Leon is slowly falling into retirement; he can feel it. The missions are sparser and fewer in between; he’s at home more and more often, and life just generally feels… slow.
He’s old stuff now; the DSO is of the youngster roaming its neon-lit halls, and he’s fine with it, as all he can do is make room and wonder how did he get to see his fifty.
What he’s not fine with is the blasting music coming from two doors down his own. Apparently, being home more often does not always equate to serenity. And shaking his fist at his barely-out-of college neighbour might just be the point at which Leon has to stop and ask himself the scary question: Has he, indeed, turned into a grumpy old man?
[⚠️SAFE TO READ, NO RE9 (GAME) SPOILERS. Author only saw the trailers.⚠️]
Just snippets of your and Leon’s lives as neighbours.
Starting with a bang and ending with something softer, surely warmer and definitely more chaotic.
So sorry, you have like 8k words of plot and only THEN some smut (3k of it). Super sorry idk how to do pwp 😭
Maybe I'll come back later and add more to this.
Ao3 Link
To wake up to the loud bass of God knows what kind of grungy music someone’s kid is playing at full volume a couple of doors down from his apartment is not exactly how Leon wants to be woken up on a random Sunday morning after another gruelling mission.
It really is not.
But it’s exactly what is going on right now. With an insufferable beat stomping in his ears and making his walls tremble with edgy tones and a nausea-inducing, messy rhythm.
It’s stupid that he instinctively reaches for his gun; it’s even more stupid that he points it at the closed door of his apartment.
And by the time he actually understands what the hell is going on, anger pools behind his eyes.
Fucking kids.
He’s still in his sleeping clothes when he bangs on your door. And, judging by the messy hair and three sizes bigger t-shirt you greet him with, so are you.
«Oh! Hi, can I help you?»
«Lower that damn music down, do you have any idea what time it is?»
For a second, you blink dumbly at him, with the edge of your door in hands and the sweet smile frozen on your face, and Leon is almost proud of how impolite he has come across.
Then something in you snaps, and your face turns into a scowl; a pissy, youthfully-judgemental scowl. «Like… 2 pm, dude?»
What?
Now that you have mentioned it… the hallway does look suspiciously lit. He must be looking completely lost, and a good portion of dumb, if even you — the most terrifying of monsters, a young adult — after a piercing eye-roll, find pity for him in the depths of your cold, cold heart. «Alright, I’ll tone it down a notch, but you have to go to sleep earlier next time. 2:15 is genuinely fair game.» And with a hip propped against the doorframe, you arch an eyebrow and deliver the last painful jab at his dignity: «grandpa.»
For a second, Leon is so out of depth that he genuinely gapes. Well, there goes his resolve. «I’m sorry—»
Not that you step down easily with the derogatory sass, on the contrary, his sudden nervous behaviour seems to spur you on. «Don’t have a heart attack over it,» you cut him short, before swinging your weight from leg to leg and fixing him with a sour expression. «I’ll cut the music out, so you can have your afternoon nap in peace. Old man.» And with that, and a last dismissive huff, you close the door in his face, and he’s left standing on your “go away” doormat that does nothing but rub salt into his wounds.
Well, that was brutal.
It’s only when he’s back inside the safety of his apartment, too awake by shame to go back to sleep, too physically taxed to do anything else, that he finally realises he never stopped to buy coffee yesterday, coming back from his latest mission; and the nagging feeling of having forgotten something gets dethroned by pure despair.
He has to do some serious mental gymnastics to convince himself to throw on his leather jacket and walk in his pyjamas to the store, but he cannot function without coffee.
It still takes him 20 minutes to hype himself up enough to even slip on his shoes. No socks because he hates life.
And today, life hates him back apparently, because as his door slams shut, his eyes connect with yours under the rim of his baseball cap and you’re simply there, at the end of the hallway like a sphinx guarding his freedom, between him and the stairs for the outside world, one yellow package in one hand and the handle of your door in the other.
Your eyes scurry to his, attracted by the loud sound of the closing door, and something wicked splits your lips in a grin. «Well, well, well… aren’t you up bright and early?»
You mock, crossing your arms and dangling the forgotten package from the hiding place tucked against your hips.
«I finished coffee.» Is the only thing he can murmur, surprisingly truthful and plain.
For a minute or two in the brightly lit hallway, nothing but silence lingers in the air; then, suddenly, as loud as gunshots, your laugh ricochets through the walls. «Man, today is not your day at all. Get in, 12B, I’ll make you a cuppa.»
And on a normal basis, Leon would have never accepted, but today, nothing feels normal. So he follows.
The apartment is furnished the way Leon would expect a 20-something girl’s apartment to be furnished, perhaps leaning a bit on the side of 90s grunge; the one he lived on his skin firsthand during his own youth, and now echoed in his neighbour's cramped living room/kitchen/music room.
It’s a weird transitory space that feels lived-in, as if its purpose had shifted and changed during the years, settling into an impractical mixture of old functions and newer ones.
«Do you play?» The row of guitars and what he assumes are bass lines the wall over a mismatched old piano that screams “old lady” rather than college student. All different colours and shapes, a particular one even having two necks and some glittery finishing over the body.
Those too feel lived-in, with scuffs and scratches across their varnish. «No, I like to spend my paychecks caring for these bitches out of the kindness of my heart.» sassy, «I’ve been playing since I was seven or so.»
It should feel like hostility, but Leon knows what true hostility feels like, and that is not it.
You’re more like a hissing cat swaying your tail dismissively, deeply offended.
«You’re a mean one, aren’t you?»
The coffee machine sputters to life, a low buzz indicating a long life of usage. You turn and tilt your head, unimpressedly looking at him through your lashes, «Me? Are you having a senile moment? I was sunshine and rainbows when I opened that door; — your hand does something incoherent with itself in the general direction of the exit, then, coming back to him, a finger points square at his chest — you were the mean one.
It’s truly not on me this time… As you sow, so shall you reap.» You pronounce at the end, like a mantra, spinning on your heels, chin up in pride, messing around with pots and coffee pods.
«I had a rough night. My bad, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.» It’s really easy to slip onto the stool at your small kitchen island, as easy as asking for your forgiveness. It feels almost… normal, a well-oiled machine that has finally sputtered back to life after years of neglect.
It sounds stupid.
«Don’t stress about it.» The comforting aroma of coffee fills the air, the sound of poured coffee curls around the edge of your words, mixing and fusing. «There is space for my piano and then some inside those eye bags.» Your figure turns, your smile settles back into the soft one you had opened your door wearing, and something soft tugs at Leon’s heart.
His cup clinks onto the kitchen island, you sip your own, the day outside slowly moves on. «Sugar?»
It gets really easy to talk to you, like sipping the sweet coffee cooling in his mug, like huffing at your playful jabs and hiding his smile under the rim of his hat as you question and probe to get a rise out of him.
It’s well past four when his stomach grumbles loudly, and you once again laugh at his expense.
His joints creak as he rises from the stool, hands hoisting him up «Well, that’s my cue to leave. Pardon me, my lady.»
Your laugh is a kneecap shot; Leon has dealt out his fair share of those, he knows how effective they are.
You take no prisoners, stretching lazily over the counter dividing you two, your hands shooting from across the island to cup his own. «No, no wait! I’m having fun.»
His legs give up, and he crumbles back into his seat.
«Tell you what, pretty eyes.» Your hands don’t leave his. «If you don’t have coffee in there, it’s hard to believe you have actual food. I’ll make you a deal: I cook you up something de-fucking-licious, and you tell me why I thought you were dead in your apartment, and your cat was eating your face to survive.» Your voice is light and cheerful, your back straightens, and your eyes glimmer in the afternoon orange light pooling from your windows.
He’s suddenly two sizes bigger than his own skin, so out of place in your serenity, «I’m not usually around.» he chews in between his teeth, unable to avert his gaze but willing to try. Yours, once again and unsurprisingly, feels steady. Unhurried. «No shit, Sherlock, but if you want food, you’ll have to be a bit more loose-lipped.»
«Why?» It’s an honest-to-god question, perhaps a bit too honest for his training. It feels like a layer of his soul is being peeled.
You shrug your shoulders and let go of his hand, almost sure he won’t attempt another flight, and turn on your heels to start the late lunch.
«'Cause I’m nosy as fuck.» you offer simply, putting a small pot on the stove and bobbing your head as if to punctuate each word now that he can no longer see your expressions.
«Well I— I’m truly not… around… that much.» if you wish to humiliate him for the dumb repetition, you don’t let it show, simply huffing a somewhat derisive sound and arching an eyebrow from behind your shoulder. «How so? I thought people your age had achy knees, not travelling desires.»
Yeah… why so? But most importantly, why is he around now?
And why does he have the feeling he’ll have to make peace with the idea he’ll be around quite a bit more?
To put it simply, Leon is slowly falling into retirement; he can feel it. The missions are sparser and fewer in between; he’s at home more and more often, and life just generally feels… slow.
He’s not getting any younger, tons of new agents are getting recruited every month, and his experience is starting to get outweighed by the constant ache in his knees.
He’s old stuff now; the DSO is of the youngster roaming its neon-lit halls, as all he can do is make room and wonder how did he get to see his fifty.
His silence must have been interpreted as offence as you quickly cast a glance behind you and rectify: «Alright, I’ll quit it with the old man jokes. You did piss me off tho. Did the coffee taste of peace offerings and spite? Because that’s what I was aiming for.»
You’re cute. All words and sassy remarks. A chatterbox with a cute scowl and an even cuter irritated frown.
«Mmmister?»
He gotta put his ass in gear, «It’s Leon. It’s stupid I haven’t told you yet.»
God, he’s out of practice.
But that doesn’t seem to faze you, little does apparently. «You’re fine, Leon.» You concede, pulling open the cabinet over your head. «You feel like the mysterious type.
Plus, I liked “grandpa”»
Grandpa.
His eyes trail your back; you’re difficult to pinpoint. There is something unmistakably weird about you, the way you talk, the way you act, but Leon doesn’t really get what’s tipping him off; you’re just weird.
It’s plain in the way you laugh, and it’s there when you say some absurd thing, bending backwards on a logic that is all your own, but it doesn’t stem from those.
It just permeates them.
His eyes catch yours, once again over the edge of your shoulders, and he finally notices you’re quiet.
«Sorry, I wasn’t— I was paying you attention… I just got lost in thoughts.» and those same eyes shine, not with malice but not with innocence either. «An open-eyed nap? Alright, that was the last one. Tomato sauce or pesto?»
A couple of days later, he finds you at his door.
Mail in hands and a new, silly, pyjamas hanging loosely on your body.
«Dude, Kennedy? Really? Like the president?»
Never mind “Confidential” is plastered all over the mail. The postal service managed to fuck it up regardless.
«Gotta something to say about that?»
Your shoulders shrug, your hand stretches, «Not really, it just sounds silly.»
It’s out of his mouth before he can catch it, «My middle name is Scott if that fans you amusement.»
It does, it really does, if the nasal and ugly laugh that escapes you is any indication.
Weird.
«Well, your mail got delivered to me mister president.» Yeah, he can see that; he got some neck to twist back at DSO.
He knows it’s not early, he won’t make the same mistake again and embarrass himself twice on the same matter, but he’s so fucking tired.
«Dude—» This time you’re dressed, a black shirt of some band he had seen in concert, but that probably broke up before you were even born. Already on a war footing.
«I know, I know, it is fair game, but— please, I just really need to sleep.»
It must have been rude to cut you off like that; it definitely was, but he had been verbally digested once; he doesn’t want to have that experience again.
You look pissed, eyebrows drawn, and hand gripping the door frame at your side, and for a second, Leon double-guesses his social skills, nonexistent, and his ability to not make you mad with his mere existence. But the sharp tones in your drawn eyebrows smooth, softly, almost out of habit, more than real softness. You look… gentle? «Aight. Fine. I’ll cut the music.»
Leon can feel a sight escaping his lungs. «Thanks, really. I’m sorry.»
Your head shakes, your shoulders do the same, and the myriad of bracelets on your wrist ring like bells. «Don’t be. I get it.»
That is the moment he should retreat, go back into his apartment and back to bed, the couch if he can’t manage the off meters separating the two. But something seems to prevent him from doing so.
You are still there, scrutinising him like a mortician.
He should take your doormat’s advice.
«Did you manage to buy coffee?»
He didn’t.
«Shit— no, I’ll go out tonight.» Last week had been a nightmare; spotty missions of a day or two, polluting his everyday life. Not hard at all, but gruelling.
Your tongue clicks on your teeth, «Don’t bother, grandpa.» Fucking nickname, he won’t be able to shake it off, won’t he? «I gotta pull an all-nighter anyway. Just knock, and I’ll get you set up.»
That’s odd, you’re odd. Oddly gentle, oddly kind.
«You’re awfully nice for being this rude.»
Even your laugh is odd. «Rude my ass, dude. Go catch your beauty sleep, princess; you look like shit.»
He does, catching up with his sleep — not look like shit, thank you very much — in a blissfully silent apartment, and then, not even bothering to put something decent on, he knocks at your door.
«Damn, old man. Thought you would have been out for at least a couple of hours more.»
Weird, but weird in a funny way. Like weird ha ha.
«Thanks God you’re funny, girl.»
Coffee at your place becomes a habit.
You bitch and whine about “taking care of your elders”, but Leon eventually understands it’s an act.
He does odd jobs at yours from time to time. The sink doesn’t work? You don’t even have to ask, he’s already two-thirds of the way to getting it repaired. The shutters don’t close all the way, and you hate sleeping with the light of the outside world? He’s already oiling them.
It’s a nice balance. It makes him feel needed.
It’s not really clear, in the strict timeline he keeps tabs on in his head, how or when, did warm coffee became trash TV from the worn dip of your couch.
It just happens.
There is so much caffeine you both can ingest without seriously damaging your stomach before the ridiculous excuse to keep the moment going starts to feel old. The shared silences and the lively conversations weigh more than a possible ulcer on his part and a probable insomniac night on yours.
It’s not unexpected from his point of view; you’re full of life, a constant buzz fluttering around him, softening the blow of his mind’s reeling thoughts, spiralling in silences stretched too long in his deserted apartment. But it’s — once again — kinda weird for yours.
For some reason unknown to him, you actually like him around, no, you want him around. He has passed his whole life noticing details, the true distinction makers between life and death in his missions. So it’s not really “spy work” to spot them as they surface. The room you have made for him in your life, nudging your clothes and rags away enough on the couch to make room for him, tugging them in the crevices of the seat. Not gone but folded enough to just let him exist in a spot that is all his.
The shift is in the cup you always give him, blue and white, glazed wrongly, probably a failed art project of yours or a close friend. In the pack of cookies you have started to pull out of the cupboard every time he says, “I should go” without really feeling like going. Only to bribe a few minutes, he was already willing to give up, out of him.
Hell, most of the time you open the door of your apartment before he can even knock on it.
It’s odd, and it’s even odder that you have stopped murmuring the ritualistic “what a coincidence” after the first couple of times, but somehow that puts him at ease.
It’s clear that you want him to be there, in your apartment. And it’s a feeling so long forgotten he had thought he would have struggled more to recognise it.
And it’s not even such extraordinary company the one you offer, it’s mostly a quietly buzzing presence, sometimes a tad too much, but mostly enough.
It’s enough when you sit at his side.
You have one of those old TVs that, when you shake your hand in front of it, makes it look like you have twenty fingers or more. Per hand.
And he’s sure that will probably be the thing that fucks his vision up once and for all — Leon is sure about that — but it’s enough.
Even with the eye-murdering TV, he cannot stop knocking at your door, sliding down the couch beside you as you pluck chips from the bag and hand him “the greasy ones” because you’re picky like that, and somehow you can feel the difference.
He doesn’t complain. When you are too deep into your film, you even feed him, aiming for his mouth without taking your eyes off the TV.
It’s awkward, clumsy, and so irresistibly you.
Somebody is trying to remove the door from its hinges. The gun is in his hands in seconds, low, ready.
He gotta get out of the apartment quickly, he doesn’t know how many are there, he’s in civilian clothes, his ammo is in his bedroom—
«Leon, open up, I don’t care if you’re asleep, come on!»
Your voice sifts through the door, through the cracks in the crappy old wood as your fists bang on its expanses.
The gun, from his sole lifeline, shifts into an imminent threat; he disarms it and tosses it away as fast as humanly possible, as if burning.
God damnit.
The door swings open; his frame must be towering over you if he can see his own shadow obscuring your entire body. «Kid.»
If you’re intimidated, you don’t let it show, with a shove and a pull, you literally stumble into his apartment. «Dude, there is a fucking Porsche down the street!»
Your gait falls jittery and excitedly, running at the window and throwing a glance out of it, down the street. «wha—»
But you don’t let him finish, actually, you don’t even dignify him with a glance, waving a hand with chipped nail polish, at him still trying to merge yourself with the window screen, «Put some clothes on, I wanna go see.»
Your logic is a fucked-up mess he’s not sure he wants to tackle this early, and this hungover.
And yet he asks. «Why do I gotta be with you?»
«I don’t wanna go ogle all by myself, I’d look like a creep.» Ah, yes, sure, now he understands.
«Because with me you’ll look different?»
At that, you finally turn, sharp gaze fixing him with impatience, and a tinge of… embarrassment? «No, but… you know, we’ll just be two creeps… like a flock, you know, anonymity in numbers and all that shit.
Better than the lone creep anyway.»
He doesn’t really know, mostly because if you don’t want to look like a creep to the owner, you don’t really gotta worry. It’s his. And he already thinks you’re a creep, or at least some other variant of plain “weird"
«Alright, gimme a sec.»
And yet he yields.
«Hurry, I don’t wanna lose it.»
You won’t.
«Duuuude, that’s so fucking sweet!» You look like an overexcited… you. It’s actually pretty difficult to compare you to something tangible, something he knows and can catalogue.
Your wonder is fresh and childlike, but your excitement comes off of you in waves of low curses and keen eyes raking over his car.
He shouldn’t have come home drunk last night, he shouldn’t have left the Porsche out of the garage, but for some strange reason, he doesn’t think the mishap bore horrible fruits.
It’s actually pretty nice to see you like that.
«You like cars?»
«Not as much as I like guitars, but I can appreciate. I’ve never seen one of those before.»
Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.
«You only like French cars or like…»
Your laugh rises airy and light, not in derision, not even mischievous, once again, only yours.
«Dude, Porsches are German.»
The key in his hand clicks, the car beeps to life, and you almost jump out of your skin.
When you turn around, panic visible on your features, looking for the owner, the keys are already dangling from his outstretched hand, and for a second, he can gloat in the magnificent picture of your owlish eyes blinking, slow; as the cogs in your brain shift and clunk connecting the dots.
When he speaks, it’s a low rumble, «Alright, teach, do you wanna go grab some coffee?»
You look like a fish out of water, gaping at him, and if your eyes could pop out, they would.
«Are you?» You don’t even finish the thought, your eyes dart back to the car, to him, «Is it yours?!»
«Yup.»
Joy jolts through your veins, zapping behind your eyes, raw and unfiltered. «Oh my god, can we— coffee? Can you—» but then something snaps, all that enthusiasm bubbles over, but it’s as if the means to feel it were suddenly taken away from you. And you shift, a bit awkward.
Silence falls.
«Have you… have you drunk…» your voice comes out low, very low, almost inaudible. Torn between jumping in and putting your feet down on something you won’t negotiate on.
He did, he could actually say he got hammered, stumbling up the stairs well into the night and collapsing into his couch moments after, not even properly securing his door, passing out where you had found him this morning.
A heap of crumbled clothes and the shadow of a legend. Slowly fading away.
Yesterday had been… weird, but not your type of weird, sad-weird. His life had flushed down the drain, drowned in cheap alcohol because that gave the worst hangover headache, and at this point, “hurt” is the only thing that keeps him connected to that part of his life that is actually way more than a part and that without he doesn’t know how to function.
So yeah, he’s had a drink, several actually.
But your weird — right now — feels so real he can’t find it in himself to deny you; contagious and fuzzy, like a bad case of the flu. And he feels all warm and sluggish as he stares down the path of voluntarily wrapping around your finger. To be commanded left and right, for the simple pleasure of keeping you content.
Buzzing.
Not the same buzz he finds looking for solace in the bottle.
You fidget in your spot, growing roots, not moving a single step to get inside the car.
He’s weirdly proud of you for that. «I did, that’s why you’re driving.»
And for being a sad excuse of an old man, he must have done something right because you suddenly shine.
The coffee shop you drove to that evening was a random one, the only one open this late into the hour, but somehow that became a usual spot.
“Usual” is also the habit of letting you drive.
For a couple of minutes, Leon simply kicks off and lets you drive, letting you guide him wherever you want.
The both of you end up going there quite a lot.
On weekends, on Mondays, on Tuesdays… every time Leon is not at work.
So a lot.
You don’t seem to mind the fact he’s mostly silent, he hopes not rude, but definitely silent. He can’t change in the snap of a finger.
«So… you like own this crazy car but live in that shitty apartment building. Are you like one of those dudes who spend all their money on flashy cars?»
The asphalt runs smoothly under new tyres, your voice drifts through the car. «The apartment is good.»
The eyebrow-rise is comical, Leon thinks he did laugh; «Leon, I live two doors down from yours. I know mould is growing in your bathroom as well.»
It does, in fluffy cotton balls of slightly concerning black substance.
But if he closes his eyes, head lolling on the window of his car, he can recall the memory of pristine surfaces, modern lines and oddly shaped high-end lamps looming over perfectly 90° corners, walls of egg-white paint, expensive furniture. Untouched. Waiting for him after endless missions.
A solitary life in the guts of a place that screams “aseptic” from every cashmere quilt.
«Not really. I have another— place. I just…»
You don’t press, you don’t ask, you just let him find it on his own. «I just don’t like it.»
Your hum is barely audible over the sound of the car, but it’s sweet, and it’s soft. «And you like that piece of crap? I heard there are loud neighbours on that floor.»
At that one, Leon actually laughs, unguarded and raw. He has been like that for a while now, slipping into the habit of simply existing out of questioning in your orbit.
A gravitational pull that lures him in.
«I’ll take your shitty music over never-ending silence any day.»
The corner of your eyes crinkles, that unfiltered laugh seeps into the car, and his heart skips a beat, but oddly feels like it’s falling into the rhythm of yours.
He’s heading down a very dangerous path, but you are driving, and he has no power over the destination.
Leon huffs, annoyance must be visible on his face, perhaps pulling at the worry lines littering his forehead. Wrinkles, there is no need to call them by any other names, they’re wrinkles.
«I used to be able to bullseye a wind chimer a mile away.» The newspaper slaps against the table. He can feel the waves of tension rolling off of him, and so must you. One eyebrow arched, eyes unimpressed. «And now you can’t read the newspaper without glasses.» The deadpan lands harder than you probably intended, smoothing the rest of the phrase out of your lips with a softer edge to it. «Come on, grandpa, use this. My father forgot them here like a lifetime ago, I assure you, he won’t mind.»
But it doesn't land where you must have hoped it would land. And you must have seen that on Leon's face, this time around, there is more than tension; there’s hurt.
Your voice comes soft and unhurried but firm nonetheless; you don’t reach, you don’t corner, and for that, he’s grateful. You just exist, and you let him do the same «Leon… what’s wrong?»
«It’s fucked up.» There is not much more to it. It just is.
He has grown old. Useless.
The look you pull is weird. Why must you always be weird? So complex to read? Because for a second, you look hurt. Plainly, openly. For what he said. As if he had said it about you.
«Leon…»
Easily mistaken for pity. Not that he truly believes it. He knows deep down that’s an excuse.
The clock over your stove ticks by, time falling slowly out of his reach. «How so?» Your voice rises steady and calm; in a sip of coffee still too hot for him to drink but apparently perfect for you.
«What?»
Your shoulders shake gently, eyes darting up over the rim of your cup, directed at him. «Why did you know how to “bullseye a wind chimer a mile away”?»
«I’m military.» Safe, easier than explaining Raccoon City.
Your face pulls, half displeased, he’s well aware how opinionated you can get on government stuff; he gets where you come from, he had wanted to become a cop — a lifetime ago now — for the exact reasons you had listed. Tone heated and annoyed, one dying day he had passed lounging on your couch. He had wanted to change the world back then, to make a difference, but life had yanked him away from that path, hard. And the cop inside of him had died that faithful day. More than thirty years ago.
You eye him suspiciously, as if he had turned into the enemy all at once. «Hold the gun, I’m DSO.»
«Meaning?»
«Division of Security Operations»
Your face scrunches up, a very cute frown that tips into displeasure ever so softly, hiding your emotions had never been your forte. «Wow, that gives me like… nothing.» His scoff flees his lips almost unwantedly. «Anti-bioterrorism.»
You hum, the sound rippling the surface of your coffee. «Cool.» You relent at some point, as if admitting it cost you something.
The bitterness resurfaces suddenly, ugly and unwanted. It was cool. «Not that it matters now. It has been a while since I’ve been active on the ground.»
If there is something that you are, it’s not subtle. Your eyes bore holes where they rest on his figure, intense and searching.
«That doesn’t change the fact you had been… DSO or whatever.»
«No.»
He hadn’t been someone— hell, something in a while now. Aimlessly drinking his sadness away, syphoning your joy, your calmness from your company.
You don’t speak, nor correct him. «No, you don’t get it.»
For the first time since he met you, Leon sees it all from an outsider perspective. Outside the bubble of comfort you envelop him in.
He’s old, so very old, and you’re younger and brighter, with a future waiting just around the corner.
What is he doing weighting you down?
It flutters out of his mouth in an exhale. «Of course you don’t. You’re young.» Then the right word to describe it boils down: «It’s humilia—»
«Normal.» Your voice cuts him off sharply.
Two steps, the clink of your cup to the kitchen island separating you.
Your hand falls to his shoulder, and you look at him like you need him to believe you. Unmovable. «It’s normal, Leon.»
Something, in the deepest depths of his soul, is cracking open; he can’t actually pinpoint it, but he can feel it.
It doesn’t scare him this time.
Falling for you is soft and graceful, then all of a sudden, it's messy and horrible. Jittery and unsure around you. Like he had lost the balance of your shared existence.
So Leon does the next best thing than confessing: he withdraws.
Because you don’t feel what he had found himself feeling for you, and it’s a fool’s hope to think of you as anything more than a weird acquaintance.
Days of isolation turn into weeks.
You don’t knock on his door, and you don’t go looking for him.
Your absence rings louder than he thought it would.
It’s in every nook and cranny of his life where you have jammed your presence, and it hurts around the edges, like a sharp object pressing onto his ribs.
«Leon?» clammy hands wrung around each other, pulled hair. Sweat glistening on a thin sheet on his skin.
He’s too old for this.
«I… I’m sorry, I can’t— I can’t be alone right now.»
What a pathetic thing to say to your twenty-something neighbour at three am after you have tried to avoid her for nearly a month.
You ought to kick him out, curse his name, and spit on him. Because he’s a coward, a pervert and a pathetic man looking for comfort in retracing a bridge he himself has burned to the ground.
«Oh… Yeah, sure, come on in.»
But you are just so fucking odd.
The apartment buzzes with the soft sound of the fridge in the far corner of the kitchen, the TV glows with a very annoying static and a low crackling sound.
You lazily stroll barefoot to the couch, crunched covers squished down, rummaging through the cushion for the remote and shutting the TV down.
The room falls into an uncannily still silence, Leon’s heart stutters but stops the galloping it had done for the past interminable minutes of lone panic.
The remote slides back over the couch, a thud in the otherwise silent room. You turn and lean into the backrest from behind it, leg outstretched, as if you had never sat in a damn couch. «I’m sorry…» Comes out of his lips small and unsure. «You can go back to sleep, I just— I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—»
«It’s alright, do you wanna sleep? Or talk, or like, watch trashy TV?» The proposal is so stupidly sweet he can feel it in his teeth. A dull ache.
«No, no, it’s—» What is it? «I just wanted to know you were— okay. Just… safe.»
Your head lolls up and down in a sluggish rhythm, crossed arms, a foot coming up to scratch the back of your calf.
«Do you wanna sleep over?»
He must have heard you wrong.
«What?»
«Like a pyjama party, shame I just ran out of facemasks. Sleep here.»
Knowing you’re there, it’s— it’s enough, you can go back to sleep.»
It is. It really is because all of this has always been about how much your presence has come to ground him.
Your voice lifts something heavy in his chest, soft and calm. «Will you be able to sleep at yours?»
Fuck no.
«No.»
«Then stay. Why torture yourself?»
Because I deserve it. And I don’t deserve you.
Too bold. Instead, he settles on: «It’s a loaded question.»
Your shoulders draw in, a silent chill running down your spine in jarring shivers. «It wasn’t supposed to be. Stay.»
A huff of a laugh filters through his teeth. «I—» «Leon. Please…»
«Yeah… okay… I’ll— sorry. I’ll settle on the couch.»
Your face pulls; there is something you wish to say underneath the sleepiness, but you refrain.
«Will you be able to fall asleep there?»
«Yeah, I will… eventually.»
You look less than unconvinced, but once again, your self-control puts his to shame.
«Okay.»
It’s an afterthought, soft around the edges, as you pull away from the backing of the couch, sleep clinging to your judgment.
You pull him in when you’re close enough, arm circling the small of his back and a palm guiding his nape to the crook of your neck. A soft embrace.
Comfort seeping through his clothes, where your skin meets and burns through each other’s warmth. Your voice hitches, «Door’s wide open if you want to curl up and spill your guts.» Then, as if you wanted to drill the thought deeper into his understanding, you clutch harder. «I’m right here.»
And with that, you retreat.
And he’s left struggling against what that had meant.
He can’t recall for sure if he clung back.
He does eventually. Fall asleep. Around five or so.
And wakes up at eleven, to the soft clatter of kitchen utensils.
«Good morning, pretty eyes.» Your voice fills a very deep void he never noticed.
I love you.
«Good morning.»
Your eyes burn on his skin.
Always so unsettling focus.
«What?»
«Something’s different.»
The slurping sound of the straw in your glass announces you’re done with your overly sweet milkshake.
He’s halfway through his steaming hot coffee.
«The milkshake?»
He doesn’t even know how you could be able to tell, all that sugar must have fried your taste buds.
«No, dummy, you. Something is different with you.»
An eyebrow arches, he sips slower, just because he knows it irks you.
«I don’t know what you’re talking about.»
It has been a week since the night he spent on your couch. And that has gone blissfully unacknowledged.
On his part, you had simply behaved as if what had just happened was the most normal thing that could have happened.
«Yeah, you look… better?» your voice cuts through, smacking the tackiness of the sugar away from your lips.
«Is it a question or a statement?»
He doesn’t get to listen to your reply. A waiter, all sweet smile and bubbly attitude, approaches your booth.
«Can I bring you anything else?» She asks, tapping a pen over an already filled notepad, looking directly at you; Leon has been the “scary guy” all his life, he’s not surprised the woman must feel better speaking to you instead of him.
«Oh no, I’m all done.»
So he folds himself into a smaller version of what he is, pressing closer to the window, head tilted down. Less scary, less imposing.
«What about your father?» The words freeze something in the air, like a spell gone wrong. And all he can inhale is ice-cold dread.
Until he has to mutter: «I’m fine.» before the moment drags out worse than it had started.
«He’s not my father.»
Your face is hard to read, soft-eyed, a simple smile on your lips, a genuine tilt of your head. You look at ease.
You don’t look ashamed.
«I’m so sorry—»
«Don’t worry.»
Man, you’re weird.
«You drive like a madman, are you sure you’re not drunk?»
You’re not even worthy of a proper answer, so you get a grunt. The road bends and twists in intricate backroads, “to avoid the insomniac rush hour.” you always say when you take it.
«Leon—» but tonight you’re in the passenger seat.
«I’m dry. Been a week.»
Silence falls back, your head falls softly onto the headrest. «A week, mhm?»
Fuck, you’re way too damn observant for your own good. «Yeah, been thinking of quitting for a while.»
He steps on the gas, sidestepping a lone car going too slow for his liking.
«What got your panties in a twist?»
«Nothing.»
And you let it be nothing for a couple of seconds, even a minute if Leon believes your magnanimity, «Was it the waiter’s comment?»
But you’re not that nice, all things considered.
«No.»
And you’re not easily deterred either.
«Then why are you trying to snap your wheel in half?»
«You don’t know me.» The whiplash is painful. His own venom drips down his lips, poisoning his own thoughts.
«Fuck— I—»
«You think so?» Fuck, fuck, fuck… he fucked up so badly. Like horribly badly.
«I—»
«Stop the car.»
That’s it. That is how the only good thing left in his life ends.
Because he’s a sad man who doesn’t know how to stay in his lane.
«Please, I’m sorry—»
«I want to know you.
I do. And you can start letting me get to know you by telling me why you're mad right now.»
The car sits idly on the side of a deserted road. No other passerby in sight, you might as well be the last humans alive in the world.
It feels like it.
«I hate that she just assumed…»
Your voice clicks, a low hum, almost like a buzz.
«Why?» unkind. But not harsh.
You just sound demanding.
No point in running.
«Because I like you. And you deserve better.»
«Better…»
Yes, better than someone edging on the void of the half-century mark with no other accomplishment to his name than destruction and blood.
Yeah. Better.
«Yeah.»
«Better than you, but you still get to decide what I deserve and what I don’t.»
«No, you—»
You don’t even blink as you deliver your next line. «I’m the worst person alive.»
And he falls for it like a dumbass. «You’re not—»
«Then you aren’t either. If I like you, and you’re such worse, then I in fact do not deserve better.
I deserve you exactly.»
The air in the car grows heavy. Your words linger between your bodies.
«You don’t like me the way I like you. Believe me.»
«Boy, you’re dumb.»
Your belt clicks, the car gives off a faint alarm, still on, still humming under you two. And for a second, panic sets in.
He’s sure that next will come the bell of the door being opened with the car keys still inserted, yet another alarm blaring in his head. But it doesn’t.
You lurch over the shift, hand fisting his shirt in your grasp, and then you yank him to your level and kiss him.
And then the rest falls into place with a satisfactory click.
The odd-weird you’re dancing on the edge of infects him like a virus, and suddenly, he’s all jittery buzz and tingling fingertips as well.
It must be all that sugar he’s tasting off of your tongue.
«Abso-fucking-lutely not.» his palms fall to your figure, harder than intended.
Your huff is playful; you rarely aren't. «Hard ass.»
His hands grip harder. Your waist, your hips, your thighs straddling his lap.
He guides you lower, harder, over the clothes you still cling to. «I am.»
He still clings to.
It’s hard to explain. He now knows for sure you won’t judge him; you have done plenty to deserve his trust, but the objective truth is that his body no longer looks like what it used to look 20 years ago.
The scars have gone from “enough to feel mysterious” to ugly viper’s nests of leather-like damaged skin, varying in colour and texture; his muscles, no longer cutting, look defined, sure, but the definition of too strenuous work that had left marks deeper than stretch marks over bulging biceps.
He looks used. Exhausted.
And that scares him.
Your hand dips slightly lower than he thought you would, grazing the hem of his shirt, and his body goes rigid.
«Wait—» Your hand retreats immediately, clasping behind your back as if demonstrating to him you’re harmless now; holding onto your forearms. Your lips land on his cheek, soft and steady, until you withdraw, but don’t leave him behind.
«Sorry, love, got carried away.»
The ease is so jarring he doesn’t even have the time to chastise himself.
«It’s okay.» he mutters then, because he truly feels like he has won the lottery with you.
Then a huff follows, as you litter his face with kitten kisses.
«You sound like my mother when you call me “love”»
Your feigned gasp comes with the definitive withdrawal, eyes wide open and false shock painted on your face. He had told you at least a dozen times.
«You should know better than that.» you tut suddenly, popping your neck softly. You’re not wrong, his couch is kinda uncomfy.
The smirk surfaces like a message in a bottle. Only reading “trouble” all over. «Aren’t you the one who got all grumpy ‘cause the waiter insinuated you were my daddy?»
The tip of his ears warms up, and he’s sure that if he were in front of a mirror right now, he’d notice a soft dusting of red colouring them.
«She did not say “daddy”» Your grin only gets wider. «She didn’t… I could tho.»
Jeeze, he’s gonna combust.
«Okay, you’re in time-out.» But he knows you have filed his reaction under the “for later shenanigans” folder inside your brain.
You dismount him like a saddle, swift and confident, not at all bothered by the interruption.
He is tho.
«Hey. Princess, hold on a second.»
His fingers wrap around your wrist. hot versus cold. You always seem to run a bit colder than the rest of the world.
Your eyes don’t. Pools of endless warmth zeroing on him. «What’s up?»
So he blurs it out. «Does— I know it’s bothersome.» and he can no longer take it back.
«What?» And if he can’t take it back, and you’re both already there… he might as well go with it.
«The interruptions. It’s— frustrating, I know. I’m sorry.»
Your blinking is slow and deliberate, or maybe it’s just confused. «It’s not. I mean, not really; I do wanna jump your bones, you’re stupidly hot, I feel like I’m salivating every time I see you. But your comfort is the number one priority. So it’s actually not that hard a choice.»
Oh…
Well, now he’s the one wanting to absolutely wreck you.
It’s not fair.
«Can I sleep at yours tonight?»
«I’d be offended if you didn’t.»
This is silly.
You are silly, your ideas are silly.
It’s silly that you’re lying facing each other on your comically small bed.
«Your mattress is minuscule.»
«But he’s very hard. He’s compensating.» A hand lifts from the cramped space between your bodies, and a snap of his fingers hits the side of your forehead.
«Dirty mind. If I knew it was this small, I would have stayed on the couch.»
A smile at the edge of your lips pulls slightly. «I think he’s average size.» Typical. «Plus, I got rid of the bigger one to get you all close and cuddly the day you’d finally accept to nap with me.» Leon huffs. This close, he can see the strands around your face moving by the action.
You look stunning, groggy with sleep and illuminated by the low light of the outside world.
«A mastermind, I see.»
Your giggle settles into a comfortable background noise, mixing with the sounds of the street below you; mischievous glint shining behind your eyes. «I got you in my bed, didn’t I?»
You did, hell yeah, you did.
«What’s next, Emperor Palpatine?»
That grants him a full laugh, a soft sound falling precisely between embarrassing and sweet. «I’m swaying between making you cut that beard of yours and letting me shoot a real gun.»
Silence falls softly over you, like a blanket pulled under your chin.
Leon’s the first one to break it. «Can I kiss you?»
Your eyes soften. «How many times must I tell you, Leon: you don’t have to ask.» One too few. He will never stop doubting himself.
«Only once more, I promise.»
It’s not once more.
He asks every single time, when you wake up in the morning, when he circles your waist at the stove, when you part ways to go to work, when he comes back and finds you curled up on the sofa, reading or plucking at the strings of the guitar of the day.
It’s a routine that settles into a type of comfort that eggs him softer and softer into an edge he’s not sure he’s bordering until it’s too late.
The desire slams into him all at once, like a brute force pressing from every direction into his very soul.
He has just returned home, to your apartment that had somehow morphed into your shared quarters, and you are just standing there in the kitchen, spoon in hand, and your work clothes draped over the back of the counter stool, messy as always, one of his T-shirts so old it probably predates you, hugging your figure, logo dry and faded.
You’re doing some shenanigans with the stove, fire too high, he can already tell from the doorway, and you look so… cosy.
The desire hits hard.
The need to act on it hits even harder.
He barely shrugs his coat off, throwing his briefcase to the side and marching toward you. The sound slightly startles you, your shoulder jumping slightly, but you turn lazily, eyes focusing on him.
«Shoot, I didn’t even notice yo—» He doesn’t let you finish, he just really wants to put his hands on you and grip tight enough to convince himself you’re real.
This time, he doesn’t ask for permission; he still thinks he should have, but the want is too much.
The kiss is hard and full, one hand flying to the back of your head and the other finding something to grip on your waist, skin, clothes, whatever he can put his hands on. He holds you there, gripping you tight and kissing you deeply.
The room fills with smacks, you open up like a flower to sunlight, initially shocked, then melting to his touch.
The hand on your waist flies to the knob turned to the highest setting and shuts it off. Something simmers in the background, finally cooling down.
Your lips part with a wet sound, a strand of saliva still connecting you. You look at him sheepishly, still panting, still wide-eyed, lips red and glistening; something mischievous bubbles deeper.
«You’re gonna burn down the whole building.» his own voice sounds strained. Desire is on a rampage inside him.
Your eyes narrow, focused and predatory. «What can I say, fire must be in the air tonight.»
Cocky.
He still snorts.
«Dinner’s busted by the way. In case you haven’t noticed. Beyond salvageable.» He noticed. It’s alright. He’s not hungry. Well, he isn’t for food.
«We’ll survive.»
The moment stays charged, or at least he thinks it does; it has been a while since he had been comfortable enough with somebody to let the passion bubble.
He had been an awkward teen, a lifetime ago now, a somewhat clumsy rookie, and then he had been a traumatised recruit.
Not the best state of mind to let loose.
Sure, he had overcompensated at some point in his youth; when he had been younger and prettier, when the girls in bars had found his scars attractive and not concerning.
But even that had gone stale quite early, and the shame of lying had outweighed the brief relief of a one-night stand.
And Leon had gotten older, and the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened, his eyes had darkened, and the worry on his forehead had settled into deep lines.
He had started to frequent the bars solely for the booze, and the pretty girls had started to steer clear of him.
Leon’s not a saint, but it has also been a long time since he deemed himself worthy of such comfort.
Panic seizes him once more, and the urge to ask for permission flutters agitatedly in his chest. «You okay with this?» You’re not even doing anything.
Your hand falls to his, slid from the back of your neck to your cheek, and it just rests. «Are you?»
He knows you well enough to know this is not a throwaway line; you actually expect a response.
«I am.»
«Good, then I’ve been okay with this for months.»
This time it’s your turn to jump him. Quite literally, filling the inches separating you two with thrown arms around his shoulders and on tiptoes that barely makes you tall enough.
The fire lights back up.
And it’s with such ease that you kiss him that his brain doesn’t even go into performance mode.
It just lingers in a blissful state of want and warmth.
He’s pretty sure he’s the one who hoisted you up, but you might as well have been the one who decided to climb him like a fucking tree. He’s not sure anymore; he just knows his hands are suddenly full of you, and he’s pressing your body on the kitchen counter, mouth on yours and your soft noises buzzing in his head.
God, you sound divine, wrapped around him and kissing him like that.
There is a certain abandonment in you that urges him on, the way you cling to his shoulders, hands raking through his hair, kissing his worries away, one soft lick at a time.
«Can we— bed… Now… please—» You don’t even let him finish, nodding against his lips, awkward and hurried, bumping your nose on his.
He lifts you higher, tossing you up without really thinking of it, simply wanting a better grip on your body. Your leg clenches, your arm tenses up, and an almost- squeal flees your lips.
«Jesus Christ, Leon, how strong are you?» What? For having caught you mid-air?
«We can test it.»
It’s so fucking stupid the way you mouth “Oh my God” as if he wasn’t there to judge you, sliding your hands from clasped behind his neck to his biceps, softly squeezing over the oversized sweater. You’re so odd, so silly and stupidly you.
The walk to the bedroom is quick; he’d throw you on the bed if he didn’t adore you the way he does. But for how much he wants to absolutely wreck you, he wants to appreciate you the way you deserve.
So you get softly laid on your bed, tantalising exposed skin and mussed hair.
And when he retreats, stalling just a second, he finally allows himself to fidget. The hem of his shirt being the closest thing he can put his hands on.
«All good, Leon?»
«Yeah. Just— a bit spooked, I guess.» It’s actually surprisingly easy being honest with you. It comes without a pricetag, just something he has filed under “normal” and has kept acting upon.
«Okay. Nobody’s testing us; we can do what feels better. That includes stopping, Leon. For whatever reason.» He knows, he can feel the softness in the air.
Still, your attentiveness pulls at his heartstrings. «You’re stealing my lines… You know it works both ways.» Your smile mirrors his, small, persistent, shared.
«I know.»
You do. He can see it in your eyes, the complete trust you put in him. And to look at you from so high up feels weird, so he puts his palms beside your thighs on the mattress and bends until he can kiss your lips once more.
When he’s back up, the shirt comes off almost instinctively.
He’s ruined, he’s marred by scars, but he’s utterly yours, and the sudden feeling of belonging makes him think you can’t hate him all that much if you’re willing to keep him regardless.
You hiss, your eyes dart across his chest like magnets.
«I know. It’s—»
«Hot. Oh my God, Leon, you’re so fucking gorgeous.» Had he been younger, he’d be blushing.
«You’re just humouring an old man.» Your eyes zero in on his, and it’s impossible not notice how dilated your pupil is. You look ready to devour him.
«Am I? Do you wanna prove it?»
It doesn’t land immediately. He’s still taken aback by such a blunt display of desire that his brain has to reload, then you part your legs slightly, and lift his old shirt enough to let the low light of the room catch a glint.
You’re soaking through your panties.
The knowledge lands like a slap, hard, physically painful, so devastating he falls on his knees.
That’s for him. You’re like that because of him.
His hands are on you the second he can get his brain into motion, maybe even before, attracted by your flame like moths to fire.
They look for your thighs, for the strap at your waist, tugging, begging. «Please— Can I—»
«Yes.» It’s barely more than a hiss, sharp, breathy. His effect on you. His.
«Please, you can do whatever you wan— please, Leon… Just touch me.»
And he does.
Gripping your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, tearing your underwear, ripping them clean off.
You have time for a single, soft yelp before his lips land square on your core, dead centre. He’s too damn old for teases.
The air in your lungs hitches, his tongue darts out; a long, flat strip of spit gets dragged up.
«Fuck—»
The word stutter, his mouth gets to your clit, and he sucks.
Your hand flies to his hair, and the other one lands on your mouth. Hiccups smouldered by your knuckles, as if you were biting down on them.
He doesn’t know; he’s in too deep to check on your volume management.
It’s funny, actually. To your moans, he would have liked to be woken up.
The fact it has been a while since he had indulged in intimacy doesn’t mean he’s green.
But the sensation is certainly new.
It’s not a means to an end, eating you out. Be it taking the edge off or keeping you satisfied. It’s… really fucking hot. There are no other words for it.
It’s just really turning him on.
His thumb hovers over your clit, not yet touching, not retreating either, a threat, a promise. His tongue dips lower. You’re so wet he can feel the slick running down his chin, soaking his short beard.
Fuck that’s hot, and that’s for him.
Because of him.
Your moans turn higher, squeals bordering on high-pitched yelps.
The perfect moment to add his fingers to the mix. And see what other pretty sounds he can drag out of you.
His tongue flattens and swipes between your folds. Then his thumb settles over your clit and circles it with precision.
The sound you make should be recorded— no, engraved in his head forever; they should play it in his ears instead of the rush of his blood every time he stands too fast.
Just to make his ageing softer. Better.
He’ll have to settle for branding it to memory, trying to capture every dip and high in your cries.
Your fingers clench; he didn’t even know it was possible. The soft sting of pulled hair a constant reminder of your grip. «Fuck, Leon, I’m close.»
Your warning means nothing; the absolute abandon with which your orgasm hit you renders it useless. Your legs lock, keeping him there, the hand in his hair tightens, and loosens in spasms that scream of barely held together concern, and your whole body shakes.
The moment your body snaps over the edge is loud. Your back arches in a delicious curve, creaking ominously, as if threatening to break.
A gush of slick wetness suddenly rushes down his chin as he desperately tries to swallow as much of it as he can. Greedy.
It lasts minutes, and when you finally slump back, he’s tempted to follow you for a second round. He almost does, succeeding only in one good kitten lick over your pussy, but the tug in his hair stills him.
«God, please, up— I want you inside.»
The need to just ignore you and just keep feeding his own wants is strong; it shows its ugly head in a low growl, and very poorly disguised self-control.
He’s so hard in his pants.
It hadn’t even occurred to him.
«Talk to me.» Your voice is a lifeline, a life jacket thrown into the abyss of his desire.
«I- I just really fucking want you.» He does, he really does. With all his heart and all his body.
«You have me. Up now. I wanna see you naked.»
The hand in his hair, that had just been resting at this point, slithers out of its previous grasp. You regain a surprising amount of grace for someone who had just had an orgasm as you shimmy upward into the still-too-small bed and settle against the headboard, throwing his old shirt over your head and sideways. Remaining starkly naked.
Ah, the joys of youth.
Your eyes glisten playfully, a tug on your lips betrays renewed vitality. «Come on, chop chop.»
The belt clinks; it all comes so naturally.
«You’re gorgeous.»
You murmur when he’s as naked as you are, and he believes you, it’s very hard not to, with your pupils blown and your breath shallow.
«You are.» he still replies, because you are and because you deserve to know.
The edge of desperation has faded, or better, it’s still there, pulsing in his temples, but it’s background noise.
You’re the centre of it.
He’s present enough to remember to prepare you. An orgasm is great, but it does not work wonders; gently, slowly, until you’re begging for it and shoving the condom wrap in his hands.
Then, when he’s sinking into you. Kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He thinks this might be the only time he has fully felt himself in the last decade.
You flinch at every inch he feeds you, muttering about beard burns on your inner thighs, and hitching your breath at every less-than-perfectly-controlled thrust.
It’s agonising and slow. But it’s so tenderly vulnerable that he’d rather soon cut his own hand off than speed it all up.
It makes for a perfect moment to hold you. To bury his face in the crook of your neck and inhale your perfume.
You smell safe.
Like the coffee you keep sharing with him and the metal of your guitar’s string.
But that has to be his imagination. The lingering feeling of knowing you deeply and fully.
When you finally start to urge him further, nudging him closer and deeper. He has half a mind to deny you. Just to hear your soft whimpers once more.
But he doesn’t. Because he adores you and you deserve better than a prick that likes your whining.
So he speeds up, thrusts deeper, harder, throws you around a bit to make sure to hit all your sweet spots.
«Leon— close.»
Fuck, he’s too, your vicious grip really leaving him no respite.
«I know—» your walls flutter tighter around him. «Fuck, me too… me too, love.»
His arm hooks your leg back up, calf resting into the crook of his elbow; he hopes he’s not crushing your leg in his grasp, but the line between squishing, gripping and smashing has gone blurry a few minutes ago.
He hoists you higher, thrusting deeper still, your punched-out moans filling the room.
«Fu—» You come first, hard, throwing your head back, crying out the tension building in your lower belly. The sight of you is what tips him over the edge.
Plain as that.
His heart squeezes painfully, his leg cramps slightly and then he comes.
The light coming through your curtains hits softer than the one coming through his. Leon wonders why it is so.
«Good morning, sunshine.»
Your voice lulls him out of sleep. It’s the first time in ages he woke up before 1 pm.
«Morning, princess.»
Your room smells like coffee and the faint traces of last night’s sex. Your hips sway playfully as you close the gap between where you stand and where he lies.
This is a life worth living.
Your lips fall to his temple, softly, cradling his face in the cups of your hands.
«To think better.» You murmur on his skin, lower, gentler still, on his right eye. A barely-there kiss. «To see better» then his left «to aim better.»
The letter sits on the counter, DSO, confidential.
Black skin marrying his body. You love him. You have told him so countless times, even like this, even this broken, infected version of him.
But he can't stand the infection, not the idea of it, not the sight.
Another nest of scars, another mark. Something that takes and takes and gives nothing back. A life he has chosen.
His lips must taste of regret and shame; it looks like you’ll have none of it, not if you can kiss that away.
He doesn’t deserve you. «What is that for?»
Your shoulder shakes, a shrug, normality, domesticity. Nothing is changing.
He holds onto your confidence like a lifeline.
«That one is for me. To keep you close.»
He’ll get back to you. To the three-room apartment, and he’ll tell you of his idea to knock down the wall separating your units and merge your lives once and for all. He’ll tell you he wants to adopt a cat and settle into your life; like he belongs. Because he’s starting to think he does. Here, with you.
He will when he comes back from this “yet another” mission.
His last one. He promise.
«I’ll come back.»
«I know.»
«I love you.»
Your gaze falls softly on his.
He knows you know.
«I love you too.»
He does come home.
Worse for wear, too old to recover in a couple of weeks, but he does come back. He promised you.
You make a mess of your apartments, and the cat gets named Chad.
It never fails to make you laugh, so he just relents to the name.
It’s silly, it’s stupid, it’s odd, but most importantly, it’s you.
And in your existence, there is that damned space you have made for him.
- You come to them late at night unable to sleep. The breaker box boys have a fun idea to fix that issue, and you're more than happy to participate.
CW: Polyamory, Nsfw, Praise, Threesome, Eiffel Tower, Oral M! receiving, Gn reader but AFAB anatomy, Hair pulling, insomnia,
It was late. Ridiculously late. But, you had already spent several hours laying in bed staring aimlessly at the ceiling, and you hadn't managed to make any more progress towards actually sleeping.
That's how you wound up nervously standing outside of the upstairs hallway closet, still wrapped in your blanket, anxiously debating whether or not your insomnia was troubling enough to bother your boyfriends.
You knew they would come to your aide, although Eddie would likely be reluctant, they would likely do whatever they could to comfort you. You also knew how important it was that both of them got plenty of time to relax. Running the breaker box was draining for both of them, and you had regularly been the one insisting that they needed to rest.
Sighing deeply, you opened the closet door, knocking on the small metal door of the breaker box and rubbing your eyes. Next thing you knew, you were in the empty club, two tired and concerned faces looking back at you.
"It's awfully late live wire." Volt said, placing a gentle arm around your shoulder. "Is something the matter?" He planted a soft kiss on your temple.
You shook your head slightly and sighed. "I'm alright... just couldn't sleep...' you said, frowning slightly.
"Aren't you the one who always tells us to get more sleep?" Eddie huffed out, although his voice was still soft and laced with concern.
"I am...I'm really sorry to bother you I just-" you mumbled out.
"I'm just teasing live wire...I'm glad you came to us." Eddie said, smiling softly and taking his place on the other side of you.
"What's keeping you up? Anxiety? Too much Caffeine? Stress? Lay it all on us my dear.' Volt said softly, rubbing gentle circles onto your lower back.
You shake your head softly, letting your shoulders relax and pulling the blanket draped across them tighter to your chest. "Too much energy I guess..."
Eddie chuckled, rustling your hair affectionately. "Well, you're welcome to cozy up with us for the night."
You could almost hear the slight smirk grow on Volt's face at the suggestion. He leaned down slightly, his lips hovering slightly above your ear. "We could always...make you tired..." His deep seductive voice sent shivers down your spine.
Your cheeks warmed as your mind quickly became flooded with less than holy imagery. The words loomed in the air for a moment, before you softly turned to meet Volt's suggestive gaze. "Do you....have anything in mind?"
The boys exchanged knowing looks before turning their attention back to you. Suddenly making you realize, they did in fact have something in mind.
"We've been wanting to try something new. We understand if you don't want to but...we were wondering if we could... Eiffel Tower you." Eddie mumbled out, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
Your jaw might as well have been on the floor. You had considered the idea before, although you had never expected the two of them to bring it up so plainly. "Are you serious?" You say, your eyes wide with shock.
Volt nodded, smiling sweetly. "We love you live wire, so if it's not something you want we will drop it immediately but-"
Without a second thought, you pulled his lips against yours. Eddie chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing himself up against your back. As you pulled away from Volt, you were greeted by the dazed but excited expression on his face.
"You sure about this live wire?" Eddie said softly, leaving a trail of gentle kisses across the side of your neck. You nodded limply, a dopey smile growing on your face. "Yes... absolutely..."
Volt smirked, slamming his lips back into you. He slotted his leg between yours, pushing you even further against Eddie, who gave a soft groan that vibrated against his neck.
Your eyes flutter shut, letting yourself fully melt into the feeling of the two men pressed against you. You felt Eddie's hands begin to wander, slowly pulling the blanket off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
As soon as it hit the floor, their hands were on you. Volt had one reassuring hand on your cheek and the other resting on your hip. Eddie's arms were wrapped around you, one slowly shaking it's way underneath the hem of your top and resting against your lower stomach.
You whined softly, causing Volt to pull himself off your lips and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. "Oh live wire... you're so needy aren't you?" His voice sent shivers through you.
Eddie chuckled at his words, finally pulling his lips from your neck and smirking proudly at the already visible dark blotches littering your skin. "So fucking gorgeous...makes it hard to contain myself." He muttered, his voice dropping slightly.
You whimpered softly, a shiver running down your spine as you felt his fingers gently hook into the waistband of your pajama pants. "You're still 100% sure about this right?" Volt said, his hand releasing from your hip to grip onto his belt.
"Mhm...god yes please." you whine, meeting his gaze with a desperate intensity. In response he kissed you again, and in one motion unbuckled and removed his belt, tossing it off to the side.
As he pulled away from the kiss, you made the next move. Very swiftly removing his pants and letting them drop to the floor. He groaned softly in response, and Eddie chuckled. "Oh damn, you're even more desperate than I thought."
Eddie slowly pulled at the hem of your pants and panties, teasingly slowly sliding them over your hips and letting them fall, leaving you exposed to the two men. You let out a soft moan as his fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing running over your lips before sliding his hand out again, revealing the thick coat of wetness coating them.
Volt chuckled deeply at the sight, palming himself softly through his boxers. "Fuck...this is going to be amazing..." His voice trailed. You then slid his boxers over his hips, letting his hard cock spring out proudly. You felt Eddie's hand push on your upper back, as he pulled your bare hips against him. Forcing you into position between them.
You wrapped a hand tentatively around Volt's cock, pulling him into your mouth. He gave a deep groan, letting his head roll back slightly. Eddie ground his hips against your bare ass, letting you feel his hard cock though his pants.
You let out a needy moan, sending vibrations through Volt that made him shiver, causing him to wrap his fingers into your hair. You heard Eddie undo his belt, letting his pants fall to the ground as he slid off his boxers. He pressed himself back up against you, letting his hardness press up against your exposed wetness.
You moaned again, and Volt tightened his grip on your hair, Guiding your head to take him deeper into your mouth. You gagged softly, which caused him to let out a rough growl. "Shit... Eddie please fuck her already. I don't know if I can take this much longer."
Without another word, Eddie slipped himself between your folds, plunging himself into you. You moaned again, and he did too. You whimpered softly at the feeling, but continued to suck on Volt's cock eagerly.
Eddie very quickly established a pace, rocking his hips against yours and grunting as he felt your insides clench around him. You, similarly matched his pace against Volt's cock, feeling the hard tip slam against the back of your throat with each thrust.
With every rough thrust from Eddie, you let out a desperate moan around Volt, who groaned in response. Eddie grunted softly with each movement, his grip on your hips tightening as he slammed himself deeper into you.
"F-fuck live wire....we would have done this sooner if we knew you were gonna be so fuckin good for us." Eddie grunted out, gripping even tighter onto your hips. Volt let out a shaky chuckle in responding, tugging softly at your hair.
"You're doing so so well for us." Volt said, his voice coarse and shaky. You took him even deeper into the back of your throat, gagging slightly around his cock. Eddie groaned, feeling you tighten around him as you gagged.
"Shit... you're gonna make us both cum if you keep that up" Eddie huffed out, his cock twitching slightly as he quickened his pace. You moaned again, unable to respond but feeling your undoing similarly approaching.
Volt's head rolled back again, biting down hard onto his lip. "S-shit I might not be able to go much longer..." He whined out as you continued to take him deep into your mouth, his cock slamming into the back of your throat with each thrust.
Eddie chuckled, pushing himself harder into you, chasing his own release. "Neither will I...and I don't think they're gonna make it much much longer either." He groaned, feeling you twitch around him.
You shuddered slightly, your core tightening more and more with each second. You felt so full, your entire body felt enveloped by pleasure. You could hardly think, your mind almost completely empty.
Volt moaned, tugging on your hair again. "Mhn...how bout we all release at once?" His voice sent shivers through you. "You can be good and cum with us right live wire?"
You tried to respond, although your response came out as another moan as your mouth was still completely full of Volt's now pulsing cock. Eddie grunted again, his fingers almost digging into your hips as he continued to fill you.
"F-fuck...I'm almost there..." Eddie grunted out, his cock twitching inside you, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you that settled in your core. You felt yourself teetering over the edge, the knot in your stomach unbelievably tight.
Within seconds, you feel the knot inside you snap, accompanied by the two men filling you entirely. Volt pulled himself from your mouth, a trail of salvia and cum still leading from your now swollen lips to his cock. You swallowed eagerly, licking your lips to remove the last remnants of it as your body still shook.
Eddie's cum filled you, his cock twitching violently inside of you before slowly pulling out, leaving you suddenly feeling empty. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you back to rest against his chest and support you as you caught your breath. Volt wrapped his arms around the both of you, resting his head against Eddie's.
"Tired now?" Volt said, his voice strained and exhausted. You looked up, meeting the glazed over expressions of the two of them, no doubt matching your own.
"Completely exhausted." You remark, melting further against the two of them.
- (AN): thanks for reading! I'm working on a sub! Timothy timepiece fic rn, so check back soon if you want that! This is entirely unedited, so pls don't mind any spelling issues, I just wanted to get this out before too long.
Cw: mentions of death, mentions of injury, insecurity,
-in which, you're plagued by fears of your humanity, and Legolas vows to stay beside you regardless.
It was a cold night. Yet the cold seemed almost irrelevant compared to the pain in your mind. The fall of gandalf followed so closely by Boramir, was a terrifying reminder of the stakes of your travel and your own mortality.
You had joined the fellowship as a healer. For many years you had studied healing practices from every corner of the land, and it was decided you were best suited to assist the ring bearer.
Yet even with all of your knowledge, your salves and elixir's could only ever slow the inevitable. People could still die at any point from any array of unsuspecting issues. And that included you.
You had been gravely injured in the onslaught, and had awoken to a fractured fellowship. You were too late. Too late to save Boramir, too late to properly heal yourself, and too late to say goodbye to the hobbits.
So instead, you keep yourself awake with hope that death does not find you. If only you were an elf or a dwarf or even one of the dunadain, like your companions, you would feel less like a burden.
Oh god how you wished to be an elf. Unnaturally beautiful, unaffected by the discomforts of humanity, so immovable even in the face of grief. But most of all, Immortal.
In fact, you had been wishing to be an elf since even before the death of Gandalf. You wished to be an elf, because the fact you were not, and single handedly ripped your heart out.
For you, a mortal, so quick to emotion, had fallen in love with the very elf that accompanied you.
Legolas was beautiful by any mortal measure, but something about him had stolen the very air from your lungs. Every word he spoke called you you like a song on the wind, every breath he took a reminder of his purity, every move he made a residual of his grace. Even in the presence of other elves, Legolas shined like a full moon peaking through a cloudy night.
And that is why you longed for a different life. Because as a mortal woman, any hope at catching the eye of an elvish prince, was nonexistent. Even if miraculously he did feel something for you, you would be cursing him to a life where he would be forced to watch you get old and die without him.
You could not even bring yourself to dream of him, for any thought was so quickly disputed by your very nature. And watching the true frailty of life, only served to burn that into your mind.
So that is why you lie awake, the wind seemingly blowing through you on such a cold night. Your feeble human body holding in the oncoming shiver. You wanted to stay as still as you could. The group has agreed to stop so you could rest, and although you were grateful, it seemed the only ones who would be resting this night, were the others. With the exception of Legolas, who agreed to be on watch for the night while the rest slept.
He is why you did not wish to move. Because if he noticed your anxious breath and chattering teeth, which he easily could, you would be forced to explain what was keeping you up even after you had requested a stop.
Suddenly, and without warning, your body decided that it did not in fact feel like secrecy, and let out a loud and abrupt sneeze.
You blushed, shifting lightly to bury your face in the meager wrapping you called a blanket. "I know you are still awake. you seem to be unable to rest." The ellon spoke, not taking his eyes off the tree line.
you sighed, shifting to sit up "I am sorry, I know I was the one who needed it, but... I cannot bring myself to rest." You whispered, your eyes glued to the ground in embarrassment.
He stood, turning to face you. "I don't think it's best to leave, but if you wish we could go for a quick walk as to not disturb our companions." He motioned for you to approach him.
You stood up, carefully walking to his side, to which you both began to walk into the starlit woods around you.
This has become a common occurrence back with the fellowship. You and Legolas would wander together at night, making light conversation about your pasts or hopes for the future. Yet for some reason, this felt much more deep than it had before.
"Are you going to tell me what is on your mind? I know the grief of loss, and this is not just that." He looked over at you curiously.
"I'm sorry...I would explain, but I fear it is something you will not understand." You look down, fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.
"There is very little I am entirely unable to understand. At the very least, I wish to lend you an ear, so you do not bear your burden in silence." He looks at you, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips.
"it is just... You elves live hundreds of years, and even if you do not travel to the undying lands, you still live much longer than I could ever know... I have lived my whole life knowing i will die, yet it always seemed like it was something far away. Now, it feels moments from consuming me." You look up at him, your cheeks pink from the cold wind and eyes glossy from pain buried underneath.
"I cannot tell you it will never find you. It finds all humans in the end. But I can say, that I will be by your side until the end, and I will do my best to make sure that your end is as far away from you as it can be" he takes one of your cold hands, and wraps in in his comfortingly, his pace stopping as he faces you.
"Legolas I.... T-that is very kind of you to say. I wish you say it in return, yet I know I will never be able to fulfill it." Your cheeks flush lightly, your eyes meeting his.
"And yet I say it regardless. Because I would gladly endure the pain of losing you, if it meant I got to be by your side. Every moment with you is worth a thousand of my lifetimes." He rests one hand against your face, gently cradling it affectionately.
Your eyes widen lightly at the contact, yet you lean into it nonetheless. "You speak so highly of me. You're an elvish prince, and I'm a mere healer. I truly fail to see why you see me as such a close friend when I am so far from your caliber."
A light chuckle escapes him, as he rubs his thumb on your cheek bone lightly. "Then you will be astonished when I admit that I see you as far more than a friend."
You freeze, your eyes wide in shock, your entire body tensing. "You...you cannot mean what you say Legolas... You must be... confused..."
He smiles knowingly, his eyes softening at your shock. "I understand if you do not feel the same, but I am sure that my affections for you are far more than a mere companion or even friend. You are special to me. Your beauty is greater than any star in the night sky, Your generosity deserves more gratitude than I could ever express, and your bravery overcomes even your deepest instinct. In truth, I don't think I could do anything but love you."
Your eyes begin to sting as you let out a shaky breath you did not realize you were holding. "Legolas, there are few words I can use to convey just how deeply I have longed for you. I have spent many a sleepless night on this journey wishing I would be good enough for your eye. You are so much more than I have ever deserved."
Before you know it, the gap between you is gone, and his soft flowery lips are pressed gently against yours. The kiss is unlike any conjuring of your imagination. It is ancient and unknowable, yet so tangible and grounded it feels as if it's been destined since the dawn of time.
The cold air once again whips at your face as you pull away. A bright smile grows on your face as you meet his eyes. He looks at you like you're the most adorable creature he has ever set his eyes upon. "You deserve nothing less than absolute perfection Meleth nín. I only hope I can provide it."
-in which you come to understand you are not so similar to the elf prince. Infact, you are just what each other needs.
(CW: Slight angst, fluff, comfort, mild enemies to lovers, Brief mention of an injury, multiple mentions of death/mortality)
Gender neutral pronouns, no use of Y/N
Unedited
As an elf, Legolas had seen many things. Years seemed to go by as breaths in the wind. The company of elves was painfully monotonous at times, which is why he often jumped at the opportunity to venture for new sights.
Deep beneath his aloof princely persona, a bright cheerful elfling with a hunger for knowledge and excitement lived, only to be seen in the truest of moments.
That is what brought him to you.
Legolas had leaped for the opportunity to join the fellowship. A quest of a lifetime, even for a being who's lifetime was unhindered by grip of meager mortality.
However, the fellowship brought him a rare opportunity. It was a chance to let the adventurer in his soul breathe. It was a chance to make memories that meant something.
You on the other hand, seemed to lack the thick walls Legolas had built for himself. You were brash, worldly, vibrant, and bold. Every fiber of your being seemed bursting with humanity and life.
Which is why, despite the disapproval of others, you were a perfect fit for the fellowship.
You had managed to claw your way into not only the council, but the very group itself. The sheer force of your will brought you there.
At first, you vehemently disliked Legolas. He was everything you were not; noble, elegant, and unbothered by nearly everything. Yet even your contrasting demeanor was not the root of your distaste. What bothered you most, is that he seemed to be judging your every move.
The elf simply could not take his eyes off of you. You could be doing something as simple as cooking, and he would stare at you as if you were doing every step wrong. It made your skin crawl.
In all honesty, you wished desperately to earn his approval. Even subconsciously, you would favor him. Giving him extra portions of dinner when you could, showing off when he was near in battle, dressing better to seem less brutish. Yet the more you seemed to try, the more you found his eyes lingering.
In truth, Legolas did see you as the opposite of everything he was. Which is why he admired every minute movement you made. Every object you owned was stained with the colourful whimsy of life, every breath you let out sounded like joy itself was running through your lungs, every step you took marked the ground with the beauty of your being. In his eyes, you we're more magnificent than any elven beauty he had encountered.
He was so unsure of how to act in your presence. He feared you would see him as a haughty prince, so he avoided showing off around you, yet he still craved your praise. In the end, he had landed on a balance of effortless performance, and casual elegance. Despite his efforts however, you never seemed to notice him.
That was until one particular night, when you had been put on watch together, much to your chagrin.
You had sat in silence most of the night, humming the occasional tune to yourself to stay awake. The elf next to you, sat in complete quiet, staring off into the vast distance from your perch in the canopy.
"Do you like the stars?" Legolas spoke, breaking the tense silence. You looked up, surveying the infinite tapestry of lights above.
"they are beautiful." You muttered in response. Not wanting to engage in idle conversation all night.
"The stars are fascinating to me. My kin are known for their affinity to them, but my love for them goes far beyond even theirs. I could tell you the name of nearly every light in this sky." He monologued.
"I suppose you've had a long time to learn them." You replied, looking over to him for the first time all night.
"I dare to say I have too much time to learn them. Elves live long lives, yet not many speak of the boredom of endurance. I often have no choice but to stare at the stars." His voice rang with nostalgia.
"I wish I could say I understood, but I fear I suffer from the opposite. Being human means I know that one day I will die, and that I could spend every day of my life living to the fullest, and still have so much I missed. I often find myself wishing I was immortal, at least then I would know there is nothing more to learn." You sighed, your eyes shifting to your fidgeting hands.
"that's the thing about you humans. You have the opportunity to fill your every day with something new or exciting. Your presence on this earth is short lived, but it is vibrant. I can only wish for a life so fulfilling." Legolas spoke, shifting to look at you.
You look up, meeting that familiar gaze. "You have all the time in the world, yet you believe less would leave you more fulfilled? You're a prince, a warrior, and a hero of many, with every opportunity you could ask for. I struggle to see how you could be unfulfilled."
"I am grateful for my life, yes, but It is one that is spread thin between ages of loneliness and an inability to share it with others. Your life is so full of connections and experiences and passion, if anything, I struggle to see how you see that as unfulfilling." Legolas spoke, a faint smile gracing his features.
Legolas turned back towards the sky, a shy grin tracing his lips. "Perhaps."
You huffed, looking away from him, unable to maintain his tense eye contact. "The root of our issues is so different, yet we are both unfulfilled by life. Perhaps we are just cursed to want what life will never grant us.
Things were different with Legolas after that. You often stuck to each other's sides. Legolas began sharing his observations about the world around him with you, and you would listen. Learning more about not only the world around you, but how he saw it. And you listened, you told him every thought that came to your mind.
Legolas would still watch you as he used to, but now, you would invite him to join you. Talking through every moment of your day as if you were teaching him to be human.
The rest of the fellowship noticed of course. No one really said anything, but after a point, everyone just assumed you were a duo now. They all thought it was fascinating how two people so different could manage to ramble on for. All but Aragorn, who knew exactly what Legolas watched you for, and had long picked up on your wish to be accepted by him.
As the journey continued, and even after the fellowship disbanded, you and Legolas only drew closer.
You had begun to do everything together. You fought together, trained together, you had spent many long nights on watch together. It amazed you how someone so seemingly withdrawn, could have hours of conversation and life buried underneath.
You of course, had grown fond of Legolas. It hurt, you knew from the beginning that your feelings would never be returned. It was hard not to feel the insecurity of your differences clawing at your mind again.
Yet Legolas only managed to fall more and more in love with you. You had become his best friend in such a short time it was almost embarrassing, and it was even harder to understand how he felt such a deep love for you in even less time. Legolas knew he could never properly court you. Not because he was scared of his father's disapproval, because he knew that you would never accept the weight that came with the title of his lover. So he elected to love you quietly for as long as he could.
That was until the siege on the black gate, in which Legolas was confronted with the scope of your mortality.
You had been shot in the shoulder. Legolas watched it happen, and despite his best efforts could do nothing to stop it. He raced to get you help, knowing you were losing large amounts of blood, and we're quickly slipping out of consciousness.
When you came to, the war had been won. Legolas was still with you however. Watching your every breath to ensure they did not wane.
"Meleth nín! You are awake!" Legolas gripped you tightly when you finally awoke. Even he was shocked by his sudden advances, and is use of words.
"Good morning to you too," You laughed softly, a warm smile gracing your features "And I thought it was Mellon...have I been saying it wrong or is that a new word?" You questioned. You had been trying to learn any ounce of elvish you could in your time with Legolas, but you gravely underestimated how much you did not know.
"you are correct, do not worry. I will teach you some other time. For now I am just glad you are still present." Legolas replied, releasing you from his grip.
You reaches up to comb your fingers through a piece of his hair that was slightly disheveled. "I did not realize you would miss me that much. Maybe I ought to stay asleep longer next time and I'll wake up to a gift." You teased, an airy giggle escaping you.
Legolas shook his head and chuckled. "Of course I missed you. In truth, have come to value your presence more than any other. I find myself unsure of how to act without you beside me."
"I was not aware of how starved of friendship you were. And to think you've gotten so attached to a silly mortal." You sighed playfully, a light blush bubbling up to your cheeks.
"You mean more to me than even I wish to accept. In all honesty, if I could stay by you every hour of every day I would. You are the most vibrant being I have ever met. You make me someone I've always wanted to be. It... It is not friendship I feel for you." Legolas' eyes looked pained. His hand carefully drifted over yours
"You're being truthful? Are you aware that I will die someday too? That even though I do love you, I will never be able to be with you forever. I'm not sure if I could bring you such pain." Your voice softened, you hand tracing gently over Legolas'
"I have lived many years waiting to feel the way I do every moment of my life when I am with you. You make me feel fulfilled. I may outlive you, but I will never outlive my love for you." He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on your knuckles.
"I have always feared what I will lose from my mortality. I only hope you can love me long past that. So that even if I do not live to die beside you, some part of me will remain in your mind, to witness everything the world have to offer you." You're eyes lightly stung with unshed tears.
"I will care for you every moment of your life, Meleth nín" he kissed your forehead gently.
"And I will be there to keep you from the troubles of loneliness," You spoke, softly "iiiif you can tell me what that means" you let out a light giggle
A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.
Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader
Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba
🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading
Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.
Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.
Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)
Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)
Additional Content: moodboard linked here
MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD
When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.
That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?
She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.
Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.
Cursed to guide them and bend them.
Cursed to behold them.
Cursed to be them.
Alone.
A Watcher of Wanderers.
She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.
But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.
She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?
Still, she wandered more.
She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?
Still, she wandered more.
She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.
Still, she wandered more.
As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.
Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.
Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.
So, she followed them.
One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.
Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.
Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.
From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant
Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.
See that was the thing.
Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.
The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.
The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..
She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.
But he couldn’t….
No…
He couldn’t have heard her….could he?
Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?
…..
The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.
There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.
Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.
(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.
Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…
A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.
Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”
(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.
Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.
“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.
He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.
…..
The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.
Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.
However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.
She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.
Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.
His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.
Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.
“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”
The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.
Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."
Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”
“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.
Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”
Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”
The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."
Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”
Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."
“Cursed? But why?”
The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”
“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”
Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”
At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.
Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.
"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.
The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.
….
As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.
It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.
It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.
When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.
When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.
When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.
When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.
This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.
When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.
When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.
When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.
A watcher of wanderers indeed.
As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.
Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.
Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.
Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.
Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.
In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.
He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.
Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.
He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.
She hadn't left when he closed the windows.
She was still here.
Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.
The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….
In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.
…..
Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.
Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.
The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.
Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).
As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.
Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.
Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.
He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.
With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.
In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.
However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.
Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.
A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.
Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.
Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.
"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"
She remained unresponsive.
Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.
Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"
Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.
“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”
Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”
Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”
Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”
The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”
The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.
Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”
It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”
Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.
“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"
Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”
Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.
The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."
Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.
Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.
The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.
……
Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.
He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.
"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"
Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.
The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.
“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.
Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”
Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”
Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”
“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”
Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”
Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”
Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”
The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”
He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.
Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.
Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.
"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.
To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”
She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.
Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."
A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."
The elf smiled gently in response.
A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. “Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.
Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”
She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”
The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?
(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."
…..
The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.
However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.
“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”
She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."
Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”
She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”
Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.
(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”
The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”
“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.
He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”
She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”
“Say it,” he commanded.
“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”
Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.
summary: you just moved to port townsend, and you are under the impression that the supernatural is a load of shit… until you befriend a certain crow.
CW: swearing, mentions of blood
WC: 1.8k
not proofread!
Port Townsend was a strange city. It was usually cloudy and dreary, especially during the colder months. You had moved there during the spring of that year, wanting a fresh start for yourself. The city seemed pretty boring and lackluster until you started to hear the stories of all of the weird events that had taken place prior to you moving there; The Devlin murders, little girls suddenly disappearing, a local butcher shop mysteriously blowing up…
But, it was hard to believe any of it. It was just the way that you were raised. Your parents didn’t believe in ghosts or any sort of superstitions, they believed in “logic” and “common sense.” Plus, it was hard to believe any of that stuff without seeing it with your own two eyes. It was just run-of-the-mill gossip to you.
You didn’t have very many friends, as you had just moved to Port Townsend. You had more acquaintances than friends, really. But, you enjoyed the solitude sometimes. It felt very freeing to just be alone. You often found yourself in the forest, walking along the trails and watching the animals. It was a strange place to find comfort in, but there was something so calming about being in nature.
You were sat on a mossy log, doodling in one of your notebooks that you had brought, when a bird flew down next to you, perching itself on the other end of the log. You glanced over, admiring the crow that was now next to you. “Hey, little birdie.” you cooed, talking softly as to not startle the bird. The bird squawked, not moving from it’s position.
“You’re a gorgeous little thing, sitting so nicely. Y’know what? I’m gonna draw you!” You flipped to a new page in your notebook, turning to face the bird as you started to sketch. Your eyes darted from the paper to the crow in front of you, your hand quickly working to draw and block out rough shapes. “I’m y/n. Not that you care, though. You’re a bird. I just moved here, and I’ve heard a lot of strange things about this place. But, it’s nice here.”
You turned your notebook around when you finished the drawing. “Look, it’s you!” you exclaimed, slowly reaching a finger out to try to pet the bird. It nudged it’s tiny head against your finger, accepting the act of affection from you. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”
The sky soon got dark as the night came around, and you were still sat in the forest. You eventually packed up your bag, saying your goodbyes to the crow before leaving. Was it strange that a crow sat with you for literal hours until you left? Possibly. But, it was almost comforting. You could talk about whatever was on your mind, and it didn’t matter what you said because you were talking to a little bird.
Okay, it was a little strange. But, so was the rest of Port Townsend.
Over the course of the week, you found yourself going back to the forest over and over again, and the crow was there to greet you every single time. “Hey, birdie!” You sat down in front of the log, rummaging through your backpack. “I, uh, I did a little research on what crows like to eat. I brought peanuts and suet, I didn’t even know what suet was.” you mumbled, opening up the plastic bag you brought and sprinkling the food on the log next to you.
“You know, I’ve had a really hard time getting settled in ever since I moved here. My parents are really tough on me and I wanted nothing more to get away from them,” you explained, “But, I kinda miss them sometimes. It’s a little lonely here. Plus, I’ve heard some crazy things, like this old butcher shop blowing up? Heard the lady who did it was crazy, but no one’s seen her since.”
You turned to face the bird, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Birdie? Where’d you go?” you called out, getting up and looking around. You knew that it was just a bird, but something about it was so strange. You had been around birds before, and you had never met one like him.
Squawk. Squawk.
Whipping your head in the direction of the noise, you spotted the peculiar bird. He was sitting on top of a book, his beak pecking at a few of the pages. “What the hell,” you mumbled to yourself, walking towards him. It was a spell book, you had quickly discovered, and the pages he was pecking at showed a spell on how to turn your familiars into humans.
“No. No, no, no. You… you are just a bird. This is a silly little coincidence, because you are just a bird.” You got up, quickly packing your stuff up. “I have clearly overstayed my welcome, this is becoming weird. Um… bye? Yeah, bye.”
You threw your bag over your shoulder, quickly walking away. Your brain felt like it was spinning inside your head, trying to comprehend what the everloving fuck just happened. You had heard rumors of witches and ghosts in town… but they weren’t real. They could not be, that would be crazy.
This isn’t real. You’re crazy, y/n. It’s a bird.
One in the morning rolled around quickly, and you were still wide awake. You were hunched over on your bed, scrolling away on your laptop as you researched familiars. The more you scrolled, the more you believed that you needed a wellness check done. The most terrifying part was that it was all making sense to you.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You almost jumped out of your skin, looking over at your bedroom window. There he was, perched at your window. Scrambling out of bed, you quickly slammed your window open. “Okay, what the actual fuck is going on?” you asked, feeling ridiculous for even talking to the bird at this point. “Whatever you are, I don’t want to deal with it. This is not real, you are not real.”
You started to pace your room, talking to yourself at this point. “And, aaaaaand! There’s no way that all of this supernatural stuff is real, okay? There’s just- where did you go?” You looked back at your window. The bird was no longer there, but the book was. The same damn book that you had seen in the forest.
“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, I am going insane.” You reluctantly picked the book up, flipping to the pages that were oh-so carefully bookmarked. Familiar transformation spell. Even just reading about the process made your stomach queasy, it was gross. You continued to flip through the pages, trying to find any information about the book. Your eyes flickered through the pages, catching on something in the very back of the book.
E. Finch.
You had heard the tales of Esther Finch before. She had lived in Port Townsend for a while, but one day she just vanished. No one heard from her, no one saw her. All that was left was her house and her… bird. Her crow.
You felt your mouth go dry and your heart drop as the puzzle pieces connected. Your entire world felt as if it had been turned upside down. Everything as you knew it was gone, everything you were taught from your parents ceased to exist.
Holy shit.
Your body moved before your brain could even think, slipping the book into your bag as you slipped your feet into your shoes. Before you knew it, you were out the door. You didn’t exactly know where you were headed, but you had a bad feeling about it.
Esther Finch’s house. It looked like it was never even abandoned. No one dared to touch the house, and those who did were usually never heard from again. You took a shaky breath as you approached the house, your heart beating in your ears as you made your way to the front door. As you put your hand on the door knob, you questioned why you were even there. But something drew you to that house, and to that stupid bird.
Without another thought, you opened the door and made your way inside. The lights were still on, which was unusual for an abandoned house. But, it was literally the most normal thing that you had seen that day. “Hello? Is anyone there?” you called out, your eyes darting around as you took in the sights in front of you.
You made your way around the house, stopping to look at things here and there; knick knacks, paintings, the weird medieval-looking torture device in the middle of the room. Well, everyone did say that Esther was a little strange.
Your final stop was in the kitchen. Setting your bag down on the counter, you rummaged around in it until you found the book. “I can’t believe that this is my life.” you grumbled, opening the book up.
Squawk. Squawk.
You huffed, looking over. The bird was sat in his cage, just watching you. “You know, this is absolutely insane, birdie.” You walked around, searching the cabinets for all of the ingredients. If she was a witch, then there had to be ingredients somewhere. “You could be a lot more help, since you’re apparently not just a stupid bird. You know, I’ve told you a lot of crazy things, you could’ve given me a heads up.”
Once you found all of the ingredients and got some pots onto the stove, you pulled out a knife from the knife block on the counter. “Well… this better work, bird boy. Or else this is a really unfortunate end for you.”
Chop. Squawk. Rip.
It was a disgusting and gory process, and it took everything in you not to get sick all over the poor bird, or what was left of him. You would pay any amount of money to erase that image from your mind. You set your knife down, holding your hands up in the air due to the blood and guts covering them. “Okay, um, copperhead snake rattles. That’s the last step.”
You looked around, snatching the jar up when you spotted it. Grabbing one of the snake rattles, you crushed it and sprinkled it over what could only be described as your own Frankenstein’s monster.
Within seconds, the disfigured crow was no longer there. Instead, a boy was sat there. He had shoulder length brunette hair and deep brown eyes. It was like a model from a magazine, he was almost too gorgeous. He looked over at you, grinning from ear to ear.
“This is nice and all, but you are very naked right now.” you grumbled, quickly turning around to face away from him.
“Sorry!”
a/n: it wouldn’t be a story from me without a cliffhanger. let me know if you want a part 2, and if you want to be in a taglist specifically for dead boy detectives storied lmk! and, once again, thank you to cafekitsune for the cutesy dividers! <3
- After Kurt receives two anonymous confession letters, written in slowly improving German. He comes face to face with their quiet author. -
- CW: fluff, bad German, references to insecurities, Gn!reader
The first time it happened, Kurt didn't know what to think. Messy handwriting, horrible grammar, and other blatant mistakes led him to believe the note must have been some kind of elaborate prank.
It seemed honestly quite rude, that someone he knew would go through the trouble of translating an entire fake secret admirer note into German, just to mock the idea that someone could honestly have feelings for him.
Compliments like, 'Der netteste Mann, den ich kenne' or 'der schönste Mann, den ich je gesehen habe' read as cruel insults instead of words of appreciation.
Needless to say, the following day, Kurt was visibly disheartened. You however, were quite proud of yourself. The days before, you had spent countless hours reading and practicing German, in an earnest effort to learn it.
Ever since you had developed feelings for Kurt, you had been painfully unable to communicate how you felt towards him, any attempt to have a genuine conversation resulted in stammers and awkward silences, so you opted to appreciate him from the sidelines. Spending quiet hours in each other's company.
Yet, it had been months since then, and the need to express to him how you felt was becoming too great, so you crafted an idea. You would write him a note, something truly meaningful, to get the stress of hiding your emotions off your chest, even deciding to write it in German, in order to show Kurt just how much you cared.
Your efforts were seemingly in vain however, as the first attempt went incredibly poorly, so poorly you trashed it, where without your knowledge, it managed to find itself into the hands of the very person it was written for.
Kurt had been in the library when he found the crumpled paper with his name on it. He thought it was odd of course, but figured its author wished him to receive it. He regretted that decision after reading it. A cruel insult to all the effort he had put into seemingly as kind and approachable as possible, not wishing to be seen as a monster.
You were of course, confused, when Kurt was inexplicably downtrodden the next day. Everyone could tell, yet any attempt to comfort him was brushed off. When approached, he just claimed to be tired or unfocused.
Observing this, you poured yourself into your books again. Writing, practicing, translating, anything you could do to perfect your skills. Finally, nearly three days later, you had finished your note. Imperfect, but unlike your first failed attempt, you felt confident in your progress. You slipped it under his doorway of course, anonymity was your saving grace.
Despite your original plan, you couldn't bring yourself to admit the confession, leaving it unsigned. You hoped that at least getting your feelings off your chest would help you relax.
Kurt however, was only further confused. This second note, properly addressed to him, left for him to find, was much less demeaning. Still imperfect, in fact it was painfully clumsy in his eyes, but a vast improvement. If he had read this note first, he would have been over the moon with joy. Yet, the cruel doubt etched in him from the original note, clouded his mind from the possibility of sincerity.
He thought through his suspects, Logan, Storm and Jean, seemed like obvious no's, Remy, Scott, or even Rogue seemed more likely, yet he had a hard time believing any of his teammates would do this.
Then you crossed his mind. Painfully shy, but confident in a fight, you seemed far from anyone who would do this. Yet part of him hoped it was you. That he had gotten this whole thing wrong, and that you had been secretly reciprocating his affections.
Kurt had liked you for months, after you patched him up after a seriously bad mission, he felt comfortable around you. When you first arrived, Kurt assumed you were scared of him, you always seemed to avoid him, and never seemed to want to keep a conversation with him. Yet, when he asked if you found him monstrous, you were honest. Saying that you found him quite kind, but that you simply struggled to make friends, and had been intimidated by his forwardness.
So, Kurt took his time. He let you approach first, he was constantly welcoming, and you two had found yourself in a pattern of spending quiet afternoons in each other's company. Not talking, or even really hanging out, just being in each other's presence.
That's when he developed feelings, the quiet moments you shared, seemed like the most relaxed Kurt ever got to be. You were beautiful of course, but being near you reminded Kurt of a warm blanket or a cold towel on a hot day. gentle, and refreshing.
So, that's what Kurt hoped for. That his assumption was wrong, and that you had been writing these for him. It seemed unlikely, and part of him truly believed he was wrong, but it made him feel giddy to think you could feel the same.
You, on the other hand, and only dig yourself a deeper hole. Your work was pointless, you still felt overwhelmed by your wish to confess to Kurt, and the fact that you had put so much time into trying to escape it, weighed you down like bricks on your shoulders.
"You've got to tell him properly. Right now he's probably thinking he's about to get swept off his feet by the girl of his dreams, and you're too scared to admit it's you." Jean teased.
"You're right...I know....I just can't even bring myself to look him in the eyes." You signed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.
"Then don't, hell if you don't want your work to go to waste, just actually put your name down this time." Jean rolled her eyes in response.
"Are you sure that's a good idea though? I mean I can hardly talk to him now, what if after he finds out he doesn't even want to be around me?" Jean patted your back and you rubbed circles into your temples.
"He won't. You two just need to communicate for once."
So, you wrote again. One last letter, rambling painfully about how much you cared for him. Detailing every way he made you smile. Reading it back made you want to almost vomit with cringe, but you didn't know how else to say what you felt.
So, as you had done days prior, you snuck to his room, slipping it under the door frame. However, this time, as you turned to flee, you were treated by a familiar *bamf*
"Mein freund... This was... You?" Before you know it, you're face to face with the fuzzy blue boy of your dreams.
"I... Uhm..yeah." you nod, staring down at your feet, a bright red blush stinging your cheeks.
Without another word, Kurt begins to read your most recent note. You shift uncomfortably, debating whether to run, or to freeze in place.
"You've improved quite a bit Schatz... I am glad." He looks down at you, a wide smile, and indigo blush gracing his features.
You chuckle awkwardly, unable to formulate a genuine response.
"Ich liebe dich auch." He rests a hand on your shoulders, calming your fidgeting, and freezing you in place.
"y-you.... Really?" You stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief.
"of course, meine Liebe. I have for quite some time. In all honesty, I had been wishing it was you."
Without thinking, or saying a word, you pull him into a hug. Burying your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.
☆ Summary: It was the day of an important event to promote his business. Reigen, (Y/n), Mob, and Serizawa, dressed up and attended it together. He remembers you in that amazing dress that hugged every curve perfectly. Meeting other psychics and mingling. How the event was successful, so his team went out for food and drinks. And… The rest is a blur for right now.
When he wakes up the next morning and sees you next to him, he has to wonder...
☆ A/N: The new season being out gave me some inspiration. I love this sexy loser of a man. The morning after scenario is given to you before the actual drunken events, to keep some mystery going at first! But you can scroll down and read the night before first if you'd like. Also, I'm realizing this is my first smut I'm publicly sharing, so I hope it's alright! If it's well received, maybe I'll publish some other old ones I have in the drafts.
Hope you enjoy!
The morning after:
10:38am on a Saturday morning.
Light fights to shine through thick curtains that cover the windows. A wake up call, the start to another day of doing to same thing over and over again. Nothing new or exciting. Wake up, go to work, fight some evil spirit maybe, come home, eat, sleep, repeat.
These are Reigen’s thoughts as he starts to come back into consciousness. He fights the automatic reflex to open his eyes. Maybe he’d call out sick just this once, take a break. The thought crosses his mind, but he knows he can’t do that. Also, if he goes to work, at least that means he gets to see you. You would be in the office not long after he gets there, and he’d get to spend the day getting to talk with you, and sneaking little glances at you as you do your work (that he still can’t believe you came to him to do).
He finally starts to open his eyes, slowly, bringing up his hands to rub the grogginess from them.
That’s when he realizes this isn’t just another regular morning.
After wiping his eyes, his first thought is “this isn’t my ceiling”, as he stares up at the unfamiliar pattern. His eyes glance over at the night stand next to him. Not his.
Fuck. Where am I?
Suddenly memories of yesterday start to flood his mind, along with a headache, and just an overall shitty feeling.
Yesterday. He remembers now.
It was the day of an important event to promote his business. Him, (Y/n), Mob, and Serizawa, dressed up and attended it together. He remembers you in that amazing dress that hugged every curve perfectly. Meeting other psychics and mingling. How the event was successful, so his team went out for food and drinks. And…
The rest is a blur for right now.
He feels someone stir around a bit next to him.
Shit shit shit.
He wouldn’t have hooked up with some random person right? He’s literally never done that before so that doesn’t make any sense. His mind races. Then he thinks about you. He’d only want to do... that… with you. It’s possible, but there’s no way, right? You would never… you would never with… him… right?
His mind repeats this as he turns his head slowly to the other side. His eyes widen when they see your face, fast asleep. You looked angelic. His face goes red, mind goes blank. All he can think about for a moment is how gorgeous you look, until he remembers again the situation he’s in right now.
He brings a hand up to his mouth, his mind quiet for another moment.
Then it starts again.
No no no… we didn’t… last night… did we?!?! SERIOUSLY? But I can’t remember, I must’ve been seriously drunk. Was she drunk? Fuck, did I take advantage of her? Shit shit. She’s gonna hate me when she wakes up. What if she quits? What if she-
You make a slight noise in your sleep as you shuffle a bit, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts again. His body goes completely stiff.
Then he comes to another realization.
He lifts up his side of the covers a little, and confirms that he’s still wearing his suit. Most of it, at least. His coat is gone, but his shirt still on. Though, it’s mostly unbuttoned, barely coving his chest, and his tie is laying next to him. But his pants and socks are still on, and when he reaches his hand down, only the button on his pants is undone but they’re not unzipped. Why would he put his pants back on at all, if they were off, and why would he re-zip them?
He does this mental investigation for a bit, trying to figure it out. He starts to convince himself that maybe nothing happened, calming his anxiety about the situation.
He looks up at you again. He should check what you’re wearing too, that would be a real tell tale sign. But as he places his hand on the sheet to take a peek, he stops himself.
What if you are naked under the covers right now? What if he lifts up this blanket and you’re fully exposed to him?
He grips the blanket, his face turning red again. He cant do it.
Damn it reigen, you fucking loser. Just look. This is important. He thinks. But it’s possibly an invasion of privacy, right? I can’t. But if she is naked then that means we already…
His thoughts continue to race as he has this stupid inner debate with himself.
Right, I can just pull down the covers a little. At least see if she has a top on. I don’t have to see her whole body to find out! Is the conclusion he comes to.
When he does this, he finds what he was hoping for, but also something he wasn’t even expecting. You are indeed still wearing the dress from last night, to his momentary relief. However, there’s also a dark noticeable hickey placed on the right side of your neck.
His eyes practically pop out of his skull seeing it.
DID I DO THAT???
He continues to pull the blanket down, revealing THREE more smaller marks on your chest where the neck of the dress scooped down.
His mind actually recalls a few moments now, of the two of you making out. His hands all over you last night. Short erotic scenes play in his mind like a porn trailer. His face goes red and he turns to be on his back again, smacking his hands over his face in distress.
IM DONE FOR!!! IM GOING TO JAIL!
Okay, dramatic.
That’s when you start to stir awake. He jumps a little when he hears you take a deep inhale, and looks over to see if that means you’re waking up now. You stretch your arms out, rubbing your eyes as well to wake up. After blinking a little, your eyes meet his. If you were more awake right now, you might be able to read the slight panic on his face. He only makes eye contact with you for a few seconds before going back to facing the ceiling and draping his arms over his face.
“Good morning.” You say in a sleepy voice, blushing lightly. This was kinda awkward.
You’ll admit, you were a little confused at first when you saw him, but your memory of last night is clearer than his is, so you end up remembering what happened after a little bit. You assume he remembers as well, maybe not realizing he was actually much more drunk than you.
Relief washes over him when he hears your greeting, and you’re not bewildered like he was, or god forbid angry. He unintentionally lets out a sigh with this, and you watch him intently as he does. He won’t look at you.
“Are you… feeling okay?” You ask, still feeling awkward. You’re really not sure what to say after last night. It was really intense and you’re still flustered remembering it. You’re wondering how he’s feeling about it. But judging by his demeanor right now, you can’t imagine it’s good. Your stomach clenches with anxiety.
“Yeah… Yeah. I’m great just. Have a hangover..” He replies. He really cant bring himself to look at you in the eyes right now. And anyways, he thinks his eyes would just immediately go to the huge marks he left on you. Then he’d think about those memories again. And he already has an erection now. Shit.
Your stomach sinks, feeling terrible, as if you’re responsible for said hangover. You begin to sit up. “Oh, yeah! Of course. I can get you some medicine and something to eat. Just-“
“No no. I’m fine I-“ He uncovers his eyes to look at you finally. Bad idea. One of the dress straps hangs off your shoulder as you face him sitting up. It’s barely coving one of your boobs. His eyes go straight there, he can’t help it. He immediately whips he’s head over to look in a ridiculously far direction.
You blink a few times. He’s being weird. Even for him. You look down to where he had glanced and immediately blush, pulling the strap back up. That’s when you notice one of the marks that you hadn’t yet seen in daylight. Your eyes widen in surprise.
You both sit in silence for a few seconds.
You clear your throat. “Um. I’m gonna.. get you some uh… I’ll be back.” You say, and he hears you get up off the bed and leave the room.
Reigen immediately lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He sits up a little, taking a look around the room. It was small, but nicely kept and definitely your style. He rubs the back of his head.
Jeez. This is messy. He thinks. Considering the fact that the two of you have to work tomorrow. How was he going to talk to you about it? He couldn’t just leave and pretend nothing happened, though he kinda wanted to. But I mean. He cant believe he even got this far with you, even if he was drunk. He had no idea you felt the same. But his fear was that maybe you didn’t, maybe you just went along with it because you were drunk. People do crazy things when they’re drunk.
Meanwhile, you’re thinking the same thing. From your point of you, he seemed totally ashamed and regretful about the whole thing. Maybe Reigen was just feeling some type of way due to all of the alcohol, and in the heat of the moment decided to pursue you. Despite what he said to you that night, you never know. People do and say crazy things when they’re drunk.
When you walk back in with a tray, you see him staring out the window next to your bed, the curtain open now. When he looks at you he’s surprised you’re wearing different clothes now. You had changed out of your dress with some dry laundry you had in your living room, as to maybe make him less uncomfortable.
You place the tray on the bedside table, which holds six pieces of toast, some medicine, and two glasses of water.
“Ah, thank you. You didn’t have to..” He starts calmly, going to reach for the water. He seems to have relaxed a little.
“It’s okay, I needed to eat something too.” You say, grabbing a water and a piece of toast, and sitting next to him on the side of the bed.
You look down at your feet as you listen to him take a swig of water and gulp down some pills. Your hand grips the cup as you look at your reflection through it, and you can’t seem to bring yourself to eat yet. You’re still uneasy.
“Well,” Reigen starts suddenly, interrupting some thoughts you were having. “We got into some trouble last night, it seems.” He says, finally addressing it, trying to be passive about the whole thing.
“Yeah… really.” You agree.
There’s another silence.
“I’m really sorry, Reigen.” You apologize, to his surprise. “I shouldn’t have invited you in last night. I don’t want our work relationship to be weird now because of this, but I understand if you need to fire me to keep things-“
“Woah woah woah!” He interrupts. “I-it’s fine. I’m not gonna fire you. Why the hell would I do that?” He says, confused as to how you came to that conclusion.
Your eyes widen and you turn to look at him again. “Really??? But… I mean we…”
“If anyone should be sorry here, it’s me. I mean I must’ve been really out of my mind last night.”
You frown. What does he mean by that?
“Seriously, I’m the man here so… If you were drunk as well and I agreed to stay over, then I must’ve been taking advantage of you. And that’s…” He looks away with a sense of shame, clenching his fist. “I’m a real asshole if that’s the case so. It should be your decision if you want to resign.” He states very matter of factly. Even though it's no ones fault really, since you both were pretty intoxicated and it was consented. But of course he feels he should take responsibility, when the consequences of a man using a woman in that way were far steeper than the other way around.
You take in what he’s saying for a moment. “Wait… what?” You look confused now when he glances back over at you. “Take advantage of me? Do you… Remember what happened last night?”
He laughs a little flatly. “Actually no, unfortunately. Mind filling me in?”
You just stare at him for a moment in disbelief. You hadn’t even considered that he might not remember.
“I mean I remember bits and pieces.. But it gets pretty blurry after we left the pub… Uh...” He meets eye contact with you after looking around a bit awkwardly. “By any chance did we end up uh… Yknow-“
“No.” You cut him off, reassuring him. “No we didn’t… Go all the way. If that’s what you were gonna ask.”
A wave of relief finally washes over him hearing this. Of course. Of course you didn’t.
You see his body physically relax. It kinda makes you a little sad, though you’re not sure why.
“You’re.. relieved.” You say, looking back at the cup in your hands.
“Of course I am. If I couldn’t remember doing something important like that with you for the first time, I would feel like a piece of shit.”
Your cheeks heat up at this, looking away from him. “That’s what you said… last night…” You respond quietly.
“Huh?”
“We um. We were gonna do it, but… You stopped me. You said you wanted to be sober… the first time you got to have me like that.” You inform him.
His cheeks heat up now. He said that? While he was drunk?
“I definitely would have had us going all the way if you hadn’t stopped me. I really wanted to…Um,” You hand fidgets with the cup. “Anyways. I’m sorry. If anything, I was the one responsible. I didn’t realize you were that drunk.”
And now his erection that had partially started to go away, is back again. From thinking about how that might’ve played out. The two of you about to have sex, but he stopped you even though you wanted it seemingly so bad. You… wanted him.
He brings his hand over the bottom half of his face and looks off again, lost in this thought. You really wanted him. He couldn’t believe it.
When he doesn’t answer you, you glance over at him, seeing him red and lost in thought. “Are you okay?” You ask cautiously.
“Okay…?” He still doesn’t look at you. “I…”
You brace for maybe some scolding. You’re still really not sure how he's taking this.
“I feel amazing.” Your eyes widen before he looks at you again. “We really almost went all the way… But it turns out I had the willpower, even drunk, to stop. Which is what I was worried I didn’t do. Not only that, but… You don’t feel like it was a mistake, right? What happened last night?”
“No, of course not! I mean.. I wish maybe we couldn’t have ended up like that sober like you said, but…” Your voice trails off, not sure what you were even gonna say after that.
There's a beat of silence.
“Well... We’re sober now, right?” He says suddenly.
The two of you just kind of stare at eachother. You feel your face get hotter when you realize what he’s implying.
“You… Want to do it right now?”
He scratches the back of his head and gives an embarrassed laugh. “Ah, sorry sorry! You’re right, maybe I’m jumping the gun still. I should probably take you on a date first.”
Your mouth turns up into a smile, and you let out a laugh. He relaxes again hearing this, smiling at you now.
“What’s so funny?” He asks teasingly.
Once you stop laughing, you stand up and walk closer to where he is. You place your water and toast back down. His heart beats a little faster when you sit down right next to his chest and bring your face in close. The two of you share an intimate gaze for a few moments, and Reigen glances at your lips for a split second. You slowly lean your face in closer to his, and you let him make the final move in to meet your lips, connecting the two of you again finally.
The kiss feels soft and gentle, not like any of the ones from yesterday. You keep it going for a while, and then pull back slowly. “You free today?” You ask, smiling.
“I can always be free, for you.” He responds easily, eyes lidded.
“Lets go on that date then~”
———————————————————————
Remembering last night:
It's midnight on a Friday.
You’re sitting across the table from Reigen, the two of you at a pub you can’t remember the name of. Laughter rings through the place, blending with other groups of people around you, the two of you having nonstop drunken banter.
You’d just come from Reigen's favorite soba place, where you had already had a couple drinks. Serizawa had offered to make sure Mob got home afterwards (but that man knew what he was doing). So now it was just the two of you.
You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a while, and you feel so happy right now you could just die. Your chin is propped up in your hand, the other holding a bottle, listening to the man in front of you babble on about his adorable nonsense. Watching Reigen with that big smile, waving his arms around, his face painted pink with a drunken glow. You could stay here forever and ever.
Or at least you thought.
Truthfully though, maybe you were a little careless with your drinking. The two of you kept the same pace with drinks, but Reigen's got just about as much tolerance as you of course, so you're both equally fucked up. But maybe it was something you ate then? Because you start to feel sick.
You don’t want to spoil the moment and tell him this, but you also don’t want to end up puking everywhere. So, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, where you do infact throw up into the toilet.
“Are you alright?” A women in the stall over asks you.
But then you’re laughing. You’re laughing and giggling and hiccing between each one. You probably sound insane, but you don’t care. Even throwing up, you just cant stop thinking about him, and how happy you are. You love your job. You love your life. It's all thanks to him.
“Um… ma’am?” The woman asks again, more concerned.
You assure her you’re alright. And when you’re feeling better again, you clean yourself up, take a piece of gum in your mouth, and walk back out like nothing happened! Perhaps you used to be a pretty consistent drinker when you were in college, so this isn’t new to you. You just wanted to get back to him as soon as possible.
Though, Reigen did have to wait for a little while, so by the time you’re back, his drink is finished, and his head is down on the table. You feel a little guilty, and you’re now more sober than you were before. So, you decided to pay for the bill while he’s got his head down.
When you walk back over, you kneel next to him and tap his shoulder.
“YEAH yeah im leaving soon! I jusgotta wait for my.. my….. She’s inthe bathroom.” He babbles, waving his hand around, but not bothering to look up. Someone must have come over to him while you were gone.
You giggle a little “Reigen, it’s me.” You inform him. His head immediately shoots up to look at you, and your eyes widen at his sudden energy.
“HEYY! You’re back! Woman of the houur!” He slurs.
You smile and take your bottle off the table. He watches your lips, somewhat mesmerized, as you put the bottle up to them and chug down the rest of it. Then you put your hand under his arm to help lift him to his feet. “Cmon, let’s get out of here! I think we stayed long enough.”
He just hums as he lets you help him up, happily leaned into you as you two stumble toward the door.
“Did I tell you how good you look inat dress?” He says into your ear as he continues to lean on you.
You blush, smiling, guiding him outside “Mhm..” you reply softly.
“I did???”
“Yeah. A few times.” You giggle.
“Oh. Well, shit.” He says, still smiling.
He pulls back from you to try to stand straight again, stumbling a little. You go to grab him to stop him from falling over, stumbling a little yourself. You both seemingly catch and steady eachother, then start laughing again. When your laugher dies down, his face is close to yours. You both end up just staring at eachother for a while, drunkenly lost in each others eyes. Like, literally it’s so obvious how you both feel for each other right now, but your minds are so foggy you still don’t notice it yet.
A car honks in the road and snaps you out of it. You clear your throat and move your head to look out into the street, but his eyes stay glued on you.
“Okay.. shouuuld I call you a taxi?” You offer, still not looking at him.
He furrows his brows a bit. “What about you?”
“I think I can walk from here. Myyy apartment is likeee…” you put your finger on your lips. “Overrr there! Like right there.” You point vaguely in one direction, turning back to him with a smile.
“Mmmm yeah no.” He says. “If I’m taking a taxi, yourre not walking home alone.” He pulls out his phone to call both of you a taxi.
“Okay byeeee!! See you tomorrow!” You call out, and he looks up to realize you’re already running off in the direction you had pointed to.
“H-hey!” He shouts, not hesitating to start running after you.
Though you’re both running pretty slow, not like you can run at full speed with how intoxicated you are, you’re both going the same speed so you stay ahead of him for a while. It’s more like a playful chase after a minute as he calls out for you, smiling and scolding you for not letting him call you a taxi.
Finally, after a couple minutes he catches up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey! You shhouldnt make a.. drunguy run liike.. thaat.” He slurs, breathing a little heavy.
“We’re here!” You say smiling.
“Huh?”
“This issmy apartment.” You inform him, starting to fish for your key from your purse.
“Ohhh… It really was close, huh?” He mumbles, just gazing up at the building.
You find the key and hold it up victoriously like it was a huge accomplishment. Reigen stifles a laugh.
There’s a bit of an awkward silence after.
“Do you uhh… Need help up the stairs?” He offers, as if he would be the one to HELP you up the stairs right now.
You turn to look at him and give him a knowing smile that he can’t really read. He’s just thinking about how pretty you are with rosy cheeks in the moonlight. A cheesy thought he tells himself he wouldn’t be having sober. He really doesn’t want to go home suddenly.
But you say “Sure” anyways to his offer, because you didn’t want him to leave either. And maybe that’s why you refused the taxi and made him chase you here. Maybe you thought that if you had gone with him in a taxi, you’d have no excuse to have him stay over. Or maybe you just didn’t want him to pay for your taxi. Who knows. You wont admit it.
So then you two are stumbling up the stairs together. His arm is under yours now, acting like he’s helping, but really you think you’re keeping him steady as well. It’s only one flight of stairs though before you’re standing at your front door.
You turn to look up at him and he swallows hard, not making eye contact.
Should he ask? No, no way. You would absolutely turn him down. Plus, he’s your boss. If he asks you it’d be a little inappropriate right?
He decides in his brain that he’ll just head home, accepting it.
“Well! (Y/n)!” He says a little too loudly, smacking his hands onto your shoulders. “It’s been fun! Thank you forr drinking with me tonight. I cant quite think of anyone else I’d want to have um. Drank with.” He tries to say professionally with his whole business persona, suddenly trying to hide his intoxication as well as he can.
You smile. “Are youuu going home?”
“Well I can’t imagine I'd be going anywhere else.” He says jokingly, smiling back at you.
“Reigen, do you want to stay over?” You offer sweetly, which totally catches him off-guard.
His professional demeanor leaves him as suddenly as it came. His hands drop off your shoulders. “H-huh? Why?” He stutters without thinking.
“Mmm…” You look down at your shoes to hide your blushing from him. “I just thought maybe, your feet hurt from running. Anddd it’ll be hard to call a taxi at this time of night, so. I mean I don’t mind..” You start rambling your words.
God you’re adorable. He thinks with wide eyes as he watches you. You really wanted him to stay over, so much that you’re saying every reason you can think of! How could he turn you down?
“Okay.” He agrees with one word, and you look back up at him a little surprised. You stare into his eyes and he swears you do something to him that no one ever has before. He’s never felt this way. He wants you so bad he can’t even believe it himself. A sudden neediness washes over him.
So you let him in, and you help him take his coat off after you close the door. Your every touch makes him shiver now and he can’t think of anything to say, he just lets you do whatever.
You lead him over to the kitchen where you pour the both of you a glass of water. He's glancing around, examining the place you live everyday, until you hand him his glass. You both lean on the kitchen counter, chugging water in silence.
“How you feelin?” You ask, sounding exhausted yourself.
“Honestly? Like shiit.” He says plainly, not looking at you. He’s been staring off for a while now.
“Do you gotsto use the bathroom? It’s down the hall.” You offer, leaning your head onto the palm of your hand.
“Not cus of the alcohol.” He admits.
Confused, you tilt your head more. “Hm?”
There’s no response. After a few moments, you lay the back of your head on the counter and move over a little so that your face is under his chin, your body bent over in a weird way. “What you thinkin?”
He looks down at you with an intense, almost lustful look that you certainly weren’t ready for. Suddenly you get very flustered.
To tell the truth, your heart has been racing this whole time. You’ve been trying not to make it obvious how badly you want him. You’re not usually a horny drunk, but as soon as you were out of the pub building, feeling his body on you and his breath on your neck. God. You just had to have him. You didn’t think he’d actually end up in your apartment though, and you’re not quite sure what to do from here. You were trying not to make things awkward but…
Reigen looks back up and you have to calm down for a second from that intense eye contact. He broke it because he couldn’t keep holding it either. His thoughts keep wondering. The opportunities he never thought he'd be good enough to receive, but here he is. The two of you alone, hazy, standing in a dark kitchen, the night still young. But he had to be sure you wanted this too. That you were having the same thoughts when you invited your drunken boss inside.
You stand back up straight and watch him. He looks really deep in thought, still.
“Hey.” You place your hand on his shoulder, letting it fall down a bit to caress his arm. It sends another shiver though him. “Tell me what’s up.” You insist.
He now stands up straight and moves in close to you, certainly too close to be professional at all. Your bodies are maybe an inch from touching. Your eyes stare straight at his lips as he speaks, shocked at the sudden close proximity.
“(Y/n), I’m about to do something I think I might regret, and I need you to stop me if you don’t want me to do it, okay?”
Your heart is beating a million times faster now. You feel like you’re frozen in place, you can’t breathe, because you somehow already know what’s about to happen.
When you don’t answer, he places a hand on your chin and pushes your face up to look at him. “Okay?” He repeats.
You nod attentively, and you both mirror the same lustful, longing look now.
Not another second goes by before your lips are connected. You’re not even sure who leaned in first, and you don’t really care either. Your lips push against eachother with way too much eagerness. You grab his tie to yank him closer, and both his hands reach up to grasp your face. I mean really, it’s like you’d been holding this back for years.
One of his hands reaches down to grab onto your hip, using the hold to push you backwards against the counter. His body presses against yours, and you can feel his erection already. Your tongues tangle and untangle in this extremely passionate makeout that you’d both been wanting for so long.
You reach a hand up the back of his neck and grab a handful of his hair, which pulls a slight moan out of him against your lips. Hearing his noises causes you to follow suit and do the same, the two of you starting to voice erotic groans and moans against eachother every few seconds. They echo through the empty, silent apartment.
The sounds tip you over the edge. You cant wait anymore. You need him. Now.
You finally pull back from him, breathless, and you pause for a second to stare at your leftover lipstick smudged a bit on his lips. And god, the way he just looks so whipped right now. He’s breathing heavy against your face, eyes lidded, totally entranced by you. It turns you on like crazy.
He goes to lean in, desperate to connect the two of you again. You grant him this and lean in to meet him once again, but you also slip out of his firm grasp that was pinning you against the counter, now pushing his chest to lead him backwards down the hallway.
He lets you push him easily, stumbling back as the two of you continue to kiss intensely. You start undoing his shirt before you even walk through the door, and his hands desperately explore your body.
When you get in, you practically shove him onto the bed. He adjusts himself a little before you climb on and straddle his hips, and his eyes never leave you. He watches you, mesmerized, as you move your hair out of your face before leaning down to continue kissing him again. But this time, the kiss is slower, more erotic as you sensually mix your tongues together. Your hands caress his exposed chest, feeling his shaky breathing. You kiss and pull back and kiss again, letting out a breathy exhale everytime. It's driving him crazy. He palms at your thighs and your ass like he's eager to feel every part of you.
You can feel his erection through his pants again as you lower your full weight down onto him, the warmth and twitching against you making you more wet than you already were. You start to drag your hips back and forth, rubbing against him. He lets out an embarrassingly needy moan this time, louder than before. He can feel you smile against his lips before you start to pull back again.
“D-don’t even.” He warns before you can even say anything. The first thing he’s said since this started.
There's a sort of smug look on your face. “Soo sensitive...” You lean down to his ear, bringing your voice low. “I think it's so sexy when you moan like that for me.” You tease, and lean down to start kissing his neck.
His breath hitches and he lets out another moan. Holy shit.
He’s starting to realize how much you’ve been making him feel good this whole time. And you’re being so dominant, which he wasn’t totally expecting, but is enjoying every second. He cant tell if it’s the alcohol, or if this is how you always are. But he cant believe this is actually happening, that he gets to have you like this, and with his fogginess right now, it feels like…
“Fuck… Am I dreaming right now?” He says his thoughts out loud as he drags his hand through his hair. His chest rises and lowers as he breaths heavily. You laugh a little at this, the sound vibrating against his skin.
“Do you wanna be?” You ask, pulling back again, but only enough for your noses to barely be touching, your hair hanging over his face.
“What? No, of course not.” He answers, like it was the easiest question he’d ever gotten. Though, he’s pretty sure he’s had plenty of dreams about you just like this.
“We might not remember in the morning.. We could do whatever we want..” You entice him, tracing a finger around his chest, implying that you didn’t have to worry about anything else right now. Like the fact that you’re working together, and this may make things awkward depending how the morning goes. Honestly you don’t know how drunk you are at this point, the lust mixed with whatever was left from the pub was making it feel like you were on cloud 9. You could remember nothing tomorrow, or everything.
“Mm… yeah…” He frowns a bit. You start to place gentle kisses on his face to try and relax him again.
“It’s okayyy, don’t worry about tomorrow.” You softly reassure him between kisses, though you’re not really sure what for. You can just sense a different vibe from him now. You think maybe he got anxious thinking about what comes after this.
He suddenly decides to sit up, pushing you up to be sitting on his lap, and immediately kissing you again. His hands stay grasping your hips and he begins to place kisses on you now, moving from your ear down to your neck. You gasp a bit at first and giggle lightly as he continues down, holding his shoulders.
“I’ve- Always wanted- To do this with you- Yknow?” He speaks between kisses. The genuine confession makes you blush, starting to lose a bit of your cockiness from before.
He then chooses a spot on your neck and starts to suck on the area, biting it and dragging his tongue across the one spot. You gasp and moan at the sudden pleasure it gives you.
“M-me too.” You push out, breathless.
He starts to massage into your thighs with his thumbs, furthering your pleasure. You decide to start rubbing against him again, needing the friction as you ached for him already.
He lets out a deep groan against your skin. “Fuck.” He starts kissing you again, moving down to your breasts. Your dress was still on, but the neck hanged quite low, showing a lot of cleavage. He had to try all day not to drag his eyes down to this area, to stay respectful. Now he’s getting to kiss them and caress them. It was almost funny, he can’t believe it’s real.
He starts leaving hickeys on the bare exposed areas of your chest. You moan and whine as you continue to dry hump against him. His hands wonder your body, eventually finding their way back to you ass and dragging up the hem of your dress so that your panties are showing. You think he’s going to start taking your dress off, but he doesn’t. After he’s left a few marks on you, he pulls your lips back to his again.
As you continue dragging on him at a steady pace, he starts trying to rub against you harder, like he feels as desperate for you right now as you do for him. He’s either pushing your hips down or bucking his hips up, and his groans sound needy. The longer you go, the more he sounds like he's about to reach his limit. Did he want to get off just from dry humping?
You can't lie, you wanted all of him already, it was driving you insane. This wasn't enough for you to finish, but it was hard to bring yourself to stop, as you listen to his noises. It was addicting, hearing him like this, it made your mind fuzzy with lust. Seeing him be so sensitive just from this though, made you so curious how he would sound going all the way, with your walls fully wrapped around his length. How overstimulated would he get?
You finally stop moving for a moment and push back from the kiss only so you’re a few centimeters away again. He lets out a groan as you stop everything altogether. “Reigen… I need you inside me.” You confess, voice low.
He swallows, keeping dazed eye contact with you as he breathes heavily. You try to search his eyes for any sign to stop or continue, but you don’t know what he’s thinking.
He hasn’t really tried to take anything off you yet. It’s like the foreplay has kind of plateaued, but yet he was grabbing at you and moaning for you, looking at you like he couldn’t wait anymore. Was he waiting for you to initiate it?
Then he nods, which confuses you a bit. Why was he so unsure? Was it his first time or something? There’s no way.
Nonetheless, he gave you consent. “Stop me if you don't wan it, okay?” You say, mimicking what he said to you before this all began. He nods again, still giving you a lustful, obedient look.
God he’s cute.
You connect your lips again, letting you get back into the rhythm before continuing. You reach your hand down and start to palm at the buldge in his dresspants. It twitches against your hand as you start rubbing and massaging it. You can feel a bit of precum leaking through as well. He whines into your mouth as you make him feel good. You can’t believe how submissive he is. You figured maybe he would be, you can’t lie and say you’ve never considered it. But really, it’s so intoxicating.
After palming him for a bit as a warm up, your hand finally moves up to look for the top button. You find it and undo it, moving to the zipper next and then-
He pulls back from you. “Wait!” He breathes out, surprising you. You immediately stop what you’re doing and look at him.
“I… Um…” He stutters, blushing and still catching his breath.
“Wha is it?” You ask gently, tilting your head, moving your hands away from his zipper now, placing them on his shoulders.
You’re concerned why he looks so nervous, and consider that maybe your virgin theory earlier was right?
“I just… Sorry I-“ His head spins as he trys to voice his thoughts.
“You don have to be sorry. Iss okay if you don’t wanta do it.” You assure him, slurring your words.
“Noo, I do! I do!” He retaliates quickly, shaking his head. “I-It’s just uh…”
You wait for him to explain, watching him glance around a bit.
“Reigen… Are you a virgin?” You finally ask, letting your invasive thoughts win, completely throwing him off.
“WHAT?! O-Of course not!! I’m 28!” He defends, hurt that you think he’d be so game-less. Though, it has been a really long time since he’s slept with someone.
“There's nothin wrong with it! I understand if you-“
“I'm not a virgin! End of story.” He repeats firmly, and you put your hands up in defense, smiling a little.
He scoffs “Jeez… I’m tryin ta be vulnerable here and you’re cracking jokes.”
You laugh. “Alright, alright! Jus tell me.”
It’s silent for a bit then, and you just wait for his response now.
“(Y/n)… I really like you.” He starts, and your eyes widen a little. “Like, I REALLY like you a lot. This isn’t just the alcohol talking. It’s allll Reigen. I’ve wanted you like this since the first day I met you.”
You were not expecting a confession right now, you’re so caught off-guard you can’t think of anything to do than just stare at him in surprise. He doesn’t move at all saying this to you either, the two of you just sit in stillness.
He rambles on. “But I also wantt you in other ways... An I mean I might as well tell you if we’ll wake up with foggy memory tomorrow, but I been thinking about how I should ask you out for a while now. And well…” He looks around a bit. “This isn’t how I pictured it.”
Your heart flutters, your cheeks heating up.
“And it’s not like I’m not enjoying this I mean, fuck. This is everything I ever dreamed of, but…” He looks back into your eyes again. “I guess what I’m saying is… When we have sex, I want to be able to remember it. I wanna have you for the first time with the both of us completely sober. If we start our relationship off like this then it just feels..."
“I understand.” You finish for him, giving him a soft smile. His confession really moves you, shifting the mood completely to one thats more soft.
“Seriously, like, this is really really hard for me to turn this down! I mean I want go all night with you like this right now honestly I've never felt this fucking good iin my life. It just.. doesn feel right. Like tomorrow I think I mihght feel...-” He continues to ramble to explain himself, though you’ve already made up your mind as well. He’s totally right.
“No, I get it. You’re right. I want to be sober when we do it for the first time too.” You assure him. He smiles back at you, letting out a small breath of relief.
You lean into his ear again. “And I wanna be able to remember clearly all the cute noises you make when I make you feel good.” You add on, teasing him, moving to place a kiss on his cheek.
He blushes as a shiver runs down his spine. His dick twitches against your thigh, to your amusement. “Alrightt… Don make me change my mind now.” He says jokingly, bringing your face close like he's scolding you. You laugh. But he also means it. You’re really such a sweet temptation, it's a miracle he turned you down, especially this drunk. He almost just said fuck it and let his pleasure take over. But you are really special to him, something came over him. He doesn’t want this to feel like some shameful hookup tomorrow. If you hadn’t even mentioned tomorrow, he might’ve just mindlessly gone through with anything you wanted to do. He was ready to follow your lead. But he knew that you’d probably regret it tomorrow as well, and he should feel responsible, being the man and your literal boss.
You pull him into an embrace, and he does so back, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“I louve you.” You mumble, the words spilling without even thinking about it. His eyes open wide at the very real confession from you, seeming even more intense than his. It’s a phrase neither of you should be ready to say yet, but just sort of slipped out in your drunken, now exhausted haze. Since the lust all wore off suddenly, you immediately flipped the switch and are now feeling all the drowsiness you'd been pushing off.
After a while of staying like this, you think you're just gonna fall asleep on his shoulder like this. You're just about to fall out of consciousness when you hear Reigen's stomach make a noise, alerting you for a moment.
“I…” He stirs a bit against you. “Shit. I feel liike I’m gonna hurl.”
Your eyes open, immediately pushing backwards from his chest to get a look at him. He DOES look like he’s about to hurl. It must’ve finally caught up to him.
“O-Okay leht me get you a trash can!” You panic a little, not wanting him to puke on your… anything, preferably. As you sleepily stumble around the room trying to find it, Reigen stands, only making his nausea worse.
He gags, and you turn to him with a look of horror.
“BATHROOM!!” You shout, getting behind him to push him there. He just barely makes it to the toilet, but manages to get it all out inside the bowl. You take a big sigh of relief.
You rub his back for a minute or two, and you’re reminded of when you used to do this for your girl friends. It’s kinda funny.
But then he assures you that he’ll be fine and that you should get to bed, once he sees you dozing off while squatting next to him.
You nod and do so, planting a kiss on his head before you leave him be. When he gets back to the room, feeling better now, he sees you already under the covers fast asleep. He climbs in next to you, turning to gaze at you for a little while, brushing the hair out of your eyes.
“I love you too yknow…” he says, though he knows you’re no longer conscious to hear it.
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