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morphids · 2 years

Text

linger, ellie williams

pairing: dealer!ellie x afab!reader

chapter: one shot (5.5k words) (theres hope for a continuation tbh) proofread but I'm dyslexic so if you see a missing word, double words and errors- mind ur business </3

warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+ so minors do not interact!!!, dealer!ellie so mentions of drug use and marijuana, afab!reader and gendered nicknames, poc friendly!! blasphemy, choking, use of trusty strap. ellie's a bit rough but it's all consensual she just gets pussydrunk tbh, (think that's all)

summary: reader returns from patrol to find her stash is empty, relying on her trusty masc dealer who loves calling her nicknames and teasing her.

Disclaimer: I do not support the genocide of the indigenous Palestinian people, and neither should you, please don’t buy the new Remastered or continue giving any more money to Druckmann. Educate yourself, learn the history, it is vital. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free 🇵🇸

A sigh escaped your lips, damn.

You looked at the almost empty baggie with a slight pout, almost pleading to the bag, hoping its substances would magically reappear. But you knew better than that.

You glanced at the clock behind you, it rested on a mahogany wall which had seldom been cleaned or decorated, you simply didn't have the time or effort, to be honest. Even after so many years.

There was too much to do in Jackson, whether you were on patrol, sorting out stables or farming crops. There was rarely any free time, but tonight you had returned from a three-week patrol, and all you had wanted was to spark up and relax for a few hours. Maybe finally get some good fucking sleep, in your own bed.

Alas, you had returned to Jackson to find your stash box considerably emptier than you remember. You could've sworn you had some more left, but knowing your habits, three weeks prior you had probably decided it would be best to smoke it all, as a going-away present to yourself. You sighed at your own stupidity.

The clock's hands ticked as you reevaluated your situation. Another look at the clock told you it was now 2:36 a.m. What were your options?

You could attempt to sleep without a joint and lie awake all night, your mind consistently reminding you of all the shocks and horrors you'd seen that you'd hoped had all been forgotten. Sometimes, you'd see the restless faces you had killed, sometimes you'd see the people who tried to kill you. Other times, flashes of infected, masses and masses of them charging after you. You shook your head to yourself. Needless to say, going cold turkey was not something you had wanted to do, especially at nighttime.

With that in mind, you collected some things and put some denim pants on, they were a bit on the baggy side but in the apocalypse, beggars can't be choosers, they fit around your waist that's all that matters. On top rested a tightly fitted green shirt, it was actually one of your favourites as it let you see what was going on underneath those clothes, it made you feel confident and you'd need all the confidence you had for this.

You had no other choice, it was almost 3 a.m and the only other person who was likely to be awake, someone with the same sleeping struggles as you, was none other than Ellie Williams. Your cheeks flushed. Would she even be awake? Would she even want customers at this hour?

You hesitated as you reached your front door, this probably wasn't a good idea but you were desperate, with a final sigh you unlocked your door and stepped outside into Jackson's winter weather.

***

With a light tap, you knocked on Ellie's door, suddenly unsure of yourself. A few moments passed as you thought no answer was going to come when you heard shuffling from inside the building and a shadow moving across the window.

You sighed, happy that she was awake.

You heard the door unlock before it opened revealing the auburn-haired girl you had hoped to see. Her brows were furrowed, a hint of confusion on her features.

"It's a bit late, you know." She spoke, her voice raspy, she was probably tired. It was then that you realised how desperate you probably looked, knocking on Ellie's door at ungodly hours of the night.

"Sorry, ran out of weed." You muttered, that was all you could say, a gust of condensation exiting with your words due to the cold. Hopefully, she'd be kind enough to give you some and spare you the embarrassment. Ellie had a reputation for being a bit of a menace, though.

Ellie chuckled quietly, looking down at you. "Well, that explains it," she hummed, her green eyes locking onto yours. Unable to hold her gaze, you looked down at your hands. They were slowly becoming numb from the extreme weather, your jacket not padded enough to protect you from this cold. "I know it's late, I just can't sleep without it..." you trailed off, "sorry, I can come back tomorrow if that's better."

Ellie simply shook her head, a soft smile grazing her plump lips, "I couldn't turn away such a pretty girl," she stopped, "especially at this time of night, it's dangerous out there."

At her words, you felt yourself fumble. You knew there was little to worry about in the safe confines of Jackson in terms of danger, except for a few raids here and there. Memories flashed in your head from a few years ago, you blushed at the thought, refusing to entertain it any longer. You wondered if she remembered it, too. Probably not.

"Only if it's no bother," you said, unsure. "Of course, not. It comes with the job of being the only source for miles," she reassured, to which you smiled and shook your head, agreeing.

"Come in, you look like you're freezing." That you didn't expect, usually in your meetings you would quickly exchange goods before returning home. But this time, she was looking at you with that smile of hers, and the cold was slowly decreasing your energy. "Yeah, okay." you hesitated, following her into her home.

Ellie closed the door behind you, before speaking again, "It's upstairs, I'll go grab it, you can take a seat wherever." She accommodated, I sat as she left the room, hearing her footsteps trail upstairs.

You took this time to look around, your house was comfortable, but it wasn't quite lived in as Ellie's, who seemingly had personalised and decorated her space. You wonder if she has people over often. For some reason, that thought tightened your chest.

You were quickly pulled away from your thoughts as Ellie reappeared in the living room. "Here," she threw a bag towards you, you smiled as your mission had been successful, catching the bag in your hands. "Thanks," you spoke, gratitude all over your voice.

"Don't mention it," she paused, "Seriously, don't mention it, Maria's been on my ass about it." "Having a domestic dealer probably wasn't what she wanted for Jackson." You joked, knowing Maria always made disapproving comments when she'd catch a whiff of it at your house. "Well, too bad. If I had to deal with an apocalypse sober, I'd have shot myself." She deadpanned, and you laughed in return.

"Thank you for providing sanity for us all." Ellie laughed at this. Her eyes looking over you, it reminded you of that day so many years ago. You shuddered.

"Well, I'll head off, don't wanna bother you more than I already have." You said, thinking that it must be at least four in the morning by this point. "Rude as always, I see." she joked, putting her hand over her heart in feigned hurt, "not even gonna stay for a joint?" Ellie pressed, finding herself entertained with the pretty girl in her living room.

To be honest, you were quite comfortable and warm. Not wanting to face that cold again, you mulled over what she said, surely one joint with her can't hurt right? "If you insist," you finally said.

With that, Ellie picked herself up off the floor, making her way over to Joel's vinyl player. You took this time to really look at her, she'd only gotten more attractive over the years you'd known her. Her short auburn hair was tied into a half bun, the rest of her hair left down, biting down on her lip softly as she scoured for a good record to play, god she really was attractive, you thought.

Against your will, memories of ardent kisses, lingering glances, heavy breaths and harsh touches appeared in your brain again. God damn it, you thought, not now. You pressed your legs together as Ellie had finally picked a record, placing it delicately on the player before turning her attention back towards you, music playing softly in the background.

"So, we've not really spoken for a while, huh?" Ellie said, grabbing the baggie and her paraphernalia as she settled down on the floor to roll. Ellie knew you could roll perfectly fine, you had been getting weed off her for years, but she couldn't help herself from wanting to show off her skills a little. You glanced at her arms, toned and tanned, adorned with a tattoo, your glance reaching her hands as you inspect the delicate way she grabs the items. Her hands are so pretty- veiny and strong, your thoughts roamed, thinking about what she could do with them, you blushed to yourself.

"I've been on patrol the past three weeks, only got back tonight." "I was wondering where the beauty of Jackson had disappeared off to," she half-smiled, looking up from hands to you, "Glad you're back."

You felt the blood in your cheeks rise, you were far from the prettiest girl around. "Me too, couldn't take another day of Jesse and Dina sneaking around during the night." You joked, those two thought they were so subtle and you couldn't shatter that blissful illusion for them. "Why do you think I refuse to go on patrol with both of them?" Ellie said, the joint rolled in less than a few minutes.

You couldn't help but be impressed, it usually took you a good amount of time before you could perfectly tuck the paper into itself, that part always annoyed you. But, Ellie? She did it all so effortlessly, her fingers habitually manoeuvring the paper before bringing it to her lips, licking the edge of the paper to stick it all together. Her eyes never left yours as she did this, lingering on you.

You watched, wordlessly as she finished rolling it. What could you say? Yeah, that was really hot, do it again, never. "Why are you so far away, I don't bite," Ellie said, trying to soften the tension that glazed over the room.

You didn't realise the distance there was between you two, you being happily sat on the couch whilst Ellie settled herself on the floor. "Alright," you scootered down next to her on the floor, resting your back against the couch. "That's more like it,"

With that, she held the joint up to your face, placing it lightly between your defined lips. You froze, watching her grab a lighter and bring it to the joint, lighting it for you. You inhaled, securing the flame was actually lit before pulling away and exhaling.

You remembered something Tommy had said, how before the outbreak, men would sometimes light cigarettes for women they find attractive and were actively pursuing. You wondered if Ellie was making a subtle move on you, but before the thought continued, you passed the joint back to her, fingers lingering on each other briefly. She established eye contact, not breaking it as she inhaled. You felt something in the air switch.

"You know something?" She broke the silence, exhaling the smoke as she did so, you thought she was about to say something really serious, so you listened. "I think you've never had to roll a joint in your entire life," she accused, an impish glint in her eyes letting you know she was officially reaching teasing territory.

"Excuse me, I can roll very well, thank you." You responded, feeling confident in your abilities. "No, I don't think that's true," she paused, taking a drag, "Pretty girl like you, I'm sure men are fawning at the chance to roll for you to impress." Ellie teased. "What, like you?" You retorted, not wanting her to have the upper hand. This seemed to catch her off guard, "What? You think I didn't notice you 'fawning to roll to impress me'?" Ellie was silent, then. Her teasing had backfired and she was left with nothing to say. You felt a swell of pride, you had made the confident Ellie speechless.

Passing you the joint back, Ellie thought back to the same day you couldn't stop remembering, she recalled that day clearly. The way your mouths had fervently collided, a haze of lust in each other's eyes. You had probably both been about 17 at the time, succumbing to each other after a night of secretly drinking Tommy's whiskey behind the stables. Of course, the lovely make-out session had been interrupted by Jesse, who was roaming around the stables. Ever since then, they never mentioned it, and nothing further happened. To make it worse, she found out that the day after you two had kissed, there was a certain man trying to grab your attention.

Ellie was never insecure, but seeing you laugh at this random bastard's jokes made her feel inferior, so she gave up. She left you alone and decided she wouldn't mention it. Though, her body craved to feel you again. She had assumed you were straight, in all honesty, but she never bothered to ask. If she did she would've found that you were the exact opposite. You had dated men in the past, slept with them, Ellie knew this. However, she was none the wiser to the truth that you were, in fact, dealing with a heavy dilemma as you realised you weren't actually attracted to men. You had always known you were into women, but finalising that you weren't into men at all, was a recent development.

Ellie sighed, thinking of that night. You had probably forgotten, she thought. It was so long ago now. "Penny for your thoughts," you said, after exhaling and passing it back to Ellie. "I'd rather stay penniless." She stated, not wanting to expose what she was really thinking about. "Come on, that's no fun." You said, feeling light-headed.

"I was just thinking," she trailed off, realising she had lost the upper hand. Ellie wouldn't have that, she craved being in control of the situation again. Ellie liked control, she liked to have her bearings and to be honest, you were making her lose it. "What?"

"I was wondering if you remember that night." You gulped, eyebrows slightly raising and stopped the movement of your hand raising the joint to your lips. There it is. Ellie thought, a smirk grazing her lips, she remembers. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ellie." This was the first time in the entire night you had said her name, and the rush it brought her was unreal, feeling more confident to press further. She saw you shudder and she wanted to see it again, she wanted to see you in all sorts of compromising positions.

"You don't?" Ellie teased, "Really?" Inching closer to you, gaze dropping down to your lips, not believing a word that was coming from them. You tensed, of course, you remembered. How could you possibly forget? The way she grabbed your waist, kissing up your neck. It was heavenly. You sighed, and she ate it up.

It was an unspoken thing, you both quietly decided that it'd be best to never mention it. But now, Ellie was reaching dangerous territory, and she couldn't pull herself back.

"Cos I remember," she leaned closer to your ear, "I remember everything." Your mouth hung open, feeling the heaviness of her breath hitting your ear, almost making you flinch. "You do?" you breathed, moving your head so it was level with hers.

"Everything," Ellie stated. Her eyes were blown out, the joint almost neglected as the smoke kept disappearing into the room's air. Ellie grabbed the forgotten joint from your hands, bringing it to her lips and inhaling, before moving it back to your lips. Your faces were so close, she blew the smoke at you. You latched on to the joint taking a final drag before Ellie stumps it out and throws it aside, "Let me jog your memory," grabbing the back of your head, bringing your lips closer.

With the smoke still in your throat, you close the gap, lips meeting in a needy manner. Her hand still latched on to your hair, pulls your head back as you have no choice but to sigh into her mouth. Ellie sucks the smoke from your lips, taking her final drag before ripping her lips from yours to blow it out.

You had never seen anything like it, you felt a rush down to your core at the action, then realised you were sad that she had taken away the warmth of her lips.

With a groan, she replaced her hands at the back of your neck, breathing heavily as she reconnected your lips together. God this was so much better than you remembered, Ellie's gotten good at this, causing a pang of jealousy to hit your chest.

Your hands travelled, meeting her waist and letting out a small gasp as Ellie grabbed the back of your head and pulled your neck back again, exposing your throat to her. This time, she leaned down and placed her soft lips on your supple skin, groaning as she sucked, causing soft hisses to escape from you. Ellie chuckled and continued leaving marks all over your neck, she was enjoying this, fucker.

Her roaming hands grasp the skin underneath your shirt, gripping you tightly. You let out a sigh as she manoeuvred her hands up, reaching the hem of your bra. Ellie brought her lips from your throat back to yours, almost laughing at how much she wanted this. She grabbed your thighs, a noise reverberating in her throat as she felt how warm they were, with a slight squeeze of your inner thigh, she hoisted you on top of her lap. Legs spread over hers.

Ever since that day, Ellie had never forgotten about you. Haunted by the memories of the night she held sacred. She often wondered if you thought about it. She wishes she had gotten further with you that night, but Jesse had to ruin everything. Here, today, she was given another chance, another chance to claim you, to mark you and make you feel the best pleasure you've ever felt.

It was almost carnal, her desire. She thanked her gods for bringing you to her tonight, she had a taste of you that night, and now she was ready to have the whole serving. "Ellie.." you trailed off, suddenly embarrassed, looking at her with those doe eyes. How can you look at her so innocently? Ellie almost melted at the sight, your eyes needy and chest rising rapidly, tugging on her waist harder. "What is it, pretty girl?" You almost moaned at the nickname, feeling a wave of shyness hitting you.

"Use your words, baby." Ellie hummed, placing her lips on your earlobe as she bit down gently, her hands caressing your back as she grabbed you tightly by the waist.

"Ellie... I.." You finally moaned, allowing yourself to give in, "Yes, angel?" Her raspy voice in your ear was causing your thoughts to run at a million miles per second. "Please," you finally said, covering your eyes with your hands.

Ellie was having none of that, she quickly raised her arms to grab yours, pulling them away from your face. "Why are you hiding, pretty girl?" You locked eyes, the longer you looked at her, the less resolve you had. She was just... so hot. The scar on her eyebrow brought a certain toughness to her appearance, her plump lips slightly red from kissing you, you could only imagine what you looked like. "I want you." You said, to which her smirk reappeared.

"Is that right?" she pecked your lips, "What do you want me to do?" She was teasing you, she knew damn well what you wanted. But she'll be damned if you weren't going to say it.

"Ellie!" You groaned, "Don't make me say it." hiding your face into her neck. "Say it." Her voice deadpan, "Say what you want me to do to you or this stops."

Her sudden change in demeanour took you by surprise, not expecting the way her words dripped with honey and hung in the air. You heard Ellie had a reputation, word travels fast in a small town, but you didn't realise just how quickly she could switch to being so dominating. You had no choice, now. Ellie wanted you to submit to her, assert her power and give you everything you needed. You just needed to say the word.

The tension hung in the atmosphere as you stared at each other, her pupils were dilated so large you could barely see the green eyes leaning on you. You couldn't take any more, you needed her, like a flower craves sunshine. "I need you to fuck me, Ellie." That's all that was needed. As soon as those sweet, sweet words left those tender lips of yours, Ellie knew she was a goner.

"That's all you had to say, pretty girl," she whispered into your lips, her hands at your thighs. It's like she just knew where to touch you, like she was born knowing. You let out a moan when she placed her knee in between your legs, grabbing her neck for support. You were still on her lap, your hips started moving automatically at the feel of her knee where you needed her the most.

"That's it, baby." she hummed, "Keep moving those hips for me," Her hands moved down to your ass, grabbing it and pulling you down further on her knee, all you could do was moan, and she had barely done anything. The power was quickly going to Ellie's head as she became unabashed. Loving how you looked so weak right now, so powerless, so... hers.

Ellie took notice of the way your cheeks darkened whenever she called you those names, she wanted to use that to her advantage. With a quick hand, she unbuttoned the pants that were still in the way, dragging them down your legs to reveal your silken thighs and lace underwear. Ellie groaned at the sight, fingers already making their way to your underwear before either of you noticed. She almost slapped herself for not doing this sooner, then remembered that guy.

"All those times you came here, saying you wanted a joint," she paused, "What you really wanted was for me to fuck you until you break." Her fingers teased circular motions at the inner part of your thighs, the sensation making you squeeze your legs. She was so close. "Isn't that right?" she questioned, "You just want to be fucked properly, can't fault you there, baby girl. These stupid men don't know what they're doing."

"Ellie... please." you moaned, feeling her fingers so, so close to your dripping core. "Is that what you want, hmm?" she cooed, her lips going to your neck again, "You want me to fuck you like those guys never did?" Fingers inching closer and closer, they slid the fabric of your underwear to the side. "Fuck.. Ellie.. please." You couldn't believe yourself, you were someone who liked to be in control, and Ellie was completely undoing everything you thought about yourself by the second. You heard the desperation in your own voice, almost ashamed that you could ever sound that needy.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby." She dipped her finger into you, rotating it in small circles that made your skin feel as though it was on fire. The slight pressure of Ellie's finger stretching you out brought moans from your lips, it had been so long since you had been touched. And even longer since you felt this turned on. You craved more, you craved her.

Rutting your hips against her finger, Ellie decided to add more digits. Watching you as your face contorted with bliss, your eyebrows raising slightly as your mouth hung open, delicious sounds escaping your lips. It was music to Ellie's ears. This was officially the furthest you two had ever gotten.

"Do you know how long I wanted to do this, to see you rocking on my fingers? God, I could've killed Jesse that night." She groaned, her eyes gleaming as she smirked, feeling your hand grab her wrist, almost to say, more, more.

You were becoming breathless, but it still was not enough. You wanted all of Ellie. For her to give you her hardest. "Mhmm..." you moaned, smiling at the thought of Ellie being annoyed that your time in the stables had been interrupted, she thought about it as much as you did. It was clear now.

Ellie caught the smile and grinned, bringing her hand up to your throat. Smiling darkly up at you as she applied gentle pressure to your windpipe. You gasped, anytime a man had even tried to lay his hands on you like that, you'd tell him to kick it where the sun don't shine, yet with Ellie? With Ellie you would let her ravage you, take complete ownership of you. It was so natural. "You think I didn't see you practically drooling over my hands, you're not as subtle as you think, doll."

Her toned arms gleamed in the dark as she fucked you, her other hand grabbing your breast under your shirt and rubbing your nipple, placing her lips over it as she sucked. You were getting close, the knot in your stomach tightening at her actions, and then she halted, pulling away from you and directing you onto the couch.

All you could do was whimper. Pathetically. That was until she leaned over you, your back resting against the couch as she spread your legs. She was tall, and she towered over you. Her fingers removed your shirt as yours removed her sports bra and shorts, throwing the garments with reckless abandon, uncaring of where they ended up, meeting each other's lips with a fever.

You felt your heart beat faster, the anticipation nearly making you come on the spot, you clenched wondering what she was about to do. Ellie lifted herself off you and onto her feet, "I'll be back, baby." She said before ruminating through a box in the room, you couldn't see what she was doing though, her back turned to you.

When she returned to you, she reconnected your lips, feverish hands moulding themselves over every inch of your body. As if she was worshipping you. Her head travelled down, dropping kisses on your collarbone, down to your stomach and finally reaching the top of your pelvis. You felt your thighs being pulled apart before Ellie placed her warm tongue down on you.

You moaned, relaxing at the sensation of her wet tongue lapping up your juices, she was good at this, there was no denying that. You were quick to lose control, hands clawing at the back of Ellie's head, as she wrapped your thighs around her head, bringing her tongue deeper. "Fuck..." you gasped, grabbing her head to relieve the pressure as she licked harder, alternating between soft and harsher pressures. It wasn't long before you were a moaning mess, whimpering and clenching around nothing.

Ellie decided to multitask, stretching you open with her fingers as she ate you out. She groaned herself, even without you touching her she was already so turned on, her mind reeling and all she could think about was you. You, those moans and that body. She felt drunk from the sounds you released, and wanted nothing more than to continue hearing them.

She removed her mouth from your core, fingers still dipping in and out of you. "You like that, baby? Huh?" She breathed, "You like having my fingers inside you?" She teased, looking up at you with those darkened eyes, before dipping her head back down to your core. "Ye-mhmm, yes, fuck!" You never knew head and fingers could make you feel so good, just goes to show the kind of previous partners you had.

"More, plea- Ellie!" The pace at which she was going in was unmatched, you were surprised a smoker had so much stamina. "Did you say more, pretty girl?" She hummed, waiting till you closed your eyes and nodded, "I think I know how I can help." There was an impish look in her eyes, as she stopped. You heard her shuffle around with something before you realised what it was.

Fuck. That had all just been a teaser, foreplay before the main event. Ellie had manoeuvred herself into the harness, glancing at you as you bit your lip, watching her silently, as she slid the plastic tip over your folds. Running the tip along the wetness of your core, you ground your hips against it, hoping Ellie would take the hint.

If she did, she made no acknowledgement of it, teasing you slowly as the tip became covered in your slick. Ellie just loved teasing, curious to see how long she could drag this out until you couldn't take it anymore. "Ellie, if you don't fuck me with that already, I'm leaving and never coming back," you groaned, your voice breathless as you tried to level out your breathing.

"Don't worry, darling, all in good time," she said, before finally slipping in the tip to your entrance. You couldn't bite down your moans anymore, feeling more full by the second as you stretched around the object. "Oh-," you gasped out, barely able to speak, this is what Ellie had wanted all along, you around her in this way as she grinded her hips into yours.

"Like that, baby?" she cooed, caressing your thighs, you nodded, "Yeah? Is this what you wanted?" "Mhm-my god," you moaned, finally feeling relief as the object dipped in and out, hitting you where you craved, filthy sounds left both of your lips. "No god here, just me," she smirked, with an air of cockiness, as she grabbed your hips, locking them into place as she went deeper inside you, relishing in the delicious sounds erupting from your lips.

"Ellie, feels so- so good," you nuzzled your face into your arms, feeling your eyes roll over to the back of your head, conscious about what you looked like, you hid. But Ellie seems to like it when you're confident, not shy.

Grabbing your arms and ripping them away from your face, she thrust into you as she held your arms over your head, keeping you in place, all exposed for her. She loved the filthy expression on your face, lips in the shape of an 'o', brows furrowed and eyes rolling. "Who knew?" she teased, "That you were just a dirty little girl just waiting for me to fuck you," she loved the way her words had an impact on you, feeling high off your reactions.

"Please," you were reduced to whimpers and moans, the air felt obscene. Ellie suddenly grabbed your hips, flipping you over so you were on your stomach, she delved her hips into yours and the new position left you seeing stars. Her hand grabbed your hair, and you raised your hips, arching your back and rocking your hips with hers. The auburn-haired girl rubbed her palm softly on your ass before smacking her hand down with force, you yelped, not expecting the sudden hit and Ellie almost got scared until she noticed you settle into yourself, moaning louder.

"Fuck, doll, you're so hot like this," Ellie breathed, smacking her hand down on your cheek again, this time there was the red mark of her digits imprinted into your skin, it was devilish how much that riled Ellie on, losing control over her mouth as the obscene words escaped her lips. "Look at you," she scoffed, smirking, "So perfect, just made for this cock," At her crude words, you cried out, almost feeling overwhelmed by all the sensations you were experiencing, that didn't stop Ellie, though.

"I bet no man has ever fucked you like this, huh?" Her hips thrust into you, slower this time but deeper, you were already close, she didn't have to do much, taking long pauses before entering you again. Her fingers moved down to your clit, rubbing the bud to enhance your orgasm, as she leaned over your ear, your hair still bunched into her hand, which was handy as it allowed her to bring your head closer to her own. "Answer me, doll,"

"No, Ellie-" you struggled out, "No one, ju-just you," You were delirious, evidently having lost your grasp on yourself as your body shook, you were so close. "That's what I thought," she whispered into your ear, dropping your head back into the couch, fucking you relentlessly.

Her fingers on your clit exacerbated your orgasm, as you let out a final "Fuck!" as your body rode out the high, twitching in Ellie's arms. "Fuck..." you whispered again, as you rested your head on your crossed arms, taking deep breaths as you slowly came back to reality. Ellie slipped herself out of you, rubbing circles into your thighs as she placed sweet kisses on your spine.

"You are... wow." she hummed, you were better than she ever expected. At a loss for words she decided to wrap her arms around you, you still lay on the couch, catching your bearings as you felt her strong arms cover your body. "I could say the same for you," You giggled, covering your face, "Come on now, still shy?" Ellie chuckled, "What we gonna do about this, then?"

"It's your fault, you're just so.." "So what?" She continued, her fingers rubbing against your skin. She was so different now, all affectionate when she had been a lust demon just seconds earlier. You two clearly had a lot to talk about. "Irresistible." "I'll take that,"

"I think I'll come down to your house at 3 am again," "I'd like that."

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie willams fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #the last of us #fanfic #smut

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mandalhoerian · 8 days

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sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 2

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pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 13K

warnings: none. leon being embarrassing is all... you'll see

disclaimer: Leon has some backwards thinking about "providing and protecting" during the end of the fic. Please keep in mind there's two reasons as to why that is:

1) this is a historical fiction no matter how fantastical it is, so conservative values very much exist

2) it actually isn't gender-based. leon is very much okay with the reader doing whatever she wants. he just has a worshipper mentality when it comes to the reader and sees the real world beneath her, so to speak? he basically has her on a pedestal that nobody is allowed to take her down from. she's god's favorite princess and he wants to treat her as such and her serving others is grating on his nerves (they don't deserve it AND she deserves better is the theme here)

3) get your whimsy on and just enjoy being worshipped damn

note: i meant this as a two-shot but . alas, we're here. i swear the next one is the final one. I SWEAR

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The sound of scrubbing fills the busy kitchen, a rhythmic rasp of bristles against copper. The bucket of soapy water at your side ripples with each jerking movement of your hand, and the cloth slips again, plunging your fingers into the cold water. You wince, pulling back, hands trembling as they fumble over the simple task of cleaning the tarnished pot.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. This should be easy—anyone could scrub a pot, right? Any maid worth her salt would handle this without even thinking. But here you are, elbows deep in water, raw fingers rubbing awkwardly at the stubborn stains, trying to remember how much pressure to apply without ruining the metal. It’s a dance you haven’t quite learned yet, despite the amount of practice in the Redfield household.

The weight of the chore feels unnatural in your hands. Once, they were only meant to offer blessings, outstretched for others to kiss, the soft skin never meant for labor. Now, every slip, every misstep, reminds you of how far you’ve fallen. The holy aura that once clung to you like a second skin feels stripped away, leaving you bare, vulnerable—human in the most unflattering way.

Another sigh, heavier this time, as you scrub harder, muscles protesting. Your fingers ache, the bristles biting into your palms, and you fight the urge to just let the cloth drop. The world wasn’t supposed to feel so gritty, so solid. The faint scent of soap mingles with the cool breeze wafting through the open kitchen window, but it does nothing to lift the fog that wraps around your thoughts.

"You're doing it wrong again."

The sharp correction snaps you out of your reverie, and you look up to see Sarah standing over you, hands on her hips. There’s no cruelty in her eyes, only impatience. She bends down, effortlessly taking the pot from your hands.

"See?" She shows you how to twist the rag in tight circles, moving the cloth firmly around the base. "It’s not about force; it’s about control."

Control. You were once the embodiment of control, the saintess who never faltered, who embodied grace in every breath. But here, in the kitchen, control slips through your fingers like water, and you struggle to even follow the motions.

"I see," you murmur, though the words feel hollow. You watch as Sarah finishes the task in a fraction of the time it took you, setting the gleaming pot down with a nod before bustling off to tend to something else.

Once alone again, you look down at your hands, wrinkled from the water, red and sore from the effort. The delicate touch that once administered blessings now feels clumsy, the softness worn away by the rigors of everyday tasks. Dirt clings beneath your nails, and though it frustrates you, there’s something grounding about it, something... real.

Ethelion’s grace never truly belonged to me, you think. I was only ever a vessel. And when that vessel cracks, the divine cannot stay.

Rising from your crouch, you stretch your aching back. Strange how heavy your body feels now, no longer ethereal, no longer buoyed by the sacred weight of divine purpose. Instead, you are bound by flesh and bone, muscles screaming at every chore.

The day stretches ahead, an endless rhythm of work. There are beds to be made, floors to be swept, linens to fold. Each task pulls you further away from the pedestal you once stood upon, but there’s a quiet solace in the routine, in the steady, simple motions. The other maids chat as they move through their own chores, but you remain mostly silent, your thoughts too tangled to join in.

By mid-afternoon, your feet lead you to the garden, the one place that offers a semblance of peace. The air is lighter here, the scent of lilacs and roses calming in a way that nothing else seems to be. Flowers bloom in delicate clusters, their petals soft against your fingertips as you run your hands through them absently.

"Careful now,” someone calls out. "You don’t want to bruise the petals."

You turn to see Piers, the young gardener, smiling at you as he wipes his hands on his apron. He’s always so gentle with the plants, his fingers coaxing them into life with the same patience he shows with you. There’s dirt smudged across his cheek, his hands stained with earth, but it suits him.

"I wasn’t trying to," you reply, embarrassed by your carelessness. Your touch once healed the wounded, and now you worry about crushing flowers.

"Didn’t say you were," he says, coming closer to kneel beside you. "Just reminding you. These flowers... they’re like people. Handle them too roughly, and they’ll wilt. Handle them too gently, and they’ll never bloom."

There is a meaning in there that makes your skin prickle, an awareness that you wish you could erase. He understands too much, has seen too much. Not many of the Redfield staff know your true identity—the noble family wishes to preserve their secrecy regarding you—but Piers knows. From the day you stepped through the estate gates, he knew.

The afternoon sun shines brightly as the two of you fall into the usual silence, the one you enjoy. As you work together, weeding and trimming the hedges. You try to copy his movements, but you feel clumsy beside him, fumbling over yourself with every touch. The lilies you looked after in the temple were plucked and placed in elegant vases, you only ever stood in their presence in the garden, as the monks cared for the vegetation in the sanctified grounds. The fact that you were chosen to stand for Ethelion, you didn’t touch anything—they touched you, and you felt like the flower, the angel of mercy, the beautiful goddess. The ones that surround you now call for more work to thrive, to grow. It seems that no matter how hard you try, your touch won’t be enough.

You reach to pick a weed and nearly knock over a rosebush, the thorns grazing your hand. The sting feels grounding, in a strange way, and for a moment, you linger in it, letting the pain settle into your skin. It doesn't immediately heal like any other wound used to.

"When will you teach me?" You blurt out, looking over at him. "How to properly help you?"

Piers chuckles softly, carefully correcting your posture with his hands until you get into position. "Soon, little lady. Soon, you'll be good at this, just as you are with everything you set your mind to."

Years after, you're still awkward and at a loss with touch. A lifetime of only coming to contact with fabric and porcelain will do that to you, and you think that he notices as such—the way you flinch at unexpected contact, the way you seem to carry that old elegance that never went away with you in all of your actions, even as you struggle with the physicalities of your new life.

To his credit, he doesn't question it, simply guides you patiently as if it's natural. If the rest of the staff finds it odd, they don't say a thing.

This is another world. A world very different from your life before. People of your standing hug and hold hands, brush against one another. When you first began your training, it felt overwhelming, like being engulfed by a current you didn't know how to fight. Now, it is like the sea itself, ever-present but constant.

"Firm grip," Piers says quietly, putting his own hands over yours to guide the motion as he weeds the soil around the small hedge bushes. "You need to have a light touch, but not too light or it won't be efficient."

You adjust your fingers accordingly, gripping the clump of earth and tugging. It comes loose without resistance, falling into your hand. A smile spreads across your face, your eyes brightening.

"Like this?"

"Yes, perfect," Piers says, nodding encouragingly. The corners of his lips quirk up in the barest hint of a grin. "And don't be afraid to get dirty. Mud is natural and good for the earth, helps the flowers flourish."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you find yourself wishing, for a moment, that life would remain like this. It isn’t comfortable—not in the way the temple had been, with its cushioned chairs and silken sheets, the robes so thick and warm they felt like velvet against your skin. But here, surrounded by flowers, with the wind ruffling through your hair, it feels...right.

Maybe that is why you found yourself returning to the gardens whenever the chance arose, whether it was after completing your daily chores or even on your days off, even if you were sure you wouldn’t learn anything from it. There was a comfort that came with the sun shining down on you as you pruned and picked at the roses, looking forward to the day when you would be knowledgeable enough to plant lilies on your own and care for them how they deserved.

The day passes in quiet rhythm after that, the routine of your tasks blending into the hum of the estate. There’s comfort in the dirt, in the steady, simple work of tending to life, of watching something grow. It’s not grand, it’s not divine, but it feels real, and for now, that’s enough.

As the sun dips below the horizon, you return to your small room in the servants’ quarters. The day’s dirt still clings to your skin, and as you sit at your modest mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. You’re no longer the saintess, no longer the holy vessel. The person staring back at you is human, grounded in the earth just like the flowers you’ve come to care for.

The soft clink of porcelain and silverware fills the dining hall along with the the quiet hum of conversation between the Redfield family. You stand at the ready, your hands clasped before you, ever attentive to the needs of the table. The crystal carafe of wine glimmers faintly beside you, waiting to be lifted, though your thoughts are far from the task at hand.

"What happened after that?" Lady Claire leans forward, a sly smile on her lips as she gestures animatedly in a very unladylike manner. "You can’t just brush that under the rug! The hero of the kingdom storms into a coronation and attacks the Archbishop? I need details!"

Lord Chris waves his fork dismissively, his mouth full of roasted vegetables. He huffs out a breath, shaking his head as he reaches for his wineglass, "It wasn’t as dramatic as you’re making it sound. Just a bit of a misunderstanding, really."

Lady Claire laughs light and airy as she leans back in her seat. "A misunderstanding that resulted in the knight attacking an esteemed member of the Church of Ethelia? In public. How is that not dramatic?"

You glance toward Chris as you subtly refill his glass, the liquid swirling gently. His features are calm, but there’s a tension around his mouth that suggests he’s holding back more than he’s letting on. You pause, hoping to catch more of the conversation without drawing attention to yourself, your curiosity piqued.

The mental image of Leon doing something as bold as interrupting an event in the capital, let alone something as severe as accosting a highly-respected man of faith is... Unrealistic and highly out of character for him. It seemed too distant from the kind boy who would climb trees to bring down fruits just to make you smile.

The man clears his throat as he cuts into his steak, the knife slicing through the tender meat with ease. "It was more like a minor incident than an attack, honestly. No one was hurt, and the Archbishop has already moved past it."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

It's a great question. Leon wasn't known as someone who made reckless decisions like that—if anything, he was known for following his orders without hesitation, which was what made him an excellent paladin, regardless of what the rest of the clergy thought about him. You had even heard whispers among the priests about his loyalty, his dedication, how he was unfailingly loyal to the temple. He seemed like a steadfast soldier, reliable and sturdy, always steady on his feet no matter what trials Ethelion sent his way.

Lord Chris exhales slowly through his nose as his gaze falls upon his wife. There's a pause, the air heavy with unsaid words, before he responds. "Maybe something just snapped when he saw that Archbishop standing there, acting like everything’s fine after everything he’s seen and been through."

His response is blunt, the words like a punch to your gut. You try to swallow against the dryness in your throat, blinking back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill, biting the inside of your cheek.

An uncomfortable silence settles across the dinner table, broken only by Lady Claire's uneasy chuckle.

You exhale slowly, the sound barely audible, as you reach for the water pitcher. It isn’t until your hand trembles as it hovers over the delicate glass surface that you realize how tense your body is. The truth that he spoke, that slipped through you like poison in bloodstream—

Would Leon attack you the same way he did the Archbishop? The Saintess who sent him off into a war with a prayer and a blessing? Would you, too, end up with his fingers clutching at your clothes, teeth gritting together in a snarl, the words of accusation cutting into you as you stood frozen in place, unable to respond?

"Do you think he’s... dangerous?" Lady Claire asks, stripped off of all her playfulness. "Should we be worried?"

Lord Chris chuckles, though there’s a bitter edge to it. "No, Leon’s not dangerous. Not to us, anyway. He’s just... different. War changes people. It’s not something you can just walk away from without it leaving scars."

Your hands tighten around the stem of the pitcher, steadying your grip. The mention of the Holy War brings a hundred memories rushing back, as fresh as the day they were forged. They wash over you, filling your veins with a rush of sorrow and anger, regret and remorse—

You sent Leon there. Into the midst of that violence and hatred, where men became monsters. Where his blade tasted blood for the first time and changed him forever, like an animal weaned off of milk and discovering a taste for flesh. You did that to him. Did that to all of the righteous paladins and courageous soldiers who died in that field, whose bones now lie in unmarked graves.

Leon would be right to hate you. Ethelion himself should despise you, condemn you. It's why He has let go of you so early into your service.

You don't know why Lord Chris doesn't spit on your face. Why Lady Claire allows you to pour their drinks and serve their meals. How could you ever repent for what you have done to the paladins of this kingdom, their fellow noblemen of faith?

"Enough talk of battle at the dinner table," Dame Jill chides gently, a soothing balm amidst the tension. "We've spent too long dwelling in the dark. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"Right, right," Chris agrees, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that."

The moment between them is tender, so simple yet so intimate that you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding. The way Jill’s hand lingers on Chris’s arm, the way he leans into her touch without even realizing it—it’s a closeness you’ve only ever observed from a distance, a kind of bond you’ve never experienced. You’re not sure you ever will.

"Let's talk about more exciting things," Lady Claire picks up her enthusiasm once more, and as if she's read your mind, she says, "How long do you think is until his marriage to Princess Ashley?"

Chris chokes on his food. So would you if you were in his position.

Jill sighs, a thin smile on her lips as she shoots him a look. "That isn't a conversation we're meant to entertain."

"I don’t think Leon’s worried about marriage right now, Claire," Chris says, though with a hint of amusement. "He’s got enough on his plate without worrying about courting anyone."

"Still," Claire continues, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "I bet every noble lady in the capital is throwing themselves at him right now. A war hero, a noble Margrave, and still single? They’re probably lining up just to get a chance."

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. Is that really what’s happening? Is Leon being paraded in front of noble families, their daughters hoping to catch his eye, hoping to be the one he chooses? The idea leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, though you can’t quite place why.

Leon... a Margrave now, a hero of the kingdom, sitting at the top of nobility’s ladder, one step away from being at the king’s side. The image of him standing among lords and ladies, dressed in fine silk and polished armor, feels alien in your mind. You remember him in a different way—so much simpler, much... closer. A heavy feeling settles in your chest.

"Claire, please," Jill interrupts with a chuckle, light but firm. "Leave the poor man alone."

The conversation moves on, but you remain rooted in place, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You steal a glance at Jill and Chris, their easy smiles, their shared glances, and you can’t help but wonder if Leon will find someone like that. Someone who can stand by his side, someone who fits seamlessly into his new world.

Perhaps it's for the best, after the "holy cause" that left him with nothing but a medal of honor and an oathbreaker reputation, the life of a soldier, a faithful paladin cut off from divinity and glory. To have the blessing of Ethelion once again, as a lord, with a beautiful young woman to share the legacy—it's a picture that could only bring envy to anyone's heart.

The manor feels like a gilded cage.

Leon slumps back in his chair, the smooth leather creaking beneath the weight of his armorless body. Before him lies an endless spread of parchment on the grand oak desk in his office—documents stamped with wax seals, crests of various noble families, and inked signatures of men and women he couldn’t care less about.

The words blur together into a maddening jumble, formalities and regulations, reminders of his newfound role as Margrave, a title he’d never wanted but had earned through blood and grit on the battlefield. Now, instead of commanding soldiers, he commands... paper.

The clinking of metal rings from across the room as Dame Ingrid Hunnigan arranges a fresh stack of documents beside him, her presence calm and efficient as always. Her gaze flickers toward him, calculating, and Leon doesn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes as she notes the papers he has yet to sign. The steady tick of the ornate clock in the corner seems louder than it should.

"My Lord."

Leon looks up, blinking as though he’s surfacing from deep water. “Yes?”

“We’re behind schedule,” she says, ever pragmatic, her gaze flicking briefly to the mountain of paperwork before returning to meet his. “If we’re to have everything in order for your proposal to Princess Ashley, we’ll need to finalize these arrangements by the end of the week.”

Leon freezes, his quill hovering above the paper like a blade suspended in air, droplets of ink forming a dark blot on the parchment beneath. His heart thuds once, hard, against his ribs, and he feels a strange coldness spreading from his chest to his limbs. Proposal. Marriage. Princess Ashley.

It was the logical next step, wasn’t it? The hero of the war, the man who saved the princess, standing beside her as her husband, uniting the people with their fairy-tale ending.

But the thought of it feels like a noose tightening around his throat.

“I’m not marrying her.”

Hunnigan’s sharp intake of breath is almost imperceptible, but Leon catches it. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but he can feel the shift in her—an unspoken surprise. "But—”

He places the quill down with a deliberate slowness, his fingers resting on the desk’s polished surface.

“I won’t marry her,” Leon interrupts, low but firm, as if saying it again will solidify his decision, make it real.

“Sir, I’m not certain you understand the implications. The court is already abuzz with speculation. The king’s council has all but planned the ceremony. If you—”

“No.” Leon’s tone sharpens, the edge of it cutting through the room. His jaw tightens, and he pushes back from the desk, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. The papers, the plans, the obligations—they all feel like chains, tethering him to a world he never wanted to belong to.

Hunnigan doesn’t flinch, though she tracks his every movement, assessing. “Then what will you do? The court demands an answer, and soon.”

“I don’t care about their impatience,” Leon cuts her off, harder than he intends. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, his frustration mounting. “I’ve just returned from war. I’ve barely had time to breathe, and now they want me to walk down the aisle? It’s absurd.”

“You’re not just a soldier anymore,” Ingrid replies evenly. “You’re a noble now, Sir Leon. A Margrave. And with that title comes expectations. Marrying Princess Ashley solidifies your position. It ensures stability.”

Stability. It’s the word that grates against his skin like a thorn. Stability meant confinement. It meant being locked into a life that wasn’t his own, chained to a destiny he didn’t choose. Marrying into the royal family would make him something he never wanted to be.

From the temple to the palace. Still a pawn.

And worse, it would make him someone unrecognizable to himself.

When she only gets irritable silence in return, Hunnigan doubles down, "The people adore you. You saved Princess Ashley. A marriage between you two would unite the noble houses, secure your standing. It’s—"

"I don’t care." The words burst out of him, louder than intended, and the air between them seems to crackle with the tension of it. He meets her look, daring her to challenge him, to push him further into this corner he feels trapped in. "I’m not marrying her. I never promised that. I never wanted that."

"It’s not about what you want, my lord. It’s about what the kingdom needs. What the crown expects from you."

"The crown expects a puppet," Leon mutters, his voice dropping to an icy low. He rises from the chair, the sound of his boots heavy against the floor as he paces the room, his movements sharp, restless. "They dress me up in these fine clothes, give me a title, and expect me to smile and play my part in their little game. I didn’t fight a war to become this."

"You fought a war to protect the kingdom. And this is part of that protection," Hunnigan argues, "You’ve earned the people’s respect. The life of a hero comes with its responsibilities."

"Responsibilities." He almost laughs at that, though there’s nothing humorous about it. His hand drifts to the hilt of his sword—a relic from the battlefield that feels more like a part of him than the heavy mantle of nobility ever will. "You think I don’t know about responsibilities? I’ve seen men die under my command, Hunnigan. I’ve seen villages burn, innocent lives lost. That’s responsibility. This... this is just playing dress-up."

Hunnigan exhales softly, her face softening, just a little. "I understand. I do. But we live in a world where appearances matter just as much as actions. The people need their hero. And they need their princess to stand beside him."

“I’m not going to chain myself to a life I don’t want. I’ve fought for this kingdom, bled for it, nearly died for it. But I’m done letting other people decide my fate.”

She sighs, crossing her arms as she studies him carefully. “And what do you plan to do? Walk away from the nobility entirely? Abandon your responsibilities now that you’ve earned the title?”

Leon meets her gaze, his eyes dark, stormy. “I’ll fulfill my duties as Margrave. But I’ll do it on my terms.”

There’s a long pause, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. Ingrid’s expression softens, just slightly, but her professionalism remains unshaken. “You know this won’t be easy. The court won’t be happy with your decision. They’ll try to pressure you, manipulate you. You’ll be seen as defying tradition.”

“Let them,” Leon replies, pushing himself up from the chair, the tension in his muscles begging for release. “I’ve faced worse things than court gossip.”

Hunnigan watches him for a moment longer before nodding, though the concern doesn’t fade. “Very well. But if you’re going to make a decision like this, you should be prepared for the consequences.”

He nods, feeling a wave of exhaustion settle over him. “I am a walking consequence, Hunnigan."

She turns and leaves him to the silence of the room, her footsteps quiet against the stone floor. The moment she’s gone, Leon exhales deeply, his chest tight and his thoughts swirling in chaos. The paperwork remains unfinished on his desk, an ever-growing mountain of expectations and demands that suffocates him more with every passing minute.

He can’t stay here. Not now.

Grabbing his cloak, Leon moves toward the door, his steps quick and purposeful. Outside, the air feels thick, the walls of the manor closing in on him like a vice. He’s grown used to wide open spaces—the battlefield, the wilderness. Here, in the capital, everything feels too close, too crowded, too suffocating.

This is how you must have felt, he thinks bitterly as he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, his mind drifting to you. Caged in, always watched, always expected to be something more than human.

The streets of the capital stretch before him, bustling with people going about their day—merchants haggling, children running through the alleys, noblewomen in fine dresses gliding down the cobblestone paths. Leon moves through them like a shadow, his presence hidden beneath the cloak, his face obscured from the watchful eyes of guards and passersby.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he’s alone.

He walks with no destination in mind, his boots scuffing against the uneven stones, his thoughts swirling with frustration and longing. The scent of fresh bread drifts through the air from a nearby bakery, mingling with the earthy scent of rain-soaked stone, but none of it grounds him. It only reminds him of the distance between the world he’s in and the world he longs for—the simple, the honest, the free.

His steps carry him further into the city until he reaches the cathedral gates, and he stops, gazing up at the towering spires and stained glass windows. A shudder of recognition courses through his spine as he recalls the last time he was here, the day he knelt at your feet and promised loyalty.

Ethelion may have forsaken him, but this place still calls to him in some strange, primal way—a piece of his past, a connection to his lost faith.

People file in and out of the massive wooden doors, their voices raised in a joyful hum. There is an energy to the crowd that he hadn't noticed before, a buoyant air that sweeps through the throng of worshippers like a tide. Curious, he follows the flow, stepping aside to allow the others to enter as he peers in, watching the mass from the outskirts. The chapel is packed to its gilded seams, everyone cramming into every available space. Every seat is occupied; even the pews on the second story are crammed with devotees, necks straining to catch a glimpse of the spectacle below.

Being on the outside looking in is...strange for him, all his life, he'd been on the inside. An honorary knight, a devoted acolyte, then, a holy warrior tasked with bringing peace back to the world. Now he's on the other side, on the edges. Alone. He should have been in the crowd, standing just beside the Saintess, having a place in line with her.

Now, he's one of the many faces in the crowd. One of the people he had protected with his sword.

At the pulpit stands a new Saintess, clad in shimmering robes of purest white, her mask alight with a silvery glow. The feeling of uncanny valley crawls through him, like the sight is wrong somehow. The figure before him looks the same, the attire, the veil, and even the ethereal glow. However, everything feels off. Where you had held yourself tall and steady with a presence that demanded attention, the current Saintess seems shy, her movements small and uncertain as she addresses the crowd.

Leon's frown deepens as he listens to the girl speak, sweet and lilting, but lacking in the conviction he remembers from your sermons. There's no passion in it, no fervor or fire. Just rote memorization, a pretty puppet reciting lines written by others.

It's not supposed to be like this. He doesn't get the Saintess Cycle, or whatever bullshit it's called that he was informed about right after his outburst.

He had never heard of it before that day. Not even when he’d been sworn in as a paladin. Not when he had stood at your side, thinking you were eternal, untouchable.

The letter sent by the Temple said the Saintess is a vessel—a temporary, ephemeral thing. When she reaches the end of her "cycle," she is retired, replaced by a new, younger girl blessed by Ethelion. It is the way of the divine, they wrote. It’s natural. It’s necessary.

Necessary. The word is poison, burning through him.

The cycle they speak of is cruel, cold. He remembers it again: Once the Saintess matures, her divine grace wanes, and Ethelion selects a new girl, free from worldly knowledge, pure in body and mind.

Pure. That’s what they had valued about you. Not your kindness, not your wisdom, not the way your smile had once lit up entire rooms. Just purity. What do they even mean by that word?

So that’s it then, he thinks bitterly. They’ve stripped you of everything. Reduced you to some… some tool to be replaced when your usefulness runs out.

He can't accept this. He refuses to.

This “cycle” they speak of is nothing but a lie—a grotesque farce designed to keep the chosen girls under their thumb, to strip them of their humanity, their will so they are easier to control, more obedient, self-sacrificing. They want to act as though it’s all part of some divine plan, but Leon knows better. He’s seen the temple’s machinations, the politics woven into their robes, the way they turn divine grace into something transactional.

You were never just a vessel, he tells himself, his jaw tight. You were never just a role to be filled.

He had sworn an oath to protect you, to serve you, and yet, when you needed him most, he had been gone—fighting in wars, chasing glory on blood-soaked battlefields while they took everything from you.

Leon steps back, ready to turn away from the chapel that now feels hollow, stripped of the sanctity it once held, when something catches him—sharp, like the sudden crack of a whip in the still air.

A scent.

It slips through the incense and the stale breath of prayer, weaving between the worshippers like a thread of memory pulled taut. Faint, almost hidden beneath the smoke and ash of the sacred space, but unmistakable. It strikes him like a blade, cutting through the fog of disbelief clouding his mind.

Lilies.

Among the scentless masses, with their simple soaps and the cloying odor of frankincense that clings to the walls—the smell of lilies.

His pulse stutters, a beat skipped in time, before surging back with a violent, thunderous force that shakes him to his core.

It’s your scent.

His breath halts in his throat, suspended, as the world tilts, shifting on its axis as his focus narrows. Someone brushes past him, draped in a nondescript cloak, their head bowed like the rest, just another figure blending into the sea of worshippers.

But his soul screams.

He knows it’s you.

The recognition strikes him so hard he reels with it, body twisting as he turns sharply, every muscle tensing with a frantic energy he can’t control. His eyes dart around, searching, desperate. His heart is slamming against his ribs, each beat like a drum echoing in a cathedral. The scent lingers, tantalizingly close—so close he can taste it, feel it—but the figure is slipping away, vanishing into the faceless crowd, swallowed whole by the masses.

"Wait!" The word rips from his throat, harsh, strangled, louder than intended. Heads turn, whispers hiss, but they are meaningless sounds in a world reduced to the scent of lilies and the figure that’s slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Wait, please!" His yell cracks, raw, frantic. He pushes through the crowd, bodies jostling against him, every step a growing surge of panic that claws at his chest.

The scent fades, thinning like smoke dissipating in the wind, until it’s gone.

Gone.

Leon stumbles to a stop, breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling in time with the wild thrum of his heartbeat. His hands shake, fingers curled into fists at his sides as if he could grasp hold of the memory, keep it alive through sheer will.

But you’re gone.

The world around him fades to a dull hum, the whispers of disapproving worshippers like gnats buzzing in the distance. His vision blurs at the edges, narrowing, tunneling, until all he can see is the space you once occupied. His chest constricts, tightens, the weight of everything—of this moment, of the years lost, of you—crashing down on him with the force of a wave that threatens to drag him under.

No, you’re here.

The thought is dizzying, overwhelming in its certainty. You’re here, in the capital, breathing the same air as him, walking the same streets. The realization hits him like cold water, shocking him awake, filling his lungs with something raw and desperate. His mind spins, thoughts unspooling in a frantic mess he can’t make sense of.

Leon strides into the office, his boots thudding against the polished floor, the sound bouncing off the high, vaulted ceiling. The door swings shut behind him with a muted thud, the energy of his entrance reverberating through the quiet space. Hunnigan barely looks up from her desk, the rustle of paper and the scratching of her quill the only acknowledgment of his presence. The scent of ink, parchment, and faint traces of cedarwood drift through the air—but unable to overpower the lilies at the back of his throat, like a ghost in the chamber.

Without preamble, he blurts out, "Where does one buy lily soap in the capital?"

Hunnigan’s quill freezes mid-stroke, her brows knitting together as she raises her head, her gaze flicking up to meet his with an expression of mild annoyance. Her office is meticulously arranged, papers stacked neatly in front of her, the ink pot perfectly centered on the desk. Leon's sudden intrusion seems to upset the delicate balance of the room.

"My lord?" Her voice carries that familiar undercurrent of impatience, but Leon can see the confusion etched into her features. "Lily soap?"

“Yes," he snaps, pacing before her desk, his movements restless, unsettled. "Soap scented like lilies."

Hunnigan’s stare is blank, clearly trying to piece together the urgency behind his question. She places her quill down carefully, folds her hands in front of her, and straightens her back, as if preparing for some bureaucratic debate.

"I'm afraid I don't—"

In an instant, Leon slams both hands against her desk, rattling the ink pot and causing a cascade of parchment to shift slightly out of place. The sharp bang echoes through the room, and for a second, there is silence, broken only by the rapid rise and fall of Leon's breath. A few sheets of paper flutter down from the pile, but he barely notices.

"Lilies, Hunnigan," Leon grits out, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with a desperation that feels foreign even to him. “Where do they sell lily soap? I need to know, now.”

To her credit, Hunnigan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as blink at his intensity. The edges of her lips tighten, but she meets his frustration with her usual unflinching calm, tilting her head slightly, watching him with that sharp calculation, as if measuring the weight of his demand against her need for propriety. "Lord Leon, it will require time, but if you would like, we will investigate the sources. Such things aren’t kept on record like weapons or grain."

Leon drops into the chair opposite her with a heavy sigh, his hands pressing against his temples as if he can massage away the growing headache pulsing at his skull, but there's a part of him—the rational, disciplined soldier—that knows he can't barrel through this like an enemy barricade.

Hunnigan regards him thoughtfully, studying him as though she’s contemplating his sanity. Finally, she relents with a small nod. "However, at the top of my head, I can tell you that a fragrance like that would most likely be sold at shops that cater to the upper class. Apothecaries, perhaps, though I’ve heard of merchants who specialize in rare oils and soaps for wealthier clientele."

"But no," Leon says, frustration building, "that person... that soap can't have come from somewhere like that. It's too expensive. They're not wealthy, not someone who could afford those kinds of luxuries."

She taps a finger thoughtfully against the edge of her desk, not asking any questions, thankfully. "Commoner households purchase their necessities from street vendors. Most don't have the means to indulge in frivolities, but there are some apothecaries that sell fragrant items for medicinal purposes. Perhaps that’s where it came from."

Leon's mind races, his thoughts jumbling together, ticking off possibilities. He could search the market districts, scour the streets where vendors peddle their wares, but that would take time—too much time. And still, you could be anywhere, hiding among the crowds or nestled in some quiet corner of the capital. He drags a hand through his hair, the rigid set of his jaw flexing.

His thoughts swirl, trying to latch onto something, anything that will give him a lead. And then an idea begins to take shape, unformed at first, but gaining momentum the more he entertains it. He sits up, his eyes sharper, clearer. "Hypothetically, if we were to open a scented soap stall in the market, do you think people would buy it?"

Hunnigan’s brows raise, clearly not expecting the question. "The common folk aren’t exactly known for their fastidiousness when it comes to daily bathing, but soap has been increasing in popularity among the younger generations, particularly young women."

That catches his attention. The market is shifting, changing with the times. And you—you always appreciated those little luxuries, even when you were cloistered away, out of reach. You might not be living among the nobility, but that doesn't mean you wouldn’t still indulge in what small comforts you could.

Leon straightens, the hint of an idea forming. "Good," he murmurs, nodding more to himself than to her. "Then we’ll need to monopolize the market."

Hunnigan watches him with a raised brow, a subtle hint of disbelief in her gaze. "May I ask what exactly brought about this sudden interest in the soap trade? Surely you haven’t returned from the battlefield only to decide you’d like to dabble in perfumeries?"

Her tone is dry, but Leon can hear the underlying curiosity in her words. For a moment, he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all—a knight of the kingdom, scouring the city for lily-scented soap like a man possessed. But the laugh dies in his throat, replaced by the phantom scent of lilies, achingly familiar, almost painful in its clarity.

"I’m looking for someone," he admits, low, quiet, but no less determined. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly as if holding on to his last thread of hope. "And this... this is the only way I can think of to find them."

"Someone," Hunnigan repeats slowly, drawing out the word as if rolling it over her tongue, weighing its significance.

He nods, his jaw clenched.

Hunnigan stares at him for a long moment, and then, without another word, she picks up her quill and begins to write. The scratch of the pen fills the silence as she scribbles down his instructions with the precision and efficiency he’s come to expect from her.

Before she's about to me it to the end of the page, she glances up, the slight furrow of her brow the only indication of the questions that linger in the back of her mind. "Shall I send someone to retrieve these lily soaps for your sampling, or would you prefer to dispose of them immediately?"

"Neither. Send word to the streets that they can only find lily soap in our store in the entire kingdom. Offer them a special gift if they purchase it from us. I want it to reach everyone."

"The entire city, my lord? That will be quite the undertaking."

"If that's what it takes, yes."

She gives a single, decisive nod. "As you wish."

With that, she finishes writing his instruction, rolls up the scroll, and stands, carrying the parchment to the servant waiting outside the doors, whispering instructions to be taken to his household's estate.

He knows this isn’t exactly an ideal plan, that the odds of success are slim, but it's a chance, however small, and he clings to that like a lifeline. Besides, he hasn’t survived this many years on the battlefield, faced monsters and beasts and unspeakable horrors, to lose his nerve now in the face of a soap business.

He can't find you on his own. So, the next best thing is having you come to him.

You sit among the other maids, wooden spoon idly stirring the stew in your bowl, listening to the idle conversations around you. The dining hall of the servants' quarters is loud as usual, the chatter and laughter of the staff filling the room with warmth. A few seats down, Piers and Mark argue about the proper way to clean a fireplace, gesturing wildly with their spoons as they bicker good-naturedly. On the opposite end of the table, the new maid, Nina, sits with Rebecca, listening raptly to a story about Lord Redfield's exploits during a hunting trip.

There's a comfort to it—the familiarity, the routine. After spending years surrounded by the hushed, reverent air of the temple, the chaotic camaraderie of the kitchen staff is almost exhilarating. You sigh, reaching for your goblet as you lean back in your seat, content to listen to the various conversations surrounding you.

"Guess what? The Margrave isn’t marrying the Princess. How crazy is that?"

"Really? Why not," Mark interjects, equally bewildered. "Who wouldn't want to marry a princess?"

Piers shrugs, shoveling a large spoonful of stew into his mouth and continuing. "I guess he wants to be a bachelor."

"Over becoming king one day?"

"This is why you can't trust men to relay information," one of the maids, Angela, says, rolling her eyes. "He's already announced he's looking for a bride. They say he’s broken the hearts of more noble ladies than anyone can count. And the families! Furious, every last one."

A ripple of laughter spreads through the group, the maids delighting in the drama. The bread you’re holding crumbles between your fingers, but you barely notice.

“It's a scandal,” someone else chimes in. “The Princess was practically promised to him, wasn’t she? Now he’s insulted the royal family by turning her down. People should have expected it, he started wreaking havoc as soon as he got back to the capital. Who does he think he is?"

“He’s a war hero, that’s who. He could probably have any noblewoman in the kingdom if he wanted to. Though it seems like none of them are good enough for him.”

You push your bowl away, the food suddenly unappealing, staring down at your hands as if they hold the answers to the growing unease inside.

The Leon they speak of now—a man who breaks hearts, who defies royal expectations—is a stranger to you. But what bothers you more is the memory of him at the cathedral.

The way his eyes had darkened when he looked at the Saintess.

You hadn’t seen him like that before, his expression twisted with anger, with hatred. The shock of it had frozen you in place, and then…you ran. You ran from the cathedral, from the possibility that the man who once looked at you with kindness now only saw betrayal.

And now, sitting here, the moment drowns out the light laughter of your fellow maids. You can’t shake the feeling that the Leon who stood in the cathedral wasn’t just angry—he was looking for you.

But you’re not the Saintess anymore.

You haven’t been for some time, but he wouldn't know. He couldn’t have known that you’d been stripped of your title, that you’ve been replaced. He must’ve thought the woman he saw was you, still wearing the veil of divinity. And the way he looked at her—looked at you—wasn’t with the softness you remember. No, there was something darker, a disdain so palpable that it tore through every fond memory you had of him.

You swallow, your throat dry, as the image of him at the cathedral burns in your mind. How had it come to this? How had the boy you once knew become a man so consumed by anger, by hatred? You think of the maids' gossip—how he’s rejecting noblewomen, how he’s broken hearts without a second thought—and you can’t help but wonder what he would look like now, staring at someone he loves...

Shuddering, you push the thought aside, trying to shake it from your mind. Maybe you can talk to Lord Chris about it, ask for his guidance in making amends with Leon, or maybe—

"Hey, you okay?"

Mark's question cuts through your spiraling thoughts, and you look up to find the entire table staring at you with varying shades of concern. A flush rises to your cheeks, and you fumble for a response, tripping over your words.

"I, um— yes, I'm alright." You take a steadying breath, immediately going back to stirring your food, knuckles whitening. "It's just—I'm a bit tired. I toured nearly the whole market today but had no luck with the thing I was looking for."

You give him your best attempt at a reassuring smile, but judging by the way he tilts his head at you, he's not buying it. He stares at you for a moment longer, studying you intently, before he gives a shrug and turns away.

Not even a month passes before the report lands on his desk.

The majority of lily soap sales, it seems, have gone to one place—the Redfield estate. The testimonies from shopkeepers speak of a particular maid, one who purchased an absurd amount of the soap. They claim she spent a small fortune, fearful of another shortage. But that isn’t what stands out.

No, it’s the way they described her—mistaken for a noble the moment she entered the shop, all because of the way she carried herself. Poised. Dignified.

Leon leans back in his chair, closing his eyes, and for a moment, he allows himself to breathe. It’s you. It has to be. The fragments of the puzzle are slowly coming together, each piece falling into place with a clarity that tightens something in his chest.

He exhales softly, an excited, expectant grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He’ll keep playing this game, keep pulling at the threads until everything unravels. Until you’re standing right in front of him once more.

Sunlight filters through the large, arched windows of Chris Redfield's office, casting long streaks of gold across the dark mahogany floor, dappling the room in a warm, almost serene glow. Dust motes drift lazily in the beams, like memories swirling in the still air. The crackling fire in the hearth only adds to the warmth, a comforting presence in a room filled with sharp edges—of old swords hung on the walls and the faint tang of oiled leather and metal.

Leon sprawls on a chaise near the window, one leg draped over the other, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his body is a coiled spring, ready to snap into action at any moment. His dark coat hangs loosely on the back of the seat, cravat untied, a few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the faint lines of old scars crisscrossing his chest. There’s a ruggedness to him, an edge that doesn't quite fit in with the refined waistcoat stretching taut against his broad chest. His rolled-up sleeves expose forearms marked with callouses and veins, the map of a warrior’s life etched into his skin.

"How's Claire?" Leon asks, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching the sunlight dance off its surface.

Chris takes a long sip before answering. “She’s well. Busy, as always. The horses are coming along better than expected. She’s hoping to have them ready for sale in a few months, especially with the new barn completed.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking on a more direct approach. “But I don’t think you came here to talk about my sister or the horses. What’s really going on, Leon? Why the sudden visit?”

Leon offers a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can’t an old friend stop by for a drink?”

Chris snorts, his grin broad but skeptical. “Sure, if you consider bribery drinking. I see you didn't disappoint with the bottle of twenty-five-year-old cognac." His amusement fades as quickly as it came, the weight of serious matters creeping into the conversation. "Come on, we both know you have more than a friendly visit on your mind, and if it's business, you've been acting strange about it. So...?"

"You're housing the former Saintess."

Chris's glass stills halfway to his mouth, and he looks sharply at Leon as if he's suddenly grown two heads. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"Where did you hear that?"

Leon huffs, leaning back casually and propping one ankle on the opposite knee, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell. "Does it matter?"

"Considering it could be a rumor spread by palace spies? Yes."

The question makes him want to tear his hair out. "No palace spies. I did my own investigating."

"Why are you sniffing around her, Leon? If you’ve come here to cause trouble—" Chris's expression darkens, the threat evident as he blatantly starts to glare. "Leave her alone. Don't drag her into whatever scheme you're planning."

Leon bristles at that, his surprise turning to frustration as his fingers tighten around the glass. "Scheme? You think that lowly of me?"

"You come to my home, interrogate me about one of my staff, and expect me to believe it's for innocent reasons? Are you trying to play me for a fool? That won't fly."

"If you must know..." Leon pauses for a beat, letting the tension build before continuing. "I intend to marry her."

For a moment, Chris stares at Leon in stunned silence, a range of emotions flickering across his face—from disbelief to exasperation, finally settling somewhere between exhaustion and resignation. "Are you insane?"

"She deserves better than being a servant, Chris. You and I both know that," Leon shoots back, his grip on the glass tightening to the point where it feels like the whole thing might shatter. "I'm not letting the Saintess be disrespected."

"She deserves peace. That’s what I’m giving her here. She’s living a life of anonymity, away from politics, away from the court. She’s finally free, Leon. You think dragging her back into the spotlight, back into a world that nearly destroyed her, is better?"

"It’s not better if she’s being worked like a peasant. She’s the Saintess. She doesn’t belong here, scrubbing floors and washing dishes."

Chris’s expression hardens. "She’s not the Saintess anymore. She chose this life."

"Did she?" Leon stands abruptly, unable to contain the restless energy burning inside him any longer. He paces to the large windows, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. Outside, the gardens stretch out in a sea of green, the flowers and foliage swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. His hands press against the cold stone windowsill, knuckles turning pale as his grip tightens. "Or did the temple abandon her, strip her of her title, and toss her into the gutter? She didn’t have a choice, Chris. She was thrown into this because they used her and discarded her when she was no longer useful."

Finally, Chris exhales, the tension in his body deflating as he slumps back into his chair, running a hand over his face. "You don’t understand what you’re asking for. You think you can just walk in here, sweep her off her feet, and everything will be fine? You’re a noble now. If you marry her, you’ll expose her to the same world that's crushing you."

The words strike a chord in Leon. He looks away, running a hand through his hair, jaw tense. You'd be thrust into a world of backstabbing and corruption, of scheming nobility and ambitious opportunists, all vying for your attention and affection—just as he is. The thought makes something twist in his stomach. By trying to give you the life you deserve, he could very well condemn you to the same fate as him. The irony isn’t lost on him.

After a moment, he meets Chris's gaze with equal intensity. "I can keep her safe."

"And marry a maid instead of a princess? What do you think will happen to keeping her safe once the word gets out? They'll tear into her name trying to figure out who she is and where she came from. Every detail of her life will be dissected by the public. There's no going back after that, Leon."

"I've already purchased a title for her. Daughter of an inconsequential Baron in the countryside, far away from court intrigue. I won't hurt her, I swear to you, I won't—"

"What are you going to do if she doesn’t want that? What if she’s content with the life she has now?"

Leon’s breath catches, his chest constricting painfully as the question slams into him with the force of a blow. His mind whirls, memories of you—laughing, serene, unreachable—colliding with the possible image of you now, hands roughened from labor, back bent in servitude.

Leon’s jaw clenches, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He’s never liked being questioned like this, least of all by someone who doesn’t understand the weight of what he feels. It’s not about control or power, it’s about making sure you’re safe. Protected. Cherished. You deserve more than the drudgery of a servant’s life, more than the anonymity of living in the shadows.

“Content isn't enough,” he snaps, sharper than intended. He looks out the window again, following the path the maid and gardener take as they disappear around the corner of the estate. The thought of you, hidden away, your light dimmed by the mundanity of daily life—it's unbearable. “I want her to be happy.”

“Not everyone wants the life we have. Hell, I barely want it sometimes.”

Leon stays silent for a moment, his mind racing. He’s known Chris for years, fought beside him, trusted him with his life on countless battlefields. And yet, at this moment, it feels as though Chris doesn’t understand him at all. How can he not see that you deserve better? That you deserve more than what this world has handed you?

“I can protect her,” Leon repeats, though the words feel hollow now, like he’s trying to convince himself more than Chris. He turns away from the window.

Chris exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, the lines of stress deepening around his eyes.

Leon’s throat tightens, frustration and something deeper clawing at his chest. He knows Chris is right. He knows it. But that doesn’t make it any easier. He wants to protect you, to shelter you from the harshness of the world, to wrap you in the safety and comfort that he can provide. But what if that’s not what you want? What if you’ve already found peace in the simple life you’ve built for yourself here?

Silence stretches between them, uncertainty flooding the room like a heavy mist. For a while, neither speaks, the only sounds are the faint rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds outside. He watches another maid rush to the gardens down below, idling, starting to tend to it, and his mind wanders, consumed by the possibility of what might be. Of you, warm and smiling, dressed in luxurious gowns, wearing jewelry, no longer burdened with hard labor.

"I know you feel for her," Chris states, breaking the silence.

"Of course, I feel for her! She's the Saintess, Chris. She's—" Leon pauses midway through his outburst, catching the glint in his friend's eye and stopping short. He runs a hand over his face, exhaling heavily. "I've sworn loyalty to her. That isn't going to change."

"So, marriage, all for the sake of her station. What if she wants to marry for love? Did you think about that?"

No.

Leon didn't think about that at all.

His brows furrow, his knuckles white as he grips the windowsill, the confession sinking into him with a force. Had he not taken a vow to Ethelion during his first visit to the cathedral, just to protect the Saintess? Then he'll honor it, he's decided, and it isn't only because he's loyal to his word. There's an unmistakable desire inside him, one he doesn't quite know how to quantify, a selfish, possessive urge that wants to wrap you in silk and diamonds and lace and never let you go. He'd marry you to keep you protected and by his side. He would wed you out of devotion to his duty and to you. He would lay his heart at your feet, offer himself, kneel before you, worship you—if he could.

His heart aches at the thought of you being taken away by some faceless somebody who doesn't deserve you. No, the mere idea of it sets every nerve in his body on fire, a deep, unsettled rage stirring in his gut. Who could ever be worthy of something sacred and untouchable as your love?

The imagination cuts him deeper than any knife could, his ribcage can't expand as if a chestplate way too small for him was forcibly wrapped around his torso. The thought is enough to draw a pained noise out of him, a sound more animal than human, a feral, primal part of himself roaring at the notion. He shakes his head as if to clear the vision from his mind, swallows thickly as he stares blankly out of the window, unable to meet the man's gaze. Beneath his boots, the floor feels unsteady, and for a second, he thinks he might topple over, sink to the ground. Instead, he presses his palms against the stone wall beside the window, anchoring himself to something solid.

The truth is that he's in a position to make a difference in your life, to provide security and happiness beyond your wildest dreams. And Leon would use all that he has for you. Everything he owns, all that he possesses—it's all yours, if only you would accept it.

He ends up saying, "She deserves respect. I can give her that," while focusing on the two workers down in the garden to gain back his footing.

Interrupting the conversation is the door creaking open, and the maids enter, carrying trays of refreshments. The soft clink of glass against polished silver fills the space as they move about, placing items on the low table before the fire. Leon remains by the window, facing the crisp autumn air head blowing in from the open windows on, his silhouette bathed in golden sunlight, hands clasped behind his back, his posture taut.

He hears Chris mutter something, dismissing the maids, but one set of footsteps lingers. A single presence. And Leon knows those gentle, deliberate footsteps like the back of his own hand. He stiffens, arms loosening to hang by his sides like a soldier coming to attention, his throat going dry. He doesn't turn, not yet, unwilling or perhaps unable to face what he feels coming.

“Here she is," Chris says with a quiet finality. "You wanted to speak to her, didn't you? Talk then. I'll be right outside. Don't take too long."

With that, he pushes up from the armchair, taking one of the glasses with him and heading towards the door. The door clicks shut behind Chris, the sound of it like the final toll of a bell, sealing his fate. And for a moment, there's nothing, no movement, no words. Just silence.

For a heartbeat, all Leon can do is stand frozen, the world narrowing to that small room, the soft breath of the person standing just a few steps behind him. Your perfume—lilies and a hint of freshly washed linen—drifts towards him, washing over him in an alluring, almost numbing wave. In this instant, it feels as if all the time and distance he's crossed to find you has brought him back to the cathedral, when you were still the Saintess, veiled and untouchable. You seem to surround him, overwhelming his senses, making the past few years vanish, as if he's walked right into a waking dream.

You shift, and he can sense the slightest movement, like an electrical current beneath his skin, drawing his attention and heightening his awareness of your proximity. He turns slowly, the motion almost hesitant, breath catching as he takes in the figure standing near the exit of the room, framed by the shadows close to the walls.

You're not the same as he remembers. You don't wear flowing robes of pristine white or a veil that obscures your features, standing there, awkward and still, a tray balanced delicately in your hands. The clothing doesn't even resemble the uniform of a saintess—or what the servant garb should look like at the estate. Yet, somehow, in this instance, seeing you dressed like this, a demure maid, hits him with a sense of injustice that tears at his heart.

When your gazes collide, he doesn't know where to look. His gaze darts briefly to the floor, to the mahogany paneling, to anywhere that isn’t your face. The vulnerability that grips him is unfamiliar, unsettling, and it leaves him feeling unmoored, as though the ground beneath his feet might give way at any moment.

When he finally musters the courage to look back up and take in your features with all of his heart without being ashamed by it and feeling like he might go blind like he's looking directly at the sun, it’s in time to catch your wide-eyed stare. You’re just as stunned as he is—perhaps more so—as if you've seen a ghost. And then the tray falls from your hands with a clatter, sending the wine splashing across the expensive rug, a red river swirling with gold.

"Oh, I'm—I apologize!" You flinch back, crouching down hastily to gather the tray with trembling hands. You grab at the cloth napkin and dab at the carpet frantically, desperately trying to mop up the spill.

His body reacts faster than his mind does, and he closes the distance in two long strides, falling to his knees in front of you. His hands cup yours, fingers curling gently around yours. You jolt in surprise, shoulders tensing, but don’t pull away.

"It's alright." His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. He glances at you and sees your brow creasing as you hold his gaze, your eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please."

There's a sudden prickling pressure at the backs of his nose, the threat of tears threatening to break through, and he drops his head, inhaling a steadying breath. Goddamnit. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the swell of emotion to subside.

Your response is softer than the rustle of pages in a book, almost a whisper, barely audible in the silence of the room. "Sir Leon...?"

The sound of his name is both a caress and a dagger, digging into the tender parts of him that have been raw and exposed.

"Saintess." The word slips out on a ragged breath before he can stop it, an involuntary confession. "I've returned to you."

The warmth of your fingers pressing against his startles him the moment you move, and he becomes aware of what he's been doing -- touching you so carelessly. The newfound title and fame couldn't have gotten to his head so badly that he would forget himself now, could it? Leon can't be sure whether he'd really been the type to behave like a reckless fool all along or if his meeting with you just now and seeing your form for the first time after years had broken down the little that remained of the disciplined man.

Heat climbs his throat and settles in his ears—you're not someone who he can put his hands on. Not even a stranger at this point, to him. In the back of his mind, the young boy with the sickly body remembers that he was touched by you, as a child, the day you healed him, the sensation still vivid, even after so many years.

Leon withdraws, shifting to a kneeling position as he clasps his hands together on his thighs. He tilts his chin upward to find you still crouched in the same position as well, with the wet napkin clenched tightly in your hands, holding your gaze fixed on him. Your intense focus, the way you're studying every line of his face, drinking in his appearance—it makes Leon swallow harshly, hoping his cheeks wouldn't color under your unabashed scrutiny.

"You..." You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor as you fix your bonnet, as if unsure you should give shape to the words. "I'm no longer the Saintess. The temple has appointed another."

Something twists in his chest, a dark, twisting ache that's become all too familiar as of late. "You think I don't know that?" He means to sound understanding, patient, but instead, his words come out biting, edged with frustration. He deflates when you blink rapidly at him, startled at the change in his demeanor. "I'm sorry," he breathes, offering a shaky smile, "it's just... it was just a lot to take in."

It's a hell of an understatement, but it seems to satisfy you, at least enough to relax a fraction. Still, he watches as your shoulders rise and fall in a shuddering motion, a soft intake of air escaping you.

"We shouldn't be sitting on the floor."

"Ah, yes!" He scrambles to his feet, extending a hand to help you to yours.

When his fingers brush the back of your palm, he feels that same shock, the hairs on his arm standing on end, like an electrical charge, and it takes all his willpower not to snatch his hand away. Instead, he curls his fingers tighter around you, a reflex, and pulls you to your feet. He keeps you steady as you straighten, your bodies close enough that he swears he can feel the heat radiating off yours, warming him better than the fireplace ever could.

He shouldn't.

He really...

"You've changed."

At the sound of your voice, Leon blinks, returning to the present. It takes him a moment to realize he'd been staring. "What, no 'welcome home'?" The attempt at levity dies on his lips when he sees your expression—earnest, searching—and he swallows hard, forcing a tight smile. "Sorry. Impertinent now, aren't I?"

"No—"

"Come," he gestures towards the couch, "sit with me for a bit. It's been... a long time, hasn't it?"

You hesitate for a beat, uncertainty flashing across your features before you nod slowly, allowing him to lead you to the chaise by the hearth, the same seat Leon vacated.

As you settle, his eyes sweep over you, noting your appearance in excruciating detail. A faded grey dress, loose and modest, the neckline high and unfashionable. Lace cuffs, fraying at the edges. Thick wool stockings visible from the ankles, probably borrowed and a size too big, peeking out from under the hem of your skirt. Hems threadbare. Even now, you make it look lovely. Elegant. He wants to get on his knees.

He clears his throat, pulling his thoughts back to the present. "I wanted to—"

"How did you—"

Your words stumble over each other in a rush, and you stop short, caught halfway through your sentence.

He holds his tongue, waiting for you to finish.

"I'm sorry, please, continue," you bow your head apologetically, embarrassment in the flutter of your lashes.

"No, no, it's okay. Please," he motions for you to speak.

You press your palms flat against your lap, smoothing out your wrinkled skirts, trying to buy yourself a few seconds. "Why, I wondered... why you came to see me. After all these years, after everything?"

Why.

Now that was a loaded question.

"Because I swore a vow, didn't I?" He offers a small grin, but it wavers as he tries to explain. "I mean. To—"

"Are you perhaps here to call me to account for my failure, as a servant of Ethelion?" You ask, shaking, almost on the verge of tears. "For failing all my paladins when I should have protected you?"

You duck your head again, hiding behind the brim of your bonnet. Your gaze dips to the floor, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your skirts. But not before he catches a glimpse of the haunted expression, the torment and regret clear in the line of your mouth, pulled tight with emotion.

Leon slips off of the chaise all too easily, kneeling on the ground before you, his body moving of its own accord, as if drawn in by an irresistible force. He's so close that if he were to try looking down, he could just... rest his forehead on your knees, lean against your legs for support.

"What are you doing?" You start, half rising from your seat as if you're about to bolt, shocked at his boldness, but sit back down when you can't go anywhere with him as a barrier. “Sir Leon! Stop it, you can't—"

But he doesn't. He stays right there, unmoving, not daring to push boundaries. "You never failed anyone," he says earnestly, speaking with a clarity that catches you by surprise. "Not our cause, not me, not any paladin. It wasn't you who sent us to battle, it was those who served the gods, and they... They ordered their own people into a fight for their own glory."

He pauses, glancing up at your teary eyes, the disbelief, and he knows that you won't believe him, that the guilt will cling to you for days or weeks after today. If he's being honest with himself, the grief of losing his comrades may never fully go away, but—you haven't abandoned them. He will make damn sure you never consider yourself complicit in what happened, for as long as he lives.

Your lips quiver, and you tilt your head away from him, as though wanting to shield your face from view. He hates that he can't do anything to assuage your pain, to shoulder some of the burden you're carrying, but he's equally fascinated by this side of you, hidden and vulnerable, that he rarely saw when you were a saintess. He's grateful, too, that you're trusting him enough to see you like this.

You waver, thin and unsteady, as you respond, "And now what do you need? I'm no longer a Saintess who can bless your endeavors. I can’t give you anything."

The way you say it…

The words feel clumsy on his tongue at what you just said, inadequate compared to the burning intensity of what he truly wishes to convey. There’s too much to be said. That he’d never want anything out of you, that he wouldn’t stand you talking about yourself like something to be exploited, that he hates the way you see yourself…

It's tempting, so tempting, to just reach out. To slide his hand between yours, interlacing your fingers like lovers might. To curl his arm around your waist and draw you closer, to pull your smaller frame into him. It would be easy, so easy. But it would also be improper, disrespectful, wrong. And besides, despite what some might think, he knows how to restrain himself. He doesn't allow his hands to follow through with these baseless impulses.

Instead, he sits back on his heels like a dog, folding his hands in front of him. His posture is stiff and formal, mirroring your own, but his heart hammers wildly in his chest, betraying the calm façade he's attempting to maintain.

"I know you're no longer Saintess," he begins carefully. Your breath catches audibly at the title, and he hurriedly continues, "But I swore an oath to you, nonetheless, and I intend to honor it. You're my Saintess. Always will be."

Silence stretches between you, and he averts his gaze, focusing intently on the swell of your knees, afraid that if he looks at you, he'll break. "It's my duty to protect you, if you'll let me. I—" His words falter, caught in his throat as he struggles to speak past the sudden tightness there, "I swear upon Ethelion, I'll never leave your side. No matter what."

The room falls quiet again, save for the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the soft hiss and pop as the wood splits apart, consuming itself. Outside, the sounds of birds singing in the breeze drift in, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the wind, distant conversations floating upwards from the grounds below. He counts the heartbeats pounding against his ribcage, three... four... five...

"Leon, what..?"

"Please marry me."

The words slip out, almost involuntarily, as though they'd been perched on the tip of his tongue, waiting for an opening to leap free. The silence grows, stretching taut between you, until he can't stand it any longer.

You draw a breath, and he raises his head. There's no mistaking it now — your eyes widen, and your shoulders tense as you sink back into the cushions of the couch. For a split second, the surprise gives way to something approaching fear, and a surge of panic wells up inside him at the sight.

This isn't what he intended — or, rather, not quite. He meant to ease you into the idea, to present his offer gently and smoothly, the proposal rehearsed in his mind countless times before. But his usual composure and decorum have abandoned him today, and now his mouth is running far ahead of his mind.

"Wh...Why?"

Of all the possible responses you could give, that is perhaps the most unexpected one. He stares at you dumbly, utterly thrown, fumbling for an answer. "I would cherish your hand in mine," he answers after a beat, trying to salvage his words, "I would treasure you, more than anyone ever could."

"But why?"

Leon's frustration bubbles to the surface. “This—” he gestures to the simple dress you wear, the apron tied around your waist, the calluses that have begun to form on your hands from hours of labor. “This is beneath you. Bowing down to others, doing their bidding… this isn’t what you’re meant for.”

Something flares behind your eyes—hurt? Anger? Indignation?

Before he can analyze your reaction too deeply, you ask again, more forcefully this time, “Why do you think it’s beneath me? Just because I don’t hold a sword like you or a blessing scepter in my hand doesn’t mean what I do is any less important—"

"It's not like that!" Leon interjects.

"—You think I should be wasting away as an ornament somewhere, is that what I am to you—"

"That's not what I meant! I meant I'd want to provide for you and protect you, and—"

"From what?! What is there to protect me from here?"

He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing the neatly coiffed locks and lets out an aggravated huff. "They don’t deserve you. The people here… they don’t deserve your labor, your effort. You should be served, not serving others.”

He must have said the wrong thing, your brows knit together as you frown, clearly displeased by his statement. Something in the twist of your lips sends a tremor through him, the way the set of your jaw is so determined, so stubborn, even against his arguments. This is the first time he's seeing fire from you instead of light, a display of character beyond the serene saintess façade you had to carry during the days at the cathedral. It makes heat pool in the pit of his belly, something heavy settling in his lungs and he's suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around doing nothing because—because you still see me as someone divine?" You shake your head, adamant in the words you utter. "I have purpose here! The Redfields have been kind to me, they took me in—"

"But you serve. You still serve."

Your words seem to die at what he says at the very end. Still serve. "I beg your pardon?"

"You bled every single day. Serving in the temple, serving the masses, serving others with a smile on your face, to the point of losing yourself. Used yourself, your strength, your grace, gave up your sleep and food and even your freedom. Your dignity, as the temple tried to mold you to suit whatever they wanted. That's all you knew for years and then just dropped into the world to figure things out by yourself, and went back to what you know best once more. Serve. This time, under a different name. A Saintess. A servant. It's not all that different, you know. And maybe you don't know how else to live. But I'm here to change that for you. To give you a choice."

Something wounded takes over you, like an injured animal struck by surprise before it bolts. A deep chill settles in him at how lost you look, how frightened and unsure, so unguarded and unprepared for him. He doesn't even know if this conversation is making you feel worse or better; maybe his intentions are clearer now, or more nefarious. It hurts either way, but Leon doesn't back down, doesn't look away from you.

The tears begin to fall without warning, trailing hot and wet down your cheeks. Leon's face crumples at the sight, shame washing over him at causing you distress. He reaches up instinctively, wanting to brush them away, but his fingers only graze your skin for a second before you flinch back and turn, covering your face with a hand as you forcibly stand up from the couch and move away from him.

He lets you go, a pang shooting through him as you cross the room. But when you reach the door, your steps hesitate, and his pulse stutters when you glance over your shoulder at him one last time.

"All I ask of you is to think about it," he pleads, not able to hide the note of misery in his voice as he leans toward your direction, hands placed on where you were just resting, fingers sinking into the cushions, "please."

Your lips part as if you're going to say something. You almost speak, almost giving way to your thoughts. Then you shut your mouth and dart forward, yanking the doors open and fleeing the room.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon x reader

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

Hi. Can I request a drabble with Jungkook where they’re in a secret relationship and they think their friends are not aware of it but they’re actually really bad at hiding it. Thank you!

decided to combine these two. thank you both for the requests!

this one ran away from me but was really fun, so we're going to ignore the wordcount. hope you both enjoy! <3

obviously

pairing: jungkook x f. reader genre: secret relationship au, roommate au; crack, fluff warnings: two idiots engaging in idiot behavior, swearing, yoongi is tortured by reader's use of emojis, drinking/alcohol, one reference to jungkook wearing women's underwear but it isn't a thing, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 3.7k

In retrospect, getting married at nineteen wasn’t your brightest idea.

Not your worst, either, because at least you’d chosen well.

There are undoubtedly far worse men to have as your ex-husband than Kim Namjoon, who had also gotten caught up in all those romantic cliches about young love; had also been inflicted with whatever illness made you believe getting married so young was smart and cool; had also woken up one day and thought what the fuck are we doing and asked if you wanted to call it quits.

You did.

And even though you loved Namjoon, over time it turned into that platonic life partner kind of love and not that all-encompassing, love of your life, eternal kind of love. So, Namjoon offered to pay for the divorce with his grad school stipend and took his name off the lease so you could find a new roommate and insisted on meeting up every other week for takeout and cheap alcohol because he had a whole thing about not wanting it to be weird.

Now, here you sit, years removed from the most affectionate and anticlimactic divorce of all time, and you wonder what could be more weird than your ex-husband making you a Tinder profile.

“I know what you like,” he insists, cheeks ruddy from the wine. Namjoon talks endlessly on a good day, but he’s nearly impenetrable when he’s got some merlot in him. “No one’s more qualified to do this than me.” You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Except you, of course,” he hurriedly adds.

“Have you ever stopped to think—”

Namjoon heaves an exaggerated groan, hand to his forehead as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “You have no idea.”

You roll your eyes. “Have you ever stopped to think,” you repeat, “that there might be a reason I don’t have a Tinder? Or any dating profile, for that matter?”

“Yeah, you’re obviously still in love with me,” he jokes, laughing wildly at the absurdity of it; elbows you in the side as he wiggles his eyebrows. What could be weirder than your ex-husband treating you like one of his bros? “But alas, I’ve moved on, and so the time has come for you to also—”

“Either shut up or drink more,” you interject, filling his glass nearly to the brim. “You’re insufferable when you’re like this.”

Namjoon, seemingly out of arguments, simply hums in acknowledgment. Downs half the wine you’d just poured him, because out of the two options you’d presented him with, it’s the more realistic choice. Asks, “What’s your preferred age range?” before snorting another laugh and setting it from 18 to 50 for his own amusement.

“You know, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” he retorts, and there’s no judgment there, just genuine curiosity. You know he’s just having a laugh, would delete it and never mention it again if you asked him to, but the thing is—

The front door opens, and there stands your roommate, arms full of bags from Daiso. “Hey, ba—”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks when he sees your ex-husband. Coughs to cover the pet name that nearly tumbled out of his mouth and lifts his hand in a wave. Namjoon watches the way the weight of the bags causes the muscles in Jungkook’s forearm to flex and shoots you a look. Maybe he does know what you like, after all.

“Hi, Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook says, polite but still awkward, even after all these years. Can’t seem to shake it, no matter how hard he tries. “What are you two up to?”

Namjoon is none the wiser, used to the hushed awe Jungkook always adopts when he addresses him. Polite and endlessly kind because his mother raised him to never be anything less, but only ever jittery around Namjoon. Doesn’t act like this around any of your other friends; takes Seokjin’s teasing in stride and dishes it right back, but never Namjoon. Would probably rather die.

So Namjoon just waves back, says, “Hi, Jungkook-ah,” before he returns his attention to his phone. Doesn’t look up when you abandon him on the couch to help unpack the bags. Says, “I’m signing her up for Tinder so she can finally get laid,” and also doesn’t look up when Jungkook chokes on an inhale and one of the bags splits in half.

Before he moved in with you, Jungkook lived with Hoseok.

It’d gone great, all things considered. Jungkook couldn’t have asked for a better first roommate, fresh out of high school and his family home and hundreds of kilometers from the salty air of Busan. He’d nearly been sick with anxiety, all green around the edges, and Hoseok had pulled him into a hug and calmed his fraying nerves. Helped him with his homework and taught him how to cook and pecked at his heels like a mother hen when his room got too messy.

Just like he’s doing now.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, not at all able to hide the surprise in his voice when he pulls open the door and finds Hoseok on the other side. “What are you doing here?”

Hoseok tuts. “I told you I was coming by this weekend to clean. I haven’t been here in weeks—”

“I know how to clean,” Jungkook argues, face growing warm from misplaced embarrassment, that Hoseok still thinks he’s a dumb kid who doesn’t know any better. “I said you didn’t have to come.”

His hyung’s face softens. “I know you know how to clean, Jungkookie, I’m just… I still feel responsible for you. You’re the first child I raised and released into the world.”

Jungkook sighs. Knows this is a losing argument. Opens the door wide enough to accommodate Hoseok and his bags of cleaning supplies, and doesn’t say a word as he follows Hoseok around the apartment even though he wants to say, I told you so. The entire place is spotless. There’s nothing to clean. No dust on the floor. Sparkling kitchen countertops. Laundry freshly-washed and hung on the drying rack by the window, warm in the midday sun. No toothpaste in the bathroom sink; no hard water stains on the shower glass.

All that’s left is Jungkook’s bedroom. That, too, is spotless, and Hoseok has never had a poker face and certainly can’t muster one now. “Why is it so clean in here?” he asks, taking in the bare floor, void of dirty clothes and whatever hobby equipment Jungkook had taken up that week; the pristinely-made bed with its hospital corners and fluffed pillows; the end tables that are suspiciously void of dust.

“Because I know how to clean,” Jungkook tartly replies, rolling his eyes. “I told you, there’s—”

“Are you even living in here?” Hoseok continues, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the way Jungkook starts to panic. “Because it doesn’t smell weird, either, and we all know that wasn’t the case before.”

“I have an air freshener.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hoseok continues his search. Actually praises Jungkook on the way he’d organized his clothes, the fact that everything in his drawers is folded and not shoved in haphazardly, that the few nice pieces he owns are hung in the closet. Kneels on the floor to check under the bed: empty, except for the XBox controller Taehyung had left behind the last time he came over to binge Valorant.

And Jungkook should’ve known—should’ve anticipated this—because it’s his Hobi-hyung and if there’s anything his Hobi-hyung is neurotic about it’s cleanliness and he’s got eyes like a hawk, makes him deadly efficient at spotting dust, so it’s really no surprise when he lets out a shrill a-ha! and pops out from under the bed with a pair of lacy underwear pinched between his fingers, but Jungkook should’ve anticipated it, anyway.

“And what do we have here?”

What Hoseok has here is Jungkook’s favorite pair of your underwear, but he can’t say that, so he just feels the way his face flushes with embarrassment again and wonders if he’d get out of the impending interrogation if he starts crying. “Um. Nothing?”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing,” Hoseok continues, voice animated and lilting, the teasing smile evident even though Jungkook can’t bring himself to look. “Can’t believe my little Jungkookie is all grown up.”

Jungkook doesn’t feel grown up, he feels mortified. Feels like he wants to sink right through the floor, like he wants to disappear for three to five business years. Feels like an idiot for being so insistent on all this secrecy, because now he can’t tell Hoseok that the lacy underwear he’s inspecting belongs to you and that the two of you have been together for a while, that it’s great, Jungkook thinks this might be It, and all he can do is blurt out the first thing he can think of, which is—

“It’s mine.” Hoseok’s head turns so fast his neck creaks. “I’m, uh. Experimenting.”

Hoseok shrieks. Jungkook shrieks. “What the fuck,” Hoseok shrieks again as he drops the underwear to the floor and kicks it under the bed. “Why wouldn’t you just say that—”

“That’s what you get for going through my stuff!”

Hoseok doesn’t come over to clean again.

On the weeks you don’t see Namjoon, you spend your Fridays having game night at Jimin’s.

It’s always a raucous affair—wouldn’t be possible any other way with the friend group you’ve got, now seamlessly blended with Jungkook’s—and it’s always your responsibility to supply the snacks. You pop into the store after work, leave with your arms full of junk like you looted the place, and the man in front of you in line takes so long you miss the bus and have to wait for the next.

Which leaves you very little time to get ready, so you rush through a shower to rinse off the work grime and grab the first pair of leggings and sweatshirt you see, slip your feet into slides that may or may not be yours, and run down the hall to Jimin’s.

Laughter can be heard from just outside the door—Hobi’s and Jin’s louder than everyone—and it makes you smile. Warmth blooms in your chest, all affection, and it has you feeling terribly fond of this group you’ve cobbled together. Has you smiling wider as you punch in Jimin’s door code and let yourself inside. Has you dropping off the snacks in the kitchen and wanting to hug the first person you find, except one Park Jimin has other plans.

“Why are you wearing Jungkookie’s hoodie?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You look down. Certainly is Jungkook’s hoodie, mixed in with the clean laundry you hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet, and you’re sure there’s no hiding the way your jaw drops a little. The man in question is across the room, stuck in a conversation about fuck knows what with Taehyung, and he sends you a panicked look that can only be an instruction to lie your ass off. So you huff, say, “What d’you mean? This is mine,” and paint on the most annoyed expression you can conjure.

“It absolutely is not yours,” Jimin retorts.

This time you look annoyed for real. “Ugh, who cares? Since when did you become an expert on our personal belongings?”

When you first met Jimin, you’d been tricked into thinking he was a sweet, innocent angel; the kind of person who would do anything for his loved ones, including not interrogating them over whose clothes they wear. Quickly, you learned this was not the case. Jimin is lovely and kind, but he’s also perceptive as hell and shameless, so he smirks knowingly and answers with, “Since I bought them.”

Which… makes sense, you can admit. You vaguely recall Jungkook’s last birthday and the way he’d gasped and insisted on Jimin returning the hoodie he’d gifted him because it was too expensive and the way Jimin had laughed and waved him off, because Jungkook has always been his favorite and he’s never attempted to hide it. The hoodie you’re wearing now could, theoretically, be that exact gift. It’s definitely soft enough to be made from something expensive.

“Oh,” you reply, changing gears entirely. “Well, you know how it is. Sometimes laundry gets mixed up. I’m sure you and Taehyung have worn each other’s clothes by accident, too.”

Jimin doesn’t buy it, you can tell, but he thankfully drops the issue. Watches you and Jungkook like a hawk for the rest of the night, just waiting to capitalize on any other slip-ups, but you purposely fall into a conversation with Yoongi that’s too boring for any normal human to follow along with, and Jungkook calls dibs on Mario Kart until someone can beat him, so there are no slip-ups to catch.

However, if the one constant of your friend group is that Jungkook is Jimin’s favorite regardless of Taehyung’s pouting, the second is that Jung Hoseok cannot hold his liquor.

He’s four mixed drinks deep, skin flushed and eyes half-lidded with sleep, when he stands on top of Taehyung and Jimin’s coffee table and shouts, for everyone to hear, “Hey, did you guys know Jungkookie started wearing women’s underwear?”

For once, this comes as a complete shock to you, too.

The thing about being in love, Jungkook finds, is that it’s nearly impossible to shut up about it.

He’s trying to be cool. He’s trying to be normal. He feigns delight and care when his coworkers talk about their partners, pretends he’s paying attention and not just waiting for his turn to talk about you. He prints pictures of the two of you off his phone and frames them and displays them at his desk, and all someone has to say is, “That’s a cute picture, Jungkook-ssi—” before all his affection for you erupts out of him like a volcano.

So far he’s been careful. His coworkers are sick of hearing about you, but they’re an outlet for everyone he can’t talk about you with. Like his friends, because he’d decided early on it was better to keep everything a secret for a little bit because he didn’t want things to be weird (and because he’s low-key terrified of Namjoon, because he’s gentle and clumsy but he’s still big) and now he’s regretting it but it feels like it’s gone on too long and he’s in too deep.

Really, it’s no surprise he slips up. Has probably been overdue for one like this for a while.

They’re at the arcade. Taehyung has sunk the last of his disposable income for the week into a claw machine stocked with LINE characters. Wants to win a Sally plushie for Jimin because he says they look alike. It’s cute, the bond they have, platonic soulmates the way you and Namjoon are, and Jungkook is starry-eyed and love-drunk when he heaves a wistful sigh and thinks out loud, “I should win something for her, too.”

The words catch Taehyung so off-guard his hand slips and presses the button to lower the claw. “Press it again,” Jungkook says. “If you double-press the button, it makes the claw stronger. You’ll get it.”

Taehyung is wary, still dazed from Jungkook’s slip-up, but he presses the button again anyway. The claw tightens around Sally’s head and drags her up and out of the pile, drops her into the chute and to Taehyung’s waiting hand. “Oh shit! Jungkookie, you’re a genius. Jimin’s gonna love this.”

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t know you didn’t know that trick or I would’ve told you sooner.”

His hyung nods absentmindedly, distracted with the selfie he’s sending to Jimin with Sally obscuring half his face. “Are you gonna try now?”

Jungkook swallows. “Huh?”

“You said you were gonna win something for someone.”

“No I didn’t,” he lies.

Taehyung’s face drops. Gets all serious when he shoves his phone in his back pocket. “Yes you did. Right before I won this,” he says, large hands wrapped around Sally’s poor neck, clearly strangling her. “You said I should win something for her, too. Who’s ‘her’? Are you seeing someone?”

“I said him, hyung,” he lies again. Is thankful for the garish arcade lights and the way they hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I meant Jimin-hyung.”

“You did not,” Taehyung insists. “You said her, and now you’re trying to gaslight me—”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Feigns exasperation. Swipes his game card and stares his hyung right in the eye as he drops the claw and double-taps, somehow picking up two plushies. Tosses Brown to Taehyung and says, “Tell Jimin his favorite dongsaeng won him that one.”

Tucks Cony safely in his pocket to give to you later, thankful the universe came through for him for once.

You (10:42pm): babe

You (10:42pm): what time do you think you’ll be home?

You (10:43pm): 🍆🍆🍆

Yoongi (11:06pm): What the fuck

You (11:08pm): oh fuck

You (11:08pm): that was NOT meant for you

Yoongi (11:14pm): Fucking obviously

Yoongi (11:14pm): Please do not ever accidentally sext me again

You (11:15pm): gross yoongi

You (11:15pm): that wasn’t a sext

You (11:15pm): i need it for the bokkeum i’m making

Yoongi (11:17pm): At midnight? Fuck off

Yoongi (11:17pm): Trade proposal

Yoongi (11:17pm): You never accidentally sext me again and I won’t tell the rest of our friends you’re secretly dating your roommate

You (11:29pm): it’s not even midnight 🙄

You (11:29pm): but that sounds good to me, thanks!

Hoseok had taught Jungkook how to cook, but not how to bake.

They’d attempted it, once, not long after Jungkook moved to Seoul and was homesick and missing his mom’s yaksik something terrible. Just wanted something that tasted like home, something comforting, and Hoseok had felt so bad for him that he said fuck it, let’s try, what’s the worst that could happen, and the two of them learned very quickly that nearly burning down their kitchen and the rest of their building was, in fact, the worst thing that could happen.

They never tried baking a damn thing after that, individually or together.

Still, there’s a special occasion coming up, so Jungkook asks the only person he trusts to help him.

“You need a cake,” Seokjin intones, swallowing his smile when Jungkook nods and his mop of curls bobbles along. Takes out a notepad to jot down ideas. “What’s the occasion?”

“Um. Just an… occasion.”

Seokjin blinks owlishly. “You just need a cake for an occasion? Do you wanna try again and actually be helpful this time?”

“What does it matter if I’m paying you, hyung?” Jungkook whines. “Aren’t cakes all the same?”

“Not if you want me to decorate it—”

“I don’t.”

“—because what am I supposed to write on it? Happy occasion, person whose name Jungkookie won’t tell me! Do you see how that might not work out for either of us?”

“Again, what does it matter—”

Seokjin looks up from his notepad, brows furrowed. “Are you ordering this for the president? What’s with all the secrecy?”

Jungkook huffs, puts on his Very Serious Face. “I can just take my business elsewhere if you’re going to interrogate me, hyung,” he says, to which Seokjin rolls his eyes, used to Jungkook’s dramatics.

“Be my guest,” he calls his bluff, gesturing to the front door of the bakery. “No one else is going to give you as good a discount as me, though.”

“I bet Junghwan-ssi would,” Jungkook grumbles, low but loud enough for Seokjin to hear, because there isn’t much else Jungkook can say that’d get under his hyung’s skin as much as the mention of his arch nemesis. “I bet I could walk into his bakery right now and explain the whole situation to him and he’d practically give it to me for free, just so it meant you didn’t get my business.”

And it works. Seokjin’s eyes narrow, chest starts heaving. “You wouldn’t,” he accuses, and Jungkook just shrugs, nonplussed, daring Seokjin to find out.

What follows can only be described as a tense standoff: Seokjin behind the counter of his bakery, looking hilariously underdressed for this stalemate in his pink apron, armed only with a pen; Jungkook, looking smug and pleased on the other side, not even knowing what Junghwan’s bakery is called, let alone where it is. The bell above the door chimes and neither breaks eye contact to look, and it’d probably go on like this forever, knowing the two of them, except the person behind Jungkook clears their throat, asks, “Excuse me, are you in line…?” and Seokjin is forced to concede if he wants to stay in business.

The person orders a cake for their daughter’s birthday. Answers each of Seokjin’s questions with certainty and preparedness, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the looks Seokjin shoots at him. See how easy it is to answer simple questions? they say. Why can’t you be like this?

Jungkook can’t be like that because the cake is for your birthday. Which Seokjin knows, because he has all of his friends’ birthdays saved to his phone calendar, but he’s never gone out of his way to get you a cake before so Seokjin will absolutely know something’s up. And as he waits for the person to be done ordering, his heart aches a little, because he wants to tell Seokjin to make you the nicest cake he can. Wants him to pull out all the stops, because it’s your birthday and you deserve it, and he could say all those things if he hadn’t insisted on this stupid secrecy.

Guilt consumes him so entirely he doesn’t notice the person leaving. Doesn’t hear the chime of the bell above the door. Is halfway to spilling the entire story to Seokjin, gets as far as hyung, there’s something I— before Seokjin holds up a hand to stop him.

“What kind of cake would you like, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook deflates. Takes all those transgressions he was about to confess to and shoves them back inside his chest, locks them away. “Whatever you think is best, hyung. Just no nuts.”

And Seokjin smirks knowingly, because there’s only one person he knows with a nut allergy.

#work: 1kfm #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel answers #jewel writes

701 notes · View notes

anotherandomcollection · 18 days

Text

[prologue] Dear Diary...

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────── ≻─ ⋆✩ pairings: arlecchino x gn!reader ≻─ ⋆✩ warnings: some angst?, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, canon typical violence, mentions of death, slowburn - not beta read ≻─ ⋆✩ spoilers?: 4.6 (Arlecchino's story quest) ≻─ ⋆✩ synopsis: this is a series I'm writing - its in the form of dairy entries written from the reader's POV through the years.

this is just the prologue of how it all begins and provides insight on the background (on the reader) I made up :) There's no date for the diary entries but they progress forward.

≻─ ⋆✩ author's note: this was an idea that came to me in a dream (shower thoughts) /j I'm not too sure if this is a format that would be enjoyed, but I hope it is <3

≻─ ⋆✩ word count: 1.4K

[prologue]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I'm leaving. I'm leaving this godforsaken house - I'm probably going to sneak off during my next mission. It's a solo mission, though I think it's just a ploy from "Mother" to get rid of me. My left leg is still injured and the Doctor says I may never fully recover, I have a barely noticeable limp, but anything short of perfection is frowned upon in the House of the Hearth (of course it is; the "Marelle" games should be enough of an indicator).

I don't know why either, I've been good - though perhaps she doesn't approve of the friendship Clervie and I have forged (not that she has any motherly rights to decide that). Or perhaps with Peruere - she is probably the next "King", with the highest potential or whatnot.

I'm scared to leave as well, just the idea of leaving is heavily frowned upon and is punishable with death. Even if I don't die on the mission, if I am caught, I will die. I'm not sure if even Archon's can tell me what happened to the other's who tried to leave. "Mother" keeps a strict tab on everyone and who knows what in the house. Any secrets being spilled… I pray for them. I pray for mercy, because I know the Doctor has none.

I'm scared to leave, scared about the future too. I don't know how to leave when this house is almost all that I remember. "Mother" clothed me, fed me and has given me a roof over my head. No matter how hard I had to work for it, I was given a shelter. It scares me that I don't hate this place as much as you would expect me to… It scares me to leave everything I know and all the people I cherish for this.

The battle for "King" starts soon, I probably won't be around for it. I'll either be long gone or dead, if the mission from mother goes according to my plan, I'll be on my way to Sumeru. If it doesn't… then I suppose mother's plan to get rid of me would have succeeded (archon's know I am not in mission ready condition).

I know its selfish to leave Clervie and Peruere but I cannot stay. I will die. Perhaps I could have stayed in another time or another universe where this "orphanage" didn't exist.

I'm leaving them a letter, but I have planned to make it look like I have died, or imply it, at least then I won't be the villain in their eyes for abandoning them here to suffer at the hands of "Mother". Painfully Hopefully, we will never cross paths and I will never have to explain myself. I'm not sure if they would understand.

I don't know how to live with myself anymore, not with the things the house has made us do. We are children and… I miss my family. I see glimpses of them in my dreams and memories - it was so warm. It had actually felt like a home. I think I had an older sister and a younger brother but I cannot clearly remember. I wonder what happened to them (if they even exist). I hope that I could have had that in another universe, but alas, I cannot in this one.

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[there is a letter left to Clervie and Peruere, hidden in a spot only the three of you know about]

Hi Clervie and Peruere,

It's me, I'm sure you know my writing by now and I'm sorry that I cannot see both of you one last time. I'm leaving on my mission and I will likely not return. "Mother" plans for me to die - I know it so because I am not currently mission ready and she's been sending me on so many. I'm barely pulling through as it is and I don't think I will make it back from this one.

I will miss both of you and I'm sorry it will end this way.

I will miss watching the sunrise with you, Clervie, and I hope that you see the aurora you so wish to see one day. I'm… sorry that it has come to this and I hope you continue going to watch the sun bleed orange-red in the sky and turn the horizon into a mix of orange and purple and pink (like your hair!).

Peruere… I will miss our shared love for insects. I left you some sketches I made of Bambi. I will miss our walks in the garden trying to insect-watch and then having to hide when our caretakers come looking for us. I really did enjoy them.

[in the same envelope, there are some old sketches of the spider - several sheets of the insect in several positions and all carefully drawn and the pages carefully preserved]

I'm sorry. [next to it is a scribbled out line, too scribbled to even make out what the words mean]

[the letter is only read by one of the people its addressed to before it is thrown into the fireplace and turns to ash]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[the writing in this entry is shaky, tear drops are splattered on the page]

Dear Diary,

I heard Clervie died through the grapevine. I don't know what happened and I hope Peruere is doing alright. I only know she died in the battle for "King".

I don't know how to unpack this yet.

I'm scared

I thought I could maybe see them in the future. I don't know how to live knowing one of us will never get to grow up. It hurts so much. It hurts so much more than I thought this would...

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I got into the Sumeru Akademiya - under the Darshan Amurta and it specialises in biology. Particularly, I'm going to study insects! Which is probably more accurately called Entomology.

There's a new harbinger, Arlecchino. I don't know who that is, but I hear they are the new head of the House. "Mother" is dead. I hear the house has been taken over by a new "Father". I pray for the children each night. I hope the "Father" is nicer but the archon's know that is a stretch too far past reality. "Mother"… The Doctor… All the harbingers do is hurt and hurt.

I know first hand what both "Mother" and the Doctor does. Sometimes I wonder how they live with themselves. Perhaps both of them are crazy.

Perhaps it should satisfy me, that the person who tormented me and all the children is gone but there is none. It feels hollow and as terrible as it sounds, I… miss the house. It wasn't home, no, but there was some semblance of family, forged through sheer fear and understanding. I suppose it stops no one in the battle for King, it stops no one for the battle of recognition and the sheer desperation to survive.

But we all know why we do it.

I suppose we all understand. Understand enough to die without hatred. I wonder if Clervie felt the same. I hope her death was swift and as painless as possible. Archon's have mercy on her soul.

I've changed since the last time, I've changed my hairstyle and hopefully no one will recognise me. My injuries have been progressing well as well and my limp is almost gone. There's still the stress that weighs on me that someone will recognise me. I fear that someone from the Fatui recognises me - especially when they have their claws in every nation.

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

[years later...]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I'm going back to Fontaine. There has been an exchange in between both the Akademiya and the Fontaine Research Institute so I'll be going to study the Subdetection Units. They are these small units created by the Institute that monitors all sorts of environment data. It is extremely interesting and I wonder exactly what the units can record. Not only that but they are in the shape of insects!

I think these units are interesting and with some tweaking, it could be possible to track even more data from them. Particularly, underwater. These could also possibly monitor the area by the Fortress Meropide for escapees- The possibilities feel rather endless and I am probably being too ambitious, especially with little knowledge in the engineering behind these specific units.

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

Dear Diary,

I think I saw her again today.

[the writing is shaky on the page and this entry is startlingly short.]

──────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────

#arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader #arc.writes #genshin impact #fontaine #arlecchino #genshin

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sillyghostspace · 3 months

Text

"Emerald Chocolate" - Chief x Countess Chelsea

================================================

Author's Note: Before Angell, Countess Chelsea always made me feral and still up to this day, I'm feral for her. I want to be her sugar baby. I want her to spoil me. I'm just so down bad for her :3

Summary: It is Valentine's Day and Countess Chelsea wants to celebrate it with her beloved Chief.

Genre: Fluff, slow romance

Word Count: 8k

================================================

It was a normal day for the chief of the Minos Bureau of Crisis Control. Paper works were towering on the desk in front of them. They had to be careful or one slight mistake, bumping into that tower, for example, would result in a mess.

Again, it was a normal day. But not for long.

In a few hours time, this day would meet its end. And as the time kept ticking, the next day would arrive. And what would that mean?

Valentine’s Day.

14th of February. A day filled with hearts and chocolates, flowers and dates. It was the day when couples leveled up their relationship under the night sky and a comfortable, warm blanket. It also had a magic to create a chemistry between two people that weren’t in a relationship, combining them into a one which would give a birth to something called a new couple. With that, it was enough to say that the anticipation for this particular day was a bit more than the expectation.

At least Valentine’s Day had been that way before the world became ruins lost in the passage of time. If the world weren’t such a mess, Valentine’s Day would be greeted by more people with more welcoming arms. Alas, with the situation of the current world, 14th of February turned into another normal, boring day for everyone to get through. That was what Chief had believed, but something changed his mind in an instant.

The reason? It was because of the presence of a certain someone. Her name was Countess Chelsea.

“Chief, may I come in?” There was a voice coming from outside the door.

“Go ahead,” Chief said.

The sliding door opened to the sides, revealing a woman who was wearing an office suit, or at least what would be called as an office suit nowadays.

“I have something to report, Chief,” Nightingale said. Her green-ish, blue-ish hair was hanging on one of her shoulders. She didn’t wear the usual hat, showing more hair compared to the other days Chief had seen her.

Chief sighed. “Let me guess. It has something to do with Chelsea.”

Nightingale also sighed. Her lips moved. “Yes, Chief. It is not something urgent, but I still believe I should at least inform you of this.”

Countess Chelsea, more known as the woman who was behind the disappearance of the count. Her ability to turn organic matters into gems was, undoubtedly, inhuman. Therefore, there was only one conclusion waiting to be cast upon her, that she was actually a sinner. That power in itself was deadly, and without no doubt, it needed a tight supervision free of holes.

For some reason, though, when the bureau held her as a captive, she agreed without a fight. She did hide herself for quite some time, but after everything was exposed, she let herself being taken into the Minos Bureau of Crisis Control. She became docile. No one really knew why, but some would argue that Chief had a huge role in her change. The frightening monster that turned her enemies into gems as a mere revenge was no longer there, only a girl—closer to a maiden actually—who was seeking for an attention. However, as passive and obedient as she was, a sinner was still a sinner.

And according to how the rules worked, every sinner must be captured and secured within the confinement inside Minos Bureau of Minos Control. If not, and they conducted a well-thought break out plan, one wouldn’t be able to stop them all. Hell, they could do that without using a plan at all. Their powers were above humans, after all. To control them, it would be either by using weapons, especially the ones equipped with hypercubes, or by using Chief’s shackles which had been proven to be effective.

But today, or accurately these past 3 days, the chief might have bent the rules a bit for Countess Chelsea.

“It has been three days since we released Countess Chelsea out of her confinement and there hasn’t been a single report from her. We sent a few people to check on her mansion, but she wasn’t to be seen anywhere,” Nightingale explained.

“That troublemaker…”

For four days, Chief allowed Countess Chelsea to exit her confinement cell and went back to her mansion. Chelsea had to agree upon some condition, though, which made sense since the act of releasing a sinner out of their confinement without a proper reason would be considered as a crime.

One, Countess Chelsea had to make a report for each day she was outside the bureau. She would then send the report back to the bureau to be identified. How would the arrest crew identity that it was Countess Chelsea who wrote it? They made a special paper and ink in which only Countess Chelsea possessed it. Making a forgery out of it was also difficult.

Second, creating a problem that potentially could endanger the lives of other people would be dealt with a harsh punishment. The punishment was still up to a debate, especially considering how severe the problem she would create, in case she created any. It wasn’t a surprise, though. A reasonable condition for these dangerous people to roam around freely in DisCity.

Now, having reviewed these terms and conditions, it seemed Chelsea had already violated the first condition.

“How we should deal with this, Chief?” Nightingale asked. She still stood there, perfect posture as if nothing would ever budge her even an inch.

The Chief leant back on their chair. Their face looked tired. “Let her be.”

“Are you sure, Chief? Doesn’t that sound… quite irresponsible?”

“I can’t really deny that. But Countess Chelsea did ask for a four days long freedom outside the confinement. Let’s wait until tomorrow.” Chief raised their eyes until they and Nightingale made an eye contact. “In case we don’t get any report tomorrow, we will invite ourselves to her mansion.”

“…If that’s your order Chief, I will follow it.” Although Nightingale said that, it was quite apparent that she wasn’t really fond of the idea. She was Chief’s assistant after all. Anything that possessed the ability to be a threat to Chief would take her highest priority.

“Calm down, Nightingale. There’s no need to be worry,” Chief said, sensing Nightingale’s anxiety.

“I-I’m sorry. I think I’m just restless, Chief. Letting a sinner running loose in the city… an A-rank on top of that. If she decided to begin a riot…”

Chief listened to all of that. They stood up and walked elsewhere, leaving the desk covered with an uncountable amount of papers similar to trees in a jungle.

“Chief?” Nightingale asked.

Instead of answering, Chief stopped their steps at a coffee making machine. They grabbed two cups, poured the brown liquid until both cups were almost filled—just a few millimeters before they leaked from the cups’ mouths—and gave one of them to their assistant.

“Take this.” Chief pushed the cup gently, making sure the content inside it wouldn’t drop onto the floor.

“T-thank you, Chief,” Nightingale said. That was a very sudden thing, but she still took it, feeling the warm surface of the cup in her hand.

Chief put their lips on the cup’s mouth before tilting it upward a bit. The brown coffee flowed into their mouth. There was a sigh following that.

“To be fair, Countess Chelsea would be the last person appearing in my head if we were talking about a riot,” Chief said. They raised their eyebrows a little. “Don’t you think the same, Nightingale?”

“Ahhh…” Nightingale, still holding a cup in her hand, finally understood what her chief had just said. A little smile appeared on her face as she also enjoyed the warm coffee pouring down into her stomach. “I guess you’re right, Chief. Countess Chelsea is… more on the peculiar side.”

This particular sinner didn’t possess any threat toward Chief or anyone near Chief. That was a definite fact everyone had already known. Was it that much of a surprise, though? When the sinner wanted Chief to be her sugar baby—and to repeat that, *her. sugar. baby.—it would be safe enough to say no one thought her as a threat, at least for now.

“Let her go loose a bit. Sooner or later, she will come back,” Chief said while placing the empty cup on the desk.

“Okay, Chief.”

They began to close the curtain of their conversation. But at the same time, far from this closed office room, a woman—a bit taller than her peers—was tying her long pink hair into a ponytail. It was quite messy, but as long as it worked for her, it didn’t bother her that much. With what she was about to do, makeup wasn’t needed and yet, her face still radiated the usual beauty and elegance.

“Get me a knife.”

She was talking to a man standing beside her. In a mansion as big as this, having only two people felt pretty lonely. Then again, it was the truth.

The man, who was wearing a suit similar to that of a butler, offered a knife. “Are you sure you want to do this, Countess?”

“There’s no going back now. And since tomorrow is a special day, I want to do something more,” she said. There was a joy in her voice as she took the knife and began to chop a brown-colored block.

She didn’t make clean cuts. The sizes between each piece weren’t exactly the same, and she did hit her fingers a few times. But would it stop her? Absolutely not. She only had one thing in her mind and, like an arrow shooting straight, she wouldn’t stop until her shot hit the target.

It wasn’t a complex procedure, but since it was the lady’s first time, the lack of experience she had made all of it seemed more difficult than what it should have been. She melted the brown pieces using a pot. She stared as their previous shapes were no longer visible. Her butler was standing behind her. He couldn’t take away his eyes from his Countess, making sure that the lady he served wouldn’t accidentally turn the kitchen, or even the mansion, into ashes and “all hell break loose”.

The countess poured down the brown liquid into molds with a certain shape. Sweats were pouring down on her cheeks, and she made sure she wiped it again and again. The last thing she wanted would be adding the saltiness of her bodily fluid into the chocolate she had put her heart into.

“I think it’s done,” Countess Chelsea said. Her ponytail swung to the sides as she walked backward. “Just need to put it in the freezer.”

“Let me do it for you, Countess.” The butler stepped forward.

“Ah, I can do it myself. There’s no point in me making this if I’m asking for a help,” she said with a smile. Her apron was covered with melted chocolate. Her cheeks also suffered from the same fate, but she didn’t care.

The only thing on her mind was to make the best chocolate ever for a certain person. Thinking about them, she couldn’t wipe off that smile of her face.

Countess Chelsea turned her body until she faced her butler. “What about the other preparations? Are they already done?”

“Yes, Countess.”

“Perfect.” Countess Chelsea took a short pause. Her eyes lit up for a moment. “And… what about… ‘that’?”

It sounded ambiguous as if she was saying it in a secret code. The butler, however, understood that, and he—with no hesitation, nodded his head. “No need to be worry, Countess. Everything has been set according to your order. We will do it as soon as you say it.”

“Wonderful.” A grin appeared on the countess’s face. It could be because she had just heard such a good news coming from her subordinate. That or the fact the day she had been waiting from the beginning finally came into realization. “Just wait for me, Chief~”

---

The next day, accurately when the sky was blanketed by a black sheet travelling across from one point to another.

14th of February.

Valentine’s Day.

Or rather, one would say it was an uneventful Valentine’s Day. Again, with the ruined landscapes all over the place, an activity called date would be the most depressing thing to do. And since no one had the energy to do it, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they didn’t plan to celebrate it.

Chief, however, had already expected something from Countess Chelsea. Knowing her nature, this Valentine’s Day wouldn’t just be another day. And that moment soon came into reality.

“Chief, there’s someone who wants to meet you,” Nightingale said, already standing inside the room.

“Is it Countess Chelsea?” Chief answered with another question. They believed their hunch would ninety-nine percent hit the mark.

It seemed that they missed that one percent mark since the person entering the room wasn’t Countess Chelsea. Heck, the appearance didn’t match at all. First of all, it was a ‘he”, not a ‘she’, so that was already a very clear indicator. He had his arms on his back, and that standing posture could only be achieved if you had done that for years.

“I know you,” Chief said. The familiarity this man had on his face reminded Chief of someone they saw when they had been abducted in Chelsea’s interrogation process. “That’s why your face is familiar. You are Countess Chelsea’s butler, aren’t you?”

“That’s absolutely correct, Chief.” He bowed. His professionalism oozed from every single movement he made. “I’m bringing Countess Chelsea’s message for you. ‘May I borrow you for today, Chief?’ That is her message.

Nightingale already knew the Chief’s response, but she wanted to confirm that. As her assistant, there wasn’t something called being too worried. “Will you really go, Chief?”

“We know she won’t do any harm to me,” Chief said while looking at Nightingale with a reassuring look. After that, they looked back at the butler. “Do I need to change my clothes?”

“Countess Chelsea said you look wonderful no matter what you are wearing.”

“If that’s the case, take me.”

“Then please follow me.”

The man took Chief outside, walking through several rooms and corridors before exiting the bureau. There was a car outside. Without skipping a beat, the butler opened the door to the car for Chief. It didn’t take long until the car’s engine started, and they took off immediately.

The absence of cars on the road made the trip all the way from the bureau to Countess Chelsea’s mansion go by so quickly. Chief was looking outside the window this entire time when they heard a voice next to him.

“Chief, what do you think of Countess Chelsea?” the butler asked. His hands were still firmly grabbing the steering wheel.

That question felt like it appeared out of nowhere. It made Chief turn their head. They eyes were now on the road. “Countess Chelsea is a pretty difficult person to handle with. Still, at her core, I believe she is a great person.”

“Even though she is a sinner?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Chief didn’t have to think their answer before responding, Those words came out naturally, and when they reached the butler’s ears, the man let out a smile.

“I’m glad to hear that. Countess Chelsea is really looking forward to today. Please treat her kindly.”

They arrived much sooner than what Chief had thought. The butler parked the car right in front of a large wooden door sandwiched by two large white pillars. Even when the buildings around them were already in a state of dilapidation, this particular mansion stood up. Someone definitely had been taking care of it, looking at how pristine the walls were, and how the stairs leading up to the door were free of any dust, at least the ones that were visible.

“I’m handing over Countess Chelsea to you, Chief. Please take good care of her,” the butler said before Chief entered the mansion.

As soon as Chief stepped a foot inside the extravagant building, a female voice greeted them.

“Chief, you finally arrived.”

That voice was a sly and sultry one, seducing the listener with its tone. It echoed through what Chief would assume as the main hall of the mansion. The footstep sounds they had been hearing this whole time became louder with every passing second, and as soon as it stopped, Chief felt a gentle tap right on their shoulder.

“Good to see you, Chief. I hope the trip coming here was a pleasant one,” Countess Chelsea said.

“Your butler is an excellent driver.”

“Good to hear that.”

Countess Chelsea’s appearance was always eye-catching. For some people, her look would be too vulgar for eyes to feast on. No one could argue with that. She wore an unbuttoned shirt, wearing it as some kind as a cape. The effect, though, was her fully showing her chest for everyone. A dark red lace brassiere covered her bosom, but that was only it. Her skin was still exposed, and yet, it looked as if she didn’t mind that.

At the same time, it was her charm.

The way she wore the shirt like a cape gave a sense of freedom for her admirers. Her confidence was oozing through the way she dressed herself. Besides from looking bold with her choice of clothes, her classy long white pants gave a sense of elegance not many people could radiate.

Of course, she was called a countess for a reason.

She smiled. Every bit of change in her expression was a delight to see as she curled her lips upward.

“Welcome to my estate! Chief…You’re my rare and precious guest, just make yourself at home.” Countess Chelsea lay her right palm flat in the air. Her fingers were hanging on invisible threads. Some of them had small bandages plastered over the skin. Chief had a guess, but they kept it to themselves. “It will be so boring if you’re too nervous.”

Countess Chelsea didn’t hide the fact she was teasing with Chief, and she was natural at it. It wouldn’t be the first time Chief had heard it, though, as their face seemed unfazed. Instead, they took the invitation, placing their hand on the Countess’ smooth palm.

“I’m far from being nervous, Countess,” Chief said.

“You always have a counter for my words. But then again, that’s what I would like to hear.” Countess Chelsea gave a chuckle. She entangled her fingers into Chief’s, gripping them tight as her way of saying she wouldn’t let go of it in a short time. “Let’s come in. Dinner already awaits us.”

Countess Chelsea was leading the way, still holding and feeling the warmth of Chief’s hand. The mansion was spacious, as one would already expect. The corridor hall stood tall, lavished with high-quality paintings held by masterfully crafted canvases. It would beg for a question of how could this building withstood the harsh landscape.

Another thing Chief took into consideration is a cat, or maybe cats, since its plural form would suit what they saw more than before. When they were walking, Chief noticed some kittens following them. One wrong move and one of them would have been squished. But these cats were smart. They could avoid a danger as soon as it appeared.

“Don’t mind the kittens. I let them run around the house. Cute kittens deserve all of my affection,” Chelsea said before turning her head to see Chief. “Of course, I’m planning to make you as my number one kitten.”

“I don’t know whether to be happy or scared.”

“You can be honest all you want, Chief.”

They reached the dining room. It wasn’t as big as what Chief had thought. The walls were much closer to them, and the long rectangular table they had expected before entering the mansion wasn’t there. It got a smaller circular table covered with a beautiful white tablecloth, suitable for two people, placed in the middle of the room. The tablecloth itself had some fancy embroideries around its edges made using the strings with different colors. It was the work of a professional embroiderer, no doubt with that.

Even though the room wasn’t an extravagant one, it felt way more intimate. It seemed out of place compared to the big mansion, yet it didn’t feel weird whatsoever, at least that was what Chief thought. A chandelier hung above them, as it was the only light source in this room other than the candles set beside the table. Dark red curtains were covering their windows, adding another layer onto the wall.

Saying this felt romantic would be an understatement.

Chief walked to one of the chairs. The chair had a soft cushion on it. As the surface wasn’t that hard, Chief had a good time sitting on it. They looked at Countess Chelsea who, instead of sitting in the other chair, was walking toward the opposite direction where another door came visible to Chief’s eyes.

“You won’t be sitting down here?” Chief asked.

Countess Chelsea turned around. “Are you getting lonely?” She made a devilish smile, the kind that only an adult like her could make. “I will be joining you soon, so please wait for me.”

Chief didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Chelsea entered another room and disappeared from their sight. They didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but considering that Countess Chelsea had—most likely—prepared something, Chief chose to stay still. Meanwhile, the food was coming. The same butler brought the cuisine, placed the plates on the table. They exchanged looks but nothing else beyond that.

It was silence for a good few minutes. Chief kept waiting, feeling grateful that the soft cushion made them comfortable. While waiting, their eyes were wandering around, observing the place he was currently in. The flickering light from the candles warmed their body and also gave the objects around Chief a silhouette. Their silhouette also appeared, getting bigger and smaller depending on the direction of the flame.

Time kept moving, and when it almost reached the minute tenth, Chief could hear a sound. It was the sound of a door being opened—the same door used by Countess Chelsea to get out several minutes ago. But this time it was the contrary. The door opened and someone entered the room. It wasn’t just a normal “someone”, of course, as Chief couldn’t mistake that pink lustrous hair with someone else. Her current hairstyle was just a bit different from usual. It was a long braid behind her back, swinging to the left and right like a pendulum every time she moved.

“I didn’t make you wait too long, did I, Chief?” Countess Chelsea said.

What would be the most striking change on her was undeniably the clothes she wore now. Instead of the long white jeans combined with the unbuttoned shirt that showed her tenacious personality, the dress she was wearing touched upon more of her feminine side. It gave a different light, different aura surrounding her, and Chief couldn’t take their eyes away because of that.

Countess Chelsea decreased the distance between them. With each footstep she made, Chief felt their breath becoming heavier. There was no doubt they were in awe.

Having stood beside Chief, Countess Chelsea looked down. Her figure became much more visible than before, including the dress covering her body that Chief had never seen before. The color was a dark red crimson color as well as other variants of red, whether it was brighter or darker. The dress didn’t cover her shoulders and collar, though, as her skin emitted a somewhat alluring, sensual atmosphere.

Her dress exposed her legs from her thighs down to her ankle. The only thing coating them was the black transparent fabric attached to the dress, which would move just from the slightest shift of Countess Chelsea’s body position. With the absence of the sound and ambiance inside the room, Chief could hear the fabric rustling onto each other.

It was enough to say that Chief was stunned once they lay their eyes upon this woman.

“***Ara***… are you getting flustered, Chief?” Countess Chelsea said with a smirk. She bent down, and whether she knew or not, also revealed some part of her cleavage. But for a woman who didn’t really hide her body in daily basis, that wouldn’t be much of a concern. “It had been quite sometime since last time I wore a dress like this. I asked someone to make it, especially for this day.”

Countess Chelsea gave a gentle twirl. The dress followed. Her silhouette also danced along her movement, and the flickering light made her shadow on the wall looked more ether7al.

“So,” Countess Chelsea said as she held her balance using one leg, stopping her twirl, “what do you think?”

“…You look good,” Chief whispered those words. They soon changed their gaze to another direction as a way to avoid eye contact. “Now sit down. You made me wait too long.”

“Don’t be impatient, Chief.” Her grin widened. It seemed she was able to see through the Chief. “I didn’t hear you quite clearly. Would you like to say that again?”

“You definitely heard that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I said I didn’t.”

“Bad kitten would get punished, Chief.”

“Who is the kitten?”

“So let me ask you again, would you like to say it one more time?”

Countess Chelsea ignored Chief’s question. Her face was much closer compared to before. Usually at this moment, Chief would quickly say something to stop Countess Chelsea from whatever she was about to do. But this time, they were too dazed, enchanted by the beauty in front of them getting nearer with every last breath they took. Faint red strokes appeared on Chief’s cheeks. At this rate, their lips would be touching in less than seconds. Whether they wanted it or not, it seemed Chief didn’t choose to move and avoid that approaching kiss.

At least not until Countess Chelsea stopped on her own will. Some strands of her hair fell down on Chief’s face, caressing their face with such a delicate touch.

“Your breaths… Chief, you sound just like a kitten.”

As soon as Chief heard that, they became more sensitive and aware of what was happening. They felt Countess Chelsea’s breaths on their cheeks and ears, eyes and lips. Her eyes were vibrant, beautifully crafted similar to that of a gem. That realization made him go redder than before. And when noticing the effect of her little stunt there, Countess Chelsea felt victorious as another teasing smile appeared out of the thin air.

“Don’t be so tense, Chief,” Countess Chelsea said, backing off a bit until she stood with a straight posture. At that height, she could see that her tease was a bit more effective than what she had thought. The moment she saw the red burning blushes on Chief’s face, she felt her face getting hotter as well. “Well, I guess some part of me can be blamed as well. Sorry, it’s difficult for me not to tease you just a tiny bit.”

Chief cleared their throat. It seemed the effect Countess Chelsea gave was too much of a surprise for them. “Just sit down, won’t you?”

“You aren’t mad, are you?” Countess Chelsea finally sat in front of Chief. She pulled her dress, making sure it wouldn’t give a sense of discomfort throughout the dinner.

“I’m not.”

“That means I can be more aggressive later.”

“I hope that is a joke.”

Countess Chelsea only let out a small chuckle, not telling what fate Chief had to encounter soon. She placed the napkin on her lap. Chief did the same, but they were more awkward in doing it. Never had they needed to do stuff like this.

“Shall we have our dinner, then?” Countess Chelsea asked.

After a series of waiting, they finally began to eat the food. Chief had to look at the food one more time just to realize these were several cuisines they had never tried before. Maybe they had seen them once or twice, but tasting them? They couldn’t even imagine how these cuisines would taste like.

“Eat the food as much as you want, Chief. They are delicious,” Countess Chelsea said. She cut a small portion of the steak on her plate.

Even though Chief was a bit skeptical of the food, their tongue had never touched before, the scent was too tempting. The curiosity won over the worry, and soon enough, they already chewed the food. The texture was tender, and the taste immediately coated their tongue.

“How is it, Chief?” Countess Chelsea asked. Her sight was directed at Chief.

“Tasty.” It was the only word Chief said.

“Is that so? I’m happy to hear that.” Countess Chelsea stabbed another food with a fork. “Don’t be shy about trying everything. We have plenty for tonight. Of course, I can guarantee you will be satisfied.”

The sound of fork and knife hitting the plate echoed throughout the entire dinner. Chief, though admitting that their taste buds were no doubt pleased by the cuisines, started to feel the dry throat they had. Coincidentally, Countess Chelsea felt the same, as she reached for a bottle of wine next to the plates waiting to be opened.

“Push your glass to me, Chief. I can’t reach it well.” Countess Chelsea stretched her arm.

As Chief did what was asked, they noticed how the dress Countess Chelsea she was wearing restricted her movement a bit. They guessed the woman in front of them wouldn’t be able to make big movements for a while.

Countess Chelsea tilted the bottle. The dark red liquid came out from the bottle’s mouth into the glass with a pleasing sound. When the glassed reached half-full, she stopped and placed back the bottle next to them.

“You should try it, Chief. It’s hard to get my hand on something like this nowadays,” Countess Chelsea said as she brought the corner of the glass to her lips.

Chief twirled the glass. The wine in it moved alongside the movement, similar to that of a wave brought by the cool breeze in the sea. Soon enough, the red liquid poured down through their throat. The taste stuck in their tongue as they tried to comprehend the flavor.

“You look just like a connoisseur.” There was a faint red mark on the spot where Countess Chelsea had put her lips.

“I heard some people do it when they are drinking wine. But doing it right now, I only feel like I’m being quite pretentious.”

“Not really. People have the right to do what they want. Surely they can’t tell that twirling a glass of wine is similar to being pretentious, can they?”

“You’re not wrong. People like to assume stuff, though.”

“Then let them assume as much as they want. The time they waste is only theirs.” Countess Chelsea did the twirl as well as if she was trying to prove her point. “Enough about that. How is it? Is it to your liking?”

Chief pushed their tongue to their mouth’s ceiling as a way to capture every nuance in the flavor they were tasting. It took him a few seconds to come up with an answer, and it was only one word.

“…Weird.”

Hearing that, Countess Chelsea raised her eyebrows. She surely hadn’t expected that kind of answer, but she didn’t mind it at all.

“In a good or bad way?” Countess Chelsea asked.

Chief shook their head to left and right. “I can’t really explain it. There’s a part of it that I enjoy. On the other hand… I don’t know. I can’t really put it into words. Maybe this is just not for me.”

“That’s understandable.” She sipped the wine before continuing. “Personally I like wine. Red wine gives me that tingling effect I need from time to time.”

“Tingling?”

Countess Chelsea nodded. “Doesn’t red wine speak… sexiness to you?”

“I don’t… I don’t get it. Maybe it’s just you.”

“Maybe. I just like it. It is smooth. It is pretty… sensual. I think you just need to drink more, Chief, and you will get what I mean.”

As soon as she said that, Countess Chelsea refilled the red wine inside Chief’s glass. It was flowing down like a waterfall, and before Chief knew it, the glass was filled again with the dark liquid as if they hadn’t drunk it.

“Thank you.”

“No need to mention it.” Countess Chelsea placed the bottle back with a thud. Then, in a swift movement, she put her right elbow on the table, making a pillar which supported her head as she leant closer. Her eyes were locked onto chief’s, and her lips that were dyed in red stole Chief’s attention. “Or maybe you would prefer it if I gave the red wine mouth to mouth?”

Chief was startled hearing that unreasonable thing. If they were eating something, they would surely spurt out whatever they was chewing on.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Countess Chelsea, who definitely knew it was her doing, cheekily smiled.

“Nothing.” Chief just brushed it off. They felt the woman in front of them wouldn’t stop her barrage of teasing if they said something else.

“Is that so?”

Countess Chelsea kept smiling, a bit pointing at her right side. One would assume she had enough for the moment and pulled her body so that her back would be resting on the chair once more. It was the complete opposite of what was about to happen after, though. She took her fork that had a piece of meat on the opposite end, pulling it up to the air and bringing it closer to Chief’s lips.

“Say ‘ahhhh’.”

Chief’s body froze. They didn’t know what to think of it. The steak was hovering in the hair, waiting for the gate to be opened. Countess Chelsea couldn’t even hide her smirk for any longer. Looking at Chief’s red cheeks was truly an amusing thing for her.

“Come on, Chief. My arm would fall off if you aren’t quick enough,” she said while pushing the fork closer.

At this point, Chief only had one option. They looked at the steak and decided that it was better than nothing. Before knowing it, they already seized the food with their mouth, closing the gate as the chewing process started.

Every bit was filled with flavor that would make everyone salivating. The scent was also arousing. But in this instance, Chief couldn’t focus on the taste. No, their tongue couldn’t even capture the flavor, leaving it as a bland chewed food inside their mouth. They looked up, meeting with Countess Chelsea’s eyes again. They were staring intensely at Chief with a great care.

Then the lips moved again.

“What a good kitten.”

Simple words, but they were effective. Chief had never felt this embarrassed before, and they quickly swallowed the food, forgetting there was a chance for them to get choked.

“Y-you should stop playing with me,” they said. Their breath was a bit disarray.

“Sorry.” Countess Chelsea laughed a bit. “It’s just funny to see your reaction, Chief. I will stop… trying, at least.”

Chief wiped their mouth with the napkin. The dinner continued. Throughout it, though, Chief felt their heart was beating faster than usual. They realized the cause, and that realization only made the beating faster and rougher.

The steaks on both plates were almost finished. The candles kept illuminating their shadows. Countess Chelsea glanced at Chief from time to time. It seemed as if she had something in her mind but waiting for the right moment to say it out loud. For now, mindless conversation was the best she could do.

“So what will you be doing after this?” she asked. Her hands stopped moving after she had cut the steak into last three pieces.

More or less, Chief’s steak wasn’t that different from Countess Chelsea’s in size, only several bites left before the plate was emptied. “Return to bureau, probably.”

“You will be leaving as soon as you finish eating?”

“There’s nothing I can do here after all. I haven’t done some of the paper works. They are piling up on my desk.”

There were only two bites left on Countess Chelsea’s plate.

“The night is still young, Chief. Why don’t you stay a night with me?”

She teased them again. Looking back at how red Chief’s cheeks had become, Countess Chelsea expected the same reaction when she said that. But it went a bit differently, and she wasn’t that prepared for it.

“No can do,” Chief answered, simple and short. “Nightingale will scold me if I do that.”

“But you’re not a kid anymore.”

“I woke up just a few months ago, so that’s up to a debate,” Chief said while putting down the eating utensils in his hand. When Countess Chelsea looked down, Chief’s plate was empty. She didn’t even notice that. “Speaking off going back to the bureau, you will return tomorrow. Me returning now doesn’t mean we won’t meet again.”

“That’s true, but…”

Countess Chelsea didn’t know what to put into her words. Whatever came up inside her mind, it would just sound as if she was desperate. But having been through this, being desperate would be the last concern she had.

“It is just one day….Can’t you stay? We will come back tomorrow. Together.”

This entire time, Countess Chelsea had thought everything was already in the palm of her hand. Her desperation became much apparent than before, to the point it was visible to Chief.

“Countess, as much as I would want to stay here, you know what other people think of you.”

It was an answer that cut deep inside the woman’s heart. The first time it happened since she became something else, something that couldn’t be compared as a human. A sinner.

“…Is that what you think of me, Chief?” Countess Chelsea didn’t have the courage to look at Chief’s face. Everything, for her, was crumbling away. “I can’t blame you. I’m a sinner after all. You saw it yourself… I killed those people.”

Chief was looking at Countess Chelsea. Their gaze stayed there, not even inching away from that straight line. It was an expression they had only seen once on Countess Chelsea’s beautiful face. Chief squinted their eyes before grabbing the napkin on their lap. It wasn’t for them, though. Instead, they got up from the chair, leaving the comfort their chair brought just to reach Countess Chelsea’s cheek.

The countess noticed that. But rather staying still and accepting that gesture, she slapped that hand and backed away. The distance between them increased. Countess Chelsea, who usually pushed her way in into people’s comfort zones, distanced herself.

“Sorry,” Countess Chelsea said, realizing what she had just done. “But you shouldn’t touch me, Chief. I’m a sinner, remember?” She showed a pained smile, much dimmer compared to her usual smiles. “I’m a monster. You’re right. It is too dangerous for you to be here.”

“I have never said that.”

“But everyone thinks that. I have a criminal record for a reason. These hands aren’t innocent anymore, Chief, and I think it will be the best if we create a distance between us. I don’t want to put you into any danger.”

Chief sighed hearing that. This would be the first time they got a rejection from Countess Chelsea. To them, it felt wrong. It felt strange, And of course, no matter what the words coming out from Countess’ mouth were, Chief wouldn’t agree with something made so abruptly. When Countess Chelsea backed away, It was Chief’s turn to push the opportunity. Their hand was much closer to Countess’s Chelsea lips. The napkin touched one side of her cheek gently.

“Stay still, won’t you?” Chief said. They pressed the napkin without too much force before sliding it down as if something was just wiped out. Countess Chelsea was just sitting there, a bit surprised that her refusal didn’t work. “There’s a sauce in your cheek. You don’t want to leave a dirty spot here, do you?”

Hearing what Chief had to say, Countess Chelsea finally stopped resisting, She let the napkin on her cheek. It had been quite a long time since somebody did this to her, or probably the first time. She didn’t really know, but she knew that it was comforting her.

“You’re a human, Countess,” Chief said. “It doesn’t matter whether you are dangerous or not. The fact that you saved me using your power is still here.”

Countess Chelsea remembered that day when Chief had been abducted. It was the first time she showed her power to them. How scary it was for her. It was the fact she brought danger to Chief’s throat that scared her. Even though it wasn’t her plan, just being around her could endanger someone, and thinking that one of the most important people in her life had to deal with that was frightening.

She had to act tough this whole time, teasing and flirting to hide that vulnerability behind that cheeky smile. The last thing she wanted would be Chief hating her.

But once again, Chief betrayed her expectation. They weren’t running away from her. They actually reached their hand just to clean the dirty spot on her cheek. This entire time, they were closer than what she had thought.

“It’s clean now.” Chief sat down again.

Countess Chelsea touched the spot where Chief had pressed the napkin. Her fingers brushed her skin. When she pulled those fingers, the sauce was no longer there. The pained smile from before vanished, and now it became a delighted expression.

“You’re right. It’s clean.” After saying that, Countess Chelsea finished off the last two bites, leaving her plate in the same condition as Chief’s. She made sure to wipe the sauce on her lips. It was only when her lips were all cleaned when she thought of something. “Ah, I should have let you clean it up again, Chief.”

“Now you’re just taking an advantage out of me.” Chief washed down their throat with the wine.

“It’s not like that. And although you said it like that, I have no doubt you would do it again if I asked you.”

Chief didn’t respond. They were concentrating at their drink, or at least they tried to concentrate.

“Chief,” Countess Chelsea said. Her eyes were brimming with light. “I know that my request sounds absurd, but if it’s possible, I do really want you to stay here. At least for a night.”

It was a sincere request. Chief, of course, was taken a back for a bit. “You’re really persistence, aren’t you?”

“Persistence is a part of my life, Chief. From all people, I’m sure you know that the best.” Countess Chelsea gave Chief a wink. Her expression was much brighter than before. “But it’s okay if you—”

“Well, I guess it will be okay if it’s only for a day.”

The quick response from Chief forced Countess Chelsea to cut her words short. “That’s a fast answer.”

“You keep insisting after all. Or what? You want me to answer differently?”

“No. Not at all. That is the best answer I can ever hope for.”

Having talked nonstop without a break, Countess Chelsea took this chance to clean her mouth and throat using the red wine. She would like to say that the drink soothed and calmed her nerve, but that wasn’t the case. After noticing what Chief thought about her, happiness overwhelmed her. At the same time, her heart kept beating fast, and it felt as if her blood was boiling.

Even then, there was one task left for her to do. An important one, or maybe some would say it was the most important event in this entire night. Something that people would do in this particular day.

“Chief…” Countess Chelsea started slowly. Her voice was a lot quieter than what she thought. “You know that today is Valentine’s Day, right?”

“Nightingale told me.”

“Then do you know what people usually do today?”

Countess Chelsea’s hands were restless. For some reason, putting them in one place was almost impossible. Her palms were sweating, and she kept curling her fingers. The sound surrounding her slowly faded away from her attention, gone just for this moment. That made the sound of her heartbeat become louder. She had never felt this nervous before. Her rosy cheeks were prettier and more noticeable now, glimmering as the candles’ light made her look more sparkling.

Her hands were trembling, but it didn’t stop her to reach for something from the pocket in her dress. She pulled it up, hiding it first under the table. The embarrassment was more than what she could imagine, and any longer than this would result in her heart bursting into tiny pieces. Even then, the happiness she experiencing now overshadowed her distress.

At last, she raised her arms. On her palm was a transparent plastic that allowed outsiders to peek at the content inside. At first, the things stuffed inside it looked like chips. They were small, could be easily held using two fingers. She gave the plastic bag to Chief who set their palm flat in the air.

“This is for you,” Countess Chelsea said. As soon as the plastic bag left her hands, she pulled her arms back, not wanting Chief to notice how sweaty they were.

“Thank… you?” Chief was a bit puzzled. It happened out of nowhere. It was at that moment when they looked harder through the transparent plastic. And in that compact present, Chief could see chocolates filling the space to the brim. “I see. So this is why your fingers are covered with bandages.”

“I guess I couldn’t really hide that.” Countess Chelsea showed her fingers, some of them were covered with bandages more than the others. “Do you mind trying it now?”

“Not really. I still have an empty room in my stomach.”

Chief opened the wrapping. They entered their hand through the hole, reaching for one of the chocolates laying down on the bottom. As their fingers touched the chocolate, they could feel the bumps and ridges on it. Countess Chelsea was clearly not good at making chocolates, and the texture Chief was feeling now proved it.

On the other end of the table, Countess Chelsea couldn’t look away from Chief who was observing the chocolates. The thumping sound of her heart deafened her ears. Many questions ran through her mind. The taste, the texture, the look—she had the right to be worried over everything. If the things she made using a lot of effort turned out to be a failure, how painful that would be for her.

However, what Chief had to say after this showed that there was nothing to be worried about.

“It’s delicious,” Chief said while pulling another piece of chocolate and putting it inside their mouth. “Thank you. I really like it.”

Countess Chelsea felt weak. The worries that had been weighing her back disappeared just like that. “I’m glad. I will make sure to make you another one soon, Chief.”

“I will be looking forward to that.” Chief smiled. From their words, it sounded as if the day almost reached its climax. But with a gesture that even shocked Countess Chelsea, Chief pulled out something from their clothes. It was another wrapping, and one could immediately guess what was inside it. “I want you to have this.”

Countess Chelsea took it. Since Chief used the same transparent plastic, she was able to see through the cover. As one would already guess, chocolates were inside it. They were in a much worse state, though, with every piece couldn’t even hold their shapes. Whether they were crushed the moment Chief made them or in the way towards the mansion, Countess Chelsea wouldn’t possibly know the answer. It didn’t matter, though, since those chocolates still painted a sincere, beautiful smile on her face.

“I didn’t ask you to make this, but thank you Chief. I like it very much,” Countess Chelsea said.

“Even when you haven’t tried it?”

“I know I will like it. Sadly my stomach is full, so I will be enjoying your homemade chocolates later.”

“It is a bit embarrassing if you put it like that.”

Both of them were smiling. The burning flame beside them was almost gone, but there was another blaze of passion within those two. As they looked into each other’s eyes… as the darkness blanketed the sky for their night being together.

Countess Chelsea stood up. She walked to the side, approaching the curtain with every step she made. The moonlight was coming in through the gaps on the sides, and when Countess Chelsea turned her body, it turned into a magical sight which mesmerized Chief. Her dress captured her elegance, and her rosy cheeks showed her charm. She raised her arms while still clinging on the chocolate, pressing that present to her chest. It was closer to her heart than ever.

“So Chief, the night is still young, isn’t?” she asked. “What do you say about spending the night with me? Just the two of us.”

#path to nowhere #pathtonowhere #ptn #ao3 writer #fanfic #ptn chief #path to nowhere chief #ptn countess chelsea #countess chelsea #fanfiction

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penelopepine · 3 months

Text

Forever in Your Gaze Pt. 3

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Fem Reader

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Night at the museum AU. Gaz and Reader are both paintings directly across from one another, and have been in love for many years now. The only thing is that they are unable to actually leave the confines of their canvas, and have never felt others touch.

Word Count: 1236

Content: Established relationship, fluff, light angst

Kyle is so relieved when he sees you again, and he can tell even through the shock you’re elated to see him as well. He whispers your name and puts a hand up next to yours. When you mirror his action the magical barrier still separates the two of you.

"You're here," You take a stuttering breath, "How are you here?"

"I promised that I'd find you, it's just like I said this situation is not going to keep me from you."

Your eyes are still red along with tear stained cheeks, but you give him the biggest grin, "What did I do to deserve you?"

"I think the correct question is what did I do to deserve you?"

The only thing Kyle can think about right now is you, and how much he loves you. Which is why when he hears a cough from behind him he's generally caught off guard. He had completely forgotten that the others were even with him.

Price comes up to them and pats him on the back and smiles at you, "Well it seems things are going well here then. The lads and I will leave you two here for the rest of the night while we go look into everything a bit more. I'll come and get you later Gaz." With that the three of them leave the area with parting words of hope and comfort.

Silence after that lasts only for a moment before you ask, "What's happening Kyle? I thought I was going to still be near you tonight."

It took him a bit to reply, pondering to himself about how to explain that in a week you two may never see each other again if they don't come up with a solution. "Shepherd plans to have you shipped to another museum."

Immediately he can see when his words hit you. Your shoulders slump and give a defeated sigh, "So this is it then?"

"No! No, you're not going anywhere! We're going to figure something out."

"But what if we don't?"

"We will." He gives you a sad but reassuring smile as he puts his hand to your face. When he does the barrier's sheen shines at his touch. Kyle's face then quickly turns to determination. "Let's get you out of here."

"What?"

“Well I’m out aren’t I? That means that you can get out too.” Kyle exclaims as he stands to adjust your frame before kneeling down a bit away from you, “All you have to do is push the barrier!”

You look at him with an apprehensive look as you put both hands on the barrier. “I think more paintings would be out by now if that is all it took.” That being said, you still begin to push against the magic. Kyle watches as the sheen ripples with the contact from your palms. This goes on for several minutes with words of encouragement being thrown your way.

Alas though you can't seem to escape, no matter how hard you try. Clearly dejected you give one last push before stepping away from it.

“We’ll keep trying until it works,” He says softly to you, “I’m not giving up just yet.”

"You're right," You take a deep breath, "You're right, we can try again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Kyle is now back sitting right in front you. He knows that it's not the same as actually holding you, but he takes your frame and sets you down in his lap. You both continue talking as you normally would with each other. Just trying to enjoy being so close to one another despite both knowing that all this could be coming to an end very soon.

It's hours later when Price does eventually come back in to collect him, "Gaz, it's time to go lad. We need to get you back on the wall."

Kyle very reluctantly lets you go, and puts you back whispering sweet reassurances to you. The only thing that he doesn't do is put the sheet back. He refuses to be the one to put you in the dark, and makes Price promise that he wouldn't do so either until the sun was up.

“I’ll see you soon love,” Kyle smiles at you, “It’ll be just a few minutes of us being apart.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.” You say back putting on a brave face. This is after all the first time you’ve actually said goodbye to one another. With that Price has to practically drag him out of the room otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to leave your side.

As they walk back to his frame Kyle can’t help but ask, "Price, do you know where she is supposed to be moved too? Is it at least close by?"

"There wasn't an address listed, the only information mentioned was that the deal was made between Shepherd and Phillip Graves. The whole thing doesn't feel right; I'm planning on bringing all of this up with Laswell when she gets in."

"You think Shepherd is up to something?"

Price gives him a very serious look before saying, "I don't know for sure, but after going through all the files I could find in his office a lot of things aren't adding up. All things considered this deal with Graves shouldn't even be happening with how incorrectly those documents were done."

Those words brought so much relief to him. If things were really as sketchy as Price described then he knew Laswell would do everything in her power to put a stop to everything happening; with any luck she'll be able to get rid of Shepherd as well.

The rest of the walk was fairly silent. Kyle watched as others around him slowly moved to their own areas preparing for the morning light to freeze them in place for another day.

It was very quiet now as the two of them entered the familiar halls once more; all the other paintings eyeing him as he walked past. He's become some kind of social pariah amongst them it seems, but that is not something he is going to worry himself about right now.

Once Kyle is back to his own frame he takes a few moments to really just look at where he's been his whole life before finally bringing his hands up to the painting. As if the frame was welcoming him home Kyle slides back in very seamlessly. Unlike when he first broke free there is no pain upon re-entering the canvas.

He quickly gets himself back in his proper place once he's fully inside, "Price, can you promise me one thing?"

"What is it? I'll see what I can do, lad."

"Please don't make me wake up not knowing where she is. I know where she is right now, and I don't know if I'll be able to handle having to find her again."

"She won't be getting moved again Gaz. I won't let you go through this all again."

He nods and gives a relieved huff, "Thank you."

A mere few minutes after that Price watches as Kyle and everyone around him goes back to being regular paintings. With that he walks out of the hall, and continues with his usual routine. After making sure everything was in place walks back to the lobby's reception desk and waits for Laswell to walk through the door. They're getting to the bottom of this.

Note: AHHHH CHAPTER 3 IS DONE! I hope everyone is enjoying this story!

Taglist: @zarsghost @nexthyperfix @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #task force 141 #call of duty #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #fem reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #female reader

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unnoticed-poison · 3 months

Text

⌞✰ᴅᴀʀᴋ! ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ᴍᴀɴʜᴡᴀ/ᴍᴀɴʜᴜᴀ ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ✰⌝ 【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏𝟎 】

【 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏 】

【 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟐 】

Chapter 3 to 9 are posted on AO3, Wattpad and Quotev :3

Damn this semester was craaaazy man but thankfully I passed the year 🥳

Also to those reading this before other chaps, no mc is NOT pregnant

Anyways sorry in advance if there's any grammatical error I missed and hope you enjoy the chapter 🌻🌻🌻

Gazing intently at the shimmering ruby ring on his finger, the man's brows creased with thought at his current predicament.

It has been two days since Kim Rok Soo, now known as Cale, arrived in this new world. He was currently at the tea shop called [The Fragrance of Tea with Poetry] to clear his mind. When he decided to visit the shop early in the morning, the owner, Billos, walked over to him and warmly greeted him with a bright smile upon seeing him walk through the door, talking to him as if they were longtime acquaintances.

"Welcome Cale!"

Cale blinked, then replied. " Hello."

Billos glanced at the ring he was wearing and decided to ask. "So, what did she think about the ring?"

Ah yes, that.

The red-head faked a found smile as he lifted his hand to admire the ring. "She loved it." He did his best to sound sincere. "Thank you again; I appreciate it."

"It was no problem! Anything for my dearest client."

....sure.

"Anyways, I want-"

Before he could say another word, the blonde beat him to it.

"Ah yes, the third floor is empty as usual. You go sit yourself down while I prepare the sweet tea and bring the novel you requested last time."

Oh, so Cale was a regular here, noted.

Cale nodded silently, placing a golden coin in the man's chubby hand. "Consider the rest as your tip."

That coin was worth one million gallons. He was aware that the guy was wealthier than him, but he didn't give a damn. After all, since he was the son of a filthy rich Count now, he was finally able to do what he always wanted to try but couldn't due to his lack of money.

Billos smiled. "Ah, generous as always."

.......

(･ω･)つ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⊂(･ω･)

And so here he was, surveying the city gates from the window, with a steaming cup of tea in his hand. Waiting for the hero to arrive, he took a sip and hummed in satisfaction. The sweet flavor was a nice change from the bitter tea the creepy old assassin kept serving him.

When he first transmigrated here and found himself in the body of Cale Henituse, the minor antagonist that got beaten to a bloody pulp by the protagonist, he looked at himself in the mirror for a while before slapping himself multiple times, trying to wake himself up from this silly dream, but alas, it was unfortunately real.

Adjusting to the new environment has been a bit challenging due to it being different than what he expected. The lack of fear or annoyance from those around him made him feel lost, but he got over his shock pretty quick and began looking for answers.

Fortunately, he managed to catch a maid who was alone last night and drag her to somewhere secluded without anyone noticing.

Young master? Is something the matter?"

Ignoring her bewildered look, Cale crossed his arms. "Please tell me everything that went down the past month and don't leave out any details, understood?"

The maid was confused, and rightfully so.

"Huh..?"

What kind of request was that?

Cale pulled out something from his pocket and tossed it to her.

She opened the pouch, and her eyes widened.

The pouch was full of gold coins!

"Oh god..."

"Now, tell me everything."

"O-ok!"

She spilled out everything, how the madam fell down the stairs after revealing what 'he' actually did and lost her memory, how the Count threatened to disown him if he didn't make things right, and how he managed to fix his reputation after the truth was out and win the woman's affection, then proposed again on their anniversary during the festival.

The maid sighed blissfully as she recalled the event.

"It was so romantic, and then you two went back to the mansion early and...." She trailed off and coughed, a blush covering her cheeks from the memory. She happened to pass by the room late at night, and oh god, the things she heard the madam say...

Cale groaned, of course. He didn't want to hear THAT kind of detail! "Is that all?"

"Yes, young master."

"..Hm, thank you then."

He handed her another small pouch. " This is for your silence, tonight never happened ok?"

.....

"Who am I and what is this place?"

Cale chuckled at her words, Good.

Money really is the best.

(･ω･)つ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⊂(･ω･)

It was all weird. but he'll have to get used to it. Besides, this wasn't so bad; at least he doesn't have to pretend to be trash or anything of the sort; that was a plus.

He won't miss his past life that's for sure. With him being an orphan with no money or loved ones to speak of, his life had no purpose or meaning.

That was not living; that was just...not dying.

He shook his head, sighing deeply.

The man absolutely hated pain and death, so for now, he has to make sure he avoids triggering Choi Han's rage. After that, he can enjoy his family riches to his heart's content and live his dream life of being a slacker without fear of any harm coming his way.

After all, his life motto was pretty simple.

"Living long without pain. Enjoying the small joys of life. Living a peaceful life..."

Yup, that would be perfect for him.

As for his wife...

Cale covered his face with both his hands as he recalls the 'joyous' news; the word 'father' still caused him to have the chills.

Well...that can wait. He will cross that bridge when he gets there.

He looked out the window again. Today was the 31st day of the 3rd month in the 781st year of the Feliz calendar. The Harris Village, where the hero considered it his home after leaving the forest of darkness, is most likely burned down with no survivors by now.

Choi Han was going to arrive any day now, and he has to be prepared. As much as he wanted to stay in his room and not interact with the man at all, he can't avoid him since he needs to run into Ron and his son so they can follow the hero on his long journey, so he needs to make a good first impression.

Tsk, this was troublesome.

Cale decided to relax first and enjoy the sweet tea while reading the book the original owner requested, it was a transmigration novel...huh, interesting.

After a while, he exited the cozy shop and found himself greeted by a small kitten. Its vibrant red fur and golden eyes caught his attention almost immediately. It sat there, seeming to be waiting for someone; its ears perked up and its tail wiggled with excitement once it saw him. He had to admit it was quite adorable.

"Meow!"

Cale frowned and tried to shoo it away. " I don't have food for you, go away."

The feline didn't seem to be phased by his words, simply blinking at him and mewing again as it rubbed itself against his leg, making the man sigh before setting his sights on a bakery nearby and making his way over there. He thought the kitten would be hot on his heels mewing for food, and planned to buy it some meat while he was at it, but it sat there, watching him for a while before running off as soon as he brought loads of bread.

Oh well, he shrugged as he walked off, leaving behind a very very happy baker who was closing his shop for the day. He made 2,2 million gallons! That's far more than he can make in a month!! This would allow him to pamper his beloved wife with a lavish gift and treat her to a nice dinner!

Hmm~ he couldn't wait.

(･ω･)つ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⊂(･ω･)

"I-It's a man-eating tree! It will kill you!"

Ugh...those brats won't shut up; he was aware of

the dangers thank you very much.

He was currently at the hill that looked over the city, there he found a small spot that was fenced off from all directions except for the empty space that previously had an old wooden door that he was easily able to break.

The tree that was inside looked to be hundreds of years old, it was given a special name by the people here.

The man-eating tree, those who decided to end their lives and hang themselves there became mummies overnight and were beyond recognition.

Placing the heavy bag on the ground, he looked at the tree with a faint smile. That's the one he's been looking for, and those punks trying to warn him confirmed it.

A long time ago, during ancient times, there was a priestess who got kicked out of the temple she worked at, the reason being that her gluttony was far too much to handle.

The woman died soon after from starvation as a result and a tree grew on top of her body. Her grudges and power resided in this tree, a power he wanted to obtain for himself.

[The indestructible shield]

That shield is the left-over of that woman's power, and he was going to get it.

He began emptying the bag and feeding the hole that was large enough to fit an adult's head. When the bag was half empty he was interrupted again by the little girl tapping his back.

"It's dangerous!"

.....

Cale rubbed his temples for a bit before he took out two breads from the bag. "I won't die." He mumbled, tossing the little bags to her. "Here, now get lost."

The little boy grabbed his sister's hand. "Noona, let's go."

"...ok." She looked at him again, her eyes held some concern. "Be careful sir.." She warned him one last time and backed off, handing one of the breads to her brother, who happily tore off the wrapping and began eating it.

Finally, now he can work in peace.

He began feeding the tree again, once the bag was completely empty he smiled in satisfaction upon seeing the darkness that was formed by the grudge became fainter than before.

"M..more.."

Creepy...

"I'll bring more tomorrow." This would probably need about seven more large bags or so.

"MORE..!"

Geez, gluttony was such a scary thing.

He stood up, dusted himself off and stepped out of the fenced area. He spotted the two children sitting near the entrance, happily munching on the bread and scoffed.

"Listen here, if you want more food tomorrow, don't utter a word of this to anyone understood?"

More food!?

They nodded eagerly, which was not surprising; after all, the children of the slums treasured food above everything else, they did not fear anything, not even death.

Cale left after that, the children paused and watched him silently. Once he was out of sight, the silver-haired girl ran to the other side of the fence, where a woman was waiting there with a bag.

"He's gone now miss!" She exclaimed, Hong stayed where he was as his sister pulled on the woman's hand.

Who was this woman?

Why of course, who else could it be other than you?

(･ω･)つ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⊂(･ω･)

Standing by the ancient tree, a heartwarming smile spread across your face as you ruffled the boy's hair. "Good job Hong, you did amazing!"

Beaming with pride, the boy grinned at the praise and scratched his nose bashfully. "It was no trouble for me!"

Placing the sack on the ground and opening it, you said. "Well then there you go, a deal's a deal." You handed them a bag full of bread and some pastries.

Delighted beyond words, the two could hardly contain their excitement as the girl swiftly grabbed the bag, expressing her gratitude with a bow. "Thank you!"

With that, they left and waited outside the fence for you as usual while devouring the food, leaving you to do your task in peace.

You received no new task, so as a way to pass time you spent most of the day either in your room reading novels and being a lazy bum or shopping with Lily. She was such fun company!

Recently you decided to do this, feed the creepy tree and at the same time get closer with the kids. Their cuteness was almost too much for you that you were resisting the urge to just up and adopt them instead of Cale every time you came by.

That damn baker you buy the food from better keep his mouth shut, you thought. As you bent down and threw the food inside, you heard Xian speak in a cheerful tone.

[Speeding up the process for the protagonist! Good job host!]

.....sure.

....

[...You weren't planning on taking the holy shield for yourself, right host?]

.....

[Host..?]

You snickered, amused at how he was so easy to fool. 'Of course not you dummy, why would I do something like that?'

[ Don't scare me like that! .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(⁠>⁠▂⁠<⁠)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠. ]

'What's with those emojis?'

[ They're cute no? I wanted to try something new :3 ]

Well, it was kind of cute. 'Sure sure, whatever makes you happy.'

[ Oh by the way I forgot to mention, would you like to see what the other hosts think of your performance so far??? ]

....the fuck.

You abruptly stopped what you were doing. ' What do you mean by that?'

[ Every host's actions is recorded by their system for future reference and security reasons, I posted the recording of you online and let's just say you've gained quiet a few admirers! ]

....

Did you hear that right?

'You.What?'

[Where did you think those points came from? 70% where given by the main system while the rest was gifted by the hosts who liked what they saw.]

Did he also show the....

"Hmm.."

'The kids aren't here right now so why don't you come out~?' you thought in a sickly sweet tone.

[ No, you're gonna break my screen if I do. ]

OBVIOUSLY-

[ I didn't post footage of you having sex with the minor antagonist if that's what you're worrying about! ] Though he was tempted to do that as payback for the stress you put him through.

Oh. Well then.

You sighed in relief, at least you got points from it. 'Just don't do it without asking me next time k?'

He rolled his eyes, like when you asked him when you made such a reckless plan? [ Of course host! ]

[ Anyways, I have the comments left by the other players and the comments left by the readers from the real world reading the novel from Kim Rok Soo's pov; which one would you like to see first? ]

'Wait, the real world? My world?'

[ Yup! We actually aren't allowed to see those, only the main system can. ]

'Then how did you-'

[ My friend hacked into it for me just this once :D ]

'.....Never mind, that's none of my business, I want to see the comments left by the readers please.'

[ Alright! Just a moment please, those comments are a mix from the Manhwa and the novel. ]

A screen hovered before you.

Hm, nice!

[ There's still many more! Would you like to see view them as well :D? ]

'Later, I'm done now.' you answered as you threw the last pastry in. The darkness didn't fade, not a tiny bit, which was understandable since the bag was not even half the size Cale brought.

[As you wish host.]

Walking out of the fenced area, you turned to the kids. "Thank you two for keeping watch. I'll bring you some cake tomorrow. Do you have any flavours in mind?" You needed to bring some fruit and meat as well; eating sweets everyday was unhealthy.

"Carrot-cake please!"

"Chocolate!" The boy beamed.

"Chocolate again? You sure don't want anything else?"

Hong shook his head, jumping up and down. "Chocolate!!"

"Alright alright." You laughed softly at his enthusiasm before turning to leave. "Again, don't mention me at all alright? Especially to my husband."

"Yes miss!" They exclaimed in unison.

"Alright then, take care."

"Bye!"

(･ω･)つ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⊂(･ω･)

That's how it went for the next few days. On or Hong would keep an eye out for Cale while you fed the tree, just not enough to make the darkness grow fainter, least Cale gets suspicious.

It became a routine. That is, until the kids decided to put their little plan into motion.

Watching you throw the last piece of pastry into the hole, On made eye contact with her brother, silently nodding to each other as they stood up and headed over to you.

"Finally."

It's going to take about 1 or 2 more trips for the darkness to completely fade. You decided to leave the rest of the work to Cale since you grew bored of doing this.

You felt something pull on your dress.

Hm?

You looked down and paused, taken aback by the big, puppy-dog eyes Hong had while On was eating a cookie as he spoke with hesitation.

"M..mom..?"

.......

So..so..SOO CUTE, AHHHHHHh!!

[ Dont fall for it host! ]

'Too late.'

[ Host! (⁠˘⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠˘⁠) ]

Resisting the urge to hug the boy and squeeze him to death, you bent down and pinched his cheek. "You sly, sly brat, you think I'll fall for that?"

They flinched, looking down in shame. They failed...

"No! That wasn't my intention! I-I..-"

"Because you're right."

"..Huh?"

You reached out and ruffled their hair, your expression softening. "I'm taking you two home."

What!?

They looked up; their eyes widened in surprise. "Really..?"

"Of course!" You replied with a grin. "Don't try to trick me again though." Your words were firm, but your expression was still gentle.

[ Shouldn't the protagonist be the one to take them in..? ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ ]

'Oh come on it's not that big of an event; besides, they're warming up to him anyway so whoever brings them home doesn't matter, just let this one slide k?'

[....I give up! (⁠ノ⁠｀⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻! ]

A little while later, you could be seen shopping around the city with two happy, adorable kittens in your arms while the servants followed you, holding the items you brought. You made it a habit the past month to shop around the city the whole day when Xian reported spotting Ron spying on you once to report to the Count on your actions. After about a week of doing that Ron stopped seeing that you weren't doing anything suspicious.

"Bring this." You pointed to some shoes that caught your eye. "This as well, and that one, in fact bring me the whole shelf."

"Yes madam!"

While Cale gets three gold coins as an allowance, you get five, which was more than enough to buy whatever you wanted.

While you tried on the heels, the two kittens stayed near you, cheering on the inside. They still couldn't believe their luck; the plan worked! They finally have a home now.

There was still a small problem they forgot to mention to you..

They glanced at each other again and shrugged. That's a problem for future them, they just hoped you won't get too angry.

"Who wants some fish?"

"MEOW!!"

(･ω･)つ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⊂(･ω･)

Back at the mansion, Cale silently observed the kittens in your arms. "I see you decided to have pets now."

You gave an enthusiastic nod. "Aren't they adorable?" You cooed, your fingers gently caressing On's silver fur, making her purr in contentment while Hong tapped your hand with his paw with a pout, wanting to be caressed as well. " This one-"

Cale cut you off; his tone cool and measured. "Is a girl while the red one is her younger brother."

He figured that out long ago, he'd be an idiot not to.

"What I would like to know is what my beloved wife was doing out in the slums holding such heavy bags while pregnant."

......

How did he-?!

Cale's expression shifted to one of amusement upon seeing you tense, not stroking the cat's fur anymore. "You really thought I wouldn't find out?" He asked with a hint of playfulness in his voice.

....

You glared at the siblings as they avoided eye contact. You snitches! Those gifts were wasted on you!

Cale chuckled, getting those punks to talk was surprisingly easy. Once he noticed the hole appeared to be slightly lighter than when he saw it last time and the chocolate smudge on the boy's face he knew someone else must be aware of the power the tree held and want to claim it for themselves.

When he asked the kids...

"I can't tell!"

"If you two tell me who's been feeding the tree as well, I might take you two in, in your cat form course." They'll be useful.

They exchanged glances, unsure of whether to speak up or not.

Was he serious..?

They'll be able to stay with the nice lady in a fancy house?

......

Seeing them not willing to talk, the man began walking off. "Ho? Well then, I guess I have no choice but to go to every bakery and ask them; I'm sure they'll talk once I pay them enough."

"W-wait!"

The man stopped and looked over his shoulder at them, raising his eyebrow impatiently. "Hm?"

The girl hesitated, looking down at the ground. Her brother took a step forward and answered in her place.

"It was..."

He didn't lie, he was planning to take them in after Choi Hans arrives, but you beat him to it.

.....

"I can explain-"

Your dumbass didn't think of an excuse in case he found out.

Fortunately for you, the maid came right at that moment to escort you two for dinner, Cale rose from his seat with a fleeting smile. "We'll talk later."

Before he left the room, he turned to you. "Won't you come with me?"

"N..no I'm not hungry at the moment, you go ahead."

"Suit yourself." He said with a shrug before walking off as you glared at the snitches one more time before handing them off to the maid to be bathed and fed, leaving you alone in the room as Xian appeared beside you.

"How are you planning to explain that host?"

"Shut up and let me think please."

[ (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) ]

Ok ok, what would be a believable explanation...think think you stupid bitch.

With your mind racing, you suddenly recalled the fortune teller you met at the festival, and a light bulb went off in your head.

That's it!

You turned to Xian with a grin. " I found an excuse."

Rather than looking relieved, the little screen looked nervous, confusing you.

"Ah..host.."

Aye, you didn't like that tone. "...what?"

"Remember Harris Village?"

"Yeah..? Aren't they supposed to be dead by now?"

After they confirmed the pregnancy, you told the Count you wanted to visit your family and tell them the happy news yourself, and at the same time see the place you were born and grew up in in hopes of getting more of your memories back.

Obviously, the man approved, as long as you take at least 20 guards with you for protection.

You couldn't believe how easy it was to fool those people, but you didn't complain.

You were planning to prepare the gifts you were gonna take with you and wait eagerly for the day you'll finally leave, then when the original protagonist, Choi Han, arrives and informs them of the massacre you'll have a mental breakdown and miscarry in the process.

Simple, but effective. The doctor thing is going to be tricky though.

You suspected the virus thingy played a part on the previous one.

"That's the issue." He laughed nervously. "They aren't dead; the main system just informed me."

"......"

"They were supposed to be dead on the 28th last month, but the assassins haven't come yet for some reason."

Obviously it's because of the virus dumdum.

With a furrowed brow, you spoke. "And why did they wait until now to inform you of this?"

"Some events are okay to take a little while to occur from their original time, with a maximum delay of one or two weeks, it's already been about 6 days now and since this is a key event they're growing concerned, I'm worried they'll have you a dangerous task of some kind because of that."

Hm...that won't do.

Maybe...

"If they end up not showing up..maybe I can..." You spoke softly, trailing off, unsure of whether you should vocalize your thoughts or not.

....

"Host, you're not suggesting..."

Just at that moment, a screen popped out.

Ah..well shit.

Village gotta go hehe

A new novel got mentioooooned in this chapter!

For the readers comments, I was planning to only add hosts comments but I made a mistake and with me being too lazy I just decided to have Wang Yi hack into the damn system just once just not to redo those texts.

I got the blue screen thingy from Pinterest, the background behind the screen from the Manhwa itself and all the pfp I used are from Pinterest, I might actually use one of them as my new pfp they're so cute!

Drew this last year during summer :3

Anyhow hope you all have a wonderful summer!

#trash of the count's family #svsss #yandere manhwas #yandere manhwa x reader #dark manhwa various x reader #yandere cale henituse #totcf #i have to be a big baddie #i have to be a great villain

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leggerefiore · 3 months

Note

could you maybe do hcs for poke villains with an s/o whose love language is physical touch?? preferably fluff but i would not mind light angst regarding a few who would reject it at first but learn to love it :3

(not even arceus, creator of the universe, could pry me away from cyrus’ thick ass arms. i need to sink my teeth into him RAHGHGHSAG)

maybe part 2 eventually with volo, lys, gio, and colress

cw: fluff

characters: Cyrus, Guzma, Archie, Maxie

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ He struggles. Touch is not his forte. There is an urge to keep a distance from everything. You clinging to him makes him nervous. The physical closeness feels like a boundary he struggles to surmount. Gifts seem to be where his love language mostly lies, and physical touch is what he most avoids. Cyrus never grew up with it. His family was never the type to give comforting words or any kind of touch… He genuinely tenses up at first when you embrace him. It is all so foreign, and his mind simply feels frozen. Any gentle caress or hold is simply too much. He needs to be freed and given ten minutes alone to process everything. Then, he needs to remain untouched for another hour to reset. It is a difficult time getting him adjusted, needless to say. But, he does. He shifts to accept the touches for longer periods of time.

☄️ Slowly yet not so steadily, he becomes accepting. Alas, there will remain little reciprocation from him. While you may cling to him for long periods of time, he still prefers that it remain during private times. Any kind of touch in public will almost always be rejected outside of a quick kiss or hug. His image is something that he feels must be preserved. And, in private, he still battles with his complicated feelings about touch. While he understands what you prefer, his body physically freezes and hesitance claims his muscles. There is no harm meant by it, and a part of him slowly does come to enjoy the feeling of your embrace during longer cuddle sessions or a peck to his lips or cheek as a greeting. That part begins to crave it, even. He feels lost as to what is going on with him.

☄️ Perhaps, one day, he will overcome the mental boundaries that prevent him from coming to accepting this. When he gets over everything related to his madness and rejection of feelings, he may find himself wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your nape, letting out a contented hum. Or even initiating the greeting kiss instead of waiting on your lead. Maybe, even, those late night cuddles his body craves and unconsciously initiates will finally be done openly in the evening rather than slowly overnight. The physical closeness of your body allowing his mind a rare of kind peace that he cannot believe he denied himself for so long. But… It will be a rocky road to get there.

💀Guzma🕶

□ He is touched-starved. Guzma's parents were not the most affectionate, and Team Skull is not exactly a place where you just find a cuddle buddy. Well, not for Guzma. Part of him is relieved that you seem more than giddy to wrap him in an embrace and just cling to him, and another part wonders if he really deserves it. A good for nothing… Maybe there was a nice bone in his body because he does worry about your choice in him as a boyfriend. But, when you smiled up at him, those feelings disappeared. Whatever his shitty old man used to say did not matter – You loved him despite his flaws and showed it almost constantly. Those dark thoughts faded. Your opinion was the only one that mattered.

□ He struggles a bit in public, wanting to keep up his tough appearance. There is a strange thought that he might lose his edge if he has you clinging to his side. He understands your preference in showing love, and he accepts it – but, being intimidating is an important part of his image. Though, there is something funny about his beating someone down speech while his partner clings to one of his arms. It adds to it, actually. His grunts at least say it does. Guzma believes it, too. (Kukui gives a good laugh at it and is happy his old friend found a partner for himself. He thinks it is a good balance for him.)

□ Ultimately, physical touch becomes his main method of affection, too. Guzma loves to pull you into a hug and rest his head on your own. Having you close to him reassures whatever unwanted thoughts enter his head or just reminds him that you are close to him and that your support is always there. Anything you want to give him is eagerly accepted, too. He loves anything you are willing to give him. Hugs are a favourite, though. Kisses are second… They are nice but sometimes feel too intimate for whatever you might be doing. Kisses are a common greeting between you both, usually ending up bringing multiple to different areas. His favourite of all has to be you napping on him, though. Something about seeing you sleeping on him feeds his ego in all the right ways.

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 He struggles. Maxie genuinely does. Everything he does is so structured and guided that even something as simple as your preference for giving affection gives him pause. What example would that set for him as a leader? You cannot just cling to him whenever you feel like. There were rules to these things, right? Especially in public… His mind races at the most simple of touches from you. He was given adequate affection growing up, but… Rules. He struggles to find a good way to accommodate your needs.

🪨 Public touching seems completely impossible with him. Even just holding his hand results in him pulling away and trying to pretend that he did not notice or react. It may hurt, but it is something that you will have to work him on. Maxie does apologise when you are both alone and attempts to explain his actions, so you do not think they were done in malice or rejection. He does wish that this pressure was not on him, but he really does think that his example is most important. It is difficult to sway him away from that line of thought. He does feel bad about rejecting you just showing your love so frequently.

🪨 In private, he seems like an entirely different person. Any kind of touch is accepted with pleasure and whatever tense air that surrounds him is completely gone. Cuddling is a common way to spend time together – Maxie simply adoring the warmth that the shared contact brings. Kisses are common, too. Mostly quick pecks to the cheek, but he allows a kiss to the lips all the same. He initiates fairly often, too. In truth, Maxis adores the warmth generated from physical touch. It is a nice comfort on his stressed mind, and he finally can let go of all his stiffness. Your way of showing affection is adored by him in secret. He will never let it break his stern facade, but, well, when you are alone with him, you will know.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 He loves it. Archie simply cannot get enough. The pirate is exactly the same way, so he is glad you feel just the same as him. Physical touch is the best way to show love, right? Letting yourself be so open and vulnerable with another is a special thing… Not to mention the endorphins! He is ready to let you do anything and everything with him. His family was pretty much all like him, so it was really no surprise he brought the same energy out himself. A guffaw can only leave him when you sneak a tentative touch, and he turns around and deepens it. You might meet your match in him.

💧 He loves doing things in public. Why should he hide anything? The whole world should know how much you two love each other! Kisses are shared whenever you and he want to, and public cuddles are not a common sight around Lilycove or the Aqua hideout. If anyone comments on it, they get a glare. Why does it bother them? He does not really care – All that matters is that you are happy. He loves making you grin whenever you come in to hug him or kiss him or even just hold his hand. There is a certain pride he gets in knowing that he meets your needs so well. You really seem almost made for each other.

💧 In private, everything is cranked up to ten. He loves for you to just sit in his lap and have your arms wrapped around his neck while you both just relax from whatever was happening in your day. Kisses are longer and perhaps a little more passionate – something he does actually draw the line at in public just a tad. He loves catching you from behind and pulling you into a hug, or you even doing the same to him. There is probably very little time you two spend apart from each other at home. Cuddling when in bed is a must, too. He loves holding you close to him like a plush toy. Really, he is the best partner for someone inclined towards physical touch.

#pokemon x reader #cyrus x reader #guzma x reader #maxie x reader #archie x reader #pokemon/reader #cyrus/reader #maxie/reader #archie/reader #guzma/reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon maxie x reader #pokemon archie x reader #pokemon guzma x reader

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rayisemo · 6 months

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Webtoon comics I think are underrated.

Now, I just want to make it clear that when I say “underrated” I don’t mean as if it isn’t heard of or been read, just that it’s underrated in the sense that nobody talks about it, makes posts about it, fanfics, fan arts, etc.

…and if you haven’t read these then I highly recommend you do!!! It’s so worth it, trust! I’ll add in a little review too!

1. DEATH: Rescheduled (Thriller)

The story in short is about a world where you have the Kill Law, a law where you are legally allowed to kill one person a year, no consequences. However the “Penny” Kreyul and his friends disagree with the Kill Law and are going to put an end to it no matter what.

Death: rescheduled had me so captivated that I refused to sleep before I finished reading. I even spent money on this shit because it was so entrancing! My favourite episode was by far 66, it was so funny and it builds up ships and just pure wholesomeness of the group.

The characters all have great personalities, the story is amazing and omg the art is so beautiful. You’ll love it.

2. Sable Curse (Fantasy)

This story follows a young girl named Tarron, a girl who is cursed and will die in 6 months. Her (honestly abusive) parents decide to take her and her sister to a holiday retreat. There she ends up finding new friends, herself, potential love, and maybe even a cure for her curse. But as it turns out, she’s not the only one cursed either.

This story is amazing! The art is wonderful, the characters are perfect, some we hate, some we love. We learn throughout the story more about this curse, and even about this special holiday retreat. There is so much mystery to uncover and it is one of my favourite webcomics.

Now, I’ve heard that most people have actually read it, but I encourage that we make a proper fandom for this series!

3. Marionetta (Fantasy)

Two best friends decide to go out and visit the travelling circus. However after a while Julia’s best friend Kamille disappears. Julia is determined to find her again and hunts down the circus, where her best friend is now living. Julia is still going to bring her home and end up losing something very valuable. Her life. For this circus is for the dead. Now Julia has to uncover the true secrets behind the circus whilst still trying to bring her and Kamille home. Will she manage? Or will she have to kill Anthonn Gremminger to save her life?

When I tell you this webcomic is a roller coaster of emotions. There are plenty of ships to chase, characters to stan, and many theories to explore. I love this webcomic so bloody much and I was actually surprised that there wasn’t a lot posted about it.

This is such a cool and dark story, with lovely and cute art. I could talk about it for hours.

4. After School Activities For Unripe Apples (Drama)

A wholesome slow burn between Mi-ae and an old childhood friend, Cheol. When another year starts and Mi-ae needs to take school more seriously the son of the family friends shows up in her class, but now seen as Lucifer, a hostile boy who ends fights - but is that the boy Mi-ae remembers? Who she know knows and loves?

This is a cute, funny and entertaining webcomic. You would think that things would be so simple, however due to school, parents, and other issues the characters face of themselves and others, it is difficult to understand and accept your own feelings. This is exactly why I love this series so much, it’s relatable and adorable. We especially love Mi-ae.

There are a few fanfics out there, but honestly where is the love it deserves??

5. My universe (Romance)

Apart from the normal college life Hayeon lives, she has this special gift.. she can communicate with the universe. She ends up communicating with an alien, who she gives the name Ujun. They want to be able to actually meet each other, but alas that is nearly impossible. But imagine the surprise when Ujun ends up taking over the body of one of Hayeons classmates, and crush, Hyeonsu. Now they must figure out a way to send him back whilst still spending some time together. However the peacefulness and secrets can’t be kept as the aliens are taking over. What will Hayeon do now? And can she even trust Ujun anymore?

Now this story deserves its own universe fr. The art is super cute as is the story, however things get more complicated as the story progresses. When I was still reading this the first thing I would do in the morning is read the next episode as soon as I got the daily pass because it was so good! Obviously I’m not going to spoil the ending, however the waves of emotions this series brings you is inhuman.

All in all it’s a fantastic webcomic that deserves so much love and attention!

6. Stray Souls (Fantasy)

In a world of magic and string weaving, some are fortunate and some are not. Eylin isn’t particularly good at string weaving, however that doesn’t stop her and her friends from stopping the wicked and doomed Amethyst King. Follow along the difficulty journey with friendship, love, and a whole lot of mystery. But what is it all worth in the end?

Holy moly this story is AMAZING. The plot is genius and the art is fantastic, the characters are so original and all have such amazing personalities!! Although, it’s a bit hard to keep track of them all😭 still love them all.

All in all it’s so amazing and has so much potential to be incredibly popular, yet there is no fandom!? Give it attention!!

7. Spirit Fingers (Drama)

Adorable Amy Song is incredibly self conscious and insecure. She has no support and no confidences, however after stumbling upon an art club drawing each other and their wacky poses - she ends up becoming their model too. After meeting a cute guy and getting his number she enters the group herself! This group accepts her with love and so much care, and she finally starts to feel more confident in herself and her art! She might even get a boyfriend!

This is quite literally the cutest and most heartwarming webcomic I’ve read in a while. And there is no one talking about it!!’ It’s been around for sooooo long too!!! When I tell you I cry, and laugh, and smile so hard at every chapter!! If you love a heartwarming, coming of age, and found family comic - then this is perfect!! And the art is beautiful!! It’s a perfect read for artists!!

Miss Amy is literally so relatable for those who don’t feel very pretty or have any sorts of insecurities regarding looks or academics. It’s a beautiful, long, and mostly free (if you’re fine with ads) comic, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever found.

Now! So far this are all the webcomics that come to mind! I think all of these are great and I just know that so many more will enjoy these if they gave them a chance.

I’d love to talk about these with other people, and I’d even love it if others would like to share some webcomics they believe are underrated too.

All of these comics are from Webtoon, and are so worth your time! Please let me know if there was anything I missed.

(I might add more in the future 😉)

Edit: sadly the pictures are now a little awkward and too big for my liking… but I hit the limit of 10 pictures 😔🙏

💗- Anyways lots of love!

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eddiediazismyhusband · 2 months

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My (embarrassingly okay-ish) 9-1-1 Sims

so I do not claim to be good at remaking real people in the sims... I want to go ahead and get that out of the way first and foremost

however I don't think I did *terrible* on these sims (some are definitely better than others) but with that said, here are my 9-1-1 sims

(please don't judge me too hard)

Evan "Buck" Buckley

the tattoo cc I made for buck is definitely way out-of-date, but alas i am too lazy to go back and make a new tattoo to add all of his current 6,000 tattoos (love your tats oliver but no thanks <3) Including that last shirtless pic to show them off a little better.

Eddie Diaz

I know that Eddie doesn't have Ryan's map&compass tattoo in the show but I love that tattoo on Ryan so I included it on Eddie. I chose this hair for him bc I wanted to like blend the length it's at now with his s6 style a little bit- very floofy yet tidy, but also not a schoolboy or slicked back to the gods.

Maddie Han

I think I spent hours trying to get JLH's face as perfect as I could in-game and honestly I don't hate the outcome? like it's definitely NOT perfect by any means, but I think Maddie is one of my favorite sims in terms of how she turned out.

Chimney Han

Chimney is where things started to go a little downhill for me... I don't know why, but after HOURS of working, I just cold not get him right so I eventually had to sit back, take a deep breath, and say 'this is as good as it's gonna get.' I'd like to issue my formal apology to Kenneth Choi for this <3 (pls don't judge too harshly I swear I tried)

Karen Wilson

Karen, like Chimney, was a sim I spent HOURS on trying to get right, but for some reason I just could not for the life of me perfectly replicate Tracie's face... and unfortunately when I first made these sims (a LONG time ago) there wasn't a hair that fit Karen perfectly until (imo) THIS one came with the Lovestruck Expansion pack... I did make the executive decision to give her light brown hair rather than the blonde/brown she actually has, because the blonde in-game looked weird on her. I know these aren't her classic dreads, but I feel like they evoke the general vibe of hers better than some of the options we have in-game.

Hen Wilson

so Hen turned out being one of my favorites. I really love the outfits I picked out for her (bc lets be honest Hen loves wearing some of the WILDEST fits on the show) but unfortunately, this game hates to give female sims just plain slacks that are higher-waisted, so I was stuck with a cc pair that don't quite match but what can I do

Bobby Nash

yet another sim who I feel like I missed the mark on- Peter Krause's face was just IMPOSSIBLE to replicate, so I did my best. I also made the executive decision to not go full-grey for Bobby bc then he looked ancient rather than just late-50s.

Athena Grant

All I have to say about Athena is ANGELA BASSETT DID THE THING (also the cop outfit does NOT do her justice in this- I promise I worked hard to make sure Athena was giving just as much mommy vibes as she does on the show in her other outfits) (she's also ripped as fuck in my game bc I said so)

May Grant

I have a love-hate relationship with this sim because I spent so much time trying to perfectly replicate Corrinne's face, but no matter what I did there was always something that was always just the tiniest bit off... she's definitely not the worst of these sims though

Ravi Panikkar

all I have to say about Ravi is that if they want to give him a boyfriend in s8 i am available, and willing to travel to shoot in Los Angeles-

Also, I DID make a Josh sim, but I accidentally deleted him bc my mouse battery was dying and it was glitching out and i misclicked the "yes delete" button rather than the "don't delete" on the "are you sure?" tab and I didn't feel like going back and finding him again in the depths of my library so I will have to remake him :/

Oh and I made Chris too but every child sim looks exactly the same so he doesn't look anything like Gavin, but that was out of my hands I fear 💀

But anyway, these are my 9-1-1 sims... I made these forever ago and went through last night and updated their hair/outfits, but I haven't touched their physical attributes since I first made them. I'm excited to start playing with them again 😭😭

#911 abc #911 #911 on abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie 911 #buck and eddie #911 buddie #maddie han #chimney han #karen wilson #hen wilson #bobby nash #athena grant #may grant #ravi panikkar

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nicromancytarot · 5 months

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NICROMANCY GETS SCAMMED - EPISODE 2

All I do on this app is complain.

Hello and welcome to part 2 of me possibly being scammed?? (I feel like this is deserved now, am I just really unlucky or something?)

16th of March @samisinsomniac messaged me for an exchange, I gave them their reading the next day 500 words as I mentioned I preferred, they responded with my reading the next day too, only with around 200 words, but I was thankful nonetheless!

I gave them a thank you, and some feedback on the reading, they also gave me a little bit of feedback for the one I gave to them.

On the 30th of March they messaged me again for some clarity on a situation through another exchange.

I got to their’s as soon as I could (which was immediately since I wasn’t busy that day), they were busy, but that’s ok, they said they would give mine to me by 10pm Indian standard time. India is 5 hours ahead of me, as I am set in the UK.

I proceeded to give their reading to them, 500 words as before, not only did I not receive any thank you, I also didn’t receive feedback. If you’re a Tarot reader, you will understand how crucial feedback is for us to better our talent and improve our work, and they know this very well, as they even mentioned to me during our first exchange for me to let them know how it resonates, and leave some feedback in their ask box.

To make matters worse, they did not give me my reading by 10pm IST. (It’s getting realll)

Here is their response to my reading, the blocked off part is me explaining the person’s feelings for them, I don’t want to put anyone’s personal information on blast, which is why that is covered.

They then said that they would send the reading to me that evening.

It was not delivered by that time either. DUH DUH DUH

I messaged them a tad worried, perhaps they’d been hit by a car and I was just being mad for no reason. They let me know that they had a medical issue, which made me feel evil for pacing my room in anticipation (I didn’t actually do that, only inside my mind palace)

Finally, I received my reading! It was… 200 words, but alas! At least I got it and everyone is alive.

Now the average person would take this as a lesson not to exchange again, just in case they get caught up with another medical issue you know, or maybe the reading is short. (Which ever one is worse. IM KIDDING)

They had a birthday! Turned 18, that’s great, I’m also 18, they messaged me about it, then asked me if I did 18+ readings.

Sometimes I lack context clues, but personally I feel like my confusion here is pretty valid. Plus! Their profile said they don’t do 18+, I’m very valid in my confusion.

Anyways! They ask for my question, I give it, then they give me theirs, they ask if it’s ok, I let them know it is.

But I was hungry and needed to shower, so I also let them know that.

They were doing my reading at 7:26pm, I got out my shower at 10:48pm…. somethings not adding up! So I sent a little message, letting them know about my recent scam, and how I did not want to get scammed again so they would have to send it first.

However, they have not responded, it’s been 3 days, since they apparently started my reading? Now I’m no Tarot Goddess, but I’m pretty sure you would be done with a reading by day 3.

Listen, I don’t wanna fight or argue, I’m just a little funny guy who does Tarot, no fight in me, you message me in caps and I think I’ll cry.

This is not to cause an argument, or to throw hands at anybody, I just don’t like being lied to or taking advantage of as a smaller Tarot reader.

It’s only been 3 days, I was planning on waiting longer to post this, however I feel like now is fine as I’ve clearly been lied to about when they started their reading, which I’m not sure if it was to receive theirs early from me, I got no clue dude, what I do know is I am really tired of people doing this to me, please stop, before I actually cast a spell for you to clip into the back rooms.

Scammers: 2 Nicromancy: 0

Please stop scamming me, you’re embarrassing me in front of my spirit guides. 😔

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #free tarot #tarot witch #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile

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justmeinadaze · 1 year

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We're A Family Part 15 (Steddie X You)

Warnings With Some Notes: Dads Steddie and Mama Reader, Stevie gets yelled at by parents during a parent/teacher conference that Y/N overhears (the dad refers to her as a whore and slut a few times through out the story), these three do talk about having another baby which leads Steve to talking about his worry of people in the town, Daisy's dad causes a scene in their house, SMUT (spanking and slight overstimulation), fluff, and angst.

Dylan and Y/N talk about him and Ro not being planned. The men in the Munson-Harrington household all struggle with personal demons that are mentioned through out this story. They have grown though and know no matter what they can handle anything together <3.

Word Count: 5788

“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

Kierra sighs as she shrugs before leaning back in the booth across from yours. “Y/N, you know I’m always on your side. No matter what. You’re my sister, my best friend, and I love the hell out of you. That being said…”, her eyes look up to meet your slightly annoyed ones. “I think what Steve is feeling is fair.”

You fold your arms as you pout while she continues.

“Come on. It’s not like he’s ever hid from you that he wanted more kids. You three had always talked about having another baby using his stuff, ya know? And of course, he’s thinking about it now because Aurora’s not technically a baby anymore. Dylan will be starting high school soon. His asshole father and our evil mother are always reminding him that biologically the kids aren’t his.”

“So this will fix that?!”

“Y/N…”

“And if we go by that logic we technically aren’t married. They remind him of that to. What, maybe, he needs an actual wife now.”

“Well, now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Don’t do that, Kierra. Don’t treat me like I’m mom!”

“That’s not what I’m doing and I know you know that.” You both exhaled as you took a long sip from the drink in your glass. “Y/N, he’s not…commanding…you to give him a kid right now. It sounds like he just wants to have a conversation about it. At least give Steve and Eddie that.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

She grins as she lightly kicks your leg under the table. “No worries. You know I still love you.”

***

“Hey, mom. What are you doing here?”, Dylan asked as you walked up to the school.

“Steve asked Ed to come get you because he has a meeting after school but he already had plans so alas, you get me.” He grins as you hand him your keys. “Go wait in the car and I’ll be right there, okay?”

You smile as you watch him run out the door before heading to Steve’s classroom.

“…and I’m not going sit here and be lectured by some deviant!”

The sound of someone yelling caused you to pause just outside his door.

“I’m not lecturing you, Mr. Osborne. I’m just trying to convey that your daughter seems to struggle a lot more with the material than others in class. She’s very smart. She just needs some extra help.”

“Oh, and are YOU going to pay for that, Mr. Harrington?! Especially since I know for a fact she doesn’t need any ‘extra help’. Maybe if you would focus on being a better teacher instead of that whore and freak maybe my child would be better educated.”

A chair rolled back as you heard Steve exhale angrily. “I think we’re done here.”

“Um, what about…Daisy’s grade.”, a woman asked.

There was a long pause before he finally answered. “Mrs. Osborne, she’s passing but not enough to get into those AP classes next year. If you and your husband insist on not finding a tutor or something that can help her…there’s not much more that I can do.”

“Maybe it’s time we talk to the principal.”, Mr. Osborne sneered.

“Maybe it is. I can give you his number and we can set up another meeting.”

The man mutters things under his breath as Mrs. Osborne offers a small thank you to Steve. Both parents exit the classroom coming face to face with you.

“Oh. Hey, Y/N. I…we…didn’t know you were, um, here.” You watch with angry eyes as her husband stalks past you down the hallway and out of sight. “Daisy had fun with Dylan at the dance. He sent me some pictures. They are so cute together!”

You subtly nod before crossing your arms. “Lori, did you know my son helps your daughter with her homework sometimes?” She blinks in your direction before shaking her head. “There are times when she comes over after school and they study together. Of course, they can’t do it all the time; Dylan having baseball and Daisy in gymnastics but… Those times he is able to help her? She gets a higher grade.”

“Steve’s right. She’s a smart kid. It’s just she seems to struggle to retain the information especially when she’s anxious. I wonder why that is.”

“LORI ANNE! Are you coming or not?!”, Mr. Osborne shouts down the hallway.

You shrug as you lean against the wall behind you. “But what would I know? I’m just the whore married to the freak and deviant.”

As soon as the sound of her heels disappear, Steve casually comes to lean in the doorway.

“That was good. Maybe you should be a teacher.”

“Naw. That was just my counseling degree you saw at work there. Dealt with a lot of parents like Daisy’s I’m afraid.” You glance in his direction taking note of how exhausted he looks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. What about you?”

“I’ve been better.” Steve immediately looks you over with concern. It’s one of the many things you love about them both; their concern and protectiveness of you. You imagined it took all his strength to not punch Daisy’s dad in the face for calling you and Eddie names.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I was thinking that, maybe, the three of us could talk tonight about…you know.”

He sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. “We don’t have to. I mean, not much point if you can’t even say the word baby.”

“Steve, I’m trying here.”

“Yeah, I understand. It’s really fine, Y/N. Like I tried to tell you before. It’s just something I was thinking about. If you’re not ready it’s fine. We can wait. Look, I still have a couple of things to do before I can leave so…I’ll just see you back at home, alright.”

Before you can answer, he turns away from you and heads for his desk.

###########

“Ok, princess, let’s see what we get here.” Eddie rolls his D & D dice as Aurora sits at the little table Wayne made for her in her size while she picks at the snack on her plate.

“17. Alright.” He leans forward and grabs a note card from the vocabulary set Steve bought to help teach her words. It was the metalhead’s idea to put a spin on it, allowing him to grab a card at random. “What’s this?”

“Puppy!”

“Good job, my angel.” He rolls again and grabs the corresponding card.

“Girl.” Ro points to the image and then herself. “Rara girl.”

“Yes ma’am, you are.”

“Beep, beep.”, she mimics absently before taking a bite of her snack.

“Who’s that?”

She grins as Dylan comes around and ruffles her hair. “Din bra-der.”

“Is Dylan a boy or a girl?”

“Big boy.”

“Way to go, Ro. Mom, I’m going to go upstairs till dinner.”

You nod before coming to sit on the floor beside them and Eddie bends towards you to give you a kiss.

“Ew, daddy!”

“Hey, ew you, kid.”, he smiles as he gives you another peck. “Are you alright, baby?”

“Daisy’s parents were giving Steve hell when I showed up.”

“Sounds about right. I’ve never liked Nathan. He kind of reminds me of my father.”

“Yeah…I told Steve I thought the three of us should talk about the other night…”

“You mean when you freaked out about the idea of having another kid?” He laughed when you shot him a playful glare. “Honestly, sweetheart, not much point if you can’t even say the word.”

“I swear to God! Are you two on the same frequency or something??”

“Usually.”, he smiles. “I’m always open for a conversation.”

***

“Hey, weirdo.” You grin at him as he steps outside and sits beside you on the steps of the back porch. “How’s Daisy?”

“She’s…she’s ok. Upset but ok. She said her parents have been fighting all night.”

“I’m sorry, baby. You know she’s welcome over here anytime if she needs an escape.”

“How are you, mom?”

“I’m okay.” He raises his eyebrow at you making you laugh. “What?! I really am.”

“Liar.”

“Fine! Ya little pain in the butt.” Your smile slightly fades as you talk to him. “Steve wants to have another kid.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t know, weirdo. I mean, we all just got settled into this routine, we see each other a lot more than before. We’d have to move because I’m not going to make either of you share a room with a screaming baby.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“I know YOU wouldn’t but I would.” You quickly sneak a glance at your son before looking out into the yard. “How would you feel about another little one running around?”

“I think it would be cool. I was an only child for a while there so I wouldn’t mind more siblings in the house.” His concerned eyes shift over your frame, debating on if he should continue. “Ro and I were accidents, right?”

His question startled you as you turned to fully face your son. “No, Dylan. You and Aurora weren’t planned but you definitely were NOT accidents.”

“Yeah, no, I get that. I just… imagine how different it would be for you and our dads to plan one this time. You get to be excited for once instead of scared.”

“Dylan Marshall Y/L/N—”

“Ah.”, he cuts you off with a cute little smile. “It’s Munson-Harrington now. You have to scold me properly.”

You smirk as you narrow your eyes at him in jest. “Dylan Marshall Munson-Harrington.”

“There you go!”

You both laugh as you pull him into your arms. “Baby, I was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant with you. Seriously. I fell in love with you the moment I saw your little blob on the ultrasound; you and Aurora.”

“We love you to, mom.”

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that you were an accident. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As you both reentered the house, Eddie was patting Ro’s back as she slept on his shoulder sucking her thumb while Steve stood at the sink washing the dishes from dinner. Dylan bid them a quick good night before heading up to his room.

Sighing, you drunk in the vision of the man in your kitchen. He still looked extremely exhausted but more than anything he seemed sad. Your sister was right, it was fair for him to be feeling what he was feeling and he never once tried to push you on the idea of having more children. When you three found out about Aurora, at first he reacted negatively but he more than made up for it, there for you 24/7 throughout your pregnancy and after she was born. No questions asked.

Steve had been the same with Dylan all those years ago. Anything your son needed he offered a helping hand where he could and genuinely enjoyed being there for you both.

He probably wasn’t even going to present you with that “Baby #3” note until you yourself brought up being ready to have another baby. Steve just wanted to be prepared when the time came up. Yet you reacted out of panic, like he was saying it’s either this or nothing. You immediately shut him down and out instead of just talking to him about how he felt.

He deserved more than that; they both did.

Eddie watched as you crossed the living room and headed towards the other man’s side. He turned off the water, reaching for a dishtowel to dry his hands before finally turning to look at you. Steve exhaled heavily and you abruptly wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest. His strong hands held you tighter to his as he rested his cheek on the top of your head.

#############

“I heard Nathan Osborne gave you the third degree today.” Eddie grinned in Steve’s direction from his place on the floor as he strummed his guitar absently.

“I wouldn’t say ‘third degree’ but he was definitely an asshole.” Steve, who was doing crunches, fully sat up to wrap his arms around his knees. “Said I need to focus more on teaching than being a deviant with my whore and my freak.”

“Wow. Rude. I don’t belong to you. I’m my own freak.” Eddie jokingly sized him up making the other man laugh.

You grinned to yourself in the bathroom as you listened to them talk. You loved hearing them speak to each other when they thought you weren’t listening. It had gradually gotten flirtier as the years passed as they got more comfortable with crossing that friend boundary and entering lovers. Sometimes you wondered if at some point they would have gotten there on their own if they hadn’t met you. You imagined so with that energy they had always had between them.

“How hard was it for you not to punch him?”

“Pfft, God. You have no idea.” Steve tipped back down onto the carpet and continued his set. “Y/N verbally gave them something to think about though.”

“Ooo, baby! You badass. Comin’ out swinging with that sassy attitude.”

Turning off the bathroom light, you smiled as you came to sit on the floor beside them.

“Just Lori. Nathan pushed past me before I could say anything. Dylan says they’ve been fighting all night so, I don’t know, maybe she finally told him something.”

“I hate that for Daisy. She can always come over if she needs to.”, Eddie smiled as he reached to move your hair to the side. “What are you thinking about, babe?”

“Dylan asked me if he and his sister were accidents.” Steve sat up again as the metalhead fully moved his guitar to the side. “I’ve genuinely never thought about it before…that neither of the kids were planned. I don’t know how that translates to me basically having a panic attack at the thought of having another but…”, you laugh as they flash you a smile. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

“I mean, no reason to be sorry, honey. I meant what I said. If you aren’t ready, we can wait. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me because I know our parents put you through hell because Dylan and Ro aren’t biologically yours—”

“Hey now. No. We aren’t going down that road. Those two kids out there are OURS, mine and Eddie’s. I don’t give a fuck that they aren’t ‘pure Harrington’s’ or whatever bullshit my dad wants to spout around town. I don’t want you to agree to have another baby just because you feel like you owe me something. I’m not going to lie, Y/N, I’m really fucking tired of having this conversation.”

“Steve…”

“No, Munson. I mean we adopted Dylan, both kids have our names. What more do I need to do to prove to you that I see them as my children to? IS it me?

“I have never once doubted that you love those kids. I just feel like it hurts you to be reminded.”

“Yeah…but not in the way you think. It hurts me that there are people out there who are going to tell them the same thing and it will hurt them. It hurts me that ignorant people like our parents and the Osbornes will never be able to understand that I would die to protect those kids. If I could shield them from all this bullshit, I would. Those are the kind of things I worry about when THAT particular topic of conversation comes up.”

“How about this?”, Eddie interjects. “How about we start slow? One stressful situation at a time. Maybe we can start looking into bigger houses and see if we can even afford that. If we can’t there’s no point in even having the baby talk.”

“How big are we talkin’?”

“Well, Harrington, your parent’s house has like a billion bedrooms. How much do they pay?”

“First off, calm down, it’s 5 bedrooms. Second, they bought that house in like the 80s. Houses were a lot cheaper back then.”

“They also live on an expensive side of town.”, you add before softly smiling to yourself. “I always wanted to build my own house.”

“Like…with your two hands or?”

“No, you goof.”, you giggle as you lightly reach out to kick Eddie with your foot. “Like design it and have it built. When we were growing up, my dad used to say that was something he wanted but his idea was more extravagant. ‘We’ll have the bowling alley here and the theater there.’” You glance towards Steve as he grins at your comment before crawling over to climb into his lap.

***

“What about this one?”, you asked Steve as you both sat at the kitchen table looking up houses online. Dylan and Daisy were across from you two working on an assignment for another class.

Eddie was feeding Ro as she sat on the countertop, kicking her legs with a big smile on her face.

“I like it. This is only four bedrooms though. I thought you wanted another so Ed can have a man cave for his guitars.”

“Oh, sure. Blame me like you won’t be keeping things in there as well.”

“That’s fair.”, you giggle. “I like it because it’s kind of out near the countryside of Hawkins. Away from people… Plus we would be a little closer to Wayne.”

“And further away from your mom and my dad?”, Steve whispers as his fingers caress your arm as you nod.

“This area still isn’t far from the school or Ed’s shop—”

Pounding on the front door startled everyone causing both men to immediately shift into protective mode. Steve headed towards the sound, sighing aggressively as he peered through the peephole.

“Kids, upstairs now. You to baby. Don’t argue with me.”, he warned as your mouth opened to protest. Dylan and Daisy head up the stairs as you take Ro from Eddie and follow them.

“Mr. Osborne, how can I help you?”

“Where is my daughter?! I don’t want her in this house anymore.”

“She’s studying with Dylan. Your wife dropped her off a few hours ago—”

“I don’t care! She’s MY daughter to and I don’t her exposed to you people.” The man barged passed Steve to search the house shouting her name.

You wrapped your arms around Daisy as she stood there staring out into the hallway towards the stairs and began to cry.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. They won’t let anything bad happen. I promise.”

“Ah, hello Nathan.”, Eddie sarcastically greets him from his spot at the bottom of the staircase. The man tries to push past him but the metalhead successfully blocks his path with his arm. “See, I’m not the teacher and you’re in my house where my kids are so I have absolutely no problem knocking you out if you try that again.”

“I want my daughter NOW.”

“Mr. Osborne, I need you to calm down. I’m not going to let her leave with you if you continue behaving this way.”

“You’re not going to LET her, Mr. Harrington.”, he laughs.

“That’s correct especially if she doesn’t feel safe leaving with you.”

“Daisy is safer with me than with you freaks. I don’t give a fuck what my wife says…the last thing I need is my daughter thinking being a whore is ok.”

Eddie took long strides forward but Steve quickly came between them as he glared at the other man.

“You’ve barged into my house uninvited smelling like alcohol and insulted my wife. I’m asking you nicely one more time to leave or else I will call Hopper.”

“Daisy, honey, wait…”

The girl stepped out of the room and forward so her dad could see her, you quickly following to grab her arm.

“Daisy! Get down here right now! We are going home.”

“Daisy, if you don’t feel safe you can stay here till we get a hold of your mom.”

“It’s ok, Mr. Harrington. I’ll be ok.”

You watch with sad eyes as his shoulders deflate. They glare at each other as she grabs her things and heads towards the front door.

“You keep that boy away from my kid or else—”

“Or else what?” Steve stepped forward till he was hovering just above the other man’s face. “Finish that sentence, Nathan. Please. Threaten my son so I can finally knock you on your ass.”

Mr. Osborne scoffed before abruptly turning and grabbing his daughter before heading out the door. As both men turned to glance up the stairs, they find you sitting on the top step with your arm around Dylan as you both gaze back with sympathy. Aurora is sitting between her brother’s legs one step below him as she plays with her fingers.

This is their family. Eddie and Steve both grew up with a Nathan Osborne in their house. He was a good reminder of where they had come from and how far they had come. Both men started out alone until they found each other. It was just the two of them for so long till they found you and Dylan before Ro came along.

“You ok, kid?”, Steve asked.

“Yeah… I just hate she has to go back home to that. Are you guys okay?”

“Well, won’t make it on my top 10 Saturday evenings but…” Eddie grinned as you three laugh.

“Grrrr.”, Ro growls as she points to the door.

“Excuse me, who are you trying scare, honey?!”

Aurora crawls down slowly on her butt before reaching up so Steve can lift her in his arms. “Boy…grrrrr. Gashhhhhh. Gashhhhhh.”

Dylan cackles at his sister’s sound effects. “She’s making Darth Vader noises.” He mimics her sounds more clearly and she claps at his understanding. “She’s essentially saying Daisy’s dad is mean.”

“Look at you. Kid is the baby translator.”, the man smiles as she giggles and bonks her head against his.

############

“Let’s do it.”

After putting the kids to bed, you climbed onto Steve’s lap on the couch interrupting the show he and Eddie were watching.

“What’s happening now?”

“Let’s try for another baby.”

The metalhead turns off the tv as they both turn to look at you. “Sweetheart, if you aren’t ready—”

“No, no. I mean, after looking at houses and us going over things…seeing how you two are…” Your fingers come up to caress the man’s cheek. “I watched you two defend us…not just us but Daisy to. It just reminded me that no matter what happens we’re safe with you. We’re in this together. We can make it all work.” Steve pressed his forehead to your own. “I’m sorry for panicking and snapping at you before.”

“No reason to, honey. I get it. We’ll just take it one day at a time, okay? It’s going to take a couple of weeks for the birth control to stop working right? We can use that time to look at some of the houses we found. After today…I like the idea of being out in the country.”

“I wouldn’t mind being closer to Wayne.”, Eddie admits. “So, what a minute. If we’re doing this the fun way…that means I can’t cum inside of you for a while?”

You giggle as you lean into Steve’s neck. “Yup. Sorry, baby.”

He flashes you a wicked grin as he promptly stands up and reaches down to throw you over his shoulder. “Well, I better fill you up as much as I can beforehand. Come on, Steven.”

The other man didn’t need to be told; he was already following you both up the stairs. You smile as he tosses you onto the bed and promptly climbs on top of you, clinging his lips to your neck. As quickly as he could, Eddie tore off his clothes and yanked down your pants, bringing your panties with them.

“What’s your rush?”, you laugh at him as he lifts you further up the mattress and positions himself between your legs.

“I’m just dying to feel you, princess.” His body leans over yours as he rubs the tip of his length through your folds making you moan. “Can I? Can I feel my cock inside of you, baby?”

“You know you don’t have to ask.”

Eddie smiles as his lips gently press against yours. “I know. I just like hearing you say it.”

Your fingers run through his hair before taking hold of his shoulders. “Yes, Eddie. I want to feel you inside of me.”

The man bit his bottom lip as his head hung and he pushed himself into your entrance. You searched for Steve, finding him off to the side, already naked, and stroking his cock to the sight before him. After motioning for him to come closer, he crawled onto the bed beside your head, and reached down to lift off your shirt.

As soon as you were free of its confinement, you reached for him, making him groan when you guided his cock into your awaiting mouth.

Eddie pushed up on his knees, lifting your legs further around his waist as he thrust into you. With half-lidded eyes, he watched as Steve’s own beautiful orbs fluttered closed as his jaw went slack. His palm tenderly caressed your cheek before sliding down to your bouncing tits as he kneaded and played with your nipples.

The metalhead aggressively reached for the back of the boy’s neck, tugging his lips to his own. As they kissed, Eddie’s pace slowed as he pumped into you hard and deep.

“Oh…oh my God. F-fuck.”, you mewled.

Steve moaned loudly, his kisses becoming sloppy as he held the other man’s face tightly against his own. You repositioned your head so you could suck on his balls while you stroked him with your hand.

“Fuck me!” Eddie rapidly covered his mouth but he shook his head, pushing it away as he leaned his forehead against his husband’s. “Fuck, that feels so fucking good.”, he whispers.

Steve licks the tips of his fingers and brings them down to your clit, rubbing in fast circles as Eddie tries to match his pace. You try keeping any part of your mouth on him that you can but you struggle as you hurtle towards your climax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Y-yes, Eddie, baby, please.”

His head collapsed lazily against Steve’s shoulder as he rolled his hips into yours, your body shaking as you came, him following after as your pussy clenches around him.

As you try to come down from your high, you notice them exchange a glance with a knowing smile and before you can say anything, the metalhead’s arms are wrapping around you, and flipping you over till you’re on top of him.

“Whatcha doin’?”, you giggle as he smiles, wiping some of the sweat that had accumulated on your face.

“I did say I wanted to fill you up as much as I could beforehand.”

“Ed…”

His eyebrows coyly raise in your direction. “What? You don’t think you can make me cum again?”

“I didn’t say that.” Eddie pushed up on his hands and you looked behind you when you felt a hand touch your body. Steve winked as he pushed you forward slightly making you grin when your nose grazed the mans underneath you. “I just… don’t want to hurt you. I know how sensitive you both are after you cum.”

To prove your point, you gently lift your hips, gliding your pussy along his cock and his eyes close as he hisses at the stimulation. After licking his lips, he craned his neck, bringing his lips to yours.

“I don’t mind a little pain.” With his knees placed on either of the Eddie’s legs, Steve gripped one of your shoulders while using his other to guide himself into your ass. “If anyone can make me cum more than once this quickly, it’d be you sweetheart.”

Your arms cling to his neck as you begin bouncing and pushing back between them. The man behind you meets each of your moves with a thrust of his own and you promptly see stars.

“Steve…just-just like that. You both always—fuck—always feel…” You struggle to finish your sentence, words leaving your brain as you gaze down at Eddie’s face.

His eyes are squeezed shut as he murmurs through gritted teeth. Steve sees it to as he reaches over you caress the man’s lip with his thumb. As you lean forward to hear him better, his arms move causing him to fall flat on the mattress as he grips your hips. You and the other boy adjust more on your knees making you groan as both men push deeper into you.

“Ed? Are you okay, babe?” He nods as he grumbles something you can’t hear. “I-I can’t hear you, sweethea—oh!” Eddie startles you as his palm comes down hard on your ass.

“Hard-er.”, he growls but not in an aggressive way. His tone is rough but it’s dripping with a need you’ve never heard from him before. That mixed with him spanking you had your cunt constricting around him tighter and he moaned at the feeling.

You did as he commanded, grinding your hips as hard as you could against the two of them, bending down to balance on your own arms for more leverage. The man underneath you spanked you again except this time you felt Steve’s cock twitch inside you as he grunted.

“D-do it again. I think—mmm—I think Stevie likes watching you spank me.”

Without saying a word, he did again and the other boy tugged at your bicep, pulling you flat against his chest. You yelped as Eddie’s thumb flicked against your nub and you were grateful when Steve covered your mouth as you whimpered loudly behind his palm.

You couldn’t hold back anymore as you came causing the metalhead to release a strained fuck as you spasmed around his cock. They both chased their highs, Steve coming first as his face pressed into your shoulder and grunted as he came inside you.

Eddie followed soon after, filling your pussy for the second time. The man behind you carefully pulled out but as you tried to do the same the other boy clung to your hips.

“Baby, I…I love the enthusiasm but…you can’t go again.”, you panted as you grinned. “Not right now.”

A small smirk painted his lips as his eyes remained closed. “I’m…kind of embarrassed to say but…I need you to wait a minute, princess.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I’ve just never tried that before. Usually, we take a break if we go a few rounds. I, uh, it hurts a little.”

“I told you.”, you sing.

“Are you ok? It’s okay if we sit for a minute, right?”

“Of course. Did you enjoy it?”

“Did I enjoy making love to you till I can barely move after? Yes, sweetheart, I’d say I did.”, he laughs.

“Did you like what he did?”

Eddie exasperatedly giggled harder as he placed his hand over his heart. “Jesus Steven. You were so fucking quiet I forgot you were here.”

“Yeah, that joke never gets old.”

“Hey, I’m a dad. I’m allowed to make jokes like that now.”

“Did I like what?”, you ask.

“Him spanking you. I don’t think we’ve ever done that before.”

“Hm, handcuffs and spanking. We’re becoming regular BDSM heathens.”, Eddie jokes as Steve rolls his eyes.

“Can she answer a question, please?”, he teased.

“I don’t know. Baby, give it a try.”

When you lightly hit his chest, he captures your hand with his own and holds it to him.

“I did. I think you liked it more though.”, you softly smile as you use your other hand to caress his chin.

“I like anything you two do together.”, his head dips slightly as he fidgets with his fingers. Your smiles grows, realizing that’s most likely why Aurora does it. “Not just sexually either. At the school, I was watching you two dance and I just got this sense of pride, you know? You’re both funny, sexy, sarcastic, strong… like what are you doing with me?”, he chuckles under his breath.

“May I move now?” Eddie nods, gripping your hips as your both hiss and wince at the feeling. You crawl towards Steve and without hesitation he pulls you into his arms. “This is the second time this weekend someone I love has said something that just blows my mind. What are we doing with you? Baby… what would we do without you? Ow!” You both look down to see the metalhead cleaning between your legs. “Excuse you. Can I finish being all romantic and junk?”

“I’m not stopping you.”, he chuckles. “Plus, it’s a good distraction for me so I don’t smack him on the back of the head. ‘What are you doing with me’ he asks.” Eddie shakes his head as he tosses the rag towards the hamper in the corner of the room.

“You can’t talk cause you’re the same way! I know sometimes you wonder.”

“Not with you two. Not anymore.”, he smiles as he jumps back into bed. “I DO sit back at times and wonder what these kids are doing calling ME dad.”

“Ok, we need to have a family discussion because the men in the house are saying things…”

“Oh, calm down.”, Steve grins. “You worry and think about things you shouldn’t be either. We literally just had an argument about it yesterday!”

“I’m a mom. I just want everyone to be happy.”

Eddie reaches behind him and turns off the lamp before wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face into your shoulder. “I’ve never been happier. I love you both and those kids. I can’t wait to meet this new one whenever he comes.”

“He? I’m not even pregnant yet and we’re already taking guesses.”, you giggle.

Steve’s arm slings over you both as his other slides above your heads. Your palm reaches behind him, lightly rubbing his back like you know he likes.

“I think we’re going to have a boy to.”

Your eyes start to become heavy as you feel the blanket fall over your skin. “Hmm… you’ll have to think of name.”

A laugh escapes his throat at the thought. “I came up with Aurora. I think Eddie should come up with the baby’s name.” The metalhead’s steady breathing told you both he was already knocked out. “Honey?”

“Hm?”

Steve places a tender kiss on your forehead as he feels your fingers behind him gradually stop moving.

“I’ve never been happier either.”

##############

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