#youre not related to the fucking Kennedys

[echoxshxrx]

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[sapphire-weapon]

I love RE4 remake, but if there’s one thing I feel that we were absolutely robbed of, it’s the scene when Leon attacks Ada. It had so much potential. They could have really expanded on it. We’ve seen throughout the game that Saddler can command people who are infected with the Plaga without being near them. Imagine if they had included that scene and we could actually see/hear Saddler give Leon the order to attack Ada. We could've seen Leon desperately trying to resist Saddler's control and ultimately losing the fight over his own body. We could’ve seen him trying to warn Ada as she approaches to see what's wrong, knowing that he’s not going to be able to stay in control for much longer. The scene would have also shown us that even if there is some tension between Leon and Ada, they still care about each other. This would be apparent by Leon being desperate not to hurt her, and Ada showing concern for Leon while he’s fighting with the parasite for control. Maybe this could even be when Ada finds out that Leon is infected (I’m not entirely sure if she knows at this point in the game since he never brings it up to her. She only knows that Ashley is infected, I think). The scene would've also worked as a parallel to Ashley attacking Leon earlier in the castle.

I've thought about this quite a bit tbh because I also wanted a violent Leon plaga freakout for various reasons don't kinkshame me, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was removed for a reason.

Or, rather, a few reasons.

His plaga freakout in OG never really made much sense, and it definitely wouldn't make sense in the context of remake. In OG, he almost just kind of goes berserk and starts attacking Ada because... ???? The ganados attack people, I guess? But in this version of the lore, Saddler would have had to have given that order directly, and if Leon and Ada are alone in a room together, there's really no way for Saddler to know where she is, because he doesn't have full control over Leon as part of the hivemind yet. So how would he give the order? With Leon and Ashley, it was easier, because her plaga was more advanced than his was, and it's a given that if Ashley's not in the hands of the Los Illuminados, then she's with Leon.

Ada's goals in remake where Leon is concerned seem to have changed. In OG, Ada keeps checking up on Leon because she needs his mission to succeed because her plan the whole time was for him to get the sample by killing Saddler, and then she'd take it from him. So, she was always checking up on him to make sure he'd get to where she needed him to be. In remake, Ada's using him as a distraction. She makes sure that he's always pointed in the right direction so that he can go fuck shit up while she does things in the wake of his chaos -- but she doesn't need him, necessarily. It sounds like she and Wesker have a contingency plan already in place if Leon was to get killed and/or blow it. There's no need for her to be checking in on him in person this time around the way that she does in OG. So, there'd be no reason for her to approach him in order for this scene to happen in the first place. It'd run counter to Ada's character motivation this time around.

Having Leon successfully fight off Saddler's influence undercuts Saddler's power and menace as a villain. Neither Leon or Ashley successfully break away from Saddler's hold on them at any point (it seems like Saddler either lets them go voluntarily or he's reached the limit of what his influence can do with their plagas being as early in development as they are), so for Leon to randomly do that makes the threat less threatening and lowers the stakes significantly.

The scene itself is unnecessary when it comes to conveying that Leon and Ada still have concern for each other. The boat scene does a lot of heavy lifting this time around. Ada is downright warm towards him in the boat scene, and Leon conveys that he very clearly still wants to think the best of her, even if he's wary about doing it.

Their relationship is not meant to be the same in remake as it was in OG. Just. Straight up. Unlike OG, RE4R is very aware that Ada is a significant part of the trauma that Leon's still trying to process from Raccoon City. Leon distrusts Luis up until the moment of Luis's death because of what Ada did to him -- is still doing to him. In OG, that part of Leon does not exist, which is why he trusts Luis instantly in OG. For remake to put in a scene of Leon trying to fight off Saddler's influence in order to not hurt Ada, it really takes away from the efficacy of that part of his character arc, and it's a distraction from all of the ways that Ada's already hurt him. It would show that Leon is still in the same place he's always been in terms of putting everyone before himself, regardless of who they are, when that's not supposed to be who he is anymore in remake.

So. yeah. While I want plaga!Leon, too, (and also maybe wish that Ada still kneed Leon in the balls), that scene was removed for a very good reason, and I'm glad they cut it.

[celestial-toys]

been laying here listening to Lucky by Dermot Kennedy on loop for half an hour while thinking about Everything Stays and crying

[lamppost-t]

Incest fics are so weird to me like what do you mean you find getting freaky and doing things with your parent/sibling hot like what ☹️ also sidenote stepcest is still incest and weird and illegal!!

Like I try to block all of these accounts and move on but there’s so many like what is appealing about writing incest please guys just write smth else you don’t gotta make them related I’m sick of it, it’s not even important to the plot 😞

Also another thing I normally see tagged in these is noncon which is just disgusting for so many reasons that I shouldn’t have to explain bc what the fuck why are romanticizing rape and SA wtf is wrong with you 😭

I see a lot of these fics are normally in like older characters tags but like I’ve seen a lot in Anakin skywalker, Leon Kennedy and Chris Redfeild tags (and in a lot of the RE character tags) which sucks bc there are guenuinely good fics in there and these weird ass fics are ruining the RE fan base reputation

Like this shouldn’t be something people have to talk abt bc I’m not the only one who’s noticed this and thinks it’s weird just stop like

On another note stay safe out there gang, I know a lot of these kinds of fics can be triggering so always check warnings, block who you need to block and take care of yourself, you are loved and cared for 🧸💗

[punkshort]

somewhere to run | 13. the trial pt.2

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: The trial comes to an end and you go back to your life before.

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), bath sex, piv (somewhat) unprotected sex, breeding kink?, language, dirty talk, parental emotional abuse, oral sex (f receiving)

WC: 11.9K

A/N: Beginning was inspired by this anon ask a while back - thank you! Also, please excuse my shitty law expertise. I have no idea if what I'm writing is actually factual because I got my law degree from movies and TV.

Series Masterlist

Joel's entire body ached.

Under normal circumstances, he hated testifying in court. It was a long process, the benches were always uncomfortable, and by the end of the day his back was screaming at him. But this time, it was worse. His muscles were tense all day, twitching just underneath his shirt as he had to listen to every excruciating detail of what that monster put you through. By the time Madeline called him to the stand, he thought he would snap in half from the pressure. He remained tense throughout her questioning, but he was experienced enough to not allow his stress to show. He knew that it was too important and he needed to be the best possible witness he could be. He even made a point of trying to rein in his accent so he sounded more professional to the jury.

But all of that flew out the window when Beckett fucking Kennedy began his line of questioning.

Sheriff, have you ever had sex with the plaintiff?

Madeline leapt up from her chair, yelling objections at the judge while her and Beckett argued over the relevance of his question. Joel stared straight ahead, patiently waiting for the argument to settle. He knew this might happen, and they prepared for it.

"You better be going somewhere with this," the judge had warned Beckett before allowing Joel to answer.

"Yes," he had replied through gritted teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw members of the jury shift in their chairs and a murmur ripple through the crowd. The judge tapped his gavel, reminding the room to be silent, before nodding at Beckett to continue.

"When was the first time?" Beckett asked, his eyes bright, knowing he had Joel right where he wanted him.

Joel hesitated, trying to remind himself to give as little information as possible, but it was going to sound bad any way he sliced it.

"The evening the plaintiff gave her statement."

Beckett raised his eyebrows at Joel and gave the jury a disbelieving look.

"The same evening she had all these injuries you've accused my client of inflicting?"

They didn't prepare for that. No, Maddy certainly didn't expect this sleazeball to accuse Joel of inflicting any type of harm on you, and something in him snapped.

"Are you tryin' to say I did that-" he pointed at the now blank monitor, "to her? I wouldn't lay a finger on her!" His voice was too loud. His blood was boiling. He was seeing red and he knew he was losing control. You had curled your hand into a fist and pressed it anxiously against your mouth. Madeline caught his attention and narrowed her eyes and he took a deep breath.

"But you did. You just admitted to having sex with her that evening, so by definition you laid a finger on her," Beckett said, clearly pleased he was getting under Joel's skin. Luckily, before Joel could reply, the judge intervened.

"Move on, counselor."

Beckett slowly paced in front of his own table. Patrick sat back in his chair with a stupid smirk plastered across his face while Beckett readied his next question.

"Can you describe the nature of your sexual relations that night?"

"Objection!" Madeline yelled, standing up from her chair.

"Sustained," the judge said, frowning at Beckett.

"I'll rephrase," he said, and Joel could feel his blood pressure rising. "Did you have what could be considered rough sex with the plaintiff?"

A few women behind the benches gasped quietly to themselves, as well as a few jurors at the unexpected, and inappropriate, question.

"No."

"Are you sure about that, sheriff?"

"Yes, I was there. I'm sure." Joel said, staring daggers at Beckett now.

Beckett hummed and continued to pace thoughtfully, purposely dragging out the questions so it would annoy him. And it was working.

"Are you currently in a relationship with the plaintiff?"

Joel swallowed and ticked his jaw to the side. "No."

"Really?" Beckett asked, raising his eyebrows curiously as he paused in front of the bench. "When was the last time you had sex with the plaintiff?"

Joel sighed and couldn't help but meet your gaze. He could see the anguish all over your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, knowing he was going to have to answer honestly and what it could mean for you both.

"A month or so ago."

Madeline glared at him over her glasses and he knew she was already planning on giving him an earful for not warning her, but he didn't care. He just needed to get this over with.

"Sounds like a relationship to me," Beckett said.

"Objection."

"Sustained."

Another excruciating fifteen minutes crawled by where Beckett lobbed question after question at Joel, building up an image of him in front of the jury as a man who wielded his power as town sheriff to target his client so that he could run off with his wife. Joel did the best he could, but he felt like he was failing. Once Beckett sat down, announcing he was through, Madeline stood up.

"Redirect, your honor."

The judge nodded and Madeline stood in front of him once again, staring him down.

"The evening the defendant was arrested for being drunk and disorderly, who swung first?"

"The defendant did."

"Was the plaintiff there at the time?" Madeline asked, and Joel shook his head.

"No, ma'am."

"Did you have any idea at that point in time what the defendant had allegedly done to the plaintiff?"

"No, ma'am."

"So it sounds to me like you were just doing your job, is that correct, sheriff?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"No further questions," Madeline said, then turned on her heel to sit back down beside you.

He could feel Michelle's eyes on him when he stood up from the stand and it made him want to squirm. He could only imagine the shit she had to say about all this. She had tried to stop him after court adjourned for the day, but he was too pissed off. He stormed out of the courtroom, not even bothering to wait for you or Madeline.

He regretted leaving you the moment he stepped foot outside, but he knew he couldn't be seen with you. Not in that room. Not after the line of questioning Beckett pummeled him with. So instead, he found himself all alone in the nearest drugstore, picking up a box of Epsom salts and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol. The hotel was a short distance away on foot, but his back and hips were killing him after everything he had been through. Every step felt like torture. His head pounded so loudly he could hardly focus, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought he would crack a tooth. It was times like this he wished he was more of a drinker.

He quickly shed his jacket and belt and headed into the bathroom, running the water as hot as his skin would allow and pouring in a generous amount of Epsom salts before taking off the rest of his clothes and leaving them in a wrinkled pile on the floor. He slipped into the bath with a groan, instantly finding some relief from the heat, and closed his eyes.

He had brought his phone into the bathroom, but it sat silently on the tile floor next to the tub. He couldn't imagine you or Madeline or Michelle or anybody would want to reach out to him at that moment, but just in case you did want to talk, or if Sarah needed something, he kept it close by.

He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed as he let his mind wander and allowed the bath to relax his aching body. What he wouldn't give to have you there with him right now. He just wanted to be with you so badly, even if you weren't doing anything, even if you were just in the same room, that's all he wanted. Just to be breathing the same air as you would be more than enough.

His tired mind heard a click, then the shuffling of feet on carpet. His eyes cracked open just as the door slowly swung into the room, and relief flooded his veins when he saw your face.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked with a lazy smile, his eyes raking up and down your body. You grinned down at him but didn't say a word, just took a hesitant step towards him with your perfect lower lip tucked between your teeth. "You walked around the hotel wearin' just that?" he asked, eyeing the short, white silk teddy you were wearing.

"Mhm," you hummed, kneeling down in front of the tub and dipping your hand into the water. "Feels nice."

"You wanna get in?"

"Yes," you said breathlessly, standing up to lift the teddy over your head, revealing your naked body to him, and he groaned.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he mumbled, reaching his hands up to steady you as you stepped carefully into the tub to join him.

"It was such a hard day," you cooed, your hands drifting up his arms, fingers sending goosebumps all over his skin, and he nodded. "Can I help you relax?"

"Yes," he whispered, tilting his head back with a sigh when your hand dipped below the water, slowly dragging down his stomach before reaching his cock. He moaned softly when your delicate little fingers wrapped around him and began to pump him leisurely under the water.

You shifted so your thighs straddled his lap, your hand never leaving his throbbing length, and slowly sank yourself down onto him.

"Ohmygod," you whined, your hands gripping the sides of his head now, water dripping down his cheeks while you slowly began to rock your hips against him. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close and squeezing your ass.

"I love you," he moaned, not caring anymore. "I love you so much, I'll do anythin' for you," he rambled as you sped up, the both of you beginning to pant for air.

"I know. I love you too, Joel," you told him, your fingers creeping up to get tangled in his hair. He nuzzled his face against your neck, basking in your touch as you continued to bounce up and down, bringing him closer and closer.

"Nothin' can keep us apart, you hear me?" he mumbled into your skin. "Wanna be with you forever. Wanna make you mine. Wanna give you a baby." He groaned when you whimpered and gave his hair a firm tug. "Would you like that? Want me to fuck you so good you have my baby?"

"Yes!" you cried out as you clenched around him, little moans falling from those perfect lips as he continued to fuck up into you, muttering praise in your ear until he came so hard and so fast it made him lightheaded.

But when he opened his eyes, you vanished. He was still alone in the bath, surrounded by lukewarm water and his fist gripping his softening cock as his breathing began to stabilize. With a grimace, he turned the knob to drain the tub and stood up, snatching a towel off the bar and wiping himself down quickly before stepping out.

He leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. His eyes looked tired. He felt tired. His shoulders sagged but his head and muscles felt marginally better.

He would never forgive himself if he ruined this for you. He fucking knew better. Everyone warned him but he actually convinced himself no one would find out, and now everything was out in the open. Everything was on the record.

He didn't even want to think what this would mean for his own legal trouble with Patrick. Dan said it could cost him his job, and he didn't really believe it until today. He felt the panic begin to swell in his chest and he pushed away from the sink, disgusted and unable to look at himself anymore. Grabbing his phone, he strolled out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist before flopping tiredly on the bed.

He wanted to call you. He needed to hear your voice. He wanted you to make him feel better, but he couldn't bring himself to call. He was too ashamed of himself. Ashamed for letting his feelings get in the way of something so fucking important to you. Ashamed for the way he behaved in court. Ashamed for the way he left you.

He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to have you soothe him. He fucking knew better. He should have put a stop to this thing with you. He never should have started it in the first place. Not when so much was at stake. But he just couldn't control himself. He couldn't fucking stop.

As he laid there, clad in only a towel while the TV droned on in the background, he wondered what you were doing. Were you upset? Were you mad at him? Fuck, he should really call you. Not to ease his own mind but to make sure you were okay. But when he picked up his phone, it rang in his hand. And when he saw Maddy's name pop up, he couldn't help but think she must have somehow known what he was about to do and she was putting a stop to it.

"Hey," he said into the phone, bracing himself for the lecture. He deserved it. He wasn't going to hide from it. "I know you're pissed, and I'm sorry. I should've told you-"

"I'm not calling about that, although I will kick your ass for that later, mark my words," she scolded, and he sat up on the bed, his interest piqued. "Are you sitting down?"

"Yes," he said, his heart beginning to thrum faster in his chest.

"Guess who I just got a call from?"

"Who?"

"Nina fucking Hoffman," she said triumphantly on the other end. Joel's lips parted in surprise and his eyes darted around the room, trying to catch up with what that meant.

"What'd she say?" he asked nervously.

"She said she's changed her mind and she spoke to the other girls, and while not all of them are willing to come forward, she did manage to convince three others," Madeline said hurriedly, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.

"H-how did she find the others? I didn't share their information with her, Maddy, I swear-"

"The Trojan horse himself, Officer Bates, reached out to a few of the girls and tried to help us out," she said, and he could tell she was grinning.

Officer Bates. A man who worked in the same precinct as Patrick and witnessed what he had been doing, had contacted Madeline to inform her there's been other girls, which prompted Madeline to call Joel that sent him on a wild goose chase in Philadelphia that he thought ended up being a lost cause, but apparently not.

"You know what the best part is?" she asked excitedly. Madeline never acted like this. She was always matter of fact and level headed. Whatever was happening was huge, and Joel began to feel the weight being lifted from his chest.

"What?"

"There's video evidence, Joel. Fucking video! I'm looking at it right now. Time stamped and everything. Faces clear as day... apparently one of these girls had a nanny cam in her apartment."

Joel sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Tell me we got 'em, Maddy."

"We got him, Joel."

He let out a shaky breath, his heart hammering like crazy now. He didn't fuck everything up. You're going to win and, most importantly, you'll be safe. His hands were trembling so badly that he had to set his phone down and put it on speaker.

"What's the next move?" he asked, standing up to get fresh clothes. "What d'you need me to do?"

"Nothing," she said, and he heard her tapping on her keyboard in the background. "I'm going to use this as leverage. I'm waiting for Kennedy to call me back and I'm going to try to strike a deal and end this."

"A deal?" Joel repeated, standing up from his suitcase, which was spread open on the floor.

"Yes, a deal. Don't you want this to end or do you really want me to put her up on the stand tomorrow? After you couldn't keep your dick in your pants? You really want that asshole to put on a repeat performance?" she snapped.

He winced, but knew he deserved it, so he remained silent.

"Besides, it's a miracle these other women are willing to go on the record as it is. Putting them up on the stand will just traumatize them further."

"Does she know?" he asked.

"No! And don't you go telling her until I know this is wrapped up. If this doesn't work, I can't have her getting her hopes up," she said sternly.

After he hung up with Maddy, he finally started to feel some relief. Maybe he actually made a difference going to Philadelphia. But ultimately he knew all of this wouldn't even be happening without the one cop in Patrick's whole precinct who had a fucking conscience. He knew the officer preferred to remain as anonymous as possible for obvious reasons, but he really had to find a way to thank him.

He stared at his phone for a moment, chewing on his lower lip, his foot tapping anxiously on the carpet. Glancing at the clock to make sure it wasn't too late, he snatched up his phone and tapped on your number. He wasn't going to tell you the news, but he still wanted to talk to you. He needed to make sure you were okay.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he said, a little breathlessly. He was still too excited about the news Madeline had just shared, so he tried to tone it down. "Just wanted to check on you. You doin' okay?"

He heard you shift around and your TV muted in the background.

"I guess so."

"I'm sorry I didn't walk out with you," he began, and he heard you suck in a breath over the phone. "After all that shit, I didn't wanna give them more ammo, y'know?"

You didn't say anything for a moment and his ears strained to read your silence.

"That's it?" you asked.

"What'dya mean?"

"You didn't leave because..." you trailed off and he furrowed his brow.

"Because what?" he urged.

"Because you're rethinking this? Rethinking us?" you asked, and he could hear the tremble in your voice.

"Oh god, baby, no," he breathed. "No, never. Don't think that." He heard you breathe a sigh of relief, but you remained silent. "I'm sorry. I was pissed off, I should've-"

"It's okay," you told him. "It was just a shitty day."

"Yeah," he agreed, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm a little freaked out about tomorrow," you admitted, and he could hear it in your voice: the anxiety and fear that always came out whenever you spoke about Patrick, and some dark part of him wished he could wrap his fingers around that motherfucker's throat to make sure he could never hurt you again.

"It'll be okay," he told you, and now he fully understood why Maddy was going for a deal over a potentially stronger sentence a jury could dole out. You didn't deserve to go through every excruciating detail again, especially in front of a room full of people. People who would just look at you with pity, or judge you for sticking around as long as you did. "Remember what I told you, you just look right at me, okay?"

"But if I do that, won't that make things worse? The jury will see-"

"No, it'll be fine. They won't be able to tell," he said, and he wasn't sure if that was even true, but he just needed to put you at ease. He listened to you breathing on the other end, not saying a word, and it took all his willpower to not knock down every door in the hotel until he found you and scooped you up into his arms.

"But then you have your lawsuit-"

"I told you not to worry 'bout that," he said, his eyebrows pinching together.

"Patrick told me Nikki is going to testify against you, Joel," you told him, and his lips parted in surprise.

"What?"

"He told me this morning. He said she would testify that your feelings for me caused you to approach him at the bar that night."

"That's bullshit," Joel scoffed. "Hank's already stated on the record that he wanted me to escort Patrick outta the bar, and he was the only sober one in the goddamn place. Nikki's not a reliable witness, she was drunk, they're graspin' at straws," he continued as he tried to tamp down the anger growing in his belly.

"I'm so sorry I caused all of this, Joel," you said softly, and when he heard you sniffle, it broke his heart.

"You didn't do anythin', please stop blamin' yourself. None of this is your fault."

"Maybe my mom's right. Maybe if I -"

"Stop right there," Joel said, sitting up straighter now and clenching his jaw. "Nothin' that woman's ever said is right. Get that outta your head right now. Don't let her manipulate you like that. Don't you see you deserve better? You deserve so much more than what these people have given you, and -"

He stopped short, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to hold himself back.

"And what?" you asked after a few moments.

"And... I'm gonna do my best to give you everythin' you deserve," he said, leaving out those three little words that kept jumping to the tip of his tongue.

He heard you let out a shaky breath and readjust on your bed. Fuck, he wished he was there with you right now. He could help you feel better. You were so close, too, but after the day you both had, he couldn't risk making things worse.

"I should probably go," you finally said, your voice sounding so small. "I want to study the questions Madeline's going to ask me once more."

"Okay," he replied, and he could tell he hadn't done much to help your nerves, but he gave it one more shot. "It's gonna be okay. I promise you, this'll all be over soon and we can put this behind us."

"I know," you said, "thank you, Joel. For everything. I know today was really hard."

"It's worth it," he said, and he meant it, but for your sake he really hoped Maddy was striking a deal with Patrick's lawyer at that very same moment.

You had hardly slept and it showed.

It was far too late in the night when you considered taking a sleeping pill, so you just put on the TV and hoped you would get some sleep, but at best you got two hours. Your nerves were a mess. Your stomach was churning so badly that you didn't even trust yourself to eat or drink anything other than water that morning, and to make matters worse, Madeline and Joel were nowhere to be found. So, you found yourself sitting alone at the plaintiff's table, and as the court room began to fill up, you kept turning around in the hopes of seeing one or both of the faces you were looking for. One of those times, your eyes locked with your mother and you quickly turned back around in your seat. It was a good thing you didn't eat anything because you were fairly confident at this point, you would have thrown up all over your hideous blouse.

You: where are you??

You stared down at your unanswered text to Joel. What the hell was going on? You had really hoped today, of all days, they would be there early so you could go over some last minute tips before taking the stand.

You could hear the crowds of people murmuring behind you amongst themselves as the clock ticked closer to nine. The room had gotten too full now, so you stopped looking at the door. It was becoming too embarrassing and you really didn't want to catch your mother's eye again, but you had noticed at least Michelle didn't show up this time.

The door swung open but you remained still, staring down at your list of questions and mentally rehearsing your answers, double checking your notes in the column for certain inflections or physical actions you wanted to take at specific points when you finally heard Joel's voice behind you.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he said breathlessly, and you swiveled around in your seat.

"Where's Madeline?" you hissed, but he didn't pick up on your agitation. Or if he did, he didn't care because he was grinning. Fucking grinning as you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"She'll be here in a minute," he assured you, crouching down in front of the railing so he could keep your conversation private.

"In a minute? The trial's about to start! What do I do-"

"No, it's not," he said, his brown eyes sparkling as his smile stretched even wider.

"What do you mean?" you asked nervously, your eyes darting around the room at the people patiently waiting.

"It's -"

He was cut off when Madeline swung open the doors to the courtroom, followed closely by Beckett Kennedy, a confident smile sprawled across her face. Beckett dropped his briefcase on his table, and if you didn't know any better, he seemed annoyed. You ignored the bailiff in the corner of the room who ducked back behind the judge's bench to escort Patrick out from his holding cell, joining his lawyer at his table and looking distraught.

"What's going on?" you asked her when she sat down.

"It's over," she told you. You just stared at her, stunned.

"What do you mean?"

"He struck a deal. He's about to change his plea to guilty when the judge arrives. It's all over, hun," Madeline said, squeezing your shoulder. Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened as you looked back and forth between her and Joel, each of them looking elated.

"H-how?" you stammered, and your adrenaline finally caught up with you. Your hands began to shake and your heart slammed in your chest as you waited for an explanation that you were sure you would only absorb half of because you were far too emotional to focus.

"The other girls. A few came forward and gave their statements, and one in particular had video evidence. I presented all of this to Kennedy last night, and he had to review it with his client this morning but they took a deal," Madeline said hurriedly, knowing she was running out of time. "Six years in some cushy cop prison back up north, one of those years mandatory rehab. And," she said, triumphantly pulling a thick stack of papers out of her briefcase, "he signed your divorce papers. You're no longer married."

You gasped, eyes wide as you stared at the papers she dropped onto the desk. You finally tore your gaze away and looked at Joel, tears welling up in your eyes so quickly that you couldn't even read his expression.

"Oh my god," you whispered, turning back to Madeline and shakily covering your mouth with your palm.

"All rise!"

Somehow, you managed to stand on trembling legs and blink back most of your tears until the judge entered the courtroom and sat down, allowing the rest of the room to follow except for Beckett, who remained standing.

"Your honor, may I approach?"

You watched in a daze, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself down as Patrick's lawyer walked up to the bench, murmured something to the judge, then sat back down. It was all a blur, but the judge announced there would be a change in plea, causing Patrick to stand and say the word you've been waiting to hear for years.

"Guilty."

You clapped your hands over your mouth and the tears began to flow. Madeline's arms wrapped around you as the judge tapped on his gavel, silencing the crowd behind you, and then dismissed the jury.

The bailiff led Patrick away, back into the room he emerged from moments ago, but you didn't notice. Your face was buried in Madeline's shoulder, sobbing your thanks over and over, knowing it would never be enough. Then you turned to Joel, reaching over the railing to wrap your arms around his neck. He squeezed you tightly around your ribs as you breathed in his familiar, comforting scent and you felt some of his own tears getting trapped against your neck.

"It's over," you whispered into his ear, "it's finally over."

By the time you finally collected yourself, most of the room had emptied out into the hallway, carrying with them their shocked murmurs and speculations as to what caused the sudden change in plea. Your eyes were still glimmering with tears as you walked out with Madeline. Joel trailed behind, pausing briefly to shake hands with the bailiff and exchange a few friendly words, before following you out into the hallway. You were dabbing at your cheeks with a tissue Madeline had procured from her purse, your mouth still stretched into a huge smile when he locked eyes with you, his own smile matching yours until he glanced over your shoulder. You could see the subtle change in his expression even from a distance, and your face fell a moment before you heard your mother call out your name.

You swiveled around, your heart getting stuck in your throat as you took her in. Her frail frame stood a few feet away, clutching her purse in front of her. Her makeup was perfectly done, not a hair out of place as she cleared her throat and asked to speak to you privately. By now, Joel had caught up with you. You glanced at Madeline first and then him. He tried to express his support with a small furrow of his brow and a quick nod: I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.

Turning back to your mother, you forced a tight smile and said sure before following her down the hall, out of earshot but still within range so you could still see Madeline and Joel over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and Patrick," she said, her eyes briefly raking up and down your body, examining you up close now.

You didn't know what to say. The first words that popped into your head were I'm not, but you knew there would be no point, so you kept your mouth shut and just nodded.

An awkward silence passed as people filed past you, talking amongst themselves with ease and you wondered why it was always so hard to have a conversation with your own mother. And a few months ago, you blamed yourself, but today you finally felt like you could see clearly for the first time. It wasn't your fault. It never was your fault.

"I'm going to see if I can change my flight, I'd like to minimize my time spent in this godawful state as much as possible," she said, raising her chin in the air as she scrutinized a couple young women passing by. "When can we expect you back?"

Your eyes widened as you stared at her, gobsmacked.

"W-what?" you stammered, and her eyes dragged back to you.

"Back home, dear. When will you be coming back? I assume now that you've done what you came out here to do, you'll be coming back home."

You blinked rapidly and shook your head.

"What I came out here to do?" you repeated, and she sighed, looking at you as if to say drop the act.

"Yes. You wrangled some poor soul and managed to get him all twisted around in your drama so he could get you out of this mess," she said, waving over her shoulder in Joel's general direction. "So now that you got what you wanted from him, I can presume you'll be moving on."

Any other time, you would have crumpled at her words. You would have cried and bit your tongue. But not today. Today, you were free, and not just free from your ex-husband. Free from everybody who ever treated you like you weren't worthy. Like you were always the problem, like you deserved what happened to you.

"How dare you," you snarled, your eyes narrowing. "You might think you know everything about me, but you don't. I don't treat people like they're disposable. I'm not like you or Patrick. I don't hurt the people I love and take for granted that they'll forgive me," you said, the anger rising in your chest, and over her shoulder you could see Joel's body stiffen. He was watching, unable to hear you but your body language was telling him everything he needed to know.

Your mother scoffed and opened up her purse, rifling around for her compact with a little smirk.

"So this is how you're telling me you're in love with another man? Already? My god, has the ink even dried on your divorce papers?" she snickered, then flipped open the mirror to check her hair, avoiding your gaze. Your jaw tensed and you reached out, snatching the compact away and snapping it shut so she was forced to look you in the eye.

"So what?" you said, your voice getting louder and catching the attention of people passing by. "He's treated me better than Patrick or anyone else ever has. He's shown me-" you paused and looked over her shoulder, making eye contact with Joel, who looked nervous and concerned as he watched you from down the hall. "He's shown me what love is really supposed to be like," you said, your voice softening as you continued to hold his gaze. "He's been there for me through everything, good and bad. He would do anything for me, and I would do anything for him," you continued, dragging your eyes off of Joel and back to your mother. "And I deserve that. I deserve better."

Your mother regarded you for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words before she scoffed and plucked the compact out of your hand and dropped it back into her purse.

"Your father is going to hate him."

"I don't give a shit," you snapped, making her look up at you in surprise. "I'm not bringing him to Pennsylvania, Dad will never meet him because I'm not coming back," you said, looking at Joel once again. "This is my home now."

She looked around with her hands turned up towards the sky, a sarcastic smile on her face before looking back at you.

"This? This is what you consider home? Come on, be realistic," she said, dropping her hands.

"There's nothing wrong with Texas, so stop acting like there is," you told her with a frown. "I love it here. I love the people here. So, I'm staying."

Your mother opened her mouth to say more, but you held up your hand as you took a step forward.

"Have a safe flight," you said to her over your shoulder as you walked back towards Madeline and Joel. And you didn't look back once.

Madeline had insisted on taking you and Joel out to dinner to celebrate, and you excitedly agreed. In fact, you even decided to have a couple glasses of wine, something you rarely indulged in since Patrick managed to ruin the idea of alcohol for you, but you were determined not to let him influence your decisions any longer.

You didn't want to know much, but Madeline did share with you some of the details of Patrick's sentence. She told you he was cocky and arrogant when she announced there were other girls that came forward, then how stricken he looked when she played the video. He had asked for a specific prison up north, one that he knew of that was soft on cops, and in exchange he agreed to drop the charges against Joel and plead guilty to the rest of the charges for a reasonable sentence.

It only took one glass of wine for your muscles to relax and your lips to loosen up. You told the two of them over appetizers what your mother had said, leaving out some of the specifics and focusing on how you stood up for yourself, instead. And when Madeline excused herself to use the restroom, Joel gripped your hand and brought your knuckles up to his lips, his dark eyes shiny and his cheeks a little pink from the wine and he murmured how fucking proud he was of you, and you told him you never could have done it without him. He shook his head, about to say you were wrong, that you had it in you all along, but you stopped him and held his gaze.

"I mean it," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. "You changed my life, Joel."

And if it weren't for the public setting, if it weren't for Madeline walking back over to your table, he would have said it. But the timing wasn't right, so he let the moment pass.

After dinner and a reminder from Madeline to stop by her office the next day to finalize some paperwork before heading back home, Joel walked you back to the hotel. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and it took a few minutes before you realized you didn't need to hide anymore. You wrapped your hand around his bicep, pulling yourself closer into his side and he smiled, then freed his hand so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head.

"Which floor?" he asked after getting onto the elevator.

"Five," you replied, swaying slightly when the car lifted from the ground floor, the wine still coursing through your veins, making you feel loose and relaxed.

"Same as me," he said, leaning against the wall opposite you as his eyes leisurely roamed down your body, and you could tell by the playful smirk on his face that the wine had gotten to him, too.

"What a coincidence," you said, biting back a grin before carefully stepping out of the elevator when the doors opened. He followed behind you in silence. He didn't need to say anything. You could feel it. His eyes that were glued to your back, the heat that was radiating off of him, the heavy fall of his step behind you all sent a shiver down your spine.

You unlocked your door and pushed it open before turning back to Joel, who was leaning up against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets again as he smiled at you lazily.

"See you tomorrow, then," he said, and you hummed before reaching out to fiddle with his tie, His eyes fell to your hand and watched as your fingers wrapped around the strip of material and tugged him forward. His mouth crashed against yours with a groan while his hands quickly found a home on your hips. He backed you into the room, letting the door swing shut with a quiet click, and he didn't stop until the backs of your legs hit the bed. You pulled away from his mouth breathlessly and gave his chest a gentle shove, pushing him back so you could have some room to reach around and unzip the hideous skirt you had been wearing.

"I told you I can't stand these clothes," you said softly, and he grinned as he patiently watched you strip, but once you were down to your underwear his body crowded yours once again. His hands were everywhere. Your shoulders, your back, your ass, then your face, holding you still so his tongue could delve deeper into your mouth. Your hands came to rest on his belt, fingertips tucking behind his waistband, ensuring he remained as close as possible because now that you finally had him, you didn't want to ever let him go.

One of his hands dropped from your jaw and skirted around the edge of your underwear, then he dipped an experimental finger past the fabric. When your kisses became more feverish and your hands flew up to his shoulders, he added a second finger, then slowly tugged on the material. Your legs pressed together so you could wiggle out of your panties, letting them fall to the floor around your ankles. Joel smirked against your mouth, his fingers gliding down and when they slipped easily between your folds, the smirk fell from his face. You were so wet and so warm and it was all for him.

He quickly pulled his hand out from between your legs, making you whine until he wrapped his hands around your thighs, his mouth still relentless against yours, stealing all the breath from your lungs. He lifted you up, just enough so you were seated on the bed, then crawled forward, pushing you backwards until your back was flush with the mattress and your legs dangled over the edge.

He sat back, breaking the kiss, and you sucked in deep gulps of air, watching as he fell to his knees and yanked your hips closer. Your legs fell open while his palms slid up the inside of your thighs. His thumbs parted your folds and his eyes glazed over when he saw what was waiting for him.

"Fuck," he whispered, his eyes sliding closed for a moment, trying to collect himself before they snapped open again. "Can I taste you, baby? I really wanna taste you again," he breathed, then dragged his mouth up your leg, his beard tickling your skin and making you squirm.

"Yes," you squeaked, then gasped when you felt his tongue, hot and firm, slide over your clit, then dipped lower, licking at you greedily, scooping up your arousal with a moan, as if he enjoyed it as much as you did. Your hands immediately found his hair, clutching his curls between your fingers as he eagerly licked into you, his own fingers holding you against him and gripping your thighs so tightly that his nail beds turned white.

"Oh god, Joel, I... I-" you stammered, your head tossing back and forth as you struggled to breathe. You tugged harshly on his hair when his teeth grazed against your clit and he growled, his eyes flashing up to yours, watching your face as you lost all control, his chest swelling with pride that he was the one who got to do that to you, he was the only one who got to see you come undone.

He was relentless. He refused to hold back, having spent so many painstaking months already holding back, all he wanted to do now was make up for lost time. His jaw ached from the amount of pressure he was applying between your legs, his tongue cramped from how feverishly he licked, his lips were growing numb from how aggressively he sucked on your clit but if he were to die right then and there, he would die a happy man.

Your back arched underneath him, your body thrashed in his firm hold as you whined and whimpered his name. The slow spread of heat low in your belly came rushing up your entire body in an instant, causing your thighs to tighten around his head so hard, they trembled unsteadily when you finally relaxed.

He kissed your legs tenderly, spreading your slick over your skin with his lips as he listened to you catch your breath. Your muscles twitched under his fingers and your scent filled his nostrils and something about having you so soft and pliant under his touch made him feel animalistic.

He stood up suddenly, making you jump a little in surprise and turned your head as you groggily as you watched him tear off his tie and belt. You inched up the bed so your head rested on the pillow, making room for him while he hurriedly pulled off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers for last. He caught your eye before tugging them down and your lips parted as you watched his cock bob free.

You eagerly spread your legs and motioned for him to join you on the bed. He shot you a smirk as he bent forward and crawled on top of you, his hips falling against yours, grinding into your sensitive core. Your eyelids fluttered rapidly and a small noise slipped past your lips but his mouth quickly captured yours, giving you a heady taste of yourself with his tongue.

Your body jolted underneath him every time his hips rubbed up against your clit, little electric currents shot through your limbs, and you gasped softly each time, your senses in overdrive, your skin tingling with each gentle touch from his hand and each playful bite from his mouth as he made his way down your neck.

His tip kept catching on your opening every time he rolled his hips back, and each time you became more and more frustrated.

"Joel, please," you whined, but his focus was entirely on your chest, his mouth drifting back and forth over your breasts, which were comically pushed up by the bra he had tugged down. He reached behind you and you arched your back so he could unhook it, and he slid it down your arms before tossing it to the side, his mouth barely leaving your skin.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you reached down between your bodies and lined him up at your entrance. His hips paused and he glanced up at you from your chest.

"Please," you tried again, your eyes momentarily fluttering shut. "It's been so long, I've missed you so much, please, Joel," you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

In the blink of an eye, his mouth left your breast and was once again hovering over your own as he gazed down at you, his dark eyes shifting back and forth, examining you closely.

"I've missed you, too," he murmured, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. Then something in his expression shifted as he stared down at you heatedly. "And now you're finally all mine," he said, and as he spoke, he slowly began to sink into you, making your jaw drop and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He paused for a moment, allowing your body a chance to relax and adjust around him before pushing in further. A deep groan tumbled from his lips when he finally found himself fully sheathed inside your wet heat, then he nibbled tenderly at your chin, patiently waiting to move until you stopped writhing and whimpering.

Your hands slid up past his shoulders and got lost in his messy hair, pulling him down the last little bit so your lips connected once again. Your lips were raw and swollen from his beard but it just made you crave him even more. As your tongue slipped past his teeth, you hooked one leg around his waist and began to rock your hips up, encouraging him to move.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, dragging his lips across your cheek while he slowly began to thrust in and out, savoring every single second. "You did so good, my brave girl," he continued, and you felt yourself flush from the praise. Your eyes slid shut, heart swelling with joy and pride and something else that you felt inching its way to the surface. With each rut of his hips, you felt the words being pushed closer and closer to the tip of your tongue.

"Joel," you gasped, his lips finding a sensitive spot on your throat while his hand gripped the meaty part of your hip, pressing and tugging you as close to him as possible. Your bodies began to stick together, the noise from your skin and sweat adding to the little grunts and moans coming from each of you.

His touch was too gentle, his kisses too soft, words too sweet. It was making your mind hazy and muddled, to the point where you were worried you were babbling something you didn't intend to share just yet, so you bit down on your lip to keep the words inside, safe and sound.

"Are you okay?" he panted in your ear, slowing down when he noticed your prolonged silence. You blinked back the tears before he could see and you nodded.

"Yes," you whispered, your fingers slipping through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. "Faster," you mumbled, and you felt his fingers dig a little harder into your hip at the request.

He did as you asked, hips snapping faster now, because he could never say no to you. Not that he would want to, anyway. But to him, anything you ever wanted would be yours.

You deserved someone who would treat you right, someone who would make up for all those horrible years you had to endure. Someone who would worship the ground you walked on during the day and kneel at the altar between your legs at night.

How did he get so lucky? How was he the person you chose? He didn't dare ask, not wanting to risk you coming to your senses because if you did, he was fairly certain he would never recover. His heart would surely never heal.

"Tell me you're mine," he groaned into your neck, his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes screwed shut as he listened to the air getting punched out of your lungs with each thrust. "Need to hear it. Need to-"

"I'm yours," you moaned, cutting him off, tipping your head back and exposing your neck.

"Say it again," he said through clenched teeth, hot air puffing from his nose in rhythm with his hips.

"I'm yours, I'm all yours," you rambled, your head rolling back and forth as you felt yourself begin to lose control. The white hot heat pooling low in your belly once again. "Of course I'm yours, I lo-, I'm yours, Joel," you continued to babble, hoping he didn't notice the words that almost slipped out.

He let go of your hip so he could wrap both arms around your ribs, holding you as close as he could with both your legs tightly squeezing around his waist. He felt so heavy, inside and on top of you, the pressure from both sending you careening towards the edge. You frantically grabbed at his hair as if you needed something to hold onto, and maybe you did because when your orgasm finally hit you, it felt like you might float away. Your back arched up into him, pressing your sweaty chest into his while he pulled his head back, just a little, so he could watch your face. He kissed one of the two small tears that trickled down from your eyes, all dark and wide. Your mouth hung open as you struggled to drag in air around his name. He would never tire of it. He was certain, now, more than ever.

"You got no idea what you do to me," he said huskily, recklessly chasing his own high now. Your body sagged under him, but your shaky legs still managed to pull him in, your heel pressing into his back, urging him forward. "God, I-I want you so much... all the time... all I think 'bout," he rambled, his vision going spotty. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," he gritted out, slamming his hips into you until his body stilled and he let out a filthy moan, one you did you best to memorize before he dropped his head against your heaving chest.

"Oh my god," you whispered after a few minutes of silence, the two of you trying to catch your breath. He hummed tiredly into your skin, and you could feel it reverberating through your chest, right to your heart. You took a deep breath and summoned up what little courage you had left for the day.

"Joel?"

"Hmm?"

But when you looked down at his face, eyes closed and jaw relaxed, you could tell he was moments away from falling into a deep sleep.

"Nothing. I'll tell you tomorrow," you said, kissing the top of his head. His arms loosened ever so slightly around you, your sweaty skin there finally being exposed to the cool air of the room, making you shiver. And even though you couldn't reach the sheets, you were still warm because you were surrounded by him, and that was enough.

"If we're late, I am telling Madeline it was all your fault," you told him, grinning like a fool at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your hands were busy trying to make your hair look somewhat presentable, but his hands were busy roaming up and down your body. His chest pressed against your back and his chin tucked into the crook of your neck made your task even more difficult, but you didn't dare squirm away.

"That's fine. She's mad at me, anyway," he said, planting chaste kisses against your shoulder.

You finally resigned yourself to pulling your hair into a low ponytail and then turned around in his arms. His lips immediately found yours and you couldn't stop the smile from spreading across your face.

"Joel, c'mon," you whined, but your hands drifted up his chest, contradicting your tone. "You still need to go back to your room and clean up. I wanna hit the road right after this meeting," you said, pressing a kiss against his neck. "I wanna go home."

He sighed and gave you one more kiss before dropping his hands and pulling away.

"Fine," he said, trying to sound cross but you could see right through him. "Lemme go change and pack, I'll meet you down in the lobby in half an hour."

"You're going to need longer than that, you need to shower," you said, scrunching up your nose as you watched him button up his wrinkled shirt from the day before.

He just caught your eye and winked, making you giggle, before walking towards your door.

"Thirty minutes."

As it turned out, you were right on time. Somehow.

This time, when you both walked into the lobby and gave the same young and pretty receptionist your name, you didn't feel your stomach twist when she batted her eyelashes at Joel. And he didn't seem to notice her, either. His eyes were fixed entirely on you and as you sat down, you began to realize you were always so caught up in your own insecurities that you never noticed the way he looked at you. His eyes were filled with a mix of admiration, playfulness, and devotion. How on earth couldn't you see that before?

The only thing that pulled your gaze off him now was Madeline's familiar voice calling out your name. You shot her a wide smile and stood up, Joel trailing after you, and followed her down the path to her office.

"Will this take very long? I was hoping to be back home by lunch," you asked, and you felt Joel's fingers brush delicately against your lower back as you walked behind her. You hadn't really figured out what your relationship was quite yet, and the instinct to still hide it was strong. Especially from Madeline, considering how angry she was when he took the stand.

"No more than an hour," she said over her shoulder, but when her hand came to rest on her doorknob, she paused and turned back to you. "I have a little surprise for you, if that's okay," she said, and you glanced over at Joel briefly before giving her a shrug. "I have someone here who wanted to talk to you."

Your eyes went wide as a few guesses flitted through your brain, but when she opened the door and revealed a clean shaven younger man with a buzz cut, wearing dark jeans and a flannel, you realized none of your guesses were correct.

Madeline ushered you both in and shut the door behind you, and you stood in the middle of the room, your eyes examining him, trying to place him but failing. When Madeline took a few steps forward and reached an arm in his direction and introduced him as Officer Tyler Bates, your lips parted in surprise.

"Don't you work with Patrick?" you asked in disbelief, swallowing down your nerves. He gave you a sad smile and a brief nod.

"Yes, ma'am."

His voice was deeper than you expected, but so far nothing was really going as you expected. You blinked at Madeline, confused, and then Joel's hand was on your lower back again. Reassuring. Firm. He stretched an arm out and shook his hand.

"Nice to finally meet you," Joel said to him.

"Same to you, sir," Tyler said, his jaw firm. Joel looked back at your confused expression and glanced at Madeline before explaining.

"Few weeks back, Madeline got a call from Officer Bates here," he began, and Tyler went back to standing rigidly against the wall, his hands linked behind his back. "He heard 'bout your case and he wanted to help. He knew about the other victims, the girls Patrick coerced into silence, just like you," Joel said, bringing his hand up to your shoulder now. "He put us in touch with these girls. That's why I went up to Philly - because of the information he risked his neck to share," he said, looking at Tyler again. "We're forever grateful to you, Officer," Joel said earnestly.

"It's the least I could do," he replied, glancing at you with shame. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," he said, his voice cracking a bit. "I should have done more. I saw what was happening and I -" he bit his lip and turned away for a moment, and you felt the tears begin to burn in the backs of your eyes. "I stood by and did nothing. I was a rookie back then and... it's no excuse, but I just didn't know what to do," he said, meeting your gaze again, his blue eyes wet with tears. He looked down at his feet and sniffled before continuing. "I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me-"

You lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, surprising just about everybody in the room. You could feel his body stiffen under your touch, but then his arms shifted to gently embrace your midsection.

"Thank you," you whispered in his ear, your voice thick with emotion, and you felt him nod against your shoulder.

Stepping away, you wiped a few stray tears with the back of your hand and looked at Joel, whose eyes looked just as misty as Tyler's. His throat bobbed before meeting Tyler's gaze again.

"You ever find yourself in need of a job and you happen to yearn for the excitement of a podunk town," Joel joked with a grin, and pulled his card out of his coat pocket. "You give me a call."

Tyler took the card and flipped it over in his hand before putting it in his wallet.

"I will, sir. You never know. Change of scenery may be nice."

"Well, I mean it. Don't hesitate, okay?" Joel said, holding his gaze for a moment, and Tyler nodded before looking back at you.

"Thank you both," he said, his eyes drifting between you and Joel. "I appreciate you meeting with me and hearing me out."

After Officer Bates left, Madeline explained he had come down for the trial but, for obvious reasons, preferred to not let Patrick or the other cops who had been called to his defense see him. And for maybe the first time in your life, you realized you were actually losing count of how many people you had in your corner.

It was an incredibly draining day and it was barely ten in the morning but you finally wrapped everything up with Madeline and gave her a tight hug with the promise of staying in touch. But of course, just as you were letting your guard down, a knock came on the door when you were gathering your things and Michelle, of all people, poked her head in.

Your breath caught in your throat and you immediately looked away after giving her a shy smile. You wanted to look at Joel, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Just in case he looked at her the same way he looked at you, your heart wouldn't be able to take it. But had you found the courage to look at him, all you would have seen was a stony expression and a clenched jaw as she entered the room.

"I hear congratulations are in order," she said, clapping her hands. Madeline chuckled and nodded and you dragged your eyes back up to Michelle.

"Thank you again," you said weakly, and she waved you off like it was nothing.

"We're so happy to help," she said, still grinning when she locked eyes with Joel. "How have you been, Joel?"

"Alright," he said gruffly, and you could see the tension in his broad shoulders.

You thought her smile might have faltered a bit at his tone, but she still asked "do you have a second to talk?"

His eyes flicked over to you and you gave him a tight smile before turning to Madeline.

"Do you want to walk me out? You can tell me all about that cruise you're taking with your wife," you said, tilting your head towards the door, and she nodded as she rounded the desk.

"We're going to the Caribbean, we've never been," she said excitedly, pulling out her phone. "Take a look at the cabin we booked, isn't it just gorgeous?"

Joel's eyes followed you until you reached the hallway and disappeared, your voice fading, leaving him alone with Michelle.

"It's been a while," she said awkwardly, and he grunted while he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Didn't even know you worked here."

"Just over a year now," she said, her fingers tangling nervously in front of her. "They offered me partner, great benefits, sign on bonus... I couldn't say no."

"Congratulations," he said softly, and finally forced himself to look at her. "Why'd you tell her you picked this case as a favor to me? You know that ain't true. It made her feel bad."

She sighed and glanced at the open door. "It kind of was a favor for you, Joel."

"I didn't even talk to you 'bout it, I didn't even know you worked here," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but Victor told me you spoke to him and I may have pushed her case a little during some executive meetings," Michelle said with a shrug. Joel chewed on the inside of his cheek as he mulled over what she said.

"Why?"

She scoffed and dropped her hands to her sides in defeat. "You really need me to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah, I think I do," he said, crossing his arms defensively. She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath before answering.

"Because I wanted to see you again," she said, her voice trembling. "Because I missed you-"

"We didn't work out for a reason, Michelle," he reminded her. "And we are standing right in the fuckin' middle of that reason. Look around," he said, waving his hand in the air. "You got what you wanted. You made partner before you were forty. I'm sure you have a beautiful house or apartment and a fancy car-"

"But I was wrong," she said, cutting him off. "I thought those things would make me happy, but... I was wrong."

Joel stared at her for a moment, feeling something stirring in his chest - pity. Pity for the woman he once loved, who made the wrong choice and was full of regret.

"You're more than welcome to get together with Sarah," he said after a moment. "She's still got the same number. Maybe you should get lunch with her. Before you know it, she'll be off to college."

Michelle nodded and dropped her chin to her chest, trying to blink back tears, but Joel still noticed. He looked away, trying to give her a moment to collect herself.

"You love her, don't you?"

His eyes shot back over to her in surprise.

"Sarah?"

"No," Michelle said, sounding exasperated. She pointed to the open door. "Her."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

She smiled. A sad, strangled smile, then looked at him with glistening eyes.

"Makes sense now, why you did so much for her," she said, biting her lip and looking out the window.

Guilt began to creep up as he watched Michelle struggle with what to say. "Can't thank you enough for doin' what you did," he said, his eyebrows pinching together. "You helped out someone who really needed it. You did a good thing."

"For selfish reasons," she said with a chuckle.

"Doesn't matter," he told her. Michelle met his gaze and nodded slowly, then let out a sigh and clapped her hands together. In an instant, the sadness disappeared and a resilient lawyer once again stood before him.

"I'll give Sarah a call," she said, turning towards the door, and he followed.

"She'd like that."

When they reached the hallway, she looked at him once more, a soft look that once upon a time, he would have killed to see, but now no longer wanted. "Take care, Joel."

"You, too," he replied with a small smile, then turned on his heel and headed towards the lobby.

One Week Later

"Are you switchin' me to decaf?"

You feigned offense from behind the counter of the diner, your hand coming up to clutch your invisible pearls.

"What ever do you mean?"

"I heard you and Sarah whisperin' on Saturday before the movie," he said, wagging a finger at you.

"She was just telling me about a boy she liked," you said, leaning against the counter and watching his face contort.

"What?"

You giggled and filled up a glass of water. "She's a teenager, Joel. She's going to be interested in dating."

"Over my dead body," he grumbled before taking a sip of coffee and wincing. "I swear, this don't taste right."

"Try this instead," you told him, placing the glass of water in front of his nearly empty plate.

He eyed you suspiciously but picked up the glass and drank half, earning him one of the most beautiful smiles he'd ever seen and suddenly he felt like he could drink an ocean if he got to see that smile again. He leaned forward, his arms bent over the counter, as his eyes raked up and down your body.

"Still comin' over tonight?" he asked, but your eyes went wide and you shushed him, glancing to the side where Margaret, Nikki's mother, was seated. "Oh, come on, who cares?" he said, scowling in her direction even though she wasn't even looking.

"I know, I know," you replied, picking up a rag and wiping down the counter. He watched you fidget nervously before glancing at his watch and standing up.

"Better head back," he said, shrugging his blazer over his shoulders.

"Okay," you said sweetly, and you both paused, fighting the urge to kiss goodbye. You glanced around the dining room and looked back at him. You were about to say something when Maria waved you down.

"Can you grab table three?" she asked as Tommy sauntered out of the kitchen with a rag over his shoulder. He nodded in Joel's direction before grabbing Maria's chin and giving her a deep kiss. You felt your stomach clench, wishing more than anything Joel would do that very same thing to you, but your relationship was still so fresh and you were both trying to figure out how to act. In such a small town, you knew news like that would ripple through the streets in minutes, and neither of you seemed ready to deal with the fallout just yet.

"I'll see you later," you told him, and he took a deep breath.

"Seeya."

You grabbed your pad of paper and pen and headed over to table three while Joel walked toward the front door, tapping the hostess stand to break up Maria and Tommy and wave goodbye before he left.

You felt your heart clench when the door swung shut behind him. It always did. Whenever he left, you felt like a piece of you went with him. To distract yourself, you focused your attention on your table.

"Hi, Mr. Connor," you said with a cheery smile.

"How're doin', sweetheart? How's that car treatin' ya? Get you back and forth to Austin okay?"

Most of the town already knew about the finer details of your trial, courtesy of Betty. When you got back, you had explained to her the real reason for your divorce and why it required so much time off, and before you knew it, you were being overwhelmed with well-wishers.

"It did, thank you," you said with a smile.

"Well bring it by the garage, I'll rotate the tires and do a tune-up, on the house. You've been through enough as it is, don't need that car crappin' out on ya."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the front door swing open.

"Really? Thank you so much!" you said, taken aback at his generosity. Mr. Connor nodded and smiled, then curiously looked past you towards the front door. You followed his gaze and saw Joel, his eyes landing on you at the exact same time. Your lips parted in surprise as he marched towards you, his face determined and shoulders squared.

"Did you forget something?"

"Yeah," he said, then reached out and cupped your jaw with both hands, pulling you firmly against his mouth and stealing all the air from your lungs. You dropped your pen and paper to the ground and wrapped your arms around his neck, and you faintly registered the whistles and scattered applause from the remaining guests in the diner, but your focus was entirely on him. His lips gently massaged yours and his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of your cheeks and you couldn't think about anything else. Only him. Only ever him.

"Finally!" Betty exclaimed from a table nearby.

He pulled back with a grin, his hands still cupping your face.

"I love you."

A smile stretched across your face as tears instantly sprung to your eyes from hearing those words for the first time.

"I love you, too."

He laughed in disbelief and pulled you back in for one more quick kiss, both of you still grinning from ear to ear.

"I'll call you later," he said, dropping his hands.

"Okay," you replied, biting your lip and watching him back away, keeping his eyes on you until he reached the hostess stand, where Tommy and Maria were smirking, but he didn't look. All he could see was you. Only ever you.

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[yurozo]

ink-related natural disasters (leon kennedy restaurant au oneshot)

summary: it's your first shift, and leon's been asked (ordered) to show you the ropes (fuck up tremendously in front of you on numerous occassions). no warnings, gn!reader.

a/n: my first request!! i hope you guys like it :D if y'all want me to continue the restaurant au let me know!

"does the cheese pizza have dairy?"

it's only half an hour into his shift, and leon's already contemplating on the different ways that he can permanently end his career in food service. lighting himself on fire in the middle of the floor is currently the most viable option, the candle is right there and if he moved his arm down just far enough-

"yes, ma'am. the cheese pizza does have dairy in it," he answers instead, mouth pinched into a thin smile. the pen between his fist cracks a little at the last word, earning a much easier end than the man holding it.

"then i won't get it," the woman says, looking back down at the menu with a huff. "i'm allergic."

for all of leon's strength, he can't help the little sigh that comes out of his mouth then. the man sitting at his table gives him a sympathetic look, and it's only then that leon does actually feel a bit bad.

not only does he have to deal with a woman who apparently never passed third grade english, he's currently responsible for training the new person coming in tonight. in all honesty, he's not quite sure why wesker gave him the responsibility. he's certainly hasn't been here the longest, not the most strict, and about three shattered glasses currently in the garbage isn't exactly giving a testimony to his self-assurance.

he's fucked. leon's going to have some half-baked college kid show up, stand behind him ominously all night, and ask questions until his head hurts. wesker didn't even allow him the chance to say no-- just glaring through the world's darkest sunglasses before storming off to his own office.

the only hope for him is that the tips are decent enough for him to put up with it.

the woman sitting in front of him, who he has so aptly named public enemy number one, finally finishes her order. leon offers a quick goodbye, snapping the notepad shut with his best attempt at a smile. he walks away, looking for the next open source flame is until he freezes right as claire walks by him.

what might just be the most beautiful person he's ever seen in his life is currently at the front entrance.

you're there, chatting with jill at the hostess stand with a nervous smile on your face and a notebook tucked to your chest. as cliche as it is, the restaurant really does seem to come to a standstill-- conversation seems to dim, everything seems to move in slow motion, and leon suddenly feels like air isn't getting into his chest.

if you're actually the new hire, he is truly and royally fucked.

claire giggles to herself as she finally breezes past him, muttering something under her breath that goes completely over his head. he couldn't give less of a shit what she's saying, because now jill's pointing at him, and you're looking at him with a smile and bright eyes.

it's a miracle he isn't a puddle on the floor yet, but that's neither here nor there. not when you're now walking towards him, and leon still hasn't thought of something cool to say.

"hi," you greet him softly, quickly rattling off your name and qualifications while leon is still a million miles away. "you're leon, right?"

he blinks at you slowly. "huh?"

"leon." you clarify, the slightest hint of a grin curling at your lips. jesus, you're cute even when you're clearly pitying him. "jill told me that i'm supposed to shadow you on the floor."

"i'm leon." the words leave his mouth a little too fast, the syllables blurring together in a barely perceptible haze. he gives himself a mental smack on the forehead. "i'll take care of you."

at least he has the mind to smile, even if the plastic of pen number two shatters completely in his fist.

-

he learns four things about you in the span of two hours. one, that you're incredibly smart. after about three tables you've already picked up on the general routine, the menu prices, how to describe food that you don't even eat.

two, you have a great sense of humour. or he's just on a roll with his jokes. regardless, you've laughed at every shitty one-liner that left his mouth tonight, and leon feels like he's on cloud nine.

number three, you're gorgeous, and in a way that everyone else is noticing too. tables are significantly nicer to him when you're standing politely behind, as if they too want to be on their best behaviour to win your approval. get in line, he always thinks bitterly.

and finally, you're friendly in a way that almost infuriates him. mostly because he can't tell if he's actually winning brownie points with you, or you're just entertaining the man training you. every piece of information about yourself is carefully folded and tucked away in his brain for safekeeping, just in case its the former.

"you know, i should set you up with my daughter, i think you'd love her." the old lady at his table speaks up, reaching across the table to pat his arm. "she's a real gem."

"okay," leon sighs, "how about instead, i get you that appetizer?"

you stifle a laugh behind him, but he can still feel the puff of air on his back. leon can feel you move behind him until your head is peeking over his shoulder, pretending to be very interested in whatever he's writing on the ticket.

you're so close-- he can feel your hair brushing against his cheek, feel the warmth of your shoulder right against his back, and thats when disaster strikes.

ever so glorious pen number three creaks under the weight of his grip, before pronouncing its death by exploding ink all over both his hands and the ticket. all he can do is mutter some half-formed apology to his table before running to the bathroom with his metaphorical tail between his legs. you follow closely behind, but not before giving the customers an apologetic smile and a sickly-sweet apology.

again, infuriating. been here a couple hours and you're more of a natural than he is.

any hope of brownie points with you is draining alongside the ink dripping onto the ceramic. when he looks up at himself in the mirror, he can't help but internally cringe at his appearance. fully-formed eyebags, hair tousled from a nervous habit he's too tired to break, and now ink all over his sole work shirt. he's been looking like this in front of you this whole time, no wonder you probably think he's truly lost his mind.

you appear behind him through the mirror, just over his shoulder again. "you really should take it easy on the pens. they didn't do anything wrong."

a half-hearted laugh rings between the both of you. you reach for the paper towels to start getting some of the blue residue off. the way you touch him is soft, way too caring for someone you just met. he thinks that's the part he likes the most so far.

the heart on your sleeve, not too unlike his own.

"so much for taking care of you, huh?" he chuckles, staring down at the way your hand is holding his with the other rubbing the ink off his palm.

"you did great, don't worry," you smile, glancing up at him. "let me return the favour."

-

still trying to will the blush off his face, leon furiously uncrumples the ticket and sticks it in front of luis.

"sancho, what the hell is this?"

"it's the order for 37, what does it look like?" he barks back, a little too harshly for something that is most definitely his fault. if luis is offended by his tone of voice he certainly doesn't show it, just tilting his head at leon like he's got him all figured out.

"it looks like you wrote this with the pen in your mouth," he laughs, sticking it above him anyway. "what's got you so distracted?"

before leon can give him some sort of half-witted answer, ada steps up to the counter, glaring at the piece of paper above her like it personally offended her. "you're an idiot, kennedy."

leon just sighs, "tell me something i don't know."

[lipglossanon]

Day 16

Kink: CNC and Degredation

Pairing: Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, stepcest, consensual noncon, degradation, dirty talk, name calling, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cheating

not proofread

Your husband was due to come home early October, but last minute changed his plans to meet up with some other company men somewhere in Europe. A short little phone call to you to let you know and then nothing. He barely answers your texts now, so it’s nothing new. 

Leon’s always around now, especially since you both crossed that line months ago, letting him fuck you stupid then asking for more. You still feel a twinge of guilt, but it fades faster with every missed call or visit postponement. At least Leon takes care of you in all the ways you need; someone who listens to you—surprisingly—taking care of your emotional needs as well as your physical ones. 

Tonight, he surprised you with a trip to a corn maze. You love all things fall related, so you’re happy with this impromptu trip. Wearing cute Halloween tights with witchy cats paired with a cute skirt and blouse, you’re low key excited for this outing. It’s like a little date. 

Leon promises to meet you at the location, called by a friend to get a ride home after having car trouble. You tell him not to worry about it and you’ll wait for him outside the maze. 

It’s been two hours now and it’s dark out, the last text from him saying he’s on his way before radio silence. Phone buzzing in your hand, you bring it up and slide open the text. 

Tucking your phone into your crossbody bag, you grab it and get out of your car. Feeling a little put out, you give the lady at the booth a few dollars to walk through the maze. You’ll still enjoy yourself, but it’s not the same. 

Since it’s nearly closing, almost everyone is done and gone for the night. You slowly meander through the stalks, breathing in that smell of autumn air—moist dirt and fallen leaves with a hint of hay and woodsmoke. It has your shoulders dropping, the stress uncoiling from your muscles.

You catch sight of someone ahead of you, assuring you’re not completely alone in case you do get lost. You’ve only run into one dead end so far at the start. It’s as your ducking down a new path that a sudden chill races down your spine. Turning, you don’t see anyone behind you which makes the arm yanking you back into a chest all the more terrifying. 

Before you can scream, a hand covers your mouth and you’re tugged further into the stalks. 

“Better keep quiet,” a hot breath hisses in your ear. 

You flail your legs out since an arm is wrapped around your chest like band, keeping your own arms pinned to your side. Jerking your head back trying to hit your assailant, your eyes catch on the wrist watch they’re wearing. 

It’s the same as the one Leon always wears; the blue watch face has a small gouge across the plate from where the band broke and it fell on cement. But you still stay tense, struggling against who you’re 99% sure is Leon. 

He wrestles you down to the ground, scuffing your tights against the dirt until he’s able to wrench your hips over, flipping you onto your back. Nothing but a black ski mask fills your vision making your heart race even faster. You open your mouth and try to bite the fingers muffling your sound. 

“Behave or I’ll have to do more than cover your mouth,” he growls down at you and you glare up at him. 

He pulls your wrists together with a harsh yank, “Keep it shut or this is gonna be worse on you, slut.”

Hot tears prick your eyes and you bite your lip as he pulls his hand away to tie your wrists together. 

“Why’re you doing this?”

He chuckles, a low mean sound, as he flips your skirt up to rip your tights at the crotch. 

“Cause you were asking for it,” his tone a simpering croon. “And this just proves it.”

His fingers brush against your bare cunt, smearing slick along your pussy lips. 

“Only a whore would be wet,” he laughs. “Guess this slutty pussy wants to be raped.”

Your breath catches and you shake your head wildly. 

“No, no, no,” you squirm and try to push away from the man above you. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he mocks. “Now be a good girl and take it.”

With one hand he grabs your wrists and pushes them above your head, following the motion so he hovers over you. His free hand undoes his jeans so he can pull his dripping cock out to press against your soaked slit. 

“Fuck, tight pussy’s gonna make me work for it, huh,” he groans, using his hand to press his cock into your hole, walls fluttering like crazy around the thick intrusion. 

Gasping, you whimper as he bullies his cock fully inside your clenching pussy. You catch a whiff of cologne (the same kind Leon wears) and it makes you clamp down tight on the cock inside you. 

“God, not gonna last with that fucking gorilla grip of a cunt you got,” he pants heavily into your ear. 

The hand not holding your wrists seeks out your slippery clit, thumb rubbing the pudgy bud in tight circles. 

“Bet this soft wet pussy can’t wait to get creampied,” he groans, humping against you with deep thrusts. “Since you’re soaked from being raped right here where anyone can see.”

 “Shut up,” you mewl, his words fanning your arousal even higher. 

The situation is too much for you both; it doesn’t take long for you to orgasm, pussy fluttering and milking his cock as he keeps rubbing your twitching clit. 

“That’s it, taking my cock like the fucking slut you are,” he shifts his hands to grip onto the fat of your hips, pounding into your sensitive cunt. “Gonna stuff you so full, cream your fat pussy like you deserve.”

He bites off a stuttered groan and ruts against you half a dozen times before spilling hot and thick deep inside your cunt. 

“That’s it, fuck, take every fucking drop,” he grinds against you and you whine, fingers flexing in their binds.

Laying there against you until he catches his breath, he pulls out with a hiss before untying your wrists. Pulling the ski mask off, Leon’s lopsided grin comes into view. 

“Good?”

“Good,” you laugh incredulously. “We’re both lucky it’s late.”

He shrugs, “It would’ve been embarrassing, but hey all’s well that ends well.”

He leans over to kiss you, a soft press of lips so at odds from his earlier actions. 

“I know the way out, so we can get you back to the car,” he eyes the apex of your thighs hungrily. 

Pushing his arm with a snort, you nod, “Sounds like a plan.”

[lucrativesoul]

The Neighbor

summary: you just moved into a new condominium and have the pleasure of meeting your new, older neighbor, Leon. instantly, you are smitten, and he wants to know more about you. oh, and you work as an online cam model.

pairing: id!leon kennedy x fem!reader

word count: 7.3k

warnings: smut, fingering, masturbation, turning leon into an obedient little boy

a/n: take a shot every time i use a boring title... this plot came to me in a dream. of course, i immediately had to turn it into a leon story. sorry for being gone so long! life has been crazy for me. don't worry, i'm still here and trying to think up new ideas! help is always welcome. I'm still getting love on my other fics which is soo appreciated. i hope you all enjoy this one, and i will be back with another!

You were exhausted from the day, and you had to take a moment to splay yourself out on your floor, taking in your new environment. You worked to bring yourself here, so you will enjoy it however you please for the moment.

You found yourself in a new location, able to move out of your one bedroom apartment into a large condo, with the addition of a loft and second bedroom. Surely you knew it was more than you needed, but the satisfaction of knowing you could make this price back easily was too much to resist. 

Pushing yourself up onto your hands, legs still stretched outward on the carpet, you grazed your eyes over the large boxes you had spent all day moving into this room. You had friends helping you all day with furniture and other boxes, but these you knew you had to take care of by yourself, in case one of them accidentally opened. Yes, your closest friends knew what you did for work, but you would prefer to keep it to your small circle. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself up onto your feet, immediately getting to unpacking and setting this room up. You were sitting on a small stockpile of content to post white you were in the process of setting up, which you did warn your audience about and were slowly posting your way through, but you were too eager to put this room to use. It made you want to turn on the camera at the mere thought.

Two hours later, the sun was now kissing the tips of the trees and the sky was golden. The windows all around were open, cooling you off, and before you could comfortably retire for the night, you had one last touch to your filming room.

You reached into the final box, intending to pull out the tripod, but seeing the box empty. 

“What the…” You mumbled to yourself, looking around the room. You knew it was the last box, and were sure you didn't already take it out. You signed, almost a groan. “Fuck.” At least this would be the real final trip to the car.

The air felt nice on your heated skin, and with every passing minute it got darker. You popped open your trunk, rifling through the miscellaneous bags that were littered back there, probably with shoes and clothes that you could take in later. The tripod was buried underneath them.

Closing the trunk, you were about to stalk back inside when a figure off to the left made you jump. A man was standing by the street, headed your way.

You almost ran for it. You had your anxieties related to doing what you do, but you kept very cautious, and knew no one except your friends knew where you were located. Plus, there were units all around. You had to assume this was a neighbor.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” You shook your head in an it’s alright response. A man with a medium build and a few inches on you walked over, and stopped a few feet from your car. At least he had the decency to keep distance. “I live right next to you. I was watching everyone bring boxes in earlier, please know I would have helped if I wasn’t home for only an hour in between my shifts. I’m Leon,” He held his hand out to you, you shook it, and responded with your own name.

“No, please don’t worry. We were totally good with help, there were almost too many people in there.” You giggled lightly, no longer feeling an intimidation off of him. “One day was all we needed. I’m sure I’ll be unpacking for months to come though.”

He chuckled. “That’s how I was when I was younger too, I moved a few times and put all my friends on an unpaid job to move and pack for me, saved me a ton of time, but that was the last time I trusted them to not lose any of my things.” In the last wisps of sunlight, you could see the golden light bouncing off his hair, long-ish, almost fell over one of his eyes, but cropped behind the ears. Stubble framed his strong chin. Good to know I have an attractive neighbor.

“I was keeping a very careful watch over them, trust me.” You shifted on your feet, recognizing the feeling creeping up inside of you. The urge to bare yourself for your audience, the innocent look in this man’s eyes, but your thoughts were forcing his face into itself. You almost felt guilty, you were sure Leon’s family would not appreciate these thoughts. “Glad I got to meet you, though, better sooner than later, so I can feel familiar with at least one person so far.” You looked towards his house, kitchen light on. “Hopefully I can meet your… um, wife?” An audible question on the last word, you could only assume he was old enough to be married.

He laughed stronger this time, but not at you. He shook his head. “It’s just me.” He said softly. His eyes grazed down to what you were holding this whole time. “You’re a photographer?”

You looked down, remembering what you had come out here for. “Oh, um… not really, I… make content. Like, youtube.” It was the safest option that you could throw out on the table, definitely not about to air out your business to this man you just met a minute ago. You were suddenly glad your filming room didn’t have any connecting walls to his space. 

“Hey, that’s cool, I can’t say I’m familiar with that profession, but I can imagine it's more fun than a 9-5.” Oh, it definitely is, you thought. “I don’t want to keep you out here, go get settled, I’m sure it was a long day.” He took a step backward, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “If you ever need something, I’m here. Don’t be shy.” With a greeting, he disappeared into his house, and you soaked in the air to cool your skin before you knew you would be heating up again in due time.

–

Nothing but waves of bliss racked your body. It was exactly how you planned on ending this night.

You can’t really recall when you made this decision to switch from your original career path to this. A basic, calm life just wasn't what you were looking for. You liked the thrill, you liked doing what you shouldn’t be, and baring yourself online to hundreds of strangers was the furthest thing from your old path of being a teacher. Naturally, it attracted you, and it took over your life. You were always rational about it, no one on your page knew what you looked like, and you always found that ironic, how you felt so comfortable showing anonymous people you masturbating, but got nervous at the idea that they knew who you were. You didn’t care, though. It put you in this new home.

You closed down your stream with many thanks and gifts from your audience, and simply laid there for a moment, cooling down and catching your breath. Your phone showed it was 10:33 PM. You probably could have gone for much longer, but the day was finally catching up to you, and after a shower, you knew you would be sleeping instantly.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was the immediate dreams about your older neighbor, whom you had just met hours before.

You felt his large hands over your waist, on your neck, pulling you in to be closer to him. His body enveloped yours, the heat between you two spreading, his soft mouth gracing the skin of your neck, and you ached to be with him. The touch was so real, you were melting under him. You needed him to keep touching you, you felt him all over you. With every inch he moved his hands, you felt fuller by the second, ready to explode if he told you to. 

You rolled over, face hitting the pillow, the last of his touch fading off of your skin. You sighed deeply, annoyed that this dream put you in this mood first thing in the morning, not even a chance to wake up.

Pushing your dream aside, you still had a ton of work to do in your new home. Boxes were still laid about everywhere, and it felt like it would never come together at all. Now or never, and you dragged yourself out of bed.

–

The evening was already closing in, and you stood in your opened garage, breaking down the boxes that no longer needed to serve its purpose. You had gotten more done than you were expecting, and subconsciously, every time you stepped outside to dispose of more cardboard, your eyes darted sideways to your neighbor's house. You hadn’t seen his car when he walked over last night, probably parking in his own garage, so you had no idea if he was home right now. You didn’t risk staring, as you could only assume the dark windows meant he was working. It at least gave you a little peace of mind while you worked.

Your phone started ringing a few seconds later. Seeing your friend’s name, you sighed, grateful for a moment of relief. Typically, these moments turned into an hour or two, but you weren’t complaining, you had done enough organizing today.

As predicted, you spent the next thirty minutes leaning against your car and chatting with your friend, who, yes you had just seen yesterday, but still had more to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw headlights pull down the street to your unit, and swung in and disappeared next door. Your stomach involuntarily lurched, being nervous to see Leon again.

You weren’t sure why, the interaction you had yesterday was nothing extreme, was barely anything at all, and the dream lasted a minute at most. It couldn’t have been anything besides the dream, it felt all too real for you to just forget it happened. Now, you knew, you were cursed with this knowledge that you had a sex dream about this man. 

You watched as the garage door shut behind his car, let out a sigh, and changed the topic of conversation.

“Okay… something odd happened last night.” You spoke to your friend, keeping your voice low.

“Odd? Oh god, it’s not haunted, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, it’s not haunted. I met my neighbor.”

You heard your friend gasp. “Oh, my god, and he's totally hot, right?” You could hear the fake voice she was putting on. “This is just like a lifetime movie. The hot neighbor, the little shy girl.”

“Shy girl? Where are you getting these ideas about me?” You smiled as you heard her laugh. “But, no, you’re like, right. He is hot. I don’t know how old he is, but definitely way older than me. I said I would look forward to meeting his wife, too, but he said it was just him. He was literally in my dream last night. I don't know what’s come over me.” You sighed, peeking to your left again.

“Woah, so, what I’m hearing is you’re making a movie with him.”

You scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I am not telling him. This is way past his time. He probably thinks it’s whore-ish.”

“Gotta prove him wrong, though.”

You pondered it, but knew it was no use trying to think it into reality. This was the one thing you knew you couldn’t tell anybody, they might say it doesn’t bother them, but it always did. Leon was nice enough to introduce himself the day you moved in, and waiting even any amount of time to tell him what you do would be a huge mistake. Better to let him keep thinking you did youtube-type content.

“Thanks for the idea. I’m definitely not taking your advice.”

–

You were standing in your kitchen, washing the few plates you used for your own dinner when the doorbell ringing out through the home made you jump. It was probably a friend, but you were confused at the lack of warning before showing up. At least you weren’t upstairs.

Opening the door, you were stunned in a momentary silence when none other than Leon was standing at your doorstep, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his mail. 

“Oh, hi Leon, I thought you were one of my friends.” You opened the door wider, but stayed planted, letting him stay outside.

“I guess I don’t have a great track record for not scaring you so far.” He smiled and tilted his head gently, and you responded with a smile. “I got some of your mail by accident. Couldn’t open your mailbox back up so, just thought I’d bring it by since I saw your light on.” You reached out and took an envelope from him, realizing it was from your cam company. Your stomach twisted for a moment, but you just hoped he didn’t recognize the name.

“Oh, thank you, I hope you won’t be making this trip too often for just that, then.” You lowered your hand, and suddenly remembered a problem you encountered earlier in the day. “Actually, Leon, since you are here, do you think you could help me quickly? I was trying to put things into my kitchen cabinets, and I accidentally pushed something too far back, and I can’t reach it now.” You bowed your head bashfully.

“Yeah, of course, lead the way.”

You stepped aside to let him in, and after shutting the door, walked through the hall into the kitchen. You pointed up to the cabinet above the refrigerator, instructing Leon on what you needed to be pulled forward. You stepped back, watching.

He acted like it was nothing, while you had struggled to even reach it in the first place. With one hand bracing himself on the counter top, he reached up. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the hem of his shirt, which lifted with his body movements, and you were in a trance immediately. His waistband was sitting just a hair below the band of his underwear, which sat delicately on his hips. You could see the curve of the muscle along his torso, clearly evident that he works out or has an active job, and from the side, the thin hairs of his happy trail were showing, disappearing into his pants. It lasted for all of a few seconds, but it burned in your brain. It was all you needed.

When you looked up, hoping to cut yourself off, Leon was already looking at you. You had no words, hoping he had something to say, knowing he for sure saw you staring.

“Easy fix. Try not to push it too far back all the time.” He turned around, giving you a lingering glance, a small grin on his face. You followed him back to the door. “Unless you just need more excuses to talk to me besides a mail mix up.” You nodded, standing at the threshold while he hopped down the stairs, turning his head and throwing a wink at you before disappearing. It took another ten seconds of collecting yourself before you could shut the door behind him.

–

It was not long at all before you saw Leon again, you couldn't resist needing to see him. There was no way he didn’t catch you staring when you invited him in, there was no chance he couldn’t tell the way you were looking at him. God, you barely knew the man but there was something about him that made your stomach stir. You were thinking about him while filming your content, the thought of him made you finish harder than you had ever made yourself finish before. You teased the thought of filming with him, even, and that had you weak. You knew he would never do it, whatever he did for work, it was probably much more legit to society than yours was.

You had invited him to come over tonight for drinks a few days ago. He was on his way out as you were on the way in, and decided to rip the bandaid off and invite him over to spend time with you. What brought this on? Nothing except the onslaught of thoughts of him, and a little convincing from your best friend, of course.

Taking a shot in the dark, you had on a small black dress. It was casual enough to be worn around company, but styled so it read obviously as, we’re drinking at my house and I need you to look at my body. You hoped the message would be received. 

The nerves were starting to boil up, and he wasn't even in your house yet. You unscrewed the nearest bottle of clear liquor and threw back a shot, needing to warm up your system and shut down your nervous response. It wasn’t going to be a big deal, he’s just the neighbor.

There was no time for the shot to kick in before knocking was heard through your quiet home. Swallowing the heartbeat rapidly rising in your throat, you stalked over to the door and swung it open.

Leon was casual, but looking the same as he did the night you met him. Nothing about it deterred you, it only drove your inner lust even further.

“Not too early, right?” Leon grinned as you slid aside for him to enter.

“Not at all. Maybe even late, I’m a few drinks ahead already.” He laughed as he followed you, and you were hyper aware of the way your body was moving throughout your house. You grabbed a glass and offered him what you have, and sat next to him at your island, facing him with a wine glass in hand.

“What do you do for work, by the way? All I remember is you mentioning your odd hours.” You took a sip as he started answering you.

“I work with the government, technically. I used to be a lot more active when I was younger, but now They have me just go in whenever they need me. Used to be a lot of physical work, but I’m not that good anymore.” He had a shy grin on his face and lowered his gaze into his glass.

“What? You’re kidding, You still look like you’d be perfectly fit for an active job. I don’t believe that.”

He looked up and made eye contact with you. “I’m glad you think so, someday I’ll have to prove it to you.” A lapse of silence, for once the alcohol didn’t give you a prompt to respond with. Leon was still looking into your eyes, and you felt a heat rising in your chest. He straightened up suddenly. “You know, I’m curious how similar this unit is to my own, I’ve never been in any of them. Tour?” He grinned, and you slid off your seat after a giggle.

You walked into the dining room. “Still empty, obviously, I probably won’t ever use this, I like eating in my kitchen more.” Leon kept his drink in hand as you two walked. You left the dining room and down the short hall into the living room. “Maybe one of my favorite rooms, I love looking up into the loft.” You both looked up to the high ceilings and the loft railing to the left.

“Let’s go up there.” He lowered his gaze from the loft to you. You felt your stomach twist momentarily, knowing exactly what was up there, but you couldn’t say no, that would make it all the more suspicious. You nodded after a second, leaving the living room and turning left to take the stairs. You could feel his eyes on you, your body felt hot, and you hoped to god that you shut the door when you were done last night.

At the landing, you sighed with relief, seeing the closed door. You needed to make sure it stayed shut.

“This is just… storage, really. Since my room is downstairs and I don’t have much stuff.” You walked further down the landing, gesturing to your left as you did so. “And the bathroom. Is this similar at all to yours?”

Leon approached you. “It actually is, just a little different. I guess I should have expected that.” He let out a low chuckle, and you mirrored him. You turned back to the railing, looking down into your living room.

“Once I think I’m really settled, I’m probably going to paint these tall walls. I really love the idea of a dark space, hopefully the office will sign off on a dark color, you know how they are sometimes.” After no immediate answer, you continued. “It’s crazy moving into this space, my old apartment was like… the size of my entryway, so I barely have anything to fill it here, but I have high hopes.” Lost in your daydreaming, the silence snapped you out of it. Leon was not standing next to you like you thought.

Turning your head to the right, you found him standing in the doorway of your filming room, which he had cracked open and flicked a light on inside.

“Leon!” You could only stand there as he remained still, looking into the room, hand on the doorknob. When he turned his head to look at you, he was grinning.

“Sorry to pry.” He stalked back over to you, not bothering to close the door. “I get curious sometimes.” You stared at him with wide eyes, no words coming to your head. “You make… youtube videos?” 

You could practically hear the light goading in his tone, the smile still on his face. You didn’t need to look into the room to know what he saw, and now he knows you were lying. 

You weren’t exactly the tidiest person, especially when it comes to this room. While you are on camera, you shed your clothes and lingerie and toss them off to the side, and usually don’t pick them up until the next day. You were no stranger to using toys during performances, and you were sure there were plenty of those lying about on the floor as well. You couldn’t see them, but you knew you used them last night, and don’t remember putting them away after cleaning them.

You struggled to think of something to say, the silence was stretching thin now, and you hated looking so… guilty. His grin was growing by the second. It was making your stomach churn.

“I… never actually said youtube.” You sputtered.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that almost made you weak. “No, I suppose you didn’t. So, what kind of videos then?” He tilted his head, obviously knowing the state he is putting you in right now.

You took a deep breath in, tying together all of your courage to maintain eye contact with him. Quickly, you assessed the situation. One: He liked what he was doing to you. He seemed entertained by the embarrassment he was bringing you right now, much to your annoyance that you would deal with later. Two: He caught you staring at his body the other night when you asked him for help. He didn't say anything at the time, but you locked eyes right after you were staring at his muscle ridges, and he had that same shit-eating grin on his face. Three: He was not deterred by the idea of you doing this for a job, in fact, it seemed like he enjoyed the idea, just as much as he enjoyed teasing you.

After these brief thoughts, you forced yourself to spit out words that you never would have otherwise.

“Would you let me show you?”

Leon’s head slowly straightened, and the grin melted from his features, but his eyes never left yours, and the fervor in them only grew stronger. His dark gaze pierced into you, and you felt it straight in your heat, and in that moment, you knew you had your answer to that question.

With the hand that was free from your drink, and eyes never leaving his, you took Leon’s into your own, the rough, warm skin heating your fingers and palm, and you walked past him into your filming room, and you heard him close the door behind you.

You turned around, wasting no time in ridding your hands of both of your drinks, and you stared at him again for a moment. You couldn't help the shaky inhale, overwhelmed with the absolute excitement of getting to do this right now. You took a step towards him, lifting your hand up and gently placing it on his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

He immediately responded to the touch, his lips pressing into yours. His hand snaked around your hips, pulling you in closer, and you could feel his torso on yours, the heat radiating, adding to your burn. You could feel his grip, and by the mere workings of his mouth alone, you could tell he wanted this just as much as you did. 

He backed you up a step, pushing you further into your room, feeling the plush carpet underneath your feet, knowing he was most likely going to try and attempt to lower you onto your bean bag behind you, but you had other plans. 

Right before Leon could lift your legs to set you down, you stood up straight, breaking away from his mouth with a thin saliva string. He looked caught off guard, mid-lean into a kiss, opening his eyes to watch your moves with confusion.

“Sit down.” You whispered loud enough for him to hear. He obeyed your request, sitting on the plush bean bag looking eager. You sunk onto your knees in front of him, watching as he leaned forward with anticipation. You gave in to one last urge– you leaned in and kissed him briefly– before leaning back, supporting yourself on your hands and your legs presented in front of you. You watched as his stare worked all the way down your body, over your chest, onto your legs, in between them. You were sure your lingerie was on display under your dress by this point, but this was the exact reason you put it on. 

“I want to show you my favorite kind of video to make.” You spoke without shame to him, wanting to see the reaction you can pull out of him. You could swear you saw him visibly swallow at your words, aching to see what you were going to show him. “You’re going to listen to me, okay?” He locked eyes with you, deep and sultry, and slowly nodded. “And you aren’t going to touch me until I tell you to.” He audibly sighed at this, both frustrated and turned on by the idea of only getting to watch. You felt slick gathering, stomach in a knot still, all too excited about the show you were about to put on.

“Tell me what kind of videos you think I make, now.” You never broke eye contact, but he wasn't ashamed to let his own eyes roam. You could tell they were glued onto the black panties plastered onto your wet pussy.

He sighed, and shuddered quickly. “You probably show yourself off to a whole audience.” He tilted his head, looking further into you. “Do you play with yourself on camera?” 

You leaned forward, shielding your core from his gaze, and he met your eyes. You pulled your legs under you, sitting up on your knees, slowly peeling your dress off your body from the bottom hem, bringing it over your head. Despite being momentarily blinded, you knew he was looking at every inch of exposed skin. The tiny matching bra didn’t leave much for imagination, your nipples clearly on display under the mesh fabric.

The dress was thrown behind you without grace, and you returned to your position in front of Leon. He was practically sliding off of the bean bag, wanting to touch you all over, but listening to your earlier command. 

“Did you think someone like me could do something like that?”

In between rapid heavy breathing, he replied, “I… I don’t know. I do now. Your body is incredible. You could.” 

“Would you watch me?” He nodded, spitting out a few ‘yes’s. “What would you want to see me do? I usually do what people ask me to do.” You slowly leaned in closer, bringing your face just under his, waiting to see if he would move. You backed up again, scooting backwards on the floor, and with a gesture of come closer with your finger, he followed, sitting on the floor now, still not touching you. 

“I would want you to take it all off. I want to see your body.” You giggled at his request.

“I could make that work… eventually.” He groaned at this, and you couldn't help but smile even more. “What else? Tell me.”

He sighed again, still locked in a stare with all your bare skin. “I want to see you play with yourself. I want to see you finger yourself… and play with your clit.”

You felt a sharp sensation travel straight to said clit at these words, and your thighs quivered with anticipation. You were sure you got your dominating point across– as dominating as you could stand to be in this situation. Leon was struggling, visibly, at that, and you were, too, but you were enjoying this too much to want to stop.

“Would you be touching yourself while I fingered myself?” Your legs fell open wider at the knees, feeling your folds peel apart. You needed contact there, but you could wait. 

Leon nodded. ”I would. I wouldn’t be able to help it.” Only at this moment did you decide to divert your gaze, leaving his sculpted face to look at his crotch, an obvious erection straining against his pants, and his face almost contorted in pain from the pressure of it. 

“Do you want to touch yourself now?” 

He groaned again, his head rolling to the side. “So bad… I want to touch you so bad.”

You took a moment to examine the state of this grown man in front of you. You didn’t even know his age, but he was at least more than ten years older than you. He was practically begging for you to do something, for you to let him do something, sitting on your floor, falling apart at the seams, probably going to cum in his pants if you exposed yourself to him right now. You almost wanted to see it happen.

You held out your left hand to him. “Give me a hand.”

He wasted no time in outstretching his right hand to you, and once you had it in your grasp, you leaned forward and closed your mouth around his middle and right finger. Even just the contact of your tongue on his hand was enough to have him writhing, wanting more but not asking for it. Your tongue circled each finger individually, both at the same time, biting lightly to tease him. He was leaning as far forward as his body would allow without crashing into your body, and you couldn’t remove your eyes from his face, pleasure written all over it.

You were in full performing mode now, but this was a whole new level, giving you the added adrenaline for the moment. You knew exactly how to seduce, and while that had never been a problem for you, you felt like a professional right now with the way Leon was falling for you.

With one last long lick to his fingers, you removed his hand from your mouth and held it out in front of you. “You get to touch me, I want you to finger me,” His eyebrows furrowed for a split second, relieved at hearing those words. “But you can only use this hand.” He came even closer, but didn’t touch you yet. You still held his hand in yours. “Okay?”

“Okay…” He whispered breathily, and without even blinking, he watched as you propped yourself up onto your knees and pulled your underwear off of your body, casting them aside, and resuming position.

Your heart thrummed erratically in your chest as you felt totally in control of what Leon could do to you right now, you felt like you might die. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your naked core, fucking you with his stare, and you felt that twist in your gut again, wanting to make it happen, but needing to show him who was in charge. 

He sighed, sounding like he was, too, having a hard time holding himself together, and he didn’t waste another second before you felt his hand make contact with your aching pussy.

It started with the pad of his thumb, you almost bucked your hips up in relief at the feeling of him pressing firmly into your clit, you allowed yourself to shakily exhale at the feeling of being touched, but you kept your half lidded eyes trained on Leon.

He tentatively rubbed circles into your sensitive bud, and you softly whined at the contact, not letting your guard down while he worked your sweet spot. He had his head still tilted, eyes flicking in between your core and your face, and every time he looked up, you held contact, and silently egged him on. After a few more circles, and eliciting more whines from you, he ran his spit-slick fingers over the length of your opening, you sighed, needing him inside of you. Without removing his thumb, he pressed the tips of his two fingers into you, pushing past the resistance, and both of you sighed in tandem when they were in all the way.

You rolled your head back slightly, enough to still be able to watch him, to make sure he wasn't going to disobey your orders. He was breathing heavily as he worked his fingers into you, making sure to deliver you the utmost pleasure, and also seeming to be pleasured from it himself. You could see the twitching of his cock through his jeans, and you were dying to get your hand on it, dying to get his own hands on it. You wanted, you suddenly decided, to get the both of you off at just the work of himself. 

Watching him now, you knew it would happen, he was about to release all over the inside of his pants if he kept this up, if any more lewd whimpers and moans spilled from your lips, he would be finished. He seemed like the type of man to do more than one round, and you could definitely put that to the test.

Leon crooked his fingers upward in you, causing you to lose monetary control of your body, and your hips bucked upward slightly. You were fighting against it, but you used it to your advantage, using it to see exactly how your pleasure would affect Leon. He groaned at the way you writhed for him, writhed because of him, and he shifted his legs, allowing his denim to be the source of his own friction. You almost felt sorry for him, if only you didn’t enjoy seeing him so submissive for you.

Wanting to get the words out, they caught in your throat as he continued twisting his fingers and hitting every spot inside of you that had your legs trembling, and you could feel that you were close. His thumb was still pouring over your clit, making it harder to stay held together. 

“Leon…” You moaned out. He looked up at you sinfully, understanding the way he was affecting you, but not halting his movements to hear you speak. You didn’t command him to stop, so he kept going. “You make me feel so good…” You whimpered again, letting him work you loose. “Listen to me, keep going,” He followed those orders, still watching you. “I want you to take your cock out. I want you to take it out and leave it out, don’t touch it until I tell you to.”

He groaned at this order, most likely relieved that he could finally touch himself. As much as you would want to be the one doing it, you’ll save it for round two. 

“Can I stop to take it out?” His voice was nearly cracking, his emotions overflowing all at once, threatening to burst.

You cocked a tiny smile. “No. Keep your fingers moving.” 

He visibly gulped, and his movements started stuttering as he attempted to do the two tasks at once. 

You were now focusing less on his initial task just to watch him struggle with the new one. He sat at an odd angle, using his free hand to undo the button and pull his zipper down, trying to move himself just enough to pull his waistband down, but not enough to separate from your throbbing heat, which he stayed glued to like he was being sucked in. 

Finally, it was low enough for you to see the bulge and wet spot from the precum on his boxers, and you were drooling with anticipation as he pulled the elastic down, freeing his girth from its restraints. Now, you were the one in a trance as his hard cock sprang free, hard as ever, straight at attention pushed against his abdomen as he did his best to not touch it as he took it out.

You sighed loudly, and when he was done, he looked back up at you. “Is that good?”

You nodded slowly, feeling his fingers come back to life inside your pussy, which was now aching for more of a stretch. “So good. So good…” You moaned out the last words, and you noticed Leon had to clench his other fist to stop himself from doing anything you didn't ask of him.

“Go ahead,” You whispered, but you knew he absolutely heard. “Slowly touch yourself. Follow my directions…” He immediately wrapped his other hand around the base of his dick, choppy moaning spilling from his lips as he did so. 

You watched as he hesitantly tugged at himself, not helping any of the sounds he was making, but it was only helping you to climax. Half of the time he resorted to keeping his eyes closed as he did both at once, undeniably being overcome by waves of pleasure. You watched as strings of thin precum followed on his fingers every time he stroked himself, the pink head of his dick looking so neglected, so soft, you wanted to put your tongue on it and lap up all of the sticky, stringy precum to clean it up for him. 

You could practically feel the texture of his dick in your mouth as you watched him, knowing it was becoming harder to hold yourself back.

“Stroke it at the same pace as your fingers.” You mumbled, clear enough to be heard. “I want you to bring me close, but I need you to tell me when you are close, too.” 

Leon was practically panting as he continued to finger you and pump his own dick, with every up and down stroke of his cock, his fingers went in and out, the sound of squelching becoming even louder with every movement, everything he did made you more wet by the second. 

Your forearms were burning from holding yourself up for this long, and your thighs quivered occasionally, and right as he hit the sweet spot inside of you again, you couldn’t help the squeak it produced from you, and you had to lower yourself to your elbows. Despite this, Leon was still obeying you.

You took a hard inhale before speaking, needing to collect yourself more than expected. “You’re so good at listening to me, you know that?” You half moaned out, feeling yourself get closer to the edge. You saw him nod meekly. “You’re doing so good, so good for me.” He kept groaning every time his hand hit the head of his dick, the sensation probably becoming overwhelming, the need to cum bubbling up inside of him, and of you.

Another beat went by before you spoke again. “Why don’t you pick up the pace a little bit? I’ll let you go faster.”

“On who?” He answered almost immediately, as if his brain was hardwired to only be obedient to you, and nothing else. That notion alone brought that flame closer to exploding in you.

“Yourself, bring yourself closer. I’m almost there. You feel so good.” Your breathing was matching his now as the both of you were panting loudly, and you fought the urge to close your legs as the sensations were sending a series of twitches down your thighs and calves. 

Leon wasn’t shy with his reactions any longer as he continued to moan loudly every time he pumped his dick, you could see how red it was from both the rough friction of his hand and the neglect from having been bound up in his pants. It hadn’t even been that long, but you knew he was close. You could tell.

His thumb pressed hard into your clit and you shrieked again, unintentionally closing your legs as the heat rocked through you, you clenched down on his fingers and your hands gripped the carpet as much as they could, you were much closer now, and you were drinking up the feeling of him untying all the knots within you. 

“Oh, Leon… I’m gonna cum…” You let your head fall completely back now, reveling in the feeling of him working on you, your stomach tightening every time he puts more pressure onto your clit.

With another sharp inhale, and a few strokes of his fingers, you felt yourself collapsing at the hands of him, your body shuddered and you felt the walls of your aching pussy tighten, spasm, and a flood of relief and relaxation poured over you.

Mere seconds after, you looked over to see Leon fisting his own dick, fingers still inside of you, overstimulating you, shooting ropes of cum onto his hand and shirt. He gasped with every spurt, his hand never leaving the base of his dick, his white cum dripping over his knuckles, his dick twitching gently after he was finally drained.

He slid his fingers out of you, eliciting another soft moan from you, and held eye contact while he gingerly licked your juices off of his hand. You swore that sole action made you ready all over again. 

Leon pulled his hand off of his dick, the cum making a sticky sound as he did so. You slowly sat up, legs feeling more like jelly than you were ever used to, grabbed his hand, and licked a stripe up one of his fingers, thick slime coating your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

“I’m afraid I might get addicted to this.” He whispered, coming closer to you.

“And if I wanted you to?” Staring deep into his eyes, his pupils blown out, you could see in him that he, much like yourself, wasn’t done either.

“Your audience might not like that.” His voice was low and gravelly, a sound you wanted to get used to hearing. 

You chuckled breathily. “Not if we let them in on it…” Your fingers slowly traced circles onto the back of Leon’s hand, letting the implication of your words hang in the air.

You saw a quirk of a smile in the corner of his mouth, and his eyes flitted behind you where you knew you had your camera set up. He met yours once more. “They might not be interested in round two.”

A full smile spread across your lips, and you gripped the front of his shirt to pull him in for a deep, hot kiss, which he instantly returned. Sure, maybe not tonight, would your audience see you fully fledged out for this man, one round in already, but you were sure they would be watching next time from the beginning.

[vampiricgf]

Home Is Where the Heart Is

stepdad leon kennedy x stepdaughter reader

wc: 2k+

warnings: stepcest, masturbation, fingering, intoxication, creampie, hickies, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, good girl), reader is in their twenties but he's older

I need him so bad somebody has to step up and shoot me with a tranquilizer dart or something before I become completely delusional

You sigh as the door clicks behind you, the final death kneel of yet another failed, miserable date. The sound of low, canned tv voices drifts from the living room and you feel yourself deflate even further, not wanting to have to go through the motions of telling your stepfather about yet another boring, unfulfilling date. 

Maybe I should just throw my phone in a fucking river and become a crazy hermit-

“Hey, you just get in from the date?” His voice reaches you from around the corner in the foyer and there's no avoiding it. Time to tell him yet again that his step child has basically zero prospects and is doomed to be living here until she’s an ancient crone. Surely he’ll be thrilled about the idea of having to support you forever. 

“Yeah, it was fine.” You shrug, leaning against the wooden open frame of the archway as he meets your gaze and your bag drops from your loose grasp to rest against the wood flooring. He's unfocused, a little disheveled. 

Looks like we’ve both had shit nights if hes already drinking. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he gives you a sympathetic expression, “but plenty of fish in the sea, right?” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” You sigh, turning to make way for the stairs, for the refuge of your bedroom and a few solid hours of unconsciousness where you could pretend you weren’t an embarrassing, lonely burden. “Good night, dad.” 

“Night hon,” you hear from behind you as you ascend to the second floor, debating on if you should wash your face or if you could get away with skipping it for at least tonight. 

Plenty of fish in the sea, yeah easy for him to say. Even if it had always felt weird you knew your stepfather was attractive, good looking and a little mysterious with the whole government agent thing. Not even you really knew the specifics, weren’t sure if even your own mother had known at all before her passing. The sudden thought of her makes your throat tighten up and you decide that yes, you can skip the stupid skincare tonight because sometimes you just have to lay in bed miserable for a bit. 

Maybe masturbating will help, at the very least it’ll get you closer to being exhausted enough to pass out and if Leon is downstairs you don’t have to be as paranoid about noise like you are most nights. 

As you flop against the plush surface of your bed once the door shuts behind you your hand fumbles blindly at the nightstand on your right, searching for the drawer handle. With a huff you prop up on your elbow, yanking it open to reveal the sight of a sleek, glass dildo. It had been a treat purchase, something to reliably cheer you up on nights like this, of which there had been more than you cared to admit to yourself. The only thing you were really sad about, as you peeled off your shirt and slid down your jeans, was that you wasted a nice matching underwear set on no one. 

Eyes closed you let your mind drift as your hands run over your own skin, touching and teasing in just the way you enjoy, already biting your lip at the prospect of wearing yourself out on the little glass toy. But as your fingers brush over the dampness of your underwear, legs spread, you can’t help the way your mind drifts back to him. Your stepfather, all dirty blonde hair and eyes like the tides. It wasn’t fair. If you weren’t related by marriage he would be the type you’d be salivating over, desperate to drag into bed just to let him-

You failed to hear his footsteps on the stairs, failed to hear the doorknob being gripped and the heavy wood being swung open until it was too late. With a strangled cry you scramble back, hands pressed uselessly to your heaving chest, legs squeezed together and eyes wild as you stare at him in the doorway, holding your bag you’d left sitting in the open archway. 

“Oh my god dad-”

“I’m sorry, sorry, you left this and I, I figured you’d want it.” his voice trails weakly, lame, as his eyes look everywhere but at you and your skin burns with embarrassment and something else that makes your ribs feel like they’re being crushed. The secret shame of the fact that you’d been about to finger yourself to the thought of him and now here he is, in the flesh.

“Thanks but can you get out, like right now?” 

Despite your attempt at firmness the words fall flat somehow, betrayed by your still present desire and you can feel it. Feel the way his eyes now stick to you like your body is made of gummy taffy and he’s helplessly caught in the trap of it. The silence extends, growing heavy on the strange tension now gathering in the air like storm clouds. Your nerves are alight in a way that you can only describe as primal, high strung and waiting for some sign, some movement to indicate where this is going because suddenly you’re aware that you’re not the only one in control of it. 

“You’re too good for any of those guys anyway,” he speaks like a man deprived of water for hours, slightly hoarse and you can’t help the little shiver that quakes down your spine at the compliment. 

“Thanks, but… I didn’t mean for you to, you know, see.” 

“I’m sorry,” and hes stepping across the threshold and you know, you know this is descending into dangerous territory. The sort of thing you can’t come back from once it’s started. You feel your lip wobble, feel the familiar sting of tears about to gather in your waterline though from the humiliation or not is unclear. What is clear is that your stepfather at least has a semi at the moment, the slight bulge in his pants stroking your ego. “I could help you, if you want?”

You can hear it, naked desperation, and not for the first time you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You know it’s been hard, lonely, after all this time and not just for you and it’s like your body is suddenly attached to marionette strings, shyly nodding your head and uncurling from yourself. It’s strange, being so conscious now of the underwear you have on and the fact that you’d used a little of that sparkling dust stuff that makes skin look just an extra bit more tempting when it’s on display. 

You wonder if he’s ever thought of you before now, in this way. 

He lifts one knee, moving slowly, pressing down on the mattress next to your trembling legs, and his eyes don’t stop wandering your face, searching for any sign you’ve changed your mind before completely kneeling between your legs that have practically spread themselves. As one of his palms meets the blazing flesh of your thigh you can’t help the gasp that escape you, the way you reflexively move your arms to hug yourself, hide yourself again. 

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says it like he’s soothing an anxiety ridden animal but it helps, the familiar affection of his voice immediately making your muscles relax minisculely. “It’s just you and me.”

And those words, just you and me, speak to the now overblown need pooling in your belly and you can’t help the way you unfurl for him, like some night blooming flower with all of it’s most tender parts exposed. The air feels balmy and thick against your skin as his hands, both now grasping your legs, run up and down your thighs in a relaxing rhythm. 

You watch as his eyes flick down to your underwear, you can feel how damp they are and you bite your lip as you see his posture shift as he takes in the sight of your barely clothed pussy, needy and already soaking the thin material. 

“What were you thinking about?” he asks as one index finger starts tracing the hemmed edge of them, barely touching where you ache for him to put his fingers. Your hips squirm in response, trying to move so that his touch will land where you need it. But he can see what you’re doing and evades your attempts, making you whine. 

“If you want me to touch you, you gotta answer.”

“Was thinking about you,” you trail off, hesitant, “I wondered if you think about me.”

Finally he gives you what you want, running his finger over your slit , pressing down right on your throbbing clit just hard enough to make you gasp, your back arching ever so slightly against the mattress. “Shit, you’re so wet.”

He doesn’t answer you and you don’t need him to, already knowing the answer would be that he has and it makes smug satisfaction practically ooze from your body as you preen under his touch. Those calloused, thick fingers slipping past the barrier of your panties, making your mouth drop open and loosely you can recognize that the situation is beyond fucked, getting fingered by your stepfather isn’t something you can just come back from when daylight breaks as if it had never occurred but for now, none of that really matters. 

All that matters is the way his fingers slip inside you so easily, curling just right against your slick walls before pumping in and out, a steady pace as his other hand rubs circles against your hip to calm your twitchy muscles. The sounds of your harsh breathing and the faintly wet squelching of your pussy makes you lightheaded, delirium dripping down the back of your throat and acting like lighter fluid for the kindling of lust inside your gut. 

It feels like you’re being scorched, branded, from the inside out as the pace of his fingers gets more rapid, his thumb pressing against your clit to make you see stars behind your squeezed shut eyes. 

You can hear yourself babbling but it feels distant, far away and dreamlike as the tether between brain and body gets yanked tighter and tighter with each pass of his fingers, unrelenting even as you writhe and gasp against the sheets. 

“Kiss me,” you manage to squeeze the demand from your lungs and he’s quick to oblige, not leave his little girl begging. As your lips pressed together in a mess of rushed teeth clicking and spit slicked movement you feel him pull his fingers from you, hurriedly pulling down his waistband just enough for his cock to spring free. 

And you’re so eager for him, hand snaking down between your bodies to wrap your hand around his shaft and the moment you do he buries his face against the side of your neck with a groan, hips jerking as your thumb smears the fat beads of precum over the tip that you’re sure must be all flushed, a pretty shade of pink. His other hand is pulling your panties to the side and you know what he’s asking for without a word, rubbing the tip through your wetness as he shudders against you, teeth scraping the delicate skin of your throat. 

Feeling bold you angle your hips upward at just the moment when he moves his hips to push through your folds, but the motion makes his tip push deliciously against your entrance, the slide made effortless by the way he’d worked your pussy just moments ago. 

The feeling of it, being so completely full of him, the way he crowded every sense from sight to sound to touch was transendant. Rapturous, like being made whole after not even realizing you’d been incomplete, not realizing there was an entire missing piece. 

And suddenly any remaining guilt you felt for this vanished, dissipated like a wisp of smoke being blown away from a freshly extinguished candle. All that mattered in the world was the present moment, the two of you in this bed and your eyes rolling back as your spine arched at the feeling of him bottoming out inside you, the way he sucked at your neck in between little nips from his incisors. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he gasped against you, moving from yout neck to your lips as his hips began to move, caging your head with his forearms. 

You can’t make your mouth form words, tongue feeling heavy and useless as a wad of cotton in your mouth as you moan in response, fingers twisting into the material of his shirt as you urge him on and the edges of your mind fray with every hit of his tip against the spot you can usually only reach with the dildo in your bedside drawer. 

His rhythm is sloppy, nonsensical, but you don’t mind, not when your own fingers are circling your clit just the way you like and you can feel yourself tightening around him, feel the way your bodys pulling him back in voraciously. This was what you needed, not some random asshole from an app that wouldn’t be able to fuck you half as well, no. A part of you always knew your stepfather would take better care of you, he always has. 

“Want you to come inside, please,” you whine out and hear his little oh fuck muffled against your mouth as you swallowed down his groans like they were the finest vintage as your own orgasm rushed in, like high tide when you least expect it, flooding the shoreline in a relentless barrage. It’s not hard to tell he’s particularly powerless against the way your pussy squeezes around him, growing ever tighter like you’re trying to wring every drop from his body and gives it to you readily, eagerly, with one last harsh thrust before his balls rest heavily against your ass and hes panting, struggling for breath against you as you feel warmth spreading, flooding hot and sticky inside as you two stay locked together. 

When the sun comes up, maybe you’ll feel a modicum of shame for what happened but in this moment all you can feel is a boneless type of bliss as his arms slide underneath you, hold you tight against him in a perverse pantomime of a hug with his cock still inside you as he mumbles into your hair. 

“You’re such a good girl, always been my good girl.”

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 2

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, daydreaming, talk of rape, sa, abortion, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: The Man by Taylor Swift

new country

“Madam President!”

“Over here!”

“What are your plans to reform America?”

Paparazzi kept on yelling those questions even though you were perfectly capable of stating every one of your new legislations and ideas one by one. Lucky this was a closed conference, lowering the chance of an assassination, and Dean’s eyes were scanning the crowd anyway for any reporter who could suddenly yank out a .38.

You raised your hand, clearing your throat. “It’s only been about a week since I’ve been elected, but I can, with confidence, share with you my plans to reform legislations and laws in the States. As of tomorrow, after a majority vote, abortion has now become legal in all fifty states.”

The statement became an outcry, reporters and journalists yelling questions as to why, so you had to hold up your hand again with a strong urge to roll your eyes in disdain. Seriously, why can’t these guys ever shut up? “It’s a controversial decision.” You agreed, looking intently at the members of the audience. “I’m wholeheartedly aware, but we have to think of the people who would suffer. Victims of rape who end up pregnant would have to keep their child, and depending on the case, the mother could end up with severe post-natal depression which could affect both the child and their mother, which would do more harm than aborting the child. If a mother’s baby won’t make it to birth, she can’t do a thing to stop the baby’s suffering from happening in the first place. Abortion is a right that should be possessed by every woman in the country, and in addition to this, a psych evaluation will be conducted by licensed professionals to determine any external pressures or lingering doubts.”

You had felt your air running out, so you took a sip of your water before continuing on with your long list of tasks and responsibilities for the presidential serve. “I want to improve relations with our allies in NATO, and there will be foundations in order to support anyone in the States who is in need of education. And, by the end of my service as this country’s president, I want to have America make the switch to renewable sources of energy and be sure that the production of energy in factories is the minority.”

“Any questions?” Becky asked, waving her pen around a little as she looked inquisitively around the room, this fucking room with pretentious reporters who ask stupid questions.

One reporter raised their hand, so Becky nodded and pointed with her pen. “How does it feel, being the youngest elected and the first female to become president? You’re making history.”

“Well, as John F Kennedy said: it’s time for a new generation of leadership.” You smiled— that question wasn’t half bad, really. You knew you were breaking history’s records and taking America in a new direction, but it was for the best. “It’s an odd feeling, as I’ve been raised in a country with men as our presidents, but I’d say I owe a lot of my success to my family, my friends and my fellow candidate, Amara Shurley. She gave me a run for my money, and she’s an incredible woman that only inspired me to do better.”

Another reporter with his hand up. “A lot of women across the States see you as a symbol for feminism. What is your response to this statement?”

Well, that one wasn’t unheard of, you’d give it that. “I’m whoever the people want me to be.” You gave a light shrug, you didn’t really think of that question. You just said what felt natural. “If they need a feminist symbol, they can look to me. If people need reassurance and safety, they can look to me. The only thing I won’t be able to stand is that the good citizens of America can’t put their trust in me because of a contingency or the other.”

You glanced at Becky, who nodded toward the man. He was middle-aged, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a self-assured smirk that screamed, I’ve got something to prove. The logo of his network—one notoriously critical of your policies—was emblazoned on his press badge.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of condescension that set your teeth on edge. “You’ve outlined ambitious plans for reform, and your stance on women’s rights is certainly bold. But there’s one decision you’ve made that has raised quite a few eyebrows.” He leaned forward slightly, as if positioning himself for a dramatic reveal. “What do you say to critics who question the wisdom of hiring an ex-hitman—someone with a documented history of violence—to serve as your personal bodyguard? Isn’t it hypocritical to preach about progress and morality while employing someone like him?”

For a moment, silence blanketed the room. The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting, as the reporters collectively held their breath, waiting to see how you would respond. You felt the prickle of heat rise along your neck and shoulders, not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration.

You glanced briefly at Dean, whose expression was impassive, though his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He stood still, his hands resting lightly at his sides, but you could tell the question had landed like a punch to the gut.

You took a deep breath, the crisp scent of polished wood and faint cologne grounding you. Then, with a calm but unmistakable authority, you leaned forward into the microphone.

“That’s an excellent question,” you began, though your tone suggested otherwise. Your eyes locked on the reporter, and your gaze was steady, unflinching. “And it gives me an opportunity to address an issue that’s long overdue for clarification. You see, I don’t make decisions lightly—especially not decisions that concern my safety and the safety of this nation. When I selected Mr. Winchester as my personal bodyguard, I did so with full knowledge of his history.”

The reporter opened his mouth, but you held up a hand, silencing him without a word.

“Let me finish,” you said, your voice firm. “Yes, Dean Winchester has a past. But let’s talk about what that past really means. This is a man who, for better or worse, was shaped by circumstances beyond his control. He didn’t choose a life of crime; he was born into it. And yet, despite everything, he possesses a set of skills and a depth of experience that make him uniquely qualified to protect me—and, by extension, the American people.”

You straightened, your tone sharpening. “Critics like you are quick to point fingers and make judgments from a position of privilege, ignoring the fact that people can change. Redemption isn’t just a talking point for me; it’s a belief I hold deeply. If we can’t offer second chances to those who’ve earned them, then what kind of country are we building?”

The murmurs in the room grew louder, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the noise.

“Dean Winchester has spent the last year proving himself. He passed the most rigorous background checks, psychological evaluations, and combat training our government has to offer. He’s saved lives, prevented threats, and put himself in harm’s way to protect others. And for that, I trust him with my life. So if you want to question my decision, you’re not just questioning his character—you’re questioning mine.”

The room fell silent again, your words hitting their mark. You could feel the eyes of every reporter on you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Becky nodding subtly, her expression one of quiet approval.

You leaned into the microphone one last time, your gaze boring into the reporter who had asked the question. “And let me be perfectly clear: I don’t answer to cynics like you. I answer to the American people. So, if you’d like to discuss this further, I suggest you start by addressing me with the respect this office demands.”

The tension in the room was electric, the kind of silence that felt loud in its weight. The reporter, clearly taken aback, sank slightly in his seat, his smirk replaced by a look of unease.

You straightened your posture, smoothing the front of your blazer as you surveyed the room. “Next question?”

A younger journalist, her notebook clutched tightly, hesitantly raised her hand. Becky nodded to her, and she stood, her voice steady but cautious. “Madam President, thank you for your response. Building on that, how do you see your administration addressing broader issues of criminal justice reform and rehabilitation?”

Finally, a question with substance. You allowed yourself a small, appreciative smile. “That’s an excellent question,” you said. “One of my top priorities is ensuring that our criminal justice system focuses not only on punishment but on rehabilitation. Too many people are trapped in a cycle of incarceration because they’re not given the tools or opportunities to reintegrate into society. We need to invest in education, job training, and mental health support—both inside and outside of our prison system.”

You glanced briefly at Dean again, finding a flicker of reassurance in his steady presence. “Because if we’re serious about building a better future, we need to recognize that people are more than their worst mistakes.”

The press conference continued, the reporters slowly shifting their focus back to policy questions and legislative plans. But the earlier exchange lingered in the back of your mind, a reminder of the battles yet to come.

As the session wrapped up and you stepped away from the podium, Dean was there, a quiet shadow at your side.

“Hell of a response,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, catching the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “They don’t pay me to hold back,” you replied, your tone wry.

“No,” he said, his eyes scanning the room one last time as he followed you toward the exit. “They pay you to lead.”

And as you stepped into the corridor, leaving the chaos of the press behind, you couldn’t help but feel that, for once, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“No offence here, ma’am, but I think your fans are crazy.” Dean chuckled as he saw a post on Instagram that was now trending because he apparently was giving daddy.

Whatever the fuck ‘giving’ meant. He was a giver in the bedroom, if that’s what it was referring to. Below it were hundreds of comments, many of which seemed less than presidential.

You glanced at the phone, then back at him, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Welcome to my world,” you replied dryly, setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair. “You’d be amazed how quickly people can spiral over a photo.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through the comments. “‘He could protect me any day’,” he read aloud, his tone mocking but amused. “‘Please, sir, ruin my life.’” He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I’m literally hired to ruin other people’s lives if necessary?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “They probably think that’s part of the appeal.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know what half of this means,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Apparently I’m ‘giving daddy’? Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” He looked genuinely puzzled, and it only made the situation funnier.

You laughed outright at that, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Dean, it just means they think you’re hot.”

His smirk widened as he pocketed his phone. “So, basically, I’m a meme now.”

“Pretty much.”

Dean leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms as he gave you an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’m starting to think you hired me purely for my looks.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile didn’t falter. “Oh, please.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Be honest with me, ma’am. You saw the jawline, the broad shoulders, the smoldering intensity—”

“Smoldering intensity?” you interrupted, arching an eyebrow.

He gestured toward his face, grinning. “And you thought, This guy? Perfect for standing around looking menacing and driving Instagram wild.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, shaking your head as you looked at him. “Dean, I hired you because you’re qualified. Your record speaks for itself.”

He tilted his head, feigning skepticism. “But you did notice the jawline, right?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” you said, swatting at his arm playfully.

He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, ma’am. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone appreciates the package.”

You sighed, folding your arms and giving him an exaggeratedly serious look. “Fine. You’re attractive, Dean. Happy?”

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very.”

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “that’s not why I hired you. I needed the best, and you are. Everything else is just a… bonus.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, the usual weight of your responsibilities felt lighter.

The playful banter between you continued, a rare moment of levity in the otherwise intense environment of the Oval Office. Dean settled into the chair opposite your desk, leaning back with an easy confidence that only added to his inexplicable charm.

“So,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “how does it feel knowing your bodyguard is officially the internet’s new crush?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly? It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You’re all stoic and intimidating most of the time, and now half the country wants to climb you like a tree.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, if you ever get tired of being President, you could have a solid career in stand-up comedy.”

You grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth more than you cared to admit. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A short pause, but it felt good, light. He didn’t seem like the typical bodyguard, you could actually have conversations with him.

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching slightly, “if you ever want to go viral again, just let me know. I’m apparently great at it.”

“Noted,” you replied with a grin.

As he made his way to the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk firmly in place. “And for the record, ma’am? If I ever need a second career, I’ll just put ‘hot bodyguard’ on my résumé.”

You laughed, shaking your head as he disappeared into the hallway. “Good luck with that, Winchester.”

And as you returned to your work, a small smile lingered on your lips. Dean might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like this made it impossible not to appreciate the man behind the reputation.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the Oval Office, filtering through the tall windows and highlighting the meticulously maintained room. Papers were spread across your desk in organized chaos, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. You’d been working for hours, signing documents, reviewing proposals, and making notes in neat, precise handwriting. The quiet hum of the office was almost soothing—your assistant, Becky, had left to run errands, leaving you to your thoughts and tasks.

You leaned back in your chair for a moment, massaging the tension from your neck. The weight of the presidency wasn’t something you’d underestimated, but there were days, like today, when it pressed harder than usual. Still, the sense of purpose it gave you was unshakable. Every signature on these documents was a step toward the vision you had for the country.

As you reached for your coffee mug, the door opened quietly, and Dean stepped inside. You looked up, unsurprised—his ability to move without a sound still startled most people, but you’d grown accustomed to it.

He was out of his suit jacket now, the dark gray fabric slung over one arm. His white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealed strong forearms, and the faint shadow of a day’s stubble added to his rugged appearance. Dean wasn’t one for idle conversation or intrusions without purpose, so you set your pen down and gave him your full attention.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice as steady and low as ever. But there was something in his tone—an edge of hesitancy, maybe even guilt—that caught your attention.

“Yes, Dean?” you prompted, tilting your head slightly.

He stepped closer, standing just in front of the desk, his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking.

“I wanted to say… you didn’t have to do that. Back at the press conference.” His green eyes met yours, earnest and unguarded in a way they rarely were. “Defending me like that, in front of all those reporters. It wasn’t necessary.”

You blinked, surprised by his sincerity. You leaned forward slightly, resting your forearms on the desk. “Dean,” you said gently, “of course it was necessary.”

He shook his head, the movement quick and almost dismissive. “No, it wasn’t. My past is my burden to carry, not yours. You’re already under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need to add to it.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at something deep inside you. Dean Winchester was a fortress of a man—strong, guarded, and unflinching in his role as your protector. But in this moment, he was letting you see the cracks in that armor, the part of him that carried the weight of his past like a scar that wouldn’t heal.

You stood, pushing your chair back slightly as you rounded the desk. His eyes followed you as you came to stand beside him, your expression calm but firm.

“Dean,” you began, your voice softer now, “I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I chose you for this job. I knew your history. I knew how people might react. And I didn’t care.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as though struggling to accept your words.

“Listen to me,” you continued, stepping closer. “I’m not just your employer. I’m your ally. And when someone questions my decisions —when they question you— it’s my responsibility to set the record straight.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, and looked back at you. There was something in his expression that made your chest ache— a mix of gratitude and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite fathom why you’d stand up for him so fiercely.

“You’ve earned your place here, Dean,” you said, your tone unwavering. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was contemplative, a shared moment of understanding. Dean nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“You’re stubborn,” he said after a moment, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

You chuckled softly. “I’ve been called worse.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, you felt the intensity of it like a tangible weight. But then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if shrugging off the last remnants of doubt.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “For believing in me.”

“Always,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a small, sincere smile.

The atmosphere shifted, the earlier tension giving way to a more relaxed ease. Dean glanced at the paperwork strewn across your desk, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve been at this all day,” he said, nodding toward the stack of documents. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “That’s not how that works, Madam President. You can’t run a country if you run yourself into the ground.”

You sighed, knowing he had a point but unwilling to admit it outright. “I’ll take a break soon,” you conceded.

“Good,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and genuine. “I’d like to see you try.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, you saw the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made your chest feel lighter.

As he turned to leave, you called after him. “Dean.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” you said, your smile soft but full of meaning, “I think you’re doing a damn good job.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he gave a small nod, his lips curving into a quiet, appreciative smile.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, and with that, he left the room, his footsteps fading into the hallway beyond.

You returned to your desk, the papers waiting patiently for your attention. But for the first time that day, the weight of the work didn’t feel quite so heavy. You’d stood up for someone who deserved it, and in doing so, you’d strengthened a bond that went far beyond the professional.

As you picked up your pen, a thought crossed your mind—one that made you smile. Dean Winchester might not be perfect, but he was exactly the kind of person you wanted in your corner. And if the rest of the world couldn’t see that, well, that was their loss.

The day after the press conference, the Oval Office was already humming with its usual controlled chaos. You were deep in paperwork, focused on revising yet another draft of a new energy initiative, when your assistant, Becky, buzzed in to inform you that Bella and Steph had arrived.

You sighed fondly. Of course, they had. They’d been texting nonstop since the moment the press conference aired, full of commentary about your plans and, predictably, about Dean.

“They’re here to see you,” Becky said over the intercom, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you replied, shaking your head with a small smile.

Bella and Steph didn’t wait long. As soon as they were cleared to approach the Oval Office, they strode down the hallway, chatting animatedly, their voices carrying just enough to alert Dean, who stood stationed just outside the office door.

He looked up from where he was scrolling through security updates on his phone, his sharp green eyes assessing the two women as they approached. His posture was relaxed but professional, and his expression shifted to one of slight curiosity as he took them in.

Bella was the first to notice him. She slowed her pace, her jaw slackening just slightly as her gaze took him in—head to toe and back up again. Steph, walking just behind her, barely contained a whistle as she caught sight of Dean standing there in his dark suit and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

“Uh, excuse me?” Bella said, stopping directly in front of him with a hand on her hip. Her voice was playful, bordering on flirtatious. “You must be the Dean Winchester.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, tucking his phone into his pocket. “That’d be me,” he replied, his tone even but laced with caution.

Steph stepped up beside Bella, giving him a once-over with such blatant appreciation that Dean shifted slightly, his expression an amusing mix of bemusement and wariness. “Oh, wow,” Steph said, dragging out the words. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re even better-looking in person.”

Bella nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, we saw the pictures, but they didn’t do you justice. You’re—what’s the phrase?—‘giving everything.’”

Dean blinked, his lips quirking into an involuntary smirk despite himself. “Appreciate it,” he said dryly, “but I think you’re looking for the President. She’s inside.”

Bella waved a hand dismissively. “We’re her friends. She won’t mind if we take a moment to admire her excellent taste in bodyguards.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not exactly how she put it.”

Steph leaned in slightly, her grin downright mischievous. “So, Dean, what’s the story here? Are you single? Because if you’re not, you really need to start considering the President. You two would be perfect together.”

Dean raised both eyebrows at that, his smirk turning incredulous. “That’s… bold,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bella wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, and now she’s the President. And you? You’re a literal ex-hitman who looks like you walked off the cover of GQ. It’s a match made in tabloid heaven.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he might’ve said was interrupted as you stepped out of the office, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the scene unfolding before you.

“Really, ladies?” you said, your tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Bella and Steph whirled around, both grinning guiltily but unapologetically. “We were just getting to know your bodyguard,” Bella said, batting her lashes innocently.

“And suggesting he hook up with you,” Steph added helpfully, earning her a sharp elbow from Bella.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing. “I knew letting you two anywhere near Dean was a mistake.”

“Can you blame us?” Bella asked, gesturing toward Dean like he was an exhibit at a museum. “I mean, look at him.”

Dean, to his credit, remained perfectly composed, though there was a faint pink tinge to his ears that you didn’t miss.

“I am looking at him,” you said dryly, then turned to Dean with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. They don’t have a filter.”

Dean gave a half-smile, his voice carrying that familiar note of humor. “It’s fine, ma’am. I’ve heard worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you replied, shooting Bella and Steph a pointed look. “But I’d rather they not embarrass themselves—or me—any further.”

Steph raised her hands in mock surrender. “We’re just stating the obvious. And for the record, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked, exasperated.

“For giving you the perfect opportunity to admit he’s hot,” Bella said, winking.

You sighed, shaking your head as you stepped aside to usher them into the office. “Dean, can you make sure no one else tries to instigate a matchmaking session while I’m in there?”

He nodded, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Consider it done.”

As Bella and Steph passed him, they both threw him one last playful look, Steph muttering, “Call us if you ever get tired of babysitting.”

Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as the door closed behind them.

Inside, you turned to your friends with your hands on your hips. “Seriously? You couldn’t even wait until you got inside to start embarrassing me?”

Bella flopped onto one of the chairs, grinning. “Hey, we’re just looking out for you. And honestly, if you don’t lock that man down, someone else will.”

Steph nodded, leaning back against the desk. “He’s got that whole brooding, dangerous vibe going on. And those arms?” She mimed fanning herself, grinning wickedly.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You do realize he’s standing right outside, don’t you?”

Bella shrugged. “Maybe he’ll take it as a compliment.”

You shot them both a look, your annoyance tempered by the amusement you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re impossible.”

As the three of you settled in to talk about why they’d actually come to visit, your thoughts briefly wandered to Dean outside the door. His composure, his humor, and the way he’d handled your friends’ antics—it all reminded you why you trusted him so much.

And, fine, you’d admit it. They weren’t wrong about the jawline.

The Oval Office was unnervingly quiet, save for the scratch of your pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of documents. You had spent hours entrenched in policy revisions, draft reviews, and enough bureaucracy to numb your senses entirely. A dull ache had started to build behind your eyes, but you powered through. It wasn’t like the President of the United States could take a sick day.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a long sigh as you pushed your current stack of papers aside. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing the room in a warm golden hue. For a moment, your mind wandered, your focus slipping as you stared at the faint pattern of light on the ceiling.

Then, the door to your office creaked open.

Your attention snapped back, your heart skipping at the sight of Dean stepping inside. He was dressed sharply as always, his dark suit tailored to perfection, though his tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal his strong forearms.

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts as he pressed closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed into yours, claiming you in a kiss so heated and consuming that it left no room for thought. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

It was overwhelming—the warmth of his body, the taste of his kiss, the way his fingers dug into your waist with a possessive edge that sent sparks shooting through you.

And then—

“Madam President?” Becky’s voice crackled over the intercom, pulling you violently back to reality.

You blinked, your surroundings snapping into sharp focus. You were still in your chair, your desk untouched, your papers neatly stacked where you’d left them. Dean wasn’t in the room—wasn’t shirtless, wasn’t lifting you onto your desk, wasn’t kissing you like the world was ending.

Heat flooded your face as you sat up straight, your heart pounding in your chest for entirely different reasons now.

“Yes, Becky?” you managed, your voice slightly hoarse.

“You’ve got a visitor—Director Landry from the FBI. He’s here for the meeting regarding Agent Winchester’s appointment.”

Your stomach dropped, the implications of the daydream compounding the embarrassment that already burned hot in your chest. “Send him in,” you replied, clearing your throat to steady your voice.

Moments later, the door opened, and Director Landry entered, his crisp suit and severe demeanor a stark contrast to the imagined chaos of moments ago.

“Madam President,” he greeted with a nod.

“Director,” you replied, standing to shake his hand. “Please, have a seat.”

The two of you settled across from one another, and Landry wasted no time getting to the point. “I understand Agent Winchester’s appointment as your personal bodyguard was an unconventional decision.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you replied, your tone neutral but firm.

Landry leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on his lap. “While Agent Winchester’s skill set is undeniable, I have to express my concerns. His past… affiliations and actions make him a controversial figure. Are you certain this is the image you want associated with your administration?”

You straightened in your chair, your expression hardening. “Director, I appreciate your concerns, but Dean Winchester was vetted thoroughly before I made my decision. His record speaks for itself—he’s one of the most skilled operatives we’ve ever had.”

“His record also includes a stint in ADX Florence,” Landry countered, his tone measured but pointed.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m aware. And I also know he served his time and cooperated fully with authorities during his incarceration. Dean Winchester has earned his second chance, and I’m not in the business of denying people opportunities based on their past mistakes—especially when they’ve proven themselves more than capable.”

Landry’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You leaned forward, your voice steady and resolute. “Dean has already demonstrated his loyalty, his discretion, and his ability to protect me in ways no one else could. He’s not just a bodyguard, Director—he’s a deterrent. Anyone who knows his reputation would think twice before making a move.”

The director regarded you for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re confident in your decision, I’ll respect it.”

“I am,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

As the meeting concluded and Landry left, you let out a long breath, sinking back into your chair. The tension from the conversation—and the residual heat from your earlier daydream—left you feeling drained and slightly disoriented.

You turned your chair toward the window, letting the fading sunlight warm your face as you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could almost hear Dean’s gravelly voice teasing you: You’ve been working too hard.

Dean stood outside the East Wing of the White House, bathed in the faint golden light of the late afternoon. It was one of those rare moments when the world around him seemed to pause, granting him a sliver of peace amidst the relentless schedule of his new life. The crisp November air carried a sharp bite, and Dean savored the sensation as he leaned against a marble column, his hand loosely wrapped around his ever-present phone.

The quiet was interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call. The number wasn’t saved, but Dean knew it immediately—he recognized the area code, the unmistakable pang of familiarity twisting in his chest like a rusty knife.

For a moment, he considered letting it ring out. But he knew better than to ignore a call from them.

Dean swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Winchester,” a deep, gravelly voice snarled on the other end of the line. The accent was unmistakable—Brooklyn through and through. “You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

Dean let out a slow exhale, his gaze flicking to the horizon as he stepped further into the shadows of the colonnade. His voice was calm, measured. “What do you want, Frank?”

“What do I want?” Frank barked a harsh laugh. “How about an explanation, for starters? You think we wouldn’t see it? You strutting around on TV in a monkey suit, playing babysitter for the goddamn President of the United States?”

Dean didn’t flinch, though the venom in Frank’s tone was enough to make most men’s blood run cold. “I don’t work for you anymore,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“Bullshit!” Frank snapped. “You don’t just leave, Winchester. You don’t walk away from the family and decide to play hero. That ain’t how this works, and you know it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. The word “family” left a sour taste in his mouth—it was always their go-to excuse, a leash they used to drag their people back into the fold.

“I didn’t walk away,” Dean replied, his tone sharper now. “I was locked up, remember? ADX Florence. Solitary confinement. Twenty-three hours a day in a cell the size of a broom closet. You didn’t exactly come running to my rescue.”

“You think that gives you a free pass to spit on everything we built? On everyone who had your back?” Frank growled, his voice crackling with fury. “You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t just screw us, Winchester. You screwed the whole damn network. You’re a traitor.”

Dean’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m not a traitor. I’m just done. Done with the jobs, the lies, the blood on my hands. I’ve paid my dues, Frank. I’m not going back.”

“Not going back?” Frank repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think you can just slap on a suit, play by their rules, and call it a clean slate? Newsflash, buddy: your past doesn’t just disappear because you want it to. The network doesn’t forget.”

The network. The tangled web of organized crime that had once defined Dean’s life. It was a world of favors and debts, alliances and betrayals, a world where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. Dean had clawed his way out of that pit, but its shadows still clung to him, no matter how far he tried to run.

“I didn’t ask for a clean slate,” Dean said, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “I know who I am, and I know what I’ve done. But I’m not your guy anymore, Frank. I don’t take orders from you, and I sure as hell don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Frank was silent for a moment, but the static of his labored breathing was still audible. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than ever. “You think you’re untouchable now, huh? That shiny badge of yours makes you bulletproof?”

Dean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “I think you know better than to try me.”

There was another long pause, the weight of unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air.

“You’ve made your choice, Winchester,” Frank said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “But don’t think for a second that we’re just gonna let this slide. You’re walking a fine line, and sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.”

The call ended abruptly, the click of the disconnect echoing in Dean’s ear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand as the tension coiled in his chest like a spring wound too tight.

The air around him felt colder now, the shadows deeper. Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, the Washington Monument rising like a silent sentinel against the darkening sky.

The ghosts of his past were never far behind, and tonight, they’d made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.

Back inside, the warm lights of the White House felt almost alien after the cold, harsh conversation. Dean made his way to the security wing, nodding to a few Secret Service agents as he passed. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of Frank’s words pressing down on him.

You don’t just leave.

Dean knew that all too well. He’d spent years trying to carve out a life for himself that wasn’t defined by the blood and chaos of the criminal underworld. But no matter how far he ran, it always found a way to pull him back in.

As he reached his quarters, Dean leaned against the doorframe, letting out a long breath. His eyes drifted to the small desk in the corner, where a few case files and a polished Glock rested side by side.

He knew he had made the right choice—choosing a path that, while complicated, gave him a chance to do something good. To protect someone who genuinely wanted to make a difference.

But as he sat down, his mind lingered on Frank’s final words.

Sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.

Dean clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with resolve.

Not if he could help it.

Frank slammed the phone onto the mahogany desk in front of him, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. The ornate office—more of a lair, really—was as ostentatious as it was oppressive, with heavy red drapes and polished wood paneling that seemed to suck the life out of the air. A crystal tumbler of bourbon sat untouched on the desk, catching the faint golden glow of the single overhead light.

His face was twisted with anger, the veins in his neck bulging as he clenched his fists and let out a string of curses.

“That ungrateful son of a bitch!” he barked, his voice reverberating through the room. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Across from him, Lou, his most trusted advisor, stood with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. Lou had been with Frank for over two decades, a steady presence in the volatile storm that was the New York mafia. He knew better than to interrupt when Frank was in one of his moods.

“He’s got a death wish, that’s what,” Frank continued, pacing behind his desk now, his expensive Italian shoes thudding against the Persian rug. “Thinks he can just walk away, like the past doesn’t mean jack. Like we don’t mean jack.”

Lou cleared his throat delicately. “He’s always been a loose cannon, Frank. You knew that when you brought him in.”

Frank whirled on him, his face contorted with fury. “Yeah, well, I also knew he was the best. The best hitter I ever had. He cleaned up messes nobody else could, and he did it without batting an eye. I gave him everything, Lou. Everything! And this is how he repays me?”

Lou didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to diffuse some of Frank’s rage. Then he asked, carefully, “What’s the move, boss?”

Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling sharply as he tried to collect himself. He reached for the bourbon, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass back onto the desk.

“The move?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “The move is reminding every last one of them what happens when you cross me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “You want us to go after him?”

Frank let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. That’s too small. Dean Winchester’s a nobody without that badge he’s wearing now. No, Lou—this is bigger than him.”

Lou tilted his head slightly, waiting for Frank to elaborate.

Frank leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk as he stared at his advisor with cold, calculating eyes. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The pictures? Him standing there, all smug, right next to her.”

“The President,” Lou said, his tone careful.

Frank nodded. “The goddamn President of the United States. He’s not just working for her—he’s protecting her. Like she’s some kind of queen, and he’s her loyal knight.”

Lou remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to piece together Frank’s train of thought.

Frank straightened up, pacing again as his mind raced. “You know what that makes us look like? Weak. Powerless. Like we let one of our own turn his back on us and walk away without so much as a scratch. It’s a slap in the face, Lou. A slap in the face to the entire goddamn network.”

Lou shifted his weight slightly. “So… what are you suggesting?”

Frank stopped pacing, turning to face him with a grim smile. “We send a message. Not just to him, but to everyone. To the entire world.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about—”

“I’m talking about taking her out,” Frank interrupted, his voice low but resolute. “The President. You want to send a message, Lou? There’s no message bigger than that. You kill the President of the United States, and suddenly, everybody remembers who the hell we are. They remember who I am.”

Lou’s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “That’s… a bold move, Frank. High risk. High profile.”

“Yeah, and high reward,” Frank shot back. “Think about it. This isn’t just about revenge, Lou. This is about power. Control. We pull this off, and we’re untouchable. Nobody messes with us, not the feds, not the other families, not even that bastard Winchester.”

Lou hesitated, clearly weighing the implications of such a move. “It’s not gonna be easy. Security around her is tighter than anything we’ve ever dealt with. And Winchester’s no slouch. He’ll see us coming a mile away.”

Frank smirked, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Then we don’t let him see us coming. We hit her when she’s vulnerable, when nobody’s expecting it. And as for Winchester… well, let’s just say I’d love to see his face when he realizes he couldn’t protect her.”

Lou nodded slowly, though his expression remained guarded. “All right. I’ll put the word out, see who’s available for a job like this.”

Frank’s smile widened, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. “Good. And Lou?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Make sure it’s someone we can trust. Someone who understands what’s at stake. This isn’t just another hit—this is history.”

Lou inclined his head, then turned and left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts.

Frank sank into his chair, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he poured himself another glass of bourbon. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies.

Dean Winchester thought he could walk away from the life. Thought he could play the hero, stand in the light, and leave the darkness behind. But Frank knew better. The darkness had a way of finding you, no matter where you ran.

And soon, Dean would learn that lesson the hard way.

The alley was dark, a maze of cobblestones and shadows that swallowed up the last traces of daylight. The smell of stale garbage and rain-soaked concrete hung in the air, thick and oppressive. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, where the murky dealings of the underworld could be carried out without the watchful eyes of the world’s authorities.

Lou stood at the entrance to the alley, the tip of his polished shoes barely touching the edge of the grime-covered street. He had a hand in his coat pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a wad of cash, his eyes scanning the alley with practiced indifference. He wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t even here to talk, not really.

He was here to ensure the job was done—no questions asked, no mistakes. Frank had given the order, and Lou was the one who would make sure it was carried out to the letter.

The shadows at the far end of the alley shifted, and Lou stiffened. The figure emerging from the darkness was tall, a silhouette whose face remained hidden in the dimness, a hood pulled up over their head to shield their identity. They moved with deliberate grace, footsteps silent against the damp ground, their presence unsettling, as if the shadows themselves had brought them to life.

Lou didn’t flinch. He had met people like this before. People who operated in the dark, who carried out their work with ruthless efficiency. People who didn’t need to be seen to make an impact.

“You got the money?” the figure rasped, their voice low and gravelly, as though it had been worn down by years of disuse.

Lou pulled the cash from his pocket, holding it up to the faint light spilling out from the windows above. He glanced at it for a moment before slipping it into a plain envelope. It was a sizable sum—enough to make even the most hardened hitman pause, but that wasn’t why Lou was here. Money was always the easy part. It was the message that had to be delivered, and that was worth more than any amount of cash.

“Everything you need is in there,” Lou said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s not just about the money. It’s about making a statement. A clean job. No mess. It has to be perfect.”

The figure stepped closer, now within arm's reach. Their silhouette was more defined now, the curve of their shoulders broad under the dark fabric of their coat, but still, their face remained hidden.

“A statement?” The figure's voice was skeptical, but there was something in the way they asked the question that suggested they had heard it all before.

Lou didn’t hesitate. “The President. You’re going to take her out. Make it clean, make it quick. No mistakes. And when it’s done, it needs to be clear—this wasn’t just some random attack. It’s a message. A message to everyone who thought they could turn their backs on us. He turned his back on us, and now we pay him back.”

The figure’s face remained in shadow, but Lou could see the faint movement of their head as if they were considering the weight of the job.

“You’re talking about her, the new President?” the figure finally asked, the tone slightly amused. “I thought she was untouchable.”

“She’s not. No one is.” Lou’s voice hardened. “You do this, and everyone will know. You send a message to every fucking player in this game—no one walks away clean.”

There was a brief pause, then the figure took a step forward, the shadows lifting slightly as they approached. Lou’s eyes narrowed, scanning them closely. There was something familiar about their movements, the way they carried themselves. The way they moved like they owned the dark.

Lou took a step back, the envelope still clenched in his hand. “You understand what I’m asking?”

The figure nodded slowly, then pushed back the hood.

Lou’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the face emerged from the shadows.

It was him.

The man standing in front of him wasn’t just a hitman. It was Benny Lafitte, one of the most notorious operatives to ever work for VIPER. The same man who had helped Frank build his empire, the same man who had been second only to Dean Winchester in terms of skill and ruthlessness. Benny was a ghost, someone who had disappeared from the underworld years ago after a particularly bloody job, but now he was back. And he was standing in front of Lou, as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Benny,” Lou said, his voice betraying a mixture of surprise and respect. “I didn’t expect you to be the one on this job.”

Benny’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You didn’t think I’d hear about Dean’s little betrayal? Of course I’m involved. You think I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the last few years?”

Lou was still processing the fact that Benny Lafitte—the ghost of the criminal underworld—was standing before him, ready to take on one of the most dangerous assignments Frank had ever given. Benny had a reputation for being precise, deadly, and entirely unpredictable.

“You always did like to be the best,” Lou muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Benny was back.

Benny chuckled lowly, the sound dark and almost amused. “The best doesn’t retire, Lou. The best waits for the right time to come back. And it looks like the right time is now.”

Lou handed him the envelope. “The target’s the President. Make it look like a clean, political hit. We need the world to see it as a message. It’s not just about her—it’s about what Dean’s done. This is for him. For betraying the family.”

Benny took the envelope from Lou with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against Lou’s briefly. Then he turned it over in his hands, examining it as if it were a piece of fine art rather than a job request.

“I’m clear on the details, Lou,” Benny said, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “But just so we’re clear… this is his punishment, not hers, right?”

Lou’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “This is for Dean. The President? She’s just in the way.”

Benny gave a nod, his eyes glinting with something darker now. “Then we’ll get this done. Clean. Quick. And unforgettable.”

Lou turned to leave, already hearing the faint sound of Benny’s footsteps receding into the shadows behind him.

One thing was for sure: If anyone could send a message like Frank wanted, it was Benny Lafitte. And once it was done, the underworld would know—no one walked away from VIPER. Not even Dean Winchester.

Benny stood still in the alley for a moment after Lou had walked away, his hand still wrapped tightly around the envelope. His eyes flickered up to the narrow slice of moonlight overhead, a reminder of just how far he’d fallen—and how far he was willing to go to make sure Dean Winchester didn’t come out on top.

The plan was simple: in and out, make the shot, leave no trace. Frank had asked for precision, but Benny had other ideas.

Why make it clean, when you could make it memorable?

After all, what was the point of sending a message if no one remembered it?

And so, as the chill of the night air wrapped itself around him, Benny’s mind began to race, already plotting the President’s downfall in the most spectacular way possible. He had no love for Dean, and he had no love for the President either. They were simply obstacles in a game much larger than any of them could comprehend.

And Benny Lafitte? Well, Benny was the one who would tip the scales.

This was going to be a hell of a show.

As Benny disappeared back into the shadows, Lou stepped into his car, the weight of the job heavy on his mind. Frank had given the order, and Benny would follow through. The message would be loud and clear.

The underworld would never forget what had happened tonight.

And neither would Dean.

NEXT UP:

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

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[bucketbueckers]

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER THREE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur wc: 7.3k notes: same shit, different chapter, masterlist, content warnings, place name backstory stuff. not my favorite chap but lots of paige & tess content so hopefully that makes up for it being boring af 😸 hope we enjoy 🫶

‘Prepare for Take Off! Tess Kennedy and Paige Bueckers Share Sweet Goodbye in Crowded Airport’

Tess Kennedy and Paige Bueckers have been a trending topic ever since Wednesday morning when fans speculated that Bueckers flew out to support Kennedy during her ACL recovery. In that time, Kennedy and Bueckers have shared a total of five pictures to their Instagram stories, each becoming more and more obvious as to who they are spending time with. Kennedy’s most recent story included a photo of her injured leg in the lap of (you guessed it!) a faceless individual, though just a half hour later, both Kennedy and Bueckers were pictured together at the Columbia Metropolitan Airport.

Onlookers said that Bueckers and Kennedy were attached at the hip, all smiles as they navigated the busy airport. Before Bueckers boarded the plane back to Connecticut, she and Kennedy shared a sweet hug before they pulled away. One commenter said that they seemed to share a few words, then Bueckers was off. Another commenter noted a sort of sadness etched on Kennedy’s face as she lingered. She seemed to be deep in thought. While, obviously, we are not in the business of being mind-readers, it is clear that Kennedy had some strong feelings about Bueckers leaving. In the short three days they have been seen together, their bond is evident, and fans are anxiously awaiting their next interaction.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

MAY 6, 2023

Tess is nursing a cup of half-melted ice when the FaceTime call from Paige comes through. It’s nearly startling – she’d been scrolling TikTok for the past hour, trying to distract herself from literally everything. It was difficult at first. Her feed was mostly basketball related things and huge think pieces about her and Paige – people seemed to think that Paige was saving her, which was ridiculous. It took about thirty minutes and countless refreshing, but she’s sure she successfully factory reset her algorithm. She was seventeen parts into a pirated movie and it was nearing the good part when Paige’s contact photo took over her screen.

She accepts the call, forgetting to control her face. “Hey! Woah, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

Paige’s voice flows through her airpods and Tess corrects her scowl, popping another ice cube in her mouth. “You did. I was watching Hidden Figures on TikTok and you interrupted me.”

Paige’s brows furrow dramatically. Tess takes the moment to study her screen, noting the headboard behind Paige and the dim lighting. She’s wearing a pair of glasses that sit low on the bridge of her nose, and judging by the blanket furled around her exposed shoulders, Paige must have just rolled into bed. “My bad, jus’ thought you would wanna talk to your girlfriend or sum’ after a really long plane ride.”

“It was like, four hours,” Tess states, rolling her eyes, though there’s a lingering fondness.

The blonde hums, shifting. “Try four hours and one minute. I sat next to this old guy and he snored the entire time. Like, I had my airpods in and everything and here comes Thomas the fucking train engine and shit. And in case that wasn’t bad enough, none of my teammates could pick me up so I got an Uber home and the driver just kept yapping about how South Carolina destroyed UConn’s last year.” 

Tess nearly chokes on an ice cube as she laughs, much to Paige’s chagrin. “Yeah? How’d that make you feel?”

Paige narrows her eyes at her. “Stop gloating.”

“I’m not!”

Paige waves her hand, kissing her teeth before refocusing. “What’s with the ice cubes?” she asks.

For a moment, Tess considers playing it off. She doesn’t want Paige to think of her any differently if she admits the truth about it. She was slowly getting used to feeling guilt all the time, but she was wholly unprepared for the amount of shame weighing her down. Thinking about the fact she drank herself into an alcohol dependence – not addiction; she is not addicted and that’s a hill she’s willing to die on! – is humiliating. Tess would never lord anyone else’s struggle over their head, but it’s different with her. She’s still not sure how to give herself the same grace and compassion she’d give others. Her Uncle Gio had his fair share of alcohol issues, though he was also a war veteran; Tess understands why he’d turn to drinking, but how could their issues ever compare?

She recalls the promise she made to Kam and Bree, to herself, to Paige before she boarded the plane. She gave Paige her word that she wouldn’t do this alone, so she sinks into her pillows and confesses. “The ice cubes distract me from, you know, wanting to drink. Feels like it kills the urge a little bit – I don’t know. It’s probably fucking up my teeth, but better those than my brain and my liver, right?” She tries to mask the discomfort with a laugh, but it sounds dry coming out of her mouth.

Paige’s eyes soften. “Whatever works, right?” she says. “As long as you ain’t replacin’ it with like, chain smoking?”

Tess rolls her eyes, appreciative of the sentiment, but also Paige’s humorous approach as it takes some of the pressure off. “No chain smoking here,” she vows.

The blonde is silent for a moment. “When’d they start?” she prods. “The urges. If you wanna talk about it.”

Tess contemplates her words for a moment. Paige has given her an out, but at this point, she’s not sure if she wants to use it. “Thursday night. Couldn’t sleep at all. I wanted to drink so bad. So I stayed up, ate ice, and watched TV. I was honestly in the trenches but you know…that happens when you drink for a month straight and then suddenly stop.” When she glances down at her phone screen, Paige’s eyes are laser-focused on her, absorbing every word. Tess cracks a small smile. “My first therapy appointment is on Monday, so I’ll see what my therapist suggests. I’m pretty sure the urges will be here to stay for a couple weeks. Sounds more like a fact of life than anything else, I guess, but if push comes to shove, I’ll get Kam to tie me to the bed so I can’t run away.” Paige smirks and Tess rolls her eyes. “Chill!”

“I wasn’t even gonna say nothin’!” Paige exclaims. Tess shakes her eyes, though she can’t keep the smile off her face. “For what it’s worth, ‘m proud of you for, you know…thuggin’ it out.”

Tess grins. “‘Thugging it out?’” she asks in disbelief.

“I’m being genuine,” Paige says with an eye roll. “I’on know what you’re going through besides the knee. I understand that it’s not easy, though. Everyone thinks I’m like, your knight in shining armor or some bullshit, but you don't need me. Yeah, you got me and I’m here to support you, no matter what. But I’m not saving you or anything. You’re doing that yourself. And I think that’s really cool.”

Tess chuckles, trying to ignore just how touching Paige’s words were. “Don’t get sentimental on me now.” She wipes the tear beading at her waterline, and when she glances down, Paige is smiling at her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I won’t say anything nice ever again.”

“You?” Tess mocks. “Saying nice things?”

“Fuck off,” Paige says. Her words lack heat and her smile brightens. She runs a hand across her jaw, as if deep in thought. “So, about the airport.” Tess raises a brow in what she hopes is nonchalance, trying to keep her nerves at bay. She’s been trying to push it deep into the recesses of her mind, but it’s clear Paige has other plans. “Was it…okay? Like I didn’t make you uncomfortable or nothin’?”

“Paige,” Tess deadpans, smile widening in amusement, but it does little to hide the flush on her cheeks. “It was a hug.”

Paige scratches the back of her neck. “I mean…it – nevermind, forget it,” she says, her voice trailing off.

“It what?”

Paige shakes her head, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Nothing, don’t worry,” she says, flashing an easy grin, but something in her expression betrays her image of comfort. “Just checking in with you, s’all. Wanna make sure we’re selling the story, yeah?”

Right. The story. Reminding herself that this was all fake is somehow the only thing on Tess’s mind, but she still manages to forget about it at the worst moments. Trying to mask the foreign feeling burning a hole in her gut, she hums. “I think we’re doing a good job. Have you seen those articles on Bleacher Report?”

Paige nods, the tension on her face dissolving. “A couple, yeah.” Her smile turns smug. “D’you actually look sad when I boarded?”

Tess throws her head back with a heavy sigh. “Paige–”

“C’mon, you don’t gotta hide it,” she says teasingly. “Coulda chased me, begged me to stay, all that cheesy romcom shit.”

“Chase you?” Tess guffaws. “First of all, with whose knee?” Paige snorts, tilting her head as if to say, touche. “Second of all, I don’t chase. I have too much self-respect for that.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

Tess narrows her eyes. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“You won’t.��� Tess raises a brow, pressing the red end call button. The silence hardly lasts three seconds before Paige is calling back. Tess answers with a shit-eating grin. “Don’t do that shit to me again,” Paige says, indignant.

“Who’s chasing now?” Tess asks smugly. 

Paige rubs the back of her neck again, having the decency to look caught, but she smiles at Tess regardless. “I’mma let you go take a nap,” she declares. “Let you sleep off this attitude.” Tess shakes her head, but her smile turns fond. “Call me after your appointment tomorrow, okay? Lemme know how it goes…if you feel up to it.”

Tess’s face softens. “Sure.” Tess bites her lip in contemplation. Before she has the chance to chicken out, she clears her throat. “Um, I just wanted to say thank you. For….” Tess’s voice trails off, unable to put to words how much Paige’s support has kept her sane for the past few days.

The lighting in Paige’s room is dim, but Tess can distinctly see the way her smile reaches her eyes, the way she understands what Tess is trying to say. “No need to thank me,” Paige says. “Just focus on getting better.”

Tess flashes one last quiet smile. “I will.” With a final farewell, the line clicks dead, and Tess leans back on her bed, releasing a long sigh.

Fuck.

MAY 8, 2023

Sunday passes by in a blur and Tess finds herself awake at 6am Monday morning. Sunday was chill – with nothing better to do, she spent the day (to no one’s surprise) binging more TV and working through some of Craig’s recommended independent PT exercises. She even treated herself to a solid hour outdoors, which, as popular opinion suggests, actually does wonders for your mental health.

She tries her best to ignore the intrusive thoughts at the back of her mind, urging her to go back on her promises. They become less and less appealing as the hours tick by. Sleep slowly becomes easier, though she’s unsure if she should attribute it to finally taking care of her leg or losing the fog that used to cloud her brain.

Just a week ago, Tess was rolling into bed at dawn, well past drunk and in body shuddering pain. Now, she’s on her sixth day of sobriety and genuine rehabbing, and she holds a different kind of hope for the future that she’d never felt before. There’s a small part of her that’s terrified to feel too positive about the days ahead of her considering it’s hardly been a full week, but she can’t help but feel like things are finally shaping up. And at this point, the only thing standing between her and that positive future she can’t stop thinking about is literally her.

Deciding to put a little extra effort in on Monday morning, she forgoes her usual sweatpants and opts for leggings. Between her brace and her knee, she wasn’t quite ready for jeans, but she figured leggings were at least a step up. Tess fully commits to her skin care, fixes her hair in a simple half-up half-down style, and even sends a sweet ‘good morning’ text to the team group chat – although Tessa, her almost-name twin, immediately responds and tells her to ‘take her ass back to bed.’ Tess sends the middle finger emoji and decides they are never seeing her be kind again.

She eats breakfast with Kamilla and Bree, who wish her luck for PT and her first therapy appointment. When she checks her phone for the time, she finds a couple of messages from Paige, which immediately warms her chest.

Morning Tess 🫶 Sent you a lil gift for PT It’s prolly outside your door Be nice to Craig and your therapist

Confused, although she feels inexplicably touched, she slides on her shoes, grabs her crutches, and with a final goodbye to Kam and Bree, exits their apartment. She’s careful when opening and closing the door so she doesn’t damage whatever Paige has sent. A grin slowly spreads across her face when she sees that it’s a cup of coffee tucked into a Starbucks bag. She snags a quick picture of it before carefully leaning down to pick it up. She sends the photo to Paige, leaning against the wall.

so this is actually insane

Just looking out for the people who gotta deal with you No more cranky Tess

did you order yourself something too since you’re ‘dealing with me’

Yeah lol

The selfie comes quickly – a photo of Paige with her lips wrapped around a straw in a coffee cup. She’s throwing up a peace sign for the camera and her face has an obviously smug expression. Tess can’t help the slight flush she feels, so she opts for reacting to the photo with a thumbs-down emoji.

have i mentioned how insane you are

You could start by saying “Thanks for the coffee” or something like that Wait you can post it on your story I didn’t even think about that

i feel like this was your plan all along

It wasn’t Swear I did it out of the kindness of my heart

somehow you just made it even more unbelievable

Believe what you want I got you coffee Post it on your story, be nice to people, and call me later

so bossy

Learned from the best Talk to you soon 🤩

Tess rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the stupid ass grin off of her face as she swaps over to Instagram and shares the picture to her story. She ponders the caption for an embarrassing amount of time before writing, ‘845 miles away but still sending shit to my door.’ She hits post and slides her phone back into her pocket before walking to the trainer’s office for her PT.

When she arrives, Craig greets her warmly and they get right into it. He takes her brace off and unwraps her knee. Then, he leads her through some of their typical knee exercises, pausing in between for a cooldown where she ices her knee as he explains what their new recovery timeline should look like. As long as she does what she needs to, she likely won’t need her crutches anymore after two and a half more weeks of good behavior. In a couple months, her PT will change course entirely. They’ll begin introducing hydrotherapy and strength building exercises. For the past few days, she’s been working on the range of motion ones, so she’ll end up alternating and mixing the two somewhere down the line. Come February, she should be cleared for full contact practice. If all goes well by March, she should be able to play in full just in time for the last few days of the tournament season.

PT wraps up and Craig rewraps her knee, tightening her brace around it and sending her off with a kind smile and words of encouragement for her therapy session. Given that the university’s counseling center was across campus and Tess was not fucking with that walk, Amaya made arrangements for the psychologist to meet Tess in the athletic facility since she’d be there already for PT. She checks her phone for the room number that Amaya sent her (dutifully ignoring the Instagram notification reading ‘Paige liked your story!’) and makes her way down the hall to the office room.

Tess opens the door to find a shorter woman shuffling papers around on a desk. She looks up as the basketball player walks in, immediately flashing a beaming smile and sticking her hand out for Tess to shake. “Hey! You must be Tess.”

Tess shifts her weight, shaking her hand and returning a quiet smile. The psychologist has wavy, chestnut brown hair and kind brown eyes that have been softened by the passage of time. The crow’s feet and laugh lines on her face provide Tess with a sense of security, reminding her of a distant aunt who used to liven up the room. “Guilty as charged.”

“I’m Dr. Flanigan, but Yvette is just fine. Please, have a seat.” Tess pulls out the chair, slowly lowering herself into it, cautious of her knee. Yvette motions to the adjacent chair. “Would you want to prop your leg up? It might be more comfortable for you that way.”

Tess hesitates, but the comforting expression on Yvette’s face has her worries washing away. “Sure, please,” she says, and the older woman nods as she adjusts the chair and helps lift Tess’s leg to the elevated position. Almost instantly, some of the tension leaves her body and Tess sighs in relief.

“Perfect,” Yvette says, mostly to herself. She takes a seat in her own chair and begins looking through a couple of papers. “So, I see you’ve had quite the month.” Her words aren’t judgmental, just humorous, and Tess can’t help her snicker.

“Something like that,” she agrees.

“But you’re here now,” Yvette muses, sliding a pair of glasses onto the bridge of her nose. “That’s the hard part, isn’t it? Opening yourself up to receive help, putting aside your pride for long enough to realize you need help. I’m proud that you’re taking these steps.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Tess jokes.

“You did,” Yvette says gently. Her eyes sparkle. “Your team gave you an ultimatum, but you could have said no, right? But here you are. It’s early, but you’ve already made so much progress in terms of rehabilitation. Can you share what your mental state has been like since Wednesday?”

Tess pauses to think about her words. Yvette doesn’t push her. Tess releases a breath of air, shifting, before responding. “I’ve been kinda all over the place, I guess. I mean, it was a complete 180 – I showed up to the meeting hungover and by the end of the day, I’d done PT, cried a couple of times, but like, my mind was also clearer… in a way? When I was doing what I was doing, sure, I was conscious of my own destruction, but sitting in front of a bunch of other people and having them tell you that you’re destroying yourself was different. It put things into perspective. Then…around Thursday night, the urge to drink started hitting, so I spent the entire night eating ice cubes and losing my mind.” She glances at Yvette, whose head cocks. “Um, losing it figuratively. It was really hard but I don’t think I was actively crashing out.”

“Perhaps the feeling was more like a battle with yourself for control?” Yvette asks kindly.

Tess opens her mouth, puzzled, then closes it. Damn. Yvette is good at her job. “Exactly like that,” Tess admits. “My body wanted it, but I didn’t want it. I felt like I was being pulled in two different directions – the pull was so strong. I sat for hours convincing myself that I knew what my body needed and not the other way around.”

“That’s a huge part of understanding and processing alcohol dependence,” the psychologist says. “The mentality. Treatment doesn’t always require medication – one of the most common ‘treatments’ is cognitive behavioral therapy, which helps people change unhelpful thinking patterns and reactions. A popular approach is what we call the recognize-avoid-cope method. Recognize your triggers, whether external or internal; avoid tempting situations, and cope with the triggers you can’t avoid.

“So, our two types of triggers – external and internal,” Yvette continues, and Tess listens to her every word. “External refers to your environment. Perhaps a person, place, thing, or time of day. You said your urge manifested at night time?” Tess nods. “For people who drank mostly at night, night time could be an external trigger. Your body gets used to drinking at this certain time, right? Internal triggers can be tricky. Many people struggle with identifying where they come from because they appear to come out of nowhere. However, these triggers can be set off by fleeting thoughts, responses to feelings. I believe in your case, an internal trigger could be a pain response from your knee, yes?”

Tess flushes. “I feel like you’re in my head,” she admits, drawing a laugh from Yvette. Some of the tension diffuses.

“Now that we know what to look for when we face that urge to drink, we can address it appropriately,” Yvette says. “It’s difficult to avoid internal triggers, so we just have to cope with them. Avoiding external triggers are more obvious. You may benefit from avoiding a bar or the liquor section in the grocery store, but you can’t avoid night time. This is where coping comes in. For you, chewing ice cubes was an effective distraction – perhaps one your dentist won’t agree with –” Tess chuckles, “– but it’s that idea that we want to work with. I struggled with alcohol dependence when I was your age. Meditation and yoga helped me out a lot, although those may not work for you considering your knee injury. The good thing is there’s a lot of healthy alternatives. Work on a hobby, talk to someone, take a hot shower – if it works for you and it’s not harmful, then it’s a good method! Remember, it’s all mental – if you feel the urge, challenge it. Find the error in your thinking and replace it. Remind yourself why you’re making this change to not drink. Ride it out. Urges are normal, but they’re temporary; they will pass.”

Yvette’s words leave Tess in a contemplative silence. Tess doesn’t think this first session was supposed to be anything revolutionary – Yvette literally just told her something she could have figured out from a Google search, but the psychologist's words just hit a little different. It’s similar to how she knew she was hurting herself after her injury but hearing it from Amaya, Diana, and Coach Staley rerouted the wiring in her brain.

Yvette gazes at her, calculating, before offering a small smile, like she understands that her words have hit home. She shuffles around her papers again. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to discuss your mental health history and your anxiety medication?”

That, Tess could answer without feeling like her world is going to flip upside down. She and Yvette discuss lighter topics for the remainder of their session, such as how long she’s been taking lexapro regularly, what it was like when she fell off schedule before and after her surgery, and previous psychiatric history. Yvette suggests other coping mechanisms for regulating her anxiety. Prior to the injury, Tess’s main source of relief was basketball; now, she has to figure out what else she could do with her life that doesn’t include sports.

Feeling as though a weight is lifted off her shoulders, Tess thanks Yvette for her time. Yvette sends her off with another gentle smile – and on her walk back to her apartment, Tess can’t help but feel like she’s on the right track.

Tess calls Paige later that day after she’s finally settled into bed. After some light stretches, she presses an ice pack to her knee as she waits for Paige to pick up her call. She doesn’t wait too long before the line clicks through and Paige’s face fills her screen. The blonde is laying in bed, her hair in a bun, presumably, but Tess’s eyes catch on the headset she wears and the familiar frame of glasses. She can see the reflection of the TV through her lenses and Tess raises a brow. “Bad time?” she asks, thinking Paige may be occupied.

“Nah, ‘course not,” she says. “Gimme a sec – I’ll hide in a bush.”

Tess laughs, hearing the slight clicking of a controller before Paige turns her attention to her fully. Tess didn’t grow up with siblings, but she did have many cousins with whom she was very close with – if there was one thing she learned, they rarely paused or stopped playing their games unless it was an emergency or their mother was yelling. “What are you playing?”

“Fortnite,” Paige admits shamelessly.

“So, she flirts like a twelve-year-old and plays games meant for one,” Tess muses.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Shut up, it’s fun. You play?”

“Nope,” Tess says. “Never got the appeal.”

“Dude,” the blonde says in near disbelief. “I got to put you on. Wait, do you even have a PS5?” 

“Do you think I do?” she asks. “I’ve done literally nothing but basketball for almost fifteen years.”

“Gotta fix that,” Paige sighs. “Buy one and hop on Fortnite with me. Boom, new hobby and I get a duo.” The blonde grins at her through the screen, excited at the prospect, and Tess finds herself more accepting of the thought the more she thinks about it. Tess opens Amazon, scrolling through the console options and accessories, and Paige notes her sudden silence. “Wait, are you actually gonna get one?”

Tess shrugs a shoulder, smiling slightly. “I mean, might as well, right? I do need a new hobby and I don’t have a lot of options.” She adds the console to her cart as well as a controller, not giving it a second thought before she’s checking out. “Should be here tomorrow.”

Paige pumps her arm in the air, cheering. Tess can’t help but grin at her excitement. “You won’t regret this. Trust. We’re gonna run Fortnite like the navy.” Tess rolls her eyes good-naturedly as Paige adjusts her phone, flashing another smile. “So, what’s up with you? How was PT and therapy?”

Tess hums. “PT was the same as always. Still a little early to tell, but Craig says if everything goes according to plan, I should hopefully be back in time for the last month of games. Thinking about playing again is literally the only thing keeping my head on straight, so I just have to get my shit together for, what, ten or eleven more months? Easy peasy.”

“You’ll be back on the court before you know it,” Paige says confidently. “Do what you gotta do, but don’t lie just so you can play earlier. Don’t fuck yourself up.”

“Careful, Paige – keep saying nice things and I’ll think you care about me.”

“In your dreams,” the blonde says with a smirk. “Just want you at 100% when we play y’all in March Madness. I won’t have as much fun if I gotta drop 30 on Kamilla instead of you.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Sharks.”

“Shit.”

“Sharks!”

“Sharks – god dammit.”

Paige grins gleefully as they both dissolve into fits of laughter. As she calms, she can’t help but stare at Paige, at the way her face scrunches and the unfiltered joy that permeates her expression. Tess hates how she softens ever so slightly, how any conversation with Paige is enough to collapse the walls she spent so long building. Tess has always been a little caustic, perhaps blunt to a fault, too sarcastic and so uncomfortable in showing affection. But there’s something about Paige that rounds out those edges. She feels like she can be honest; although vulnerability is still a difficult task, she finds that stomaching the thought is a little easier when Paige smiles at her. “So, therapy?” the blonde repeats, her tone light but not pushing her.

Her words drag Tess out of her thoughts. She shakes her head, as if trying to break the thoughts apart. “It was…informative.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, interested. When Tess looks back at her screen, she can see the slight furrow in Paige’s brow, the look of concentration. Tess averts her eyes, feeling her face burn.

She hums, gathering her thoughts. “Basically, I just have to rethink my approach to drinking. Like, recognizing triggers and either just avoiding or coping with them. I do think I have to find something other than the ice. I bit into a chunk weird earlier and almost cried cause I thought I broke my tooth.” Paige snorts. “Not funny.” She raises her hands, grinning, and Tess sighs. “Being emotionally vulnerable is exhausting. I wish I could go play basketball and ignore most of my feelings.”

“Well, not to mansplain, but–”

“I know, I can’t actually avoid them,” Tess grumbles. Paige laughs again, and the sound is infectious enough that Tess can’t help but smile. “It’s barely been a week but I feel like…okay again. Is that a weird thing to say?”

“Nah, I get it,” Paige says. “You will be okay, though. You just need to believe it.”

Tess nods, leaning back in her bed and picking mindlessly at a loose thread on her blanket. “I think I do. Like, it doesn’t feel like the end anymore. I know that I need to put in a lot of work, but at this point, it’s a new opportunity to compete, but against myself, right? I can do that.”

“You can,” Paige affirms. “And you will.” She speaks so casually, as if Tess’s recovery is something that is already gone and past. Like it’s more truth than manifestation. When Tess smiles, Paige adds in a softer voice, “I know you can.”

“...Thanks, Paige,” is all Tess can muster. She tries not to think about it too much – Paige is so close to being fully healed from her own ACL tear. She, more than anyone else in Tess’s life currently, knows what that process is like, how the mental anguish affects you, how debilitating the pain is most days. Paige knows what it’s like to survive that. The sheer confidence, the belief that Tess can survive it means more to her than Paige will probably ever know. “Your turn, though. How’s, uh, Storrs?”

Paige shoots her a scandalized look. “You say that like Columbia is any cooler.”

Tess laughs. “Well, it’s no Brooklyn – but you know damn well that UConn is the only reason why Storrs has any relevance.”

“I’m startin’ to wonder if there’s anything you like about me,” Paige grumbles.

“I like it when you’re quiet,” Tess says.

“You called me!”

“I like it when you say the sweetest things,” Tess continues, purposefully ignoring Paige. “Like when you say I’m full of sharks or when you said we were star-crossed lovers because Caitlin broke my ankles.”

Paige huffs, trying – and failing – to hide the frown on her face. “You should not be talking about other women when you’re on the phone with your girlfriend. That’s like, relationship rule number one.”

Tess stares at her before erupting into laughter despite the warm, foreign feeling in her stomach. “Are you jealous?”

Paige rolls her eyes, but she angles her phone so Tess can’t see the flush creeping up her neck. “Chill. I’m jus’ saying – wait until that lady from Bleacher Report hears that you’re steppin’ out on me.”

Tess can’t hide her amusement. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Paige seems to forget about her earlier words as she grins proudly. “Been told a time or two,” she chirps.

The South Carolinian guard shakes her head fondly. “Okay, for real. What’s new with you?”

Paige shrugs. “Nothing much, but me and the team’s getting together later tonight ‘cause everyone’s heading home for the summer at some point this week. I’m flying back to Minnesota Thursday morning. You goin’ home, or…?”

“Haven’t thought about it much, honestly,” Tess admits. “My mom called on Sunday and asked if I was, but I’m nervous about flying with the knee and I’d feel bad having my parents drive down twelve hours just to pick me up. I could easily do Zoom or some shit with my therapist, but I feel like I really need good and consistent PT, so I’m not sure if I’d want to leave Craig.”

Paige raises a brow. “You live in Brooklyn, right? That’s where the Liberty is. I saw Sabrina in your comments – you could see if she could get you in touch with their physio.”

Tess laughs, mostly out of shock and because of the absurdity of the offer. “Do you really think I could cold call Sabrina Ionescu and be like, ‘hey, my knee’s fucked, I was wondering if you could see if your team physio would be willing to take over my rehab while I’m home?’”

“Uh, yeah?” Paige says like it’s obvious, her face contorting in confusion. “Have you not been online? Anytime Sabrina’s asked about college athletes or the future of the W, she’s always gassing you up. She might be in love with you, lowkey.”

“You better not be bullshitting me,” Tess says, opening her browser and Googling as Paige huffs dramatically. “You think she’d leave her man for me?”

“Rule number two, Tess Alessandra,” Paige reminds her. “No seeing other people on the DL. And you thought I couldn’t handle it.”

Hundreds of articles appear on her screen. Tess feels something tighten in her chest, even as she jokingly retorts, “It’s Sabrina Ionescu – I couldn’t pass that up.” She opens the first article, eyes scanning the headline as it reads, “Sabrina Ionescu On Tess Kennedy: ‘The Perfect NCAA Shooting Guard.’” Tess’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head, her shock only growing the more she reads.

“D’you seriously not know?” Paige asks curiously.

“No,” Tess answers, and it was the truth. “I stay far away from most basketball reporting and social media. Draft discussions always make me nervous and people always look for a story where there isn’t one. I’m here to hoop, not for someone to debate whether or not I’m the second coming of basketball Jesus.” She reads more, feeling both pleasantly surprised but also touched by how many kind things Sabrina Ionescu had to say about her – it was one thing for her to reach out after her ACL tear, but it’s incredibly flattering to know that she’s had someone like Sabrina in her corner all this time and she never knew it. “Do you really think they could do that?” Tess asks again, referring to their physio situation. “Like, they’re in preseason right now. I feel like their physio needs to focus on making sure their team doesn’t tear their ACLs.”

She watches Paige shrug through the screen, a tender sort of smile on her face. “Doesn’t hurt to ask, right? Plus, I got Husky connections – I can get Stewie to put in a good word.”

“You need to chill, I’m being so for real right now,” Tess says, narrowing her eyes. “You do not need to talk to Stewie for me.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, as if fully grasping what Tess is saying. “I won’t if you don’t really want me to,” she says after a lot of contemplation. “Don’t wanna fight your battles for you, but you know…if I can help, just lemme know.”

“I appreciate that,” Tess says, her voice a lot softer. “I’ll think about it.”

The blonde grins again. “No pressure.”

“So, excited to see your family?”

Paige leans back against her headboard, her grin turning fond. “You have no idea. I feel like Drew grows so much while I’m gone. He’s my little brother. Or was. He’s like a medium brother now.”

Tess can’t help but laugh at Paige’s words. “Yeah? Was he the one who put you on Fortnite?” she teases.

“You act like I can’t make choices for myself,” Paige says indignantly. “I actually put him on.”

“You see how that’s like, worse, right?”

Paige glares at her dramatically, but Tess can easily see the amused smile on her face. “You’re a D1 hater. It’s insane.”

“Been told a time or two,” she says, mirroring Paige’s earlier words, and they both dissolve into fits of laughter. “Do you–”

She’s cut off by the sound of a knock at Paige’s door. The blonde pulls off one airpod, turning to look at whoever’s walking in. “Hey, Lili and I are going to the store to pick up some stuff for tonight – you wanna come?” Tess is unable to place the voice, which doesn’t surprise her, but she watches the hesitation flash across Paige’s face. “Ohhh, are you on the phone with your lady friend?”

“Lady friend is crazy work,” Paige grumbles, which causes Tess to laugh. Paige glances at her screen again, as if studying Tess’s face for a reaction.

“Go hang out with your friends,” she tells her, knowing Paige is the only one who can hear. “Don’t let them think I’m the obsessive girlfriend who doesn’t let you hang out with other people.”

“If the shoe fits,” the blonde teases. Tess rolls her eyes at Paige’s smirk and she feels something simultaneously soften and break apart inside of her. That’s an issue to face another day. “I’ll text you later, okay? Make good choices.”

“Always,” Tess says innocently. Paige’s smirk melts into something more tender before she bids Tess one last goodbye and ends the FaceTime call. Tess exhales, staring at her phone screen, where her and Paige’s earlier text conversation remains. It all feels a little fast, but she can’t deny that she feels so incredibly comfortable with Paige. Sure, she and Paige bicker a lot, but she knows it’s all in good fun and she enjoys their banter and how Paige keeps her guessing. It’s the same way she is on the basketball court, but Tess recognizes something different in their little game: Paige’s slight acquiesce, the natural pauses in any of their conversations where Paige seems like she’s seeing Tess in a different way, understanding her in a way that’s beyond surface level. 

It’s a double edged sword. Being known is terrifying. From a basketball perspective, the understanding that comes with knowing your opponent’s every move manifests in quick interceptions, knowing how to guard them on their favorite wing. On a personal level, being known opens you up to those same vulnerabilities. By now, she knows Paige better than that and she trusts that Paige wouldn't go out of her way to hurt her, but it’s hard to escape the thought that by letting Paige into her life and under her skin, she’s effectively arming her with her insecurities and shortcomings.

But at the same time, she’s letting Paige in, and it’s new and scary because nobody outside of Kamilla has ever wanted to look further. Tess has probably curated that issue herself — she keeps her teammates close enough that they’re privy to only 75% of her; that last 25%, each and every ugly thought or feeling or trait she’s ever had is kept so far away from them and Tess herself. Now, between her knee, her therapy and PT, and the whole situation of having to be Paige’s fake girlfriend, she’s suddenly faced with having to show someone a lot more than 75%. And it’s fucking frightening because Paige is getting to know Tess at her worst; although she doesn’t exactly have the option to run, she’s trying to be closer to Tess despite it all. Tess has spent so much of her life being afraid of the day the mirror would shatter and she would have to face the parts of herself she didn’t like. Knowing that she’s still here now, learning to love the girl in between the fractures, and that Paige has a heart big enough to not be offended by the scrapes and the nicks and the lacerations that come with handling something sharp and broken, fills her with an amalgamation of feelings. She’s hopeful, but she’s fearful and hesitant; she’s confused but so incredibly grateful. 

So, she takes Paige’s advice and reaches out to Sabrina on Instagram. Tess isn’t alone in this. Between her teammates, her friends, her trainers and coaches and mentors, and now the women in the league, there’s so many people in her life that want to help her succeed if only they’d let her. Sabrina’s response comes 15 minutes later — she’d actually been in the trainer’s office getting her wrist checked out when she got her text. Sabrina said their head athletic trainer, Theresa, would be more than happy to take over her her PT while she’s back in Brooklyn, but obviously they would have to work around the Liberty’s game schedule. They would still be able to upkeep Tess’s three times a week requirement, and honestly, that was good enough for her.

Sabrina’s next message came in after Tess said her thank-you’s, reading:

No problem at all! Super proud of your progress and I can’t wait to see you on the court again. Let me know whenever you’re cleared, I would love to shoot around with you sometime

She decides she’d text Paige later, maybe let her know she was right if she felt like listening to her endless gloating. But she smiles as she texts her mom, telling her that she’s got another trainer lined up if she and her dad would be able to make the drive down to South Carolina. 

We’ll be there about noon tomorrow to pick you up, piccola, no drive is too far

Then, feeling both hopeful and excited, she texts Amaya to let her know she’s going home for the summer but that she’ll maintain her PT and therapy sessions, to which Amaya responds with a simple thumbs up emoji that makes Tess immediately regret her thoughtful message. She lets Kamilla and Bree know she’s going and they remind her they’re both a call away if she needs anything. Tess packs most of her things before settling back into bed to relax. 

She texts Paige later that night, shortly after midnight when she should have been well in bed, but she was struggling to sleep. Her thoughts were racing, but they were more positive than anything. She was excited to see her parents; she hadn’t really talked to them since her surgery. They had a lot to catch up on. She was anticipating the arrival of her Playstation, feeling unnaturally stoked to play Fortnite of all things, though a smaller part of her that she was slowly coming around to knew she just enjoyed her time with Paige, anyway. Unable to sleep, she writes:

you can say i told you so now the liberty’s trainer will take over my PT

I told you so Does this mean you won’t be gaming with me?

ill see if i can fit you into my schedule me and sabrina are super tight now 🤞

Don’t play with me.

don’t worry paigey you’re still my one and only

Better be Have a safe drive tomorrow 🫶

Tess sends back a single heart emoji, putting her phone on its charger and staring up at the ceiling. After a beat, a slow smile spreads across her face, and she can't help but think that she's making the right decision by letting Paige in.

[dollivication]

RESIDENT EVIL || BOT DROP 7

WARNING! Some bots include sensitive topics. DARK CONTENT BASED. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Anyone can be loved. Even girls who are complete losers, like you; A femcel that nobody could possibly touch or want. That was fine! Because there was just more of you for him.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…Thanks for having me over. Your house is… Cozy. I like the.. stuff, on your shelves..”

He’s been such a good lover if you ignore the fact that you’ve kept him hostage for god knows how long! The bad thing is—he’s tired of playing nice. And you should’ve never let your guard down.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…But now? Now, it’s my turn. And you’re gonna take what I give you..”

Your nurturing nature has him thinking, but you’re so quick to shut down all of your boyfriend’s ideas. He doesn’t like having to spike your stuff, but if that’s what it takes to get a taste of your milk, could you really blame him?

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “Does it hurt?… I can help.. Please, mama?”

Your dad had high hopes for you when he adopted you. Not in an academic way, but in the way that would’ve solved his lack of a woman’s touch. He couldn’t be more disappointed that you turned out brainy instead of braindead.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…I get that you want to stand on your own, but you don’t need to worry about finance crap right now. You just graduated.. Why don’t we go buy you some cute stuff instead?”

The lust for the spotlight is a common cause of death, murdering the person you once knew and replacing them with a stranger… You could relate, if you’d realized your husband was already a stranger in the first place. Maybe you wouldn’t have married this vain man then.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “…Don’t you realize how you made me look in front of all those people? Stupid. All because you couldn’t smile for a single goddamn picture.”

You’re just a stupid puppy that has no business to be all over him the way you are. He’s too old for you! You’re gross, but.. so is he. It’s only a matter of time before you both realize it.

Introducing LEON KENNEDY — “You little creep.. What the fuck are you doing? I’ve told you not to come in here.”

Approach with extreme caution…

tags: @ivmp

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 30th

leon kennedy x handcuffs

you told yourself you were going to act civilised around your best friend today, but as soon as he pulled out the handcuffs? and started talking to you like that? you were a gonner. it was about time anyway.

he’d just come from… somewhere. something work related. you weren’t sure, you weren’t listening — just staring at him as he speaks, still geared up. he unloads his pistol skilfully, barely even sparing it a glance as he complains about his day, placing it all on the coffee table that he stands beside, rolling his tense shoulders as he finally lets himself relax.

“not much to say today, huh?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, and your eyes jump up from where his chest was straining against the fabric of his tshirt to meet his gaze.

“i’m just listening!” you defend, but your concentration is stolen once more when he adjusts his stance, and something metal clinks against his hip. “what’s that?” comes out quietly under your breath. leon tries not to smirk.

“get your head out the gutter.” he scoffs with a wolffish grin, dropping down onto the couch beside you. he takes up more room than usual, and you think maybe he’s doing it on purpose — boosted off the ego trip of you staring at him like you want to eat him alive. his feet are planted firmly on the floor, legs spread, and his arm rests along the back of the couch behind where your head was resting. you clear your throat, turning to him. the handcuffs catch the light again, and you indulge in looking.

“you never seen handcuffs before? i just came from work, i told you… are you okay?” he leans forward, almost concern etched onto his features at your skittish behaviour. your face feels hot, embarrassed— it shouldn’t be this hard to hide the fact you want him to fuck your brains out.

the truth was, you didn’t know he was dropping by your place so soon. you assumed he would run home after work rather than come straight over— so you figured it bought some time for you to indulge in some… private time. you’d stumbled on some videos online, involving a pair of shiny handcuffs, pinning a pretty girls wrists together whilst she got pounded. leon knocked on the door before you’d even gotten the chance to sate your urges, so there you were — sat beside him with a hot, aching, glossy cunt leaking into your pyjama shorts.

“no i— it’s just funny because i was watching something with handcuffs in it before you came round so it’s just a coincidence.” you blurt out, painfully awkward. leon barely reacts, leaning back into the couch and stealing the remote from beside you, fingers brushing your hip accidentally as he grabs it. he doesn’t think anything of it, but you clench.

“what, like a cop show?” he glances at you, strong arm held out before him to change the channel. your eyes get stuck on a vein running through his forearm, practically salivating like a dog being presented with a juicy steak.

“no uh… like a different… like a video…” you admit, barely even conscious of the words coming out your mouth. when he slowly turns to look at you, you snap out of it — eyes wide, but it’s too late.

“oh?” the smirk is back and you want to disappear into the ground. you swallow hard and he turns his body to face you. “innocent little you watching dirty porn? guess i don’t know you as well as i think.” it’s clear he’s highly amused.

“oh whatever, leon.” you roll your eyes, brows still furrowed in deep humiliation. humiliation that was only making your little problem worse.

“c’mon…” he chuckles, deep and bass-y and you want to moan. “show me it.”

your eyes widen once more and your head snaps towards him. “wh-no!”

“whats a little sharing porn between friends, hm?” he shrugs like it’s nothing and you bite your lip, trying to downplay it. you think for a moment, before pulling your phone out and opening up the video. “damn, had it ready and everything.” he comments, shuffling closer to you to watch it. you press the play button, trying to stop your thighs from getting the nervous shakes, and trying even harder to concentrate on anything but his strong bicep pressing up against your arm.

you feel him glancing at you with an amused smile as you both watch the video on your phone, the girls moans sounding more obscene than you remember.

“i see.” he comments pensively, and you avoid his gaze.

“yeah.” you breathe. “no big deal. i’m an adult.” you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him.

“uh huh.” he smirks, no longer watching the video — instead watching the way your pupils take up your entire eye, and the way your tits rise and fall with shallow breaths, pushing against your tank top. the short video ends and you’re left in silence. you brave looking his way, his dark gaze on you. “so… you want this to happen to you?” he nods towards the phone in gesture to the video and you shrug before nodding shyly.

he thinks for a moment, leaning back in his seat, before unhooking the cuffs from his hip. “you wanna see how they work?” he offers, holding them up. the metal rings swing between you and you nod, like he was hypnotising you. you offer your wrists, and he wants to coo at you for being so naturally submissive. he settles with a chuckle.

“why don’t you stand up? i’ll show you how i’d properly cuff someone, given the situation.” he pushes himself up suddenly and you hesitate before doing the same, staring up at him for direction. he places a hand on your shoulder and turns you around before walking you to the wall. “usually, i’d have someone like this.” his large hand cups the back of your head, gently pushing your cheek to the wall. he lightly kicks your ankle so you widen your stance, and you adjust it for him. “good girl.” he quickly and thoughtlessly praises, and you let out a breath you did know you was holding. he pauses for a millisecond, before his hands slide down your bare arms, pulling them behind your back.

“then i’d secure the cuffs, just like this.” he directs, voice a lot quieter and raspier now at the close proximity. you feel the cold metal graze your wrists and you resist a wince as he slides your hands in and begins to tighten them. “not too tight?” he places a hand on your upper arm, turning you slightly and leaning forward so he could get a look at you. you look right back at him, and god you must have looked like a fucked out mess when you shook your head eagerly because he laughed a little.

“and now i’ve got them in position— i can manoeuvre them however i like.” it felt like there was double meaning in his words, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something crazy. he places a hand on your back, pushing you in slightly, and without thinking you arched, ass pressing directly against his crotch. you let out a shaky gasp, turning your head to look at him, like a deer in headlights. instead of backing off, he smirks, staying right there. after a tense silence, he speaks up.

“has anyone ever told you cuffs suit you?” he flirts, the hand that was on your back rubbing soothing circles there in the centre now. you exhale, shaky and deep. “mm. i think you like wearing them.”

“they’re… okay.” you try stubbornly, but it comes out weak and pathetic.

“please… i bet you’re soaked.” he bravely states and you swallow deeply, in disbelief that you were doing this with your best friend.

“leon…” you whine unsurely, but your hips betray you and wiggle against his crotch a little, searching for the slightest of friction.

“thats the thing about handcuffs, sweetheart. leaves you helpless. can just do whatever i want to you, and you can’t do shit about it.” he leans in, voice merely a whisper, strong chest pressed to your back, lips grazing your cheekbone. he pauses, to stare at you calculatingly. “unless you don’t want to?”

“i do.” you whisper back and his heart thumps. this was actually happening.

“oh you do?” he coos. “so if i pull these cute pyjama shorts down, i’m gonna find a mess just like i expect. is that right, pretty girl?”

you whimper. he always had a mouth on him, but this was something else.

“yes leon.”

“t’aw, i like when you’re honest.” he wraps his fingers around your shorts and starts slowly pulling them down, revealing the swell of your asscheeks, and then finally the back of your glimmering pussy. a strong hand pries your thighs apart, before his hand slides round to your front, chin leaning on your shoulder. “lets see.” he sighs, and your senses are consumed by him, you could barely breathe.

two thick fingers slide over your cunt, parting your folds. with the action, an obscene wet sound fills the air.

“oh sweetheart, you hear that?” he slides his fingers around in the moisture. “shes talking. you really like those cuffs, huh?”

you were in for a long night.

[bratphilia]

── ★ ˙ slice of heaven ̟ !!

pairing ✧.*‎‎ leon s. kennedy x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ reader is of age, hyperfem, afab!reader, real dad!leon, incest, age difference, oral sex (f receiving)

taglist ✧.*‎‎  @gilfhub @iwantyouinacage @d10nyx @leonspup @snowzbun

synopsis ✧.*‎ your dad comes home from his mission without your mom there for him to go bother.

the sound of the door shutting and a sigh ringing out from the lower level of the house was your cue to get up from bed and close the door to your room. your dad was called into another mission, having to fly out from the town you and your family resided in, to san francisco in order to carry it out. your dad never confided in you about his missions. you just were never close. polar opposites, really. when he wanted to teach you to use a gun, you were more interested in learning how to braid your own hair. it’s not like the two of you didn’t like each other or anything — you got along just fine — it was just something about him that always put you off.

for starters, he isn’t funny. not in the slightest. and the problem with that? he’s a wisecracking-dad-joking-machine. it’s annoying as fuck, the amount of times your eyes can roll until he gets the message. then there’s the part where you’re just not interested in his line of work. something he always wished for in his offspring — someone to take after him, take a liking to serving justice, and that just wasn’t you.

anyways, you always try to avoid your dad.

post-mission. he’s tired, in a pissy mood, fucking horny, and you want no part in that whatsoever. you can hear the bed rocking from downstairs sometimes after a particularly rough work trip, and it’s disturbing to be quite honest. sometimes, the shit he says travels through the vents, words such as “such a good fuckin’ pussy” and “gonna cum buried inside you” and other disgusting utterings you would rather not think about at this current moment. not unless you felt like puking your guts out.

however, this time is unique. your mom is away on a business trip herself. no, not something related to a viral infection, but something a lot more mellow — it’s still important, though. it’s rare that you have the house to yourself for days at a time, but you’ve enjoyed the excuse to do nothing, keeping a promise to leave the house in one piece.

so naturally, your dad is stumbling around downstairs. the telltale sound of the fridge opening and closing, most likely grabbing a beer bottle. you can hear him muttering curses to himself through the thin walls before he flicks on the television, drowning down everything. this is usually the part where you put a vinyl in on your record player and ignore the outside world around you, but you’re interrupted by your dad calling out your mom’s name.

“where the hell are ya?” he calls out once again.

it’s pissing you off. did he forget? you want to call back to him, tell him she still isn’t here, but a wiser person wouldn't disturb him. you did not want to draw any attention to yourself whatsoever. however, the worst case scenario comes true: you can hear footsteps up the stairs. you pray he’s using the bathroom, or going to the guest bedroom, or—

a knock resounds on your door. you bite back a sigh and get up to open it. you’re met with your dad, beer bottle in hand and supporting his weight on his right leg. the smell of alcohol overpowers the natural scent of vanilla your room seems to produce. he clears his throat. “hey kiddo, what’cha doing?”

“nothing,” you say, hoping the frown on your face conveys the message that he should not be still calling you ‘kiddo’ at your big age.

he mockingly pouts. “don’t look so down, kid. dad’s just teasing ya.”

“right,” you say, unamused. “i heard you calling out for mom. she’s still not back from her trip, y’know.”

your dad brushes past you to sit on your bed. he runs a hand through his hair. “right. okay.” he sounds thoroughly disappointed. he sets the beer bottle down on your nightstand, much to your chagrin. he pats a spot next to him on the bed, “c’mere.”

you sit next to him, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your chin on the joints. “how was it? staying home for a ‘lil while?”

“it was fine,” you say, keeping your answer short with disinterest.

“yeah? do anything fun?”

“no.”

"jeez, tough crowd,” he chuckles. you roll your eyes but keep yourself from talking back.

he sighs and nudges you with his arm. “hey, kid, why don’t we get along like we used to?”

“probably because you still call me ‘kid’ while i’m literally an adult,” you deadpan.

“ha-ha. fine, i’ll stop.”

you stubbornly don’t say anything back. he sighs again. “i’m sorry i give you a hard time and stuff. i’m just trying to mess around with you; don’t mean anything by it. i miss being close to you.”

“when have we ever been close?” you huff with a roll of your eyes.

“you kiddin’ me?” he says, not accusatory or anything, with a smile, actually. “remember when we would play baseball outside? or when i would give you piggyback rides n’ run up n’ down the stairs? what about all those batches of cookies we would make?”

“we did all that stuff when i was little,” you grumble. “i’ve changed.”

“right. that was before hello kitty n’ the gang came in your life and took my spot,” he chuckles, grabbing your my melody plush laying on your bed and flipping it over, running his hand over the soft fur absentmindedly. “we could still do that stuff together, y’know.”

“i don’t want to do that stuff,” you say finally.

“what? you like baking cookies, ‘s perfect for this whole coquette thing you got goin’ on,” he says.

you cringe at his use of the word. he’s too old to be using coquette in that context. where did he even learn that? he takes your pout in, your gaze fixed on the ground, and shakes his head. “c’mon, i’m trying here.”

“i can tell,” you grumble bitterly.

he soothes a hand on your back, plays with your hair ‘til it sweeps over the left side of your head, leans close to plant a kiss to your forehead. his arm stays slung over your shoulders. “gimme a break, you little monster.” you can’t help but smile and lean into his touch. when was the last time he held you like this?

then he ruins it when his hand runs down the small of your back and lingers there even when he pulls away to look at you. the way he looks at you is different. it instantly fades your smile, you can’t quite put your finger on what’s weird about it, though. “dad?”

“yes, baby?” he coos, blindly reaches for his beer and takes a long sip. he wipes his mouth with his sleeve when he sets it back down. you shake your head. “you’re so grown up, look just like your mom.”

oh. “in what way?” you hear yourself asking before you can stop yourself. the smile that overtakes leon runs a shiver down your spine.

“c’mere,” he holds his arms out again for you and you hesitantly, stupidly accept his embrace. his hands instantly go to the hem of your babydoll top and reveal your chest to him. you yelp in surprise, but before your arms can cover yourself he grasps them. he lets you go of your wrists, but he’s quicker to grip onto your bare breasts.

“mmm, no bra, sweetheart?” he comments but you’re too shocked to respond. shocked he even laid a hand on you.

he gropes your boobs, the calloused palms of his hands rub deliciously on your sensitive nipples. you’re sick in the head, you decide, absolutely mentally ill, for liking the way your dad is touching you right now. you hum uncontrollably, back twitching sensitively, anything to get away from his grip on you. your dad’s face is one of a kid’s in a candy store. all marveled at everything in front of him.

his thumbs reach out to tease your nipples. they run over the pointed skin and the noises that escape your mouth are absolutely pathetic. “this,” your dad says, “is what i mean.”

“dad,” you sniffle. “dad, stop. this is so wrong.” your hands grab at his wrists but you don’t have it in you to do anything with them. all you do is shut your eyes and let tears water them, hoping he’ll get the message and just stop.

“come on, baby,” you open your eyes and see your dad’s stupid pout. “won’t you let daddy touch his babygirl? i’ll be so gentle. just want us both to feel closer for a few minutes.”

you feel your stomach curl at his phrasing. was this what he had in mind this whole time? it makes you sick. you want to double over and throw up at his shoes right now, and maybe that will get him out of your room for the rest of the night.

“daddy,” you try to speak his language but it only makes things worse as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply. “stop, please.”

“c’mon, baby, lemme make you feel good,” he leans up to whisper in your ear. another shiver shoots down your spine and you wordlessly soften at his touch, your permission for him to continue. the truth is, nothing else can settle the ache between your legs that he started by putting his hands on you.

he settles you back onto the bed so that you laying down, both arms wrapped around you so lovingly. all the while he’s pressing kisses to every inch of flesh he can reach. “let’s get these off, ‘kay?” he mutters, hands tugging at the hem of your flimsy shorts. it’s the cute, waffle-knit white pair, with a pretty pink bow in the middle. he slides the material down your legs and you help him by kicking them off. you also take off your top in the process, the fabric is wrinkled from his earlier ministrations.

you didn’t think to wear a bra or panties since you were just lounging around in this outfit, no intentions to go out anywhere, and that went straight to leon’s cock. instantly, his face is pressed to your mound, sniffing you down there, running kisses up your thighs. your legs shake a little and he settles you by pressing your knees to your stomach. “just let daddy take care of you, he’ll kiss it better.”

with that, he presses a kiss to the hood of your clit. warmth dissipates throughout your stomach and tightens. “oh,” you moan out. your dad suckles on the sensitive area, expertly runs his tongue along it. you, with the limited experience you’ve had, can’t believe the attention you’re getting from him. you never even expected your dad to be capable of doing this.

it’s your intoxicating scent that pulls him back in for more, though. the way you internally have to wrestle yourself, he notices, to stay composed is just so adorable. the taboo-ness of it all fills leon with a sick sense of delight, too. that’s why he licks your pussy with fervor he didn’t even know he had within him. he laps up the area, slurping around, suckling you like he would with a straw. you squeal and hold onto your legs, trying your hardest not to move them and accidentally kick him.

wetness coats the area around your pussy and drips down to your ass. it’s to the point that an ugly squelch resounds every time he brings his mouth back down. you’re coating his face with your arousal and he honestly wishes he could drown in it. his tongue thrusts inside your weeping hole to gather the wetness there, all the while you dig your fingers into your sheets and muffle your moans with a closed mouth.

“‘s that feel good, honey?” he asks, and you catch a glimpse of his face. pupils blown out from pleasure, usually kempt hair in a mess, lower half of his face coated with your juices.

“mhm,” you whimper in response.

he takes that as a cue to amp things up a notch. suckling your clit like a vacuum, face pressed against you so that you could feel his cheeks buried against your pussy lips. he keeps sucking, shaking his head against you, ‘til you’re cumming on his face. he moans at the wetness flowering into his mouth and onto his chins, furthering your orgasm at the vibrations against you.

leon pulls away to press his forehead against yours, kisses your nose sweetly. “you’re my princess, you know that?”

“yeah,” you say quietly.

"yeah?” he repeats. “my best girl.”

[piratefalls]

another long list, except it's a day early because this is how i give thanks.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five.

No Sense or Sensibility by inexplicablymine

“When and where was your first kiss.” Oh shit. The thing is… Alex actually has an answer to this one, it’s just a matter of admitting that it happened. ____________________ Kennedy’s. 7pm, Pub Quiz and Ice Cream. Every Monday ‘til death due us part. Alex liked his little routine, until Derryl got it in his head to host The goddamn Newlywed Game instead.

I'm Rememberin' I Promised (to Forget you Now) by Angelwithwingsoffire

It's been six years since Alex Claremont-Diaz graduated law school. And he's made a good life for himself, working with a firm he enjoys and making a difference in the world. Until a part of his past he'd thought he'd gotten over seven years ago walked back into his office asking for his help. To get a divorce. Which Alex has never done before. But he's never been able to say no, and he's willing to put his heart back under the bus for the chance at one more smile.

Rogue's Gallery by OrchidScript

Loathe as Alex was to admit it, Henry Fox was going to be a legend someday. He already was in the bureau depending on who was answering. Tied to art theft, jewel theft, one or two little sweet confidence schemes, and an alleged counterfeit Super Bowl ring, but caught on three counts of art forgery, the blond Brit had run circles around the Art Crimes division for six years. He was quick, smarter than the average bear, and more detail-oriented than a nuclear chemist. He had a penchant for nice suits, silk ties, and gin tonics with lime. He wrote letters to agents in taunting poetry, tucking them under windshield wipers or posting them to the office directly. Once, he managed to drop one directly into the pocket of a plainclothes officer without them seeing his face. _____________________ Henry Fox is a famous art forger, and Alex is the FBI agent who caught him three years ago. When one of Henry's aliases comes up attached to a new case, can the two put aside their cat-and-mouse past to put the copycat away?

Queer little ducks hold a special place in my heart. by anarchyat4am

Henry’s at a local Hispanic Heritage Month event browsing the art stalls when his gaze catches on a kid looking around with both purpose and nervousness. She’s fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt with one hand while she bites the nails of the other one, eyes alert and searching. Lost, then. And oh, Henry recognises her. She’s a regular at his bookstore, even at only six years old, and is there at least weekly with her dad—Alex, who she’d introduced to Henry as her papi—or various aunties and uncles, most of whom Henry doesn’t think are actually related to her. Keeping one eye on her, he lets his gaze sweep the vicinity but doesn’t see anyone else he even remotely recognises. Shit. He has to do something. “Sirena?” he calls gently. * Henry... is more than a bit useless around hot guys. So when he finds the lost kid of the gorgeous dad who frequents his bookstore, he pulls himself together until they reunite, only to then be devastated by the revelation that the man thinks Henry hates him. And, well... courage always rises, and all that.

just say you won't let go by viciouslyqueer

After dancing around each other for months, Alex and Henry finally get together. The morning after comes with a slight misunderstanding and comforting words.

We were supposed to find this by kiwiana

Still, half an hour after shaking Prince Henry’s hand for the first time, he finds himself back in his hotel room with one shoe and sock hurriedly tugged off and his right foot resting on his left knee. Just to check. Just in case Alex is somehow, by some miracle, about to become the first documented case of Surprise! You Can Totally Have A Different Soulmate, We Fucked Up And Your One Kind Of Sucks. No such luck. The words are the same as they’ve always been, etched into his skin in a careful, calligraphic font. The kind of handwriting someone might have if, for example, they came from the sort of family that valued tradition and etiquette far higher than letting their children write like normal human beings.

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by politics_and_prose

Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach

It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen. But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

The Perils of Midsomer Residency by clottedcreamfudge

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that care should be taken, given the Mountchristens' local influence?" Liam nods. "Sir." Luna then turns to Alex. "Do not piss anyone in that family off." Alex throws his hands in the air. "So many aspersions have been cast on my good character this morning that I could start a fucking farm. An aspersions farm." Luna narrows his eyes. "Correction," he says, "have another coffee and then do not piss anyone in that family off. Don't make me regret fast-tracking you through the ICI Development Programme." * After getting shot in the line of duty back in Texas, June forces Alex into a change of scenery. Because how much can really be going on in the quaint little English county of Midsomer?

something that feels like forever by dearestalez

“You’re crying,” she pointed out. Alex choked on a laugh, wiping his eyes. “I’m just-” he sniffed, holding her so delicately Henry felt herself melt into the touch. “I’m so happy for you, baby.” — alex and henry are so in love it makes me want to rip out my heart and stomp on it but slash pos

behind brick walls by weather_stained

After Henry and Alex move in together, it takes quite a while for them to fully adjust to their newfound freedom. Alex very much enjoys watching Henry grow more comfortable in his own skin after a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.

It's a (Birth)date by Celaestis

5 times Henry is oblivious that they're dating and 1 time he isn't.

Save a Horse, Ride a Princess by affectionatelyrs

“I have to say, this is all quite literal, don’t you think?” Alex wouldn’t know literal right now if it hit him in the head. “Huh?” Henry points at Alex: “Pillow Princess,” and then to himself: “Cowboy. Ready to ride and all that.” Alex nods dumbly. “Right.” - Or, Alex and Henry dress up as the ultimate couples costume for Halloween — themselves — and they both feel some kind of way about it

baby boy by smc_27

It starts as a joke. Alex taking the piss about how much money Henry has. How he could have anything he wanted, from anyone he wanted, if only he just asked.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper

"How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way." OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

Au Naturel by cmere

The French doors leading to the office are thrown open, so he has a moment to take in the scene in front of him: Alex, lying on his stomach on the floor, feet kicked up and crossed at the ankle, surrounded by books, papers, and two open laptops. None of that, however, catches Henry's attention as much as Alex's hair, secured in a small, messy knot on top of his head with nothing but a single wooden chopstick. Henry blinks rapidly several times. "Alex," Henry says, somehow hoarse. Alex's head whirls around. There's a single, perfectly curled tendril over the apple of his cheek; his scruff has hit the mystical, magical point where it's more soft beard than prickly shadow; his reading glasses sit atop his adorable nose; and Henry realizes with sudden gravity that he's not entirely in control of his physical responses anymore—something has to give. Alex hasn't really been bothering with some of his usual upkeep, and Henry is kind of extremely into it.

You deserve my love by whateveridk

“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me to." Henry had turned towards him, stealing himself, sticking his chin out, and said “leave.” Alex has been picking up the pieces ever since. Two years later, living with Nora and June in NYC, it still haunts him, but it's fine. Whatever, he is fine. And then... Breaking News: Prince Henry comes out as gay So it's not fine, Alex is not fine.

sex ed in 6 steps by coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.“Excuse me?”“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.” Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth. Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

More Than A Makeover by everwitch

The Fab Five—Alex, June, Nora, Liam and Spencer—descend on a New York based shelter for disenfranchised queer youth to give the place a much needed makeover. As the week progresses, sparks start to fly between Alex, the culinary representative of the queertastic quintet, and Henry, the sweetly charming founder of the shelter. It’s a deeply emotional week full of unexpected realizations, and certainly a week that strengthens Henry’s friendship with Pez in ways that neither of them quite knew they needed. As the week comes to a close and the Queer Eye team say their goodbyes, it remains to be seen what will become of the warm connection between Alex and Henry. Will it last, or was it too much of a perfect miracle to ever grow into something real?

The Royal Wedding by DracoWillHearAboutThis

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES AND MR ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED HM Queen Mary is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Henry to Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz. The wedding will take place in the Spring or Summer of 2025, in London. Further details about the wedding date will be announced in due course.  Prince Henry and Mr. Claremont-Diaz became engaged earlier this week during a private holiday in Paris. Prince Henry has informed The Queen and other close members of his family. Prince Henry has sought and received the blessings of Mr. Claremont-Diaz's parents.  The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace. 

A Toast to the Night by allmylovesatonce

Henry looks up from his drink and swears his jaw drops. Standing in front of him is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. From his dark brown curls to the way his deep eyes gleam as he stands there, an awkward smile on his face. Henry is nearly sure this man is going to ask for his seat. He probably has some woman with him, scouring for a place to sit. “Uh, hi,” the man says. “Hi.” “Look, this is really awkward,” he says and Henry feels the confirmation in his gut — also maybe disappointment. “My ex-boyfriend just walked in and I really don’t want to talk to him. I was wondering if I could sit here with you so that he won’t talk to me.”

That's What You Get For Waking Up in Vegas by bleedingballroomfloor

The bartender slides Alex the whiskey and shot of water before turning her attention to the person behind him. He turns around at the same time as the person speaks, “Gin and tonic” in all rounded vowels, a distinct English accent shining through, and he swears his heart stops. “Holy shit,” Alex says before he can stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. “Henry?” When Alex is celebrating June and Nora's bachelorette party in Vegas, the last person he expects to see is his ex-boyfriend Henry, who moved back to London nearly a year ago. Waking up next to him the following morning, naked and sated with a marriage certificate poking out of his pocket, he starts to wonder if he's truly over Henry.

hang on 'til the chaos is through by ShyAudacity

David is lounging on his spot at the foot of the bed when Alex comes in. He opts not to turn on the light, not wanting to disturb Henry, but then quickly finds that the light is on in their bathroom. Henry must still be getting cleaned up before bed; Alex can say hello and check on Henry when he steps out. It’s weird that he’s still up. Henry was awake well before Alex was this morning and… come to think of it, Alex can’t remember him ever coming to bed last night. Alex has only made it through the top three buttons on his dress shirt when he hears a terrifying crash come from the bathroom. Clutching his chest, he steps towards their shared bathroom, afraid to see what’s on the other side. “Henry? …H, what was-.” Alex stops short in the doorway, startled to find the love of his life in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.

Sad Again (Don't Tell My Boyfriend) by lucy_in_the_sky

After proposing to Alex, Henry writes a letter to his father reflecting on all the moments he’ll never get to share with him. AKA Alex comforts a mourning Henry and promises to be there for him, forever and always.

monster mash by matherine

None of Henry’s answers to “Who are you supposed to be?” are particularly funny to anyone but him, especially in his inebriated state, so he’s completely given up on making any sense when the latest person asks him, someone who he assumes is yet another sorority girl in a skimpy costume from the glimpse of a cheerleading skirt he gets while they brush past him to open the fridge. “George Villiers,” he offers. “Deep cut, England,” a decidedly male voice snorts, and Henry can’t help the way his head snaps up, eyes wide.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

“Henry,” Alex rasps wonderingly, sounding almost entranced, “I want to eat your ass.” Henry’s train of thought screeches to a halt with such force that for a moment, he thinks he might’ve had a stroke.

how did a middle-class divorcé do it? by Time_Sequence

Not really concerned, Alex watched the typing bubble appear – disappear – appear again, like Henry couldn’t quite find the words to say what it was he was thinking. Most likely, he was trying to find the perfect sarcastic quip in response. What came through made him genuinely pause. HRH Prince Dickhead💩: You complete and utter moron Then, HRH Prince Dickhead💩: Royalty can’t marry divorcees If Alex had been having a good time before, he definitely wasn’t now. - When a joking interview reveals that Alex and Nora drunkenly married ten years ago, suddenly Alex's upcoming wedding to Prince Henry is jeopardised.

discreet packaging by demigodbeautiies

“Please, please, please explain to me,” Zahra says, finally, sounding more than a little bit long-suffering. “Why I had to have the head of the Secret Service sit me down and tell me to give you a talk about avoiding bomb scares with unidentifiable packaging.”

the world watched (and the world smiled) by fangirl6202

"Oh,” Alex says finally, faintly, touching one hand to his lips. Then: “Shit.”  His mind catches up then, realizing that Henry is walking away and he doesn't even think twice. He begins to quite literally chase after him, trying to get to him before he can get away or, God forbid, try to fly back to England and ghost him.   Henry is very pointedly not looking at him, stuttering apology over apology until Alex has to quite literally throw himself in front of him to get him to stop. Alex doesn’t know what to do. But the answer is simple, isn’t it? So fucking simple.   He takes Prince Fucking Charming’s lapels into his hand and kisses him back.  Or; it's New Years, and Henry stays.

Rabbit Hole by TuppingLiberty

Some sort of non-famous au, don't worry, there's not really a plot. Alex has been going down a research rabbit hole for hours and Henry comes to rescue him.

Let Loose Your Glow by athousandrooms

“Seems like my liege was caught in a situation where he’d rather the ground swallow him whole.” Pez nods towards a spot to the side, and Alex follows his gaze. He spots Henry easily – a tall lighthouse of tousled blond hair – talking to a girl who is clearly into him. His expression looks perfectly polite, but he’s subtly leaning away, and he looks tense. So, Alex makes an impulsive decision. Whatever happens, this is going to be fun. *** Or: Alex is so very definitely straight, so pretending to be Henry’s boyfriend to get him out of an awkward situation should just be a fun little pastime - except that he doesn't really want to stop, and he has no idea why. But maybe it's okay to not think too hard and let himself go with the flow, for once.

Things I Cannot Accept by SprigsofViolets

In 2016, Ellen Claremont lost the presidential election. In 2019, Alex Claremont-Diaz is not the first son of the United States, so he’s shocked when his path crosses with Prince Henry for the first time in almost four years.

How well you play...that's up to you by happinessofthepursuit

Treacherous (adjective) guilty of or involving betrayal or deception; (of ground, water, conditions, etc.) hazardous because of presenting hidden or unpredictable dangers. Or, how to describe surgical residency in a single word. A Grey's Anatomy inspired AU.

In Accord by absoluteaudacity

Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

A Heart Even More Your Own by chaa_kiao

“Guess you’ll be writing those poems after all.” He swallows. "I should go." Henry’s mind— every part of him, really— his heart, his body, his fucking soul— is screaming at him to take it all back. To hell with the monarchy, the American presidency, damn it all. This is the man he’s spent his entire life loving and he’s throwing it away for a legacy he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He forces out a rough “I think so,” but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. “I love you.” “Alex—” “I know,” Alex says. “I just had to say it.” _______ Or: Alex and Henry getting back together takes a little bit longer this time.

you are my mountain (you are my sea) by alasse

Five times Alex and Henry have important conversations in houses, and one time they have a very important conversation in a castle.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all. Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems? OR Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

Let Them Eat Cake by rohruh

“I wanna eat you out,” Alex’s voice comes out raspy and intrepid through the phone pressed against Henry’s ear. Henry lets out a soft whine at the admission, his breath up-ticking in synchrony with his hips as he thrusts up into his hand. “I’d like that,” he tells Alex eagerly, cradling the phone in his palm as though he could materialize Alex right there in front of him if he presses it against his ear firmly enough. “I’ve never done it to a guy before,” Alex confesses. “Is it… different from eating out a girl? I bet you’d taste so good, baby. Fuck.”

A Thousand Words by Thunder_Cakes

After that Han/Leia mural both their accounts go silent for a while. For months, actually. They’re both in therapy after Alex tried to post a selfie with June after election night and had a panic attack before he could hit “Share.” Suddenly the thought of sharing the details of his life and loved ones with the world is paralyzing. Wonder why. or: Alex, Henry and what they choose to share of their life

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel

“So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually. “No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.” Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?” (Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

in the mood for... by carzla

Henry knows that he’s the one who said “casual”, and it had been a reminder to himself that that was all it could ever be between him and Alex. So, telling Alex that they should “make love” is probably a mistake in syntax bigger than he could safely afford. But they’re in Paris and Henry is feeling terribly, terribly maudlin.

something good and right and real by HypnosTheory

“This is pretty expensive for a high school trinket.” “Everything is bigger in Texas,” Alex jokes. Henry looks up at Alex, who’s standing with his shoulders relaxed for the first time since October. The relief of his mother’s victory has made him loose-limbed and calm, his smile easy and lovely. Henry looks down at the crown in his hands and back at Alex. He imagines the gold half-buried in Alex’s hair, heavy on the man’s brow, decadent and royal. Henry swallows, face heating, and holds the crown out to Alex. “Put it on.” -- After the election, Henry explores Alex’s childhood room. He finds trinkets of a young Alex that intrigue him, including a crown that gives him some ideas.

In His Wildest Dreams by myheartalive

Once Alex has pulled out, Henry turns over to face him. He strokes the hair softly away from his face and Alex smiles at him. “So… that happened again.” Henry leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. “Indeed.” There’s a sort of thoughtful pause, where Henry can see Alex working to pull together the right words. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you that… thirsty?” “Oh, bugger off,” Henry says, but he’s laughing. It’s a fair description. “No, but I mean it. You were like… urgent. It was hot.” “It felt hot. I liked waking up like that. With you up against me, trying to have your way with me.” — Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process — Mind the tags, y'all. That particular tag features prominently and it’s a major plot point, so if that’s not your jam, just hit the back button.

until next time!

[cloudsmateria]

that one summer in 2003 - leon kennedy x reader

im planning on continuing this, but this is just a short start.

words: 939

basically i was thinking, what if leon kennedy ended up with an avoidant attachment after everything he went through? which is a reasonable conclusion as he never ended up with anyone, and couldn't go for claire because he had an avoidant attachment (or just couldn't get ahold of ada).

it would be perfectly reasonable to suggest that he had an avoidant attachment or for him to have ended up with one after both his parents died due to gang violence and now he works in an incredibly violent job where people he knows and is close to die around him all the time.

AND his fucking ex gf left him (one that he really loved since he was fucking drinking all night because of it and the consequences of that were mad since he had to experience raccoon city which fucked up his whole life). Ada pretended to kill herself in front of him after they started something and for years he thought she died.

he would be scared of whoever he's interested in getting hurt because they're involved with him, or just innately scared of losing them after everyone else. so i just thought it would be cute to write a little prologue about a romance w an avoidant leon kennedy.

i would love to see more fics w an avoidant leon kennedy

Leaning against his shoulder, both at the top of the edge of a cliff, the sun just starting to set. He took another sip of his beer, passing it to you. This was a common weekend since the start of summer, finding some music festival or a nice beach to camp in. 

"So, where's the party tonight?" He asked, the breeze pushing back his hair.

"The city. Jill's friend's birthday, and she's rich." You answered.

"Is that the one you want to go to?"

"Not today, I like us like this." 

You heard him laugh quietly. "Adorable."

You smiled, leaning your head on his arm, his hands wrapping around you. "I hope this never changes."

He kissed the top of your head. "I'm glad we did this."

"Getting drunk and looking at the ocean?" 

"Looking at you… And other things." He whispered into your ear, making you laugh.

"Like what, hmm? Kissing you?"

"A bit more than that."

You had no idea how you ended up with Leon. You had no idea why he chose you. He was so out of your league but in your friend group that you couldn't even have a crush on him because it was certain that it would never work out, but he was an easy friend. Freakishly easy to speak to, although slightly edgy and relatable. Everyone loved him. Even worse, he was attractive and good at everything he did. Any time he was around people were laughing, someone would always choke on their laughter when he was there. 

Although you knew you were at least one of his favourite friends, always passively trying to be in your group when it came to group events, although you didn't realise it was because he liked you until you started speaking. The competition between you was palpable, everyone loved watching you both fight at every competitive night out. Rock climbing? Laser tag? Kayaks? Sandcastles? Somehow you both managed to make it competitive. For 4 years you kept that type of friendship until you broke up with your boyfriend at the end of spring.

It was raining that night, walking home from the karaoke bar since this time your houses were in the same direction. He gave you his jacket, although you didn't think twice about it. From there, it was more natural for you both to speak one-on-one and then you made plans without the others... You thought it was friendly, again, why would he pick you? You knew he had a line of girls for him in his other groups. In fact, it took him a week of flirting for you to realise that he was actually trying to be romantic and not trying to make a joke. Swept off your feet in a heartbeat, he came out of nowhere. How stupid.

And after that week, he asked. 

"Are you sure about this?"

"About what?"

"Doing this. Us."

"I don't think I've ever liked anyone this much." Instead of what usually would've gotten a laugh, he nodded with what was almost a grimace. 

"I need to warn you before this goes anywhere."

"Okay."

"When I get close to people, I get distant. I can't do anything about it. It just happens, I try to stop it, but all I can do is warn you."

"That's fine."

"I don't want to hurt you, especially not you."

"What about me?"

"You're kind, not like the other girls I've met, you don't deserve that."

"Why would you hurt me?"

"I just have a bad feeling."

"I would give you space if you needed it." 

"That’s not the problem. But can we do this but not put a label on it? We'll be exclusive, act like a couple, but not a label." In your head, that was a relationship. You were screaming inside, he finally asked.

"Can I ask why?"

"If there weren’t a label, maybe I wouldn’t get distant since it’s not official. Every time I’ve been in a relationship it hasn’t ended well, I’m scared of getting too close and people leaving me."

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know but it's just a gut feeling when I get close to people." He never went into detail but some of his self-deprecating jokes made it clear, at least to you that his life was fucked. You knew he struggled to get too close as even when a conversation about the death of someone close came up when you needed to let it out, he immediately shut it down, changing the subject without making it awkward. He was uncomfortable with all that personal baggage, his own, and everyone else's. You wished you were that socially adept to so casually manipulate a conversation. 'I can fix him' was the only thing you were thinking of, the only red flags you saw were heart-shaped. Two fucked up people would be perfect for each other. 

"Let's do it." 

Bit by bit, he gave you tiny fragments of the shitty parts of his life, not enough to know what had happened to him at all, but to know that he was depressed although you couldn't believe it from how lively he was. You knew that the years of his life since he was a child were full of despair although you never knew why. He was a rebellious boy, getting into fights, and substance abuse, and he was trying to leave it behind. All of the mystery just drew you in further. He was all you could think about, gushing at even the thought of him, checking your phone every 3 seconds even though you knew he couldn't have messaged that fast. 

No one knew about it in your group as it just never came up, and you both spending a lot of time together was normal. The little glances and comments at each other kept it exhilarating, sometimes his hand would rest on your thigh at dinners which made you go silent.