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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

My Favorite

(Image Source: Artist: Inpolariis)

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,114

Summary: Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Themes: Boss!Crocodile x Assassin!Reader, lap princess, Croc is in love with you, begrudgingly in love, mutual pining, “I don’t want to fix him, I want to make him worse”, wealth, Cross-Guild dynamics, partial Buggy x Reader, partial Mihawk x Reader, sign language, afab!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @discordantwritings who wrote a beautiful Benn Beckman fic recently. I had to return the favor with some Cross-Guild content, although it became quickly a Sir Crocodile fic. Based on this prompt, because it has a hold over my very soul.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @writingmysanity @gingernut1314

The broad right hand of the brutish Sir Crocodile massaged his temples beneath his thumb and index finger. He began rotating them in an attempt to rid the swelling migraine caused by the crackled whines pouring from the lips of his clown companion. Barely paying attention to the whinging words strung into messy sentences, his ears pricked and spine tingled at the knowledge there was another presence within the hollow chambers of the Cross-Guild meeting space.

Bringing his hand away from his temple, his smirk broke the displeased position of his lips, as his eyes rose to meet with the yellow hue of the gaze of the swordsman. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, no longer processing Buggy’s words as he attempted to locate the source responsible for the expression change of the larger gentleman in front of him.

“-And I wasn’t the one responsible for that screw up, so I shouldn’t be the one paying for it. Really it should go to the one with the most berry. Who was it again? Between the reptile and the hawk, who has the most-.” Buggy’s voice halted as the shadows split to reveal your presence, stalking closer to the largest man in the room with an aura of silent danger.

Mihawk reached for the hilt of Yoru, ready to strike your approaching silhouette: armored and cloaked in the darkest black to blend within smoke and shadow. Your hood concealed your face, your facial mask shieling all but the intensity of your eyes smeared in darkened war paint. You made no sound; no tap, no whisper as you wordlessly approached Sir Crocodile.

“Returned so soon, my Seraphim,” his voice purred, leaning back in his chair while placing a thick cigar between his teeth, “Did all go according to plan?” You wordlessly bent your knee, bowing your head to the large gentleman to whom you entrusted your implicit loyalty. His smile drew further up his scarred face, the purple hue of his eyes dancing with a dangerous twinkle at your wordless confirmation.

“Good,” his voice praised you, reaching for his lighter lying atop the table. You rose to your feet, quickly reaching for the golden object, flicking open the lid and igniting the flint to spark its flame. Sir Crocodile leant forward, holding his eyes firmly on yours as your concentration was fixed on the task of lighting the tip of his cigar.

He narrowed his eyes, noticing a small smear of red atop the darkened warpaint and streaking down your face mask and onto your leather breastplate. He sighed, reaching into his left hand breast pocket and fishing out a silver handkerchief and passed it to you within his index and middle fingers.

“Is it yours?” he asked, gesturing to the blood congealed and spattered against your uniform.

“No, sir,” you whispered with no vocal tone depicted within your silence. He hummed in response, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your body further.

“Are you unharmed and unmarked?” he asked, his left brow raising in question. You stiffened your shoulders, arching your chin within the air and confirmed with a simple utterance of: “Yes, sir.”

“Very good, my Seraphim,” he complimented further, inhaling a deep lungful of the nicotine laden cigar smoke, exhaling through his nose. Buggy did not know what to make of this interaction, feeling completely and utterly ignored as Mihawk and Sir Crocodile’s eyes and attention remained fixed on your statuesque figure clad in cloak, leather and dark plated armor.

Leaning forward, Sir Crocodile ushered you to stoop forward to receive the next whisper of a command parting from his lips for your ears alone.

“I have laid out a new uniform for you to wear,” he uttered intimately, reaching up his left hand with his golden hook threatening to touch your shoulder. “See to it you are bathed, perfumed and clad in the ensemble within the hour,” the tip of his hook brushed with the rivets of your shoulder plate, dragging down your bicep to the inner crevice of your elbow, “And I will have you sat as my trophy upon my knee for the evening, my Seraphim.”

At that final utterance, he withdrew his hook from your arm and focussed once more on your eyes now depicting a darkness within usually withheld for victims beneath your concealed daggers.

Bowing to your boss, eyes now closed, you rose from your deep and respectful stoop and paid no mind to glance at the other two members of the meeting space. If Sir Crocodile found no reason to introduce you to these men, you did not deem them important enough to care who they were. Silence followed you as you trailed outside of the room, resubmerging yourself within the shadows and hastily making your way to the suite gifted to you by your boss.

“Baroque Works employee, Crocodile?” Mihawk uttered, his eyes fixed on the exit you withdrew from.

“A thing of the past, Hawk,” His smirk not leaving his face for each deep inhale of his cigar, “I no longer put my faith in an amassment of bounty hunters to get their hands dirty for my berry.” He took the butt of his cigar from his teeth and pushed the ignited end against the glass tray with his thumb. “No, my faith is no longer spread to the many, but to the few.”

“How many o’ them you got?” Buggy’s nasally voice chimed in, his brow furrowing and lips curling back in an uneasy smile, “Like twenty or thirty?”

“I have nine,” he confessed, eyes now bored with the conversation and lip curling down into an arrogant snarl, “And that one,” he gestured to the door with his chin, “Is my favorite.”

“Why?” Buggy asked, his voice cracking in a small apprehensive whine at the end of his question, “What does that one do that the others don’t?” Sir Crocodile’s lips curled into a darkened grin, his teeth revealed in the light.

“You will see.”

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After bathing and cleaning yourself of the debris and carnage of the last assignment, you glanced at yourself in your large, ornate mirror. Looking over the new uniform set aside by your boss as it clung to your body, you couldn’t help the pull of a shy smile at the corner of your lips.

Of all of “The Choirs” founded and financed by Sir Crocodile, it was no illusion that you were absolutely and without a doubt his favorite. Your titles held your specialist skills as covert assassins within your roles; each skilled with a unique ability to complete your tasks to the utmost quality.

Principalitie, Archangel, and Angel were charged with gathering information and relaying it from a great distance. They were to look like civilians; innocent and coy with the ability to blend into a crowd seamlessly.

The Devil-Fruit users; Dominion, Virtue, and Power, were charged with carrying out tyrannical punishment and wrath without care for the casualties they caused under the utterance of a single command from your hook-handed leader.

Cherubim and Ophanim, the two of the higher in the chain of command, followed your explicit instruction in covert operations taken either together or separately. They were your trusted confidants, you could even call them your friends if it were not too bold to say so.

You, his ‘Seraphim’, were silent and embraced by shadows with such flawless success that it was rumored you were born in them. You were lethal with your daggers, your skill with a blade a sight to behold before life was drained from your intended target. The last thing they saw as their breath was claimed by your hand, was the ferocity in your blown pupils and lengthy eyelashes beneath the dark warpaint smeared atop your eyelids.

Glancing over your features once more, the pale white of the dress held stark contrast to the dark armor you adorned almost an hour prior. While your armor kept all of your features hidden to the world around you, the anonymity shielding you from emphasis on your features; this dress left little to the imagination.

The deep hook of the backless dress clung low to your hips in an ovular shape, bodice dipping down to above your navel with a thin band of fabric dancing above your cleavage to suture the bust shut with barely any support. The length of the dress halted little below your hip bone on the left-hand side, the right hand side down to the ball of your ankle to allow for the straps of your gold heels to be revealed with each step you took against the floor.

Your mind begins to wander the longer you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was the most provocative and scandalous item your boss had ever asked you to don. You almost allowed yourself to rush to the conclusion that your boss harbored more than simple favoritism for you, you assumed you were wearing this ensemble to impress a guest with your presence on his lap.

Silence was nearly impossible with the gold-dipped base of your heeled shoes. Each step you took after exiting your suite echoed in a foreign clack that you were unaccustomed to creating with your foot-falls.

Immediately upon entering the large celebratory area of Sir Crocodiles casino, you scanned the perimeter of the room for your boss to begin your new role for the night: the princess sitting upon his knee and doting on him with small caresses and whispers of praise within his ear. This was not a role you were exposed to often, but one you did well enough for him to continue asking for you after the first night you played it.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you did not harbor affection for your boss. Nothing ever transpired between you after you had finished this role for the nights he asked you to fulfill. No brush of lips meeting yours, no writhing while sprawled out beneath him against the green fuzz of the gamblers table. He would bow his head in gratitude to you, his eyes blinking shut out of respect, and dismissing you without a further word.

Adoration, respect, loyalty, and your wage is what bound you to that man. At each moment he spent with you on his lap, or performing a deadly task for him, your desire grew. You knew, without a semblance of a doubt, that you would cast aside your wage with an instant for the luxury of remaining by his side. You loved him, and it was the only thing that truly frightened you.

After concluding your brief scan of the room, you noticed Sir Crocodile was yet to make an appearance to darken the tables with his brutish figure. However, you smiled upon meeting the eyes of ‘Ophanim’ dressed in a simple waiter's uniform, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and shaking a steel container filled with ice, syrups and hard liquor. She shot you a wink, gesturing with her chin to wait with her at the bar.

An honest smile sprung to your lips as you grasped the barstool within your hands, taking a seat atop it and hooking your left knee over your right; the slit of your dress revealing the entirety of your left leg to your thigh.

Immediately as you began to open your mouth to converse with your fellow “Choir” about her latest mission, your eyes were thrust into an amassment of lengthy cerulean hair. The person seemed to ignore you as their voice informed your friend of his order of a fruit-forward and harsh liquor cocktail with an insane amount of complex ingredients. The products he asked for sounded as if it would split and separate, with the immediate souring of creamy liquid with the acidic elements.

Grimacing with your lips curled in disgust, the individual turned to meet your disapproving gaze: his eyes widening and breath hitching in his throat. A large, rotund red nose lay central to his features, his dark vest cinching his waist beneath a white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as if he was not comfortable wearing the assortment, as if it was a mask he was given to wear akin to your arrangement set aside by your boss.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he stumbled over his words, the syllables falling from his lips quicker than he could silence them within. Immediately your grimace upturned into a smile, forcing a laugh to flee from you at his unbridled compliment. You arched your left brow up, leaning in close to the individual in front of you and tightening his dark tie with your right hand.

“You are very easy to look at, yourself,” you purred in return, assuming your flirtatious role with ease. You darted your gaze between his two teal eyes, a coy smile now pursing your lips together innocently, “And who might you be, bright eyes?” Your question had his heart swelling, his cheeks filling with a boyish fluster.

“B-Buggy,” he wheezed, gulping back his words and grunting out a small cough to mask his uneasiness. “Captain Buggy D Clown,” he attempted to meet his elbow atop the bar, missing the polished wood entirely and instead stumbling under the uneven distribution of his weight. As air met his elbow with the heel of his palm capturing his chin, he flew his head down and met it against the wood with a harsh thump.

Wincing in empathy, you immediately reached forward and claimed his cheeks within your palms and raised him back up to his former stature. You brushed his shoulders, readjusted his collar and checked over the rising swell atop his left temple.

“Honey, can we get some ice please?” you asked your colleague who attempted to halt her laugh behind her palm, nodding as she retrieved the frosty cubes and placed them within a checkered tea towel. She passed it to you and shook her head, you nodding your thanks at her for the object and immediately reaching for the blunt-force trauma the blue-haired clown brought upon himself.

“Are you alright Captain Buggy?” You asked him, holding your hand against the towel and pressing it firmly against the rising bruise. He clasped his left hand around your right, leaning into the touch you were providing him and closing his eyes.

“I like the way your tongue makes my name sound,” he confessed in a breathy gasp. You again found yourself laughing at his words, the melodic ring of your voice stirring something dangerous within the purple hues of Sir Crocodile’s eyes. He continued watching your interaction with Buggy from his place darkening the threshold of the entrance to his casino.

“What happened, Clown?” A voice called behind him, the curve of a pale shirt clinging to the back of a dark-haired individual you could barely see. Buggy apprehensively turned away from you and lulled his head towards the man with a snarling expression.

“It’s her fault,” he gestured to you with his thumb, “She was sittin’ on that chair all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t look like walking sex.”

“Hardly walking if she’s sitting,” the man called over in a bored and disinterested tone, without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. You found him intriguing, but you decided to match his energy and remain aloof to his comments yourself.

Turning away from the two men beside you, you began moving your hands in a flurry of wordless gestures to your coworker as discreetly as you could.

‘Where is he?” you asked her, watching her hands flicker in response as she continued to attempt to uphold her own persona as bartender.

“Approaching slowly,” she managed to signal to you, before she placed a glass of wine in front of the broody aloof gentleman beside the clown. The corner of his lips ticked at the corner, a whisper of gratitude depicted on his face as he turned to face you with the crystal glass rising upwards.

The small widening of his honey-coloured eyes told you all you needed to know within his gaze. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes wide and feigning innocence to the best of your abilities.

“My, my,” he commented, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body from your decorated toes to the follicles of your styled hair, “I do see why you would be the cause for such a stumble.” He expertly brushed the blue-haired man away from you, extending his right hand forward to seek out your own and collecting your four fingers within his grip.

He raised your hand to his lips, his mustache tickling the knobbed joints of your knuckles before his lips brushed against your flesh. Your eyes turned sultry, not once either of you breaking your eye contact against one another.

Unable to control the rapidity of the thump within his chest and the dry lump forming in his throat, Sir Crocodile began a stalking approach towards you. How dare they fawn over you. You: his favorite of his Choirs. His angelic muse and harbinger of brutality.

He knew you would make heads turn with the uniform he laid out for you, but he did not anticipate the primal urge swelling beneath him to pull you into himself and shield you away from their eyes. He wanted you all for himself, in any capacity you were willing to give it to him. He didn’t care that you were paid berry to serve him, it felt real enough for him.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he uttered against your flesh, withdrawing from his stoop and arching his back to puff his barely shielded chest to you, “And you are, my darling?” Before you could answer with your name, you felt a warm graze dancing up your spine. His breath tickled against your skin, tingling your spine beneath his lips as they pressed intent and longing to your flesh.

On any other occasion, you may have been alarmed by such attention from an individual without seeing their face. The cologne dancing with the whisper of his last cigar floated with each kiss against your skin, informing you exactly who was giving you such a touch.

He had never offered you this unbridled affection in the past, not allowing himself to give into his craving for you, and you not willing to test your place serving under him. This touch felt natural, his lips continuing to press into you, as you continued to hold your gaze on the eyes of the dark-haired man in front of you.

Sir Crocodile’s lips found your left shoulder, his purple eyes pulling the swordsman’s attention away from you to meet with your boss as he continued to map his lips up your neck to your jaw. His left forearm circled around your front, the golden hook firmly secured against his wrist collecting your chin beneath the smooth surface. He turned your attention away from Mihawk to look into his eyes through lowered eyelashes.

He leant forward, drawing your lips against his by the gentle tilt of his hook against your chin. Darting his tongue out to stroke yours, his nose brushed against your own as he circled his jaw to deepen the embrace. Your hands clutched the base of the stool you were sat atop to anchor yourself down for fear of floating to the roof. The hum of his lips in joy had a small moan pull from your lips the longer he was joined against you.

You felt his right hand brush against your bicep, curling his firm grip around it as he pushed his chest flush with your own with a gentle turn of your body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes immediately falling to your rapidly swelling and kiss-bruised lips, slightly smudged paint falling below the perimeter of your bottom lip. Tapping your chin with his hook, your eyes darted from your own gaze against his lips to meet with his purple eyes.

“My Seraphim,” the rumble of his voice and the small smirk of his lips had your attention hyper fixed and hanging on his every word. You held your gaze firmly affixed to his, watching as he turned away from you and greeted the men in front of you with the nod of his head and the small utterance of their names.

“Mihawk,” the rumble of his voice rubbing within his throat had your spine tingle with anticipation, “Buggy.” He turned back to meet your orbs that had not yet broken from his face, but raked your gaze over his face with half-lidded lashes. Your eyes continued to float in a daze against his lips and flittering back up to meet his gaze.

He extended his right hand in a gesture for you to take it, you reacting immediately by placing your hand within his larger palm to encircle his digits around it. You allowed him to pull you away from your former position atop the barstool, your heels clicking against the floor as he escorted you to the desired table for the night. Now in the shroud of seclusion, he leaned down and uttered a small apology in your ear.

“Forgive me,” he began, taking his seat within the plush armchair and patting his left knee with his right. Without hesitation, you gracefully placed yourself atop his thigh with the small flick of your hair, crossing your left knee over your right and arching your back.

“What sins am I forgiving, sir?” you asked him, feeling the dangerous caress of his hook brushing against your spine and collecting a small portion of your hair within its curvature. Your boss took in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his broad chest beneath his suit jacket. His exhale had a small quake to it, his eyes closing as he basked under your attention.

You reached your hands and began to dance your fingertips against the hem of his collar. Although this was a routine you had practiced with him over man a night on his lap, this touch felt almost forbidden as his brows furrowed.

“I should not have kissed you like that,” he uttered in a voice below a hushed whisper, “You deserve better than something so public. I desire you-... -for you to be treated as a seraphim I know you to be.” His vocal catch had your attention completely focussed on every word, your body leaning itself further as your hands halted their movement.

“I am not a seraphim, sir,” your lips were now almost brushing with the shell of his ear, your hypnotic perfume, intoxicating and mesmerizing the larger gentleman the longer your presence remained atop his lap. He angled his head away from you, exposing the side of his neck to reveal the rapidity of his heartbeat displayed against his pulse.

“And what are you, if not a seraphim,” he whispered darkly, allowing to be disarmed by your presence as he leant into your touch, yet away from the descent of your lips upon his ear.

“I am your seraphim,” you confessed as your lips grazed against the sensitive flesh of his cheek, his dark hair tickling against your eyes.

Sir Crocodile was glad he had withdrawn you to a secluded portion of his casino at this moment. He truly did not desire for the other two members of the Cross-Guild to notice how much of a grip you truly had around his heart, but refused to break away from your display of unrestrained physical affection. He knit his brows together, furthering their descent down his face as he processed your words.

“Because I pay you to be,” he uttered, leaning away from your touch and forcing the mask of his arrogance back onto his features. He dropped the hook from your hair, reaching his right hand into his left breast pocket to locate a thick cigar and his golden lighter. Placing the bitten end between his teeth and clamping down on it, he drew the flame up to his lips and attempted to ignite the end.

“I will return my wage to you,” you uttered quietly after swiping the golden lighter from his hand and reigniting the flame, “I have no need for it when you take care of me so well.” His eyes held an aloof boredom to his expression, refusing to meet with your face as you lit his cigar for him.

“And if my wealth was taken from me?” He questioned before inhaling the smoke from his cigar, exhaling it away from your face, “If I was to go to prison once more, what then?” Your eyes narrowed, your lip curling up to reveal your displeasure at the question.

“I would claw tooth and nail to free you from your confinement, sir,” you confessed, reaching your left hand forward and collecting his chin beneath your thumb and index finger, turning his jaw for his eyes to meet with yours once more, “And although living in luxury is a welcome experience, I would stand by you regardless.” His eyes depicted his craving for your words to be true, although not believing it yourself.

He began to open his mouth to speak, silenced by your words cutting through the air like your daggers meeting with the jugular of your foe.

“You have my loyalty, my blades, and my body at your disposal,” you leant forward further, darting your eyes between focusing on each of his. “Should you order me to jump, I will ask how high. Should you ask me to kneel, I will fall to my knees,” you continued, your grip holding more firmly against his chin, “Should you wordlessly aim your finger at an enemy, I would be a channel of your wrath as I claim their lives for you.”

Allowing a few moments of thick silence to swell between you, you felt the scrape of his hook trailing itself against your spine, hovering over the soft point of your rib and pressing his point firmly into your flesh.

“While your words are as beautiful as you are,” he whispered, looking down at the plunging neck of your dress and back up into your eyes, “They are as decorated by the impact of my wealth as your body is in that dress.” You narrowed your eyes at his comment, taking the expression as a challenge.

Shrugging away from the point of his hook, you rose to your feet between his legs and slowly drew your hands up to the thin straps on your shoulders. You hooked your thumbs beneath the material and began to slowly slip the material over your shoulders and down your biceps. Sir Crocodile’s eyes widened, immediately reaching his right hand and left forearm to halt your hands from revealing more of your flesh to him.

“What are you doing?” His growl should’ve had your actions stuttering in any other setting, but his rasp had your heart beating in desire in place of fear.

“I have already informed you that I will be returning my wage to you,” you cocked your head to the side, arching your back towards him and looking down at him under your lustful expression, “Why not start with the dress you claim to despise so much.” The rise of his fluster depicted in his eyes at your words had a smirk drawing up to decorate your lips.

“What has someone like me done to deserve such devotion from you, my seraphim?” he whispered, his right hand elevating the strap of your left shoulder and securing it firmly in its prior place. You followed suit with your right strap, securing it firmly against your shoulder and leaning further into his welcome embrace.

He leant his torso closer to you, his broad forearms circling over your own with his fingertips brushing against your skin. You began to open your mouth, confessing your adoration for your boss further upon the tip of your tongue before crudely interrupted by the presence of the blue-haired clown followed behind by the broody gentleman from earlier.

“Are we playin’ cards yet, Croco?” Buggy’s voice hitched as he met with an intimate moment shared between you and Sir Crocodile. Your boss’ hands caressed your skin, pulling you against his torso as he aimed his disapproving gaze over your right shoulder.

He growled at the interruption, his voice holding more feral animosity than he felt he should. You drew your hand up to claim his cheek in the palm of your right hand, looking down at him with your eyes holding your unspoken answer of lustful adoration at him. His breath hitched as his gaze met with yours, prompting his right hand to grasp the flesh of your back firmer within his spread fingertips.

“I recall you having barely enough berry to survive the last time we played, Clown,” Mihawk’s aloof tone called from beside him. Neither you nor Sir Crocodile paid either man any mind, too wrapped up in the intimate moment you were sharing holding one another.

You removed the cigar from Crocodile’s teeth in your left hand, stooping forward and claiming his lips beneath your own. Your nose brushed against his, the kiss as hastily departing in severance of the connection as it did in its descent. He arched his chin up, chasing your retreat with his eyes closed.

“Shall I get the table ready, sir?” You asked him in a subtle whisper, relishing in the small hum of pleasure falling from the lips of your boss. His eyes split slowly open, remaining half-lidded as he lulled his head on his neck to glance at you. The silver mark splitting his face danced in the illuminance of the soft bar light, his striking features appearing more chiseled under its glow.

“Please,” he spoke slowly, his tongue darting out and danced as the ‘L’ passed his lips. You raked his hair back over his scalp, replacing the fallen strands in their rightful place, while leaning down once more with a smirk.

“Right away, sir,” you purred at him while returning his cigar to his teeth, watching as he bit the tip with a small snarl. Turning and walking away to collect several items to place atop the green felt for your boss to engage in a game of cards with his two unlikely colleagues, eyes fixed on your back as you exited the secluded area.

“Who is she?” Buggy’s shocked voice cracked out the stuttered question also plaguing Mihawk’s mind. Sir Crocodile relaxed in his chair, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply into his lungs and holding it. Upon it exiting from his lungs, he confessed the place you held within his heart with the utterance of two words.

“My favorite.”

#one piece #x reader #opla fic #opla #one piece live action #buggy #mihawk #captain buggy #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #op sir crocodile x reader #op sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #cross guild #cross guild x reader #sir crocodile wins #boss x employee

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cordeliawhohung · 8 months

Text

Death of Me - Part 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part six (and then some) of "Soft Spot"

Simon finally asks you to dance. It ends up being a lot more than you anticipated.

warnings: smut!! soft!Simon! oral (f and m receiving), simon folds you in half, you get to ride him (sorta), lots of teasing, slight overstim if you squint, praising, creampie, slight body worship? a lot of smut and a lot of plot

wc: 6.9k

A single dim lamp was the only thing that greeted you and Simon as you entered the bedroom.

Its pallid yellow hue didn’t do much to liven the area, but it did cast enough light to guide you to the bed, which you headed straight for. All the excitement from the ball had worn off and left you with a heavy feeling in your eyelids instead. You attempted to blink that feeling away to no avail as you sat on the edge of the bed and began the grueling task of wrestling with the skirt of your dress so that you could free yourself of your heels.

Simon’s eyes watched you quietly while he pulled the mask off of his face, revealing clean shaven skin, which you had so tactfully pointed out no one would have even noticed if he hadn’t shaved anyway. Once his mask laid limply on top of the dresser, he found himself trying hard to suppress a small smirk as you still struggled with the straps of your heels.

“Need help?” he prompted. The soft, rubbery soles of his dress shoes were more malleable than the thick material of the work boots he normally wore, which made his footsteps more quiet as he walked towards the bed.

“Nope,” you responded quickly.

Within a moment you were on your feet once more with those blasted heels dangling from your fingers. With the extra height gone, it felt as if the center of your feet were falling through the floor as you stood up to grin at him. His eyes continued to follow you as you turned around and walked towards the closet door. Each step you took was slow and uncertain as the sudden change in terrain threw your balance off.

“Did you have fun tonight?” you questioned as the closet door squeaked open.

“Was I supposed to?” he asked, but you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You rolled your eyes as you bent down and began to rummage through the various shoeboxes you had stacked in the far back corner. Though it wasn’t necessary, you always kept those darn boxes. Made it easier to store things in the closet if your dress shoes were stacked in a tower rather than shoved against the wall on the floor.

“Well, I had fun,” you said. You quickly found the empty box and fumbled around trying to arrange your shoes inside so that you could close it up properly. “Johnny shared some interesting stuff about you.”

“Did he, now?” Something of a chuckle sounded behind you as Simon walked to the edge of the bed behind you and sat down. You could hear the slight creaking of the frame underneath his weight as he sunk into the mattress.

You nodded your head as you tidied up the boxes before standing up. Every inch you straightened up caused your knees to scream in protest, but you ignored it as you turned around to face Simon. The sight of him sitting on the edge of the bed, suit still mostly intact, and legs spread as he rested his elbows on his knees… perhaps you weren’t as tired as your body tried convincing you. Your mind was certainly wide awake at that point as your eyes drank him in not-so-tactfully.

“Yeah,” you confirmed as you placed your hands on your hips. The dark umber of his eyes were fixated on your face as your lips slowly pulled into a quiet grin. “He told me you still carry around that stupid handkerchief I gave you. Said that’s how he knew you had a girlfriend.”

If his expression changed at all, you didn’t catch it. His eyes seemed lost as they flickered in short intervals, exploring your face. Darting from your nose, to your lips, to your neck, daring to dip even as low as where your hands rested on the firm bones of your hips.

“Smart bastard,” was his only response.

You hummed as you stood there in thought for a moment. It was difficult to focus on anything other than him at that moment. His gaze was something you craved, and you could never get enough of the way it made your heart involuntarily race. Your heart always betrayed you in some capacity. It made the blood race through your body, causing your fingertips to pulse as they begged to touch him, feel him against your skin. Intimacy used to scare you, terrify you. It was strange how much you craved it ever since Simon came around.

Before he could become wiser about the thoughts swimming around in your head, you shifted your gaze to the floor as you put on what could only be described as a poor excuse for a contortionist's act. Awkward hands reached behind your back as you attempted to grab the thin zipper that held your dress together. It seemed that whoever designed dresses loved to put women in terrible and uncomfortable positions in order to undress themselves without aid, which was something you were failing at, and quite terribly. For a moment you had gotten a somewhat steady hold on the zipper, but only pulled it down an inch or so before it snagged on something, causing it to slip from your fingers.

You didn’t even need to look up at Simon to know that he was internally chuckling at your struggle, but you looked up at him anyway with an expectant look on your face. “Mind helping a girl out?” you asked, hands once more returning to your hips.

“Thought you didn’t need my help,” he said as he shifted forward with an eyebrow raised. You tried not to pay attention to the way his tattoo poked out from underneath his sleeve, and you certainly didn’t want to entertain the feeling it stirred inside of you.

“Yeah, I didn’t two seconds ago, but I do now,” you retorted.

Despite your banter, Simon stood from the bed, his height towering upwards as he mosied on up to you. Once he was within arms reach, you turned around, exposing your back to him so that he could free you from the confines of your dress. A hand came to rest on your lower back as he held the fabric of the dress steady while the other firmly gripped the zipper. With a firm tug, he fastened the dress with a single zip upwards, effectively trapping you within that cloth prison once more.

“Simon…” you groaned. The back of your head met his firm chest as you leaned back against him with a grumbling huff. “You’re not very helpful.”

“We haven’t danced yet,” he responded simply.

His comment caught you off guard, and you found your brows drawing close together. “Huh?”

Hot air suddenly brushed against the shell of your ear and you felt your skin tense with goosebumps. Simon curled forward, lips brushing against your earlobe as his voice rumbled through you in a soft whisper.

“I said we haven’t gotten to dance yet,” he repeated. Your legs would have turned to jelly and caused you to collapse on the floor if it wasn’t for his hand still on the small of your back holding you in place.

He had to know what he did to you. The hand placement like he was ready to pull you in, his lips ever so slightly nipping at your ear. You could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest go straight to your stomach and then wander ever lower with a searing heat. It was quite clear what he was really asking, but Simon had a way of buttering you up before ever initiating anything more serious, which you didn’t mind one bit. Still, it didn't mean you couldn’t play with him a little.

“Well,” you said, a sight hum to your words as you slowly turned to face him. His hand slid along your back as you moved and it caught onto your hip while your hands came up to rest on his chest. You leaned forward, fluttering your eyelashes while you tilted your head to the side. “Ask me to dance, then.”

A deep breath expanded the cavity of his chest and you felt your hands move with him. His free hand came up and cupped your cheek, and the warmth of his skin felt divine against yours. You wanted more of it, of him. The only thing stopping you from giving into that burning want in your stomach was your own self control. You let out a shaky breath as you leaned into his hand.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked you, properly this time.

You grinned up at him as your arms slowly slid closer to his neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Moments later the two of you were dancing with nothing to accompany you but the sound of your own breaths. It wasn’t a proper dance by any means, as you two slowly rotated in small circles. It replicated something more akin to a penguin waddle than any waltz, but you didn’t care about the dance itself. His hand moved away from your cheek in order to grab your hand, and though you wanted to complain, you instead rested your head against the thick muscle of his pec as replacement. In that position you could hear the sound of his heart thud perfectly throughout the chasm of his chest, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it was always so steady. Strong and thudding like a horse galloping in slow motion.

And god, the smell of him. He must have worn something different, like a cologne he saved for special occasions, or maybe he used some new type of soap, but whatever it was it was mouthwatering. It was a sharp but subtle scent that reminded you of the woods your mother took you to as a child, and a hint of the cool river water you dipped your hands into.

“You look good in a suit,” you spoke up. Your voice sounded odd with one of your ears pressed against his chest, like half your body was under water. “Should find an excuse for you to wear it more often.”

“Wouldn’t be as special if I wore it all the time,” Simon pointed out.

You slowly lifted your head off of his chest and your eyes began to instantly wander. Something so pristine and clean pressed did look somewhat out of place on a man such as him. The scars on his face, rigid and always angry, popped out against the formal wear, but in some strange way it made your stomach churn with desire.

“I suppose,” you said, your eyes wandering further down his body.

The expanse of his chest only seemed to become more prominent in his attire, and the way the buttoned up suit jacket accentuated his waist from his broad shoulders was almost enough to make your mouth water. You weren’t sure how you weren’t gawking at him earlier. Perhaps it was just the nerves, but you were glad your body had come out of shock and had finally started to enjoy what was in front of you.

Soon enough, it wasn’t just your eyes that were wandering. The hand that was lazily resting on his shoulder while the two of you spun in slow circles began to drift along his collarbones and then down to his chest. His body seemed to react on instinct, leaning into your touch as if silently begging for more. You tilted your head at him while your fingers intertwined with the delicate silk of his tie before you gave it a firm tug.

“So,” you said as you raised yourself up on your toes, “I guess I better enjoy it while I can, then.”

It was too much for the both of you. The heat that festered between the two of you threatened to melt you to the bone and it built and built until it finally dispersed in a fiery blaze. The hand that held yours while you danced suddenly pulled away from your fingers to engulf the side of your face once more, and not even a moment later Simon’s lips were on yours. It was needy and maybe a little rough, but it pulled a content groan from you anyway.

For a second time that night Simon’s hand pulled away from your body, and this time you really did whine. A plump pout appeared on your bottom lip as you pulled out of the kiss and looked up at him with eyes that all but demanded him to touch you again. Instead of giving into your demands, his hands moved between the two of you as he undid the buttons on his jacket. It had a difficult time sliding off of his shoulders, as broad and thick as they were, but he eventually shimmied it down his arms before tossing it onto the foot of the bed. Next came his tie, which you let go of in order to let him loosen it. That was discarded somewhere you didn’t even care to pay attention to.

Once more his lips were on yours, and this time both hands held your face to hold you in place as you devoured one another. Simon was starving, you could tell by the way his lips pressed against yours with bruising force and how his breaths quickly became labored. You felt yourself stumble slightly as he pulled away from the kiss, leaving you breathless and off balance like he ripped away the very ground you stood upon.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” he said, his voice nothing but a low rumble.

His hands trailed down from your face, to your waist before carefully rubbing along your back. Then it was open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, and you gasped in surprise at the sudden intensity of it, but you didn’t fight back against the way your head rolled to the side to give him more access. Expert fingers unzipped your dress, and the fabric fell limp around your arms as the entirety of your back became exposed. You dropped your arms to the side for a moment, allowing the silky chiffon to flutter to the ground in a puddle around your ankles.

Because of the nature of your dress, you didn’t wear a bra, so when the fabric dropped to the floor you were completely exposed to Simon, save for a simple pair of panties. It always went that way, though. The man was either too excited or too hungry to ever think about removing his own clothing before getting to you, and that night was no exception.

His kisses continued down your neck and moved even lower. A soft nip to your collarbone had your arms wrapping around his neck, but he dived even deeper; to the soft peak of your breasts, your sternum… before you knew it, he was on his knees in front of you, hands holding your waist as he looked up at you and planted a heavy kiss below your belly button.

The sight of him on his knees in front of you, like he was worshiping you, was intoxicating. It looked a little out of place on him, and maybe a little silly; his stature screamed that he should be the one towering over you at all times. But when his hand slowly began to travel up the inside of your thigh, it was very clear he was still the one in charge, and he was just getting started.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, lips brushing against the softness of your lower belly. A careful but accurate thumb brushed across your clothed clit, and your thighs nearly trapped his hand between your legs as you tensed from the sensation.

“You.” The word came tumbling out of your mouth, slurring like you were drunk on his touch alone. He rewarded your vocalness by making another quick and expertly placed swipe against your clit, nearly having you mewing in response. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

He responded by hooking his fingers underneath the band of your panties and giving them a firm tug down over your hips. They joined the mess of black fabric at your feet, and then he guided you towards the bed where you sat on the edge, resting back on your hands. His dress shirt hit the floor with lightning speed as he worked at the buttons faster than your fuzzy mind could comprehend. With his torso exposed, you couldn’t help but gape as your eyes traced over the thickness of his arms and ruggedness of his chest.

Now free from his shirt, Simon scooted closer to the edge of the bed, still on his knees, where his hands quickly dove between your legs, spreading them apart. His arms hooked underneath your knees and he pulled upwards, and you fell back on the bed with a quiet yelp in surprise. Effortlessly, he lifted your hips up off the bed, your legs having no choice but to rest on his shoulders as he pressed quick and hungry kisses up your thigh.

He continued to inch his way up your thighs where his tongue found your clit in no time and your back instinctively arched, pressing your hips further against his mouth. If there was one thing you learned about Simon, it was that he was always hungry. It wasn’t very often that he would initiate anything intimate without his mouth eventually making its way to your cunt, swiping over your needy clit like he would die without it.

Fingers lacing through his hair, you closed your eyes and reveled in the way he worked at you while his dark, grumbling pants were muffled against your heat. Shameless moans and pitchy praises left your lips as the pads of your fingers carefully pressed into his scalp all while he made the heat pool in some dark pit of your body. It burned through you, seared your insides until your blood boiled, threatening to incinerate you from the inside out.

“Simon…” was all you could whine out. The swell of your orgasm began to build in a dull but ever looming wave, and you felt your breaths come in uncontrollable and erratic bursts as your hips squirmed in his grasp.

After a few more strong, hungry licks along your clit, Simon’s mouth pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath. He moved your legs off from over his shoulders and gently lowered you onto the bed where he was fully able to take in the sight of the mess he made of you. A mixture of his spit and your arousal coated the soft flesh of your heat where it dripped down between your thighs. It was the same mixture that coated his freshly shaven skin, but he quickly wiped it off on his arm as his eyes darted back up to your face.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned as he pushed himself to his feet.

That dull drum of your orgasm, lingering but not quite toppling, made your entire body feel like it would float away from the bed. You pushed yourself back up into a sitting position and leaned forward, your hands instantly finding the belt loops of his pants.

“Come here,” you said breathlessly as you yanked him closer.

Clumsy fingers began to tug at the buckle of his belt. The tightness of his pants was a dead giveaway to his hardened length lurking underneath, and you ensured your hands accidentally brushed against him more times than what was necessary as you undid his belt and then his zipper soon after.

A heavy sigh left Simon when he was finally free from his restraints, and he tossed the pants in some corner of the room where they landed with a soft thud because of his belt. With him fully exposed in front of you, you wasted no time returning the favor he so selflessly gave to you earlier. You wrapped a hand around the tip of his cock, thick and red, enjoying the heavy weight against your palm. You gave it a few languid strokes, taking your time while you looked up at him, watching his face.

It wasn’t often Simon was very expressive, but the way he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath was all you needed to tell that he was enjoying himself. It was also all the encouragement you needed, and you found your lips parting slightly before you leaned forward, tongue pressing against the warmth of his tip.

Simon’s cock matched him perfectly in the sense that it was just as long as he was tall and as thick as he was broad. Because of this, it was always a challenge sucking him off like that, but it was one that you refused to shy away from. You pressed your head forward, tongue gliding along the thick vein on the underside of his cock while his tip prodded against the back of your throat. A thick grunt left Simon as he brought a hand up to the back of your head, not to push you further, but to gather any loose strands of hair that should fall in your face.

Once your jaw adjusted to just how wide you had to open up, you began to bob your head up and down the length of him. Your eyes didn’t leave him for a second, despite how intense his gaze was. It burned through you like he was staring through your very soul, poking around in your mind to find your desires, finding what made you tick. Spit began to dribble down your chin as you picked up speed, but you refused to stop. You couldn’t get enough of him, of his grunts, of the saltiness of his precum, of everything he had to offer. Even with the odd breaths you had to take in order to keep inhaling air yet still taking him as deep as you could, you didn’t want to stop.

“Fucking hell,” Simon growled.

Shortly later there was a firm force on the back of your head, and Simon’s cock suddenly left your mouth empty. It was like he was pulling an animal away from food so they wouldn’t make themself sick gorging on food. You sat there on the edge of the bed, a glossy sheen of saliva wetting your chin and open lips as you panted. Simon held you by your hair, not painfully but certainly demanding as he looked down at you with heavy eyes.

He then bent forward, lips on yours in a frenzy as his tongue replaced the space in your mouth. It was a wet and sloppy kiss from the spit that already soaked your lips, but you kissed him back with that same neediness. You could taste your essence on him, that soft but lively sapor, and you felt yourself moan into him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Simon mumbled as he pulled away. His hands gently pushed your shoulders back so that you were laying down on the bed once again, and in a swift motion he pushed you upwards so that you were closer to the center of the mattress rather than hanging off the bed. He descended on you, arms resting on either side of your head as his body hovered over yours. “Gonna be the goddamn death of me.”

The weight of his cock sat heavily on your lower stomach as he settled himself between your legs, and you felt your hips buck forward in anticipation. That orgasm you had been denied earlier made your cunt ache for him so badly it almost hurt, but you knew the wait was worth it. Cumming around his cock was certainly better than cumming around nothing.

Simon reached down and took himself in his hand as he slid from your stomach down to your entrance. You groaned as his tip pressed against your still angry and puffy clit while he teased at your entrance. Between the mess he made of you earlier, and the spit that still soaked his cock, you were plenty wet for him, and the squelching sounds only proved that further.

“Please,” you whined, your voice coming out more pitchy than you had intended it to be. “Simon, fuck, I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed, voice husky. The tip of him pressed into you ever so slightly, but with the discipline of a soldier, he refused to go any further. “Wanna hear you say it.”

You pressed your lips tightly together as your hips attempted to grind downwards onto him. But he knew your games well, and a slight smirk crossed his face as he moved himself away.

“I can’t wait anymore, please,” you begged. “Please, I need it, I need you so bad…”

His smirk only grew as he pressed himself forward again, the thick tip of his cock moving into the greedy entrance of your pussy, causing you to gasp. “Atta girl.”

There was a slight, dull burn as Simon moved deeper in you, the type of burn that took your breath away as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the mattress. Just when you thought he was going to bottom out, he kept going, and despite the countless nights the two of you had spent together like that, it always came as a surprise. Once he did you felt so completely full, walls clenching around him, you were certain you would combust.

It only grew more intense as Simon leaned back, hands hooking underneath your knees to press them towards your chest. Your eyes shot open at the feeling, and you let out a soft whimper as your eyes found him. He pulled out slow and careful before giving a firm thrust forward, one that had you cursing under your breath. Desperate fingers found their way to his forearms, trying to grab onto anything for stability as he nearly folded you in half.

What was once a dull whine of an impending orgasm quickly became a blaring alarm as Simon’s thrusts became more steady. He had warmed you up so well on his tongue, like he always did, your body always took him in greedily by the time he finally split you open on his cock.

“Been thinking about this all night,” Simon admitted in a pant over the lewd sounds of wet skin on skin. He drew a choked moan out of you after a particularly firm thrust, and you felt his grip on your legs tighten slightly as he picked up speed. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. Fuck, you drive me crazy.”

You bit into your lip, hardly able to get a word out. How could anyone expect you to? When a cock as thick and heavy as Simon’s was rutting into you over and over again, stealing your breath each time it hit the fragile spot deep inside of you that threatened to undo you? Everything in your body was turning into mush and you didn’t want him to stop.

“S… Si-mon,” you stuttered out, voice punctuated by every thrust into your weeping cunt. Your nails began to dig ever so slightly into the rugged skin of his forearms. “Gonna… gonna cum… fuck… please…”

Nothing changed about Simon’s pace. He knew what he was doing was just what you needed, and he wasn’t going to switch things up on you when you were so close. There wasn’t a single inch of your face that wasn’t left unexplored by his eyes. His own pants mingled with your pitchy moans as he felt your body tighten; the shaking of your legs, the tensing of your stomach, the fluttering of your pussy around him.

A few more intense thrusts later and that feeling that had grown so taut inside of you suddenly snapped. It was like drowning in the ocean, being suffocated under the unending waves only to be snatched from the water and wrapped in a lovers arms. Like dying and being brought back to life within a single instant. He marked the moment of your downfall by the way your eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy and your thighs shook against his grip. It was a terribly delicious blistering heat that consumed you whole, and Simon only egged the feeling on as he worked you through it with deliberate thrusts.

Eventually he came to a stop, yet still buried deliciously deep inside of you as the heat waned. When you finally opened your eyes again, you were met with his face, his lips slightly parted in awe as he let go of your legs, allowing them to settle by his hips instead. He collapsed forward, mouth finding the soft skin of your neck as he placed several kisses between pants.

“You’re perfect,” you sighed out as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He could only groan a short little huff as he continued placing delicate kisses on your skin. Your mind continued to spin for a few moments before you came to the realization that Simon was still agonizingly hard and pressed deep inside of you. A hand slipped down to cup one of his cheeks and gently pull him away so that you could replace the skin of your neck with your own lips.

Tender. It was the only word you could think of. Despite the fact he had fucked you so hard your brain felt like mush, he was so fucking tender. It made you yearn so much for him it nearly hurt.

Your legs tightened around his hips and you twisted to the side. Simon was plenty strong enough that he could have ignored your movements entirely, so you knew it was deliberate when he followed your lead, rolling onto his side and falling on his back. You rolled with him, lips still on his as suddenly the positions were switched. He laid under you, looking up at you as if you hung the stars. Still buried deep inside of you, you ground your hips down on him, groaning at how sensitive you were.

You took a moment to just look at him. The curve of his jaw, the thick and puffy scars that jutted out along his skin like crevices, the warmth in his eyes. He looked at you like he was bewitched, like he could die gazing upon you and die the happiest he had ever been.

It wasn’t often that you found yourself riding Simon, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. The man prioritized your pleasure over his own, leaving little time for you to give back. So taking advantage of the situation, with simple and slow movements, you lifted your hips up slightly only to rock them back down, gliding along his length. This drew another grunt out of him which only fueled something in you. This deep, primal need to take care of him. To make as much of a mess of him as he always made of you.

Even with your thighs still quaking from your climax, you began to work at him, hips rising and falling faster than your brain could comprehend. The plump flesh of your tits shook your chest and you reached up to cup them, squeezing them together with a moan.

“Fuck,” Simon groaned at the sight of you. Rough hands came up to hold your hips as you rode him, guiding you up and down while his hips bucked to meet you halfway. Even when he was supposed to be the one laying back and enjoying himself, his focus was still you; always you.

That tingly feeling of overstimulation began to shake through your legs, weakening them, but Simon’s grip on your hips kept you going. Even on top of him you were nothing but a babbling mess as your hands fell to rest against his chest just to keep yourself steady. Each sound you made slowly started to be drowned out by the quiet praises Simon muttered. You couldn’t even fully make out what he was saying over the sound of blood gushing in your ears, but you could tell he was close by how sloppy his thrusts became. They were quick and desperate, but still mind numbing all the same.

“I need it,” you suddenly blurted out. The tips of your fingers pressed into his shoulder like you were trying to grab at the very essence of him. All you could do was ramble and whine as he continued, reaching ever closer to his own high. “Need your cum. Please, please, Simon, I need it so bad, fuck…”

He didn’t last much longer after your precious begging. A few more sloppy thrusts later and he slammed your hips down on him once more, keeping you there while his cock twitched inside of you, spilling his seed deep into you with a rough grunt. A shaky breath left you at the sensation as you felt every single pulse as he emptied himself into you. Your body couldn’t handle it anymore. Completely spent, you collapsed in a heap on top of his chest, bodies still connected. His skin was slick with sweat, or maybe it was your own skin. It didn’t matter; everything that was yours was his, and his was yours.

For a while the two of you laid with one another. His heart beat heavily in his chest, reverberating and echoing throughout your own body. Both of your panting created a dull melody that echoed bluntly off of the bedroom walls, one that eventually softened as the crescendo of it died down. Once he caught his breath, Simon’s fingers tangled in the mess of your hair, holding you close as he pressed a fat kiss to the crown of your head.

“Petite mort,” you breathed out as you nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck.

“Hmm?” Simon hummed in confusion. While one hand stayed locked in your hair, his other hand slowly ran up your back in long, slow caresses. It sent a wave of shivers down your spine, instantly cooling your sweltering skin.

“You said I was going to be the death of you. Petite mort. Little death,” you explained, and then paused for a moment to sigh. “It’s… a euphemism for orgasm.”

To your surprise, Simon chuckled. Really, you hadn’t thought it was all that funny, but maybe there was some weird irony there. The man had a strange sense of humor, afterall.

“Petite mort,” he repeated, the French rolling off his tongue better than you had expected of him. “Weird goddamn saying.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Warm water enveloped your body as the sweet aroma of epsom salts clung heavily to your skin. Every hint of discomfort in your body seemed to wash away in the bath, from the ache in your feet from the heels you had worn that night, to the dull yet pleasant throbbing between your thighs. Darkness smothered the bathroom as the lights were off, leaving only the small light from the lamp in the bedroom to illuminate the room through the open door.

Heavy footsteps shook the floor as Simon entered the bathroom, temporarily darkening the area as he blocked the light source. He wore nothing but a pair of plain sweatpants, and the pale skin of his torso glowed in the darkness as he walked towards the bathtub where you laid in comfortable bliss.

“How’s my girl?” he questioned as he sat down on the floor.

“Great,” you answered with a sleepy grin.

It wasn’t until Simon had fully situated himself on the floor that you realized that he was eating. He sat with his side leaned against the tub, hissing slightly at the cold surface against his bare skin, and a plate in hand full of what looked like a frozen dinner he had probably heated up in the microwave. The scent of it mixed with the fragrant smell of the salts you soaked in was a little off putting, and you weren’t even going to start with how gross it was to eat in a bathroom, as you were certain he had eaten in worse places.

“Hungry?” you asked as he took a bite.

He took a moment to swallow his food before answering, yet he prepared his next mouthful as he spoke. “Didn’t eat dinner.”

A pang of guilt rang throughout your body at that realization. Simon hadn’t eaten at the ball, because why would he? Take his mask off around so many strangers just for some food?

“Baby,” you pouted slightly, leaning towards the side of the tub, “you should have said something when we got home. Could’ve gotten you food sooner.”

All he gave you in response was a simple shrug as he shoveled more food into his mouth. Then, after a moment of thought, he answered; “Decided to have dessert first.” That comment was enough to get your brain to short circuit. You opened your mouth to say something and nothing but a confused squeak left you. Simon continued eating like he was none the wiser.

“That was the stupidest fucking thing I think I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” you finally decided as you rubbed a wet hand over your face.

Simon chuckled, and things fell quiet between the two of you as he continued eating. Water splashed against the sides of the tub in gentle waves as your hand glided along the surface, scooping up bubbles just to let them slide off your skin. It was quiet. A comfortable quiet.

Simon’s eyes found you like they always did. He could find you in a crowded room. He could find you in the darkness of your shared bedroom. He could find you even if he had every sense stripped from him because it was like his soul only fell in harmony when he was with you. You were the very thing that grounded him - that tethered him - to the earth; that kept him from floating away and becoming something else. Something different. Something worse.

“If you could go anywhere in the world,” he suddenly asked, his fork scraping against the plastic plate in his hand, “where would you go?”

This question was different from anything Simon would normally ask, but it didn’t necessarily catch you off guard. Instead, you thought for a moment, racking your mind. Anywhere in the world? Well, the world was a big place! How were you supposed to pick just one?

“I don’t know,” you admitted while you adjusted your position in the tub. “I think I’d want to go somewhere warm. Somewhere that doesn’t rain so much. Honestly, I’d be pretty happy to just see anywhere that’s not London.” You paused for a second as you turned your full attention to Simon. “Where’d you want to go?”

Simon didn’t think nearly as long as you did. “Wherever you want.”

A small pout formed on your lips and you leaned your head against the side of the tub. The cool acrylic sent a shiver through your body, but you ignored it as you stared up at him. “That’s not very fun.”

He grunted as he wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand. “I’ve got four weeks of paid leave that I haven’t used yet this year. Figured we could maybe plan a trip, if you’d like.”

That perked you right up. “Seriously?” you asked as you sat up in the tub. “Like, you want to go on holiday?”

Your eagerness caught Simon off guard and he lowered his plate some as he turned his full attention to you. “That’s the idea.”

Your face lit up the darkness as you grinned at him. “I’d love that. Really. We could both take time off work! Maybe two weeks? One week to spend abroad and another week to relax at home?”

“Whatever you want,” he assured you. “I’ll make it work.”

A content smile graced your lips at his words. How did you get so lucky? How did you go from sleepless nights, from broken drywall and nails to him? To Simon Riley? The man who could knock a grown man out in a single punch but refused to show any of that roughness to you? Who would run you a bath after fucking you and not leave you a crumpled mess on the mattress?

“I don’t deserve you,” you quietly admitted.

“Yeah, you deserve better.”

The words left his mouth so quickly it was like they had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for eternity, waiting to be released. He said it with such conviction that it sent a jolt of pain straight to your heart. Of course everyone always wanted to do better, to be better, yourself included, but the way he said it… it was like he was saying he wasn’t good enough to be with you.

“You are better,” you assured him. Your hand breached the water, sloshing out of the tub and dripping as you shook it out slightly before reaching over the ledge. Simon shivered slightly as the warm water smeared on his skin as your fingertips brushed along his shoulder. It was annoying, you were almost certain of it, but you couldn’t go without touching him while having a conversation like that. “The best I’ve ever had.”

Things fell quiet between the two of you after that as Simon continued eating his dinner instead of responding. Maybe he didn’t believe you. It certainly wouldn’t surprise you with how quick he was to respond in the first place. But that was alright. He didn’t have to believe you in order for it to be true. So you laid there in the tub, fingers dancing across his skin as your mind wandered, daydreaming about far away lands and time well spent with the man who became your home.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm

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skylarsblue · 1 month

Text

★RDR2 Incorrect Quotes★

(If you see duplicates from my COD version of these? Shh, no you didn't) ★Border made by @fairytopea★

Ms.Grimshaw What are you doing, you oaf? Young!Arthur, staring at Y/N: They’re pretty. Ms.Grimshaw …and you’re ugly, now get back to work.

- (Pre-joining the gang) Abigail, trying to get paid: What’s your favorite color, John? John: Blue. No, green. Abigail: Awesome! I love learning about you. John: I fucked up, it’s yellow.

- Arthur, cutting a huge knot out of John’s hair: I fucked up, we gotta go bald. *head locks him still* Young!John, flailing violently: WAAAAAHHHH-

Seán: Psst, Lenny, ay mate, wake up! Lenny: Huh- Wh-what? What is it? Seán: I heard something outside the tent. Lenny: What? Seán: Like a woman crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. Lenny: Okay?? What do you want me to do? Seán: Come look with me! Lenny: Hell no! Seán: Why not? Lenny: I got too much melanin and too much sense for that white people shit. You wanna let demons get you, be my guest, leave me out of it.

- (John HAD to have SOMETHING that captivated her, for humor’s sake? We’ll say he had jokes)

Abigail: You have to find my darling husband, I’m so worried about him. Arthur: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? Abigail: He makes me laugh.

- Micha: I've got the urge to say something. Arthur: And what's that? Micha: The N-Word- Arthur: WHOA-

- Bill: But seriously, is it your whole emo thing that she’s into or what? John: …yeah, long flowing straight hair, very emo.

- Karen: This- Hmm. Tilly: Be nice. Karen: I’m findin’ it. Mary-Beth: …it takes you that long to find- Karen: It does, it does.

- (O’Driscoll troubles) Kieran: Arthur we’re going to get murdered. We’re going to get murdered by a man who can’t tie a fucking bow tie. Arthur: At least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

- John: Ugh, you know they’re gonna make us do one of those tacky family happiness photos that comes in the restaurants shitty frame. Tilly: Why are you so fucking negative all the time? John: Wh- uh- I just- Arthur: *slowly sucks tea through straw*

- Seán: Someone just said; “You’re a criminal!” Seán: *handkerchief on, gun in one hand, bag of money in the other* Seán: Well I’ll tell ya what, Sherlock Holmes. You are unbelievable.

- The Gang: Arthur is dying and Micha is a rat! Dutch, dancing with money: *insert that audio that goes “I don’t give a fuck cause I’m a ✨millionaire✨, I do what I want, middle finger in the air!”*

- John, drunk: You think the wind is ever tryna tell us something and we don’t know how to hear it anymore? Charles, loading up a drunk Arthur into a wagon: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

- Abigail: If we lose, I’m gonna cut the judge. John: Wh- you brought your switchblade?? Abigail: Mhm. John: But they patted us down on the way in, where did you hide i- ohhhhhhh.

- Arthur: …you ever wish you could just, turn into a bird and fly away from everything? Charles: I think we need to get you to a therapist for depression. John: I’d wanna be a wolf. Charles: And we should get you psych evaluation for Autism.

- Sheriff: You seem like a reasonable and good natured person. Arthur: *looks around* And you look like you need glasses.

- Abigail: What would your father say?! Jack: Uhhh “I’ll fix it!” And then make it worse until luck comes around and makes it work, and then act like that was the plan the whole time? Abigail: …that’s my bad, I should’ve used a different phrase to express my disappointment.

- (I dunno why but John being super mean to some people is so fucking funny to me. I don't hate Bill, but bullying him is fun)

Bill: You enjoyin’ the wife everyone else paid to have? John: You mean the woman I never had to pay for? The woman who liked me so much, she didn’t ask for any money to sleep with me? In fact; she liked me so much, she married me? The woman who makes me a warm dinner and kisses me everyday? Mother of my child? John: I am enjoyin’ yeah. What about you, Bill? Bill: John: You enjoyin’ your lonely life, you unlovable sorry sack of shit? You enjoyin’ having to pay for someone to pretend they like you? Cause they never actually do. They hate you actually, like me. I hate you. Eat shit and die, Bill.

- Arthur: …him? Really? Mary-Beth Don’t be mean! Arthur: He looks like a rescue dog, Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth: I know, I like that! Arthur: ….you like that?? Mary-Beth: His pathetic wet eyes and general wimpy stature have captivated me. Arthur: *sigh* Whatever makes you happy.

- Bill: At the end of the day, Arthur. I am a MAN. Arthur: A MAN WHO’S GAY. You like fellers GETTHATTHROUGHYOURHEAD!

- Dutch: I have a plan. Hosea: You haven’t planned shit. Dutch: I’ve planned it.

- Hosea: Arthur! What on earth are you doing?! Young!Arthur: Getting rid of this demon. Young!John: *screeching and trying to get out of Arthur’s grip* Hosea: And why do you plan to get rid of him? Arthur: Because, Hosea! He woke me up by leaning over me and whispering, “I know what death feels like, it’s cold. Have you felt death?” Arthur: HE’S CLEARLY EVIL, HOSEA Hosea: That’s just how children are, Arthur. Dutch: He’s right son, put the boy down. Dutch, leaning and whispering to Hosea: But maybe we should buy a Bible just in case. Hosea: And a cross.

- (Modern au and suicide joke)

John: It’s not a phase! It’s a lifestyle, you just wouldn’t get it! Arthur: You think I didn’t go through the “I can’t tell if I want to kill myself or everyone around me” phase? Come on. John: What? I don’t wanna kill myself at all. Arthur: … John: … John: Should I- should we go talk to Hose- Arthur: We should forget this conversation happened. Take this Nirvana CD and keep your mouth shut.

- Abigail: …John. John: Yes, my angel? Abigail: You forgot something. John: No I didn’t! I took the list with me, checked it three times, even crossed things off when I put it in the cart! See, look. Apples, frozen hamhocks, cranberry juice- Abigail: John. You took Jack with you. John: Abigail: John: Abigail: John: SHIT I LEFT HIM BY THE PASTA SECTION Abigail: STOP STANDING THERE AND GO GET HIM!

- Jack: Pa, how did you get mom to marry you? John: Well son, I- John: John: I have no idea. Jack: Should I ask mom? John: I’ll be honest, I don’t think she knows the answer either.

- Charles: You did good back there. Arthur: Oh? Heh, nah, you did all the fancy stuff. I just helped. Charles: Don’t undersell yourself, Arthur. I wouldn’t be complimenting you for no reason. Arthur: Oh yeah? And here I thought you were just trying to fluff up my ego. Charles: Wouldn’t hurt to do when you work so hard, no? Arthur: Now you’re just being’ sweet- John: Can y’all wait til we’re done before you start your spiritual dick sucking? Arthur: Can you repent to the lord fast enough to save your soul in the time it’ll take me to throw you into the damn ocean, Marston?!

- Arthur: Do you even have a brain? John: Do you even have someone that loves you? Arthur: John: John: I heard it that time, I’m sorry. Arthur: This is what Abigail hears sometimes, just so you know. John: I heard it that time, I got it. I- I’ll just- Arthur: Whiskey, full bottle. The nice kind. John: Apology alcohol, got it.

NPC: My husband’s parents are so crazy. In-laws always are, huh? Abigail: Well, uh-

*John being an orphan* *John’s adoptive dads being criminals, one particularly off his rocker*

Abigail: ….aha, yeah;;

- Abigail: John Marston, you useless, foolish, stupid man! Bill: To hell with John! Abigail, suddenly with a very large gun: NO ONE INSULTS MY HUSBAND.

- Arthur, holding up a proper painting he actually put time and effort into: Could a depressed person make this? Charles: The painting: *a wolf in the rain laying it’s head over the body of a deer shot with an arrow* Charles: I’m, in fact, more convinced you have depression now. Arthur: …yeah this wasn’t the best evidence for my argument, huh? Charles: No. Not at all.

- John: What are you talking about? That’s completely normal, it’s like having opinions. just cause it doesn’t happen to you doesn’t mean- Tilly: No, John! No. It’s not normal to have that reaction to the sound of hearing metal on metal. John: No look, uh- Arthur! Arthur come here! Arthur: What now? John: What happens when you hear metal on metal? Like, a can bein’ rubbed with a knife. Arthur: Ugh, I hate that sound. It makes my damn skin crawl, like I got beetles underneath. Makes me wanna skin myself to get’em out. John: Right! See, Tilly? It’s not just me! Tilly: ????

Charles: …and you never got them evaluated? Hosea: In hindsight, an autistic diagnosis probably would’ve made more things make sense. But, what can ya do.

- Arthur after a dog didn’t positively react to him: Maybe this is my final straw. Charles: No. Arthur: It might be. Charles: It’s one dog. There are twenty that you stopped to pet along the way here, plenty more for you to pet after this. Arthur: You don’t understand, this is devastatin’. Charles: Arthur, please- Arthur: Utterly devastatin’, Charles.

- Arthur, tipsy: Just cause you’re gorgeous don’t mean I’ma do whatever you say. Charles: Drink the water, Arthur. Arthur: *grabs the glass* Yes, sir.

- (Got a Y/N one, also, modern Au)

Arthur: That’s the Aberdeen farm. Y/N: …what’s wrong with it? Arthur: What’cha mean? Y/N: The vibes, they’re off. Arthur: …the…vibes? Y/N: The energy, Mister Morgan. The vibe of the place. They’re off, they’re weird, wack even. I sense insidious and wretched wavelengths wafting from the aura of that property. Arthur: I see…well, to answer your question, it’s cause they are weird. And I ain’t even confirmed why cause I don’t really wanna know. Y/N: I see you can also sense the vibes are rank. Arthur: …sure, whatever that means.

- Micha: Well I think- Y/N: Well I’m certain no one fucking asked, Micha! Not a single damn person asked what the hell you thought, ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t think. I’m pretty sure your skull fills with all the bullshit in your organs, and it just spills out your mouth! Micha: Micha: I- Y/N: Shut up, Micha!

- Arthur, after Albert explains some super dangerous plan in order to get wild animals near him to photograph: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

- Y/N: Bye Arthur, bye Karen, bye Hosea, bye Arthur. Sadie: You said ‘bye Arthur’ twice. Y/N: I like Arthur.

- NPC: Lovebirds, eh? Sadie: Arthur: Sadie: I’d rather eat a poison ivy plant with Holly Berries for dressing. *looks at Arthur* No offense. Arthur: No no, none taken. All things considered, I’d rather dive into a pit of tar and then drag myself face first through a plain of rotten chitlins. Sadie: Completely fair!

- Bill: I need you to realize you ain’t in charge here. Y/N: I need you to realize I don’t give a shit.

- Arthur: Hey Charles, uh, I got an Uhm…a spiritual question. Charles: Any particular reason you chose to ask me? Arthur: Uh well- I didn’t mean for it to be like that- I just- Charles: *sigh* What is it? Arthur: Do you know what it means when an elk stands up on its back legs? Charles: That means- Charles: WE SHOULD LEAVE, we need to leave, that’s what that means!

- Jack: …why are your boobs so big? Charles: They’re not boobs. Jack: Do you have to wear a brasier? Charles: *sigh* Arthur: He asked me the same thing a couple weeks ago, don’t think to hard bout it.

(Story spoilers!!) Y/N: I'm sorry, let me get this straight. Y/N: You picked up that man when he was a destitute child, grieving and starving. Taught him almost everything he knows. Y/N: Then, you did that with, what? Three others? In similar circumstances? Y/N: Created a sense of family and community, a strong bond between so many misfortuned people. With your trustworthy long term friend by your side. Y/N: And then. Y/N: One RAT. WHO IS OPENLY ANTAGONISTIC AND REEKS OF SUSPICION AS MUCH AS HE DOES HORSE SHIT, SOMEHOW CONVINCES YOU TO GO OFF YOUR ROCKER AND HARM YOUR GANG?! Y/N: Explain! Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: He praised me- Y/N: YOUR PRAISE KINK GOT YOU TO AIM A GUN AT YOUR SONS????

- Arthur: Naaah they’re an angel. Lenny: They punched Bill in the face. Seán: They told Strauss he was a waste of human material, in his own language, which they’re not fluent in. Mary-Beth: They framed Micha for a crime and got him put in prison again. Arthur: Like I said, an angel!

- John: Woman. (Translation: Darling.) Abigail: Moron. (Translation: Lovebug.)

Arthur: You tellin’ me they’re being affectionate right now? Jack: Can’t’cha read subtext, Uncle Arthur? Arthur: ???

(Insert Alcohol is truth serum reference)

Drunk Bill: Not to be gay, but you’re gorgeous bro. Kieran, afraid: You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty. Absolutely shit-faced Bill: Nah, like I’d fuck you, bro. Kieran, terrified: Okay, never mind!

- (How I imagine their first couple years together went)

Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: How do you feel about me? Hosea, naked & beside him: ….we’re sharin’ a bedroll, Dutch. Dutch: Yes, but what are we, Hosea? Hosea: ….we’re both naked, alone, in a tent, Dutch. Dutch: That doesn’t answer my question. Hosea:

- (This one's sad, not funny, sorry-) John: You’re such a hypocrite, why is it that anything I do that you’ve done before that you get so bent outta shape?! Arthur: Because I’ve done it before you, John. John: So why do you think it’s fair to tell me not to?! Most people are proud when their younger brother ends up like’em. You don’t want anyone like you, is that it? Arthur: John: John: …oh. Arthur: Now that you got my point, will you take my god damn advice without a big fuss…please.

- John: She drives me insane! She somehow managed to make me the angriest I’ve ever been almost daily. NPC: Then leave her. John: The fu- no. What? She’s the wind beneath my wings, my darling wife, my beautiful angel. How the hell could you even think to suggest such a thing? NPC: But- John: Get outta my sight, you fuckin’ disgrace.

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whatarewedoingdude · 12 days

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Eddie Redmayne plays The Tism™ a little too well.....

(such as these two diagnosable loveable dorks🫶)

#eddie redmayne #newt scamander #gordy #fantastic beasts #the yellow handkerchief #movies

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colourstreakgryffin · 8 months

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Hello my good friend. It's been a while since I've requested but. Can I request kyojuru and mitsuri with female-child reader who likes fire, and likes to watch things burn up? They don't get burnt by it but if they do they won't cry. For kyojuru's part reader like to brush his hair with there smalls hands on tug at the bottom of his haori where the flames are. 🙏🏾💕

Hehe! Omg, this is so wholesome and cute and I can already see how both would behave! Let’s gooo! I’m totally doing this request and welcome back, darling! Also welcome back, Mitsuri

Rengoku Kyojuro

Kyojuro is naturally protective over younger ones so when he sees you, the little girl he rescued and adopted, sat in front of a stick fire. He sprints to pull you away from the flames and tell you lightly that fire is dangerous

Kyojuro is flattered with how much you like his hair. Yes, it does look like fire, doesn’t it? He will let you brush his hair all you want and the way you try pull the strands up so it will burn like real fire, has his heart exploding. You’re just so adorable with your fire fascination

Kyojuro cannot say no to you, like at all. Sure, he will take you away from fires you start and put you in front of controlled fires but that’s for protection. In every other sense, he can’t say no, so when you reach for the tips of his flame-like haori, he drapes it over you so you can play with it

“Look, Dokusha. See that fire there?” Kyojuro‘s comforting yet strong voice rolled out softly as he comfortably sat down on his knees, with you placed in his lap. His pointer directed your eager eyes to the roaring tall torch egging-on a big, beautiful orange-red-yellow mix palette flame burning with life. You immediately silenced yourself, the reflective light of the fire bouncing off your eyes as you glared in pure awe

Kyojuro didn’t want his precious adoptive daughter to be around uncontrolled and touchable fire so instead, he would set the Rengoku Family flame torches for you to gaze and admire the fire from a safe distance. You always have loved fire, ever since he met you and up to this very moment. You pulled at his fire-like coloured hair and played with the flame patterned haori draped carelessly over his shoulders

Kyojuro didn’t mind sitting in front of the torch with you, all to make you happy as he admired your gawking expression. You look simply so adorable in your nighttime Yukata and your pretty loose hair decorated by a single small ponytail. Kyojuro is over the phrase of ‘glad’ that you’re his precious baby girl, his one and only child. He will give you his flame-like haori to cuddle up in and a nice lap to fall asleep on

“What is your favourite colour of the fire, Dokusha?”

Kanroji Mitsuri

Mitsuri, as the older sister of five, knows to always be careful around danger and how to handle children with dangerous things so when you, her cute little adoptive daughter, is huddled over the Estate’s furnace fire to gawk at the colours and liveliness, she is bolting to make sure you won’t catch on fire

Mitsuri will try distract you with fire-looking items as to keep you away from real fire. The way you hawk at the red fade to yellow kimono she bought for you and play with the tips of the flame-shaped handkerchief she got made, her heart goes pitter-patter with joy

When push comes to shove, Mitsuri will let you sit by her as she sets up the Estate’s furnace fire and even let you put in wood for her to set ablaze. She won’t let you handle the lighter, all because she is protective over you and always strives to keep you safe

“Place the big log down in this spot, baby” Mitsuri chirped gently, carefully placing her hands on your little back as you lazily dump the big irritable log of wood onto the standing pile of charcoal, spreading a small gust of ash over the short metallic railing guarding the entrance to the fire’s shelter. The log was heavy and scratched at your chest, you stepped back until you bumped against Mitsuri’s torso. She took this opportunity to cuddle you closer to her as she picked up the lighter and flicked the nozzle to spark up a fire

In wonder and awe, you watched Mitsuri eventually set the big log on fire after a few attempts of hovering the dancing flame over the wood, placing down the lighter to the side and shuffling back on her knees with you firm in her grasp so the fire couldn’t touch any inch of you incase it roared to life. Her prediction was proven correct when the thick chunk of tree essence brought to life a raging fire that almost grazed over the brick roof of the furnace

Mitsuri leant her vision down to look at you after your amazed coos faded. You’re just so adorable, eyes reflecting the mixed fiery colours and in that moment, she knew she will never regret saving you from that Lower Moon and adopting you as her little one. Sure, you’re a bit reckless with fire but your excitement over it makes her heart roar in true passion. Comfortable in your comfy nighttime Yukata and cute small silky brushed braids, she planned to sit with you in front of the fire for hours. All because the colours made you so happy

“Do you feel the warmth, Dokusha? The fire is so nice”

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leonw4nter · 3 months

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The Lady And Her Gentleman

Husband!RE6!Leon x F!Reader

Soft fingers curled around the brown leather of the sword’s grip, lifting it from its velvet box. Golden light beaming in from the cathedral windows hit the polished blade of the weapon, creating a momentary flash of white-gold. The sword felt cumbersome and stocky in your untrained hand yet you held it with great pride as you descended down the colored marble stairs of the altar. Each step was electrifying, anticipation weighing heavily on everyone inside. You stop in front of the kneeling knight, his head downcast and his hands placed in prayer position in front of him; his armor shone bright, not a single scratch or dent in sight but not nearly as bright as your eyes, ablaze with admiration for the gallant knight in his knees. You raise the sword before tapping the flat of the blade against his shoulders, reciting your speech as you do the act.

“I dub thee, Sir Leon. Receive now your spurs, your right to suitable arms, and take this, my sword to your side to serve and defend me well. Arise, Sir Knight,” ending it with the customary gentle tap of the blade to his cheek before handing him the sword, your palms in direct contact with the cold steel. Leon takes the sword from your palms and sheaths it in the scabbard that hung on his hip. He gives you the first curtsy he takes as the newly knighted captain of the guards, barely restrained smiles on both your lips before you give your curtsy to him. When you meet his gaze again you practically tackle him with a hug, silk-clad arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tenderly whisper. “So proud.”

You can hear gasps of surprise and others in slight shock. It’s not customary for the queen to practically fling herself towards her knight but then again, he’s not just any knight; he’s also your husband. You shut your eyes in immense contentment as you feel his hands close in around the small of your back and pull you closer, his head buried in the nook of your neck; you can feel him press a feather-like kiss to your skin, his lips still curled skyward. You pull away, lovingly gazing at him with glassy eyes and a lovelorn grin on your face. He brings a calloused palm to your cheek, his thumb stroking your pliant skin before he pulls you in for a delicate kiss, the eruption of celebratory cheers and clapping echoing throughout the walls of the gothic cathedral.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“My love, I’m afraid you must stay awake for this play,” Leon softly urges you. Despite him being your husband and the masses approving of your relationship, you two still had to keep up with the queen-knight appearance which meant that despite his status as the spouse of the seated monarch, he would still be somehow below her, which he didn’t mind as long as he stayed close to you. He stood behind your seat, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I wish to head back home,” you quietly groan before hiding your yawn behind an ivory handkerchief. “I am falling drowsy.”

He lets himself grin when he sees the handkerchief you brought along; it was the handkerchief that he embroidered, dainty stitches of small yellow flowers adorning the corner of the cloth. He isn’t that great at threading needles or creating a perfect french knot but for you he tries his best, consulting books and your guidance. You are a lot better than he is at this but he still decides to do it like the good husband he is for his queen.

“Honey, it won’t take much longer. Keep those pretty lids open for a little longer and then we can head back,” he reassures you. Though you don’t exactly sound very happy to be doing that, you still try to stay awake and look pleased until the end.

You fall deeply asleep on the carriage ride back home, your head resting on Leon’s strong shoulder. He tries to keep himself from swaying along with the movements of the carriage so your temple doesn’t bump against him or disturb your beauty rest, seeing how you’ve been fighting it off since earlier. He takes your hand and twines your fingers with his, admiring the golden band wrapped around your ring finger. Slightly parting the silk curtain, he keeps his gaze trained outside on the ride home.

As soon as you arrive home, he wakes you up and tries to get you to your chambers immediately to be able to have you fall back asleep again. He helps you out of your jewelry and dresses before getting into the bath, preparing your nightgowns before he sets your side of the bed up for the night. After a quick bath and change of clothing, you slide back in bed and promptly fall asleep while Leon watches on. He isn’t that drowsy yet so he decides to practice his embroidery, practicing on one of your socks this time.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The day is lazy, almost everyone spending it idly by either reading or taking a walk in one of the gardens. Leon is still engrossed in his embroidery, proud of the first perfect chain stitch he made of a tree branch and is bent on making some more for you. He finished working on your socks from last night and moved on to another one of your handkerchiefs but now he’s working on your satin opera gloves, particularly the hem of the gloves. He’s maximizing the free time he has since he has to go on a patrol around the castle before moving on to managing the protection at kingdom borders, which might take him all night.

“You’re doing a lot of practicing, honey,” you comment with a cheeky grin.

“It seems a lot more soothing than I initially thought,” he responds while still having his attention glued to his work.

“Well, you will be embroidering more things in the nearer future so I highly suggest perfecting this craft.”

“What do you mean by that?”

You giggle, just shrugging your shoulders before turning your attention back to the book you were reading, a giddy smile crossing your lips. Leon gets up from his chair and sets his work down, walking over to you and wrapping you in his arms whilst pressing tickly kisses on your neck. His stubble gently scratches against your neck, making you even more tickly when he nuzzles into your neck and breathes in your scent deeply.

“What do you mean by that, honey? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Maybe.”

He presses even more tickly kisses, his fingers gently prodding at spots that are most ticklish which causes you to thrash under him and shoot up, trying to run away while giggling.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You decide to have a nice walk with Leon, frolicking in a beautiful field of pinks and purples. He decided to bring his steed along instead of another carriage, since he wanted this to be more intimate and private. You excitedly jump down from the horse, not even waiting for Leon to help you down when you finally get there; his heart swells a little when he sees you running towards the ocean of pinks and purples, underneath a canvas of blue and orange. Your hair is not tied up into a bun or pinned back and you look a lot more jovial, especially without the powders and tints on your face. He joins you and you two run around amidst the flowers, giggling and squealing without a care in the world. Eventually, you two get tired and resort to laying in a bed of greens to admire the beautiful open scene beside each other. Leon somehow still has the energy to move around, gathering some flowers before sitting right beside you and weaving the flowers together while engaging in idle conversation with you. You didn’t exactly pay attention to his actions so you were caught off guard when he gently crowns you with a flower crown. He smiles brightly, adjusting it to your head and making sure that the best-looking flowers were displayed at the front.

“You look very pretty with this,” he mumbles to himself. “I should make some more.”

“Yeah, you definitely should make some more,” you softly tell him.

“On it.”

He gets up again and gathers more flowers, ready to weave another flower crown. He comes back with more flowers but he takes a daisy and places it behind your ear before giving you a kiss to the cheek, proceeding to make the next crown.

“Make that one much smaller than mine,” you suggest. “A lot like this,” you add as you make a circle with both your hands.

“A matching bracelet?” He asks and you nod, giggling.

After a few moments, he’s finally done making the second flower crown.

“Give me your wrist, my love.”

You give him your wrist and let him slide the crown in. It looks good on you, complimenting your skin color but it’s best worn for another way.

“It’s actually not a bracelet, my dear.”

He looks a little confused, laying back and resting his weight on his shoulders.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s for our baby. I’m expecting.”

He stays silent for a bit before turning to you, briskly sitting up and his eyes going wide, his lips following suit. He nears you, taking your hands in his as he looks at you with a piercing intensity.

“Is this real, my love?” He asks in a hushed voice.

You nod. “Yes. Yes, it is very much real. We’ll be parents.”

He pulls you up and into a crushing hug, practically lifting you up and spinning you around. The world turns into a beautiful blur of the different shades of pinks and oranges as the sun closes a beautiful day. Leon finally sets you down and presses a passionate kiss to your lips, setting a promise to protect his wife and his future child in stone.

NOTE - This fic is a little shorter than my usual fics because I put off writing this and planned on making it a drabble instead but because for some reason I insisted on writing a fic instead of a drabble, we ended up with this fic that is just a buncha ideas thrown in 😭 Also one of my guy classmates is like... subtly making backhanded comments about me and my RE hyperfixation which is... it's interesting and a little funny so let's see where this leads 😭😭 Also my kitten shat inside my house and now it absolutely STANKS and my other cat jumped on me and now I've got scratches all over 😭😭😭 I also took a math quiz that I did not review for and NEARLY failed a quiz in science that I thought I'd do good at 💀 Anyways, that's it and TYSMM for reading my fics!!!!!!!! I <3 UUUUU!!!!!!!

The floral dividers are from @saradika , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #fluff #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil 6 #re6 #rebhfun

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