#Yellow and White Tea Towels

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SEVEN !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 23.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, love triangle, kidnapping, violence/death, ptsd, suic1dal tendencies, alcoholism/alcohol use, invasion of privacy, unprotected s3x, non-c0n, master k1nk (reader is called this), mommy k1nk (ada is called this), p3t-play, drugging (use of aphr0disiacs without knowledge), face-sitting, squirting, s3x toys, & physical restraint.

──── Yellow light bleeds through your closed vision. When you blink away the remaining clumps of sleep in your eyes, you find yourself in the passenger seat of a vehicle. Your stomach twists with newfound fear, as though your body were wringing a wet towel.

Before you can question how you somehow time-traveled to the tea-induced unconsciousness forced by Jill and Carlos, a voice permeates the silence.

“Morning, sunshine.” 

Nearly snapping your neck, you turn your head to find Leon Kennedy behind the steering wheel.

With a soft grin on his face, he shifts his gaze from the road, to you, then back again. He’d much rather stare in awe at the way your chest rises and falls with tranquility, but alas, he cannot. He’s well aware of what occurred the last time he drove with you. Like Hell will he allow anything of the sort to happen again.

“Oh… So, it wasn’t a dream.” You mutter sleepily, some lasting despondency dragging with your sluggish speech.

Lowering your head, you discover your opossum plushy nestled in your arms. Still adorned in the silken ribbon from earlier, but missing the handwritten note from Ada tucked beneath. 

Leon most likely crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage, always the territorial dog he is. You still remember the savagery in his eyes whenever you’d speak to coworkers at Mizoil about recent gas prices or late paychecks.

Speak of the devil, Leon is quick to save you from your inner turmoil. 

“Stay with me, Y/N. ‘Promise you’re safe here… You’ll never need to worry about anything ever again...”

He rests his hand on your knee, massaging soothing circles into your flesh. You’d surely succumb to the lulling motions and fall asleep, had your brain not been wrecked with surging questions.

“I-I don’t understand. What’s happening? Where are we going?” 

Leon’s hand finds yours. Calloused fingers interlock with your shivering digits, lightly squeezing your palm as a means of reassurance. A firm reminder that he is here. Always. And he will not be leaving your side anytime soon.

“I have a cabin up in the mountains. The safe house. Our safe house.” 

The last time you lived with someone in the woods, it ended very poorly. You pray Leon does not share any notion with your previous partners. 

Despite these worries, another special someone remains on your mind. 

“What of… What about Tyrell? Will he be joining us?” 

Trying to shield the hope in your tone was a lost cause. Especially when spoken to a secret agent of all people, who studies every twitch and timbre in your voice as easily as a picture book. All of which tells him you like Tyrell. 

Leon’s knuckles bloom in hues of white the tighter he clenches the steering wheel. Jealousy like never before courses through his bloodstream. 

Even in the presence of others who are not afraid to show their attraction to you, he never encountered emotions so grand. When it is you who displays the perceptible favoritism, Leon has to physically restrain himself from whipping the car around, speeding back to Tyrell’s home, and beating him to a bloody pulp.

You, safe and sound in his humble abode, and that man, rotting six feet under — that is really all Leon could ask for. Maybe even the death of a certain red-obsessed mercenary, but as tenacious as she is, there is no hope for such a fate.

“Nope. No Tyrell. Gonna be just us for a while.” 

The disappointment that washes over your face is catastrophic for Leon. It is almost enough for him to consider tearing himself apart to become the version of Tyrell you adore so much. Carving away at his features, nails and hammers to his flesh, and plucking every piece of his personality to claim as his. Anything to make you think of Leon alone in that regard. No one else.

“Hey, I swear you’ll enjoy it here.” He cannot tell whether he’s trying to assure you or himself of this. “We’ll have bonfires, hikes, car rides like this. I’ll even take you on a canoe ride around the lake, if you’d like.” 

“And what about after that?”

He pauses, casting a quick glance of confusion your way. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, what will happen once all of this blows over and we can leave the safe house? When can I live on my own?”

Leon tenses. He does not like this topic; he’d rather speak more of the romantic dates you’ll have in the mountains together.

Mornings will be spent watching the fog settle across the surrounding forest, hands interlocked with one another and enjoying steaming cups of tea and coffee. Nights will be spent cuddled by the campfire, indulging yourselves in sugary kisses smeared with melted marshmallows and sticky chocolate.

He’ll spend his days with you nestled in his arms as he rows you around the lake, cooing over the way your heavy eyes droop and you drift off to the sound of gentle waves.

After six long, tortuous years, you’ve finally returned to him and dipped a toe into the thrashing waves of his life. And like some famished, deep-sea creature, Leon’s hand ensnares around your ankle and pulls you into the depths. Seized in his arms and to never part again.

Here, life will become what Leon has always wanted it to be: sunlit and alive. 

“Hey, watch out!” 

You’re shocked you hadn’t launched out the windshield by how violently Leon slammed on the brakes. His arm stretches over your chest in an attempt at protecting you, the aggressive and desperate motion enough to bruise your ribs.

When he looks to identify what danger intends to take you away from him, he finds a raccoon. How fitting. The critter scurries across the road before vanishing into a nearby array of bushes.

“Are-Are y-” Leon swallows a scratching cough. “Are you okay?” 

The stunned silence is accompanied by his stuttering, shaky breaths. His trembling hand finds your shoulder. Grasping tightly, as though you would wrangle yourself out of his grasp and limp away. Just as he watched you do in Raccoon City. 

You do not answer him. Instead, a smile creeps onto your face before you burst with loud laughter. The sight sends electric bolts straight through his chest; the mellifluous sound filling his ears like warm, oozing honey. A sound so heavenly, in fact, Leon finds himself laughing with you, despite the hammering speeds of his fearful heart.

You raise your opossum in presentation with a sun-bright smile still stamped on your face. “I think the little guy just wanted to visit his friend.”

You’re sent into another series of adorable laughter and candy-sweet giggles. Leon studies every tone of your amusement and stamps them into his memory. He has seen many versions of you, yes, but never complete happiness. Sheer, unadulterated, beautiful happiness. And he solemnly swears to keep this emotion perennial, for now and forevermore. 

When your laughing fit dies down, only then does Leon begin to drive again. As he accelerates forward, you look his way and begin to absorb his appearance. 

He does not look very different than he did before. Perceptible creases deepened on his skin and have replaced that baby-face he was once notorious for, however.

“’There something on my face?” 

You flush upon realizing how long you had been dissecting his appearance. Fortunately, that witty humor of his mends any lasting embarrassment. 

You had almost forgotten about the newcomer in town you met several years ago. When you see his chapped lips stretch into that pretty-boy smile, you’re reminded of how that rookie at the R.P.D. still lives inside him.

“I’m sorry, you just… You don’t look any different than when we first met.”

Now, it is his turn to blush. 

His eyebrows raise in shock. He turns his head to search your face for a sign of a joke. Though, with how focused he is on the road ahead (and his poor luck with driving), he is granted no opportunity. The silence that settles tells Leon all of how truthful you are. 

To make matters even worse for him and his flustered self, you continue your thorough inspection of his appearance. 

That dull, pallid color casted upon his face has restored its lively, childlike tint. Now, you can fully see that rosy flush cloud his creamy skin.

His eyes are a misty blue with scattered specks of gray. The most prominent feature of his eyes, however, was the life within them. And back on those loading docks, you witnessed first-hand as that liveliness returned.

Beneath their glittering luster holds the last few remnants of innocence he still has. For too long, they had been vacant and soulless — a permanent scar of that day in September. Excitement, adventure, and ambition now glimmers with every blink. You look into them and can only find that young man who visited your gas station to offer clumsy pick-up lines and hefty tips.

“I’d tell you to take a picture if I didn’t mind you staring at me so much.” Leon’s voice has deepened to a gentler husk over time. Aged like a fine whiskey. 

The wind passing through the window tousles with his hair, capturing your attention. You notice how the color of his hair has changed over the years, as well. The dark tones of his roots now fading into a dimmer blonde.

To answer his statement, you reach over and sink your fingers into the strands and ruffle the locks. He laughs in response and playfully pushes you back to your seat with tender effort. From here, you finally halt your scrutinization and return your gaze to the forestry outside. 

That adoring, lopsided smile remains permanent on Leon’s face for the rest of the car ride.

And that very smile is entirely formidable, you conclude. Time passes by and still, this happiness of his does not falter in the slightest.

It has now been over three months since you stepped foot into Leon’s cabin. More notably, it has now been three months since you’ve stepped foot out of Leon’s cabin.

You’ve become accustomed to the routine of waking up to gloomy clouds and shadowed sunshine. As you stir awake now, you study the bedroom you currently reside in.

On the bed, where you lay, cushiony comforters are embraced by fluffy, knitted blankets. Leon is satisfied with sleeping with one pillow, but he bought several more for you to sleep with, of which you use heartily. Only a fool would miss the way he wishes you’d use his chest to rest your head on instead.

Fairy lights are woven around the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Directly beneath is a rug stretched across the floor, where the original intricate design is now convoluted with dirt and grime. A lit fireplace is centered directly across from the king-sized bed, protecting you from the bitter temperatures outside. Not that the protection is necessary, as you can always find a certain warm body draped around you.

Outside, a porch ensnares around the walls of the exterior, where two rocking chairs are situated right beside each other. They overlook the layer of fog resting upon the adjacent lake, surrounded by miles and miles of pine trees. 

Through the front entrance, you step directly into the living room. The interior is elucidated by soft, golden lamplights. More knitted blankets and pillows adorn the surface of the handmade couch. A hand-carved bookshelf holds the weight of a myriad of books.   

The living room goes hand-in-hand with the kitchen. A wooden stove, rustic pots, and even more ancient kitchen utensils scatter around the small expanse. Tucked in the corner of the kitchen is a timber table with a candle as a centerpiece, joined by two wooden dining chairs.

Down the hall and opposite of the bedroom is a bathroom akin to the size of a shoebox. A stone-walled shower contains all your preferred soaps and washes, as well as Leon’s classic scents of amber and cedar-wood. There is a mirror strung above the log-supported sink with, what you could swear is, a blinking red light tucked in the corner of the glass.

Relaxing and cozy is this cabin, yes, but it is all a temporary living situation. Then, you can step into the real world and see what life has to offer you.

At least, that is what Leon claims. 

What you are unaware of is that in these six years without you, wrecked by your death, Leon built this cabin as his final resting place.

His time was devoted to operating his plans of destroying Umbrella and slaving the hours away on this property, crafting every ounce of love and detail into the estate. After his goals reached success, Leon would venture back here where no one would find him. Then, he would end his life. 

When he reaches the afterlife, he will find your soul there. Waiting for him. You and him would then spend the rest of time with one another, happily haunting the halls of your humble abode.

These plans have, of course, fallen short when he learned your precious heart was still beating. Now, Leon intends on residing in the cabin for the rest of his life, indulging in the rays of sunlight held in his arms. 

There are still a few finishing details that require his aid, some last screws to be fastened and whatnot, but it will remain of utmost perfection as long as he is here with you. Then, when your long, amazing life inevitably reaches its final chapter, he will end his life right beside you.

Leon intends on spending eternity here with you. No matter what shifts and changes may occur in the trajectory of your lives.

Picturesque as his beloved cabin is, you’re still overwhelmed with the feeling of being trapped. And God, do these feelings puncture you with guilt. All that he has done and sacrificed for you, just for you to return his efforts with rejection and discomfort – you’d hate yourself if you were him.

Even though you perceive your desires as selfish, you still can’t help but wonder how fruitful your life could be if you were to be alone- 

“Jesus, fuck-!” 

Shifting your vision to your right, you swear your heart nearly collapses into itself when you find Leon. Chin rested on his palm, you had caught him in the middle of watching you. Intently. 

His staring does not cease upon your frightened reaction, either. It remains just as it was, with a new grin spreading on his face. You’re just like a baby mouse, eyes blown wide in fear of the vicious world around them. Too fucking cute.

Face hidden behind your hands, you catch your breath and question him. 

“Jesus Christ… How long have you been watching me?” 

With a lighthearted titter, he answers. 

“Not for long. Just over three hours.”

With every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Leon Kennedy loves the sight of Y/N L/N. 

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of his obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Eyes still glued to your every move, his burly arms encompass around your waist and pull you closer to him, chest now cemented to your back. Languid kisses are littered across your jaw like confetti dispersed upon a stage.

Ever since you arrived here, Leon always insisted on sharing a bed with you. Even going as far as to exclaim in faux dismay: “Oh, no! There is only one bed!”, as though he had not decorated the cabin himself.

He further asserts how sleeping beside you is the best course of action in keeping you safe from any creeping danger. When he then takes your chin between his two fingers and presses a hard kiss to your mouth, moaning in fervent contentment, you fail to see how this is meant to “protect” you.

Despite this, you have grown familiar with these sleeping arrangements beneath the sheets with Jill and Carlos. 

Speaking of those two, their memory stirs your stomach. 

You do not know if Leon is aware of their existence and what you endured under their care. You don’t know where they currently are, either. If they are even dead or alive…

These thoughts are immaterial, you assure yourself. They are far, far away and will never lay a finger on you. 

Nagging thoughts like these are especially assuaged in the morning, where you can cook breakfast for you and Leon. Even just the sight of a pan in your grasp would be enough to get Carlos sweating, further proving the two are not lurking in any hidden corners. He’d surely die just seeing you mere inches away from a knife block. 

Sure, it may have had to take a few voluntary cuddles and some puppy-dog eyes, but eventually, Leon caved and gave you permission to cook. Despite how ecstatic you are to receive some form of autonomy, you always remain careful in your efforts. One nick to your skin and this privilege will be yanked from your hands before you have the chance to enjoy it. 

Now, you stand here in the kitchen, poking and prodding at the sizzling eggs on the stove. Although you are certainly no chef, you managed to pick up a few skills while watching Carlos prepare your meals. Leon always praises your culinary works, nonetheless. The clean plate he leaves behind tells you such. 

Leon himself is currently outside the residence, gathering lumber for the bedroom fireplace. It is one of the rare occurrences where you are granted solitude, so you revel in the time as thoroughly as you can. 

He sought after time off work for the sole reason of never spending a second without you. Wearing the badge of surviving Raccoon City then saving the notorious Baby-Eagle has earned him many points with his superiors, granting him permission to bring home the bacon without partaking in any labor. 

You joke to yourself about becoming the classic 50’s housewife as you set the table.

Two plates of steaming omelets with a cup of tea for yourself and a glass of sparkling water for Leon. He alluded to his problems with alcohol on one occasion, but he informed you of how he was receiving help. This ‘help’ remains a mystery to you, but you assume his choice of beverage plays a role in this assistance. 

Although the problems you face are much different than his, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever receive help when you finally leave this- 

“Fucking christ!” 

When you turn your shoulder to set your apron away, you swear your heart, once again, nearly collapses into itself when you find Leon. Standing just at the threshold of the kitchen, watching your every move. Intently.

All he does is shoot you that same grin, complemented with a light chortle, before sitting down at the table. God, how long was he standing there? Did he even leave the cabin!? 

With a deep breath, you join him at his side. Before you can even take hold of any cutlery, something tugs at your chair. You glance down to find Leon’s hand ensnared around your chair leg, before he pulls you closer to him. Now shoulder to shoulder, he plants a prolonged kiss to your cheek as a silent way of thanking you and an apology for startling you, before digging into his meal.

You then begin consuming the works of your hard work, as well. In the midst of eating, Leon speaks about the plans for the day ahead. And for the umpteenth time, he broaches the idea of enjoying a boat ride around the lake.

With the shimmering hope in his eyes, you know very well of what he is asking you. After all, you remember your first boat ride very well. 

Watching the fish swim through the murky waters, listening to the birds sing and frogs croak, sinking your fingers into the stream and toying with the waves – enjoying the nature outside serves as a lovely memory. 

Much to Leon’s shock (and yours as well, if you are honest), you halted his rowing and pulled him into your very first kiss. As stingy as your affection is, he clung to whatever slivers he could grasp. And to receive something as breathtaking as your kiss, he could have sworn the world shattered around him.

Ever since then, the desperate man has been nudging you in the direction of giving him another. Or any scrap of affection, for that matter. 

You take your last sip of tea and agree to Leon’s advances of a boat ride, ignoring the elation that floods his face in response. 

Some time out of this stuffy cabin is what you have been needing. Maybe you’ll even give him another kiss in the end. As much as you hate to admit it, your lover is quite handsome. Also very fun to kiss. Annoyingly so.

Unfortunately for Leon, the boat ride you enjoyed that morning was devoid of any physical affections. As the day continues along, however, you can’t help but wonder if some affection is what Leon needs. Maybe then, he’ll be satiated, and finally, you’ll be granted more time to yourself…

As dusk settles in, though, you begin to notice a perceptible excitement within Leon. It is nothing out of the ordinary, as he always harbors some form of elation around you. Tonight, however, this gleam sparkled differently.

An hour managed to pass by, spent scouring through a book you plucked from the living room bookshelf. And so absorbed in the wondrous world of ‘Woodworking 4 Dummies’, you had not realized how long it has been since you last saw Leon. This phenomenon was strange, as your puppy-dog is always at your hip like a tight belt. 

You are only enlightened on this peculiarity when Leon enters through the front door moments later.

He is adorned with that familiar shimmer in his eye, but you also notice how he has his hair slicked back. You can easily recall the occurrence where he laid his head on your chest and you ran your fingers through his blonde strands, before impulsively telling him he looked sexy with his hair pushed back. 

Embarrassed, you prayed he was too drowsy to hear your spontaneous compliment. When you found a mountain of hair gel in the bathroom a day later, you realize then how wrong you were. Though, who are you to complain when you’ve got good eye-candy standing right in front of you?

“Sunshine! ‘Got something for ya.” 

Your book is robbed from your possession and tossed onto the couch surface, where your attention is then forcibly diverted to Leon. Exactly where he needs it most. 

His hands, soft as they always are, guide you to your feet. They are then placed over your eyes.

“Is it something that I’m not allowed to see?” 

A kiss to your head, he answers. “Not yet. Gonna have to let me be your legs for a while. Unless you want me to carry you there?” 

Please say yes. 

“Lead the way, Mr. Kennedy!” 

The disappointment he feels fades quickly as he begins to guide you out the front door. 

The bite of the early-night chill crawls up your arms. If it weren’t for the strong chest pressed against your back, you’d surely succumb to the shivering temperatures.

“I would’ve brought a jacket if I knew we’d be taking a stroll.”

The breath of his chortle fans against your ear. 

“You’ll warm up soon, sunlight. Trust me.”

Through several short-lived twists and turns, you are soon halted in your tracks. Any attempts at piecing together where on the property you may be fails you, as you have no recollection of stepping this far from the cabin.

“Any wild guesses?” Leon’s voice nearly touches your brain with how close he is to you. 

The specks of golden light peaking through his fingers hints to what may be the answer. 

“Uh… A campfire?”

He laughs again. “We already have one out front.” 

“Yeah, but the s'mores the merrier, right?” 

He responds to your god-awful pun with more laughter and another kiss to your head, before finally pulling his hands away from your face. 

From there, you absorb the sight of a newly built hot-tub. It bubbles with scorching water and you can almost feel your muscles ache with want. Beside the tub is a fireplace, alive and flickering with fire. There are towels folded upon the surface, where they absorb the heat to embrace you soothingly after a nice soak.

Surrounding the hot-tub is a tall, solid black fence. Perfect for complete and total privacy. Not that anyone could step within a mile radius of the home without Leon knowing, but you digress. 

Clean, skimmed wooden planks trail from your feet to the hot-tub. Searching further, you see an array of fairy lights strung upon the trees above. Their lights twinkle and illuminate the new addition to the property. 

So engrossed in dissecting the new sight, you forgot about your puppy’s incessant need for your attention. You almost forgot he was even there to begin with until you feel his arms ensnare around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him. 

Another kiss to your cheek and you finally fill the silence with your voice. 

“You built all of this?” 

He answers with an ‘mm-hmm’ and sways you both from side to side. You do not question his abilities, more-so the time frame. He’s constantly latched to you like that damned Las Plagas, where in his schedule did he find time to do all of this? 

“Goddamn, how good are those woodworking books?” 

You’re almost convinced to take up comedy with the way he laughs at your dry attempts at humor.

“You should know. You seemed pretty focused on it back home.” 

Home. It’s a comforting phrase, but even in your subconscious mind, you don’t interlock that word with the cabin. You aren’t sure why.

“Nah, I’ll stick to the omelets. I’d probably chop my fingers off if I tried what you do.” 

Leon shudders. The playful energy is drained the very moment those words leave your mouth. You should’ve known how sensitive he is to such ideas, after all. You almost turn to apologize, but he responds before you can even clutch the chance.

“Good.” He swallows dryly. You swear you heard a sniffle somewhere in there. “Don’t need any of those curious fingers around my table saw. Rather you just keep them on me.” 

You answer the flirtation with a giggle and a “shut up!”, before shoving him off of you. From there, Leon begins to undress himself. You watch his efforts with a furrowed brow, before questioning him.

“O-Oh, now? We’re gonna use it right now?” 

That grin on his face, always permanent, grows into a smile. “I built it for you. Didn’t bring you all the way out here just to stare at it.” 

“Touché.” You answer.

Since you do now own a swimsuit, as you have minimal clothing for yourself back in your dresser (due to the fact your entire wardrobe still remains at Jill and Carlos’ estate), you begin to undress yourself, as well. It hadn’t crossed your mind that this was the first time Leon has seen so much of your skin, as you are more preoccupied in imagining how relaxing it will be to finally sink into the warm water. 

Leon, in question, nearly gets caught in his pant legs and topples over from the sight of you. He wants to be witty, for his brain to form another charming one-liner that would snag your heart. But alas, seeing every blemish, every scar, every stretch of skin on your body has rendered him speechless. Those pesky undergarments of yours may be in the way, but even just a glimpse of your ankle is enough to get him drooling.

While Leon stands there with his head in the clouds, you rush over and finally step into the searing, muscle-melting embrace of the hot-tub. When you look to see why a certain blonde has yet to join you, you find him just standing there. Eyes the size of dinner plates.

You do not refrain from commenting on this. “When you said you didn’t bring me all the way out here just to stare, I thought you were talking about the both of us.”

A few blinks and Leon is finally brought back down to reality. There’s a subtle blush dusted on his cheeks, but yet again, he does not take his eyes off of you. With a light chortle, he finally climbs into the tub and adjusts himself beside you. 

You take notice of the old pair of swim trunks he had worn beneath his clothes, which surely had been collecting dust in the bottom of his dresser. The heavy muscle gain over the years makes it rather tight around his thighs. You quickly avert your eyes away from the sight, but Leon is not as stingy when it comes to his staring. Especially when it is you before his gaze. 

Enjoying the steaming temperatures, you then proceed to ramble about frivolous matters. With how peaceful your days have been (as well as how much time you spend with Leon), there is not much glamor or drama to enlighten him of. Still, you always manage to find some topic to blabber on about. 

For tonight's subject: eggs!

You are rarely given the privilege of pursuing your hobbies and exploring beyond that point rarely ever happens. Anything perceived dangerous in the eyes of Leon is immediately off the table. Cooking, as baby-proofed as it is, has become a newfound interest for you. Specifically the art of cooking eggs, as your morning omelets still weigh in your stomachs.

“-And that’s why you should always use butter instead of oil when cooking eggs. I’ve learned it makes the eggs a lot more creamy, while oil just makes it, kind of, goopy, in my opinion. Bonus points if the butter you use is unsalt-” 

So engaged in explaining the art of cooking eggs, you hardly comprehend Leon and his current state. Your tangent is soon brought to a sharp halt when you cast a glance at Leon. 

You find him staring, once again. Only this time, not a single inch of your chest is free from his scrutinization. You peer down to look at yourself, assuming something of sort was wrong with it. When you find nothing but your normal body, you finally conclude his actions to not be at fault of you, but simply Leon thinking with what’s in his pants.

Looking back at him, knowing smirk on your face, you point your fingers up. “My eyes are up here, y’know.”

Leon abides by your comment and returns his gaze to you. Then, in his best attempt, he tries to flirt.

"If being gorgeous was a crime, you-you'd be guilty as... as... shit, I... I'm sorry." 

You’re taken aback by his odd reaction. You have never seen Leon Kennedy nervous, no less stutter before. You’re positive you’re the only person on Earth to witness such. 

“Right… So, as I was saying, it’s also best to use unsalted butter while cooking eggs. Not only does it help cook better, but gives you the opportunity to add in your own seasonings. Especially with how picky you know I am when it comes to-” 

There he is, doing it again! 

Staring at your chest as though it were a delicious buffet and he had not eaten in days. 

Just how much is he even listening to you, anyway? If you asked him, do you think he’d be able to reiterate even just a word of what you said? What if you used this to your advantage? 

With this newfound idea sparked in your mind, you begin to tell a ridiculous, fabricated story of the morning you had.

“Yeah, so after I cooked us eggs, I went outside and actually ran into the chicken who laid it.”

You search for any sign of confusion and find nothing. So, you continue.

“Then, she started to berate me! Squawking and screaming, “How could you!? You cooked my baby into a tasty breakfast!?”” 

Complemented by your eccentric motions and exploration of different octaves, you pantomime the comical story to Leon. Still, all you receive is a monotone, periodic “uh-huh” from your ever-so-immersed lover.

“And then she started running after me, pecking at my ankles no matter how fast I ran! She actually chased me all the way up that mountain back there. I even asked a squirrel to help me, but he just acted like he didn’t even see me, that bastard! When we finally reached the top, I just…“ 

Further insight on your vibrant morning borders on your tongue, but when you cast your gaze further down, you find an unmistakable sight through the fizzing bubbles: Leon using his hands to shield his… problem away from your attention. 

From here, you finally cut your tale short. You giggle to yourself before forcibly snagging his attention away from your chest. You grasp his chin and pull his gaze to meet yours.

“I thought I told you my eyes were up here…”

A foggy film hazes over his eyes. Mouth slightly agape, he nods lazily in agreement. Does he like it when you’re in control? When you’re rough like this? 

As you ponder over it, you realize you have never really taken control before. And knowing you’re gonna be stuck in this cabin for God-knows how much longer, you might as well have some fun with it, right? Besides, you’ve caught a glimpse or two of what’s hidden in those pants. Maybe some sweat is what you truly need to ease into this new lifestyle. 

Even when holding his chin hostage, his eyes do not stop themselves from searching for what they want. They shift down to your lips and lock onto the sight. Of course, you know fully of what he is asking for. Though, it wouldn’t be fun if you couldn’t drizzle in a little pain with pleasure. 

So, you play against him in his most favorite game: freeze and stare. You do so and watch as he squirms like a worm through thick soil. 

As you watch Leon crumble from something so mere as intensive eye-contact, a knowing smile quirks at your lips. The sight of your pearly whites, especially when exposed in his favor, is what pushes Leon to snap. His mouth waters at the prospect prodding at his mind, as though he were thirteen years old again, reading the raunchy romance books he snagged from one of his orphan caregivers.

Leon leans in to kiss you, but you nod away from his advances. The further you push away from him, however, the more Leon chases after you. Soon, there is no room for you to escape. And his mouth practically bruises your own from the force of his scorching kiss.

You try to speak his name to capture his attention back, but there is no room for conversation. Not when your senses are overwhelmed with the clashing of lips, saliva, and gut-wrenching devotion. 

You sink your teeth into his bottom lip in a final attempt at halting his zeal. This action brings you success, yes, but only chucks buckets of fuel into the rampant fire burning inside Leon. He’s said it before, after all: pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other. 

And that it does. 

His jaw drops with a sharp gasp. From there, you listen as Leon whimpers into your mouth. He chases after the warmth of your lips again, but you do not let him indulge by establishing firm restrictions. This resistance only causes more trouble, as Leon grows impatient with each passing second without you close.

“Please… Need more…” His voice raises in an octave you don’t recognize; a tone that encapsulates the hunger he is overwhelmed with. 

“Take them off.” Your demand is curt and sharp. It is a new disposition you do not recognize, but something Leon is absolutely enthralled by.

Always your obedient puppy-dog, not another second is wasted before Leon is practically ripping his swimming trunks from his waist. The array of gurgling bubbles shields what lies beneath the water surface, but you compensate by allowing your eager fingers to explore for themselves.

Pressing a sharp nail into the muscle of his thigh, you slowly tread your feather-touch upwards. Leon’s chest rises up and down with rapid breaths, as though he were the first to cross the finish line after a miles-long marathon. Just waiting, waiting for you to touch him in the one place he needs it most.

You indulge him once more with your much-awaited kiss. While doing so, you are able to easily remove yourself of your undergarments, as you were not wearing much to begin with. 

Leon tries to slither his tongue into your mouth, but always the sadist you are, you decline this effort. You are not focused on his pleasure for now. You’re more interested in learning what will be buried inside you soon. Testing the waters, per se.

When your thumb skims against the skin of his heavy balls, Leon nearly keels over. You’re then ensnared in the tight embrace of his Herculean biceps. Despite the debauchery sewn into his bones, puppeteering every move of his, he still remains tender with his actions. The notion to treat you with the utmost softness is unbreakable, even when he is suffering at the hands of devastating carnality.

Meanwhile, you drag your finger down his hardened length and estimate every inch he possesses. You ignore every shiver that cascades down his body and conclude the measurement lies somewhere near 7.5 inches. Leon lies on the thinner side, but compensates with just how intimidating the straight, narrow length is, leaving no room for any curves or arches. In contrast to this, his head is fat and irritated, desperate for your attention.

While you remain engrossed in your thorough studies, Leon begins to paw at you with his greedy hands.

“Please. Master, please…”

Master? You’ve never heard that one before…

You share a hearty chuckle and beneath the touch of your fingers, you feel his dick jerk in response. A thing for humiliation? You’ll jot that down for later.

With a swift roll of your eyes, you shuffle your legs over to straddle him. His hands clutch on to your shoulders in a fervent attempt at keeping you close, to a degree that almost brings you minor pain. Much like a normal dog, Leon often forgets the weight of his strength and how large he is. Especially when he is blinded by his own ravenous lechery.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

Leon shudders and weakly nods. It’s almost comical how a few heated touches can cause all that famous wit to ooze out his body. However, it is not the response you wanted. 

You tightly grasp hold of his face like a parent scolding their child. He gasps from the harsh contact, but the way his eyes sparkle tells you he is a fan of the rough treatment.

“Speak.” 

With a jagged groan, a collage of messy words spill from his mouth.

“Yes! God, yes, there is nothing I want more. Master, please give it to me!”

Satisfied with his answer, you use your free hand to take hold of his length. Goosebumps adorn his shivering body in response. With one last deep breath of preparation, you then guide his bulbous head past the tight barrier of your wet entrance. 

Your jaw drops from the sheer stretch. Despite how much you could have prepared yourself for penetration, it still finds fresh ways in taking your breath away.

Leon is not in any better of a state, either. Arguably, much worse. 

Gasps pervade from his mouth as he desperately tries to verbalize just how soul-crushing you feel. He might as well have ascended onto cloud nine where his lonely skin can be embraced in the fluffy, sunlit expanse. 

The further you sink yourself down, the more his brain becomes smeared with melted concupiscence and the feeling of absolute, irrevocable love. Leon has to restrain himself from snagging back your control and just fucking into you until the sun rises. Poor thing doesn’t know how much more he can take before he snaps.

When you finally do bottom out, you have to impede a wince. He may be able to reach places your measly fingers could only dream of finding, but fuck, will he take some getting used to. 

A choked gasp of your new title bridges on the edge of Leon’s lips, but is quickly halted by him. Even when he is in the position he has dreamed of obtaining for years, those nagging thoughts still manage to creep in.

Leon fears the aspect of losing control and the consequences it may garner. What if someone is out there? What if they’re watching, just waiting for him to give in to the pleasure? All so they can swoop in and take you from him? What will he do if he loses you again? Would he even survive-? 

A gentle bounce of your hips and all worry is flung into outer space. Leon lurches forward, burying his head into your neck and digging his blunt nails into your shoulders. 

While you remain focused on adjusting to the new rhythm, Leon is reciting a mantra of “don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum” through his hazy head.

“There you go… Good boy-“ 

Well, that didn’t last long. 

That’s all it takes for Leon to plunge over the edge.

“M-Master! Fuck, uhn-!” 

He bleats out an obnoxiously loud cry, as though he were the lead star in a world-famous porno.

Sweltering heat pervades through his stomach in an inordinate fervor. Thick, heavy ropes paint your walls white and fill you to the very brim. Hands gripping every chunk of flesh they can reach, Leon revels in the weight of the pleasure.

Never has he been able to cum so quickly. All efforts with the toys in his bedside drawer or the blurry faces he’d bring to bed were rarely brought to fruition. If he were ever brought to that peak, it was always a pitiful release. 

One thing remained constant, though: it was always you on his mind. 

Tonight, however, euphoria could not have come quicker when his senses are overwhelmed in all of you and your perfect self. 

With such meek effort, you’ve now reduced Leon to a gooey puddle of ecstatic, dazed shivers. You take his newfound silence as embarrassment for lasting several seconds inside you. The truth is, you have stunned him into an enraptured state of silence. Still, you’ve accepted the fun has ended and begin reassuring him of any drifting doubts. 

“You’re okay, puppy… Did so well for me…” You whisper, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down his jaw. 

Leon’s rapid breathing has now eased, with the occasional whimper managing to escape. Tears build in his baby-blues. His grip on you is weak, but still maintains that vehement desperation you’re so familiar with. Inert is now his disposition, all with just a few pumps inside you. 

Six years have been spent in isolated misery with the memory of you poisoning his mind. To finally feel the caress of your love, Leon can’t restrain the tears that begin to fall.

Your reassurances remain soft and your kisses drag further down his skin. His chest, riddled with scars from his past, does not remain untouched by your care. This includes the jagged cut above his collarbone that he received during his search for you in Valdelobos. It had healed since, but it is perceptible in its hues of purple and red. You kiss upon the wound, complemented by the subtle drag of your teeth. 

You’re caught off guard when you feel Leon’s hardened length spasm within you in response. You devote your attention to that sweet spot and drag the warm sponge of your tongue on the scar, relishing in the moan it evokes from his throat. 

Sucking into the marked skin, Leon starts again with his pathetic stammering.

“Pl-Please…” he cries out. “You’re killing me…” 

You press a tender kiss to the fresh hickey as a silent apology. Slowly, you then begin to grind your hips to gently ease him into round two. Your efforts for a forgiving transition fail you, however, as those needy hands dig into your flesh as some desperate query for mercy.

Leon shields any absconding sounds of his by hyperventilating through clenched teeth. Once again, however, that scrap of self-control is torn from his grasp with another bounce of your body. 

As your motions continue, Leon takes hold of the hand you rested on his shoulder. He buries your fingers in the heaps of short hair on the back of his head. His eyes are locked on yours through it all. Where else would they be? 

“Pull. Please, pull on-” 

You yank on his hair with all your might and watch in reverie as his jaw goes slack. A few moans part from his gaping mouth before he can collect the correct words to speak. 

Taking your other hand, Leon guides it to his neck and applies the pressure he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Sq-Squ-” 

You abide once more and compress your fingers down on the most sensitive areas of his throat. And you almost crack a joke about how he’d do well in a Hentai with how perverse his reaction is. 

His tongue lolls out of his open mouth and rests against his chin. His eyes roll so far into the back of his head, you wonder if they’ll be stuck there forever. All of this over some slow grinding? You could assume him to be a virgin over such dramatics. 

For a moment, you decide to soften your movements. With his track record, you doubt he’ll last much longer with such efficient motions. Instead, you take advantage of that loose tongue hanging lazily from his mouth. 

You begin to suck on the lax muscle. The response it garners from Leon is immediate. A torrid moan pervades muffled, but the volume is still enough to shudder through the air. 

Every twist and turn of his hot mouth is sloppy, as he is too twitterpated to use his lips accordingly. His hands, weak and idle, clasp your jaw and hold you in place. Leon has kissed many others before, yes, but none like this. 

Then finally, finally, you begin to ride him. The attention reserved to his mouth is robbed from you, as Leon’s head droops backward and hangs over the rim of the hot tub. His body goes limp, slack arms falling from your body and to his sides. That mouth, overwhelmed with pooling saliva, lets out a raucous series of “ah! ah! ah!” with every thrust you impel into yourself.

He becomes blinded by his appetency. As he stated, being victim to the fusion of heaven and hell at your hand brings him bliss like no other. And through the clenched curses and pitiful whimpers, the universe finally grants him the ability to speak. 

Soon, all fantasies he’s had surrounding this moment begin to spill out of his brain. Every meager attempt at masturbation, every tedious one-night stand, every sexual desire never brought to fruition — one crack in the dam leads to every thought of you gushing out with no hope of control. 

“You have no idea...” His voice is a mere squeak; you barely discern what was even stated. “No-No clue… ‘Needed this ever since I saw you at that f-fucking gas station!” 

Fire burns scorching in your gut.

“Spent six whole fucking years chasing after this. Never-Never thought I’d find it… Never thought I’d find you.” 

Every thrust baffles you, as no one, not even yourself, has been able to reach so deep. Complemented by the intensity and verity of his words, you’re surprised it all hadn’t made you cum prematurely, as well. 

A particular rough pump hits a good spot inside you, a spot you had not known existed. A moan gasps from your throat, of which you try to muffle to no avail. Leon takes notice and immediately fills the silence with more pleads.

“No, d-don’t hide. Wanna hear you, master. Ne-Need it…” 

Paired with those pretty eyes, shimmering as though he were a dog presented with a juicy bone, that was all you needed to let go. You angle your hips to abuse that spot relentlessly, relishing in the immediate gratification it ignites within you. 

Soon, you’re no better than him in regards to sound release. The last time you heard yourself like this was when Carlos was buried inside you, but Leon does not need to know about those past excursions. 

Leon, in question, was none the wiser. Overwhelmed with ecstasy, he continues with his blabbering about every wet dream you played the lead role in.

“Wanna- Wan’ you to put a collar on me. ‘Wear the ears an’ a leash. Have you pl-plug a tail inside me.” 

The idea of adorning the Leon Kennedy in all those garbs is almost enough to make you laugh. A man of such strength and power would really let you do that to him? 

“Wan’ master to cum in a bowl. ’Make me eat it.” 

He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes gaze into yours with an intensity that touches your bones. 

“Survive on it…”

His statement almost unnerves you. The entire time you thought he was dead, that is what he occupied himself with? Thoughts like this? 

With your free hand, you return the grasp you once had on his hair and you yank on the strands in an attempt to get him to shut his mouth. His eyes roll into the back of his head and he cries obscenely, but does not dare separate the distance between you both. 

Through gasps for air and prevailing moans, the blabbering continues. 

“Luh-Lock me in a cage. Tie a vibe’ to my dick and just sit there, just f-fucking watch me fall apart.” 

Yeah, he definitely took your ‘puppy-dog’ nickname too literally. 

You’re sure if you told him to bark, he wouldn’t think twice. You don’t even know if you have the heart to fulfill all these fantasies, no matter how pretty he’d plead for you. 

The lack of vocal indication of your end has taken a perceptible toll on Leon, as it seems. He eagerly awaits for your reply, to see your face stretch into a sneer, for you to tell him he is a disgusting mutt who doesn’t deserve another second in your presence. The mere thought could make him cum again right there.

“Master, please! Wan’ hear your voice.” 

You hadn’t even noticed your sudden inclination to silence. After all, you have been rendered speechless from his previous statements. And with a face like that, you don’t have it in you to deny Leon of what he asks for.

“Yeah? Feelin’ good?” 

Oh, he could just melt beneath that voice. 

Leon is positive he almost does with the way he can’t bring himself to answer you with words, only returning your question with another onslaught of whines and snivels. 

Now that he has you where he has only dreamt of holding you, it’s too much for him to handle. Even when faced with the most formidable, revolting creatures on Earth, the utter severity of it all couldn’t even begin to compare with what you offer him. 

“F-F-Fuck! Master, gonna-gonna make me-!” 

You halt, reducing your violent thrusts to gentle pumps. And the sob it earns you is nothing short of beautiful. 

For a moment, you find yourself worried over the visceral reaction it pulled from him. If it weren’t for the lust fogging his brain, he’d adorn you in wreaths of reassurance and adoration. Leon has been victim to so much pain over the course of his life, but none of which compare to this. It hurts, but fuck, does it hurt good.

“… Need… Need you…” 

And God, will he do just about anything to be a victim to it for the rest of his life. 

“Make… Make me cum first, then maybe I’ll consider letting you finish inside me.”

His eyes, peering into yours, darken in response. Just how long has he been waiting for you to throw a demand like that his way? 

Years, you conclude, based on how he obliges with whiplash-inducing swiftness. Leon takes the labor off your shoulders and pounds against that spot that turns your body to melted goop. The noises you make, like sheer heaven pouring into Leon’s ears, intensify when you bring much-needed stimulation to your sex. 

“Wan’ make you feel good. ‘S all I ever wanted.” He whines through sniffles.

His nails cling to the meat of your hips, whisking you closer to his chest. You’re positive by morning, you’ll look as though Wolverine chose you as his prey. 

The tears bridging in his eyes now seep down his cheeks, face twisting as sobs begin to heave from his body. Leon hasn’t cried since the moment he saw you on the loading docks. What is there to cry about anymore? With you there, the sun in an empty void, how could he ever be brought to tears again?

Now, however, he cannot refrain himself from sobbing his eyes out. Every wail escapes with a hiccup as he desperately restrains himself from disobeying your word and finishing inside you. Six years spent chasing after an orgasm had not prepared Leon for what would happen when he’d be forced to prevent that peak. 

“I’ll get you there. Mmph- ‘Puppy will get you there.”

That tether keeping you stable weakens with every thrust plunged inside you. Your brain is sheer mush, your body is enfeebled, and the knot in your gut stretches until it becomes too much for you to hold.

A sharp curse gasps from your throat as you let yourself go and into the arms of sheer rapture. You clutch onto his shoulders as your orgasm courses through your body. And to be the one responsible for such intensive, euphoric feelings within you turns Leon into a man lost to the whorls of insanity. 

“Fuck-! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He trails on like a broken CD.

“Y-Yeah? Feels good fucking into me like a bitch in heat, huh?” 

You don’t even know who the person saying these words is, as it all tumbles from your mouth like second nature. 

Leon does, however. And God, he couldn’t be more in love with them. 

“Come on, you’ve earned your reward. Breed me, puppy.” 

Just like that, all Leon needed was another sugar-coated command and he is cumming his brains out.

“Fuck, I’m-!” 

Leon fills you up once again, practically squirting into you like a bitch. The remnants left with no room excrete from your heat and flow with the bubbling water.

Drool pools underneath his tongue, snapping in strings as his mouth opens to cry out for you. All sorts of curses and proclamations of love tumble from his weak jaw. His brows pinch upwards as his gaze remains locked on yours, relishing in the sight he’s fought tooth and nail to retrieve. 

The blurry memories of those pitiful one-night stands bid their last goodbye, firmly replaced by the ground-breaking, earth-shattering pleasure only you are capable of conjuring.

And once again, that staring problem of his has not halted, even when he has been reduced to a whiny, woozy mess.

Leon lays there, limp as a wet noodle, and just marvels at the sight of you before him. Every inch of your body is scrutinized through his eyes, once again.

All the fantasies of you on top of him, none of it compared to the genuine sight. Strikingly beautiful as you always are. It is better than seeing daylight for the first time, better than seeing a rainbow of hope after a tragic storm, better than watching all your desires and dreams unravel before your very eyes. It is everything.

All you can do is remain seated on his lap and admire the work, or rather, destruction, you have caused.

“Leon?” 

Nothing.

“Leon…?”

No response. 

“Hey, pup.”

You pat your hand on his cheek, finally capturing his attention. 

Dazed, he answers with a lazy “huh?” while still refusing to cease his staring. 

“I’d tell you to take a picture if I didn’t mind you staring at me so much.”

He huffs out a dazed chuckle, gaze still buried into every inch of you it can reach. With no verbal reply, you laugh to yourself when you realize you’ve managed to fuck the wit and humor out of Leon Kennedy, the king of all cheesy dad-jokes. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” 

He nods weakly in response. 

You now dread the thought of dragging the dead weight of this burly secret agent all the way back to the cabin.

Night has now consumed the sky, shedding the light of the moon and its glittering stars across the land. After a swift shower with an affectionate, semi-conscious Leon, the two of you return outdoors. 

The campfire outside crackles with heat in front of the hammock strapped beneath two trees, where you and Leon currently lay.

His head is buried into your neck, desperate for the comfort only your touch can provide. With the occasional sloppy kiss to your jaw and drowsy, love-struck praise, you realize you have rendered one of the most powerful men on the planet to a mushy mess of devotion.

Holding the light of his life close, affixed by the sounds of chirping crickets and swaying waves, he is soon rocked to sleep like a baby in a crib.

Despite the soothing environment, however, you cannot find it within yourself to join Leon in his state of slumber. Instead, your brain is plagued by concern.

Foolishly, you assumed drowning Leon in affections would grant you a moment of solitude. Just satiate his hunger and you’ll catch a break, right? 

Wrong! 

Your efforts have only intensified the avidity coursing through his bloodstream. Where his muddled mind can only conjure words of your beauty, your psyche, your perfection — just you, you, you, and only you.

But, what about you? 

What do you crave? What do you want most?

As the idea simmers in your brain, you conclude what you want most is to start anew. Move to a different city, reconnect with old friends, adopt a furry friend, maybe even return to school or pursue a new career field.

It does not matter what choices you make down the line, as long as you have a choice to begin with.

And maybe when the time is right, you can pursue romance again. You cannot explain why, but your mind then drifts to Tyrell and you start to wonder if he-

“Oh! God, you startled me…” 

You dip your chin and find Leon in a new state of complete consciousness. Staring at you. Intently.

Almost as though he could read your mind, he had roused from his sleep the very second your thoughts traveled in the opposite direction of him. Another smile stretches on his sleepy face, nonetheless. His finger draws up to your face and he boops you on the nose. 

With a content hum of laughter, Leon then snuggles closer to you and proceeds to drown you in another suffocating array of kisses and nuzzles.

“I missed you…” He exhales.

With a glance of confusion, you question his confession.

“What? I’ve been here the whole time?”

Your bewilderment is not alleviated, as Leon only doubles down on his confession. 

“I really, really missed you…”

Just when you think he cannot get any closer, he forces himself further like a python ensnaring around its prey. Almost as though he were trying to forge the two of you into one person.

You hereby make a promise to yourself that if you are ever granted the chance of a new beginning, you will never adopt a dog.

When you wake the following morning beneath the sheets of the bedroom, you are met with the same routine. Hazy sunlight, singing birds, lively fireplace — all the essentials to a morning spent in the cabin.

This time, however, you feel someone affectionately dragging the joint of their fingers down your face. 

This strikes odd, as you always wake before Leon. He was never a deep sleeper before bringing you into his bed, always flinching awake to gusts of wind or creaks in the floorboard. With his thick arms around your waist, trying to wake him was now a fool’s errand. That is, until you leave his side. You are convinced he has some form of sixth sense devoted to ensuring you are close by. There is no other coherent explanation for this superpower of his.

As he continues to caress the jut of your jaw, you keep your confusions at bay and your eyes locked tight. You hope with careful effort, you’ll succeed in pretending to be asleep.

“Told you I’d come back to you.” 

That is not Leon. 

Your eyes launch open to identify the voice, only to find no other than Ada Wong sitting beside you. 

She is dressed in her famous red garbs and dark leather. Acrylic nails grazing over your flesh, she pets you as though you were a sleeping kitten curled up in her lap.

“Ada!” You exclaim, voice woven with shock and relief. 

You escape the expanse of Leon’s strong grasp, albeit with struggle, and bring her into a hug, of which she joyously accepts.

The act of affection given to her was platonic. A greeting of an old friend, nothing more. The embrace you initiated, however, quickly becomes a bit too intimate for your liking. With glossy lips a little too close to your neck and hands treading further and further down your back, you pull away from her before she can conjure up any ulterior ideas. 

Though, knowing Ada and her love of romance, those very ideas have most likely forged a home in her mind.

“This is the ‘humble abode’ Leon spoke so proudly of?” She questions, studying the room with a perceptible sneer. “He has you living like a dog.” 

“It-It’s not so bad! I actually find it quite cozy here.” You defend the unconscious man beside you. “It’s nothing like your million-dollar mansion, though, I assume?” 

Ada breathes out a light chortle. How badly she missed you and that playful nature, as groggy as it may be in the wake of dawn.

“Well, would you like to find out?” 

She has to restrain herself from pinching your cheeks when you fail to hide your flabbergasted expression.

“L-Leave? You want me to leave with you?” 

A surge of fear envelops your body when you contemplate the prospect. Awakening to an empty bed would surely send Leon into a state of crazed hysterics. You’d be overtaken with guilt knowing he’s ripping the planet apart trying to find you.

“Yes. Pack your bags. My chauffeur is waiting for us.” 

Chauffeur!? Is she serious?

“Oh, I barely have any clothes to pack. We can just catch up here, right?” 

Your lazy excuse is an attempt at convincing Ada to stay within the safety of the cabin, all to placate Leon. What you have forgotten in these few months is just how headstrong she is. Also, how easy it is for her to twist your works to her liking.

“That is alright, we can travel naked. I certainly don’t mind.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Leon interjects her salacious ideas, granting you no time to react to her remark. “I know it’s different from what you’re used to, but we don’t need diamonds to be happy.”

Turning to look at him, you’re taken aback by how overcome with annoyance he is. It is the first time you have seen him so irritated in months, in fact. Not since the two had their cat-fight back on the loading docks. 

When he shifts his gaze to you, however, that aggravation washes away and is replaced by content bliss. It seems to be his permanent expression whenever his vision is blessed with the sight of you.

“All we need is each other.”

Leon’s arms find their way around your waist, once again, sprinkling ardent kisses upon your shoulder. You can only imagine the intensity in his eyes when he casts another glare her way. 

“Oh. How sweet.” Aversion seeps from Ada’s words as though she were spitting out a chunk of rotten fruit.

It is only now that you begin to connect the dots. They are short and curt with each other, yes, but their interactions are devoid of the violence from before. You can’t help but wonder to yourself if they had planned this? 

You are not granted much time to ponder on such trivial matters. Not when Ada is dragging you out of the cabin, Leon hot on your tail. 

She assures you there is now no need for packing a bag of any sort, as you will own a full closet and whatever luxuries you desire at her place of residence. The obnoxious flaunting does not go unnoticed by Leon, either. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had caught sight of his brain with how hard he rolled his eyes.

With that being said, Leon is not entirely innocent in his efforts to establish dominance over his enemy, either. 

You barely make it a few steps off the front porch before Leon yanks you into a bruising kiss. 

With both hands grasping your face, he ignores your muffled whimpers of rebuff and deepens the kiss to an impossible degree. Under the heat of such intense vehemency, however, that facade he crafted to ingrain insecurity into Ada crumbles at his feet. Even the strongest of creatures would melt beneath the veil of your affection, that is an undeniable fact.

You will not be gone for long, but Leon cannot fathom a mere second without you close by. How is he meant to function when you’re under the care of this serpent? 

The woman in question is swift in separating you from the lovesick maniac assaulting your mouth. Ensuring your safety and comfort is now a muscle reaction in her, she has come to learn.

Once he finally parts from you, only then does he realize tears have pooled in his eyes, threatening to spill down his face. 

“I love you.” Leon confesses.

You do not respond. You do not know what kind of feelings you possess for him, but uttering those words back to him would feel foreign. Now that you think about it, you cannot recall the last time you were positive you genuinely loved someone…

“I love you so much, sunlight.”

Ada has now resorted to dragging him away from you, fully expecting him to tackle you like a dog who has not seen their owner in months. Knowing him, an action of such would not be out of character.

“I’ll see you soon, Leon.” 

With that, you begin treading towards the location of Ada’s chauffeur. She begins to follow you in your steps, but is halted when a rough hand clutches her forearm. Harshly, she is pulled away from you by Leon.

Out of your earshot, he whispers into her ear through clenched teeth. Voice now austere and venomous.

“One mark on them and there is not a single place on Earth you’ll be able to hide from me.” 

With an amused eye-roll and wicked grin, Ada responds to him.

“Careful, Leon. You know I don’t fight fair. Play your cards wrong and I’ll have them begging to stay with me.”

Leon is not given the chance to fulfill his desires of beating her skull into the mud and leaving behind a gore-ridden disarray. Not when she swiftly escapes his violent grasp and follows behind you.

You remain oblivious to the blood-soaked tension between your two lovers as you send a final wave to a heart-shattered Leon. You then reach the doors of the vehicle Ada was chauffeured in and marvel at the expensive sight.

The steel walls of the car are dark and polished, as though the chauffeur had driven here directly from the dealership. Said chauffeur circles around the car to where you stand. He does not spare you a glance as he opens the door for you, reserving his vision for the costly intricacies of his oxford shoes and fitted suit.

You cast a glance of uncertainty to Ada, who returns your confusion with an affirmative gesture. A grin creeps onto her face in response. She likes you relying on her for clarity. Just her and no one else.

Wiping off any excess mud on your shoes in the dewy grass, you carefully (moreso clumsily) enter the vehicle. You perceive the interior of the car to be just as lavish as the outside.

The seats are imbedded with exorbitant, brown leather and encompass the entire backseat area. Curtains guard the tinted windows, as though you were a celebrity being escorted to some prestigious event. 

In your intended seat is a velvet-coated bin filled to the brim with all sorts of goods. Expensive lotions all in your favorite scents, several new LEGO sets, a vintage polaroid camera, as well as… A hankerchief? Why would you need one of those back here?

Shifting your gaze further, the car head unit displays a GPS, detailing the fastest route to Leon’s cabin. You’d think this car was taking you to the moon with how futuristic the interior is. 

The partition closes before you can examine the technology further, leaving the backseat in complete isolation. The engine is quiet as it rumbles to life.

Ada then joins you in the backseat, closing the door firmly. 

“Seatbelt.”

It takes you a moment to discern what she said, that being an unbending demand. When you finally register her words, you oblige and rush to fasten your seatbelt.

“Wow! I’ve never been in a car so- mmph!” 

Ada pulls you into a kiss before you can finish your sentence. 

It is a soft affection, but even a fool couldn’t miss the aching relief seeping from her muscles. God, did she miss you. 

It is a contrast to kisses from Leon, as well. Her lips are smooth and plump, instead of that chapped, neediness he always overwhelms you with. In addition to this, every advance and nudge of Ada’s mouth is luxurious in effort. Hell, even her lip gloss tastes expensive. 

The kiss is short-lived, much to her dismay, as you soon pull away from the second onslaught of greedy ferocity for the day.

“You must have a lot of questions for me.” Ada leans back into her seat and crosses one leg over the other. “Ask away.” 

Still frazzled from the sudden affection you were pulled into, it takes a few seconds for you to compute a proper response.

“I… I’m not even sure where to start. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Ada raises a brow, relishing you caring for her well-being. Lord knows how obsessed she is with yours, after all.

“I guess I’ll start by asking… Um, where have you been?” 

Maybe it was the exhausting ride here, maybe it’s the breakfast she forgot that morning, shit, maybe it’s just the weather, but Ada cannot find words to speak when you’re looking at her like that. She concludes it is at fault of the long, torturous time spent without you, immediately met with whiplash upon indulging in your kiss.

“Working. Cleaning up the mess in Valdelobos.” 

How she has cleaned the said “mess” remains unbeknownst to you. No matter what the context is, you can always rely on Ada to be vague with her words.

“What about…” You hesitate. “What about Jill and Carlos? Have you seen them?” 

Even though your days have been overwhelmed by Leon and his clingy antics, the memory of that cursed picnic still lurks in the back of your head. You still do not know where they are or if they are even alive.

“Taken care of. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about.”

“Okay… That’s good to hear.” You sigh with relief. “And what of today? Where are we heading to?”

“My penthouse. Top floor. Perfect view of the entire city.” 

Penthouse!? You’ve seen your fair share of apartments, as you lived in a roach-ridden studio back in Raccoon City. But, you’ve never even breathed within a mile radius of a penthouse!

“Oh! A-A penthouse?” 

You swear you can visibly see the hubris permeate her expression. The pride Ada feels upon your reactions to the fruits of her work is nothing short of euphoric. 

“Correct.”

You cough out a nervous laugh. “I don’t- I’ve-I’ve never been in a penthouse before. I don’t think I’ll really… "Fit in”, y’know?” 

“Nonsense. It’s exactly what you deserve. What you need.” 

“Okay… And what about after that?”

She pauses, confused by your question.

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean, what will happen after I leave your penthouse?” 

“You’ll visit Leon provisionally, before you return to me.” 

“No! I-I mean, when do I get to go off on my own? Make a life for myself?”

Ada tenses. She does not like this topic; she’d rather go back to boasting about her riches and reveling in the way you fawn after them.

“I…” You begin, before cutting your tangent off short. 

You are well aware of the hardships both she and Leon have endured for your well-being. The last thing you want is to be seen as ungrateful.

To alleviate these worries, you place your hand atop of hers in assurance. In the process, you fail to notice the spike her heart endures from the sudden affection.

“I’m grateful for everything you and Leon have done for me. Really, I am. But… But, I think I’m ready to fly the nest now.”

And just how foolish can you be, Y/N? 

Ada can’t let you go. How could she ever? She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t- 

“I can’t!” 

The shout is abrupt and causes you to flinch away from her. In response, Ada quickly takes your hand back into hers. Her touch is soft, as it always has been, but the desperation is almost palpable.

“Not… Not yet, petal. It’s too dangerous.” 

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest. 

More hiding? 

When will this chapter of your life finally conclude? When can you shift your worries from four love-obsessed soldiers to feeding the alleyway strays and finishing your taxes on time?

When will it all end? 

Will it ever end?

This question looms in the head as hours, days, week, months tread past you. 

Despite your wishes to start anew, you’ve been forced into an organized routine with Ada and Leon. 

One week will be spent at Leon’s cabin, relaxing in the heart of mother nature while enjoying hot-tub nights and fried egg mornings. Once that week comes to an end, you’ll be flown out to Ada’s penthouse, where luxury and extravagance never cease. 

Begrudgingly, Leon is given permission to join you on the private jet ride to Ada’s estate, soaking in the last few hours he’ll be granted with you. She cannot bring herself to blame him for this, as much as she wants to. She is also latched to your side for the agonizing drive out to Leon’s cabin, as well.

The two will then share a few sly glares and indulge you in some final, saddened acts of affections. Then, you are handed off to the other like divorced parents trading off kids in a grocery store parking lot.

In this time, you’ve become accustomed to the juxtaposition between waking up on flannel sheets, then silken sheets.

The windows of Ada’s opulent bedroom expand across the walls and welcome the light of the morning sun. 

Fluffed pillows support your tired head. The mattress you’re sprawled out on is spacious, allowing you to stretch your limbs comfortably. An incredible contrast to your tiny twin back at the sanctuary. The lavish, bamboo comforters you’ve ensnared around yourself atone for all those lonely nights spent clinging to thin blankets. 

You search through the mess of blankets to find Ada, but your efforts are brought to no avail. Much like her partner-nemesis (or whatever she’d personally name Leon), she is normally the sight you’re met with the moment you awaken.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Ada still fears she may wake to cold sheets; to be met with another firm reminder that this is all just another sugar-sprinkled dream and you are far away. To have you here, safe and warm, closer than ever before — it is the most picturesque definition of ‘too good to be true’ a dictionary could articulate. 

Now, to awake in complete isolation, you had forgotten what it felt like altogether. Addled by this, you leave the heavenly embrace of the bed and set out on finding Ada. 

Sauntering out of the bedroom, the marble floors feel like a fresh sheet of snow beneath your bare feet. All the more reason to crawl into those cozy, warm blankets and let the world drift away.

The walls and floors you tread by are painted a deep black. The only contrast to this darkness are the blood-red accents and the surrounding greenery. Plants, all varying in shape and size, adorn the hallways you amble through.

A few of Ada’s servants are awake bright and early to tend to these plants, squirt bottles and thermometers in their possession. You approach one of them and ask for Ada’s whereabouts, but they ignore you. As though they are stiff, tin-made robots, solely devoted to the task at hand and nothing else. 

From there, you shake off the odd encounter and hasten forward, continuing your search for your missing partner. 

For the umpteenth time, you walk through the hallway that has haunted your thoughts for these past few months. In this hallway are two doors, mirrored directly across from one another. Both are locked, despite your efforts to enter. You cannot help but wonder what you’d find inside…

As you pace down the staircase, you’re soon hit with the perfusing scent of a steaming meal. Like some starved carnivore, you follow the smell through the grand hallways, before you finally halt in the dining room.

You often joke to Ada how she’s decorated the room as though she were expecting to dine with the Addams family. Gothic and luxurious — those are the two words best used to describe the dining room.

The heavy chandelier dangling above flickers with lit candles, irradiating the jewels strung to the golden encasing. Black, velvet-encased chairs are aligned across the edges of the mahogany table. The chairs on the far ends contrast the others with their shimmering, golden trim. Two chairs meant to support the weight of royalty.

The table is now littered with a variety of breakfast foods. You find crepes, both sweet and savory. Also known as Ada’s favorite, which you noted long ago. Fresh, steaming breads, complemented by your choice of rich butter, fresh jam, or sweet honey. Fluffy Belgian waffles are stacked on a plate beside more bottles of maple syrup than Canada has ever seen. There is even an ostrich egg platter, surrounded with crispy meats and vegetables to plunge into the thick yolk. 

You’ll have to ask Leon to add ostrich eggs to the grocery list so you can force him through another rant about eggs.

As you scrutinize all the contents on the table, a server then enters the premises. Just like the others, he does not make eye-contact with you. Almost as if he was afraid to do so, afraid of you. 

He grasps the frame of the sumptuous chair and drags it out for you, beckoning you to sit down. You hesitate, questioning him with a pointed finger to your chest and a whispered “me?”, before your brain finally computes and ushers you to abide by his request.

When you sit, you are not permitted the chance to choose your serving of luxurious foods. Not when the servant begins intricately building your plate for you, skimming down a mental checklist of exact proteins, fats, grains, and everything incorporated into a healthy breakfast.

Without making eye-contact, once again, the servant sets the plate down before you. And like some ravenous animal, you do not wait for him to leave before you’re sinking your eager fingers into the dish. Everything is spectacular in its rich, delectable flavors. Surely a breakfast fit for royalty, of which you have not convinced yourself you are yet.

A pair of arms then wrap around your chest, guiding you back into a doting embrace. Glossy lips press an ardent kiss to your temple.

“I’m glad to see you finally awake, petal.”

With every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Ada Wong loves the touch of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of her obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

And you cannot differentiate whether the burning of your cheeks is from the sudden affections or because you were caught devouring your meal like some mess-obsessed toddler.

Ada strolls to stand beside you, dragging a pointed finger across your shoulders as she saunters. With a sticky face, you watch as she curls her fingers beneath your chin, shifting your gaze up to meet hers.

“Cute.” She utters, caressing the narrow line of your jawline. 

She loves this sight of you under her like this. Like a wide-eyed bunny, scrutinizing every move of the big, bad wolf. Too fucking adorable. Her fingers then find your head, petting the surface as though you were her personal lap-dog. Pretty and pliant beneath her, exactly where she loves you most.

“I’ll be gone for most of the day, unfortunately. Work stuff.” Her hand grasps your chin, holding your vision to hers. “Think you can keep yourself occupied without me?” 

You nod obediently, most certainly a sight for sore eyes. 

She chortles. “Good...” 

With one last prolonged, impassioned kiss to your forehead, Ada then departs and sets out for the day's tasks. 

Despite your imperative stance in her life, you are still left in the dark about what exactly her “work” is. All attempts at questioning result in failure. What you are aware of, however, is how time-consuming it all is. Honestly, you’d think she was having an affair if she didn’t drown you in love and riches every chance she got.

One major (and ridiculous, in your opinion) component of Ada’s richness was the vast indoor pool of the penthouse. You’ve never even seen her in the room itself, so you always question the purpose of its existence.

These matters are immaterial to you now, however, as you strip down to nudity and launch yourself into the crisp water. Here, your body is free from the fervent hands of the clingy customer from Mizoil and the overly affectionate Superwoman. 

Lap after lap, you adjust to the bitter temperatures and find tranquility in the repetitive routine. This was a pattern you favored, since it is rare you are granted time for yourself. So, you savor what slivers of solitude you're given as you swim through the sky-blue waves.

Body now weary, you reside in the middle of the pool and float there. With no stimulation from the lovesick creatures surrounding you, the thoughts haunting the back of your head creep forward. Here, they whisper the truth.

Despite how magical it may be to surround yourself in glittering riches and adoring affections, your true desires reside and rot deep within you. How badly you want to start fresh somewhere far from this mess, but how guilty you feel for secretly wishing to reject all this luxury.

Then again, these may be the feelings Ada and Leon wish for you to be tormented with. For you to trust them wholly, before yanking the rug from beneath your feet. Tossing you back into the arms of Jill and Carlos, to Umbrella, hell, maybe even the Saddler, if his formidable self managed to survive your laundry list of lovers.

Maybe that is what Jill and Carlos had done in your last interaction, as well. Selling you to Umbrella for the hefty pay they’d surely return them. All the blood splatters and crocodile tears must have been a show to convince you they had no say in the transaction.

Your head begins to ache as these theories pervade through your head. Your trust has been worn thin in these recent months, even the trust you instilled into yourself. Maybe if you just sink lower, let yourself be consumed by the weight of the frigid waves, then all of it will end. 

If you end your life, maybe then you’ll finally be at peace.

“Y/N?” 

“Jesus-!” 

Your arms latch around yourself in a desperate attempt at shielding your naked body. 

A glance forward and you find one of Ada’s numerous servants, eyes laser-focused on her feet and nowhere else. You can only imagine what kind of lethal punishment would be in store for this poor worker had she indulged herself in the sight of you. All it would take is some stuttering words and tear-filled eyes and Ada would have all the heads in the world on a stick.

“Um- Ms. Wong is on her way home and wants to see you first thing. If you will, please, uhm- please get dressed and meet us in the living room.” 

She scurries off before you can respond.

You figure you’ve swam enough laps around the pool and around the swirling calamity in your mind. From there, you frantically dry off your wet skin and dress yourself before another unwanted guest can see your exposed self.

Through the numerous hallways, you finally arrive in the living room. Dark in its overall appearance, with the familiar accents of red and greenery. Before you can wait for Ada’s arrival, however, something catches your eye. 

On the coffee table is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses entwined with strands of dandelions and baby’s breath. 

These gifts have become a daily routine, at this point. You’ll find Ada’s favorite roses and your running-inside-joke dandelions nestled beside each other. Oftentimes, she’ll take a stray dandelion and tuck it behind your ear. Overtly romantic per usual, which proves to be Ada’s permanent disposition.

You shuffle around the table to sit upon the adjacent sofa, but find yourself hesitating in the process, afraid to soil it with your mere fingertips. Yes, you have seen lavish furniture, as Carlos and Jill put their cash towards whatever ensured your comfort and safety. However, you have never seen luxury quite like this.

Carefully, you descend your body onto the surface. The couch is soft, but sturdy. Not a thread out of place, nor a wrinkle in sight. Expensive, that’s for damn sure.

“Full-grain leather. Organic cotton. Hand-crafted. Purchased it from a designer in Italy.”

A voice pervades through the silence. The flat, yet soft tone could only be possessed by one person.

You turn over your shoulder to find Ada Wong.

Her body is adorned with a trench coat made of dark leather, framed with a fur trim. A few metal clinks and she unbuckles the coat, tossing it toward a near servant. Beneath the garment is a red dress. Skin-tight, per usual, and worn with those stilettos she's never seen without. 

And inevitable with every interaction you have with her, Ada is wearing that sultry-sweet smile and those bambi-soft eyes — a fashion statement only sewn by your hand.

Trailing your gaze off behind her, you see another servant at her side. In their grasp is a tray holding the weight of several wine bottles, as well as an array of burgundy glasses.

“Italy has always been a second home.” Ada is quick to snag your attention back onto her. “Most of your closet is sheer Rome.” 

She saunters over to you and drapes herself onto the couch, as though she were posing for a painting and you were wielding the paintbrushes. 

Without breaking eye-contact, Ada snaps her fingers and points an acrylic nail to the marble coffee table. The servant, with enough swiftness to avoid dropping the platter and facing her wrath, places the platter down. From there, they begin with their eccentric presentation.

“Tonight, we have a sample of the classic Chardonnay, paired with the vibrant Semillon Sauvignon Blanc. Both extravagant in flavor, but contrast in their-”

“Leave.”

The word is sharp. And still, Ada’s eyes are locked on yours.

All servants, deflected as one may be, simultaneously bow to her. They all proceed to frantically trip over themselves to take their leave. 

The doors close with a gentle click, leaving you to inevitably be lodged in the jaws of the beast they fear. It certainly doesn’t help when she stares at you as though you were some feeble prey, ready to be torn into bloodied ribbons.

Those dark eyes tread from the tip of your head, then inch-by-inch down to your feet. Trailing back to meet your gaze, Ada fills the silence. 

“So, tell me, which do you prefer? White or red?”

Confused, you furrow your brow and tilt your head like a puppy. It takes everything within Ada not to pounce on you right then and there.

“Like, the color?”

“The wine, petal.” A breathless chuckle drags with her words. You’d feel like an idiot if it weren’t for the enchantment drowning in her eyes.

“Oh! I-uh… I’ve never really tried out much alcohol before.”

“You’ve never drank before?” 

“No, I-Well, I have, but only once. One of the therapists at the sanctuary was sneaking in vodka, so me and my friend snuck it into my room and drank it. That-That was a long time ago, though…”

Your friend. You have not thought of him in months. 

“Did you sleep with him?” 

“Wh-!? No! No, it was never like that! He was just my friend, only that!” 

Ada chuckles. A deep, thrumming sound.

“I’m teasing you, Y/N. Just can’t help myself when you get all nervous like that.” 

She then grasps one of the several bottles from the platter. Sagrantino, a bold red wine. Directly imported from Umbria, Italy. The silence in the room is filled with the pouring of alcohol.

“Well, I prefer red, but that’s just my preference. Got all night to find yours.” 

Glass now in your hand, you twirl the stem around in circles and watch as the wine swishes around in hues of deep crimson and purple.

“Go ahead, petal. Drink.” 

Ada has a certain timbre in her voice that lulls you, as though she were a siren. No matter what demand falls from her mouth, you find yourself complying to every wish of hers.

So, you drink. 

The aromas of violets and berries envelop your tongue, blended with its dry texture that leaves behind a subtle spice. It is a tad overbearing, yes, but delicious in flavor.

A few more sips and your body is overcome with a sudden warmth. The clothes you are wearing feel stuffy and beads of sweat begin to build beneath them. You’ve been tipsy before, maybe even bridging on fully drunk, but nothing has ever garnered this reaction out of you. 

Did just a few sips give you heatstroke or something? What is happening to you?

“If you hadn’t slept with him, then who did you sleep with?” 

The question appears out of nowhere. Too occupied with studying this sudden heatwave, you do not respond to her.

“The two that held you captive, maybe? Surely, they couldn’t hold themselves back?” 

Ah, yes. Jill and Carlos. Just when you think you can abandon them in the previous chapter of your life, they slither their way into the new pages and engrave themselves with the ink. 

Begrudgingly, you answer. “Yes, I-um… I slept with both of them.” 

“Interesting.”

A pregnant silence settles as Ada’s fingers dance around the rim of the wine glass. Her gaze has yet to leave yours.

“When I found you in Valdelobos, you had bite marks on your neck. Who gave them to you?” 

Your brain tells you to lie and blame the Los Iluminados with their hungry teeth. However, the prospect of being dishonest to Ada and the inevitable consequences that would follow prevent you from being untruthful.

“Jill. She gave them to me.” 

The expression on her face is indistinguishable. If your other suitors learned of your sexual partners, they’d wage a war on the entire planet. Ada, however, is different. She seems… amused by it all.

“Figured.” She answers. “And how did Jill treat you?” 

As stated before, there is no space for dishonesty with Ada preset. Even if you sprung to your feet and raced out the door, she’d find the answers to her curiosity one way or another.

“She was rough. Really rough. Jill, she-she didn’t like to explore, either. We did the same thing every time.”

“Did what every time?”

Ada’s unadulterated attention is latched onto every syllable you speak. Almost as though this were some sleepover in a chick-flick, where you were telling your B.F.F. of how you lost your v-card to the dashing quarterback you’ve had a crush on all year. All that’s missing is the glossy magazines and microwave popcorn.

“She went down on me. It was all we did, all that she wanted to do. A-And not that I’m complaining or ungrateful! But…”

“But…?” 

“But, I-I always- I think I always wanted to try… More.” 

“And what does more entail?” 

“I-uh. Erm, I-I don’t- I think-“ 

“You wanted to go down on a woman?” 

You’re sure your skin must be hotter than the surface of the sun by now.

“Yes, but, I-I’ve never even done it before, so I know I’d suck at it, anyway.” 

Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and she begins to fidget with the fabric. 

“Would you like me to show you how…?”

You scrutinize Ada’s features for some sign of a joke, but you find nothing but sincerity. Her fingers then tread lower, nails grazing the edge of your thigh in a teasing approach.

“I could give you some private lessons…”

The thought of doing that to any person, no matter an ex or new fling, has a surge of heat pervading through your body. Your chest rises and falls with rapid speed, heart racing with acute palpitations. Seriously, what on Earth is happening to you? It was only a few sips of alcohol and some littering flirtations, none of what is happening to your body is normal!

The glass of wine you once held is nearly shattered with how swiftly Ada takes it from your hands. The wine she indulges herself in has been abandoned, as well, joining your glass on the coffee table.

Ada is more interested in what this newfound, aphrodisiac-induced side of you has to offer, instead.

Yes, guilt rots in her stomach for what she has done. This guilt remained present as she stalked the servant who crushed the pills into a white powder before spewing it into the wine bottle. However, any lucidity still inside her had perished the moment she reunited with you in Valdelobos.

Of course, her actions inevitably resulted in the aphrodisiac coursing through her system, as well. Not that she even needed the hearty drugs or liquid courage, to begin with. You merely sigh and Ada is clutching her thighs together.

And this is certainly the case when her lips finally meet yours. It had begun as a gentle exploration, a symphony of sensations that ignited a light fire within her soul. 

When the aphrodisiac finally strikes her, however, there is no room left for tenderness. 

Mouth still latched onto yours like some sort of parasite, her clawed hand presses to your chest and pushes. Your back meets the plush surface of the couch and Ada does not waste another second before she’s caging herself around you. 

When her acrylic nail ghosts against your nipple, you let out a sharp whine. In response, Ada freezes. She has heard you cry in pain, misery, exhaustion, but never in rapture. And she had not anticipated the impact it would have on her. If anything, the sound you made was more of a light gasp, but still, it had conjured some feral despair she did not recognize.

This intensity stirring in her stomach may have been charged by the aphrodisiac. Morseo, maybe it is the fact she had not satiated any sexual desires in several years. Ada hadn’t even orgasmed once, for that matter. No physical touch, no bedroom fun, no playing around with toys — absolutely nothing.

Despite her sultry nature (and contrary to all your obsessive partners), Ada has never actually fantasized of taking you to bed, either. This task persevered as her most difficult mission. Especially on lonely nights, you became no better than a devil on her shoulder, persuading her to sin. 

If Ada indulged that tiny Y/N with thick horns and a sharp trident, she knew she wouldn’t waste another second before claiming you as her most precious, most imperative, most prized possession.

Now that you are finally here, under her, just like she has always wanted, all that longing and suffering comes bubbling to the surface.

“Ada? Is-Is everything okay?”

Your lips are puffy from the relentless passion they have endured, shimmering from the mess of saliva and lipstick stains. A lazy haze engulfs your eyes, as well, illuminating that playful glint she is so enamored with.

“Please… ‘M needy…” 

She could assume you were weaponizing your charm by how effortlessly weak you make her. 

“Stand up. Follow me.” 

Ada is curt with her demands, as she has always been. This time, though, there is a perceptible desperation soaked into her tone.

Your legs wobble when you stand, as you are still woozy from the fervid intimacy. Ada maintains a tight posture, but it wouldn’t take a genius to notice the lack of sophistication in her stance. Words fail to describe just how delicious it was to feel your body against her. Even for just a moment. 

She then grasps your hand, guiding you out of the living room and through the many hallways that follow through the spacious penthouse. 

Both you and Ada finally halt in front of the two doors that have haunted your curiosity. Fortunately for you, one half of this curiosity of yours is alleviated.

Ada temporarily releases your hand and strides toward the door on your right. With several beeps to the keypad, the light shines green and the doorknob clicks.

“Come now.”

Another demand of hers is brought to fruition immediately. You interlock your fingers with Ada’s as she leads you past the threshold. And all of the theories prancing around your mind regarding what you’ll find ultimately failed you. Instead, you find the exact opposite.

If you were to Google ‘red room of pain’, a picture of this room would be the first result. 

The walls, ceilings, and floors are all painted black, embellished with accents of Ada’s signature red. The lack of windows in the room are compromised by mirrors, which cover every surrounding wall. There’s even a wide array on the ceiling, which provide a full view of all possible angles. A purposeful decision, surely.

The dark candelabras scattered around provide minimal, golden light, as well. Some are positioned on surfaces, while the standing few are nestled in the empty corners.

Directly centered in the room is a canopy bed, also painted black. The drapes strung upon the four posts contrast in hues of deep red. The comforters, lavish in their appearance and texture, share these same hues, as well. You do not look over the notable design of the headboard, either. Perfect for any preferred form of restraint. 

Behind the bed and against the wall is a tall, intricately-carved cabinet. The contents within are a mystery, but you can only assume it has to do with the activities intended to take place in this room.

To the right is an electric fireplace tucked in the corner. Draped before it is a tiger skin rug with the head intact, jaw wired ajar to flaunt the display of sharp teeth. The fireplace is grouped with a set of two leather chairs, hugged by another spacious leather sofa. The texture is deliberately chosen for easy clean-up, you assume.

In the far left corner of the room is a short platform supporting the weight of a clawfoot bathtub which is, yet again, colored black. The edges of the golden claw feet are painted in a maroon red, as though they have been soaked in blood. A detail demanded by Ada, you have no doubt.

Two robes are hung on the wall behind the bathtub. One is silken in the hue of red, while the other is fluffy and is purchased in the exact shade of your favorite color. Surrounding the bathtub are a collage of soaps adhering to your preferred scents. You have learned to no longer wonder how she knew such minute details about yourself. At this point, it would be strange if she didn’t know something about you.

“While you were busy with that mutt, I was here. Working on all this.” Ada stretches her arms out in presentation, showing off the renovation. 

While you’re busy scrutinizing the new environment, you fail to notice how you’re neglecting the needs of a certain someone. A bad habit of yours, you have come to realize. Those acrylic claws ensnare around your forearm with enough firmness to grasp your attention, before guiding you to stand before the mirror in front of the bed.

When you meet her gaze in your reflection, you fail in your efforts to not grow flustered. Ada’s eyes, normally adorned with softness, have now been overwhelmed with salacious fervor. 

When her fingertip meets the skin of your neck, another gasp is pulled from your chest. A noise she relishes in. Her other hand fiddles with your shirt, sharp nails just begging to tear through the fabric like some rabid monster.

You are not far behind her in terms of desperation, so you abide by the desires she does not verbalize and you remove all of your clothing. 

You fail to register Ada’s downright feral temperamen in response. The shivering of her hands, the heat radiating from her body, the heavy breathing over your shoulder – it is all too much for her to handle. Her eyes don’t hide this truth, either, as they have nearly gone all black from the dilation of her pupils.

Ada’s hand hovers over your skin, afraid to take that step, the very step that will destroy any remnants of self-control she still clung to. It’s nothing short of a miracle that she can still restrain herself from sinking her teeth, her claws, God, every toy in her closet into every inch of plump skin she can reach. 

You, however, grow impatient from her hesitation and place your hand atop hers, pressing it firmly against your naked waist. Leaning further against her chest, you finally break the silence. 

“’Wanna taste you, Ada. Please.” 

She shudders in response. Unbeknownst to you, she had completely forgotten about that promise she swore to you minutes ago. How could she think of anything else when perfection in human form is pleading for her touch?

“On the bed.” 

You swear you hear a tremble in her voice, but you chalk it up to your wild imagination. Ignoring it, you abide by her wish and stroll over to the bed. The surface is plush and welcomes you into its soft embrace. You adjust yourself comfortably on your back, relishing in how the soft comforters caress your naked skin. 

When you hear the sound of that dress falling to the ground, you shift your gaze forward. Now, it is your turn to gawk at someone’s nudity.

Yes, you may have fantasized about what she may look like beneath all those red dresses, and the images in your mind palace certainly did not fail you. 

Her tits are perky, nipples pretty and pink, and they sit tight on her chest; they’re the kind of pair other women would drop thousands of dollars on to obtain. Beneath them is a set of light abs that are rose-tinted with flushed nerves. They lead to her hip dips, which frame the goods between her legs you’ve been dying for a taste of.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” 

Wit run dry, you have no response left in you but a meek nod. 

Those model-worthy legs then saunter over to the bed. Your heart stutters miserably as Ada crawls on top of you again, now closer than ever before. She touches up the pillow beneath your head to ensure your comfort. Despite the fervor racing through her veins, the sake of your well-being always perseveres as most important.

“There you are. Comfy?” 

You answer with a weak “mm-hmm” and she responds with a sweet chortle. God, she can’t get enough of you.

Ada inches further until her thighs encase your head, hovering over the face that has haunted her mind for years. Anyone with a brain would spill gallons upon gallons of blood for this sight of you, she is sure of it.

Slick drool seeps from her folds, landing onto your lips. Eagerly, you lap up any remnants you’ve been granted and revel in the flavor. A pinch of natural sourness, but sprinkled in with the expensive soaps lining the shelves in her shower. Far better than the wine you have since forgotten about.

Ada then points to various spots of her pussy, speaking in direct tones. “You lick here, kiss here, and suck here. Understand?”

With a quick nod, you wait in anticipation for her to indulge you in what you’ve been aching for. Her hips, shaky as they surprisingly are, finally descend. 

At first, you begin your work with weak, nervous kitten licks. Ada is not a fan of this stage fright, however. Her acrylics dig into your scalp and yank.

“I said use your tongue.” 

A laugh of amusement parts from your mouth (inevitably squeezing her fragile heart). You finally spit out a glob of saliva onto her and plunge your tongue straight into her dewy heat, lapping up every sliver of her you can obtain. And the reaction it garners festers a burning fire in your stomach.

She stutters on the edge of her words, her head dipping back. “God… You’re a natural, petal...” 

Ada’s hips begin to rock the second your lazy lapping hastens into zealous slurping. With a tighter grip on her, you plunge your tongue past her entrance and slurp the creamy slick. The sounds you are able to pull from her are deep and throaty, but smooth and sexy. They meld with the sounds of the bed creaking beneath the weight of her incessant motions.

You continue with your efforts, thrusting your wet muscle in and out, in and out, in and out. Without another second to process, a sudden gush of liquid splashes across your face. It surges across your face and down your neck, staining the lavish pillows. 

Is she squirting? 

Even as you grant your tense jaw a break, the liquid continues to spurt from her. Ada’s fingers reach down to rub herself in circular motions, causing the pressure to hasten like a popped bottle of champagne. With your tongue lolled out of your mouth, you manage to garner some of the excess into your mouth, of which Ada aims herself toward.

When the dam is finally eased, another demand is thrown your way. 

“Mommy needs more, baby.” 

Mommy? You’ve never heard that one before. 

“Time to start working on that clit, yeah?” 

Aware of her impatient strike, you hurriedly begin to leave a series of obscene mwah’s on her puffy clit. Ada throbs with every careless kiss you leave behind, growing more irritated the longer her exact wishes are not brought to fruition. You should’ve known not to disobey her word, even when your intentions were in the right place. 

Your attempts to ease Ada into the rough treatment of your tongue were met with her smushing herself into your face. The muffled squeal of surprise you let out is short-lived and instantly replaced by the lewd squelches and slurps you work into her clit. 

Your head vigorously shakes back and forth, side-to-side against that sweet spot. The motion sends white-hot pleasure tickling up Ada’s spine, evident in the sloppy grinding of her hips and the pornographic sounds pervading the room.

You’re barely granted air to breathe, but Ada has been blinded by her own need. Drowning you in her scent, her taste, her warmth is nothing short of the most picturesque wet dream come to life. The way her slick is coating your face, arousal dripping down your neck — there is nothing left to do but abandon any and all control left behind. She just wants more, more, more, more, more, more, moremoremoremoremore- 

“Oh, God!” 

Ada has fully resorted to using your face as her toy. She hardly recognizes herself, humping that magical mouth of yours like some mutt in heat. Then again, you’ve always had a knack for weeding out parts of her she didn’t know existed. That is especially the case now, as that newfound heaven sits right at the horizon and morphs her into a creature crazed.

“It’s coming…!” 

Ada gushes into your mouth, overwhelming your senses with her, her arousal, and all her juices. Her jaw drops and her eyebrows pinch as the searing pleasure courses through her body. Her thighs, shivering and sweaty, clench around your head and keep your head in firm place. Her back arches and her hips buck from the intensity, as though some demonic spirit tore her soul straight from her chest. 

She’s never seen herself squirm like some sort of dying insect, but when it is your touch she is met with, it only makes sense this is the reaction it’d garner.

Ada has had her fair share of one-night stands, but fuck, they had nothing on this absolute rhapsody you bring her. To be overwhelmed in the touch of you is absolute perfection. It is better than touching the fluffy belly of a lamb, better than blankets fresh out of a dryer, better than the plastic encasing of a life preserver while trapped in a thrashing sea. 

All of it comes to head as her orgasm engulfs her, all by the works of you and your marvelous, outrageously-perfect self.

As her breathing evens out and her body reduces to a puddle of jelly, Ada’s brain finally produces a rational thought. Only now does she realize she had been crushing you beneath her weight. With swift, Ada-Wong-style finesse, she crawls away from your swollen mouth. Her heart throbs as she blesses her vision with the way you look now.

Oh, there you are. Sweet petal. 

She could topple over that edge once more as the sheer sight of you now. Drunken eyes dazed, mouth all swollen, and rendered to a pussy-drunk mess. It should be a crime for that pretty face to be covered in anything other than her dripping cum.

The fog clouding your brain begins to clear, as well. Lapping up any last few remnants of her still on your face, you begin to discern your surroundings. Specifically that of Ada. Her thumb caresses the jut of your cheekbone. Her lips, smeared with lipstick and drool, scatter ardent kisses down your jaw.

When you look at the expression stamped on her face, you have to stifle a laugh from how stupefied she looks. As though you were in some cartoon and she had been whacked with a sledgehammer. Blue birds circling around her head and all.

“I…” Ada begins, but cuts herself off with a dry swallow. “Mommy wants to try something with you. Will you let her?”

You nod in response, but that is not enough for her. 

“Say it.” 

Another sharp demand is sent your way, but this time, it is framed with the newfound desperation you conjured within her.

With a gulp, you answer. “Yes, mommy.”

“Fuck.” 

Did she just curse? A woman sworn to a distinguished, controlled disposition has, for the very first time, sworn in front of you? Ada is taken aback by this, as well, evident in the laugh of disbelief she exhales.

Promptly, she then leaves your side. Not without a few last caresses to your skin, however. You remain in place within the sea of comforters, listening as she takes out equipment from the cabinet behind you. 

The efforts put into trying to discern her intentions through the mirror ahead of you are met with failure, as Ada always loves a good surprise. Especially when it is wrapped in a pretty bow for the love of her life.

“Do you trust me?”

You answer with a nod. Another mistake.

“Words.” 

“Yes. I trust you.” 

A grin spreads on her face, the one you know all too well.

“Perfect.” 

Ada returns to your trail of vision and her hands grasp your foot. She waves a red, silken bow playfully, before using it to latch your ankle to the adjacent bedpost. Another strand of silk is ensnared around your other ankle and fastened to the separate bedpost, binding both of your legs completely. 

The last time you were tied up like this, it ended with you writhing from the oscillation between pain and pleasure. All you can do is pray Ada has the mercy you begged from Jill. 

And as though she could read your mind, Ada begins to speak about her.

“Since your ex-girlfriend lacks substance, I guess it’s up to me to show you what genuine pleasure is.”

You don’t even want to think about what Jill Valentine is occupied with at the moment. Wherever she may be. 

“Y’know, she’d kill you for what you’re doing to me right now.” 

Ada quirks a brow, something sinister sinking in her eyes. She smiles at you with that infamous, evil grin. 

“Let her try. She wouldn’t be the first.” 

The first? What does that mean?

You are given no time to dwindle on this statement, not when Ada finally presents how she intends to bring you that “genuine pleasure”. 

She withdraws a vibrator as though it were merely pocket change for a cashier. One of those big, wand-like ones you’ve seen in porn.

It’s mortifying to admit, but on lonely nights in the sanctuary, you’d sneak off into the computer lab to watch those kinds of videos. You only stopped when a security guard intruded your personal time to identify all the “strange” noises he heard. So, although your experience is limited, you’ve seen enough in those videos to know the impact that toy can have.

“This one’s my favorite. I have no doubt I can make it yours, too.” 

On top of the stunned silence you’ve been forced into upon seeing that toy, Ada then shows you her second method of bringing you pleasure no human but her can ignite. 

A thick, curved, blood-red dildo is held in her dark acrylics. Bulky veins are carved into the rubber skin, spreading all the way to the bulbous head. 

Coursing through the images in your head, you search for some resemblance of your past partners and find several similarities. Though, you find differences, as well. It stretches into a similar length to Leon, but is passing him by an additional inch. It possesses the same girth as Carlos, but the curve is more subtle and purposeful than his obnoxious size. 

Had Ada somehow known this? Did she add this specific toy to her varying collection for this reason? 

“You look like you’ve got something to say…” 

The woman in question scrutinizes your body language for any semblance of emotion. Fear? Arousal? Maybe even both? 

“No, I just- I’ve never seen… toys in real life, before.” There you go again, stuttering through another confession.

Even when you’re tethered up like a feral animal and entirely naked on display, you’re still shy with your words.

“You’re adorable like this.” Ada leans in close to you again, lips grazing over yours. “I could just eat you out…” 

You’re hauled into a searing kiss before you can process her words. You’ve almost forgotten how every kiss of hers is exceptional in erasing any coherency still in your brain.

“Oh… Another day, petal. Another day.” 

Even though Ada could continue with the flirtation for centuries, she decides to put an end to the banter and watch in reverie as you fall apart. She guides you to sit up, and obedient as you are, you comply and follow her lead. She then nestles herself behind you and guides you to lay down against her chest.

“There you go. You’re perfect…” 

Ada’s praises certainly do not ease the scorching mayhem in your body. Her hands, gentle as they normally are, spread your legs apart with one swift, rough motion.

“Don’t hide from mommy. Understood?” 

You answer her demands verbally, as you have since learned Ada does not favor hushed responses. You don’t think you could handle being bent over her knee right now, ass bruised raw. At least, not for tonight.

With that, Ada takes back possession of the thick dildo. A hushed chortle fans against your shoulder when she feels a shiver race down your spine. 

“Nervous?” She laughs, as though your body wasn’t practically screaming at her to bring it gratification.

The dildo is first splayed across your stomach. The base touches below your pubic mound, while the tip lands just above your belly button — an accurate display of how far it will reach inside you. 

“See. Not too bad, right? I’m sure Leon could go even deeper.”

Of course not. Fuck, she knows exactly what she is doing! And somehow, she knows his exact size, as well.

“Wan’ it…” You whine. “Mommy…” 

If you skimmed through the pages of a dictionary for the meaning of ‘starstruck’, you’d find that face stamped into the page. She gasps, as though you had given her that title by your own accord and conjured the idea yourself. Who knew some measly, kinky nickname could bring the Ada Wong to her knees?

“I wanted to tease you more. Watch you writhe and squirm for me, but how can I resist you?” Her fingers curl under your chin and shift your gaze to hers. “Hmm?” 

“Don’t-Don’t resist, then. It’s hot when you let go.” 

You feel Ada pulsate again beneath you. If you had known you possessed this much power, you would’ve let her between your legs a long time ago.

“Oh, yeah?” 

She spits out a wad of saliva onto her hand and treads lower, circling the rim of your entrance and providing lubrication. 

“Want to see mommy let go?” 

Ada draws you into another kiss, reveling in the way you whimper for more. The abuse of your mouth did not end with just her on top of you, clearly. She ventures into more aggressive efforts, biting into your lips and sucking on your lax tongue. Those cat-like claws reach for your nipple, pinching and playing with your sensitivity. 

The tip of the dildo poking at your dripping entrance catches you off guard. You are not granted another second to process before it passes that barrier, stretching you out with its thickness. The kiss is broken as a pathetic cry gasps from your slack jaw, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. 

“M-Mommy, fuck-!” 

The visceral reaction you have only intensifies the deeper Ada sinks the toy into you, protruding gentle thrusts to ease you into the severity. And she is just eating up every sound and shiver she can pull out of you. 

Your brain and body are now entirely controlled by your libido as she accelerates from her slow, torturous rhythm. All misty and sweaty, you reach your hand down to rub a sensitive spot she had neglected in favor of your abusing your poor guts. She slaps your hand away harshly. 

With a glance of confusion, still masked in sheer desire, you look to see how Ada still has that familiar look of animalistic fervor on her face.

"Ah, ah, ah. Can't touch what belongs to mommy."

From there, you resort to clinging to the sheets as if you were hanging from a tall building and this bed was a saving hand. All you want is more, more, more. 

“Not fond of that, are we?” Ada laughs as though this were all some funny joke. She licks a stray tear cascading down your cheek. “You’re okay, petal. Mommy will take care of you.”

You swear you felt your heart do a cartwheel when you see her reach for the vibrator. Fucking finally. Holding it up for you to see, Ada clicks the button and the vigorous vibrations spring to life.

“This what you want?” 

“Yes!”

That damned chortle of hers is dark, so goddamned sinful. Yet still, it festers an unknown, desperate ache inside of you.

The toy lurks down, your hyperventilating breaths hastening with every passing second, before finally making contact with your sex. And all those awful, poorly-made pornos were right about these things: they’re fucking lethal.

“F-Fuck, yes!”

You swear you can feel your melted brain ooze out of your ears, replaced by some sex-hungry fiend who's receiving their first fill in years. The quivering motions of the vibrator and the thick girth plunging into your gushing heat has your back arching, just the same as all those pornstars.

And Ada — oh, she couldn’t be happier to be here with you. 

There is no high quite like those desperate hands clinging to her naked skin for stability as you lose yourself to euphoria. She could die right in this moment; some random past enemy of hers could barge in and blow her brains out. Still, it would not be enough to even waver the state of nirvana pervading all her senses. It is more than she could have ever asked for.

A sudden heat permeates throughout your sex and robs all attention of yours. It is a sensation you have never felt before, even when your ex-partners were buried inside your body. Ada can sense it, as well. 

“That’s it! Come on now!” 

One last squeal of “mommy-!” and you’re toppling over the edge of orgasm with no promise of salvation. 

It plunges into you like a parasite and strikes like a harsh punch to the gut. The intensity prevails and perfuses through your abused, numb body. It’s all just you, your weak form, and the vehemence coursing through you. The delectation leaves no inch of you untouched, either, as though it were a greedy poison scavenging for any last sliver of you it can touch.

Through the strength of it all, Ada clings to you tighter and guides you through the land of cloud nine. It is all almost too good to be true, this idyllic moment. She stalks your reflection in the mirror and reprimands herself for not installing cameras to capture this perfect, once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Any lingering doubts Ada had of whether keeping you with her was the best decision for your well-being have all been squashed. Christ, if it wasn’t settled before, it certainly is now.

You are never escaping Ada Wong. Whether you like it or not.

Because God, you are lethal. 

And Ada has never known what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of such violence, with ecstasy and delirium carved into the knife you brandish. This knife remains lodged in her chest long after you’ve both succumbed to mind-numbing pleasure, the sharp metal twitching with every beat her sensitive heart passes.

Your skin is warm and soft from the muscle-soothing bath taken after, complemented by the taste of Chardonnay and chocolate-covered strawberries you both enjoyed while soaking in the bubbles. 

You’ve now been nestled beneath the covers back in the master bedroom. You’re dressed in silken pajamas and teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, laid upon Ada’s chest and listening to the lulling rhythm of her heartbeat. 

After a long period spent with Ada forcing you to give her kisses, she finally grants your groggy self some much-needed rest. Her hands still leave loving caresses on every fraction of flesh she can reach, nonetheless. She has to stifle a chuckle when you’re out like a light in mere seconds.

Much like any other night, Ada’s mind is overwhelmed with love. All of which babble and ramble about you, you, you, and only you.

The head that possesses wit and character like she has never seen before, cheeks she squeezes like an adorable baby when she just can’t resist, lips that are surely capable of killing a man with the emotion they can provoke — all attributes that constitute the enigma Ada loves most. 

A neck that conjures the dulcet melody that is your voice, shoulders forever adorned in a blanket of her kisses, a chest that protects the heart she’d tear the world asunder to keep safe — all attributes that constitute the angel Ada loves most.

Arms that always pull her into a sugar-sweet embrace after a torturous day at work, hands that could rival a kitten’s paw with its sheer softness, hips that with one sway could surely turn all evil in this disgusting world to good — all attributes that constitute the deity Ada loves most.

Sex that even the greatest poets couldn’t utilize all human languages to encapsulate, legs you’d find etched into renaissance paintings hung in grand museums, feet that strut straight into her life and robbed her of all clarity — all attributes that constitute the one with full possession of Ada Wong and her weak heart.

The one she has loved wholly for over six years and will do so forevermore.

“Sweet dreams, petal…” 

One last kiss to your forehead and Ada falls asleep just like that. Lips pressed against your skin and cocooned in the warm shell of her devotion. Just the way it should be. 

Just the way it will remain for eternity, no matter what she has to do to keep you in her arms.

Once more, with every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things. 

Oh, how Leon Kennedy and Ada Wong love Y/N L/N. 

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of their adoration are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Life with these two is a humble routine, but sporadic in the same breath. You receive whiplash from the constant oscillation between a cozy cabin in the woods to a sky-high penthouse in the city.

Ada is suave and sneaky, always maintaining a sharp eye for anything out of place and utilizing it to keep you close by. She’ll tuck a flower behind your ear with an ardent kiss, before demanding her workers to clean the bloody footprints left on her pristine floors. With a few more well-placed touches and expensive gifts, you’ll remain oblivious to the violence that treads behind the scenes. Exactly how Ada needs it, where your protection and happiness is ensured.

There is no need to take that aloof, red-adorned exterior to heart, either. Not when the other locked door across the lust-induced room tells a different story. Just don’t be surprised if you see her venturing past that threshold in the dead of night, hours drifting by without her parting ways.

Leon is the closest human personification of a loyal guard dog. Hooked to your side, you have no choice but to endure the suffocating protection and affections he forces onto you. It certainly does not help when you find him lurking in dark corners, staring at you like some Peeping Tom, before showering you in candied praises and gratitude for mending the shattered remains of his heart.

There is no need to take that territorial, puppy-dog exterior to heart, either. Not when the cameras littered around the cabin tell a different story. Just don’t be surprised if you feel the presence of eyes looming over your shoulder, watching your every move in complete entrancement.

Time continues to pass of this routine and these facts further cement themselves into your life. 

The year is now striding through September, where the Summer heat eases and you’re cradled by harsher winds and descending leaves. It is troubling to believe it has nearly been a whole year since this fiasco began, but you have managed to survive this long, if that proves anything.

As another week spent in Ada’s residence meets its end, you nestle yourself on one of the many luxurious couches and watch as the sun sets over the horizon. Here, you anticipate Leon’s return.

Despite how much easier it would be to travel by yourself, Leon insists on coming here and joining you on the plane ride to his cabin. Strange, but as clingy as he is, you do not find yourself surprised by these antics. He is meant to arrive the following morning, as well, but you can’t recall the last time he has ever followed these rules.

Just as you anticipated, a whistle pierces through the air and grasps your attention. When you turn toward the sound, you find Leon Kennedy. Adorned in that familiar sheepskin jacket and lopsided, love-induced smile. He whispers your name breathlessly and makes a swift dash toward you. 

The way he engulfs you into a tenacious embrace, any outsider would think he was a soldier finally returning to his devoted spouse after years apart. In reality, it has only been a week. But, what the strangers outside are unaware of is how a single hour is too much for Leon’s weak heart to fathom, hence his obnoxious disposition whenever he greets you after mere seconds apart.

And just as predicted, his lips then meet yours in a grueling affection. No matter how much time passes, you’ll always find yourself astounded from just how needy and demanding his kisses are. As though he were trying to consume you whole; as though he were trying to become so close, no one will know where you start and he ends.

When Leon’s empty hunger is finally (albeit temporarily) satiated from your lips, he then reverts to peppering an onslaught of more kisses across your face. On your nose, cheeks, forehead, eyes, jaw — he revels in the boisterous laughter it summons from you. Music to his ears, he always finds himself remarking.

Before your giggling fit can ease, Leon then positions himself mere inches away from you. Much to your horror, he indulges himself in his most favorite game: freeze and stare. A game you have become quite familiar with.

"There you are… Just let me look at you..." 

And that is exactly what he does. Watches you. Perusing every detail upon your face and gushing over the raw beauty sewn into your flesh. There is no denying how horrifically obsessed this man is with you, that is for certain.

Uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, you scour through your brain for a plausible reason to escape this. With the excuse of needing to retrieve some items you had forgotten to pack, complemented by asking if he’d like to help you obtain such, Leon is folding like a cheap suit and abiding by whatever demands you throw his way.

Like a dog on a leash, Leon follows your lead as you venture up the marble staircase, down the hall, and through the door of Ada’s in-home office. Per her request, she asked you to pack heavy for your return to his cabin. 

You fear it implies you will be stuck in those woods for God-knows how long, but with the perceptible elation in her expression, stronger than ever before, you know this theory weighing in your brain is not feasible.

Knowing Ada, she would never be so joyous to leave your side. Especially when it is Leon Kennedy taking her place.

Nonetheless, you brush off the peculiarity and do exactly what she asked of you. And what you certainly couldn’t part from was your beloved opossum plushy, who had made a home in Ada’s office on the leather sofa.

When you take the plushy into your grasp, you take the moment to smooth out the ruffled tufts of faux fur on his body. You adjust the ribbon ensnared around his neck and ensure he is in spectacular shape. Who knows, maybe on the drive back to the cabin, you’ll both stumble into another lady raccoon your furry buddy may want to impress.

One last pat to the opossum’s cotton-filled head and you adjust him comfortably in your bag, engulfing him between the several quilts and pillows you intend to bring with you. It is a lengthy trip back to the cabin for the three of you, after all.

When you turn around to leave, expecting a certain secret agent to follow close by, you’re shocked to look over your shoulder and find the exact opposite. Instead of clinging to you like a pesky illness, per usual, Leon hovers over Ada’s desk, instead. Entranced by something he had plucked from the surface.

“Leon? What is it…?” You question, taking careful steps toward him. 

When you halt beside him, you find his shuddering body overwhelmed with heaving breaths, evident rage latched to every rasping exhale. You peek over his broad shoulder to see what conjured such a tyrannical reaction out of him, only to just be met with bafflement.

In his grasp are two small strips of paper, shivering in his shaky grasp. One-way plane tickets to Rome. Yours and Ada’s names stamped on the sheets. Scheduled for that very night.

While your brain is scouring about, searching for some logical explanation, Leon has the entire story painted for him in exquisite detail.

Ada intends to take you from him. And never in his life has he touched a surface of fury so scorching.

He has never been fond of her, but he has grown to trust her in this period of time. Only in the capacity regarding you, yes, but there was still some level of trust evident. 

She’s a damn good fighter, after all. He knows she’d protect you by all means necessary and to never lay a hand on you, but he should’ve known she’d eventually manipulate her tools to take you away from him.

Leon should’ve known she’d resort to such drastic measures in the end, as he planned on doing the very same. He intended to take advantage of his role in the Torrents Capture-Force group and send an army of trained soldiers to assassinate her. Plain and simple. Then, he’d be granted his desire of eternity by your side.

Now, there is a loose thread in his plans. And it is wearing a red dress and leaving gloss-stained kisses upon the skin of the one he loves most.

Leon does not utter a single word. Instead, he chucks the crumbled fragments of paper to the ground and rushes past you, vanishing from the office in several large strides. 

You follow suit, while trying to assure him of how it was surely a mistake. In your head, you concluded the tickets were intended as a surprise vacation, but Ada had simply left Leon’s ticket in a different location. None of your efforts succeeded, as Leon continues on far ahead of you.

Before you can begin your descent down the stairs, though, something strange catches your eye. 

Those two locked doors, mirroring each other. 

You know what lies behind one of the doors, where Ada has restrained your limbs and reduced your brain to puddled mush more times than you can count. You have yet to see what lies behind the opposite door, however.

As you stand here, you find that very door unlocked and ajar.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you abandon your attempts at assuaging Leon’s emotions and shift your attention to the door. When you take a peek inside, just a mere peak, your heart plunges into your stomach the second your eyes adjust to the contents of the room.

The floors, walls, and ceiling are entirely made of cement, accompanied by a cheap lightbulb swaying from above. As though someone was just in here. 

The entire expanse is empty, besides the two metal chairs centered in the middle of the room. The leather restraints around the arms and legs of the chairs are now loose. All that is left upon the metal surface are stained splatters of deep-red blood.

Instead of trying to find a reasonable conclusion, your brain falls silent. All you can do is stare in stunned silence as your heart rages in violent, accelerating thumps.

You are only torn from this trance when a shout echoes from downstairs. It is met with deafening silence, accompanied by what you think is an occasional grunt and bang through the thick walls. One last glance of uncertainty into the room and you finally turn tail, rushing down the stairs and toward the source of the roaring sound.

Stumbling into the living room, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, you find yourself frozen in place once again when you discover the very last thing you expected. Leon has been thrown to the ground, evident in the shattered coffee table and surrounding clutter. 

On top of him is Carlos. 

He looks like a feral animal, snarling and barring his teeth as though the blonde beneath him were prey he has been dying to sink his teeth into. His fists just plunge into Leon’s bloodied skull again and again and again and again and again and again and again and- 

A soft hand meets your forearm, causing you to whip around to discern the sudden presence. 

Behind you is Jill.

Battered and bruised, covered in a mess of infected cuts and wounds, a gasp of your name bridges on her lips. Through her brutalized appearance, you find sheer euphoria sparkling in her blue eyes at the sight of you. Just like how she has always seen you: a drop of purity through the drowning blood.

Before a breathless syllable of your name can reach the air, you’re shoved out of the way and Jill is tackled to the ground. You identify Ada through the flash of speed, crawling on top of your injured ex-lover and beating her within an inch of her life.

Underneath the weight of the chaos, all you can think about is how you’ve already seen this movie before. You have a track record of running, you have a track record of staying. But, hey, third times a charm, right?

Should you flee and pray to God this group of secret agents and detectives never find you? Or should you use what little combat skills you have and attempt to fight off four military-trained soldiers?

When push comes to shove, however, you do know one thing as a definite fact. 

You never should’ve stepped a fucking foot into Raccoon City.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I REARRANGE MY MEMORIES

I TRY TO REWRITE OUR LIFE . . . ❞

here is what i imagined leon's cabin to look like: one. two. three. four. five. six.

and here is what i imagined ada's penthouse to look like: one. two. three. four. five. six.

(also, i saw this pic of leon with his hair slicked back and……………. you couldn’t pay me to not somehow implement this here….)

gif creds :: leon & ada.

[wileys-russo]

idk if you’ve seen that tiktok trend where roommates have been making behavior charts (like the ones you might see in school. green for good, yellow for warning, red for bad and so on) but i can literally see in my mind you making one of those for your gfs leah and alessia, and i can see their pouts if you move their name from green to yellow.

this went in a slightly different direction but was so amusing

best behaviour II a.russo & l.williamson

"what's all this then babe?" leah asked as she and alessia returned home from training to you calling out you were in the kitchen, the blondes frowning as they eyed the armfuls of craft supplies discarded on the bench.

"please take a seat." you gestured for them to sit down which they both did hesitantly, sharing a concerned look as you cleared your throat, clearly holding something behind your back as you took a step closer.

"have we done something wrong?" alessia asked cautiously, folding her arms over chest and leaning back in her seat, eyebrows furrowed together in slight worry. "yeah you're being mysteriously serious." leah added on, narrowing her eyes as you rolled yours.

"if you let me speak, you will find out." you clipped as both blondes raised their eyebrows at your tone, sharing a look but staying silent. "much better, thank you."

"i have called this meeting today because as the two of you should have noticed, i've had it up to here with the pair of you lately." you held your hand above your head, indicating your level of tolerance, shooting leah a firm glare as she scoffed and went to speak, falling silent again.

"you-" you pointed sternly to the older of the two. "just the last couple of days alone you refused to do the dishes and instead flicked me or whipped me repeatedly with the tea towel when i was doing them, you drank the last of the milk from the carton and then put the empty carton back in the fridge, and you barked at the delivery man and scared him half to death!" you remanded leah who frowned at you grumpily.

"less dared me to bark at him babe thats not fair!" leah defended herself with a huff, sharply elbowing the blonde beside her who snickered at the memory.

"and you-" you now rounded onto the italian whose smile dropped. "you didn't listen when i warned you to separate the washing and turned everything white pink, you used the last of my body wash and gaslit me into thinking i knocked it over and it spilled down the drain, and you dared leah to bark at the delivery man who put in a complaint and now all of our packages have to be picked up directly from the post office!" you pointed to the striker with a stern stare who sunk down into her seat, biting her lip with a guilty smile.

"so i make my point again that you have both been doing my head in, and so we're gonna implement a little tool to help amend some of these...issues." you smiled calmly, though the look in your eyes had your girlfriends shifting uneasily.

"this!" you proudly held up what you had spent pretty much the entire afternoon on, waving it around before turning on your heel and pinning it onto the fridge.

"what is that?" leah sighed with a shake of her head, the craft supplies now making sense. "this is what i like to call the girlfriend behavior chart!" you clapped happily, grabbing a marker off the counter.

"you'll see we have five colours and five tiers-" you began to explain, using your marker as a pointer, smacking it assertively against each tier.

"tier one is green,and you'll see is titled the 'you can do whatever you want with me superstar' tier-" you gestured to the very top row, flashing a somewhat suggestive smile to the two very unimpressed blondes in front of you.

"-tier two is orange, and you'll see is titled the 'someone made a good choice today' tier-" you continued, tapping along with your marker. "-tier three is yellow, and you'll see is titled the 'skating on thin ice' tier-" leah strongly withheld the urge to groan as you kept going.

"-tier four is red, and you'll see is titled the 'you're taking the fucking piss' tier. thought of you when i made that one lee." you added on, making sure to read out the words in your best impression of her thick milton keynes accent, the older blonde scoffing in offence but you held up a hand signalling you weren't done.

"and finally we have tier five which you will notice looks a little different, this is the dog house tier!" you warned, tapping to the final tier which was indeed a well scribbled dog house.

"if you find yourself on this tier by the end of the day you will be expected to sleep in the spare room or on the couch, alone." you explained with a satisfied smile, both of your girlfriends instantly exploding into protests once you did.

"hey! let me finish." you yelled over the top of them with a scowl. "these are the two of you-" you grabbed something out of your hoodie pocket, magnets with pictures of either of their faces glued on top.

"right now, you are both here." you placed down both magnets in the yellow tier. "the better you behave; helping out around the house, being sweet and lovely, not fucking around and pissing me off, you will move up." you demonstrated by bumping them both up to the orange.

"but the worse you behave; throwing your dirty kits at me, playing fifa until three in the morning, burping in my face like disgusting teenage boys, moaning at me about asking you to do something, you move down." you dropped the magnets down to the red zone in demonstration before moving both girls back into the yellow.

"any questions?" you raised an eyebrow, both blondes standing to their feet, hands flying around as they voiced their obvious disdain for your new tool.

"none? wonderful! whose turn is it to make dinner?"

~

"leah! christ man leave me alone." you whined, curling more into alessia as the older of the two once again sucked on her finger and shoved it in your ear, having been in an annoying mood all afternoon which you attributed to the raging storm outside which had caused their game to be postponed.

"you're like a fucking hyperactive four year old, go away!" you scowled, kicking at leah as she tried to grab you, clinging on tightly to your other girlfriend who simply smiled in amusement, having not wound you up at all today she was in the orange tier.

"i know a way we could burn some energy pretty girl." leah grinned, grabbing at your ankles and yanking you down the couch, climbing on top of you as her blonde hair fell around the two of you like a curtain. "chart!" you warned, smacking at her chest and pointing over her shoulder.

"are you in the green?" you smiled sarcastically as leah glanced toward the fridge. "no? so get off!" you huffed, shoving her away and crawling back to alessia who had her arms open expectantly.

leah however was not quite ready to give up that easily as she grabbed your ankles again, pulling you back down the couch and sitting on your back. "less i think i'm a bit sick of this chart business, would you agree?" leah asked as you struggled underneath her.

"lessi don't answer her!" you warned as the other blonde hesitated, looking between the two of you with wide eyes. "less, go get the chart babe." leah ordered gently with a charming smile, and you gasped as the italian slowly stood to her feet.

"lessi look you're almost in the green! you know what that means." you finally managed to shove leah off, sending the blonde tumbling to the ground with a yell as you tried to clamber over the back of the sofa, alessia hesitating in the kitchen.

"ah!" you yelped as leah shot to her feet with a war cry, grabbing you in a headlock and dragging you back down onto the sofa with her, entrapping your body with her long limbs. "less grab the chart baby, bring it here." leah purred with another smile and a nod of encouragement.

"lessi baby don't let her drag you down with her, she's in the dog house and you're not!" you grunted, leahs hand coming to rest over your mouth as she continued to give your other girlfriend nods of encouragement.

"lee i don't know about-" the striker started, leah cutting her off with murmurs of reassurance as your yells were muffled against her hand. "love if you think i ever mind your tongue touching me anywhere you're wrong." leah smirked down at you as you tried to lick her hand so she would move it off.

using all of your strength you managed to break free from the body lock the taller blonde had you in, yanking her hand off your mouth. "lessi, leah said you were a dope this morning, thats why she got moved down in the first place!" you revealed, alessia's eyebrows knitting into a frown.

"i am not a dope!" the italian defended, crossing her arms over her chest. "i didn't say that! i just said sometimes you can be a little bit dopey...and i said it lovingly!" leah scrambled to try and defend herself, you grinning happily as the look of displeasure didn't drop from your girlfriends face.

leah distracted with trying to clear her name you again tried to make an escape. "oh no you don't!" the older girls arms wound around your waist, the two of you wrestling around on the lounge, both yelling instructions to alessia who stood hopelessly torn in the kitchen.

"if you bring me the chart i'll let you be in charge tonight." leah bargained, finally wrangling you into a gentle chokehold as she held your furiously bucking body down. "lessi you know thats a lie she's too bossy!" you yelled, out of sight from the blonde who'd grabbed the chart and was weighing up her options.

"i'm bossy? sorry who made a behavior chart for her girlfriends in the first place?" leah scoffed looking down at you. "tiktok made me do it!" you huffed, pouting up at the blonde in hopes she would let you up as alessia arrived to the couch, chart in hand.

"well, you're on a tiktok ban then." leah pinned your arms down beneath her knees, taking the chart off alessia and rewarding her with a kiss. "starting from now!" leah effortlessly ripped the chart in half as you gasped, looking up in disbelief toward alessia who winced and sent you an apologetic smile.

"you are both so in the dog house." you warned quietly as leah jumped off of you, not giving you a chance to move before she'd easily slung your body over her shoulder.

"i love you?" alessia smiled guiltily, following behind as leah marched away. "put me down williamson or so help me-" you warned, but they again fell on deaf ears. "where are we going!" you huffed in annoyance, smacking at leahs bum since you could reach, flipping off alessia who continued to look at you apologetically.

"we're gonna go study my chart. i think its time we taught you some things about behavioral obedience baby girl."

[stalkerofthegods]

Lady Hestia Deep Dive

Lady Hestia is a wonderful goddess, she is always there for everyone, I adore Lady Hestia, I do not worship her personally but I know well that she is Amazing.

Herbs • Chaste trees, Rosemary, Parsley, Basil, Sorrel, vanilla, Cinnamon, coriander, Marjoram, Mint, Lemon balm, cloves, clary sage, Allspice, Angelica, Coriander, poppy seed, chamomile, Angelica, Bay, garlic, mint, peppermint, pepper, marjoram, The lavender, the chaste tree, the datura, the California poppy, the goldenrod, the hollyhock, the yarrow, the purple coneflower, all white flowers, Lavender, White roses, angel’s trumpet, goldenrod, hollyhock, and yarrow, pine, Wildflowers & sunflowers, raspberry leaves, sage, pearly everlasting, yellow rose

Animals• pigs, donkeys, one-year-old cows, a Crane. 

Zodiac & scared number  • unknown, I cannot find out what month she was born on, or the day. But I would associate numbers 1, and 6 because she is the oldest and the youngest (and etc, but who even likes my rambles?)

Colors •Gold, yellow, orange, red,  White, Gold, Lavender, light purple, black, silver, and dark red

Crystal•Carnelian, Garnet, Goldstone, Calcite, Topaz, garnet, amethyst, lapis lazuli, green tourmaline, Vanadinite, Quartz, gold, silver, and brass, Amber colored crystals, citrine, clear quartz, sunstone.

Symbols• a kettle, the hearth (fireplace), torch, candle

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• friendship bracelets 

Diety of• the virgin goddess of the home and hearth fire, cooking of meals, and sacrificial food for feasts, architecture, domesticity, family, and the state, and sacrificial flame

Patron of where the families ate and congregated, hospitality, family.

Offerings• give her prayer beads that remind you of her that are not Christian (or make one, which is better), wooden beads, Oil Lamps, Seven Day Candles (because they burn for 7 days), LED Candles, A Candle that reminds you of home, White or red candles, Apple juice, cider, Wine, Baked goods, keys to the home (preferably not stolen(looking at Hermes devotees))), Small kitchen antiques/objects,  pottery/cups/bowls, artwork of homey things, a meal, your favorite things, poetry, books, items you made, fall-themed stuff, spring-themed stuff, First/last foods & libations from a meal, Candles/flame, Honey, Pork, Cakes or Cookies made to look like one of Her symbols,), Keeping a candle/hearth fire or lamp constantly burning, Pictures of homes you want to live in one day, pictures of homes you have lived in, Pictures of architecture that you like, Teacups, teaspoons, tea towels, Childhood memories (ex- stuffed toys, baby clothes, old photos), Homegrown herbs, Toys or art of donkeys and pigs, Leaves or blooms from a chaste tree, Tea light candles (real or fake), Your favorite poetry or poetry you have written for Her, Your favorite books, Stories you have written, Art of flames, fire, candles, Garmets that you have made such as clothing, blankets, beanies, Homemade lotions, bath bombs, shower gel, bubble bath (You can ask Her to bless them then use them she probably won't say no), Beeswax products, honey, olive oil, pumpkin pie 

Devotional• Pick up rubbish in communal areas, Offer the first or last bites/portions of food your to her, Cooking/baking for yourself or others, Having a candle lit whenever possible (electric or real), playing a video of a fire place, Volunteerring at homeless or DV shelters, donating to homeless or DV shelters,  Setting healthy boundaries with friends and family, reading about Tea/Coffee magick, Getting involved with your local community, Advocating for policies you believe will better the community Allowing yourself to rest,  Do a chore you've been putting off for a long time, organize to hang out with some loved ones, Veil or bind your hair, Wear something red or orange, Make a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or a mood board for her, Learn about kitchen witchery, Cook a meal in her name, Clean the House, Put together a puzzle, Eat popcorn and watch a movie, do Knitting, read about knitting, donate yarn and

knitting supply’s, prepare food for family, make the table before eating, garden, Harvest berries, pick flowers, Donate to food charity/drives, Support people who lost their homes to natural disasters, Welcoming others into your home, Keeping the peace (especially in the home), Donations of time & money to Habitat for Humanity, Do little (or big) acts of kindness, If you have a fireplace light it for Her or build Her altar around it, Meditate next to a fire, Read poetry or a book, play a playlist for Her and play it while you clean or cooks, Clean your house/room and keep it nice and tidy, Take a cooking or baking class, Collect recipes and keep a recipe book, Host celebrations at your home, Remember your ancestors and learn more about them, Spend time with your pets, Take care of yourself and your mental and physical health (Your body is a home for you),  Take a hot bath, eat some ice cream, chill at home for a day, Pray to Her( ex- for protection, inspiration, happiness, guidance, and help getting rid of negative entities in the home, peace in the home, good food, an abundance of food, independence), help to start/tending to the hearth, work on having strong family bonds, Open your curtains and let the sunlight warm the room, Make a potful of tea and keep it in a large thermos, Watch movies that make you feel nostalgic and cozy, Say goodnight and good morning to her, Get an electric blanket and feel the warmth connect you to her, Cuddle a stuffed animal, Make a blog/journal filled with cozy homely things, Keep a few locally baked goodies nearby for when you need them, String up fairy lights and use them as your only light source, Whisper prayers and devotional pieces before you go to sleep, Use a Himalayan salt lamp to connect to feeling of a fire, Invest in little things (ex- pillowcases, photos, curtains) that make your room feel welcoming and peaceful, Make a little bottle filled with herbs and crystals and other things that remind you of her, Listen to music that makes your soul happy and your heart content, Take care of yourself (ex- Brush your hair, use a wet cloth on your face), Keep a tealight on you, Clean one small area of your house, Savor a hot drink, Do small, unnoticed acts of kindness, Always greet animals (both big and small), Do anything by candlelight,  Wear colors you associate with her, Practice your patience (both external and internal), Be a listening ear or shoulder to cry on for those who need it, Make compromises when it is healthiest for both parties, always have a lighter or matches, Listen to music that reminds you of her, Spend time tending to your body, Leave a big tip the next time you have a chance, Practice kindness in all areas of your life (including driving), Take a hot bath or shower with no time limit, Decorate a space, Build a fire, Compliment people (both strangers and loloved ones), Donate something (ex-clothes, money, or your time), Look at photos and embrace the happy nostalgia, Wear makeup or jewelry that reminds you of her, Wake up early to see the sunrise - or watch the sunset, Watch/read about acts of kindness to be inspired, wear prayer beads that are for her, go to a high school reunion, do a family reunion, do budgeting in her honor, do meal planning, set healthy boundaries, have a household notebook, do seasonal cleaning, try home remedies,As you light your gas stove, say a prayer to Hestia, Spend quiet quality time at home, Gather your family (including your chosen family) for a festive candlelit meal, Commit to spending more time with children and old people.

Ephithets•Äídios - eternal, Aïdius – See Äídios., Basileia - See Vasíleia, Bulaea - See Voulaia., Chloömorphus – See Khlöómorphos, Daughter of lovely-haired Rǽa, Khlöómorphos - verdan, Polýmorphos - multi-formed, Polyolbus – See Polýolvos, Polýolvos - rich in blessings, Potheinotáti - beloved, Prutaneia – See Prytaneia, Prytanei, Vasíleia - queen, Voulaia - of the council, Prytaneia -”of the Prytanis.” 

Equivalents• Vesta (Roman), loki (Norse), Brigid (Celtic), Hathor (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• having a strong urge to Vail in her honor, seeing her animals and symbols in your dreams, and seeing her imagery a lot, everything at home suddenly going well.

Vows/omans• that she “would be a maiden all her days”

Morals• morally light/pure

Courting• None 

Past lovers/crushes• None

Personality• She avoids drama, and is generous, but her temper is volcanic in nature, she is slow to anger, but when she gets angry her rage is a force of nature. She is modest, tranquil, and industrious

Home• Mount Olympus 

Mortal or immortal • immortal 

Fact• Historically she is supposed to be the first deity offered to in a ritual due to being the goddess of fire, she's the oldest Olympian, She is spat out last by Kronos so she is also the youngest, she shares her seat with Diyonisus, she did not give it up, she receives a share of every sacrifice/prayer to the gods, and she is commonly seen alongside with Hermes, I would recommend putting their alters close together.

Element• fire 

Curses• a bad family life, food being burnt, having not enough food, being turned away at restaurants, being homeless, your house catching on fire 

Blessings• all domestic happiness and blessings

Roots• Greek mythology….and she was raised in her father's stomach, and at the first years of theogony era.

Friends• all of the gods, but most notably Hermes, but is not friends with Priapus, she dislikes him (he tried to rape her.) 

Parentage• Cronus and Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Demeter, Hera 

Pet• she has no pets.

Children • she has no children.

Appearance in astral or gen• she was typically represented wearing a veil and robe. In some images, she held a flowering branch or kettle as well.

Festivals • None, at every feast and meal a liberation was made to her name first and last, but I associate Thanksgiving with her, but her Roman counter part Vesta has 1-15 June of each year, an then another festival celebrated on 8-9 July.  Hestia is also mentioned on 8 June. But a neo-pagan sets aside 26 December – 22 January as a month devoted to Hestia.

Status• Virgin theoi goddess.

What disrespects her turning away people at your home (she is a goddess of hospitality and it was seen as disrespectful to her to do so.)

Planet• unknown 

Her Tarot cards• the Temperance, the fourteenth Major Arcana card.

Remind me of• Hot cocoa, and Thanksgiving. 

Scents/Inscene • Lavender, Rose, spring water,  rain, Pumpkin, Apple pie, cinnamon, fall leaves, Chamomile, Myrrh, Frankincense, Iris, Angelica, Peony, Angelica, iris, Sandalwood 

My opinion • I like her, but I'm scared of her too. (what a shocker!) 

Prayers• 

Historical-

Holy Queen of Sanctity, we hymn you, Hestia, whose abiding realm is Olympus and the middle point of earth and the Delphic laurel tree! You dance around Apollo’s towering temple rejoicing both in the tripod’s mantic voices and when Apollo sounds the seven strings of his golden phorminx and, with you, sings the praises of the feasting gods. We salute you, daughter of Kronos and Rhea, who alone brings firelight to the sacred altars of the gods; Hestia, reward our prayer, grant wealth obtained in honesty; then we shall always, dance around your glistening throne.

For the lost -

Blessed Hestia, the first and the last, and the always flame. May your light burn bright and strong, May your prayers be those of respect and love, May you guide the lost, And give to those who have nothing. I give thanks to you, Hestia, for all that you have done And continue to do.

For people with intrusive thoughts -

I ask Hestia, the kind goddess, to help those who feel down. May they find comfort and peace inside of their homes and inside their own minds. Protect them for their destructive thoughts, and be the safe place they need so much

A prayer for homeles—

In Hestia’s name, may you always have a home and a roof over your head. May you always be comfortable and warm with a full belly. May you always be in good spirits and good company, never knowing the pervading loneliness that envelopes the soul.

Morning 

Blessed Hestia, Fill this home with your light and bounty, As the day fills it with golden sunshine.

Evening

Glorious Hestia, Let your hearth fire warm this house, As night draws her shadowed cloak over it now.

Blessings of the kitchen-

Hestia bless my little kitchen, I love it’s every nook And bless me as I do my work, Wash pots and pans and cook. May the meals that I prepare, Be seasoned from above, With thy blessings and thy grace, But most of all thy love

Links/websites/sources •

ts-witchy-archive, constantly-disheveled, saryoak, eldritchhorror06, https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amp, https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://www.learnreligions.com/hestia-greek-goddess-of-the-hearth-2561993#:~:text=Keep%20a%20candle%20dedicated%20to,prayers%2C%20songs%2C%20or%20hymns.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.html#:~:text=In%20myth%20Hestia%20was%20the,youngest%20of%20the%20six%20Kronides.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.htmlhttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestia#google_vignettehttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestiahttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/hestia/https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai https://hestiasservant.wordpress.com/2018/05/27/honoring-hestia-a-festival-every-day/https://www.elissos.com/the-family-goddess-hestia-mother-of-all-gods/#:~:text=The%20birth%20of%20Hestia%20dates,to%20his%20throne%2C%20his%20children.https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhea_(mythology)#:~:text=According%20to%20Hesiod%2C%20Rhea%20had,and%20Zeus%20in%20that%20order.https://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/14sy8cj/is_hestia_reaching_out_to_me/https://mythopedia.com/topics/hestia

http://persephoneandhecate.blogspot.com/2011/06/exploring-archetypes-hestia.html?m=1https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://honeyandhestia.tumblr.com/post/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/160613514230/hestiavesta https://constantly-disheveled.tumblr.com/post/156636591525/can-a-hearth-fire-just-be-a-candle-that-you-lighthttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169551188078/devotional-activities-for-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/167758105763/jar-to-help-me-connect-to-hestia-chamomilehttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171225676313/burn-herbs-and-spices-as-an-offering-to-hestia-i https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183383795283/what-kind-of-crystals-would-yall-associate-with https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171208375440/a-historical-prayer-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169394109439/i-ask-hestia-the-kind-goddess-to-help-those-who https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/166938581678/if-youre-still-doing-prayer-requests-may-you-be https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/178225408393/lady-hestia-goddess-of-comfort-and-warmth-to https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183772520921/a-little-kitchen-prayer-for-hestia https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Bucket List - Bucket Moments || CL16

Warnings: fluff WC: 1.2k Main Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

1. Sleep under the northern lights

Charles found another blanket in the storage box and draped it over your shoulders as he joined you in the clearing. 

“Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” You asked the question quietly, fearful that your very voice could disturb the peace of the night. Overhead, green and orange light danced to the music of the universe that you could almost hear. 

“Every day,” Charles whispered too quietly for you to hear. Swallowing the lump in his throat he recorded the northern lights illuminating the wonder on your face. You were mesmerised as you reached for the colour like it was a ribbon you could catch if you were quick enough, but it slipped through your fingers. 

“Make an angel with me, Cha,” you giggled as you tossed the blanket aside and fell back into the snow. Charles fell down beside you and waved his arms like you made him do whenever he took you skiing. “I could stay frozen here forever.”

“Me too, mon ange.” 

8. Go to India for the colour festival  

“Don’t you dare,” Charles warned as you filled your fist with a dark blue powder. “Amour!”

You bent in half with the burst of laughter that cut through his faux annoyance and his own laugh joined yours. His white shirt was splattered with the colour of his biggest competitor and you grinned as you took a photo, sending it to Max. A burst of powder hit your front and you gaped at the explosion of red clouding your vision before it cleared to reveal Charles’ smug face. 

“That’s better,” he hummed as he pulled you into his arms, the colours of the rainbow dusting your face as he dipped his head down to yours and kissed you. “None of those Red Bull colours for you, mon ange.”

A peal of laughter sounded as you were pushed apart and Lorenzo ducked between you, a burst of yellow hitting Charles and raining over you. “Sorry, chére!” Arthur apologised as he bolted off again, chasing the eldest brother. 

Charles wrapped his arms around your waist as he stepped up behind you, watching his brothers race through the energetic crowd to find Joris and Pierre. His soft laugh warmed your cheeks as the three guys made an absolute mess. “Snow fights will never beat this.”

Your eyes widened with an idea. “Imagine colouring the snow balls!”

“Except yellow,” Charles pointed out, chuckling as your nose wrinkled at the idea.

“No, definitely not yellow,” you agreed. “But it would be funny to prank them if you did…”

Charles turned you in his arms and smiled fondly as he wiped away some of the coloured powders from your cheeks. “I love that mind of yours.”

“Just my mind?”

His eyes trailed over your shirt that was no longer white and his pupils darkened by the second as he bit his lip and continued to survey you with a look of hunger. Slowly he dragged his eyes back up until he reached your face again and released his plump lip from his teeth. “Yes, just your mind.”

He rocked back on his heels with a loud laugh that came from deep in his stomach and you gave him a little push against his chest. “Cha!”

Your feet disappeared from the ground as he picked you up and your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he looked up at you in awe. “There is not a single part of you I don’t love, mon ange.”

12. Teach Charles to cook

Charles would rather go swimming with sharks again, and he had not enjoyed that. He knew it would be a hell of a lot better than what you were about to make him do though. 

“I look stupid,” he complained as he placed the toque on his head. 

“You look stupid?” you laughed, pointing to your own head. “I have a hairnet on and I don’t have hair. So put your big boy pants on and let’s go, class is starting.”

You had debated trying to teach Charles to cook yourself but after a few mishaps and burned tea towels you decided you needed professional help for the task. This culinary school for beginners promised that it could teach even the most incompetent cooks to master the basics and most importantly, pasta. 

Thankfully putting Charles in a class setting made him focus and take note of the instructions. You could always count on him to become the teacher's pet and by the third lesson you watched with pride as he kneaded the pasta dough to perfection. 

“Can you dust a little more flour please?” he asked as he held the dough up.

“Yes, chef,” you saluted as you took a handful and scattered it over the bench. “Oh, you’ve got a little something on your cheek.”

“Can you get it?” he turned his cheek towards you as you tossed the rest of the flour at him. “Non…run.”

You turned and squealed as he grabbed a handful of flour and gave chase. “You’re going to get us expelled!”

He ignored you as he herded you into the huge pantry and you armed yourself with an egg in each hand. “We have ourselves an old-fashioned standoff, huh?” he teased. “It’s a good thing your aim is terrible.”

Charles moved first, showering you with the flour, and you launched the first egg. He deftly dodged it by jumping aside but it put him right into the trajectory of the second and it splattered over the chef’s jacket he wore. He looked down at the bright yolk and slimy whites that dribbled to the floor before looking back at the door where the chef was standing with a red face. 

“Both of you, out of my kitchen now!”

You tried to keep a straight face as you shuffled through the mess without slipping over and rushed to grab your handbag. “I can’t believe you got us expelled!” You burst into laughter as you exited the building and raced Charles to his Pista in the parking lot. 

“Me?” he laughed as he caged you between the car door. His eyes sparkled with amusement and he couldn’t help stealing a kiss when your happiness was as pure as it was in that moment. “Since I ruined our dinner plans, what would you like to eat? And please don’t say pasta or I will take you over my knee and spank you.”

“I mean, don’t threaten me with a good time,” you winked. “How about cake? You are already wearing half of the ingredients.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover 1

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: can't stop, won't stop. Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

“Boris, I need that big breakfast,” you call through the window.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cook gristles back as he clinks a plate onto the metal, “you don't wait.”

“It's been twenty minutes,” you rebuff as you take the hot dish and veer around Monica at the counter.

You come around and carry it over to the only customer at a table. The officer came in looking underslept and worse for wear. A bruise is faded to yellow under his eyes and his stubble is just shorter than an actual beard.

“Here you are, honey,” you put on your customer service voice, “more coffee?”

“Yeah,” he puts his phone face down and unwraps the cutlery.

You go to the machine and grab a pot. You return and fill his cup as he jabs at the scrambled eggs.

“There ya go, honey, anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, stop calling me honey,” he snarls.

“Oh, sorry… sir.”

You back away and retreat back to the counter, offering more top ups as you burn with embarrassment. You suppose you can come on strong when you're looking for tips. Besides, you can't blame him for being grumpy. He seems to have a good reason for it.

You put on a fresh pot as you replace the urn on the burner. You dip behind the counter as Monica brings Vi her tea and egg whites. The old lady is one of the mainstays of the place.

“So,” Monica turns her back to the customers and lowers her voice, “how's Will?”

“I think he's liking college… must be having fun since I never hear from him,” you shrug, “only asks when he can come get his laundry done.”

“Typical, I'm not looking forward to Brandon being that age.”

“Yes, enjoy them while they're young and sweet,” you cluck.

“Waitress!” The cop booms from his table.

“Chipper guy,” Monica mutters under her breath as you turn on your heel.

You go back to the table. You notice the wrinkles in his uniform, the buttons aren't lined up properly either. He has his hand on his forehead. He leans over his plate as his shoulders tense and you see his boy racking.

Oh god, no! You've seen this before. Will would get like this when he brought home the flu.

“Oh no, just…”

You put your hand on his back and urge him over the plate as he pukes. You smell the alcohol then. You rub between his shoulder blades as he retches, not bringing up much more than the few bites he took.

“I'll get ya something,” you pull the towel from your apron and offer him that.

You try not to wrinkle your nose as you pick up his plate and carry it behind the counter. You dump it in the bin as Monica lets out a blech. You agree but you don't want to bring too much attention to the situation.

You go into the kitchen and wash your hands. You find a bucket and bring it out to the cop. He's bent over the table, head on his arms.

“Hon– sir,” you put the bucket on the table, “you want some water?”

He doesn't react. You go and get water for him, setting it by his elbow. He breathes heavily but doesn't move.

“You gonna be sick again?”

“No,” he grumbles, “I'm fine.”

You open your mouth but think better of it. You almost wonder if he's actually a cop. Maybe you should call the real ones.

You leave him and go to hide behind the counter. You have enough to worry about between tuition and your mortgage.

“Guy's a mess,” Monica whispers.

“Just a bit,” you agree.

“It's not even noon…”

“Shhhh, he's having a rough one,” you say, “he'll go eventually.”

“As long as he pays his bill,” she tuts.

“Yeah, let's hope,” you frown and peek over your shoulder. So much for a decent tip.

🍽

The cop leaves about an hour after he got there. You forget quickly with the lunch rush. You spend your last few hours running yourself ragged.

You exchange your apron for your coat and leave through the side door. As you come into the alley, you notice the cruiser parked beside the dumpsters. You sidle by, stopping as you see the figure strewn over the back seat.

It's the same cop that was in the diner. You're content to keep going but your shoe hits a shape that jingles. You look down, a set of keys that can be for nothing other than the car in front of you. Those doors only open from the outside… wow. You won't call the guy a disaster, you can't exactly say you're any better.

You bend and pick up the keys. You unlock the door and open it, the edge hitting the dumpster. You don't know what to do so you just grab the cops ankle and shake his leg.

“Sir,” you raise your voice.

He throws his arm off his head and props himself up on his elbow, “what?”

“Um, you dropped these,” you place the keys by his shoe. “Sorry.”

He grunts but doesn't respond. You back up, leaving the door open. He slowly slides to the edge of the seat and hands his legs out of the car, bracing the door as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

“Was sleepin’ good,” he growls.

“I… I was just checking on you… are you okay?”

“Does it matter?” He pulls himself up, snatching up the keys and slamming the back door. “Doing just fucking fine.”

“Alright, I wasn't…” you show your palms defensively, “have a good day officer.”

“Thanks, waitress,” he scoffs.

You bite down on his tone. It's not the first time you've been spoken to like that. In your line of work, it's all too common, and as you get more years under you, it's just how it is.

You turn and head towards the street. The engine rolls over behind you and as you near the end, you hear the tires crunching on pebbles. You barely manage to move out of the way as the officer steers into the street. You just stand back and watch him veer off. As bad as your day might be, his seems worse.

[jake-kiszkas-smirk]

Little Fantasy

Josh Kiszka X Fem Reader

18+ only, minors DNI

Warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, fingering (fem rec), choking, dirty talk, exhibitionism kink, I think that’s it!

This fic is heavily unedited, sorry!

Moodboard by @allieisacrybaby 🖤

You slowly opened your eyes as the sound of soft music pulled you from your slumber. Josh often put on music in the morning when he was home. Turning to his side of the bed you weren't surprised to see it empty. He was probably outside on the balcony meditating or sipping a warm glass of tea. Glancing over to the alarm clock you shoved the book you were currently reading out of the way and saw that it was 8:30. After enjoying the comfort of your bed for a few more minutes you finally mustered the motivation to make your way to the bathroom for a shower.

Turning on the water to heat up you stripped out of your clothes, breathing in the steam that was now quickly filling the room. Almost as soon as you had stepped foot into the shower you heard the bathroom door creak open,

"My love," Josh called out, you could see his blurred form on the other side of the glass door, "Did you have any plans for today?"

You watched him as he talked, he was looking in the mirror, messing with his wild curls, you smiled before you replied,

"I don't, did you have something in mind?" you leaned your head back under the water, letting it warm your body

"I was hoping we could go into the city today, go for brunch, maybe do some window shopping?" he requested.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect actually" He had been gone for the last week or so, spending the day with him sounded amazing.

"Great, I have to go make a quick phone call but I should be done by the time you're ready" He replied and then made his way out of the bathroom.

After showering you wrapped yourself in a towel and brushed your teeth. Opting to let your hair air dry for a few minutes you decided to go see what the weather was like so you could decide what to wear.

You stepped out on the balcony but froze when you realized Josh had taken his phone call out there. You started to shrink back into the house, not wanting to disturb him. He shook his head softly and waved you over with his free hand as he spoke into the phone. You walked over to the chair he was sitting in and when you got close enough his hand landed on the outside of your thigh, thumb moving in slow loving circles,

"Did you need something?" He asked genuinely, holding the phone away from his face as his eyes locked on yours,

"No, sorry, I was just checking the weather so I could choose an outfit" you whispered back,

"Don't apologize," His hand went from your thigh to your hand, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, "Lets see the options" He whispered quickly before replying to whoever was on the phone.

It was a beautiful day outside, warm but with a nice breeze, the perfect combination of sunny and cloudy. You knew in the back of your mind that the weather could change on a dime, but you decided to risk it. Making your way to the closet you located two of your favorite sundresses, which also happened to be 2 of Josh's favorites too. Grabbing both of the hangers you walked back out to the balcony and held both up for Josh to see. Still chatting away on the phone he eyed both of them, tilting his head and biting the inside of his lip as he considered. After a few moments he pointed to the one in your left hand. Nodding with a smile you walked over and kissed his cheek to say thank you.

Hurrying back inside you quickly got ready. You half dried your hair and then put it in a loose braid, pulling out a few pieces to frame your face. Not wanting to spend a lot of time on makeup you decided to go simple, some mascara and lip tint was all you applied. Content with your look you moved to grab the dress Josh had picked. It was a white and yellow dress that had small floral print on it. It had spaghetti straps, a V-neck, and the hem of the skirt landed about mid-thigh. Slipping out of your towel you grabbed a pair of underwear and began putting them on when a knock against the window got your attention.

Huffing a laugh you shook your head when you realized Josh was watching. He wiggled his eyebrows at you as you sauntered over and closed the shades, taking a chance to stick your tongue out at him before you did so. You walked back over to where your dress lay on the bed and put it on. After finding your favorite strappy sandals and putting them on you stood back in front of your dresser and started to put on the little gold hoop earrings you wanted to wear.

"Well that was rude" You heard Josh tease as he walked in the door, tossing his phone to the bed,

"You're lucky I didn't lock the door, creeper" you grinned as he feigned offense, bringing a hand to his chest.

"I was just enjoying the show" He walked up behind you, putting his hands on your hips and watching as you secured the second earring. "You look beautiful" He said as you stood up and turned to face him,

"You always say that" You rolled your eyes as your cheeks turned pink. You had been dating Josh for almost a year, and still his compliments never got old.

"I always mean it" He replied. You knew he meant it, in fact he was the first person you'd ever been with that made you believe he meant what he said. A soft smile appeared on his face as he leaned in to kiss you. He had a habit of sighing through his nose when he kissed you in the morning, like he was glad you were real and not a dream. It never ceased to make your heart melt. The kiss had started innocent, but as your hands moved to his waist and your fingers skimmed the warm skin under his shirt the kiss deepened. Josh's hands that were still planted on your hips had pinned you against the dresser,

"Josh," You pulled away, smiling when he tried to reconnect your lips. You turned your head, giggling when he settled with kissing your neck instead

"Hm?" He hummed,

"We have to leave" You reminded him, "I don't want to miss the brunch menu" His kisses didn't cease. "Josh" You said more firmly this time,

"Fine" He pouted, "It's your fault for wearing that dress"

"Oh it's my fault?" You grabbed your bag and started to walk towards the door, "You're the one who picked the dress"

"That I did," He conceded as he grabbed his keys, "You don't wear it enough"

"Thats because for some reason I never make it out the door once I put it on!" you said playfully as you poked at his side,

"Touche" He laughed, taking your hand as you both walked out to the car.

After enjoying your coveted crepes and sangria at your favorite brunch spot you found yourself walking down the sidewalk with Josh. Hand in hand you chatted as you went into different shops. You were stealthily leading him to one of your favorite stores. You got about a half block away when he suddenly stopped,

"I should have known" He laughed as he started walking again, shooting you a side eye as you tugged him along

"Come on please," you whined "Ten minutes tops"

"Ten minutes my ass" He teased back as he followed you into the massive bookstore. "We'll be in here for hours"

"You're being dramatic, you like books just as much as I do"

"Alright fine, it looks like it's about to rain anyways, might as well be inside"

You were right, he did like books just as much as you did. The difference was Josh always went searching for specific books, you liked to just stumble upon them. This meant you liked to just browse. You just loved bookstores in general, always had. You found them mystical and almost romantic for some reason.

This particular bookstore was 2 stories, and it had lots of isles packed with books. It was an old building with exposed brick, the soft warm lighting made it feel cozy. Just like many other bookstores there was music playing and chairs scattered about for readers to sit and enjoy a book. The second story had these big windows and you could see that it had suddenly grown dark outside and was now raining. You kept Josh close, every time you stopped to browse a shelf or pick up a book you'd maneuver yourself and him so that he was standing behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist or placing his hands on your hips.

"For someone who cut me off earlier you sure are touchy now" He teased, "Whats gotten into you?"

You shrugged coyly as you bent at the waist to grab a book from a lower shelf, consequently nudging your ass against Josh's crotch, your sun dress coming up high enough that his fingertips touched your thighs as he tried to smooth it down,

"Babe" He laughed lowly, glancing around to make sure no one had seen your white cotton panties as he pulled you back to standing. "What are-" He stopped mid sentence as if a lightbulb had gone off in his brain. His gaze traveled your face, taking in your innocent doe eyes as you fluttered your lashes at him,

Taking your hand he suddenly took off walking, rather briskly at that

"Josh, where-"

"I uh, need something over here" He said casually, but you noticed him gripping your hand tighter. Finally he abruptly turned down an isle. Looking at the dusty shelves as he drug you along you noticed what section you were in and started to laugh,

"Used college text bo-" He cut you off, pining you against the shelf with his body as his mouth crashed into yours. He wasted no time, pressing his tongue past your lips. He groaned as you welcomed it by sucking on it lightly, your own tongue moving against it. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you parted your legs just a little to get him even closer. One of his hands was at the nape of your neck, the other had drifted under your dress and was resting on your hip bone,

"Is this what you wanted?" He pulled away to whisper in your ear, nipping at the skin on your neck as his hand traveled closer to your heat, the back of his knuckles skimming down your lower stomach sending a chill over your body, "Almost forgot about this little fantasy of yours"

You searched your own memories, trying to remember when you had even told him about this deep seeded desire to get off in a library or bookstore. You decided it didn't matter when you told him, only that he remembered and it was actually happening, and that thought alone had wetness pooling between your legs.

"Answer me y/n, is this what you wanted?" His hand had moved around to the front of your neck, barely squeezing as he looked at you with dark lust filled eyes,

"Yes," You replied, barely loud enough for him to hear,

"I bet this pink little cunt is just aching isn't it?" his fingers began to rub your clit through the fabric thats already clinging to you. Your mouth falls open and your hips buck forward, silently begging him for more. His cheek is next to yours again, his breath hot and heavy in your ear as he slides your panties to the side and runs his fingers through your slick, "Y/n..." He groans quietly, lips ghosting up your jaw "Sweet girl, you're soaked"

You can hear the effect it's having on him, the strain in his voice as he begins to circle your clit with the pad of his thumb. You are trying your hardest to breathe quietly as he sucks and bites at your neck. You want desperately to look around and make sure no one is coming but with his hand around your throat and his fingers next to your jaw thats not going to happen.

"Gonna slip my fingers in this needy pussy and play with you till you cum" You gasped as he dipped one finger into you, "Finger fuck you right here in the middle of the store until you're dripping down your thighs,"

"Josh" You whimpered softly as he moved his finger in and out, his words swirling in your head and heating your skin

"Shhh" He hushed you by pulling you into another searing kiss,

A sudden loud noise had you jumping out of your skin, gasping as you broke the kiss and held Josh tighter, freezing as if that would hide you if someone was there,

"Jumpy" He huffed a laugh against your shoulder, "It's just thunder baby"

"Fuck" You laughed breathily, looking around to make sure there was no one in sight, your heart was racing at this point

When your eyes landed back on Josh he was smirking at you with half lidded eyes, You felt him remove his finger only to add a second one with it, your head falling back against the shelf

There was another loud crack of thunder and then everything went dark. Josh's movements stalled as you looked at each other, both registering that the power had just gone out. The store had become eerily quiet except for the rain hitting the windows. Then a distant voice spoke from somewhere on the first level,

"The power should come back on shortly, just stay where you are until it does" The store owner spoke,

"Gladly" Josh said more to himself than you, and began pumping his fingers into you faster,

You bit your bottom lip, trying your hardest to stay quiet as your fingers tightened in Josh's soft hair. An expert curl of his fingers had you breaking your reserve, a pathetic moan passing your lips,

Josh's eyes got wide and his hand flew from your neck to cover your mouth,

"You trying to get us caught?" he tilted his head as he zeroed in on your bodies reaction to the question, the way you clenched around his working fingers. He read you like a book, "Oh, you want everyone in here to hear what a little slut you are? Turn that corner and find us with my fingers buried inside you?"

Your breathing was ragged as your legs threatened to give out, the adrenaline and pleasure fogging your brain, you should be ashamed but you're not

"Mmm dirty girl, what a little minx you are" He teased, keeping his eyes on you as he felt you getting closer to your edge. You reached forward, blindly searching for the erection hidden in his pants. Finding it you started to palm him, your eyes rolling back when you realized just how hard he already was, "I know," He rasped into your ear, brows furrowed "I'm so fucking hard y/n, cum so we can get outta here and I can feel you on my cock,"

"Mhm" You mumbled behind his hand, nodding frantically as your orgasm crashed into you. You held on to Josh, barely keeping yourself upright as he worked you through it, his own lips parted as he watched you come undone.

Taking his hand from your mouth he kissed you again, swallowing down the noise of protest you made when his fingers slipped from you, pulling your panties back to their place. You looked at him with a cheeky smile as you smoothed your dress down,

"That was," You started but quickly realized you didn't have the words. Standing in front of you was a man who always made sure you got what you wanted, even if it was something like this.

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet, lets go" He said as he took your hand and started down the stairs. Using his phone light he navigated out of the bookstore and to the front door.

"Josh, it's still pouring rain?" You said with a laugh, "We didn't bring the umbrella"

"The car is just a block away, lets just run for it" he waited for your response with a wild gleam in his eye. He was in a hurry, glancing down you covered your mouth with your hand and tried to stifle your smile when you saw him trying and failing to hide the tent in his pants,

"Alright, one second" You leaned down and took off your sandals, knowing if you tried to run in them you'd fall on your ass. "Ok, I'm ready"

"Yeah?" He asked with a beaming grin, that boyish playfulness making an appearance. You nodded and he opened the door. Hand in hand you both ran down the street. You were both immediately soaked, a shrill noise left you as you made a sharp turn and bolted to the car. You had parked in a lot behind a building, and your car was one of a few other cars there.

"Backseat!" Josh tugged you back to him when you tried to head for the passenger seat,

"What?!" You asked, rain dripping down your face

"Get in the back seat!" He repeated with a laugh as he quickly opened the door. You both climbed in and he shut the door. Locking eyes for a split second you took in each other's drenched appearance, then at the exact same moment you both bubbled with laughter,

"Come here" Josh said as the giggling subsided. He reached for your hand, helping you to straddle his waist as he relaxed back against the seat. He blinked slowly as he looked up to you, "I love your laugh, you know that?"

"Well I'd hope so" you said as you leaned forward, kissing him between words, "You are always making me laugh" He grinned against your lips at that, hands on your hips rocking you against him.

"And I love how adventurous you are" He leaned his head back to the headrest as you reach between the two of you and unbutton his jeans,

"Me? Adventurous?" You teased as you wrapped your hand around his length and freed him from his boxers, tugging his clothes down to his thighs,

"I'd say so" He took in a sharp breath as you let a stream of spit fall from your mouth and land on him, "I just got you off in a bookstore and you're about to fuck me in my car"

"Bold of you to assume I'm going to fuck you" you raised a brow at him blithely as you began to stroke him, thumb brushing over his tip for good measure,

"Oh shut up" He said through a roguish grin, landing a swift smack to your ass before grabbing it and bringing your body closer to his again, "Quit being a tease y/n, sit on my cock and let me hear all those pretty noises you held back inside"

"So bossy Joshua" you scolded lightly as you sunk onto him, lowering yourself to the hilt as a relieved sigh passed his lips. He didn't respond and you realized then that he wasn't even listening, he was too far gone. He released your ass and reached up, taking the neckline of your dress and yanking it down to reveal your bare chest,

"Josh-" You gasped out, shocked by the brashness of the action. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him. With one hand tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck and the other desperately digging into your back he connected his mouth to the plush skin of your breast, sucking harshly and groaning as you started to roll your hips,

"Move, please move baby" He whined against your skin, moving his mouth to the other side and nipping at the pebbled flesh there. You obliged, using your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself you began bouncing up and down. You'd raise almost all the way off before sinking back down. Your legs were already burning as you fucked him but his breathy moans and the way his stomach quivered just egged you on. "Ju-just like that, fuck" His hand traveled up your back and hooked over your shoulder, he started pulling you down onto him harder, bucking his hips up and meeting your thrusts half way.

"Oh god," You cried out, fingertips digging into Josh's shoulders at this point,

"I know, it's so fucking good" He rasped, chest heaving as his hips started to falter, "So goddamn good baby,"

Your hand abandoned his shoulder and moved to between your thighs, frantically rubbing circles over your clit,

"Shit," He grunted, screwing his eyes shut as if seeing you touch yourself would make him finish before he was ready. The corner of your mouth turned up slightly as you continued. You felt yourself getting close and so did Josh, "Keep going, keep going" He rushed out.

"I-I'm gonna-" You tried to get the words out but failed as your second orgasm took over, you slid your hand down further, scissoring your middle and ring finger on either side of Josh’s cock, feeling him fucking you as you came around him,

His eyes flew open and he moaned as he realized what you were doing. You brought your hand up, spreading your fingers in the air and showing him what you’d gathered as it shimmered between your fingers. He opened his mouth and offered his tongue to you, begging you with his eyes to give him what he wanted. His adam’s apple bobbed as you pressed your fingers into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he closed his lips around your digits and sucked,

“Come on, cum for me babe” your free hand moved to his throat and a moan that sound more like a whine vibrated against your fingers,

“Mhm, Mhm” he nodded quickly, pulling you down onto him hard, burying himself as deep as he possibly could and grunting as he spilled into you. After he came down you removed your fingers from his mouth, smiling at him lazily as you brushed a soaked curl from his face. A languid smile formed on his lips as well before he spoke,

“You are...everything” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as you pulled your dress back over your boobs,

“What does that even mean?” You giggled,

“I-I don’t even know how else to say it” he laughed as his forehead fell forward and landed on your shoulder, “You’re just, everything”

You scratched at his scalp and felt your heart swell when his eyes looked up to you,

“You keep doing that and I’m going to fall asleep right here” he warned,

“Wanna go home and stay in bed the rest of the day?” You offered, wiggling your brows

“Sounds good to me,” he sighed contentedly, leaning forward and giving you one last kiss before the both of you settled in your seats and headed home.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Guardian Angel

Chapter 2: My Guardian Angel

Summary: Your first day back at work after recovering from your sprained ankle was normal, until it wasn’t. It turns out your first encounter with Wanda wasn’t your last.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This is the last purely fluffy chapter for a bit. Angst and adversity is on the way.

Guardian Angel Masterlist

Once your doctor confirmed the sprain, you found yourself hobbling around your apartment for the rest of the week, with a small ice bag or a heat pack wrapped around your swollen ankle. Being cooped up inside your apartment was not your cup of tea, and you grew restless with each passing day. You tried to distract yourself by streaming every movie you could think of, but the boredom persisted. Finally, when you were able to walk more comfortably with the help of an Ace bandage, you felt a sense of relief. By the following Monday, you were eager to get back to work and resume your normal routine.

After graduating from college, you decided to open up The Candy Bar, an old-fashioned sweet shop that seemed like a dream come true. Your shop sold every kind of candy you could imagine, various ice creams, and had a soda fountain on site. In addition, you also made a handful of homemade treats inspired by candy recipes passed down from your great-grandfather, such as caramel-covered chocolate turtles, peanut brittle, and fudge.

"Would you like to tell me what happened again?" Your friend and business partner Harper asked you with a gentle tone while restocking the ice cream bins. The dark-haired girl with freckles had been your closest friend since college.

“I walked up to the counter to get my coffee, and suddenly, these two boys crashed into me. Before I knew it, a redhead rushed up and started talking non-stop. Honestly, I have no recollection of what she said. I think they were words. She was so beautiful that I blacked out.”

“This could only happen to you,” Harper teased.

“She helped me back to my apartment, got me some ice, and left. Then I sat there speechless for the next ten minutes.”

“She’s like your guardian angel! Like those stories you hear about mysterious strangers showing up in your hour of need and then disappearing as quickly as they came.”

You always admired Harper's optimism and belief in fate, even if you didn't believe it yourself.

“It doesn’t count if the guardian angel’s kids initiate your hour of need,” you replied.

*^~^*

Throughout the day, you diligently tended to your quaint little shop as a steady stream of customers flowed in and out, filling the air with the irresistible aroma of chocolate and sugar. The vibrant interior was a feast for the eyes, with a mesmerizing display of candy in every color of the rainbow, swirling and twirling around the store. As you looked down, the black and white tiled floor seemed to beckon visitors, guiding them like a yellow brick road toward the front counter. Here, an impressive arrangement of fudge and peanut brittle awaited, flanked by the refreshing soda fountain to the right and the tempting ice cream display freezers to the left. Finally, your customers' eyes would inevitably fall upon the charming vintage sweets display, which sat proudly on the back wall just beneath the menu.

In the late afternoon, the rush subsided, and you started preparing the homemade soda syrup for the soda fountain. Although it was a tedious process, it was still one of your favorite activities. While in the back kitchen, you heard the bell ring above the entrance.

“I’ll be right with you!” you shouted.

You wipe your hands off on a towel and walk back to the front of the shop.

“Welcome to The Candy Bar! How can I—”

As you turned around, your eyes fell upon the customer, who instantly caught your attention. She stood there wearing a pair of sleek black leather Chelsea boots that hugged her feet, complementing her light wash jeans and a white cable knit sweater. The long brown heather overcoat draped over her shoulders added a touch of sophistication to her ensemble. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back, framing her face perfectly. The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing.

“Help you,” you trailed off softly. “Wanda?”

“Y/N? Oh my gosh, what are you doing here? I thought about you all week! Are you okay? How is your ankle?” She rambled. It's so adorable that you want to squeeze her.

"This is my shop," you said proudly. "Thanks to your help, my ankle is much better now. I can't thank you enough for your assistance the other day," you added with a self-assured tone. Despite feeling a bit nervous, you managed to express yourself clearly and coherently.

“It's amazing!” Wanda exclaimed. “It reminds me of the candy stores from old TV shows.”

“As a child, I loved watching TV shows that featured charming, sweet shops where the characters would gather for root beer floats and candy.”

Wanda slowly turned around, admiring every inch of the decor as she exclaimed, "I love it!"

"Thank you. How may I assist you today?" you said with a professional tone and a raised eyebrow.

“I am searching for a sweet treat for my boys' birthday,” Wanda said

“Ah, the junior middle linebackers,” you joked. “How are they doing?”

They're good," she giggled. "I think they're finally starting to feel comfortable here.

“You just moved to New York?” you inquired.

“Actually, we just moved back to New York from a small town in New Jersey," Wanda said hesitantly. "I used to live here for work, but this is a new experience for Billy and Tommy. It's been challenging for us all to adjust to the change.”

You thought to yourself, 'The three of them.' You decided to file that information away for later.

“Well, welcome back!” you declared. What business are you in?”

“Public service,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously.

“I'm not surprised! You've come to the right place, Wanda. Let's find something special for the birthday boys,” you said, rubbing your hands together. “How old will they be turning?”

"Eleven, I can't believe it," she said while running her hands gently through her hair.

“Let me think for a moment," you said, scanning the shop before guiding her towards the candy displays at the front. Your gaze moved over the colorful containers of candy, and you relished this part of your job. You picked out an assortment of sweets that you thought Billy and Tommy would like, including malted milk balls, jelly beans, peanut butter cups, chocolate-covered gummy bears, whirly pops, and some of your homemade fudge. As you began to package the candy, you offered a few pieces to Wanda to try.

“These are delicious, Y/N. I’ll have to stop them from eating it all in one sitting.”

"Wow, that's the best compliment you could give me," you said with a wink.

Wanda observed you working and couldn't help but smile. You were fully engaged in the deceptively simple task with unwavering focus, exuding the unmistakable radiance of someone who loves their job. It was magnetic.

You eagerly revealed your surprise with a broad smile by exclaiming, "Tada!" Wanda's eyes lit up with excitement as she saw the two beautifully crafted gift bags you held out to her. The bags were adorned with bold red and white stripes, and each one was elegantly personalized with the names of Wanda's boys written in a stunning gold calligraphic font.

“Wow, this is amazing! How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

You waved your hand dismissively and said, "It's on the house.

“Oh no, that's very kind of you, but I couldn't,” Wanda said.

“I made one for you, too, as a way of returning the favor for helping me last week,” you said, placing a third bag in front of her.

You could feel your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage as you extended your hand towards her with the small gift. She looked up at you with a grateful expression, her warm touch on your hand making you feel appreciated. "This is so generous, y/n," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you so much. I won't forget this." Despite your nervousness, you managed to smile back at her, hoping she couldn't hear the sound of your heart pounding inside your chest. The moment was etched in your memory, a testament to the power of a kind gesture.

It's my pleasure," you smiled. "Please tell the boys I said happy birthday.

"I will," Wanda assured, locking her gaze with yours. Her beautiful green eyes caught your attention once again.

I hope… I hope I see you again soon,” you stammered.

“I hope so, too,” Wanda smiled. Your eyes lingered on her as she picked up the three candy bags and left your shop.

For the second time in two weeks, you watched the woman leave. A few moments later, Harper joined you at the front counter.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“My guardian angel.”

*Chapter 3 coming soon*

Tag: @automaticdinosaurtaco

[miasmaghoul]

*ahem* edelweisss, edelweisss . . .

Swiss leans in the doorway to the common room, arms crossed over his chest, tail idly swishing behind him. He's been here for a few minutes now, left his book dog-eared on his bed with the intent of grabbing a snack. He'd found the kitchen occupied, though, and the smile he wears is exclusively thanks to the sight before him.

The kitchen is a mess; the small island is occupied by an ancient stand mixer and a few dirty bowls, while the counter lies covered in open containers, half-empty ingredient bags and not-small pile of used measuring spoons. The scent of sugar, citrus and something floral hangs heavy in the air, and Swiss can feel the heat of the oven from across the room.

At the center of the mess, though, lies what holds Swiss' attention.

Mountain's humming, swaying in front of the stove along with the album playing on the common room turntable. Something jazzy Swiss recognizes but can't name off the top of his head. Whatever it is, Mountain is clearly lost in it while he rather vigorously stirs something Swiss can't see. What he can see is the smattering of floury handprints covering Mountain's jeans, and the streak of something pale yellow that's somehow ended up in his hair. Swiss can only imagine how much worse Mountain's front must be, but there's one more detail that keeps him from wondering too hard.

The few delicate white flowers that have made their home at the base of Mountian's antlers have Swiss' eyes crinkling. He'd know those pale petals anywhere.

Swiss pushes off the doorframe and drags his feet just loud enough to announce himself. Sneaking up on Mountain in the kitchen doesn't usually end well. He sees the other ghoul's ear flick, sees him pause in stirring, and Swiss feels safe to speak.

"Thinkin' about me, grasshopper?"

Mountain peers at his over his shoulder, raises an eyebrow. Swiss gestures at his head as he strolls into he room, and Mountain rolls his eyes as though he can see his own antlers. He makes a chuffing sound and resumes his mixing, but Swiss doesn't miss his little smirk.

"Might be," he replies with a half shrug. "It's happened once or twice, against my better judgement."

Swiss laughs as he hops up onto one of the bar stools at the island, one leg tucked up under himself. He rests his elbow on one of the few clean spots by the mixer - the remnants of whatever Mountain has in his hair sits in the bowl closest to him, so Swiss picks it up and gives it a sniff.

"What's on the menu today, peaches?" Swiss swipes a fingers through a blob on the side of the bowl. Gives it a cursory sniff.

"A lemon and lavender cake," Mountain supplies, just in time for Swiss to pop his finger into his mouth and find out for himself.

The batter is delicious, sweet and tart and wonderfully smooth. Delightful on all counts. Swiss isn't surprised; Mountain is as good a cook as he is a messy one, and judging by the splotch of egg yolk Swiss can see on the ceiling this has been particularly inspired session.

"Fancy," he says, gathering another bit of batter. "If you need someone to taste when it's baked, my mouth ain't busy."

Mountain snorts, and together they say,

"For now."

Swiss playfully tosses a dirty tea towel at his back, and Mountain catches it without even looking. Tucks one corner into his pocket while his tail meanders towards the fridge.

"Already baked," he says, nodding towards the appliance while his tail tugs it open. The middle shelf holds three identical rounds of cake, the loveliest shade of yellow speckled with what must be flecks of lavender. "You'll have to wait for the finished product, I already trimmed them down. For quality control. You know how it is."

Swiss nods sagely. He slides from his stool and wanders over to the stove, humming when Mountain's tail sways up to greet him, the tufted end caressing his jaw. Swiss leans against the counter, and now he can see what Mountain is working on.

"What's, uh," he waves at the odd arrangement on the stove - a pan beneath what appears to be the stand mixer's bowl, which must contain whatever Mountain is tirelessly stirring. "What's this all for, then?"

"Frosting," Mountain tells him, lifting what turns out to be a whisk. "Eventually."

Something thick and gooey drips from the whisk and immediately gives Swiss several indecent thoughts.

"Don't say it looks like cum," Mountain says before Swiss can so much as open his mouth.

"Wasn't gonna," Swiss lies, tongue poking out between his fangs. Mountain gives him a look. "I wasn't!" Swiss insists, pushing away from the counter. He slips behind Mountain instead, wraps his arms around the taller ghoul's waist. Swiss kisses the back of his shoulder. "But I was gonna ask if that was why you were thinkin' about me."

Mountain barks out a laugh.

"Gross," he complains, but his tail wraps around Swiss' calf all the same. "But you're actually half right." Swiss makes a questioning sound, and Mountain points a thumb behind them. "Look at the recipe."

Swiss will, eventually. He indulges in holding Mountain first, just for a moment. Presses his nose to his sweat-damp shirt and breathes in the the homey scent of warm earth and something herbal. It blends beautifully with the lemon and sugar surrounding them, makes him feel a little fuzzy around the edges. He gives Mountain a squeeze, and stands on his toes to kiss the back of his neck before he lets go; another soft, white blossom pops up behind Mountain's ear.

Mountain picks up humming again while Swiss hunts for the recipe he mentioned. He piles dishes as he searches, stacks bowls and gathers measuring spoons. He finds it after a minute, an index card stained with vanilla and sticky with egg.

"A-ha," he holds up the card triumphantly, a light dusting of flour raining down from it. "Let's see what got you growing me."

Swiss wipes the card on his pants, and recognizes its looping, cursive script as Cumulus' handwriting. Lemon lavender layer cake with -

"No fuckin' way," Swiss says through a laugh. He looks up to find Mountain watching him with a glimmer in his eye. "That's all it took?"

"Yep," Mountain sighs, turning back to the task at hand. "That's all."

Swiss stares at the back of his head for a beat, and then the goofiest smile cracks his face. He tosses the card to the counter and returns to his place at Mountain's back, wrapping him up just a little tighter this time.

"Lucifer, you're a sap," he teases, but they both know it's true. Swiss reaches up and plucks one of the flowers decorating Mountain's antlers, spins it between two fingers. "Not that I'm complaining about bein' on your mind."

"Neither am I, edelweiss," Mountain rumbles. He briefly abandons his dutiful whisking to turn and knock their horns together. "Neither am I."

Mountain ducks down just enough for Swiss to catch him is a leisurely kiss, one that tastes like summery sunshine, and then he's gone again. Leaves Swiss grinning dumbly at the back of his head while warmth trickles into his belly. He settles against the taller ghoul's back, and in no time at all the pair of them start to sway to the music as one.

"So," Swiss murmurs into his shirt after a long moment, "what's a Swiss meringue buttercream, anyway?"

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 20)

previous // next // story index

—————

"I didn't realize it'd be this easy."

Nikolai watches in fascination as Ginger slides the iron along the length of a damp towel spread over her ironing board. Underneath the towel is one of his medals. He can see the silver peeking out from under the edge. Tiny wisps of steam rise up from the towel, and the iron emits a soft sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a hiss, as if it can't make up its mind whether it's proud of a job well done or annoyed that this particular job is necessary.

They’re in Ginger’s kitchen with its cheerful yellow-painted walls and a large window that faces her apartment building’s courtyard. He’d spent last night here at her place and he'd slept remarkably well on the pull-out couch, with Tangerine tucked into the crook of his arm. This morning, Ginger made tea, waffles, and fruit salad with cottage cheese for breakfast, and then they went to the rink together. Afterwards, as Ginger had promised, she took him shopping for the things they’d need to restore and preserve his skating memorabilia.

Ginger smiles as she lifts the iron and sets it upright at the end of the ironing board. "I didn't say it'd be difficult. All I said was that it'd be a bit of work." She peels back the towel to reveal the medal. Its ribbon looks as good as new. "You've got a lot of medals. This isn't exactly a ten-minute task."

"Sorry."

"Don't say that," she admonishes. "I'm glad to do it. They deserve to look their best. Here." She lifts the current medal from the ironing board and passes it to him. "I'd be furious if anyone damaged my medals, but I know you'd help me fix them."

"I would, if I'd known this trick." He carries the medal to the table and lays it on the leaf of white tissue paper he'd already set out for it. Wrapping it carefully, he puts it in the plastic storage box he'd bought earlier that day. "Can I try doing the next one? Give your arm a break."

"Sure," Ginger agrees. "Shall I show you what to do, or has Beth-Anne been teaching you how to iron as well as teaching you how to cook?"

He shakes his head. "She irons my shirts. I don't think she trusts me with it. But I do know how to wash my own laundry now."

"She truly is your second mother, isn't she? Teaching you how to cook and do laundry. What else has she taught you?"

"I'm getting pretty good at cleaning my own bathroom. Apparently, she doesn’t do, uh… smelly man bathrooms, I think is how she phrased it.”

Ginger laughs. "Lord help us. Is she as bossy teaching you housekeeping skills as she is on the ice?"

"Surprisingly, no," he says. "I'm actually seeing a whole new side of her, living under the same roof, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. She has more mom qualities than even I imagined."

"I'm glad it's working out," Ginger says.

"Me too. She’s letting me stay there until I finish my coaching courses, at least. We'll see what happens afterwards."

"So, you're doing that, then? Coaching, I mean."

"Yeah." He joins her by the ironing board as she pulls another one of his medals — a gold one this time — out of the cardboard box on the counter. His breath catches a little when he recognizes which one it is. "Ginger, I really have to fix this one myself."

She glances down at it. "ISU World Figure Skating Championship 2010. Yes, I can see why you'd want to sort this one out yourself. The 2006 and 2009 ones as well, I expect."

"When you find them, yeah," he says.

She gives the medal to him. "All right. Lay it flat, and press the ribbon as smooth as you can with your hand. Then we'll put the towel on."

"Okay." He does as she instructs. "How's this?"

"Good. Now, the towel. Don't cover up the gold bit. You don't want to iron that."

"Got it."

“Press down firmly, but not too hard.” Ginger positions herself behind him and places her hand over his to guide him for the first couple of strokes with the iron. "Yes, that’s the way. Well done.”

He concentrates on what he's doing, but that doesn't prevent him from thinking about the world championships. The competition was in Italy last year, and a record number of Canadian skaters had qualified, four of whom were from their very own Brindleton Bay Skating Club; himself in the senior men's category, Ginger in senior women's and their friends Hunter and Juliet in pairs.

Their coaches had considered it a triumph for so many of them to have made it in. However, by the end of the week, their elation at qualifying paled in comparison to the emotional high of what sports journalists had dubbed 'The Canadian Sweep'.

It hadn't really been a sweep, of course. That would've required Canadians to win gold in all four categories. In reality, Canadian ice dancers won silver, and although Juliet and Hunter didn't have a top-three finish, the other Canadian pair in the competition took home bronze. Ginger, who'd received her citizenship the previous summer and was finally able to officially compete for Canada, won gold in her category, and Nikolai had also claimed gold in his. It was his second Worlds gold in a row.

Would I have made it three in a row at Worlds this season? he wonders. Is Ginger going to be able to get her own double gold?

Like him, Ginger has more than one world championship gold medal, and also like him, she won her first and second ones in non-consecutive years. Nothing would excite him more than to see her earn back-to-back titles.

He hopes she's ready. She hadn't skated yesterday, and from what he'd seen from her in practice today, she doesn't appear to be concerned at all. Stan didn't seem particularly bothered either. He'd been going easy on her.

But, maybe that shouldn't have been a surprise. Ginger looked flawless on the ice. Nikolai tried to observe every move she’d made, and he hadn't noticed a single thing he thought she could improve on. Her performance was powerful and beautiful and technically perfect.

Don't worry about her. She's got this, he tells himself, but the directive only partially works. He's still going to worry, not just because he wants her to do well, but because he wants her to be safe, to not be careless or overconfident.

This year's world championship is being held in Russia, in Moscow, and it's taking place in just a couple of weeks, near the end of March. It's been more than a year since Nikolai has been to his grandfather and parents' home country, and he's overcome with the sudden, crazy notion that he could go and watch the competition. He's not a fan of flying, and he'd have to pay for the trip out of his own pocket, but he's certain it'd be worth it to see his best friend skate her way to a spot at the top of the podium.

"Nikolai." Ginger's voice inserts itself into his thoughts.

"What?"

"I think it's done."

"Oh." He sets the iron aside, and then pulls away the towel to find that it is indeed done. It looks as pristine as it did when the ISU official had draped it around his neck last spring in Turin.

On impulse, he picks it up and puts it on. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an imaginary crowd cheers and tosses bouquets of flowers onto the ice, and O Canada plays. He swallows convulsively.

Ginger's palm comes to rest on his back. She rubs gently between his shoulder blades. "You okay?"

He nods. "I'm... I guess I'm just a little sad. All of this has been a lot."

"I can only imagine," she says. "It's okay to be sad."

"I know." He touches the medal hanging around his neck. "I'm getting better, though. My leg's getting stronger, and I'm feeling better about most things. Going to the rink with Beth-Anne every day has helped me a lot."

"I think mostly everyone is glad to see you there."

"I'm glad to be there," he tells her. "I really do want to coach, you know. I wasn't sure at first, but I realized I don't want to leave the sport even if I can't compete. This seems like the way that makes the most sense since I discovered that I really like helping people learn new skills. Beth-Anne says I'm good at it too. She thinks I'll be a great coach."

"For what it's worth, I'd tend to agree with her."

"Thanks. Your opinion's worth a lot to me, if you want to know," he says. "Anyway, the other reason I want to get into coaching is kind of a selfish one."

"Oh?"

"There's this one little kid..."

"Eden?"

"Yeah, Eden Seong. Have you seen him skate? He's only ten and he's absolutely amazing. He's going to be a champion some day, and I want to be there for that."

"He's one of Beth-Anne's students, right?"

"Right, but Beth-Anne says he might be my student in a couple of years, once he’s in Junior division.”

“And how does little Eden feel about that idea?”

“He’s into it. I think he’d want me to start coaching him right now if we were both ready,” Nikolai says. “I've been helping Beth-Anne with Eden’s individual lessons, and with one of her Novice students, and the group classes. She thinks I'll be able to teach a preschool group class by myself by September."

"That's brilliant," Ginger says. "Do you think you're ready for the challenge of teaching four year olds how to skate backwards and how to stop without colliding with something?"

He grins, remembering the antics of the five little skaters in the Saturday preschool class. "Well, I already taught one girl how to stop without crashing into me or into the boards, so I think I'll be fine."

"Helmets are mandatory, I hope."

"For the preschool kids? Yeah, definitely."

Ginger laughs. "I meant for you."

"With the way they bounce around, I think hockey shin pads might be more useful for me," he says.

"When Beth-Anne gets back, I'm going to come and watch you in action," Ginger declares. She pokes around in the cardboard box and retrieves another medal. "Here's Worlds 2009. I'll look for 2006 as well. Can you do this one on your own?"

"Yes," he confirms. "Do you really want to watch me work with the kids?"

"Adorable children and adorable you? Why wouldn't I?" she says. "The only thing that'd make the entire scenario any cuter than that would be if you brought the bear."

"I could make that happen."

"We should go to Build-A-Bear and see if we can find some skates for him."

Nikolai laughs. "He actually has some already. Workout gear and costumes too. If you want to come to my house with me later, we can find all his stuff and dress him up."

"Sounds like a project for tomorrow." Ginger looks both amused and pleased. "I had something else in mind for tonight."

"LIke what?" Nikolai asks.

"Ordering Korean food and watching the opening ceremonies of World Juniors. You did tell Brett you were going to watch, didn't you?"

"To watch him skate, yeah. I honestly didn't think about the opening ceremonies, but I’m liking this plan. Korean food because the competition's in South Korea?”

“Exactly so.”

“I like it. Can I sleep over again?"

“I think you’d better. South Korea’s twelve hours ahead of us and the ceremony’s on at half-past nine. It’ll be your bedtime by the time it’s over.”

“Yours too.”

“Mine too,” she concedes.

"What are we going to do between now and nine-thirty?" he inquires.

"Finish this, for a start." Ginger gestures at the ironing board where he's pressing the ribbon of his Worlds gold from 2006. The other two are around his neck, and they clink together gently each time he moves. "I've got dance time this afternoon, and Uncle Stan's probably going to be there. You can come along, if you like. Are you allowed to dance yet?"

"As long as I don't jump or put all my weight on my bad leg, I don't see why not," he says. "Nobody specifically said I can't dance, and I'd love to dance with you. It can replace my time on the treadmill."

"How much time on the treadmill are you allowed to do?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Right, then." Ginger nods, as if settling something in her own mind. "After thirty minutes, you've got to stop, and if you get tired or your knee starts hurting before thirty minutes, you stop."

She looks so serious, he has to put the iron down and cover his mouth to smother his laughter. "Are you channelling Beth-Anne right now?"

She folds her arms across her body and arches an eyebrow as she gives him a mock glare so reminiscent of Beth-Anne that it's uncanny. She manages to smooth out her English accent somehow as she demands, "Nikolai Pavlenko, are you questioning my coaching decisions?"

He snorts inelegantly in his futile effort not to crack up, "Oh my God..."

Ginger obviously tries to maintain her stern expression, but she dissolves into giggles too. "We've all spent way too much time together, I think."

"No," he says, once he catches his breath. "There's not such thing as too much time spent with you. Or Beth-Anne, for that matter. Or Uncle Stan. We're family."

"I love that sentiment, honestly," she says.

"Me too." Steady enough to resume ironing once more, he finishes another medal and then puts it around his neck with the other two. "There. That's my third Worlds gold done. How many do we have left?"

Ginger peers into the box. "About eight or nine. Are you going to put those three away before you press any more, or do you plan to wear all your Worlds medals at once?"

He considers for a moment. "All at once. Do you see the silver ones, or did we already get to those and I didn't notice?"

"Let's see... Here's 2007 and 2008," Her hand emerges with the two silver medals, and she sets them on the ironing board. "We're only missing 2004 now. Just give me a second."

"No problem. These'll take me a few minutes. I'm not as good as you at ironing yet," he says. "What time is your dance session, by the way? I can drive us over there."

"It's at three o'clock," she answers. "But, I thought perhaps we could take the bus."

"And... keep riding past our stop on the way home?"

"Hmm... For a couple of hours, perhaps."

"Let's do it," he says. "Do you want to stop to pick up food on the way back, or should we just order in?"

"Order in. That way, we can put our pyjamas on and settle in for the night, and if we happen to accidentally fall asleep on the sofa bed together, at least we'll already be dressed for it."

Nikolai smiles. More and more, he's learning that situations don't have to be monumental or momentous to be significant. Today's been a good day so far, an ordinary day. Nothing dramatic had to happen for him to find some sort of meaning in it. All he needs to understand right now is that he feels safe and that he’s content to be with his friend. Skating on TV, spicy noodles, and a sleepover. What more could he possibly want?

He and Ginger continue to chat amiably while they finish the task of getting all the wrinkles and creases out of the ribbons. Then, she takes a bunch of silly pictures of him with all six of his world championship medals around his neck at once, and they post them to their social media accounts with the most ridiculous captions they can come up with.

When they're done playing, they wrap the remaining medals and tuck them into the storage box. Ginger says she can keep the box here, if that'd make him feel more comfortable, and he agrees. He trusts her. If anyone would take care of them as if they were her own, it'd be Ginger.

Nikolai is just nestling the last small tissue paper wrapped bundle into the plastic container when his phone beeps for attention. It's a text alert. His phone is on the counter next to the microwave.

"Can you check that for me, please?" he asks Ginger.

"Sure," she says. She crosses the kitchen and scoops up the phone. A second later, she utters a half-spoken, half-groaned, "Ugh."

"What is it?" Nikolai inquires as he snaps the lid onto the storage box. "Or do I want to know?"

"It's Anya," Ginger holds out the phone at arm's length, as if it's giving off a bad smell. "She's written part of it in Russian, but I assume it's something disgusting if the string of pink heart emojis is anything to judge by. The other bit says, 'did you get our cat back?'."

"Our cat?" Nikolai echoes, incredulous. "Since when is Tangerine 'our' cat? She's mine. Anya barely tolerates her."

"Would you like me to send a reply to her?" Ginger asks.

"No, just delete that message. I'm not about to have a whole conversation with her through texts, and you shouldn't have to either."

"Do you really just want to delete it?"

"Yes," Nikolai says. "I'm determined that we're going to get to enjoy our plans for the rest of the day, and there's no way I'm going to let her mess it up."

[afewproblems]

"What's he doing here?" Eddie growls as he walks into the trailer kitchen, tossing his leather jacket onto the nearest chair and yanking open the fridge with stiff jerky movements.

He glares at his uncle Wayne who glares right back, the twin expressions spit fire across the kitchen as Eddie slams the fridge door with a beer now in hand. He tries not to feel guilty about the sudden jerk of movement in the periphery of his vision, the flinch.

Steve Harrington sits at the other end of the kitchen table, he's picking at his nails and his face is tilted down towards the table as though the checkered tablecloth is the most captivating thing he's ever seen. Steve is sitting strangely, hunched over slightly at an angle but Eddie doesn't care.

Eddie learned a lot from his uncle Wayne, how to shave, how to tell if eggs were about to expire, and how to make a good cup of coffee.

He learned how to argue from his dad.

Vicous words and loud voices, slamming doors and heavy stomping feet.

It's certainly not his best quality, but it's effective.

"What is he doing here Wayne, he made it very clear that we," Eddie gestures at himself and his uncle with wild hands, "could fuck off for all he cared!"

Steve flinches again, it takes everything in Eddie not to turn and yell at him.

"Eddie, if you're going to be a damn nuisance then you can get out of my kitchen," Wayne says calmly but there is an undercurrent of anger in his words as he moves the coffee mug he was drinking from away from himself.

Steve turns slightly and makes to get up but Wayne holds out an arm without looking at him, his glare is still fixed on Eddie.

"Edward, I mean it, you're not helping so leave".

The last vestiges of Eddie's self control bubbles away as he finally boils over.

"How could you take his side! You're supposed to be my family, not his!" Eddie snarls, righteous fury radiates out from his chest and into his limbs, he wants to break something.

"He didn't want us, he left us remember," Eddie shouts as he points at Steve who curls further into himself and tries to get up again.

"Steven you stay right where you are," Wayne grinds out, he takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, and releases it through his nose.

"Eddie, you can either stay and help, or you can be angry and leave, your choice, you get 10 seconds to decide," Wayne says after a beat, he still has the same glare etched into his face but a hint of weariness seeps through.

Wayne turns away from Eddie and faces Steve once more, he grabs one of their clean tea towels from the table in front of him and gestures for Steve to raise his face.

That's when Eddie finally sees the open first aid kit on the table.

All at once the rage dissipates as Eddie stares at Steve in horror.

His normally beautiful face is covered in blood. Mottled yellow and purple bruising blooms over his cheekbone just underneath a swollen-shut eye. The white of Steve's other eye has turned scarlet and a deep gash has opened up across his nose.

Wayne tips their rubbing alcohol bottle into the cloth and gently begins to dab and clean away the blood from Steve's face.

Steve breathes in as the cloth makes contact with the gash on his nose, Wayne murmurs an apology but continues.

"This'll need stitches," Wayne sighs as he gets up to wash his hands at the sink, "I'll need to grab a few more things from the bathroom, think you two can behave yourselves in the meantime?"

Steve nods mutely while Eddie continues to stare, he looks away towards Wayne and manages a tight nod.

Wayne turns and walks out of the kitchen leaving them alone, something they haven't done for two long weeks.

"I'm sorry," Steve mumbles after a beat, he blinks sharply and sniffs wetly, running a shaking hand over his nose, "for what I said, I didn't mean it," the words stutter and stop as Steve clears his throat.

Eddie stands frozen to the spot, for the second time in his life, he's been rendered absolutely speechless.

The first time was when Steve had told him he loved him.

"I, uh, I did what you said Eds," Steve continues, his voice wobbles slightly and pitches up in that tell-tale way that Eddie knows means he's trying not to cry, "wanted to be brave for you and," he waves the same hand in front of his face with a sad laugh, "I'm uh, not..." he sniffles again.

The last sniffle seems to jumpstart Eddie again, he crosses the distance between them and takes over Wayne's vacant seat, Steve's one eye tracks his movement as he stops speaking and stills.

Eddie swallows, it feels like rocks going down, he hates that Steve is afraid of him, of his reaction.

He slowly reaches for Steve's hand that rests on the table, watching his face for the slightest change, he pauses just before their fingers touch, uncertain if it will be welcome.

Steve meets his gaze, his one good eye traces over Eddie's face for what feels like an eternity before he slowly turns his palm up and crooks his fingers.

Eddie breathes out a sigh of relief and closes the gap, smoothing his fingers lightly over Steve's palm and up his wrist, the movement pushes up the sleeve of Steve's shirt revealing purple bruises that dot his pale skin.

Fuck.

"Can't go home anymore," Steve whispers, he grazes his own fingers across Eddie's arm in small circles, "I know you’re mad, but I didn't know where else to go--"

"You're always welcome here kid," Wayne says as he strides back into the kitchen, his hands holding their suture kit, "that hasn't changed," Wayne grumbles pointedly at Eddie, who grimaces as another small flicker of anger rekindles in his chest.

Eddie looks away from Wayne to find Steve watching him, his eye boring into Eddie's with an unreadable expression on his bruised face.

The thing is, Eddie wants to let it all go.

He wants to take Steve into his arms, tell him everything is going to be okay and that he can of course stay with them.

But he can't.

The hurt is still too fresh, too raw.

He's so angry still, angry with Steve.

Angry at Wayne, angry with himself for letting it go too far.

Eddie slowly, gently, takes his hand back and stands up from Wayne's chair, gesturing for his uncle to take the seat back.

Steve's empty hand stays palm up as his gaze follows Eddie to the door of the kitchen.

Eddie turns into the hallway without a backwards glance.

And if his heart breaks all over again as he hears Steve begin to softly cry in the kitchen while Wayne tells him everything will be alright?

Well, no one needs to know.

[watcheraurora]

Wing Lessons

This was supposed to be 1.2k words of simple silliness. I don’t know what happened. Just a little thing between "brothers." Takes place after Double Life 4.0k words

Potential CW: one very brief flashback with Mild Body Horror that can easily be skipped over. It's one paragraph that’s inspired by ezzriin’s Blackest Hand animatic

—

Knock-knock!

Creak!

"Grian?"

Grian looked up from his drafting table where he'd been planning out his next build. "What is it, Tim?" He pulled his glasses off and set his pencil down. He stood and approached the doorway, stretching out his wings as he did. He'd been sitting for a while and his bones were sore.

Jimmy shifted a little so the door was still blocking most of his body. "Could I ask a favor?" he asked.

"Depends on what it is," Grian replied.

"You know how I've been the first one out of the Games every single time?"

"Of course." Grian suppressed a giggle.

"Well... it's changed me. I'm... I'm not used to this."

"What do you mean?"

Jimmy finally pushed the door away from him.

Revealing small, juvenile wings poking out from his back. They were mostly brown with streaks of yellow. Not quite downy, not quite proper adult plumage either.

Jimmy, unable to meet Grian's eyes and turning red from embarrassment, cleared his throat. "Will you teach me how to preen them?"

Grian stared. "Canary wings," he said. Not a question. "They'll get more and more yellow the more they mature." He made a shooing motion. Jimmy backed up and Grian pursued him out of the office. "C'mon. Let me show you." He led Jimmy down the hall into the bathroom.

"When did you get yours?" Jimmy asked as Grian opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a few wingcare tools. "You didn't have them in Evo."

Grian felt his wings twitch and try to puff up at that. He forced them to remain still. "Not long after I left," he replied. "What do you remember about how I left?"

"The Watchers took you. Said they were going to keep you."

Darkness, purplish lightning, the empty hoods and long sweeping robes. Screaming as wings tore themselves from his back and eyes began to open in the skin of his face—

"Something like that, yeah," Grian replied. "After I got away from them, I got wings." A simple lie. One Jimmy wouldn't see through.

Tucking his wings in close, Grian grabbed the back of his red jumper and pulled it off, leaving him in the collared white button-down he wore beneath it. Jimmy followed his lead, though he had on a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up his arms and a white T-shirt underneath.

"Alright. So. First thing's first. It's best to rinse our wings in the shower first. Do not use soap on them. Just the water is enough. They sort themselves out much better without soap. After that, you'll want to ruffle them and puff them up to, sort of, reorder the feathers where they're supposed to be. You might need to do this with your hands too, if your feathers are too messy. Once they're in order, it's time for the oil. This brush right here—" He lifted the instrument in question. "—is to get the feathers closest to your spine that your hands can't reach, but it also spreads the oil from our uropygial glands over our feathers. Actual birds only have one gland and it's usually at the base of the tail. We don't have tails and we have a lot of normal skin in-between each wing. As such, we have one gland per wing. We also have much larger wings than any bird in existence. More glands, bigger glands, more oil. More surface area. You get the point."

The unfocused look in Jimmy's eyes betrayed that he did not, in fact, get the point.

Grian sighed. "Let me show you." He grabbed a tea towel and soaked it in the sink. "Stick your wing over the bath."

Jimmy did as he was told. Grian transferred the tea towel over and stood on the ledge of the bath to be tall enough to reach the top of Jimmy's wing. Jimmy was taller than Grian, and his wings were going to be much larger and longer. At the moment, his were a little smaller than Grian's, and not big enough to support Jimmy's weight for full flight. Grian already knew he'd be the one teaching Jimmy to fly. He wouldn't trust anyone else to do so. As Jimmy's older "brother," sure he would mess with him a lot, but Grian would never allow Jimmy to fall out of the sky.

He wrung out the tea towel over Jimmy's wing, then used the tub faucet to soak the towel again and again until the wing was thoroughly soaked. Goosebumps prickled across Jimmy's arms and he shuddered.

"Oi!" Grian protested. "No shaking off the water yet! I'm not done!"

"It's cold!"

"Yes, because the water has rinsed off the oil that keeps your wings insulated. We're going to be reapplying it. But you have to be patient and not shake off the water."

Jimmy shivered again, but not as dramatically. "Okay. I'll try to hold still."

A few minutes of squawking, slinging orders, and shouting at each other later, both of Jimmy's wings were sopping wet. In seconds, Grian had doused his own wings in water as well, somehow managing not to even get his shirt wet, despite Jimmy's T-shirt being soaked.

Grian took a tool off the bathroom counter and showed Jimmy how to ruffle and puff his feathers to put them back into place. The tool was used to carefully fix feathers that didn't easily fall back into place. Then passed the tool—like long, strong tweezers—over. Jimmy fluffed and shook and reordered his feathers.

"Like that?" he asked hopefully.

Grian assessed him. "Actually, yeah. Didn't expect you to get it right on the first try. Proud of you."

Jimmy looked flabbergasted at the compliment, but didn't have time to bask in it.

Grian scooped up the brush he'd showed off first. "This is where it gets complicated." He twisted and extended one wing straight backward, primary feathers brushing the wall. "Right there. In the middle of the base of my wing, see that dark spot?"

Jimmy leaned closer, eyebrows scrunched. "Oh! Yeah!"

"That's where the gland secretes the oil that we use to finish the process. I'll go fast on the first wing and then slow so you can see what I'm doing, but we have to spread that oil everywhere. It's how we waterproof, insulate, and protect the feathers from parasites and bad bacteria. Also, feathers are essentially dead like hair. So without the oil, they'll get dry and brittle and fall apart. Which is why preening is so important." He used the brush to drag the oil across the underside of his wing first, and then used the specialized, scoop-like brush bristles to carry it over to the backside of his wings.

Jimmy watched with a dropped jaw. "How do you do it so fast?"

Grian smiled. "Years of practice, Tim," he replied. "Don't expect yourself to do it this fast and still be thorough for your first year or two. Now let me do this one slow so you can actually see what I did."

Jimmy watched closely, bent close to Grian's wings, his own juvenile ones moving around with excited twitches. Wings were like a second facial expression to anyone who knew how to read them. And Jimmy's showed off how intrigued and excited he was to learn.

Grian hoped Jimmy was actually paying attention, rather than just looking without seeing. He doubted this would be the only time he taught Jimmy how to do this. And that was fine. Preening was a process. He'd had to teach himself after leaving the Watchers and it hadn't gone well. If he could make it easier for Jimmy than it had been for himself... well. Maybe that made up, somewhat, for all the teasing.

Once his second wing was freshly oiled, he cleaned his preening oil off the brush before handing it over.

"Why'd you clean it?" Jimmy asked.

"To avoid passing any bacteria or viruses from me to you," Grian answered. "Now. Hold your wing out behind you, like I did." Jimmy did as he was told. Grian guided Jimmy to look at himself in the mirror from the side. "See the oily spot?" He pointed to a dark patch of feathers that weren't fluffy like the rest of the air-dried plumage.

"Yeah!" Jimmy exclaimed.

Grian pointed to the brush. "That's where you're going to brush from. Careful not to go against the direction of the feathers if you can avoid it. You don't want to rip any of them out."

Carefully, he guided Jimmy's hands through the oiling process, boosting himself to sit on the bathroom counter when he was confident Jimmy could do it on his own with only verbal guidance, rather than physical assistance.

"By the way," he said when Jimmy was halfway through his second wing. "We'll get you your own preening tools. It's best for every Avian to have their own. To avoid passing along bacteria. Like how you wouldn't want to share a toothbrush with someone. It's fine for this one time because it's not actually exactly like sharing a toothbrush, but in the future, you'd be better served to have your own. You'll need a longer brush, I imagine."

"Why?" Jimmy asked.

Grian gave him a skeptical look. "Our wings are proportional to our heights. Yours are going to be significantly bigger and longer than mine. Just to reach around them to the back, you'll probably need a longer handle when they're fully mature."

"O-oh. Okay."

"I'll get a set ordered for you. Call it a birthday present."

"Awww! Thanks, Grian!"

Grian pulled his red jumper back on, easily slipping his wings through their slits in the back of it. His glamour on them—the one that made his plumage look like that of a parrot, rather than the purple-tinted-black of a Watcher—flickered for a moment. Jimmy was too absorbed in his own wings to notice.

"So how often do I have to do this?" Jimmy asked, tangled up in his own arms and feathers while he tried to finish his second wing.

Grian leaned back a bit on the counter, keeping his freshly-oiled wings away from the mirror to avoid smudging it, and crossed his legs. "Well... that's a good question. Ideally, every day. At maximum, every three days. Your feathers will get really itchy and uncomfortable if you wait even that long, but sometimes things happen and you won't have time."

"Every day?!" Jimmy squawked. "This takes forever!"

"That's because this is your first time," Grian said flatly. "If you preen every day, right after you shower, you'll be as quick as I am in no time and it'll be as much of a routine as brushing your teeth within a few weeks. Also, you missed a bit."

Jimmy spun in circles, looking for a patch of feathers that hadn't been oiled, using the mirror to see the backside.

Grian snorted. "Nah, I'm just kiddin'," he said.

"You absolute buffoon!" Jimmy exclaimed in frustration.

Grian hopped nimbly off the counter and dodged out of the bathroom. Jimmy pursued him, preening brush still in hand. They ran through the base. Jimmy was shouting and Grian was cackling.

The moment he pushed through a door and out into the fresh air, Grian's wings snapped out and he took off. A powerful downdraft blasted Jimmy's hair and feathers backward as Grian launched into the sky.

"You get back here, mister!" Jimmy called. "You get back here and—and—"

Grian cackled as he soared higher, spinning and rolling. Banking in a circle while Jimmy kept shouting for him. This high up, with the wind roaring in his ears, Grian couldn't hear him.

"What's that, Tim?" he teased. "I can't hear you!" He laughed harder. Jimmy was gesticulating wildly, trying to mime for Grian to land.

Grian didn't. Just twisted into an aileron roll and shot off. Laughing the whole time.

—

It only took a week for Jimmy's wings to fully mature. Given how quickly after the Games they manifested, Grian wasn't surprised that they matured fast.

Which was how he found himself standing opposite his "brother" next to a cliffside near the base via the Nether, letting the sun warm his feathers. Jimmy's wings had indeed grown much bigger than Grian's and were so blindingly bright yellow they almost hurt to look at.

"Alright, Timmy. Put these on." He handed over a pair of flight goggles. "You'll get used to the windburn in your eyes eventually. For now it's best to wear those."

Jimmy pulled them on—and Grian snorted so hard he hurt his throat.

"What?!" Jimmy demanded.

"You look ridiculous," Grian managed to say between giggles. "No matter, no matter." He fought to get himself back under control while Jimmy pouted. Grian took several deep breaths, reining himself in. "Okay. Lesson one: flying."

"Shouldn't lesson one be, like, taking off?"

Grian laughed. "No. Lesson one is learning how to fall. Lesson two is learning how to land. Lesson three is learning how to fly. And lesson four is learning how to take off."

"How... how am I supposed to learn in reverse order?" Jimmy asked.

"Easy. Like this."

Grian shoved Jimmy off the edge of the cliff. Jimmy was bigger and taller than Grian and should have been able to stand his ground easily. But nothing a little Watcher power couldn't overcome.

Jimmy screamed as he plummeted.

Grian cackled as he hurled himself over the cliff, wings tucked close to his spine, and dove after Jimmy.

He caught up, since Jimmy was fighting to fall slowly and Grian was diving.

"Spread your wings, Timmy! Face the ground and unfurl them!"

"I can'tIcan'tIcan't!" Jimmy cried.

Grian eased his wings a little bit out to help guide him. He got close to Jimmy and grabbed his hands. "Come on! I'm holding onto you. I won't let you crash! Let them out!" He twisted so his back was facing the ground and Jimmy was above him.

Screaming, Jimmy unfurled his wings.

His falling momentum arrested abruptly.

Grian let him go, flipped over, and snapped his own out. Wind filled his feathers like sails. He navigated so he was gliding beside Jimmy. Their wings were so long that they were nearly thirty feet apart.

"Grian! Grian, I'm doing it! I'm flying!" Jimmy screeched, voice high-pitched.

Grian laughed. "Not yet! You're gliding. You fell, and now you're coasting." He lowered his wing closest to Jimmy and swept below him so they could be a bit closer to talk. "Step two is learning how to land! And it's best to run into your landing so you don't just drop and destroy your knees." He pointed toward a beach not far from the cliff. "Dip your left wing and we'll glide over there. You can watch me before trying for yourself!"

Jimmy struggled, but managed to angle himself into a bank heading for the beach.

Grian dipped and plunged through the air toward the ground. Jimmy followed at a much shallower angle. Grian pulled up at the last possible moment to slow down significantly. He banked in a circle like a vulture to get even slower as he lowered himself toward the ground. He got his legs under him and braced them to run the second they hit the ground. Jimmy kept circling overhead.

Grian ran into his landing. He could land without a run at this point, but he was a Watcher—too durable and immortal to royally screw up his joints. And he needed to teach Jimmy the easy way first.

Once he stopped and looked up, he snapped his wings back out and threw himself back into the sky. "Your turn! I won't let you crash!"

Jimmy screamed the whole way down as he spiraled ever closer to the beach. Grian stayed in tight formation just above, carefully monitoring. He had an instinct for flying now—

And he knew Jimmy was coming in too hot. At the wrong angle.

Jimmy seemed to realize it too. He was still screaming, but it got louder and more frantic.

Grian pulled up short and flapped in place, hovering as best he could. He lashed one hand out, the other wound back behind him. Both of them with strained fingers.

Purple light surrounded Jimmy and adjusted his angle. He slowed down until he was at nearly a standstill and stumbled to a landing.

Grian released the power holding Jimmy and twisted into a sharp dive, landing only a wings-length from Jimmy. "Bad angle, Timmy," he said.

Jimmy whirled. "How did you do that?!"

"Do what?"

"You stopped me from falling. I don't know how—but you did it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Grian said flatly, just the right amount of obliviousness in his eyes for Jimmy to believe it.

"Then how did I land?"

"Favorable wind, is my guess." It was so difficult not to smile or giggle.

"Do I get to learn how to take off now?"

"Nope," Grian said. "We're going to hike back to the clifftop and we're going to jump again so you can learn to fly first. There's no use knowing how to take off if you don't know what to do afterwards."

"We have to hike?!" Jimmy complained.

Grian gave him a look. "Coming from the athletic one between the two of us," he said sarcastically, already heading for the path that would lead them back to the top.

Jimmy sighed dramatically and ran to catch up. "Grian—Grian—talk me through it while we walk, yeah? Once we get up there, how do I fly?"

"I believe in learning as it happens," Grian said blithely. "Besides, you don't listen."

"I do too!" Jimmy protested, blustering a bit. "Just—just talk me through it! Like, the flapping or whatever."

Grian snickered. "Fine."

He gave very thorough, clear instructions the whole way up. Jimmy looked overwhelmed about two minutes in. But, at the very least he looked like he was trying to understand. He asked questions and sought clarification.

Soon enough, they were back atop the cliff.

"Okay. Just hop off and give it a try, then," Grian said. "Running jump to give you as much outward momentum as possible."

Swallowing hard, Jimmy backed up several long steps, looking at the ocean beyond the cliff. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I got this. I'm Big Man Jim. I can do this. I can fly." He nodded to himself. "I'm gonna fly. I will."

He ran toward the precipice.

And stopped within a foot of the edge. "I can't do this! I can't just yeet myself off the side of a cliff! Into midair! I can't." He shook his head, staring over the drop.

Grian rolled his eyes. "Oh, for goodness' s—" One quick pull and push of his arm smacked Jimmy in the back with a gust of wind that sent him off the edge screaming again. Grian ran to the edge and launched himself off. "Get your wings out, Tim!" he shouted.

Thankfully, Jimmy figured that bit out. He righted himself and got back into gliding position. Grian dove beneath him, coming back into the same formation as before.

"Okay! Now remember what we talked about! Flapping for height and distance. Banking for direction. We'll get to rolls and tricks in a long time."

Jimmy nodded, gathering his courage back up.

He started—slowly—navigating the sky.

"Yes! That's how you do it! Tim, you're doing amazing!" Grian shouted. He churned the air with his wings and surged up to follow after Jimmy.

"Grian! Grian, I'm flying!" Jimmy shrieked. An ear-to-ear grin covered his face.

Grian laughed, brushing the outside tips of his primary flight feathers against the tips of Jimmy's in a moment of reassurance. Before he flipped into an aileron roll and came to a glide on Jimmy's other side.

"How'd you do that?"

"Practice." Grian took a deep breath. "Feel that warm breeze? Use it to ride higher. It's an updraft!"

Jimmy caught a couple more meters of altitude, but when Grian hit the same updraft, he soared much higher, laughing with joy and glee.

They flew around for a little bit, practicing, before Grian came to a gentle glide above Jimmy. "Ready to practice landing again? Are your wings getting tired?"

"A bit."

"Let's land. Then we'll do a quick takeoff lesson, land again, and then call it a day."

Jimmy nodded.

Instead of returning to the beach, they landed at the top of the cliff. Jimmy managed to catch the angle much easier since he hadn't gotten too much higher than it this time. He ran into his landed much smoother. Grian just dropped onto the ground and tucked his wings back easily.

"Not bad. Now, for takeoff, it's easier to take a running start. Fill up your wings with air, and such. Standing takeoff is a lot harder. Let's start with the running."

"Okay. Yeah. Okay."

"I'll show you first." Grian opened his wings and took off at a dead sprint before beating his wings at the air and taking to the sky.

Jimmy followed. Taller, longer legged, and more athletic, he hit the air with his take off quicker and stronger, surging upward.

Grian cheered. Jimmy laughed hysterically, like he didn't believe he'd done it.

"Grian! It worked!"

Still in the air, Grian managed a pretend bow. "You've learned from the best, my young apprentice," he teased in a goofy voice.

They both banked into an easy landing. Jimmy snatched Grian into a bone-crushing hug, still careful to avoid his wings. "Ooooh! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Grian chuckled. "You're welcome, Tim." He squirmed out of the hug and took a few steps back. "Nether portal home?"

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." His face was flushed with windburn and exhilaration as he pulled the flight goggles down around his neck. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever done. It's so much cooler than an Elytra!"

"Harder, but better," Grian said. "The Elytra and rockets do most of the work for you when it comes to landing and taking off, but flying under your own power is much more rewarding."

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically.

They hiked a short way to the Nether portal they'd made on the way here and ducked into it.

The journey through the Nether wasn't long. The whole way back, Grian was lost in thought as Jimmy rambled.

It had been a long time since he truly appreciated the gift the Watchers had given him by giving him wings. He took them for granted. But watching Jimmy discover the joys of real flight, not just Elytra gliding, reminded him of when he first learned to fly properly and thought it was the most amazing thing.

He glanced over at his younger "brother"—who had no memory of how Grian had been torn away from Evo and turned into a Watcher, whose wings were the result of a Canary Curse—and the smile still covering Jimmy's face was enough to make him smile himself.

Yeah. Being a Watcher wasn't always so bad, if it meant he got to share fun experiences like this with his friends.

One quick beat of his wings got him up high enough to sling his arm around Jimmy's neck and give him an affectionate, soft noogie. "I'm glad it got to be me, to teach you how to fly, Tim."

Jimmy, his big hazel-brown eyes suddenly getting a little misty, smiled. "Me too, Grian. Even if you did push me off the cliff." He gave Grian a playful shove. Grian shoved him back. They started pushing each other all the way back to the Nether portal that would take them back to their overworld base, laughing and calling out playful jibes at one another, tumbling through the portal home.

[bomberqueen17]

kitchen colors

so ok it's the weekend and we were snowed in for a week and i've done a ton of unpacking but it's all invisible yay

but dude was making low-key plans for the weekend and i was like NO WE MUST GO TO THE HARDWARE STORE AND GET PAINT SAMPLES

i had to like. drag him to look at the paint chips idk why it was so difficult.

So we haggled and hemmed and hawed and held chips up in various spots and eliminated almost everything I'd brought home. Nothing would do as the accent color. But the wall color... we narrowed it down to Behr's Thai Teal, Celtic Queen, or Bella Vista. Celtic Queen was their pthalo-est green; Thai Teal and Bella Vista are almost the same except Thai Teal is dustier and Bella Vista clearer. Dude felt the cabinets having a dusty cast meant the wall should do, and I strongly felt the opposite. He yielded to my intensity of feeling on this.

But none of the colors I'd picked out were suitable as a trim color to pair with either of the teals or the green, so we'd have to go look. A lime green, perhaps, or a bright orange?

I also felt that painting the bay windowsill a strong color was the wrong choice, so we decided it should be a high-gloss white, but of course a shade of white that didn't clash with the white countertop. Not having a sample of countertop, I instead brought a spare backsplash tile with me to the hardware store, so I could tell what color of white I needed (ugh).

Thus ensued Hell: Trying to pick which of the hundred colors of white would match the tile without being too obviously not-white (which would clash with the white-white plastic of the electrical outlets and the plastic window frames, which I am not painting. The outlet and switch plates are getting painted or replaced with something decorative, sure, but the actual bit you put the plugs into is staying as it is, I'm not painting that shit). But, fortunately, Dude comes of graphic designer types, and came through for me.

[image: a man's hands, holding a white subway tile and several basically-white paint chips, in front of a hardware store display of paint chips in every shade imaginable of white, beige, black, or gray. This is my idea of hell.]

We tried lime green with the teal. It looked banger as fuck, but the only problem was, it also looked exactly like a really classic IKEA duvet cover pattern from about 2000. I could not paint my kitchen to look like the duvet cover Dude had when we met. That is not going to work out, psychically.

I picked a brilliant orange, and also hated it. It looked like... the 1970s. it looked. Too much. It popped but like, in a slightly upsetting way. it was giving Miami vibes, in an early-90s kind of way.

I dithered, and finally Dude went and picked a less red orange, in fact called Joyful Orange. That looked much better, and I got sample pots of Joyful Orange and Bella Vista to take home. (They are SEVEN DOLLARS each can you believe. Ah well.)

[image description: In the center of the photo, a section of wall trim is painted bright yellow-orange, next to a section of wall painted deep teal. To the right, a blue-washed cabinet corner, the white tile backsplash, and a section of counter with the tea kettle on it; to the left is the paler yellow in the distance of the living room, with a bunch of blurry stuff piled in the middle of the room.]

It's. Sort of parrot colors? But it's bright and it's bold. I like it in every lighting situation. So I think this is what I'm going with.

And then for the outlet covers, I got one lighter shade of turquoise, and then dug out my craft paints. I bought a couple of spare outlet covers at the hardware store-- forty-eight cents apiece? I'd be crazy not to-- lightly buffed them with some fine sandpaper, and went to town. This is just the first layer, once it dries I'm going to go back over and try to add realistic veining and like metallic glitter and such to make them look like turquoise gemstone material.

[image: lying on a crinkled paper towel, a US-style outlet cover is mottled in shades of turquoise paint, in an irregularly-textured pattern.]

Ah maybe I should do a layer of clear coat and then do the veining? We'll see. I'm not sure.

[ramcharantitties]

Diwali

Summary: First Diwali of you and ram.

"Why are you still in your clothes?" A voice boomed from the door, and by the tone, it was a very angry wife of mine. Although I wanted to cross question her, "why don't you take them off?", I knew better and did not utter a word. Maybe we'll do that later tonight anyways. I jumped off the chair in a second and scurried to the bathroom, towel in hand. It's Diwali today. From four in the morning, we have set the fairy lights, spotting dragon flies, then packed the sweets y/n made in the past two days, deep cleaned our house, went to market for last moment shopping, and decorated our house with diya and rangoli. The amount of tea cups lining the sink said enough about our hardwork today. It was around 4 in the evening now, and y/n needed me to get bathed soon so I can go to the temple for an early Pooja, as she sets up the Pooja at our home.

The bath was shivering and cold- November not letting us breath with warmth. Stepping out of the bath, a red kurta and white dhoti with a red lining on it caught my eye. Someone did Diwali shopping for me. And it's shy to say, but the warmth she gives deter a hundred Novembers.

Quickly getting ready, I combed my hair. The red on my cheeks matched one of my clothes, and it was visible in the mirror, hope my wife doesn't catch it. It was almost 4:30, and I knew that if I don't leave now, it's going to be a screaming match. Finding y/n, I saw her in her homely saree with wet hair tied in a towel lock, carrying everything needed to the Pooja in our home. "Get ready first, I'll help you with this when I come back".

She turned around to my voice, the golden skin from sandalwood shining with the golden mangalsutra in orange sunlight. A tint of pink on her cheeks too when she checked me out, up and down. I had to turn around and leave, so she didn't catch me blushing.

It was almost the muhrat of Pooja when I stepped in our home. The sun has started to set and the area was lit up by blinking fairy lights. Blasts of firecrackers were easily heard throughout. I saw our home with white and yellow alternate lights too. Upon entering, Y/n was nowhere to be found near the Pooja, but it was all set and decorated.

Looking for y/n, I realised that I haven't given her Diwali gift- a blue chiffon saree I picked out for her, and that it's our first Diwali together. I called out for her, as she made her way out from our room in a pink saree. Her hair was open and air drying. It was given to her by her family, and she has already worn this twice now.

"Why aren't you wearing anything new?" I led her into the room again opening the side of the cupboard which was reserved for my official clothes. "This is new" she muttered, putting Kohl lines in her eyes. I pulled out the transparent bag which held a beautiful blue saree, laced with white embroidery and deep red design. Her brown eyes caught the sight of it, a breath caught in her throat. She looked expectantly at me. A smile from me was enough for her to pull it from me and rush inside.

About 15 minutes later, y/n came out looking like an apsara. The baby blue insinuated her already pink face. She twirled around giggling. "Do I look good?" I nodded, leaning on the bed frame. It felt good, to see her happy. The childish joy in her eyes and soft smile on her lips. Gazing at her lovingly, it took me a while to realize she wasn't smiling anymore. "We are getting late for Pooja!"

The Pooja went well. We sat down after it, tired from running around the house all day. Busy eating home made sweets, I almost lost the soft touches of her on the saree, her fingertips barely touching the design. She looked content. And that was enough for me to remember how our first Diwali went.

......,...........................

tagging- @budugu @thewinchestergirl1208 @rambheemlove @ramayantika @bishh-kanya @chaanv @nyotamalfoy @obsessedtoafault @phoenix666stuff @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @cursedcursives @hopelessdemonic @nerdreader @bitchy-bi-trash @vijayasena

[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Ch 13 Gift Horse

CW: whumpee with powers, past medical trauma, mentions of surgical procedures including past noncon/unmedicated procedures

Doctor Holstrom’s house was in a southeastern suburb of the city, where the townhomes and snug brick apartment buildings from the nineties thinned out to sprawling plots of manicured land with white-columned Greek Revivals and beige French Provincials set further and further back from the curb like little manors. 

He first arrived the night the doctor had taken him to dinner, full from his recent rich meal and tired from the wine he’d drunk. The car was too smooth, too new-smelling, and it was making him carsick. He was happy to get out and put his feet on solid earth. The sprawling brick house was dark inside, but its face was lit by solar uplights staked at even intervals in the green lawn. The pathway to the door was lit too, which he appreciated in his current state. 

Dr Holstrom showed him to a guest room on the second floor that was impeccably neat and smelled of fresh linens. All Carlo had with him was a backpack, which he slung onto a persian carpet and laid back on the bed. It was bigger than his bed at Max’s and softer than the starched sheets at the hotel. Still, he closed his eyes and listened to the cicadas outside, pretending he was in the little room under the eaves and Max and Ingrid were down the hall. 

-

In the morning no one came to get him, which he realized he’d been expecting for some reason. He woke and slept again until creamy yellow sunlight was pouring over his face and birds were trilling in the trees. He laid there for some time feeling a sense of accomplishment at having done this himself. He hadn’t found the doctor, exactly, the doctor had reached out to him, but he’d vetted him and approached cautiously. He’d found out his motives and even dug for the messier one, the old feud with Martin Olsen. 

Was there something he was missing? He’d thought of the possibility that it was an elaborate trap but that felt comically paranoid. Martin Olsen had no issue with torturing him if it meant useful intel from his powers, but he wasn’t the sort of sadist that would set up something as elaborate as that. He’d be offended by how much of his time it took up. Besides, he had only ever asked for Carlo’s silence on their projects together. Demanding silence was not the same as demanding loyalty. 

At ten, he wandered into the attached bath and showered, towel dried his hair, dressed. He found miniature toothbrushes individually wrapped on the marble bathroom counter, along with travel sized toothpaste. He opened the medicine cabinet to similar miniature mouthwashes, floss, and makeup remover towelettes. He resisted the bizarre urge to pocket any of it. 

He almost got lost getting downstairs but found Dr Holstrom easily enough once he located the first floor. He was on his cellphone in a sunny, hectagonal room with a breakfast table and a chaise lounge, mahogany bookshelves tucked between stately windows that ran floor to ceiling. The doctor saw him and smiled gently, waving him in. He held up one finger, a universal “one minute” about the phone call, and then gestured for Carlo to have a seat opposite him at the table. He did, drawing his feet up in the chair with him so his knees pressed against his chest. 

“If there’s any reason to worry, you will get a call. Of course. Thank you, chairman. You too.”

He hung up and set his phone face down on the table. “Coffee?” he asked Carlo. 

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“If you change your mind. I’ve got tea as well. Fresh orange juice?”

“Maybe later.”

“…You’re anxious.”

“A little.”

“Understandable. I’ll take you to my facility today if you’d like, show you where you’ll be prepping for surgery, and where you’ll be recovering. You should be able to come back here Sunday night.”

He agreed to tour the surgery center, part of him wanting to back out and part of him wishing they could just get it over with today. He felt he was teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff, and wanted to crawl back to safety or jump already. 

The doctor gave him a knowing look. “You’re not obligated to go through with anything, you know. Not until the moment you give me the go-ahead to put you under.”

“I want this,” he answered. “I don’t have any other choice. It’s just…”

“Scary.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. 

“The unknown always is. Most fear is the fear of the unknown.”

Carlo huffed. “And some is based on very similar past experiences.”

“That’s true. Can I remind you my utmost priority is your safety and comfort?”

Carlo felt strangely shy at the display of concern. “You can.”

Maybe it was because he hated how a part of him opened to those words like a flower to sunlight. Some people treated him like a human being with a weird feature, a glitch that happened to be sort of a superpower. Others treated him like an android, or like AI that just looked unnervingly human. He could not for the life of him figure out what made up the difference in anyone. 

“I’ll remind you often, then,” the doctor indulged him. “You’re safe here.”

Carlo put his forehead on his tucked-up knees, mostly to avoid that gentle but somehow still searing gaze. “Thank you,” he said against his pant leg. 

-

Saturday night, Dr Holstrom (he’d asked Carlo to call him Erik) showed him his facility in Mt Vernon. It was empty, being a weekend and seven PM. Unlike a hospital, the surgery center operated on weekday hours. It was clean and bright, with a water fountain in the sparkling reception lobby and many complex, intimidating machines in the operating theater. Carlo deliberately didn’t ask about them, preferring to focus on the PACU room he’d be recovering in, with its soft lighting and slightly less hospitalized feel. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have toured the facility. The sight of equipment on stainless steel trays in white rooms was enough to set his nerves on fire, his teeth on edge. He followed Erik closely, looking at his clear, calm face for reassurance as he explained each room in his soothing voice. Soothing or not, it felt dangerous to surrender so much to one man, especially one in a white coat. To pin not only his future but his immediate safety on a few kind words from one person he’d met a week ago. But what choice did he have?

He wished Max could be here with him. Someone he knew would advocate for him, someone who had no ulterior motive, someone he could trust. When they left the facility he shoved his hands under his armpits and filled his lungs with the suburbian September air, hoping the dizziness he felt somewhere deep in his skull would abate soon. 

Back at Erik’s house, Carlo had his last liquid before he had to begin fasting. He’d barely eaten all day, despite several offers, but accepted a cup of hot peppermint tea the doctor made for him. He sipped it on the doctor’s living room sofa, hoping it would settle his thrumming nerves. Even the record player turning on made him jump. The music temporarily soothed him, though, and he closed his eyes to it, feeling tenderly grateful for something beautiful that distracted him. Erik sat in a wingback chair opposite him, crossed one ankle over the other knee. 

“I want to go over everything with you one more time,” he said patiently. “I know it’s tedious.”

“No,” Carlo said. His default was to be helpful and compliant, he couldn’t seem to help it. “It’s fine.”

“You want your precognitive ability destroyed. You understand there is no way to give it back to you.”

“Yes.”

“You understand there is a slight risk, as with any surgical procedure.”

Dr Holstrom had told him this before. “Mostly from an experimental form of anesthesia,” he repeated. “And standard risk of postoperative infection we will mitigate with antibiotics.”

Erik gave an indulgent half-smile. “And I’ll have to shave that pretty head.”

Carlo blinked. That hadn’t occurred to him. Of course he would. He’d be cutting into a section of his skull. That was fine. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had his head shaved. He didn’t know whether to fawn or prickle at the way Erik had called it pretty.  “Yeah,” he breathed on an exhale. “It’s just hair.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do before you do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you have a certain level of resentment for your ability. And I understand, it’s brought you nothing but subjugation and misery. But it is still part of you, and powerfully rare. Is there anything you’d like to scry in that black mirror of yours before we shatter it?”

The peppermint taste on his tongue was suddenly bitter. “I can’t see my own future, if that’s what you mean. That’s not really how it works. I wouldn’t want to anyway. I think we’d misunderstand most of what we see, which would lead to either paralyzing fear or… disappointment later on, when it turns out differently.”

Erik listened intently, nodding his understanding. Carlo found himself looking at the doctor’s hands when his eyes became too much. Surgeon’s hands, steady and skilled. Hands he was going to let sedate and immobilize him, cut into his head with a sleek surgical saw.

Did he know the doctor was going to sedate him? He could just be saying that to get him in the facility. Maybe there was no way to sedate someone like him, maybe something in his physiology wouldn't allow it. Maybe something about the preternatural sight nestled in his brain would not allow him to be put under by any man made drug. Maybe this doctor, this stranger, was going to strap him down and do it anyway. He swallowed the feeling of old dread that bobbed up, again and again, right into his mouth. If he took another sip of peppermint tea now, he’d be sick. 

“I’ve only heard of the things you can do,” the doctor said. “I’ve never seen it firsthand.”

Carlo shrugged dismissively. “It’s not an exact science.”

“No. I would imagine it’s not a science at all. It’s possibly the last bit of magic left in the world.”

Carlo lifted his eyes from those dangerously capable hands to the doctor’s face. He didn’t like the sound of any of that. 

“Don’t mistake me,” Erik said, sensing his discomfort. “I want you to have what you want. We’re on the same side, Carlo.”

It felt as if someone had turned up the thermostat, as if the tea left in his cup might boil. Sweat pricked the back of his neck. “But what?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just wonder… would you begrudge me one small service, one desperate favor before I snuff out that Olympian spark forever?”

If it was so hot, why was the pit of his stomach so cold? Or maybe it was heat, and he couldn’t tell yet, like when you first stick your finger under a stream of very cold or very hot water.

“Don’t look so betrayed. Nothing has changed. I just thought you might consider using your ability one last time, willingly. An exercise in the free will I am about to give you.”

“I’ve always had free will,” Carlo answered numbly as his mind grew flighty and panicked. He would never understand how such smart people could say such stupid things. He got up so clumsily from the couch that he forgot his teacup and knocked it to the floor. It landed with a muffled thud on the carpet but did not break. His hands felt numb. 

“Carlo,” the doctor said gently, tilting his head. “Don’t overreact. I’m not your enemy.”

He picked up the cup and then wondered why he’d done it. To be polite, he guessed, an instinct that remained well past the point it should be abandoned. 

“What would you want to see?” he asked flatly.

“Sit down,” Erik said, halfway between a reprimand and a suggestion. “You’re shaking. Take a deep breath. It’s alright.”

He didn’t. “What do you want to see so bad you’d ask me this the night before you’re supposed to cut my head open and help me?”

Erik was silent for a moment, perhaps waiting for Carlo to take a seat and behave himself again. When he didn’t, he answered anyway. “My daughter. My only child. I haven’t known where she is, if she’s dead or alive,  in two very long years. I’d just like to know if she’s alive. If she’s well. That’s all.”

He frowned. “Why haven’t you seen her for two years?”

“She left us. Left her mother, too. She's an adult, and it was of her own volition, but I want to know if she is still safe. Two years is a long time, especially not to send her mother any word. We were close, once, but…” he spread his hands. “Families.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She was angry with us. She wanted to divorce herself of her family, her name, her history. Why do young people do the things they do?”

“How do I even know it’s really your daughter? How do I know you didn’t do something to make her leave like that?” he asked, though he knew he had scried less ethically under duress in the past. This was nothing. 

“I can prove to you she’s my daughter, but the rest you’ll just have to take on faith. I’m not asking you to track down her GPS coordinates. I just want to know she’s alright. I hired a P.I., and he couldn’t do anything for us.”

“But you think I can.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

“This is why you slipped me that note. You’ll help me if I help you.”

“No. I’ll help you regardless. I’m asking you to help me. You can say no.”

His initial panic had settled into something manageable. If he refused, he knew the doctor might become angry, might take back his offer. He might even call the cops, tell them Carlo had just showed up here uninvited, begging for his help. Worse, he could force him to scry for him. Carlo guessed he was in his early to mid fifties, but clearly strong and capable as ever. And he was tall, maybe six two. That meant he had a good three inches and thirty pounds on him, and Carlo was afraid if he bolted for the locked front door he wouldn’t get it open before he was physically overpowered. And he would do anything in his power to keep it from getting ugly. Once it got ugly, there was usually no going back to civility or little kindnesses. And there was no telling what this man might do to him.  He sat back down, holding his empty teacup like a talisman.

 “I’ll need something of hers,” he said quietly. “Do you have any home videos or saved voicemails with her voice on it?”

taglist

@whumpsday @distinctlywhumpthing @pumpkin-spice-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @tidalwhump @pigeonwhumps @interdimensional-chaos @top-hat-aye @thecyrulik @boxenby @mylifeisonthebookshelf @inpainandsuffering @heartsherps @latenightcupsofcoffee

[ack3rlady]

A Happy Disaster

Summary: Sometimes, failed surprises are perfect.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Notes: Fluffy fluffy fluff, Established relationship. Levi & Reader are married. Post war; Canon divergent. The world is perfect. And all our precious babies are alive and well.

WC: ~1.7K

A/N: Climbing out of my retirement grave for a day to wish my beloved, grumpy, brother-in-law a happy happy birthday! This is a short little something I came up with for my baby @levi-supreme 's Happy Birthday Levi Event

“We’re ready!” Miche’s voice, a mere whisper, startles you when his head peeks into the kitchen through the doorway.

You gasp, almost losing your grip on the piping bag. Both you and your shaggy blonde friend stare at the strawberry-vanilla cake sitting on the counter in slight panic. Fortunately, the delicate lace of buttercream remains unscathed, making you breathe a collective sigh of relief. Miche pinches his tongue between his teeth and mouths a silent apology.

“All done?” you ask, carefully placing the last strawberry on the pristine white swirl.

“Yep!” he reports. “The table is set, streamers are up. Balloons are blown. Well, as blown as they can be, since Hange kept getting breathless with how much they’ve been giggling.”

“Shut up!” the bespectacled specimen yells from outside, earning them a couple of shushes and one loud smack. That had to have been Nanaba.

Your dear husband, whose birthday it happens to be, has no idea that all his friends are currently in his home. He thinks you’re down in the kitchen preparing an elaborate Christmas dinner for two. And Hange isn’t helping in keeping his surprise birthday dinner a surprise, at all.

“I would be incredibly amazed if Levi hasn’t already figured out what is happening down here, you know?” Erwin’s head appears next to Miche’s.

You’re wondering the same. All your attempts at getting him out of the house while you worked on dinner preparations were quashed. The crowd-hating man declared that his birthday present to himself would be zero interaction with people and that he wouldn’t be stepping foot outside the home.

So, instead you planned a evening full of pampering for him to keep him occupied. A cup of tea with a mystery novel, a long massage, and a long bath. You did leave the gramophone on when Levi went into the bathroom after the soothing head massage you gave him.

And since it is his special day today, you ran him a extravagant one with the expensive lavender Epsom salt, a variety of fragrant candles and his favorite music, asking him to relax and take his time while you got the “Christmas dinner” ready.

“I’m sure he hasn’t. The music should block out any noise,” you say to your former commander, partially trying to convince yourself.

Just then, the sound of symphony stops. A muffled squeak of hinges travels to your ears and the floorboards above begin to creak with footsteps. The three of you exchange a knowing glance.

“It’s time!” Hange squeals again, getting smacked by Nanaba and shushed by everybody else… again!

You quickly take off your apron and start for the stairs, cussing under your breath and hoping that he didn’t hear anything.

“The kids should be here any moment, now. Miche and I will be ready with the party poppers. Nana and Hange will hold the banner. And Moblit will bring the cake!” Erwin reiterates behind you as you bolt up the stairs.

“He’s gonna hate it!” Miche grins. They all grin.

He IS going to hate it! What were you thinking?!

The group watches as you turn the corner, getting back to their respective duties while you make an attempt to stall Levi for just a little longer till the rest of the guests get here. You slowly approach the room, a warm yellow light emitting from the gap under the door. You knock softly and head inside.

A whiff of fresh lavender hits you. Warmth emanates from the bathroom. You stop and take a deep breath. A man, the birthday boy himself, stands before you, facing the dresser. A towel wrapped around him as he uses another one to dry his jet-black hair. Glittery drops of water adorn his back, some trickling down its curve. You can’t help but stare.

“Oi! You’re going to drool if you stare any harder,” His reflection scolds you from the mirror.

“Can’t help it when you look so delicious, baby,” you jest, making your way towards him.

You wrap your arms around Levi's waist and rest your chin on his shoulder. Smiling at him in the mirror. You breathe in the aroma of his warm, fresh skin and hum in delight. The sharpness in his sterling eyes softens and he places an adoring kiss on your temple. He turns in your arms to face you and pecks your forehead softly, wrapping his arms around you.

“Delicious, huh?” he smirks. “Care for a bite?”

You’re tempted. Almost forgetting about the crowd waiting downstairs. His dreamy gaze isn’t helping either. Neither is the firm grasp he currently has on your hind. Levi moves one of his hands to cup the back of your neck, inching his face closer and closer. Your eyes are shut, lips tingling in anticipation of the ones they’re about to meet.

A loud thud disturbs the steamy ambience.

“What the hell was that?” Levi probes.

You are still dazed, the heat from his hot, freshly showered body permeating your skin. You blink harshly to snap out of the trance he always puts you in. Suddenly, you are reminded that if you want this surprise to work, those hooligans shouldn’t be left on their own for too long.

“Uhh.. The house is old and noisy. I’m sure it’s nothing.” you smile awkwardly, trying to divert his attention. “Besides, dinner is ready. Let’s head downstairs.”

He lets you go, reaching into the closet and pulling out a crisp white shirt to put on. He matches it with a pair of graphite grey pants and walks with you to the bedroom door. You wrap your fingers around the knob and slowly open it. Levi presses his hand against the oak and promptly closes it back shut, making you jump.

“What?” you ask.

“All things aside... I hope you didn’t let Eyebrows cook any of the food. He will somehow manage to poison us all.”

“Huh?” you lose your breath, trying hard to keep your composure. “How did he know that Erwin is here?” you wonder.

Levi chuckles at the look of absolute stupefaction on your face. He leans in, “Next time you want to surprise me, make sure to keep Four Eyes out of the preparations.”

Your old commander was right. As always. No amount of loud music holds a candle to Hange’s mighty vocal cords. You mutter under your breath, fists closed tightly in annoyance. "Damn it, Hange!"

“Don’t worry,” his calm voice breaks you out of your reverie. “I’ll act surprised. I could hear.. quite clearly, actually… how hard you all worked this evening.”

“So, you’re not mad at me?” You ask.

“A little. But you can make it up to me when they leave,” he smirks.

You stare at him in disbelief, and then break into a smile, mouthing a quiet thank you and giving a quick kiss to his lips. With your hand in his, you both make your way down the stairs, ignoring the muffled sounds and the shushing coming from the dark living room.

Seasoned soldiers who have been through literal hell and back can’t keep a simple surprise birthday party under wraps. You finally make it into the living room and flip the light switch on.

“SURPRISE!" they cheer in unison, party poppers going off on either side of you. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

The look on Levi’s face is unchanged for the most part, leaving aside the faintest smile of amusement. The guests know quite well that this is all the "Surprise" they can wring out of their stoic friend.

"You two better clean this mess off my floor before you leave," he says to the smiling Erwin and Miche.

There are more people in the room this time, the others just having arrived. Turns out, the noise from earlier was from Jean, Connie and Eren racing through the front door to see who got in first.

Armin and Mikasa brought flowers and a small present. Gabi and Falco are anxious to run in to the dining room and see what is on the menu. Reiner, Peick, Porco and Zeke stand to the back, making sure the two teens don’t cook up a disaster.  Nanaba and Hange hold the birthday banner up high and Moblit comes forward with the cake, embellished with brightly lit candles.

“Make a wish, Levi Heichou!” Sasha urges, too used to calling him by his title despite the multiple scolds. "They say that if you make a wish before blowing out the candles, it comes true."

"Really? If this crap worked, why didn't we celebrate birthdays this whole time?" Levi chuckles, then closes his eyes.

He thinks hard but finds himself in a dilemma. For the first ever time in his existence, he can’t think of a wish to make. During every stage of his life, he always had a wish, a prayer. At first, it was to see the sky, then it was revenge and then just to survive.

And now, after everything he has been through, Levi finally has everything he ever wanted. Much more than what he ever imagined having.

The love of his life is by his side, his dearest friends beaming at him, his proteges living happy and successful lives, old nemeses have become new friends. What more could he possibly wish for? All he can think of is to hope that the sun never ceases to shine on any of them. And so, he makes his wish.

He opens his eyes and blows the candles, still holding your hand firmly. Everybody moves to the dining table and takes their seats. Levi cuts the cake, and you pass the slices to your guests. Sasha, Gabi and Falco are finally relieved.

Dinner goes by in a breeze. Time always flies when they're here. The plates have been licked clean and bottles of wine, emptied. You reach for Levi's hand underneath the table and lace your fingers with his. He looks at you and smiles tenderly.

"I'm sorry, love. I know you wanted it to be just us," you lean in. "But they were all so excited to celebrate your birthday for the first ever time!"

He looks over at every face at the table. So many faces, that you had to join two long tables to accommodate them all. They are smiling, laughing, eating, chatting and making memories.

Happy memories. Ones he will reminisce when he is old, grey and wrinkly, sitting on the porch swing with you and watching the sun set behind the hills.

"It's alright.", he whispers, giving your hand a light squeeze. "This isn't too bad either."

Masterlist | Levi Ackerman Masterlist

[croszukis]

not real tea, but if you got to design your own professional hockey team for hawai'i (it can be the nhl or an inter-island league or a league made up of all the small pacific island states), what would the aesthetic be? name, logo, colors, mascot, goal song, general vibes. whatever comes to mind.

-patrichornkissed

i thought of several iterations for a hawaii team concept, like using the fact that we do have snow here in the identity or just leaning in completely to the opposite of ice hockey with lava. but then it hit me, only one obvious conclusion for me: the hawai'i paniolo

go all in on the cowboy branding, calgary flames don't go hard enough so steal their thunder (actually we might have had cowboys first so its ours now)

team colors are difficult because there's so many overlapping ones but personally i would lean into very vibrant tropical vibe with bright orange, pink, yellow. every league needs a pink jersey so that could be their alts

the mascot should be a cow and idk what to name him but he wears a palaka shirt :)

the post-win team player trophy is a hammer and the players will post insta captions and leave cryptic comments on each other's stuff with 🔨 hammahs union 🔨 because they've been properly informed what a hammah is (cool/tough guy) and thats not touching all of the pidgin hockey crossover we could do

at home fans bring ti leaves to wave (whats a white towel idk her, we got ti leaf)

okay im rly bad w goal song stuff ill contemplate this bc now you've given me an excuse to imagine a hawaii hockey team lol

oh and local boy nick suzuki is the hometown hero + captain duh