a dizzy spell that has you wobbling on your feet. That has been your foolish mistake for you have offered the doom, that is silently, solemnly observing you, one wrong move, and one is plenty enough of a sign for her to finally descend upon you. With a snarl, scary and sinister, the red queen takes a step forward.

“Lykiri, Meles. Rȳbās!”

(Be calm, Meles. Focus!)

Helplessly, hopelessly, you swoon over your Princess, who has placed herself between her handmaiden and her dragon, her body a firm wall of protection before your own.

“Lykiri.”

(Be calm.)

Once again, the delicious pulse of her voice flows in the form of High Valyrian, gentleness and authority intertwined as she quells the anger of the dragon with a string of melody that effortlessly spills forth her lips, accompanied by a delicate touch of her fingers on the dragon’s impressive snout. Despite your circumstances, you cannot help but stupidly find the gesture endearing.

“Demās.”

(Sit.)

As oblivious as you are to what your lady is saying, you hang on her ever word, enthralled, and so, too, is Meleys if the way she stops her grumbling to instead sit down on the ground is anything to go by.

“Hegnīr. (Good.)” And with a press of your lady’s fingers, elegantly long and delightfully lithe, that are bestowing gentle caresses along the plane of her cheek, the dragon emits a sound, not akin to the growls from before but a happy noise, supposedly the closest thing to a purr she can manage. “Hmm…ñuhys meles darys. (Hmm…my red queen.)”

Once her dragon is settled, you become the focus of the Princess’s attention, or rather, the object of her ire. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She scolds, her stony-eyed gaze pinning you in place. “And what have you got there?”

Following her eyes, you find that they are resting on your hand, grip, white-knuckled tight as fingers curl around the handkerchief, her handkerchief, for dear life. “It’s- I- uhmm-” Silently, patiently, she studies you as you try but fail miserably to stammer out an explanation, for the words get tangled in your throat.

One footfall of her boots brings her closer to you.

One more and you will be able to feel her breath on your face.

Her gaze, although just as intense, has begun harbouring a touch of softness as those fingers, which have served as one of the focuses of your fantasies, lock around your wrist, thumb of her other hand tracing the embroidered initials. “This is mine.” She speaks matter-of-factly. “Why do you have it?”

Your eyes are cast to the ground, roaming over every bump and ridge of rock, anything but her face, and so, with her hand still fitted around your wrist like a snug bracelet, she tugs you, not unkindly, merely as a means to draw attention. “Eyes on me.”

How are you to resist a direct command from your Princess? A command to feast your eyes upon the mesmerising planes and valleys of her face no less.

It comes to you as easily as breathing, admiring the little lines bracketing her lips and the delicate crow’s feet below her eyes, and enjoying every moment of it, but not so much having your soul laid bare beneath her hot scrutiny. The brilliance of her stare gives rise to goosebumps on your body, the little hair on the back of your nape standing when you hear Meleys in the background. The dragon levels you with those twin suns of hers, pools of liquid gold that shimmer with curiosity, in return for the peek you have sneaked. Her stare is both mesmersing and terrifying. A strangled little gasp tumbles out of your lips, whereas a thrill that simmers low in her maw seems to vibrate deep within your bones.

“Fear not.” Your lady’s face gravitates towards you, but a whisker away. “Meleys wouldn’t touch a hair on your head unless I say so.”

“But me on the other hand, hmm,” Middle and fore finger touch a lock of your hair as she whispers in your ear. “I’m not quite sure.”

“I- I’m sorry, my lady. It smelt of you,” You swallow, warm and fuzzy. “-and it was so inviting, and I couldn’t help myself.”

A pad of a thumb traces the bone of your cheek, before opting to pluck your chin between forefinger and a thumb. Gingerly, she angels your face until your gazes collide. “Oh, I bet you couldn’t.”

She watches you intently, her eyes roaming over every feature on your face, and despite the cheeks that are dusted cherry red and the sorry little thing swelling painfully inside your chest, you glory in her attention, soaking every droplet of it.

Dainty and delicate in appearance, her lips call out to you, a siren’s song, and just as you are entertaining the idea of throwing all caution to the wind to chase after the forbidden temptation, they fall upon you.

No amount of wildest dreams can hold a candle to the real experience. Smooth and soft, her lips are the sweetest thing you have ever had the pleasure of consuming, but underneath it all is an addictive spiciness, you quickly discover, once a velveteen tip of a tongue licks the swell of your lips. No sooner has the delicate bud unfurled like a flower in bloom than the ravenous snake slithers inside in search of sweet nectar.

An arm has twined itself around your waist, pulling you against her body, kiss intensifying as teeth nibble and tongue tangle, and with a choked little noise, your hand descends upon your lady’s shoulder.

In the haze of it all, you cannot help but appreciate her hair, a cascade of white satin falling beautifully down her shoulders, which you braid every morning and comb every night. A knit appears between your brows. Clearly, her hair is fashioned. Although, you do not remember putting these particular braids on her head.

“You didn’t send for me to have your hair done.” Fingers toy with a lock of hair, perpetually drenched in moon glow. “Who did these, my lady?”

“I can manage a few braids myself, dear girl.”

A nip on the delicate underside of your chin proves to be a dizzying distraction.

Meanwhile, blossoms of her kisses have branched off to your neck, lips closing around the little notch on your throat. Like dewdrops blooming on leaves on a misty morning, specks of perspiration has appeared on your forehead. She sucks once, and your spine arches. Another, and with a trickle of gasps down your lips, your body curves deeper into your lady’s.

“You’re trembling.” She breathes into the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, voice throaty and hot, and you feel it on your skin more than you hear it. “Is it the cold?”

“No,” Her hand tugs one part of your chemise down, and doing so leaves your shoulder bare. “No, Princess. It is you.”

“Hmm.” Lips glide across your skin, planting firmly on the slope of your shoulder, and sucking the flesh into the hot cavern of her mouth until it is red and rosy and deliciously raw.

Then, she arises, thumb outlining the fleshy swell of your lips, dewy and kiss-swollen, before opting to cradle your face in the palm of her hand. A ghost of a smile that blossoms on her lips is such a sight for sore eyes. You drink it in like a parched man.

A beautiful mess, the Princess has left you, and she takes her sweet time relishing her masterful craft.

“Gevie.”

Her mother tongue makes a delightful reappearance, this time solely for your ears, and you are but butter in her arms, melting from the sultriness of her cadence alone.

“What does it mean, my lady.” Your gaze, doe-eyed and love-struck, finds hers. Her amused little grin is not easily discernible, but all too familiar with the nuances of the Princess’s expressions, you find it in those enchanting browns, in the soft little lines on her face that becomes just a touch vivider. “Beautiful.”

“I’ve found myself wondering what my touch would do to you-” Her gaze moves to the stolen keepsake that still resides within your grasp. “-if this flimsy, little fabric was capable of making you moan my name so reverently in bed.”

The knowledge that she is aware of your deed breeds excitement, sends tingles down your spine. A twinkle of anticipation has appeared plain as day in your eyes, and to your pleasant surprise, a chuckle spills forth her lips, deep and dizzying.

“But perhaps another time.” She drops a kiss atop the little arch of your nose, and your eyes slip shut, full of bliss. “And keep the handkerchief. I’m sure it’ll be more useful in your hands than it is in mine.”

A feather light touch has found home on your naked shoulder, a gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings against the deep purple bloom that her mouth has so exquisitely painted on your skin. With a hum, she fixes the chemise so that the evidence of her doing lies hidden beneath the fabric, away from prying eyes and gossiping servants.

“Come. Let Meleys rest. She has had enough entertainment for one day.”

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#house of the dragon #rhaenys targaryen x reader #rhaenys targaryen velaryon x reader #rhaenys velaryon x reader #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys velaryon #rhaenys the queen who never was #character x reader #hotd s2 #hotd season 2 #fanfic #tv: hotd #hotd fanfic #meleys #meleys the red queen #dance of the dragons #eve best #high valyrian

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chaconnenha · 6 months

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⸝⸝ ❛ i' m in love with a fairytale . . .

╰ ❪ ꕤ ❫ ENHYPEN ( HYUNG LINE ) as disney princes !

en- hyung line x fem!reader ʬʬʬ───includes. swoon-worthy princes, fluff, romance, minor angst, kissing, violence, abusive & toxic households, semi-nudity, word dumps/messy writing . . . ( MAKNAE LINE VER. found here ) BACK TO LIBRARY ?!

LEE HEESEUNG as PRINCE ERIC ( THE LITTLE MERMAID ) !

when you pulled him to the shore from the wreckage of his sunken ship, and you felt the sand on the shore for the very first time, you knew you could never go back to how things were… and when you fell for him for the very first time, you knew you would never be able to love anyone else. but he had someone else now—a princess, who could speak, could laugh, could tell him just how much she loved him… you were just a mermaid who traded her voice for legs; a silly girl who used forks as a hairbrush, and couldn’t walk two steps before tumbling over the other. there was no way he would fall for you… or so you thought.

you had no idea his love for you ran deeper than the ocean that you saved him from. that the moment he found out you were missing and nowhere to be found, he felt his heart drop in his chest right down to his stomach. or that the first thing he did was send his guards out to every corner of the city in search of you, hoping that he didn’t just lost you forever. and that was why, when he saw you standing at the beach where he met you for the first time, he couldn’t hold back his feelings. not after reading the letter you left behind for him, saying that you were leaving him so that he could marry someone who wasn’t you. he wasted no time in chasing you down before you could even set foot in the sea, his arm grabbing yours and hauling you to his chest, as if you were the one sinking this time, and it was his job to pull you back to shore.

you couldn’t even gasp in surprise before his lips were on yours, swallowing your protests like he was drowning again, and you were his last pocket of air. “don’t ever leave me like that again,” he panted between desperate kisses, his arms pressing you even more firmly against his body. you stared at him in shock as salty tears ran down his beautiful face, reflecting the ones that fell down yours not too long ago. “please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “i love you too much to let you go.”

PARK JEONGSEONG as PRINCE CHARMING ( CINDERELLA ) !

you were used to being treated like a trampled flower in the dirt. the moment your father passed away and left you in the care—or rather, the mercy—of your stepmother, you had learnt to tuck away your dreams in the back of your mind, where they would remain unrealised, yes, but at the very least, untouched by the hands of your wicked stepsisters, who would not hesitate to tear them into shreds like the did your mother’s precious gown.

but the prince was different. you could still remember his handsome face and his gentle smile, the way his calloused hands held your waist ever so gently while the two of you danced beneath the light of the crystal chandeliers and the burning eyes of a hundred spectators. would he be disappointed if he couldn’t find the girl who fit the glass slipper you left behind? you hoped not, for you had no doubt there would be princesses all around the world eager to fill the spot that you missed… and yet, they couldn’t. because they weren’t you. he made that clear when he broke through the door with the force of the men at his beck and call, eyes searching frantically until they landed on your figure—-dressed in rags and covered in ashes.

you scrambled to your feet, your face burning in shame as you bowed your head. you almost wished he didn’t find you here, if only to spare him the disappointment of realising that the girl he had been chasing was no princess, but a servant girl who didn’t even have a scrap of new clothing to her name. and yet, those calloused hands of his found their way to your chin ever so gently, lifting your eyes to meet his ones. your knees felt weak, and your face warm— like the sunlight that filtered through the attic window, and like the look in his eyes as he gazed upon you. “it’s you,” he said with a whisper, a wide smile blooming across his face. because there was no way it wasn't you; not when he had been dreaming of those eyes of yours since the night you met. “my princess…”

SIM JAEYUN as FLYNN RIDER ( TANGLED ) !

there was once a time where you wanted nothing more than to know what it felt like to feel the grass beneath your feet, and to lie in meadows of dandelions under the sun, like they always talked about in the books you piled up in your little room. to know what it was like to be free. and he was the one who gave you that. the one who showed you the world. but being with him was dangerous, for the both of you, and you would rather stay locked up in the tower forever than let him be hurt. now, the only thing you wanted, was for him to be safe. even if that meant giving up the freedom you would once trade anything for.

you stared at the painting on your ceilings—the painting of the lanterns that he took you to see, just as he promised. the lanterns that bore witness to your first kiss on a boat in the middle of the lake… right before your mother found you, and dragged you back to the tower, promising pain on the man you loved–yes, loved—if you didn’t do as she said. you sighed as you raised a hand over your eyes. and it was then that you heard a knocking from the inside of the walls. someone was here. and it wasn’t your mother. you moved faster than you ever did before you learnt how to braid your ropes of hair, and you slotted yourself between one of the bookshelves to hide, frypan in hand, at the ready.

this scene felt all too familiar. you found yourself remembering the charming grin as you stood with a frypan in hand, eyeing the man who broke into your home and changed everything. but now was not the time for such thoughts. as soon as you heard the intruder enter, your charged with your pan held over your head with violent intent—only to have it fall from your hand when a hand you knew all too well wrapped around your wrists, securing them together in its singular grip, before pushing you up against the nearby wall. jake watched your lips fall apart in a silent gasp, eyes lighting up in recognition at his face. his name left your lips in a quiet sigh, and his heart leapt at the sound, at the sight of your pretty face under the sensual lighting of the setting sun. he wasted no time in ravaging your mouth with hungry kisses, his hard body pressed against yours as he attempted to feel every part of you against him, so he could feel you like he wanted to since the day you were taken from him. “i missed you so fucking much,” he whispered. you scolded him, telling him he shouldn’t be here… but— “i don’t care. i’m here to take my girl back.”

PARK SUNGHOON as PRINCE ADAM ( BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ) !

when you first found yourself at the beast’s—no, sunghoon’s, castle—demanding that he let your father go, you would admit that you almost turned and ran for the hills at the sight of his beastly form. he was the image of the monsters that you read about in all those books you buried your nose in all day, the ones that you lost yourself to fantasy with. but the longer you remained in his care, the more you realised just how much lay beneath the surface of a supposed beast. the way he had so awkwardly tried to pull your chair out for your on the first night you had dinner together, the way he was so hesitant to grasp your hands when you danced, as if too scared he might shatter it; the way he so willingly threw himself before an arrow just to make sure it didn’t touch you…

you called his name with falling tears, watching as he lay limp on the ground before you. his small huffs of annoyance were never so missed as they were now, instead replaced by silence as you continued to shake his lying form, his blood staining your dress. you never even got to say thank you, to tell him you didn’t mean it when you said he was an insufferable and intolerable beast—and now, you would never have the chance again… or so you thought. as you rested your head against his unmoving chest, wallowing in the grief that washed over you like a tidal wave, you failed to notice as the beast you came to knew started to shift into a man, his bare chest healed of any wounds because of the love that you shed in your precious tears. it wasn’t until a human hand cradled your cheek and lifted your face did you notice what had happened, and god was he beautiful—just as he was on the inside.

his lips were raised into a soft smile, and you heart leapt at the sight of small dimples poking his cheeks, and a pair of fangs that looked like a miniature version of the ones he had when he was a beast. “why are you crying?” he asked, his lips pressing a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “did you really think you would get rid of me that easily?” he cupped your face into his warm, large hands, his eyes bearing into yours. “silly girl… i’m too in love with you to leave.”

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midnightorchids · 6 months

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More soft Jason ideas since you deserve it and your wonderful and supper cool Girldad!Jason BRRROOOOOOO Oh my goddddddd ok like- - Jason is the kind of dad who always has music playing in the house, he mindlessly sways and hums along as he makes morning (or night-time) pancakes for you and his little girl. She'll come running up to him, her thick black hair tangled over her face, and pull on his pant leg. He'll sweep her up into his arms, her small head fitting perfectly against his chest as she watches him make breakfast, still somewhat asleep and aloof. He'll start bopping along to the music with her little hands around his neck, filling up the kitchen with shrieks of laughter and he peppers her soft cheeks with kisses. - I feel like you and him would like in a beach house, somewhere away from the city and his old job as Red Hood. Your daughter would bring home buckets of pretty rocks and sea glass that Jason keeps in jars along the living room windowsills. He has to dump some back onto the shore every time he sees her washing the new rocks and shells on the front porch. - After long summer days of playing and wrestling in the waves, you would all curl up for a post-beach nap. Smelling like salt with the prick of the sun settling into your tired bones. Your daughter would fit perfectly between you two. Jasons hand behind his head with his other wrapped firmly around you and his little girl. - Get's his daughter obsessed with reading just as much as he is. Would build her book-shelf after book-self as her collection of story-books and middle grade fairy books expands. - Helps his daughter roast marsh mellows during the beach bonfires you guys have when Roy and his daughter visit. Your daughter and Lian are best friends- playdates once a week kind of thing. - When she's little, he'll always have his daughter on his knee during big family dinners. He let's her eat anything off of his plate, keeping his arm around her as he talks with Dick. - Overall, just- every-time he falls asleep next to you he feels like crying into your shoulder, unable to thank you enough for bringing such a precious perfect bundle of laughter into his life. Huge 'my wife showed me how to love and my daughter showed me how to forgive energy lmao.

I want night time pancakes with Jason and my little baby girl wtf!!! Also, thank you so much for sending this in. I love it and I literally fail to understand how you pull up with the most amazing scenarios every time, I’m actually in love with your writing!! You’re amazing!

Anyways lol!! I’m gonna be honest, I don’t want to have biological children but for Jason… I’d do it, no hesitation. He’d be the most amazing girl dad, I love him so so so much.

I’m not sure if people have already said this before but can you imagine him learning how to do your daughter’s hair!! He has a YouTube hair tutorial playing on the TV as your daughter sits in between his legs. He’s got bobby pins in between his teeth and hair ties around his wrist. He’s using a small comb to gently brush through her little curls.

He’s learning how to braid her hair and he’s having some difficulty, but he’s a persistent man, and like he always tells his little girl, practice makes perfect! He will sit there for days, hours upon hours, trying to make the most flawless set of Dutch braids. Once he’s succeeded at his craft, he’ll admire his work and will tell his daughter to go show you his skills. And oh my goodness, how adorable does she look showing off her father’s braiding skills!!

I also saw a quote on Instagram earlier today and it said that “tenderness is in the hands” and I immediately thought of Jason. There is no one with gentler hands than Jason. His fingers may be rough and his knuckles might be permanently bruised from his past, but when he interlocks his hands with his baby girl, they are the most delicate and warmest hands she has ever felt.

He will run his fingers through her hair, as she lays her tiny head against his chest and he’ll read her favourite stories. She’ll take his hands out of her hair and just play with his fingers. Trace little shapes on his palm, measure her small hand against his big, calloused ones. It’ll melt Jason’s heart and he’ll feel like crying. There will be days where he needs to stop reading and take a minute to appreciate the tenderness of the moment, without completely crumbling.

Also, I kind of hate to say it, but it’s so true. Jason would totally try to heal his daddy issues by being the best possible parent.

He’d treat his daughter like an actual princess and not just in terms of materialistic things. He’d be there for her in every circumstance; he’d be the best moral support and the best cheerleader anyone could ask for.

If your daughter plays any sports or plays an instrument, any thing really, he’d always be there to encourage her and comfort her when it started to become tough. He’d attended every game, every practice, every performance. Like I said, the best cheerleader.

Basically long story short, I’d die for soft, girl dad Jason.

#fem!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #batfam

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holybibly · 5 months

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This is a little preview of my new series and yes, bunnies, this is a whole series from me. I hope everyone is ready for an erotic dystopia?

Decadent dystopian erotica with majestic dragons - second teaser for today

Glass House Ateez x reader

Everything changed in an instant.

The king was dead, and thousands of dragons took to the burning skies. The old world was over, and a 'new age' was in the making—an age of gods and monsters.

A thousand years ago, the fires of revolution blazed across the face of the world. Dragons—the creatures of ancient legends and children's fairy tales—reduced the once prosperous world to ashes in a matter of minutes. Rivers of black blood coursed through the veins of the streets, flooding the cities and lands in their wake. The sky was a blaze of purple flames and electric shocks. The church was reduced to rubble, and the royal family was executed in a public display. In the eyes of the dead, the unspoken horror in front of these majestic creatures remained forever, and in the sparks of the flames, they shimmered like precious sea stones.

There was a bitter smell of burning flesh and ash in the air. It was the smell of dreams on fire—the smell of a future in decay.

It was the beginning of the end of ancient life. The beginning of a new world. The Age of Immortality has begun.

All the legends turned out to be true; dragons did exist. They had always lived close to us, lurking in the velvety darkness of the night, waiting for the hour. Waiting for the hour to come when the power would be in their hands. Dangerous, unbridled, wild creatures of magic and the elements, predators at the top of the food chain. They had come into the world to rule, not to obey, and now, at long last, their time had come.

The world was at anarchy. Dragons were killing, raping, and enslaving races and lands as if it were an amusing child's game. They drank blood as black as the night from golden bowls, and they ate our succulent flesh as our bones cracked under the pressure of their razor-sharp teeth. They would hold orgies in the midst of the torn corpses and revel in their omnipotence. Those were the days of darkness. A time of terror, when the very word danger was a synonym for life itself. And so it went for several years, until the ultimate power fell into the clutches of the deadly Children of the Night, the oldest of all dragons.

The majestic Hala.

Eternal as the moon itself and deadly as the uncharted depths of the ocean, they inspired burning terror in all who encountered them. To their people, they were nothing more than a myth, a legend written on fragments of tablets. Forefathers, ancestors—they had hundreds of names, but each one inspired more fear than the last. They were predators among predators, bristling with animal dominance and primal, unbridled sexuality. They exuded power and sinfulness. They were the ones who defined the rules and set the boundaries of what was permissible.

With the arrival of Hala, a new phase in the history of the world began.

Humanity was enslaved, and dragons became the dominant species. As the years went by, the human population began to decline rapidly, with fewer and fewer humans, until "our" species reached the status of gatherers. Angelicus Nova, or Angel Stars, was what we came to be called. Human existence took on a strange religious orientation; we were worshipped, idolized, and adored, but despite all this, humans remained nothing more than a rare exchangeable currency, nothing more than an expensive trinket that was prestigious to own and could be broken with a flick of the wrist.

The human being also became one of the ways in which money flowed endlessly. These institutions were known as "glass houses." Gateway to heaven. They would be the equivalent of strip clubs or luxury escort houses if you and I were in the old world. The rules were the same: "Look, but don't touch." Girls and boys were expensive pieces of family jewelry that rested under the glass of fancy display cases. Our masters showed us off to the greedy eyes of the world with all the pride and ostentation that dragons have.

In spite of their possessive, animalistic nature, dragons were nothing more than swaggering bastards with inflated egos and delusions of grandeur.

Humans could be anything as long as dragons owned us—a muse, an innamorata, a nymph, an angel, a siren, or even a goddess—but like everything else in the universe, we came at a price.

The 'glass houses' were only in operation at night. During the day, all the 'jewels' rested and tidied up after tiring hours of contemplation of the world through the bluish glass of the display window. Nice, obliging workers in starched white collars were busy with the cleaning, scrubbing the baroque decorations of the vetrines with great care from a mixture of sperm, drool, and other secretions. You looked at it with an almost reverent awe, finding it disgusting to the point of bordering on the pornographically beautiful.

You could see it as real art—crude and original, but art nonetheless. There was something particularly mesmerizing about it, almost hypnotic, about the way the thick, pearly sperm dripped slowly from the golden flowers.

Of all the glass houses that ever existed, "Eros" was the most beautiful. It was the jewel in the crown of the New Empire, and you were its goddess. There were rumors that the Hala themselves were customers of 'Eros'. But rumors were only rumors. If they were ever to visit your 'home', you would know about it, for they would be where all men ended up—at your feet.

You were content with the life that you were living. There was no tragedy and no misery, no abusive family or abusive peers, no bullying and harassment at school—no, you had it all great. You were born here at Eros—the growth and blossoming of a beautiful flower. Your whole life has been within the confines of glass rooms and silk sheets, but unlike your dreamy friends, you weren't in need of rescue.

Your name is Aphrodite. Born in the radiance of the Creator. A goddess among goddesses, carved out of marble and mother of pearl. Your hair falls to the ground in waterfalls of pearls and silk. Your eyes are the eerie silvery moonlight in half-darkness, the deadly attraction of jewels in velvet lashes. Your lips are the succulent, juicy, forbidden fruit that every man would like to taste. The pain of your kiss is going to be the last pleasure of life.

You are not a delicate, pure lily; you are not a passionate, fiery rose; you are a narcissus reveling in the crystal of mountain waters. You love yourself to pain, to death, to despair, and in all the New Empire, there was none more beautiful than you.

Original sin. The primordial beauty. You are desire in all it manifests and begins to manifest.

The naked goddess, clad in snow-white fur like armor, is the goddess of love and ecstasy.

You've never been conceptualized; you've always been enigmatic.

You have been the object of worship. Your beauty has been sung in songs, and your love has been professed in a thousand languages. "Eros" was the site of visits from the mightiest and most powerful dragons of the New Empire. They all crawled at your feet, stroking their thick, greased with their cum cocks, greedily as they burned your skin with their golden gaze. They licked the deceptively thin glass of your display case with their long, sometimes split tongues, leaving muddy streaks on the perfect surface of the glass. The mighty and great dragons, unaccustomed to humiliation and submission, urinated like bitches in heat at the mere sight of your bare shoulders and long neck covered with diamond serpents, their eyes shining like stars in the twilight of your silken chambers. They would drip their sperm onto the icy marble floor until it collected in small, glistening puddles, and then they would lick it up as if it were the sweetest nectar in the world. Ambrosia in the truest sense.

Behind the glass walls of Eros, they were dominators, predators, and the rulers of this world through fear and pain, but here in this garden of Eros, they were nothing more than whores—shameless and needy. Slaves to your beauty, desperate to please you.

Their moans are always a delight to you. The moaning of your name.

The scenarios have been repeated to the point of being painful. Sugar-sweet subs with outstretched tongues and pretty, tear-stained faces. Dominant alphas with sweat-glistening skin and eyes rolling with pleasure.

Dragons fucked other dragons; orgies and bacchanals were staged; they were subjugated and subdued. They growled, moaned, squealed, and purred; some were fucked like a port slut, and some were licked for hours until they passed out from hyperstimulation. Some masturbated in front of your window, enjoying the fact that you were there to watch them, and there were others who would spend their heat and ruts in front of your window.

The list could go on and on: bondage, darkphilia, breeding, voyeurism, humiliation, objectification, and breathing games.

You were saturated with this game.

There were so many ways in which you could spend your evenings in the company of others. It was all designed to excite you, to make you beg, and to make you plead. Each of your visitors secretly hoped that one day you would strip off your luxurious furs and assume the position that was right for them—submissive, naked, and ready to accept whatever it was they were giving you.

It was an act of power; it was a position of strength, but here you were the strength. You were power.

No one would ever have the temerity to lay a hand on you. Goddesses are always untouchable.

You entertained yourselves by teasing them, mocking them, and fanning their flames of desire and passion. Dragons are creatures that are very dependent on their emotions and their desires; they feed on their power and their magic, but when they do not get what they want, it burns them from the inside; it breaks and crumbles them, like a cookie that has been bitten.

It was delicious, but you were full. Thank you, next.

You never denied that you were a sadist; you had a taste for pain; maybe it was a kind of revenge for the destruction of your family; maybe not. They came to you for that feeling; the dragons wanted to be punished and tamed, and the feeling of pain made them cum harder. As they say, Orgasm is a little death.

You could play this game for hours on end, letting the fur expose your boobs and pressing it against the cold glass as you went. It was magnificent—tall and plump, as if it had been milked with milk—with pink nipples the color of magnolia blossoms. There was something animalistically seductive about it—an appeal to their natural reproductive instincts—that evil thought of possible pregnancy. Their whimpering made you laugh, and the sounds they made were so sweet—desperate pleas and long, long moans.

"Let me taste you; I want it so much. I was a good boy, such a good boy."

There were other days when you would let your hands run over the bare skin of your thighs, leaving long red streaks that stood in erotic contrast to the silk of your pale skin. You smeared the clear, shimmering liquid of your juices along the line of your neck, in that most exciting place for dragons, where their teeth locked in a mating mark, as if branding their mate in the most perverse of affiliations.

"Tell me I belong to you; please say it. I'll do anything you don't want. Own me, use me; I want to be your toy.".

Sometimes other girls would be brought into your shop window to put on an erotic show. Exquisite nymphs and rosy-cheeked Lolitas would explore your tender skin with their soft, wet tongues, leaving traces of hungry kisses, until at last their lips would close on the most intimate spot between your thighs.

On days like this, the whole of 'Eros' would shake with furious, jealous growls and thunderclaps. Dragons were terrible possessive, and even though the "scene" itself would excite the hell out of them, the jealousy would burn through their veins from the inside out, like a deadly poison.

"You belong to me, and only to me. You are mine, mine and mine alone. I will tear this girl apart, and we will fuck in her blood until there are no more conscious thoughts left in your pretty little head, until you remember nothing but my name.".

But no matter what their words were to you, you didn't have a care in the world. Nobody would dare touch the goddess, and if they tried, they would not only lose their hands but also get killed.

That was the law of the New Empire—all the people who were left were protected and sheltered in an incredible way. There were very few of you, and if there had been any harm to even one of you, it would have been a real tragedy. Only once has there been a breach of that law, and the consequences have been terrible. No one wants a repeat.

In any case, your life in the Garden of Eros was a pleasure. Maybe it was some kind of perverse way of looking at the world and love, but you didn't have any desire to change anything; everything was great.

Have you ever wondered if there might be another version of you out there? Perhaps, somewhere in a parallel universe, humans would still exist as the dominant species, their countries and cities would be prosperous, and you would be living a different life—a normal one. There, in that other universe, that other Aphrodite—no, not Aphrodite—you would have an ordinary name, not a divine one, something cute, something sweet, and always with a hint of shyness. It is probably there that you would have experienced your first love, that you would dream of a prince who would take you off into the sunset, and that "and they lived happily ever after." You would have been embarrassed to talk about sex, and you would have blushed horribly if his fingers had been in your knickers. But you weren't her. And she wasn't you. You don't want to be saved from sinning; you want to become one of them. You want to experience forbidden pleasures. You want to subjugate and dominate.

You're not in need of a prince; you've already had a king, or rather, eight kings. The day will come when everything you have ever dreamed of will come true, even if you haven't met any of the Hala yet.

You want power; you want to sit on a golden throne in a castle high up in the sky, and so it shall be. They say that love is a great strength, but they fail to mention that it is also the greatest weakness. And you, like no one else, know how to use it to your advantage.

This is not a pink fairy tale. There are no rainbow ponies pooping rainbows and eating fairy dust. No, this is a rotten world. It is full of debauchery, violence, and sex. You could say, "Come and rescue me. I'm waiting for you," but no, you have to rephrase it as "I'm waiting for you to crawl on your knees and lick my heels, and from that moment on, I will own you.".

Yes, that sounds much better.

It's already eight o'clock; time to get ready; you're leaving soon.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most famous glass house in the New Empire. Tonight we have wet aesthetic cunnilingus as our main course, and for dessert, a mind-blowing orgasm. You have a choice of starters. Drinks are on the house. We accept cash and checks. If you wish, you can leave a tip for one of our "jewels.".

Our hope is that your time at Eros will be an unforgettable experience.

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lou-struck · 1 year

Text

They Said No... Part 3

Obey Me! Datables (minus Luke x MC!)

Featuring: Simeon, Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

~We all get asked to do things sometimes that we do not want to do. And it's okay to say no, but sometimes you need a little extra help to get the point across.

Warnings: MC gets propositioned and S*ut shamed by a demon, threats, violence, sass, discussion of pact making, and other things like that.

Diavolo

The enchanted orchestra plays a haunting waltz as the Prince’s golden gaze scans the ballroom. The hundreds of well-dressed guests don’t capture his attention at all.

How could they?

None of them are you.

He has been so preoccupied with diplomacy and engaging with some of his more noble guests he hasn’t gotten to see you at all tonight. He misses you and your smile terribly, especially when a fake one has been plastered on his face all evening.

To help in his search and hopefully get a bit of alone time with you, he decides to drop his princely grin and walk about the room as if he has a set purpose. If he seemed preoccupied, no one would bother him for the time being.

It works like a charm and the crowded dance floor parts for him like the red sea. He passes what looks like Beel hunched over the buffet table, Satan chatting with a representative for the Animal Shelter, and Asmo playfully twirling a glass of demonus in his freshly painted nails as a crowd eats up every word that comes out of his mouth.

But where are you?

Finally, after minutes of searching the room, he finds you leaning against one of the pillars on the far side of the ballroom staring out the window at the purple-tinted moon.

He can’t keep his expression of indifference any longer; the grin tugs at his lips as he grabs two flutes of demonus from a passing servant. Ready to sweep you off your feet and hopefully into the gardens for a little stroll away from the party.

But someone beats him to it.

A long-haired Demoness with long deep blue curls saunters up beside you, “Well don’t you look sinfully delicious this evening?” She draws gently, trailing one of her gloved hands down your arm. You tense under her unfamiliar touch and subtly move a bit further away from her.

“Tell me, Little Lamb,” she coos, flicking her serpentine tongue in your direction. “What does a demon have to do to get you alone for an evening?”

Wha, excuse me?” you blink.” Your behavior is uncalled for.” You take another, much larger step back. “You should go now.”

“Oh, come now,” she laughs, tossing her head back haughtily. “Don’t think I haven’t heard of your reputation MC, a mere human seducing their way through the Devildom. Surely you can make an exception for one more?”

The glasses in Diavolos’ hands shatter violently, and their contents drip onto the marble floor Barbatos took such care in polishing earlier. “What do you think you are doing?” he growls, filling the room with his overwhelming aura.

“L-lord Diavolo,” the demoness shakes, her violet gaze wide and darting between you and the Prince, no doubt trying to figure a way out of the punishment that awaits her. “I was just joking around with them; that’s all; humans are too sensitive.”

“You continue to insult Mc,” he frowns. “Do you not wish to keep your tongue? Leave now before I take more drastic measures.”

They nod hurriedly and rush away from the ballroom, leaving you and the Prince surrounded by onlookers. Your eyes brim with unfallen tears, but you keep your composure beautifully. “Thank you, Diavolo.”

The rage inside him dulls as he shakes the demonus off his hands and escorts you away from prying eyes.

Barbatos

“Sorry for the wait, Mc,” Barbatos says, leading you into the lounge outside of Diavolo’s office. “The young master has been tied up in meetings all afternoon, but once he is done, the three of us can go out to dinner.”

You smile brightly as the butler, your hand lingering on his own, not wanting to let go. “That’s alright; I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You’re just too precious; it makes his ancient heart skip a beat. “I just have one last chore to do, and then I’ll be all yours.”

“Oh,” your slightly disappointed tone fills him with pride as you glance around the room. “Can I help with anything?”

“Absolutely not; you are a guest. All I require of you is that you relax and enjoy yourself until I come back,” he says, placing a hand on your lower back to lightly guide you into the comfortable seat in the room. “I promise I shall only be a few moments.”

He leaves quickly, making sure to be near enough should you require anything. With a steady hand, he wipes a vase far older than himself faster than anyone else would attempt to. The ancient porcelain still shines like new under his careful touch, but as he looks into the rich colors within, he can only think of your eyes.

His ears twitch as the sound of footsteps is much heavier than your own. They thud down the hallway stopping at what seems to be the door to the lounge, and step through the freshly oiled hinges.

A weary feeling settles over him for two reasons,

Firstly, The young master isn’t expecting any more guests today.

And Second, You are completely alone in the room with a strange demon.

Instinctually, he places the vase down and rushes down the hall to check on you.

He pauses just outside the door catching the scent of the son of a well-known Noble Demon. His green eyes peek through the crack in the grand double doors, it may be impolite to eavesdrop, but as a Butler, it is quite the perfected skill.

“You there, Human.” the pompously dressed Demon sneers in your direction. “Go make yourself useful and fetch me something to drink.” They smirk confidently at you and lounge back into the chaise as if they own the place.

It grinds Barbatos’ gears, but he doesn’t interfere yet; the mantra ’a good butler does not make a scene.’ replays in his head as if it is a warning, but his hand is already on the doorknob before you even reply to the rude Demon.

“Excuse me?” you say with a composure that makes his heart flutter, “But I believe you have mistaken me for someone else; I do not work here; perhaps one of the Little D’s would be able to assist you.”

He scoffs as if he had never been told no before. “I am a very important guest of the Crown Prince; you are nothing. If I want you to grab me something, you will get it for me.”

“I already told you I do not work at the palace; I have business with Lord Diavolo just the same as you do,” you explain again.

“You speak as if we are equals; perhaps I need to teach you a lesson,” they spit, uncurling their barbed tail and pointing it threateningly in your direction. Your eyes widen a bit, and you subtly shift in your seat; Barbatos spots thin tendrils of magic already at your fingertips in case the entitled demon attacks.

He can watch no longer- Stepping into the room without his usual polite smile, “That’s quite enough; your disrespectful behavior is not tolerated in this castle.” At Barabatos’ entrance, the Demon begins to shake something fierce as whispers of what the butler does to threats to the crown replay themselves in his ears.

Barbaots tries to hide the softness he feels when he sees the way the fear of your features falls away in his presence.

Although it is immensely satisfying to watch someone who was once so proud and entitled backtrack and blubber out a seemingly endless stream of apologies and excuses to you, Barbatos is in desperate need of your quality time, and this imbecile is getting in the way of that.

“Furthermore, why would you ever ask them to do something for you that you are clearly capable of yourself,” he asks, smiling maliciously, leaning close to the trembling Demon’s ear. “Are You Helpless? If that’s so, why should someone as pathetic as you ever request an audience with the future king?”

“R-right, s-sorry,” he mumbles, scurrying out of the lounge as if he were a rat. The thought of such sends a shudder through him as he turns his attention back to you. Your shoulders are stiff and rigid, your breaths come out shakily, but you are unharmed, and that’s all that matters.

“Little Rose,” he asks in a feather-light voice, crouching down to your eyes level and taking off his white gloves to hold your hands properly. “Are you alright?”

You nod slowly as he rubs gentle circles into the back of your hands. The contact soothes him just as much as it is soothing you. “I’m okay.” you say at last, “Thank you for being there for me, Barbatos.”

“When you need me, I will always be there for you- I promise,” he says softly, meaning every word.

Simeon

Simeon is all smiles as he walks down the cobbled streets of Majolish. How can he not be? He’s going to have lunch with you.

A part of him feels bad about not telling Luke about this little date, but he really wanted to have some alone time with you.

As of late, It seems as if everyone else has no problem getting you alone; it pulls at his heartstrings to know that he isn’t as present in your life as he wishes to be.

Some may call his feelings possessive, but in all reality, it is love, true unadulterated love. Every time he sees your face, he wonders if falling from the celestial realm would really be that bad of a thing.

Just as he approaches the Bistro told him to meet him, he notices you off in the distance. You walk quickly across his path, a look of irritation on your pretty features that has the Angel wondering if he himself has done anything to upset you recently.

He hasn’t, but the feelings of insecurity persist, and he gets closer.

“No comment,” you say aloud, your hand swatting at the air around you as if there was a bug. “I told you I have nothing to share.”

He may not be able to see the other presence around you, but he can feel it. One of the tiniest Lesser demons he has ever taken note of buzzes around your head like a fly around a bowl of fresh fruit.

“Come on, sweetheart; you gotta tell the people what they want to know.” The voice says in a comically high-pitched voice.

You stop and stare at the little bugger. “I have nothing to say to you about the brothers, the prince, or anyone else for that matter,” you say defiantly.

“Listen, MC; I’m a busy demon. The kind of Demon who has deadlines. If you don’t give me something good, I’m done for.” He pleads, circling around your head once more.

Simeon takes a careful step forward, more than ready to come to your aid when the Demon opens his mouth again.

“What about the Angel? You gotta tell me something about him. No one is that good, that pure. I’m sure my readers would kill for a story about how one of the highest-ranking angels of the celestial realm is being corrupted right here in the Devildom.”

Simeon stops in his tracks. The accusations may be false, but those rumors are dangerous, especially to him. If his superiors heard a story like that was gaining traction, they could take him away. He would never get to see you again.

The Angel knows he has told you many secrets in the late hours of the night that would satisfy this pest of a reporter. But those secrets were exchanged in hushed tones with many tears. You would never betray him like that.

Would you?

His heart feels so tight in his chest as you stare at the Reporter in shock. “at first, I thought you were just annoying. “You say calmly, “but it seems to me you are more than that; how stupid can you be? Simeon is one of the kindest beings I have ever met; your story has no substance; leave me alone.”

The emotions that welled up in Simeon’s chest when you took his side were indescribable—making the sweet Angel feel as if he were falling for you all over again. He feels rejuvenated and ready to help you get rid of this Reporter once and for all.

Despite the pissed-off look on your face, the Reporter does not back away, throwing up his tiny hands and changing the subject.

“Okay, nothing special there. But how about Belphegor? Is it true he was kicked from his exchange program early as a result of sleeping through his classes?”

“I may not know too much about reporting down here, but I am fairly certain the best information comes straight from the source,” he says in his calm and cheery voice. With his presence known, he sees the Reporter fly out of your personal space bubble quickly. You look visibly relieved that there is no longer buzzing in your ear.

Now that you are feeling better, the Angel continues his lecture, “As for me, I have nothing to say to someone who works with such a lack of integrity. Please leave the two of us in peace.” Although he speaks with a smile on his face, his words are not a friendly suggestion. The lesser Demon flies away quickly, not wanting to face the wrath of the Angel.

With the pest gone, he turns and gives you the biggest, most sincere smile he has to offer. Feeling an emotion he cannot name with your knees buckle at the sight of him.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” you say softly, taking his outstretched arms for balance as you make your way back over to the Bistro. “I kept telling him to leave us alone, but he would just keep pressing with these awful questions.”

“I know,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly, “But I would like to thank you for sticking up for me.”

“And you, me,” you giggle, glowing with a light all your own.

Solomon

The great sorcerer finds himself continuously drawn to the clock, the slow-moving hands taunting him as he comes to a disappointing realization.

You’re late…

You’re never late.

He looks back at the fully prepped conjuring station and fiddles with the covers of a few of the jewel-encrusted spellbooks longingly. Your magic lesson was supposed to begin ten minutes ago, but you are nowhere to be found. He spots his DDD lying face down on the end of the clean countertop and reaches for it.

Perhaps you messaged him, and his ringer was off. He picks it up only to see his blank lock screen. Your pixelated smiling face does little to ease his mind. With one last glance at the clock, he turns and walks out the door. His cape flows behind him as he walks through the hallway of Purgatory and out its doors.

He’s out on the street, walking towards the House of Lamination with vigor, using his arms to propel his speed walk forward like he is a mom walking the track at their child’s soccer practice.

The thought does cross his mind that he had forgotten a possible time change the two of you had agreed upon earlier, but as he rounds a corner, he is able to make out your figure through the light fog that settles on the ground.

But you are not alone; in front of you, there is something large in your path, the fog makes it difficult for him to see exactly what it is, but the aura radiating off of it reveals that it is a lesser Demon who is currently on their knees in front of you.

‘Well, this certainly looks intriguing,’ he thinks to himself, stepping closer. A wave of his hand sweeps away the fog, but neither you nor the begging Demon seems to have noticed his presence yet.

“Please, please, please. Mc. You just have to accept me.” it begs, a clawed hand creeping forward, trying to grab ahold of your shoe pathetically. “I’d do anything for you, Protect you, worship you, anything.”

Solomon has no clue what is happening right now. Is it perhaps another demon professing their love to you?

No, if that were the case, you would have politely turned this poor Demon down with a kind look on your face. But instead, he sees you look uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, as you take a step farther away from the Demon’s outstretched hand.

“I have already told you no,” you say at last. “I am not interested in making any more pacts.”

Solomon immediately understands why you look so uncomfortable. When making a pact with a demon, it does more than grow one’s powers. It creates a bond.

Many Demons do not understand just how draining it can be to have a pact with a demon who doesn’t deserve it.

Although Solomon may desire pacts with strong demons so that he can be strong enough to protect the human realm should the need ever arise? You are different- you have your own reasons for making pacts with the brothers. These pacts are a symbol of your love. Something he is certain this little pest is undeserving of.

Solomon decides that he would like a bit of attention now…

“Oh my,” he says, walking around the Demon as if he were as insignificant as a fallen tree branch. “Do watch your step Mc; it looks like no one has come by to clean up these paths after last night’s storm.”

You look visibly relieved to see another friendly face, and Solomon kisses the back of your hand tenderly. The Demon stares at you both angrily but knows better than to say anything in response. Solomon smirks and looks down at the pushy Demon with a narrowed gaze.

“Why would MC share a part of themselves with a demon who is too stupid to understand the meaning of the word no?” he says with his silver tongue. “They may be kind enough to turn you down politely, but me? Not so much I’d leave if I were you.”

Wordlessly the Demon picks itself off the ground and runs off with its curly tail between its legs. Not wanting to anger Solomon the Wise any more than he already has been the smartest decision they have made today.

As they scamper off, you look a bit embarrassed as you check the time. “I guess I’m running a bit late to our lesson today, aren’t I, Solomon?” A soft giggle slips past your lips, and Solomon wonders if he will ever get tired of hearing that sound.

“You had a good reason,” he replies simply.

You groan. “Still, I had been trying to shake them for at least thirty minutes, but they wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Hmm, then how about we do something else today?” he offers. “Take a break, maybe, sneak up to the human world for some frozen yogurt or a soft pretzel?”

Your eyes light up at his proposition. “Could we get a drink?” you ask, “Demonus isn’t gonna cut it today.”

You’re just too cute sometimes. It makes him feel much younger. He looks at you with an almost boyish grin and laughs, “I think we can make that happen.”

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