#this post opened my eyes like nothing else i have not once stopped thinking about the implications

[gojover]

nice boys don’t kiss like that

summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

⇢ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, developing relationship, former rivals to lovers, kind of suggestive, making out, profanity, posted as a mingyu fic on my main account but i want an excuse to post pining gojo on my birthday :) ⇢ word count: 3.3k ⇢ note: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’ diary. thanks for reading!

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Gojo Satoru is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Satoru stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath. 

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Satoru thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Satoru glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea. 

Satoru shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Satoru lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June

I fucking hate Gojo Satoru. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Satoru’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June

Ran into G.S again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Satoru actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June

G.S is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Satoru smiles widely. 

23rd June

Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Gojo Satoru is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Gojo Satoru is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Gojo Satoru with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Satoru found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons. 

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Satoru closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Satoru is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Satoru stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over. 

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Satoru says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Satoru keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted. 

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Satoru fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Satoru reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Satoru drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Satoru.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Satoru huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Satoru places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Gojo Satoru and

Satoru stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze. 

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Satoru says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Satoru trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Satoru’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Satoru swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug.  Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw. 

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Satoru.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Satoru’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Satoru,” you say, breathless. 

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Satoru smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Satoru says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Satoru sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Satoru,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Satoru stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Satoru lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?” 

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Satoru, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders. 

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Satoru wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Satoru’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Satoru says mischievously.

 Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Satoru really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping. 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Satoru notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[praisethegabs]

OLDER

leon kennedy x reader

synopsis: he's getting older, and he knows that. not believing in luck or in love, leon finds himself in a position of complete misfortune. he convinced himself he's not worthy of love, but that changes when he meets you.

warnings: angst with fluff ending, age gap, leon is very insecure about his age and the reader. strangers to lovers, mentions of smut, ptsd, alcoholism, depression, suicidal thoughts. reader is very delicate, kind, and patient. there's parts from the vendetta book and a few scenes from re6. it starts with re6!leon and ends with di!leon

word count: 15k

a/n: guess who's back? to celebrate the 1 year re4r anniversary, I decided to post this one shot I was working for almost two months. I'm into my angst era again. also i wrote this based on this analysis i read, which made me think about the broken part of leon for a while, also this fic contains part of the vendetta book. feel free to leave comments, reblogs, tips, or positive critics. they're always very welcome ❤️

I. THE WEIGHT ON HIS SHOULDERS

Life can be a bitch sometimes.

This is what he says to himself when he finishes another bottle of whiskey. Every day, when he opens his eyes, he tries to stay positive, hoping his day will be different from his usual schedule; in the end, it is always the same bullshit. Over and over again. No apparent ending; always his solitude. 

But someday it must end, right? He can’t be fighting B.O.W.'s for the rest of his life, can he? Maybe someday he’ll finally settle down and have a peaceful day. Maybe, on this day, his nightmares will stop, and if he’s lucky, he’ll sleep for the entire night. No one can blame him for dreaming of a perfect life, and no one can take this from him. 

The government made him their slave, their deadly pet that follows and obeys every rule and command, and forced him to risk his neck almost every week to keep their country safe. What a bunch of assholes, he thinks to himself. Thing is, Leon hates himself for what he was forced to become. 

There is so much pain. So much suffering. He only wanted to be a cop — nothing more than that. He wanted to deal with simple things — not bioterrorists ready to blow up the entire world, not grotesque mutations that defy the natural order of things. Certainly, if he had a choice to go back and change that night, he wouldn’t go to Raccoon City. He would've stayed in his cheap hotel room; he would have obeyed Marvin’s orders to not go in there. 

But now he’s something else. The rookie cop who had to survive that night died. He can’t even recognize himself anymore, and sometimes, he blames himself for it. No more than he blames the government for it; if he could go back… 

His days are filled with this emptiness — the sensation that he might never see his happy ending. Ada? Yeah, sure. He knows he can’t trust her, and God knows where she is or what she’s doing. He was so naive to fall for her like he did. While on his free day out of the office, he finds himself with a certain envy of happy couples. He can’t stop thinking: why can’t he have the same? Why can’t he be happy for once?

Getting older sucks. At this point, Leon thinks and has already convinced himself that he doesn’t belong to anyone and that he won’t be able to have someone. To experience love and being loved, he wants to be wanted. He’s getting older and still doesn't have anyone by his side. That’s the price he pays for having this life, and he still blames the government for taking it from him. He doesn’t remember the last time he actually felt something for someone, and at this moment of his life, it doesn’t matter to him anymore. Leon had already accepted the fact that he'd die alone. Maybe he’ll get a cat to keep him company. Since he’s not much of a dog person since Raccoon City, maybe he’ll name her a cute name; who knows? That’s probably the closest he’ll get to having something waiting for him at home. 

Leon doesn’t remember the last time he actually felt happy. Since Raccoon City, he doesn't know what happiness means, and sometimes, on very rare occasions, he envies people around him. He feels like his entire life has no purpose and no meaning, and he’s completely faded to emptiness, to a sad existence based on killing bioweapons and serving his country. Does he feel proud about it? No, he doesn’t. 

It’s been a very long time since Leon felt pride. That feeling died and is now buried in the remains of Raccoon City, inside that police station where his life turned upside down. Now he’s only an empty shell of what he used to be. He’s rotting inside, craving something he knows he can’t have, and there’s nothing but a void inside him, consuming every inch of him. 

After serving his country for years, he started to get used to the idea that maybe he wasn’t made for a happy ending, and he shouldn’t bother with such things. He can’t afford the luxury of being with someone, because it means being vulnerable, and it also means he would have to open himself to things he swore he would never feel again. No, thank you. 

Things at work aren’t exactly the best, either. Years ago, Leon started to question himself about whether the government cared about their people, especially the ones he had to kill in order to save others. Leon couldn’t forget what happened in Spain — the entire village he was forced to end so he wouldn’t die. Perhaps they could’ve saved them; possibly they could’ve had a chance; maybe if… and this is where he dozes off thinking about the infinite possibilities. 

After what happened in Raccoon City, Leon knew he had lost faith. He knew things would never be the same after everything he saw that day. Sometimes, he finds himself thinking about Annette and William Birkin. He feels his body shivering when he remembers he had to fight for his life, clinging to something bigger than him. Survival. 

II. RINSE AND REPEAT

He has no social skills, and doesn't know how to interact with people anymore. It all feels weird and uncomfortable, and it makes him feel terrible. Sometimes he feels like he’s stuck in time and can’t have a proper conversation with someone normal. The worst part of his life is that he feels he’s carrying a weight on his shoulders that it wasn’t supposed to be his in the first place. He has the weight of the world with him, and there is no one to help him through it. Life made him depressed, cold and distant. Life has built him this way; he's shaped himself into something he’s not, and he can’t find himself. He’s lost. 

Leon can’t stop having nightmares about Raccoon City.

At this point, he just accepted that they wouldn't go away. It feels like he’s trapped inside his own mind, and there’s no turning back. Sometimes at night, he keeps looking at his ceiling imagining a different life, where he was a cop and happy. Usually, his nightmares are so dark and deep that when he wakes up, he finds solace in the sunlight, feeling relieved that he survived another night. When he doesn't sleep, when he’s too scared to close his eyes, he cries quietly, protected by the walls of his room, searching for assurance and a promise that everything will be fine. It doesn’t always work, but now he knows he can control his fears, and somehow, it helps him feel safe.

This time, his mission nearly got him killed. His entire body was full of bruises and wounds, and every part of him hurt. He felt his body swallowing a little, and he felt terrible again. He has blood under his nails, and he washes himself at least three times to make sure there’s nothing more on him than the burden of being a slave for the government.

Leon is paranoid; he can’t stand the fact that he has blood on his hands. If he sees a spot, he’ll clean it until there’s nothing left, and maybe he’s now too obsessed with the idea of being clean. It makes him feel sick to the bones, because he knows what he does and what it means. He knows that this guilt won’t be washed away like the blood on his hands, and certainly won’t get away from his head like it does from his clothes whenever he launders them. It’s a pretty shitty routine, but he’s used to it. 

Now he finds himself in a very dark place; he can’t eat without feeling guilty. He can’t do the basics of his chores because he can’t stop thinking about his life, regretting every decision he made. Everything he does seems mechanical, like he’s repeating the process over and over again, a perfect killing machine that has no one to care about. On Fridays, he finds himself sitting on his couch, in complete silence, holding an empty bottle. He knows he can’t drown himself in alcohol, no matter how much he wants it or how tempting it sounds, because the liquid doesn’t affect him anymore. It doesn't make the pain go away or silence the horrors he saw during his life. 

After three weeks inside his house, locked inside his room, Leon woke up with a strange feeling inside his chest. Something was telling him that this day would be different, like a big change would happen. For the first time in weeks, he decided to leave his place for a simple walk. He could do that; he could walk into the market and buy some real food or maybe get a haircut. He felt that he was able to allow himself to have an ordinary day. 

After taking a long shower, Leon decided to wear cozy and comfortable clothes. He was so used to his brutal routine that he almost forgot what it was like to have a normal day, but this time, he was willing to try something different. He took a deep breath before leaving his house, and when he felt the soft, cold breeze reaching his skin, he knew he could do that.

Step by step, Leon found himself walking towards the market, even enjoying the lovely view he had from his neighborhood. He doesn’t remember it to be so… gray. Sure, he knows what winter is, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually stayed at his home during the winter. His lips turn into a small smirk, and he thinks how silly he is. When he reaches the small market, which is more of a store, he walks slowly, looking at what he might be buying - he’s done with frozen food. He stops at the veggie section and keeps looking at it, confused. 

“These aren’t fresh” a sweet voice is enough to wake him up from his trance. He looks in that direction, and all he sees is you.

“How can you tell that?” he asks you in visible confusion, which makes you smile. And that smile was enough to sparkle something oddly inside him. 

“Color, smell, texture,” you explained, still smiling and showing him a fresh vegetable. “This one is fresh."

"Thanks,” Leon replied awkwardly, taking the vegetable from your hand and placing it in his basket.

“You don’t come here very often. I know almost everyone who comes to buy food here,” you said next, glancing at him with curiosity. 

“I… have a busy schedule,” he says, still sounding awkward.

“Really? Well, you should definitely take some time to buy healthy food. I’m pretty sure you do a lot of workouts to keep your body in shape” you giggle, noticing the size of his muscles, which makes his face turn red.

“I’ll keep that in mind” Leon managed to say, although he wanted to dissipate from Earth.

“I can help with that” you suddenly said, analyzing him more carefully.

“With what?” Leon frowned, already feeling his heart beating ten times faster.

“I noticed you’re having difficulty with your right arm, which makes me think you got it hurt. If you’re planning to buy more, I can help with your bags” you offered, very polite and kind, catching him by surprise. 

“Thanks” Leon says, finding himself smiling, which is unusual. 

At first, having some company after so much time alone made him think it was strange. He wasn’t feeling ready to have a small conversation, but you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you were enjoying walking to this stranger's house in complete silence. Fifteen minutes later, you were in front of his house in an awkward silence between the two of you. 

“I guess this is it” you smiled at him, and Leon found himself lost in your smile. 

“Yeah. Thank you” he said for the fifth time, which made you giggle a little. 

“Anything for a customer” you said to him, giving him his bags. “My parents are the owners, so…”

“You don’t seem too old” he said, and after a second, he felt more weird. “I mean…”

“Nah, it’s ok. This isn’t the first time people say I'm younger than I look”. You smiled again, thinking that this old man was very silly and cute. “I’m 25, don’t worry”

“I’m Leon, by the way” He finally says his name to you, stretching his hand in a very educated way.

“Nice to meet you, Leon” you said before shaking his hand. 

Leon took at least three weeks to return to the market. 

His initial thoughts about you were that he definitely felt weird in your presence. Maybe he felt that way because of his lack of social skills and because he really sucks when the subject is social conversation. He caught himself thinking too hard about the visual and evident contrast between the two of you; you were young, bright and smart, with a great future ahead of you, and plus, you came from a loving family. Leon, on the other hand, was an orphan used and abused by the government, their pet and a man who only knew pain and brutality. 

However, you were the first friendly face he saw after years. The way you were smiling and giggling at his awkward answers, it definitely made him feel something he thought he would never feel again. It was like you found the rookie cop inside him, and despite the fact that he barely said something, he felt normal around you. And that was more than enough. How could it happen so fast? 

“How can I help you?” you said before noticing it was him. “Oh, hi” 

“Hi” Leon is welcomed by that smile of yours. “I… um…”

“You came to buy more veggies?” you ask, still smiling at him. You think it’s cute to see him without any words. 

“No… I just came because I’m looking for food seasoning” Leon said, his face slightly turning red. “I’m trying new recipes, so…” 

“Yeah? What have you been trying?” you ask with sudden enthusiasm, leading him to the part with seasonings. 

“Nothing too risky” he answers vaguely, following you closely.

“What kind of seasonings do you like?” You turn back to face him as you show him the shelves with different types of seasonings. 

“I’m more into spicy flavors” Leon tells you, his attention going to the shelves. 

“It suits you” you said, giving him some space. You saw him smiling again. 

"How does spicy seasoning suit me?” he asks with a hint of curiosity. 

“You might think I’m weird, but… seeing from outside, you look like someone with a rough agenda and, apparently, whatever you do is dangerous. Personally, I think you suit perfectly spicy things” you said, hoping it would make sense. 

“I think I got your point,” Leon said, and then he found himself smiling for the second time. 

“Lucky me, right?” you laugh, walking back to the cashier. “Is this all for today?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Leon nods, grabbing his wallet to pay for the seasonings. 

“How’s your arm?” you ask, taking his money and counting it. 

“It's better. I had to take a few painkillers, but it’s definitely better” he said, avoiding you for a few moments. 

“That’s great. I know a few herbs to help with the pain” you said, giving him the change from his purchase. 

“How so?” Leon asks with another hint of curiosity. 

“A great sorcerer doesn’t reveal her secrets” you wink playfully at him. “You need to earn that, soldier” 

“And how could I earn your secrets, great sorcerer?” Leon asks, enjoying your playful mood. 

“Maybe you can invite me for dinner and show me your cooking skills” you shake your shoulders and, for the second time, catching him by surprise. 

“You would love that, wouldn't you?” Leon said, and a slight smirk appeared on his lips. 

“Who knows?” You wink playfully at him, with another suggestive smile on your lips. 

The world has gone to hell, Leon thinks to himself. 

He starts to contemplate everything that has happened to him. When did this madness begin? It was back in Raccoon City? Oh, no. It is way older than that. Maybe his collapse started when his family died, and he was left an orphan; what happened in Raccoon City wasn’t really the beginning of his nightmare. It was the cherry on top of the torments that would become his life. 

Now that he’s coming back home from another mission, he can’t stop thinking how his life could’ve been if Umbrella had never happened. If those bioweapons were never created, defying every natural order. He looks outside his window, and he just can’t stop blaming himself for Tall Oaks. 

What has become of this world? Leon thinks. Where did I go wrong? 

His life is an entire mistake. It just goes on and on. His family first, then Raccoon City. Tricell, Los Illuminados, Uroboros and, finally, that nightmare at Tall Oaks. Leon takes a deep breath. He feels his hands shaking and closes his eyes, forcing himself to forget. How silly he is!

The future is a hell that’s only getting worse. 

III. THE PAIN OF REMEMBERING

You weren't expecting Leon to find the note with your number that you left on his seasonings, the same way you weren't expecting him to call you.

However, something about him got your attention the minute he stepped foot inside the store. He wasn't like anything you had seen before; he was definitely something else. 

After almost four weeks since the last time you saw him, you got a call from an unknown number. It was pretty late at night, but your curiosity won the battle within you, and you had to pick up the phone. With a groggy voice of sleep, you saw the number and frowned.

“Hello?” You ask, followed by a big yawning. It was one in the morning. 

“Hi… um, it's Leon” he says with some urgency, to which you jump from your bed. “I'm sorry to wake you up” 

“No, don't worry. I wasn't sleeping” you lied, forcing yourself not to yawn again. 

“I know it's late, but… I was thinking about that dinner…” he says, sounding somehow hopeful. “Maybe you could come later and… talk?” 

“Yeah, sure. Can you pick me up?” You ask him, and a smile appears on your lips as you answer him. 

“Of course. At seven?” 

“At seven, it is,” you smiled again. 

As soon as the call ended, he was in complete shock. For some reason, Leon felt you wouldn’t accept his invitation, especially after being alone for so long. His heart was beating faster inside his chest, and he had to remind himself that it was just a casual date between… two friends? Could you possibly be his friend? 

Leon felt anxious, something he only felt when he was on his missions. 

Suddenly, the mere thought of having you at his home with him sounded terrifying. He felt like it would end in a complete disaster, and you wouldn’t see him ever again. Then, Leon had to stop and calm himself down, knowing it was his trauma trying to get the best of him. After everything he went through in his life, being able to trust someone proved to be a difficult task. He felt scared, and his mind was racing with thousands of different thoughts, each worse than the other. 

Betrayal is the word that defines Leon. 

He was betrayed before and multiple times, which left him with a lot of insecurities and traumas to the point he feels that he can’t trust anyone, which led to another set of insecurities. Leon feels that he isn’t enough anymore, that he can’t provide the proper attention someone might need from him, and that he can’t be in a relationship because of his problems. The truth is, he can’t be in a relationship until he leaves his trauma behind, and he knows it. That’s the easy part, but the hard one is how to let it go. 

Later that day, Leon finally had the courage to clean his house. He needed some motivation to get rid of his depression, and nothing was better than finally allowing himself to have some company besides his solitude. His house smelled pretty good, everything was clean, and his furniture was even shining. He opened the curtains, and the sunlight entered his living room. He took a deep breath with the fresh air that came inside, and smiled, feeling somehow proud and happy. 

At seven, you were waiting outside the store, scrolling through your phone, when you saw Leon approaching on his motorcycle. You were gorgeous, wearing a beautiful dress and covered by a black leather jacket — the perfect contrast that suited you well. Leon was completely mesmerized by the sight of you - so beautiful, he thought. 

“Hey, there” you waved at him as he parked next to you. 

“Hi,” Leon replies, sounding embarrassed. “You look beautiful”

“You too, handsome” you said playfully, taking the helmet from his hand and sitting behind him, your hands holding him tight. You didn’t notice the small blush on his cheeks. 

"Are you okay back there?” Leon asks you, making sure you were fine before starting the engines. 

“Yeah, I’m fine” you said, nodding your head, and smiling when he started to drive his bike to his place. 

You two didn’t take long enough to reach his place. Leon offered you his hand so you had support to get out of his bike, and he even opened the front door for you. He led you inside his house, and everything inside was enough to show you the kind of man he was; his home was big, but simple. He had a lot of comfort there, but it seemed like he didn't spend much time at his place. You saw some photos at the fireplace, a few when he was younger, at some training camp with his possible friends. 

“How old were you when you took these?” you asked him with curiosity. 

“I was twenty-one” he said, grabbing the wine and the glasses. 

“So young” you whispered, noticing that in some pictures, he was sad. 

Leon took another deep breath. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t he be just normal for once? Why did everything have to happen to him? You were standing there, so gracefully, observing his old photographs, so young and full of life, with no baggage with you. Someone actually happy and alive. If you knew how much he envies this. 

“People say that our eyes are the windows to our soul” you turn to face him, noticing his sudden silence. “Yours are so sad and broken… what happened to your neck?”

Instinctively, his hand reaches his neck, and Leon feels the bandage perfectly secured on his skin, with a small spot of blood. Gladly, it was enough to change the subject, because he was shocked enough by what you said about his broken soul. If you only knew. 

“I, um… got hurt on my job. It’s nothing.” Leon tries to avoid speaking about his past. 

“It seems pretty bad” you step closer to him, your hand gently touching his bandage. 

“It’s nothing… trust me” Leon smiles weakly, looking down. His heart is beating so fast inside his chest that he could explode any time. “I’m fine” 

“Then explain why you are so nervous around me” you whispered, now softly touching his cheek. 

Leon felt he stopped breathing, like his lungs decided to leave him alone and deal with the matter himself; how powerful your touch felt. It was enough to break every wall he built around himself for years; it was enough to make him break. And it was only a soft and kind touch. He slowly closed his eyes, his breath becoming normal again, and he allowed himself to just feel it. 

“I don’t know what on earth happened to you…” your voice is full of kindness as you speak, now seeing him hold your hand as you keep touching his cheek. “But I’m always here if you decide to talk” 

Leon was reaching his breaking point. 

He was used to being a slave, always using his body, mind and soul to provide safety for the others without them knowing one damn thing about it; he was used to always being alone, to the point that kindness was a strange feeling, almost not existing at all and that he didn’t deserve it. But here you are. 

“It hurts to remember,” he confessed, his voice a low whisper. “I tried to forget it, but I can’t” 

When he felt you wrapping your arms around his body and your warmth embracing him, Leon felt his eyes getting wet. He was so deeply touch starved, craving something so human, that when he got it, he knew he was going to break. His mind was racing, and his body was trying to process the feeling and react in the proper way. He felt so many emotions at once that he thought he was going insane. 

“Please, keep holding me” Leon begs, his arms finding their way through your back as he hugs you back. “Because I know I’ll fall if you let me go” 

After that night, it took almost two months until Leon decided to show up at the store to see you again. He felt nervous, but at this point, he realized that, for some reason, he couldn’t stay away from you; he felt that you had some type of magnetism enough to keep him close, which made him feel comfortable, something he hadn't felt in a while. 

However, before he went to the store to see you, he needed courage. Leon thought you would be upset with him after being ghosted for almost two months, although he felt responsible for it, since he never told you the nature of his job or why he was so absent. Sadly, Leon was again in a spiral of sadness and depression. His last mission was a disaster, and Leon knew he had no control over his feelings again. He was sitting on his bed, contemplating the bottle in his hands. The curtains were closed, and the atmosphere inside his room was darker. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and then, he’s there again. 

June 29, 2013. Tall Oaks, USA

“It might create more problems than it solves…” the voice of the president echoes inside his head as he points his gun towards the said person.

Leon doesn't recognize the man in front of him, or what he used to be. He keeps his gun raised, his grasp around the trigger getting tight by the second he makes his decision. His voice comes and goes, creating a tense atmosphere around him. 

“Bio-organic weapons are a global threat and we are partly to blame…” Benford said once to Leon when he expressed his desire to expose the truth about the Raccoon City Incident. He looks at the living corpse in front of him. Tick tack. He knows what he needs to do. “I’ve always valued your friendship, Leon… It’s time to take responsibility and end this mess” 

He shakes his head, somehow returning to his reality. 

“Stay right where you are!” Leon said, his voice sounding cracked and angry. The corpse starts walking towards him and as a reflex, his grip gets more tight. “Mr. President!” 

The zombie starts walking towards him and the woman next to him. He hesitates for a moment, unsure and sure about what he needs to do. Every part of him screams and begs, trying to find a solution. He knows it’s too late. He can’t save the president, he can’t save anyone. 

“Don’t make me do this” Leon gritted his teeth, trying to find any reason to avoid what needed to be done. It happens fast. Adam Benford, the former president of the United States and now a corpse, throws himself towards her. “Adam!” Leon screams.

He pulls the trigger. 

And there’s only blood. 

He gets out of his thoughts when he hears someone knocking on his front door. It doesn't take too long for him to finally stand up and see who’s there, and, inside his mind, he’s already preparing himself to tell this person to leave him alone, but his entire demeanor changes when he opens the door, and all he sees there is you. 

“You’re back” you smiled warmly at him, your cheeks red because of the cold temperature. “I wasn’t sure you were home” 

“What are you doing here?” Leon’s first question isn't as welcome as you thought it would be. 

“A friend can’t see a friend?” you answered simply, and the smile never left your lips. 

“I’m sorry” he sighs, giving you space to enter his place. “I didn’t mean to be rude” 

“Don’t worry” you said, removing your scarf and hat. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, I guess” Leon nods slowly, and you notice he’s not entirely well. 

“Breakfast?” you ask him, wanting to confirm your suspicions, and he nods quietly. 

You had difficulty finding yourself inside his place, since you’ve been there only once. You notice that he’s quiet, and despite that fact, which is completely normal for him, you know that there’s something wrong. So, you decided to go simple with his breakfast. Almost forty minutes later, you came back with a plate full of pancakes, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and some orange juice. 

He leisurely used his knife and fork to eat the food you made. The careful manner in which he ate wasn’t due to his cautious nature, but rather because he had a terrible hangover that messed with his coordination, and rushing could easily lead to a slip of the hand and his shaking. Leon was a pretty man, and he could easily take on leading roles in Hollywood blockbusters. However, he currently sported a scruffy beard, exuded a weary atmosphere, and radiated fatigue and discontent. 

“I think I reached rock bottom,” Leon finally says, but he avoids your gaze at all costs. 

“Then I’ll help you get out of there” you said with kindness, your pinky finger interlocking with his. 

IV. GRIEF AND BARGAIN 

The path to healing isn’t always easy, and now Leon is aware of that. 

The year is now 2014 and he’s struggling to forget what happened a year ago. Sometimes, when his mind is quiet, he starts to wonder. Is it possible that there could have been a world without Umbrella and zombies? Leon scoffed and shook off his sweet dreams. A world without zombies? That's something from a long time ago. The future is only going to become a worse hell. Then, he has to remind himself about the great things he has in life. You are one of these things.

Although he has your support, he knows that he’ll only get better walking this path by himself. The winter deciduous forest looked like branches made of human bones. A mixed forest with a walking path spread out. This is a high-end residential area in Bethesda, Maryland, where congressmen and bureaucrats commuting to Washington spend their nights. In the depths of a thicket, there was a slightly open gentle sloping area where the desired building was located. It was a designer house filled with a sense of openness, with all outer walls covered in glass, and it appeared like a model intended to showcase beautiful scenery rather than a place for people to live in. 

The luxury was excessive to the point where it seemed somewhat like a toy. Leon had hidden himself in the thicket away from the road and was monitoring the designer house through binoculars with night vision capabilities. It was an unacknowledged fact, but a traitor to the country was living in this mansion. Senator Steven Air, who had sold information to a bioterrorist organization, was one of many government officials who had been involved in the incident in Tall Oaks where the President became a victim of B.O.W. Simmons, the President's aide, was among those who betrayed the government. And Leon still blames himself for what happened that night. 

Currently, fifteen members of the Division of Security Operations (DSO) and two stealth drones have surrounded Steven's mansion. It was necessary to capture him and extract plenty of information before bringing him to trial. According to reports from aerial surveillance, Steven was on his way home by car from Washington. The distance from the White House to Bethesda was approximately twelve kilometers, and it would take about thirty minutes if he drove fast. Leon shifted his focus to his shoulder holster with a handgun. Of course, capturing him alive was best, but there was no hesitation in shooting the traitor if he resisted.

Leon suddenly remembers. This is Bethesda. The name is derived from the Bible. From the Gospel of John–

“Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie — the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years."

Jesus healed the man who had been sick for 38 years. God's love and His miracles. Bravo. That's exactly what this world needs in this hell.

"Target approaching."

As he thinks about the Bible, a communication comes through his earpiece. It's a report from the overhead surveillance team flying a drone. A roadway that weaves through a grove of mixed trees was approached by Stephen's white Porsche, an elegant luxury car resembling a graceful white swan. Perhaps dozens, hundreds of people may have died to buy that car. Such is the life of a villain.

"Visual on the target vehicle. Secure upon my GO signal," Leon whispered into his radio microphone. Both the earphones and microphone were of a bone conduction type that excelled in noise resistance. It converts vocal cord vibrations transmitted through the skull directly into voice signals. It was a perfect gadget for special operations where one couldn't make loud noises or miss instructions in the midst of noise. 

The Porsche approached the garage. 

"GO," Leon said sharply. 

At that moment, two SUVs that had been hiding in a blind spot by the roadway started their engines like barking dogs and closed in on the Porsche at tremendous speed, trapping it in a pincer movement as planned. The driver of the Porsche was Stephen's secretary, with a bodyguard in the passenger seat and Stephen himself in the back seat. 

Suddenly trapped from the front and back, they were thrown into confusion. Leon wondered – would the bodyguard or secretary resist? There was no doubt that they were carrying guns. He didn't want to give them unnecessary visibility, but he would deal with it when the time came. The agents jumped out of the trees. In the next moment, Stephen's Porsche exploded. 

A deafening roar and shock. The high-performance explosive device planted under the car's body lifted the Porsche several meters off the ground, engulfing it in flames. And caught up in it, the DSO's SUVs overturned as well. The window glass of all the cars shattered into tiny pieces, the car bodies twisted and burned the people inside. All six agents from the team on foot, including Leon himself, were blown backwards by the force of the blast. Leon still thinks like he’s floating in the air, an eerie feeling of weightlessness that ended when he felt his body slamming against a tree trunk. In those fleeting moments, his consciousness waned, and it was the closest he had come to death.

Yet, it seemed the Grim Reaper was not yet ready to claim him. 

Pain, intense and searing, jolted Leon’s awareness back to life, a grunt of pain escaping his lips. Leon struggled to his feet, and he threw up, retching repeatedly. His consciousness ebbed and flowed like waves, and he knew that rest was essential. Leon suspected that his ribs and collarbone were either fractured or cracked, but, fortunately, his arms and legs remained unbroken. Gritting his teeth, he managed to force his dislocated left shoulder joint back into place, enduring the excruciating pain, as he tried to work out which way was up. 

There are bruises littered across his skin, scratches and abrasions where the bark of the tree tore his flesh. The shock of the explosion and the fear of death… an unpleasant feeling of internal organs turning over welled up. No matter how many times he experienced it, he could never get used to the terror of a close-range explosion. The air was knocked from his lungs; his breathing temporarily stopped; his eardrums were about to burst; and his knees were weak. He can barely stand. Leon finally sits up, willing his agent training to give him a sense of urgency even though his body is screaming in agony. The stench of gasoline fills the air, but Leon can barely smell it. His sense of smell and hearing are both almost gone. What the hell happened? Leon asked himself in front of the burning Porsche.

He feels paralyzed. 

It was three in the morning when your phone started to ring. 

It was an unknown number, and you had to fight the necessity of hanging up; something inside you told you to pick up the call, which you did. It was Leon, and the way his voice sounded on the phone made you aware that something bad had happened. Terrible, nonetheless. You drove to his location, and you found yourself shocked when you found smoke, fire and the smell of gasoline among a lot of government agents and military personnel. You found Leon sitting in the back of an ambulance, his body covered by a blanket, as he was examined by a paramedic. Not only that, but you had credentials to enter that isolated area, and the way those agents were rushing from one side to the other, talking on their phones, made it clear that someone important had died. You made your way towards Leon, not daring to look around, and when you reached him, you saw tears in his eyes. You hugged him tight, like you were holding the world in your hands. 

“It’s ok, I got you” you said to him, your words full of assurance and kindness. 

Leon refused to be taken to the hospital; instead, he asked you to drive him back home, since he felt he couldn’t do it on his own. The ride back to his place was silent, and you decided to respect his space, although you saw him trying to find solace in something real. He couldn’t stop playing with his finger, showing an elevated level of stress and anxiety. You have never seen him like this before. 

“Can you stay?” Leon suddenly asked when you pulled over in front of his house. “I… don’t want to be alone” 

“Yeah, sure” you nodded, noticing how vulnerable he was, which was odd. 

You heard him groaning in pain once he got out of your car, but he refused your help, insisting he was fine. Knowing him well at this point, you gently held his hand, offering nothing but your support, and Leon quietly appreciated your effort. You helped him sit on his couch and heard him mutter something only he could understand. Judging by the look on his face and the way his hands were still shaking, you knew he was in shock. 

“Do you have any first aid kits or something?” you asked him, hoping you would gain his attention. 

“I’m fine” Leon replies, his eyes fixated on his shaky hands. You sat next to him, holding his hands and scratching his skin softly. 

“It’s ok not to be okay." Your voice is almost a whisper as you look into his blue eyes. “You don’t have to be tough all the time” 

You saw him reach the breaking point. 

Feeling embraced by your kindness and safety, Leon finally allowed himself to feel his emotions — the same ones he fought hard to bury deep inside him — in the same place he swore he would never visit again. In the cozy atmosphere of his living room, having nothing but you as solace, the brunette agent gave himself a break, and when he did that, his eyes started to get watery.

After Raccoon City, Leon shut himself up so he wouldn’t be hurt ever again. He used to keep his emotions contained; he used to not think of them. He kept everything bottled up, because he knew he couldn’t handle it. Leon was so traumatized that the way he dealt with his feelings was to pretend they didn’t exist, in the first place. After Spain, it got worse. Nightmares after nightmares, the paranoia of still being infected with Las Plagas, everything that came after this. 

But here you are, telling him that it is ok not to be okay, that he doesn’t have to be tough, and that it is okay to feel and to be vulnerable. He couldn’t stop sobbing; his hands were still shaking, but he didn't even care about this at the moment. Gently, you started to play with his hair, your fingers slowly going up and down on his head, providing comfort and care — exactly what he’s been missing his entire life. 

“I lost them all” Leon started to say through sobs. “I saw them dead” 

“It wasn’t your fault” you assured him with calm words. 

“I failed them," he says as he looks at you, his blue eyes shining with tears as they fall through his skin. 

“That’s not true. You didn’t know the car was about to explode or whatever happened there” You tried to calm him down. 

“We were watching him; it was my responsibility to make sure they would be safe… it was my job to ensure that” Leon sobs again, and you can see he’s struggling to breathe due to his anxiety attack. 

“Listen, you’re too nervous right now. Come on, take a deep breath with me” you said, hoping he would listen and cope. 

Leon nods between sobs and takes several deep breaths to try to calm himself down. You took a glass of water and gave it to him, then you took his hand into yours, whispering words of assurance and kindness. You decided to put him to rest, and it wasn’t necessary to drag Leon into his bed; the moment you step foot inside his room, you can see how severe his depression is. Successfully, you were able to lay him down and remove at least his boots. Leon curled into his blankets and muffled his sobs with his pillows. 

“Do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?” you ask, sitting on his bed with him, moving his hair from his eyes. He nodded silently. 

Slowly, his sobs turned into sniffs, and Leon finally fell asleep. It took almost an hour to calm him down completely, but now he was safe and sound into a peaceful slumber, or what appears to be. You don’t recall exactly when you fell asleep on his bed, but you certainly remember when you woke up to the sound of his screams. Leon never told you about his nightmares, and you weren’t expecting that. His chest was drenched in sweat, and he seemed like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were filled with fear, and he was shaking head to toe. 

“Fuck” Leon mutters, his hand running through his hair. 

“What happened?” you ask him after turning the lights on. 

“Just a nightmare…” he whispers, trying to calm down again. 

“How frequent are they?” It was a bold question, but you needed to know. 

“Every night” Leon ignores your glance, focusing on his shaky hands again. 

“Here, drink it” you give him a glass of water with sugar to calm his nerves. You already had that glass with you the moment you went with him to his room. 

“Do you even like me?” Leon suddenly asks you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re so kind, beautiful, and young, with so much in your future” Leon sighs heavily. “Why would you be with a… broken man like me? I have nothing to offer but traumas and the big baggage of my shitty life” 

The pressure you put on biting your lip was so intense that it was enough to cut your skin and make it bleed. 

“Who says you have nothing to offer? I don’t think that’s true. You’re a wonderful person, Leon. I can see it every day when you come to see me at the store. The way you smile whenever you are around me, the way your eyes shine…” you said to him, hoping it would be enough to give him some comfort. “I don’t see you as a broken person or a man with the baggage of a shitty life. I can’t imagine what must have happened to you, and I know it must be difficult and hard because that's what I see, but, Leon, the darkness around you doesn’t define who you are. Whatever life did to you, it doesn't dictate your present or future."

No matter how many kind words you say, it isn’t enough for him. Leon blames himself for what happened, and you know he won’t forget it so soon. How can he? Those men trusted him and followed him, and now, they’re all dead. Leon thinks he should’ve saved them, even though he knows he couldn’t guess the car was about to explode. 

“I wish I could heal your soul so you wouldn’t suffer anymore, but I can’t” you sigh, then look at his hand. “I wish I could fight all of your demons, but I can’t do that. I’m here and I don’t intend to leave you alone” 

After holding his hand, it was the first night Leon actually slept without any more nightmares. When he woke up the next morning, he felt his eyes heavy and he instantly remembered how he cried the night before after his entire squad was murdered. Then, he also remembered that you were there with him the whole time. Finally, he noticed how strange that feeling was - the feeling of being comforted instead of comforting others. It was a strange feeling indeed, but it was a good one. 

Lazily, he stood up from his bed and decided to look at himself in the mirror, washing his face and taking a moment to see the collateral damage caused by the bomb. There were a few bruises and cuts on his skin, but huge purple marks on his shoulder, which he dislocated. It still hurts, but it’s enough to keep him in the real world. He’s still alive.  

“Morning, princess” you greeted him in his kitchen. “I made breakfast” 

“You shouldn’t worry about that, y’know?” Leon says, leaning against his cabinet. 

“Too late for that. Now is my job to worry about ya” you said, opening the cabinet above your head on tiptoe, which made him smirk. “Are you feeling better?” 

“Yeah, I guess so” he says, nodding his head and helping you get the cornflakes. “Thank you… for sticking up with me last night” 

“You know I care about you, right? Since day one” you glance at him with a warm smile. “I really do” 

“I care about you, too” Leon blushes slightly. “More than I can tell” 

You know Leon pretty well at this point and you know he has trouble speaking of his feelings. You know he can’t express himself properly, and you ain’t stupid. You know someone has hurt him before and you understand why he is the way he is. Fortunately, you are very patient, and that’s enough for now, because you don’t mind giving him time and space. 

“I can look at your wounds; maybe I can help” you offered, finishing preparing the breakfast. 

“This means I finally earned your secrets?” Leon asks, a small smile on his lips, as he references the conversation you had with him a few months ago. 

“You surely did." You nodded, smiling. “Let’s eat first, then I’ll take a look at it” 

Leon seemed to enjoy the breakfast you made for him, and, for the first time since you two met, he genuinely seemed happy. However, you knew deep inside he was trying and fighting hard to hide his true feelings; losing his squad certainly shattered him inside, and caused more damage to him than you could ever imagine. 

Leon is a master when it comes to hiding his feelings. All over the years, Leon had built around himself an impenetrable shell, not allowing anyone to get closer, and all of that because he is scared of being hurt again. However, if the explosion never happened, if his men never died the way they did, Leon wouldn’t be pretending he’s fine when you know he’s not. The damage is so intense that you’re afraid he won’t recover. It’ll always be there with him, rotting inside him. 

You weren’t expecting so many wounds all at once, but when he took off his shirt and you saw his bruised skin, you took a deep breath. He had so many marks, so many stories. You wanted to ask, you wanted to know, but Leon wasn’t ready to share it yet. 

“I got this one back in Raccoon City” Leon quietly says, pointing to the scar on his left shoulder. “I got shot” 

“How did this happen?” you decided to ask him as you gently cleaned a few cuts he had.  

“I was helping a woman named Ada Wong to get a sample of G-Virus, and only a scientist named Annette Birkin had this sample. We were trying to find her and, when we did, she started to shoot Ada. I jumped in front of her, that’s why I got shot” Leon sighs, recalling the events that happened in the sewers. 

“This Ada seems very important to you” you smiled at him, cleaning the other cut he had on his neck.  

“She was, but it was a long time ago” Leon avoids your gaze. “Not anymore” 

“She was the one that hurt you?” you ask him very carefully. 

Leon didn’t answer, but his silence speaks for himself. You can see the extension of the damage and how Leon still struggles to deal with whatever happened between him and Ada. He stays silent, maybe trying to understand how his life turned into this mess. Then, he starts to count every time he was betrayed before until this very moment. His blue irises meet yours and all he feels is… peace. There’s no inner storms inside him, he feels completely at ease. 

“If I ask you a favor…” Leon suddenly says, changing the conversation. 

“What do you need?” you ask him without hesitation. 

“Could you come with me to the morgue? There’s something I need to do” Leon sighs, preparing himself for what’s about to happen. 

“Of course. I’ll tell my parents I’ll go to the store later” you nodded, quickly picking up your phone to text them. 

Leon partially felt guilty, but you were so willing to go with him that he changed his mind after you helped him dress himself — the way he dislocated his shoulder still hurts and he has difficulty with it. You drove to the morgue and judging by the interior of the building, you found out Leon was some sort of agent working for the government. You were able to read the name of the organization. Division of Security Operations. 

“So you’re a badass agent, huh?” you ask with enthusiasm as you walk next to him. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m a badass” Leon chuckles, still feeling tense. 

“Well, if you put your neck at stake to save your country, then you’re definitely a badass” you added, giving him a warm smile. 

When you both stepped inside the morgue, he reached out for your hand, seeking any support you could give him. The back wall was a box-shaped cold storage room, and a row of dissecting tables lined the spacious room. And on those dissecting tables were numerous body bags. It's a body bag with the DSO logo on it. Do they really need a logo even on something like this? Irony floated within Leon's chest. Are they planning to sell products with the logo on them, like DSO-branded body bags, DSO-logoed cigarette cases, DSO-logoed pass cases...?

He walked between the body bags to the sound of his boots. Unlike normal bodies, the victims of b.o.w - related incidents were usually sent for examination to specialized research institutions. Although this time the cause of death was due to a bomb, not a zombie attack, the instruction from above was to send the bodies to various laboratories, so they followed suit. This DSO branch’s mortuary was a relay point for passing the bodies from the scene to the laboratory, like a baton in a relay race. It wasn’t easy to simply bury them in a graveyard. The morgue itself wasn’t scary, but the corpses were scary because they stimulated the imagination. 

“Would they suddenly start moving? Would I end up like this too?” Leon thinks to himself a little bit loud, enough for you to hear him.

“You won’t” you whispered, squeezing his hand to let him know you were there.  

Watching the corpses closely would cause a moment where the elongated shadows would appear like monsters. However, that was before Raccoon City. He had seen too many moments where the dead came back to life. 

“I’m not scared of the mortuary anymore; recently, I’ve been thinking about it a lot” Leon frowned as he moved towards the back while swirling his thoughts. He thought he heard a sound from there minutes before. 

“What do you mean?” you ask him with curiosity as he approaches one of the bags. 

“I was constantly thinking about death and ending everything. I was depressed and thought I had no hope left” Leon confessed, his eyes locked on the body bags in front of him. “But now… I don’t think about that anymore”

He glances at you, finally. Slowly, his eyes meet your hand while you’re holding him and there’s a small smile on his lips, then his blue irises find yours again. 

“I used to be scared of the morgue… but coming here with you… is something else” Leon says next. “I couldn’t do this alone” 

“I’m glad I can help” you said to him with your usual kindness. 

But he stops and turns his attention back to the body bags and sighs. His entire demeanor changed and suddenly, he found himself fighting hard to keep doing this. He needed that. He owed his men at least this final goodbye. 

“What kind of adult did I want to become when I was a child?” Leon thinks to himself as he approached one of the body bags. 

The zipper was slightly open, and the body bag seemed like it was about to move any moment. It’s common for something that seems like it’s about to move to actually move.

Leon carelessly closed the zipper. Was it because of the sharp sound that, suddenly, another body bag bounced behind him? Inside the body bag, the zombie was wiggling and struggling. It seemed unhappy, as if it had been woken up from a deep sleep by force. Leon pulled out his gun from his holster and squeezed the trigger. 

“What kind of adult did I want to become? I definitely didn’t want a life like this” 

V. ACCEPTANCE 

After everything that happened with his squad, Leon knew he needed time off of his office. Decided to get his mind off everything and take a break, Leon chose the Rocky Mountains in Colorado as his destination. Instead of going there alone, he thought it would be good to spend more time with you, mostly because he felt safe around you and due to the nature of his job and everything he saw, he needed to feel that safety only you provided him.  

You had to explain to your parents why you would be going on a vacation, but they understood with no problems; they didn’t know about Leon because you were fearing some trouble because of the age gap, so you felt they weren’t exactly ready to meet him. How could you explain to them you were apparently dating a man eleven years older than you? It would be one hell of a surprise. 

It was 9 a.m. in the mountainous area near Rocky Mountain National Park, located in northern Colorado. The national park was about a two-hour drive from the state capital, Denver. Along the way, there were several viewpoints where numerous travelers parked their cars to enjoy the scenic beauty. Even in the mountainous region of the Rockies, the mountains around this area were not exceptionally high. They were just before the tree line, covered with spruce and fir trees on the subalpine slopes. The forest appeared like a beautifully groomed brush, while wildflowers bloomed modestly, sheltered by large rocks.

“This place is incredible” you sound mesmerized by the incredible view from the hotel. 

“You haven’t been in places like this before?” Leon asks you with curiosity. 

“I barely leave my house” you chuckle, leaving your bag on the bed. “I just work at my parent’s store and go to college” 

“It feels like I’m dating a baby” Leon chuckles, also leaving his bag next to yours. 

“We’re dating, huh?” you teased, taking off your sneakers. 

“Yeah, we are” Leon nods his head, smiling. “I know I haven’t officially asked you, but I’m too old for that” 

“It’s fine, old man. I’m just messing with you” you said, playing with his fingers. 

“Old man? Now I’m offended” Leon teases back, smiling. 

“You said it first” you replied to him, your hands reaching his brown hair. “By the way… I have something for you” 

Leon glanced at you, frowning. The mischievous smile on your lips immediately told him you were planning something. He sat up on the bed and kept his eyes fixed on you, waiting patiently for whatever you were about to do. 

“I got you a birthday present” you said with enthusiasm, catching him by surprise. “I know I’m a few days late, but I wanted to give you something for your 37th birthday” 

“You didn’t have to” Leon whispered in shock as you gave him the small box. 

He unwrapped the present you gave him and found a beautiful dagger, silver and shining, also pretty sharp. Leon knew immediately that you probably paid a lot on that and he felt bad. He took a deep breath and glanced at you. 

“This was very expensive. You shouldn’t waste your money with me like that” Leon says to you. 

“It’s a gift. You can’t give it back” you said to him, a hint of playfulness in your voice as you insisted for him to keep it. 

“That’s not fair” Leon complains, laughing softly. 

“It’s pretty fair to me, though” you said to him, smirking. “It’s just a dagger, not a diamond or something related. I know your job is kind of dangerous and you might need it” 

“Okay, you win. I’ll take it” Leon sighs in defeat. “About my job… I know I haven’t been extremely open about it, but…” 

“It’s okay, I don’t want you to feel forced to share this with me if you don’t feel ready” you stopped him before he could finish his sentence. 

“I wish I could be more open to you” Leon glanced at his hands, feeling bad because of that. 

“Start simple and small. You don’t have to tell me absolutely everything at once” you placed your hand on his shoulder, petting him. 

“Simple and small? How could I do that?” Leon frowned at the idea. He always thought it was impossible to open up about his trauma. 

You pondered for a few moments, thinking about a way to help him talk about his issues in a positive way. 

“Start with something like… why don't you like dogs?” you suggested. A while ago you noticed Leon had a certain aversion to dogs. 

“I… um… I was attacked by dogs in Raccoon City. They weren’t common dogs, they were infected, something like that” Leon found himself surprised by the way he spoke about this issue so easily. “Then, at Spain, I had a few encounters with wolves also infected with a parasite, monstrous things” 

“See? That one was pretty easy” you said, encouraging him to keep talking. “Wanna try to say something else?” 

Leon thought about your question for minutes; inside his head, everything that has happened to him was like an endless movie. The trauma, the pain and the events that seem to be haunting him to this day. It was hard to pick one, but then, he reminds himself of your words of being simple and small. He takes a deep breath and quietly, he convinces himself that he can do this. 

“Back at Raccoon City, it was my first day at the force and I was 21 at the time” Leon starts, his eyes focused on something else. “I was late, but I think that’s why I’m still alive” 

While he was telling you the horrors he saw, you gently placed your hand on his, to let him know you’re there for him. It was a simple and kind gesture, but for him, it meant the world. Leon was only familiar with danger and brutality, so having you by his side providing comfort was enough to penetrate the depth of his former persona. It was enough to rescue the rookie cop buried inside those walls. 

“After that night… everything changed. I’m here because of what I did to survive and I’m not exactly proud of it. I can’t stop blaming myself for my past actions, but…” Leon suddenly stops, taking another deep breath. 

“You can’t control everything around you, Leon. And not everything that happens to us is our fault. You couldn’t know you were going to be stalked and nearly killed on your first day… you didn't know that there was a virus outbreak in Raccoon City that night…” you said to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “You need to understand that this isn’t your baggage to carry. What happened that day wasn’t your fault” 

Leon had your words playing on repeat inside his head. Even though he was early in the morning drinking his sorrows away, he was still thinking about what you said. He also felt partially guilty for leaving you asleep in the bed while he was drinking, but the other part of him told you knew him pretty well and you wouldn’t be judging him for this. His head was a roller coaster and at this very moment, he wasn’t at the top. 

Leon sat on the first floor of a lodge-style hotel in the rural town. The hotel was two stories tall, made of reinforced concrete, but designed to resemble traditional log construction. There was only one waiter and one chef, making it far from a trendy establishment — a rather run-down place. He was having breakfast in the first-floor restaurant. Though the restaurant wasn't popular, the food was decent. Approaching footsteps came from behind him — two sets of them.

"--To come fully armed to such a peaceful town," Leon said without turning around.

"Leon S. Kennedy, the ace of the DSO, a special agent organization directly under the President of the United States," a voice replied.

Finally, he turned around to see Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers standing there.

"Chris and... oh, the renowned expert in biohazard research, Professor Rebecca Chambers. What do you want?" he asked.

"It's work. Cooperate," Chris said in an uncompromising tone.

Chris and Rebecca sat across from him. And it was noticeable that he wore an annoyed expression. 

"I'm on vacation." 

"...In the past, while protecting the President's daughter, Ashley Graham, you fought and annihilated the cult group Los Illuminados. They were using special bio-organic weapons called Plagas," Chris said.

"I've forgotten about that old stuff," Leon replied simply.

"Do you plan on loafing around in this town for another week?" Chris asked.

"I don't know what will happen in the future," Leon retorted.

"Beer, please," Rebecca chuckled at the reference to an old movie, while Chris wore an unamused expression.

Leon called over a passing waitress with a casual wave to place his order, but Chris interrupted him.

"Cancel the beer."

"No, it's not canceled."

“Come on… what the fuck?!”

"I don't need any more alcohol."

"Cut it out. What's going on?"

"That's my line."

The waitress looked between the two of them suspiciously and before walking away. Eventually, Leon pulled out a flask from his back pocket and took a swig as a substitute for the additional order that couldn't be fulfilled.

"You–!" Chris leaned forward.

"Enough, both of you," Rebecca interjected. "--Leon. We apologize for disturbing your vacation. However, we need the information you possess," Rebecca said.

Finally, Leon showed a willingness to listen.

"...What's the situation?" he asked.

Chris and Rebecca had to explain to him what happened earlier at the university. The case was simple. Glenn Arias was a new threat and they needed to stop him at all costs. However, they didn’t know how Leon was suffering inside; they couldn’t know about the recent events. Leon wearily intertwines his gestures and continues, 

"Just before I took my vacation... I was involved in a DSO mission in Bethesda to apprehend a treacherous senator who was selling internal information to a bioterrorist organization." 

The disgusted irritation was evident in his movements, his expression, and his voice. 

"You know..." Leon begins. "Here's the thing: the informant we used betrayed us. We fell into a trap instead. A massive explosion killed many of my colleagues... and then there was the incident with the resurrection of the corpses you guys were involved in... It's all a mess," 

Leon explains, letting out a heavy sigh. It's a sigh that escapes unintentionally, like a burden he carries.

"I had planned to become a police officer in Raccoon City. It was my dream job. But on my first day, there was a massive zombie outbreak, and from there... it never stopped," Leon pauses and shakes his head. "I've been fighting this whole time. There's no end in sight, and it only keeps getting worse. Have I been living just to fight zombies and the people who create them?"

"What are you trying to say? That you don't want to cooperate with us?" Chris asks.

"It's not that..." Leon's tone is uncertain, "Well, maybe it is."

With a hesitant tone, Leon continues

“What exactly is our goal? How far do we have to run? Do we have to keep running endlessly? The villains keep coming, one after another, while the good people keep dying. Maybe it's better to lose our minds."

Then, Chris found himself forced to explain to Leon what they were facing. He showed pictures of Cathy White, the agent that was turned into a bio-weapon. And worse, her son she killed. He showed the photos taken during the autopsy and how Glenn turned people into something else purely because of power. 

"Killing him is the goal," Chris declares.

"That's only your goal, not mine," Leon retorts, his voice filled with resentment.

Tension fills the air between them once again.

"Hey," Rebecca interrupts, breaking the silence just as she did before. "So, Leon, you're exhausted," Rebecca points at Leon and then gestures to Chris. "And Chris, you're frustrated. There's one thing both tired people and irritable people have in common."

"What do we have in common?" Chris asks in response.

They both look at each other with a wide-eyed grin.

"You only think about yourselves," Rebecca replies. 

"I–" Chris tries to interject, but Rebecca continues. 

"Chris, all you talk about is wanting to kill Glenn Arias. After helping me, you didn't say a single word mourning the sacrifices of our colleagues. Leon, you're acting like a college student in their moratorium period. People get tired of running. But if we stop running, more people will lose their lives."

Rebecca takes out a trigger-activated needleless syringe from her small bag. In front of the bewildered duo, she abruptly presses the syringe against her left forearm and pulls the trigger, causing her blood to collect in the test tube attached to the syringe.

"I'll tell you something important. We're already infected," she says.

"What?" Leon's expression tightens in response.

Rebecca continues speaking in a tone reminiscent of a teacher addressing a poor student. 

"The truth is, it's difficult to estimate just how many people have been infected by Arias' new virus. The problem is, we don't know the identity of the trigger that activates it."

As she speaks, Rebecca removes the test tube from the syringe and seals it with a cap.

"The virus is activated by something only Arias knows. When that happens, the dead rise, and living humans become bio-weapons."

Rebecca glances lightly at Leon. 

"If things continue like this, this city will eventually become a living hell. There won't be any safe places."

Leon remains silent, averting his gaze.

"Just so you know, a prototype of the antivirus has been developed," Rebecca says. "It actually worked on me. However, the effectiveness of the antivirus is unstable without knowing the conditions for the activation of Arias' virus. When to administer it and how long it remains effective..."

Rebecca then places the sealed test tube into a small protective case and puts it on the table. 

"My blood should provide valuable data. If I die, make sure it reaches a reputable research institution that you can trust."

"You're not in danger. We'll protect you," Chris says firmly.

"What?" Leon asks, confused.

"It seems like you're misunderstanding, BSAA soldier," Rebecca lightly dismisses Chris's assumption.

There’s a slight smirk on Leon’s lips as he hears that. 

"The forefront of pandemic response is not the BSAA, but the research field. How many doctors and colleagues do you think I've seen die in conflict-ridden African countries or small Middle Eastern nations used as testing grounds for bio-weapons?" Rebecca questions.

Chris tries to say something in response, but his voice gets stuck in his throat, and only faint breaths escape.

"After I left the team, you two might have fought against plenty of mad scientists. But science can only be countered with science. Unless benevolent technology advances, we will never have a chance of winning. We fight not only for ourselves but for others. Have you both understood at least a little of what I'm saying?" Rebecca asks.

She stands up and adds, "Cool your heads," before leaving her seat.

"She's a great woman," Leon comments.

"We can't handle it on our own," Chris remarks, watching Rebecca leave, and he and Leon exchanged a wry smile. 

And then, here it comes. The urge to talk about what happened one year ago. 

"Leon, China was tough," Chris says, referring to that incident.

"Yeah, it was like a zombie version of Black Hawk Down." he nods in response. 

"At that time, I wanted to quit the BSAA so badly," Chris admits, surprising Leon, "After getting involved with Umbrella, I witnessed too many deaths. We..." 

Chris trails off. His expression was heavy, as if lead had settled in the depths of his heart. Then Chris realized: Why does it make me so angry to see him like this? He was too much like his old self.

"It makes you want to quit... makes me want to quit," Chris says, emphasizing his point. Leon falls into silence. And Chris delivers the final blow. "But, the moment we quit, all of our subordinates and friends will have died in vain. We are the survivors of Raccoon City. We carry that burden."

Chris falls silent, and the air becomes still. The waitress looks annoyed by the silence. For a few moments, there’s nothing but the said silence. 

"Leon, I always thought you were a cheerful guy no matter what," Chris breaks the silence.

"No one is like that," Leon replies, “Well… I’m not. I've always been a stress-tolerant guy. I've been able to do what I've done because of it. But now look back on it. In Tall Oaks, I killed the president.”

"Technically, you had to save the President infected with the virus," Chris quickly adds, trying to provide some context.

“But,” Leon shakes his head, "But the fact remains that I pulled the trigger, I shot him, and I was even suspected of assassinating the President afterward. Although I managed to clear my name, the mastermind behind that incident turned out to be the President's aide. The DSO was once called the 'Sword of the President,' but now it sounds ironically fitting."

Chris remains silent, attentively listening to Leon's words.

"Chris," Leon continues. "I've returned to active duty, but every time I face the new President, I feel anxious. I can sense his unease as well. The President's aide had sold his soul to B.O.W. terrorism. Who's next? The Secretary of Defense? The Vice President? What's become of the foundation that supports the soldiers in the field? They keep using us, while the higher-ups continue to flounder, grow bloated... They only think about shifting blame onto others."

He pauses for a moment. There’s so much pain. 

Leon furrows his brow and lowers his voice. "Perhaps the reason entities like Umbrella persist is that our society harbors a fundamental evil... I can't help but feel that way now."

Even agreeing with this stupid mission, Leon can’t go without saying goodbye. He feels guilty, but the moment he sees you, everything feels completely right. He sat at the bed, watching you perfectly asleep, imagining what kind of dreams you were having. Leon sighs and shakes his head. 

“Hey, sweetheart” Leon says when he sees you waking up. 

“Hi” you whisper, rubbing your eyes. 

“Listen… something happened and my colleagues need me. Will you be okay here?” he asks you, his thumb trailing your cheek. 

“Will you come back?” you ask him, sounding a little groggy. 

“And leave my baby girl here all alone? Of course I’ll come back” he smiles sweetly at you. 

“Ok… I’ll be here” you nodded your head, closing your eyes to go back to sleep. 

Something about you made him see, for the first time, the bright side of things. Maybe it was the fact that you were younger than him, and also the fact that you were full of energy - he was just an old and bitter man. But, hey, he’s learning how to cope with every shit that has happened to him. 

Before you, Leon was ready to die. 

He was ready to embrace death, he already had made peace with his inner demons. But everything changed when you came into his life. Suddenly, he thought he could live and find happiness and death wasn’t in his thoughts anymore. It was like you were able to bring him back from his darkness. He wasn’t rotting inside. You were able to rescue him from himself and return the light he needed. 

But if he thought he wasn’t close to death, he was wrong. Leon never thought he would face something like Glenn Arias and come close to death, but he had his job to do. Chris needed his help and Leon finally found closure to something that was weighing on his head; the death of his squad wasn’t his fault and he found the real culprit. He found the peace he was desperately looking for. And he was able to see another sunrise and come back to you. 

It was a repetitive cycle. Leon recently started to wonder if anything he did was futile. That's why he took a vacation and drowned his sorrows in alcohol. It was a kind of protest, perhaps. A protest against the grand concepts of this world and destiny. A statement of "I’m not going on like this forever, I’m not going to do it," or something of that sort. But fate was cruel. In the end, human life rarely goes well by one's own choices. Perhaps humans are merely chosen by fate without their consent. Yet, Leon now felt that it was okay like that. Being chosen doesn't make him a hero by default. He becomes a hero reluctantly because he was chosen. And that's fine. 

The merged form approached Leon with an eerie growl, swinging its massive fist. Leon leaped back to dodge it, and the merged form's punch shattered one of the spires on the rooftop into tiny fragments. It had the destructive power of a construction hammer, with each strike resembling the impact of a tank cannon round. Leon intentionally slid and jumped into the merged form's feet, thinking that at such a large size, close range might become a blind spot. He positioned himself beneath the massive body, lying on his back and firing his handgun. The shots were practically point-blank, but they were still deflected by the hardened muscles and exoskeleton. 

"Doesn't matter," Leon muttered involuntarily. "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it's futile. Today's a good day to die anyway."

The merged form kicked out.

The enemy's movements were deceptively swift, and Leon was sent flying as if hit by a car. His body tumbled through the air until it finally collided with a gargoyle statue, coming to a stop. The impact was so intense that his breath nearly ceased. However, the merged form continued its pursuit. It threw a straight punch, a blow that would surely result in instant death if landed, but Leon managed to evade it with a jump. Not only did he dodge it, but in mid-air, Leon twisted his body and unleashed a spinning kick. His boot-clad foot connected with the grotesque face of the merged form.

Whether it would have any effect or not didn't matter. This strike was my will. Of course, a kick from a mere human wouldn't have any effect. The merged form retaliated with its opposite hand, grabbing hold of Leon.

"Gah!" A groan escaped Leon's throat involuntarily. The massive fist tightened around him like a vice, and within a few seconds, he felt himself being crushed like a tomato.

"Leon!" Chris emerged from the penthouse.

In his fading consciousness, Leon thought about you. The way you smiled whenever you were with him and the sweet perfume you love to use. The way your hands embrace him at night, helping him sleep safely, without any nightmares to harm him. And then, he doesn’t want to die anymore. Please, God, don’t let me die this way. 

Chris picked up the fully automatic handgun that Arias had dropped along the way and unleashed a barrage of bullets at the merged form. For a brief moment, it seemed like the merged form's focus shifted, and its grip loosened slightly, but that was all.

Was my life meant to end here, crushed by this grotesque monster? Leon wondered, his pessimism threatens to shatter him. Leon wasn't the type to easily get this depressed or overthink things too much. Still, he felt more than a little exhausted.

What kind of adult did I want to become when I was a child? I never imagined I would be burdened with the stigma of assassinating a president. At least, I didn't want a life like this ― It doesn't matter what I want. There's no such thing as a person who can live the life they desire. Arias must have felt the same way. In the end…

VI. ABSOLUTION

When he came back, you noticed something inside him had changed. 

After the fight with Arias, Leon noticed that life was much more than death, darkness and depression. At least, he started to think like that when he almost got killed. And his only thought was coming back to you. No, he couldn’t die like that and leave you alone. His arm was injured, but he was alive. And he was back. 

“What happened to your arm?” you asked him when you saw him entering the room. 

“Remember that day in the morgue when you told me I was a badass government agent?” Leon asks you back, sitting on the bed next to you. 

“Yep, I do” you nodded, starting to massage his tense muscles. 

“Well… I’m not this kind of agent. I work under the president’s orders. I fight bioweapons for a living… since that hell in Raccoon City” Leon sighs, finally opening about his job. 

“Bioweapons? Like zombies and shit?” you ask him with curiosity. 

“Worse than zombies, but yes” Leon nodded with a slight smirk. “It’s dangerous, and this time I nearly got killed… thing is, my job requires a lot of my time, it forces me to not be around for God knows how long. It scares me because I don’t know if you can live this chaotic life with me…” 

“Wait, wait, wait… slow down” you held his hand and squeezed it softly. “Everyone deserves a second chance in life, Leon. You were alone for too much time and I don’t mind if you need to go somewhere else to fight bioweapons. If this means I get to see these pretty eyes of yours and this sweet smile every time you come home… I’m willing to live this chaotic life with you” 

Leon couldn’t believe your words. After being deprived of something so human and getting used to it, Leon felt he was about to explode. It was too much for him to handle. At this point, he knew perfectly he was experiencing anxiety. But it was a good one. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt. If we do this, I’m gonna get you wrapped up in something bad someday… and I’ll never forgive myself if this happens” Leon tells you, sounding extremely worried.

“I know you won’t let anything bad happen to me. And besides, I can take care of myself. I made self defense classes” you laugh sweetly, a symphony to his ears. 

“Are you sure?” Leon asks, and those big puppy eyes of his wanting nothing but assurance.

“Honey, if this wasn’t true, I wouldn’t be here” you chuckled, kissing his forehead. 

After what happened, you decided to introduce Leon to your family as your boyfriend. But before that, you convinced him he needed to improve a little. Getting rid of the alcohol was the first step. He started to see a therapist and work harder on his issues, which influenced a lot of your relationship. He was more happy and willing to do things he and you both liked. One year after that incident with his squad being killed and his mission with his friends, you noticed he was ready to meet your parents. 

“I’m nervous” Leon tells you when you both were entering your home. 

“Why? It’s not like we’ve been dating secretly for almost three years. Besides, they’ll think you’re cute, don’t worry” you giggled at him. 

“I’m not so sure about that” he muttered, following you inside your parents place.

You could clearly tell how anxious he was. However, he always felt at ease on your side, and it was like you had the power to make him relax, like nothing could harm him and the world was finally at peace. When you stepped inside the house with Leon right behind you for a Christmas dinner, your parents were already expecting both of you. 

“Mom, dad… this is Leon. The guy I was talking about” you introduced him to your parents with certain expectations. 

“You clearly got my taste for man” Leon heard your mom whispering to you, which made his cheeks turn red. 

“So… um… how long are you two hanging out?” your dad asked and you glanced quickly at Leon. 

“Three years, I guess. We met at the store” you tell your parents. “I didn’t tell you before because Leon has a busy schedule. He’s not always in town, so…” 

“Well, moonpie, if you’re happy, we’re happy too” your mom says with a gracious smile on her lips. 

Leon wasn’t expecting to be so welcomed into your family, but the fact that your parents treated him so kindly melted his heart. He got himself thinking about the dinner for at least one week, mostly because part of him was still thinking it was weird to receive so much kindness and affection, especially coming from a real family. He wasn’t expecting to be playing cards with your dad while you and your mom were in the kitching talking about girl’s stuff, but it was enough to make him see he made the right choice. That it was okay for him to finally experience love. 

“I like your light brown hair now that you finally stopped dying it” you said, sitting between his legs in the living room. 

“My emo era is over” he chuckles sweetly, like a melody. 

“May it rest in peace” you made the signal of the cross. “

“Changing the subject, tomorrow I gotta go to San Francisco. Work stuff” he says to you, softly kissing your neck. 

“Yeah? Am I getting some gift?” you whisper, feeling the shivers down your spine with his lips against your skin. 

“Do I ever go on a mission and come back empty handed?” Leon asks you, his soft lips pressing more against your neck and you can feel him softly biting you. 

The thing is, Leon is like a porcelain doll. He needs to be treated with softness and kindness, because deep down, he is vulnerable. The way his lips met your skin was a clear sign that he was ready for you. He was finally ready to be yours. However, loving Leon also needed patience, and after three years, you could tell he wanted that too. 

“Do you want to do this before you leave, handsome?” you ask him teasingly, holding his hands as he keeps kissing your neck. 

“Yes, I do,” he nods, almost moaning in your ear. 

He gently took you to his bedroom, the place was almost a sanctuary for him. He laid you down on his bed and removed his shirt, and this time, he didn’t seem ashamed of himself. You stood up from his bed and sat him on the edge, your hands trailing down his skin like he was a roller coaster. He closed his eyes, his breath soft and calm, although he anticipated what was about to happen. Leon craved for you. 

“I’ll take care of you” you whispered, leaving soft kisses across his neck and chest. 

You sat gently between his legs, your sweet and soft fingers removing his pants and reaching his already hardened cock. He sat there, observing you with those big and blue puppy eyes, like he was savoring your image. When you took all his length inside your mouth and gently started to suck him, Leon felt he was in heaven. It felt so good, so powerful. 

Tears started to fall from his eyes and he cried. Not because you were hurting him, dear lord, of course not! It was because he finally felt that he deserved to be loved. Your tongue did an amazing job on his cock and when he came, he felt his body at ease. Leon moaned with the sudden sensation, it was stronger than he last remembered. But it was because of you. 

“I love you” he says when you touch his face, wiping his tears. 

Loving Leon needed patience, you knew that already. 

However, living with him brought new challenges that you weren’t expecting at all. He would be gone for weeks, then he comes back out of nowhere. He always forgets to send you a message to let you know he’s coming back, but that’s okay, because his lack of patience to deal with technology amuses you. He always sends an emoji out of context, which makes you laugh and you find it very cute when he gets disappointed for misunderstanding those little and yellow faces. He’s getting there, don’t worry about that. 

When he’s at home, things turn out differently. He always helps you with the chores, likes to tease you whenever you’re cooking his favorite meal and at the end of the day, you two are together on the couch watching some silly movie while he complains about it and softly scratches your leg. Sharing a domestic life was something he never thought he would have, not after everything he went through alone. 

Now that he's back from whatever he did in San Francisco, you have another job to do. Tend to his injuries. It’s a small sacrifice to pay whenever he comes back hurt; this time he has purple marks all over his body and face. You don’t ask what on earth happened, because you know he can’t really give details, but at least he’s safe and sound with you again. 

“Stop moving, old man!” you tell him, trying to clean a small cut he had on his neck. 

“That hurts,” Leon replied back, flinching slightly. 

“I know, but someone has to clean it” you rolled your eyes, applying a Barbie band-aid on his neck. 

“Please, don’t tell me I got the Barbie thing on my neck” Leon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Next time I’ll get you a cat one” you wink playfully at him. 

After so many death experiences and the inner wish of being dead, he’s glad that he found the absolution that he always wanted. He looks at you with amusement, part of him finds it hard to believe that he’s so lucky to have you, but the other part is glad that you are real and you love him for who he really is. You took every damaged part of him and loved with such intensity that it was enough to bring him back from that dark place he was at. He forgave himself, allowed his soul to heal and to be loved. Life had gifted him with the second chance to live, made him see the beautiful things again. You took him in when he was on the lower part of his life, and your love brought him back. He knows he’s getting older, but he doesn’t mind spending his days with you, because you are the only thing in his life that makes sense.

And he’s fine with that. 

[the-unidentified-author]

Use Your Words | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark x Female Wife Reader

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, established relationship, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, one orgasm after another, Cregan on his knees, a little bit of roughness, mention of Alcohol, frustrated reader, Biting? ...

Summary: You're the wife of Cregan Stark and he helps ease a little frustration you're feeling.

A/N: Thank you to that RAT BASTARD (in a loving caring way) on here who wrote about Cregan tying up his hair before he eats out his wife, I have been able to think of literally nothing else. This Fic is entirely inspired by your lil post. Now I can’t remember your user name but I demand you reveal yourself (jk only if you want to girly pop)!

Word Count: 3,336

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

You let out a deep sigh and threw your quill down, sinking back into the worn leather of your chair, feeling every creak it made under your movements. Your eyes, tired and strained, you rubbed them gently, trying to massage away the pain caused by the long hours spent squinting at parchment. The candle next to you flickered with a final dance, its wax dribbling into a small puddle, threatening to extinguish itself as the shadows began to creep in. You were far from done with the daunting task of addressing invitations to the seemingly endless names on Cregan's list. The night had already drawn in, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep, but there was still so much to do.

The room was dim, the fire in the hearth now a mere glow, its embers laboriously clinging to life, whispered memories of flames, silently begging for another log to reignite their fervour. The faint, jubilant cheers of men resonated through the stone corridors from Cregan's bustling feast; it was a symphony of boisterous laughter and clinking tankards, hints of celebration murmured among the echoes. They had finally conquered the hunt, returning triumphantly with deer, the spoils of their tireless adventures in the wilderness.

Cregan, always the visionary, had decreed a grand feast to herald the upcoming weekend, with promises—rumbling like the laughter from below—that it would be the day he returned home with the great winter stag, that had eluded him on the last three hunts. The very thought made you clench your teeth, a mix of envy and longing to be part of such adventures, yet tethered to this desk with duties that seemed to multiply by the minute. Still, you leaned forward, picking up the quill once more, determined to drown out the sounds of the celebrations and finish your task before you retired to bed.

The sound of footsteps echoed up the corridor towards you, their pace loud and hurried, a sharp contrast to the slow crackle of the dying fire. Heavy boots against stone, each step seemed to vibrate through the walls, accompanying the ghostly flicker of firelight. You placed your hands flat on the desk, feeling the rough grain beneath your fingers, and stood up with a sense of anticipation. You steeled yourself, ready to unleash your pent-up frustrations on whatever unfortunate soul dared interrupt you.

With a loud crash, the door swung open in one swift motion, slamming against the stone wall with a resounding thud that echoed through the chamber. It threatened to rebound and strike the intruder, but a strong-arm shot out, stopping its swing by placing his hand flat against the ancient wood. A large hand, calloused from years of swinging weapons and weathering the elements, steadied the ancient wood against the wall.

The figure that filled the doorway was unmistakably your husband, Cregan Stark. His presence seemed to command the room, as if even the shadows bowed to his entrance. The dying light of the fire danced across his broad shoulders and rugged features, highlighting the strength and vigour that made him a leader among men—a hunter triumphant. His eyes, bright with the thrill of victory, found yours, sparking a familiar blend of emotions that simmered beneath your practiced composure.

"Wife!" he bellowed, a great smile spreading across his face as he laid eyes on you. "I have found you at last." He seemed a little drunk, something else that irritated you. Here you were slaving away, and he was doing nothing but partying and celebrating.

His presence was like a gust of wind forcing its way into your sanctuary, stirring the air with energy and purpose. Despite the warmth that spread through you at seeing him—a warmth that radiated from the heart, unwelcome at this time, yet familiar. You fought to keep a semblance of calm on your face, reminding yourself that he was the reason you had such a mountainous number of tasks to do.

"Cregan," you replied, rolling your eyes and slumping back down into the chair.

He strolled into the room with an effortless ease, a man at home in his surroundings, but noticeably absent from his usual assortment of garments. His cloak and sword, which typically adorned his broad back, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he wore only his boots, trousers, and a casual shirt. The strings that normally fastened the top were loose, offering a tantalising glimpse of his strong chest beneath. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular forearms crisscrossed with veins, you tried to stop yourself from staring.

In one hand, he carried a tankard of ale, droplets of condensation working their way down its sides. As he surveyed the room, his eyes landed on the dwindling fire. With natural grace, he stooped to pick up a piece of wood, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, he tossed the large log with ease onto the embers. The fire responded with a sizzle and a new burst of warmth, casting flickering shadows that played across his stupidly beautiful features. He turned to you, his face still twisted into a smile. Then he moved towards you, stepping around the desk and leaning backwards against it.

"How are you, wife?" He asked, taking a swig from his drink. "Why are you not enjoying the festivities below?"

You scowled at him, "Well, someone has to plan your feast." you argued, anger boiling up at of you. Not so much at him, but more so at the amount of work he seemingly didn’t realise he had given you.

"Ah that can wait, you should come with me." he reasoned, his hand moving to your shoulder and trailing, carefully down your arm until he held your hand in his.

"No it can’t, if you want the Lords to arrive on time, then I need to send the letters by tomorrow at the latest.” you snapped, pulling your hand from his.

His eyebrows creased into a frown as he looked down at you.

"Come on now, I will help you with them in the morning," he reasoned, placing his tankard on the desk next to him and standing.

You moved to resist his advances, turning your head as he leaned in to kiss you. You tried to create some distance between the two of you by standing and moving away from him, but a firm hand reached out, pulling you back towards him with an unyielding grip. Your back was pressed against his strong chest, the heat of his body permeating through the layers of fabric that separated your skin from his.

As Cregan's arms circled you, enveloping you in a warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel his strength and the weight of his muscular frame. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching softly against your sensitive skin. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tried to resist the way it made you feel, a mix of unwanted arousal and lingering resentment.

You wouldn't admit it, even to yourself, but feeling him against you did water down the rage you were feeling towards him. Yet, you were adamant that he wouldn't get off with stressing you out so completely so easily. Even as his arms tightened around you, his grip firm and unrelenting, you could feel the tension in his body, the subtle shifts in his stance that betrayed his need. He wanted you, there was no denying that, and you were adamant he would have to work for it.

"You're not going to get out of this, that easily," you spat out, the anger bubbling up within you, threatening to spill over like a pot boiling over on the fire. "You dumped this grand idea of a feast on me out of nowhere and then ran out the door on a hunt with your friends, leaving me to flesh out all the details and make this into something that people will actually enjoy."

The stress of the day and the long hours you had put into planning all rushed out, a torrent of words that were fuelled by frustration and resentment. You could feel the tension in your body, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

The room seemed to grow smaller around you, the air thick with the weight of your unspoken grievances. Your eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and defiance, challenging him to deny leaving you to do everything while he enjoyed himself.

Despite your anger, there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of longing for him, for the closeness and intimacy that his presence always seemed to bring into your life. But at the same time, you were determined not to let him off the hook so easily.

"I'm sorry." he said, his big storm grey eyes seeming sincere with a hint of something else in them.

He stepped closer and this time you didn’t stop him, as he gently cupped your face in his hands. His lips met yours in a tender kiss, soft and reassuring, like a whisper of promises yet to be fulfilled. You let out a small sigh, the sound a mixture of surrender and relief, as if the weight of your burdens was momentarily lifted. He pulled away, and the moment seemed to linger, as he looked down at you.

"I accept your apology." you whispered, all the hostility you had been feeling moments ago ebbing away.

"Oh wife," he smiled, a devilish glint finding its way into his eyes. "I haven't finished apologising yet."

You frowned, a mixture of surprise and perhaps a hint of anticipation, as he stepped closer. His hands felt like warm, steadying anchors on your waist, grounding you.

And in one swift movement, he picked you up, effortlessly lifting you as if you weighed nothing whatsoever. Your heart skipped a beat as he settled you down onto the desk, the cool, smooth surface a stark contrast to the heat that was rapidly building between you.

He began to kiss at your jaw, his lips hungry and insistent as they moved down your neck. Each touch of his lips was like a bolt of lightning, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins.

His hands, too, were alive with a feverish intensity as they tugged at your clothing. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he stepped back, leaving you feeling slightly breathless and more than a little disoriented.

He smiled at you then pulled the leather tie from his wrists and brushed his hair back out of his face, pulling his shoulder-length hair back, tying it up out of his face. As he brushed his hair back out of his face, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of him. His shoulder-length hair, now tied up and out of his face, emphasised the rugged, masculine beauty of his features. It was a stark contrast to the more polished, refined elegance of the world outside this intimate cocoon.

And yet, even as he stood there, his hair pulled back and away from his face, there was a sense of wildness that still seemed to cling to him. It was as if, even in this moment of tender intimacy, he refused to be tamed or domesticated, choosing instead to remain forever untamed and free. Cregan Stark, The Wolf of The North.

You looked at him, your eyes reflecting the confusion that you were feeling in that moment. It was a look that seemed to intrigue and amuse him, a spark of mischief shining in his eyes as he took in your expression.

His lips met yours once more, this time in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, the sensation one of pure, unadulterated pleasure. As he pulled away, you couldn't help but feel the intensity that was fast becoming unbearable between the two of you.

His hands, which had been momentarily still, now returned to your dress. With fast movements, he pulled it up over your knees, revealing the smooth, expanse of your thighs beneath. He then bundled the fabric up at your waist, and then kissed you again, one hand keeping your dress up and the other moving to your hair to guide your head as he kissed you.

But then, even as you revealed in the sensation, you felt his hand dip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing along your inner thigh. The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins.

He was teasing you, you realised, playing a game of tantalising anticipation. Each touch of his fingers was like a promise, a hint of the pleasures that were yet to come. Then he pulled away from you, and his hand moved to your chest, to guide you back. You leant backwards, steadying yourself against the desk with your arms. Then slowly he dropped to his knees, pushing your skirts out of the way. You felt a soft kiss on the inside of your knee, and then another a little further along. Then his teeth nipped slightly at the supple skin of your inner thigh, and you moved your legs to press them together at the sensation, but his strong arms kept your legs firmly apart as he kissed closer and closer.

"Cregan, please, enough of this." you whispered, still trying to cling to the anger that had almost dissipated entirely.

"Please what?" he asked as the kisses moved closer to your pussy, his hot breath also seeming intent on teasing you.

"Stop." you whispered, still trying to argue with him. The word sounded pathetic and as if to emphasise just how pathetic your plea sounded, he licked your cunt. One sweeping movement from the entrance of your pussy right to the clit, drawing a moan from your lips.

Then he pulled away, you looked down at him, angry again, but this time that he had actually stopped.

"Cregan," you whined again, tilting your head back, not happy with how much teasing you seemed to please him. And irritated that he had actually stopped.

"Come on now wife, use your words." he whispered, placing a kiss on your inner knee but not moving to continue.

"Cregan just fucking eat me." you pleased, the words coming out quickly, tinged with anger.

He grinned, he seemed to take great pleasure in the knowledge that he had won you over, that despite your initial resistance, he had managed to break through your anger in the best way he knew how.

And then, as if to seal the deal, he delved back under your skirts.

One quick lick, and then he flattened his tongue as it started to move in a way that made it obvious he was apologetic. Each movement of his tongue seemed only to have one goal, and that was to bring you to release as fast as he could. Cregan was not the sort of man that lost. You clenched your teeth and tried to hold out, trying not to let him have this win so easily. But he was your husband, and he knew your body better than he knew his own. You balled your fists on the table trying to pull yourself back from the edge, but he sent you falling over it. You came hard, screaming his name as you tilted your head back.

He didn’t give you a moment to recollect yourself, instead he moved his tongue over your clip, as one of his fingers gently pressed inside you, curling up towards your bellybutton.

"Cregan" you gasped, rolling your hips to the motion of his finger, your hands returning to the desk the paper at your side bunching up into your fist as you tried to get purchase on something to ground you.

He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, he removed his finger and replaced it with two that sent such a wave of pleasure coursing through you that for a moment, you could swear that you could see stars on the back of your eyelids. His fingers stroked up against something inside you made it feel as though every nerve ending in your body had been set on fire. Those two fingers in conjunction with his tongue fanning the flames, pushing you to the edge of another release again. You gripped the edge of the desk, your hips bucking involuntarily as you surrendered to the intense pleasure coursing through you. Even as your climax hit, the intensity of his mouth and fingers never wavered, continuing to guide you through this earth-shattering experience.

"Fuck," was the only word you could push through your lips as he still didn’t relent as he ate your pussy.

In fact, the word seemed to spur him on, as though hearing you spout profanities amused him. Perhaps it was the fact you were usually so reserved and well-spoken, that when he broke down those walls and exposed your inner animal, it turned him on more than anything else.

You were racing towards another peak again, and this time he seemed determined to push you there as fast as he could, as though he himself were becoming impatient. You knew that he got impossibly turned on when he went down on you, unable to go more than a few rounds before he had to feel himself inside you. This was the longest he had managed, and you wondered if he was torturing himself as much as he was attempting to torture you. You squeezed your eyes shut and screamed his name as he brought you to the edge for what felt like the hundredth time. You attempted to squeeze your shaking legs shut, Finally, he emerged from between your thighs, the scent of your arousal clinging to him like a trophy. He placed both his hands on the desk, leaning towards you. Immediately, you leaned forward, your hands moving instinctively to his broad, muscular chest. He kissed you deeply, his lips warm and inviting against yours. Then, he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, allowing you to hold him for a moment, your heart still racing from the intensity of your shared experience. As you both came down from your high, you took comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal.

Once your breathing steadied, and you felt ready to speak, you gently pulled away from him. It was then that the sharp scent of ale suddenly assaulted your nostrils, causing you to wrinkle your nose slightly in surprise.

"Gods, Cregan, I'm sorry I knocked over your drink." you said, righting the tankard, now empty.

He shrugged. "There are better things to drink back in our room," he whispered, his voice low and intimate, sending shivers down your spine.

He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him, his body a beacon of warmth and comfort. His scent, a mix of woodsmoke, leather, and the crisp scent of the outdoors, enveloped you, a familiar embrace that you couldn't resist.

"How about we return there and have a drink," he suggested with a smile, "before we continue our evening entertainment." His eyes twinkled with mischief, hinting at the pleasures that awaited you both. He leaned down, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Continue?" you asked, looking up at him with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The firelight danced across his features, lending an almost ethereal glow to his already handsome face. "I think you have more than apologised Cregan," you responded, a hint of amusement in your voice.

"Yes, I have apologised," he murmured, his voice rich and deep, "but now I need to thank you for working so tirelessly." He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a gesture that sent a new wave of desire coursing through your veins.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[dazedhyu]

Focus 𓂃 💧 ldh

:¨ ·.· ¨: paring ー ex!haechan x fem!reader (ft 7dream)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ warnings : angst, smut, slight noncon (he pressures her into consenting at first), light exhibitionism, fingering, oral (fem rec.), mentions of cheating, pet names (angel, princess, etc), lmk if i missed any ^_^

★彡 5.9k wc!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ authors note >< : my first post here :D!!! this is the second fic i actually decided to attempt to write.. so im so so so sorry if the pacing is off or the writing is weird LMFAO,, it took me way longer than id like to admit to finally finish this.. literally has been in my drafts since july of last year 😭 this was supposed to be inspired by focus by nct 127, unfortunately though i definitely went a little off track.. hopefully whoever reads this enjoys it as much as i do!! any and all feedback is welcome :3 psa.. though this was proof read like 89 times pls ignore any spelling errors im dyslexic ok

It’s been almost a year since you and Haechan broke up. You’ve spent every second since despising him. You hate the way he steals glances when he thinks you won’t notice. You hate the way his voice still lingers in the back of your mind when the room is too quiet,  and more than anything, you hate how much you still find yourself craving the warmth of his touch at times. 

You do your best to ignore him. You guys share the same friend group and hang out often. The last thing you’d want to do is make your shared friends feel tied up in your weird relationship drama. But it was hard when Haechan would joke around with them and slip in snide comments about you, glancing over at you with that stupid shit-eating grin plastered on his face, desperately trying to get a rise out of you. 

Though you’ve convinced yourself you’re over him, completely given up, you sometimes wonder if he ever stops hating you. If, for even a second, he lets himself remember what it was like before everything fell apart. If he ever regrets the way he cheated on you and left you confused, and broken.

As the long-awaited spring break weekend arrived, you and your six friends — plus Haechan — found yourselves at Chenle’s summer estate, a secluded getaway nestled between towering pines that you all tended to visit every vacation you got. The midday sun filtered through sheer white curtains, casting warm patterns across the wooden floors of your designated room. 

You wasted no time unpacking, barely bothering to fold your clothes as you stuffed them into the nearest dresser. The trip had only just started, and you already knew you wouldn’t be spending much time in this room, not when the sun was high, the water was cool, and the pool was calling your name.

Slipping into a simple black bikini, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your phone and headed for the door, the distant sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs. Voices overlapping, doors opening and closing. It was familiar, easy, the kind of noise that made the place feel lived in.

You exhaled, relaxation finally overriding your system. You were here to enjoy yourself, and nothing, not even the lingering tension of past mistakes, was going to change that.

In the kitchen, Mark and Renjun were hunched over the island, deep in some conversation you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on as they cut up fruit. Everyone else was out by the pool, laughing, sunbathing, and just having a good time overall. 

Everything felt easy, weightless, like nothing mattered beyond this weekend, beyond the warmth of the sun and the cool relief of the water.

Unfortunately for you, though, you saw him, and your mind immediately started to wander.

Haechan sat at the edge of the pool, legs submerged, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared out at the water. There was something detached about his gaze, like he wasn’t fully there. Like he was completely lost in thought about something else. 

You rolled your eyes and turned away before you could linger too long. You hadn’t spoken to him once since getting here, and you weren’t about to start now. It was bad enough you had to share this weekend — just like every other moment with your friends — with him. He wasn’t going to ruin this for you. Not like he always did. You refused to let him get under your skin whatsoever.

Without a word, you walked past the kitchen, past the open doors, and stepped onto the sun-warmed patio, quietly taking a seat on a secluded sun lounger. The laughter, the sunlight, the cool water, all of it should have been enough to soothe you. And for the time being, it was.

You weren’t going to let him be the thing you noticed most.

A few hours had passed, the sun just barely starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. You and your friends were deep in discussions. Yet, despite the carefree energy surrounding you, your attention kept flickering toward the empty space where Haechan should’ve been.

You hadn’t seen him for a while now — not that you cared, but you could definitely tell something was on his mind, slowly eating away at him. Usually, he would do everything in his power to irritate and annoy you, take every opportunity he had to glare so intensely you swore he was trying to burn holes into your skin, but today he was quiet. Too quiet. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that he’d probably just had a rough day and called it quits, going back to his room. Yet the longer you sat there, the more you found yourself unconsciously searching for him.

Shaking off the thought, you stretched your arms above your head, sighing as the stiffness from sitting too long settled into your shoulders. Deciding you needed a break, you made your way inside, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen. The faint hum of the fridge filled the quiet space as you reached for a glass, the cool sensation of condensation forming against your fingertips while you poured yourself a drink.

Just as the first sip of cold juice touched your lips, a sudden grip on your hips sent a sharp jolt up your spine. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the glass as a shiver coursed through your body. The grip was firm, possessive even, harshly pushing your back against their chest. 

For a split second, your mind raced. The silence behind you felt heavy, the presence lingering close. Immediately, you knew it was Haechan, the fear in your body being quickly overridden with irritation as you grabbed his wrists and forced his hands off your body.

“Don’t touch me, Donghyuck.” Your voice was a weird mix of soft yet stern, it only made his smirk grow wider. His hands immediately moved back to your hips, fingers digging in so harshly you were sure it would leave bruises. A small hiss slipped past your lips before he rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“Why not? I know you miss my touch, baby.” He whispered sweetly, his hands pressing you further against him. Your ass flush against the bulge in his swimsuit made you wince, the pressure of his fingers digging into your hips sent an intense pain through your body. You hesitated for a second, your breath catching in your throat, before you reluctantly set the cup down on the counter.

“No need to get all dumb and quiet, you're shaking so much… just let Hyuckie take care of you the way he always did. Yeah, angel?” He spoke again, his hands abandoning your hips to slide down to your thighs, gripping them tight as his lips pressed hot, hungry kisses down the back of your neck and shoulder. You shook your head, a small, desperate "no" slipping from your lips, barely more than a breath.

Too many emotions surged within you, too disoriented to make sense of them all. A mixture of irritation, confusion, and fear gnawed at the pit of your stomach. You could feel the heat of his body behind you, his every movement making your pulse race even faster.

Something inside you screamed to get away, but another part of you… made you hesitate, made your mind make excuses telling you to stop trying to squirm out of his grasp. Maybe it was the slight yearning you've had for his touch since you've broken up, but you couldn’t admit that to him. Let alone yourself. You hated everything about this interaction, it made you sick to your stomach and you wanted nothing more than to get away and forget all about it. Everything about this made you feel so vulnerable.

“No? Not something my pretty girl would say… You don’t have to lie, baby, I know deep down this is what you want. Isn’t it, yn?” He spoke smoothly, his voice low and almost commanding. 

You hated the way his words rang in your head, you especially hated the way your body reacted to his voice. Your legs subconsciously squeezing together before your breath caught sharply in your throat once more, feeling his hand slide from your thigh straight to the lining of your bikini bottoms. 

Gently yet urgently he tugged the cloth aside, the cool air brushing against your warm core making a small whine leave your mouth. He chuckled deeply ー his fingers wasting no time circling painfully slow motions to your swollen bud. 

"C'mon, angel, say it." He cooed softly into your ear, his chest somehow pressing even more into your back. His breath, warm and unrelenting against your skin, it made goosebumps rise across your arms and legs. You felt a chill despite the heat of his presence, your body instinctively tensing under his touch.

You knew, deep down, that no matter what you said, he wouldn't stop. That was how these situations always played out after all. But you also knew Haechan, you know the one thing he hates most is not getting what he wants, the thought of saying no and the lingering uncertainty of what he might do next made your stomach churn. 

Not knowing what else to do besides pray that one of your friends outside just a few feet away would walk in and end this before it went any further. You hesitated, your body trembling ever so slightly as you nodded, almost unwillingly.

“I… I want this,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. “Hyuck…”

He hummed softly, his warm breath fanned against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine as his lips trailed lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His pace was slow, deliberate as if he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you. His teeth grazed the delicate skin just below your jaw, a teasing bite followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. All simultaneously followed by his fingers moving faster against your poor clit.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound low and pleased as he tilted your head further to the side, exposing more of your neck to him. His hands, warm and pace steady. You did everything in your power to fight back the little whines and moans escaping your lips, you couldn’t stand how much you loved the way he touched you, you wanted to hate this, wanted that escape still but your body completely told him otherwise. Your legs slightly shaking and hands tightly gripping the counter in front of you. 

Your noises had him smirking against your skin, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pulled you closer like he couldn't stand the thought of any space between you. His hips now rolling against you in his own desperate but steady motions. 

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. His teeth grazed over the fresh mark he'd left on your skin, a silent claim, before he moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

His hand on your leg slid up your back, fingers tracing lazily over your spine before tangling into your hair. He gave it a soft tug, guiding your head back just enough for him to meet your gaze. His eyes were darker now, half-lidded as he studied you the way your lips parted, your chest rising and falling a little faster than before. 

"You're always so sensitive," he spoke, his voice dripping with amusement as he added more pressure. The pads of his fingers rough against your clit made you whimper louder than intended. "You need to be quiet, baby. Want all our friends to hear how good i make you feel?"

You weakly shook your head, your mind far too dazed to comprehend anything he was saying. The heat between your legs was unbearable, every nerve in your body still buzzing from his touch. But before you could even catch your breath, the sound of the patio door sliding open made your stomach drop.

Haechan didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, his hands were off your aching clit and immediately readjusting your swimsuit bottoms back into place, hands pulling away from you like he hadn't just been driving you insane seconds ago. His expression didn't falter, not even a flicker of guilt or hesitation crossing his features as he reached for your glass on the counter, bringing it to his lips as if this was just another casual moment.

Renjun barely had time to take in the scene as he stepped inside, his gaze flickering between the two of you. His eyes briefly landed on you— your messy hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself like you were trying to shrink into the background. Embarrassment weighed heavily in your posture, but Haechan? He was completely unbothered, standing there with the same nonchalant douchebag grin you were used to seeing him with. 

Renjun blinked, his confusion evident for a moment before he shrugged, deciding not to question it. Haechan, who was proud of himself for getting away with this, stepped away from you with an easy stretch, barely sparing you another glance as he made his way past Renjun. 

And just like that, he was gone, slipping back outside to join the others without so much as a second thought, leaving you standing there messy, breathless, and weirdly turned on.

For the rest of that night and the entire next day, you did everything in your power to avoid Haechan. The situation alone left you unsettled, a shiver running down your spine whenever you thought about it. You hated everything about it — the way it happened, the way it made you feel. But what you loathed most was yourself. How you let him take advantage of you like that. How fear had rooted you in place, keeping you from standing your ground.

Now, late into the night, the house was quiet. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, either fast asleep or winding down from another relaxing day. But you were restless. Lying in bed, replaying everything over and over, had become unbearable. Eventually, you’d had enough.

Slipping on a clean bikini, you made your way outside to the hot tub by the pool. The cool night air contrasted with the steam rising from the water, the moonlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering waves. The soft hum of crickets mixed with the bubbling water, a gentle, rhythmic sound that finally eased the tension gripping your body. As you sank into the warmth, the heat wrapped around you, melting away the stiffness in your muscles, a contented sigh leaving your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back as the soothing warmth of the water surrounded you. You didn’t notice the soft, subtle sound of the patio door sliding open or the quiet patter of footsteps approaching you. Your mind was too consumed by the quiet, the weight of everything else you had been trying to push aside.

But then, you felt the shift in the air as legs brushed against yours. Your head snapped up in surprise, only to meet Haechan’s gaze. A cold rush of panic ran through you, and your body tensed instantly. The chill spread down your spine as the faintest shiver of fear crawled up, uninvited. The instinct to run surged, but something about the way he was looking at you, something almost… apologetic, stopped you cold. You stayed rooted to your spot, too nervous to speak, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes locked with yours.

Haechan studied you, his gaze narrowing slightly as he noticed the stiff tension in your posture. It hit him, a soft pang of regret, that you might be afraid of him right now. The thought twisted in his chest. He shifted, eyes dropping to the bubbles swirling in the water, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. When he looked back at you, his voice was gentle, almost too soft, a stark contrast to the way he last spoke to you.

“Why are you so scared? You know me better than anyone… I would never do anything to hurt you.”

His words made your stomach churn, the sudden tenderness sending an unsettling ripple through you.

The way he said it, so calm, so careful, it made your skin crawl in the worst way. It was all wrong— this soft tone wasn’t the one you were used to. Either he was always cocky and annoyed when he talked to you, or you truly haven’t heard this tone from him since you guys dated. 

You could barely manage to hold his gaze as his words hung in the air, thick with something you couldn’t place, something that felt all too fragile. Your eyes shifted back to him, your lips twisted into a small, tight frown. “Your actions say otherwise, Haechan.”

Haechan’s eyes flickered with regret. Softly, he shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry, okay? I just… I lost control. I let my thoughts get the best of me. You didn’t deserve that.”

“What’s with the sudden change? How do you go from loving me to hating me to… doing what you did and now being sorry for it? It doesn’t make sense at all.”

The words hit Haechan harder than he expected. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair, frustration building. 

“I never hated you.”

“Felt like you did. And the feeling was strongly mutual.”

“No, come on, you know that’s not true.” Haechan’s voice was pleading, but it was strained with his own guilt. “You ended our relationship, your own free will, because in your words, you ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’

The fear in your demeanor quickly faded, immediately being replaced with irritation. You exhaled sharply, staring at the water for a moment to ground yourself. “You literally cheated on me,” you finally said, your voice trembling but still firm. “How do you expect me not to hate you?”

Haechan froze for a moment, his heart sinking. He knew he had done something unforgivable. He couldn’t deny that. But hearing it out loud, it was still a punch to the gut. “You cheated on me first,” he shot back, but the words felt hollow, even to him. “I just… I wanted you to feel the way I felt.”

Your expression twisted into disbelief. “What are you talking about? I never cheated on you?” You turned fully to face him now. “Even if that was true, how the fuck would two wrongs make a right?”

Haechan bit his lip, staring down at the water, avoiding your gaze. He had nothing to say to that. “I didn’t know better. I just did the first thing that came to mind. But I know the truth now, yn. You don’t need to lie about it.”

“Donghyuck,” you said softly, but it was almost like a warning. “You don’t know anything. Why would I cheat on you?”

The silence stretched for a moment, thick and heavy. Finally, Haechan looked up at you, his face softened with regret. “You tell me. I saw you unblock your ex on Instagram. His name was constantly popping up on your phone, and you were going out more often. Obviously, I assumed the worst.”

Your eyes narrowed at him once again, desperately trying to make sense of his words. “Okay… so you could’ve talked to me like a normal person?” You paused for a moment, sighing softly. 

“I unblocked him because we ran into each other at a café, and honestly, we had a nice conversation. He started texting me more because he wanted to apologize for the way he treated me and ask me how I was doing. I only started going out more because you were always hanging out with Mark, and I wanted to be with my own friends as well.”

Haechan swallowed hard, his hands now gripping the edge of the tub as if to anchor himself. “So you guys never met up again?”

“No,” you replied, your voice laced with annoyance and slight disbelief that he’d even ask. “God, fuck no. I didn’t even accept his apology. My replies to him were so dry, and I kept mentioning you so much that he gave up and stopped talking to me.”

Haechan’s face flushed with shame. His eyes softened as he let out a quiet, “oh… I’m so sorry, yn..”

You looked at him for a long moment, as if assessing him, as if trying to decide if you could still be mad. You shook your head softly, your frustration still there but it was slipping. Your shoulders sagged, as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you'd been holding. “Yeah, you should be. I can’t believe you didn't just talk to me in the first place.” Your words were more tired than angry now, but they still carried weight.

But despite it all, despite the anger and the hurt, there was a crack in your resolve. You missed him, he missed you too, and you knew that. The silence between the two of you grew heavy again as your gaze softened, just a little. 

He inched his way closer, the warmth of his palm grazing your skin as he cupped your cheek with delicate hesitation. His pleading searched yours, as if he was begging for your forgiveness.

“Yn, let me make it all up to you…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with something between regret and desperation.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to put distance between his touch and your resolve. “Hyuck, I don’t—”

“Please?” he interrupted, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone. There was no force in his touch, only quiet insistence, as if the weight of his remorse alone could change your mind.

You let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your resolve crumbling at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. With a slow nod, your fingers found their way to his shoulders, pulling him slightly closer to you. 

That was all the permission he needed.

Without hesitation, his lips crashed onto yours, desperate yet careful, as if he was scared you’d pull away. His hands trembled slightly as they found their place, one still cradling your cheek, the other gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel the way his fingers dug in, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting go.

The kiss was deep, laced with something far more potent than just lust. There was an unspoken desperation, a need to feel, to forget, to forgive. Quiet hums and breathless moans melted into each other's mouths, the heat between you building with every passing second. Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch, a quiet groan vibrating against your lips.

His grip on you tightened. His hands roamed, one splayed against the small of your back, the other trailing up your side before settling just beneath your ribs, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. He let out a shaky exhale before his tongue slid past your parted lips, deepening the kiss, making it messier, hungrier. His lips moved against yours with urgency, like he was afraid to let go.

The way his body pressed flush against yours sent a heat straight to your core, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist. He couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, his restraint slipping with every desperate press of your lips, every soft gasp that fell from you.

His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the hot tub. The cool air met your damp skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch, his mouth on yours, burned hotter than the water that lapped at your calves.

His lips never left yours, kissing you like he could pull you deeper into him, like if he kissed you hard enough, it would erase the distance that had once existed between you. His fingers kneaded into your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles against your skin. He swallowed your whimper, his own breath coming out unsteady as he pressed himself closer, needing more, needing you.

"Missed you so much, pretty girl... could never forgive myself for letting you go." His words were whispered against your lips, each syllable dripping with regret and longing. His voice was low, raspy, barely holding together the emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could respond, his lips left yours, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your jaw, moving slowly and deliberately, as if savoring the moment. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he nipped at the delicate flesh of your neck.

Instinctively, you tilted your head back, granting him more space to roam, your grip tightening in his hair as breathless pants and whimpers spilled from your lips.

His hands, firm yet reverent, traced down your sides as he continued his descent, mouth exploring every inch of you like he was trying to memorize the feeling all over again. Lips pressed against your shoulders, slow and sensual. His teeth grazed over your collarbone before he kissed his way lower, down the swell of your chest, your stomach, your thighs, taking his time, as if each kiss was an unspoken apology.

He missed this. He missed the way your body reacted under his touch, the way you shivered and tensed, the way your breath hitched with every kiss. His fingers caressed your skin with a delicate kind of desperation, like he was afraid you'd slip away again.

“God, you're so beautiful," he murmured against your thigh, voice drenched in need. His hands squeezed at your hips, holding you in place as he looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. He wanted to worship you, to love you in every way possible, to make you feel just how desperate he was for you, for your forgiveness.

You looked down at him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, lips parted softly as you tried to steady the emotions rushing through you. Your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I missed you just as much, Hyuck," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with longing. “I needed your touch more than anything."

A slow, satisfied smile curved at his lips before he leaned in, pressing delicate kisses up your thigh, inching closer, making sure you felt every lingering second of his touch.

"You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that," he murmured against your skin, lips grazing over sensitive flesh. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss straight to your clothed core. The gesture was both reverent and teasing, a silent promise laced in the way he held you, the way his fingers squeezed at your sides like he was grounding himself in your presence.

"Let me take care of you, baby," he whispered, voice deep and filled with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "I'll be gentle, the way you always liked."

His fingers traced slow, featherlight patterns along your thighs, his lips followed soon after, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses, leaving warmth in their wake. Every motion, every touch, was deliberate like he was savoring you, worshiping you, determined to make up for every second you'd been apart.

You shivered at his words, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your skin. The heat pooling in your core only grew as he pressed another kiss over the dampened fabric between your thighs, his nose grazing against you in a way that had you biting back a whimper.

"Hyuck," you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself still under his touch.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, anchoring you in place as his lips moved deliberately, teasing, testing your patience. "Shh, baby," he murmured, his voice sending shivers straight through you. "Just let me take my time with you."

Another slow, lingering kiss against the sensitive spot between your legs had your back arching slightly, a needy whine slipping past your lips. He chuckled lowly at your reaction, pressing his mouth to your inner thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. His tongue soothed over the spot immediately after, his free hand sliding up your stomach, fingers tracing over your ribs like he needed to feel every inch of you under his touch.

"So pretty," he murmured against your skin, "Missed touching you... missed tasting you."

Your breath hitched at his words, your body reacting to every bit of his attention. His touch was gentle yet possessive, his lips slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled beneath him. His hands roamed, memorizing every dip and curve, pressing soft, warm kisses along your hips before his fingers toyed with the waistband of your soaked underwear.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his lips ghosting just above where you needed him most. His voice was soft, pleading, as if he needed to hear you say it, to know you wanted this just as badly as he did.

You looked down at him, eyes hazy with need, your fingers tightening in his hair as you gave the smallest nod. "I do, Hyuck," you whispered breathlessly. "I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "That's all I needed to hear, baby."

And with that, he wasted no time sliding off your bikini bottoms, tossing them aside carelessly before spreading your thighs apart, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. Without a second thought, he dipped his face into your heat, his lips brushing the sensitive skin with an intensity that made you gasp.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as his breath fanned over you, a soft shiver running through your body. His fingers sunk into your thighs, keeping you steady as he kissed you slowly, teasingly, taking his time to savor every inch of you. You couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips as his tongue finally made contact with your aching clit, warm and relentless, moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had you bucking against him instinctively.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, "You taste so fucking good," he murmured against you, his voice husky and laced with need. 

He was quick to pick up his pace, lapping at your pussy like his life depended on it. The way his mouth moved against you made you forget everything time, space, the world around you. All that mattered was the heat that coiled inside you, building with every passing second as his hands tightened their grip.

You felt yourself unraveling, the pressure in your chest mounting, the tension in your core winding tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold back any longer. The way he drove you to the edge without hesitation, without mercy, was maddening. You gripped his hair, tugging him closer, your body unable to stop itself from reacting to him.

"Hyuck.." you gasped, your voice breathless, barely a whisper as you dug your fingers into his scalp.

"Please..."

He smirked against you, the feeling of his lips curving into a grin sending another surge of heat through your body. "Please what, baby?" he teased, his voice low.

"I need you," you whimpered, barely able to keep your composure. "so bad.."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, lifting his head just enough to lick his lips with a sly grin. "Be patient, angel," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you do that for me?"

You whined softly, the sound barely escaping your throat, before nodding eagerly, your body desperate for him, hips arched forward instinctively, silently begging him to continue.

He smirked, the dark gleam in his eyes full of satisfaction as he saw the way you squirmed under his gaze. "Good girl," he praised, his voice smooth like honey, almost cruel in how calm it was. "Just sit there, keep making those pretty little noises for me."

And with that, he dove back in, his mouth moving against you with newfound urgency, his tongue working you over with perfect precision. The wet sounds of his lips against your cunt mixed with the breathless moans spilling from your mouth, the pleasure so overwhelming it left your head spinning.

Your hands gripped at his hair, tugging sharply as your hips rocked forward, meeting his movements in a desperate attempt to chase the high only he could give you. He groaned at the sensation, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure shooting through your body.

Then, without warning, you felt his fingers tracing along your folds, teasing you with slow, torturous strokes.

"So wet for me," he mumbled, his breath hot against your slick skin. "You want more princess?"

You nodded frantically, your grip tightening on him.

"Please, Hyuck," you whined, your voice trembling.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest before he finally slipped two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. Your walls clenched around him immediately, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as he curled his finger just right, pressing against that perfect spot that had you seeing stars.

"There you go," he cooed, watching your body react to him. "Always take me so well, pretty girl."

His lips quickly made their way back to your clit, tongue flicking gently as he wrapped his lips around it, sucking you with a newfound passion. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of his mouth and fingers sending a hot, electric pulse through your veins. Your legs trembled, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pressure in your core built higher and higher, coiling so tightly you thought you might snap at any second.

"Hyuck-" you choked out, your thighs tightening around his head.

He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as his fingers quickened their pace, fucking into you with more intensity, more purpose. He could feel you getting closer, your body tensing, your moans turning into desperate, broken cries.

"That's it, pretty," he murmured against your heat, his voice rough with desire. "cum for me, baby."

And with one last flick of his tongue and a perfectly timed curl of his fingers, you shattered. The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as your release hit you with blinding force. Your back arched off the edge, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he worked you through it, not stopping until your body was shaking from the overstimulation. 

Only then did he finally pull away, his fingers slipping out of you slowly, as he pressed one last kiss against your sore soaked pussy. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, a cocky smirk playing on his face.

"That's my girl," he murmured, bringing his fingers up to his lips and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. 

"I’ll never get enough of how good you taste."

love letter from mae 💌 augegsgshsj 😵‍💫,, i wanted to add more to the end but i physically cannot bring myself to.. maybe one day a pt2 will be in the works if people actually enjoy this! lmk lmk lmk!

ty for reading!! ♥︎♪ヽ(*´∀｀)ﾉ

[submattenthusiast]

corruption loser!virgin!matt

you've gotten head from plenty of other dudes before, with only fans being your side hustle and all. you weren't completely broke, but not at the best place financially so why not? the money was good, and your partners were fine, it was a win/win. not much else to say about it honestly, they gave you head, made you cum eventually and then video was done and posted. the money came rolling in. simple. until now, until you met the boy your fellow industry friend introduced to you, matt. you learned that only fans wasn't his website of choice, he preferred to use twitter for more anonymity. his page was filled with the dirtiest audios, pictures and videos you could think of. the only thing he didn't post was his face. leaving it up to his viewers imaginations.

for once in your life you were nervous to film with someone, it was something about matt that was different. in a good way though. you still didn't know what he looked like, and you were letting him in your house and filming porn with him. you weren't a virgin but it felt like your first time all over again. the soft knocking took you away from your thoughts, three taps against the door. it was the code you and him made up over the phone while planning to film. you took a deep breath before opening the wide door, you opened your mouth to greet the boy but the words failed to form properly. he was gorgeous, the brunette hair that covered his forehead, the black frames that covered his baby blue eyes, the slight stubble adorning his lower face, the prominent nose that fit his face perfectly and his breathtaking smile, the pearly whites and perfectly straight teeth. with a simple and easy to take off outfit to top it all off. "hi i'm matt" he smiled shyly.

picking your jaw up off the floor you nodded and welcomed him in, returning his kind smile eventually. he followed behind you quietly, you pointed him towards your filming couch ushering him to sit and get comfortable "make yourself at home matt, i'll get the camera and stuff" you began to turn towards your bedroom before getting stopped. "wa-wait" matt cleared his throat. spinning your body around, you raise a brow at the sudden interruption. nerves eating you up inside as you saunter over toward the awkwardly sat boy. "something wrong?"

usually pale cheeks dusting a light pink as he looked down at his interesting nails. he whispered "i-i'm a virgin..i haven't done anything sexual but the stuff on my page, i'm sorry um i don't know why i didn't tell you but i was hoping we could work something out.. maybe i don't know" he ramble-confessed. you fought to keep your emotions in check while he spewed out his secrets, trying to keep your jaw shut as he told you he was a virgin. the dirty image he paints of himself on the internet was a story, he was just insanely good at pretending. you should be upset a little, right? you were here to film some type of porn and your partner had no experience with women at all. you felt the complete opposite, it made your stomach flip actually.

"are you mad.. i''m sorry i can leave and we don't have to-". "NO... no no don't leave" you interrupted. quite obnoxiously but, you couldn't let him leave; couldn't let him stay innocent. you wanted to slowly but surely ruin him, if he lets you. looking up at you through the clear lenses, matt smiles slightly. placing a hand on his shaking thigh you comfort the clearly nervous boy. "it's alright okay, nothing to be ashamed of i still want to film with you and i don't want you to leave" you reassure him, giving soft pats to his thigh. with a hesitant nod matt agrees, but not without once last question. "so um what are we gonna film?"

fiddling nervously with your waistband of your lace panties, you told the innocent looking boy your idea. "i want you to eat me out" you purr, biting down innocently on your plump lip. his eyes met yours with concern, slightly raising his eyebrow. he looked unsure of himself and his ability to fulfill your needs. "oh..um i've only seen it in videos i haven't really tried it before.." he stuttered. you coo at his honesty. it was so cute. "do you want to do something else then?" you ask, praying he would say no. he shook his head instantly, "no no i want to, please, i want to learn a-and be like the other guys you film with"

you were ready to film now. the camera focused, lighting right, angle perfect. matt sat patiently as you prepared everything. "do you want your face in the video?" you questioned, respectfully. "yes... but i want the glasses to stay on if that's alright with you..?" he responded, playing with his fingers. you chuckled at his bold but shy attitude about the situation. "it's gonna be a bit hard to give head with them but we'll make it work"

you slid the remaining fabric down your thighs, giving matt a strip tease out of frame. he blushed at your actions, and tried to be a gentleman and look away but his eyes betrayed him. you smirked and set the timer on the camera to thirty seconds. you laid on the couch on full display, your pretty pussy on display for the camera and matt. he watched in awe as you revealed yourself to him, spreading your legs wide enough for him to squeeze in. he scrambled off the end of the seat to get on his knees for you. he nervously gripped the surface under him as he leaned in closer. you watched his face for any sign of displeasure. sensing none, you smiled. enclosing him in your legs. "can i grab your hair?" you asked just before the timer ran out. still fascinated by your wet folds he nods, "you can do whatever you want to me"

after messing around with his soft hair, you found his sweet spot, and held a nice grip on the locs. with that grip you guided his face closer to your pussy, knowing he needs that push. "show me what you see in the videos hm, but start slow". matt opened his mouth for you, letting his tongue glide over his bottom lip before kitten licking your clit. surprisingly, it usually took a couple tries for men to find it. your grip tightened a little at the sudden coldness. matt looked up at you in confusion, thinking he had done something wrong. "did that hurt?" he wondered out loud.

you sat up and rested on your elbows at the sudden concern coming from him. essentially loosening your hold. "no no, it felt good that's why i pulled, okay? i might do that a lot" his eyes lit up and he smiled at the praise. "really?". "really matt" you smile. "let's get back to it". he agreed and changed his position a little, wrapping a hand around your thigh and resting his other on your bare stomach. just like the videos, you assumed. speaking of videos, you'd have to edit this out of yours.

matt's eyes never left yours as he resumed his actions, but with a new pace. not super fast, but flicking his tongue with a brisk speed. kitten licks abandoned. still focused on your needy bean. a new confidence was gained from your previous praise. a repeated moan of his name fell from your lips with ease. nothing forced, not for the camera, but his tongue was talented, you tugged at his hair with force as he worked on your clit. shamelessly he let out a whine of pleasure, eyes fluttering in pure enjoyment.

the black frames dug into your inner thighs bruisingly as you unconsciously pulled him deeper into you. "now use your fingers to spread my folds, kay?, can't only stay on m' clit" you instruct breathlessly. matt nodded and focused his tongue on your dripping folds. slender fingers giving him full access to all of you. flattening his tongue, he started at your clit and moved down to your hole, giving you a long and slow lick. your taste spreading all over his mouth and tongue. "like that..?" he mumbled, pausing momentarily. you nod immediately, "yes just like that, do that again" you groan.

repeating his previous actions, like you said, he licked every inch of your now sopping pussy. you throw your head back in bliss as he continued to eat you out. you weren't the only one feeling bliss as the couch shook slightly under you as he began to rut his hips against it. your pussy swallowed his moans and whines as they fell from his coated lips. once more itch needed to be scratched for you to even get close to an orgasm. you needed to feel something inside your walls. fingering would be to complex for the already hesitant boy, and his tongue was already there. you pulled his hair to angle him to be looking at you, keeping the eye contact you had matt obediently looked up. "i need a little more, you're gonna use your tongue inside me okay?" you coo, moving the hair from his forehead. "yes please, i need to taste more of you" he pleaded, eager to taste you again.

he glides his tongue around the hole, teasing you unintentionally, nerves getting the best of him. "just go slow, you'll get the hang of it," you reassure. getting over himself, matt began to wiggle his tongue inside your warm walls. the muscle stretched you open with little struggle, the saliva and arousal helping him slide in. "good boy, now start moving in and out" you praise. following your instructions he pulled out almost fully before plunging his tongue back into your warmth. "does it feel good... am i doing it right?" he asked, unsure of your feelings due to your silence. "so good, keep going until i say so alright?"

matt was listening so well, all he wanted to do was please you, and hopefully make you cum. he was still mindlessly fucking you with his tongue and sneakily grinding his boner against the couch. his eyes shut as he got the hang of giving head. "i'm getting close.. ne-need you to play with my clit—" you whine, his mouth was so talented. "with my mouth or fingers" he said, catching his breath. "your mouth— use everything i taught you to make me cum", "yes yes ma'am i'm gonna make you cum" he repeated, adjusting his crooked glasses.

glasses began to fog up from the passion he had for your pussy. he dove right back in once you gave him the signal. your hands never let up on his messy hair. loud slurps echoed with your moans throughout the room. the camera long forgotten about by now, you weren't even thinking about the money this would make you, the bills it would pay, the things you could buy like you usually did. all that filled your mind was the boy between your thighs. your thighs clenched and your stomach tingled as his tongue swirled around your clit, feeling your orgasm running at you.

"you're doing so fucking good, make me cum, i know you can" you groan, back arching perfectly. he whined at the praise, but nodded, eager to hear the high pitched moans that came out of you when you got to that high point. with a few kitten licks and one strong lick you were falling apart all over his face. without warning. the feeling in your stomach reached it's peak. your legs spasmed, hands fell from his tangled locs, jaw went slack from the continuous moans, head shot back as he brought you to a mind-blowing orgasm. your slick cum coated his tongue and lower face. matt lapped up every inch, his mouth never left you. slurping and sucking up every drop of cum that came out of you. milking you dry.

"matt fuck stop" you wince. upon hearing the words top leave your lips he froze, thinking he hurt you or something. his hips stopped thrusting, and he let you go completely. pushing his glasses up on his forehead he gave you puppy eyes. "i-i'm sorry you just tasted so good did i hurt you" he frowned. you pouted at his frantic apologies and concern, he was so perfect and sweet. you weakly smiled, "just sensitive". "oh okay um..did i do good?" he asked, cuddling up with your thigh.

"better than good, you sure it was your first?"

a/n - i left this on a cliffhanger for a reason! don't tell anyone.

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Extra cream and sugar.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 5295 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream… Tags: Frankie's POV, brief description of reader and what she wear but no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described (she's you, baby ♥︎) , reader has her own business, pining, yearning, slow burn, Frankie is eager for you, masturbation, obviously mention of coffee and sweets, a side of Christmas (just a glimpse), soft!Frankie, kinda rom-com vibes but we go smutty 😏, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), cream pie, nipples play (At this point you know me so you expect it, right?), reader rides him cowgirl style (yeehaw!), teasing, Frankie wants you to tell him exactly what you want from him, pussy pronouns, Frankie is smitten with you bb, no age gap, mention of alcohol, derogatory pussy eating (because it's Frankie, you know), oral (m! receiving), masturbation, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, some more filth I probably don't remember. Please, excuse me, I'm posting this almost 2 am as the usual mess that I am LOL. If I forgot something I will add it asap. I wrote a temperature in Celsius degrees somewhere in this fic, I don't know anything about Fahrenheit, sorry, I'm Italian. A/N: This fic is my Christmas gift to all of you who support me and have loved my Frankie so much in the past, I really didn't think so many people would like him 🥹 And it's especially dedicated to @baronessvonglitter who gave me this prompt around November, I promised her I would do something with it and this is the result 🤭 No beta, no proofread, no nothing, we're going down with this ship, please have mercy. I really hope you like it and I wish you happy holidays, love you all ❤️

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks. You would arrive every morning at 10:30 and ask for tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. 

He thought you looked lovely, with your sexy dresses, a dainty necklace around your neck, little makeup except for a red lipstick on your gorgeous lips. 

You were the highlight of the day. He had decided to open a café after retiring from the army because there was nothing he wanted more than to live a quiet life. He had seen enough pain and destruction for two whole lifetimes, all he wanted to take care of now were coffee blends, foamed milk, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. 

He loved arriving in the morning and quietly opening his place, arranging the pastries in the display cases, turning on the coffee machine, setting up the tables, and getting everything ready while waiting for the city to wake up and the customers to start arriving. You were his favorite since you first appeared before him almost 3 weeks ago, but who was counting?

You were pretty in the truest sense of the word according to him, radiant, elegant without striving, charming and nice.

He had started waiting until 10:30 just to see you, with butterflies in his stomach in anticipation and his heart pounding in his chest as soon as you walked in the door.

The first time you had spoken to him he had been enchanted by your eyes; he could have sworn they were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had not heard a single word you had said and had made you repeat the order, apologizing. 

You had laughed, and your sweet laughter had resounded in his ears like music. It had never happened to him, not even once, but at that moment it was as if everything else in the world had stopped and only you existed. 

“One tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please,” you had patiently repeated.

You looked so pure that it seemed almost immoral to him the way his jeans had suddenly become tight. 

He had shaken himself, trying to come to his senses, hurriedly headed for the coffee machine. He had prepared your cup to go and set it on the counter in front of you "cocoa? sprinkles?" he had stammered, awkward and nervous. Heck, he'd spent years in the military, he could fly a damn helicopter, his business was going strong, but in front of you he felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Uhm..sprinkles, thank you," you had smiled.

He had sprinkled colored heart-shaped sprinkles on the cream -- so pathetic, he had to admit, but they seemed to suit you --, closed it with the clear plastic lid and handed it to you, all with fear of spilling something and making a mess. 

"It looks so yummy, thank you" you chirped handing money to him.

“Thanks to you, um, come again,” Frankie had stammered, running his sweaty palms over his apron. 

He had watched you leave, your ass swaying deliciously wrapped in your skirt, and a whiff of your perfume had reached his nostrils, filling them with a heavenly flowery scent. 

It had taken him a few seconds too long to pay attention to the next customer, a rather impatient middle-aged man who had ruined the magic you had brought into his café.

He had hoped you would come back all evening, and the next morning he woke up even earlier than usual, showered, stood several minutes in front of his closet thinking about which of his shirts you might like best, even wasted time adjusting his beard. He had even contemplated not wearing the cap he always wore with fear that you might find it silly, but in the end habit won out. Besides, he had thought, I might as well show her who I really am. That is, assuming she comes back. And if she doesn't come back? He had felt so disappointed at the idea. Maybe you hadn't even liked his coffee in the end. Once at the café, he had kept himself as busy as possible so as not to drown in false hopes, but he had found himself staring at the clock more often than he would have liked to admit. 

At precisely 10:30 a.m. you had entered. You were even more beautiful than the day before, wrapped in a little flowery dress, your beautiful legs exposed, your sweet scent in the air.

He knew absolutely nothing about you, had barely spoken to you and yet his palms were sweating again, his throat was as dry as a desert, he nervously switched his weight from one leg to the other, standing behind the counter as he watched you approach.

“Good morning,” you had said, with a sweet smile spreading across your face.

“Uh...good morning,” he had stammered, ”what would you like this morning?” 

“Tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please.” 

Your melodious voice had again gone straight to the crotch of his pants. 

“Same as yesterday” he had said ”coming right up.” 

“Oh, you remember!” you sounded surprised. How could he have forgotten the most beautiful creature who had ever set foot in his café?

“Um, yeah, it's my job after all” he had clutched his shoulders. He didn't remember orders from customers who had been coming to him for months, he had memorized yours instantly. He didn't need to let you know anyway. 

“That's so cute,” you had observed while continuing to give him that amazing smile.

He had turned to make your coffee feeling your eyes behind his back, he was so nervous that he almost burned himself pouring the coffee into the cup. 

He had managed to avoid it by a whisker; he would have hated to look clueless in front of you. 

“There you go,” he had smiled nervously at you, ”be careful, it's very hot.”

“I will, thank you” you had answered him softly. 

You had paid him and headed for the exit, turning to look at him before pushing open the door “Have a good day” 

“Oh, thank you, you too” he had replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.

That evening he had surrendered to his lowest instincts and as soon as he had jumped into the shower after a long day's work, he had allowed himself to close his eyes and think about you. 

He had tightened his hand around his cock and thought about your scent, your smile, how your dress deliciously enveloped your tits, showing off your cleavage.

He had imagined kissing you and feeling the softness of your lips, lowering a hand between your legs and discovering that you were not wearing panties, running his fingers over your wet folds and then bending over in front of you and making you come with his tongue. 

He had lingered in these fantasies as he pumped his cock faster and faster, stroking the tip, imagining that it was your delicate hand doing it, your red-enameled nails wrapped around its length. 

He had come in his hand, soiling the shower wall, uncontrolled, totally enraptured by the wonderful vision of you in his head.

____________________________________

He had continued to play it cool for three weeks, but by now every time you came in his head was just thinking “say something more than ‘good morning’ and ‘be careful not to burn yourself’ and ‘have a nice day,’ you idiot.” Ask her something, find out if she's involved with someone.”

So one morning he finally had attempted “Do you work near here?” he had asked, handing you your usual coffee. 

You had hesitated a moment before answering, “Actually, yes, just a stone's throw away. You know that jewelry store that opened three weeks ago? That's mine.” 

“Oh, great,” he had said, straining not to smile like a sucker. 

“Yeah, I'm a jewelry designer, I finally got to open a store with my own brand, I'm very excited.” your eyes twinkled with pride and Frankie had thought you were so incredibly beautiful that he wanted to kiss you there and then. 

You had held out your hand to him and said your name, and he had shaken it with his heart in his throat. 

“Nice, and nice name by the way” he had replied instead, ‘did you make that one?’ pointing to your necklace. It had a small star-shaped pendant. 

“Yes, do you like it?” you had asked, brushing it with your fingers. 

“I like it very much, it looks good on you.” 

“Thank you,” you had replied, smiling, ”well, if you have to give any gifts to your girlfriend or wife, come by and see me.” 

“Uh, actually, I'm not married or even engaged.”  He babbled, looking at you embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, I see.” and then in a lower voice and winking at him you had added, ”Can't say I'm sorry.” 

Holy fuck, you were flirting. 

His cock had twitched at your wink; he couldn't believe that all this time you had been reciprocating his silent interest. 

“I have to go back to work, now. Have a nice day, Frankie,” you said, smiling and heading for the exit. 

He was dumbfounded a few seconds wondering how you knew his name, since in the heat of the moment he hadn't even told you. Then he had looked down at his shirt, where his name tag was pinned.

“I like your cap, by the way,” you had said before you left.

“Oh. Thank you. I like your dress," he had replied a little too loudly, so much so that people at the tables had turned around cackling.

You looked at him one last time with a smug expression before disappearing down the street.

____________________________________

Christmas was coming, as much as it may have felt like Christmas in Florida with 26 degrees during the day. Frankie had decorated the café with small silver decorations at the windows, a small Christmas tree near the counter filled with lights that were also silver. 

While decorating however, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He had done everything early in the morning, before opening, wondering what you were doing, if you had just woken up and were stretching in bed with your hair tousled and your eyes still clouded by sleep. He wondered what you were wearing to sleep, wondering if you were a babydoll type or more of a T-shirt and shorts type. 

Or maybe you were sleeping naked. He daydreamed of your florid body wrapped in your sheets, the soft curve of your ass, your breasts, your nipples brushing against the cotton fabric.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing that he had dropped one of the balls he was putting on the tree, which had ruinously fallen to the ground, splitting into a thousand pieces on the floor.

He rolled his eyes as he went to the closet to get a broom and dustpan.

Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and get moving on asking you out. 

He was terrified that you would say no but he had to do it before someone else tried. Someone like you wouldn't be alone for long.

You had entered the venue at the usual time, admiring the decorations. Frankie felt a small surge of pride in the middle of his chest as you approached the counter. “Oh wow, this is so festive, I love it.”

He knew he had just smiled like a dork but he didn't care. 

In your brief little chats you had mentioned that you were not originally from Florida so he took the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to visit your family for Christmas?”

You had smiled, squinting slightly, with that look that was now familiar from when you noticed his true intentions. You had given it to him with every attempt he made to flirt with you.

“Um no, actually Christmas is the best time to work for me. So I'm going to stay here.”

He had felt his heart do a little jolt in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to ask to take you to dinner.

He felt like he had never been so awkward in his life, but the truth was that he really liked you and made him nervous with your innate confidence and the sensuality you exuded. 

 “Well, if you'd like to go out sometime, I'd be happy to” he babbled.

“Gladly.” you had replied, looking at him -- he would have sworn -- mischievously.

“So...um...how about Saturday? Is 7 okay?”

“Perfect. You can pick me up at the store.” you had replied, fiddling with your pendant. 

“Okay, well...see you soon then.” 

You had leaned over the counter for a moment, signaling him with your finger to come closer, and when you had been close enough to his ear you whispered, “It's about time.”

You had left while your voice still rang in his ears like a siren song.

On Saturday night Frankie was so nervous that he had changed his clothes four times. Finally he had decided that a blue shirt and a pair of jeans would do. Maybe. 

You had said you liked his cap but he had decided it was not appropriate to wear it to take you to dinner, so he had left his hair wet and styled it back with a little gel.

He arrived at 7 parking in front of your store and entered looking for you. 

You weren’t there. He had looked around and the place was just like you, elegant but not overly so, bright and warm. 

There were small display cases filled with bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches even. 

All very fine, carefully crafted things, not that he understood much about jewelry but they looked well made and high quality to him. 

You had put little window decorations similar to his own, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at them.

Not only you were beautiful and funny, you were also talented and smart enough to run your own business,  a strong independent and brilliant woman with ambitions.

He felt a jolt down his spine feeling unworthy of you with his simpler and quieter life. 

You had appeared from the back after a short while "Oh there you are! Hello!” you had greeted him with a smile, approached him and kissed his cheek. He had brushed your arm as you leaned closer, feeling your soft skin under his fingers and his heart bouncing in his chest. 

"So what do you think?" you had said, gesturing to the place.

“I can't say I'm a connoisseur, but it looks like a beautiful store to me,” he had said. 

“Thank you. I really like your café, too.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to this” he brushed off. 

“I don’t think so, your coffee is so good and that cupcake I tried the other day? It was heavenly. I would say you did a great job with it” you insisted and he felt suddenly better.

"Well I actually… I don't bake them, I get them from a supplier.” He had admitted.

“You have good taste anyway.” You had shrugged, smiling.

The hold you had on him was ridiculous at that point, you could have said whatever to him and he would believe you without hesitation. 

“Let me get my purse and close the store and then we can go.”

___________________________________

Frankie had tried to behave like a real gentleman, had opened the door for you, complimented you on the dress you were wearing  -- continuing to ogle your thighs while you were sitting next to him -- , asked you things about yourself, your studies and your life while driving to the restaurant. 

The more you chatted the more comfortable he felt, you were witty, subtly flirty, exactly what he expected. 

Truth was that he would have jumped on you immediately but he was trying to control himself so you wouldn't think he was a creep. 

His cock however was of a different opinion, his jeans were starting to get really tight and he was afraid you would notice. You had a smirk on your face, something that made him think it was possible that you were desiring him as much as he was desiring you but he didn't want to risk making a wrong move.

“I'm sorry not to see your cap tonight” you had joked and then added ”your hair looks good though.”

“Thank you.” 

“And I like the shirt,” you had said, lingering with your gaze on his outstretched arm holding the steering wheel. 

He had decided to take you to one of his favorite restaurants, nothing too fancy because he wouldn't feel comfortable, the place was warm and familiar and put him at ease. 

He had asked for a table with settees, to have a chance to be closer and talk more easily. 

Maybe even reach out a hand to your beautiful thighs, if he had any luck.

You had ordered and he had chosen a wine, you had continued talking, and you had asked him several questions, very politely, without making him feel like you were interviewing him.

“So you were in the army...and you can fly a helicopter. Heck, I never would have guessed that. I like a competent man,” you had cooed, and he had felt his neck and face on fire. God, he wanted you so badly he felt like he might explode at any moment. 

“Yeah...apparently,” he had replied proudly.

“And how did you end up opening a cafe?”

He had become serious, feeling that he was about to open up about something very intimate “Well...I actually couldn't take that life anymore. It's very hard, you know. When I got discharged, I thought all I needed was to live a quiet life without slinging a rifle for hours and playing with danger 24/7.”

You had nodded, “sure, that's perfectly understandable. It must have been brutal.”

“It was. I decided to open a coffee shop because well... basically, I love coffee.”

You had burst out laughing, a full, lovely laugh that had made it difficult for him to keep his hands in place resting on the table.

“It makes perfect sense,” you had agreed immediately afterward.

You had kept talking until you had said, “So, Francisco Morales, I have a question for you.” your expression was enigmatic and he didn't understand where you were going with this. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He had chuckled, “Good question. And I really want to do that. I've wanted to do it from the first moment I saw you,” he had admitted.

“Then do it,” you had urged him. 

He had moved closer toward your lips, breathing in your perfume mixed with the scent of your skin; you smelled good, clean, like a sunny morning in spring.

Your lips were even better than he had imagined. Soft, delicious, inviting. You were incredible. 

Everything around was suddenly gone, there was only you and the way your lips encouraged him to continue, the way they had parted at the approach of his tongue, your intoxicating taste on his tongue. 

Your fingers lingered on his biceps, wandering over his shirt and down his forearm, while his hand wrapped around your face caressing your cheek.

He had pulled away from you a moment before putting on a show inside the restaurant, his hands tingling with the urge to touch your breasts, reach down between your legs, get rid off your dress and finally feel your body against his.

“God...maybe we should go,” you had whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I think so, too,” he had breathed.

He had stood up trying to keep at bay his erection pressing impatiently against his jeans.

He had paid the bill and escorted you out, despite your insistence to go halfsies. 

Once you reached the car he had not resisted and had kissed you again, pushing you against the door. “I want you so bad,” he had whispered against your skin. 

“Take me home,” you had replied, looking into his eyes in a way that drove him crazy. 

Once in the car, you had placed your hand on his leg squeezing it from time to time. At a stoplight, you had moved your hand to his hard-on, massaging it slowly. “God, you are naughtier than I thought.”

"Is that bad?" you had asked feigned innocence.

“Not at all, baby...if I'm being honest...fuck...” he had interrupted when you had squeezed harder on his cock ”Christ, I can't wait to rip that dress off you.”

“I’m glad to hear that” you had replied in a honeyed voice. 

_________________________________

The instant you had entered the door he had dragged you into the bedroom. 

He had pulled down the zipper of your dress, letting it fall at your feet, and pushed you onto the bed. 

“You're so beautiful.” he had whispered, almost more to himself, as if trying to convince himself that indeed everything he had imagined in previous weeks was coming out of the territory of his wanking material.

“You too,” you had replied sweetly, ”why don't you get rid of those clothes and come and get me?”

Frankie hadn't had it repeated, standing naked in front of you in an instant; he had never undressed so quickly even when he was in the army and had to observe a curfew. 

He had stretched out beside you, his cock semi hard, his hands roaming over the bare skin of your hips over your panties, reaching up to graze your lace bra, brushing against your exposed neck as you lay limply sprawled on his bed as beautiful as a goddess. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, baby,” he had whispered.

“What you want, I-” you had tried to answer but he had interrupted you.

“No, tell me, please. I would like to hear it. I would like you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.,” he had urged you “is that okay?”

“Yeah” you murmured 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I like it…so uhm…Undo my bra and play with my titties, first. Would you?” You cooed.

“Of course, honey” he replied

You got up to sit to ease it, and then you lay down again as he tossed the bra to one side.

Frankie's eyes were fixed on your exposed breasts, he reached out a hand surrounding one of them with his palm, marveling at the softness of your skin.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything more perfect” 

Your skin exuded an enveloping warmth that flowed through his body and merged with him. He moved a finger closer to your areola, circling your nipple very slowly and then pinching it suddenly, making you gasp.

“Too much?” 

“No…go on” you sobbed “please”

“How?” He pressed you gently, continuing to brush your nipple with his fingertip. 

“With your mouth…” you murmured.

He was full hard at that point, his cock grazing at your thigh while he lowered himself on your of your tit, sticking out his tongue and making you arch your spine as soon as he kitten licked your nipple. He smirked “mmm so sensitive, baby” before wrapping his lips around your bud and beginning to suck slowly, his beard pinching lightly against your skin.

His tongue brushed over you in short thrusts as he sucked greedily, his hand slowly descended over your torso, over your tummy, down to your mound and had stopped there, just above the hem of your panties. 

You groaned beneath him, melting at his touch, he could feel your body slowly becoming more pliant to him.

“Yes - oh my god - go on like that” you whined and he couldn’t help but smile on your skin. 

“What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, and to your discomposed groaning he had replied ”with your words, remember?”

He liked that you were slowly losing control, your barely half-closed eyes glazed with pleasure silently pleading with him.

“Touch…touch my pussy. Please”

He had moved his fingers down from your mound, slowly, over your folds, feeling your body tense deliciously. 

His index and middle fingers had slipped between them, bathing in your essence. 

"God, you're soaked," and you had panted. 

You looked like a dream to him, your hair disheveled on his sheets, your legs spread wide for him, your breath coming in short gasps, your little pendant that rose and fell on your chest as he worked in your cunt with his fingers, lingering on your opening, going up to your clit and barely touching it, leaving you eager and hungry, just as he wanted.

"mmm more, please" you had begged and a smirk had unfolded on his face "be more specific, baby" 

“I want ... fuck ... I want you to put them in me.” 

"Yeah? You want me to finger-fuck this pretty cunt?” He purred, while stroking your labia, gently circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes” you had sighed and he had easily entered you, slipping into your arousal. 

He had curled his fingers looking for your special spot as you squeezed them hard “Oh damn...right there...God Frankie...right there” you had whined as a swell of pride was spreading in his chest and his cock throbbed. 

You had the sweetest pussy he had ever been lucky enough to see, the obscene wet sounds coming out of her as he never stopped moving his fingers inside you was heaven.

You were magnificent, just magnificent, his cock was begging for mercy but he had no intention of rushing it. He wanted to fill his eyes with you, he wanted to see you sink beneath him, to lose your inhibitions completely. 

Every fiber of his body longed for you but he stifled his need to take care of yours first; it was too good to see you like that, your pussy clenching convulsively, your mouth half-open, your moans filling his ears.

“I need...your mouth...”

“Where?” he had asked feigning naivete.

"On my clit...please" you had cried. 

He had moved, taking down your panties, lowering to reach for your clit, passing his tongue flatly all over it.

“suck it,” you had said in a whisper, ”please.”

And so he had done, taking it between his lips, savoring your taste on his tongue as you cried your last wail and broke down in shattering pleasure.

Your back had arched, your hand had flown through his hair as the other gripped his sheets tightly, and your hips pushed against his lips, your lips bent in a grimace of pleasure that radiated into your eyes, your pupils dilated, tiny droplets of sweat beading on your forehead.

“Yes… fuck… YES”

He had continued to lick and suck and push on your spot until you had calmed down.

But you were not yet satiated, as soon as you had regained the ability to speak you had whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Mmm baby” he had said arching an eyebrow, scrutinizing your face unmade with pleasure and your eyes still glazed with your orgasm.

“Really. I want it.”

You had accompanied this last sentence by wrapping your delicate hand around his length "he wants me too," you had said with a smirk, beginning to massage him, running a finger over the tip to collect the pre cum dripping down profusely from it. 

“who am I to say no to you...do what you want, baby” he had granted you. 

As much as he had tried to dominate, he had to admit that he was completely subdued by you, and he didn't mind it, he didn’t mind that at all.

You had gotten up and gently pushed him onto the mattress, settling between his legs, locking your gaze with his, a glint of desire in your eyes as you began to lick his engorged tip, sliding down his shaft humming in pleasure “mmm you taste so good” you cooed.

"God, baby, if you do this I'm not going to last long." 

He had craned his neck not to miss any of your moves, but he already felt he was on the verge of bursting, had tried to control his breathing and stay right on the edge, without plummeting down.

"Hold on a little longer, I want you to finish in my pussy. Please, Frankie?” You had purred.

He had let out a long sigh as your mouth descended on his cock, enveloping it as much as you could, continuing to stroke the rest with your hand. You had red nail polish, just like in his fantasies, but the reality was even better. Your mouth was incredible around his cock, your tongue vexing his swollen veins, your saliva sliding slowly going to pool on his crotch. 

“Please, baby,” he had grunted, and you had hummed in response, vibrating on his cock.

Your tongue had swirled over his red, swollen tip, then you had pulled away and said, "Please what?" glancing at him.

“Sit on me, please, I can’t…” he had groaned.

You had moved warily, straddling him, taking his cock back into your hand, aligning it with your entrance.

You had lowered yourself slowly, moaning "you are so thick" as he felt your cunt open up for him, your walls stretch and your essence coiling around him mixing with your saliva.

“And you are so tight ... fuck, baby, it’s so good.”

The instant you had sat completely on him had been unreal, he felt so deep inside you he swore he was pressing against your cervix, and you were squeezing him so hard he had thought he would lose his mind. You began to roll your hips over him, rubbing your clit with your fingers while your other hand was anchored on his hip. 

He had begun to move his hips in rhythm with yours, thrusting inside you “harder” you had urged him “please, Frankie” 

He was lost in the instant he had seen you bring one hand to your tit, kneading your breast as you continued to ride him faster and faster, pinching your nipple while rubbing your clit with the other. 

“I’m coming…fuck..where, babe?” He had stammered and you cried “inside, please, I’m on the pill.” You had thrown your head back immediately after, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your disheveled hair falling over your neck, seeing you so totally ravished had made him explode inside you, painting your hot, soaked walls with his cum. 

You were collapsed on top of him, wrapping yourself around his body while he was still pulsing inside you. You had waited for his breathing to return to normal by peppering his neck with little kisses, going up his jaw and ending on his lips.

He had hugged you tightly, reveling in your warmth, the softness of your breasts on his chest, your legs wrapped tightly with his, and the intoxicating scent of your skin.

You had hummed in the crook of his neck, then looked into his eyes and moved a lock of hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, kissing him one more time, his mustache tickling your cupid's bow. 

“From the first time I saw you, I knew we would end up like this, you know?” you had said with a proud undertone.

“Oh yeah?” he had replied, wryly raising an eyebrow, ”how were you so sure?”

You had looked at him with the look of someone who knows very well what she is talking about and had replied, “For three reasons. First, I noticed right away how you were looking at me, second, I wanted it too and usually when I want something I get it, and third, you never charged me for the extra cream.”

bb tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @harriedandharassed @milla-frenchy @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

I would like to add a couple of special people that I am starting to know a little bit better and I like them a lot: @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk @gothcsz @msjarvis

archive: @pedrostories

[boofeine]

things that get svt vocal in bed

hello, this is (once was) @wannabelife :/ my acc got suspended, and now im trying to start new on this blog. consider this my first post all over again ig...

WARNINGS: smut headcanons, general reader, mdni

a/n: finals are all done, im baaack fr 🫡 requests are open

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @unlikelysublimekryptonite

seungcheol gets wrecked with a little bit of pain. nothing too crazy; the grip you have on his biceps, your knuckles white that will leave red marks in his skin later is more than enough to make him lose it. he goes insane when you pull his hair and neck, and scratch his back and abs.

jeonghan loves to hear you, be vocal for him, and you will hear back from him. the little whines of his name you let out makes his cock harder, the low groans making out of his lips as he watches you squirm and moan for him.

joshua loses it all with the skinship. hug him close, press your bodies together tight. he loves how your hard nipples stroke agains his, and your sounds are beautifully on the nap of his ear.

junhui loves when you move to meet up his thrusts. the way you roll your hips onto his while moaning, losing yourself, more desesparate to chase your high than anything else. nothing else matters, makes his hips hault because of you.

soonyoung gets crazy under pressure, truly just push his bottoms "is that all you got?" and he will keep doing a better job each time. he fucks you so good that he, himself, cant believe it feels that amazing, his moans louder and sweaty skin.

wonwoo is only mewling if you edge him, that's the only way you will be hearing those beautiful low husky moans. the overstimulation kicking in, his head going back as he lets out the nastiest moan from the back of his throat with eyes shut.

jihoon is most vocal when you give him head. you will hear him throughout the whole thing, but he gets louder when you look up at him. your gaze fixed on his, his face twisted in pure bliss and plesure, as your mouth is full of him.

seokmin feels he's about to bust his balls when you praise him. "so good, oh my god, you're perfect" "you fuck me so good, im gonna cum" "like that" your sweet words, making him twitch, his lewd moans almost music to your ears.

mingyu gets weak when you take over, rolling his body to the side as you crawl to sit over him. your hands going behind your back, finding stability at his thighs as you ride him with the sounds of him whiny crying out your name.

minghao loves the dirty talk. the way you get bratty and challenging with your words makes him lose it completely. gets him on the edge, grunting and groaning, fucking you restless.

seungkwan also gets louder with a little bit of pain, he's a bit freaky, tho. grip his hair, pull his head back, bite his neck, choke him, i'd even say slap him, i think he can enjoy that too, dig your nails to his skin, and this man will be squirming, moaning, grunting, completely at your mercy.

vernon goes crazy when you beg. the little cry on your tone as you beg him to not stop, to make you cum, to fill you up. and when you wrap your legs around his hips, kneels on his ass and lower back, pulling him deeper inside you, that's his end, he's a sobbing moaning mess.

chan is gasping for air when you put a show for him. his cock dripping and lungs burning as you play with yourself for him, pinching your nipples and swirling on your cunt, has him letting out those needy breathy moans as he watches you.

[jezebelblues]

live on tour (interlinked) | h.s | 2

pt 1, pt 2 (complete)

summary: we don't talk about it, it's something we don't do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

cw: smut18+ unprotected (piv), degradation if u squint, choking, weed, alcohol, angst, sort of a slowburn idk, fem!reader, hs1rry

word count: approx 8.8k

| okay so here’s pt 2, smuts at the end LMFAO. sorry if u hate ! tumblr (right as i’m about to post) is like sorry too many words 🤪 so i had to SPLIT anyway

masterlist

Outside, rain drizzled. The show ended an hour ago, Harry was busy with greetings and photos. She stood in the doorway of the side exit, the breeze cool and carrying the scent of wet pavement and grass. 

A cigarette hung loosely between her fingers, stains of her lipstick kissed against the filter. She thought it’d quell her nausea, the pins and needles in her fingertips—but all it did was make her chest feel lighter. Everything else stayed. 

She’s heard the song a thousand times, rehearsals the entire summer, soundchecks, shows. But it was different this time. He pulled her to play with him for a reason, their unspoken games—it was a message. 

Her breath hitched as she jumped slightly, a gentle hand against her shoulder. It was Harry, a quiet greeting as he settled beside her, along the wall next to the door. His eyes swept over her face, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes slightly glossed over. 

They had just stared at each other for a while, like their eyes held more words than their mouths could. She took her bottom lip between her teeth as she let the cigarette drift onto the gravel outside, watching the embers burn out under the rain. “Harry.” She sighed, her eyes soft, a frown on her lips. “This needs to stop.” 

He leaned his head against the cement wall, his gaze unwavering. “What does?”

She swallowed hard, shifting to lean into the opposite side of the door frame facing him, the heavy door still propped open. The wind danced in her hair, goosebumps cascading down her bare arms. “Whatever this is. Us. This is just work, Harry, I don’t get it.” 

“Just work?”

She paused, averting her eyes from his to glance back outside. There wasn’t much of a view, gravel, smooth pavement, a large chain-link fence that shook and sang in the wind. “I don’t get it. None of my other jobs have been like this. We tour, we play and it’s easy. Hell, half of the people on the Floyd revival were on coke and it was easier than this.” 

He studied her for a moment, his breaths heavy although he tried to lighten them. His eyebrows knit together, a glint of light shimmering along the edge of his pupil that painted him a tragic work of art. “Easy.” He managed, his voice ragged, as if it was a struggle to get the words out. “This isn’t a gig, or a studio session—we’re a band. A team. It isn’t supposed to be easy.”

She clenched her jaw, snapping her eyes back to his. “Don’t. It’s not about the band, it’s about you. You know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“And what’s that?”

“You get under my skin, Harry! And then you just fucking stay there and pick pick pick until you avoid me again.” 

“You do the same!” He was exasperated, his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That night in Nashville. It was normal, it was easy.” He echoed the word, mocking. “And you just pushed it away. S’constantly a step fucking toward, two steps back.”

Her belly continued to twist, her frown deepening. “Cause I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”

“What I want—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair as his voice cracked slightly. “You think I know what I want? This isn’t exactly easy for me either, YN.”

The admission stunned her into silence, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.

For a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else—something raw and vulnerable—but it disappeared just as quickly, replaced by his usual guarded expression. “You’re not the only one trying to figure this out.” 

The silence between them thickened, pressing down like the weight of the rain-soaked clouds above. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What was there to say?

Harry pushed off the wall, his movements deliberate but tense, his eyes still locked on her. For a moment, it looked like he might step closer, might reach for her, but his hands stayed stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, like it hurt to say the words. “You think I’m trying to mess with you? I’m just—” He stopped, jaw tightening as he looked away, toward the gravel outside. His hand raked through his hair again, his frustration palpable.

She crossed her arms tighter, trying to shield herself from the chill in the air—or maybe from him. “Then what? What are you just, Harry? Because all I see is you dragging me into something I didn’t ask for, and then acting like I’m the one making it difficult.”

His head snapped back toward her, a spark of anger flaring in his eyes. “You think I wanted this? You think I planned for this?” He motioned vaguely between them, his voice rising just enough to make her flinch. “Do you know how easy it’d be for me to just… not? To let this all go?”

“Then why don’t you?” she shot back, her voice sharp as she straightened up, uncrossing her arms.

The question hung in the air like a dare, but Harry didn’t take it. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it down. Instead, he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked away again. “That’s the thing,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost to himself. “I don’t know how.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking into her ribs. But she refused to let him see the crack in her armor. She turned her face toward the rain, her jaw clenched, her breaths slow and measured.

“Well, maybe you should figure it out,” she said, her voice quieter but no less sharp. “Because I can’t keep doing this with you.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep, uneven breath, his face unreadable as he started to turn. “Fine,” he said, the word clipped, bitter. “Guess I’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t look back as he walked down the narrow hallway, out to wherever he was going. 

She stayed frozen in the doorway, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her heart pounding too loud in the quiet. The door swung slightly with the wind, creaking on its hinges as she leaned against the frame.

She bit down hard on her lip, a sharp pang of regret bubbling up inside her, but she shoved it down, stuffing it into the same corner where all the other unspoken things between them lived.

The cigarette embers had long since faded, leaving only the faint smell of ash and rain.

Once you go without it, nothing else will do. 

-

The bassline thumped steadily, drowning out conversation and vibrating through the floor of the packed venue. Laughter spilled over from corners where small groups huddled close, their faces flushed with warmth and the buzz of alcohol. Fairy lights strung haphazardly along the ceiling flickered, giving the room an ethereal glow that blurred edges and softened harsh lines. It was October second, a free evening before they had to start gearing up for Toronto, and they had found themselves at this party—an impromptu gathering of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

They had a few days to rest before they geared up for the Toronto show.

YN moved through the throng like a thread of color in an otherwise monotone fabric. Her dress clung to her in all the right places, its silky material catching the light with every movement. Her makeup was immaculate, her lips a striking shade that dared anyone to look away. Heads turned as she passed, her heels clicking faintly against the hardwood floor beneath the relentless pulse of the music.

Across the room, Harry caught the glance of a mutual friend before his gaze settled on her. She hadn’t noticed him yet—or perhaps she was pretending not to. That had been their dynamic since the DC show—stolen glances, sharp words, and an undercurrent of something unresolved that simmered just below the surface. Tonight wasn’t much different. If she felt his eyes on her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she let herself be led toward the bar by a guy whose name she couldn’t quite recall but whose interest in her was overtly clear.

Leo—or maybe it was Geo— was tall, broad-shouldered, with a smooth voice and easy laugh. He leaned in close, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm as he spoke, and her lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t that she found him unappealing—he was attractive enough, charming in a way that was disarming—but she was using him. His attention was a distraction, a convenient shield from the simmering tension she refused to address. She wasn’t about to let Harry consume her thoughts tonight.

“Another drink?” Leo–Geo asked, his voice warm against her ear.

She nodded, watching as he flagged down the bartender and ordered for her. When the drink came, he handed it to her, his fingers grazing hers deliberately. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into him, tilting her head to laugh at something he said. She wasn’t entirely listening, but it didn’t matter. She let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor, where the music was louder and the lights flashed in dizzying patterns.

His hands found her waist as they swayed together, the rhythm of the music guiding their movements. She felt his breath against her skin as he leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. It was easy, his touch, his attention. It dulled the edges of her thoughts, made the heat of Harry’s gaze on her back easier to ignore.

For a moment, she let herself get lost in it.

But Harry was watching. He stood near the edge of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The muscles in his jaw worked as he watched her laugh at something the other man said, her hand brushing lightly against the stranger’s chest. His stomach twisted, anger and something else—something sharper, more possessive—flaring within him. He told himself to leave it alone, to let her do what she wanted. But then he saw them moving toward the door, her hand loosely clasped in the other man’s.

Something in him snapped.

He moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with single-minded determination. She didn’t see him coming, not until his hand closed around her arm in a firm grip.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the anger in it.

She froze, her wide eyes meeting his for the first time all night. Her companion, caught off guard, let go of her hand and stepped back.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her voice laced with irritation.

“I said, what the hell are you doing?” he repeated, his grip on her arm tightening slightly.

“Let go of me, Harry,” she snapped, tugging her arm free. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her a step closer, his green eyes boring into hers.

“Do you even know his name?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

Her lips parted, but no answer came. She didn’t know his name, and they both knew it.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry muttered, his jaw clenched. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

“Harry what—no!” Her voice was louder now, drawing a few curious glances from the people around them. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”

He only ignored her.

“Harry—”

“Go,” Harry said sharply, cutting her off as he turned his attention to the other man. “Now.”

The man hesitated, glancing between them before holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, mate. She’s all yours.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them alone in a small bubble of tension that felt ready to burst.

“Are you happy now?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger, eyes threatening to gloss over. 

“You were about t’leave with a stranger,” he said, his voice still low but tinged with frustration.

“So what if I was? What does it matter to you?”

“It—“ He paused, voice barely above a whisper. His hand finally dropped from her arm, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. “Forget it, YN.”

The music pounded around them, but neither of them moved. The weight of his words hung heavy between them, unspoken things simmering just below the surface. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

And then, abruptly, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the crowded room, her heart racing and her mind spinning.

After a while, she found her way back to the bar. YN perched on the edge of a high stool, her fingers wrapped around the cold glass of a freshly poured Midori Sour. She wasn’t sure why she kept ordering them—maybe because they were sweet enough to soften the edges of her mood. Maybe because the tang of melon lingered on her tongue in a way she liked. Or maybe because she knew it annoyed him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry approaching, his strides long and purposeful, the faint clink of his rings catching her attention before anything else. He stopped beside her, leaning against the bar with an infuriating casualness, his profile sharp under the low-hanging lights.

“Another one of those?” he asked, his voice low but distinctly mocking. He gestured toward her drink with a tilt of his head. “You’ve got the palate of a teenager.”

YN didn’t even glance at him. “And you’ve got the personality of a Jack and Coke. Bitter, basic, and way too predictable.”

The bartender chuckled as he slid Harry’s drink across the counter. Harry’s lips twitched at the corners, not quite a smile but enough to tell her her barb had landed.

“Predictable, am I?” he asked, lifting his glass to his lips. His voice was softer now, dangerous in the way it dripped with quiet confidence. “At least I’m not clinging to a sugar high like I’m at prom.”

YN finally turned her head, meeting his gaze dead-on. Those green eyes of his were sharper than the whiskey he was sipping, and the way they pinned her in place made her chest tighten—not that she’d ever admit it.

“At least I’m not controlling your night to avoid saying what I really want to say,” she shot back, her voice steady but low, just for him.

Harry blinked, his brows raising slightly in surprise before he composed himself. He set his glass down on the counter, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And what exactly is it you think I’m hiding?”

The word love slid off his tongue like a taunt, curling around her like smoke. It wasn’t affectionate—it was a challenge, one that dared her to push back. And god, did she want to push back.

YN leaned in too, her face just close enough to his that she could smell the whiskey on his breath, warm and heady. “I think you’ve got a lot of things you don’t say out loud,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise of the bar. “But don’t worry, Harry. I’m not dying to know.”

The tension between them was suffocating now, thick and electric. She saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed against his glass like he was resisting the urge to reach for her instead. Her pulse hammered in her throat, each beat daring her to stay in this dangerous little game they’d started.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” Harry said finally, his voice like velvet lined with steel. “But you’re wrong, YN. Dead wrong.”

Her name on his lips was her undoing. She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and tossing a few bills on the counter. “Why are you here again, Harry?” She muttered, “Your jealousy, which you refuse to admit, is insufferable. You ruined my night and I want to drink.”

Silence.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing this.” Her voice was low, laced in anger as she spun on her heel and headed toward the back of the bar where the restrooms were tucked away.

But of course, he followed.

She could hear him behind her, the weight of his footsteps matching the rhythm of her pounding heart. She ignored him, turning a tight corner.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he shouted, his voice low and gravelly. He was close—too close—and she could feel the heat radiating off him, suffusing her skin like a fever.

“Go away, Harry,” she said through clenched teeth, still nearing the bathroom doors that seemed to get farther and farther away with every step she took.

He stepped in front of her, one large step he made quickly and without effort. “Not until you tell me what your problem is,” he snapped. His hands smacking against the walls abruptly, caging her in. His chest was barely an inch from her back, and she could feel the way his breath hitched, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

YN whirled around, forcing him to step back just enough to meet her glare. “My problem?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to cut. “My problem is you. You’ve been a thorn in my side since June, and I’m sick of it. Sick of the looks, the comments, the—”

“The what?” Harry interrupted, his voice rising. “The fact that I actually give a shit about what you’re doing? The fact that I care if you’re about to make a mistake?”

“A mistake?” she echoed, her eyes blazing. “What the hell do you care if I—”

“What was his name, YN?” He spit, an echo from earlier, nostrils flared and jaw tight. He already knew the answer, she didn’t know. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her anger to a low simmer. “Fuck you.”

They didn’t just hold each other’s gaze. They gripped it. Like a rope stretched between them, fraying under the strain. Her scoff sliced the moment clean, and she ducked under his arm, her stride sharp, deliberate, toward the bathroom door.

Her fingers curled around the knob, twisting it with the kind of force that spoke louder than words. The door swung open, her heels clicking against the tile, a precise rhythm against the muted bass thumping somewhere beyond the purple-painted walls. She spun, gripping the edge of the door, and shoved it back with all the fury her body could muster. But it didn’t slam. It hit something solid—a thud, then a jolt.

His hand, metal rings against wood.

The door ricocheted toward her before she even registered what had happened. He stepped in, the breadth of him filling the space, his palm swallowing the knob as he pushed it shut behind him. The twist of the lock was a gunshot in the silence, louder than the music bleeding through the cracks.

“Are you fucking serious?” Her voice was a hiss, low and venomous, the kind of sound that cut through everything. Her chest heaved, each breath shallow and sharp, the thin sheen of sweat glinting along her collarbone like glass shards catching the light.

The room was alive, though barely. A flickering bulb above them glowed warm and harsh, its glass casing distorting the light into fractured halos. Yet, there were blues bleeding from LED's in the corner, washing them in warmth and cobalt—fire and ice.

His gaze dragged down her body like he couldn’t stop himself, like she was a work of art, damning and divine all at once. She was something out of a fever dream—wild, furious, her beauty distorted by the tension in the air. “We didn’t get to finish.”

Her laugh came hard and bitter, her nostrils flaring as she raked her fingers through her hair. “Finish what? This?” She threw her hands out, exasperation dripping from every gesture. “This isn’t fucking worth it!”

But he wasn’t looking at her hands. His eyes were on her lips, her eyes, back to her lips—then lower. Her chest, rising and falling. Anger looked good on her, he thought. Anger looked good enough to ruin him. “You didn’t hear me,” he said, quieter this time.

He stepped closer, and the air between them shifted. Compressed. Heavy. Her back hit the wall before she realized she’d even moved, the cool tile shocking against the heat rolling off her skin. She pressed her palms flat against it as though the room was tilting, threatening to spill her out into some uncharted void.

He loomed over her—it was foreboding, yet, it made a heat pool between her thighs. 

“Get out.” She murmured, but her voice cracked under the weight of her own trembling breath. There was no steel in the words. Only rust.

“Say it like you mean it.” His voice was smoke, burning slow and low, roughened edges catching on her nerves. He was too close now, close enough that she could smell him—whiskey and spearmint, aftershave, and something deeper, earthier. The heat of him radiated against her skin.

Her eyes darted to his mouth, to the thin line of his jaw, then lower—to the silver chain around his neck. The pendant at the center gleamed faintly, catching the light like a drop of molten metal. It glimmered orange, blue—a ripple in the ocean bathed in harvest moon. “Harry—” she started, his name trembling on her lips.

But before she could say more, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was raw, like barbed wire snapping, cutting deep and fast. She gasped against him, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into her fists as if to keep herself upright. His body molded into hers, chest to chest, hip to hip, the press of him heavy and solid and absolutely inescapable.

“I hate you,” she muttered, the words breaking into his mouth, dancing onto his tongue. Her fingers were already tugging at the buttons of his shirt, feverish and clumsy, her frustration bleeding into every movement.

He moaned into her, guttural, reverberating from the bottom of his throat. “I know.” He breathed, his lips brushing along her jaw, down her neck.

Her head tipped back, hitting the tile with a soft thud, her hands shoving his shirt open. Her fingers traced his chest, dragging across the heat of his skin. “Fuck—you’re an asshole.” She bit out, her voice shaking with something between anger and desperation.

His lips curved into a crooked smile, amusement tugging at the edges even as his breath hitched. “Keep going,” he urged, his words strained but teasing, his hands finding the curve of her waist. His grip was firm, grounding her as if the tension might otherwise consume them both.

Her mouth crashed against his again, this time harder, rougher. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging like she wanted to hurt him, to punish him for every maddening, chaotic feeling he’d pulled out of her. Every shiver. Every breath. Every ache.

“I hate how much I want this,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something raw and unfiltered.

“Yeah?” He sighed, his lips brushing hers, his voice cracked and ragged. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking with hers, his gaze searing. “Hate me all you want, but you’re not stopping. Are you?”

Her only response was another kiss, pulling him closer, harder, until the line between them blurred. Until all the anger, the longing, the fire consuming them burned the world around them into ash.

Her fingers found his belt with a kind of determination that burned. Leather sliding through brass, sharp and deliberate. Her nails scraped his stomach as she pushed the belt free, her movements jerky, impatient. Every tug of her hands felt like a challenge, every drag of her fingers against his skin like she wanted to leave a mark.

"You think this is gonna fix anything?" she spat, her voice low and trembling, caught somewhere between anger and something that tasted sweeter. Bitter edges trying to cut through the heat swelling between them.

"Never said it would," he murmured, his voice rough, a rasp that settled low in her chest. His hands were already under her dress, sliding up the backs of her thighs. His grip was firm, too tight, bruising—like he was trying to make sure she wouldn't slip away. 

When he bunched the fabric over her hips, the sound of it pulling free from her skin filled the air between them.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" she bit out, her words sharp and breathless, her desire, her anger tearing through her. Her hands shoved his pants down, knuckles brushing against him in a way that made her stomach twist.

His laugh was dark, rasping out like a rough scrape of metal. "Says the one tearing my clothes off."

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her even as she glared up at him. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Sure, it doesn't." His words dripped with mockery—a blade under silk. His mouth brushed against her neck now, teeth grazing her skin. "Keep saying it, YN. You're real convincing."

Her head tipped back as he bit at her skin, the scrape of his teeth followed by the heat of his tongue. "You're so fucking–“ she started, but her words dissolved into a sharp gasp when his hand slid between her thighs, dragging over the thin barrier of lace that still clung to her.

"What was that?" He hummed, his tone laced with dark amusement, his fingers pressing into her just enough to make her hips roll forward, chasing him. "Didn't quite catch it."

"Don't," she managed, though her voice wavered, her breath catching as he moved against her again, more deliberate this time.

"Don't what?" he teased, his lips brushing her ear now, his free hand gripping her thigh and pulling it higher around his waist. His body pressed against hers, the hard line of him undeniable, the heat radiating off him making her skin burn. "Don't stop? Don't touch you?"

Her hands tangled in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth. "Don't act like you have the upper hand," she shot back, though her voice was shaking, her chest rising and falling against his as though the air between them had thinned.

His laugh rumbled against her skin, low and rough. "Petal, l've had the upper hand since the second you let me touch you."

"You're delusional," she snarled, but her body betrayed her again, arching into him as his fingers slipped beneath the lace, her cunt slick with arousal. A broken sound escaped her throat, and her nails dragged across his scalp.

"Yeah?" he breathed, his voice darker now, tinged with something ragged, unsteady. His lips caught the corner of her jaw, moving toward her mouth but stopping just short. "Then why are you shaking?"

"God, you're insufferable."

"And you're not going anywhere.” Harry's hands found her waist with the kind of grip that could bruise, his fingers digging in as he spun her around without warning. The breath caught in her throat as her body collided with the edge of the sink counter, her palms bracing against the cool marble. 

She caught his eyes in the mirror, dark and feral, locked on her like she was prey.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping the edges of his throat. His hands moved to her hips, holding her still as he pressed himself against her. The solid heat of him burned through the fabric separating them, and she bit down hard on her lip to stop the sound threatening to escape. "Desperate for it, huh?”

"No.” she quipped, but her voice wasn't as sharp as she wanted it to be. Her reflection gave her away—her lips parted, her chest heaving, her thighs trembling just enough to notice. "You're so goddamn cocky. It's disgusting."

He ignored her, or maybe he loved it—she couldn't tell. His hands left her hips briefly, his fingers moving to his slacks, shoving them all the way down in a rough, impatient motion. The sound of the fabric brushing against his legs filled the space between them, quick and deliberate.

Harry's hand slid up her front, rough but with ease, fingers curling under her chin. His grip was firm, enough to keep her still, his thumb brushing just once over the edge of her jaw before tilting her head up. The mirror stared back at her, unforgiving and vivid, and his chest pressed hard against her back, pinning her in place. "Eyes up," he muttered, low and commanding, his breath hot against the side of her neck. 

His fingers flexed under her chin, urging her gaze to meet their reflection. "You're gonna watch, yeah? Gonna see exactly what I do to you."

She didn't answer—couldn't. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her body shivered under his touch.

His free hand slid lower, over her stomach, down between her thighs, where his fingers paused, resting just above where she needed him most.

He tutted, staring her reflection down. "Dripping mess already." He smiled, slow and wicked, his lips brushing her ear. "You think that guy could do this to you? Hm? Think he could get you this wet?"

"Shut up," she bit out, though her voice lacked conviction, trembling just like the rest of her. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white against the cool marble, desperate for something solid to hold on to.

Harry's laugh was dark, rich, vibrating against her back. "That's not a no.” He drawled, dragging his fingers down, brushing over her slick folds in a featherlight touch that made her legs shake. "What is it, then? You just don't wanna admit it?"

"Admit what?" she shook, her tone sharp, though her hips betrayed her by rolling forward, chasing his hand.

"That no one else could make y’feel like this." His fingers pressed in harder now, slow and teasing as they circled her clit. His other hand kept her chin steady, forcing her to watch as his fingers moved, dragging against her in slow, maddening circles. "Look at you, YN. Fucking dripping for me. You see that?"

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, catching the way his hand disappeared between her thighs, the glint of wetness coating his fingers as they moved. Her cheeks flushed hot, but she couldn't tear her gaze away, her body betraying her with every soft sound slipping from her lips.

"Harry—“ she gasped, but her voice broke into a moan as he pressed his fingers harder, rolling them against her with deliberate pressure.

"There she is," he smiled, his tone mocking but warm, like he'd been waiting for her to break. "That's it. Don't hold back. I want you t’hear yourself, yeah? Want to know what y’sound like when it's me making you fall apart."

Her hands shook against the counter, nails digging into the marble as his fingers slowed again, agonizingly teasing. Her body jerked, desperate for more, and he smiled, smug and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

"H, please–“ she whined, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"Please, what?" he tutted, his voice dropping lower, rougher. His fingers dragged down, slipping inside her cunt just enough to make her gasp, then pulling out again. "Use your words, YN. Tell me what y’need."

"I hate you," she muttered, but it sounded hollow, the tremble in her voice giving her away entirely.

"Not what I asked," he growled, and his teeth scraped against the curve of her shoulder, a sharp bite that made her head snap back. His fingers pressed into her again, this time deeper, curling just right, and a loud moan broke free from her chest, her body arching against him.

"Look at that," he whispered, his hand still steady on her chin, holding her in place. "Look at you, petal. Such a pretty little slut for me." His thumb brushed over her clit now, slow but deliberate, and her hips rocked into him, chasing every movement. "You like watching, don't you? Like seeing what I do t’you."

Her only answer was another moan, louder this time, her lips parting as her head fell forward—but his hand caught her, tilting her chin back up. "No," he murmured, soft but firm. "Keep watching."

Her reflection burned into her vision—the way her mouth hung open, her cheeks flushed and glowing, her body pressed tight against his. The sight of his fingers moving, disappearing into her before dragging back out, glistening with her arousal.

"Good girl.” He breathed, his voice rough now, almost reverent. His free hand slid to her hip, holding her steady as he shifted behind her, his body pressing closer. "Now, keep your eyes on me. I'm not done with you yet."

Harry's fingers slid out of her slowly, teasing the slick heat between her thighs, a deliberate rhythm that left her trembling. The pressure was enough to keep her on edge, never enough to tip her over.

Every moan she tried to swallow only fueled him, and he made sure she knew it. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his voice a low rasp against her ear. "Falling apart on my fingers, and I haven't even fucked you yet.“

"Shut up," she breathed, but the bite in her tone was fading, her resolve crumbling with every slow, maddening drag of his fingers. Her thighs quivered, her knees barely holding her upright, and her hands gripped the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Thought so," he said, smug and soft, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a wicked grin. His thumb circled her clit, slow and firm, drawing a whimper from her lips she couldn't hold back. "No one else knows how to ruin you, do they?"

Her body jerked against him, hips pressing into his hand despite the defiance still burning in her eyes. She wanted to tell him off, to push him away, but her voice broke every time she tried, each sound melting into a moan.

"Thought you were tougher than this," he taunted, his breath hot against her neck, his chest firm against her back. "Guess I was wrong. Just a mess for me, aren't you?"

Her head tipped forward, a choked sound escaping her throat, but his hand was there again, his fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up to meet the mirror. "Uh-uh," he snapped. "Don’t let me see you do that again.” 

Her reflection was a blur of flushed skin and trembling limbs. Her lips were parted, swollen and wet, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

His chest, exposed by the open shirt still hanging from his shoulders, pressed against her back, radiating heat. The sight of his hand moving between her legs, glistening with her arousal, was almost too much to bear.

"Harry—" she gasped, her voice cracking, her fingers gripping the sink harder, her knuckles white against the marble.

"Say my name again," he growled, his tone dark and dangerous, his fingers pressing deeper, drawing a broken moan from her lips. "Go on, petal. Let’s hear it.”

Just as her hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, he pulled his fingers away, leaving her empty and trembling. She let out a frustrated whimper, her nails biting into the counter's edge, but before she could snap at him, his hand slid to her throat, curling around it in one firm, possessive grip.

"Patience,” he murmured, though his tone dripped with mockery, his lips grazing the curve of her jaw as he pulled her tighter against him. "Want it so bad? I'll give it to you, but you better fucking take it."

She felt him behind her, his hard cock pressing insistently against her, the rough fabric of his boxers catching on her skin before she shoved them down. The anticipation coiled tight in her stomach, her breath hitching as he pushed them down just enough to free himself.

His free hand guided himself to her, dragging the head of his cock along her slick folds, slow and deliberate, just to make her squirm. He laughed when her hips rolled back against him, desperate for more.

"So fucking needy. Bet you'd beg for it if I made you."

She gasped, her voice shaking as her body pressed into his.

The words caught in her throat, tangled with the moan that escaped when he finally moved, thrusting into her with one hard, unrelenting motion. A cry tore from her lips, loud and unrestrained, her body arching against him as he filled her completely. He groaned low in her ear, his hand on her throat steadying her, his other hand gripping her hip so tightly it felt like he was branding her.

The stretch was slow, deliberate, the sharpness of it stealing the breath from her lungs as he filled her inch by inch. “So fucking tight—y’feel that? How perfect y’are for me?”

Her nails scratched against the smooth marble as he moved, each thrust deep and deliberate, pulling sounds from her she couldn't control. Her body arched into him, her head tipping back against his shoulder, her resolve finally shattering. "God, you're so fucking good like this," he rasped, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Taking me so well. Look at yourself, angel. Look how fucking gorgeous y’are right now."

Her eyes fluttered open, catching their reflection again—her body against his, his shirt hanging loose on his frame, his hands commanding her as though she was his entirely. The sight burned into her, sending heat pooling low in her belly, her thighs trembling as he kept pushing her further and further.

And despite everything—her anger, her pride, her sharp tongue—she couldn't hold back the moans spilling from her lips, louder now, desperate and broken, as her body gave in to him completely.

Harry didn't ease up, not for a second. Each thrust was deep, rough, his grip on her hips bruising as he yanked her back into him, forcing her to take every inch. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the small room, mingling with her ragged breaths and broken moans, her body arching under his hands like it was built for this, for him.

"Love this cock, don’t you?" he growled, his voice gravel and heat, his chest pressing harder into her back. "Like how I fucking ruin you?"

"Please," she bit out, her voice sharp, defiant, even as it fell out as a moan. Her fingers clawed at the sink counter, nails scratching the smooth surface as her legs quivered beneath her. But still, she smirked, tilting her head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror. "I’ve been fucked harder.” 

Harry's laugh was low, a sound that rolled through her chest. "You're really gonna start with that?" he grunted, his voice a rasp of rough edges and heat. His hand slid up her back, the weight of it pushing her down until her cheek brushed the counter. The angle shifted, sharper now, and when he thrust again, a cry ripped from her lips before she could choke it back.

"And there it is," he moaned, his tone mocking, pleased. "That shut you up quick, didn't it?"

But she didn't give in. She never did. Her smirk twisted into something sharper, her breath coming in uneven bursts as she rolled her hips back against him just to prove she could. "Yeah," she slurred, her voice thick, daring. "What a waste–“ she paused, a moan emitting from the top of her throat. “–of a cock if–“ another pause, “if–if you fuck like this.”

His thrusts faltered, just for a moment—a slip that was more telling than anything he could've said. She'd gotten to him, and the flash of frustration in his eyes was enough to make her smirk widen. 

"You just don't know when to shut that mouth, do you?" he snarled, his voice dripping with tension as he stilled entirely, his chest heaving against her back.

"Guess not," she shot back, her tone cutting despite the quiver in her thighs. "Maybe you're not man enough to–“

Before she could finish, his hand left her back, gripping her throat as he yanked her back up toward his chest again. He found her jaw with a force that made her gasp. His grip was firm, commanding, as his fingers pressed into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open.

"Open," he ordered, his tone low and unrelenting, the kind that left no room for argument. When she hesitated—just for a second—his grip tightened, his gaze locking hers in the mirror. "I said open."

Her lips parted, her glare defiant even as she obeyed. 

"See? You do listen," he muttered, his lips curving into a wicked grin. His index and middle finger slid past her lips, pressing down hard on her tongue. Her eyes widened slightly, a muffled protest bubbling in her throat, but he just smirked. "That's better. Quiet suits you, angel."

Her teeth grazed his knuckles, her tongue squirming under the weight of his fingers, but she couldn't pull away—not while he still held her jaw firmly in place. His hips moved again, hard and unforgiving, each thrust making her body jerk forward against the sink. 

He moaned, watching their reflection like it was some kind of twisted masterpiece. "Still trying t’fight me, even now. Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

She glared at him in the mirror, her teeth biting down lightly on his fingers just to prove she still could. "Go on," he sighed, his tone amused as his fingers pressed down harder, making her gag slightly. "Bite me. Won't change a damn thing.”

Her body betrayed her-again. Her moans, muffled by his hand, spilled out in broken fragments, her hips pushing back to meet his thrusts even as her mind screamed at her to resist. The tears stinging her eyes weren't from pain, but from the overwhelming heat building low in her belly, threatening to swallow her whole.

He grunted, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers slid from her mouth, wet and slick—a mess of whimpers and moans escaping with it. "That's what you sound like when I've got y’completely undone. Maybe next time, think twice before y’run your mouth."

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but it never made it past her lips. Not with the way he pulled her against him, harder, faster, his hand returning to her throat, keeping her flush against his chest.

Her hands left the edge of the sink, trembling as they reached up to find him. She gripped his forearm, her nails digging into his skin, desperate to feel the solid strength beneath her fingers. Her body jolted with every thrust, her movements uncoordinated, but her claws pressed hard enough to leave marks she knew he'd see tomorrow.

Harry didn't flinch. If anything, her desperation only made him smirk. His hand on her throat stayed steady, holding her firm, keeping her close. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength under her palms, and she knew he wouldn't drop her. No matter how rough he got, no matter how far he pushed, he had her.

He growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice as rough as the pace of his hips slamming into her. "You begging for more?"

Her nails dragged down his forearm, leaving a trail of red crescents in their wake. She gasped, head tipping back against his shoulder, her teeth catching her bottom lip as a moan slipped free before she could stop it. "You'll tire out before I do."

His grip on her throat tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her feel it, to keep her grounded against him. His other hand slid down her stomach, fingers pressing between her thighs again, circling her clit.

"Feel that?" he muttered, dragging his fingers in slow, deliberate circles, contrasting with the brutal rhythm of his hips. "That's not me getting tired, petal. That's me making sure you'll remember this tomorrow."

Her nails clawed deeper into his forearm, and her hips bucked forward, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation only to slam back into him. Her mind was fogged with heat, her body trembling under the dual assault of his fingers and the relentless thrusts that sent shocks up her spine.

"Fuck, Harry," she whimpered, her voice breaking in a way she hated, in a way he loved.

"That's it," he grunted, almost tenderly, though his actions were anything but. His lips brushed her temple, a cruel contrast to the way he dragged her closer to the edge.

Her grip on his forearm tightened, her nails biting into his skin hard enough to draw a hiss from his lips. But he didn't pull back. He wouldn't. His hold stayed firm, steady, a constant against the chaos he was dragging her through.

"You're so fucking close," he growled, his voice dark and ragged, his lips kissing her temple.

Her head fell further into his shoulder, her lips parted in a choked moan. The mirror showed everything—the way her body arched, her dress bunched high around her hips, his hand between her thighs. The sight of his fingers working her, his other hand wrapped firm around her throat, holding her steady as he pounded into her, was too much. It was filthy, mesmerizing. It was them.

"You're beautiful like this," he muttered, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice shaking with the effort to hold himself back. "Fucking perfect.”

Her hands clawed at his forearm, her nails raking over his skin as her body tensed, her thighs quivering against his. A sharp cry tore from her lips, unrestrained, as the tension inside her snapped all at once, her release washing over her in waves.

He slowed his movements just enough to drag it out, his fingers never stopping. His thrusts turned deep, deliberate, milking every last tremor from her body. "Good girl—just like that."

Her breath came in short, broken gasps, her body slackening in his arms as her hands slipped from his forearm to brace herself against the sink again. But Harry wasn't done—not yet.

His hand slid from her neck, resting briefly on her back to steady her as he pulled out. His release was a low growl, heavy with restraint, as he bent her forward over the sink again, her cheek pressing against the cool marble.

His hands tugged the bunched fabric of her dress, pushing it higher until it gathered at the small of her back.

She heard the wet sound of his hand stroking himself, the heat of him close enough to feel but just out of reach. He cursed under his breath, his voice rough and raw, his pace quickening as his own release built.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his eyes glued to her reflection. His free hand slid down her back, his touch possessive, reverent. 

The first hot spurt of his release hit the small of her back, a low groan tearing from his throat as he finished, his hand working himself through the aftershocks. He stayed there for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, the sight of her still bent over the sink keeping him rooted.

Harry let out a long exhale, his hand sliding up her spine in a firm, grounding touch as he leaned over her, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

The air felt thick now, heavy with the remnants of what just happened. The muffled bass of the music outside thumped distantly, but the bathroom was silent aside from their labored breaths. Neither of them spoke.

Harry stepped back, his hands dragging over her hips as if reluctant to let her go, before he turned his attention to himself. He pulled his slacks back up, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet, followed by the faint clink of his belt as he buckled it.

She stayed bent over the sink for a moment longer, her forehead pressed against the cool surface, her chest heaving as she tried to steady herself. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her back, but she didn't dare look up. Not yet.

Harry moved to the paper towel dispenser, yanking a mess of them free without a word. He returned to her, his footsteps deliberate, and she startled slightly at the first cool touch of the towel against her skin. He didn't say anything as he wiped her clean, his movements uncharacteristically gentle now, precise, careful, like he was undoing what had been rough and unforgiving moments ago.

When he finished, he tossed the crumpled towels into the trash. His hands returned to her thighs, sliding the lace of her panties back up, his fingers brushing against her skin as he smoothed them into place. He let his fingers linger there for a moment, his thumbs grazing the red marks he'd left behind on her hips. 

Her thighs bore the shape of his hands, faint but unmistakable, and when she finally straightened and caught herself in the mirror, she saw the full extent of it. Her skin was marked—her throat faintly bruised from his grip, hickeys scattered along her neck and collarbone like splashes of color against her flushed skin. The swell of her hips ached where his fingers had dug in, and she knew the prints he'd left would bloom darker by morning.

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, suffocating, a tension neither of them knew how to cut. Harry leaned against the wall like it was holding him up, his head tilted back, his shirt hanging open, and his chest still heaving like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. The air felt different now—charged and heavy, yet hollow at the same time.

She stared at him for a moment, at the way his jaw was clenched tight, his gaze fixed somewhere else. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something quieter, something guarded. He didn’t move to fix his shirt, didn’t even glance at the mirror to see what a wreck he looked like.

She didn’t think before stepping forward, her hands finding the loose edges of his shirt. His eyes flicked down to her, dark and unreadable, but he didn’t stop her. She tugged the fabric into place, smoothing it over his shoulders before starting on the buttons, working her way down.

Her fingers brushed against his skin, still warm from her touch, but she didn’t let herself think about it—couldn’t. The weight of what they’d just done hung between them, heavy and unspoken, something that felt too big, too raw to touch.

He stayed still, watching her, his arms limp at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to move. Like touching her again might unravel everything.

She didn’t dare look at him, her gaze focused on her hands as she reached the last button. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed the fabric flat, brushing out the wrinkles before finally stepping back.

They didn’t speak.

They wouldn’t speak.

It was something they didn’t do—not about this.

Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy, her pulse still racing from the way he’d made her feel. She smoothed her hands over her dress again, though it was already straight. The mirror behind her caught their reflection—two people standing too close but pretending the distance was enough.

Her lips parted, maybe to say something, maybe to breathe, but nothing came out. She glanced up, catching his gaze for the briefest second before dropping it again.

His chest rose and fell in uneven beats, and when he finally pushed off the wall, his fingers brushing through his hair, he let out a long, shaky exhale.

We don’t talk about it.

The words sunk into the hollow space between them like a quiet truth neither of them would ever admit out loud. 

It’s something we don’t do.

Because if they did—if they said it, defined it, made it real—there’d be no going back.

And that terrified her almost as much as the thought of losing this, losing him.

Harry moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for the door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand on the handle, his head tipping forward as though he might say something. But he didn’t.

She watched him go, her stomach twisting in ways she couldn’t untangle.

Once you go without it, nothing else will do.

[fallstaticexit]

Extended Bonus Scene-> Pillowfort ( just an extra scene I couldn't fit in this update and couldn't fit in the next featuring a conversation between Judith Ward & Geoffrey)

AN: Fun fact, the last scene of the previous post was actually the 500th screenshot of Part III. Woooo! We’re right around the halfway point. Time to pull out Nancy’s bad choice punch card, let’s see what we got so far…we got…cheating twice, gaslighting her husband andddd oh! Getting entangled with criminals! Great job, Nancy! 👹

Prev / Next / Beginning

Transcript under the cut

Vanessa: Hey, it’s your birthday.

Nancy: Best birthday I’ve ever had, thanks to you.

Vanessa: By the way, when you said no marks, I didn’t think that meant you would leave them all on me.

Nancy: I can’t even follow my own rules. I’m sorry.

Vanessa: I like them. Red is my color after all.

Nancy: [sighs deeply] I want to make love again.

Vanessa: You can barely keep your eyes open, baby.

Nancy: I still feel so needy. When does it stop?

Vanessa: [chuckles] It never really does.

Nancy: Vanessa. Will this be the last time?

Vanessa: Do you want it to be?

Nancy: Do you?

Vanessa: I think, we should have a conversation first. I need to know what’s going on with you and Lily Feng.

Nancy: Nothing is going on. It was a thing and then it wasn’t. And when it was a thing, it still wasn’t- [huffs]. What I’m trying to say is, I had to get these urges out of my system so they could stop driving me crazy. I could barely focus. It was just sex and it was just once. That’s all it was.

Vanessa: And you didn’t know about the imports?

Nancy: When I paid off her people, I thought I was stopping her from winning a development project with the city of San Myshuno. I had no idea about any of this.

Vanessa: [exhales] You pissed off alot of people, Nancy..

Nancy: So, when you said you were in town to see me, what you meant was you came here to ‘handle me’ for what I did?

Vanessa: Listen. I meant what I said; that I wanted to reconnect with you. But the truth is, this clusterfuck of a mess brought us together and I’m not upset about that. I just had to figure out how to keep you out of trouble and I figured if you could offer to work for Akira-

Nancy: What?! You want me to do what you do? Sell drugs? You’re not serious, are you?

Vanessa: Would you prefer the alternative? I would never suggest this if I didn’t think there was something to be gained from it-

Nancy: To be gained? Fuck, Vanessa! I can’t just- I’m just an architect! I’m a mother. I’m a wife-

Vanessa: If that’s all you think that you are, then you don’t know yourself that well. You are so much more than that, Nancy.

Nancy: [mutters] As if this wasn’t complicated enough- I can’t fuck up my life anymore than I already am. I can’t put Geoffrey and our sons in danger-

Vanessa: I’ve been doing this for almost 10 years, Nancy. I know what I’m doing and you can trust me. I would never let anything happen to you- or your family.

Nancy: What if I never paid off The Feng’s connects- would you have ever try to find me and see me again?

[a pause]

Vanessa: Yeah. I would have.

Vanessa: Baby, let’s get through this together, ok? Me and you. Now, come to bed. I miss how it feels to sleep in your arms.

-

Nancy Narrates: [Vanessa warned it was best to let her boss to do most of the talking and to allow her to assist when needed]

Nancy Narrates: [But I was groomed for business and business meetings was something I did best]

Vanessa: [in komorego] Boss, Nancy Landgraab is here to discuss the port situation.

komorego is the native language spoken in Mt. Komorebi thanks to @esotericas-sims for the recommendation!!

Akira: Nancy Landgraab, the unluckiest woman in the world. You've created a real shitty situation, haven't you? We have little patience for interruptions, particularly regarding matters as sensitive as my business.

Nancy: How else would I have gotten your attention?

[silence]

[Vanessa inhales sharply]

Akira: [laughs] Now why would a button up little white girl like you want the attention of The Kibo Family, huh? That Martha Stewart shit not cutting it for you at home?

Nancy: So I could make an offer.

Akira: ‘Make an offer’. [laughter fades] Like what exactly?

Nancy: You’re utilizing small business owners to work their way up the network to put themselves in the same room as the connects I have on speed dial. Politicians, influencers, A List Celebrities. I can be the direct line to them and sell your product personally. Vanessa and I already have a business relationship so the transaction is streamline, no middleman.

Akira: Vanessa’s told me all about you. How you’re hot shit in the states. She’s why I haven’t put one between your eyes yet. But what I want to know is, why the fuck would I want to do business with you?

Nancy: Then don’t. You can always go back to working with the Fengs who will ruin everything you worked so hard for over a quick fuck against a desk.

[laughter]

Nancy Narrates: [From the look in his eyes, I knew I had only bought myself a moment of respite. I had one chance to impress him, or-]

[retching]

[niningtori]

supermodel | part two

part one

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after finding out one of your closest friends sabotaged your relationship with beomgyu in hopes of having him all to herself, you end up spending a night with him. you may come to regret it when you realize beomgyu may not have been as innocent as he initially seemed.

genre: romance, angst, MELODRAMA, yandere, smut (MDNI!!!)

warnings: MDNI!!! yandere!gyu (super manipulative!gyu at least), more (justified imo) cheating, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), creampie, dacryphilia, praise, degradation, pregnancy kink, voyeurism (ig?), dom!gyu, sub!gyu, if i'm missing anything lmk

word count: 6.2k

notes: alright ;_; after much debate i'm reposting this probably only for a few days just so everyone who wanted to read can read it before i (probably) delete again! posting this made me feel rlly insecure for some reason but thanks to my moots and anons i feel a lot better ab it :) at least for a little bit. also, i know the direction may have taken quite the turn but this is genuinely just how it came out 😭 if you don't like it i'm sorry ( ཀ͝ ∧ ཀ͝ )

it’s hard to reason with beomgyu as he presses hot kisses down your neck, but it’s not like you’re not trying. you think you’re trying really hard, actually, but it’s nothing in comparison to the effort he’s putting in to make you lose your mind. you have no control over your moans when he sucks a hickey into your neck. you feel heat pooling in your stomach as he grabs your ass and snakes his other hand up your hoodie to catch one of your hardened nipples between his fingers. he’s finally tasted you and, like a man starved, he’ll be damned before someone takes away what’s his.

“b-beomie, we can’t! let’s go back to my place, at least,” you try to reason, but your resolve is weakening as you feel your pussy grow even wetter under his caresses. 

“shh, hana’s not gonna be home tonight,” he whispers. “just want you so bad, can’t wait.” he looks so earnest, you can’t bear to part from him. his puppy eyes look devastated, so what else can you do besides relent? and he knows it, too. now he’s got you. 

he leads you to hana’s bedroom, where he’s spent countless nights listening to her talk about how much she loves him, has loved him for years. he wants to roll his eyes at this, but he doesn’t want you to misunderstand, so he keeps it to himself. he’ll admit, she really did pull the wool over his eyes when she said you didn’t like him, so he can’t wait to see her reaction when she realizes you two have finally figured it out. if she wants to play dirty, they can both try their hand and see who wins. 

and it feels an awful lot like he’s winning when he sees you undress once again, body bare with traces of him on every part of you. even if he hadn’t marked you up so much, and he has, there’s still evidence of his impact on you leaking out of your pussy. you letting him come inside was truly unexpected, but welcome, nonetheless. he knows, when you’ve sobered up from your lustful daze, you’ll ask him if he’s ever fucked hana raw. you’ll probably cry again and rush to get plan b, but he’ll tell you he’s not stupid. he’d never fuck anyone without protection, especially someone he likes as little as he likes hana. he just likes you so much, he couldn’t help but want to feel you. you’re everything he dared to wish you would be. even better, actually, and now that he’s tasted you, he never wants to stop. 

the feeling of wanting to be close to you reemerges when he sees you dropping to your knees for him. you fiddle with the zipper of his pants and he sighs when cool air meets his bare cock. and you're so perfect with your makeup smudged, hair in disarray, and mouth open, prettily presented for fucking.

you start with a lick of your lips and he’s already rock hard from the anticipation. you grab his base and tease little licks up and down his length. he never thought he’d be particularly into that, really, but you look so hungry for him it makes him whine. finally, you lick the precum off of his tip and he moans when you shallowly take in the tip of his cock, hollowing out your cheeks. you bob your head shallowly and it’s taking every ounce of self control he has not to grab the back of your head and shove himself down your throat. but he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he lets you tease him. for now, at least. you take more and more of him into your warm mouth until you can feel his tip searing the back of your throat. you can’t possibly fit all of him into your mouth, so you take the rest of him in your hands. you look up at him with watery eyes, almost like you’re asking for his approval, and his already thinning patience snaps. he grabs your hair and pumps himself in and out of you. you try to meet his thrusts with teasing swipes of your tongue, never once breaking eye contact. the combination of your gaze and the sight of your drool mixed with his precum dripping out of your mouth drives him crazy. 

“baby, look, you’re drooling all over my cock.” you hum in agreement, but a nasty thought crosses his mind as he remembers that you almost went out with another man tonight.

“mmm, who taught you how to use that slutty little mouth?” he asks, riling himself up for reasons unknown. the thought of someone else seeing you like this is enough to push him to madness. he fucks himself into your mouth mercilessly. you’re coughing and slobbering all over his cock, but it’s only when hot tears pour down your face that he registers what he’s doing. how can he bear to hurt you? he pulls out and you’re gasping for air. 

“shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. c’mere,” he coos, leading you to the bed.

you lay down shakily and he takes a moment just to admire your body and the work he’s done to it. he can’t control the want in his gaze when he sees your pussy dripping on hana’s comforter. it’s sick to see, in a way, but it excites him even more. 

“turn around,” he commands, and you would, you really, really would, but your limbs feel so weak, it’s a chore. he sighs and roughly turns you on your stomach himself. he manhandles you into kneeling on all fours and it’s all you can do not to buckle under such force, but you can’t deny the way it makes your pussy clench around nothing when he does this. as if he can read your mind, he lets out a soft laugh as he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes himself in. you’ve obviously just fucked, but you’re still as tight and hot as the first time. slowly, he feels you stretch and spasm to accommodate his length – pussy gripping him like a vise. he shakes when he feels himself completely sheathed in you. 

“g-good girl,” he praises. “so good for me.” then, without giving you another moment to adjust, he begins thrusting into you. his hips meet your ass and he’s awestruck by the sight of it as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix relentlessly. as he’s pumping into your heat, you don’t mean for your arms to give out from under you, but they do. he’s just fucking you so good you can’t help but feel weak. he chuckles at how you’re becoming undone after just a few strokes, but truthfully? he’s endeared. you were so brave in talking back to him earlier, but that attitude is completely gone as you lay there and let him take you over and over again. 

“nghh… not so hard, beomie,” you moan. 

“is it good, baby? i can feel you milking my cock. tell me it’s good, or i’ll stop,” he threatens.

“mmm, ‘s good! too good!”! you cry.

you’re so busy moaning out beomgyu’s name with your face mashed in the pillows, you really don’t hear the apartment door open and keys being thrown carelessly on the table, but as for beomgyu? he hears it all and it brings a mean, lopsided grin to his face. you’d think he would, at the very least, slow down, but he only rams harder and harder into you. the sound of wetness and skin slapping skin echo throughout the room. hana really wasn’t supposed to be home, this much is true, but what beomgyu didn’t tell you is that she had texted him saying her plans have changed and that he should come over. truly, he couldn’t have conjured up a better outcome than the one unfolding before him.

“beomgyu?!” hana shrieks. you’re so surprised you nearly jump out of beomgyu’s grasp, but he holds your ass in place as he continues his thrusts.

“don’t listen to her, just feel me,” he says in a raspy tone. and what can you do besides listen when he drills himself even harder into you? when you feel the veins of his cock dragging against your insides, you’re tuning out hana’s desperate cries, intentionally or not.

“coming inside, okay?” he, well, you would say ‘asks’, but it’s more of a statement of fact rather than a question. “take it all, baby,” he says as his hips begin to stutter. he smacks your ass — just because he can — and you feel it pulsate throughout your entire body as you clench around him, seeing nothing but white behind your eyelids as your release finally comes along with his.

you’re gasping for air when you finish. he carefully pulls out and watches as your cum and his mix together in the most sinful way. it’s a truly a sight to see, and if he had more time, he would be whipping out his phone and capturing the moment to revisit the next time he’s alone, but hana’s words are cutting into his bliss before he can fully appreciate the sight before him.

“b-beomie? w-what’s going on?” hana asks, tears streaming unabashedly down her pretty face. beomgyu is far too preoccupied to appreciate them, though, as he gently helps you sit up and thoughtfully wipes the drool and tears off of your face. 

“‘what’s going on?’” he begins mockingly. “do you really need me to show you again?” he sneers. 

meanwhile, you feel like a deer in headlights as you meet hana’s gaze. you feel dirty and small as you try your damndest to cover yourself up. hana’s soft eyes harden while she stares at you. 

“you. you did this, you fucking slut,” she spits. you break your gaze and stare down at your naked body. you feel incredibly vulnerable because, as you already know, she’s right. you feel your eyes heat up with tears, this time from guilt and humiliation rather than pleasure.

“you’d better watch your fucking mouth,” beomgyu says, eyebrows furrowed and voice even deeper than usual. 

“i just don’t understand. why? why her? and how could you do this to me? you said you loved me!” she shrieks, grabbing beomgyu’s arm. he harshly pulls away and instead collects your sweats and hoodie. you can’t help but stare. he said he loved her then he turned around and fucked you? oh no. 

“well, i lied, if that’s not clear enough,” he shrugs, gingerly dressing you like you’re some kind of catatonic doll. and, right now, you might as well be as you let him do what he wants. his callous words don’t match his gentle actions and it’s making your brain short-circuit. 

“if and when he does the same shit to you,” she says, looking at you with more hurt than you’ve ever seen on a person, “don’t you fucking dare come crying to me. or any of our friends, actually. just wait ‘til they hear what you fucking did.” you shiver at her ominous words. she’s right, after all. beomgyu dropped her the second you showed interest in him, who’s to say he won’t do the same to you? sure, he’s acting lovey dovey now, but you’ve seen firsthand how quickly his tune can change. you’re absolutely fucked. it’s your word against hers, and with the evidence of your betrayal seeping into her sheets, you don’t like your odds. you can’t help but stare at beomgyu, and, as if he’s reading your mind, he says his next words patiently.

“i love you. i would never hurt you like this.” he loves you now? you continue to look at him doubtfully. his words seem cheap after hana’s unforgiving speech, and he realizes he’s losing you when you don’t respond. hana doesn’t stop there, though.

“if he did this to me, i can’t wait to see what he’ll do to you,” she laughs. hana is, objectively speaking, a lot more of a catch than you are. and to the very bitter end, she won’t let you fucking forget it.

“shut your fucking mouth!” he exclaims and she flinches, as do you. you’ve never seen him so angry and it’s enough to scare you. 

“... i should go,” you croak.

“yeah, you should,” hana ridicules. you do an incredibly shaky walk of shame as you quickly gather your things. 

“hey, wait!” he pleads, but you’re already booking it out of the door. he goes to run after you, but hana grabs him forcefully by his shoulder and he spins around to face her. you slam the door, not wanting to know what kind of makeup sex they will probably be having relatively soon. as soon as you’re gone, hana begins.

“are you fucking crazy? her, of all people?!” she hisses.

“i thought i told you to watch how you talk about her,” he says lowly. his eyes are so intense, she’s momentarily stunned, but he’s crazy if he thinks that’ll shut her up. perhaps to her eventual regret, she says her next words.

“if i tell everyone, she’ll be fucking ruined. she’ll have nobody after this.” 

“so?” 

“so, stay with me,” she says softly, while, to his disgust, grabbing his hands and pleading with him. “stay with me, and i won’t tell anybody.” she looks as pathetic as a dog right now, and her words make him laugh in her face.

“tell them,” he says. 

“w-what?” she sputters.

“tell them all. i want you to tell them how i fucked one of your best friends and got her pregnant. tell them how i fucked her raw in your own bed. go on, i’d love to see their reactions when they find out.” 

“you’re… you’re fucking crazy,” she gasps.

“maybe, but not crazy enough to stay with you,” he shrugs. “i got what i wanted, i don’t need you anymore.” for once, she shuts her mouth. the puzzle pieces finally fit together and her jaw drops in awe.

“you did this on purpose?” 

“maybe you’re not as dumb as you look,” he sneers, and with that, he zips up his pants and pats her cheek. “you were okay in bed, but that’s about it.” 

her tears are falling, but that does nothing to mar her beauty. still, his heart remains unfazed. 

“when she finds out, she’ll leave you,” she sobs.

“and who will she believe? her ex friend who’s out to get her, or me? the only person she has left? i’d love to see who she believes.” his words leave her in even more tears, but he does nothing to placate her. he just grabs his shit and slams the door behind him.

-

hana wastes no time in telling your friends about your scandal. your incoming texts range from “what the fuck is wrong with you” to “is it true?” to “you’d better not show your face to us again”.

you attempt to explain yourself, but to no avail. even if hana lied to you first, you committed the ultimate betrayal with a smile on your face. nobody wants to hear your sob story about your forbidden love with beomgyu. nobody, not even your best friend, dares to defend you now.

the one person who’s on your side has been texting you relentlessly, though. beomgyu’s insistence on making sure you’re okay does little to quell the uneasiness in your heart. hana’s words resound in your head. “if he did this to me, i can’t wait to see what he does to you.” you don’t want to give him that chance, but your resolve is weakening when you feel yourself becoming more and more isolated from the people you used to call your friends. 

for days, you don’t leave your house except to go to work. where else can you go? you don’t have anyone to go out with you anymore. still, beomgyu texts and attempts to call you through it all. his messages are all about how much he loves you, how much he misses you, how much he needs you. how much he promises to make things right with you and how you’re the only one he’s wanted all along. more and more, you feel yourself slipping away. even though you never respond, you still sift through his messages and it’s enough to bring smiles, no matter how small, to your face. he loves you, wants you, needs you. who else do you have in your life to say things like that to you? 

still, the thought of trusting him scares you to your bones. what if he does the same shit to you? you don’t have a support system anymore. you don’t have anybody to rely on when he inevitably hurts you in the same way. why wouldn't he, after all? you’re no match for the kind of girls who come his way. what happens when he gets sick of you and wants to fuck another girl in your bed? you’re stuck with these thoughts as you nurse a bottle of vodka, alone in your apartment with nobody but yourself. this is what you deserve, you think. 

a knock on your door is enough to pull you out of your drunken haze. is it one of your friends? could they have finally gotten over their intial shock and disgust and understood that you didn’t mean for any of this to happen the way it did? you stumble to the door and you’re too drunk to even think about checking who it is before desperately swinging open the door. you are not met with the familiar face of one of your friends, however. instead, you see the face of the boy who’s been haunting your dreams for the past few nights.

“beomgyu?” he looks absolutely devastated, eyes reddened and wet with his face ghostly pale. he reeks of alcohol and he stands almost tremblingly. he doesn’t respond to you, just stares at you with the same intensity that entranced you from the very beginning.

“what are you doing here?” you ask. 

“can i come in? please?” you’ve never been able to say no to him, and you especially can’t in his current pathetic state. you move from the doorway to allow him access and quietly shut the door behind him.

“what do you want?” you try.

“want you,” he sobs, tears finally flowing from his sad brown eyes. “all i want is you.” your heart aches when you see him like this. you thought hana’s reaction was devastating enough, but he looks absolutely wrecked right now, putting her despair to shame, really. 

“i don’t know what to say,” you admit. “we fucked up, plain and simple. and i don’t know how i can trust you after what we did.” you’re not a victim in this, to be clear, but you’re far too vulnerable to accept the heart that he's holding out for you so carelessly. 

“i know, and i'm sorry. i'm so, so sorry. what can i do to make you trust me?” he begs. your already soft heart softens even more at his words, but you have to be realistic.

“i… i don’t think i can. if you had just talked to me in the first place things could've been different,” you reason. this only puts the boy in an even worse state. he’s almost wailing now, and he looks to you for comfort.

“p-please, just please. give me one chance,” he cries, looking absolutely frantic. “i’ll prove it to you, just let me.” he reaches for your face and you didn’t even realize you’re crying until he swipes away your tears. well, you’re already going to hell. what’s the point in atoning for your sins now? 

as if he can read your mind, he musters up a shaky smile before leaning in and giving you a chaste kiss. his lips taste salty, but sweet, and he’s kissing you with a passion you’ve never felt before. you almost believe him when he says you’re the only one. almost.

“h-how do i know you’re not going to do the same thing to me?” you ask unsteadily. 

“i would never,” he says immediately. “i would never hurt you.” at least, not like this. but you don’t know that yet. 

-

in the weeks following his drunken appearance at your door, being with beomgyu is even better than you thought it would be. it’s like a switch has been turned back on and he’s back to treating you like a princess, almost like the months since your “breakup” never happened. he randomly brings you flowers, showers you with kisses, and he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you along with declarations of love, which you never directly reciprocate. no matter how well he treats you, though, there’s an underlying sense of unease. you still find it difficult to fully trust him, and he can tell. it’s driving him to the brink of madness trying to come up with ways to show you how much he cares.

you’re in the middle of pensively reevaluating the nature of your relationship with beomgyu for the 100th time when you hear a knock on your door. at this point, you don't even bother checking who it is because you already know it'll be beomgyu. no matter how desperately you wish it were one of your ex-friends, you’re always met with his face, instead. you open the door and you’re shocked, to put it mildly. standing before you is not the beomgyu you know and (probably) love, but hana.

“we need to talk,” she grumbles. almost as if you’re possessed, you let her in without much fuss. is she here to rekindle your friendship? to tell you she’ll forgive you after what you’ve done to her? 

“hana, listen i’m so incredibly sor—” 

“save it,” she says, lifting her hand. “i’m only here ‘cause i have something i need to say to you. it took me weeks to come here because i don’t even wanna look at you.” you gulp and nod, genuinely anxious as to what she has in store for you.

“i’m just going to tell you straight up. beomgyu’s not who you think he is,” she deadpans. 

“w-what do you mean?” if she’s talking about how he’ll eventually betray you, you’ve already thought of that. why she thinks this is news to you, you don’t know.

“listen to me, he planned this whole fucking thing.” what could she possibly mean by that? he planned to get caught by her? that doesn’t even make sense. “i told him i’d be home the night that i walked in on you.” your jaw drops in horror, but she continues as if she doesn’t notice.

“i think… i think he heard us over the phone and knew you’d be there before meeting with jay. he told me he wanted our friends to find out and to see who you’d believe if i told you. whether you believe me or not, i really don’t give a fuck, but it’s true. he said he got what he wanted, so he doesn’t need me anymore.” she chokes on her last words and you can't help but feel sorry for her, but that feeling is overshadowed by the feelings of anger towards beomgyu. you don’t think hana would lie about this. she looks so flustered and heartbroken, you don’t believe for a second that she’s lying just to rile you up. before you can reply, the door opens and beomgyu’s figure appears in your doorway. he has a smile on his face, but it drops lightning fast when he sees who’s standing there.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” he says with a scowl.

“i’m on my way out,” hana mumbles, pushing past him. he doesn’t even attempt to stop her. he registers the mixed emotions on your face and he can guess what she said to you without much effort.

“let me explain,” he says lowly, already heading towards you to placate you like you’re some sort of wild animal he has to coax. and you’re so angry, you might as well be.

“explain what? that you ruined my fucking life?” you spit. he flinches at your tone, even more so at your next words. “what i don’t understand is why? is my life a fucking game to you?” his face crumbles at this. 

“n-no! never!” he sputters.

“then what is this? what’s your reason for planning for hana to walk in us? is this a kink or something?” he shakes his head frantically. 

“you don’t understand, i just wanted it to be us,” he pleads. “i don’t like them. they’ll just try to take you away from me.” 

“take me away from you? beomgyu, i’m not some fucking toy. i’m a person. a person whose life you fucking ruined for no reason!” you exclaim. you’re so frustrated you could cry, so you do. does he not realize how badly he fucked you over? “you promised you’d never hurt me,” you sob.

“i-i did it for us! they wouldn’t care about how we feel… they’d just take hana’s side without even thinking about it!” he argues, grabbing your hands. you want to pull away, but if you do, that means you’ll be completely alone. 

“you didn’t even give them a chance,” you reason. “now it’s really over,” you say between sobs. “i… i could’ve talked to them, but you ruined it!” 

“i just want you all to myself, is that so bad?” he asks, as if he genuinely can't understand why you’re so upset. he’s actually sick in the head.

“why?!” you ask again, ripping your hands from his grasp.

“because i love you,” he says desperately. “i just love you so much. i’m sorry, i’ll never do anything like this again,” he promises. 

“yeah, you won’t,” you reply bitterly. “because i won’t give you that chance.” 

“w-what do you mean?” he asks, lips trembling and eyes red.

“i’m not doing this with you anymore. this whole thing was doomed from the start,” you reply firmly. he shakes his head as if denying it with fervor will undo what you’ve said, tears now flowing freely from his reddened eyes.

“no, p-please,” he cries. “i only did it because i love you so much. ever since i first saw you, i only ever wanted to be with you. i… i know i fucked up, but it was the only way. believe me, please.” your already soft heart is softening even more as you listen to the desperation in his voice. he sounds so lost and scared, as if he really doesn’t know what he’ll do if you tell him no. you briefly wonder if he’s ever heard the words: “no, beomgyu. you’ve gone too far this time.” but as you watch him come undone before you, you don’t think you’ll be able to be the one who tells him no, anyway. 

“i’m giving you one, and i mean one, last chance. if you fuck up this time, i promise you, you’ll never see me again,” you declare. you don't know what you’re expecting, really, but the sight of even more tears streaming down his face is not it. he grabs you and pulls you in his warm and trembling embrace.

“th-thank you,” he cries. “you won’t regret this.” 

“i’d better not,” you mumble. even if you do, you can’t deny the way your heart skips a beat at his pure, unadulterated need for you. even if you do come to regret it, it’s impossible to look at him right now and say he’s not being sincere. he pulls away from you and hurriedly captures your mouth, and as if your next words will take back what you said, he seals them in your throat before you can manage to get anything more out. as the kiss becomes more heated, you feel something hard and angry poking into your stomach.

“already?” you tease. he actually blushes at this.

“can’t help it. need you,” he replies sheepishly. 

“you need me, huh? is that why you’ve been so bad?” you ask, palming him deliciously through his pants.

“n-not bad! just love you so much, couldn’t stop myself.” your temper actually flares a little at this. you palm him more harshly and his breath catches when you do.

“really? but you’ve been so bad, i don’t think you deserve me,” you say menacingly, pulling your hand away. he audibly whimpers at this.

“no, no, no, please! i’ll be good from now on,” he pleads as he grabs your hand and begins to snake it under the waistband of his pants. you let him, but you don’t take his hardened length into your hand like you usually would. instead, you tease the sensitive area around it, even going so far as to ghost your fingers over his balls, but you conveniently avoid giving him any sort of friction or attention, so he’s gasping when you give him a mean and unexpected tug. 

“p-please stop teasing me,” he cries, eyes so beautiful and watery. “i know i’ve been bad, but i can make you feel so good.” he’s right, in a way. you’ve never and will never feel as good as you do when beomgyu pumps into you and shoots his hot load in your pussy, but he’s deranged if he thinks you’ll let him have you so easily tonight. not after what he’s done.

“hmm, i’m not so sure about that,” you hum. you lead him to your bedroom as if he’s hypnotized. you haven’t even let him enter you yet, if you’re going to let him do so at all, but he’s already acting like he’s drunk on you. 

“strip,” you command simply. without any questions or doubts, he eagerly takes off his hoodie and shoves his pants down, stepping out of them and closer to you. it’s sickeningly sweet to see how possessed he is by you. he tries to take your own clothes off, but you smack his hand away. 

“bad boy,” you say, and he whines like a dog. “lay down.” he does what you say, lying completely exposed on your bed as he gives a few pulls on his throbbing cock. “stop fucking touching yourself or you’re not getting anything from me,” you add, and he whines even louder. 

“please touch me,” he begs, cock standing all red and weeping. 

“you don’t deserve it,” you shrug. you take off your pants and he leches at the image of your pussy dripping wet for him, and so soon. all he can think about is how warm it is and how fervently he wants to be in it. he thinks you’re going to sit on his cock, because that would be the most natural course of action, but all you do is lay next to him and pull something out of your nightstand drawer. a vibrator. are you fucking serious? 

“no!” he begs, already knowing how this is going to go.

“you can take what you get from me or you can beat it,” you bite back. that shuts him up. he’s biting his lip, trying not to get scolded again, but he can’t help but whine again when you spread your legs and turn your vibrator on. 

“ah,” you moan as the rubber tip hits your clit. “feels so good.” 

“i’d feel better,” he insists, eyes widened and desperate like a madman. 

“touch yourself,” you say in response. “i'm not touching that dirty cock of yours, so take care of it yourself.” he doesn’t need to be told twice. he immediately spits on his hand and begins to wildly jerk his weeping cock. he whines at the friction. you, however, are so lost in the feeling of the vibrations pulsating throughout your pussy, you couldn’t seem to care less about what he does. this only makes him whine even louder. he’s experiencing pleasure, sure, but the sounds coming from him are exaggerated and theatrical. he’s just trying to get a rise out of you. he just wants you to look at him, is that too much to ask?

you open your eyes at his petulant noise and say your next words so quietly, if he wasn’t paying more attention, he’d miss them. “kiss me.” so he does. the kiss is filthy and nothing more than the tangling of tongues, but that combined with the stimulation on your poor pussy is enough to make you near the edge. 

beomgyu can tell you’re close, and his kisses become even more heated as he abuses his cock under his hand. he’s moaning into your mouth, showing you, in no uncertain terms, just how badly he wants to be in you instead. 

“let me do it,” he begs. “come around me, instead. it’ll feel so much better.” his dirty words break you out of your trance and you annoyedly shut the vibrator off while tossing it god knows where. you tear his hand away from his cock and mount him, teasingly rubbing yourself against him, but refusing to put it in. he whines and pouts, but you’re far too busy trying to get yourself off to appease him. then, as if he’s possessed, he raises his hips and his tip catches on your entrance. you both gasp at his shallow intrusion. 

“p-please sit on it, it hurts,” he asks rather pathetically. 

“i can’t, beomie. you haven’t even fingered me yet — you’ll break me in half,” you say provocatively. he whimpers at the imagery. “and you've been so bad, how can i let you get what you want? you’ll never learn if i do that.” 

“i’ve learned! i promise, i’ve learned! just, please, help me,” he cries, bucking his hips up and holding your waist so hard you’ll know he’ll leave bruises. 

“mmm, i don’t knowwww,” you drawl.

“please!” and with that, you angle your hips and begin to sink on his thick length. the stretch burns and you can’t help but cry out as you feel your pussy enveloping every inch of him mercilessly. he’s in tears when he feels you throbbing around him, pussy stretching to accommodate how big he is. when you finally, finally take him all in, he can’t help but begin to fuck into you wantonly. 

“b-beomie, slow down!” 

“c-can’t! feels so good,” he says, tears streaming down his pretty face. he grabs your waist even tighter and flips you around so you’re lying beneath him. his cock continues to hammer into you and you’re seeing stars. his mouth is open, drool pooling out of the corners of his lips, and he’s moaning out your name like a prayer.

“pussy so good, so perfect,” he babbles. “missed this. missed feeling you like this.” 

“i missed it too,” you admit. 

“wanted you, wanted you for so long,” he continues. you don’t even think he knows what he’s saying, but you can tell he means every word. he reaches to your stomach and presses down where his cock is ramming into you. your eyes roll back at the pleasure that comes with the pressure. 

“my baby could be in here,” he muses. “our baby.” this should scare you into sobriety, but it does nothing of the sort. you find yourself tightening even further at the thought of him breeding you like a bitch. 

“i’ll take care of you, i swear,” he says as he thrusts so hard your head nearly meets the headboard. “i’ll give you everything you need. sh-shit, baby, wanna fill you up so good you feel me for days,” those words in addition to his sloppy thrusts are what send you over the edge. you clench around him and he hisses at how you’re even tighter than usual. you feel his thrusts become even more sporadic and he’s emptying himself into you unceremoniously. as he softens, he pulls out and you wince at the feeling. to your surprise, he moves down to your pussy and begins to lap up all of the cum like a starving animal. then, he pulls you in for one last nasty kiss. 

-

you don’t know if you necessarily trust beomgyu, but it’s hard not to at least try to when he basically prostrates himself in front of you on a daily basis. he lets you walk all over him, really. if you call him, he comes running. if you’re mad or upset, he soothes you. when you’re being unreasonable, he reasons, anyway. you still haven’t heard from your friends, but you’re starting to accept the fact that you never will. he introduces you to his friends, and surprisingly, they actually welcome you with open arms. apparently, they didn’t like hana very much and knew beomgyu always had a thing for you. you’re not sure how to feel about that, but you’re flattered, nonetheless. 

you call beomgyu crazy, and maybe he is, but he always says it's because he's crazy in love with you. you want to playfully smack him when he says such cheesy words, but you're starting to really believe him.

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Love and Deepspace Headcanons: Height Insecurities

A/N: This one if for all my tall girlies who sometimes get insecure with their height. I'm 5'11 and rarely see anything about tall MCs!!! So have this <3

ETA: Please do not complain in the replies about being short! And if you want me to write about short girls, go through the ask box, not replies. This post is for tall girlies!!!

Warnings: Mildly suggestive, jealousy, height insecurity, minor bullying

Ask Box: Open

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Xavier:

You’re going on a solo mission

Xavier is insistent on going with you

You tell him that you’ll be fine on your own despite your heart warming over his need to protect you

But Xavier thinks it’s too dangerous

Everyone else seems to disagree

They all think you could handle yourself and have thought that since day one

You crossed your arms and tapped your foot impatiently as you waited for Xavier to finish talking to another hunter. This has happened more than once. You were assigned a solo mission and Xavier was making it his mission to protect you. It wasn’t a bad thing. Ever since you became a hunter, everyone thought that you’d be able to handle yourself with no training.

It was nice that at least someone wanted to help.

Xavier sighed and crossed his arms. “I want to go with her.”

”But you promised to hang out with the group today.” The hunter looked irritated. “You never go out with us.”

”This is more important.”

The hunter groaned in frustration. “C'mon, man! She's like a giant. She can take care of herself."

There it was. The real reason everyone thought you could handle yourself. At first, it hurt. But then there was just pure frustration. How stupid it was that people felt like you didn’t need help because of your height. It didn’t matter the difficulty of the mission. Everyone saw you as a tall, strong, giant that didn’t need anyone.

”She needs me.” Xavier looked back at you and smiled. “Right?”

You nodded sheepishly. “I could use the help.”

”Whatever. Have fun, I guess.”

The hunter walked away, grumbling under his breath. Xavier kept smiling at you. He grabbed your hand and pulled you to his side. You leaned against him, resting your head against his. 

“I don’t think you’re a giant.” Xavier squeezed your hand. “I like your height.”

You smiled. “Thank you. And thank you for always helping.”

”Of course. I’ll always be there by your side.”

Xavier didn’t see you for your height. He saw you as a person. Around him, you always felt comfortable in your skin.

Rafayel:

It's been a rough time for you

You've been feeling more and more insecure about yourself

Rafayel notices and tries his best to distract you from your thoughts

Teases you but in a way that makes you feel good about yourself

You stood in front of your mirror, turning from side to side. You tried to tug down the bottom of your skirt. The fabric felt itchy against your skin despite being soft. You then reached up to pull down the hem of your shirt. It seemed like nothing fit you correctly. Everything looked awkward on your body. Long, gangly limbs and a tall torso made it difficult for clothes to fit you well. You often found that the only way you looked remotely presentable was if you wore clothes that hid your arms and legs. If only you could hide your height as well.

"I like that skirt on you." Rafayel hummed, coming up behind you.

You immediately started adjusting your skirt again. "It's too short. It makes my legs look weird."

"It makes your legs look amazing." He rested his chin on your shoulder. "You don't normally wear stuff like this."

Your nose scrunched. "I prefer the baggy clothes. It's better to look like a shapeless blob than an awkward stalk of corn."

Rafayel snorted. "Stop it. You look great."

"You're just saying that."

He hummed and wrapped his arms around your waist. His nose nuzzled in your neck, leaving light kisses. One of his hands started to trace along your body. Your eyes were focused on the mirror. You didn't see what he saw. You couldn't find the beauty in your height. And yet… Rafayel was touching you like you were a fragile piece of treasure.

"Would you love me more if I was shorter?" You murmured without thinking. "If my arms and legs were shorter? If it was easier to hold me? Look down at me with…"

You stopped talking and bit your lip. You felt stupid for getting insecure over something so trivial. But every time you looked in the mirror, every time you saw yourself with Rafayel, you couldn't help but think what it would be like if you were different. If he wanted you to be different.

"Don't be stupid."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Rude."

Rafayel rolled his eyes. He moved your chin so you were looking at the mirror again. "You're being rude to yourself. And no, I wouldn't want to have you any different."

"But-"

"No buts. I like you just the way you are. Besides, if you were shorter–" His lips ghosted against your ear. "There would be less to love."

Zayne:

You decide to give Zayne a surprise visit during his shift at the hospital

But when you show up, there’s a nurse so painfully obviously flirting with him

You can’t help but feel insecure at how cute they look together

She's so tiny and cute

While he looks like some sort of knight

And you just want to leave

You stood there with a bag of food in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. You noticed Zayne had been stressed with work, so you wanted to give him a surprise visit. You didn't expect to see him smiling and chatting with one of the nurses. The fatigued look he had this morning had all but disappeared. A wave of insecurity washed over you as he reached out and patted her head.

He never did that with you.

Just as you were about to turn around and go home, both of them looked over your way. You quickly masked your expression and smiled. The nurse gave you a small wave before saying something to Zayne. She then disappeared down the hall. Zayne walked over to you. He gave you a curt nod.

"I wasn't expecting you."

His voice wasn't cold, but it wasn't as warm as you imagined it was when he was talking to her. Your gaze matched his perfectly. He didn't have to look down. If he wanted to pat your head, he'd have to reach up. You found yourself shrinking away, wishing you were smaller.

Zayne said your name and tilted his head. "Are you okay?"

"Oh." You held out the bag of food and drinks. "I came to drop these off."

"You're not staying?" He took the bag and drinks.

"You look busy." Your voice came out harsher than you wanted. You cleared your throat.

"I'm on a break. Join me."

"It's fine. You can share the food with the nurse."

Zayne's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He sighed. You looked away. You got caught. But it was hard to hide your emotions around him anyway. There was a moment of silence before Zayne motioned his head for you to follow him. You contemplated running away.

Once you got to his office, he closed the door behind him. "What's wrong?"

You pursed your lips. "I'm just being childish. It's nothing."

"You can tell me anything. I won't judge you." He set down everything in his hands.

You hesitated before answering. "You don't pat my head. Is it because I'm too tall?"

Zayne's head whipped over to you. He stared at you in disbelief. Your cheeks turned crimson from embarrassment. It sounded so stupid now that you had said it out loud. You awkwardly shifted on your feet and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. 

"I-I mean… y-you never do things like… uhm… it's stupid."

"It's not stupid." Zayne said. His voice was shaky as he tried to hide his laugh.

"Don't laugh!"

"I'm not."

"This is serious!"

"I'm being serious." Zayne walked over to you. He reached up and patted your head. "There."

You pouted and crossed your arms. "It doesn't feel awkward?"

He shook his head. "No. I just didn't know if you'd like it or not."

"Well… I do."

"Good." He kissed your forehead. "Do you feel better now?"

"Do you promise not to go patting other girls' heads?"

"Yes."

"Then I feel better."

Sylus:

Sylus has to take you to a party (“I need an accessory.”)

Forces you to wear heels

You’re automatically taller than him 

As soon as you’re at the party, you’re uncomfortable with the stares

Spend the whole night glued to his side

Until a woman wearing what could barely be called a dress interrupts

And treats you like a freak

”Interesting choice of a date.” 

“I like standing out.”

”Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to you.”

You didn’t even fight the urge to roll your eyes. A lady, who was wearing a dress that was almost as short as a t-shirt, was currently flirting with Sylus. Her hand was on his arm as she stared up at him with fake puppy dog eyes. You stood off to the side like a forgotten NPC.

Sylus looked down at her arm before looking at her. “Maybe.”

She smirked. “This party's getting pretty boring. Why don’t we… get out of here?”

”And leave my date?” Sylus glanced back at you. “I think not.”

”Her? Oh, please. Leave the freakshow here.” She snorted.

“Excuse me?” Sylus asked, his voice low.

”I mean, look at her! Wearing heels while that tall? Talk about attention seeking.”

This would be the moment that you would snap and say something back. But all the fight in you was gone. A night full of stares and whispers had  you down to nothing. You looked away and wrapped your arms around yourself. You should’ve told him that you weren’t going to wear the heels. You were already too tall as is.

”Well, look at you.” Sylus said calmly.

”What?”

He grabbed the woman’s hand, twisting it back. “Look at you. Wearing a dress that’s too tight and too short. Weren’t you looking for attention?”

”Th-That’s not-“

”But I suppose that’s the difference between her and you, isn’t it? She’s dressed elegantly and will end the night with me worshipping her body like the goddess she is. You obviously dressed like a slut who wanted to be taken home by the end of the night, but will end up in a cold and lonely bed.”

The woman tried pulling away, her face red with embarrassment. Sylus breathed out a light chuckle. He pushed her away before focusing his attention on you. He placed his hand on the small of your back and started to lead you out of the venue.

”Sylus, that was too much.” You whispered with a faint smile.

He shook his head before placing a chaste kiss on your neck. “I was just defending you. She was being a bitch.”

”Don’t call women bitches.” You chided.

”I just speak the truth.”

”Were you speaking the truth about worshipping my body?”

”Why do you think we’re leaving?”

Caleb:

You left him alone for five minutes while at the mall food court

And suddenly he’s surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls

One of them is comparing her hand size to his

And jealousy just shoots through you

Oh, to be a cute tiny girl that everyone fawns over

But during your self pity, you don’t even notice Caleb is uncomfortable and wants to go back to you

Those girls just couldn’t stop laughing. Caleb had to go to the bathroom, leaving you alone at the table in the food court eating alone. You noticed he was taking longer than usual. So when you were about to get up to find him, you saw he was a couple feet from your table surrounded by a group of women who just couldn't help themselves.

"You're so tall!!"

One girl giggled. "Right? You must play sports! You look athletic."

"And your hands!" Another grabbed his hand. She placed her palm against his. "So big…"

That sent a fit of laughter through them. You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. You expected this to happen at some point. Looking at Caleb, it's no wonder girls go crazy over him. But watching this was just painful. Especially knowing you didn't look as nearly as cute and small as they did. You were way above the height average. You were never "cute". The compliments, if you could even call them that, was about how you towered over everyone else.

Caleb looked over at you. He gave you a sheepish smile as if silently asking for help. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. He couldn't handle himself? If you went over there and told them off, you'd be seen as a scary goliath. No, you would just sit here and sulk.

"Hey!" Caleb called your name. "Come over here!"

You sighed to yourself and reluctantly got up. You walked over to Caleb. "Yes?"

Caleb wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close. He was smiling brightly. "I'd like you to meet-"

"Is she one of your friends?"

"Oh!" One of the girls looked over you. "She's so… tall!"

"Wow! I bet her hands are way bigger than mine."

The hidden venom behind their compliments stung you. You tried to hide your blushing face and looked at the ground. No one ever thought the two of you were dating. Who would date someone like you? You let out another sigh. Did he really need to subject you to this kind of embarrassment? Caleb's grip on you got tighter. He laughed. Oh. It was that laugh that he used when he was really pissed. Those girls had it in for them now.

He almost glared at the girls. "This is my girlfriend."

One of the girls frowned. "Oh."

Another leaned in to one of her friends and failed to whisper quietly enough. "Why would he date someone so tall?"

"He certainly wouldn't date someone annoying like you.' You muttered.

"Excuse me?" She scoffed. All of their expressions changed to glares.

"Oh, you're so funny." Caleb laughed and nodded his head. "But you're right. I wouldn't date them. Not when I have you."

"Weirdos."

"You're not that hot anyway." They all started to leave. It was a lie. He was that hot. But he only had eyes for you. As Caleb shot them one last glare before pulling you in a hug, your jealousy slowly melted away. He never once complained or made fun of your height. Even when you were kids and had gone through an awkward growth spurt. He loved you for you. You should've been more confident in that.

[disneyprincemuke]

count on us * fem!driver

she often forgets that she’s got a support system she can ask for help from

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

warnings: stalking, mentions of violence, cursing

notes: i think it's so funny how i took so long to write this that i'm only writing a note like 5 minutes after posting this LMFAO

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

sebastian looks up from his phone, the noticeable lack of a woman’s voice finally sinking in. now that he thinks about it, it’s been suspiciously too long for his driver to be missing.

he raises an eyebrow as he scans the garage for the familiar face, but alludes to nothing.

he presses his lips together, silently exiting the garage to find himself in the paddocks. sending her a quick text to ask her where she is, he puts the phone into his back pocket as he makes it a mission to find the small girl.

in the crowd of people who are heads taller than her, it’s deem an almost impossible mission.

“hey, seb,” max greets him with a nod and a smile, almost passing him nonchalantly.

until sebastian reaches out to stop him. “have you seen (y/n)?”

“i have not,” max frowns. “is something wrong?”

“yeah,” sebastian turns in a circle where he is, gesturing to the empty space by him, “my shadow is missing.”

max raises his eyebrows. “that’s true. she’s usually always around you.”

“if you see her, can you give me a call?” sebastian asks. max gives him a nod before bidding him a goodbye.

he spends the better part of the next twenty minutes trying to spot her, walking the paddocks twice for good measure. yet she is nowhere to be found.

he’s asked four more different drivers if they’ve chanced upon her presence, yet there is nobody that’s seen her.

not logan, and not even oscar. which is odd.

not even a response from you. so, he goes to the one place he hasn’t tried: her driver’s room. she doesn’t frequent staying in too long on media day, claiming that she’s trying to get used to the environment of formula 1.

which, is actually working. there are times she’s able to roam the paddocks and go to interviews by herself. but half the time, sebastian or someone else does an interview with her as a calming tactic.

he knocks on her door once and goes without an answer. he knocks another time before he hears shuffling from the other side of the door.

the door squeaks open, the shorter woman peeking through the small opening she’s allowed. “yeah?”

“i’ve been looking for you everywhere. why aren’t you texting me back?” sebastian asks, looking the door up and down. “and why won’t you open the door all the way?”

“just wasn’t feeling well,” she says softly with a sigh. her head is dropped low, as if to avoid any forms of eye contact. “my room is a mess.”

“you’re not well? why didn’t you tell me?” sebastian questions with the raise of his eyebrow. “can you let me in? let’s talk in private.”

she presses her lips together, as if considering her options. ultimately, she shakes her head. “we can talk here.”

“kid, you’re being very weird. i’m concerned and-“ he pauses, dropping his head slightly to meet her puffy eyes. “have you been crying?”

she tilts her head away from him and lets her hair drop to the side of her face. “none of your business, seb.”

sebastian sighs, leaning on the door frame. “if something is wrong, you can talk to me, you know? i won’t tell anybody.”

“just the hormones,” she croaks, still avoiding his eyes. “i’ll come out in a while for my interviews. i just need a while.”

he hums. “okay. i’ll be in the garage waiting for you, okay? text me when you’re coming out.”

“okay.” and then she closes the door on him.

oscar steps right by the garage’s entrance, careful not to cross the line that would consider him inside. “seb.”

sebastian pops up from behind the car. “oscar! what’s up?”

“(y/n) hasn’t been picking up my calls,” he admits with a sigh. “i’ve been trying to get a hold of her since we arrived on tuesday. have you got any idea where she is?”

“what?” sebastian glances at his watch. “she should’ve been out of her room by now. hasn’t she got an interview with you and logan?”

“that’s why i’m looking for her,” oscar frowns. “i had to ask lando to go first and cover for us. logan and i have been texting her but she never answers.”

“she’s been acting weird all day,” sebastian voices out in concern. “i swear she looked like she was crying when i dropped by her driver’s room earlier.”

“crying? that doesn’t happen often,” oscar mutters. “has she told you what’s bothering her?”

“she just shut the door on me and said she’d be out in a while,” sebastian shrugs. “what do you think is wrong with her?”

“i’m okay,” a small voice comes from behind sebastian. the two men turn their attention to her with puzzled expressions on their faces. “what?”

“no shorts for you today, mate?” oscar asks, eyeing her up and down. “it’s not that cold out today. why the sweatpants and jacket?”

“repping your team today, aye?” sebastian teases, reaching out to nudge her shoulder. “getting into the racing spirit, i see.”

“these were the only clean clothes i had in my bag,” she sighs, rubbing her eye. “i woke up late and i didn’t pack my bag last night. this was all i had in my driver’s room.”

“you could’ve asked me for a shirt,” sebastian shrugs. “you don’t have to get all warm in a jacket.”

“i’m alright, thank you,” she smiles politely. she grins at oscar. “we’re late for the interview, right? let’s go?”

oscar nods, watching in disbelief as she walks past him to get ahead. “yeah,” he says under his breath. exchanging a worried glance with sebastian, he quickly jogs to catch up with her. “hey, wait for me.”

“thank you so much for your time, and good luck for the weekend,” the interviewer smiles.

the three rookies mutter a mix of thank you’s. notably, the girl sat between the two boys stands up with her hands in her pockets.

“hey, are you on mute today? what’s got you so quiet?” logan calls out to the girl who’s already halfway out the door, slowly standing from his own seat.

“nothing, i’m just tired,” she answers monotonously, turning on her heel. “can you guys walk me back to my garage today? i know you haven’t in a while, and like, you don’t actually have to. i’m capable of walking the paddocks myself. but i thought it would be–“

oscar holds up his hands in front of her. “we’ll walk you back. no need to explain yourself.”

she huffs, dropping her head low again. “okay. thank you.”

logan raises his eyebrow. “you’re not fighting with me today?”

“just really tired,” she repeats, then putting the hood of her jacket over her head. “have you guys eaten? wanna go to the cafeteria with me and grab a bite?”

“i’ve got an interview panel in like 5 minutes,” oscar frowns, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “i’m sorry. maybe logan can go with you?”

“i’ve got to film some marketing stuff with alex for williams,” logan mirrors the frown on oscar’s face. “how about we go dinner right after? it’s my last commitment of the day.”

“oh, mine too.”

“then that’s okay. i’ll just eat in my hotel room.”

the disappointment that laces her voice is prominent enough for the two young boys to exchange a worried glance.

so, logan bends down with a warm smile. typically, his snide remarks and playful tone would have been enough to get a confession out of her. so he takes the route. “where’s the remote for your chatterbox function? i want it turned up.”

“maybe tomorrow, logan. i’m very tired,” she dismisses the american, eyes still trained on her feet as they walk.

“come on, seriously,” oscar grabs her shoulders, planting her on the spot while they surround her. “what’s wrong?”

“literally nothing,” she glances up, looking into their eyes briefly. she drops her head once more and walks around them to continue making her way down the pathway.

“you’ve got to tell us someday,” oscar mutters to logan, following behind her. “you eventually give us hints, you know.”

“i won’t,” she whips back quickly, “because nothing is wrong. i’m just feeling a little under the weather.”

“you’re not fighting with me, so i don’t know, dude,” logan whispers, eyes wide at her sudden change in behaviour. “not sure which version of you i like more. i miss your chaos.”

“stop worrying,” she huffs, coming to a stop in front of her racing home. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? i’m heading back to the hotel early.”

she doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on her heel to walk towards her doors.

oscar reaches out quickly, pulling her back towards them. “i’m only letting you go if you promise to stop ignoring our texts in the groupchat.”

“yeah, it’s sad talking to myself,” logan frowns. “oscar’s not a great texter. and he doesn’t even watch my tiktoks.”

“yeah, i do! i just don’t answer.”

“really? what tiktok did i send last?”

“that one edit about that banana cat!”

“liar! (y/n) sent that like a week ago! oscar!”

“well, you send too many! i can’t possibly sit down and watch 20 tiktoks, logan!”

“this is not what we should be worried about right now!” logan says, turning to the girl staring up at them with doe eyes. “watch my tiktoks. seriously.”

she smiles, yet the sadness in her eyes is so unmissable. “okay, i promise. and i’ll text you when i’m back in my hotel room.”

“you better actually text us,” oscar scoffs with an eyeroll. “i know your room number. i will come up and tear your room apart if you don’t.”

“okay,” she laughs. “i will remember to text you.”

she sits quietly at the dinner table, phone buzzing the table off as she continues to gobble down her chicken wing. she stares at the table blankly as she chews consistently.

“are you not gonna pick up your phone?” max asks, putting his spoon and fork down on the plate.

the constant buzzing had been going on for almost 5 minutes, and at first, he wasn’t going to say anything. but isn’t 5 minutes too long to leave your phone unanswered if there is a possible pressing matter at hand?

“oh, i’m sorry. i hadn’t noticed,” she says softly, grabbing her phone. she glances at the screen and all the colours from her face visibly drains and she puts the phone down on her lap. “sorry.”

“it’s something wrong? why didn’t you pick up?” max asks, continuing his meal.

“just the family groupchat going off as always after my interviews for the day,” she laughs nervously, returning to her state of blank stares and eating her dinner. “i’ll answer them later.”

“isn’t dalton gonna nag your head off if you don’t answer now?” oscar chuckles.

they had managed to convince the girl to come out for dinner. but it’s only sparked up more concern between him and sebastian as she opted to be out in her team merch again.

that’s after she swore up and down that she wouldn’t be caught dead in them in normal circumstances where they’re not needed. which also raised max’s eyebrows when he walked into the restaurant and was shocked by the striking purple that made their table stand out amongst the rest.

“he can wait a while longer,” she shrugs.

max pouts his lips. “why are you in team merch, anyway?” he asks, reaching out to pull on the material of her jacket. “you made fun of me for like 4 days straight when you realised i wear red bull merch too often.”

“i have to say i kinda get where you’re coming from,” she answers calmly. “they’re very comfortable.”

“comf–“ max looks around the table in disbelief. “you said that even if they’re comfortable, they’re not very ‘going out’ outfits. what?”

she turns to look at him, bored. “i changed my mind. you’re actually right.”

max sinks into his seat. “what’s gone wrong with the world?”

yuki had been minding his own business, scrolling on instagram when he heard a familiar squeak by a quiet corner outside the paddock’s gantries.

“hey, leave me alone!” a hushed voice says, before he hears shoes thumping against the floor. “i’ll give you the stupid pass if you never bother me again.”

“c’mon. that wasn’t the only agreement we came to. you have to let me take you out on a date,” a deeper voice says.

“yeah, not a chance! you think stalking me for two races and sending me unsolicited pictures would help your chances?” he recognises that voice.

he peeks over the corner, eyebrows raising in shock when he sees the driver push the unnamed man away from her.

“and if you weren’t scared of what i have in here,” he lifts up his hand to show her something, “then you wouldn’t have answered my messages.”

there’s silence for a while, before she grunts. “fine, whatever. here’s your pass. leave me alone in the paddocks, seriously.”

yuki studies the man’s face, before scrambling to walk away from where he is. he hums, walking as fast as he can to the gantry without looking suspicious.

when she pops up next to him, chest heaving with a sweaty forehead, she smiles. “hi, yuki.”

so he smiles back. “hi.”

and then he makes a sharp left after entering the paddocks, on his way to find max. the driver had mentioned the girl acting suspicious and asking a favour of him and daniel to keep an eye on her.

he never actually expected to be the one who find out.

“i think i know what’s bothering her,” yuki says softly, pulling max away from gp with an apologetic smile. he’s thankful that the engineers had been working on the car. he doesn’t have to hush himself so much after all. “i saw her… right outside the paddocks just a while ago.”

“seriously? you didn’t fucking tell us someone was harassing you?”

she sighs, arms folded over her chest as she looks between the men towering over her. she sinks into the comfort of her beanbag chair, defeated by their efforts to find out what’s wrong.

“and we had to find out from yuki because he was fortunate enough to overhear your conversation outside the paddocks?” sebastian shouts. “what the hell! that’s so dangerous.”

“he has pictures from my cloud, seb! that means screenshots of our conversations and my private pictures! i can’t risk that getting out! i’m hated enough as it is!” she explains, trying to reason out before getting another scolding. “can you please see where i’m coming from here?”

“no, because meeting him all by yourself is absolutely fucking insane!” logan throws his hands in the air, trying to make her see how ridiculous the whole situation is. “dude, you could’ve been mauled! nobody even saw you leave the paddocks.”

“imagine what could’ve happened to you? what would we tell your parents?” max adds on, hands on his hips. “this was very reckless.”

“i-“

“and if he planned to physically hurt you, what were you planning on doing?” logan cuts her off, hands on his hips as he grows more frustrated. “did you actually have a plan or were you just winging it?”

“it’s not even that. the way you thought this was even a good idea is beyond me!” sebastian tugs at the roots of his hair. “you should have told somebody!”

tears start to fill her eyes, lips pouted out as they start to quiver. the harassment had started about two weeks ago during their previous race.

initially, she had marked out the instagram dm to be from a spam account. until they sent her a picture only she would be in possession of: her and logan at a beach club from when he was 20 and she was 18 in barcelona.

suddenly the messages and the threats didn’t stop. she couldn’t only think of the repercussions it would have on her career, but everybody else’s who is involved in her life.

her cloud includes a collection of screenshots from their most ludicrous conversations and night outs.

“hey, i was only doing that to protect everybody i know!” she shouts, tears starting to spill out of her eyes. “there’s pictures and screenshots i’m sure each and everyone of you would like out of the public eye! i’ve got a fucking video of you,” she points at max, “giving daniel a lap dance in zandvoort!”

she points at logan, “and you,” then oscar, “and you wrestling to push each other into the pool in your underwear from years back!”

she turns to sebastian. “and you drunkenly crying because you regret retiring from formula 1!” she pushes herself off the seat. “i didn’t know what else to do. i’m sorry, but i didn’t see it going any other way than me caving in to what he wanted me to do.”

“i don’t know, get a fucking lawyer and sue his ass?” max asks.

“yeah, i’ve not got the funds for that! thanks for noticing!” she screams at the older driver, stomping her feet into the ground. “god, i didn’t know what to do, okay?”

she looks at the man in the corner of her room, leaning against the wall staring at the ground blankly with his arms in the pockets of his shorts.

“well, you’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” she points out. “nothing else to add on with everybody’s criticism of how i seem to have mishandled the situation?”

oscar looks up, meeting her eyes for a split second before looking away again. he presses his lips together. “it was reckless,” oscar says. he shrugs when she prompts him for a longer answer. “it’s done and it’s over. let’s figure out how to get him to bugger off, yes?”

“yes, but you have got to realise how wrong this could have gone so easily,” sebastian sighs, slightly calmer than he was a few seconds ago. “come on. be realistic.”

she frowns. “i didn’t know what to do, okay?”

max sighs, walking over to her. he lays his hand on the top of her head and pats it gently. “i’m sorry for shouting at you. i was just concerned. something bad could have really happened to you.”

“i know, but-“

“it’s okay,” max soothes her, pulling her into his arms for a hug. “you held a potential scandal off pretty well. but don’t do it like this again.”

“this is never going to work,” she mutters under her breath. after a wonderful qualifying session, she stands in her least favourite dress.

“it’ll work,” max mutters, “i’m max verstappen.”

“literally what’s that got to do with anything?” she scowls, extending her hand out to land a hit on his arm. “that name means nothing to this man!”

“you don’t know that. i’m a very powerful man,” max mutters dejectedly, hand pressed against his chest to feign hurt. “you’re not very nice.”

“shut up,” sebastian mutters, rolling his eyes at the two unlikely drivers to have gotten along very well. “we spent all qualifying session thinking of a way to get you out of this. be quiet.”

“fine,” she says softly, folding her arms. she takes a step back and sighs as logan takes her into his side for a comforting hug. “i didn’t know what else to do.”

“it’s okay,” logan whispers, rubbing her arm. “it’s over now. we’ll handle it for you.”

“i’m handling it for you,” sebastian mutters.

he straightens his shirt and stands a little taller as a figure comes down the dark alley of the paddocks.

“oh, you brought back up?” the man, who sebastian has come to know as ryan, grins. “big fan.”

“shut the fuck up,” max says, stepping forward when he stops in front of her.

“yeah, here’s how it’s gonna go,” sebastian says, pressing his palm into max’s chest to stop him. “you’re going to hand over that thumb drive or she sues you.”

he scoffs. “with what money? she’s only an underpaid rookie.”

“she’s got a whole grid of 21 other rich drivers ready to back this lawyer up,” sebastian says calmly. “don’t make it any harder for yourself. just hand it over before you get served.”

“i call bluff,” he shrugs simply. “you don’t want something like this out in the media.” he tilts his head to throw a teasing stare at the girl in logan’s arms. “especially not when it’s tied to her name.” he looks back at sebastian. “she wouldn’t let that happen to her.”

max clears his throat. “what if you just listen to us before we make this very difficult for you?”

“like how?”

“just trust me,” max smiles sweetly with a nod. “i can find ways to make life difficult for you.”

“what if i only leak pictures of her?” ryan grins, gesturing to the girl now throwing her head back in despair. “you’ve got good pictures, by the way. can’t wait to have you all to myself, you pretty little thing.”

“yeah, i’m done hearing this fucker out,” oscar mutters.

“oscar-“

logan is barely able to grab the australian’s arm before oscar has already lept forward to shove the man back.

“so i’ll make it difficult for you,” oscar smiles politely. his arm darts forward again, bunching up the material of ryan’s collar into his hands. he yanks him in. “i’m going to take that thumb drive out of your pockets myself, and then i’ll beat you with my own bare hands,” he points behind him, “while she watches.

“and then i’m going to get the best lawyer, find the judge, bribe them both and the jury combined,” oscar chuckles dryly, “put you in jail. and then i’m going to go in there and tear you limb from limb again.”

“ah, you’re too nice. you’d never.”

“say bet?”

“bet.”

“oscar, come on!” she shrieks, stumbling forward to yank him back. “you don’t beat people up! come on!”

“yeah, but i do!” max cheers, his hand darting out to shove the man back harder than oscar did. he stumbles a couple steps back and almost loses his balance, regaining it slowly. “i’ll finish what oscar started. come here.”

“hey, nobody’s beating this man up!” sebastian shouts, before quickly trying to lower his voice to avoid any unwanted attention. “listen, mate. i can make sure a court hearing goes by softly. benefits us, but gonna make you go broke. you decide.”

max lifts a finger into the air. “and don’t forget: i’m born petty. i already know where you work, so if you wanna keep that job…”

“and keep having a damn job for the rest of your life,” sebastian finishes max’s sentence. he holds his hand out, waiting for the item to be surrendered to him. “you know what’s best for you. come on.”

“fine, but-“

“there will be no buts, there will be no negotiations,” max grunts, rolling his eyes. if it weren’t for sebastian, he would have already given these three the show of their life. “you will listen to seb. end of story.”

“fine, whatever,” the man sighs, throwing the thumbdrive at sebastian. he tilts his head once more and winks at the girl. “let’s go for our date — that’s the one condition.”

“seriously, why haven’t you let me beat the crap out of this guy?” oscar asks ludicrously, throwing his hands in the air. he turns back to him. “we just said no negotiations. go and fuck off somewhere else.”

“and you better leave (y/n) alone because i grew up with brothers,” logan smiles, “i can fight.”

she moves her head lower, looking at oscar with wide eyes. she takes her spoon out of her ice cream cup and sways it in oscar’s field of vision. “hey.”

“yeah?” oscar asks, lifting his eyes from the table to meet hers.

“you mad at me?” she pouts her bottom lip out before dropping her gaze. “i’m sorry.”

“sorry for doing what you thought would help you out of a situation?” oscar smiles emphatically at her. he stabs his spoon into his ice cream and puts a firm grip on her wrist. “next time just come to one of us, okay? we’ll handle it.”

she presses her lips together as she sighs. “right. i forget that i don’t have to fend for myself anymore.”

“yeah. we’ve got your back. always,” oscar snorts. “you’re one of my best friends. logan and i would flip the earth for you.”

“likewise,” she smiles. “i’d help you bury a dead body.”

“maybe let’s not go that far.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @love4lando @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @cashtons-wife @bborra @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hurt comfort requests you sayyy?

What about post-prison spencer comforting sunshine reader when she got hurt during a case and she’s like physically hurt but trying to still be sunshiney to keep the team from worrying but spencer was like you don’t have to keep doing that, it’s okay to acknowledge your pain

"I don't want anything with opium in it." you say to the nurse who nods, leaving the room in search of your doctor.

Spencer is sat beside you on the plastic chair, watching you intently as he has been since you'd been admitted.

You hadn't cried once, and Spencer knows a little about being banged up and you should've cried at least twice. You've got bruising on your ribs, a couple broken as well as a broken nose- you really should've cried.

Instead, you let the nurses set your nose, bandage your side and read you your prescription like it was nothing.

"I can't wait to leave, I've been missing my ice cream." you sigh longingly as you lean back into the bed, turning to face Spencer.

His fair skin is a little splotchy, two spots from where he'd been fighting with the unsub, and one long red mark on his hand where you had been holding him as they reset your nose.

He's been a little checked out seeing you in the hospital bed. It's hard watching someone you love struggle to let themselves feel the less than desirable emotions.

"Do you think Emily will be upset if I come to work in the morning? I don't think I'll need more than a couple hours, but maybe the full day would be nice."

Spencer's eyes snap to yours at that. "You're not going to be able to be in the field for at least seven weeks."

Your eyes widen, "I'm fine. It's just a couple broken ribs, I can go to the office and fly on the jet no problem."

Spencer rolls his eyes, not at all liking that you're acting so cavalier about your injuries. "Try sitting up then, since it's just a couple ribs."

He doesn't mean for heat to seep into his words, and it's evident you weren't expecting it when he watches your eyebrows jump. Still determined, you try sitting up, wincing the whole time.

"Stop," you don't even lift yourself more than two inches off the bed before his hand is pushing your shoulder gently. Laying you out. "You don't have to pretend that everything is okay. You're injured, you can cry or scream or emote in something other than cheeriness."

You frown, "It's kind of my default." you murmur, Spencer doesn't believe you. He knows a lot about psychology and he knows a lot about you, he knows it's not your default.

"A learned one?" Your eyebrows jump again. He's still just as awkward and to the point as he's always been. Spencer takes a steadying breath, "I won't judge you for being upset or sad or anything else. You're allowed to and I don't want you suppressing it."

Your body sags with his permission. It's not that you needed his permission, and more that you needed the reassurance that it was okay. That you could just be.

"All emotions are good, we're supposed to feel all of them." it's this that does you in. Your throat scratches from the tears building through your chest and neck.

You sigh, shutting your eyes as you feel the sting of tears behind them. "I'm in a lot of pain, Spencer." your voice cracks and he's on the edge of your bed immediately, kissing your forehead as the tears fall. "It also kinda hurts to cry with a broken nose."

He chuckles at that, rubbing your arm as your tears begin to slow.

"I'll take care of you. The doctor is gonna come in and tell you that you can take Ibuprofen and you're gonna be here a couple more hours, but then we can go to my place and I'll have you in tip top shape in no time."

You open your eyes and look up at him. "You'd stay with me the full seven weeks?"

Your eyes shine with more tears under the harsh florescent light of the hospital, "I'd stay with you even longer than that, pretty girl." You know in your bones he means every word.

[hawkinsbnbg]

Silver fox Steve meets fox hunter Eddie.

When Steve accepted the teaching position at IU, he didn't expect to stumble upon Eddie Munson–an enigma—who loved metal, who wore leathers with chains and rings, who always stood out with that wild mane, those attractive tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, and who had been trying to get into his pants for months now.

“Is this still a violation to the college’s policies, Professor?” Hot lips planted by his ears, strong hands held him down, stopped him from getting away.

“N– No,” Steve gasped and rolled his eyes back as Eddie hit that spot again. They had been at it for over an hour now, and Steve only had himself to blame for being weak-willed.

He had half a mind to worry about what his colleagues might say tomorrow about having seen him slink away with one of the graduates. But his head was rendered blank when those long calloused fingers wrapped around his neglected cock and started jerking it.

“Am I still too young for you, Professor?”

“Ye– Oh, god–” Steve writhed and slobbered as his sweet spots were battered again.

“Just Eddie is fine,” the younger man nipped the tip of his ear teasingly before setting up a brutal pace.

Steve couldn't even talk, he just fisted the sheet beneath him, overwhelmed and overstimulated. He was kind of appalled and thrilled by it all. Because sex had never felt so good to him before.

“Am I good enough for you, Professor?” Eddie asked, voice husky and gravelly with lust.

Steve dropped his mouth open to maybe form a proper word or breathe, he didn't know. His brain was too fucked out to remember why he had kept turning Eddie away in the first place.

The guy clearly knew how to plow. Fucking Christ.

He nodded blindly, moaning and losing his mind as Eddie hammered into his prostate as if wanting to knock his soul away.

He came with Eddie’s name on his tongue, twitching and clenching around the thick cock that pulsed inside him. He milked it for what it was worth, and lamented inwardly Eddie had filled the condom and not him.

Once the post-coital high finally passed, the clarity of the situation dawned on him. Steve didn't regret it, but he was mildly disappointed this was just a one-time thing.

Because of all people, he knew Eddie’s kind the best. Always curious, always eager to take on challenges. And who else was better to conquer than Professor Harrington who was known for being a rule stickler?

Except, tonight was the first time he let himself be swayed by those charming smiles and big impish eyes. Maybe it was old ages having mellowed him, or maybe it was loneliness wearing his guard down.

Either way, someone brilliant like Eddie would never stick around for a boring old man like Steve. Which was completely understandable. But it didn't hurt less to think he was just another pitstop in Eddie’s life. Easy to forget, easy to leave behind.

“Hope you haven’t gotten tired of me yet, Mr. Harrington,” Eddie returned from the bathroom with a washcloth in hands, looking far too chirpy in only a pair of black boxers and not at all as drained as Steve felt.

God, what a time to be reminded that he was too old for this.

Sitting against the headboard, Steve said nothing and just watched Eddie climb on the bed and kneel over to him. When he intended to take the washcloth, Eddie just grabbed his hand to kiss the back of it instead.

“Allow me to take care of my date,” the younger man said cheekily before proceeding to wipe him down with practiced ease.

“Your date, huh?” Steve snorted, laughing at himself for being so pathetic to perk up at that.

“Yeah, my date,” Eddie smiled softly, tone still light-hearted but eyes intense when they met his own. “We’re kinda doing it backward here but I can fix that.”

Jesus. Steve didn't think he knew what he was getting himself into. And still, he couldn't help but listen to his stupid heart, the one that was telling him to give Eddie a chance.

“How?”

“I know this place has really good tacos,” Eddie rested a hand on his bare thigh and stroked it slowly. “They also serve quite decent drinks and mean buffalo wings.”

“What if I say no?” Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Well, in that case,” Eddie deflated, looking like a kicked puppy as he braved on. “I’ll respect your decision and get out of your hair soon.”

Steve sighed, wishing pretty boys with big eyes weren't his weakness.

“Listen carefully,” he leveled Eddie with a serious look. “If you’re just looking for someone to fool around with, then I’m not the right person for you. But if you want to try for a real relationship, then we can do it together. And I’ll expect you to be fully committed. No polygamy or anything alike.”

Eddie grinned at him, dimpled and bright, before cupping his cheek and kissing the side of his mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been committed to you since the first time we met. Been yours even before you noticed me.”

The fact that Steve could tell it was true made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Well then, Mr. Munson, I have no problem with you fixing our date tonight,” he turned his head slightly to press a chaste kiss on Eddie’s lips.

“So polite,” Eddie chuckled and kissed him again, but it was deeper and more tender this time.

Although Steve still couldn't quite believe Eddie would stick around, he decided to take the leap of faith anyway.

And many years later, when he glanced up from his newspaper to see Eddie showing him another new sweater for their dog, he knew he had made the right choice that night.