Hey Pasta! I’m new here so I don’t know if you’ve ever been asked/answered this question already, but do you ever plan on changing TRT from second person? Just curious! Much love <3
This isn't a question I've gotten so I'm happy to answer!
I haven't thought about changing it per se just because I have a lot of fans of Reader fic reading it who are used to 2nd POV and I've enjoyed exploring it (before I started, it was the only POV I hadn't written in yet), but I do occasionally toy with the idea of 'releasing' an alternate version/fic in either 3rd or 1st POV. That way readers could take their pick of reading in 2nd POV like a Reader fic or reading in, say, 3rd POV so it's more like an OC fic. I've got friends who'd love to read it but can't do 2nd POV just because they're unfamiliar with it, so it's definitely something I know people would enjoy.
Honestly at this point, the only reason I'm hesitating is logistics and time - the sheer magnitude of going through and changing the POV of an, at present, almost 700k word story is a liiiiiittle daunting, and it would take a bit more time than I've got at the moment if I want to keep writing weekly TRT chapters. On top of that, I'd need to figure out if I should give Jane an appearance, because new readers coming in and reading it as an OC fic are likely to expect at least a few descriptors, even if I like keeping it vague so everyone can see someone they relate to.
So basically, I'm not saying I won't do it and it's not out of the question! It's more a matter of time. I have plans to go back and make some small constructional edits when I can, and that would likely be when I'd start seeing how hard it would be to, say, take each chapter, make the changes, and then post that in a new fic (leaving the old with 2nd POV).
sorry for the radio silence, but it’s likely gonna go on a little longer. my mental health is kinda at an all time low. dealing with a lot of personal stuff. i’ll put more of a description in the tags if you’re interested.
SUKUNA has to get his head out of the gutter when you wake up in the middle of the night and tell him you dreamed of him
sometime in the middle of the night sukuna felt a sharp jab to his arm. not a cute nudge, you literally nearly elbow him off the mattress.
“ugh— what the fuck,” he grumbles, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face as he forces one eye open. “what is it?"
you were sitting up beside him, silhouetted by the faint glow of streetlight leaking through the curtains. “I dreamed of you,” you mutter, breathing uneven.
he exhaled through his nose, already halfway amused. “oh?” a tired chuckle slipped out of him. he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his arm, smirk slowly forming. "do tell."
the tempting edge in his voice faded when he finally takes a proper look at you: your face is twisted, eyes glassy, bottom lip trembling like you're about to combust. his eyebrows pulled together. “what—”
and then you started crying, not subtle sniffles, oh no. more like full-on, chest-heaving sobs. sukuna shot upright instantly, sleep gone in a second. he stared at you like the situation was a puzzle he'd been violently dropped into without instructions.
"hey— hey- what the fuck?" he demanded, tone sharper out of panic than irritation. “why you crying like someone fucking died?”
you can barely get the words out. “y-you d-died and i—” your breath catches painfully. “I had to b-bury you..."
his face lost color. “what?”
“a-and i was crying and you were just— just gone,” you choked out, wiping uselessly at your face. “A- all you can think about is s-sex when i say i dreamed about you?!”
he blinked.
oh.
“baby—” he reached out instinctively to cup your cheek, but you slapped his hand away.
“you are s-such a— hic— dick!”
he let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face again “yeah,” he muttered under it. “i am.”
without further arguing, he laid back down and opened his arms, pulling you toward him with firm insistence. you resisted for about two seconds, pushing weakly at his chest before melting into him like you always did. your face ended up pressed directly into his chest, cheek against warm skin, your tears soaking into him.
he wrapped both arms around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. “I'm not dead,” he said quietly, the usual arrogance stripped from his voice. “I'm right here.”
your crying slowly softened to hiccups, then to shaky breaths. he stayed still, letting you calm down at your own pace, thumb moving in slow circles along your back. you listened to his very alive heartbeat, and eventually the sobbing stopped.
“are you done?” he softly murmured into your hair.
you nodded faintly against him.
he sighed, tension easing from his shoulders. "go to sleep. i'll be right here when you wake up."
₊˚⊹♡ your very first morning waking up in sae's arms comes with an unexpected surprise! sae itoshi x reader
the very first morning you woke up in sae's arms was a morning you never wanted to forget. you distinctly remember the hotel's bedsheets being tinged with the fragrance of something floral mixed with sae's faint cologne, and the natural symphony of the waves crashing outside from the open balcony window along with the glittering sunlight that streamed into the room only made the moment even more perfect.
sae had begun the morning by pressing a number of soft kisses sleepily onto your shoulder blades as he slowly rouse from his slumber, so it was only natural for you to turn around and greet him good morning, right?
the appalled gasp that tore from your lips had sae's eyes fluttering open in confusion, and the sight of your wide eyed gaze and hand pressed against your mouth had him immediately sitting up in concern
"what's wrong?" he questions, voice gravelly and deep with sleep as his palm reaches out to settle against your waist
"uhm... nothing!" you manage to choke out. sae blinks slowly, not catching on to what could have provoked such a reaction from you—but when your gaze accidentally moves up for a split second—his own eyes slightly widen in mild horror as he remembered just what his hair looked like in the morning.
the usual styled and gelled hair you were so used to seeing was now a soft but absolutely wild mess on top of his head—it seemed like the pink tufts were defying gravity itself with the way they stuck up in just about every direction possible. his usual updo was also completely gone, with his bangs instead falling softly against his forehead in thick tufts.
despite the tousled and disheveled look that was a far cry from sae's usual composed appearance, the sight in front of you was oddly endearing. unfortunately for you, sae immediately pulls his blanket up and over his head, muttering an angry string of profanities under his breath as you wince
"sae! i'm sorry, i was just a bit surprised, i promise! i've never seen your hair so... uhm—" you cut yourself off with a muffled laugh as sae tightens the blanket around his head
"you weren't supposed to see me like this... go back to sleep and tell yourself this was all a dream while i get myself ready in the bathroom."
you laugh louder, but only because he was dead serious. once your laughter subsides, you carefully rise on wobbly legs off the bed. the sleeve of sae's shirt shifts off your shoulder a bit from the movement, but you don't bother to fix it as you hover over him and gently tug the blanket off of his form
thankfully, sae doesn't protest. you crawl back onto the bed once you manage to peel off all the constricting fabric in your way before carefully pulling his head into your lap, placing a flurry of kisses onto the slope of his hairline. he flinches after the first press of your lips against him, but eventually, sae relaxes in your hold with a barely perceptible scowl plastered onto his face.
"i can't believe you saw me like this. so tepid." he grumbles as you smile softly, threading a hand through his locks and carefully parting the hair—a fruitless attempt to tame it, unfortunately.
"sae, i promise the sight of you like this isn't tepid or lukewarm, or whatever it is you're always saying. everyone's hair is a bit of a mess in the morning, so please don't feel embarrassed—"
"i am not embarrassed—"
"—and please don't think you have to put up a front with me like you do with everyone else! i don't want you to go style your hair right now, i want you relax just as you are. so, please lay back down." you huff, and sae remains silent. he seems to be deep in thought, brows pinching together and lips slightly pursed as he drew mindless circles on your knee before ultimately heaving a sigh
"...fine. i'll stay."
he's too embarssed to thank you for making him feel more human than machine, so instead, sae will call the hotel receptionist when you finally do get out of bed to use the restroom and order every breakfast item they have on the menu (it's because he doesn't know which one'll be your favorite, this is his first time waking up with you, after all), he'll allow you to brush his hair, shampoo it, blow-dry it, play with it—whatever it is you want to do because he tolerates you, and only because he tolerates you.
and maybe he'll even offer you a kiss on the lips for... well, that one would just be because he wants to kiss you.
I decided to write more Pierrot x reader NSFW. Because I am down bad for the tall, cute, and clowny boy.
I'll eventually add it to AO3 once I finish something else I'm fussing with up.
This has nothing to do with the last thing I posted, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and I am terrible at writing and keeping my wits together. Speaking of, there's no lead up. We're right into the action because I was too lazy / didn't care enough to do it proper / had no ideas for how you two got here, but
oh
you got here
(starry banner source)
(Content: jerking off, hand humping, things get messy, Pierrot is being a silly virginal simp teehee~)
Oh beloved, he's not so sure this was a great idea after all! Oh, but he was weak, so utterly weak for you.
You heard his claws rake the wall behind you, but you were too focused on his cock. So huge, so strange, so… primal, even! In fact, the sounds of the wall's destruction, and the hissing pants and huffs above, just fueled your fixation, an almost-suffocating beastly fervor of your own stirring in your chest.
You had to keep going. No, you needed to keep going. You had to have more. You went even faster, gripping him stronger. Harder. Tighter.
Pierrot's jaw fell slack, tongue lolling out as he crushed and splintered the boards he so heavily leaned against - a distant thread of reason in his mind glad it was the wall and not you. Panting whimpers and pleas were pouring from his mouth, now that the dam of his teeth was broken. With each twitch of increased pressure from your palms around his throbbing dick, he whined, his hips giving frantic, jerking bucks from the cracks in his resolve.
The end was rushing to him at dreadful, glorious speed.
And you were in the way!
He tried to calm himself, but he could feel your heart pounding, hear your breath getting heavier. He could smell- no- taste the rapid pace your excitement climbed. Did… Did you want him to... to… All over you?
The thought made his head spin, and his back arch. He wasn't going to last much longer. Growls, deep and rumbling and predatory, began escaping his throat. His breath was coming hard and violently, as if his lungs and diaphragm were being crushed with each exhale.
He didn't want to, not so soon, how embarrassing! He had been dreading this, his inexperience shattering his discipline, like he was a mere juvenile. Yet… he couldn't stop thinking about you - how you weren't afraid, how you weren't trying to stop him, how you weren't moving out of the way. How you kept making it worse. You wanted him. You wanted him. It was clear as a bell striking his head. And you wanted his essence, all over you…?
"Oh wow, Pierrot…"
Your soft gasp gave the signal to give in. He helplessly humped into your grasp. He realized he could just barely feel the graze of your shirt against his sensitive tip, chest heaving while he lost control. His legs shifted to better thrust, body trembling... and then he glanced down.
What he saw shoved him over the edge: You, completely enraptured with his cock, holding it closer than ever.
His head jerked up, eyes squeezing shut and spine curling, a whining "Ohh!" bursting from his mouth as he pushed himself into your loving grip.
You felt his cock stiffen and rapidly spasm in your hands. He was cumming, the pulse in his cock strong and powerful against your palms, and he was cumming a lot. His cock painted you with his seed in a barrage of thick, virile, healthy ropes over and over. You were practically pinned against the wall, allowing him to grind his member against your torso, your heartbeats thundering in unison so close together.
But your attention had already been stolen away, as, above you, there was an unearthly, primordial, terrifying howl that you felt the effects of down into your bones, like the deep booming of a tyrannosaur in the dark. It was haunting and awesome, like the witness of an angel converted to sound.
And the excitement and pleasure of making him cum like this, mixed with the sheer, beautiful horror of his impassioned cries prickling your skin, gave you a high like no other. No rollercoaster, no Halloween attraction, had ever given you such a nigh-orgasmic, potent blend of fright and delight.
And pride, somewhere, deep inside you. You didn't even care about the mess he was making of you. All that mattered was the fact that you had made him do so, that you alone had this power over him.
It was all utterly intoxicating.
He wheezed, gulped, and panted, head pressed against the wall, eyes still shut tight, as he came down. The unexpectedly earth-shattering climax was finally at an end. And gods - if this is what merely fucking your hands felt like, what was inside you like? He trembled a little harder, a soft, breathy moan leaving his lips.
As if in response, a quiet, squeaking gasp came from beneath him.
"Holy shit…"
The sound of your quivering whisper roughly slammed sobriety and clarity back into his head. His eyes popped open and he looked down in a panic, with trepidation. He knew he had possibly revealed too much of himself, with the roar that had so ruthlessly ripped from his throat.
A cold spike of anxiety chilled his blood when he was met with you shaking so hard, like a frail leaf barely clinging to a twig in autumn. You were staring up at him with wide eyes, knees bending as you struggled to stay standing, and there was undoubtable fear in your scent.
But also excitement.
He felt a small amount of relief. The scent of your arousal was still fresh; pheromones still wafting off of you like a simmering heat. He dared reach down, cupping your cheek, and was fully soothed by how easily you nuzzled into his hand.
Perhaps… you like being scared...?
No, he dare not assume. He must act with a measure of... cautiousness.
"I… I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to frighten--"
"Make that noise again," you interrupted, the words tumbling from your mouth, hasty and hoarse.
Pierrot halted, fully taken aback. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to such a startling demand.
"I-I mean," you stammered, your face blushing bright. "I, um… I want to… to… ah, oh no…" You looked away, trying to hide your face in his hand, completely flustered and waving a hand in your defense.
Adorable.
"I just… really, really want to… um, make you make that noise. Again, a-and again. A lot, actually." Your voice was ever-dwindling and cracking from your embarrassment. You were a nervous babbler. It was one of your endearing qualities. You were so adorable. What a coincidence, considering you often called him adorable...
Of course, right now, this moment, covered in spaff like this, had increased your allure considerably. And although you will wash yourself, he knew his heady scent would cling to you for days, undetectable by you and your fellow humans, but bright as fluorescent paint to that Harlequin.
He felt his heart swell at the thought... as well as more carnal parts of him.
He gently pulled your face to look to him again, and though his muscles protested, he lowered himself to you, gifting you a heated kiss.
"Anything, yes," he said breathlessly as you whimpered and suckled on his crazy-long tongue. "Ruin me, break me. As many times as you want, dearest! Please!"
His hands trailed down to your ass. His claws were at the ready to pull your pants apart at the crotch seam, as soon as you said the word. He would make sure you were marked for him, inside and out.
summary．5 things wednesday hates (and 1 thing she loves) about you. inspoo
warnings/themes．fluff, 5 + 1, making out, movie date, soft!wednesday, cornycheesyasfuck!reader
words．2.2k
5 things Wednesday hates about you.
1. You're touchy.
It's not enough to simply be standing next to you (that would be way too sensible and normal for you, apparently). Sometimes it's as if you're incapable of keeping your hands off her.
It starts with you brushing your fingers along her back as you pass by, to holding her hand, sliding down to her hip as you stand next to each other, and eventually having your arm wrapped around her waist.
The constant, casual, physical contact that you find impossible to stop initiating. It's enough to drive her to the brink of insanity...
Yet she does nothing. For the most part.
“Are you not capable of walking by yourself?” Wednesday asks one afternoon when your hand encircles her wrist with a warm squeeze. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, as if she's immune to the effect of such close contact on her stomach.
“Hm?” You look at her innocently. “What? Am I not allowed to walk next to my girlfriend now?”
She sighs, not dignifying your comment with a glance. If it was anyone else constantly clinging onto her like a needy parasite, she'd find a way to make their life a living hell.
“I never claimed that. I merely questioned your capability of walking without holding my hand. Or needing to touch me every ten minutes. It's unnecessary.” Though, she doesn't make any move to pull her wrist away.
You smile and lean closer until your shoulder brushes against hers. “I'll have you know that I have impeccable walking abilities,” you point out, your hand slipping from her wrist to her palm, intertwining your fingers together. “I just find walking by your side far more enjoyable than without.”
This does finally prompt her to look over, dark eyes flicking down to your interlaced hands, then back up. Your constant desire to touch her is something she'll never quite understand. And the fact that she indulges you, that she lets you, is a realization she's struggling to come to terms with.
Her fingers squeezes yours as she looks away. “Your sentimentality never fails to astound me.”
2. You insist on giving her pet names.
In all of the time that Wednesday has known you, she can count on her fingers how many times you've used her actual name. It's always love, babe, sweetheart, honey, sweetie...whatever sweet, gooey name you can think of.
And the latest one,
“Mi vida.”
Wednesday looks up from the page, a brow raising at the sight of your grin, as if you've been waiting all day to use it.
Spanish is a language you've been practicing for months, and mostly, you can get by with it. It's just the colloquial phrases that give you trouble. Wednesday is fluent. But she also enjoys watching you fumble on occasion. In the privacy of her own dorm, of course.
“Did I say it right? How's my Spanish?” you ask, your fingers nervously tapping on the table.
“Decent,” she remarks, her tone somewhat begrudgingly admitting the improvement from your attempts to learn the language.
You pout before resting your chin in the palm of your hand. “Is that all? Come on, I put time and effort into learning it. Doesn't it at least merit a 'good job' or a 'great job'...or my favorite...a kiss, even?” You flash her your most charming smile.
She gives you the barest roll of her eyes.
Your fingers slide across the table, seeking hers. “Come on, cariño. A simple 'well done' would be nice. You never give me any appreciation, you know. I think I deserve a reward for my efforts. Por favor?”
Wednesday is not someone who easily concedes, yet your pitiful display somehow makes her cave. Just this once. She allows her fingers to fall into yours, threading between them.
She sighs. “Come here.”
3. You're terrible sense of humor.
Your attempts at making her laugh and even smile often fall flat.
Wednesday never finds herself laughing at your jokes. At most, she'll almost smile, only for your face to light up at this accomplishment, which makes her stop herself right then and there. If it weren't for the fact that she kind of enjoys the way you light up with pride every time you make her almost-smile-but-not-quite, she would have told you to stop telling jokes a long time ago.
Rather, she settles for her usual response to the latest joke you tried to tell, “That was terrible.”
You respond with a crooked smile, not at all discouraged, because, in your own words “I'll get you to smile someday.”
Wednesday has her doubts, but she knows how stubborn you are. It wouldn't surprise her if you spend your entire life trying.
And, unfortunately, she won't lie, even to herself, and say the idea doesn't slightly amuse her to some degree. That you'd try, over and over and over, until your last breath, to get her to crack a smile with one of your horrible jokes.
4. Your scent.
It's as if your presence is ingrained into the very fibers of her life. You fill her senses without even trying to.
She can pick up the faintest hints of it on her clothes after you've hugged her. It's in her sheets after you've slept in her bed. It's in her hair after you've buried your face in it.
If she were a more sentimental person, she would almost be tempted to call it 'comforting.' But, she isn't, so she settles on calling it annoying instead.
She certainly doesn't savor the scent of your favorite shampoo.
5. You never leave her alone.
You're always there, always hovering around her, like a clingy puppy. Except at least puppies can be trained.
Wednesday's in the middle of writing her latest novel, fingers across the keys of her typewriter, and she's just starting to settle into a rhythm when the door to her dorm room is thrown open.
“What.”
The sound of her irritated tone doesn't dissuade you. “Just checking to see how my favorite person is doing.” You close the door, then approach from behind, peering over her shoulder. “How's the writing going?”
“It was going splendidly until you intruded,” says Wednesday, tilting her head back and staring up at you with a look of disdain. She turns sideways in her chair, blocking your view of the page. “Is there something you want?”
“Matter of fact, yes.” A smirk quirks your lips as you pull out the tickets, holding them up for her to see.
Wednesday's eyes flick to your hand, then back to you.
You wave the tickets. “So?”
She looks away, pretending to be fixated on something on the floor. “So what.”
“So, would you finally like to go to the movie with me?”
“If I say yes, will you be quiet and leave me alone?”
“Yup. Promise.”
She eyes you suspiciously, then reluctantly, Wednesday nods. “Then yes, I shall accept. But—”
You don't bother listening to the rest. “Perfect! I'll pick you up at six.”
And 1 thing she loves.
1. You're unequivocally hers.
You belong to her. It doesn't matter that you're an infuriating nuisance that she should stay far away from. You are hers.
Even when you're touchy beyond belief, she tolerates it. Yes, Wednesday complains and rolls her eyes and does a great job of appearing annoyed, but she doesn't really mind when your hand drifts down to her hip, pulls her against you, presses bodies flush, and buries your face against the side of her neck.
She hates to admit it because it's against her nature. She's never been one to crave physical affection from anyone. She always prefers a safe distance from people. Yet for reasons she can't even fathom, you've become an exception.
And because even when you constantly call her sweetheart and sweet pea and baby, which she normally finds nauseating, Wednesday can't bring herself to discourage you. She should. Any other person who dared to call her these sickeningly sweet pet names would receive a painful death from her. But when you call her those names, they sound endearing…perhaps it's just the fact that it's from you.
And even though your jokes are the most horrible she's ever had the misfortune of hearing, you always manage to make her suppress a small smile.
She'd never admit it to you, because Wednesday doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing that your idiotic attempts at humor and constant efforts to make her smile actually work.
And because even when your scent somehow ends up clinging to her sheets, clothes, and skin, she can't bring herself to mind. The scent of you is strangely pleasant, Wednesday never feels suffocated and trapped.
Whenever you're near, the raven finds herself leaning closer to savor more of your scent. Never before has even her normally dull sense of smell felt so alive, as if craving more and more of your scent the closer she is to you.
And because as much as she enjoys solitude, you've somehow become the one person she wants around. Your company, though sometimes insufferable, can be almost soothing.
Wednesday loathes herself for allowing such weakness that only seems to exist when it's you. She doesn't understand it, and she loathes these feelings that only you can trigger.
And yet, despite the countless things for her to hate about you, you are still hers.
“You're not even watching.”
( bonus )
Wednesday snaps out of her thoughts upon the sound of your voice, realizing that she's been staring at you instead of the movie playing on the screen for...she's lost track of how long.
She tears her gaze away from you, reluctantly focusing on the movie screen instead. “I am.” Liar. She honestly can't even recount the plot. She was too preoccupied with other things.
Your scoff. “Right.”
For the majority of the movie, the raven makes a valiant effort in trying to focus, but inevitably, her attention drifts back to you, only to find you already watching her.
You have a knowing gleam in your eyes. You lean onto the armrest, tone low as you ask, “When are you going to kiss me?”
Her gaze lingers on your mouth before she reluctantly looks you in the eye. “I'm beginning to wonder the same thing.”
Her words bring a smile to your lips, and without another second of hesitation, you shift across the armrest, leaning towards hers. Wednesday's the one who closes the rest of the space and presses her lips against yours. She feels your annoyingly pleased smile against her mouth.
Both of her hands move to cradle your face, feeling you shiver at her cold fingers. The movie is all but irrelevant. The screen might as well be black with how unaware of its existence she suddenly is. Wednesday feels lightheaded, thoughts hazy, unable to focus on anything other than the sweet taste of your tongue as she savors it greedily.
She forgets herself, temporarily consumed by you, only remembering where she is when distant screams ring out from the movie theater. She pulls back, panting softly as she quickly glances around to confirm if anyone else had seen the moment she was completely lost in you.
It's a small blessing that you're both sitting at the back of the theater, and no one seems to have noticed the brief...distraction.
Wednesday looks back at you and notices the grip she has on your face. Her slender fingers then loosen, caressesing your jaw as she straightens herself. She tries to ignore the warm feeling in her cheeks.
“Don't worry, no one saw.” Your fingers brush against hers. She hesitates for a while before flipping her palm upwards, threading her fingers through yours. Her hand is cold, as always, in contrast to your warmth.
The movie eventually comes to an end. She realizes how little of the movie she actually watched. How much time did she spend staring at you instead?
As the credits roll and the lights gradually brighten, Wednesday disentangles her hand from yours. She stretches her fingers, trying to shake the tingling from her skin at the loss.
Wednesday then stands and adjusts the hem of her dark sweater as she glances at you. You're gathering your belongings with a smile that makes her want to do things to that mouth of yours.
She settles for taking the lead, walking down the aisle and heading for the exit.
You follow behind her, catching up till you're side by side. “Soooo,” you speak suddenly, “how was it?”
“It wasn't as dreadful as I expected it to be,” replies Wednesday, gaze trained forward.
You hum as the two of you step outside. The night is clear tonight, the stars and bright moon are visible. “I quite enjoyed it,” and when she looks over at you, there's that damnable grin on your face again.
“Why?”
“Because I got to spend more time with you.”
“You spend time with me every day, in case you've suddenly forgotten.”
“I know,” a few quick steps get you ahead of her, and then you walk backwards to face her, “that's exactly why I enjoy it so much every time we do spend time together.”
Wednesday wonders how she ended up with someone so unbearably cheesy and infuriatingly sweet.
You sit on the bed, knees tucked up under your chin, as you watch him shrug on the new coat you'd got him for Christmas - black leather with a fur trim. He said it reminded him of one he'd lost on a mission years ago when he'd unwrapped it.
Leon checks his rucksack one last time. He always packs light - just the absolute essentials - sometimes he doesn't even get to unpack, hitting the ground running, no sleep until the mission has concluded.
There's always an uneasiness in your stomach when you watch Leon prepare for an assignment. Luckily, he's always come back in one piece, albeit one or two more scars to add to the vast collection.
He fastens his rucksack once satisfied and leans down for a kiss, but a glint of gold catches your eye as it falls from his shirt. His wedding ring sits on a chain around his neck - his work being far too hands-on for him to wear it safely on his finger.
You tsk, giving it a hard tug so the magnetic clasp comes free - a necklace isn't so great in fieldwork either.
"Uh-uh," he takes it back from you, quickly fastening it back in place. "Promise I'll take it off when I get there, sweetheart. Gives me good luck on flights."
You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"
Leon nods as he tucks it safely back under his shirt. "Haven't been in a plane crash since I started doing it."
You scoff. "We didn't even know each other when you last in a plane crash."
"Exactly. Good luck charm." He winks, before sitting down besides you on the bed.
You drop your knees down and he places a hand on your thigh, gives it a reassuring squeeze.
"You gonna be okay?"
"Will you?"
"I asked first."
"I'll be fine."
Leon wraps an arm around your shoulder and brings you in close, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"So will I."
You thread your fingers through his and sit in silence for a few moments, enjoying being in his embrace - especially with not knowing how long it would be until you were in it again.
"I... I wish it wasn't Raccoon City."
Leon had told you the stories - he'd had to, to explain the night terrors. 30 years of fighting abominations had taken their toll, though he'd admit he slept a little more soundly since having you by his side.
He rubs his thumb across your knuckles.
"It's long overdue."
You bite your lip before voicing your thought. "There's really no-one else who could go?"
He chuckles. "Think I'm too old to still be out in the field, sweetheart?"
You shake your head, firmly. You loved the grey streaks in his hair and stubble, the way his crow's feet crinkled when he smiled or laughed at his own jokes.
"I know you're the best person to go, I do. I just... I don't like it."
Leon's cell buzzes in his pocket - his car has arrived.
"There's, er, one other thing that brings me good luck."
"What's that?"
He cups your cheek - leather fingerless gloves already on - and smiles.
"This."
It is soft, slow and gentle at first, before he nips at your bottom lip, slipping his tongue in and deepening the kiss. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair to keep you in place...
..until the cell buzzes again and he eventually pulls back, leaving you breathless.
"I'll text when I get there, okay?"
"O...okay."
You stand up with him, in a little bit of a daze. It's unfair how much he can fluster you still after all these years.
He slings his rucksack over his shoulder and holds your hand as you follow him down the stairs towards the front door.
"I love you, Leon."
He smiles before pressing one last kiss to your forehead.
"I love you too, sweetheart."
You cling onto the open front door as he descends the porch stairs to the SUV that's waiting to take him to the airport.
Take him away from you.
Leon stops before he opens the car door and turns, taking one last look at you.
You blow him a kiss. He catches it, with a wink. Sticks it in his pocket.
