#she is gentle but in no way is she weak (visage)

[hohuios]

Tag drop: 2/2

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. 

Until he showed up. 

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences. 

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you. 

Well…externally, at least. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame. 

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there. 

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan. 

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.” 

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass. 

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage. 

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips. 

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast. 

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior. 

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that. 

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed. 

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face,  recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down. 

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?” 

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it. 

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.” 

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face. 

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing. 

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion. 

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words. 

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips. 

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.” 

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship. 

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”  

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought. 

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable. 

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side. 

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.” 

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go. 

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away. 

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.” 

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead. 

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.” 

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows. 

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.” 

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips. 

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?” 

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart. 

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists. 

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.” 

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?” 

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.” 

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes. 

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh. 

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes. 

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?” 

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else. 

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation. 

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.  

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before. 

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part. 

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?” 

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand. 

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.” 

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful. 

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy. 

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting. 

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.” 

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man. 

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?” 

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him. 

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due. 

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on. 

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker. 

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow. 

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence. 

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that. 

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant. 

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head. 

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.” 

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours. 

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you. 

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this. 

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat. 

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.  

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.” 

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.” 

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.” 

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him. 

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back. 

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?” 

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”  

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air. 

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone. 

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat. 

What in the hell is going on? 

That’s when the bearded man speaks. 

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other. 

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat. 

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?” 

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.” 

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression. 

“I’d get on that, Son.” 

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope. 

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you. 

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen? 

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays. 

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!” 

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…” 

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp. 

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits. 

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling. 

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting. 

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine. 

But he remembered it. 

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face. 

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today. 

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk. 

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful. 

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment. 

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves. 

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much. 

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?” 

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower. 

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment. 

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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[woo-wahhhh]

[ the dance stage is upon the back of my neck–; ] believe it or not, aventurine was seldom this reckless– yes, he had a reckless streak in him; he wasn't so foolish to argue against that allegation, but he would like to argue that he always operates on a strictly calculated gamble and never one without even the sliver of a chance of falling on the right side of the die.

yet this– this was odd for even him.

what a pesky kind of temptation, aventurine thought to himself, when your fingertips danced along the nape of his neck, nails slipping under his collar, unintentionally driving a new wave of desire to crash over his skin. he braced his hand on the bed frame frame behind you, hazily making sure he didn't didn't topple down on you– that would be another can of worms to open, perhaps even peskier than the way he was now making out with his own secretary.

it was strange; odd, even, how usually, he would always have his wits with him, no matter how much he had to drink. he wasn't one to fool around with other people– money was enough for him– and yet, there he was, completely sober in terms of alcohol consumption yet intoxicated on the sweetness of this unintended kiss.

"oh- ah, that tickles!" those were the first words spoken in quite a while, only leaping forth from your mouth when aventurine had pulled away for a quick moment, only to press his lips hotly against your throat, no doubt leaving a bruise or maybe even a hint of your lipgloss that streaked crimson across his lips. he shivered at the sensation of your cold palms suddenly laying flat over his shoulders and under his shirt, almost biting down from the shock.

this was odd for him, since he thought he'd already learned there was absolutely no worth in jumping headfirst after fleeting feelings of attraction and, if he dared to perceive it, affection. it would always disappoint him in the end when he would be the one to stand alone.

but maybe he was growing weak.

maybe i actually need to schedule an appointment with ratio, he pondered, suddenly pulling away to examine your flushed face. your expression was so lovely, cherry red heat blossoming across the apples of your cheeks as your panted, face tilted into the hand that he cupped your face with. you were so strict, under normal circumstances, unbothered even when he asked you of the most ridiculously outlandish requests for the sake of his missions and business deals, but here you were, sickeningly content as you nuzzled your nose against the palm of his hand.

he nudged your bottom lip with his thumb, gathering the shiny lipgloss under his skin and lifting it to his own lips to smear across his mouth. it was a bit endearing how your legs, which had been wrapped around his waist, tightened, just for a heartbeat– he supposed his actions had the same effect that yours had on him.

"... sir?" what a time for honourifics, he chuckled to himself, suddenly pinching your cheek in response to the gentle call. "is... is something wrong?"

"no," he replied promptly, much to the surprise evident across your visage. "i'm just thinking that you're much bigger of a gambler than i am,"

"is... is that an insult?" why so earnest?

"... the fact you ask me that in the first place feels like an insult to me,"

"oh,"

"mhm," aventurine hummed in agreement, watching your lips purse into a sheepish line, just like you always did whenever things got awkward– how you were bold enough to even get to this point was beyond him. but perhaps that was your charm, the same way his uncanny confidence and gusto was his. "you're going to regret this in a couple system hours, aren't you, my dearest secretary?"

you peered up at him owlishly– "not really. you're a wonderful kisser, sir,"

"i... if topaz catches wind of this, she'll report me to HR,"

"but she won't," he had to say, he was quite charmed by that challenging glint in your eyes, "so you're fine?"

"i'm rubbing off on you, huh," he mumbled, half covering his mouth with his face to stifle laughter that was too boyish for a grown man like him.

"even so," you murmured, suddenly flopping onto your back, a dull thud resonating from the– well, his, mattress. you were pouting, your lips were endearing and it was driving him nuts somehow. pesky, pesky, pesky! "i do like your company,"

his eyebrows arched up at your words. "that's all?"

"do i need more of a reason to spend time with someone?"

he wanted to laugh, half disbelieved by the simplicity of thought. but it wasn't a completely incorrect train of thought, much to his dismay. "your reasoning is quite simple,"

"why must i complicate everything?" you countered, extending a hand forward. your fingertips could graze his collar, the skin on his neck, yet you simply remained in one place, so tantalizingly at arm's length. "perhaps sometimes i just want something."

"nothing more, nothing less," he murmured, more to himself, but perhaps he finished your thought as well judging the surprisingly bright grin you shot him.

"your gamble's paying off quite well," aventurine grinned, placing your hand against his neck and leaning down. "i almost think it's a bit... too good of a gamble,"

"i learned from the best,"

"sweet talking now, huh? i don't hate it." yes, he quite enjoyed it, in fact, so much so that he didn't think twice when closing the distance, teasingly licking your lips before sealing them with a kiss and giving into the heated desire dancing its way up his spine.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! artist x gn! reader

So this is my first time posting my writings, so please be gentle (lol). Still pretty mild though.

He's so enamored with you.

But why?

Is it because he saw you on that faithful day on the train station that was bound to make its last trip?

Is it because he, in his clumsy glory, spilled his arts supplies and you're the only one that helped him? (It does not matter that you two are the only one there, no no no no... YOU HELPED HIM.)

Is it because despite him saying sorry over and over again for inconveniencing you, you just smiled and chuckled, saying that it was okay?

Or is it because of the way the wind blew and the autumn leaves fell, making your sparkling eyes tremble as you look at him. Making the perfect scenario in his head?

It didn't matter anyways. What he knows is that you never left his head after that. Your perfect visage and perfect smile burned in his brain, in his memories, in his heart.

You were his muse, his inspiration.

But it's been quite a while since he saw you, and your face is slowly getting blurry.

And he's also getting desperate.

He panted after frantically painting for the nth time today.

"No... Why can't I remember their face?" He whispered with a slight stutter in his tongue. "Please no... Please make me remember!"

He hit his head with the heel of his palm as if trying to jog his memories. But still, the face that he once dreamed of every single day is so blurry. So awfully blurry. He gasped as he tried to stop the desperate tears threatening to fall from his shaky eyes.

His knees buckled and his body fell to a kneel. The room cold from the air-conditioning, and also the rainy weather outside. As the pitter patter of the raindrops fell and slid on the windowsill, his heart pumped with so much adrenaline from painting and wasting so much canvas and paint. His work room littered with broken canvases, unfinished paintings, and different variations of a person smiling at the beholder.

The only thing consistent about the person was their big, sparkly eyes.

"Ah..." He shivered. "Ahh..." His lips trembled as a stray cry escaped his mouth. The tears now falling.

He wanted to see them again so bad, to see their muse. But the train station was now closed, sealing off his fate in this small, quiet town. He regrets moving from the city now that he saw them moving away from here.

The store front bell rang and he stilled.

With knees weak, he stood up and wiped his face from the tears. His heart was still slowly breaking as he trudged towards the reception.

"Welcome to my grandmother's antique store. May I know your..."

He stopped.

"name..."

His eyes landed on you, whose eyes still sparkle the same way he remembers. His memories was immediately jogged, almost giving him whiplash from the sudden surge of overwhelming emotions of finally remembering you, seeing you, facing you.

And hopefully, loving you.

You grinned at him, remembering the artist who had spilled his art supplies on the exact same day you departed from your home town.

"Hi! Didn't expect you to be the one to inherit the old lady's antique shop. She's so sweet. Delivered me baked goods time and time again. Oh uh, i'm the one who helped you in the train station months ago. Maybe you don't remember... Oh god maybe you don't and I just sound like a creep haha." Your sweet voice filled his ears once more and he quietly sighed as he felt the shivers go down his spine.

"I definitely remember!" He said enthusiastically.

"I now remember."

[sarahowritesostucky]

☺️ will jilted Steve treat his reader right?

Yes he will!

He'll be the exact man she needs, not at all like his son

He'll be kind, caring, controlling, firm, gentle, thoughtful, a total Daddy.

The sex will be so good. She hadn't even realized how mediocre it was with Steve's son, until she experienced the real passion and lovemaking that Steve gives her.

Patrick showed up the day after the wedding at Steve's house, tearful and apologetic and pathetic, assuming that she would take him back and they could just postpone the wedding for "a little while."

Steve said "no," took her hand in his, and pulled her against his side as he scolded his son for his behavior, and Patrick's visage visibly darkened as he realized that the two were involved just by the way they were touching/acting.

He rapidly went from sniveling, to fuming, but he only got one or two nasty, waspish insults in to her before Steve had him by the throat, pushed up against the wall. If he said another word, Steve would knock him out.

Steve told him he regretting being a failed father, to have raised such a weak man. He should've fought harder for custody from Pat's nasty mother (Steve's ex). But he was done trying to make Patrick something he wasn't: a good man.

He boldly sneered in his face and told him about how he would take care of you for him, now, giving you the lifestyle and the love and the sex that he never could.

He dragged him to the door and Patrick stormed out. That was the last time she ever had to see him.

The press were all over this scandalous topic right away: paparazzi outside Steve's house all the time, requests for interviews, etc.

Patrick immediately starts giving interviews slandering her and Steve and trying to get sympathy directed at him. She is distressed by this but Steve insists they should stay silent for a while.

When she's ready, she and Steve will do one interview each. His in Men's health or GQ , hers in Bazaar or Vanity Fair.

After the initial outrage (being her ex-fiance's father & Captain America, the age gap), public opinion will turn towards them, and they'll be the new "it" couple. Patrick is soon villainized and then forgotten.

Steve is rich, so he'll spoil her by buying her cars and jewelry and anything her heart desires. They travel all over the world together in luxury.

Steve and her don't try to get pregnant, but they decide not to use birth control. He'd love a chance to redeem himself as a good father, and the both of them have a massive breeding kink anyway.

Read it here:

Jilted Part 1 Part 2

[hunterssm00n]

Deal / part 3 /

What first starts out as a cruel prank turns into a night of unmatched passion. | Waylon Jones/OC |

part 3 of 3

also on ao3: here

*cw include smut, explicit situations, size kink, teratophilia, fear play, dirty talk, anxiety attack, extremely mild dubcon (for point one second but tagging just in case), graphic description* MDNI - 18+

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

/ / Devour / /

If you chose to stay a little bit longer I'd make it worth your while...

There was no way she was leaving now.

Kris nodded at Croc, looking into his yellow eyes with affirmation. In those glowing orbs surprise shown momentarily, but he quickly let out another one of his trademark gravelly laughs as though to cover it up. Not for the first time, she felt a squeeze of pity in her heart for him. Everyone thought he was a monster; everyone said he was nothing more than an animal. But he had shown her empathy, fairness, and kindness. None of which the very much human guards and orderlies, who had thrown her in here in the first place, had shown me. This so-called "monster" treated her better than those scumbag "normal" humans did. As far as she was concerned, she felt safer in here, with him, Waylon Jones, than she did out there with her coworkers. 

She licked her lips as he crawled back up her body, his hulking form covering her completely, like a large, protective cocoon. A massive claw-tipped hand came up to brush away pieces of her hair that were stuck to her face from sweat and exertion. If he tried, he was clearly capable of gentleness, though the movement from him felt almost uncertain. Violence and brute force came easily to him, being a man that's had to fight for his life for his whole life. Gentleness was something he was not used to. So tonight, she was determined to show him some. 

She reached up her right hand from where it had been down at her side, previously clutching at the mattress while he'd been doing his extremely kind ministrations to her lower region, and brought it slowly up to his face, which was only about a foot above hers. She made sure to move carefully so as not to startle him, and she gently ran her fingertips up from his scaly jaw to his equally rough cheek. The scales on his face weren't any smoother than his chest; in fact they were rougher, his complexion cracked and unforgiving under her soft fingertips. This did not deter her from her journey, and she really hoped he was okay with her exploration of his visage. Her eyes looked to his in a silent question, asking permission, and she saw no resistance in those yellow orbs - only unspoken encouragement. So she kept going.

Kris cupped his scaly, broad jawline in her palm, stroking her thumb over the corner of his mouth and the sharp, non-human teeth that protruded from the inside. She smoothed her hand over his head, traced his brow, his nose, his chin, everywhere. He submitted to her study, reptilian eyes watching her curiously the whole time. The feel of his gaze on her made her own face grow hot, and the arousal began creeping back between her legs, her skin becoming tingly all over once again. She continued those explorative touches on him, moving her hand down his thick, sinewy neck, running her fingers over the ridges of skin and the hard muscle underneath. The back of his head and neck had rougher, pointy looking scales that continued on down his spine, and maybe even beyond the tops of his pants.

From working in the clerks office she had seen many pictures of him, from all angles. Now she got to feel; something that, admittedly, she had given some thought to before. From looking at those photographs of him when she was filing his paperwork all those times before, she had wondered what it would be like to touch him - and to have him touch her. She’d wondered what kind of lover he would be; what it would take to make this big man weak. At the time she’d thought of it as just another one of her strange fantasies - especially considering the content of some of the photos in his file. She had had no idea that she would be actually living this fantasy someday. 

"What're you smilin' at, pretty one?" 

His gruff but not unkind question made her cheeks burn; she hadn't realized she'd been smiling. Swallowing hard, she asked something that had been fluttering around in the back of her mind since they had made it to his mattress - and once she’d found out for certain that he was not going to kill her and eat her body, "Can I request an addition to this deal?" 

Croc's eyes glimmered with curious amusement, and he tilted his large, muscular head at her inquiringly, "Sure thing - what'd ya have in mind?" 

Now Kris really felt the blush heat her cheeks, and honestly she didn't know for what reason. This man had already eaten her out - like, practically devoured her - and here he was on top of her, half naked from the waist up, while she was half naked from the waist down. But she chalked the heat on her face up to just the way he looked at her; so predatory, so hungry, so... intimately, like he could see right through her into her very soul. Nothing escaped that golden gaze, and there was no doubt in her mind that he could definitely see the heat rising on her face and neck... and elsewhere, too. She knew reptiles could sense heat, and that was how they hunted. So maybe that had been another factor during their first encounter in the office hallway last week. Maybe along with him smelling her desire, he had seen how warm everything got when he'd touched her. But honestly, when she’d been face to face with this brick wall of a torso, caged in between massive arms and imposing height, and held frozen by yellow eyes that watched her with a true hunters attention and precision - how the fuck could she not be turned on by that?

He was waiting for an answer, and she licked her lips to moisten them since her quick, shallow breathing had dried them out, noticing how that ever watchful predatory gaze flicked down to her mouth. Oh, god... "If- I'll, um, I'll trade a kiss for... for..." Fuck, she hadn't thought that far ahead. A kiss for what? For him fucking her senseless? No, that was already going to happen regardless. Think, think. It was so hard to think in this moment, though. With him shirtless and crouched over her like a predator that had just taken down his prey, and practically salivating while more than ready to devour his meal. And thinking was not the only thing that was hard at the moment; she could feel how hard and hot and massive his erection was, straining through his pants and pulsing against her bare leg. And it hadn't gone down at all, even though at the moment all they were doing was talking and studying each other. If anything, it felt like it had gotten harder, and bigger. What did that mean?

He grinned, not unkindly, while seeing her struggle (and she bet that he'd grin even more to see her struggling in other ways; god help her, these thoughts were going to kill her if he didn't do it first), but then he decided to help her out by saying, "Tell ya what; a kiss for," He reached a massive hand up in between them and hooked a claw into the collar of her scrub shirt, lightly pulling it away from her chest, but not hard enough to tear it, though she knew he could, easily. Her pants could attest to that, as could the bones strewn around the floor of his 'room'. "This coming off." 

Oh. It really was that simple. Why hadn’t she thought of that? In all honesty, she had nearly forgotten about her shirt that she was still wearing; she felt completely naked and exposed under his gaze, even when she'd been fully clothed. 

Eagerly, maybe a little too eagerly, Kris nodded her head against the mattress underneath him, and his low chuckle caused a fresh gush of wetness to leak out of her bare pussy. Her chest was heaving underneath him, and his index claw was still hooked into the collar of her shirt. She wanted him to tear it off of her right now, but forced herself to stay under control. Plus he hadn't torn it off yet, so he was probably waiting for her to make the first move, since she’d been the one to bring up this new bargain. She mustered up all of the sexy feminine energy she had within her and smoothed her palms over his huge shoulders. "Well, what're you waiting for, big guy? C'mon down here and kiss me." 

His mouth quirked in a grin that showed nearly all of those rows and rows of sharp, inhuman teeth, and he huffed incredulously at her once again before leaning his body down to better be able to reach her, "I meant what I said before; you're somethin' else, little Kris." 

The nickname sent a shiver through her, the use of her name on his tongue sounding so good, and even more so combined with his other nickname for her. Little one, little Kris. God dayum. 

Before she could say anything else, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. And quite literally covered. 

When she’d thought about kissing him she had wondered how a kiss would work between the two of them. Sure, he had a mouth, with a tongue, so technically he also had lips. Honestly, she didn't really care about the quality of the kiss itself, more about just having that connection. Much like everything else he was doing to her and making her feel, it was like a physical need. She needed to feel those rough lips on hers, claiming her that way too; needed to feel his long, forked tongue in her mouth. It was like she’d been returned to her basest form where human and societal standards and formalities had all gone out the door, and all that was left was this primally charged exposed nerve. 

And she was not at all disappointed when their mouths locked in a desire fueled battle for dominance - though there was really no question as to who was winning that battle. Quite honestly, that was just fine with her, because she didn't want to win. 

His lips were still scaly and rough, though not as much as the rest of his face. More like the scales that covered his chest and belly, smoother and lighter in color. But just abrasive enough for Kris to get the shivers at the feel of them lightly scratching her own soft lips. And that reaction increased tenfold whenever she felt one of his teeth against her lip, or whenever her tongue glided over one of those sharp canines. His mouth was much wider than hers, but he was being careful to not open his jaw too wide and accidentally (or maybe purposely) bite her lips off. But weirdly enough she liked the danger of knowing that he could if he wanted to. She enjoyed the mutual feelings of fear and arousal at the thought that he could kill her at any moment - which sounded silly considering she had practically begged for her life earlier. But she didn't care; she knew she was a complete mess here on this mattress underneath him, Waylon Jones aka Killer Croc, while they made out like two horny teenagers. She ignored the stench of the rotting, dead meat on his breath; she literally switched that part of her brain off. That was how turned on she was, and how much she enjoyed this kiss. It was addictive.

That long, forked tongue scraped the roof of her mouth, and she eagerly sucked on the tip of it when he went to draw it back. A reptilian hiss escaped his parted jaw at her willingness to please, to make sure he was enjoying this as much as she was. His dick in his pants was still hot, hard and pulsing against the inside of her thigh, and she felt it give a jump when she lightly dragged her teeth across his bottom lip. 

"You tryin'a kill me?" he groaned against her lips. The gravelly undertone always present in his voice made his words come out in a growl, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. He pulled back from her mouth slowly, reluctantly, a string of saliva still connecting their lips. Who knew if it was hers or his - most likely it was both of theirs mingled together. She could feel it all over her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. And the more he pulled back she could see that his green face was also shiny with their mixed fluids, and some of it was dripping off of his chin and onto her shirt. And speaking of her shirt...

Croc leaned back so he could fully see her underneath him, and that grin was ever present on his face as he surveyed the scene before him: her, splayed out on his mattress, her dark hair probably strewn everywhere around her head like some sort of dark halo, face covered in drool and sweat, eye makeup probably smeared and running all over her cheeks, lips most likely red from kissing his. She must have looked like the mess she felt like. Yet that desire in his gaze never faltered. 

When his large lands went to her shirt, a stupid voice of reason yelled out in her mind, and she faltered, "Um - before you rip that, I... I don't... I'll need something to walk out of here in... my stuff is all still in the office..." Kris felt stupid saying all of that, but it was the truth. She couldn't just walk out of here stark naked and go to the clinic to get her purse and keys; there were cameras everywhere.  

He paused for a moment when she spoke, yellow eyes flicking to hers, probably to make sure she wasn't about to tell him to stop (hell no), and once he registered what she'd said he visibly relaxed in what she could tell was relief. And she had no doubt, even only knowing him for this brief amount of time, that if she asked him to stop, he would. 

He appeared to think for a moment, a brief moment, and then very quickly after he concluded, "I have some things you can wear outta here." 

She hadn't known he had other clothes down here, which made her feel a little bit better about his current living situation - not much, but at least it was something. She had never been happy about the Asylum's decision to put him down here like an animal, rather than putting him in a cell or a room like the other inmates. She thought it was incredibly dehumanizing. When she'd brought it up to the director he'd told her it was for "everyone else's safety, and for Croc's own safety", whatever that bullshit meant.

Kris must have nodded or given him some kind of non-verbal go ahead because immediately after his big scale covered hands grabbed two handfuls of her shirt at the modest V neckline. With one more look at her eyes to confirm that this was okay, he pulled at the fabric and her black scrub shirt tore right down the middle. Her whole body felt warm and tingly all over; his display of strength was such a turn on. It had been when he'd carried her here, it had been when he'd held her down on the mattress after she'd been afraid he was going to eat her, and it still was now. She knew he'd barely had to exert any strength at all to rip the thin material, but it was still hot. The way his massive biceps flexed when he moved his arms to pull the tattered pieces of her shirt off of her arms? Hot. Hot as fuck. 

She knew he was strong; judging by his size alone, anyone could tell that he possessed immense strength. Standing at at least eight feet tall, and with more brawn than a pro-wrestler, it was easy to see. Physical strength was a huge turn on for her, and so was his size; he was so much larger than her. His biceps were bigger than her thighs, and his upper half had a V shape to it that made her want to actually drool. With every move he made she could see the muscles rippling under his skin; slithering like snakes underneath his own scales. Ugh, she'd be lucky to walk out of here alive. If he wasn't going to kill her on purpose then his hotness would kill her on accident. 

She also knew from his file in the clerks office that he had done cage fighting and, ahem, alligator and crocodile wrestling - like, where he actually wrestled alligators and crocodiles. Wrestled the animal that had the strongest bite force in the animal kingdom. And he'd done that often. The thought of him in the water, his scales gleaming and dripping wet, muscles flexing as he wrestled his opponent, more animal than man when he needed to be... She needed to stop. She seriously needed to stop. 

With a claw slid underneath the front of her bra in between the cups, he shredded through that much like he had done with her shirt. His sharp nails gently scraped over her skin as he pulled the ruined scraps of material away from her body, and her breasts fell free of any confinement before him. Those reptilian eyes immediately zeroed in on the two mounds of flesh, that low crocodilian hiss emanating from him once again. Her nipples pebbled into hard peaks without him even having to touch her, just simply from the heat of that fiery golden gaze. When he did touch her her vision went hazy with need. He lightly dragged the tips of his claws over her soft skin, very lightly so as not to scratch or break the skin. It was just this side of teasing, and it felt so good. Too good. His hot, scaly fingertips skimmed the undersides of her breasts, thumbs tracing around her hard nipples. When his large, scalding palms closed over her tits she couldn't help the moan that drifted out of her throat, all high pitched and needy. His hands were so big they completely encapsulated her twin B-cups, and when he lightly squeezed, her own hands curled into fists on either side of her body atop the mattress. 

"Pretty little morsel," he ground out above her, voice strained with arousal as he kneaded her tender flesh, "you look good enough to eat," 

Her vision refocused on him as he leaned back down towards her body, long tongue coming out of his wide mouth to swipe at a nipple. Kris whimpered at the feeling; even though it was her breast he was licking, the feeling shot straight down between her legs like an electric current. That tongue continued tracing around her diamond hard nipple, his hot breath scorching her flesh. She trembled beneath him, every lash of his forked tongue sending amazing sensations down below. That coupled with his huge, warm hands cupping the undersides of her mounds to keep her nipples ripe and perked out towards his mouth was almost too much to handle. This whole thing was so hot. She had never been so glad that she agreed to a trade before.

That tongue explored further over the soft skin of her chest, tracing around her whole breast now, and when he let his sharp teeth lightly skim the sensitive underside her whole body shivered. He switched sides and did the same treatment to her other tit, and by the time he leaned back once again she felt like a literal livewire, her body reacting to every small touch, and every promise of a touch. 

When he began removing his own pants, Kris couldn't help the gulp that lodged itself in her throat. Here was a very, very large man before her. What on earth would such a large man's cock look like? Well, she was about to find out. She watched in anticipation tinged with nervous energy as he expertly unfastened and unzipped his own pants despite his inch long claws, and she felt her scalp tingling with excitement. 

Usually when she pleasured herself, she was one and done; if she wanted to go again she had to wait at least half an hour, sometimes longer, and even then it was sometimes hard to get back into the same frame of mind as before. But right now she felt very much ready - turned on with the same intensity that she had been before the first climax. It was like that one had slicked her up, and now she was ready to continue; like that was the delicious first part of a multiple course meal. She had been satisfied, but not satiated.

Croc propped himself up with one massive arm near her shoulder, his elbow on the mattress as his other hand shoved his pants down his body, and Kris looked down, not knowing fully what to expect, but knowing she was about to be wowed. When the monster appendage sprang free from the confines of his wet pants she felt her breath catch in her throat, as well as her pussy becoming even more swollen with desire. How the fuck was she going to take that?! Much like the rest of him, his member was covered in scales, and was the same mottled, dark green color, although from what she could tell by looking, the scales appeared to be much smoother here, like the ones on his taut lower abdomen. Much like the scales on a snake, it seemed (an anaconda, to be exact); smooth but still very different from a normal human cock. While the base and length was more of that same mottled green color, the tip was pink, and he was extremely swollen and leaking with arousal. Upon seeing it, she felt her mouth water. Kris wanted to put it in her mouth, though she knew the whole thing would not fit, maybe not even half of it. Ever tried fitting a whole footlong sub in your mouth? Cuz that was what this monster looked like. But she wanted to do it anyways. She wanted to make him feel good like he'd made her feel good.

The thought of him putting that monster thing inside her didn't scare her nearly as much as it should have, though she did get a small thrill of anxiety up her spine at the thought of being filled so heartily. She also was very glad that she wasn't a virgin, as she could only imagine the discomfort of such a big, thick cock breaking her in half. While she was still nervous, she was also filled with want. The desire was making it feel like her loins were on fire.

"Like what ya see, pretty one?" He grinned down at her, and his golden eyes gleamed. She noticed, not for the first time, that his pupils, normally vertical slits like those of a reptile, were almost fully blown out in his state of arousal. She was pretty sure hers looked the same.

Kris nodded at his statement, licking her lips. He was going to stretch her so good; maybe even split her in half. That one annoying little morsel of fear in her wondered if she would be able to even take him; if it would hurt. She hated that stupid little voice, it was such a debbie downer. 

Croc leaned down closer to her, now that he was also completely bare, and that long, slimy tongue came out of his mouth to lick a line up her stomach and between her breasts. She shivered; there was such an animalistic way he was handling her, though he was considerably gentle and concerned with her well-being. All of those things combined made her stupid hot for him. 

His tongue leaked out of his mouth to lick at the underside of her right breast; the long, thick appendage so strange on her skin. She barely had time to register that feeling before the forked tip passed over her nipple and made her feel like a zap of pleasure went straight down her body to the area between her legs. She arched into his mouth, her hands finding his scaly, ribbed shoulders as he hovered over her. The fire down below burned hot, and the only thing that could make it into the inferno that it needed to be was his monster dick.

As if he'd read her mind, yellow eyes gleaming at her, he asked her, "You a virgin, little one?" 

Kris shook her head no, and she honestly thought about asking him the same thing, just out of general curiosity. Though she wasn't super experienced by far, she'd had a couple of boyfriends in the past, and two of them had been her only sexual partners. However, it had never been like this.

One of his large hands drew up towards her face, a big, thick finger sliding underneath her chin to turn her face towards him to look into his eyes. "Don't sweat it, little one, I ain't either. Hope I didn't offend ya by asking - just wanted to make sure so I don't hurt ya; I'm pretty big, and you're, well," Here, he grinned at her, "a little one." Kris couldn't help but smile at him, at that. "And if my tongue filled you that good," His reptilian eyes glimmered dangerously down at her, "I can't even fuckin' imagine how tight you're gonna be around my dick." 

His crass, explicit words sent a zing of pleasure up her spine, and she hoped he continued his graphic description once he was finally seated inside of her. It was yet another thing that she thought was hot about him; that voice made her wet, especially because she could feel it rumbling throughout her whole body when he spoke.

He moved a little bit down her body now, and she felt her heartrate speed up in anticipation of what was about to happen. I'm about to be fucked by the crocodile man in the lowest levels of my workplace. And though she was beyond horny and desperate for him, she was also a little nervous about how exactly she was going to take that massive cock inside of her. How the hell was it going to even fit? Would it hurt the whole time? She couldn't help the anxious thoughts swirling around in her mind.

The large man above her leaned back on his haunches, right over her knees, and she now had the best view of his naked body she'd had yet. Big barrel chest, massive dick staring straight at her, pointed nearly vertical towards the old brick ceiling over our heads, and yellow eyes that seemed to glow from within, tracing over every inch of her also naked form beneath him. It should have made her self conscious, the way he was looking at her, but it didn't. 

As if he'd read her mind once again (could he read her mind? Was that one of his crocodile superpowers?), he brought one of his massive, claw tipped hands up to his face, and that tongue came out to coat his open palm and fingers with a thick layer of saliva. She was still incredibly wet from her own arousal and from what he'd done to her with his mouth before, but she was very glad for the extra precaution. He kept eye contact with her the whole time, making her warm and tingly all over, and when his tongue slithered back into that mouth his hand was dripping with saliva. Kris watched with bated breath as he lowered that hand to the area between her legs, his other hand gently spreading her thighs wider so he could kneel between them. She was now wide, wide open before him, like a goddamn oyster. The first touch of one of his fingers against her pussy had her clenching around nothing, and she would have been embarrassed at the wet sound it made if she wasn't so turned on. He generously spread the fluid around her entrance, using so much of the saliva coated on his hand she could feel it running down the crack of her ass. Not that she minded one bit.

He let a wet finger wander up to her clit to give it a stroke, grinning widely when she squeaked and her legs instantly tried to clamp shut from the ticklish, intense feeling - except they couldn't because he was knelt between them. "That's not n-" Her words were cut off by one of his massive fingers prodding at her entrance, and replaced by a gasp that came from her throat instead. Yes. Yes. Yes. Careful of his claw, she felt the very tip of that finger enter her, and was relieved to feel no pain or resistance. His tongue really had slicked her up good before. That first finger slid in rather easily thanks to all the lube of his saliva, plus her body's own personal lubricant that it was providing. Additionally her desperation and eagerness helped, and by the time that finger was fully seated inside of her she was grinding against his hand, panting and trembling atop the mattress. Once he'd seen that she'd gotten used to the first finger, she felt a second one prod at her entrance, and this was where she began to worry a bit. She tried to immediately relax her muscles and relax her mind, and not think about the fact that each one of his fingers were the size of corndogs. Each of them alone were thicker than any cock she had ever seen. And while he was clearly trying to be careful she was still worried about what that claw could do to the insides of her most sensitive areas. 

Upon seeing the expression on her face he immediately paused in his movements and asked her, "You okay, little one? Ya want me to stop?"

Kris was relieved by his concern and attentiveness towards her, and swallowing hard she shook her head no. She wanted this to happen; it was going to happen one way or another. "I'm okay, k-keep going."

His hand stayed still a moment longer while those eyes studied her face, probably to make sure she really was okay like she had said, but he must have been satisfied by what he saw because then he continued. That second thick appendage started to slide forward into her once again, alongside the first one, but this time his thumb came up to rub her clit, probably to distract her from thinking too much about the intrusion and the stretch. And that definitely worked; the more his thumb drew circles around her little nub, the farther the thought of the burn and the stretch and his claws went from her mind. It wasn't long before she was whining and squirming on top of the mattress from the intensity of the feeling; that scaly finger rubbing his saliva all around her sensitive bud was too good for her to be worrying about anything at all. 

"Halfway there, pretty one. Ya still doin' okay?" he asked, and Kris hadn't realized she’d been squeezing her eyes shut from the pleasurable assault of his thumb continually circling her clit until now. She opened her eyes to see him looking straight at her, amusement quirking one corner of his mouth. The feeling of two of his thick fingers in her was no longer worrisome; now she wanted more. She wanted his whole hand inside her. The stretch was no longer burning but pleasurable. Realizing he was waiting for an answer she quickly nodded her head, and he chuckled as she lifted her hips to try to take in more of those fingers. And she also made a quick mental note to tell him afterwards how much she appreciated him checking in with her to make sure she was okay. Heartless, murderous animal my ass. Those people upstairs didn't know what the hell they were talking about. 

Croc slowly slid the second finger the rest of the way in, mindful still of the claw at the tip. By the time it was as far in as it would go, less he risk hurting her, she was eagerly thrusting against his hand and headed steadily towards the freight train of pleasure that would be her second orgasm of the night. "Oh, god," she whimpered, the scaly finger on her clit combined with the thick appendages deep inside of her combined with those eyes watching her... All were the catalysts for her rapidly approaching pleasure. "Croc, I'm gonna cum,"

"Yeahh do it, baby doll," he hissed, "anything that's gonna slick up this tight little pussy, you're tight as fuck around my big fingers and you're gonna be even tighter around my big cock, ain'cha?"

His words and his voice pushed her over the edge, and her body writhed on top of the mattress as the pleasure exploded between her legs; Kris cried out as the tidal wave pulled her under in the best way, drowning her in sensation. The rushing of blood in her ears as she was coming down was all consuming, but underneath she could still hear his rasping voice quipping, "Guess my relaxation method worked a little too well, huh?" 

She was breathing heavily, shaking, coming down from the pleasurable high, but she couldn't resist responding, "If y-you didn't want me to c-cum then you s-shouldn't have been t-touching me so g-good..." 

Here he let out a laugh, and she was finally able to open her eyes again to look at his face as he grinned down at her, showcasing those sharp teeth in his wide mouth, "Ohh pretty one I want you to cum - as many times as ya fuckin' can would be preferable. And next time I want you to cum around my cock."

Yesss, her brain whispered to her. The thought of being impaled by his huge member and forced to cum over and over was going to haunt her, she knew. In a good way.

Croc slowly removed those two thick fingers from her womb, making her shudder at the feeling of going from completely stuffed full to barren. At the same time he brought his other hand up to his mouth like he had done before, and this time he spat into his open palm. He then brought that hand down to his hard member, which was swollen and leaking precum at the tip, and smeared the fluid all along his impressive length. He gave it a few strokes up and down, eyes on her all the while, and her cheeks would have flooded with heat if not for the fact that she was still lying boneless atop the mattress from the second explosive orgasm of the evening he'd given her. And even more so when he brought the hand that had been fingerfucking her up to his mouth and sucked her juices off of his fingers. Who had given him the right to be this hot? 

Now he placed both of his hands on her hips, pulling her towards him on top of the mattress, and keeping her legs open, he fit her thighs comfortably over his and around his waist. This was happening - this was really happening. Killer Croc was about to raw her in his bed. He drew her hips towards his, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she felt the thick mushroom head of his dick rubbing up and down her slit. "You ready for me, little Kris?" he intoned, voice low and yellow eyes burning bright under his low brow.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "Yes, please, Waylon, give me your dick,"

His whole body noticeably shuddered at her words, and his grip on her waist tightened as he began to push forward, the thick head spreading her wet pussy lips open for her to take him inside of her. Her body was still prone below him on the mattress, muscles too tired to be tensed, so this was as good a time as any for him to put it in her. 

The head slid into her and her pussy made a wet, slurping noise, and they both gasped at the feeling. He was tense all over but was showing an astonishing amount of self control, reptilian eyes burning fiercely as he breathed out in harsh rasps. "Fuck, little one - you sure ya ain't a virgin?" he rasped out, and Kris couldn't tell if the question was meant to be serious or not, but she giggled anyway, which turned into another sharp intake of breath as he slid in a couple of centimeters more. If she had still been a virgin, trying to take in this monstrous cock would have broken her in half. 

He continued sliding in slowly, very slowly, guiding her hips towards his almost like he was afraid to thrust forward. His eyes were trained on their conjoining genitals, watching rapt as her pussy swallowed his cock. What would happen if this man lost control? Her mind was so clouded with pleasure at the moment that she honestly didn't care if he lost control and just pounded away, but knowing how vast their size difference was, the logical part of her wanted him to keep taking it as slow as possible. Even though he had stretched her out on his fingers it was still a tight fit; there was an ever so slight burn that she knew would fade over time. Kris was extremely thankful for the extra lubrication provided by him as well as the multiple climaxes - without any of that she knew this would have gone a lot harder. She knew she would have been so tense that he might not have been able to enter her at all. 

When the crown of his dick nudged against her cervix she gasped a little and he immediately paused in his movements. His hands were clamped around her waist so tight she knew she would have bruises there tomorrow, shading her skin in the shape of his huge palms and long fingers. He'd hit her body's natural stopping point and there was still more of his dick to go, but thankfully he didn't press any further. Instead, those yellow eyes flicked to hers and he asked, "You good?" And atop the mattress she nodded her head once again in answer and acknowledgement. She felt so full like she was ready to burst, but the sting was ebbing away, and she could feel every vein and ridge of his cock against her inner walls. She couldn't even make a sound, the feelings were so intense. And good.

Slowly he began to draw back, very slowly, almost torturously, and he pulled his hips back all the way until it was only the bulbous head of his member still inside of her. And right when she was about to make a noise of protest he began pushing back in, and she choked out a moan at the sheer size of him gliding into her wet channel. He was still going slowly, but gone was the burn, and it was replaced by sheer need; wet, throbbing, pulsing need. And the only one who could satisfy her was him. When the tip of him reached her inner stopping point once again he immediately began pulling back, and her breath went out in a whoosh of air, until he pushed back in, making her let out a needy whine. Now that there was no resistance he didn't have to go as slow anymore, and his pace picked up slightly. He could probably tell by the noises she was making that everything was more than okay, anyways. Every time he pushed himself back into her she saw stars. 

"Oh Croc- Waylon!"

"Am I hurtin' ya, sweetheart?" 

"N-No just please, k-keep going,"

"You got it; look at you, takin' me like a champ," 

His praise made the simmering heat in her belly turn into a molten flame, and with every thrust of his hips he stoked the fire within her. He still wasn't going as hard as she knew he probably could, but each thrust had her breasts bouncing on her chest. My god, she’d never felt so full. This type of pleasure was on another level. If he went any harder or deeper she knew she would see the head of his cock bulging against her lower belly. At the moment her vision was so hazy from all the stars and feelings he was making her experience that the only things her eyes could focus on were his two golden orbs floating somewhere above her, and his sharp teeth gleaming. He looked so deliciously frightening in the dim lighting of his abode, and she was once again reminded at who exactly was fucking her silly on top of his mattress.

"Fuck," Croc lowered his head, rounding his broad, scaly shoulders as his hips continued pumping in and out of her steadily, "I can't hold out much longer..." His huge hands began to dig his nails into her hips, and she’d be lying if she said it didn't feel good. The little pinpricks of pain made the pleasure between her legs all the more intense. It wasn't long before Kris was eagerly meeting his thrusts, chasing the inevitable, impending climax that she knew was coming, and fast. 

She squeezed her legs around his hips and stretched her arms above her head, trying to push herself as far down on his cock as her body could go, arching her back to the sensation. "I'm close," she whined, and it was so close she could practically taste it. 

Croc's thrusts became more pronounced then too, more punctuated and aimed to hit her spots. He removed one of those huge hands from her hips and slotted it between her legs as much as he could fit it to rub her clit, "Come on, little Kris, cum on my cock, milk me dry with this tight little pussy,"

His voice rasping out such explicit, dirty words was her undoing, combined with that scaly finger on her clit, and she was cumming hard, spiraling down the rabbit hole of pleasure, crying out his name, his real name. As soon as her walls clamped down around his member she felt it twitch violently inside her, and the hand that still remained on her hip flew off of her to dig his claws with surprising speed into the dingy mattress aside her head. He bellowed his release like the sound an actual crocodile would make when it was pissed beyond belief, and she felt his hot seed spill inside of her like lava. The fabric of the mattress material tearing beside her ear made just the right amount of fear liquify her bones, along with the explosive climax, and combined they made it the most intense feeling of pleasure she had ever experienced. 

His hips eventually slowed as did the flow of his own release inside of her, and her walls slowly ceased their pulsing around him, the thunderous rushing of blood in her ears ebbing with each heartbeat.

The last thing she remembered seeing before passing out from pure exhaustion was his yellow eyes looking deep into hers. And then she succumbed to the throes of sleep; the quickest she’d ever fallen into slumber.

X.x

Hot. Why was it so hot?

She blinked her eyes open sleepily, her body damp with sweat, and her right side completely burning. It felt like she had fallen asleep in an oven. It was only when she looked up and saw the brick ceilings with the dim lighting, and felt movement on her right side that she remembered where she was.

Holy. Fuck.

The memories of however long ago came violently flooding back to her, and with flushed cheeks Kris slowly turned her gaze to her right to see a massive, green, scale covered body sidled up next to her atop the mattress. Her eyes traveled up the impressive expanse of him - still naked, she noticed with her pulse picking up rapidly - and when she got to those yellow eyes she swore she felt her heartbeat falter. He'd already been looking at her, a calm, content expression on his face, leaning on one elbow and his head propped up off of the mattress while the other casually rested on her right hip. 

She gave him a small smile, her face burning from the heat - which she now knew was coming from him - and from her own weirdness during social situations. She really hoped she didn't make this awkward; she’d never had a one night stand before. "Hi," she squeaked out, feeling her sore pussy muscles clench when his mouth quirked in a grin, and his reptilian eyes gleamed.

"Mornin'. How ya feelin' pretty one?" 

"Um..." Kris went over the mental checklist of her body in her mind, trying to consider everything she was feeling at the moment: her legs felt stiff from having been held open so wide before while he'd been fucking her, her pussy was sore from his thick fingers and thicker cock that had stretched her and drilled into her, her hips were already bruised, she could tell, from him squeezing them and unintentionally cutting her with his claws. Plus she was covered in sweat, saliva, and cum. But goddamn, she’d never been so satisfied. "Sore," she admitted, and he let out a chuckle that twisted her insides deliciously, "but good. How about you?" 

"No complaints here, little one." He punctuated this with a grin, showcasing those rows and rows of sharp teeth. She realized in this moment that she was not afraid of him - and honestly, she didn't know if she ever really had been. Of course, she had been scared of what he could have done to her if he decided he wanted to make a snack out of her, but those thoughts no longer plagued her mind. She felt... content. Like she had befriended someone and was getting to know them, only to find out that they had a lot more in common than they’d initially thought. Or like she was on a date that was going really well. It was hard to explain, but she felt good. 

Then of course she Thought about yucky adult responsibilities and let out a groan. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked him. Kris didn't want to ruin either one of their good moods by being the responsible one, but unfortunately her daily anxiety meant her mind was rarely ever at rest.

The large man next to her shrugged the shoulder he wasn't leaning on currently, and answered, "Still early, or late, whichever ya like. You've only been out a couple hours. Can't give ya an exact time, though - no clocks down here." He said it lightly, but instead of finding it humorous she once again found herself feeling empathy for him. They really did treat him like a monster down here.

Kris shook her head, looking up at the crumbling brick ceiling above them. "I'll get you a clock." she replied quietly. And a pillow, and a blanket, for gods sake.

"Aw, don't sweat, little one. You don't hafta bring me nothin' - don't trouble yourself." 

She turned her gaze back on him, fixing him with a look; she’d already made up her mind. "It's no trouble; you deserve basic human amenities just like everyone else. I don't like these conditions you're living in - I didn't know it was this bad."

He smiled genuinely at her, not unkindly, and there was a glimmer of something in his eyes as he said, "It's no skin off my nose, little one. Better than being in a cell, that's for damn sure." 

"But you don't even have a clock, you barely have a bed... do you even have a bathroom and a shower down here?" Did he really not see anything wrong with the way he'd been living? Had society really brainwashed him that much that he thought he didn't deserve any better? 

Well, she would see to it that things changed for the better - whether he liked it or not. 

"I make do," He shrugged once again, like it really was no big deal. "Plus, someone opens the hatch and throws soap down here every once in a while. Don't think they want me around the other inmates. 'Fraid I might do somethin'... violent." Here, he winked a yellow eye at her with a side grin. "That'd be like putting a bunch'a steaks in front of a starving mutt." 

Kris rolled her eyes - she actually rolled her eyes at him, Killer Croc. She could see that she wasn't going to get anywhere tonight trying to get him to see things from her perspective, but she internally resolved that she wasn't going to let the issue go. Instead of arguing the point further, she simply told him, "Well, I'll at least bring you a small alarm clock. I've got a spare." 

Here he grinned dangerously, fangs on full display. "Well, I definitely won't say no to seeing you again," Those golden eyes wandered slowly up and down her naked form, and she shivered under his gaze. She definitely wouldn't say no to seeing him again, either, that was for sure.

Unfortunately, though, she knew she had to get going. She didn't want to run into the morning cleaning staff when getting her things out of the office, especially not in the state she was in. She knew it would only lead to questions. And since she didn't know the exact time, she figured it was probably better to go sooner rather than later... though she really didn't want to.

She looked up at Croc, laying next to him on the mattress, and told him, "I should probably go..."

Disappointment flashed in his golden gaze, but he didn't argue the point. She hoped he knew that she wasn't leaving because of him, so she quickly added sternly, "But I'll be back with that clock."

His face lit with a grin, reptilian eyes gleaming with genuine joy, "You can come back anytime. Don't hafta bring me nothin', either; just your pretty little self." Kris could tell he was trying to sound casual, as was she, but her heart was beating furiously in her chest in a way that was anything but. And there was no mistaking the way his whole visage had lit up when she’d told him she would be back. He wanted to see her again - and she wanted to see him again, too.

Following what she’d said a few moments ago, Croc slowly pushed himself up off of the mattress with another glance at her naked form, and said, "Lemme get'cha those clothes." When he rose up off of the bed she, of course, also had to study his naked body. It was like if Adonis had scales and was over eight feet tall. She forced herself to look away from his tight ass and tried to pay attention to other things. If she got turned on again, she’d never leave. Her brain told her this would not necessarily be a bad thing, and she readily agreed, but also she didn't want to be reported missing, and possibly get both of them in trouble if she was found down here with him. 

While he walked over to a small nightstand a few feet away (at the very least they gave him that), crouching down in front of it to open a drawer, her eyes wandered down in front of her to see what the state of her body was like after the most amazing sex of her life. And it was then that she saw something she hadn't even realized the whole time she’d been on the bed, and especially not in the throes of passion: she still had her shoes on.

She snickered quietly as her black and white converse stared back at her. She guessed she had been too distracted to remember to take them off.

"Whatcha laughin' at, little one?" Croc asked with amusement. She turned her head and saw him walking back towards her where she lay on the mattress, and also noticed to her internal disappointment that he had put his own pants back on. 

Smiling up at his amused expression she told him, "I, uh, forgot to take off my shoes during... while we were, um..." The thought of what they had done, and what had been done to her, flustered her. Not in a bad way, but enough that she couldn't finish her sentence and it dissolved into the air. 

Croc chuckled lowly, which made her want to clench her thighs together, and he replied, "Think your mind was preoccupied with other things." He said this while his eyes traveled up the expanse of her nude form, and when they reached hers he flashed her a wink once more. She ducked her head in embarrassment, smiling widely as her cheeks flushed, and he laughed quietly. Then he stepped closer to the mattress and leaned down to hand her the presumed item of clothing he was holding, which she noticed was the same color orange as the pants he wore. "Don't think the other pants I have will fit ya, but this should be long enough on ya to cover the goods." 

She unfolded the item of clothing and saw that it was a long sleeved orange t-shirt - Arkham issued, of course - and it would indeed be long enough to be a literal dress on her. She looked up at him and smiled in gratitude. "Thanks, I'll wash it and bring it back to you." 

He easily returned her smile, and huffed with a bemused shake of his head, "You're somethin' else, little Kris." 

His tone and words sent warm tingles throughout her whole body as she sat up on the mattress, and she pulled the material over her head, partially to hide the blush she knew was on her face. When she had his shirt on and comfortably situated, she smoothed back her hair as best as she could, which was a task and a half even though it only fell to just below her shoulders. She took the hair tie that was thankfully still on her wrist and tied back her black locks so they hopefully didn't look too crazy. So maybe it wouldn't look like she’d just had the best sex of her life and was now trying to inconspicuously sneak out - which was absolutely the case. Plus, to top it all off, she would now be walking out of here wearing his clothes.

Once she was ready, Croc reached out a hand to help her up and she took it gratefully, once again putting her hand in his like she had done not just a few hours earlier while they had made their deal. He helped pull her up off of the mattress on the ground, and she hadn't realized how much she would be relying on his strength until she was actually standing. Immediately her legs were incredibly wobbly, like a fawn taking its first steps, and she had to hold onto him and his big body with both of her hands. The tender area between her thighs was still sticky, but thankfully none of it ran down her legs. Since she didn't have any underwear on, that was something she would've been kind of self conscious about since she now had to go upstairs to get her stuff so she could go home. She really didn't need, and neither did he, both of their combined DNA dripping out of her and onto the floor - that would surely be something no one else needed to discover, for both of their safety.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked her, both of his hands holding onto her waist to insure that she didn't fall over.

"I think so," Kris blushed sheepishly once again at the thought of why her legs were so wobbly. The twenty minute drive home was sure to be fun, she thought to herself. Not. She looked both ways, wondering how exactly she was going to be getting out of here. Earlier he'd mentioned something about a back exit. And she wondered: if he knew about a back exit, what was stopping him from escaping out said exit? 

Before she could ask him, he had noticed her looking around and gestured with his head down the tunnel beyond his 'room' area - the one they hadn't come down on the way here. "Down that way, not too far," he grunted. He led her over to the edge of the thick slab of brick they were standing on, then hoisted her up into his arms once again, explaining, "Gonna hafta get back in the water, though - hold tight, pretty one." 

Kris smiled to herself against his chest, thinking of the first time he'd said that to her this evening. He then leapt them into the gently running water and held her body tightly to his to keep her from slipping out of his grip, and she wrapped her arms around his neck for the same reason. Also, she couldn't resist.

As they began the trek down the dim tunnel of the old sewers once more this evening, Croc asked her suddenly, "So, what were you doin' here so late, anyways?" 

She realized then that he probably had no idea what she actually did at the asylum. It was clear to him that she worked here, but he didn't necessarily know which department. "Working late; I work in the clerks office to do paperwork and stuff like that, and I volunteered to do some overtime tonight." When she had come to be in his abode it had been around eight pm. Normally her shift ended at four-thirty, but she’d volunteered to stay until eight to help catch up on some extra work. Before she’d left for the night, she had stepped out of the office to use the bathroom before her drive home, and, well, that was when she’d been ambushed by the guards and orderlies. Little did they know, they'd done her a favor, it seemed - for herself and for her scaly companion.

He nodded, taking in that information as he continued walking them down the watery tunnel, walking a lot slower than he had before, when he'd been taking them to his 'room' area to complete their deal. Almost as if he was reluctant for her to leave... "Well, as much as I wanna tear every one of those idiots to pieces for doing what they did to you, I can't say that I'm upset that you stumbled on in here tonight. Quite the opposite, in fact." 

Kris smiled at his words, and quietly replied, "Same here." His yellow eyes flicked down to look at her, and while he didn't respond verbally she could see that same intensity as she had many times this evening, brewing behind his gaze. Intensity and warmth. 

After a few more moments of comfortable silence they reached the end of the tunnel, which came out to a circle shaped opening where water was draining out into a small waterfall down a concrete siding into the lake surrounding the island. There were thick vertical bars going across the exit, and they looked to be spaced just far enough apart that she could squeeze through them. Along the sides of the tunnel there were very narrow walkways, and both led up to the opening right to the bars. Croc brought her up to the siding on the left and gently set her on her feet, and gestured towards the exit, "This comes out right below the parking lot." 

That worked out perfectly. She felt relief in knowing that she wouldn't be stumbling around Arkham island in the dark right next to the lake, with nothing but Croc's oversized shirt and her shoes on. She at least knew where she was. And from the parking lot she could get back into the building, retrieve her stuff, and finally go home. 

Kris turned to Croc, wondering what she should even say to him. Thanks for the amazing sex? Thanks for not murdering me? See you later? What does one even say in a situation like this? 

She took a moment to think, looking him up and down, her eyes going back to his yellow gaze as they always seemed to be drawn there. Then she said, "I'll be back with that clock, and," she added, hoping this would sound flirty like it did in her mind and not come off as desperate, "I'm prepared to make another deal for it." 

Like she’d hoped he would, he gave her a grin and a huff of laughter, which sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. He returned with, "Well in that case, I hope to be seein' ya real soon." And he finished with a wink.

She smiled back at him, cheeks hot, and told him genuinely, "Then it's a done deal. Thank you for tonight... See you around, Waylon." 

Before she could talk herself out of it and convince herself to stay longer, she turned and slipped through the old metal bars, careful not to step in the running water with her shoes on, and stepped out onto the grass alongside the flat cement drainage ditch. Before she began walking up the hill towards the parking lot, she gave him one last look into the darkness of the tunnel, just barely able to see his outline and those eyes illuminated by the moonlight from outside. Then she turned and headed up the hill, and the whole time, her cheeks hurt from how big she was smiling. Done deal, indeed. 

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

AN: I do not own the Batman: Arkham Asylum franchise or any of it's characters, but Kris is my own OC.

also, some songs i listened to (on repeat) while writing this~: EAT ME - Demi Lovato feat. Royal & the Serpent (naturally) Perfect Lover - Britney Spears (don't ask plz lol) Get Naked (I Got a Plan) - Britney Spears Doomsayer - Hatebreed Break the Ice - Britney Spears You Don't Own Me - SAYGRACE feat. G-Eazy Gimme More - Britney Spears Come Together - Demi Lovato Gangsta - Kehlani

[ei-banana]

Pairing: Elise/Lebkuchen (sfw)

Word count: 968

———

She met Lebkuchen by the bakery—beneath the elder tree, weatherbeaten bough groaning with the swing’s gentle sway. “You’re late,” she said, almost melodic, smile stretching wider when Elise frowned deep enough to dimple her chin.

“Yes, well…” Elise trifled with the ends of her stained apron, desperate to instill some semblance of togetherness. “You can blame Mrs. Linda for that.” She combed her fingers through the knotted mess of her hair, wincing when she found an errant twig or two.

Dust and grime coated her like a second skin, a rather uncouth reminder of each daily setback. What she wouldn’t give for seclusion and a steaming bath—a porcelain basin wide enough for two, scented oils, a warmth unfettered she could sink deeper into—but her hopeful fantasy was simply that. Fanciful.

Elise gave in to her rumpled appearance with a huff, snapping to attention when she spied Lebkuchen’s pensive look. Her lips had flattened with worry; her eyes unnervingly vast.

“What?” Elise was tetchy with nerves all at once, shifting under that knowing glare.

“I suppose you still won’t tell me what’s got you so resolute?”

The question struck Elise like a tangible blow, though gentle—Lebkuchen was always so gentle.

There were things she wished to tell her, some fated future she wished to manifest, but standing before her now, Elise could hardly find the right words. She raised her chin, meager defiance a much simpler recourse. “I suppose not.”

And, oh, the way Lebkuchen sighed at such rudimentary evasion… Elise felt her knees grow weak. The way she gracefully swallowed her lies, often enough to shape her tongue around their familiar sound; The way she proffered her silent absolution like some saintly gospel, ghosting her fingers over Elise’s lips like she too wanted for something much grander.

Instead, she dropped her hand to Elise’s collar, correcting the awkward fall of fabric. “You’re overextending yourself.”

“You’re one to talk,” Elise grumbled, cheeks flushing scarlet when Lebkuchen leaned forward to polish the scuffed round of her emerald brooch.

They had favored this song and dance many times, though Elise would never grow tired of it, altogether dazed at Lebkuchen’s affectionate laughter. She conceded this one, binding truth with the bow of her head, her veil obscuring the amber glint of her eyes just enough for Elise to grow mournful.

“I suppose you’re right,” Lebkuchen said, smoothing out her pleated skirts before digging her heels into the dirt. The swing came to a stop, and without its repetitive creak, the quiet buzzed with grating clarity. “Why don’t we make a run for the hills then?”

Her next, whispered evocation would have been missable had Lebkuchen not looked up, a visage more enchanting than the woodland’s barbed promise. This was a novel facet of their nightly routine—Lebkuchen’s eyes had never flashed quite so greedily, her stately personage crumbling swiftly under the weight of that damnable habit.

The tiredness from earlier took on a new form then—desperation was fickle, and it edged like the tide, though Lebkuchen looked ready to jump headlong beneath the waves. Her subtle brow raise beckoned Elise to follow after, just as brash.

It was a tempting incitement, Elise would admit, bowling over completely at the next twitch of Lebkuchen’s lips. She wrapped her fingers around the swing’s fraying ropes just to catch herself, a withered breath falling past her teeth when she pressed her forehead to Lebkuchen’s own.

“Since when did you become so brazen?” Elise fought not the shake of her voice, shivering with the next chilled breeze.

There was silence, at first, the rustle of arid leaves before Lebkuchen settled her hands over Elise’s shoulders. “I thought about that future you mentioned, the one where you and I leave this wretched place together.” She tightened her grip, nails cutting through every last layer of fabric. Elise winced—enlivened. “I’ve thought about it so much that I hardly remember my daily scripture.”

“And to think you fancy yourself a woman of the cloth.” The attempted jibe fell flat with her affected shuffling; she twisted the ropes in hand until her palms felt raw and bloodied, shifting nearer still.

“I have my duties, Elise,” Lebkuchen drifted her fingers over the upper notches of Elise’s spine, lips flush with the apple of her cheek, “but I’m certainly no saint.”

What a tremendous power Lebkuchen must have had, for she rendered Elise unable to speak with no more than a single utterance. She laughed again, inveigling and sweet, demeanor shifting from melancholic to spry so quickly that Elise feared she might topple to the dust below.

“You…” Lebkuchen leaned back, head cocked like an innocent; Elise swallowed, straightening to dust off her hands, voice remarkably small. “You would leave the church for me?”

“I can be selfish too, you know.” Lebkuchen said, lashes fluttering. At that, she hopped down from the wooden swing, paying little mind to Elise’s agog fascination when she stooped low to gather an obscured basket from astride the tree’s risen roots. “They’ve gone cold by now, but I want you well-fed before the festival’s apogee.”

Elise reached for the basket’s handle with sluggish fingers, pulling back its checkered cloth covering to reveal the baked benison within—bread, a wealth of it; a little stale around the edges, but a welcome offering all the same.

She blinked, forgotten hunger now gnawing with a vengeance. “Leb…”

“Think about what I said, alright?” Lebkuchen cupped her cheek, eyes flitting about her face for a moment—appraising, memorizing something Elise couldn’t quite name—before she pivoted for the cloaking shadows.

She kicked up a small tempest of dust in her wake, the frilled hem of her skirt swishing just above her ankles. Elise watched her leave, staring after that glint of royal blue until she stood alone in the cradle of St. Walpurga’s sound.

[curekibouka-writing]

To Her Light (Twst one-shot fanfic)

Summary: He remembered the echoes of those very few lives that had been dear to him, and he wished she could come back and whisper to him and tell him how to cradle a life the way she did. 

Word count: 798

Warning: Referenced character death. 

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A/N: This is for the event “new beginnings” from @briarvalleyarchives​. As usual I find a way to change a very positive and hopeful prompt into angst 🤡 Also, this fic was inspired by a very very looong delusional conversation with @chernabogs​ about Lilia hahaha thank you my friend~

*This fic is also on Ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilia always carried himself with dignity when in the presence of royalty, but today, he grovelled before the Queen, with both his knees on the ground and his eyes facing down, shut tight, and he wished, oh how he wished this fate could’ve fallen on some other poor soul, some other poor souls. 

“Queen Maleficia,” he said, where others would have been frozen in fear, his throat was burning in guilt, “They are dead.” 

He felt the air pulled into the room. He heard her sceptre violently struck against the ground once. And his weak, weak arms only wrapped more tightly against the egg in his embrace while her emerald flames spread throughout the chamber silently, hauntingly, as if a mindless wraith extending its curse to drown all that is living. His legs were burning inside his armour, he was kneeling in hell, and still he only held the egg tighter, and tighter. 

Oh how he wished he could simply lie down and speak not a single word and let the flames claim him and be at rest. But the moment he had chosen to bring this unborn life back home still haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. It haunted him, she haunted him. She was cold and ashen before he could get to her yet he could still feel her fingers on his neck, her breath in his ears. He could still see her embracing her only child with all her love and strength and protection and hope, waiting for someone to find her, find her child, bring him home, and as the child was passed onto Lilia, he thought he must raise the child to the light, as she would’ve done, as she would’ve commanded him to do, if she could’ve, if he had gotten to her in time. 

“Her child is still alive,” his voice rose from the silent flames. 

The flames stopped. They did not disappear, they only stopped. 

“Give him to me,” the Queen was right in front of him. 

For the first time since Lilia peeled the child from the mother’s grasp, he allowed his arms to loosen, and with all the gentleness he remembered of her, he stood up and placed the child into the grandmother’s arms. 

The Queen held the egg close to her cheek, closed her eyes, and pressed her forehead against it. In ten heartbeats, the flames began to retreat into the ground. 

Lilia remembered the mother doing the same. He remembered flying over her playfully and glancing at her gentle visage and picturing the long years ahead where she would continue to clutch her child tight because it was a hope that she had waited for hundreds of years for it to arrive. 

He felt his lips tremble, and he covered it with his hand. He had raised the child to the light now, there was no more he could do to honour her now, he thought, now, he could finally rest.

“Lilia,” her voice caught him. He looked up at the Queen’s face and he saw a ghost of her beautiful daughter, “Thank you.” 

Now he dropped to his knees, his armour clanged against the ground. And now everything hurt, the burn wounds hurt, the cut wounds hurt, the loss hurt. Of all the things she could have said to let him rest with the dead, she said one thing to make him heal with the living. 

The Queen left one kiss on her grandchild’s egg before giving it back to Lilia. “Stay with him,” she said. Her hands were cold. She should have been trembling, and for the same reason as him, she didn’t. She held herself together, she turned around. 

“Leave me.” 

He bowed and left. He needed to as well. He walked along the hallway. He didn’t bother healing his legs. He walked along the hallway, along the candlelight. He saw ghosts walking before him, a father and a mother cradling a child, a king and a queen cradling an heir. He thought about chasing them, chasing her. He walked along the candlelight, and in the silence of the flames, he remembered the echoes of those very few lives that had been dear to him, that had mattered to him. He remembered her eyes flickering with joy when she had stood right here holding the same child he was holding right now, and oh how he wished she could come back and whisper to him and tell him how to cradle a life the way she did, how to shower the child with hope and joy again the way she did, after all the lights were gone and the hallway was silent. 

But he walked. 

“I will raise him to the light.” 

He walked. 

“I will raise him to your light, Malecia.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The End

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: The name “Malecia” is a name me and @chernabogs​ made up for Malleus’s mother. 

[seraphiism]

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢𝐢 ) ;

( AT THE END AS AT THE START, & THROUGH ALL THE IN-BETWEENS, I LOVE YOU )

characters : ganyu / childe / itto / yelan / wanderer fandom : genshin impact quote cr : amal el-mohtar and max gladstone a/n : part 3 of 4! each character is limited to 150 words.

pt. i // pt. ii

↬ ganyu ࿐ ࿔

to exist between two worlds tears the soul asunder in liminal spaces and limbo alike. ganyu belongs neither here nor there, and in a gentle heart, there is desire for somewhere to call home.

she gazes upon liyue, feels that lump in her throat, a sorrow profound, and a loneliness she cannot make purpose of.

"you've always belonged." you watch the heartache fade from her visage, place a glaze lily in the palm of her hand. "whether the mountains or city, it's all your home, ganyu."

she inhales sharply. her eyes sting, tongue numb. she grabs your hand, squeezes three times in silent confession of ardor.

"thank you."

it is your smile that is the breaking point, and her tears flow, yet you do not speak. instead, you squeeze her hand not three times, but four in the knowing of a shared love and presence until fate bids lovers farewell.

↬ childe ࿐ ࿔

"don't worry your pretty little head off," childe says, voice muffled as you adjust his scarf, "i'm used to the cold."

"remember how you got sick last time? you were such a baby."

is that your true motivation? the harbinger gasps, and maybe you wrap the scarf a little tighter.

"so you tend to me," he begins, voice cracking, "not out of love, but out of convenience?"

"yeah. how'd you know?"

your annoyed look is a facade; despite how genuine it seems, childe always manages to see through you. how delicate it is, your mask shattering the moment he smiles.

he is your weakness, after all.

"i always know." he hums, taking you into his arms. he pulls down the scarf, presses a kiss against your nose as you sigh in defeat. "besides, i can just hold you like this in case i get too cold. you're all i need."

↬ itto ࿐ ࿔

an oni's life is difficult, prejudice in wait at itto's every step. since childhood, he has always been well aware of his identity, chin held high despite the hardships. with joyous spirits and a boisterous personality, few would know there is a quiet bruising of the soul.

"does it hurt?" your fingertips graze over his horns, note his curious reaction.

"what, that? no."

you both recall previous events from this morning, a grimace crossing his features at the harsh words that ring endlessly in his ears.

"oh." itto becomes uncharacteristically silent, feels your arms wrap around his frame. "that didn't hurt."

of course it didn't. he's used to these things, he reminds himself, closing his eyes, indulging in your hug. it didn't.

"it's not true. you're fine as you are."

"you're gonna make me cry, y'know?"

"i'm going to make that man cry first."

"easy, easy-- you already did today!"

↬ yelan ࿐ ࿔

yelan holds many names and stories and none of them real. from person to person, false qualms and fake tragedies, you remain oblivious to her true self, only knowing that there is a hurt that bores a hole in the heart. you are unsure of this feeling-- harboring affections for someone who could be entirely fictive. anxiety weighs on your shoulders, one she is knowing of yet does not act upon.

she does not fault you ; it is not a terrible thing, the way she lives her life, carries herself in multitudes, and it is one of necessity. yelan is made of certainties, and she is certain that you have become an important part of her life.

she laces her fingers with yours, lips ghosting over your skin in an act of quiet reverence. perhaps one day you will learn the truth of her, but for now, this is enough.

↬ wanderer ࿐ ࿔

vagabonds do not know of refuge ; without a heart, there is no meaning in belonging, no need for emotions.

no, there is no need for emotions, but even the wanderer cannot rid of the ones he feels towards you. he does not wish to identify them, put a name to something akin to love because it has no place in his many lives.

"breathe." your hands ghost over his chest, delicate. "it's alright."

you do not expect to feel anything and you don't ; it frightens him deeply, but there is a kindness in your eyes that he fails to understand.

"why won't you give me a name?"

you smile, still your hand over the place a heart should reside.

"because it is your own, wanderer. you know who you are beneath it all, do you not?"

there is an absence of feeling, a dormancy, and you think it is beautiful.

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

Another order: Everyday with you (Ada Wong X Leon S Kennedy)

Excerpts of my memories of you 

(crossposted on my ao3) (read on ao3 for better formatting + full warnings)

Summary: Ada Wong had always had her walls up, shielding her heart from the rest of the world. Until a certain bright eyed young man stumbled his way into her heart. And he held her heart as tenderly as she allowed him to. And that was enough for a while, until it wasn't.

Ada reminisces on memories she'd shared with him, remembering the good times and the bad times. Wondering if this was enough for either of them.

(A bit of a character study of Ada, and an excuse for me to write shorter stories about her.)

Notes: (To be read within the universe of my "Everyday with you," series. You can read this alone, but it will tie back to several chapters within that series and would be more fulfilling if you had the background of that universe)

An Ada centric character study within my written universe in "every day with you."

I wanted to add in more stories I couldn’t add into the main series, and it was an excuse for me to write stories that are smaller and Ada centric.

this got way longer than i thought it would be sorry lol BUT they are separated into tiny little chapters hopefully so it doesn't seem to daunting

//

angst, fluff, smut (past tense), mentions of ptsd, perspective changes, illness, Ada dissociates, ada’s trauma, night terrors, ada’s ptsd, different time jumps, memories and past retellings, to be read with everyday with you to add in more stories i couldn’t add into the main series, an excuse for me to write stories that are smaller and Ada centric

//

Act 1: The Façade of Ada Wong

In the quiet of night, she stares in the ghostly wet reflection of the mirror. The mists obscuring her visage until she unceremoniously wipes it with her hand. She appears like an apparition, lost in the fog.

Her skin is hot, nearly burning with the boiling waters poured onto her naked body. The burning sensation was a gentle reminder; that she was still here.

The aftermath of her daily ritual clouds the rest of the room in a humid air. The smallest breaths of the cool night air slips in as the fiery heat escapes out a tiny cracked open window.

She sees herself and yet she doesn’t. The image of the woman in front of her... isn’t her. The elusive Ada Wong. She’s not really Ada Wong, but she is. It’s her face, her eyes, her lips. She reacts to the name, but she can’t see herself anymore. Her birth name was lost, forgotten so long ago. Her new name imprinted on her and rings in her ears in the sound of his voice.

Water droplets drips from her wet tresses, her dark black hair sticking to her forehead and the sides of her face. She wasn’t naive to her own vanity, using her beauty to her advantage as she saw fit. And yet every little imperfection she saw was a weakness she had to cover, to shield away from the world.

The counter was littered with expensive products. Creams and lotions, toners and acids, all meant to turn back the wheel of time. Detailed filigree on gold covered tubes held reds and pinks; reddish hues that she coated on her lips with gentle dabs of her ring finger. Long tubes filled with a dark midnight black coated her lashes. An eyelash curler was used to bend and open her lashes. The memory of him as he fixated on her almost appeared in the misty mirror. The way he watched with adoration as she painted her lips her favourite red. The way his brow raised in intrigue at each new tool she used. They way he said the curler looked like a “torture device for your lashes.” The ‘intricacies of a woman’s beauty routine,’ he'd never fully understand.

As the rest of her shower fades away and the mirror growing clearer, the facade of Ada Wong appears again. Her sharp sleek black hair combed into a straight cut bob. Flicked out eyeliner that frames her eyes and pierces into anyone’s soul who dared to meet her gaze. Glossy red lips that pout innocently, but smirk into a viciously sly grin.

She swallows, lifting her head up high. Face framing strands of her hair fall against her cheek. Her shoulders drop, her chest falling with a slow exhale.

Ada Wong, the mercenary appears.

Act 2: “Home, or whatever home was meant to be.”

Being on the run had a few benefits. Various safe houses that Ada found refuge in were few and far between and were often tended to by unknowing caretakers that simply assumed she travelled for work. They were mostly correct.

“Caroline,” “Vanessa,” “Jessica,” “Jade,” “Violet,” “Katherine.” All aliases to only be used for those locations. Never anywhere else. She was never “home,” but when she was; her visits were short. Seemingly only a few weeks before she was gone again. She often left her “homes,” in a rush, leaving very little trace of her behind.

The occasional foreclosed home in a small but rich towns was a fun outing for her. The pools were almost always out of order and empty; but the idea of being being in a mansion was always enticing enough. On a rare occasion she’d still find one fully furnished; thankfully with a functional pool as well. They were mansions to the rich that lost their fortunes; and now they were a luxurious escape house for ‘Ada Wong’ the mercenary to take refuge in. They were a breeze to break in, it was almost intuitive for her on where the easiest points of entry were. No one ever suspects you'd be able to slip in from a cracked open bedroom window.

The rich were always excessive. She knew that. Individually picked marble slabs that travelled from across the world were used for bathroom tiles. Heated floors and luxurious spa rooms were common.  Large TV screens were in every room but hidden in the walls. The rich weren’t so keen having such gaudy modern devices so easily viewable, but still wanted them to be accessible. Theatres, bar rooms and pool rooms were built into them, bringing all of the entertainment to home. Making it so that the owners rarely had to leave. Which made it all the more of a perfect escape for her.

She’d always pick her favourite window in her favourite room. Which was typically the one that let in the most light. She'd lay there, sprawling out in the warm sun as it touched her skin while she lost herself in one of her favourite books she’d carry around with her during her travels.

Hotels were a close favourite, never needing to clean up her own messes. And easy as they were furnished with everything she needed for a night's rest. The luxury ones often had a spa she’d take pleasure in. The only downside was the constant hotel switching would get tiresome. Going from one to another, occasionally needing to switch names and hair colour with a simple wig. It felt more like work than an escape.

This was the longest she had ever stayed at a single place. A quiet little house shielded by wisteria trees. The soft lilac petals coating the home in a gentle blanket. The shades of foliage changed in the light; a warm inviting pink in the orange of the mornings, and a cool mystical shade of periwinkle in the evenings.

The insides were bare at times, the odd piece of furniture she picked up from some tiny store or estate sale. Occasionally it was filled with all of her favourite little things, knick knacks she had picked up from her travels. Despite constantly losing things and leaving things behind while on the run, she found pleasure in finding treasures and giving them a home. Finding a perfect place for something that didn’t belong, and cherishing forgotten things that were left behind. Over time she found herself returning here. Gathering more treasures and trinkets and creating a home for herself.

It was the most she could make of a home. And that was ‘enough for now,’ she told herself.

The next closest thing to a home.

Was him.

A fantasy began to manifest in her dreams, becoming more intense each night she dreamt it. Each time she saw him they only grew more visceral, so close she could almost touch him and feel him against her fingers. Which made it all the more devastating each time they parted. The stinging pain of the departure and the numbness she felt afterwards when reality sank in again was a gentle reminder that she never wanted anyone to get close to her. That the reality was-

That she was alone. That the dreams she had was nothing more than that, a fantasy; and she so naively chased it only to throw it away the second it got too close. It's easier this way.

Each time she pushed him away it would only twist at her heart, tying it up in knots and strangling her. She saw the gut wrenching look Leon always had each time she leaves. He’d weakly smile, and hold back the, “when will I see you again?” between tightly closed lips.

Those times were rare; leaving him while he was able to say goodbye. "It was getting easier each time." That's what she told herself.

It was so much easier before. Peaceful. Taking the last minutes she'd have with him by watching him as he slept. His soft rhythmic breathing, his chest raising and falling. Lost in a dream; of what she wasn’t sure. But he always had a soft gentle expression on his face. The corner of his lips occasionally curling upward, his fingers grasping at nothing. Her fingertips traced into his locks, pushing aside that one stubborn strand of hair that always shielded his right eye. He was so handsome like this, so tranquil and serene. So reminiscent of that sweet face she fell in love with all those years ago.

His dark golden hair flecked with light yellows from the early rising sun. And she’d be gone hours before he’d even wake. Leaving him with her sweet lingering scent and the press of her red lips on a simple piece of parchment. Her insignia and some words that would be etched into his heart each time he’d read them. Scarring him with “what ifs” and “in another life.”

It was always easier this way. Not having to deal with goodbyes or his sweet puppy dog eyes. She caved in each time to her own selfish desire not to get hurt. Not wanting to get too close to the fire, never wanting to get burned.

But she was drawn to him, even in moments of weakness. When the lines of reality and fantasy crossed over. The white picket fence in between them that they’d reluctantly jump across over and over again. Never deciding on which side to stand on. She never wanted to need anyone and yet, his face was burned into her brain. His touch, the only comfort she’d felt in years. His smile carved deeply into her heart. The only man she’d known so intimately for so long had forever tied his thread around her and her heart.

Act 3: “Ada Wong would not be defeated by the common cold.”

Moments of weakness.

She hated them more than anything, despised letting people discover her weak spots. Pain in life was unavoidable, but how you managed it defined you. The stinging sensation from a cut of a blade was short, the pain easily subsiding with a coursing rush of adrenaline. Pinching, and numbing soreness in her feet and blood in her heels from running were injuries she’d push away, forcing herself to drag her legs as far as she could carry herself. Aches in her muscles were just an obstacle, as the idea of a safe escape was always more important. Getting out alive, was always more important. But the pain of heartbreak was more terrifying to her than any physical pain that she could ever endure.

But time and time again, her main weakness would make itself known to herself.

It was him.

Despite her chaotic work schedule, she’d make the effort to see him. Half of the time planning it, and the other a surprise. For the past while she’d leave him a letter with a code that only he knew how to read, letting him know possible dates for their schedules to align.

They had a ‘date,’ planned, and she still hadn't shown up.

The ‘common,' cold had taken over her. Causing more mayhem on her body than any possible outbreak. A simple cold that was worse than anything else she had endured. Her body ached in ways she didn’t remember, her head throbbing and fuzzy. Her chest tight and uncomfortable with each deep breath. Her nose stuffy, with each inhale causing more labouring breaths.

She refused to see Leon like this.

But a lingering afterthought was in her head, an oversight she didn’t plan for. She had already gifted him a spare key, one that she forbid him from using unless absolutely necessary.

Ada had been late by a few days. The spare key to her ‘home’, was normally housed in his night stand drawer, along with a little bear with a frayed pastel blue ribbon tied around its neck. It wasn’t uncommon for her to arrive late or early, their lifestyles were much less accommodating than most. Occasionally she’d message him that she wouldn’t be able to make it this time. All of Leon's messages to her were left unread. Phone calls that directly lead to voicemail. It had been too many days without some sort of notice from her, and Leon could sense something was wrong.

The heavy wood of the drawer pulls out, the keys grabbed quickly and held in the palm of his hand. The cold metal ring held the key and dangled from it, a small turtle charm. The little green shell covered its body, the head of it with sewn with an obscenely cute face. It was a gentle reminder of their impromptu trip they had shared together. Even though he had cleaned it, it felt like the tiny grains of sand were never going to disappear from the little crevices of it. A tiny zipper along the shell held a thin strand of paper. That strand of paper tightly rolled up and covered in a tin foiling. Decoding it held coordinates to a house, ones that were not too far from his apartment. With the numbers in hand he headed to his motorcycle, turning the key in the ignition and headed there with the fastest possible route.

Arriving at the coordinates, he double checked the numbers to ensure it was the right place. Having never been there before he couldn’t be sure that this was the house.

The home was tucked into a little cluster of houses and was far away from the city. It was a quiet neighbourhood, sparsely filled with family homes. His motorcycle made a bit of a ruckus as he arrived, and his face responded with a grimace as he quickly turned off the engine. As he reached the fence and opened the little doorway, he let his guard down. Pacing towards the entryway, his fingers grazed along one of the branches that shielded the walkway. His fingertips feeling the softness of the purple petals. Each strand of the flowers hid away another part of the home. The petals of lilac and lavender shades littered the pavement with speckles of the creamy colour. The front door was painted a shade of black that contrasted the faded red brick inlays in the exterior of the building.

The key laid in his pocket, then carefully unlocked the front door. The heavy locking mechanism unlatching. The dark coloured door swings open with a heavy gust of wind, his hand reflexly grabbing the edge before it swings too far to make a noise.

He closes and locks the heavy door behind him. The amount of locks on her door aren’t a surprise. Some of them quite rudimentary, some of them complex. He found it odd that none of them are locked though. A security system beeps, one that alerts him that the front door was opened but nothing else happens. The slim white piece of plastic juts out from the wall. Telling him the time and date and that the system is unarmed. He takes a few steps in, calling out her name once as he looks around. His head sharply turns as he hears her voice calling to him.

“Leon?”  

Act 4: “I can do it myself.”

She was not going to be defeated by the common cold. Ada Wong doesn’t get snuffed out like that so easily, and yet she’s tied to her bed. Hanging on by a thread on as she gathers her blankets to warm her up only to throw them off moments later in a fit of exhaustion. Her nose is clogged, her eyes puffy, tired and red. She can barely stay awake but she can’t fall asleep either. Whatever she caught had taken over her body in a matter of hours and her meeting with Leon was quickly turned into an afterthought. A day turned to two, and three to four. How many days had passed she wasn’t even sure. At this point she hadn’t even considered sending him a simple text, her brain too scattered to focus.

The quiet of her home was broken with the sound of a motorcycle revving. The engine of it turning off and the rumbling silenced. Steps on the pavement grew louder as the sound came in from the cracked open window of her bedroom. An oversight she thought was ironic.

With what strength she has, she stumbles onto her feet. Pattering towards the window as quickly as she can, but she misses the figure as it makes it towards her front door. Struggling out of her bedroom and reaching the railing of second floor and leaning over it, she hears the front door being unlocked.

Only one person ever has had a spare key to her home.

She’s barely holding herself up, using the wood railing on the stairs to hold her entire weight as she leans against it. The stair beneath her feet creaks as she takes another step, her footing loose on the wooden panel.

Leon steps forwards into the foyer, seeing Ada’s messy head of hair as she makes it down the flight of stairs.

“Ada!” His feet swiftly carries him in a few steps towards her as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.

He’s so warm.

He had never seen her like this. Maybe with sniffles or stifled with a monthly visit. But never so- deathly ill. Her warm face was flushed all along her forehead, her cheeks slightly gaunt. Her body weak, cold and clammy. The way she held onto him was fragile and loose, like her fingers could barely grasp onto him.

He repeats her name, more urgently this time as she burrows her head into the crook of his arm.

“God damn it,” he grunts, lowering to grab underneath her knees and cradling her in his chest. Completely unaware of the layout of her home, his head swivels around. The stairs makes the most sense, returning her to where she came. With heavy steps he gathers her at the top of the stairs again, staring down a hallway and towards the one door that was left ajar.

A sigh of relief leaves his chest as he discovers it to be a bedroom. It was clean and devoid of much furniture. A vanity with a large mirror sat in the corner. Two night tables surround the top of the bed, the surfaces of them decorated with matching lamps and a clutter of medicines and a half empty box of tissues.

The bed is dressed with creamy satin sheets, the pillows encased in the same material. They were much softer than any of the sheets that he had ever slept on. The bed dips with her weight as he lays her back down. His hand reaches for one of the bottles on the nightstand to read the description. Then another and another. They’re all cough and flu related. Pain relievers, fever, headaches, congestion…

He grabs at the blankets, covering her up and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, then her cheeks.

“Is this why you stood me up?” He asks in a whisper as he brushes her dark hair aside, a sad expression on his face as he tries to gauge how sick she is.

“Ada, why didn’t you tell me?” He continually brushes the stray strands of hair from her face, pressing his knees onto the flooring next to the bed as he leaned in closer.

“You just couldn’t stay out of trouble, could you Leon?” She asks before stifling a cough, her eyes tightly closing as she turns her head away from him.

“Did you really come here to catch whatever I have?” She asks after her coughing fit ends.

His shoulders drop with a sigh, “well, if you told me you were sick, I would’ve brought over soup or something instead of coming over empty handed,” his knee pressed up from the flooring as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“You’re not staying,” she shook her head.

“I don’t think you can stop me,” he smirks.

“You’re using my illness against me? How cruel, Mr. Kennedy,” she stifled another cough and sniffled her nose, her nose twitching like a tiny bunny nose.

“Wait here,” he smiles, pressing a kiss onto her forehead.

“Like I have a choice,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and turning away from him.

Leon shakes his head with a exhale and sits up from the bed.

The rest of her home is a mystery to him. Having never spent any time here, he takes a few minutes to explore. Some rooms are more tended to than others. Common areas that are more frequented and cared for and had a gentle touch from her hands. A delicately arranged floral is housed in a glass vase and sits on the dining table. A small metal frame holds a photo of him and Ada and sits on the edge of the antique piano in the study room.

Pencils and paintbrushes are scattered in a wooden tray, a delicate watercolour painting of a vase of flowers sits in an easel on the desk. The painting mirrors a similar vase holding tiny lilies and puffy pink peonies and sits a few feet away from the table. It holds the same flowers although they are wilted and dried. Dulled with the loss of colour with the edges of the petals aging and grazed with the colour of burnt tea.

A tall dark wooden bookshelf is overfilled with books. Some of them spilling out and stacked on top of each other in piles on an antique side table. The spines of the books are shades of muted colours, as if all of them were old and aged. Different styles of writings and names are scrawled inside, as if they were loved by other owners. Some with stamps embossed on the first or last pages, indicating it was from a someone’s personal collection. Leon was quick to notice she had multiple copies of the same books. First editions and rare editions of them. His lips upturned, impressed by Ada’s collection.

Leon’s eyes fall on the book that lays on top of the pile. Several corners of pages had been folded over. While some of them are bookmarked with thin cards in between the pages. His curiosity gets the better of him as his hands pick up the top most book and opens it to a random page. Her delicate lettering was written along some of the verses of the pages, her innermost thoughts and responses to the prose. He smiles briefly, laying the book back down as neatly as he found it.

The more pressing issue came back to the forefront of his head as he looked for the kitchen. His eyes catch what could only be a fruit bowl on a counter, the counter looking only like a kitchen counter. Pacing towards it, he finds the ivory coloured ceramic bowl housing bright pops of a orange citrus.

Discovering that he indeed found the kitchen, he quickly found the fridge. Opening it, he was greeted with a few fruits and vegetables. Some leftovers in glass containers and not much else that was easily accessible. His shoulders fall and reluctantly closes the fridge door. Next to the fridge, he’s greeted by a delicately set up tea station. One that looked like it was lovingly used almost every day. One of the glass jars is set closer to the front, and filled with a loose leaf tea. The brown leaves and stems filled the glass, while a few pale yellow floral blossoms were scattered throughout it.

Luckily a tea kettle is still on the stove. Grabbing it, he fills it to the top with water and closes the lid. Turning on the element and setting it down onto the heat. Leon scans the cupboards, eyeing for the one that made the most sense and opened it. Relief drops his shoulders again as he’s greeted with a selection of glasses and mugs. Not a lot of them match, maybe there was a single set in there. But most of them varied in design. Milky sea glass shades sat in the top shelf. Sturdy white mugs were housed in the middle shelf. And a variety of more delicate tea cups and ornate mugs sat on the bottom shelf. The closest one to the edge is propped up, as if it were a regular mug she had used often. Without thinking much more of it, he grabs it and spoons in a healthy spoonful of the jasmine tea. As it seeps the aroma of the jasmine fills his nose, a familiar scent that reminds him of her. Soft, floral and warm.

His steps aren’t quiet in the home, his walk back towards her bedroom alerting her of his presence. He finds her still tucked into bed, her arms wrapped around one of the pillows as she cradles herself to sleep.

“Come on, up we go,” he ironically says as he sets the cup of tea down first before reaching over to wrap his arms around her. The bed dips with his weight, his arms dragging her into his chest. The warm scent of his leather jacket would have comforted her; if she could smell anything. She frowns, her head pressing into the soft leather.

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t want you to have to take care of me,” she stifles a cough, her throat growing more itchy and scratchy with each exhale she suppressed.

“Don’t you know by now? You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Leon smiles, his hand raised to brush aside her tangled tresses.

“You know I want to take care of you right?” He whispers, the back of his hand gently pressed on her forehead again to check her temperature. It’s still quite warm, maybe a degree less so than from before. She must have over exerted herself by simply seeing him at the door.

“I know,” she mutters and groans, her body aching too much to react to him as he fawned over her.

The cup of tea is drank graciously. It’s one of her favourites. The fact Leon had choose this one over the obvious choice of chamomile and honey wasn’t lost on her. She would’ve preferred this first. Her fingers comfortable hold it; one of her favourite cups. A thin cream mug with a simple design of red lilies stamped in the centre. Some of the flowers underneath her fingertips had rubbed off with time and use.  She drinks all of the tea, along with a tall glass of water Leon rushed to grab afterwards. A simple can of soup is reheated on the stove, and Ada eats it up in a few bites. Her stomach finally feeling better after not been able to do much else than sleep and struggle to sleep for the past few days.

“Feeling any better?” Leon reluctantly asks, knowing that it seemed like her condition wasn't alleviated by much.

“A bit,” she groans, her eyes fluttered closed, her entire body curled up into a ball and tucked into him; very cat like as she drew from his body heat. She felt his warmth as he enveloped her and warmed her from the inside out.

“You shouldn’t stay, you don’t want to get whatever I have,” she manages to get out without getting into a coughing fit. Her words conflicting with her body as she held onto him tightly.

“I’m staying,” Leon chuckles, his hand rests on the back of her head, carding through her hair. His head falling towards hers on the pillow.

“Get some sleep, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.”

Act 5: “You up for this?”

That was the first night he had spent in her home. The one safe space that she had kept locked away from everyone else, and he had been in it. With time, Ada started to feel better. The aches growing more tolerable, and her head hurting less and less. And as luck would have it; Leon never caught what she had either. He was always lucky, Ada knew that. But she hadn’t expected him to luck out on not catching whatever ailment she had though. She was grateful though, the idea of having to take care of Leon while she was also sick wasn’t a sight she wanted to imagine. Especially considering Leon was, “much more of baby,” than she was when it came to illnesses.

They slept together every night in her bed. Ada sometimes waking up, startled by Leon in her bed. She was familiar with this bed. Familiar with the silk sheets and how she’d wake up alone every night here. And now she had Leon next to her.

Sleeping next to Leon wasn’t an unusual occurrence anymore. Even her early mornings where she’d leave were less and less common.

But here?

It was her safe place. A place that was free from everyone, and yet he was there. His arm still tightly wrapped around her as he slept. His sweet face lost in some sort of dream and a light snore from him with each exhale of his chest.

Leon headed back to his apartment on the second day to grab more of his clothing and returned with a large duffle bag. Packed within it, more medicines along with cough drops for Ada.

A few days had passed, and Leon took an hour or so each day while she was napping to explore the house. Familiarizing himself with the kitchen as he spent a few hours there as well. Cooking what he could for them while ordering take out for the rest. Ada had always had taste when it came to- mostly everything, and her kitchen wasn’t lacking in that department either. Despite not cooking much (from what Leon could tell), she had a large array of spices and seasonings. Even ones that Leon had never seen or even heard of.

Her favourite teas and coffee were always on display and she had a much more sophisticated coffee machine than he did. It was easier to work with as well. Almost instinctively he was able to brew up her favourite latte.

She had grown accustomed to the sounds of Leon in the kitchen in his home. His soft humming and the taps of his feet whenever he had a tune stuck in his head.

Her home was a different story. The random curse he’d let out at a cupboard door slamming randomly was now a daily occurrence. The rolling of the wheels in the drawers were too loud for his liking, and he’d pull on them gently each morning to not wake Ada. But she heard him anyways. She noticed him doing so, hearing him being relieved that he was able to open a drawer so quietly, but would let out a hushed praise for himself. She always smiled, finding it endearing; hearing him as he made his way through the kitchen to make all of her meals for the day while she focused on recovering.

By the fourth or fifth day, he had finally figured out that the door next to the fridge was sticky and almost always needed and extra push for it to close properly. Focused on closing the door, he couldn’t hear Ada’s soft steps as she tiptoed into the kitchen.

“Need a hand?”

Leon turned at the sound of her voice, beaming at the sight of her out of bed in the morning again.

“Morning, beautiful.”

He couldn’t help but smile, he meant it.

He loved her like this. Her skin touched by the glow of the early morning sun, with her dark hair just a bit messy. Her warm pink cheeks and a lazy smile on her face. Her complexion was warmer, and although he was sure she was still a bit tired, she had certainly recovered a lot.

Ada wore one of Leon’s shirts she had stolen from his apartment, and he had a moment of realization as he noticed it and remembered that it had been gone for a few months now.

“I was wondering where that went,” he shook his head with a grin and turned back around and pushed the door again and held it until it snapped closed. The counter was littered with ingredients and extra bowls, the sink filling up as well with used dishes and utensils. The mandarins that were in the bowl were shared between them over the course of a few days, with only one lonely round little citrus fruit remaining. The cast iron skillet sizzled with bacon and eggs, all of it contained with the lid he left it on top to allow it to finish cooking.

“Where ‘what’ went,” she murmured with a coy smile and took a seat on a chair near the island, plucking the last mandarin out from the fruit bowl and began to peel it in between her fingers.

“Should’ve guessed that’s where it went,” he exhaled a laugh through his nose and began putting some of the items away from the counter and back into their respective homes.

“I guess, you’re feeling hungry?” He asked as he watched her finishing up peeling the mandarin and leaned in over the counter to press one of the orange slices against his lips. He takes it, bursting the sweet citrus fruit between his teeth and watches her plop another wedge between her lips as she bit down and relished in the sweet taste with a little smile.

Her favourite latte is being brewed up in the machine. Hissing with the milk and dripping with the espresso. Topped with the frothy milk just like how she liked it. Holding the latte in her favourite mug in between his hands, he gently settles it in front of her on the island. Leon’s smile mirrors hers as soon as he sees the corners of her mouth upturning. Her head nodding with the cup as she presses it against her lips, taking her first sip.

“And you’re feeling better?”

She nods again.

“Do you think you’re up for a walk outside after?”

/

With Leon’s full breakfast sustaining the both of them, they make their way out of Ada’s home. It’s Ada for the first time out in a few days. Leon’s leather jacket is around her shoulders, shielding her from the cool air. It’s late summer, with bits of red and orange grazing the tips of the trees. The hot sun can no longer fight against the soft cool winds. The purples of the wisteria petals scatter the pathway from her home and towards the street. The quiet homes that surround hers are family homes. Some with children that have already grown and left the nest.

The lawns are mostly perfectly manicured and flower bushes are mostly pruned and trimmed to frame each of the houses. The houses are lived in, with a few windows cracked open and letting in the cool breeze. Each house has its own personality to it. One with a colourful fence. One littered with so many trees you can barely see the front of the house. One with beautiful pale white hydrangea bushes that Ada secretly coveted. One with deep green leafy vines that have overtaken the bricks and shields the windows from the bright sun.

They walk in tandem together. Ada’s steps a bit slower as usual but she keeps up. While Leon slows his pace, trying to match hers. Leon’s hands are tucked into his pockets, his eyes counting on the breaks and cracks on the sidewalk as they pass each one.

“Where are you Leon?” she perks up, noticing how lost looking he was. They turn down another street and pass by more homes, one of them littered with brightly coloured plastic toys on the lawn. Pastel drawings of characters and shapes and letters exploded onto the concrete. A simple children’s game was drawn on one of the driveways. Pastel lines drawn into squares with numbers inside of them. The numbers faded with the childrens repeated steps, while tiny chalk pieces scattered on the edges of the pavement in an array of rainbows.

“I’m not anywhere,” he smiled softly.

“We both know, I know you better than that,”  she muttered in the same cadence, reaching over to place her hands in the crook of his arm. His arms hooks into her hands, helping her along as they walked. His stride pauses so briefly, but it’s enough to stall their pace.

His arm unwinds from her, and he takes a moment to orient himself as he reaches for her hand. Splaying his fingers out towards hers and waiting for her to wrap her fingers around his.

Holding her hand as they walked.

It was a simple act, one that most couples enjoy on their first dates. But it was a privilege they took for granted. The innocent act of affection of simple hand holding was one they weren’t given, but one they would grow comfortable with time.

“Do you ever think about us?” He asks to the wind, not turning to ask her for her response.

“What do you mean?” She in return responds to the breeze, her head turning as her hair is brushed against her cheek.

It’s a standoffish response, much like he’s been used to. It’s a wall that he’d been chipping away at for years.

“You know what I mean,” he exhales, his hand retracting a bit as he spoke. His hand splayed into hers, his finger pressing into the palm of hers before wrapping his fingers into hers. A calming gesture that he did that Ada had grown used to. The way he held her hand like this was more intimate, he was present with her; and he needed her to know that.

Passing by another house she finally responds.

“You mean, married, house, picket fence, two kids?” She asks, reading his mind like it were the back of her hand. She really didn’t need all the visual reminders as they explored. Each new house they passed had so many signs of life and family. A used car that they imagined the teenage son used. A “driver in training” placard placed in the back window. Another house with a family van with children bikes left unceremoniously on the lawn. No locks, no chains. This was a safe neighbourhood that was filled with families.

And Ada was living there.

Alone in that little house in the corner, covered in the wisteria trees.

Leon’s head remained still, keeping his eyes on the pavement, watching for cracks and leading her away from those steps.

“I think it’s a fantasy normal people dream about, and some of them get to see it become a reality,” she murmured, her hand more tightly gripping his than normal.

“And what do you think we have?”  He turns to ask, needing to see her face for her answer. She lowers her head, her gaze lazily on each new house as they continue walking by. Her head finally dips down, her dark lashes covering her warm brown eyes as she looks at the leaves scattered on the grey sidewalk.

She doesn’t reply.

Act 6: “If I could just forget that night.”

They walk together for the rest of the street. Silence between them and hand in hand until they reach back towards Ada’s home. It’s colder, the weather had not been in their favour. Even Leon feels a chill as he shivers, “maybe this was too long of a walk,” he grimaces as he helps Ada back into her home. His hands grip along the leather of his jacket and shucks it off of her and hangs it onto the empty coat rack nearby.

Her home was one of the more intimate places that they had shared. A secret she held for so long. One she had always at some point wanted to share with him, but the time never came. It was always easier for her to show up in his life. She’d never think he would show up like this over a simple cold. She never wanted to rely on him. But he was still there. She’d taken for granted so many things between them, so many firsts that were under less than desirable circumstances.

Ada retired to her bedroom quickly after their walk. Simply giving him a twist of her head upward and towards the bedroom. She was chilled by the walk and headed to the primary bathroom to fill the porcelain tub. Letting it slowly rise with steamy hot water as she sprinkled in a few oils and soaps to create a more luxurious bath.

Leon stood still in the foyer, lost with his thoughts. Her words alway lingered in his mind, always had since Raccoon City. But her silence somehow echoed louder.

His head turned towards the front door, somehow feeling rejected by her lack of a response. But his eyes caught the shades of metal on each of the doors that kept the world locked out of her little sanctuary. Her little home that she had created. A home that she only had ever given him the keys for. His fingertips graze along the metals, feeling how they were antiqued and brushed with age. Like she had purposely found these locks in these conditions and installed them herself.

The water runs in the home, the pipes making the loud announcement by the rushing sounds. Splashes of water grow louder as he makes his steps towards the hallway to the bedroom and the bathroom. He finds Ada as she sits along the edge, her fingers tracing shapes in the hot water as it rises to nearly the tops of the tub before she turns it off. The faucet drips, the water echoing as it spills the last drops.

Ada sees him, standing in the threshold of the door.

The sides of his lips curl upward, “Need a hand?”

/

Ada had years to grow comfortable with the way Leon’s hands touched her. Always gently, and always carefully. Tentatively watching for her reactions. She knew this, knew that he didn’t want to repeat what happened last time.

Night terrors.

A thousand times worse than your typical nightmare. Darkness always creeped into the edges of her peripheral. Her body paralyzed in fear. But it wasn’t death she feared. She feared the pain of suffocating. Countless times had she been drowning in a sea of bodies and thick gooey dark liquid. Her lifeless body sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. Ghastly faces met her gaze in the dark waters, almost touching her with their disgusting limbs. Her arms and legs were unable to move, unable to propel her back up towards the surface. Each gasp of air was stolen from her as water leaked into her mouth and filled her lungs. All the memories of when she was child were dredged up in her night terrors. Being abandoned, being lost and tossed away like she was nothing. Fiery cities burning and lost to the chaos of the world she lived in. All of her horrors of her life culminating until-

She’d wake in a panic. Sitting up with tears streaming down her face and still shaking with fear. Her chest in pain and filling with air so quickly but she can’t feel it. Suffocating on nothing as she tightly pressed her hand to her heart. Feeling her rapidly speeding heartbeat and her heaving labouring breaths. Her eyes snapping shut, forcing herself to slow her breathing and begin counting down,

"10,

9,

8,

7,

-"

“Ada?”

Her head violently twisted towards the sound. Leon sat next to her in his bed. It was his soft linen sheets. His window that let in the moonlight every night. This was his bed. His bedroom. Leon’s hands tightly pressed into fists. Eager to grasp her in his embrace, but she had just woken from her nightmare. Her breath doesn’t stabilize, still rapid, her body still twitching from the fear. All of it not real. All of it in her head. But it felt real. Like her lungs were burning, choking her of air.

“You have them too,” he frowned. Naively hoping that she didn’t suffer from the same horrors he did. Ada had seen his nightmares, they were frequent but had slowed in recent years. He was surprised in all the years he spent sharing a bed with her, he hadn’t seen one of hers.

“Night terrors,” she mumbled, her hand in her chest raising to wipe her tears with the back of her hand.

Leon finally reached over for her. His hand raised to rest on her back, something comforting that he’d known she was used to. But her reaction draws his hand back immediately.

She flinches.

Like a terrified animal, she violently crawls away from him, desperately trying to get away from him. Not from him. New hot tears brim at her lashes. Her chest heaving with her cries.

“I’m sorry,” he panics, his breath short. His brows furrowed together tightly, already angry at himself for not realizing it.

“No, I’m sorry,” she cries, unable to stop herself from shedding new tears.

He’d never want to see her like that ever again.

Moments pass. Neither of them sure of how long until her breathing settles. The tears on her cheeks dried. She doesn’t need to explain her night terrors to him, he already knew. His hand laid next to her on the bed, waiting for her to react to him. Waiting for her to meet him in the middle. Leon perks up at the feeling of her hand on his. Gently prying his fingers away from the sheets and pressed into the palm of his hand. Mirroring the same comforting gesture. Waiting to slowly envelope each other fingers. He waits for her, his other hand ghosting along her arm to bring her closer to him. She nods, slowly moving closer until she’s finally settled against his chest.

He can feel her tensing and relaxing. Her body running on fear and adrenaline and slowly crashing. Losing the fight as she finds refuge in his embrace. Her eyes slowly growing tired, her frame getting more and more relaxed in his hold. Waiting until she finally slips back to sleep. He holds her, repeating the same comforting gesture as she sleeps.

Leon doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. The moonlight fading away until the sun peeks along the horizon.

Act 7: "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

He helped her strip down to nothing, his warm hands ghosting along her body as he helped pull over his shirt she wore. His knees pressed into the cold tile, taking time to press a kiss on each of her thighs as he dragged her panties down her hips. He watches her from where he kneels, waiting for her as he dragged her panties off from her ankles. Her fingers expertly unclasped the metal of his buckle and unthreads the leather of his belt. The tiny buttons of his dress shirt are pierced out of their holes, his chest exposed inch by inch. He’s groans noticing his jeans were getting soaked with the water that spilled out, and then whines at the realization that he had little clothing at her home.

“I think I only brought one pair of pants,” he pouted.

“I guess you’ll just have to walk around in your birthday suit, Mr. Kennedy,” she teases, her attitude returning as she shucks off the rest of his clothing and sets them on a nearby stool.

The water almost overflows as they sink into the tub. The almost too hot water hugging the both of them. Light bubbles skim the surface, the scent of lavender and roses filling the air.

Ada reminisces on memories, his touch. How he’d always be so careful since that night. Never pushing her too far with what they were doing. They held hands under the water, wrapping his arms around hers as she sat in between his legs. With her pressing her back into his chest, letting her feel his steady heart beat and his relaxing breath. His lips pressed lightly on her neck, waiting for her reaction. The gentle tilt of her head exposes more of her skin, encouraging him as he lays another. He’s always been waiting, reacting only when she did. His thumb rubs her hand in a simple circle before slowly releasing, his fingertips grazing under the water and surfacing towards her shoulder and bushing the short black tendrils of her hair out of the way. Her vision blurs as she closes her eyes, her body reacting to his touch.

Each kiss is carefully placed, never unexpected. Always where she knew it was going to be. Trailing up her neck and caressing her jawline and finishing with a press of his lips on hers. Their kisses were often sensual, slow and reactive to each other.

/

It was whenever they were intimate. Whenever she let him take control. His touches transcended into more than just that. It became second nature to him. He would wait for her. He instinctively knew how to touch her, but he still waited. Waited for any cue from her. A gentle press of his thumb against her bottom lip, watching her eyes dilate into a deep dark black as she silently urged him for more.

She felt his fingers spread her legs, waiting for his hands to touch along her inner thighs, parting her folds with a tentative touch. One that awaited for her to leak onto his fingertips. Waiting for her to grasp onto him, begging him for more before he’d react. His touch on the palm of her hand, readying her as he splayed out her fingers, his thighs pressing her flush against the bed before entering her warm heat.

His lips chased hers. His eyes fixated on her every expression. Her brows knitting together in pleasure, her fluttering lashes as she struggled to keep her eyes on him, her pink lips falling open as he stretched her open. Waiting for her to move him along as she hugged every inch of him. His forehead pressed against hers, his eyes snapping shut, his body electrified with pleasure as held himself back. His cock throbbing inside of her, feeling every twitching hug of her walls. Her calls for him were heavenly, opening the doorway for him as he’d draw his hips back before easing back in. His hands remained in hers, keeping her close to him. Holding her as she fell apart around him, thrashing and curling into him. Losing herself to him.

/

“Where are you in your beautiful head?” His voice is warm against her ear. Soft and sweet. The ends of his hair are wet, dragging lines of water on the top of her shoulders.

“Is this enough for you?” She whispers, her lips barely moving with her words.

Unsure of her own question, unsure of Leon’s answer; she eyes the water droplets as they sink down the ivory of the tub, watching them fall into the abyss. She doesn’t want to hear his answer, interrupting any chance for words with her hands cupping the water to spill onto their shoulders.

He doesn’t answer, pressing his chin into her shoulder, sinking into the bath. He doesn’t know the answer. He never has. Never asked if what they had could be more. Time was slipping away from them. It had been ever since Raccoon City. Time was a privilege he wasn’t granted. Time taken away. Taken away from him, taken away from her.

“You’re enough for me,” he smiles.

“You always have had a way with words, haven’t you?”

“Learned from the best,” his smile reaches his eyes.

Even if it wasn’t what their fantasy could be, reality was what they had. And they couldn’t ask for more even if they wanted to. It was enough for her also. Knowing she’d let in the one person that deserved it all.

Act 8: The ties that bind."

The following few days she had finally recovered and was back to normal. Much more perky and alert and ready to go back to work. But when she received the call, she held off on taking the mission. Her fingers wrapped around the burner phone that highlighted the new task along with the compensation for it. Ada Wong, the mercenary wouldn’t take hold of her today. The cold, calculated character she needed to portray to get her work down. Today was just for her. Her and the man that so easily made his way into her heart.

They fell back into their routine, tangled in her sheets. Waking up in the early morning sun with gentle caresses against each other’s faces. A press of the lips to be shared as their first acts of affection for the day. Mingled with the countless caresses and lazy grazing of fingers on warmed naked skin. Her fingers traced the dots and lines on his arms, pressing kisses against the tense muscle and laid a lingering one on his scar. He would do the same, holding her tenderly against his naked chest. His larger hands held hers, pressing them in between their chests as he leaned in close. Peppering fields of kisses on her decollete and against her right shoulder. His kisses are loud, his lips chasing hers, wanting more with a simple nudge of his nose against hers. A smile growing on his face and a mirroring one on hers. The bed falls, redistributing their weight as he lay above her, taking his time with her. Loving her in ways he deserved to give her. It was enough for now. His silent pleas were answered in the form of desperate kisses and the simple call of his name.

/

Her fingers held a pastel lilac book. The edges of it frayed, the pages yellowed. It was one of her favourites, a simple poetry book filled with lovers poems to each other and lines of longing and desire.

Her life was mimicked in the very pages. His sweet smile that she chased. The ocean blues she found escape and lost in was his. The laughter she heard of was his. Her name she only heard in his voice. The prose typed in the pages were meant to hold your heart tenderly, and also squeezed too tightly with simple lines of separate ways. She’d find herself rereading a particular poem. Reciting the words to relive it. A red string of fate that binds two lovers. Her voice was softly singing the words, having the lines almost memorized. Her quiet tone lulling Leon as he laid with his head in her lap. Her free hand threaded through his locks to tease if he were still listening. His quiet, “still listening,” response is his hand reaching for hers, splaying out her fingers and wrapping hers into his. She held him carefully, carrying him with her always.

Even when they part, as they always did. She’d remember the words in the poem, reciting the lines and remembering him as he laid in her lap. His hand in hers, sitting on her couch in the little home she made. Surrounded by the books she’s collected over the years, with the trinkets she’d save. With all of of the flowers she’d picked and displayed. With a small white shell from that trip they shared that Leon had plucked from the sand and given her. With a framed photo of them in which they shared a tender private kiss.

A safe haven made only for her. And he had done the one thing she never thought she’d see a reality. That she’d let him into her life and had her wrapped around his finger.

That no matter what parts them, he’s tied to her.

And in return, she’d be tied to him forever.

[a03heralding]

Unbound

★ Please note that this piece of writing contains spoilers for the second act of the game! ★Read under the cut for more :)

★Prompt: A moment with Shadowheart after deserting Shar ★Characters: Shadowheart. Other Characters are only mentioned in this piece ★Tags: SFW, slight angst ★This is just a short draft I wrote a few days ago and likely won't be expanding on. ★Enjoy :)

It's a little past midnight when Shadowheart breaks away from the camp. 

With her bedroll neatly tucked and footfall light, she doesn’t dare glance back at her slumbering companions. She notes how the smoldering campfire illuminates the crease in Lae’zel’s brow, how the embers pop and fall so closely to Karlach’s face she questions if the woman attracts flame, and how Halsin’s bare feet are set solidly against the soil even as he slumbers.

She moves beneath the guise of darkness, the realm that she’s outcast from; just as she has deserted Shar, Shar has in turn deserted her. The cool breeze bites her exposed skin, the long loss of the memories she once cherished now a weighted stone of regret nestled deep within her gut. She knows that one of her comrades, her fellow disciples, or perhaps even a lover long forgotten will emerge from the shadow, gifted by the cover of night and press a blade to the delicate skin of her throat. Penance for her unfaithfulness, penance for her weakness. 

Her feet are bare, enduring how the thickets tempt her skin to crawl and the pebbles jut into her soles. Even when she’s greeted by the shallows of the Chionthar and a chill lances through her body sprawling up her legs into her torso, her feet do not cease their undying march. Shadowheart’s breathlessness isn’t from the way the frosty water nips at her skin and tugs at her clothes, nor is it from the great rippling ships that pass through the night meters away from her. 

It’s the moon that sits expectantly above her. It gazes down at her and weeps its diamante tears into the black of the sky, casting its own visage onto the once azure waters of the river. She feels bare beneath its stare, not even her submerged lower waist and legs safe from the brilliant white beam Selûne skunk stripes through the water and the subsequent land beyond. Shadowheart feels the urge to say something, perhaps to solidify her abandonment of the tyrant that plucked her away from her parents and cast her long lost memories away from her. 

Though when she goes to speak her tongue lies flat in her mouth, her lips uselessly opening and closing as if she’s suddenly choking on the stone in her throat that she struggles to swallow around. 

Instead, Shadowheart weeps. She weeps for her sudden loss of direction in her life, the loss of her once cherished memories. She weeps for the sorrow her parents must have felt when she didn’t return from the forest. Then she weeps for Lae’zel, hunted and scorned by those who she once fought alongside and entrusted with her life. Then for Karlach, who doesn’t want to die but cannot live a life free and worth living. Then for each and every one of the band of merry folk waiting for her back at camp, all deserters in their own right, all wishing for a better life than the ones they’ve managed to slip away from.

Hot tears born of frustration and nurtured by both fear and anguish embark on a scalding path down the cleric’s pallid cheeks and hang suspended on her jawline. Each tear evokes the water around her to ripple, and Selûne's visage to shimmer. 

When she glances up her chest feels raw, and her eyes tender. Where Shar delights in her anguish, Selûne pities her. The water encompassing her waist becomes bearable, and the breeze dissipates in the night’s eerie silence. A gentle hand caresses her wet jaw, beckoning her to gaze upon her reflection, to see what her decisions have wrought. 

it's Selûne who guides her, encourages her to glance up at the white wisps that seep through the roots of her hair. It’s with a stuttering gasp and a glassy disbelieving stare that Shadowheart realizes that the moonlight goddess seeks to cleanse her, ready to take her into her open arms and embrace her with her blessing. And so she stoops to the water, head tilted and framed by the thickets coating the bank, her fingers combing through her silken hair as she wades further and lets the chill envelope her scalp. 

Shar leaves her just as the black in her hair does, the inkiness once inhibiting her locks slipping out into the ever black reflected in the water never to be seen again. She doesn’t need to speak; her ashen hair that crowns the top of her head and scales from the tips of her hair conveys what she tries to voice. And, for the first time in her sentient life, Shadowheart is unbound.

[viatstar]

She sits in front of her brother, her eyes extremely intense as if she was trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe just by staring at him.

She puts her hands on his cheeks. She pulls them lightly.

"No sad Aether." She pulls further and she will pull more if he keeps looking like that.

In the public's eye, he's a steadfast soul rooted in gentleness as well as strength, a warm smile radiating all the same. Reliable, a listening ear, a confidant whose support is unconditional — Aether's reputation has evolved far beyond his control, an image he can't help but bend over backwards to maintain. It's an innate need to provide, to give all of himself and even more, if only to keep the air around him sustainable.

To give, give, GIVE, so many pieces of himself reside across his life, fragments that mimic his whole self to the unaware. Yet even someone has seemingly infallible as Aether can only bend so much. Even the strongest will start to crack, splintering under the weight of responsibilities both expected and self-imposed. The brightest smiles will fade when veiled by shadows.

And the only shadow he'll allow to see this weakness is his one and only twin sister — the other half of his soul, the opposing side in their coin-flip, the only blood family he'll ever validate. Many remark about how the twins are the sun and moon, yet none realize just how true that analogy is:

Even though everyone loves the sun, they'll take its radiant beams for granted without ever truly looking at it ( but how could others look the sun's way without being blinded by the truth's pain? ). And the moon, whose visage is only possible from the sun's rays, is gazed upon and revered by all, its beauty and power cherished eternally.

And Aether wouldn't have it any other way. To support Lumine no matter the sacrifice, to let others soak in his warmth in the process — it'll always be worth it in his eyes.

That all too-familiar smile returns to his lips, as if it never left in the first place. "Hey now, I'm fine! I promise Lumine. . . besides, how can I be sad when you're here with me?"

No matter what, they'll always be there for each other.

[talmineer]

Kiss In The Dark

(II) Uncleanliness

When we returned to the manor, I could tell she was overwhelmed and defeated. Even as she stepped onto the perfectly black marble floor, I could see that her mind was still stuck in the dungeon. The dust and dirt from her unkept body was starting to stain the very spot she stood in.  Still though, this was not an excuse to make my floors dirty...

"Lets get you cleaned up and started with your first task. You smell like you haven't bathed in weeks"

I offered to her.

"Years"

She responded plainly to me. At the time I thought she was jesting, but after looking down at her and verifying her condition once more, I saw that there was truth to the statement she had made. I was taken aback by how someone could be so unclean. 

"All the more reason why you should be scrubbed down my dear; You can use the communal bathroom down the hall to the left. It's directly adjacent to the book room, right next to the fire place. When you are done, meet me back here. I shall give you thirty minutes with the amount of filth that is stuck to your skin." 

My orders were plain and simple; I checked the clock that hung between the foyer doors. It was fives minutes past nine; I noticed that she hadn't moved upon being given the order. It was so simple and easy to understand; how she could disobey it I had no clue.

"I am offering you a bath...Something you desperately need. Why are you not taking it?"

The question lingered amongst her ears, her silence was beginning to drive me insane. I looked at the clock; five seconds had passed.

Too long to respond.

I quickly corrected this behavior; in a manor that I feel would not be appropriate for a gentleman to describe.

"I am offering you to bathe yourself" 

I repeated, the bright red mark that my hand had made on her cheek stood out amongst her freckles. I watched her as she held herself up by the palms of her hands and kneecaps, face nearly touching the floor. 

"I'm not going to listen to someone who isn't going to treat me like a woman."

ARROGANT BITCH.

"You know- I can treat you like a woman if you wish. But that'd be doing you a disservice; so far I've been gentle because you are my property. However, if you wish to be something less valuable to me; then so be it."

All sense of patience had left me at the moment. From what I remember, I had snatched her hair and started to drag her forcefully to the bathroom. My grip was unrelenting; like a starving dog who had found the last morsel of meat in a dumpster. Her flailing wasn't an issue, it was her constant weak groans and those dirty disgusting hands on my suit! 

By the time we got to the door, I looked back and saw a wide trail of dirt and mud all over the tiled floor and the carpet of the book room. I was furious; I snatched the halfling up by her hair before opening the door and throwing her against the porcelain of the empty tub. When I saw it wobble, my soul nearly left the room; thankfully however it did not break. A moment of relief washed over me before I addressed the major problem in the room. 

"BATHE." "I-I'm not going to bathe with you in here"  "You weren't going to do so either way, so I don't think you have a choice"

I responded to her as I walked across the room to a leaking faucet without a wooden pale underneath. The water that passed through these pipes was heated by the boiler, as such, the steam from the heated water quickly covered the reflection of the standing mirror on the other side of the room. 

"You know, there are times when you just have to listen and do as you're told, or else you face far worse consequences."

With the pail in my hand, I made my way to the tub, pouring the water into it before returning to the faucet. 

"Consequences that are not comfortable; because they bring unwanted change-"

With every trip I made filling the water, I glanced at her through my mask, her fearful visage of me towering over her was different from that of the men I bought her from.

"Change is good; if you learn from the consequences, you won't have to face them again."

The final pour marked the end of my repetitive march to the faucet. I dropped the bucket to the right side of my body, and clenched my fist while staring down the arrogant halfling woman. Her fingers were locked, the trembling lips she had were begging me to not do this to her. Whether she had a strong resolve to show very little weakness, or if she severely lacked water, she produced no tears. I saw her biting and gnawing at her teeth, muttering small iterations of "please" at me. I saw the marks on her wrists from her captors; and I began to consider something else...my property was already damaged, I had no interest in damaging it further. 

The heat of the water was enough to burn her skin and leave a mark...but I didn't want to mark the entirety of her body. 

If I couldn't discipline her physically...at the very least there was mental discipline. 

Without a single warning, I reached for the collar of her disgusting tunic, sliding it past her shoulders. It was at this moment where she showed the most resistance, the woman backed up after a loud gasp and fell backwards onto the floor. 

"Stop it- STOP. This is where I draw the line!"

Was this the fighting spirit that had been buried underneath that pathetic display earlier?

Exciting.

"You don't make any boundaries in my domicile. As I am your new master; you shall be at the beckon of my command. No matter the request, you will obey me."

My hands reached for her once more. Her small legs kicked at me, giving me the opportunity to grab her ankle and pull her closer. Once she was close, I wasted no time. I tore apart her disgusting clothing and stripped her down to her undergarments. Even as she was almost naked, she still continued to struggle. That was until I made a mark on the other side of her cheek. The woman immediately let out a shriek of pain before reaching up to hold her cheek. She stared at me in complete anguish and defeat as her lips started to tremble again. The strap of her brown bra fell down her shoulder as her eye lids fell closed. 

I saw the first tear fall down to her chin, drip down her neck, and trail between her breasts. One of her nipples had slipped past the security of her bra. I could see the bright pink color...my eyes started to wonder as I smiled underneath the mask; I saw her chubby stomach and plump thighs being advertised to me unknowingly. The panties she wore....they were in the way....

Teasing me.

I couldn't resist.

As I reached to remove them, I saw that she made no effort to prevent me from doing so. As I slid them off slowly. Guiding them past her knees, slowly pulling past her ankles- I was caught off guard.

One of her feet had kicked my mask, nearly cracking it completely. Before another strike could be made; a hand manifested from my shadow, catching her foot mid-kick. As I moved my head back down. I saw the awe in her face turn into defeat. It seemed a part of my true nature had been unveiled to her.

"What are you-"

I raised a single finger to my unseen lips, asking her to keep quiet politely. The same finger placed itself between her chest, running down her stomach and resting just above the spot...the spot that I would come to learn she loved to be played with the most.

My answer was quite simple but brash.

"A pervert."

[cantillat-moved]

@pcrdiseseekers ❝ you're not alone. you'll never be alone. not as long as i'm here. ❞ (seibah @ archer)

The King of Knights was a shining star, a beautiful visage that pierces the night sky and guides people, filling them with hope no matter how far away they might be. Watching silently, offering guidance and comfort regardless of who seeks it – still, too far away and too bright for one to reach out to. Beautiful and unattainable, removed from humanity yet representing the dreams of warriors and innocents alike. She was the personification of a star, of the moonlight, of all the gentleness that comes at night-time while also being the sun that burned the enemies and blessed the wheat fields. Her blade sunders the evil and protects the weak, her light too bright at times --- too bright for the forlorn soldier devoid of his humanity, a cog in the machine that no longer belongs among the people whom she protects. -- yet the unattainable light reached out to him, a fleeting dream. Neither are knights, kings or bowmen, they are just a girl and a boy destroyed by their own ideals seeking solace in each other’s presence. Fate has been a cruel mistress to both of them, allowing them to walk the same path yet unable to touch for a very long time – and now they once again were able to met, to part ways once the dream ends.

❝ For how long have you been alone yourself, Saber ? ❞ that was a thought that always stuck in his mind, vague recollections of the king’s loneliness still clung in the recess of his memories. Like himself, she had abandoned her humanity in order to protect people and, in turn, was abandoned by those whom she swore to protect. ❝ It takes one to recognize one. ❞ he admitted almost dismissively, Saber had the habit of putting others’ needs before her own and not to be entirely honest with her own heart at times ❝ I’m not the one whom you remember, nor I’m the one who’d save you or be able to walk down the path with you. However… ❞ there was a pause, he was never one to say things he didn’t truly mean or to make promises he wouldn’t go throughout ❝ -- I suppose it should be ok to offer you my company, for as long we are allowed to walk this path together.❞

[eldenlordofdragons]

This profound emptiness dares not consume him. Rather it seems to find some sick enjoyment from lingering, reminding him of the shame of his failures and disgraces. It's a scar upon his soul, forever haunting him in a silent punishment. Just as he had stopped lingering near water or anything that would reflect his visage without the comfort of his armor, he stopped letting his mind dwell on such things.

When that cleric girl saw fit to save his miserable life, he abandoned his duties as a Tarnished. For a man like him could never be Elden Lord... Not like his sister can.

I wonder how she's doing... He wonders, riding the currents upon his restored wings.

A strangled cry tears him from his thoughts, and he swiftly looks down. Just beneath him en route to Castle Mourne, a woman is being accosted by misbegotten... Oh, how does any race here expect to gain sympathy when they're going around attacking helpless civilians?

Huffing, he shakes his head, straightening his body and diving.

Seems like I don't have time for idle thinking... What a drag.

In moments he's on the ground, crushing two misbegotten in one blow and sending another flying with a swing. Leaping over the still maiden he has two misbegotten heads flying into the nearby rocks and finishes the job with cleaving the last one in half. Nevermind if they had a hierarchy to them; a draconian's strength knows no equal.

"A-Ah... My thanks!" He turns to her... Hyetta...? No, no, this one is different; he can tell by the lack of singing in her clothes. "Ah... who are you?"

After a moment of the comfortable silence in his throat, he speaks. "Just a passing warrior. You should get yourself somewhere safe, madam."

"I am... I am Irina of Morne. Thank you, again. How can I ever repay you, kind sir?" She asks, tilting her head.

He sighs. "You aren't tarnished, are you? You'd be better off staying safe at a Church of Marika, or better yet brought to the Roundtable Hold. The Lands Between is merciless even to blind, gentle dames."

"I suppose..." She fiddles with her fingers a bit, as though lost for words. "... Brave knight, it shames me to ask since you have seen fit to save me from that horrible lot, but could I ask you for something?"

"A favor from a lady, hm?" He realizes this could be taken the wrong way, but he's tired. "... Please, go on."

"Would you be willing... to take me to one of these churches?" She trembles. "I've lost my escorts, and as you can see, I've no prowess to speak of. My father has left this world, and the rest will follow."

Another orphan... Just like many around here.

Now before, he would have simply told her to get lost, or suggest that she was in the wrong for asking him such a thing after he saved her. But things are different now, and the guiding principle of the strong protecting the weak is a teaching from home now burning in his soul.

"I can. I know one where an old friend resides... Stay at the sides of the merchants, miss, and you will remain safe or as long as you do." He prepares some straps for them, so she can ride on his back when he flies them. "I'll need you to hold tight, madam - this won't be the smoothest ride."

Her gratefulness is palpable as she flits to him, allowing him to fit the belts. "Thank you-!"

___

"Kale!"

Landing, he holds Irina to himself until she has her footing, looking at the surprised merchant with a nod.

"Good to see you again, old friend," Kale greets. "And a lovely lady on your arm, I see, haha-!"

"Still on about that, huh?" Undoing the straps, Gara brushes her off, making sure she's all straightened out. "Stay with Kale, and you'll be alright. If he feels so inclined, he may be able to teach you how to wield a dagger or a bow to protect yourself. It'd do you good, after all, since you won't always have strong warriors at your side. Remember that, okay?"

"Yes, alright," Irina nods. To his surprise though she reaches up, the placement of her hand hinting at her expecting him to be normally sized. Her previously puckered lips purse along the flushing of her cheeks. "Thank you, again."

"Your safety is all the thanks I'll ever need." He gives her head a pat. "Kale, have you got her?"

"Er, yes," Kale responds, a bit befuddled. "She is safe here."

"Right then. Take care now, both of you." He then turns, beginning to leave the church. "Farewell, Irina. We'll meet again sometime." It feels wrong, if anything, to let her off without hope. Then again, what hope has she, meeting a warrior without a name again?

Amused he snorts, only to pause halfway down the road at a sprig of deathroot reaching for the sky after breaking the skin of a corpse.

Narrowing his eyes, he watches as a flower withers into a bolus of some sort. Now that he looks closer, it looks more... like an eye. A familiar one, somehow.

A chill in his stomach, and he huffs.

"...What do you want?" He demands. "Haven't you got other things to worry about?"

In response the deathroot wiggles, as though laughing at him.

Huffing, he shakes his head, making a dismissive gesture at it as he walks off. As he does, he fails to notice it crinkling in amusement.

[mint-yooxgi]

wow...wow this chapter...

can we talk about the paintings? i wanna talk about the paintings. i love the exchange of emotional intimacy, with yunho sharing this part of himself, and mc letting herself open up to him in turn just ugh we love to see it. the art room itself just seems like such a magical place from the way you described it, and i’m weak af for artistic imagery so this was a joy to read. the moment with the radiant painting tho with the portrait of mc, where everything clicked and she was like “this is how you see me?” was just so beautiful. i love how it wasn’t just this one moment and then suddenly all the mc’s insecurities are fixed. no here was buildup to this, and the payoff was immaculate. it’s really nice bc i can picture this like romanticized image he painted, but it’s still true to the mc’s visage like it’s clearly her, just with the elevated romanticism of someone who’s in love with her and things she’s just that beautiful all the time. made me all warm and fuzzy inside. 

i really love how in the smut chapters, you have moments of emotional intimacy as a prelude to them being physically intimate. always love to see that. the pure comfort and trust that’s exchanged whenever the characters are intimate with each other is just delightful. also how did you manage to make bloodplay so romantic? like how did you do that? “paint me in you” AHH THAT LINE MADE MY HEART SOAR OMG. the whole scene was just so immaculately described like not only could i see what was happening, i could feel it, both physically and emotionally. and i say this all the time but the pacing was just perfect! it has the same immersive properties as your dream and fantasy sequences and is just such a joy to read and re-read to catch all the little intricacies. it took everything in me not to squeal at the sweet words they exchange like omg this is incredible.

and of course the reciprocity. i already knew you would emphasize the mutual feelings but wow this was great to see. seeing the mc take just much time and care for him as he did for her is always the best fucking thing to see. seeing her use the same soft touches and gentle words of praise just ugh yes douse him in affection he deserves it! the intimacy of having hem both intwined like this, painting each other with each other, is such a creative way to display their mutual love. 

i cannot lie tho i did scream out loud when he drew her blood and it didn’t hurt her, and he reminded her that he’d never hurt her even in this the SCREAM I SCROME. i just know my dog can’t stand me 😅 also the part that had me wanting to munch bricks, where he’s emphatically expressing his desire to please her, now that i have the full context i wanna munch cinderblocks

and the face sitting...oh wow the face sitting. had to read that in stages it was so fucking hot. first of all the fact that he’s so giving is already making me swoon, but then being so adamant on hearing the moans and reactions i live for shit like that. and then the feralness that seeps through the sweetness made things so intense and so fucking hot. i love he way you merge the two too, the carnal and the caring, and it manifests itself in these poetic professions of love and lust. wanting to get drunk on the sweet nectar of arousal, wanting to take in the whole experience, like yes! that’s the best kind of lover right there! and the fact that all that was done through their mind link, and with their minds caressing as well as their bodies? that was a super unique angle and made my heart fucking flutter. the bloom for me line had me down for the fucking count i had to pause right there like...wow just fucking wow! the ebbs and flows of eroticism in this were great to read to. you can really see the way the erotic energy peaks and valleys over time as they just enjoy each other which was excellent. you can see that same flow of energy through the riding part too which just made it so engaging to read.

damn i wrote a whole essay 😅. anyway long story short this was super fucking hot and super fucking romantic and i can’t wait for more! my mind has been completely blown

Ellie. Omg, Ellie, you’re literally going to make me cry, I appreciate this message so much and all of your observations omg 🥺

First of all, yes!!!! Thank you so much!! I really tried to emphasize the intimacy and importance of Yunho sharing his art with the OC, so I'm glad it came across well! It’s a big step for him and for the emotional vulnerability because as we all know, the last time he shared his art, it didn’t bode too well for him. I really wanted to capture that importance, and I'm so glad it came across! And yes!!! build up is so important, especially with the portrait of the OC, I really wanted to slowly lean into it, especially since it would reflect his nerves and the meaning of showing the art to the OC, so I’m so glad it was paced well!!

I’m also so glad the emotions came across well!! I always try to make sex a little more than just two people fucking each other in my stories, because to me, the deeper connections between them makes it all the more hotter. There’s so much more to emphasize I think when you have those emotional connections to play around with, because then everything just becomes that much more between two people. Perhaps that’s just me romanticizing love making, but I enjoy it, so I’m so happy others do as well! Don’t even get me started on the lines I had them reciting to each other omg, they were definitely some of my favourite, and long since overdue. I mentioned before how I've had this scene planned since the very beginning, and that also includes the lines they say to each other! I’m so happy you enjoyed the build up and the aspect of the blood play in the scene. I know I enjoyed writing it!

“If it’s not mutual, I don’t want it” is definitely something I live by, and is definitely reflected in the Oc considering their own thoughts on the matter lol, so I'm glad I can emphasize that!! Thank you so much!

Noooooo, not the cinderblocks!!!! Lmaooo, I'm so glad you enjoyed that part!! I very much enjoyed writing it. I really want to emphasize each of their desires in their words, and all of them are smooth mfs and the like, so I'm glad it’s all coming across and working out!

Oh yeah, I wrote that one line after he pulls the OC’s hand away and I had to cool off for a few minutes cause WOW, boy is feral in the best ways (at least, in my opinion lol), I enjoyed writing that scene wayyyy too much if you couldn’t tell, and I always wanted to incorporate his mental powers into his smut, and I'm so happy with how it turned out. Originally, I was going to have him project his vision - what he saw when looking up at her - into the OC’s mind while eating her out right before she came, and that would be the final push to send her over the edge, but I thought I'd save that for a later part. I’m really happy with how everything turned out, and I'm so glad you enjoyed it, too!!

And ehehehe I was wondering if you would comment on the ‘bloom for me’ line and I'm so glad you did!!! I contemplated not putting it in, honestly, but I had always thought about it since, you know, he calls the OC petal and everything. I’m so glad I did because it really pays off, imo!

Thank you so so so so so much for this long ask and all of your feedback, you honestly don’t know how happy it’s made me, and how much I appreciate it!!! I love getting to know what you think, and all the little details that you can pick up or that you enjoy from my writing. I appreciate it so much!! I really appreciate you. Thank you for reading, and I cannot wait for you to see what else I have planned!!