cheese

"Either drink it or admit you've been beaten, kid."

She whirls on him, her eyes flashing in the dim light with indignation. She is small—Yi Dao often forgets how small she is until she stands right in front of him, the top of her head barely reaching his collarbone.

The disparity between them has always been stark: his weathered, scarred bulk against her compact, coiled grace. She looks up at him now with that infuriating smirk that means she is plotting something stupid.

(For fuck's sake, she is always plotting something stupid.)

"I said I could match you," she snaps, snatching the jar from the wooden crate between them. "And stop calling me 'kid.' I'm not some child you found wandering the market."

Yi Dao grunts, a low sound that vibrates in his chest. "You act like one. Challenging me to spar every dawn, complaining when I don't pull my strikes, and now this," he gestures at the jar in her hands in emphasis. "You think that just because you can handle a sword, you can handle western spirits? I've been drinking firewater since before you were born, brat."

The age gap between them yawns like a chasm whenever they speak like this. Yi Dao is well into his middle years, his beard streaked with gray, his face mapped with the hard lines of a life spent killing and surviving.

She is young—dangerous, yes; skilled, yes; but ultimately, young still. Fresh to the jianghu in ways he hasn't been for decades. Yet she's attached herself to him like a particularly persistent leech, insisting they travel together, refusing to take no for an answer until he relents with a growl and a warning that he isn't a nursemaid.

"Then you won't mind if I prove you wrong," she says, and tips the jar to her lips.

Yi Dao watches her throat work as she swallows, counting the seconds, measuring the burn he knows is searing down her esophagus. He should stop her. He should take the jar away and send her to sleep it off in the corner. Instead, he finds himself fascinated by the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she refuses to cough even as her eyes water. She is wearing that damn expression again—the one that first caught his attention back then, all defiance and sharp edges.

"Three sips," she gasps, slamming the jar down on the crate. Her cheeks are already flushing, the red high on her cheekbones. "Your turn, old man."

"Old man?" Yi Dao laughs, a genuine bark of amusement that echoes off the cave walls. She's called him worse—wretch, murderer, stubborn ox—but this one sticks and stings because it's technically true. He reaches for the jar, his calloused fingers brushing hers as he takes it. The contact is brief, but he feels the heat of her skin, the tremor in her hand that she tries to hide.

"I'm old enough to be your father, and I'm certainly old enough to know better than to indulge this nonsense."

But he drinks anyway, long and deep, the liquor burning familiar and welcome in his gut.

When he lowers the jar, she is staring at him, her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. The size difference between them seems more pronounced in the confined space of this fucking cave, his bulk casting her in the shadow, her slim frame dwarfed by his sheer mass.

"You drink like you're trying to forget something," she observes, her voice softer now, losing some of its sharp edge.

"I drink like I'm trying to survive the company of a brat who doesn't know when to quit," Yi Dao counters, but there is no heat in it. He sets the jar down and leans back against the stone wall, watching her. "We agreed to go to Kaifeng together. That doesn't mean you need to test me at every turn."

She steps closer, close enough that he can smell the wine on her breath, mixed with something sweeter—something floral. "You test me too," she says quietly. "Every time you hold back in a spar; every time you treat me like glass that might break."

"I'm twice your size," Yi Dao says flatly. "If I didn't hold back, I'd shatter your bones."

"Then don't hold back tonight."

The challenge hangs in the air between them, charged and dangerous.

Yi Dao feels his pulse quicken, a response that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way she is looking at him—like he is prey, like she can take him down despite the disparity in their statures, despite the twenty-some years that separate their births. It is the same look she's given him when she first suggested they travel together, the look that says she doesn't care about propriety or convention or the fact that he is a crude outlaw with blood on his hands and she is ... whatever she is.

Something precious, something fierce.

(Something that can never be his.)

"You're drunk," Yi Dao says, but his voice has gone rough.

"I'm not," she insists, and she reaches out, her small hand pressing against his chest, right over his heart. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Do you?"

Yi Dao catches her wrist—not hard, but firm, his fingers encircling the delicate bones easily. He can feel her pulse racing beneath his thumb, matching the tempo of his own. The cave seems smaller suddenly, the air thicker, scented with wine and dust and something else, something electric that makes the hair on his arms stand up.

"I know that you're playing with fire," he says, looking down at her. From this angle, she seems impossibly fragile, yet he's seen her take down men his size with nothing but a fucking umbrella and sheer, stupid courage. "I know that in the morning, we're still going to Kaifeng, and you're still going to be a pain in my ass, and I'm still going to be too old for these games that you like playing."

She doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into his grip, her body heat bleeding through the layers of his clothing. "Maybe I like games," she whispers. "And maybe you're not as old as you pretend to be."

Yi Dao should let her go. He should walk away, find his bedroll, sleep off the liquor and the madness that has descended over this cave like a spell. But she is looking up at him with those eyes, challenging him yet again, and he is tired of being the responsible one, the mentor, the steady hand that guides while she blazes ahead.

"Last chance," he growls, lowering his head until his forehead nearly touches hers. "Walk away, or accept that I don't play gentle."

She smiles, sharp and bright as a blade. "When have I ever wanted gentle?"

Yi Dao’s last thread of restraint snaps the instant the word ‘gentle’ leaves her tongue. For weeks he has kept his distance by measuring every breath, every glance, every swing of his black-iron blade so it never lands too hard on her small, infuriating frame. But now her reckless smile is inches from his own, wine-sweet and daring, and he is suddenly, violently done with caution.

He drags her forward by the wrist he still holds—one rough tug that brings her off-balance and flush against his chest. She gasps, the sound swallowed as his mouth crashes down on hers. It is not careful, not tentative; it is a battle in miniature, his beard scraping her soft skin, his teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper.

Finally, something savage in him growls, finally she tastes like the storm she’s been promising me all along.

She makes a muffled, eager noise and rises on her toes, both hands grabbing fistfuls in the front of his worn tunic. The fabric protests with a rip as she yanks him down to her height; Yi Dao feels the seam give beneath her grip and laughs into her mouth—low, cruel, delighted.

“Easy,” he mutters against her lips, mocking. “Thought you’d make me work for it, brat. One swig of liquor and you’re climbing me like a peach tree.”

She answers by biting his lower lip, sharp, then soothing the sting with her tongue. “Said you didn’t play gentle,” she breathes. “So stop talking and prove it.”

Her challenge flares hot in his blood. He spins them both, pressing her back to the nearest wine rack, making the jars rattle ominously. Dust drifts down like pale snow, catching in her hair. Yi Dao frames her face with both calloused hands—hands that have snapped necks and drawn blades, now trembling just slightly at the silk of her cheek. He kisses her again, slower this time, savouring the slick slide of tongue against tongue, the way she shudders when he drags his tongue along the roof of her mouth.

“Still think I’m an old man?” he taunts between kisses, voice rough. His hands drop to her waist, spanning it easily, thumbs pressing bruises into the soft skin above her hipbones. She is so small his fingers nearly meet at the small of her back, and the knowledge burns. “Look at you—dripping for someone twice your age.”

She arches against him, grinding upward; the sudden pressure making him groan aloud.

“Only took you a while to notice,” she pants, breath fanning hot across his jaw. “I was beginning to think you’d die of honour before you’d touch me.”

He laughs again, but it is ragged now, edged with want. “Honour's overrated.” His palm slides down to cup the curve of her ass, lifting until she is on her toes and pressed tight to the hard line of him. “This, though—this feels like being alive.”

They lose time in sloppy, desperate kisses—lips swollen, saliva glistening on their chins. Her nails rake up the nape of his neck, catching in the leather cord that ties his hair; the tail comes loose, dark strands falling around them both like a curtain. Yi Dao pins her harder to the rack, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate circles that draw broken moans from her throat. Each sound is a victory, each gasp is a new territory conquered.

“So loud,” he growls against her ear, nipping the lobe until she shivers. “Whole mountain’s going to hear how much you want the big bad criminal, kid.”

“Let them,” she snarls, yanking his head back by the hair to claim another kiss—messy, off-centre, teeth clacking. Her legs wrap around one of his thighs, riding the thick muscle with shameless urgency. “Let them hear how you finally—finally—stopped being a coward.”

The accusation stings sweet. Yi Dao answers by sliding a hand between them, thumb stroking over the thin fabric covering her breast, her nipple is already stiff, pushing against his palm. He circles it slowly, then pinches—just enough to make her cry out, the sound echoing off stone.

“Careful, little girl,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “Keep insulting me and I’ll drag this out until sunrise.”

Her answering grin is wild, feral. “Promises, promises.” She surges up for another kiss, open-mouthed and filthy, tasting of wine and reckless courage. Their tongues slide together, sloppy to the point of smearing saliva all over their faces. The air around them thickens—heat and dust and the musky tang of desire—until Yi Dao can barely remember why he ever thought restraint was a virtue.

One last jar teeters on the shelf above them; as her back bows, it crashes down and shatters, sending a splash of liquid across the floor. The scent of strong spirits rises, sharp and intoxicating.

Yi Dao pulls back just enough to see her—lips bitten red, hair wild, eyes glittering up at him like twin flames.

“Still think I’m easy?” she challenges, chest heaving.

He cups her jaw, thumb swiping a streak of drool from her chin. “No,” he says, the word hoarse with honesty while he leans back down to lap at her lips. “I think you’re impossible. And I’m done trying to stay away.”

Yi Dao reluctantly tears his mouth from hers with a wet, obscene sound, leaving her lips slick and swollen. He holds her there, pinned to the wine rack, and looks down at the mess he’s made of her—hair tangled, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with want. The sight sends a bolt of raw satisfaction through his gut, thick and hot as the spirits they’ve been swilling.

Look at her, he thinks, his thumb tracing the hollow beneath her eye. Twenty-something years old and already ruined for me.

“Dirty kid,” he murmurs, voice low and rough as gravel. His hands drop to her waist again, but this time they don’t stop—this time they roam, squeezing the generous curve of her hips, the soft swell of her ass, the way her flesh yields under his calloused palms. “You’re dripping for a man old enough to be your father. You know that, right?.”

She gasps as his fingers dig in, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make her feel the disparity in their strength. She is all plush curves and delicate bones; he is scarred knuckles and iron muscle.

When he lifts her again, she weighs nothing—just a warm, squirming bundle of want in his hands.

“Shut up,” she breathes, but her voice is weak, trembling. She grinds against his thigh, seeking friction, and Yi Dao feels the soaked fabric of her undergarments, the slick heat that has already soaked through. The scent of her arousal rises, sweet and sharp beneath the wine and dust—now mixed with the raw, creamy tang of her weeping cunt.

“Make me,” he taunts, and slides one hand up, up, until his thumb hooks under the hem of her tunic. The fabric is thin, worn from travel, and it tears a little as he shoves it aside. His calloused thumb finds her bare skin—soft, fever-hot—and then lower, lower, until it presses against the swollen bud of her clit. She is slick, so slick his thumb glides over her like oil on water. “Thought so. Look at this little mess. You’re soaked, brat. Did I do that, or were you just waiting for any excuse to spread your legs?”

She cries out, a high, broken sound that echoes off the stone walls. Her hands claw at his shoulders, trying to find purchase, but he is immovable as a mountain.

He circles her clit with deliberate, cruel precision, watching her face contort with pleasure. She’s never been handled like this, he realizes, something dark and possessive curling in his chest. Never been broken down and shown how small she really is.

“Yi Dao,” she whines, but he presses harder, grinding the pad of his thumb against her sensitive nub until her words dissolve into a whimper.

“Little brats shouldn’t use their stupid little heads,” he coos, the sound obscene coming from his weathered throat. He leans in, his beard scraping her cheek, his lips brushing her ear. “Let that little brain melt. That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it? Thinking up trouble. Better to just feel. Better to just take what I give you and drip all over my hand like the dirty little kid that you are.”

She is shaking now, her legs threatening to give out. Yi Dao supports her easily, one thick arm banded around her waist, holding her up as his thumb works her clit in relentless circles.

The size difference between them is obscene; his hand spans nearly her entire lower belly, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her hips while his thumb takes over the centre of her pleasure. He is a wall of scarred muscle and hard-won strength; she is a trembling, dripping thing in his grip, her pussy lips swollen and slick against his skin.

“Please,” she sobs, her head lolling back against the wine rack. The smell of strong rice wine mingles with the ripe, musky scent of her cunt, and Yi Dao breathes it in like incense.

“Hm? Please what?” he demands, his voice a low snarl. He pinches her clit between his thumb and forefinger, just enough to make her shriek. “Please stop? Please let you come? Or please remind you what a filthy little slut you are for a man who’s old enough to know better?”

Her eyes snap open, blazing. “I’m not—”

“You’re not what?” He cuts her words, sliding his thumb lower to press against the entrance of her cunt, feeling the hot, velvety walls clench in anticipation. “Not wet? Not desperate? Not about to come all over my hand like a bitch in heat? Look at you. I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already ruined.”

She whimpers, and the sound goes straight to his cock, making it throb against the confines of his trousers. He is hard enough to ache, heavy and full, but he ignores it. This is about her—about breaking her down, about showing her exactly how small and helpless she is beneath all that fire. He wants her to feel the weight of him, the years of him, the raw, uncivilized bulk of a man who has killed and bled and survived long enough to be her father.

“Say it,” he orders, his thumb pressing harder, faster. “Say you’re a dirty kid.”

“No—”

“Say it, or I’ll stop.” He stills his hand, and she sobs in protest, hips bucking helplessly against his grip.

“I-I’m,” she chokes on the words, face flushed crimson. “I’m a dirty kid. I’m—oh fuck, Yi Dao, I’m so wet, p-please—”

The begging unravels something in him. He surges forward, kissing her again, sloppy and vicious, his tongue fucking her mouth the way he wishes his cock could fuck her cunt right at this moment. His thumb resumes its assault, rubbing her clit in tight, hard circles that have her keening into his mouth. She is so small, so delicate, but she takes everything he gives her, grinding against his hand with shameless abandon.

“That’s right,” he growls, breaking the kiss to watch her face. “Let go. Stop thinking with that stupid little head and just melt for me. Drip all over my hand. Show me how much you love leaking over this old man, pup.”

The words are crude, but his touch is reverent—almost worshipful in its intensity. He feels the moment she crashes, her whole body going rigid in his arms, her pussy clenching around nothing as she comes with a sharp, piercing cry that echoes through the cave. Her juices flood his thumb, slick and hot, running down his hand in a creamy rush. He doesn’t stop rubbing, pushing her through it, prolonging the shudders that wrack her small frame.

When she finally sags, limp and trembling, he holds her up with one arm, the other slowly withdrawing from between her thighs.

His hand is drenched, coated in her arousal, and he brings it to his face, breathing in the sharp, sweet-sour scent of her orgasm. “Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise obscene in its tenderness. “Look at you. Couldn’t even last five minutes without creaming all over me.”

Her eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy. She looks up at him, her lips parted, and it makes him smirk, slow and cruel. “Told you. Little brats shouldn’t play with big knives.” He licks his thumb clean, eyes never leaving hers. “But you never listen, do you?”

Yi Dao looks down at the trembling, ruined thing in his arms and laughs—a low sound that rattles off the cave walls. She is sprawled against him, eyes glazed, lips parted, drool glistening at the corner of her mouth. She looks utterly stupid, mindless, her sharp tongue finally silenced by her own climax.

There she is, he thinks with a perverse kind of satisfaction. The real her. Not the clever little brat who talks back, but the wet, desperate cunt who melts for an older man’s hand.

“You look pathetic,” he tells her, voice thick with amusement. He wipes her chin with his drenched thumb, smearing her own arousal across her lips. “All that fire, and you end up drooling on yourself like a bitch in heat.”

She whimpers, trying to form words, but he’s already moving—his hands are too big, too strong, and she is too small to resist. He flips her over with a single, effortless motion, turning her to face the wine rack. Her cheek presses against the cool stone, and she gasps as the rough wall scrapes her skin. Yi Dao’s hand is in her hair before she can protest, grabbing a handful of those long strands at the nape of her neck. He yanks—hard—and her scalp burns, a sharp pain that makes her yelp and arch her back instinctively.

“Quiet,” he growls, leaning over her, his bulk casting her in shadow. “You’ve made enough noise for one night, brat.”

With his free hand, he grabs the remnants of her tunic—the fabric already torn from his earlier roughness—and rips. The sound is violent, satisfying; the cloth gives way like parchment, baring her back, her ass, the long curve of her spine.

She is naked from the waist down now, the rest of the fabric hanging in tatters, her cunt still dripping from her orgasm. The sight makes his cock throb painfully against his trousers.

“You don’t fucking listen, do you?” he murmurs, his palm sliding over the swell of her ass. Her skin is impossibly soft, impossibly smooth, a stark contrast to his weathered hands. “Even when I tell you to stop, even when I tell you to be careful—you just keep pushing. Keep flapping that smart little mouth.” He squeezes, hard, his fingers digging into the plush flesh. “But you’ve got such a pretty fucking cunt, haven’t you? Makes a man forget how annoying you can be.”

She moans, the sound muffled against the stone. Her hips twitch, trying to press back into his touch.

Yi Dao sees it and laughs again, a cruel, delighted bark. “Still begging? Even after you came all over my hand?” He releases her hair just long enough to spit on his palm, then rubs the wetness over her ass cheek, cooling the heat his grip left behind with his own saliva. “Dirty girls get punished, brat. That’s how this works.”

The first spank lands before she can brace—his heavy palm cracking across her right cheek with a sound like a whip. She screams, a sharp, shocked sound that echoes through the cave. The impact leaves a red handprint, vivid against her pale skin, and Yi Dao admires it for a moment, his cock leaking precum at the sight.

“Count,” he orders, his hand returning to her hair, pulling her head back until her neck strains. “Or I’ll keep going until you can’t sit for a week.”

“One,” she sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her legs are trembling, knees knocking together.

The second spank lands on her left cheek, harder this time. The impact jiggles her flesh, makes her whole body sway. She is so small, so light, that each strike rocks her forward against the stone.

“Two—f-fuck, Yi Dao, please—”

“Please what?” He spanks her again, right on the crease where ass meets thigh, and she shrieks. “Please stop? Please more? You don’t even know what you want, do you? Little brats like you never do.”

He lands three more in quick succession—sharp, stinging cracks that leave her ass glowing crimson, hot to the touch. She is sobbing openly now, drool and tears mixing on her face, her hips bucking helplessly. The scent of her arousal is stronger than ever, thick and musky, mingling with the wine and dust.

Yi Dao leans down, pressing his lips to her ear, his beard scratching her temple. “Shh,” he breathes. “Quiet now. You’ll wake the whole mountain, and then everyone will know how much you love being spanked like a child.”

“I’m n-not,” she tries, but he yanks her hair again, cutting her off with a sharp hiss of pain.

“You’re whatever I say you are,” he tells her, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “Right now, you’re a wet, drooling mess who can’t even think straight. Look at you.” He slides his free hand between her thighs, gathering the slick evidence of her desire. “Crying and soaked. You love this. You love being reminded how small and stupid you fucking are.”

She whimpers, and he sees her pussy clench around nothing, a fresh wave of cream dripping down her inner thighs. The sight makes his own need spike—his balls are tight, heavy, aching to unload inside her.

But he has to make her wait, he has to make her understand who holds the power here.

“Should I fuck you now?” he muses, as if speaking to himself, his thumb tracing the puckered rim of her asshole. She flinches, a fresh tremor running through her. “Or should I take this tight little ass instead? Teach you a real lesson?” He presses his thumb against the tight ring of muscle, not entering, just reminding her it’s there. “Maybe when we get to Kaifeng. When I’ve got you in a proper bed, where I can spread you out and take my time. Would you like that, brat? My cock in your ass, stretching you open while you scream into the pillows in the city?”

She moans, a low, desperate sound, and tries to shake her head, but his grip on her hair holds her still.

“No?” He laughs, low and cruel. “Not yet, then. But you’ll beg for it eventually. They always do.” He withdraws his thumb, leaving her asshole twitching and empty, and slides his hand back to her cunt. “For now, though—this pretty cunt is practically begging for my dick. Look at it. Dripping. Clenching. It’s like it knows it’s about to get fucked proper.”

He releases her hair, and she sags forward, forehead resting against the stone, gasping. Yi Dao steps back just enough to unlace his trousers, freeing his cock. It springs free, thick and veined, the head dark and slick with precum. He is huge compared to her—his shaft alone is as thick as her wrist, his foreskin pulled back to reveal the swollen, salty crown. He spits into his palm again, stroking himself once, twice, spreading the moisture.

“Stay there,” he commands, his voice a low growl. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe too loud.”

He steps forward, the head of his cock pressing against her soaked entrance. She whimpers, her whole body trembling, her pussy lips fluttering around him like a kiss.

Yi Dao grabs her hips with both hands—his fingers spanning her pelvis easily, his thumbs pressing into the dimples above her ass—and begins to push. The stretch is immediate, obscene. She is tight, so tight, her walls clinging to him like hot, soaked velvet.

He feels every inch of resistance, every flutter and clench, and he groans aloud. Fuck. She’s going to split herself open.

“Take it,” he grits out, his hips flexing forward. “Take it, brat. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? A real man’s cock. Not some boy your age. A man who knows how to use you.”

She screams as he breaches her fully, his thick length sinking into her until his balls press against her clit, heavy and sweat-soaked. He holds there for a moment, feeling her pulse around him, feeling her shake. Then he begins to move in slow, deliberate thrusts that drag his cock along her walls, pulling out until only the head remains, then slamming back in with a wet, meaty smack that echoes off the cave walls.

“Quiet,” he reminds her, even as she wails. He reaches up, grabbing her hair again, twisting it around his fist. “Or I’ll stop. And you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

She shakes her head frantically, drool dripping from her chin. “N-No, please—”

“Please what?” He fucks into her harder, faster, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. “Please fuck me? Please ruin me? Please remind me I’m just a stupid little brat with a wet cunt?”

“Yes!” she sobs, her voice breaking.

Yi Dao laughs, the sound dark and triumphant. “Good girl,” he growls, and fucks her harder. “Now shut up and take it.”

Yi Dao feels her unravel around him—feels the moment her slick walls clench down like a vice, milking his cock with desperate, rhythmic pulses. She is sobbing, drooling, her cheek smeared against the stone wall, and he laughs, a low, brutal bark that rattles in his chest.

There it is. The moment the clever little brat becomes a dumb, dripping bitch.

“Look at you,” he sneers, his hips never slowing. Each thrust slams into her with a wet, meaty thwack, his heavy balls swinging forward to smack against her clit. “Get a little cock inside you and suddenly you can’t think? Thought you were tough shit, huh? Little miss clever, always running that smart mouth.” He yanks her head back by the hair, forcing her to arch her spine, her tits jiggling with every impact. “Yeah. Thought so.”

She whimpers, a high, broken sound that makes his cock throb harder. She tries to speak, but her words are slurred, mindless, just a string of syllables strung together by drool.

Yi Dao slams into her so hard her feet leave the ground, held up only by his grip on her hair and the iron band of his arm around her waist. “Should I let you cum? Or maybe, I should just remind you that you’re nothing but a warm hole for me to use?” He leans in, his beard scraping her shoulder, his lips brushing her ear. “Come on, kid. Cum on this dick again. Show me how stupid you get when you’re full of cock.”

She screams as he grinds deep, the head of his cock pressing against her cervix, and he feels it—the hot, wet gush of her second orgasm, the way her pussy floods around him, cream running down his shaft to soak his balls.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even pause.

“Haha, look at that,” Yi Dao crows, his voice thick with triumph. “Don’t give a shit if you cum, brat. I’ll fuck you again and again and again. You think that's enough to satisfy a man like me?” He spits on her shoulder, a thick glob of saliva that slides down her skin. “You’re gonna cum until you forget your own name. Until the only word left in that stupid little head is my fucking name.”

She is shaking, her legs trembling so violently he can feel the vibrations through his cock. She tries to push back, to meet his thrusts, but he holds her still—his hand in her hair, his other arm locked around her waist. She is immobilized, impaled, and utterly at his mercy.

“Can’t believe an old man like me can’t last all night?” He laughs again, the sound dark and mocking. “Haha, stupid girl. What’s the point of my fucking stamina if I don’t make a mess of your insides for hours? I’ve survived bounty hunters and the Aureate Pavilion before you were even born. You think a tight little pussy is gonna break me?” Yi Dao pistons into her harder, faster, his hips a blur of motion. “I’ll fuck you through dawn. I’ll fuck you until you’re raw and leaking and begging me to stop. And then I’ll still keep fucking you.”

She sobs, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face. Her pussy is so wet now that every thrust makes a vulgar, squelching sound, her juices dripping down her thighs in thick ropes. The smell of her is everywhere; it is intoxicating, maddening.

“Awh, poor thing’s scared?” he croons, but there is no kindness in his voice—only sadistic delight. “It's okay. I’ll keep you upright and spread open. Won’t let you fall. Won’t let you rest.” He slides his hand from her waist to her hip, then lower, his thumb finding her clit again. It is swollen, throbbing, so sensitive she jerks at the first touch.

“C’mon. Cum and cum and cum again so I can flood your guts with my spunk. I want you so full of me it drips out for days.”

She wails as he rubs her clit in tight, relentless circles, his cock still pounding into her from behind. She is stretched around him, her vaginal walls clinging to his shaft like hot, wet velvet, and he feels every flutter, every clench, every desperate spasm. Her third orgasm hits like a storm—her whole body convulsing, her pussy gripping him so tightly it borders on pain; and he feels her squirt this time—a hot, sudden gush that soaks his thighs and drips to the floor.

“That’s it,” he snarls, his own pleasure building like a wildfire in his gut. “That’s my good girl. Keep cumming. Keep making a mess of yourself. I’m not done with you yet.”

Yi Dao shifts his grip, releasing her hair to grab both her hips, lifting her entirely off the ground. She hangs suspended, impaled on his cock, her legs dangling uselessly while she's slumped against the cave wall. The new angle drives him even deeper, his shaft dragging along her front wall with every thrust, hitting that spot that makes her see stars. She is sobbing uncontrollably now, her tits bouncing with each impact, her nipples hard and wet with sweat and tears.

"Look at you,” he pants, his own voice growing ragged with exertion. “So fucking stupid. So fucking mine.” He leans forward, his mouth finding her shoulder, and bites—hard. His teeth sink into the soft flesh, and she screams again, a fresh wave of arousal coating his cock.

She is babbling now, words without sense, “p-please … too much … I-I can’t … Yi Dao—”

“You can,” he growls, spitting out the words between thrusts. “And you will. You’ll take everything I give you, because that’s what your hole's for. Cum again. Now.”

He pinches her clit, hard, and she does—screaming, convulsing, her pussy milking him with desperate, fluttering pulses. This time, he feels his own orgasm cresting, a white-hot pressure building at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tight and heavy. But he holds it back, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to keep thrusting through her climax, prolonging it until she is limp and twitching in his grip.

“One more,” he orders, his voice a raw snarl. “One more, and then I’ll fill you up. You want that, don’t you? Want me to flood your guts with my spunk?”

She can’t even answer—just moans, a low, animal sound of surrender. Yi Dao feels her pussy flutter weakly around him, oversensitive, overstimulated. He knows she can’t take much more, but he also knows she will. She’ll take it because she has no other choice.

He fucks her through the pain, through the pleasure, through the tears. His cock is a blur of motion, relentless, driving into her swollen, abused cunt with single-minded purpose. The sound of their bodies colliding is obscene—wet, nasty slaps that echo through the cave, punctuated by her sobs and his grunts. He can feel his own climax building again, unstoppable this time, a tidal wave of heat and pressure.

“Cum,” he snarls, his hand returning to her hair, wrenching her head back. “Cum for me, you stupid brat. Cum on my cock so I can breed you like you deserve.”

She does—one last, shattering climax that leaves her voiceless, her body convulsing in his grip.

And this time, he lets himself go. Yi Dao slams into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and roars as he comes. His cock pulses, thick and hot, and he feels the first jet of cum flood her—thick spurts that fill her cunt until it overflows, creamy white seed leaking out around his shaft and dripping down her thighs. He keeps thrusting, milking every last drop, his balls slapping against her drenched skin with a wet, rhythmic thud.

When he finally stills, he holds her there, impaled and trembling, his cock still twitching inside her. She is limp, drooling, her eyes glassy and unfocused. He can feel his seed pooling inside her, hot and thick, and he grins, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice wrecked and raw. He slowly lowers her to the ground. "That’s my good, stupid girl.”

She sags against the wall, unable to stand, and he catches her, pulling her into his chest. She is soaked in sweat and cum and tears, her hair matted, her skin flushed. He wipes her chin with his thumb, gentle now.

“See?” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Old men like me know how to take their time.”

Yi Dao keeps his cock buried inside her, still thick and pulsing with aftershocks, and feels the way her cunt clenches weakly around him. She sags against his body, limp as a doll, and he smirks, his hands sliding down to cup her ass.

Time for the next lesson.

He hauls her upright, his dick sliding deeper with the motion, and she gasps—a wet, strangled sound that makes his balls tighten.

“Up we go, kid,” he grunts, lifting her clean off the ground. She weighs nothing in his arms, a tiny, trembling thing, and he pulls her back against his chest, her spine flush to his torso. He turns, scanning the cave, and spots a relatively clear patch of floor near the back wall. Good enough.

He lowers himself slowly, his knees bending, his cock never leaving her cunt. She whimpers as gravity forces her down further onto his shaft, her tender cervix kissing the still-swollen head. He groans at the pressure, the tight, hot squeeze of her deepest part. When his ass hits the cold stone floor, he spreads his legs wide, dragging hers apart with them. His knees wedge between her thighs, forcing them open, splaying her cunt wide and lewd.

She’s completely exposed, her pink, swollen lips stretched around his base, his dark pubic hair matted with their combined fluids.

“Look at you,” Yi Dao murmurs, his lips brushing her ear. His voice is a low, filthy croon, thick with satisfaction. “So small. So fucking desperate for cock that the moment you get it, you turn into a weeping, drooling mess.” He slides a hand down her belly, his calloused fingers tracing the faint outline of his cock bulging beneath her skin. “Thought you were tough shit, huh? Little brat with her clever tricks. But it turns out you’re just a tight little cunt that can’t think straight when she’s stuffed full.”

She shudders, a weak sob escaping her. She tries to shift, to close her legs, but his knees hold her ruthlessly spread. Her hands flutter uselessly at her sides, her fingers twitching. She’s too fucked-out to even lift them properly.

Yi Dao chuckles, the sound dark and warm against her temple. His other hand finds her clit—swollen, tender, peeking from its hood like a ripe little berry. He slaps it, a sharp, stinging flick of his fingers, and she jerks in his grip, a high, broken cry tearing from her throat.

“There it is,” he purrs. “That’s the sound I like. That stupid little noise you make when you can’t decide if it hurts or feels good.”

He slaps it again, harder, and her whole body convulses. Her cunt squeezes him so tightly he has to grit his teeth. Fuck, she’s gonna milk me dry if she keeps that up. But he’s not done with her yet. He grinds his hips upward, just a small, cruel circle, dragging the head of his cock against her cervix. The tender flesh yields, soft and vulnerable, and she screams, her back arching against his chest.

“No,” she gasps, her voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please d-don't, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” He slaps her clit again, a rapid-fire series of sharp taps that make her thighs shake. “Can’t take more? Can't stop begging for it?” He grinds again, deeper, and feels her cervix flutter around him, kissing his tip with every pulse of her hummingbird pulse. “Little brats don’t deserve choices, kid. You ride, or I make you ride. And trust me, you won’t like the second option.”

She tries to lift herself, to pull up and off his cock, but her arms are jelly. She manages a pathetic little push, her palms flat against his thighs, but her strength is gone—fucked out of her.

Yi Dao feels the attempt, the weak flex of her arms, and he clicks his tongue, the sound sharp and disapproving.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He wraps one arm tight around her waist, locking her in place. His forearm is a band of iron across her belly, holding her flush against him. She can’t rise more than an inch before his grip yanks her back down, forcing his cock deeper. “You wanted to ride? Then ride. Use your own strength, kid. Show me how tough you really are.”

But she can’t. He knows she can’t. He feels the tremor in her muscles, the way they shake and refuse to obey. She’s nothing but a limp, fucked-out doll in his lap. And he, mean bastard that he is, makes sure his hold is absolute—tight enough that she can’t rise on her own, can’t escape the relentless press of his dick against her cervix.

She whimpers, a sound of pure frustration. She tries again, her thighs flexing weakly, but his knees keep her spread, and his arm keeps her pinned. She’s trapped, impaled, utterly dependent on him for any movement.

Yi Dao hides his cruel smile in her hair, his face buried in the tangled strands. She doesn’t see the way his lips curve, dark and delighted. He keeps his hips perfectly still—maddeningly, torturously still—and then, with a sudden, sharp motion, he bounces her up and down on his cock.

It’s a brutal, jarring rhythm. He uses his arm around her waist to lift her, then drops her, letting gravity slam her down onto his shaft. Up and down, up and down, fucking her with his own strength while she hangs limp and useless in his grip. His cock spears into her, dragging along her walls, pounding against her cervix with every downward drop.

The sound is obscene—wet, squelching thwacks as her cunt sucks at his shaft, the sloppy slap of his balls against her ass.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” he murmurs into her ear, his voice a low, mocking croon. “Can’t do it yourself? Need the old man to do all the work?” He bounces her harder, faster, her tits jouncing wildly, milk flying in thin, arcing streams. “That’s what I thought. You’re just a little girl. A tight, wet hole for me to use however I want.”

She screams, her voice raw and ragged. Her pussy is gushing, a constant slick flow that coats his thighs and drips to the floor. Every bounce drives his cockhead against her cervix, and she can feel it—feel the way it yields, the way it aches, the way it makes her entire body clench with a pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

She’s babbling now, a stream of nonsensical pleas, “s't-too deep … no, no, no, I-I can’t—”

“Can’t?” Yi Dao slaps her clit again, a sharp crack that makes her shriek. “You can. You will.” He bounces her faster, his arm working like a machine, lifting and dropping her limp body with relentless precision. “Ride, kid. Ride my cock like a good little slut. Cum on it. Show me how grateful you are for this old man’s dick inside you.”

Her orgasm crashes over her like a wave. Her whole body seizes, her cunt gripping him so tightly it actually hurts, and she wails, a long, drawn-out sound of pure, mindless release. He feels her squirt again, a hot gush that sprays across his thighs, and he laughs, sounding triumphant.

“That’s it,” he snarls, his own pleasure building again, a pressure he’s barely holding back. “That’s my good girl. Cum and cum and cum again. I’m gonna flood your guts with my spunk, and you’re gonna take every fucking drop.”

Yi Dao bounces her through the orgasm, prolonging it, forcing her to ride the crest until she’s twitching and sobbing in his arms. And when she finally sags, limp and spent, he keeps her there—sprawled wide, impaled, his cock a thick, throbbing rod inside her abused cunt.

“One more,” he whispers, his voice wrecked and raw. “Just one more, and then I’ll give you what you deserve. What you’ve been begging for.” His hand finds her clit again, rubbing slow, cruel circles. “Cum for me, kid. One more time.

She sobs, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Her head lolls against his shoulder, and she shakes it weakly, her hair plastered to her sweat-slick skin. “N-No, no more,” she gasps, the words barely intelligible, broken by her hiccups and cries. “I can’t … haa, c-can’t cum no more,” her voice is a babbling mess of pleas and incoherent syllables. “P-Please stop, s't-too much—”

He feels the way her cunt flutters around his shaft, weak, oversensitive spasms that tug at his cock like little begging mouths. She’s done. Fucked raw. Can’t even form a sentence. He should be satisfied. He has wrung countless orgasms out of her, reduced her to a drooling, milk-spraying wreck. But the sight of her, so utterly destroyed and still clinging to him, still needing him even as she begs him to stop—it sparks something inside his gut.

Yi Dao sighs, the sound long and theatrical, like a man indulging a petulant child. “Aw, kid. You’re really tapped out, huh?” He loosens his grip around her waist, just slightly, and feels her slump further in relief.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of false pity. “Alright. Alright. I’ll give you a breather.”

And then, he pulls out of her; the withdrawal is slow, deliberate, and obscene. His cock slides free with a wet, sucking sound, and her pussy gapes for a moment, pink and swollen, leaking a thick mix of her juices and his precum. It’s red, raw, the lips puffy and abused. She sobs at the sudden emptiness, a sound of loss and shock, her thighs trying to clamp shut instinctively. But his knees are still wedged between them, holding her spread.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice soft—softer than it’s been all night. Yi Dao shifts her in his arms, turning her limp body, and lays her down gently on the pile of her tattered garments. The silk is already stained with sweat and cum, but it’s softer than the stone floor. He arranges her with surprising care, settling her head on a folded scrap of robe, spreading her hair out like a halo.

Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, tracking him with dazed desperation.

Yi Dao leans over her, his rugged face looming close. For a moment, he just looks at her—really looks. The way her thighs tremble, marked with his fingerprints in darkening bruises. The way her lips are swollen and bitten raw. Beautiful little mess. He feels something tighten in his chest, something that isn’t just lust. It’s possessiveness. Pride. A dark, twisted affection.

He kisses her.

It’s soft at first. A press of his lips to her forehead, tasting the salt of her sweat. Then her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her eye where tears have tracked clean lines through the grime. He murmurs against her skin, his voice a low, filthy croon disguised as tenderness. “There you go. There’s my good girl. You did so well. Took everything I gave you.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “Such a tight little cunt. Such a sweet little slut.”

She whimpers, her hands lifting weakly to clutch at his shoulders. She’s confused, disoriented by the sudden shift from cruelty to this—this mocking kind of gentleness. “Yi Dao—”

“Shh.” He kisses her mouth. It’s a lover’s kiss, deep and slow, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. He tastes the musk of her own pussy on her lips, the copper tang of blood where she bit her tongue. He kisses her like he means it, like he’s savouring her, his hand cupping her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek.

She melts into it, her body going limp, trusting in the way only the young ones do. Her legs fall open naturally, her thighs parting without resistance. She kisses him back, her tongue suddenly shy and exhausted, making small, needy sounds into his mouth.

Yi Dao pulls back just enough to look into her eyes. “You ready for more?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost sweet.

She shakes her head frantically, tears welling up again. “N-No, I can’t—”

“Sure you can.” His grip shifts. Suddenly, brutally, his hands are on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft, bruised flesh. He wrenches them apart, spreading them wide in a bruising grip, forcing her legs up and back until her knees are near her shoulders. The position is obscene, exposing her gaping, swollen cunt and the tiny, twitching pucker of her asshole. She’s so open he can see the pink, wet walls of her pussy still clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

Her eyes go wide with betrayal, a sharp, shocked inhale hissing through her teeth. “Yi Dao—”

He lines his cock up and thrusts back inside her in one brutal, relentless stroke.

The sound she makes is inhuman—a high, shrieking wail that echoes off the cave walls, the sound of betrayal. Her back arches clear off the ground, her tits bouncing. Her cunt convulses around him, trying to expel the intrusion, but he’s too deep, too thick, too there.

His cockhead slams directly into her cervix, grinding into that tender, abused flesh with no mercy.

Yi Dao laughs. “Thought I was done with you? Kid, I’m just getting started.” He leans down, his chest pressing against hers, and kisses her again—hard, demanding, swallowing her shrieks. “You’re not getting off that easy. Not when you begged so pretty for my cock.” He starts to fuck her. Not the bouncing, doll-fucking rhythm from before. This is slower, deeper, more deliberate. He pulls back until just his tip is kissing her entrance, then slides back in, inch by inch, feeling every ridge and fold of her swollen walls. He grinds against her cervix at the bottom of every thrust, making her sob and writhe.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against her lips. “That’s your cunt learning its place. That’s your body remembering who it belongs to.” He thrusts harder, and she screams again, her nails scratching at his shoulders, leaving red welts. “You said you couldn’t cum anymore. Let’s test that theory.”

He reaches between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit. It’s hypersensitive, swollen to twice its size, a hard little nub peeking from its hood. He rubs it in tight, cruel circles, his thumb pressing down like he’s trying to crush it. Her entire body locks up, her thighs shaking violently, her cunt gripping him like a vise.

“N-No, please—no, no, no,” she babbles, her words dissolving into a stream of nonsense. “Can’t, n-no more … s'too much, Yi Dao—”

“Hm? No?” He thrusts deep, grinding his pubic bone against her clit, his hand still working it mercilessly. He kisses her again, biting her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “Your cunt’s saying more. It’s sucking me in, kid. It’s begging for another load.”

She’s crying now, real tears streaming down her temples, but her hips are bucking up to meet his thrusts, her body betraying her completely. He feels the tension coiling in her belly, the way her walls start to flutter in that telltale rhythm. She’s going to cum again. He’s going to force another orgasm out of her exhausted, abused body, and she’s going to thank him for it.

“That’s it,” he croons, his voice a filthy whisper. “Cum for me. One more time. Show me how good you are.” He slams into her, deep and hard, his cockhead kissing her cervix, his fingers pinching her clit.

She screams.

Her cunt clamps down on him so hard it actually hurts, a rhythmic, milking pulse that drags his own orgasm roaring up from his balls. She squirts again, a hot gush of fluid that sprays across his stomach and drips down his balls.

Yi Dao groans, his own release tearing through him. He buries his cock as deep as it will go, his balls slapping wetly against her ass, and floods her. It feels like it goes on forever, thick, hot spurts of cum painting her cervix, filling her cunt until it’s overflowing, leaking out around his shaft in creamy rivulets to mix with their combined spend from earlier that already taints her skin. He collapses on top of her, his weight crushing her into the tattered silk, his face buried in her neck.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the wet squelch of his cock still twitching inside her, the drip of fluids onto the stone floor.

Finally, he lifts his head. He looks down at her face—her eyes rolled back, her mouth slack. He kisses her forehead again, gentle. “Good girl,” he whispers. “My good, greedy little brat.”

SAINT'S NOTES ! a whole new fandom and character, but this is for my twin. i did say before that if you want me to write something that's not caleb, then commission me—and the crazy fuck (i say this with all the love in my heart) really did that. this is catered to our tastes specifically so if you don't like it, as always, don't read it. i had a lot of fun writing this, yi dao's voice is so different from the one i have of gege; and somehow, it reignited my love for writing again that died a bit because of the entire fiasco with imperial thronesong's release and the constant harassment from a few weeks back, but we are sooooooo back.

Leon feels his heart stutter when Claire takes the fallen shoe from you, and turns to retrieve Gabby from his arms with a quick ‘I’ll be right back.’

He’s not even sure what to do—if he should actually wait for her or hide somewhere. Hell, he doesn't even know what she’ll say.

Has he been caught? Is he his dirty secret out? Will she think he’s a perverted predator for ogling you?

He knows he is. He’s a gross creep, and he never should've let himself indulge in his depraved behavior.

The self-hating thoughts drown him in guilt to the point he doesn't even react this time when you continue talking to Milo. Though the latter is still put off by Leon’s previous stunt from a moment ago. 

By the time Claire returns from having handed off the toddler to her mother-in-law, she finds him standing awkwardly by the wall, staring at his own feet like a beat up puppy.

Sighing, she approaches him to speak to him in a quiet voice meant to keep their conversation private.

“Hey… Enjoying the party?” .

Leon returns her small smile with a nervous one, subconsciously crossing his arms in a defensive fashion.

“Uh, yeah, everything looks great.”

“Nice…” 

Claire shifts on her feet contemplatively, before leaning back on the wall beside him and speaking in a lighter tone.

“You know, four years ago, I had just gotten out of a long term relationship with someone I thought I’d be with for the rest of my life. I found myself restarting from zero at thirty-two, with a cold bed and no warm shoulder to cry on… Do you know what happened then?”

He frowns in confusion at her sudden telling of the personal story, but he tries to answer her question nonetheless.

“You met Damien?”

“No... What happened was Chris and Jill got married. Just to rub my loneliness in my face and make me feel extra single.”

He huffs out a small chuckle at that, shaking his head, “okay… So what's the moral of the story?”

“The moral is that we can sometimes grow a little desperate in times of solitude…” she throws a look your way where you’re still chatting with the curly haired brunette. “And it would be a shame to ruin good things because we can't handle our lonesome feelings.”

Leon takes in a sharp breath, his shoulders immediately tensing. 

“Claire, I wasn't—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Leon,” she quickly interjects with a hand up to pause him. “I’m just saying maybe it would be good for you to go out there and meet someone. You know, someone that would understand you.. Someone mature.”

He freezes in place, feeling every single cell in his body burn in mortification.

Yeah, he’s been caught alright.

And the worst part is? He wholeheartedly agrees with Claire.

Leon knows this is entirely stupid, and whatever he let himself feel over the last few days while you stayed over was the most idiotic he’s acted in a while.

Of course he can't have you. Of course he can’t envision a future with you with a ring on your finger, and a baby in your belly. 

You’re younger than Sherry for fuck’s sake.

But he let himself slip, and now he’s acted like a fool in front of a beloved friend whose opinion he values. Oh and goody-two-shoes Milo who’s still eyeing him like he's just found out Santa isn't real.

God, this is a mess.

He’s thirty-fucking-eight. He needs to get his shit together before he does something that will ruin everything, and most of all, something that will hurt you.

He is already well aware of what people say about you, he’s not blind—there's no need to add fuel to the fire.

It’s not every day a young military graduate gets selected to work directly under the president. Therefore, your addition to the DSO the very same year of its inception has unsurprisingly raised many eyebrows over the past four years you’ve worked as an agent.

Office gossip ranges from ‘her dad had dirt on the government that she’s using as leverage’ to ‘she's sucking Kennedy’s dick under his desk on lunch breaks.’  

Leon has tried not to pay mind to the ugly rumors, knowing that would only serve to feed them. However, he’s never hesitated to shut down anyone brave enough to insinuate anything in front of him.

He knows you’re the first person to have received such an extensive—and exclusive—mentorship from someone like him. Your case is not something common amongst your peers. But those that have worked alongside you know what you’re capable of, and Leon is happy you have gained the respect of each agent you’ve shared a mission with.

The others, though, they don't always understand. They simply don't see what he sees: a brilliant girl who has fought tooth and nail to get to where she is. You’ve gone through so much, and yet came out the other end stronger, despite the scars that will never truly fade. You’ve done more than enough to earn your place.

And fuck it. If he ever gave your career a boost through his credentials and connections? Then you fucking deserved it.

“Sorry I’m late!” 

A soft voice rings out by the living room entrance, and Sherry makes an appearance with a wide smile.

“You’re here!” Claire exclaims and offers her a warm hug.

Leon watches from the side, his mind still whirring with thoughts, when Claire suddenly yanks him to make him join the embrace, catching both him and Sherry off guard.

He can't help but chuckle despite his sunken mood, and wraps his arms around both women’s shoulders with a sigh.

“I’m so happy both of you could make it on such short notice. It wouldn't be the same without you guys.”

“Aw, Claire… Don’t make me cry when I came here to have a good time,” the blonde newcomer giggles.

Milo leaves your side to go on a bathroom break, and you look over to see the trio’s embrace that makes your heart warm before they separate.

There will never be a day that passes where you don't curse the people responsible for the Raccoon City Incident and what it did to thousands of innocents. But you’re happy that at the very least, Leon was able to gain a found family through the horrifying event.

He catches your gaze from his spot and gives you a tight lipped smile before turning his attention away to continue his conversation. You frown a bit at the awkwardness of the gesture, but you think he might be feeling emotional remembering painful memories.

A moment later, Chris and Damien walk in with trays of drinks that they pass around the room. You grab one for yourself from the latter, thanking him in the process, and observe as the earlier hugging trio appear to be in deep discussion, now with drinks in their hands.

You fight the urge to step closer and listen in on the exchange that has Sherry giggling and Claire looking excited, while Leon quietly nods in agreement with whatever she’s saying.

Damn your curiosity and your need to constantly know everything he’s up to.

Jill, making rounds with a glass of wine in her grasp, stops by your side when she walks past you, smiling playfully as she eyes your outfit.

“Look at you looking all hot in that dress.”

You laugh, waving a dismissive hand, “speak for yourself. Green suits you.”

“Eh, it’s just something I picked up last minute. And I definitely didn't make Chris watch me change into thirty different options just to settle on the first one.”

“Well, what’s a husband for?”

“Exactly,” she chuckles, her blue eyes glimmering in the warm light of her home. “I don't think I would've ever married if it wasn't for that dork.”

You smile as the both of you eye the man in question from across the room, chatting with guests and serving beverages.

Jill’s words swirl in your head and you try to envision a future where you're also someone's wife. But your brain refuses to accept any possibility where the person you're wedded to isn't Leon.

“Yeah, I can understand that… I don't think I will ever get married, though.”

She turns her attention back to you, “you mean you prefer to do things like Claire? Keep it hassle free?”

It’s him or nothing, you think in your head, but choose to settle for a more acceptable answer.

“No, I just don't see myself ever really settling long term with anyone.”

Jill smiles at that, clinking her glass to yours, “well cheers to that. Men suck anyways.”

“They do, don't they?” you giggle and take a sip of the smooth tasting wine.

Leon, having finally finished his conversation with the two women, moves quietly across the room to settle on a corner of the sectional, beer in hand.

You can’t stop yourself from moving to sit next to him once Jill excuses herself to fetch more napkins for the guests.

As soon as you settle beside him, sinking into the soft cushions, he takes a big swig of his beer, doing nothing to acknowledge your presence.

You push aside any self-doubts and bump your shoulder to his cheekily. “Of course you’d pick a beer.”

He makes a strained smile without meeting your eyes, jaw clenched. “You know me.” 

His tense demeanor causes you to grow concerned, wondering if something happened, but before you can ask, he stands up with a short ‘s’cuse me’ and walks to disappear into the kitchen.

Well, something is definitely wrong.

As the party progresses, you don't move from your spot on the couch and simply watch as everyone moves around. You know you can’t drink more than the single glass in your hand because you need to drive back, so you nurse the drink for as long as you can while your overthinking brain doesn't stop.

Why did he look so tense? Did the conversation he had leave him upset? Is it the memories from his trauma-ridden past? Claire and Sherry looked fine, though, so it must not be that.

Different people chat you up whenever they pass by you, from friends to acquaintances, but Leon never returns to sit by your side. In fact, you don't see much of him at all if not for the occasional maroon hue of his top, or the golden strands of his hair catching in your vision every now and then between party attendees.

You start to debate whether you should go look for him and make sure he’s okay, but you’re worried he isn't ready to talk. Afterall, he acted very tense and borderline cold with you earlier.

It’s not something you did, is it?

You’re deep in thought about what could possibly be wrong with him, nervously munching on a cracker you picked from a nearby charcuterie board, when Sherry and Claire plop down beside you suddenly. Their red cheeks and swaying figures indicate they might be on the drunk side of tipsy.

“Hey! We saw you sitting all alone, and we came to check on you,” Sherry smiles, her drink sloshing in her glass. 

“I’m just enjoying the cheese and crackers. I love me a good grazing tray.”

The eldest of the two giggles, then her smile turns teasing. “Why aren’t you hanging out with Milo? I thought you two were hitting it off?” she ‘whispers’ to you a bit too loud.

“Oh, we weren't hitting it off. We were just catching up since we haven't talked in a while… I’m pretty sure he’s way more interested in Chris’s badass hero adventures,” you huff out a laugh, gesturing to the two men talking animatedly in a corner.

“Aw, and here I thought my matchmaking skills were hitting a winning streak tonight.”

You chuckle and raise an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

“She’s setting up Leon with this accountant at TerraSave. Apparently NGOs have an infinite supply of hot people because she tried setting me up with someone from there recently too.”

Sherry’s words turn into muffled nonsense the second you hear ‘setting up Leon’, and you suddenly feel nausea settle in your gut.

“What?” you manage to choke out, grateful that they seem too drunk to pick up on your tight expression.

“What was her name again?” the younger woman slurs as she turns to the ‘matchmaker.’

“Lyla! Lyla from accounting,” Claire giggles drunkenly in response.

Who the fuck is Lyla?!

“When… when did this happen?” your voice squeaks and you quickly down the rest of your glass.

“Oh, just earlier I told him he should get out there and he asked me to set him up.”

You feel all air leave your lungs, and all you can do is stare with wide eyes as you listen to the two oblivious women talk casually.

“I said I’d help him up but she he said my friends would be too young,” Sherry shrugs.

“Well Lyla is like thirty-five so she’s perfect.”

Right. Of course. Leon would want a mature woman that's around his age. Why would he ever want the overgrown child that you are?

“I need to pee,” you announce as you stand up abruptly to walk away, not pausing to answer Claire’s ‘too much wine?’ question.

You weave your way through the party goers while making a beeline for the bathroom. You don't look at anyone on your way. You don't want to look at anyone. You keep walking until you find the thankfully unoccupied washroom. 

Stepping inside, you immediately shut the door behind you and lock it with a sharp click, before slumping back on the wood with a shaky breath.

What the hell is wrong with you?

You’ve known Leon for years, and you've certainly seen him with other women, as discreet as he may be about his romantic life. Hell, he even introduced a girlfriend to you a few years ago when things grew serious between them. 

God, were you happy when they broke up later on…

But this is different.

You have never felt this hurt about a potential conquest—not after you’ve been on cloud nine spending the week with him.

It’s ridiculous. How did you ever let yourself believe he may have started to like you? Why would Leon ever be interested in you, when he’s made it clear over and over again that you are nothing but a friend. A kid. 

Burning tears prick your eyes but you blink them away quickly. This is not the time to cry. You shouldn't even be in this situation in the first place. It’s on you for letting yourself get into this mess of feelings like a clueless child. Though, you can't help but sympathize with your sixteen year old self for latching onto Leon like a baby duckling chasing its mother. Afterall, he was—and still is—all you have.

A moment passes where you steady your breathing and calm your nerves, before reaching for your phone in your purse.

You already know the temporary cure for your aching heart, as fleeting as it may be... 

You are not sleeping alone with your thoughts tonight.

Next chapter coming soon.