20s (He/They)BLACK(Asexual Trans Guy) POC Content Consumer 🏳️⚧️♊🔞🏳️🌈 An average fan with a love for Kpop, Anime, MCU, BG3,SPN, Avatar, and Twilight. I am and always will be horny on main.
cw: mdni, smut, piv, many liberties taken and likely inaccuracies about the female praying mantis (1.7k)
Simon first saw you at a handover briefing, half the base packed into a room that smelled like instant coffee and damp boots, and you were three seats down with your chin propped on one hand, listening. That was all. But he’s spent his entire adult life reading rooms for the thing that's wrong, and his eye snagged on you and would not come loose, and he couldn't for the life of him say why. Big eyes. Too big, maybe, though he didn't let himself ruminate on it. Arms a touch too long where they folded on the table, the line of them not adding up quite right against the rest of you.
He did not look away like he should’ve. A normal man sees a pretty stranger and has the decency to glance off; Simon’s known for quite some time he was not a normal man – and he fixed on you through the whole briefing… and out into the corridor… and across the next nine days, with the forbearing, unblinking attention of a lion in tall grass. He learned your shift pattern before he learned your name. He could have told you, by the end of that first week, the exact rhythm of your walk from sound alone. He knew which mug was yours, and what the base note of your perfume was: myrrh.
He didn’t find any of this strange – Simon's baseline is strange. The wanting came in effortless and stupid, the way it does for everyone else in the world — he simply routed it through the only instincts he's got, which are a predator's.
It was Soap who ruined him.
Soap caught him at it in the mess — Simon parked against the far wall with a coffee going cold in his fist, focused on watching you eat. Soap followed the line of his stare, found you at the end of it, and grinned like the cheshire cat. "Oh, her," he said, delighted. "Aye, she's one of the hybrids. Mantis." He said it the way you'd mention someone supported the wrong football team. Then, because Soap cannot leave fuck-all alone, he leaned in and cheerfully added, "You'll want to be careful there, big man. Mantis females, ehh— they eat the fella after. During, sometimes. Bite the head clean off and finish the job. Read it somewhere once." He clapped Simon on the shoulder. "Best of luck."
And then he left. Wandered off to find some grub, whistling.
Simon stood very still against the wall, then. Felt the information go into him like a splinter you can't find to pull.
Bite the head clean off?
He looked back at you across the room — you'd tilted your head to listen to the person beside you, smooth and too far round, big dark eyes catching the strip-lights — and the want did not go anywhere, that was the horror of it, the want stayed exactly where it was and the new knowledge simply moved in alongside it and started rearranging some things.
He wanted you.
And being Simon, he did not do the sensible thing and walk away. He did the research.
The thing about dating Simon, you would learn, is that you have never in your life been so well fed.
You understood it maybe six weeks in, when you opened his fridge expecting the usual bachelor wasteland and found it stocked like he was provisioning for a siege. Yogurt. Three kinds of cheese. A bowl of cut fruit under cling film. A tin labeled ‘FROG LEGS’.
It was risk management dressed up as romance, which in fairness is mostly what romance is… Isn’t it?
He'd taken Soap's splinter and built a guideline out of it. He knows — he has read, in studies he will deny owning — that the trouble starts when you're hungry. Or stressed. Or both, which is the cocktail that turns a nice evening into something a coroner writes up.
He has constructed an entire relationship on the single principle of never ever letting you get to that point.
You'll be reaching for him on the sofa, hand sliding up under his shirt, mouth at the hot pulse in his throat, and he'll go rigid and say, in that flat rumble of his, "When d’you last eat?"
"Simon," you sigh,
"Tha’ s’not an answer, love."
"I'm not hungry–,"
"I saw you skipped lunch."
He watches a lot. He watches you eat with open, naked satisfaction, the way other men watch football, and the first time you caught him at it you'd put your fork down and said ‘did you want some?’ and he'd said ‘no, you have it,’ and meant it with his whole strange heart.
The man can produce a plate of food out of thin air, and there's no point arguing, because he'll simply outlast you, planted there immovable as a boulder until you've eaten enough that his shoulders come down from around his ears.
He's never once said the word out loud. Cannibalism. He skirts it like a tripwire. Early on you'd tilted your head at him a degree too sharp while he was shaving — honestly just affection — and caught his eye in the mirror, and he'd nicked his own jaw and not flinched at the blood at all, only at you. Razor frozen halfway up his neck. The muscle in his cheek jumped and his pupils shrank to pinpricks and you'd thought: Oh. He's frightened. Big, terrible Ghost, who garrotes men in their sleep, scared witless by the tilt of your head.
You felt bad for almost a full minute.
You have, in fairness, never confirmed or denied a thing. When he goes still and careful you let him. It's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for you, this grim devout terror, and you're not about to spoil it with reassurance.
Soap, for the record, has really no idea what he started. He'll see the two of you in the canteen, Simon angling the better-fed plate toward you and think, good lad, taking my advice.
Simon had you down — the eyes that hold on him no matter where he moves, that dark point in each one that stays, tracking, while the rest of your face goes soft and human; the too-far head-turn; the way your hands fold up against your chest when you go truly still, wrists tucked, prayer-shaped.
He did not account for the wings.
You hadn't told him because you genuinely forget they're there — folded flat along your spine, a faint seam under the skin, a sheen across your shoulder blades he'd assumed was an old scar. You can't really fly. You never thought to mention them. Plus, it seemed like he knew plenty.
But now he's got you under him with your shirt long gone and his mouth working at the junction of your neck and collar, and there's none of the careful bracing tonight — he fed you an hour ago, he made sure, he watched you finish — and now there's just his weight and his hands and the husky sounds he makes against your skin. One big palm splays flat on your stomach and slides lower, fingers finding you already slick, stroking slow over your clit until your hips chase it on their own. "So soft, love," he murmurs, like he's not shaking. He gets two fingers inside you, curls them, and your whole spine bows off the mattress.
That's when they snap open.
In the dark it's monstrous; a sudden unfolding of something unknown and far too wide for the room, fanning from your back in a wash of color he can't quite name in the half-light. A deep iridescent purple shot through with flares of red, eyespots blooming towards the tips. One instant flat girl, the next a thing twice your size.
Simon goes to stone, shuts down, every system offline. This is it, he thinks — this is the bit where she takes the head. His fingers still inside you. He holds his breath, bracing.
You make a small strangled noise and pull them back down.
They fold away almost as fast as they came, gone into brackets around your spine, and you throw an arm over your face and refuse to look at him. Your ears are hot. He can feel it where his jaw rests on your cheek.
"Sorry," you whisper. "That just— happens sometimes. It– it doesn't mean anything bad, I swear… just… you… just feels good, is all.”
The single most dangerous woman he's ever shared a bed with has flashed her startle display because he got two fingers knuckle deep inside of her, and now she's mortified, hiding her face like a kid. Four months of Soap's splinter works its way loose, pushing out of his muscle, and falls out somewhere in the dark, and Simon — who has never in his life felt safe and certainly never expected to find it here, of all the deranged places — starts to come softly apart with relief. He pulls himself back to look at you.
"Le’me see you," he says, and peels your arm off your face, and when you do his eyes are doing something you've never seen on him: wet at the edges, wide open, not afraid of you at all.
Worse than not afraid. Pleased with himself.
He leans back down and kisses you hard, pushing his fingers deeper and says it against your mouth because he’s got nothing left to lose: "Do it again. Want to watch."
So you do.
And Simon fucks you slow and then not slow at all, and every time he tips you over they snap wide behind you and fill the room with color, and by the third time he's stopped flinching and started hunting it, smug, learning the exact angle that does it. When he finally comes it's with his forehead pressed to yours and your wings open around the both of you like something out of a church window, and he's saying something into your jaw, rough and ruined, that takes you a second to parse as all mine, there she is, there's my good girl.
Afterward you bite him. Just a little on the shoulder, just to be a menace, licking the taste of iron from your canine.
He doesn't even twitch. "Knew it," he says into your hair, wrecked and grinning where you can't see. "Tellin’ Soap he was right."
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”
“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
“about ten thousand.”
“how many do you have?”
“three hundred.”
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.
“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”
takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.
“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”
Summary: You tell your husband you're pregnant for the first time.
Masterlist
Namjoon
You find him in the living room, standing near the bookshelf, one hand absently straightening a row of spines he’s already organized a hundred times. It’s a nervous habit—you recognize it immediately.
“Namjoon,” you say.
He turns at once. He always does. There’s warmth in his eyes, concern rising before you’ve even spoken again. “Hey,” he says gently. “You okay?”
You nod, even though your hands are trembling. You cross the room and place the test on the coffee table between you. For a moment, he just looks at it, brow furrowing slightly, like he’s trying to understand a difficult sentence.
Then it clicks.
“Oh,” he breathes.
He sits beside you, careful, as if the world has suddenly become fragile. He picks it up, holding it lightly, and you see the way his jaw tightens—not with fear exactly, but with the weight of something real settling into his chest.
“You’re pregnant,” he says, more to himself than to you.
“Yes.”
He exhales slowly and leans forward, elbows on his knees, one hand rubbing over his face. When he looks back at you, his eyes are glassy, honest.
“I’m… a little scared,” he admits. “I didn’t realize I would be until right now.” A quiet, shaky laugh slips out. “I just want to do this right.”
You take his hand, threading your fingers through his, and he squeezes back immediately, grounding himself in you.
“But I’m happy,” he continues, voice steadying. “I really am.” He looks around the room—the shared space, the life you’ve built. “We made something. There’s going to be someone else here. That’s… incredible.”
He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you with familiar warmth, solid and safe. You feel his chin rest against your hair, protective without trying.
“We’ll figure it out together,” he murmurs. “I don’t need to have all the answers yet. I just need to be here. For you. For them.”
His hand moves gently to your stomach, hesitant, almost reverent.
“Hi,” he whispers, a small smile breaking through everything else. “I’m Appa.”
Jimin
You tell him at night.
It’s just the two of you in bed, the room lit only by the lamp on his side, casting everything in a warm, sleepy glow. Jimin is half-propped against the pillows, glasses perched low on his nose, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. When you say his name, there’s something in your voice that makes him look up immediately.
“Mm?” he hums softly. “What is it?”
You place the test in his hand.
He blinks down at it, confusion flickering for just a second before his breath catches. His fingers curl around it instinctively, like he needs to protect it.
“…Is this—” His voice breaks, barely audible. He clears his throat and tries again. “Are you… pregnant?”
You nod.
Jimin’s eyes fill instantly. Not dramatically—just quietly, like he’s holding too much feeling in too small a space. He brings a hand to his mouth, shoulders lifting with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh, love…”
He sets the test carefully on the nightstand, as if it’s something precious, then turns fully toward you. His hands find yours, warm and gentle, thumbs brushing your knuckles in slow, soothing strokes.
“I’ve always thought about this,” he admits, voice soft and honest. “Being a dad.” He lets out a tiny, nervous laugh. “I used to pretend I wouldn’t care either way, but… I kind of hope it’s a girl.”
You smile, heart swelling.
“I don’t know why,” he continues, cheeks warming slightly. “I just… I’ve always wanted a daughter. Someone small I could protect. Someone who’d hold my hand.” His eyes flicker to your stomach, already full of devotion. “I think I’d be really good at loving her.”
He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he needs the reassurance that this is real.
“I’m scared,” he confesses quietly. “But it’s a good kind of scared. Like standing on the edge of something beautiful.”
His hand slips beneath the blanket, settling gently over your stomach, barely applying any pressure at all.
“Hi,” he murmurs, voice full of awe. “If you’re my daughter… I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
And in that moment, you know—whoever this child becomes, they will be loved so deeply it almost hurts.
Jin
You tell him in the kitchen because that’s where he always is.
He’s leaning against the counter, snacking on something he swore he wasn’t going to eat before dinner, when you clear your throat and say his name. Jin turns immediately, eyebrows lifting in exaggerated concern.
“Uh-oh,” he says. “That tone usually means I did something.”
You smile despite your nerves and slide the test across the counter toward him.
He squints at it, tilting his head. “Is this… a thermometer?” He looks up at you, grinning. “Because if it is, I promise I feel totally fine—”
Then he actually looks at it.
His mouth falls open.
“…Wait.”
He picks it up, turning it over once, twice, like it might suddenly change its mind. Then his eyes widen and he lets out a loud, incredulous laugh.
“No way,” he says. “No way. You’re joking. This is a prank, right? Hidden camera? Am I about to go viral?”
You shake your head.
Jin presses a hand to his chest dramatically. “Wow. I can’t believe this. Me? A dad?” He looks down at the test again, then back at you, eyes sparkling. “Do you know how funny our kid is going to be?”
He hops over to you and wraps you in a hug, squeezing just a little tighter than usual, excitement bubbling over. “This is incredible. This is amazing. This is—” He gasps. “Wait. I get to make so many dad jokes now.”
You laugh, and he beams like that was his mission all along.
“Oh, I am going to be so annoying,” he continues, already plotting. “Birthday parties? Embarrassing. School events? I’m volunteering. I will wear the worst outfit possible.”
He crouches down suddenly, bringing his face level with your stomach, completely serious for half a second. “Hey, kid,” he says solemnly. “Just so you know, you have the most handsome dad ever.”
Then he looks back up at you, smile softer now, a little more sincere.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” he says. “I promise.”
And somehow, with him grinning at you like that, everything feels lighter already.
Taehyung
You tell him when the house is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels earned.
Taehyung is beside you on the couch, relaxed, one arm resting behind you, thumb tracing slow, familiar patterns against your shoulder. When you say his name, he turns fully toward you, reading your face before you even speak.
“What’s going on?” he asks softly.
You hand him the test.
He doesn’t rush it. He looks once, then again—then a slow smile curves across his lips, warm and disbelieving. He exhales through a quiet laugh and leans back slightly, eyes lifting to the ceiling for just a moment, like he’s letting the feeling settle into his bones.
“Well,” he says calmly, “that explains requesting pasta for dinner three nights in a row, doesn’t it?”
You laugh, breathless, and he looks back at you, eyes shining.
“Our first,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.” His hand comes to rest at your waist, steady, possessive in the gentlest way. “A real beginning.”
Then his smile shifts—still soft, but unmistakably playful. He leans in a little closer, voice lowering just for you.
“I guess all that practice finally paid off,” he says smoothly. “I was hoping it would.”
You swat at his arm, laughing, and he chuckles, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips.
“And if I’m being honest,” he adds, brushing a kiss against your knuckles, “I don’t plan on stopping at one.” His eyes flick briefly to your stomach, then back to your face, warm with promise. “I’ve always imagined a full house. I’m very… committed to that vision.”
He pulls you into him then, forehead resting against yours, smile easing into something tender and sincere.
“But for now,” he says softly, hand settling gently over your stomach, “this is perfect. This is everything.”
He presses a kiss to your temple, lingering.
“We’re just getting started.”
And wrapped in his warmth, his certainty, his quiet excitement—you know he means every word.
Yoongi
You tell him without ceremony.
Yoongi is sitting at the table, mug warming his hands, eyes distant like he’s halfway through a thought he hasn’t finished yet. When you say his name, he looks up immediately—focused, attentive. He always notices.
You place the test in front of him.
He doesn’t rush. He looks at it for a long moment, thumb brushing lightly over the plastic, like he’s grounding himself in the shape of it. Then his gaze lifts to yours, something warm and unguarded breaking through his usual reserve.
“…So it’s true,” he says quietly.
You nod.
A small smile touches his lips—barely there, but unmistakable. He exhales, slow and steady, and sets the test carefully on the table, as if it’s something fragile and precious.
He stands and turns toward you fully then, reaching for your hands and holding them between both of his, thumbs warm and reassuring. “How do you feel?” he asks softly.
“Okay,” you say. “A little overwhelmed.”
He nods, like that makes perfect sense. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes closed. The silence between you is gentle, full. When he pulls back, his hand drifts to your stomach, touch tender, almost shy.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice low and careful. “I’m here.”
There’s something deeply sweet in the way he says it—not dramatic, not loud. Just a promise, steady and real.
“You don’t have to worry,” he continues softly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything.” His thumb traces a slow, comforting circle. “I already love you more than I thought I could.”
He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, lingering like he doesn’t want to let go.
And when he pulls you into his chest, arms firm but gentle around you, you feel it completely—
In his quiet way, in every careful touch,
Yoongi is already loving you both with his whole heart.
Jung Kook
You tell him in the late afternoon, sunlight spilling across the living room floor, catching dust in the air. Jung Kook is stretched out on the rug, half-focused on something on his phone, humming quietly to himself. When you say his name, he looks up right away, eyes curious and open.
“Yeah?” he says, smiling. “What’s up?”
You hand him the test.
At first, he grins—like he thinks it’s a joke. Then he actually looks at it.
His smile freezes.
“…Wait,” he says, sitting up fast. “Is this—” He blinks, then looks up at you, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
You nod.
For a second, he doesn’t say anything. You can almost see the thoughts racing—surprise, fear, excitement all colliding at once. Then he exhales, runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a breathless laugh.
“Wow,” he says. “Okay. Wow.”
He stands and starts pacing, hands on his hips, like he doesn’t know what to do with all the energy suddenly buzzing through him. “I mean—I didn’t expect this right now,” he admits, glancing at you. “But I’m not upset. I swear. I’m just… trying to wrap my head around it.”
He stops in front of you, expression serious in a way you don’t see often. He takes your hands, holding them tightly, grounding himself.
“I can do this,” he says, more to himself than to you. Then, louder, steadier: “I will do this.”
His hands slide to your waist, protective, instinctive. “I’ll work harder. I’ll figure it out. You won’t ever have to worry about being taken care of, okay?” His voice softens. “I’ve got you.”
Then, like the weight lifts just a little, that familiar boyish grin peeks through. He crouches down, eye level with your stomach, smiling like he’s meeting someone important.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “It’s me. I’m your Appa.” He laughs softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s wild.”
He looks back up at you, eyes shining with something hopeful and determined.
Hoseok
You tell him in the morning, sunlight pouring into the room like it always seems to do when he’s around.
Hoseok is in the kitchen, music playing softly from his phone as he hums along, moving with that easy, joyful energy of his. When you say his name, he turns immediately, smile bright and expectant.
“Hi, baby.” he says.
You walk over and place the test in his hands.
He looks down at it—and for half a second, he’s quiet.
Then his eyes widen.
Then his mouth opens.
Then he laughs.
“Wait—WAIT,” he says, voice pitching higher with excitement. “Is this real? Is this real real?”
You nod, laughing now too.
He gasps and pulls you into a hug so fast you barely have time to react, arms wrapping around you like sunshine itself. Then he freezes. “Oh! Careful—sorry—gentle hug!” He loosens his grip immediately, hands still warm and protective at your back.
“Oh my god,” he says, eyes shining. “We made a person. A whole tiny person.” He presses a hand to his chest, overwhelmed in the best way. “My heart is—wow. It’s already too full.”
He crouches down in front of you, grinning like he’s discovered the greatest secret in the world. “Hi,” he says brightly to your stomach. “I’m Appa. I love you so, so much.”
He looks back up at you, cheeks warm, smile softer now but no less bright. “I’ve been waiting to give my love to someone like this,” he admits. “I have so much of it.”
He stands and takes your hands, swinging them gently between you, unable to stay still. “This is going to be amazing,” he says with absolute certainty. “You’re going to be amazing. We’re going to be an amazing family.”
He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, then rests his forehead against yours.
“Thank you for choosing me to do this with you,” he murmurs. “I promise—I’ll fill our home with laughter and love.”
And with Hoseok’s joy wrapping around you like warmth, the future already feels bright.
No thoughts just alpha!ghost who grew learning to control his scent and omega!reader who very much...didn't.
Ghost had always been told that spilling your scent everywhere was poor manners, that only children couldn't control their scent. Meanwhile you were taught that having an open scent was essential for communication and perfectly normal.
Which means the first time ghost meets you, his instincts have no idea what to do with such strong happy omega scents suddenly in his space. Ghost grew up with scent blockers at home, and in most public spaces people wear some sort of blocker. You barely have a chance to purr a greeting before he's grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving his face into your neck.
"Mghhggh— omega. Sweet. Good." He rumbles, low and muffled into skin, almost as if he doesn't register it's happening. You can only stand in shocked confusion. Gaze slipping to the still open door of his office and wondering if you should call for help, because you have no idea why he's acting like this and—
"Fuck— you smell good— christ—" ghost holds you tighter, crowding you against the desk. You tentatively lean in to sniff around his scent blockers and get the faintest scent of arousal.
Which is instantly confirmed by his hips rutting forward, his hard cock rubbing against you while he whines "sorry— I don't— fuck that's good—"
Oh. Oh shit. The peices slowly click into place, and you realize exactly what your scent is doing to him, though you always thought this sort of aphrodisiac like reaction was a myth.
You try to soften your scent, knowing it will stress him out if your own scent fluctuates too much, one hand sneaking up to massage the back of his neck "hey. Hey, it's okay. I get it, do what you need to do."
Ghost makes a sound caught between a growl and a keen, pressing the entire length of his body against you. "Fuck— sorry— hold still— omega. Smell good. Mhhh—!"
You've never seen an alpha react like this.
You've also never seen an alpha pop a dry knot in his trousers, and yet thats exactly what ghost just did.
....you. probably shouldn't leave him alone in such a vulnerable state, right? You should stick around in his office, close the door and makes sure he's okay.
You're just being a considerate coworker....or thats what you'll tell yourself later.
Grey Matter - Leon Kennedy x Reader (Fever Saint Part 6)
Summary: Your wound needs to be debrided. Plus side; you're a medic. Downside, you can't do it yourself. Leon learns a lot, even though he feels sick doing so.
Content Warning: Severe gore and lots of pained screaming. Like, literally, so much gore.
Authors Note: Shoutout to @/uwumamiii on Twitch for recognizing my username during one of Antonio's streams! Your support is always loved and its great to make a friend <3
Masterlist | Playlist | AO3 Link
Leon finds supplies first. There’s not many, really. But it’s just barely enough to try and do what he needs to do.
A rusted kettle. A barrel with rainwater. Some random sewing kit buried in the back of a drawer, complete with an old pair of tweezers. He manages to find some vodka, still sealed in a full bottle. It’s close enough to rubbing alcohol that he figures it’s better than nothing. There’s an old hunting knife stashed behind a cabinet. Truly, it’s not a medical kit. It’s barely even a plan. Still, he gets the fire going.
The small stove crackles weakly to life beneath his hands, while rain hammers somewhere far overhead through layers of stone and dirt. Ashley hovers nearby silently, clutching the edge of her jacket so tightly her knuckles are tinted white.
You watch everything with heavy-lidded eyes from where you sit against the wall.
“Need the knife in the flame first. Sterilize it.”
Leon glances back at you, body tense. He can’t help but notice how, even with how pale your face has gone, there’s still a feverish flush to your cheeks. “Yeah. Figured.”
The corner of your mouth twitches faintly before another wave of pain tightens your expression again. He can only watch, body still crouched next to the stove, as your head tilts back, resting against the wall weakly.
The water eventually begins to steam. It's definitely not perfect sterilization. There’s still bits of debris coating the bottom of the pot. But it’s close enough that nobody argues. He’s quick to kneel in front of you again, supplies spread across the floorboards between his knees. Up close, the heat coming off your skin feels genuinely alarming now.
Ashley looks between both of you nervously. “What should I do?”
Your eyes move toward her immediately despite the exhaustion. “Need clean cloth,” you say quietly. “Anything clean.”
Ashley nods quickly and disappears toward the shelves again, clearly grateful for instructions. Her arms are frantic as she tears through the room. Deep down, Leon knows that there isn’t any clean cloth. But he’s pretty sure you know that too.
Leon exhales slowly before looking back toward your shoulder. “Alright,” he sighs. “Talk me through it.”
For the first time since he met you, you hesitate. Your eyes flit between him and your wound, watching the cut ooze yellow and pulse with your heartbeat.
“Cut away the remaining stitches first,” you say finally. “They’re trapping contamination.”
Leon’s jaw tightens slightly. His fingers grasp the edge of the wrappings around your shoulder.
Slowly, he starts to lift it up.
It sticks, the fabric stubbornly clinging to your skin. The moment he starts peeling it away, your entire body locks rigid.
“Fuck-!”
Blood and cloudy fluid have dried through the fabric, sealing it partially to the wound beneath. Leon stops immediately at the sound that leaves you; not quite a yell, but close.
Your breathing turns shallow.
“Sorry,” he mutters instinctively.
“Don’t apologize,” you hiss through clenched teeth. “Just do it fast.”
So he does. His hand grabs the edge of the fabric and rips. He’s pretty sure you’re biting your own tongue in order not to scream, judging by the strangled noise that comes from your throat. Immediately, fresh fluid starts to ebb from the cut. Bright red blood starts to drip.
Ashley makes a small noise behind him.
He understands why. The wound is bad.
Far worse than he expected. The puncture tears deep through the upper shoulder, jagged along the edges now that the sutures have ripped apart. Angry redness spreads outward across overheated skin, while swollen tissue glistens wet beneath the lantern light. And near the center, it’s grey.
He doesn’t need to be a medic to understand.
Necrotic tissue.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
“Yeah,” you mutter weakly. “That’s generally the appropriate reaction.”
He reaches for the poorly sterilized scissors first, carefully cutting through the remaining sutures embedded in swollen flesh. You keep talking him through it between breaths, even as your eyes go fuzzy.
“Need all foreign material out… dead tissue too… irrigate after…” Your voice keeps pausing now, each breath shakier.
Leon notices your hand trembling violently where it braces against the edge of your seat. “You still with me, Rabies?”
“Unfortunately.”
Ashley returns then, with cloth and a half-empty bottle. When he glances at her, he can see that her jacket has had a piece cut from it. The same fabric rests gently in her hand. Her eyes immediately land on the wound, before she jerks her gaze away again, visibly pale.
You catch it instantly. “Ashley.”
The girl looks up quickly.
“Eyes on me,” you say softly. Not the wound. You. And somehow, that’s worse. Even now, half-delirious and septic, you’re still trying to protect her.
The knife finally comes into Leon’s hand. His stomach twists. You see it happen.
“Hey,” you say quietly.
He looks up.
“Debridement hurts because the tissue’s still partly alive.” Your voice sounds distant now. Thinner. “That means it can heal.”
He swallows hard, then nods. “Tell me what to cut.”
Your eyes close briefly before reopening. “Gray tissue first,” you whisper. “Anything that doesn’t bleed.”
His fingers go to the leftover strings, pulling them free. He grimaces as bits of dead tissue come out alongside them, clinging to the strings like old food to used dental floss. The thread gets tossed to the side, out of mind, as he readies his knife.
“Start-” Your words stop for a moment, hidden behind clenched teeth, “Start on the sides. Work your way to the middle.”
Grimly, he nods. The knife comes down, angled towards the upper edge of the cut. The flesh is a sickly dark color, moreso bits of rot rather than normal tissue. He presses down, the silver edge of his knife working into the wound.
The gray tissue peels away in uneven strips beneath the blade, soft and wrong-looking compared to healthy skin. His jaw clenches harder with every pass. Your hand flies from the edge of your chair to his arm, gripping down with enough force to bruise. A choked sound rips from your body, your head slamming backwards into the wall so hard that he’s half concerned you’ve given yourself a concussion.
The smell hits next. Rot beneath blood and alcohol and smoke. It’s putrid, the smell sticking to his nostrils and curling in his lungs. He has to turn his head away for a moment in order not to vomit.
Ashley visibly gags behind him.
You hear it instantly, despite the haze pulling at you. “Breathe through your mouth,” you murmur toward her. “Helps.”
Ashley nods shakily. Leon keeps going.
“Little deeper on the left side,” you whisper after a moment, eyes half-focused on the wound. “That edge’s necrotic too.”
“How the hell can you tell?”
“Color.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
As if to make a point, your pupils meet his, holding his gaze for a moment before dropping back down to the cut. He can see the way your fingers shake as you point to a particularly rotten spot.
“There. Cut deeper there.”
He obeys. Behind him, he can hear the blonde girl’s harsh breathing, accented by the occasional gag.
The knife presses deeper into the discolored flesh, carving away another strip of dead tissue. This time, blood wells up immediately behind it; dark at first, then brighter. Alive. Your entire body jerks hard enough that his wrist almost slips.
“Oh my god-!” Ashley gasps somewhere behind him.
A broken sound tears from your throat, halfway between a gasp and a strangled cry. Your fingers clamp around Leon’s forearm with bruising force, nails digging through soaked fabric while your breathing turns ragged and uneven.
“Easy,” Leon mutters automatically, though he knows the word means absolutely nothing right now.
Sweat drips down the side of your face. Your eyes squeeze shut so tightly he can see the strain in the muscles around them. “Good,” you rasp after a second. “That’s good. Means it’s viable.”
“You say that like this is reassuring.”
Another section comes away beneath the blade. Blood follows. More this time. He’s quick to pour a splash of vodka over the section to try and disinfect it. It washes away easily, tinted pink from the blood. The smell shifts slightly too. Still rotten, still enough to curl his stomach, but less concentrated now beneath the sharp sting of vodka and smoke.
Leon risks a glance upward. “How much deeper?”
Your breathing stutters unevenly before you answer. “Until the tissue stops looking…” A shaky inhale. “Wrong.”
“That is a terrible medical explanation.”
“It’s not my best work.”
Despite himself, a breath of something dangerously close to laughter escapes him. Exhausted. Disbelieving. The kind that only happens when things have gotten so bad the brain stops processing it correctly.
Ashley looks between both of you like you’ve both completely lost your minds.
Then, the knife catches against something harder beneath the damaged tissue.
You go rigid instantly. Leon feels it happen before you even speak. Every muscle in your body locks tight beneath the fever heat pouring off your skin.
“Wait,” you whisper sharply.
He freezes. “What?”
Your eyes open halfway, struggling to focus downward. “Lower.”
Carefully, he angles the lantern closer. Something pale glints wetly beneath the blood. Not bone. Not rigid, infected tendons.
Wood.
A splinter, if it could be called that. It’s more like a wood chip, embedded angrily in your flesh.
Leon stares at it. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The laugh that escapes you sounds borderline delirious. “Remember the cabin?”
“The psycho who ripped your shoulder open?”
“Yeah.” Your head tips weakly back against the wall again. “Guess he left a souvenir.”
Ashley makes another horrified noise.
“Okay,” Leon mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay. Fine. Of course there’s wood in there.”
The splinter sits buried deep in swollen tissue, darkened at the edges from infection. No wonder the wound kept worsening. Every movement had probably driven it deeper. Leon exhales slowly through his nose, before setting the knife aside and reaching for the tweezers from the sewing kit.
“They’re not sterilized,” you mumble.
“I know.”
“Vodka.”
“I know.”
A dry, exhausted chuckle, “Just checking you’re still smart under pressure.”
He dumps alcohol across the metal anyway. It glints up at him. Then, he looks back up at you. “This is gonna suck.”
Your eyes crack open just enough to glare weakly at him. “No fucking shit.”
“Right. Stupid statement.”
Ashley edges closer despite herself, pale and visibly trying not to panic. “Can’t you just leave it?”
Both of you answer at once. “No.”
Ashley flinches slightly. You swallow hard before continuing, voice thinner now. “Foreign object means ongoing contamination. Infection won’t clear otherwise.”
Your speech is delayed and unsure. Not slurred, exactly. But slower now. Like every sentence has to fight through static before reaching your mouth. Your pupils look glassy beneath the lantern light.
He hates it.
“Stay awake,” he grunts firmly.
“Bossy.”
“Stay awake.”
Your fingers twitch weakly against his sleeve in acknowledgment. Then, he grips the splinter with the tweezers and pulls.
You scream. Not the restrained sounds from before. Not the choked gasps you’d been swallowing down. No, this noise is raw and guttural, tearing from your body as your torso jerks and twists away from the pain. Ashley jumps violently at the sound.
The wood comes free all at once with a wet tearing sensation, nearly two inches long and soaked dark red at the end. Fresh blood immediately spills from the cavity left behind.
For one horrible second, Leon thinks you might actually black out. Your entire body folds forward hard, breathing shattered into ragged, painful gasps while your hand claws blindly against his arm, searching for something to anchor to.
“Hey,” he says sharply, dropping the tweezers. They drop emptily to the ground with a clicking noise. “Hey, stay with me.”
You don’t answer.
“Ashley!” Leon snaps.
The girl is quick to step forward, hands shaking. “I-I’m here!”
“Cloth. Now.”
She scrambles immediately, pressing the torn fabric into his waiting hand. He presses it firmly against the wound. You make a broken noise against his shoulder, body trembling violently beneath his grip.
“Pressure,” you gasp weakly after a moment. “Need pressure until it clots.”
“I know.”
Your forehead ends up half-slumped against him now, fever-hot skin damp with sweat. For the first time since he met you, you stop trying to hide how badly this hurts.
Honestly? That scares him more than the blood.
A broken noise leaves you as he presses the fabric in harder, watching as the thick material soaks through with dark crimson. Your breathing comes in uneven drags against him, hot enough that he can feel the fever through layers of soaked clothing. One of your hands is still tangled weakly in the sleeve of his jacket, fingers twitching every few seconds like your body can’t decide whether it’s conscious or not.
Ashley hovers beside both of you helplessly. “Is… is she okay?”
“No,” you rasp immediately.
Leon almost laughs despite himself. “Good. Still mean. That’s promising.”
Your head shifts slightly against his shoulder, eyes barely slitting open. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know.”
Another weak sound leaves you as he carefully eases the blood-soaked cloth back enough to inspect the wound again. The difference is immediate.
The cavity looks cleaner now. Still angry. Still swollen and ugly beneath the lantern light, but healthier tissue finally shows beneath the ruined gray sections he removed. Fresh blood beads along the edges instead of cloudy discharge.
Still infected. But salvageable. At least, he hopes so.
“You need to flush it out,” you murmur after a second, words delayed. “Before closure.”
Ashley quickly grabs the kettle before Leon even asks. Steam curls weakly from the spout as she kneels beside him with shaking hands. “I can help.”
Leon nods once. “Slowly.”
The first pour makes your entire body seize. Hot water mixed with vodka spills through the open wound, diluted alcohol immediately washing pink down your arm and onto the floorboards beneath you. A strangled gasp tears from your throat as your head falls back against the wall again.
“God fucking damn it-!”
Ashley nearly jerks the kettle away. “I’m sorry!”
“Keep going!” you hiss instantly, though your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. When she hesitates, Leon is quick to guide her hand back, pouring the water again. He watches contaminated fluid pour free from the wound in thin streams, carrying diluted blood and tiny dark flecks of debris with it. More wood splinters. Smaller ones.
“Damn.” he mutters.
Your eyes stay shut. “Told you… souvenir.”
“You’re never allowed to say that word again.”
Ashley makes a weak noise somewhere between horror and laughter. The sound dies quickly when another tremor rolls through your body. This time, you’re shivering. Violent enough that he immediately notices.
Your teeth click together audibly as another wave hits you. One hand tightens hard against his sleeve again while your breathing turns thin and shallow.
Ashley’s face pales. “Why is she shaking like that?”
“Fever,” Leon answers automatically.
You give a tiny motion of your head against the wall. “Shock too.”
That word settles heavily into the room. He looks back at the wound again, then at your face. Your skin has gone frighteningly pale beneath the fever flush now. Sweat glistens across your forehead. Your pupils look unfocused whenever your concentration slips for even a second. You keep drifting. Every few moments, your eyes close just a little too long.
“Hey.” Leon’s hand moves to your jaw before he can think about it, fingers rough against hot skin. “Stay with me.”
Your eyes drag back toward his slowly. “Trying.”
“You’re doing a shitty job.”
A faint twitch touches the corner of your mouth. Better.
Leon exhales quietly through his nose before looking back down. “Can we close it now?”
Your focus drops sluggishly toward the wound. It takes a second too long for you to answer. “No.”
His stomach sinks immediately. “Why not?”
“Too infected.” Your words slur slightly around exhaustion. “If you close it now… bacteria gets trapped inside.”
Ashley looks horrified. “So what do we do?”
“Pack it.”
He blinks. “Pack it with what?”
“Cloth.” A weak swallow. “Loose enough to drain. Otherwise abscess risk increases.”
Ashley visibly swallows nausea.
“Okay,” Leon says slowly. “Okay. We can do that.”
Your eyes drift shut again. This time, they stay closed. Leon’s chest tightens instantly. “Hey.”
No response.
“C’mon.”
A pause. Then, finally, a weak hum against his shoulder. A breath hisses out from between his clenched teeth. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters quietly.
Your lips move faintly. “I do what I want.”
He ignores the sudden tightness in his chest and reaches for the torn strips of fabric Ashley brought earlier. Carefully, far more carefully than he ever thought himself capable of, he begins feeding the cloth into the wound cavity the way you instructed.
You twitch violently at the first touch.
“Easy,” he murmurs automatically.
“Feels like you’re stuffing a gunshot wound with sandpaper,” your words are hoarse and dry.
“That’s weirdly specific.”
Even though your eyes are closed, he can see them roll beneath your eyelids. “You asked me not to joke earlier.”
“Yeah, well. I changed my mind.” He sighs.
Ashley watches silently as Leon works, hands clasped tightly together in front of her chest now. Every so often her eyes flick toward your face instead of the wound itself, like she’s checking whether you’re still conscious. Honestly? He’s doing the exact same thing.
By the time he finishes, his hands are slick with diluted blood and alcohol. The wound is still ugly as hell, packed loosely beneath fresh bandaging improvised from Ashley’s ruined jacket, but the spreading gray tissue is gone. For now.
You look half-dead against the wall. But your breathing has steadied slightly. That’s enough for him to cling to.
Slowly, he leans back onto his heels, exhaustion hitting him all at once now that his hands stop moving.
Ashley breaks the silence first. “So…” Her voice wavers. “Did it work?”
Neither of you answer immediately. Then your eyes crack open just enough to look toward her. “Ask me again,” you mumble weakly, “if I’m still alive tomorrow.”
Invisigal sneakily takes Roberts phone during her break and is quite surprised to see a dating app installed. She opens the app, snooping through his empty profile, and decides to take matters into her own hands.
The entirety of her break was spent setting up Roberts dating profile and flirting with strangers.
When Robert enters the break room for his daily twinkie, he sees her grinning mischievously with device in hand, entirely too focused on whatever she was doing.
“You’re in a good mood.” He noted.
It takes him until after he retrieves the sweet treat and pats his pockets to realize that…
One: His phone is missing.
And
Two: Courtney’s holding it. Right in front of him.
She looks up from the phone and finally acknowledges Robert with a laugh.
Then she talks his ear off about how she’s wayyyy better at talking to girls than he is.
The teasing doesn’t stop. It ends up being the z-teams go-to when picking on their dispatcher.
“Take someone on a date, god. It’s sad knowing you go home to that empty ass apartment.”
For some reason that one stuck with him. He realized: ‘yeah, that is pretty sad huh?’
Once shift ends, Robert hovers over the app. He’s avoided it entirely, not wanting to see the conversations Visi had on HIS account…until now.
He cringes at the profile she set up for him.
The bio was pretty normal but of course, the normalcy ended when Visi wrote how big of a Mecha Man fan Robert apparently is.
“Can’t have any enemies.” She’d tell him.
Robert fixes his profile and skims through his matches.
Now imagine reader gets hit with some sort of experimental aphrodisiac on an op, a confirmed substance the team had been attempting to avoid.
Preliminary trials show subjects unable to stop themselves from seeking pleasure, overwhelmed with their libido. The entire ride back to base is tense, you sat in the back, overwhelmed and panting and—
Wait. No.
You seem....completely unaffected? Well, not totally, you're snuggling up to ghost a bit, but other than that you seem fine.
"What?" You finally huff when price glances at you for the fourth time in a minute, "yes, the drug is still in affect, I know what you're thinking."
"Well then shouldn't you be..." gaz trails off, face heated.
"Honestly? I don't see the big deal." You hunker down further against ghost, most of your kit having been discarded on the floor to avoid overheating "this feels like normal ovulation to me. Seems like a skill issue."
....no one mentions the fact price got hit with a much smaller dosage a few weeks prior and literally had to be sedated so he didn't do anything stupid before getting to a secure location.
They regard you with a....newfound flavor of respect after that.
I don't have a lot to say, but I hope this one is good!
Thank you to @torukmaktoskxawng for your alive grace au! Without it, Grace would not be alive in this.
As always, the lovely dividers are by @the-voice-beckons-below
Na'vi: regular
English: bold
Jake: blue
Neytiri: pink
Reader: purple
The horn sounds as your family is lounging in the kelku. Neytiri is braiding your hair as you make a seaweed and shell stylized top for Kiri. Grace and Kiri are animatedly talking about Eywa, Grace emphasizing the science of Eywa being entangled with the planet and the superstition epiphanies Kiri often has even validating Grace's theories. Tuk is playing with her ilu toy that Jake had carved, and the man himself is packing up the sleeping mats with Lo'ak and Neteyam. Seeing your family content, even if it's just for a moment, makes you happy. So you relax, feeling your wife's fingers comb through your hair and handle it delicately.
In a moment though, that all changes. A horn sounds and the Metkayina start diving, getting on ilus and free swimming out to open waters.
Jake looks up, his training honed to a T. And seeing everyone running for the water, makes him wary of a fight. It makes all of you pause, seeing him get up and walk to look outside. Tuk runs out, and her brothers are right behind Jake, ready for a fight as well.
"What was that?" Tuk asks, looking around at all the Metkayina.
"What's going on?" Neteyam asks, covering the side of his dad that Jake isn't looking towards.
The ilus are dancing in the water and everyone is letting out joyous whoops.
"The tulkun have returned!" Tsireya shouts to the Na'vi, waving her free hand, "Everybody, our Brothers and Sisters have returned!"
When you come out, looking out at the horizon, you see a herd of almost whale-like creatures come into the reef, swimming close.
You watch as those riding skimwings start to fly and ride close to their tulkuns, hollering in happiness.
You see your boys follow closely, diving in as well. Lo'ak gets on the back of Tsireya's ilu, and Neteyam gets on his own.
"Well... you wanna go see them?" Jake looks at you and Neytiri, sporting a smirk.
"I'll come with, Ma'Jake," Neytiri stands, finishing your hair.
"I'll stay behind and watch Tuk. Grace, why don't you and Kiri go?" You suggest, finishing up weaving Kiri's top.
"Kiri?" Grace looks at her daughter, a soft smile on her face.
"Let's go," Kiri takes her mother's hand, happy to spend some time with her after Grace has practically been avoiding the family.
"Sa'nu, can we go? Pleaseeee!" Tuk turns to you and begs.
"I... I don't think I should go. But why don't you ride with Kiri? I'll teach Grace how to ride an ilu so she can join you girls," You suggest, feeling wary about the welcoming Tuk is trying to give you but nevertheless wanting her to experience all she can.
"Okay! Bye, Sanu!" Tuk rushes up and hugs you, making you put your arms out before they slowly wrap around her. Your daughter pulls away before making a beeline for Kiri.
"Come on, Kiri!" Tuk takes Kiri from Grace and runs to the water with her cousin.
Grace watches them before turning back to look at stunned you.
"She... she hugged me... none of them have done that since we got here..." Your eyes well-up, and you blink to hold them back, taking in a deep breath.
"What? Were you afraid they did not like you anymore?" Grace teases you, walking over and picking you up to your feet.
"I thought... I thought I scared them off that day in the Forest," You admit, your chest tightening as you remember what you were like.
Vicious. Bloodthirsty. A killer like your children have never seen.
"You did. But... you're still their mom, dear. Now come teach me how to ride those things. I've been learning how to ride a skimwing, but everyone already took one," Grace rolls her eyes, complaining, but it couldn't make you happier. It almost felt like normal again.
You take her to the beach, and call an ilu over. You wade into the water with Grace and approach the ilu.
"Hey... hey, girl..." You pet the ilu gently, the sea creature nuzzling your hand in response.
"Grace. It's a lot like... uh... a gentler version of a skimwing. If skimwings are ikrans, than ilus are direhorses. Just attach the kuru, and start slow," You warn the woman, fully knowing she's capable, but not wanting to give her full reins of something that might accidentally get her hurt.
"I got this, kid. No need to babysit me," Grace huffs, before connecting her kuru to her ilu, and getting on it. She starts slow still, heeding your direction before going faster.
She pauses her riding, stopping the ilu, "We gonna see you out there?"
You shrug, wading back to the shore.
"Well... at least stay out here. It's no good being cooped up in the kelku," Grace suggests before riding off to find her daughter and niece. You sigh and shake your head.
As you turn to leave back to the kelku, you hear a blow of water and feel a mist on your back. You turn back around to see a tulkun as close to the beach as it can get, it's skin free of tattoos and adornments.
"Huh... and who are you?" You ask before feeling a rumble in the ground, seeing the water shake lightly as the tulkun speaks.
You sigh, knowing Eywa's interference when you see it, and wade back in. You swim out to the tulkun before resting your hand on it.
"Hello... I'm not... I don't know how to say this," You sigh, feeling almost unworthy of a connection with a tulkun, despite Eywa borderline forcing it.
The tulkun puts out a series of comforting rumbles, giving you the time and space to explain.
"I just... I'm not who I used to be," Your eyes well-up once more, "and it's scary having to look back on it, having to confront it. It's changing me and I don't know how I will turn out," You sigh, feeling a weight lift off your chest. A weight that has been there since that night. That despite your children swarming you with hugs and cuddles this morning, you can finally feel like you are forgiving yourself; despite not needing to.
The tulkun shows its belly, shows the beginning of it's neural queue. You follow it down to the kuru, connecting it with yours and while your side shows everything: from beginning of motherhood to the fight between you and Quaritch's team and every memory before then; the tulkun's pushes acceptance and love. That you are who you are now, not who were. That change is inevitable and no matter how distant you are from said memories, you will still change because of them. That change is an endless cycle and you are a part of its gentle turning.
"Thank you," You whisper, joining the tulkun as it swims out to join the herd.
While you swim with your new spirit sister, your ikran flies above, showing his support. You smile as he circles you, letting out calls of celebration.
What you don't see is Jake and Neytiri passing by, watching everything. Watching how you communicate, doing flips while the tulkun spins, and having a conversation with it.
Neytiri smiles at the beauty of such a strong thing being so gentle with you, who has needed such tenderness, but because of the situation, has not been able to receive it.
How wonderful... to see my wife joyous about something.
Jake smiles too, seeing his wife who was so reluctant to join in on the festivities and allow herself the happiness, actually be influenced and join in. He sees the transformation, slow and at your pace but so powerful. Like a snowball building momentum downhill.
She's beautiful like this.
And while your children ride on the tulkun and interact with them, you interact with yours and the actual connection you feel is almost like touching a part of your soul you did not recognize till now needed to be found.
Ronal swims up, her tulkun guiding her. A calf comes out from under his mother, nudging you. You smile and let the baby swim around you, happy to entertain it.
Ronal gives a small smile before her tulkun gives a series of clicks and rumbles you don't quite understand. You see Ronal speaking to the tulkun out of the corner of your eye, but not enough to understand what she says. What you do happen to catch is small bits: Eywa, spouse, and Tonowari.
And surrounded by a new tribe, your new animal partner, your current flying above, dipping down and splashing water, surrounded by your beautiful family, you feel... complete.
The rain is heavy and the tide is especially rough. You can sense the drop in pressure as a storm finishes brewing on the horizon. You and your spouses laugh, telling each other stories as your children are gone playing, Tonowari passes the entrance to the kelku.
He makes eye contact with Jake, then you, before slowly walking past to stay out of sight from Neytiri, wanting the conversation to be kept private.
Jake gets up, closely followed by you, as you approach Tonowari in the rain.
Tonowari is looking out at the horizon as you approach. Jake quietly asks, "What's wrong?"
"Sky People," Neytiri joins you, staying mostly in the kelku, "They're looking for you, Jakesully. And you," Tonowari nods at you, "South. They have a human boy who speaks Na'vi." This makes you sigh in deep sadness. You put a hand to your face, closing your eyes, before walking back inside.
He's alive. Spider's alive. For now.
You try to reassure yourself of the only seemingly good news Tonowari has to bring.
"We will protect you," You feel eyes on you, despite you leaving the conversation. You look up and see Tonowari's eyes on you before he flicks them back to Jake. It seems to have only been a moment, but a moment you caught. Which means your wife also caught it, even though your husband is too distracted by hearing about the Sky People.
Neytiri looks at you strangely, making you shrug with a confused look on your face. She narrows her eyes before looking back at Tonowari with the same skeptical look.
Author's Cup of Tea: So this turned out to be a healing sort of chapter, where we can feel the lingering guilt be expelled. It was kinda nice for me to write this, and bring us back to base level of how Reader normally acts. There will be something different about the fight scenes though!
Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed and have a great day/wonderful night!
So... this will kinda delve into the 'split personality' thing that reader has going on. This will be a kind of dark chapter. Brief but dark. I love you all, and remember that I am always open if anyone needs anything, as well as any phone numbers in your country that can help with your mental health.
TW: PTSD, possible split personality (but not really), self-harm, medical inaccuracies, psychological medical inaccuracies (I am not a doctor)
Na'vi: regular
English: bold
Jake: blue
Neytiri: pink
Reader: purple
"Dad... what happened with Sa'nu? She was scary in the forest, and now she's... she's different," Tuk asks Jake, who sighs as he tucks her into bed, making sure she's warm enough in her hammock.
"And she's avoiding us," Lo'ak speaks up, lifting his head from his hammock.
Jake sighs again, his head falling forward before he picks himself up.
"Let me... Let me get Aunt Grace. She knows more about your Mom's condition," Jake mutters, gently pressing a kiss to Neytiri's forehead before leaving to get Grace.
When Grace arrives, Kiri is following closely behind her, and Jake behind his niece.
"Can you tell us now?" Neteyam sits by his siblings, and Tuk in Neytiri's lap, the woman braiding and unbraiding her daughter's hair. This was not a topic she liked discussing, let alone with their children.
"Let Grace get settled in, yeah? Give her a minute," Jake slows his kids down, holding his hands up to make sure they don't move before sitting down himself.
Once everyone is sat, Grace gets started telling them the story behind you: "So... I'm sure you've noticed your Sa'nu is a lot like Jake. She is technically a human consciousness in an Avatar body. But, this means your Sa'nu led a life before she was an Avatar,"
Grace starts, sitting back, "She used to be a Lieutenant in the Army, when she was still in her human body, long before the RDA ever got a hold of her. She, apparently, had a pretty awful time. She was recruited into this... Black Ops group, private team for the Army. During her time there, she developed a way to cope with... everything she did,"
Grace continues, and Neytiri holds Lo'ak close to her, "Everything that happened. She had a code name, Butterfly, and she assigned every bad memory and event that happened out on her missions to her code name, treating it like a persona. And over time, the separation has gotten worse. It's called Trauma Splitting,"
Jake lets out a heavy sigh. He saw the signs, and he knew, subconsciously, what was wrong after seeing it in so many of the members of his units, "She is a scientist, specializing in xeno-societal structures. She is an anthropologist, and she specialized herself to learning the Na'vi. Everything about... well, you. But during this time, she felt that she had left her old life behind, further separating the Butterfly personality from herself. So now, it's like a different person is in her body when she goes 'Butterfly' mode." Grace finishes, finally getting to the end of the story.
"But... she is still our Sa'nu?" Tuk asks, looking sad and scared in Neytiri's arms. Tuk now has 4 different braids with shells on them, and two feathers hanging from her hair..
"Yes. She will always be your Sa'nu," Jake jumps in, hopping closer in his crouch in the circle, "She just has a... memory problem. It's called PTSD, and its commonly found in people like your Sa'nu."
"You were in the Army, Uncle. Do you have PTSD?" Kiri tilts her head, narrowing her eyes and her curiosity peaking.
"I do, but... your auntie has a pretty bad case of it," He pats Kiri's shoulder before looking out at his kids, "Not everyone's PTSD is as severe as Sa'nu's."
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Marine. Just call it what it is," Grace shakes her head before looking up at the kids, "Your Sa'nu is one of the strongest people I know. She stood in front of men who wanted nothing more than to see her fail, and she flourished. She also is a little sensitive to violence. She had a lot of big stressors pile up on her, and they left her with some trauma. One thing that makes her go back to being 'Butterfly' is fighting, like you saw in the Forest,"
Grace points at them now, getting really serious, "But remember, she is still your Momma. She loves you all so much, and is willing to risk her life for you to live. She is still your Sa'nu."
All the kids look at each other and nod, the time in the forest making more sense now. How you operated in a way they had never seen before, how you so easily protected them, and how you still seemed like their Momma, even though they had never known about that particular side.
Author's Cup of Tea: I'm pretty sure this is shiiiiiit, but its okay cause I got my nutella~ I hope this is an apt description, but I'm not a psychiatrist, so assume I am wrong! Anyways, have a great day and a wonderful night!
Edit: okay, after going through and editing everything, I also did more research into reader's condition (no one come for me. i'm sorry i didnt look it up before, but its for story purposesss) and this is actually a thing. Trauma Splitting is typically found in people with Complex PTSD/C-PTSD and regular PTSD. It's a way of unhealthy compartmentalizing. If you need help, please call your country's PTSD hotline! They have resources to help you long term!
Here's a short fic where the reader (Bradley’s assistant) survives the plane crash and finds herself stranded on the island with Linda.
--------------------------------
“Welcome back, y/n,” a female voice said as you coughed up seawater.
Your vision was still blurry, but you were certain you recognized that voice. As you blinked through the haze, shapes began to form and you realized the voice belonged to the woman kneeling over you.
Linda Liddle. From… accounting?
Reality hit you like a truck.
The company’s private jet had crashed.
Memories slammed into you all at once: your coworkers being ejected from the aircraft, bodies tumbling through the air, pieces of them flashing past your eyes. You screamed, your chest tightening as panic took over.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay! You’re okay, I promise!” Linda said quickly, trying to calm you. “Not even a scratch. Well—nothing serious, at least.”
“This can’t be happening…” you sobbed. “Oh my God. OH GOD.”
“Take a deep breath,” she said gently. “You’re fine.”
“Where’s—” You broke into another coughing fit. “Brad—Bradley?”
Linda helped you sit up. “He’s okay. Just a leg injury. He’ll recover.”
“And the rest?” you asked.
Linda shook her head.
“Oh God.” You broke down completely, not because you cared deeply about your coworkers, but because of how horrific their deaths had been. The images wouldn’t leave your mind. Truthfully, you hadn’t even liked most of them. Not even Bradley, if you were honest.
You and Bradley had known each other since high school. He’d always had a thing for you, but nothing ever happened, you never felt that way about him. He used to be a decent friend, but as the years passed, he grew into more and more of a dick. You weren’t even sure why you kept him in your life. Still, when he offered you a job at his company, you couldn’t deny it was a great career opportunity.
“Oh, honey,” Linda murmured, pulling you into her arms. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
You let yourself collapse into her embrace.
—------------------------------
Hours later, Linda had somehow managed to set up an entire survival camp. She built a makeshift funnel to collect rainwater and even got a fire going.
Bradley, meanwhile, barked orders nonstop, treating Linda like garbage, as usual. You hated the way he spoke to her and often wanted to tell him off, but he was still your boss. Even though you were supposedly “friends,” you were afraid he’d fire you if you pushed back too hard.
After Linda handed you some of the water she’d collected, exhaustion took over and you passed out on the sand.
You were jolted awake moments later by Bradley yelling.
“You know what?” Linda snapped. “You can manage this part of the island however you want. I’m DONE.”
She grabbed her walking stick and started walking away.
“GOOD!” Bradley shouted after her. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, YOU FREAK!”
He turned to you with a smug grin. “About time I got rid of that thing.”
You said nothing. Slowly, you stood up.
“Y/n, where are you going?” he demanded.
“This isn’t the office anymore, Bradley,” you replied, and then you turned, following Linda’s footsteps into the sand.
“FINE!” he yelled after you. “I DON’T NEED YOU EITHER!”
—-------------------------------------
You found Linda halfway down the shoreline, holding back the tears like you saw her do multiple times back at the office.
When she heard footsteps behind her, she turned, eyes sharp, guarded.
“Oh,” she said softly when she saw you. “You… didn’t stay with Bradley.”
You shook your head. “I wasn’t going to.”
For a moment, she just stared at you, clearly surprised. Then something in her expression loosened. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said. “I know he’s your friend. And our boss.”
“Not anymore” you replied without hesitation.
That seemed to settle it.
—--------------------------------------
You helped her gather driftwood and palm leaves, your hands working side by side without much talking at first. Together, you set up a small camp farther from the wreckage, tucked between rocks that blocked the wind. Linda showed you how to secure the shelter, how to reinforce the fire pit. She moved with confidence like someone who had spent her whole life waiting for a situation like this to happen….weird.
Once everything was set, you both sat on the sand, watching the fire crackle softly.
“I hate him,” you said suddenly.
Linda glanced at you, surprised. “Bradley?”
“And the whole office,” you added. “The fake smiles. The way everyone pretends he’s not awful just because he signs the paychecks.”
She listened without interrupting.
“I’ve known him forever,” you continued. “He used to be kind. Or maybe I just didn’t want to see who he really was. But working for him… it made everything worse. I stayed because it was safe. Because I thought I owed him something.”
“You don’t,” Linda said gently.
You swallowed. “I know. I just wish I’d realized it sooner.”
She nodded, eyes soft. “who’d say you only needed to survive a plane crash to realize that”
You laughed.
A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
—--------------------
Night settled in slowly as the rain kept pouring down. The fire burned low, and exhaustion weighed heavily on your body. You lay down on the sand, close enough to feel Linda’s warmth but not quite touching, until she turned and pulled you into her arms, making your stomach flutter.
“Body heat,” she murmured. “We need to stay warm… if that’s okay.”
She immediately loosened her hold, realizing what she’d just done.
“Good thinking,” you said softly, snuggling closer as she wrapped her arms around you again.
You couldn’t help but smile, but you were far too exhausted to overthink it right now.
—-----------------
The sound of the ocean woke you up.
For a brief, disorienting moment, you expected to feel warmth beside you, but the sand next to you was empty, still cool from the night air.
Linda was gone.
Panic flickered in your chest until you noticed the fire pit. Fresh embers glowed faintly, smoke curling lazily upward. Someone had been here. Recently.
You pushed yourself up just as footsteps approached.
Linda emerged from between the rocks, carrying a piece of driftwood like a makeshift skewer. Two fish were speared along it, their skin browned and crackling from the fire.
Your jaw almost dropped.
“Oh,” you said, blinking. “Okay. So we’re just… thriving now?”
She startled slightly when she noticed you awake. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said, a little sheepish. “You looked peaceful.”
“You caught those?” you asked, still staring.
“And cleaned them,” she added, like it was an afterthought. She set the skewer carefully over the fire. “They’re not poisonous. I checked.”
“Of course you did,” you muttered, deeply impressed.
She smiled, small, proud, but trying not to show it.
You watched her work for a moment, the way she adjusted the fire, the calm confidence in her movements.
“Okay,” you said finally. “Be honest. How are you this good at all of this?”
She hesitated, then laughed quietly. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”
“Linda, you’re currently the most capable person I know. I wouldn’t dare.”
She sighed, shoulders relaxing. “I’m low-key obsessed with survival reality shows. Like… all of them. I binge them when I can’t sleep.”
You stared at her. “You’re telling me this is because of reality TV?”
“And books,” she added quickly. “A lot of books. Wilderness survival, disaster prep, all that stuff. I always thought it was just a weird hobby.”
“Well,” you said, gesturing to the fire, the food, the shelter, “it might be the reason we’re still alive.”
She handed you one of the fish once it was done, careful not to burn herself. “Here. Eat slowly.”
You took a bite and genuinely groaned.
“Oh my God. Linda.”
She laughed. “Is that good or bad?”
“This is absurdly good.”
She looked genuinely pleased, cheeks warming slightly as she sat beside you. Not too close. Just close enough.
“I guess all those nights of yelling at the TV paid off,” she said.
You glanced at her, smiling. “Remind me to never underestimate the quiet girl from accounting again.”
“Strategy and planning,” she said.
“What?” you asked.
“I’m not from accounting,” she added with a chuckle, though there was a hint of annoyance in it.
“Right,” you said quickly. “Sorry about that.”
You ate together in comfortable silence, the fire crackling between you, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead.
Somehow, despite everything traumatic you’d just survived, your thoughts weren’t on rescue times or escape routes. They were on something else. Someone else.
Can you do a request for Leon x Doctor!Fem reader?
Imagine coming back home from outside of the ARK, checking there’s no black blotches and cracks everywhere on his skin, and fell like in his ages
the good ending of releasing Elpis
I know nothing about medicine but I gave it my best shot! Enjoy!
Summary: You weren't expecting your husband to come home after he left for what was likely to be his last mission. He does anyway.
Masterlist
Healthy - Leon Kennedy x Reader
The moment you hear a key rattling in the lock, you’re up.
To be completely honest, you weren’t sure that he would come back. He had been so sick once he left for that mission. You can still remember begging him to stay, to not die out in the cold, alone and in pain. He had left anyway.
The last thing you saw was the black webbing on his hands as he closed the door behind him.
You’ve spent weeks worried sick. Unsure if you’d ever see your husband again. But, when the door swings open, his smiling face meeting yours, you feel your worries dissolve.
“You’re alive.”
The words barely leave you. You’re already in front of him, hand coming up to his forehead to check for fever. He’d been running hot prior to leaving. A side effect of the disease. Now, it feels normal.
Your hands fly to the pulse points in his throat, closing your eyes and counting.
Normal. How is it normal? How was he alive? By every timeline that you had been estimating, the disease should have taken him days ago.
Your eyes finally land on his neck. The black, inky patches are gone, replaced with thin pink scars.
“Honey…?” For the first time in ages, your tone lifts. It sounds suspiciously like hope.
His smile grows wider. “It’s gone.”
For a second, it’s like your brain refuses to accept that this is real. That all your hopes came true. Your fingers trace his skin, trailing down the little lines that used to be tinted like ink. “H-How?”
Leon laughs softly. The sound catches somewhere between exhausted and relieved. Like he still can't quite believe it himself. "It's a long story."
"I have time."
Your voice comes out sharper than intended. His smile falters slightly.
He should have expected this. You're a doctor. More importantly, you're his wife. He knows exactly what you've been carrying while he was gone. Every late-night symptom log. Every blood panel spread across the dining room table. Every quiet conversation where neither of you said the words out loud. Terminal.
Your hands move again before you realize it. One settles against his cheek. The other finds his wrist. You’re checking his pulse again.
Still normal.
You count again. Just to be sure. He lets you, patiently letting you reassure yourself as much as he needs. His blue eyes stay fixed on your face while you silently count heartbeats beneath your fingertips.
One. Two. Three. It sounds steady. Strong. Healthy.
Healthy.
The realization nearly buckles your knees.
"Oh my God." The whisper slips out before you can stop it.
Healthy. For months now, you’ve been watching him slip from between your fingertips. Each day getting worse. Each of his breaths looking more and more like they were his last. It’s like every single prayer has been answered.
A strange expression crosses Leon's face then. Something small. Fragile. Like he's been waiting for somebody else to say it first. Your fingers tighten around his wrist.
"Honey..." Your voice breaks. The sound seems to finally snap something inside both of you.
Leon exhales shakily. And suddenly you're moving.
Your arms wrap around him so hard it almost looks painful. The force of it makes him stumble backward a step into the doorway. Neither of you care. For a second, neither of you says anything. You just cling to him. He’s warm and alive and breathing, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. His arms close around you as if he could never do anything else.
His grip is strong. Stronger than they've felt in months. You hate that you notice it. You hate that part of your brain that spent so long monitoring his decline that it's still cataloging improvements automatically.
Your mind is catching details before you can stop it. The better tone to the muscles in his arms. The improvement in the color of his skin, a healthy flush instead of pale. His posture is straighter, you notice. If it wasn’t for the faint scars, you would have never known he was sick.
A sob escapes you before you can stop it. Then another.
"Honey…" His tone is quiet, a hand petting your hair.
"You idiot." The words come out muffled against his shoulder.
Leon actually laughs. A real laugh this time.
"You left." The words are more of a sob. "You left while you were dying."
"I know."
"You promised me you'd come home."
His grip tightens. "I know. I’m here."
Your hands fist into the back of his jacket. For weeks, you'd been preparing yourself. Not for a funeral. No, Leon Kennedy was never going to get something that merciful. You'd been preparing for a phone call. A body. A bloodstained dog tag. Some government official standing at your door with sympathetic eyes.
Anything except this. Anything except him standing in your entryway smiling like nothing happened.
"I thought I lost you." Tears continue to wet the fabric against your face. The dark blue of his shirt is even darker where the water touches it.
His head tilts down, kissing over your hair. “I did too.”
Eventually, you pull back enough to look at him again. Really look.
The dark circles beneath his eyes are lighter. His skin isn't grey anymore. For the first time in months, he doesn't look like a man being slowly eaten alive. He just looks like Leon.
Your Leon.
The sight almost makes you cry all over again. His thumb brushes beneath one of your eyes. "Hey."
You sniff. "What?"
That crooked smile appears. The one you've missed so much it physically hurts.
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ryland grace & fem!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you're the medic on the hail mary and come across a photo that must've slipped from your personal supplies which changes the entire dynamic between you and who you thought was your co-worker.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.6k
𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i CANNOT believe it has taken people this long to jump on the ryan gosling train. as always, i this nawt proof-read whatsoever #lewl. nerdy silly white boy with biceps, i want you.
you thought you had it all figured out.
well...most of it anyway.
you thought that you know who you are, why you're here, etcetera or whatever, but a single photograph you discovered that had slipped into a nook of the ship has single-handedly destroyed all of the progress you've made in terms of remembering yourself.
your breath shakes just as badly as your hands, and you feel a nervous pounding in your chest accompanied by a pattern of drums in your ears.
this photo can't be real.
you repeat your name in your head. you are an astronaut, and one hell of a doctor. you are on this ship to assist in completing a mission with your co-worker, ryland grace, the only other crew member to survive the journey's coma.
co-worker.
so why the hell are you staring at a photo of the two of you kissing.
there's a little more context to it though, which actually makes everything a hundred times worse.
there's an arch decorated with an array of lush white flowers that frames you both on a sunny spring day, grace is dipping you into the kiss, a beaming expression on each of your faces as he does so. he looks happy, so you look happy, and you're also dressed in a traditional white gown while grace is wearing a tailored suit, but not black, because—
"black is boring," ryland uttered, elbow propped up onto your dining table while his chin rested on his fist. you looked up at him from your laptop where you were browsing websites to get him a suit.
"then don't wear black," you giggled. he reached for your left hand to toy with your fingers, eventually brushing a thumb over your engagement ring. "i thought you said you wanted 'traditional'," he teased.
you scoffed, "i did not say that!"
"you did say that."
"ryland."
"honey," he mocked with a smile. you grinned and smacked his hand away, tending back to your laptop.
"obviously if you don't want to do something, you don't have to do it. and i agree with you, black is boring."
ryland sighed dreamily, tilting his face into his palm after settling his elbow up onto the table again. "i love us. we're so compatible," he hummed.
you smiled shook your head a little in amusement, eyes still on your screen. "you're ridiculous."
"yeah, well, you're marrying me. probably makes you the ridiculous one."
ryland then wordlessly took the laptop from you to scroll through the options, then clicked on one of the sites. he scrolled a little more in silence, squinting slightly even though his glasses were right there that he could've put on. ryland clicked on the touchpad once more before turning the screen to you, dead serious.
"i want this one."
you blinked at the screen. he had pulled up one of the site's photos of one of their models showing off a tacky purple suit and an ugly gold tie, all pulled together by a matching purple fedora. your eyes flicked to your groom-to-be.
"now you're really being ridiculous."
"what's wrong with it?"
"you'll look like a pimp."
"nothing wrong with that," he shrugged.
you snatched your laptop back and deleted the tab with another smile and shake of your head. this time, he smiled back.
"i love you," he uttered.
you looked up again, lingering in those three words. he slid his hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling.
"i love you too," you murmured back.
you slid your hand into his, and ryland laced your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.
you thought you would carry on from there, but of course ryland had to open his mouth again; "even if i dress like a pimp?"
"oh my god."
the memory ended in a flash, and you dropped the photograph. looks like grace settled on a brown corduroy suit with a burgundy tie for a pop of colour. your own voice echoes in your head again; 'the brown will look nice in spring.', as does ryland's; 'i do look incredible in brown, don't i?'
you feel like your wedding ring is burning into your skin.
both you and grace knew you were married via your rings of course, you just couldn't remember who to yet, and it never occurred to either of you that it might've been to each other because why would it?
you take a deep breath, closing your eyes, before picking up the photo again to go find the supposed love of your life.
you navigated your way through the ship with a sense of urgency, photograph clutched in hand. when you heard a crash and a clumsy ‘uh-oh’ coming from the lab, you stopped by the doorway. suddenly the urgency disappeared. maybe this could wait until tomorr-
“who goes there?”
grace’s chair creaks when he leans back to get a peek of you hiding behind the doorframe.
when you look at him now, it all comes together.
ever since the two of you woke up from the coma, there’s been a gravitational pull that brings you two together. in terms of the mission, you operate in perfect unison and create such a steady flow that it makes everything feel oddly domestic. grace flicks a couple of switches there, you repair a part of the control panel here.
every time you both finish a task, it’s tradition to wrap it up with a high-five. however, one time when the two of you got too lost in the work, your fingers ended up intertwined and fell to your sides in a ten second hand-holding session where neither of you flinched.
as soon as the both of you realised, you each recoiled and spent a few beats staring at each other, marvelling at how natural the encounter felt like it was a subconscious effort. all grace could do was clear his throat and walk off, saying something about lunch.
“well, well, look who decided to come back,” grace quips as he wipes down a piece of equipment with a cloth. his glasses are practically hanging off of his face as they so usually do.
“y’had me thinkin’ you were going for a space walk.”
“grace.”
“without a helmet.”
“grace.”
“yeah?”
he finally looks up to see you holding out the photograph.
ryland’s hands freeze before he gently sets down the XRF analyser which looks to be like it was dropped in ramen water.
he rises from his chair, eyes refusing to peel away from the picture as he steps closer. he carefully plucks it from your fingers and slides his glasses onto his face properly to look down at it. white flowers, white dress, and a brown suit, because black is boring.
his head lifts back up to meet your nervous gaze.
“we’re married.”
it sounds like he’s saying it to himself rather than you.
you nod, trying to see through the blank stare he’s giving. dr. ryland grace, possibly one of the smartest men from earth has had his brain turned to mush by a photograph.
“you’re my…we’re-”
“married, yes, i know,” you snap.
“oh my god."
he inhales.
"oh my god..."
he blinks.
he pauses.
"oh my god-"
"grace!" you plead.
"you're my wife, and we're-”
“yes, grace, we’re married. can you please say literally anything else?”
he takes a deep breath, then suddenly hands you the photo again to start pacing around in a circle with his hands on his hips.
“grace…?”
“yeah.”
“are you okay?”
he stops, facing away from you and rubs a hand across his face.
“um…” he pivots to you on the spot, “i think so.”
you remain standing with your feet together, slightly curled in on yourself as you hold the photograph in front of you with two hands.
“do you…remember anything?”
ryland settles both hands on top of each other on the back of his head, inhaling deeply. “i’m starting to,” he says with the exhale, “do you?”
you nod. “bits and pieces.”
you drag your feet over to one of the lab tables and sit on the surface, staring down at the photo.
what now?
“i proposed to you at the beach,” ryland says.
you look up, and in his eyes, you see waves and a bright grey sky. you smile.
“you did,” you hum, setting the photo down on the table next to you. “when you got on one knee, you were too close to the water and it washed up on you so your pants got soaked.”
you giggle at the sudden memory. ryland smiles, “i don’t think i remember that part…”
“yes you do, you’re just embarrassed,” you grin. “and you stayed on one knee to ask the question because you were too proud to admit you made a mistake even though i was laughing at you.”
you’re in a fit of giggles now, and ryland just chuckles as he approaches you. his eyes land on the two bands around your finger; your engagement ring, and the basic wedding ring that so clearly matches his now that he looks closer.
suddenly, he reaches for your hand, thumb grazing over the humble gemstone on the engagement ring. your favourite gemstone, he suddenly remembers.
he lets the tender moment pass, then carefully drops your hand to place his hands on his hips.
“looks cheap. you probably deserve better.”
you give him a look before your eyes drop to the ring on your finger. you twist it a little, observing the gem from different angles.
“no…it’s actually pretty perfect,” you decide.
ryland watches you over the rims of his glasses, his heart beating quicker when he catches the complete genuineness in your tone. his eyes flick back down to the photo next to you on the table.
“we're really married, huh?"
you lift your head, gazing at him with a fond curiosity. what else could you learn to remember about this silly man?
“i guess so,” you hum.
ryland gives a nod and glances down at his own ring.
“okay…” he murmurs.
then, louder; “then let’s be scientists and figure this out.”
SYNOPSIS: Leon has always been a gentle lover, but you request that he lets loose for once, and boy did he.
PAIRING: Resident Evil 4 Remake Leon Kennedy x Girlfriend!Reader
WORD COUNT: 3.3k
WARNINGS/TAGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, SMUT, fluff, fem!Reader, afab!Reader, sub!Reader x dom!Leon, CONSENTTTT (is hot), unprotected p in v (please be safe), establishing of a safe word (though it isn’t used), nipple play, manhandling, edging, mating press, doggy, spanking, headlock, dacryphilia, teasing, marking, very messy kisses, spit, like a lot, mix of praise and degrading, humiliation, pet names galore, lots of dirty talk, cursing, creampie, a bit of subspace, SO MUCH AFTERCARE
NOTES: Wow, I thought my first smut work was filthy, but I think this one takes the cake😭 Wow, I really don't know what to say umm enjoy?😅
“Holy shit, I needed this.” Leon took over your mouth once more, his tongue choreographing with yours in a dance you both know so well. He just came back from a mission, and the moment he stepped through the door, you could sense all the tension in his body. He looked completely drained, but he claims some good love making will do him the trick of finally settling home. “I missed you so much. Thought of you with every step I took, of getting back home to you. Fuck.”
You laid under him on your shared bed, his hips grinding into yours. Leon was always so soft and careful with you. You can feel all the energy he wants to put out, but when it comes to you, he treats you like glass. You’re not complaining, you love being practically treated like a goddess he passionately worshiped, but you also want him to know that you feel safe enough with him to allow him to let go.
Your hands are already playing with the ends of his hair, so you use a soft grip to pull him away from you. “Um, Leon?”
“Yes baby?” He breathed as he looked away from your swollen lips to your eyes. Oh how you loved his attention. “Is something wrong? You want to stop?”
“No. I just want to… give you an offer.” You said slowly. Leon stayed silent to give you all the space and time you need to speak, but you can see a twinkle of curiosity in his eyes. “What if, you let loose a little, and go rough on me for once?”
His jaw slightly dropped at your words. You instantly went into a panic. “Only if you want to! It’s not that I don’t like how you already treat me, I love it really. I just thought, you seem so full of adrenaline after your mission, I’d figured you can let some of it out here.”
Leon closes his mouth, his jaw clearly clenches as he thinks. “Are you sure about this, love? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I trust you Leon. I wouldn’t have told you this if I didn’t. I thought about this for a while, and I know you would never make a move to hurt me.” You move your hand to hold his cheek. “Again, only if you want to. I’m perfectly fine to go on like we used to.”
After a moment, he sighs before looking deeply into your eyes. He places his hand over yours. “Okay, if we are going to be doing this, we need to set some rules.”
“Sure, anything.” Butterflies started to flutter in your stomach.
“One: we need to establish a safeword. What do you want to use, I’ll let you pick.” You look around your room for inspiration.
“What about light bulb?” Leon huffs out a laugh.
“Interesting. But do you think you’re able to say that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Two: you better use it the moment you feel uncomfortable or are in any pain. I can’t bear the idea of hurting you and you force yourself to go through it just so you don’t ‘ruin the mood.’ Do it for my sake.” You nod as the nervousness and excitement of this actually happening sets in. “No, I need you to use your words here.”
“Okay, yes I will let you know.”
“Good. And three: prepare yourself.” Leon goes to hold both of your hands and pins them above your head on the mattress. “Because I may do things even I thought I wasn’t capable of.” That sends straight heat to your core.
Leon leans down to capture your mouth with his like before, but except of it being gentle, passionate making out like it was previously, it's rough. Teeth clash and his tongue easily overtakes yours. You softly moan at the change of tone, which Leon uses the time to start nipping down your neck. When he reaches your shoulder, he gives a hard bite, sucking on the area harshly. You try to move your hands to hold onto the back of his head, but he reinforces your hands harder down on the mattress. He then raises his head and brings it next to yours, breathing into your ear. “Take your shirt and bra off. Now.”
All the usual politeness and patience was gone in those commands. He lets go of your hands and sits up as you go to do what he says. You keep eye contact with him the entire time you do it, and once you slide your bra off your form, Leon groans. He pushes you to lay back on the bed as he starts sucking marks on your collarbones. Your hands are still free, but before you get to touch him, he tuts. “No touching unless I tell you. Keep them down.” You whine as you place them next to your head. This is intense already even though you just started.
Leon’s mouth then reaches to your breasts. One of his hands goes to squeeze at one of them hard as he goes to mercilessly suck on the other. You gasp as your back arches, his actions sending tingles down your spine. “Fuck, these tits.”
He continues his treatment, switching sides as he bites and pinches. It goes on for a while and you know by now your panties are soaked.
“Leon, please-” you whine out after he gives another hard suck to one of your nipples. They feel so sore already from all of his biting. He released, his breath heavy.
“Aww what? My baby can’t wait a little longer? Be patient.” Despite his words, he has a little mercy on you and begins to trail lower down your body. You exhale in relief as you feel his lips litter small pecks on your waist. He goes to undo your jeans, roughly pulling them down until you’re now only in your underwear. He spreads your legs and whistles.
“Jesus, you’re so wet. All of this already and we barely even did anything.” He drags his pointer finger up your slit, which was made very visible by your panties sticking to it because of how aroused you are. You should be embarrassed, but you moan softly as his finger provides a bit of pressure to your clit. Leon sees this and quickly removes his finger, your hips lifting to try to get the friction back. He pins you down by the waist and stares you down, seeming to be deep in thought about what he is going to do next. You and Leon have fucked so many times, but this time, you are squirming under his glare. Leon’s eyes are dark like never before, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“Now take this off,” he demands after thinking for a moment, pulling on the waistband and letting it snap back, causing you to flinch. You rush to bring your hands down to pull them off when he stops you. “No. Slowly. Let me see you.”
You look into his eyes in defiance, but he returns it with an even darker stare than before. “Oh what, you’re going to start acting like a brat now? Do what I just fucking said.” Begrudgingly, you began slowly pulling your panties off. You close your eyes as you can feel the strings of your wetness cling to your underwear. You bring your knees up to pull it off the rest of the way, making yourself more exposed, and toss your ruined panties to the side. “Spread your legs.”
Sweat already covering your entire form, you part your legs, slightly bending your knees to give him a good view. He lets out a huge breath at seeing your bare pussy, already puffy and is begging for attention with it slick, it even has gotten to your thighs.
“I can’t wait any more, fuck me.” Leon tears his shirt off before reaching for his belt. Hearing his zipper go down a satisfying ring to your ears. Your eyes widen when he pulls off his boxers. His hard cock springs and he quickly goes to grab it, giving himself a couple of strokes as he stares at your body. Your toes curl at his continued teasing.
“Leon, just do something, please- fuck!” A pair of digits get shoved into you, intensely thrusting and hitting that spongey spot that increases the pressure in your lower abdomen.
“Damn, you’re tight.” Leon would usually start off slow, going in with one finger until he opened you up enough for another, but he is constantly pressing on your g-spot hard, overwhelming you. “She’s just sucking them right in.”
He would also bring his thumb to circle your clit, but right now, it barely grazes it. You try to lift your hips again to get his thumb on it, but his other hand still firmly holds you down. “Stay still.”
After a couple of minutes, that familiar feeling is starting to hit your lower abdomen, but just before it reaches its peak, he pulls his fingers out and brings them up, your wetness dripping off them. You whine out his name as he looks at them before looking at you. You're huffing, trying to catch your breath when he gets the idea. “Open up.”
With his other hand, he grabs on to your jaw and brings your mouth open before shoving his slick-covered fingers into it. Your eyes rolled back as you began to lick and suck his digits clean. “You just take anything I give you, huh? Fuck.”
He then rips his fingers out of your mouth and grabs your thighs, tossing them over his shoulders as he brings you as close to him as possible. He drags his cock through your slit a couple of times before completely bottoming out.
“Fuck! Leon- nghh-” You cried out, the feeling of him instantly filling you up being too much. He gives you a couple of seconds before he starts going at a rough, fast pace. The angle he has put you in makes it so his tip would hit your cervix with every push. Your hands go to his biceps, but he grabs them and pins them down on the mattress.
Your high is coming to you very quickly as Leon just uses you. You're trembling in his hold. “You’re close?” You nod.
“Well then, you better hold it.” Your eyes shoot open at that, seeing the smirk on his face as he lays his forehead on yours, his breath hot in your face. “I can feel her clenching all up on me, but I’m not done yet.”
You moan, which he captures in his mouth as he gives you a messy open-mouthed kiss. Spit has already been drooling down your chin from his thrusts, but it just increases tenfold as you make out.
“L-Leon- ah- I can’t-” You stutter out, your cunt rapidly pulsing around his cock until he pulls it out. “No!”
Tears brim your eyes as your orgasm fades away from you the second time, the feeling of emptiness overcomes you. You are trying to gain your breath back when you suddenly get twisted around, landing on your tummy. You get on your arms before a pair of strong hands grab your hips and lift them up. “Shh…”
Leon nudges your legs further apart, exposing your pussy completely for his viewing. You bury your face into the mattress as the cold air hits you, but you quickly bring it back up when you shout at a sharp pain hitting your rear.
You turn your head and see Leon rub the side of your ass. He then brings his hand back again, and slaps the same spot again, enjoying seeing the red spot starting to bloom on your asscheek as it jiggled. He kept doing it a couple of more times, and each time, your moans got breathier and breathier.
“You’re enjoying this?” He asks as you gush and clench around nothing as he continues to spank you. “And here I was trying to make you pay back for making me pull out for not following orders. You’re like a fucking animal in heat, Christ…”
Leon then pulls you back a bit and spreads your ass for a second. You feel your face immediately go hot until you let out a loud moan at his releasing a glob of spit on your already drenched cunt. He lets go of his grip on you as you hear slaps of him stroking himself. “Now, we're going to try this again. And you better keep it in this time, got it?”
You nod against the mattress until he grabs at your hair, tugging your head up as he laid on you, bringing his face close to yours. “I said to use your damn words. Answer the question.”
“Y-Yes Leon!” You exclaim before he lets go of your hair. You let out a long whine as he drags his dick through your pussy, making soft noises whenever it would press on your sensitive bud. He shoves himself in again and goes back to the pace he was doing before, his pelvis hitting your ass with every thrust.
You grab the sheets for support, drooling on them until you feel something being shoved under your chin. Your top half then gets lifted up and that’s when you realize Leon has wrapped his arm around your neck in a headlock. Your sounds get lighter as his arm tightens. Your hands go up to grab at it, feeling yourself get hazy as your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Oh, you really like that. Your pussy just got all tight on me the moment I squeezed.” Leon chuckles into your ear. You simply nod as much as you can in his hold, tears spilling down your face. “Awww, am I fucking you stupid?”
He loosens his grip on you, which you take a big breath in. “Uhuh… Love it so mu- mhmm!” A particularly hard thrust cuts you off, and Leon laughs at your state, strengthening his arm around you again as your hand starts to claw at them in an attempt to push them back in place.
“I really did. Look at you, all pretty and dumb in my arms. Knew you had a thing for them, always staring at them when you think I’m not looking.” You turn your face to bury it into the side of his arm, but he shakes you. “Nuh-uh, no hiding from me tonight. I should get you in front of a mirror next time, make you see how much of a horny mess you are.”
Leon’s thrusts suddenly get rougher and more uneven, a sign he is getting close. You were able to confirm it as you heard his let out breathier grunts and groans through your daze.
“Holy shit- Holy shit. Is this what you wanted, huh? To treat you like a ragdoll for me to personally use? Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, love.” You moan at his words. “Oh, you’re about to cum, I can feel it. I’m feeling nice, baby, come for me. I want you to come with me, c’mon now…”
You finally let yourself go as Leon brings hand to your pussy, circling his finger perfectly around your clit. Your moans start to sound like shouts as your peak is slowly hitting you. Leon gives a couple more hard thrusts until he goes still. As you clench hard on his cock, you can feel yourself milking his spend as it fills you up. He then gives a couple of more thrusts to prolong your highs until he drops down on you, both of you a sweaty pile of limbs on ruined sheets.
“Fuck- That was so good, god.” Leon breathes out, smiling into your shoulder as you both huff in and out breaths. Once he comes to, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your head as he lifts his weight off you. “You okay, hun?”
He pulls his softening cock out of you, both of you whining from the loss of contact. Leon turns you over to lay at your back and still sees you still lost in your orgasmic high. He gives you time, rubbing your cheek to try to get you to come back. “C’mon baby, look at me… There she is, there you go.”
You nuzzle your face into his hand as his thumb rubs softly over the high of your cheek. Leon takes a second to admire you, all worn out. His eyes trail down your body, his brows slightly knitting together as he sees it covered in love bites and bruises. He had to hold back a moan at the view of your pussy, your combined releases slowly leaking out. He could get hard again just from the sight, but now is not the time for him to over indulge; it’s time to give you some real love and attention for giving him the best fuck he’s ever had.
“Awww, sweetheart. You’re doing alright? C’mere.” Leon knows that you tend to get clingy every time you would have sex, so he laid down next to you and embraced you, laying his head over yours as yours was on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow from your activities. “How are you feeling?”
“My legs feel like jello,” you giggled out as you wrap your arms around his torso. “Like it always does, but this time, I feel like I genuinely can’t move my legs.”
Leon’s face turns red at your admission. He presses another kiss to your head. “Well, that’s why I’m here right? I’ll go get you a warm washcloth.”
He separates from you and grabs his boxers on his way to the en-suite bathroom. He hears a whine and turns to see you pouting at him. “I’ll be right back, baby.” He chuckles as he sees you turn away from him.
He comes back and rubs your shoulder for you to turn. Once on your back, Leon softly parts your legs and carefully wipes off the mess at your center. He coos at you as you whine from the sensitivity. He gives you a couple of kisses on your thighs as a reward. He then sits next to you, placing his warm hand on your stomach. “Want to take a bath? I’ll heat up leftovers from earlier if you're hungry, or I can also order us some pizza.”
“Bath please.”
Leon pushes some of your messy hair away from your face. “Bath it is.”
He stands up and scoops you up in his arms. He takes you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter as he turns to the bath to prepare it for you. He makes sure it's that perfect warm temperature and adds that bubble bath mix you really like. Once he is done, he goes back to you and helps you into the bath. He holds in a laugh as your legs threaten to give under you. You scoff and softly hit him on the shoulder in return. Leon rests on the side of the tub, until you reach your arm out to him. “Can you get in here with me?”
“Of course, baby.” You shift a bit forward to give him space to sit behind you. He takes off his boxers and settles in, instinctively wrapping his arms around you to bring you to sit against his chest. You hum as he begins to caress your body. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you, right?”
“No, that was perfect.” You said as you laid your hand over one of his. “We should do this more often.”
Leon snorts as he kisses your temple. “You’re not real, princess.”
END NOTES: This was supposed to be a lot more simpler, but as I kept writing, more and more ideas spilled and then we got to this😭 Thank you for reading, loves<33
TAGLIST: @nocturnalstar, @kennedysbbyy (Let me know in the comments below if you want to be tagged in this celebration's fics!!)
13 DAYS OF LEON KENNEDY: 100 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION
Content: smut, p in v, fingering, squirting, alcohol consumption, hookup culture lol
Masterlist❤︎
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There is nothing better than being fucked completely senseless.
Arguably the best remedy for a chronically overactive mind.
After five straight days of managing passive-aggressive emails and smiling through situations that tested the absolute limits of human sanity, you decided the only cure for this impending mental breakdown was a stiff drink and zero inhibitions on this lovely weekend.
Two shots of whatever was closest, and the company of a man who looked just as desperately in need of a distraction as you, if not more so.
Beautiful was what you initially pegged him as, eyes sweeping along the striking lines of an exhausted face and the stubborn swoop of hair spilling carelessly over his brow. Then you decided he was just prematurely aged. The silver threads catching at his temples and the aggressive shadow of a stubble made him look worn down by a decade of exceptionally bad sleep and even worse stress.
He looked like a man who could fuck good. Looked like he approached sex the exact same way he approached the rest of his miserable life, with unrelenting stamina and a terrifyingly methodical focus designed to dismantle whatever stood before him.
He also looked like an easy target, staring into the amber depths of his glass with a level of sad depression that practically radiated off his shoulders. All it took was you stepping directly into his line of sight, ordering another shot with a dramatic sigh, and offering him a painfully cynical comment about the state of the world (while deliberately showing off your cleavage).
The guarded set of his jaw twitched into the faintest ghost of a smirk.
You offered your name, he offered his (Leon—was it short for Leonard? Leonel?), and he leaned in when you laughed at his terrible attempt at a joke. A genuine chortled laugh because you hadn't expected a dad joke from a man who looked as brooding as he did.
You licked your lips, he followed your tongue.
Hook, line, sinker.
Which explains how you now find yourself trapped in a mating press on a mattress that probably costs more per night than your rent. A dingy, cheap motel would have been your practical choice, but you had noted the expensive gleam of the watch on his wrist within five minutes of sitting next to him. Freaking Hamilton that looked distinctly like a limited edition, judging by the brushed steel and intricate dial.
Frankly, you shouldn't be surprised he carried that much net worth. He’s handsome, weathered beautifully into his age (Late forties? Early fifties?), and clearly paid an exorbitant amount of money to survive whatever horrors are actively ruining his mental health.
What does surprise you is how you’ve underestimated the scope of his physical abilities.
Over the past blurry hour, this complete stranger has effortlessly folded you into positions that defy your understanding of your own flexibility. Knees pressed so securely beside your own ears you start to believe the fee you pay for your weekly reformer pilates class might be a scam.
Apparently what you needed to achieve this level of advanced mobility was the unrelenting dead weight of a very, very capable man. So fucking capable that you’ve genuinely lost count of how many times he’s wrung you out on these expensive sheets.
Four orgasms? Maybe five? Whatever the number is, another one is dangerously crawling up the base of your spine.
Your sanity might be beyond saving at this point. You’re sweating profusely, and the backs of your thighs are screaming in dull protest from being pinned back for god knows how long. Leon pulls out and snaps his hips again with a jarring impact that seems to grow more ruthlessly aggressive with every single grind.
He does it again and again and again until you’re basically screaming from the unavoidable crash of yet another orgasm, toes curling frantically in the suspended air while your nails bite into the heavy muscle of his arms.
This man is something else, obviously nothing akin to the standard parade of disappointing men who talked big but possessed absolutely zero game. They were a flimsy attempt to scratch the very surface of your boredom. Leon, by comparison, is clawing straight down to the bone.
There’s a slowness in his thrusts now, and you blink to find an actual smile breaking through the sweat and exhaustion on his face. The warm puff of a chuckle against your cheek tells you he isn't simply amused. He’s actually entertained.
You huff, making a valiant but entirely useless attempt to mock him, "Stop laughing."
The sweat beading along his heavy brow does absolutely nothing to detract from how devastatingly smug he looks right now. “You’re shaking so much. It’s cute.”
So much for playing the femme fatale act at the bar. He swipes a thumb across your blotchy cheek, courtesy of his rough afternoon shadow.
“You okay?”
You sigh out a harsh breath, blowing a damp strand of hair out of your eyes. “Have you," you manage to wheeze, "even cum yet?”
He shakes his head, blue eyes glinting with unapologetic amusement.
"Are you ever going to?"
His low laughter rumbles warmly in your ears. “Why, you want me to stop already?" he presses a kiss against your jaw. "Thought you were having a good time."
“I’m having a great time.”
“Then what’s with the rush?”
“Maybe we should take a break,” you whine, gasping sharply when the weight of his pelvis rocks aggressively against your lower belly. “I-I need to pee.”
He seems unfazed. Moves like you didn't utter a word to begin with. Instead, what he does is press you even further into the mattress. “Is that right?”
“Fuck—Leon—” You arch your back as he maliciously tilts his hips. “You’re not helping.”
“I actually am,” he argues.
“What—”
“Let's test a theory," he drawls, hot breath ghosting over your pulse. "Do you really think you just need to pee, or are you about to squirt?”
You go completely still for a moment. Considering your track record of thoroughly uninspired hookups and non-lasting relationships, there is absolutely no palpable evidence to suggest you are capable of doing what he’s asking.
“I’m pretty sure I need to pee,” you reason quietly. “I’m not a squirter.”
He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?”
“I have no prior experience to suggest it's even an option.”
He looks genuinely offended by your answer. “Do you want to try?”
Your head falls back to fully take him in. He really is pretty. Never mind the faint, tired wrinkles bracketing his pale blue eyes, or the harsh features of a man who has clearly seen too much and slept too little. He’s simply too devastatingly gorgeous for his own good.
Even with the fragments of scars you’ve spent the last hour subconsciously counting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Scars that make you wonder what kind of terrifying life he leads when he isn't in a hotel room with a stranger, fucking their brains out.
And you’re very much aware you’re one of the few he’s taken to bed.
But is he always this attentive? This generous?
Does he fuck everyone else this hard yet still find the gentle grace to cradle their face and brush the hair out of their eyes?
You instantly hate how territorial you sound. It's wildly hypocritical for someone who values the cheap thrill of a purely physical transaction just as much as he clearly does. He’s just a good lover, you decide. And if tonight is the only night you get to have this man all to yourself, then so be it.
If he thinks he can make you squirt, then who are you to deny?
“You really think I’m about to squirt?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
You frown. “What if it’s just pee?”
He kisses the wrinkled line between your brows. “Make a mess then, I don’t mind.”
Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight.
“Then make me squirt, Leon.”
He dips his head, breathing the hot air of his lungs directly into your open mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
Your pussy tightens reflexively at that, which he obviously catches. He catches on to every desperate tell your body gives him, actually. Probably the sole reason why you've already come an embarrassing number of times.
Not enough, apparently, because he’s already moving his hips in rapid rhythms—not too fast or too slow, but enough to have your eyes sliding shut, focusing on the stretch of his cock driving deep in and out of your cunt.
“Fucking beautiful,” he hums, binding your wrists together above your head. “Just lying there looking all pretty."
“H-harder,” you whine, weakly pushing your hips up to meet him.
“Yeah?” He squeezes your wrists together, leaning even more of his massive frame over you. “You like it when I go hard on you?”
Like it? You thrive on it, nodding frantically as your trembling thighs try to lock around his waist. Try is definitely the word when he’s practically flattened you beneath his crushing weight, effortlessly trapping your body. You can feel your limbs turn gooey and powerless, your stomach contrastingly hard.
“I know, baby, I know,” he rasps, ramming his hips harshly against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Ngh—h—”
“That’s it, give it to me. Make a mess on me.”
The panic hits you first, quickly swallowed by an absolute wave of pure heat. Starts as a buzzing ache in your core before violently spiking into an unbearable sensation. Your belly burns, coils, rattles—and you blink your eyes open, brimming with tears. “Leon—”
He instantly reads the panicked clench of your muscles.
“Don't fight it.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Your groan is feral. “I can’t—”
“Come on, baby, you’ve got to trust me,” he croons softly. “Do you trust me?”
Surprisingly, you do, even if your only judgment on this man comes from the three hours that have passed since you sat down next to him at the bar. “Yes.”
“Good. Then let it happen.”
Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.
“Breathe through your nose.”
He plunges in with a particularly harsh thrust and you gasp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck—”
“That’s it.” He closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads touching. “Let it go.”
You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding.
It’s like a switch. One moment your muscles are tensed, then a passage of whines pitches upward as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Strong and gut-wrenching. Body hot in bliss and shame—only for two seconds. Quick as it hits, he abruptly pulls out, instantly replacing his cock with two calloused fingers.
Your mouth gapes in a silent scream. Even more so when his offhand curls around your neck. Fingers pressing against the sides of your throat, palm flat against your windpipe, but exercising barely any pressure all the while his fingers fucks your swollen, dripping cunt.
You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself getting drenched, but you’ve never experienced anything as wild as this.
Speckles of liquid spatter across the sheets the more he drags his hand in an up-and-down motion, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.
He pushes his palm against your clit.
“Oh fuck! fuckfuckfuck—”
A sudden rush spills over him. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot onto his thighs. He continues to pump his fingers while you lie there—crying openly, violently shuddering. It goes on for what feels like forever until he smoothes out his pressure around your throat, kissing the drool glistening on your lips with a disbelief chuckle.
“Should’ve met you sooner,” he laughs into your mouth, easily slipping his cock back in.
Maybe it’s the bliss completely corrupting your nervous system, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming stretch of his thick cock driving back into your overstimulated cunt. Whatever it is, you completely lose your grip on the casual nature of a one night stand, eager words spilling past your wet lips before you can even screen them.
“Can we meet again?” You pant. “Like—after tonight?”
You’re somewhere right on the edge of a pathetic whimper and a helpless laugh, entirely too pleasured to think straight, dangerously too giddy at the possibility of actually getting to know him. To uncover those scars in daylight, to figure out what kind of hell he had to survive to inherit those devastatingly sad yet kind eyes.
To learn his last name. To unearth his middle.
You gasp when he effortlessly flips you over, twisting his fingers in your hair and pulling it back.
Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight—and all the days that follow.
April 1st at BSAA headquarters started like any other day.
Which, in hindsight, should have been the first warning sign.
The building moved in its usual rhythm, agents filing reports, boots echoing through the hallways, coffee machines working overtime to keep everyone functional. Chris sat in his office reviewing paperwork, already irritated, already tired, already one inconvenience away from losing his patience.
Leon, meanwhile, had arrived early.That was the second warning sign.He had been unusually quiet that morning, moving through the building with a level of focus that did not match his usual energy. No jokes. No comments. No leaning in doorways being a menace.
Just… silent.
Productive.
Which, if anyone had stopped to think about it, should have terrified them.
You noticed, because of course you did. The man was your husband after all.You stood near the break room watching him walk past with a coil of something suspiciously like wire tucked under his arm.
“…Leon,” you called lightly.
He glanced back, completely innocent. “Yeah?”
Your eyes narrowed. “…What are you doing.”
Leon smiled. “Improving morale.”
You should have stopped him, you didn't of course for many reasons. You did not work here, you were pregnant and most of all you were curious.
And that made you just as guilty.
The first victim was Chris.Because of course it was.
Chris stepped into the hallway with his usual no-nonsense stride, already mid-thought, already halfway through mentally planning his next meeting. He didn’t notice anything out of place.
Why would he?Everything looked normal.
He passed one of the doors and into the break room. The man wasn't paying attention when he grabbed a mug to fill up with water, didn't notice the sprayer was taped.
But the moment he turned it on.
PSSSSHHHHHHHH.
A burst of water sprayed directly into his face and chest, the man frantically turning the water off.
Chris froze.
Dripping.
Completely still.
Water ran down his face, soaked into his shirt, dripped off his jaw.The hallway went silent.Somewhere behind him, you made a small, strangled sound trying not to laugh.
Chris slowly wiped his face.“…Kennedy.”
Leon appeared at the far end of the hall, leaning casually against the wall like he had been there the entire time.
“Hydration is important,” Leon said.
Chris stared at him.“I am going to kill you.”
Leon nodded thoughtfully.“Noted.”
Barry was next.
Barry walked through the hallway carrying a stack of reports, completely unaware of the strip of clear tape stretched perfectly across the doorway at face level.
You saw it.
You opened your mouth but it was too late and of course Barry walked straight into it.
THWAP.
He stopped dead, his head jerked back.The reports slid slightly in his hands as he blinked, completely disoriented.
“I can’t see!” Barry said, voice muffled slightly as the tape stuck across his face.
You lost it and Emily, who had been standing nearby, dropped to the floor laughing.
Rose covered her mouth, giggling softly beside her.
Leon, from down the hall, leaned against the wall like this was the greatest thing he had ever witnessed.
Barry slowly peeled the tape off his face.“…I’m too old for this.”
Leon called out helpfully, “You handled that with grace.”
Barry pointed at him.“You’re next.”
Chris did not learn, that was his mistake.
He stormed back into his office, still damp, still irritated, muttering under his breath as he grabbed his chair and sat down.
The moment his full weight hit it.
CRACK.
The chair collapsed, the back gave out, one leg snapped slightly, and Chris dropped down with a heavy thud, reports flying.
The entire office froze and from the hallway you laughed.
Leon leaned into the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“…Structural failure,” Leon said calmly.
Chris didn’t move, didn't speak.Just sat there for a long, quiet moment.
Then slowly stood, turned and looked directly at Leon. “I am going to end you.”
Leon held up his hands.“It’s team bonding.”
Chris stepped forward.“It’s harassment.”
Leon shrugged.“Semantics.”
By noon, the entire building was on edge.No one touched doors without checking first.No one sat down without testing the chair.Every hallway crossing was treated like a potential ambush.
Except for three people.
You.
Emily.
And Rose.
You leaned against the wall watching Chris carefully inspect his coffee cup before taking a sip, your shoulders still shaking from laughter.
Emily had declared it the “best day ever.”
Rose stayed close to her, giggling quietly every time someone fell victim to another harmless but deeply irritating prank.
Leon walked up beside you, slipping an arm around your waist like he hadn’t just caused widespread chaos. “You’re enjoying this,” he murmured.
You leaned into him, smiling.“…A little.”
Emily ran past, shouting something about “checking the next trap.”
Rose followed at a much more careful pace.
Chris, across the room, pointed at Leon again, chest heaving.“This ends now.”
Leon tilted his head.“…Does it?”
Chris narrowed his eyes.
Leon smiled.
And somewhere in the building, another shout echoed.
Chris closed his eyes.“…I hate him.”
You laughed, while Leon looked entirely satisfied.
The chaos hadn’t stopped of course, if anything, it had escalated.
By mid-afternoon, the entire BSAA building had reached a very specific level of tension the kind where everyone knew something else was coming, but no one knew what or when. People moved cautiously, suspicious of door handles, chairs, vents… even their own coffee.
Chris had reached his limit hours ago.
He had dried off from the water trap, replaced the broken chair, and spent the last hour trying to maintain some level of professionalism while internally planning Leon’s very slow and painful demise.
Which was why he hadn’t noticed.Not the faint smudges.Not the way a few agents had looked at him and then quickly looked away.Not the quiet snickering that followed him down the hallway.
He was too focused.Too done with this god awful day.
So when the medic approached him….the very one he had a not so obvious crush on, her soft and hesitant like she always was, he didn’t think anything of it.
“Um… Chris?”
He looked up immediately, his entire posture shifting just slightly, like it always did around her.
“Yeah?”
She hesitated, clearly trying not to smile.“…You have ink on your face.”
Chris blinked.“…What.”
Her lips pressed together, clearly fighting it now as she cocked her head to the side.“On your face,” she repeated gently.
Chris frowned slightly, already reaching up to touch his cheek.“…Where?”
She gestured vaguely.“…Everywhere.”
There was a beat of silence and Chris turned. The man walked slowly toward the nearest reflective surface.
And then he saw it.
His face.
Completely.
Decorated.
Someone….Leon ( of course ) had taken the time to draw on him while he slept.
There were exaggerated eyebrows. A mustache. Something that might have been fangs. Possibly a monocle.
It was a masterpiece.
Chris stood there, staring at himself, completely still.
The hallway went silent and then.“KENNEDY!”
The shout echoed through the entire floor, Agents flinched.Some ducked out of sight.Others immediately turned to watch.
From down the hall, Leon’s voice called back casually, “Don’t fall asleep in the break room!”
Chris turned slowly, very, very slowly away from the medic. "Excuse me." He then took a deep breath in. “You better have your wife plan a funeral,” he said, voice low and deadly, “because you are going to die.”
Leon appeared at the far end of the hallway just in time to see Chris start moving.
Fast.
Leon’s eyes widened. “…Worth it.” He then aburptly turned and ran.
Chris took off after him immediately, boots pounding against the floor with terrifying speed.
“GET BACK HERE!”
Leon laughed, dodging around a corner.“Catch me first!”
Agents flattened themselves against the walls as the two of them tore through the building, one fueled by pure vengeance, the other by terrible decisions and zero regret.
Claire leaned over the railing just in time to see Leon sprint past. “Oh my god—”
Chris followed seconds later, still partially inked, still furious. “I’M GOING TO END YOU!”
Barry shook his head as he watched them disappear.
You stood off to the side, one hand covering your mouth as you laughed, shoulders shaking.Emily clung to your side, laughing just as hard.
Rose stood beside her, giggling softly, eyes wide as she watched the chaos unfold.
The medic stood a few feet away, still smiling slightly despite herself, her gaze lingering in the direction Chris had run.“…He looks good even with a mustache,” she murmured.
You laughed harder and down the hallway, something crashed.
Leon’s voice echoed faintly.“IT WAS JUST A PRANK!”
Chris’s voice followed immediately after.“I WILL SHOW YOU A PRANK!”
And somewhere in the building, another trap waited.
Order food. Sit on the couch. Complain about how Leon refuses to pick a restaurant unless it’s “life or death.”
Normal.
You were curled up in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, wearing one of his hoodies again,because of course you were while scrolling through his phone while he was in the shower. He had tossed it at you without a second thought.
“Order whatever you want,” he’d said.
Which, in Leon language, meant: don’t even look at the price.
You opened one of the delivery food apps, clicked around and debated between two places and then you tapped the wrong thing.
A notification popped up at the top, something from his banking app and before you could think about it, your finger followed it.
One tap.
That was it.
That’s all it took.
The screen loaded.
And your brain… completely shut off.For a second, you didn’t process it.It was just numbers.....A lot of numbers......Too many numbers.
Your eyes narrowed, like maybe you were reading it wrong. Like maybe there was a decimal point you missed. Like maybe....You leaned closer.
No.
No, that was real.
Your stomach dropped.
“…What the hell.”
You sat there, frozen, staring at the screen like it had personally offended you. Like it had lied to you somehow. Like Leon had secretly been… what, a billionaire? A crime lord? A very well-paid idiot?
You didn’t even hear the shower turn off.
Didn’t hear the door open.
Didn’t hear his footsteps.
“Hey—”
You flinched so hard you nearly dropped the phone.
Leon paused mid-step, hair damp, a towel slung low around his hips, another one draped over his shoulders. Water still clung to his skin, running down his chest in slow lines, but the second he saw your face he knew something was wrong.
“…You okay?”
You didn’t answer right away.You just slowly turned your head toward him.Still holding his phone.Still staring like you’d just uncovered a government conspiracy.
“…Leon.”
He blinked once. “…Yeah?”
“Why do you have that much money.”
There was a beat of silence and then he exhaled.
Not panicked.
Not guilty.
Just… mildly inconvenienced.
“Oh.”
You stared at him.
Oh?
“That’s it?” you snapped, sitting up straighter. “Oh?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, walking closer like this was a normal conversation. Like you hadn’t just discovered he could probably buy a small country if he felt like it.
“I didn’t think you’d go into that app.”
“I didn’t mean to!” you shot back. “I was trying to order food, not uncover your secret life as....what even is this?!”
You held the phone up like evidence.
He glanced at it then shrugged. “Government contracts,” he said. “Hazard pay. Private security work. Some… consulting stuff.”
You blinked. “…Some consulting stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“Leon.”
“Yeah?”
“You have ‘I could ruin the economy of a small nation’ money.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. “It’s not like I spend it,” he said.
You stared at him, then slowly lowered the phone blinking a few times .“…Leon.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“You bought me a four-hundred-dollar plushie yesterday.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “And I’d do it again.”
Your mouth fell open.
He reached out, taking the phone gently from your hand and setting it on the table like it didn’t matter at all, like none of this mattered compared to you.
“You’re stuck on the number,” he said, voice softer now. “I’m not.”
Your brows pulled together. “How are you not?!”
His hands found your thighs, thumbs brushing absent circles through the fabric of your leggings as he leaned in slightly. “Because I know what it’s for.”
Your breath caught. “For what?” you asked, quieter now.
His gaze lifted to yours, steady. Certain. “For you.”
Your heart stuttered. “Leon…”
“I mean it.” His voice dropped, something more serious settling in. “I didn’t survive all that just to sit on money. I didn’t crawl out of that mess just to… hoard numbers in an account.”
His jaw tightened slightly, like the memory still lived too close under his skin. "I got out,” he continued. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” His hand slid from your thigh to your hip, pulling you a little closer to the edge of the couch. “So yeah,” he said, softer now, “I’m gonna spend it on making your life easier. Happier. Safer.”
Your chest tightened. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of investment,” you muttered weakly.
He shook his head immediately. “No.” His hand came up, tilting your chin gently so you had to look at him.“You’re my wife.”
The way he said it, not flashy of course, not dramatic....just the truth.
“I don’t care about the money,” he continued. “I care about what it does for you. If it means you don’t stress, don’t settle, don’t have to second-guess what you deserve?”
His thumb brushed your cheek. “Then it’s worth every damn dollar.”
Your eyes softened, but you still huffed a little, trying to regain some footing. “…You’re insane.”
“Yeah,” he said easily.
A small pause.Then your gaze flicked back toward his phone.“…How much is actually in there?”
He followed your look.Then looked back at you as he shrugged. “…Enough.”
“Leon.”
He exhaled through his nose, like he knew you weren’t going to drop it. “…Enough that you don’t ever have to worry again.”
That did it.
That was the moment it really hit.
Not the number.
Not the shock.
But the intent.
You swallowed.
“…You really meant it,” you murmured. “This whole time.”
His expression softened again, all sharp edges gone. “Yeah.”
You sat there for a second, processing, then shook your head slowly, almost laughing under your breath. “I married a rich man and didn’t even know it.”
He smirked faintly. “Guess I should’ve led with that, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged upward.Then you leaned forward slightly, bumping your forehead against his chest. “…You’re still buying dinner,” you muttered.
His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in like it was instinct. “Obviously.....Order whatever you want.”
You snorted softly against him. "Are you sure?"
Leon was still standing right there in front of you, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, towel low on his hips, when you tilted your head up at him with that look half teasing, half genuinely testing the waters.
“…sooo,” you dragged out, fingers absently playing with the hem of his hoodie on your body, “can I order from, like… multiple places?”
He didn’t even blink. “I don’t care.” The answer came so fast, so easy, it made your grin widen instantly.
“Sweet…” you hummed, already reaching for his phone again before pausing mid-motion, glancing back up at him with a flicker of something more vulnerable. “And you won’t think I’m being fat?”
Leon actually froze, not in a confused way. No, more in a what the hell did you just say way. His brows pulled together, lips parting slightly like he was trying to process how that sentence had even made it out of your mouth. Then he let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head as he stepped closer.
“Are you serious right now?”
You shrugged a little, suddenly sheepish. “I’m just saying—”
His hand came up, firm but gentle, cupping your jaw and tilting your face up so you had to look at him. “I think you’re the hottest woman I know,” he said, voice steady, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. No hesitation. No joking. Just truth.
You watched him closely, heart pounding in your chest. His thumb brushed over your cheek, softer now.
“And for the record,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, “watching my wife get excited about food is one of my favorite things.”
A smile formed on your lips as you let your eyes drift to the ground.
“…oh.”
He huffed quietly, leaning down just enough to press a quick, warm kiss to your lips before pulling back.
“Also,” he added, already turning toward the bedroom to get dressed, “don’t forget to tip them well.”
You beamed.
“I love you,” you chirped, leaning forward to catch him for another quick kiss before he could get too far.
He barely had time to react before you were already spinning back toward the couch, grabbing his phone with full intent.
“I know,” he called back, voice carrying a quiet warmth that lingered even as he disappeared down the hall.
And just like that, it began.
You tucked yourself back into the corner of the couch, legs folded under you, phone in hand like you were about to commit a very serious crime.
First app, then scrolling. “Ooooh, okay…” you muttered to yourself, eyes lighting up. “We’re starting strong.”
You added something for yourself then something that Leon loves then paused. “…Wait, no—this place too.”
Then another place. “Oh my god, they still have that.Leon likes this..okay, adding that.”
Another restaurant.
You gasped softly. “No way they have this combo—yeah, absolutely.”
At this point you were fully invested, tongue poking slightly against your lip in concentration as you built what could only be described as a feast.
Different cuisines.
Different cravings.
All the things you both loved but never got at the same time.
By the time you leaned back against the couch, you were surrounded by confirmation screens, receipts, and delivery estimates that staggered across the next hour like a perfectly timed event.
You looked down at the total, shifting your body as you dug your nails into his palm then slowly glanced toward the hallway.
“…He said he didn’t care,” you whispered to yourself.
Then you hit confirm as you ordered drinks for yourself and Leon.
Phone tossed gently onto the couch beside you, you stretched out with a satisfied little hum, already imagining everything arriving.
Leon came back a few minutes later, dressed now, sleeves pushed up, hair still slightly damp and stopped in the doorway.
Because you looked so pleased with yourself.Curled up. Cozy. Radiating satisfaction, adorable.He leaned against the frame, arms crossing loosely.
“…So what's the damage?”
You turned your head slowly, a grin spreading across your face. "Define damage?.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, already amused.“…How many places.”
You held up your hand, giving him a sheepish smile as you held up your hand. "Four."
Leon stared at you, then let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head.
Not annoyed, just fond.
“Alright,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. “Guess I’m setting the table for a banquet.”
You laughed, reaching for him as he got close, tugging him down just enough to press your face into his stomach. “You love it.”
His hand came up automatically, threading into your hair, holding you there. “…Yeah,” he admitted, softer now.Then, with the faintest smirk in his voice he held you close. “Next time, we’re adding a fifth place.”
You lit up instantly. “Oh, absolutely.”
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