#anyway apologies if this is difficult to decipher

[intuitive-revelations]

You know, for all the past memes of Ceruleans being plant-touchers etc, it's actually really interesting that they're the one chapter that, for most of the timeline, isn't named after a specific ruling chapterhouse but instead with a generic "colour" name. This presumably comes from the whole "Green Party" metaphor idea.

Meanwhile during the War in Heaven, not only is there explicitly a sixth ruling house now that temporarily rose to power in the chapter (I personally guess either Tracolix or Xianthellipse but YMMV - which ever one it isn't is probably Patrex), but now other chapters, in so much as we hear about them, are referred to with similar colour-based names. This comes from A Labyrinth of Histories, where Dvora is mentioned to be part of the "Scarlet Chapterhouse", despite now ruling what used to be the Prydonian chapter.

I assume the latter is due to the new instability of the chapters. Over millions of years of absolute power, Houses Prydon, Scendeles, Arcal, Patrex and Dromei had become synonymous with their chapters until the shakeup of the War. With the chapterhouses suddenly changing constantly, there's no point in referring to the chapters by their ruling house regimes. Instead they are simply referred to by colour, presumably the original constitutional names for the chapters, in the same way as there are Gold and Bronze Ushers.

This would seem to suggest that there is no "House Cerulean", but instead that the chapter has always been like this.

So, what does this imply about the Cerulean Chapter, which seemingly never developed a consistent ruling house?

Originally I thought this might have been due to some sort of internal directly-democratic system where no one House is allowed power over the chapter. This would seem fitting given the chapter's politics. However, the War-time naming of the chapters and the introduction of a sixth ruling house implies there's no special rule to this chapter in particular.

Now however... I think it implies there might have been many ruling houses over the chapter's history, but none were ever able to hold on to power for very long or had any accomplishments that distinguished them from all the other houses that attempted to lead the chapter. This is presuambly part of the reason why the chapter never gained much power, as they were too internally unstable to get anything done long-term.

In other words - the reason why the 'progressive' Cerulean chapter never managed to change much on Gallifrey, leaving its society stagnant and conservative?

Basically comes down to... leftist infighting.

Suddenly that metaphor is a little bit less silly isn't it?

[varpusvaras]

The whole base was already in a wild, celebratory frenzy as they got there.

Fox did prefer it that way. He did not wish to draw too much attention to himself. It would be for the best if he handled any and all reunions in a more private setting, and slipping away from everybody was much easier when everyone were busy celebrating their victory.

That plan did vanish the moment he stepped off the bridge and saw Breha standing there, looking directly at him.

Fox looked back. He had learned to read her quite well over the years, but right now, it was rather difficult to tell what was the leading emotion on her face at the moment. Perhaps it was needless for him to even try to decipher any of them. He was going to have to face her and whatever she had for him anyway.

So Fox walked towards her, never looking away, and Breha stood there, her eyes just as much unflichingly looking at him.

Fox stopped a couple of paces in front of her. She didn't say anything yet, just kept looking at him, and Fox knew that whatever it was she was about to say to him, he still had one thing to do regardless.

So he bowed his head and bend his knee.

"I offer you my deepest apology", he said. "For disobeying your word, and for forcing orders upon you, Your Majesty."

He barely got the words out, when Breha was already dropping on her knees as well, and Fox quickly straightened up, just in time to catch her in his arms.

Breha buried her face against his shoulder, not at all caring about anyone around them seeing it all. She was shaking, and Fox wasn't sure if she was crying, or if everything that had happened during the day had finally caught up on her.

It was all certainly cathing up on Fox. He was tired, like he had been running up and down a mountain for the whole day, and his legs and arms were starting to sting in that exact way that always prefaced them going slightly numb and weak for a while.

Still, he held onto Breha, pressing the side of his face on top of her head, and let her take her time.

"I am so, so angry at you", Breha said into Fox's shoulder. Her voice was definitely a little thick, but it didn't sound like she was yet crying. "Do you understand?"

"Yes", Fox said. He held her a little tighter. "I understand."

---

Bail was talking with Dodonna when they got to the War Room.

Fox looked around a bit. He didn't see Leia there, which he was at the same time a bit disappointed and relieved about. He did want to see her. Breha had told him that she was relatively fine, with few minor surface injuries, and a light headache from a mind probe, but Fox wanted to make sure himself.

But he also owed her an apology as well, and he wasn't sure if he could handle more than one of them at a time.

He didn't wish to interrupt the conversation, but Dodonna noticed him and Breha first, and he quickly tapped Bail on the arm. Bail raised a brow at him.

"What is it?" Fox heard him ask over the noise of the rest of the base, that was very much reaching the Room as well. Bail's head turned around as he followed Dodonna's eyes. "Is something- Fox!"

Fox felt weirdly almost giddy from the way Bail's face lit up as he saw him. Bail rounded the command table and crossed the rest of the room quickly in long strides, and Fox had barely the time to do anything before Bail had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

Yes, Fox was definitely tired. He carefully pulled his arms a little more apart from where they were pressed against Bail's body, and he leaned his head against his chest. His arms were definitely a bit more tingly than they had been a moment ago, but not yet numb. His feet were, for the most part, but he could still stand on them, so Fox ignored them for the time being.

For now, he simply closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

"I was so worried", Bail said.

"I know", Fox said. "I'm sorry."

Bail didn't day anything to that. Fox just felt him breathe in a little deeper as well, and his arms tightened ever so slightly around Fox.

They stayed like that for a while, before someone carefully cleared their throat somewhere behind Bail.

"My apologies, Senator Organa, but we need you in the command center."

"Of course." Bail loosened his hold on Fox and leaned away a bit, and that was the moment Fox's legs decided to not let themselves be ignored anymore, and made very clear the fact that leaning most of his weight onto Bail had been the only thing that had kept him upwards still.

His weight shifted forwards as Bail leaned back, and his knees buckled immediately. Bail was very quick to step back towards him and tighten his hold again, so Fox's didn't go crashing down onto the floor. He probably wouldn't have been able to stop his fall himself, as he couldn't feel currently anything below his knees and elbows.

Breha was quick to step in as well, as her hands came to keep Fox upright from his side, and together they managed to keep him somewhat upright still.

"Are you alright?" Breha asked. Fox felt a little guilty for being relieved over the fact that she didn't sound upset at him anymore.

"Yes", he said. He was a little out of breath now, despite the physical support. "I'm just a little tired."

They both knew what that meant. Bail let out a deep sigh.

"I think you are a bit more than a little tired, my love", he said. "I'll be in the command center in a moment. I'm just going to take my husband to our rooms to rest."

"Yes, Sir." Breha pushed him up a little more, so that Bail could more easily let go of him in order to bend down enough to lift Fox's legs on his arms.

"Watch your back", Fox reminded him.

"You watch your back", Bail shot back at him. He got his other arm properly around Fox's back and hoisted him up.

"Both of you watch it", Breha said. She put her hand on Fox's knee and patted it gently, before turning around. "It's better if we take you to our rooms anyway. Leia will hear sooner than later that you are here as well."

"I don't doubt that", Fox said. He leaned his head back against Bail as they started to make their way down the hall. It wasn't thankfully a long way to the lift from the Room, nor would it be from the lift to their quarters, if Fox had understood the layout of the base correctly. This was the first time he had been there in person, after all, so his only frame of reference were the drawings he had seen of the layout, and what Bail and Leia had told him about it. "I'm a bit surprised that she isn't already here."

"She is a bit busy at the moment", Breha said. "She has become quick friends with the pilot that made the final shot. He was the one who saved her from the battle station as well."

"Really?" Fox had not been able to see who he had communicated with, and General Kenobi that been the one to sign the messages between them, so Fox hadn't known who else exactly was there. "I should extend my gratitude to him as well."

"Yes." Breha hummed, thinking for a moment as they walked towards the lift. "You should meet him. His name is Luke Skywalker."

Fox's heart made a couple of extra beats.

He swallowed.

"I really should, then", he said.

They stepped into the lift.

"We should also warn you", Breha said, as the doors closed. "The moment Leia knows that you are here, everyone else is also going to know."

"Who is this 'everyone else' we are talking about?" Fox asked.

There was a strange sense of foreboding creeping up on him, now.

"There were others, too, going in to save Leia from the Death Star, and to sabotage the station", Breha said. "Some of them are here now, too. Including your brother."

This time, Fox's heart left out a couple of beats.

There was only one brother that Breha could refer to with such gravitas as she did now.

"Cody?" Fox managed to ask around the piece in his throat that had suddenly formed there. "Is Cody here?"

Breha breathed in, and nodded, and Fox realised that the day was far from being over for him.

[lapis-lights]

Car Lights [Part 2]

[Leon Kennedy x DSO Archivist!Reader]

Song Title: Car Lights by James Marriott

Content Warnings: Light NSFW in this part (18+ only), Female Reader, Slow Burn, Friends With Tension, Arguments, Angst, Pining, Gun Violence, Experiments, Near Death Experience, Alcohol Use, Smoking, Blood, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 13.2k out of 30.3k

Author's Notes: Part two! What did you guys think of the Capcom spotlight yesterday? I'm very excited!!!! Anyways, hope you guys like this part. I'm working on my next write so ye :D

Part 1 here

Summary: As Leon pinpoints your location and devises a plan to rescue you, you're enlightened to some grave news. Your humanity's time is a ticking clock, and there's no telling what may happen. The possibility that you may never get to tell Leon your feelings weighs precariously on your heart, though it seems that this is the end of the line for you.

As far as endings go, in your opinion, this one couldn't have gone worse.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"You can hold my hand in a crowded place, but just hold me close and hope that they don't see my face..."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Voices ring around you like a distant dream.

They fade in and out of your ears, floating delicately around your head as if determining whether or not they really wanted to be real. Your sight is dark, but you try reaching a hand out to follow the sound of people. You find it’s incredibly difficult to move at all–in fact, you can’t.

It’s alarming with the limited mobility, but it’s something you’ll have to try and work with. 

You strain to zero in on the voices, trying to make out the words and get a clue as to what was exactly happening. However, it’s difficult seeing as every syllable is muffled to the point that you can’t decipher what they say, and it’s frustrating that so many of your senses are limited. 

Was this a dream or were you strung in some sort of limbo in the real world? It’s hard to tell.

What happened? What led up to this moment?

You think hard about it, remembering that you’d woken up before the sun as usual, went to the office, and got a coffee before slipping quietly into the office with Ingrid. Ignoring her looks of sympathy, you’d immediately gotten to work trying not to think about a certain DSO agent who had your emotions in the palm of his hand. At the end of the day when the reports finally slowed down and you had pushed your body to its limit, you went home.

You wrote in your journal, tears drying on your cheeks as you admit your undying love for Leon for the thousandth time. 

That thought makes you pause.

You really do love him, don’t you? Or was it something else?

Where did the line draw itself between love and obsession? Were you just happy that someone you admired for so long finally noticed you back or did you genuinely like what you saw in Leon? 

Leon…

His harsh words had struck a chord in your heart, but for some reason, you still can’t help but be hopelessly drawn to him. You think that if the world was ending, you might still follow him to the ends of the earth. You’d stare into those azure eyes that provided a window to his soul and agree to go with him wherever he wanted to take you. That was what trust was, at least, but what did it entail?

Silently, in your mind, you apologize to Leon.

Silently, you say goodbye.

And you wake up.

The first thing you notice is the texture of the walls, carved out roughly like it was a rock wall and you notice that it's damp, wet stone beneath your palms and the air pumping with humidity. The space you had been lying in was cramped, barely giving you enough height to stand up and wide enough just to fit your form into it. Rusted iron bars keep you trapped with torches providing dim lighting. 

Where were you?

A sense of dread hangs over your shoulders and an uneasy churning begins stirring in your stomach. The more important question to ask was if anybody in the world knew where you were at. The possibility of the answer being no only made you silently panic even more.

"Ah, so she finally awakes!"

The sudden voice causes you to scramble back as far as you can get, which isn't much to be honest. You focus in on the figure who steps into the light, gray skin and unnatural eye color coming into view. It looks like a human man enough, but something about it doesn't seem right, though the scene is all too familiar in the wrong ways.

"Who are you?" Your throat is incredibly dried out and attempting to speak only draws attention to your thirst. Your limbs feel weak, your body exhausted, but from what, you can't tell.

"You should know more than anybody, no?" The stranger smiles and it's all rotting teeth. "After all, you've read the reports. You know the stories. But I supposed you could call me…Lucifer. How about that?"

“Very creative,” you say, unimpressed. “I’m sure Satan is down in Hell shuddering right now. What about you should I know? As far as I know, we’ve never met.”

“Never directly, no,” Lucifer tilts his head. “Think about it.”

It takes a moment of staring before it clicks in your mind. The appearance of a human, but truly nothing more than an overly animated corpse. The rotting, the gray skin. Eyes that were unnaturally yellow in a way nobody's could be unless you were…

"You're a member of Los Illuminados."

"Very quick witted! I'm impressed," he says giddily. "Though, I should expect nothing short of the archivist for the DSO, should I?"

Something isn't right. It isn't adding up. "How do you know who I am?"

"We have some time, I suppose," he muses, checking a watch that isn't there. "You're not going anywhere anytime soon, after all."

You don't answer him on that, but you get up and cross your arms close to your chest. Still, doubt hangs on your mind, untrusting of this guy. Almost all the members of Los Illuminados were wiped out when Leon saved Ashley from them, but only a sparse set of them survived. You didn't expect that they were still in operation, and less so targeting anybody DSO. 

"We had the right idea with Ashley Graham," he begins, pacing across the span of your prison so you can keep an eye on him from the other side of the bars. "But, of course, our plans were rather rudely disrupted by an unwelcome guest...You know him well, don't you?"

Your glare at him.

"Right," Lucifer chuckles as if this were all some joke. "We still intend to implant a mole in the DSO to pass us the information we need. Thankfully, you'll be happy to know that we developed a new branch of Las Plagas, and what better subject to test it on than the most informed member we could think of?"

You purse your lips tightly, finally understanding. "You intend to infect me. I'm supposed to be the mole."

A statement, not a question.

"Close, you're very close." He finally stops his steps, coming closer and wrapping his hands around the bars, leaning forward so that his face is pressed against the spaces in between the rusted metal. "Your humanity is slipping as we speak, for we already implanted the parasite."

Horror. 

Terror wracks your body as his words ring in your ears and your body suddenly gives in so violently, you have to sit down and tuck yourself into the corner of your cell. For some reason, it just doesn't process. "So I'm just ticking down to becoming some mindless flesh bag for your use."

"Not at all," he seems delighted by your response. "I know you're a rather intelligent young woman. Beautiful too. I'm honored that you'll be under my control when the Plagas takes hold of your body, and I'll be sure to let you have your conscience when I'm all done playing with you."

You want to vomit at his feet just to prove a point. "Bold assumption."

"It's not an assumption, my dear," Lucifer smiles wickedly. "It's only a matter of time."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"You wound me with your words," he backs away from the bars, sending you a smile that makes your skin crawl. "But, I'd seriously consider your plans. You could be powerful, you know. This strain of Las Plagas has abilities that go beyond your wildest imaginations."

That's exactly what you're afraid of. "I'll pass."

"A shame," he simpers, shaking his head. "Humanity was a good look for you."

You close your eyes and lean against the wall as the member's footsteps retreat and a door slams somewhere, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

It seems that this is the end of the road. 

In the middle of nowhere, you don't have any form of communication with the agency and definitely no way to contact anybody. It's just been revealed your time is limited since Los Illuminados already infected you with the Plagas, presumably the strain that DSO had centered the meeting around. If that's true, it's likely that you only had a day or so, depending on how long it took for the Plagas to hatch and attach itself to your nerves.

When Leon was in Spain, he was able to stay conscious enough to locate an extraction device, which judging by his report of the incident, targeted the Plagas inside of his body by some form of radiation that killed off the parasite. You sincerely doubt there's something like that around here, and moreover, you doubt you have the ability to sneak out and find it without a problem. 

You know basic defense. You know simple hand-to-hand strategies and you know how to use a gun, but that wasn't enough. 

It's hard not to cry, but you try to think rationally about what might happen. Your conscience might stay, but your will won't be your own. You'll become a weapon for these people, and you won't have a choice in the matter. You'll have to watch the bloodshed be on your hands as you kill without hesitation.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you finally admit it.

The next time you meet Leon, it's very very likely you won't even be yourself at all.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Nothing but the engine could be heard in Leon's ears, but his thoughts are just as equally, if not more, loud. 

He'd been on edge ever since the search in your apartment, and only a few mere hours later, the agency had pinned down your potential location. The abandoned lab, which the squad had been due to anyway, was the prime suspect since that's where they were most likely keeping the new Plagas infection, and by extension, you. 

There was hardly any time to pack. There was barely any need to.

The objective was clear as day–recover you and destroy the lab upon leaving. 

While the government clearly only cared about your return because of the information you have on them regarding their activity, Leon cared about your safety and whether you would be alive or not. He needs to see you with his own eyes, hoping that you weren’t just another life added to the endless list of the dead. 

A hand drifts up and his fingers lightly brush over his lips. 

He needs to bring you home.

It only took two more hours before Leon was gearing up, loading all of his guns with ammo and making sure his knife was sharp enough to slice through any dangers he might encounter. The rest of the soldiers accompanying him were performing similar tasks, readying themselves for the fight ahead. 

One of them glances at Leon and he can feel the weight of their gaze.

“Hey, man.” He sounds incredibly awkward. “We’ll save her, okay? Then we can go back and you guys can finally get together like everybody in the agency has been waiting for you to.”

Leon stops, staring at the soldier. “What?”

“Nobody’s blind.” The guy’s eyes crinkle with a small smile. “We can all tell that you’d give her the world if she asked for it, yeah?”

He would. He just didn’t expect it to be that obvious.

Wordlessly, Leon nodded and resumed his work, organizing his thoughts and taking deep breaths in and out. He can’t screw this up for a second. He may be DSO’s best agent, but he’s also just a man who’s susceptible to emotion just as much as anybody else when it comes to you in particular. 

The comm comes on overhead notifying the agents that the plane was landing near the site. It was only a simple trek to the lab from there.

“Alright, listen up,” Leon says and all the men sit to attention. He looks at them one by one while speaking. “We all know our goal–DSO’s archivist has been kidnapped for information and our top priority is to find and secure her safely back to the rendezvous point. Our second goal is searching for any research regarding the Plagas virus, which means that there’s every possibility that the undead are gonna be roaming around here. Aim for the head. Shoot their legs if you need time. Remember the procedure if one of you gets infected, and do not hesitate. The third goal is to plant the explosives so we can blow this place apart when we're done. One of our own is in that lab right now waiting for us. Are we clear?”

A chorus of, “Yes sir!” goes around.

Leon nods and feels the plane dip lower and lower. He quiets his nerves as the ground comes into view and everybody prepares to move out. You’re so close now, he can almost feel your presence looming in the distance, watching and waiting. 

The moment his shoes hit the dirt, his mind flies into business mode. All of the stress bleeds away and all that’s left is the familiar thoughts of analytic strategizing. 

“Straits and Levy, lead into the left wing. Santos, Novak, go right. Hudson and Reed, center field. The rest of you divide up evenly. I’m going down into the basement. I’ll call for backup if I’m having complications, and you all do the same. Understood?”

Affirmations ring through Leon’s earpiece and he pushes forward. 

The lab is overgrown. Covered in ivy and rusted to the point that the walls themselves looked like they were peeling. It didn’t take long to locate an entrance and break it open. Leon simply shot the lock and the door swung inward. 

A Ganado flees from within as if just waiting to be freed. It hisses, spits saliva, and shouts profanities at the sight of the DSO agents. Some of the rookies shout in alarm before Leon shoots it down easily with a few handgun bullets. He motions the others to follow him inside, and some share quiet words as they step over the limp body and head inside. 

Flashlights on their guns provide just enough light to illuminate the dark space. As the others split up into the groups Leon had instructed them into, he finds the hallway that leads down into the basement just as he had been looking for.

When he opens the door, undead that weren’t of the Ganado type, screech at the intrusion. Leon dodges the first one that lunges for him, ducking a second’s attempt to catch him off guard. They fall down in a tangle of limbs and two bullets to each of their heads take them out. He returns his gun to his holster, sidestepping another that comes up behind him. He latches onto one of its arms and twists it so that he could slit its neck with his knife. It falls down with an anguished moan as he presses forward without a second thought.

Leon finds a labyrinth of prison cells that are hardly more than large holes carved into the rock walls. Some had dried blood streaked on the rocks and others held shackles containing severed arms and limbs that were stripped down to bone. It's obvious that they were doing more than just researching at this lab, though it's not uncommon for Umbrella to be performing unethical human experimentation. 

Actually, it's no surprise at all. 

He pulls his gun out and shoots a zombie that rounds the corner of the corridor he walks in, and the bullets sound louder in the echoey cavern. It's humid down here and Leon can already feel the perspiration on his skin. 

He strains to listen in the following silence and freezes when he hears something very human. It's gone just as quickly as it came and Leon begins to think that he had just imagined it until a violent cough rings out. 

He takes off, following the direction of the noise as one cough had led to two and then broke into a whole fit. It sounds painful, like the person was hacking up an entire lung or something along the lines. Whoever it was, they were lucky to be alive considering all of the presumed deaths judging by the earlier cells. Speaking of which, there were countless more of those tiny jail cells, with broken iron bars and more dried blood. Just how many people were sacrificed down here? 

Finally, Leon approached the source of the coughing, sliding to a stop in front of a cell that had its door locked tightly. 

There, cramped inside of it was you. 

Your skin was streaked with dirt, sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, the last thing you were wearing before you were kidnapped. Your hair was greasy and tangled to the point that it would take hours just to unravel it all. Your eyes were sunken in, dark bags hanging under them like you hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since you got here. To be fair, you probably didn't, and he can't fault you for that.

Worst of all is the blood pooling around your mouth, dribbling to your chin, and staining your shirt. Your veins are colored black, threading through your body and reaching up towards your eyes.

Your gaze finds him, and though he didn't expect an entire celebration, he's alarmed when you have little to no reaction at all. Instead, you tuck your head back into your knees from where your legs fold against your chest.

"Your hallucinogenic gas doesn't work on me anymore, asshole," you mumble brokenly, and Leon's heart manages to fracture more than it already had at your state. "I know he's not really here so fuck off already."

He steps forward, places a hand on the bars gently and frowns. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, unable to stop the nickname from falling from his lips. "What the hell did they do to you?"

Your head shoots up immediately, that old fire returning to your eyes, even if a mere spark. "Leon?"

"Yeah. It's me," he assures, rattling the bars of your cage. "How do we get this open?"

Instead of immediately jumping to your feet to assist him like he hoped you would, your expression turns panicked, shaking your head furiously despite flinching at the pain it causes. "Wait, Leon, no, save yourself." You beg weakly, curling up tighter. "It's not safe. I'm not safe."

Unintentionally, he growls. "What did they do to you?" He demands, ignoring your pleas. 

There's an aching in your bones, tension rippling beneath your skin just waiting to burst through. It's just a matter of time, and it was terrifying. Your internal clock is counting down the minutes, and there's no telling when you might turn.

"They injected me with a variant of Las Plagas," you rush out. "The one that the DSO met us about–it’s already hatched and clearly I don't have much time yet. You need to go!"

"Absolutely not," Leon snaps. "I'm taking you home."

"Listen to me," you plead. "I don't know when this thing is going to take hold of me, but when it does, there's no telling what I'll do. You need to find the Los Illuminados member responsible–he's somewhere in this building–says his name is Lucifer, which is fucking stupid if you ask me-"

"Heard on that, and I'll let the squad know to be on the lookout," he grits his teeth. "But to hell with him, I'm getting you out."

"Why won't you just go already?!" You shout, frustrated with his stubbornness at the moment. "I'm a liability, Leon, you can't-"

"Because I'm not leaving you again, goddamnit!" Leon's voice echoes harshly like a cannon's blast, devastating and deafening. 

You can't immediately form a response to that. The silence hangs tensely in the air as Leon breathes in and out shakily, before looking up at you with pleading ocean eyes. His hands wrap around the bars desperately. 

"I can't lose you again," he says quietly, softly. "I can't–not when you're right here in front of me."

You stared at him only a moment longer, thinking maybe it was time you stopped trying to self-sacrifice in the name of good, even if it was something you didn't agree with. Perhaps it would save you both from a lot of heartaches in the future. 

You finally give in.

"Okay," you finally concede. "Let's get this door open."

Leon perks up at your allowance, immediately scanning to lock to try and find a weak spot in it. "I'd try shooting it, but your space is so small, I could hit you."

"Do you know how to lockpick?" You ask hopefully. 

"I do, but not with anything I have on me right now," Leon admits. 

You blink owlishly at him before suppressing a laugh, earning a confused look from him. "You could use your knife, silly."

He's missed you. God, Leon's missed you.

Even with bloody lips and a virus pumping through your blood as you spoke, he finds that little comfort in knowing you're still the same you even for this moment. 

He pulls out his knife and holds it out to you as you get up and groan, hand on your chest as you gasp for air. Alarmed, Leon startles so harshly that the iron bars clash violently, but you merely give him a strained smile. 

"I'll walk it off," you attempt at humor, accepting the knife and jamming it into the lock. As you feel your way through the mechanisms, you glance up at him. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course," he watches as the lock clicks and his breath hitches. "Even if I wasn't under orders, I'd have torn down this place looking for you."

The door swings open and you look up at him, holding the knife back out to him. The blade flashes and the RPD logo shines in the torchlight. When Leon takes and sheaths it, he hesitates, eyes flicking from the passageway he came to you. You almost want to ask him what's wrong, but before you can speak he cuts you off.

Arms wrap around you and pull you to his chest, but it's not alarming the way it had been when you were kidnapped. This is warm, like finally coming home after a long arduous journey. It was familiar and yet foreign–you almost forgot what being in his arms felt like. It didn't take any time for you to return the embrace, squeezing your arms around his torso just as hard as he held you. 

His nose buries into your hair, not caring about its condition and just caring that you're here and alive. He ensures you are real under his embrace on your waist and back, feeling the heat of your skin beneath his calloused palms, and it soothes him knowing you weren't completely infected yet. He didn't have to gun you down–didn't have to harm you in any way like he had been fearing. 

"I missed you," Leon mumbles, so softly you almost miss it.

The vulnerability in his words catch you off guard, but it makes your chest tingle in that familiar way that he always made you feel. There's something underlying his words that you can read between the lines for. He didn't just miss you now. 

Leon's missed you since your argument. 

The realization makes you soften immediately. Safe to say, the sentiment was mutual. 

"I missed you too," you sigh, pulling away but threading your fingers with his. "We need to figure out a way to get rid of the Plagas in me before I lose my will, and I don't know if there's an extraction device anywhere around here." 

"Right," Leon nods, pressing on his earpiece. "Come in. I've located and recovered Agent (L/n), but she's infected with the new variant of Las Plagas and it's spreading fast. We need to either find an extraction device or get her to one of our labs as soon as possible."

"Copy that," one of the agents replies. "I'm fairly certain that I saw something similar to one in the left wing of the lab, though it looks more complicated than the one you and Graham used."

"It's a more advanced strain, so I'm not surprised," he begins moving down the passageway, pulling you by hand and refusing to let go. "We're heading up now. I need as many men as possible to meet us at the stairs and provide cover."

"She doesn't have any way to defend herself?"

"There's nothing more I would like than to give her a gun, but there's no telling when the Plagas might kick in. It's too high of a stake."

"Heard on that. We're heading to you now."

You and Leon make your way out of the dungeon, and you almost cry out in relief at the feeling of fresh air free of the crushing humidity you'd been forced to endure. However, you don't get too long to dwell on it before Leon tugs you along to a different portion of the lab.

Some of his men join you, bump arms with you and send their relief that you're alright. You thank them with a smile, letting Leon lead you to your next destination. There are countless sections, and they're a lot more modern than the workings of the torture dungeon. Each one contains some kind of advanced equipment that you couldn't even begin to attempt to name. 

Somewhere along the way between labs and quarantine rooms, a stabbing pain floods your chest. It catches you so off guard that you stumble, alerting Leon immediately when he feels your grip almost slip from his.

A wriggling feeling in your head starts up like something was trying to finger its way out. You panic, thinking of the parasite in your body and that it might be breaking out now, and you look to Leon for any guidance. The pain and soreness travel down your body, and you fall to your knees with a cry.

"What's wrong?!" Leon jumps to your aid, kneeling by your side and pressing his fingers to the pulse point on your neck. "(Y/n), you gotta tell me what's happening."

You wheeze, struggling to breathe. "We need to hurry," you manage to whisper. "It's happening-"

A cough tears its way from your throat and it feels like the tissue of your muscles is ripping you apart from the inside out. Tears prick at your eyes as if it feels like something is trying to rip its way from inside your body. Time was running out, the last few minutes hanging precariously in front of your eyes. Your body turns cold to the touch but it feels like you’re burning alive. Your life begins flashing before your eyes and you struggle to hold on.

Leon takes the initiative and scoops you up into his arms, supporting your knees and back. You curl graciously into his chest, but you can’t find the strength to voice it, more blood dribbles down your chin and your conscience begins slipping. 

You can tell Leon’s trying to run as smoothly as he can, but the urgency in his footsteps makes it difficult. The effort is appreciated nonetheless. A door bursts open in your ears and Leon places you rather haphazardly onto a seat that’s vaguely reminiscent of the ones you dread during dentist visits.

As you close your eyes, Leon begins navigating the screen to extract the Plagas and the machine whirs to life, locking your arms down to the chair. He finds the x-ray to be horrific, seeing the parasite had attached itself to your lungs, which explains your difficulty breathing, and has grown to almost cover the whole organ. 

Leon is about to press the option to remove it, ready for this whole damn thing to be over.

His hand hovers over the screen…

…And you grab his arm.

It’s an iron-tight grip with a strength that you’ve never had before, breaking through the iron restraints on the machine. Your eyes open to reveal red pupils, your expression simply blank as your head slowly turns to look at him. Leon opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance to when you get up from the chair with inhuman speed. 

He doesn’t even get the chance to process what was happening before you were at his backside, kicking him down and backing away to stand at the other end of the room.

Leon groans, getting to his knees, looking for you desperately. Behind you, a figure approaches in Los Illuminados robes, and a sinister smile on his dead lips. This must be the guy that was behind it all, Leon realizes. 

Lucifer. It really was a dumb fucking alias.

“You didn’t think I would really make it that easy, did you Mr. Kennedy?” he taunts, tilting his head and you copy the action. “Such an obedient little puppet I have here. Do you want to play with her?”

“You have thirty seconds to let her go,” Leon spits, holding up his hand for his men to be on standby. “You don’t want to know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“Or what?” the man muses. “You’ll kill me? You’ll have to get through her before you get to do that.”

He falters, looking from you to him while slowly formulating a plan. Somehow, he needs to separate you from the cult member controlling you and get you into the chair so his men could handle your extraction while Leon took on taking the fucker’s last breath. He keeps his eyes on the man, pressing on his earpiece and relaying the message to his squad.

Leon removes the gun from his holster, reloading it so that it was at full capacity, and sends a stiff glare to the man. “Thirty seconds are up,” he says. 

The man smiles, too wide and with nothing but yellowed teeth. 

Leon lunges and you copy his movements. You shriek, gurgling like you were drowning in your own lungs as you go to grab him. He dodges your attempts, numbing himself to the feelings as he kicks you roughly in the gut and sends you reeling back with a cough. 

Your red irises lock onto him and you scream incoherently, faking left and going right to tackle him to the ground. Leon grunts, losing the grip on his gun in favor of apprehending your wrists, twisting his head away from where you try to bite him. He struggles before managing to roll onto his side and kicking you away. He just knows there's going to be bruises forming when you get out of here.

Leon gets to his feet and grabs his gun, sprinting toward you and sliding down to crouch by your side. He roughly pins your arms behind your back and motions to his men. 

"Now!" He shouts and they all replace his hands and hoist you up to carry you to the extraction device. Your figure flails wildly as you scream, though it sounds all wrong and too animalistic to really be you.

The guy’s expression is so priceless, Leon almost laughs at it, but even he didn’t deserve that privilege. 

As his men start strapping you down into the chair, the cult member himself screeches angrily, lowering his hood and revealing almost paper-white skin. His own red eyes are filled with rage as he stumbles to the ground and screams.

Leon watches as Lucifer mutates with pained shouts, gruesome in a sort of Las Plagas way he hasn't encountered in a long while. The skin slides off of him in slimy puddles to reveal bone and a wriggling parasite underneath on his chest. It’s grotesque with his ribcage exposed and arms and legs bulging with pus-filled flesh as he grows in size almost to the size of the El Gigantes he’s faced before in Spain. 

The ceiling arches up high enough to fit him, and Leon realizes this must have been the plan all along. Hollowed-out eyes direct themselves to him and the newly mutated cult member roars.

With one worried glance to check that his men were still working on operating the extraction machine, he faces this new version of Lucifer with a grimace.

To be fair Leon’s survived worse.

“Same as it ever was,” he mutters under his breath, pointing the barrel of his gun to the mutant.

Meanwhile, you were thrashing wildly in the chair as the team of men strapped you in and one of them operated around on the screen. There were multiple configuration settings, having to choose which parts of your body to attack and options on what type of parasite they were killing. Your veins grow darker and you screech, struggling violently against your bindings.

“There’s not much time until the bastard can cause her to mutate too,” one of the agents points out. “We need to hurry.”

Leon slides under the incoming blow from Lucifer, rolling to his feet and seeing the ground broken where he had just been. He shoots the exposed parasite that was pulsing in the chest. Yellow pus explodes from where the bullet had hit. A couple more shots have the mutant screaming in rage and frustration, barreling toward Leon with heavy steps that shook the whole room.

He shoots the parasite two more times before dodging the mutant grabbing at him. He dances around Lucifer, peppering him with bullets, and the sound of gunshots from other agents conjoined with his. 

Leon watches as the mutant shrieks, blood running down its body and oozing pus as it grabs a cabinet and rips it off the wall. 

In a display of timing, he manages to dodge it when Lucifer launches it at him. Wood splinters upon its impact on the wall. Leon backs away, covered in body fluids that weren’t his, and aims his gun at the parasite once more. He only had one more bullet before he had to reload, thinking it was time to use the rifle he was equipped with. 

Lucifer lunges unexpectedly, and Leon goes to dodge. Large hands close around his torso and he’s lifted off the ground. He immediately struggles, coming face to face with the ugly fucker and working to remove his right arm. Though, it’s proving difficult when the grip around him is becoming tighter and stronger.

“Fool,” Lucifer grumbles out, his voice octaves deeper and reverberating off the walls. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“That’s a shame,” Leon wheezes out, wriggling his wrist rapidly. “The party was just getting started.”

He frees his hand and grabs his knife from its sheath on his shoulder. Leon plunges the blade into the mutant’s thumb, and it lets out a horrid screech before dropping him to the floor.

He grunts upon impact, lifting himself shakily and looking up at Lucifer with heaving breaths of air. He scrambles for the knife that drops with a clink  to the floor next to him and returns it to his scabbard. A shrill scream draws both of their attention and Leon sees that the men seem to have figured out how to operate this version of the extraction machine. The machinery whirs to life and mechanisms descend downward towards you. 

It seems that the mutant understood what was happening as well.

Lucifer howls, making a beeline for you and the other agents surrounding you. 

“Shoot the parasite!” Leon commands hotly, getting to his feet and loading the rifle from his back as he ran. “The knees!”

He passes the mutant, sliding to a stop on the frontlines and pressing his eye to the scope of his gun. Leon breathes out, aims, and pulls the trigger.

The Las Plagas parasite explodes.

It falls to the ground with a moist thud and Leon watches as the mutation seems to recede and rebuild itself back into Lucifer’s former image, though the bullet holes have left much to be desired. He’s still somewhat of a man, and apparently still alive as he pulls himself to his feet with a pathetic moan.

Leon aims his gun and shoots Lucifer in the knees. As he stumbles back to the ground worthlessly, he reaches for you with a cry. 

"My masterpiece," he wails and the blood only boils hotter in Leon. "You can't take her from me! She's my magnum opus! My life's work!"

Snarling, Leon rips his knife from its sheath and launches it so that it pierces into the cult member's arm and pins him to the ground. The man screams, but Leon has no remorse as he approaches him, ripping the weapon out and almost relishing in the way he started screaming in agony upon the blood that comes gushing from the wound. 

Leon flips him over and glares darkly into his rotting eyes. "Let's get one thing straight, fucker," he spits, grabbing a fistful of the cult member's collar and raising him up off the floor. "She's not your anything–she's mine."

That's the only last words Leon allows him to process before pressing the barrel of his handgun to the cult member’s and pulling the trigger. 

The silence that follows is nothing but the aftermath of a battle. Blood coats Leon’s skin thickly, though a majority of it isn’t his own. Throughout the whole fight, he only suffered minor injuries from scuffing the floor and being thrown around a little. In the bigger picture, he’s fought larger and worse bioweapons than some random guy who didn’t really know what he was getting into playing around with parasites and viruses. 

Not forgetting his top priority, Leon gets to his feet and swivels around, striding in your direction. The agents part like the Red Sea for him as the extraction device works its magic. It’s clear you’re in pain by the way you jerk roughly and whine weakly, though Leon simply bites his cheek and watches your x-ray on the screen. 

The parasite on your lungs wriggles desperately, trying to escape the assault. A few tense seconds of futile struggle pass before it gives up and disintegrates in on itself. As a result, you finally stop resisting and the blackened veins under your skin begin receding. 

Leon breathes out silently in relief. 

He looks at his team and nods.

They managed to have no casualties, and they'd completed all of their goals. All that was left to do was blow this place sky high and go home. 

He turns back to your unconscious body, knowing that you’re probably exhausted by the strain the Plagas had put on you. Leon gently caresses your hair, hoping that his intent reached you even as you were sleeping. 

And finally, he started to feel something similar to peace.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Unlike your dream in the black void of the dungeon, this time, you find yourself completely surrounded by white.

You can see yourself as you look down, find yourself able to move freely and willingly, though it feels floaty and not at all natural. It's not something you'll complain about, though. It's better you can move in a dream rather than not being able to at all.

You glance around, finding nothing but white space. 

This couldn't be real. Did you die during the extraction process? Surely not, though you hate to admit that the parasite had made you incredibly weak. Coughing up blood the first time was bad enough, but after the proceeding fits, you may as well have been throwing the stuff up. Still, you could remember everything during the time you were possessed right up until you had blacked out from the machine. 

You'd fought Leon briefly, yet he still insisted on helping you. 

"You know," a familiar voice yanks you out of your deep thoughts. "You really are in denial."

You swirl around to find the source of the voice, only to furrow your eyebrows in confusion as Leon seems to materialize from an invisible fog. He's the same as he always was with the same handsome features you've spent admiring for an untold amount of hours, but something seems incredibly off. Your gut doesn't like it and neither do you.

"Is that so?" You frown. "I don't suppose you'll tell me who you are?"

"C'mon, (Y/n)," he grins, holding his arms out. "It's just me."

"You're not real, though," you counter. "For all I know you're just a figment of my imagination telling me what I want to hear."

"If that was true, I'd tell you I hate you," Leon shrugs, coming to stand next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

His palm lacks the warmth it should have.

"What?"

"You've really gotta stop trying to be the hero of this whole ordeal," he says, facing you. "You're trying to protect his reputation in the workplace and the last thing you'd want to do is get him in trouble, so realistically you want him to hate you. But he doesn't."

"Bummer," you sigh and sit down. He joins you. 

It's odd, floating with an image of your best friend who is very much not real. For a dream, it's incredibly vivid, though. 

"Why do you insist on refusing to be with him?" Leon asks. "Since you like him so much and obviously he likes you too."

"Does he really, though?"

"That's the whole reason he had that argument with you, yeah? What was it he said? Something about how you were acting like it only affected one of you guys?"

You cringe. "Yeah."

"Well, did you ever consider what he might've really meant by that?"

You look up at Leon confused, drawing your knees to your chest. "What do you mean?"

He leans back lazily. "I mean, instead of him seemingly accusing you that you were only thinking of yourself, perhaps he meant that you were only thinking of him and his reputation? What it might entail for him was always on your mind–you're considerate like that–but did you ever consider yourself?"

You blink dumbly and shake your head. "Y'know you're really bad at impersonating Leon. He'd never try giving me a free therapy session."

"Ouch. I'm trying my best here."

"I know you are."

"I'm just saying," Leon says, "maybe you should start thinking about yourself. It would probably hurt him knowing that you don't think yourself worthy of him."

"That's because I'm not," you sigh. One big circle, this argument was. "He's the best agent DSO has to offer and I'm some coworker who keeps her head in the computers. Tell me how it would ever work out."

"You can maintain an appropriate workplace appearance while dating. It's just a matter if the two parties are mature enough to pull it off. Besides, I'm sure he doesn't care about status–which, you're a part of the DSO as well, so I don't really see the problem there–as long as you make him happy."

That shuts you up.

"You know that he loves you, don't you?" Leon asks after a bout of silence.

Your breath hitches–as much as it can in a dream, anyway.

The question makes you ponder everything that has happened. Everything Leon did, you just wrote it off as something of his flirtatious demeanor who had nothing better to do than hit on any woman he came across. Hunnigan was most notable in this scenario, but really any female coworker was fair game. However, you don't think he necessarily went to their house to have dinner and watch movies and just sit on a cheap couch to talk for hours without getting bored.

You always knew it. You were just scared to admit it. 

You were scared of Leon loving you as much as you loved him.

"Yeah," you answer quietly. "He really does, doesn't he?"

The Leon of your head smiles, familiar even as a facade. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest just like the night you had shared cigarettes together and it's just like you remembered. It lacks the warmth that made the whole hug worth it, but for now, you can deal with cold comfort. 

You close your eyes.

"Do you wanna go back?" Leon asks.

You shrug non-committedly. "Not yet. I kinda just wanna stay here with you for a second."

"Okay," he says.

"You're not real," you whisper, reminding yourself that this safe space is nothing more than temporary. "Leon's out there in the real world, isn't he?"

"Probably worrying his ass off if anything," Not-Leon muses. "Promise you'll make an effort once you get out of here? Not only for his happiness, but for yours as well."

It's a challenge, being told to care for more than just Leon and trying to do what you think is best for him. But…if you being happy made him happy by proxy, then there really was no argument to have, was there?

You love Leon S. Kennedy. 

And he loves you too.

"I promise," you say, and you know it's true.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The night is nothing but rain and stormy weather. While everybody was out celebrating their successful mission, Leon found himself in the confines of his own apartment–the very one he hated. 

Only a yellow light above his dinner table illuminates the space, and he has a glass of hard whiskey that attempts to quiet his nerves like an old companion. It doesn't work very well. After they had returned home, you were taken to a hospital immediately to record your body and search for any traces of the Plagas that might still reside in you. Leon wasn't able to go with you, but he supposes it's fair in a sense. He just hopes you're okay.

Hunnigan had contacted him soon after they had admitted you in, thanking Leon for bringing you home and doing everything he could. It was some semblance of comfort, though it wasn't very strong.

Thunder rolls in the background.

Leon sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose roughly and massaging the spot in hopes of relieving the headache he had gained. Sleep has been far and few in between since stress loves to keep him up often, but can anybody really blame him for being so worried for you? As much as he hates to admit it, you're not capable of keeping yourself safe the way you should. Leon thinks that he should give you personal training sometime to prevent something like this happening again, though he doubts he'll want you to leave his sight for a while.

The thought makes him pause.

Since when has he grown so possessive over you?

Fuck, he really was in too deep, wasn't he? How you had managed to break through the rough exterior he put up was beyond him, looking past his status and persona to see the real Leon, bruised and bloodied and ruinous. You disregarded the murder on his hands, understood him in a way nobody did before, and became a sanctuary that he felt safe enough to thrive in. 

Nobody else has done that before. Not even the likes of Claire or even Ada.

What would he even say when he saw you again? It was clear that you were on better terms than you had been previously, but the wound from your argument in the archives still hurt like it was fresh so the two of you definitely needed to sort it all out. He needs you to know that he fucked up, and it was something that wouldn't happen again.

He needs you to know that-

Three quiet knocks is all it took to pull him from his storm of thoughts.

Leon looks up, confused. He wasn't expecting any visitors tonight and all the likely candidates were already busy and never mentioned making a pit stop to him. Just to be safe, he grabs Matilda and loads it before getting up from the table and making his way to the front door. As he gets closer, he can hear the pounding of the pouring rain. It's heavy tonight.

When Leon opens the door, your figure stands on the other side completely drenched from the weather. Your eyes light up upon seeing him, but the bags beneath your eyes show how tired you really are. All that you have is a duffel bag and a backpack.

For a second, all you do is stare at each other, and the ambience of the pattering rain sounds like rhythmic drum beats.

"I had nobody else to go to," you finally say as a poor explanation. "But I can go somewhere else if you want."

Those words yank Leon out of his stupor and he shakes his head, opening the door wider and ushering you in with gentle sounds. He peeks out, making sure you weren't followed and shuts the door before double locking it and checking it. When he turns around, he finds you watching him anxiously and shifting from foot to foot like you didn't know what to do with yourself. To be fair, you haven't been in his apartment nearly as much as he'd been in yours. 

His whole body laxes as if just the sight of you was enough to put all his worries at rest.

"C'mon," he invites, pressing a hand to the small of your back and guiding you down the hall. "Let's go run you a shower."

Once he sets you up and offers to take your clothes to wash, he leaves you to settle in, telling you that you can pick any of the spare guest rooms (there were many unnecessary ones) and to make yourself at home. In the meantime, he decides that whiskey probably isn't the best thing to be having when the object of his affections just showed up on his doorstep.

Instead, Leon settles for something more mild. 

The coffee just finishes brewing when you walk in shyly, hair wet and an oversized t-shirt hanging loosely on your frame. You find that he's set out two steaming mugs alongside countless flavors of creamers and syrups. Your heart warms at the gesture as you slowly get closer to him. 

"Help yourself," Leon prods gently, nonjudgmentally as he stirs in his own choice of combination. "I don't use everything as much as I should be, to be fair."

"Thank you," you say because you won't forget your manners as you select your flavorings. The underlying tension is deep enough that you can feel it in the air like some bubble waits to burst open, scattering everything into a flurry of a mess. You'd just have to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. "Listen, Leon-"

"Let's go get comfortable on the couch," he interrupts not unkindly. "It'll be less stressful if we're in a familiar setting."

Side by side on a sofa, the place where you two seemed to always find yourselves no matter what scenario. It's your thing, and the sentiment makes you happy, even if only for a little.

"Okay."

As promised, you find yourself sitting across from him, stirring your coffee together and struggling not to lose your nerve. Maybe it was a mistake coming here right after you'd been released from the hospital. Maybe you just ruined his whole night.

"I'm sorry I showed up out of nowhere," you begin, keeping your eyes on the way the liquid swirls in your cup with the spoon. "I know you like to expect people rather than them suddenly invading your space."

Leon shakes his head slightly. "You're not invading. I've told you before that this apartment is here for you just as much as it is for me, yeah?"

He has. Those words ring a distant bell in your head. 

Another silence lapses as you try to gather the courage to just put out the words you've been meaning to say for weeks. There's theoretically nothing to be scared of, no monsters to run from, or any life or death scenario hanging in the balance. It was just Leon–it always has been. You just have to find the strength to show him the deepest parts of yourself and hope that you've molded your heart into something good enough to present to him.

You're not scared.

You're terrified. 

There's nothing to run from.

Leon's reaction will make or break you.

You love him. He loves you.

But does he really?

"I-" your voice cracks already and that's enough to make heat flame to your cheeks in embarrassment. 

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Leon assures, "but we do need to talk at some point."

"I know," you swallow, setting down your drink and twisting your hands nervously in your lap.

"How about we start with why you came here? I know you were being tested for any missed traces of Las Plagas that still might've been in your system."

Bless him–that was an easy enough question to start off with. 

"They dispatched me after giving me the all-clear and giving me doses of pills to take. They're the finalized versions of the suppressants that you took while you were in Spain to prolong the maturing of the parasites," you explain, pressing your lips together and breathing in and out. "They wanted me to stay with somebody, though. My apartment is a dead zone now since Los Illuminados and whoever else knows where I live. I would've asked Hunnigan but…"

You pause, wondering if you were really going through with this. Leon waits patiently, understanding without saying anything. 

"I wanted to go somewhere I knew I'd feel safe," you confess, finally ripping your gaze up to look at him. "I feel safe when I'm with you."

He doesn't answer that, expression blank. Usually, you can read his little telltales, things that people from the outside can't usually see, but right now, you can't make out what he might be thinking. For all you know, he could hate you right now.

Your throat turns tight and the saltwater burns behind your eyelids. The tears are already cascading and you curse yourself for being so weak in the face of confrontation. "I understand if you don't– don't want me here, and I c-can really leave if you want me to-"

"Hey, hey," Leon sets his own cup aside on the coffee table and scoots closer carefully. "You're stressing yourself out–calm down and breathe for a second. I want you here. I always do, okay?"

It's hard to, and it feels like your chest is caving in on itself like it did when the Plagas was attaching itself to your lungs and transforming you into a monster. You certainly felt like one the night you'd-

"I took advantage of you," you gasp, struggling for the air you so desperately need but determined to push on because goddamnit if you weren't going to have this conversation right now after avoiding it for so long. "That night at the bar and I...I didn't even ask. I'm sorry."

"Follow me," Leon takes a hold of your hand and presses it to his chest, exaggerating his breaths. "You're okay."

The words are tumbling out of your mouth, running like a babbling brooke. He caresses your cheek with your free hand and throughout the whole ordeal, the two of you never break eye contact once. His thumb swipes aimlessly at the assault of tears and you think of how ugly and puffy you probably look right now. 

But all you can see are those sapphire eyes watching you.

"I didn't mean it," you cave into his touch, head tilting into the palm of his hand willingly. "I didn't mean it when I accused you of just wanting to get me into your bed. You're so much more than that–you're everything to me and I–I was scared."

Leon frowns, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Scared of what, sweetheart?"

The question is daunting, but you're already too far in to stop now.

"Of you. Of how much you might like me," you whisper, closing your eyes. Your head is spinning and it feels like the couch is tipping from underneath you. "I was scared of what people might say, how it would affect you. I didn't want you to hate me."

"Oh, baby."

The nickname rolls off his tongue like honey and you make a small whimper at how it makes you feel. Even after all this time, Leon knows just how to bring you to your knees with so little words. He sounds like he's in pain just listening to you, and the auditory distress causes you to peek your eyes open just a little, looking past the blur of saltwater to see him 

"How could I ever hate you?" Leon murmurs, expression pinched tightly in the way he did when he was in pain. He moves even closer until you can practically feel his body heat radiating off of him. For so many nights you've dreamed of having him this close, right next to you and hands holding you in such a loving way that almost brings you to tears.

Leon's light breaths fan your face and you close your eyes again, feeling his presence all around you. His lips press warmly against your forehead, then your eyebrow, then your cheeks. Your own skin heats beneath his ministrations, and he chuckles lowly at your adorable reactions. 

His nose bumps against yours.

"I'm no better," he says and you can smell the hints of whiskey on his breath mixing with the aroma of coffee. "I said you ruined everything–if anything, you should hate me."

You shake your head, opening your eyes and looking right up at him. He's so close, so intimate in this tense moment that you fall forward and rest your forehead on the dip of his collarbones. Leon wastes no time readjusting his hold on you until you're fully tucked into his embrace, his chin resting on the crown of your head. 

"Maybe," he whispers on accident, then clears his throat before saying louder, "Maybe you'd like to spend the night in my room instead?"

Butterflies erupt in your stomach like you're a teenage girl with a crush. "I'd like that."

Well…maybe it's not a crush anymore, but you're definitely obsessed. 

Leon gathers you up in his arms like he was carrying you across a threshold for a honeymoon, not even bothering to turn off the kitchen light or grab your coffees that were teetering towards lukewarm. To be fair, if he was on the same page as you, his priority wasn't the cleanliness of the apartment.

He sets you down on your feet once he gets into his room, closing the door and turning to find you looking around the space curiously. You stray towards the nightstand, leaning down to peek into the frame of one of the photos that's set there. It's a city landscape in the sunset, warm tones creating a fiery display across the sky in the background. You tilt your head at it, knowing Leon wasn't one to have an eyeball for photography or artistically deep metaphors. 

It only takes a moment for you to recognize the shape of it and what it meant.

"Raccoon City," you murmur.

Silence as he makes his way next to you, looking at the picture and frowning. "Yeah. I don't know why I still keep that around."

You turn to him as he sits down on his bed. "No, it's understandable, Leon. What happened in Raccoon City was a tragedy–it's a miracle you survived."

"I guess," he looks aimlessly out the window that has its curtains pulled back the way he had left it.

There was no telling what tragedies he had faced inside of that police station during his first day as a rookie cop. You had seen pictures when his face was rounder and his innocent eyes had been a little brighter, though the signs of trauma began setting in even then. Leon's grown into his role now, more mature and right here in front of you.

You watch him for a beat more, admiring the way he seems to glow in the moonlight. Something tugs in your chest, something magnetic, that draws you to him. Without thinking, you say, "You're really pretty, you know."

Leon's head snaps in your direction so quickly, you're surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "What?"

"You're pretty," you say simply. "Or do you prefer a more masculine adjective?"

"No, it's not that," he swivels his body toward you reaching out to take your hand in his. "You said that to me that night–at the bar when you were drunk."

You cringe, lacing your fingers with his. "At least you know I was honest then? I'm sorry, I don't remember much about that night besides kissing you."

To your quiet surprise, he tugs on your hand and pulls you into his lap, hand trailing to your thigh, warm and gentle yet firm. Your stomach seems to twist giddily at the action while your brain struggles to comprehend the sudden situation.

"Leon?" You breathe out.

"You're going to kill me," he murmurs, leaning forward and pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones. "You're killing me and I'm letting you."

"What do you mean? Please, Leon, I don't understand-"

"I can't lose you," he cuts you off, eyes flicking up to your face. "I can't–they took you and all I could think was, 'Not her. Anybody but her.' You–You fucking torment me."

You freeze in his arms, mouth dropping into an 'o' as he pressed his lips to your neck. The way he recites the exact words you wrote in that stupid journal was enough to make your head spin. It was like he was sitting here putting out all his rawest emotions for you to pick through.

Even after all this time of being such a ruined man in the presence of every horror he faced, he watered himself down into something just for you. After everything that had happened between you two in the past weeks, Leon managed to mold and shape his heart into something suitable enough to give you.

"You read it?"

"Of course I did. Every word where you were in pain because of me," Leon pauses, breathing in shakily. His grip turns almost bruising on your thighs. "You weren't taking advantage of me, baby. You were just in love with me like I am with you."

Baby, he keeps calling you. Funny how that simple little word was enough to send you into overdrive, right down to your core. 

His words stole the air from your lungs as you were encapsulated with an intense want for him. You needed him like flowers needed the sun and the earth needed its axis to spin and the day needed the night.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"Kiss me, please."

His mouth was on yours in a second without a thought, your fingers threading through his hair as he pulled on your waist to get you closer. 

It brought you back to that night after the bar, but this was better. You were conscious enough this time to memorize the shape of him and the way he tasted. His tongue ran across your bottom lip and darted into your mouth as soon as you opened up for him. Leon's grip was bruising, caught between shattering you and trying not to hurt you. 

Your lips mold perfectly together and when you part to gain air, nothing but pants and quiet sounds fill the air. Your chest feels like it's expanding with how much you love him and your mind goes dizzy by the way his hands travel upward and hike the shirt up on your torso, exploring the flesh of your stomach. 

Leon pulls you back in, kissing you feverishly as you grind down on him instinctively, drawing out a delicious groan that sounds so beautiful. You want more noises, more of him, so you move your hips again until he stops you, hands halting your movements. 

"If you keep doing that, I won't be able to control myself much longer, sweetheart," he chastises lightly against your lips, pecking the corner of your mouth to let you know that he wasn't angry. 

You feel particularly bold tonight, letting all your passion for him run wild. It's a boost of confidence that you didn't expect to be having, but it's not unappreciated. 

"You don't have to control yourself around me," you lean in until your forehead pressed against his. "I'm yours."

"Fuck, baby," Leon groans, eyes screwing shut as you roll on him again, letting you lick into his mouth. "Do you know what you do to me?"

"I have an idea," you hum against him, fingers getting into those silky locks of his. "But, why don't you tell me just to make sure?"

His hands travel up your body further until they brush right underneath your breasts as you hadn't bothered with a bra after your shower. He makes a noise of delight upon discovering this, fingertips brushing lightly against one of your nipples and you choke on a gasp from the sensation. As revenge, you swivel your hips so that you can feel him through the slutty gray sweatpants he'd adorned before you showed up. 

If you noticed an insistent hardness poking at you–well you weren't one to complain. 

Leon borderline moans and you have to resist begging him to fuck you right there just to hear him more. Instead, you lean into his touch as much as you can to absorb it all, head full of nothing but him. How many times have you thought about this? So many nights you thought about how it might feel to have his hands on your body and his tongue shoving into your mouth in the sinful way it was doing right now. 

If this is what brought you to hell, then you'd look the demons in the eyes and tell them that Leon had shown you heaven without you ever having to step foot into it. 

"You make me so unfocused," he begins, thumb pads running circles around your nipples as he hikes your shirt up even farther. "You distract me from my work and make me say and do things I never usually do."

"Then I suppose we're even," you quip sassily.

You cry out when his teeth suddenly latch sharply on your neck, sucking harshly and tongue swiping over the mark to ease the pain. One glance down shows mischievous blue eyes staring back at you, drinking in your reactions like a fine wine he needed to stay alive. Cheeky bastard.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs in awe. "How did I ever get so lucky to be blessed by you?"

"Blessed is a strong word," you laugh lightly, pulling your hands away to pull off your shirt eagerly. "I'm no angel, Leon."

His tongue darts out to lick those pretty pink lips that have swelled from the pressure of your mouth on his. A feeling of pride wells in your chest, knowing that even just for tonight, he was yours. 

"You're right," he runs a hand up and down your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his touch. "A goddess is a more fitting title. I'd worship you daily on hands and knees."

His sweet words make your head spin wildly and you need him more than anything. You hook your arms around his neck, pulling him down so that he hovers over you as your back hits the mattress. It's some sort of memory foam–probably the best kind one could afford judging by his salary.

"I know you hate your apartment," you whisper and he goes slightly rigid. Assuring him gently, you caress his face in your hand. "Let me make it a home for you. Let me give you a reason to like it."

You want the memory of you to be imprinted here everywhere you could, the same way that he left pieces of himself at your place like invasive little dust bunnies sitting in small corners waiting to be discovered. Everywhere he looks, you want him to see you.

"Make me yours," you beg, hands trailing downward and tracing the v-line through his shirt.

Eagerly, Leon's body covers yours, and you think that even if he kissed you with bloody lips, it would still be the sweetest taste you ever had.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The morning glow wakes him up slowly, kissing his eyelids and rousing him from sleep. Unlike every day he woke up in his apartment, the golden light doesn't seem as intrusive anymore.

Leon's brain lags momentarily, fingers skittering across the mattress next to him instinctively in a way he's never felt the need to before. He brushes against bare skin and latches on, pulling your naked body towards his own. You mumble incoherently but allow him to draw you in, making yourself comfortable against his chest as his arm circles your waist.

You fit together like pieces of a puzzle meant to be together. 

For a moment, all that's left is your quiet breaths as you avoid getting up. Since you were instructed to stay home due to medical concerns and Leon had his grace period after such an intense mission, the two of you were in no hurry to leave the bed. After all, the memory of what occured the night before just made cherishing the present all the more important. 

Moments of your night together flashes through Leon's head and he preens knowing that bruises in the shapes of his hands and love marks stretch along the length of your body. Surely, you'll scold him for placing them in such visible places for when you do inevitably return to work, but right now, he could just call it his masterpiece. 

That possessive monster in his chest is sated for now. 

You move in his arms, making a small noise of contentment before pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. Leon's heart soars.

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart," he laughs and the rich noise vibrates against you. You want to get high off the sound of his gravelly morning voice. "How'd you sleep?"

"Really good," you yawn, opening your eyes in a squint finally and looking up at him. "But, I am pretty sore. You really did a number on me last night, babe."

That shit-eating smirk he grows is enough to make you roll your eyes. You're sure that he considered your activity a light work out while you were exhausted by the end of round one. Nonetheless, you wouldn't have traded your time together for anything.

You trace shapes into his bicep, appreciating his muscle and wishing you could tell him all the things you've wanted to for the longest time. However, one of the biggest questions still lingers on the forefront of your mind that you can't help but ask.

"What does this mean for us?" You ask hesitantly. "We said a lot of things last night."

"We did," he agrees easily and tilts your chin up to face him. You notice that eye contact seems to be a big thing to Leon and you're not one to deny him that small comfort. "What do you want to be?"

“You really want me to say it out loud?” You frown.

“If you want to.”

The silence is almost deafening but it’s not uncomfortable as Leon awaits your answer patiently. There’s so many words left unsaid, so many things you want to pour out to him and beg him for. Instead, you pull a distant memory from your head and divert the heavy question you had asked yourself.

“Did you mean it?" You whisper, eyes fluttering closed when Leon cradles your face gently. His warmth is addicting. "I mean when you told that guy that I was yours."

He blinks in surprise. “You heard that?”

“Barely,” you admit sheepishly. “I was still conscious enough but I heard you.”

Leon doesn’t need to think about the response. "Yes," he replies without hesitation. "If you want to be mine, then I am yours."

"Okay," you smile, turning your face to kiss the palm of his hand lovingly. "We'll be each other's."

He swoons, melts in your presence and lets himself plummet like Icarus when he flew too close to the sun. 

After a period of silence, you finally say it.

“I want us to be lovers.”

Time seems to freeze in place as those words fell from your lips. Leon waits with a baited breath, to see if you might backtrack or regret it. No such denial comes and he buries his nose into your hair. 

“Alright,” he murmurs. “We’ll be lovers.”

“This sounds stupid. Like we’re kids playing house together or some shit.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead and letting himself revel in the feeling of love. This all-encompassing warmth that makes him feel so alive and in the moment–something he hasn’t felt in years–that you somehow reignited. You, a miracle in his life. You, who wanted to be lovers.

“Leon.”

“Hm?”

“I…”

You pull back, look him in the eyes and resist the tears that threaten to roll out of your eyes because this is everything you’ve dreamed of since you met him.

“I love you.”

Leon’s expression shifts, eyes widening like he couldn’t believe his ears before he’s on you in a second, kissing you everywhere he could reach. He steals the breath from your lungs as he tugs your mouth to his and grants you a bruising kiss, all of his emotions knocking over and translating through his actions stronger than any word could describe. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, “I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll say it every day until we grow old, I swear.”

You have to giggle at his cheesiness, though you don’t complain at all as you kiss him again.

“I’m not leaving you again. Move in with me, I–” He chokes on his words, “–We can make this apartment ours instead of just mine. There’s a high-tech security system installed so you’d be safe, and you won’t want for anything. Whatever you want, you'll have it.”

You can’t help but poke fun at him, even in this tender moment where you’re more than ready to drop everything and move your whole life into his place. “Even if I want kids?”

“Especially if you want kids,” he cooes. “Having a family with you would be a dream, baby.”

“Then I’ll make them come true,” you promise. Then, because you can’t help yourself, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

You love him and he loves you, just as everything was destined to be.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You stumble out of the bar, a wide grin plastered on your face and cheeks alight with a strong blush. The world tips under your feet, though steady hands stabilize you and lead you through the fog of your thoughts.

Still never as much of a drinker as Leon is, you find yourself in a familiar setting as your fingers lace with your lover’s perfectly. This night is less innocent, less questioning as you blindly follow wherever you’re led. Tonight was a celebration, and you intend to cash in your joy entirely to the man who promises you only good things.

You land in a car seat, expensive leather under you as Leon shuts the door and crosses to the driver side. 

For some reason, you can’t stop smiling though you can’t exactly figure out why. Maybe it’s because you’re in love. Maybe it’s because you’re grounded with the knowledge he loves you too.

Lifetimes ago, you would have given anything in the world to hold his hand or be close to him as long as the intrusive watching eyes weren’t around to see it. Back then, you hid and concealed your feelings to save a reputation that wasn’t even yours. It seems so foolish now that you were so desperate to keep him away from you, whereas now, you don’t think you can live without him.

Maybe if you were in the same mindset now, you would be panicking at the blurry car lights that pierce through the windshield and spotlight directly onto your figures.

Two headlights, two watching eyes.

Without thinking, you turn in your seat and pull Leon close, kissing him eagerly as he returns the gesture enthusiastically. Your lips mold perfectly to his and it’s just like your first kiss all over gain, but even better.

Millions of years ago, you would reel back in horror and think about what this entailed for you two. Right now, you don’t really give a damn. 

Many things have changed since that fateful night, and equally, many things have evolved and developed within your relationship. No matter what happened, though, Leon was always there to assure you that he loved you. No matter what, he was there for you even when he was across the country on a mission. 

The Las Plagas incident had left a scar on both of you, and afterward, Leon was terrified to leave you on your own every time he was assigned to a mission. However, you assured him that you can defend yourself well enough now. After all, you never have a handgun too far away from your grasp at all times.

He’s trained you well.

Your shared apartment is more than safe, and you’ve successfully removed the bad taste in Leon’s mouth regarding the place. The walls have pictures of you two together and your plants thrive under the sun they gain from the large windows. Your couches are strewn with unique little pillows and hand-knit blankets and are large enough for both of you to sprawl out on movie nights.

It's warm, no longer cold and empty and bare in the ways that made his disdain for his own existence grow.

The bookshelves are full of novels of all kinds, though the most precious book resides in your nightstand.

A little black journal whose pages weren’t even used up all the way.

Leon had taken the time to read it thoroughly afterward when the minutes weren't counting down to your demise. You had sat right next to him, chin hooked over his shoulder as the tears welled hotly in his eyes at the messy emotions you had leaked onto the pages with your pen. You’d kissed them all away, assured him that things have changed, and promised that it was all in the past.

No regrets, no doubts, no more monsters.

The rational part of your head reminds you that all those reports waiting for you at the office tomorrow would be a pain in the ass. It doesn’t matter, though. Right now, the present matters, and right now, Leon was with you.

He was here with you after a night of drinking sitting in a car with matching dopey grins and flushed cheeks, totally and completely in love.

“I love you,” Leon murmurs affectionately.

"I love you too,” you return, just as enamored.

People could stare through the car lights, watch you, and whisper, but their opinions didn’t matter–not when you had an eternity of a lifetime ahead of you with him.

The matching wedding bands on your and Leon’s ring fingers agree.

[e-dubbc11]

Devil May Cry

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F! Reader

Warnings: Ooh ok, so mentions of domestic abuse, blood, violence, crying

Word Count: 1.8k-ish

Summary: The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen helps a woman being hurt by her boyfriend. He doesn’t expect what happens after and he needs emotional help from you.

A/N: So the song Devil May Cry by the Weeknd was the inspiration for this one (hence the title). I wrote it kinda quickly and I’m a little uneasy just because I haven’t written for Matt in awhile so I’m scared that it sucks. But anyway, I hope you like it.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The late night sky sparkled like a carpet of diamonds up above him, he could tell it was a clear night and the cool air gently kissed his lips as he listened closely for sounds of distress.

The low soft whimpering, it was all he could hear. With a quick head tilt in the direction the cries came from, he tried to decipher exactly where she was. The wind picked up force as he perched on a rooftop nearby which made it difficult to pinpoint her location.

He could feel how scared she was by the rapid beating of her heart and the prayer fleeing from her lips in a muted whisper.

As he jumped to another rooftop, her cries rang a little louder in his ears. He was close. Inching toward the edge of the roof, her sobs and shallow breathing subsided and he quietly climbed down the fire escape to listen more intently.

He sensed her window was open so he stayed back and out of sight. The panic he heard in her voice before finding her, pleading with him not to hurt her but he did anyway. The smell of copper from her bloody lip and the salt from her tears floated by his nose as he heard her say to herself,

“I should have had dinner ready on time. He didn’t mean it.”

The Devil knew her boyfriend had left after hitting her. He heard them arguing blocks away. It wasn’t her fault he had a bad day at work, yet she apologized for it anyway. Dinner wasn’t ready when he wanted it to be which only made him angrier and that’s when it happened.

The kitchen chair fell over as he grabbed his jacket and walked out, leaving her to clean up the mess. The dinner she worked so hard on, hoping he would like it, now lay scattered across the floor as she carefully picked up the broken pieces of the plate and ignoring the dried tears that stained her cheeks. She had to clean this up before he came back.

There wasn’t anything he could do after the fact. But if he hurt her once, he’d definitely try to do it again.

“I’ll come back…” He said in a low growl toward the open window but too quiet for her to hear.

The next night, the Devil waited patiently on her rooftop. With a slight tilt of his head, he listened carefully for the familiar footsteps he remembered hearing leaving the apartment. She was cooking him dinner again. He inhaled the strong scents of garlic, onion, and Italian seasoning, and the marinara sauce simmering in the pot on the stove smelled heavenly.

And then he heard them, the heavy footsteps of her boyfriend coming home from work so he once again climbed down the fire escape and waited outside her window. The Devil could tell dinner wasn’t quite ready yet because she was scrambling to finish before he walked through the door but it was too late.

Again, he asked why it wasn’t ready on time and he said again, he had a bad day at work. The Devil could feel her heart beating out of her chest, even her body temperature had risen but he wasn’t going to hurt her tonight, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen would make sure of that.

The hooded figure stepped out into the light of the dimly lit apartment, taking both of them by surprise and warning him not to touch her again. He took a swing at the Devil but ended up flat on his back and a hand around his throat, again with another warning to just stay down and if he doesn’t want him to come back, he will do what the Devil says. Terrified, the boyfriend agrees and her rescuer is pleased…for now.

He made sure she was ok, reminded her that she doesn’t have to stay and it would actually be safer for her if she didn’t but he couldn’t make her and so she thanked him and he disappeared into the night.

After a long night of patrolling, he found his way back to your apartment, and feeling like he made a difference tonight. He saved her from being hurt again and he was able to come home to you.

A slight smirk played across his lips as he cleaned himself up as best he could without your help, he hated to wake you when you were sleeping so soundly. Your steady heartbeat was music to his ears as he climbed into bed next to you, pulling your body close to his, a low hum escaping your lips but he knew he didn’t disturb your sleep.

His lips ghosted over your bare shoulder before placing a soft kiss on your warm skin. He inhaled the scent of your shampoo as he buried his nose in your hair, a familiar scent of home that calmed him and helped him tune out all of the late night car alarms, the neon lights that emitted the slightest of sounds, and the sound of glass being broken on the sidewalk below. All of those late night city sounds were muted as soon as he spooned up behind you.

That’s when his name fell from your lips in a quiet moan.

“Mmmm…Matty.”

His lips turned up into a slight smile at the sound of his name as you slept, the most important person to him in Hell’s Kitchen was safely asleep next to him.

His last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of her, hoping she was alright, hoping that she left him…maybe she will sleep soundly at least for tonight.

He would check on her again tomorrow.

**********

He heard sirens echoing in between buildings on his walk home from work, they were coming from her building and he panicked.

After asking a police officer what happened, they told him a woman was being taken to the hospital…They didn’t even have to say it, Matt just knew the boyfriend had hurt her again.

He listened as the wheels of the stretcher rolled down the long hallway and out the door where the ambulance was waiting to take her away. He heard them talking inside the ambulance, she was going to be alright.

He was still angry though, his fist clenched tightly around the top of his cane and the line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. His cheeks flared with anger for the rest of his walk home and tears burned the back of his eyes behind his red tinted glasses that he aggressively pushed up the bridge of his nose.

He needed you.

As he got closer to home, he heard music coming from the apartment so you were either cleaning or cooking. Given the time, it was probably the latter and he listened closely to the lyrics.

… It won't be in vain

To swallow all your pain

And learn to love what burns

And gather courage to return

… Faces in the crowd

Faces in the crowd will smile again

And the devil may cry

The devil may cry at the end of the night

You called out to him when you heard him unlock the door.

“Hi Matty, you hungry? I made din—“

You stopped when you saw the look on his face, the anger and the frustration. His knuckles were white from clenching his fists as he walked toward you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“Hey, hey handsome. What’s wrong?” You asked, stroking his soft brown hair.

He removed his glasses and the sadness behind his beautiful amber eyes broke your heart.

“Sweetheart…he hurt her again. She went to the hospital this time and I couldn’t stop it.” He said in almost a whisper.

“Who?” You asked. “Someone on your route?”

“I saved her from her boyfriend last night. I told her she should leave, that she would be safer that way if he didn’t know where she was.” He said in his low gravelly voice, licking his lips as he went in to hug you again.

“Matty…I know you want to but you can’t make them leave. They have to want to—as much as you want to, you can’t save everyone, baby.”

… The light will shine through the rain

And heaven will hear them call your name

And home will feel like home again

Corruption will fill your brain

All you could do is stand there, holding him and reassuring him he was doing good things, making his streets safer. Squeezing his body against yours, you felt the muscles in his shoulders start to relax a little, his shallow breaths slowing down, and his heart beating up against yours.

“That’s it, Matty. It’s ok.” You said. “Is she going to be ok?”

Matt trusted you with his secret, all you had asked from him was that he was careful, to value his own life and remember that there are people in his life that do care whether he lives or dies. You knew he was making a difference but that he had to take the bad as well as the good and this time he had to take the bad.

He pulled away from the crook in your neck.

“Uh, yeah—yeah I heard them talking inside the ambulance. They said she would be ok. But I could smell the blood, a lot of blood. It was bad, sweetheart.” He said with a hitch in his voice.

You wiped away the tear that slid down his cheek. Matt was fearless and strong yet sensitive, he just wanted her and everyone else he tried to protect to be alright.

… Faces in the crowd

Faces in the crowd will smile again

And the devil may cry

The devil may cry at the end of the night

You leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, brushed the stubble on his face with your thumbs, and a little smile spread across your face.

The man in front of you fought hard every night to protect the weak, to try and make it safer for people to walk down the streets at night, but he never actually thought about if anyone was going to be there for him when he was too late to save them.

As much as his city needed him, Matt needed saving too. He needed to be saved from the guilt he carried especially from “what if?” situations.

What if he had forced her to leave? Would it have saved her from the monster that put his hands on her? Maybe, maybe not. You don’t know, and he didn’t either.

“You did what you could, Matthew. Remember, some things are just out of your control and they’re in someone else’s hands.” You reminded him.

Matt nodded, he knew you were right. “What would I do without you, sweetheart?”

Trying to make him smile, you came back with a sarcastic answer. “Not be able to find things in the back of the cupboard?” You giggled.

A sly smirk stretched across his lips and he let out a little chuckle.

“Very true.” He said, inched his face closer, and gently pressed his lips against yours “I love you.”

“I love you too, Matty.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @munsonownsmyass @saintmurd0ck @elgrandeavocados @freshabogados @gijos @chezagnes @matt-erialgirl

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @pedrito-friskito @mattmurdocksscars @albatrossandivys

Thank you for reading, I appreciate it! I’ve only tagged a handful of people, just because there seems to be lack of interaction here especially on my Matt fics. If you liked it, you can tell me, I don’t bite

[mossgirrrl]

"Stop being so spiky": Childhood, rejection dysphoria, and people pleasing

There are many things that led me to seek an ADHD diagnosis but rejection dysphoria wasn't one of them. It just wasn't something I related to. That was until I heard a girl on TikTok relating her own experience of rejection dysphoria back to the names her family called her when she was being 'difficult' or emotional in childhood. Then it hit me. Mine was "spiky." Fired at me almost daily as a young teenager, you know, when your self-esteem is probably already at an all-time-low; "spiky" was the most common adjective used to describe my general being. When it's occasionally uttered these days, with the same venom as always, it transports me right back into the tight-chested confusion of that lonely child. The loneliness of a child who was unknowingly trapped in a world that routinely misunderstood her facial expressions or tone of voice, and refused to offer kinder social queues. I saw "spiky" flash across my brother's face today when I requested half the slice of cake that he'd cut for me. Something in my tone or on my face must have been 'off' because he silently took offence and, assuming that he hadn't heard me, I requested it again. Unreasonable, of course, to mistake silence for mishearing. Despite these occasions I realise now that, for the most part, I learned to mask. As many girls do; slipping through their safety net only to realise what's happened once they've already dragged themselves a decade or two through adulthood. It wasn't raging hormones or teenage angst that eventually passed, it was the agony of speaking a language no-one else around me did. So I learnt to speak theirs... Kind of. It might be a stretch to say that this masking has led me to putting up with an embarrassing amount of bullshit from romantic interests, but maybe it's not. When faced with apologies or excuses that my gut knows are lies, my brain jumps aboard the gaslighting train and asks, "are you sure you're not spiky for feeling this way?" Sure, it's not normal to lose your grip on reality the second someone changes their tone or rain-checks some plans. But the oxymoron is that, deep down, you know this. And so you bottle it up, time and time again, until you explode into a fit of rage, paranoia, tears, and accusations- seemingly out of the blue. And just for a dollop of extra irony; even if it was originally all in your head, this merry-go-round-from-hell has a way of manifesting your worst fears. My 28th birthday present was an intensified age crisis, and much of that came from mourning 10 years of time wasted, bullets undodged, feelings unexpressed, and marks clawed into closed fists instead of keyed into the paintwork of a certain BMW... All caused by the inability to trust my own emotions. To decipher whether my reactions (or at least the ways that I want to react) are fair or "spiky". So instead; you people please, you say "ok", you walk away quietly rather than advocating for yourself. Or you just don't let yourself get into those situations at all. It's easier to avoid the head-spinning experience of rejection dysphoria by doing just that... Avoiding. The less people you're attached to, the less there are to reject you. Stay busy, keep moving, never let anyone close enough that you'd care if they left or disliked you anyway. It's genius really. Until it happens by accident. And then you push away a chance to shake the loneliness because you never learnt to identify your own emotions- let alone communicate them. Suddenly it all makes sense; the panic attacks because someone hasn't texted you for a while or nights spent sobbing into your pillow because you felt their energy change. Of course, there are other events that probably contributed to the excruciating catch-22 that is a disorganised attachment style. But uncovering the source of my own rejection dysphoria was the last spiky puzzle piece to understanding why even an iota of feeling misunderstood, ignored, or rejected becomes so utterly devastating and isolating. Who knows if I'll ever stop feeling spiky, but I'm one step closer to trying.

[thetreestumptherapist]

Warehouse 13 appreciation post

(I used halo tags on this post because I mentioned some halo stuff in it, so if this post found you and and you were expecting halo, I apologize for the microscopic amount of halo in it, feel free to read it anyway, you might find something you never knew you needed)

I recently finished watching Warehouse 13 and am now watching The Librarians and I don't think I will ever find this high again. Both shows are on prime if any of you feel like joining me here at the top of the steampunk/magical artifact mountain. (Please join me, it's so lonely up here)

I also have a theory that the library is either a future or alternate universe version of the warehouse. Like, they have the exact same function, same idea, and what's even better (but completely useless info in universe) is the librarians first aired the same year warehouse 13 got over. But, as far as I can tell, they have nothing in common. Except the " hide magical artifacts from the world" thing and maybe some bit parts from the actors, but those details are hard to come by and difficult to decipher.

Future version theory: I think that eventually a future caretaker decided to call it the library instead of a warehouse because

Libraries are more magical.

Warehouses have a reputation of being old, damp, and boring. Which would have worked for Artie's steampunk vision for it and it would also have previously helped remove some of people's curiosity about it. But, maybe it wouldn't work for someone who likes fantasy and and wishes they could live in an Elven castle with a library full of magic.

Alternate universe theory: The caretaker deciding to call it a library happens exactly the same way, but in a branch of the warehouse's timeline where it either happens earlier, or possibly was never called a warehouse in the first place.

I realize there are some problems, one being that I'm pretty sure the warehouse names itself, so I don't actually know how it would be changed to being called the library. But, surely the earliest warehouses weren't called warehouses because they were there in like, the stone age or something. Like warehouse 2 was a pyramid, and the word warehouse was first recorded being used in the 1300s. So, warehouse 2 must have been retroactively named that because it predates the 1300s.

Also, Eve Baird reminds me of Veronica Dare from halo 3: ODST. But, Eve is just a liiittle bit softer and I think she's not AS stuck up though she comes SO close to being a live action Veronica that it keeps tripping me up.

[edgyandoverzealous]

Characters that remind me of me S/O pt 2

Electric boogaloo because it's me. Duh. And give me the opportunity and I will not hesitate to compare them because my partner is hella neat and I love them. Informal analysis you know the drill. A bit more annoying this time because I'm a brat I 'spose. @moltenatlas I love youuu.

The Narrator - The Stanley Parable

• no one should be surprised. No one.

• With the amount of bullshit puns, pickup lines, pouting, and overall annoyances I dish out on the regular?

• They don't get paid enough tm for my chaos but they love me anyways.

• note: payment does not exist unless you count the compiled monster energies, presents, and affection I as a simp and clingy boyfriend have so graciously provided. *many tiny bows*

• A witty, sarcastic, dry/situationally humored chatterbox??

• I'll take them! *Slams money on the table* Please! I'm a good listener, or I at least try, I promise. Oh I got them around ten months ago? Fuck yeah, concrete!

• made me choke from laughter on three different occasions. A particular goose bit robbed my breathing privileges for two blocks. </3

• much like the Stanley Parable closet ending/ the jumping of the moving platform interaction.

• Also you know the look that we know the narrator is doing behind his voice... I've seen it and I've apologized through nervous giggles every. single. time.

• nice voice nice voice nice voice. <3

• don't know about you, but I could listen to the narrator for hours, you know who else I could listen to for hours? YUP. You guessed it.

• this is here almost purely because I compared them to the narrator verbally before and it seemed to be taken /neg. Listen here, Love, the narrator from tsp is legitimately the best. Shhhh.

Brady - teen beach movie

• okay so hear me out. It's their favorite movie okay and it's legitimately good so stfu sheesh.

• This blonde has rottmnt Leo vibes. Low key.

• But also slightly oblivious in everyday expressions such as analogies or turn of phrases rather but overly competent in romantic settings and can sing well?

•hmm wonder who that's like, oh wait *staresatthemstaresatthemstaresatthem*

• Selkirk Rex cat vibes the both of them sweet and soft.

•additionally loud sunshine blonde trope anyone? *holds up my relationship* because I found it. Actually no, actually this one's mine.

• You know what else? They're both good at deciphering poorly communicating messes. *coughs me and Mack coughs*

• Blerg day where speaking and verbalizing needs and wants is hard, it's cool. Because apparently somewhere down the line of knowing me, my partner figured out what my noises of acknowledgement, stuttering or otherwise, means. They know me like the back of their hand apparently. Show offish if you ask me. But it genuinely is really sweet and highly appreciated. I'm sorry I'm difficult. ; H ;

• have you ever seen eyes so pretty when they light up over something?

• A sweetheart. The biggest actually.

• He's just so understanding and caring like someone else I know.

Stella - Lemonade Mouth

• my rebel *swoons* <3

• Both are likely to encourage arson and someone would fucking do it.

• Whether that 'someone' is me or not depends entirely on outside factors. Such as time of day, location, and----

• Starting with the obvious

• plays guitar

• Who else relates to all of this? The love of my life, exactly.

• Stella uses what I call "with cherries on top tactics" which is essentially asking really nicely with a few whistles and bells. A sweeter tone. Ect. to convince her fellow bandmates into things. The love of my life also is prone to doing this. Ie: the amount of times I've complied to something because a couple pet names or a softly toned "please" were thrown in. I am a very weak man.

• sarcasmmmmm

• the lookssss. She's so prettyyy, like someone else I love very much.

• she thinks she's funny and she's right because she commits to the bit.

• you know who else thinks they're funny and are right? yeah. exactly.

• Rightfully so, but also convincing cocky bastard. You may say that confidence is feigned but I would still follow you to the ends of the earth so it's at the very least believable and earned.

Wednesday - Netflix's Wednesday

• Shout out to my little sister who made me provide in depth reasoning to why I think Wednesday Addams From Netflix's Wednesday is neat therefore giving me the analysis work done already.

• Also as spoiler-free as possible because my partner wants to watch Wednesday and hasn't yet. Aka nothing major to the plot mentioned.

• She has on multiple occasions threatened bodily harm or murder to those who have wronged those she cares about though a select few. Hmm I wonder who else has done that? My partner mayhaps towards my abusers.

• She's dorky and passionate about her interests, of which are obscure, and is nonjudgmental of others' interests. My partner also has what one may call obscure taste but mine are too. We just kinda ping-pong each other's interests and it's wonderful.

• She has a competitive streak and is a good musician. You know who else does this? Yeah. Exactly.

• She also has good dry humor and sarcasm aka the love of my life.

• what can I say, I like competitive musician oddballs. They are charming.

Willow - The owl house

• This entire thing is projecting but this one reflects more of myself bc call me Hunter I am traumatized and in love.

• Aka they're stuck with a sad-blonde trope if dirty blondes count because that's what's under the years worth of hair dye.

• Strong strong strong.

• Appears fearless. Even when she's not she stands tall and takes a lead. Awfully familiar if you ask me.

• bad vision. wait wait wait I'm sorry.

• Likes plants and flowers. Knows a lot about them too. It's neat and impressive. Dare I say cute? I do I dare.

• Witch???? Withc?? Counterclockwise stirred tea motherfuckers.

• Good at comforting people even if she doesn't quite think she is. IE: When Willow first meets Gus, he's having a panic attack in the same room Willow actively hides in to get away from it all. She tries to comfort him by waving a horrifying abomination at him but she then teaches him a breathing technique once she's assessed the situation. This can apply to my partner as well because they aren't super confident in their comforting ability yet during any given one of my meltdowns they have consistently offer things of comfort such as a hug and then have done a check in for basic needs such as if I've eaten.

Annabeth Chase - Pjo hoo

• Not gonna lie this one right here legitimately scares me. Because I am an og pjo fan and since I was in 3rd grade I've wanted what Percabeth has and as a Percy kin from the very beginning I now finally have that and I am terrified of losing it.

• Legitimately going to cry over this as I write it. Also the reason this took so don't tell anyone shhh.

• *cough cough* anyways so...

• Smarts. Even though she still struggles with learning Annabeth is incredibly bright in practical knowledge as well excelling in certain subjects due to an interest in said subjects. A lot like someone near and dear to me. In their case Language Arts and any science but especially chemistry.

• Tense and complex family situations. If you've read the books, you know and the situations have strong parallels as I remember. I'm sorry to point it out but it's been fairly on topic recently and I worry about it and you.

• The love of my life loves reading. They are more proficient in reading than anyone I've ever met. Whether it's comprehension or just the speed of reading it never fails to be impressive. If you hand Annabeth anything written in Greek she's the same way.

• The following few may just be headcannons/subtext but hear me out.

• When Annabeth hyperfixates on something she then immediately starts branching out hypotheticals. Aka, in my partners case, AUs and headcannons.

• I'm willing to bet almost anything that Annabeth prefers her coffee less sweet than most allowing the caffeine to be a part of the flavor profile and to feel a fuller affect of said caffeine. Though she prefers tea over all. Aka, just like my partner.

• Honest af. No beating around the bush and is quite logically sound. A lot like someone else I know.

• As Annabeth is to Percy and vice versa I view my partner as my lifeline. It's no speculation that Percy and Annabeth have been through a lot from familial issues, near death experiences, and literally going to hell and back with each othervfor each other, the fact that they are each other's lifeline is a definite. I can't speak fully for the other person, obviously, but I'm 65-70% sure it's mutual. Idk though so don't quote me. But personally my partner has helped me through some dark times and a good share of breakdowns. From being my first long term friend after the incident leading me to this point to becoming the first truly positive interaction I've had romantically I can confidently say they've made a major impact on my path to recovery and words cannot describe how thankful I am for that nor how much they mean to me.

[rayofsunshinc]

Dan dismissed the apology with a smile, and a gentle wave of his hand. ❝It's really okay. I might be able to help you learn more about controlling it ... if you would ever want that.❞ Dan was rather proud of himself for this exchange. Before meeting Abra, he would not have been so open about this, and he really wouldn't have offered to help someone else navigate it.

Even though he was very good at navigating through his mind, some people's thoughts were just too strong. His brows furrowed as he received images from Ben's thoughts. They were difficult to decipher, but he could easily see one person. ❝It's my turn to apologize for prying — but who's Bill?❞

He shook his head a little. ❝It's alright. I've had chances to make my peace with it. As much as I can anyway.❞ Dan offered a sad sort of smile. He felt like talking about it now might be more helpful than anything, so he didn't mind.

❝I've only met a few who really shine and knew it too.❞ He explained with a more genuine smile, remembering his friend Dick and thinking about his niece Abra again. ❝I had a friend who told me about all this when I was just five.❞

"Sorry. I don't really know how to shut it out yet without shutting it all down." Ben felt as though he'd been holding that door closed in his mind all his life. The wind still blew through the cracks, giving him impressions and emotions that he chalked up to imagination or empathy, but it was nothing most people would pick up as unusual. Facing IT again, linking minds with Bill and the Turtle and the others to fight IT, had blown the door wide open. He wasn't even sure it was possible to close it again.

More to the point, he wasn't sure he wanted to. It was terrifying to be that open, but Ben feared shutting himself off from the world more. He'd already spent decades in the dark, forgetting everything that had once been important to him and unable to fully connect with anyone. He'd rather risk… whatever this was than forget it all again, to live with that emptiness he couldn't even name.

It sounded unsettlingly close to the Ironworks Explosion in Derry. "I'm sorry about your dad. That must have been awful." He could sense that grief, more potent than Ben's had ever been about his own father. He'd barely known the man. "I've never talked about any of this," he admitted with a small smile. He'd never dared to admit it even to his friends.

"IT was a real bastard," he agreed with a light chuckle, glad for something to break the heavy mood. That black cloud that had followed him for most of his life seemed to have lifted after he left Derry for the second time, and it was easier to reach for the light now, to lean into that natural optimism he had. "Demons are definitely real. Makes me wonder how many more people like us are out there."

[latelyanobsession]

Brusk Manners

summary you and billy are having a typical roll in the sheets when things take a sharp left turn. safe to say you weren’t expecting him to bring this into your routine. but are you mad about it?

warnings 18+ content and descriptions, smut, little to no plot, trying new things, overstim (?), so many tears, spanking, praise, unprotected intercourse, lots of goodies... 

word count 2,491

note i have finally decided to write the content that i want need to see. now you cowards can join me down here in hell where its toasty or you can stay where it’s just vanilla and rainbow sprinkles. hope you babes enjoy the depravity! 😉

As always any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

A soft breeze kissed your nose, brushing your cheek as you turned another page in your book. 

Flipping to your stomach on your bed, you sighed staring out the window. It was a beautiful August afternoon. The summer was winding down. 

Soon school would be back in session, and a report on this book would have to be turned in.

You hated this book. With its tiny print font, and its dry Victorian language which you could hardly comprehend. You swore the teacher picked it out just to torture you.

Who read Madame Bovary for fun anyways?

You pouted your lips, forcing your eyes back onto the page. Finding the passage you had abandoned, grumbling.

A low moan pulled your attention away from the sentence you were trying to decipher.

“Mmm.... do you always lay around like that?” A blonde peeping-tom was leering in your window.

Looking down at your bra and panties, you looked back at your visitor.

“Well it’s not like I’m going anywhere today....” you replied simply.

He disappeared a moment, scraping sounds could be heard under your window before he clambered up, and pulled himself over the windowsill into your room.

Your parents were going to eventually regret giving you a first floor bedroom, even if the window was eight feet off the ground. 

Flopping out onto your carpet he smirked at you.

“Yer killin’ me!” he exclaimed.

You rolled your eyes, rising off the bed to kneel next to him.

“You know you could have just come to the door... Nobody’s home.” you prodded lightly.

Tracing a hand up your thigh, he eyed the matching set you had on. Not answering.

The two of you had been having a summer fling ever since he first spotted you in a sleek little black number at the Hawkins Community Pool back in early June.

When everything happened with the mall fire and Billy was hospitalized, things died out between you. 

You visited him many times while he was recuperating. Mostly while he had been unconscious. 

The day you came when he finally woke up, he yelled at you, setting off the alarm on his heart rate monitor. 

Aside from his family, and that group of kids his sister hung out with... you were the only one who had come by to see him. 

One time sneaking a pack of Marlboros under his pillow, for when he came around.

The second time you came back to see him after he awoke, he was still just as angry at you. 

So you stopped coming. Tucking your tail and sulking off like a puppy shoved out of the house and into a raging storm.

A couple weeks after his release from the hospital, he showed up on your doorstep. You were shocked.

“Max said you came to see me every day?” His voice was laced with guilt. 

Your cheeks flushed. “Should I not have? I’m sorry.”

His sister was in the passenger’s seat of his camaro, staring at you intently.

He winced, throwing up a hand to stop you.

“I was a dick....shouldn’ta been.” 

He turned to walk off.

“Thanks for the smokes....” 

You supposed that had been an apology. 

From that time on he would swing by your work, pick you up and drive you out to secluded areas around Hawkins for quickies in the backseat of his car.

On any given day off, you would spend it more often than not in your bedroom, in multiple positions. 

Tossed around and rutted against until your voice was hoarse and your insides were so sore that sitting the next day would be difficult.

There was no spoken label on what you two were to each other. But what you were unofficially was necessary.

“Billy...?” his oceanic eyes looked up at you. 

“Did you just come to stare?... I know it wasn’t for the summer reading list.” you teased.

Slipping a finger under your waistband and snapping it against your skin, he chuckled.

“Y’know me too well.” he rose from the floor, pulling you along with him.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you flush against his chest, his hands wandering south and grabbing a handful of your ass. Squeezing roughly.

Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you gasped. 

“How’s bout I take your mind off that book for a while?” he thrummed, nuzzling the soft skin of your neck. A sharp nip grabbing your attention.

“Yes! Puh-lease!” you agreed excitedly.

He gruffly shoved you, the back of your knees knocking against the bed, as he easily toppled you.

Kicking off his high-tops, he crawled on top of you. Hands ghosting up your sides.

“If I knew ya paraded around like this...” he wandered off, hooking his index finger under the center of your bra and lifting you up towards him.

Placing open mouthed kisses across the tops of your breasts, up your collarbone, and to your jaw, he slowly accentuated each one with a small wet pop.

“definitely woulda been fuckin’ ya sooner.” he concluded. Sliding a hand around your neck, gently squeezing as his lips found yours.

You whimpered eagerly, plucking at his bottom lip with your teeth as he slotted his mouth against yours hungrily.

He growled in response, tossing you back against the bed, tearing the white muscle tank over his head and discarding it.

Reclaiming your lips he crooked his thumbs around your waistband, inching them down off your frame, and whisking them from your ankles to the floor.

You were already glistening with arousal.

He smirked at the sight, tongue peeking between his teeth.

“Look how wet you are...” he breathed, jerking your hips into his lap, “haven’t even touched ya!”

You watched him with bated breath. Eyes wide and lust blown.

Pulling you up higher and draping your legs over his shoulders, he locked eyes with you.

He smirked, tongue barely contained. Winking at you devilishly before he dove straight in.

Pressing his tongue flat against your slit, he ran it teasingly from top to bottom. Probing your entrance, causing your head to fall back onto the mattress.

He pinched your ass, making your eyes snap back open and refocus on him.

You whined loudly, your hips rolling in tandem with each pass that his tongue made.

“Billy...” you whimpered, his ministrations becoming more focused. Every swipe becoming harsher, tantalizingly longer. Dragging his tongue out against your clit and suckling it between his teeth.

Your hips were beginning to stutter, grinding greedily against his mouth. That all familiar heat building in the pit of your stomach.

“So close” you heaved out in short panting breaths.

And like that he dropped you. Without ceremony.

Thumping into the mattress. 

“S’not nice to tease Billy...” you sniveled, your chest rising and falling with just how close you truly were.

Shedding the rest of his clothes he climbed back onto the mattress.

A smug look on his face. 

“You’re gonna cum...” he mocked your quivering lip, coaxing you to lift up as he pried off your bra and carelessly tossed it.

“Just when I want ya to.” he chided.

Grabbing your leg, he wrenched your body down the length of the bed to meet him.

Looming over you he smirked, the corners of his lips pricked in wicked delight.

“You’re a real sight like this....” he teased, eyes washing over you as he licked his lips.

“Ya gonna continue to tease me... or fuck me?” you huffed out in a shaky response. 

He regarded you with a vulturous stare, grabbing up your wrists and pinning them above your head.

Darkly watching your expression, he rut himself several times against your sopping folds. Slicking himself.

Angling your hips, you chewed your lip in anticipation as you felt him press the head of his cock to your entrance.

“Billy!” you mewled loudly as he pushed deeper, sheathing himself fully inside you.

“Fuck baby!” he exhaled sharply, leaning in and capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

Slinging your legs around his waist, you kissed him back feverishly as he started to move.

Breaking the kiss, he extended his back out. Leveraging his height to draw his hips back and drive into you with harsh deep strokes.

Each contact pulling deep breathy moans from your throat in rapid succession.

Arching your back, you pulled him closer. High-pitched whines falling from your lips.

Heat was rippling across your skin, your desire building. Coiling inside you.

The sound of skin on skin was echoing through the room, as Billy leaned close, biting your swollen lips.

“Hold on....” he warned.

“What?” you breathed.

He effortlessly flipped you to your stomach, raising you up on your knees.

You went scrambling, clutching at the sheets as he slammed his pelvis against you.

“Billy!” you keened shrilly.

A hand came down against your ass, and you choked. A broken moan shamefully leaving your body.

Another.

A deep growl leaving his chest. “Like when I fuck you this way, huh?”

“Yeh” you practically sobbed.

Digging your fingers into the mattress, you started pressing yourself back meeting him thrust for thrust.

A deep rumble of approval emitted from his throat as he smacked both your asscheeks.

“There she is... there’s my girl.” he praised.

“Close!” you warned, crashing yourself back against him. 

You were wound tight. Starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Right on the very precipice.

Wrapping his hand around your neck, he pulled you to his chest, picking up his pace.

Running a hand down your front, he lazily fondled your clit. Making you cry out, and clutch at him.

“How close?” he taunted, thrusting deep.

You grimaced, wriggling in his hold. The stimulation making you clamp down on his wrist. Digging in your nails to stay grounded.

“Billy!” you begged brokenly, “-’m right there.... please!”

He toyed with you, his thrusts becoming unhurried and fingers dancing on your tense bundle of nerves.

“Hmmmm.” he contemplated.

You turned in his grasp as best you could, looking up at him. Head resting against his chest.

“Please.” you pled, watery doe eyes flashing up at him.

He grinned down at you wolfishly.

Resuming his pace he pumped back into you, targeting your clit with rough and constant pressure.

“Ok. Baby...” he cooed, “you can cum.”

Not releasing your grip, you held onto him as you felt the tidal wave hit. Washing over you in a sudden rush of warmth.

Your jaw falling slack, and eyes rolling back as your walls compressed around him.

You felt Billy slowing as your climax hit. Which was highly unusual, but collapsing into the mattress, you didn’t think to question it.

He pulled out making you whimper.

Panting you lay there, limply. Head swimming as you tried to gather yourself back up.

“Wanna try somethin’...” he drawled from behind you, stroking his knuckles up the length of your thigh.

“Ok...” you said dreamily.

Something wet and slippery hit your ass, his fingers massaging your skin.

You ignored him, feeling increasingly tired.

That was until he started trailing his fingers between your asscheeks.

You turned your head curiously. 

You were exhausted. He should be exhausted. 

Blinking with glossy eyes, you watched him. Feeling his fingers sliding and circling around that tight ring of muscle.

He cautiously pressed his index finger against it, gaging your reaction. You simpered weakly, not rebuffing him.

Gaining confidence, Billy pushed further, slipping a digit inside. You whined softly without lifting your head.

You had admittedly never held this conversation with Billy before. Granted you also hadn’t expected him to spring it on you when you were this tired.

So far, it didn’t seem so bad, compared to all the horror stories you had heard. It actually felt pretty good.

After a while of gliding his finger in and out he decided to add another. Your whimpers only encouraging him.

“It hurt?” he asked.

“No...” you replied airily, lolling your head to the side.

If anything, you may have believed that you were beginning to love the feeling. And whined out when he withdrew his fingers.

Laying your head to the bed you sighed in disappointment, tensing when something much much larger touched you.

Looking over your shoulder, you locked eyes with Billy.

The apprehension in the air was palpable.

“You liked it so far...” he reasoned.

“Fingers aren’t cock!” you squeaked.

He looked at you guiltily. “Please?”

You snorted sharply.

“You’ll stop if I say?” you asked warily.

“Yes. Course!” he replied, “I’ll go slow...”

You lay there and thought. ... And thought.

“Ok... but go like... real slow.” you instructed.

He nodded, “I will.”

“Yah gotta relax babe...” he soothed, stroking your back.

You took a deep breath, trying not to think about it, letting yourself slip back into your sleepy state.

“That’s it. Good.” he cooed, continuing to run his hands up your spine.

You closed your eyes, focusing on his touch.

Thoroughly coating himself in lube against your skin he gingerly guided himself in.

The first couple of seconds felt fine. The rest of it nowhere near.

The stretch felt unreal, you thought for certain he was ripping you apart.

He was groaning, biting his lip. “Fuck! So fuckin’ tight!...”

White hot pain with every intrusive inch making you moan. No. Scream. 

Tears falling out of your eyes beyond your control as he pushed his way in.

Fully seated against you he waited.

“Are you ok?” he questioned in concern.

You blinked in shock, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. The sting, the throb, the sensitivity. It was all addling your mind.

“Y-yeh... think so.” you spluttered out.

He reassuringly kissed your shoulder, slowly pulling back setting a light pace.

A heady moan raked your frame, as he started in. Your body growing more accustomed to the sensations and his size.

The pain was subsiding being replaced with a sensation that made your stomach flip and insides quiver.

Your moans were growing louder. Bolder.

“P-pick it up...” you begged, propping your knees underneath your weakened frame.

“You sure?”

“Yes” you dragged out in a long broken plea.

He groaned, slapping your ass. “Oh what a good girl! Love all the ways I fuck you?”

Gaining speed, his thrusts slammed into you. Your cries reverberating off the walls. The bed shaking.

“I’m gonna make this ass mine”, he growled, his hands groping the globes of your ass. “Would you like that baby?”

You threw your head back mewling in reply. “B-billy!”

His thrusts were growing rougher, sloppier.

Bending over top of you he pressed himself flush against you as his orgasm hit.

Grinding into you, spurring a climax of your own. Making you clench down around him. Your vision hazing over.

He growled, filling you, as you keened at the top of your lungs.

You both collapsed. He carefully pulled out, rolling to his back. Breathless.

Weakly, you looked at him. A dumb grin plastered across his face.

“So...” he panted, “would you ever do that again?”

[simply-hyacinth]

This might be too much to ask but could you do an L fanfiction where he finds out the reader has body issues (specifically a shy, female reader) . I have stretch marks, faded s.h. Scars, and on top of that, a face I’m not very proud of. I’ve never had anyone like me in return and i think my appearance might be a reason along with my mental problems so it makes me very insecure 🤣. I just want to know what it’s like to have someone care about me regardless of my insecurities. I probably am not making any sense though

I might revisit this and rewrite it again another time. I was trying to think of how L would react to such a thing, and he seems to be the type to simply dismiss it with a "Well I'm not even dating you for your looks", but that's obviously not the kindest thing to hear, so I tried to rethink it a bit. I apologize if it's messy and not quite what you wanted. Again, I'm not the most wonderful at these, but I do try my best.

You had decided to take the day off to spend it with L. He was so rarely in town that you felt it was best if you were able to make the most of your time with him when he was. Despite your conscious efforts to restrain yourself from asking him about his work and what was causing those awful dark circles underneath his eyes, your facial expressions gave away your silent questions anyways.

“It is nothing to worry about,” He stated simply. “Just a particularly difficult month.”

“Do you need anything?” You asked him quietly.

He shook his head softly. “I would much rather just enjoy my time with you while I can. I should thank you for taking me here, before I forget.”

You had thought it would be nice to have a little picnic with him in the park. The trees were a plethora of vibrant reds and oranges, and you and L were both dressed in hand-knitted sweaters that you may or may not have forced him to wear.

The sleeves of your sweater were long enough to cover up the scars that you feared he would see, and you were careful not to roll them up around him.

After the picnic and a little walk around the park, the two of you headed back to your apartment. The chilly fall air stung your cheeks as you walked, and despite your hand being tucked into L’s, it was still beginning to freeze over.

The warmth from your apartment was a welcome feeling, but one you quickly realized was overbearing in your thicker sweater. L had already taken his off, leaving him in nothing but the plain white shirt he had been wearing when he arrived.

“That’s new.”

“Hmm?” You asked, looking towards where he was pointing. A little framed picture of the two of you - the only picture you had of the both of you - sat on your bookshelf, centered amongst several other little objects. Your face burned with embarrassment. “Oh, sorry.”

“For what?” He mused, walking over to it. “Oh, I remember this day. You tried jelly-filled donuts for the first time.”

That was not how you remembered the day. You recalled staring into the mirror for over an hour, picking at every miniscule detail about yourself, so worried that he would notice all the flaws that you saw in yourself every day.

But, it was the only picture you had with him, so regardless of the memories, it got framed.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I remember every interaction with you.” He responded softly before looking over. “It’s quite warm in here. Is the sweater not making you too hot?”

“I don’t mind.” You lied, very much burning up underneath the heavy material. You shuffled towards the kitchen and tried to change the subject. “Do you want dinner?”

He nodded, regarding you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

Throughout the rest of the night, you weren’t quite able to disguise your discomfort as well as you thought you could, even after turning the heat down. You didn’t have any clean long sleeve shirts to change into, so you were stuck with the sweater.

And L - oh, lovely and observable L, had quickly noticed your anxiety, although he did not speak on it until later into the evening.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”

You turned around swiftly, eyes wide. “No! No, not at all! Why would you think that?”

“You seem terribly nervous, much more than when we were out earlier. I wasn’t sure if I had done something to cause it. I would not have said anything had you not lectured me previously about my lack of communication.” He pressed his thumb to his lips, not quite meeting your eyes as he spoke.

A warm flush bloomed in your cheeks and you couldn’t look at him. “It’s not that. It’s something else.”

“Elaborate?”

“It’s dumb, really.” You said quickly, half waving it away with your hand.

“I can be the judge of that.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, despite the growing heat. “I just…uh, I’m not the biggest fan of how I look I suppose. I wear a lot of sweaters and jackets to cover up what I’m not comfortable with, and I didn’t want you to see anything. Which is stupid, I know,” You cut him off before he can speak. “But you just tend to notice everything, and this was one thing I didn’t want you to.”

L was quiet for a minute, and then he let out a low chuckle, much to your surprise. You stared at him in shock. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Not at all.” He straightened up,something he didn’t do often. “I was not aware that you thought this was something I would care about.”

Your face was burning now, your moment of vulnerability cut through by his reaction. “Well, I mean - wait what?”

He shrugged. “I have had similar thoughts, if I am honest with you. I am certainly not physically appealing - “

“That’s not true at all.” You retorted.

“In that case, would you believe me if I said you were the most beautiful person to me?” His words were casual, so casual that you wondered what kind of conversation you were even having. “To continue to be honest, I never gave much consideration to the way you looked.”

“Wow, okay.”

“Oh? So you like me purely for my body then?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“No!” You said with such force that it sounded more like an insult than you realized. “I mean, no, I liked you for your personality.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “The same holds true for me about you. Which is why you are the most beautiful person to me. I have never met anyone quite like you.”

“You haven’t properly met many women at all.” You muttered. “Wait, go back to that beautiful thing?”

He looked you in the eye now. “Would you believe me if I said that I love you regardless of whatever flaws you may think you have?”

You try not to stutter over your words as you respond. “I - I guess. If you believe the same for me - that I love you despite how you look as well.”

He gave you a delicate little smile. “Thank you.”

You sighed with relief. You knew he wouldn’t have left you for your looks, but hearing him tell you that he loved you no matter what you looked like was a reassurance regardless. 

It also meant that you could take this awfully hot sweater off without worry.

[army-author]

jungkook scenario | the alchemy of amor

❝ jungkook is the arrogant son of the duke. you’re a humble alchemist just trying to make a living. unfortunately for you, jungkook seems to have taken a strange interest in you. when a dangerous wager involving a love potion spirals out of control, you find yourself flung into the deep end of emotion, and it becomes difficult to decipher genuine attraction from magical aftereffect... ❞

➝ prompt: i’m a witch who’s been experimenting with love-potion formulas, but there’s been a bit of a mix-up, and now the love-potion has somehow ended up in your hands, and you’re drinking it, and - no, please stop!

➝ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➝ genre: fluff, fantasy au, enemies to lovers

➝ requested by anon | 15.5k words

➝ warnings: profanity, mild injury, implied smut, some characters express misogynist sentiments

➝ author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! i had a lot of fun writing it. as you can see from the word count, i got a bit carried away. i can’t help it, i love enemies to lovers!

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

You are not wont to pray, but in circumstances such as this, with your life unravelling before you in tattered ribbons, your mind recalls the goddess you so often forget. Watching in horror, your supplications come thick and fast, as Jeon Jungkook downs the phial of rose-gold potion, and with it, swallows the hours of work you had invested into those shimmering contents.

Normally, you would not be so perturbed by the wasting of a potion, even one as rare as Impetus Amor. Ingredients can always be re-bought, potions can always be re-brewed. But something about Jungkook’s cocky expression as he sets down the vial, and raises a brow at you, overwhelms you with the heat of irrational fury.

“Mighty goddess above, what is wrong with you?” you spit venom more potent than your potions. “You know very well how long that took to brew!”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough.” He smacks his lips together, “Looks like the potion doesn’t work anyway. And on top of that, it tastes bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

How does he know what dried roses and soap taste like?

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you retort through gritted teeth.

You know that the potion does work. After all the work you invested - collecting rose-petals, gold shavings, and pegasus feathers, all to be brewed on a blue moon, and then carefully distilled – there was no way that the batch of Impetus Amor was unsuccessful. But every alchemist worth their gold knows that the finicky love potion takes a few minutes to take effect after ingestion.

Which means that in a few minutes Jeon Jungkook, the man you hate most, will involuntarily fall in love with you.

How could I let this happen? You cast your mind over the unfortunate events that had led you to this low point, while you stifle a scream.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Several days ago]

It starts when one of your customers steps into your potions shop, in the town of Sientha, with a peculiar order.

She wears a red hood that covers most of her face, and clutches a purse tightly in her gloved hand. Glancing furtively around the shop, she walks over to your counter, and slips a note between the demijohns and ampuls that crowd the area where you work.

Upon unfolding her note, your eyes widen. The note reads: ‘One vial of Impetus Amor’. You focus your eyes on the client, who keeps her head down. You can just make out shapely lips and a dainty chin below the lowered hood.

“I know it’s a difficult potion to make,” she says in a hushed tone, “But I’m willing to pay whatever you need for it.”

You study her intently. Below the cloak, you can see an expensive dress, and jewellery sparkling at her neck. It’s clear that she has the means to pay. In most circumstances, you would object to the use of Impetus Amor, but it is not your responsibility to tell your customers how to use your potions. You simply get on with brewing, and ask no questions. That’s how you make a living. This case wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay,” you say, “I must warn you that it will take quite a while to make, and most of the ingredients are quite rare, so the wait may be long.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

You nod, leaning against the counter, as you tally up how much the potion will cost in ingredients and labour. When you finally name your price, the woman is silent for a moment, contemplating, before she nods, and rummages in her purse. She takes out a small brown sack, heavy with coin, which she places in front of you. Counting up the money, you nod in satisfaction. “You’re in luck. There’s a blue moon soon, and the potion should be ready not long after. Roughly five weeks,” you advise, “Come by to collect it when you’re able.”

Satisfied, the woman leaves the shop, while you gape at the sack of coins on your counter top. You hadn’t had that much money to your name in a long time.

Impetus Amor – the potion is infamously difficult to create, but you’re ready for a challenge. Spinning around to the shelf of tomes behind you, you scour the tittles until you find the one you need. You pull the tome down from its shelf, holding your breath as a fog of dust descents around you. So it begins.

✽ ✽ ✽

The first mistake you make is accepting the request from the mysterious woman who came into your shop.

Your second mistake is letting Jungkook into your shop. Or letting Jungkook anywhere near you at all.

Jungkook is the only son of the duke of Braewyth, the duchy you reside in - a hobbyist alchemist and your tormentor in his spare time. When he had first barged into your potion shop, and declared that he wanted to learn the art of alchemy, you were led to the conclusion that he was a pretentious prick. This suspicion proved to be correct, as after a few lessons from you – out of the goodness of your heart, and the impossibility of saying ‘No’ to the heir of the duchy – Jungkook believed himself to be better than you with your fifteen years of experience. He was now convinced that the two of you were rivals, and you were convinced that he was a pain in the arse.

As you work on crushing down dried rose petals for your new project, Jungkook barges into your shop once more. He doesn’t seem to know of any other way to make an entrance into your tiny business. He leans over the counter, his eyes burning on your skin as you work.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Preparing ingredients for Impetus Amor.”

His nose wrinkles as he leans back on the counter, crossing his arms over his overcoat, embroidered with the emblem of the duchy, a snow white stag on a blue shield. “Ah, the potion of love,” he muses, “I’ve heard that one’s incredibly difficult to make.”

“I know,” you grimace, as you continue to grind rose petals to a fine red dust in your stone mortar. “What of it, Mr. Jeon?”

The duke’s son gives an impartial shrug. “I’m merely stating that it’s a laborious potion to perfect. I’m surprised you’re attempting it.”

You bite down on your cheek to stop yourself from speaking indecently to Braewyth’s heir. “My customers respect me, and know that I’ll carry out any requests with the utmost care,” you cut back with thinly veiled anger.

Jungkook leans back lazily, his elbow brushing dangerously close to a decanter filled with Verum Serum, a silver truth potion you’ve been working on. “Well then, my little apothecary, why don’t we make a wager?”

You raise an eyebrow, setting down your mortar, and waiting for him to continue.

“I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to finish the potion,” Jungkook says, “In fact, if you finish it, and it works, I’ll pay you in gold.” He grins.

“And if I can’t?” you enquire. It’s an unlikely option, but you need to know what you are dealing with. You find it difficult to refuse the offer of money, especially if it’s a loss for Jungkook, but you’re wary of the consequences on the (very low) chance that you are unsuccessful.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook raises a hand, “I know you can’t pay much gold.” Your cheeks heat up. “But if you lose, then I demand a kiss from you.”

Biting down a retort, you take a deep breath, and remind yourself that it is unacceptable to call the son of the duke a ‘Bastard’, no matter how much you want to. Instead, with your fists balling, you reply, “Very well, Mr. Jeon. But please be prepared to lose.”

His eyes glitter under your gaze, “Okay.”

You know that there is no way you can lose. Still, the very thought of admitting defeat and letting him kiss you has your blood boiling as it churns through your heart. You ought to show more respect to the son of the duke - to most a kiss from him would be an honour - but your find respect hard to muster when he does nothing but flirt with the ladies about the town of Sientha, strutting arrogantly down the streets with a different girl handing off his arm each night.

It’s Jungkook’s loss for certain. You’ll make sure of that.

✽ ✽ ✽

Despite your confidence, Jungkook does everything he can to get in your way.

The next morning you raise yourself early from your bed to head into the mountains in search of pegasus feathers. Jungkook catches you on your walk between your shop and the stables, with your satchel slung across your back, and a grenadine-coloured cloak covering your riding boots and trousers. He saunters across the cobbled street to greet you. “Look at you. Out and about. It’s not often I see you step out of the comforts of your shop.”

“Perhaps if you were up earlier, it wouldn’t be such an irregular occurrence for you,” you chide, as you make for the bridge to the east, leading out of Sientha, “I often go out in the morning to track down ingredients.”

“My apologies that I don’t know your schedule by heart, little alchemist,” Jungkook ripostes, keeping pace with you, short steps for his longer legs, “I’ll have you know that I have many duties that keep me in the Braewyth manor until later in the day.”

Uninterested, you reach the stables where your ebony mare waits, whickering in recognition when you reach her stall. You begin saddling up, annoyed by the presence of Jungkook behind you, which you try to ignore – but like a fly buzzing around an empty room, it gets too irritating too quickly. “Are you planning on following me around all day like a cur in heat?” you ask, and Jungkook smirks, clearly amused to have scratched at some deep seated vexation inside you.

“That’s no way to talk to me, little alchemist,” he reminds you, waggling a taunting finger.

You sigh, adjusting the bridle on your mare. “Please excuse me, my good sir,” you lace your voice with sarcasm, “It wan’t my intention to offend. I was simply surprised to see someone like you showing an interest in my humble activities.” You offer him a sickly sweet smile, before hoisting yourself up into your saddle.

Ignoring your mockery, Jungkook looks up at you from under your dark lashes, “Well, where are you headed today?”

You bite down on your instinctual reply, thinking better of telling him it’s none of his business. “I’m going to the mouth of the River Waye. It’s rumoured that a pegasus has nested there, and I need its feathers.”

“For the Impetus Amor?” Jungkook’s eyes gleam.

You bow your head in a nod.

“Excellent. I’d love to come with you,” Jungkook sates, “I’ve never seen a real pegasus.”

As you open your mouth, ready to deny him, he interrupts, “You offered to tutor me on alchemy after all. Ingredient collection is a vital part of the hobby.”

I never offered to tutor you, you simply thrust your cumbersome presence upon me. Before you can say any of this out loud, Jungkook is calling for one of the stable hands to saddle up one of their horses. “Mr. Jeon, need I remind you that this hobby is a source of income for some,” you’re left to respond, somewhat hopelessly, as Jungkook stares up at you in your saddle.

Your mare shifts restless, unsure why she’s still cooped in her stable.

“If it’s such a burden to earn a livelihood, then I’m sure you could find some kind husband who’d be more than happy to take care of you,” Jungkook responds, “With looks like yours, you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

Your blood boils in frustration. You bite down on your lip, watching in cold silence as the stable hand brings a chestnut stallion over to Jungkook, handing him the reins. Your horse senses your unease, and with a prick of your heels in her side, she’s all too happy to trot out of the stable and into the harsh sunshine of the winter morning.

Jungkook follows behind, his stallion’s horseshoes clacking on the cobblestones.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Jeon,” you say, controlling your tone as best you can, “I’m perfectly content making a living for myself, and am in no need of a husband.”

“And what of it?” Jungkook spurs on his horse, overtaking you as you reach the bridge out of Sientha, where the town guards immediately part, recognising the duchy crest on Jungkook’s overcoat.

As you follow over the bridge, Jungkook casts a look over his shoulder at you, “You wish to spend your whole life brewing potions, and die an old maid?”

“I know of worse fates,” you say, “I would rather live as a lowly alchemist than the chattel of some rich cretin such as yourself.”

Jungkook falls into silence, face frosty, and you wonder if your pushed things too far.

As you continue down the road, the quality of the surface worsens, with more potholes appearing the further you travel from Sientha. Fallen mute, you and Jungkook pass fields, appearing empty after the harvests of autumn.

It’s a long way to the mouth of the River Waye, which lies in the valley between two mountains, Mount Cantre and Ayn Blanch. The two peaks rise above you in the distance. As you branch off the main road onto a dirt track, you allow your mare to break into a gallop, and Jungkook urges his horse on to keep up with yours. You cast a glance over to him as he keeps stride beside you, his jaw set and his brows furrowed over dark eyes. With your gaze fixed, you almost miss the shouting, until the ruckus is directly behind you. Snapping your neck around, you see a group of Braewyth soldiers approaching on horseback. You pull on your mare’s reigns, attempting to bring her to a halt, but the soldiers are already upon you, passing by on the narrow track. Your skittish mare rears as the soldiers rush past, and you find your view turned upside down. Thrown from the saddle, you land on your rear in a soft pile of moss. You’re lucky to have nothing but your pride bruised.

Jungkook brings his horse to a halt next to you, and leaps down from his saddle, catching your spooked mare’s reigns, before she makes to bolt. Soothing the black horse with hushed murmurs, Jungkook leads her to a nearby tree, where he ties the reigns to a low hanging branch. “Are you alright?” he turns his attention back to you.

You wince, and take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Yes, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Good.” His voice is gruff, “Those bloody soldiers. I wonder if they realise who they just overtook. I’ve a mind to report them to my father.”

“Don’t bother,” you dust down your cape, “Everyone knows the Braewyth soldiers are bloated with pride after the last success in war.”

Jungkook snorts. “That war was three years ago. Their only responsibility now is to protect the people of the duchy, and they can’t even do that!” He heaves a sigh, eyes cast to the sky, where the harsh sun shines down from an empty winter sky. “No matter, we’re wasting time here. If you’re sure you’re alright, then we should crack on.”

You walk over to untie your mare, who has now calmed down and is happily grazing on some grass by the side of the road. Hoisting yourself into your saddle, you edge her on with a soft nudge of your heels. Ahead of you, Jungkook has already mounted his ride, patting the neck of his stallion. You’re almost in a mind to apologise to Jungkook for calling him a “cretin” earlier, but you bite back the words, pride getting in the way.

You continue the journey in silence. The path is long, and as your altitude increases, the temperature plummets. Shivering, you pull your cloak closer around you. Your mare huffs out puffs of warm breath as she trots down the winding track, weaving between the smaller hills that spread towards the Braewyth mountains. Further ahead, Jungkook is hunched down in his saddle, looking cold, but staying stubbornly silent.

At last, you come to the edge of the valley, and begin to follow the track next to the shallow section of the River Waye. The banks are padded with moss, and you spot the sleek shining bodies of carp flickering in the crystalline water.

Slowing your mare, you slip off your mount, and tie her to a barren tree at the edge of the water. Ahead of you, Jungkook, having noticed you have stopped, dismounts as well. “Are we there?” he asks.

You nod, putting a finger to your lips. With a hushed voice, you respond: “Nearly. But we need to proceed on foot. Pegasus are incredibly skittish. We’ll be quieter without the horses.”

Passing Jungkook, you follow the winding path next to the Waye, stepping on the spongy moss to silence your footsteps. The two mountains rise up on either side of you – on the left, Ayn Blanche, its peak capped with snow, and on the right, Mount Cantre, sitting squat in Ayn Blanche’s shadow. The valley in between is adorned with scree; clumps of heather dot the otherwise drab landscape.

You slow to a stop when your sharp eyes catch sight of what you were hoping for – hoof prints and loose white hairs caught on a bramble. Leaning down, you pick up a strand of hair, running your fingers over it. Course and thick, there’s no denying it. The hair from a pegasus’ mane.

“There’s a pegasus somewhere around here,” you inform Jungkook in a hushed tone, pointing out the hoof prints to him.

Staying silent, oddly obedient, Jungkook nods, eyes scanning the area.

Carefully, you make your way along the trail of hoof prints. Ahead of you, you spot an opening on the steep flank of Ayn Blanche, a few meters from the base. It appears to be the perfect spot for a pegasus nest, tucked away from the wind that normally sweeps through the valley. Walking to the base, you search for a good foothold, and begin to hoist yourself up the craggy slope to the opening.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jungkook breaks his unofficial vow of silence.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you huff, “I’m getting up to the pegasus’ nest.”

“Isn’t that dangerous work for… well...” Jungkook trails off. Probably for the best.

“I’ve climbed my fair share of rock faces,” you assure him, “Alchemy isn’t just about sitting daintily at a table stirring tiny beakers and keeping one’s hands soft and free of callouses.”

“But won’t the pegasus be angered if you enter its nest?” Jungkook worries from below.

As you stretch to reach for a rock that juts out above you, you grunt, “You know, Mr. Jeon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were concerned for my wellbeing.”

You’re disappointed that you cannot look down to see the pout that is so evident in his voice as he retorts, “Well it wouldn’t look good if I were to go out with a young maiden, and return back with her maimed. People might talk.”

“People will always talk, regardless,” you say, pulling yourself up to the ledge at the front of the opening. “Don’t fear, Pegasus are only aggressive to those they deem to have a wicked soul. Which means I’ll be fine. But you might need to watch out.”

Before Jungkook can shoot back a reply, you turn your attention to the opening that houses the nest. The space is large, big enough for a pegasus. Peering in, you see that the nest is empty of any life, but the small cave is filled with exactly what you need – feathers caught on the rocky outcroppings. Pulling out a bottle from your satchel, you scoop up a few feathers, and preserved them in your glass. The feathers sparkle slightly in the sunshine that throws slanted rays into the cave. Satisfied with your find, you get ready to climb back down.

Just then, you hear a shout, and peer down to see Jungkook waving his hands at you from the bottom of the steep rock face. He gesticulates wildly, pointing downstream. You look in that direction, a spot the white shape of a pegasus, just before it plummets down with a splash into the Waye.

Quickly, you scramble down the rocks, and sprint to the river, where you see the water running red. An arrow is sticking from the flank of the pegasus, which raises its head above the water, straining to get up, before it flops down again. Horrified, you scan the area, trying to figure out where the arrow was fired from. It doesn’t take you long. Two poachers approach, a net swinging from their hands.

“Oi, get away from that creature,” one of them shouts upon spotting you.

“What are you going to do with it?” you ask, moving your body to block the pegasus.

“We’re going to make a fortune peddling off it’s body parts to alchemists,” the shorter of the two informs you, “Those occultists pay a hefty price for hair and feathers you know, not to mention a fresh heart, or a vial of blood.”

You grit your teeth, standing up straighter, “It’s a negative stereotype that alchemists use blood and hearts in their potions. And the hair and feathers are only useful if they’ve come from a living creature. You’re wasting your time if you think you’ll make money killing and harvesting this animal.”

The taller one laughs – an ugly sound that sends a shudder through you. “And what would you know about alchemy, wench? If I have questions about my cooking, or my laundry I’ll come to you.  So how about you keep your mouth shut on things you know nothing about?”

Stifling your rage, your bite back, “I’m not letting you near this creature. Not one step further.”

“Oh, well, aren’t you just a darling bloody saint. Protecting the innocent fauna of the land. I don’t remember asking for a sermon on the morality of killing dumb animals.” Your eye catches the movement of the taller man’s hand to the hilt of his sword. “Now, I would suggest you get out of the way, before I make you get out of the way.”

You size the two men up, and swallow. You have a small dagger on your hip, usually used for cutting plant shoots. Not much use against two swords. Still, you bring your hand to your hip in anticipation, unwilling to back down.

“I order you to stop!”

You glance towards the source of the voice. Jungkook is standing behind you with his rapier raised, his stance indicating years of training in fencing. With two calculated blows he could puncture the stomachs of both poachers. The two men blanche.

Nonetheless, the shorter of the two poachers blusters on, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you two gentlemen that pegasus are considered an endangered species, and it’s a criminal offence to poach them, punishable by a good flogging in Sientha square.”

The shorter poacher swallows, his hand wavering.

The taller of the two is only all the more incited. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re not a king. Not even a prince. Just some lesser noble with a silver spoon shoved up your arse. What are you going to do, report me? We’re out in the middle of fuck-knows where, and you’re outnumbered, two to one.” He raises his sword.

“Actually, it’s two against two,” you correct him, unsheathing your dagger.

“Well that seems fair then, doesn’t it,” Jungkook purrs, “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to punish you myself, seeing as we’re in the middle of “fuck-knows where”, as you so eloquently put it.”

The shorter of the two gulps audibly, and then turns tail and begins running in the opposite direction, slipping over the mossy rocks by the Waye’s bank.

A wiser man would have retreated, but it appears that the taller poacher is somewhat lacking in cognitive ability. With a roar, he lunges at Jungkook, who easily pirouettes out of reach, leaving the lanky man to swipe at thin air. Growling, the man rights himself, and launches at Jungkook, but the duke’s son easily parries the blow with his blade, a metallic clang echoing in the valley. The poacher stumbles back, grimacing. Seeing that he has underestimated the “lesser noble”, the poacher makes a grab for you instead.

You attempt to duck out of the way, but slip on the wet rocks, and feel a clammy hand grab around your wrist, pulling you into the hard body of the poacher. Up close, he smells of onions and beer. You struggle against him, but upon feeling cold steel at your throat, you freeze.

“Not another move,” the poacher growls, “Or this wench gets it.”

You glance at Jungkook, who stands poised, with rapier raised. An expression of fear flashes across his face, like a fleeting cloud on a sunny day, passing so fast, you could convince yourself you imagined it.

The poacher’s plot could have worked out for him, had he not underestimated your strength.

As he leers at Jungkook, you grasp at the advantage of surprise. With a sudden twist, like a striking viper, your hand – still holding the dagger - snaps up, and strikes the man on the side of the head with the hard wooden hilt. The man crumples with a screech.

You leap away. At the exact same instant, Jungkook jumps forward. You turn to see the son of the duke standing over the poacher, his rapier raised to the tall man’s stubbly throat. The poacher whimpers, with one hand clutching his face where you struck him. A trickle of blood trails down the wrinkles of his face.

“Now listen carefully,” Jungkook says, his voice low and dangerous, “I could kill you right here. But I’m choosing to spare you. I would suggest you get off your sorry arse, get up, and run away. Take your possessions, your wife and children – if you have any – and flee this duchy. Because know that you are a wanted man while you remain in the borders of Braewyth. I know your face, and soon ever guard in our troops will know it too. The punishment for poaching endangered creatures is flogging. The punishment for an attempt on the heir of the duchy’s life is the gallows. There will not be mercy the second time. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nods, slowly and carefully, his throat strained below the point of Jungkook’s rapier.

Jungkook lifts the blade. “Go.”

The poacher does not need any more prodding. Scrambling to his feet, he flees, glancing behind him every so often, as if he is scared that Jungkook will change his mind and follow after him.

Jungkook breathes a sigh, sheathing his rapier. The sweat on his neck is the only indication that he was at all shaken by the encounter. Your return your dagger to the holster on your hip, and turn your attention to the pegasus which still lies in the shallow portion of the river, breathing heavily. You carefully walk over, and inspect the damage.

There’s one arrow lodged in its side, but from the other gashes on its white coat, it appears that several other arrows hit, but subsequently fell out, leaving the creature to bleed from multiple open wounds. The pegasus lets out a distressed whinny as you approach, and makes an attempt to get up. Its legs shake, and it collapses back with a splash, too weak to run away. It has already lost a lot of blood.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, “I’m not going to hurt you.” You know the creature can’t understand you, but you hope your tone is at least soothing. The pegasus thrashes in the shallow water, but realising it is too weak to move, it resolves itself to its fate, and lays its head down.

You crouch next to it, ignoring the cold water that soaks into your boots and riding trousers. Carefully, you pull a bottle from your satchel, and uncork it. You are thankful that you often carry first aid potions around. Wafting the bottle under the pegasus’ nose, you watch as it inhales the scent of your soothing potion and relaxes. With the creature sedated, you pull the arrow from the skin, and apply pressure to staunch the flow of blood that follows. Hunting in your satchel, you pull out a second potion, filled with healing balm. Pouring the thick green liquid onto your palms, you begin massaging it onto the pegasus’ open wounds. The smell of lavender and sage emanates from the balm, covering up the bitter metallic smell of blood.

Straightening up, you back away from the pegasus. The creature tentatively stands up, taking a few hesitant steps forward. Strengthened and emboldened, the pegasus canters forward with a whicker, its large wings ruffling as it takes flight.

“What did you give it?” Jungkook asks, watching the pegasus soar towards its nest.

“A simple Salutare Decoction,” you tell him, “Made to soothe and heal wounds, and-”

“And restore vitality. Yes, I know the one,” Jungkook interrupts, “I’ve never seen it used in practice.”

You flash him a cocky smile. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re impressed by my talents, Mr. Jeon.”

The heir of the duchy grimaces, “I’ll be impressed if you can actually make the Impetus Amor.”

“Oh, you of little faith. Are you allergic to admiring anyone who isn’t yourself?”

“Don’t get too arrogant, little alchemist.” Jungkook tramps back to his horse, his back a silhouette of irritation with shoulders hunched and head lowered. “Don’t forget who saved you from those poachers, you ungrateful wench.”

You snort,  walking back to your mare, “Some help you were when I had a blade held to my throat...”

“If you had been alone, you would have been slashed to ribbons,” Jungkook parries, hoisting himself into his saddle. With a dig of his heels, his stallion canters forward before you can get another word in.

By the time you’ve swung yourself into your saddle, Jungkook is far ahead, and you know there’s no way your mare can catch up with Jungkook’s brawny stallion.

Clucking at your ebony horse, you encourage her into a trot, muttering insults that Jungkook will never hear while you weave down the path back to Sientha.

✽ ✽ ✽

With the necessary ingredients, you’re finally able to start work on the Impetus Amor once you return to your shop. There’s no sign of Jungkook as you work throughout the rest of the day, and of that you are glad.

If you never see his cocky face again, it’ll be too soon for you. Yet, as you crush down thin sheets of gold into fine dust, his visage clouds your vision. Even as you watch the pegasus feathers steep in rose water, the shimmering sheen slowing leeching from the feather into the liquid, you cannot shake his sure smile and steadfast gaze from your clouded thoughts.

Dazed, you extract the feather from the liquid, leaving behind the opalescent rose water. The ingredients are ready. You simply have to wait. The next blue moon will be soon – a lucky coincidence.

Your luck is sure to run out eventually.

✽ ✽ ✽

On the night of the blue moon, once your shop is closed for the evening, you begin to prepare for the brewing of the potion. You start by getting your ingredients together, setting them up in a semicircle around your caldron. While you may have no control over your own life, you can easily command ingredients to do your bidding, controlling the brewing process and modifying as you go. The whole process is a soothing ritual for you.

At least it would be, if it weren’t for an irksome knocking coming from your door.

Sighing, you leave your ingredients by the caldron, and go to the door. You slide back the wooden latch, and outside you see -

“Jungkook?”

He stands, illuminated in a halo from the lanterns outside.

You wrinkle your nose. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet the heir of the duchy?”

Rolling your eyes, you open the door to him, “Mr. Jeon, what an honour to see you at the threshold of my humble shop. Please make yourself at home. Is that any better?”

“A little,” Jungkook steps inside your shop.

You’re already seething, and he hasn’t even been in your presence for more than a minute. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I needed your expertise on something,” Jungkook says, sauntering over to your counter, and leaning against it.

You snort. “I find it hard to believe you think anyone besides yourself has any expertise.”

“Your words sting, little alchemist,” his eyes drag across the supplies lined on the shelves of your shop, before finally coming to rest on you. “I came here for some advice. Yes, yes, take time to gloat if it makes you feel better.” He waves a dismissive hand.

The gloating wouldn’t feel so good with his dark eyes piercing yours. You swallow, and stay silent.

“I need a potion to help me stay awake,” Jungkook admits.

You raise your brows. “It’s not healthy to stay awake for long periods of time, Mr. Jeon.”

“Well of course. It’s a one-off, naturally,” he shrugs at your concerns, “I’m just a little tied up you see. I promised a lovely lady that I’d take her dancing this evening, but I also have a commitment to the duchy, and that means being in attendance at an early morning meeting tomorrow. I was quite hoping to spend some quality time with the lady tonight, if you understand my meaning.”

“Are you sure it’s not an aphrodisiac you’re after instead?” you quip.

Jungkook raises his brows in feigned surprise. “What do you take me for? Some kind of cad?”

“Are you not a cad?” You examine him skeptically, “I see you around town with a different lady each day. What conclusions am I supposed to draw?”

“Well, perhaps you’re not so wrong,” Jungkook grins, “Just don’t tell the ladies that.”

“Don’t worry. They’re all too posh to speak to me, let alone believe my accusations that Jeon Jungkook is a good for nothing bounder who only cares about the delicacies that hide beneath their petticoats and pantaloons.”

“Can you help with the potion or not?” Jungkook has grown bored of your jokes.

Stepping behind your counter, you begin to rummage around the shelves. “Luckily for you, Vigil Concoction only takes a few minutes to brew.” You grab a jar of rhodiola rosea, along with a fine iron powder, and the scales of a mermaid. Crushing the aquamarine scales to a fine dust, you mix the ingredients together with a drop of lime juice. Jungkook watches, fascinated, as you pour the ingredients into a clean caldron, and bring the concoction to a boil. The smell of brine mixed with lime cuts through the air.

Jungkook's eyes wander over to the ingredients set aside for the Impetus Amor. “I see you’re finally going to be brewing it tonight,” he nods at the ingredients.

“Yes, I was about to before you interrupted,” you say, stirring the Vigil Concoction.

“So if it’s brewed tonight, it should be ready in a few days, correct?”

You sigh, and affirm, “Correct.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then to see if you were actually successful.”

You wince. You had been hoping that Jungkook would forget your wager. Instead of continuing that train of thought, you change the subject. “If you don’t mind me asking, why not cancel your plans with this maiden, and attend the meeting. Any lady would be more than willing to change her plans for you.”

Jungkook sighs, “Actually, meeting with her was my father’s idea.”

You pause stirring the concoction to eye Jungkook with curiosity. “I didn’t take the duke to be the type to encourage copulation with fair damsels.”

“Wether I have sexual relations with the women does not matter,” Jungkook blushes, “My father is insistent that I find a wife.”

You splutter, and his dark eyes flash.

“Did I say something that amused you?”

“No, sorry,” you focus your attention on the potion, “It’s simply difficult to imagine you settling down with a woman.”

“What can I say. Most of the women I meet are a bore. Perfectly satisfactory in the bedroom, but useless outside of it. I struggle to hold a conversation with any of them. I need a lady with more substance if I am to wed her, not just bed her.”

“It must be such a chore being forced to spend time with all those beautiful women,” you tease, decanting the potion into a vial and corking it. Handing it across the counter to Jungkook, you warn, “Wait until it cools down before you consume it.” Your hand brushes against his as he takes the vial.

“Listen,” his voice is quieter, and despite yourself, you find you are trapped in his gaze, “I do not want you to think less of me for this conversation. When I find the right lady, I’ll settle down. I won’t be a cad. I..” he trails off, pocketing the vial. “I… well. Thank you for your help.”

You nod, unsure how to interpret his words. Taking on a professional tone, you say, “The concoction will work for about twelve hours, and will keep you alert and sleepless in that time. Once the twelve hours are up, you may find yourself dozing off quickly, so do be mindful of that.”

“Thank you.” With that, Jungkook leaves your shop. You stand in your empty store, thrown off by the unexpected distraction he caused.

Shaking your head from your hazy thoughts, you get back to the business of brewing Impetus Amor. You sit down in front of the cauldron, with enough ingredients to make several batches. You carefully measure each ingredient out, pouring them into the caldron’s black maw, while the light from the blue moon shines in through the shop window. You murmur a few words as smoke begins to rise from the caldron. The words come from an ancient civilisation, now long dead. The accent is strange and heavy on your tongue. It is the words that are the most demanding part. One wrong inflection, one stutter, and the potion’s strength will wane, or even fade completely. You’ve practiced each phrase thoroughly, just to be safe. As you stir, the liquid in the potion changes from pale translucent to an opaque pearlescent pink. A success. Working quickly, you pour the mixture into an alembic to distill.

Now all that’s left to do is wait.

✽ ✽ ✽

The days pass quicker than you expect, with nothing much to note, apart from the weekend, when a young lady wanders into your shop with a tear stained face, asking for a potion to mend a broken heart. You could have sworn you had seen the lady with her arm strung through Jungkook’s the previous day. You do not comment as you hand her a bottle of Cor Integro.

At last, the Impetus Amor is ready, and right on cue, so is Jungkook. He walks into the shop as you are bottling the love potion.

“Is that it?” His eyes flash over the contents of the glass bottle.

You nod.

“May I?” He holds out a hand, and you hesitate, before relinquishing the bottle to him.

And so concludes the list of bad decisions you made concerning Impetus Amor.

He holds it up to the light, inspecting intently. “Well, it certainly looks convincing. But I suppose we won’t actually know if it works unless we test it.”

The bad feeling forming in your stomach has arrived too late to warn you. Jungkook is already pulling out the cork, and downing the contents of the bottle.

This is how you end up with Jungkook, the one man you cannot stand, drinking your love potion. The first person he looks at will be the one he falls for. He’s looking at you.

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

“Mighty gods above, what is wrong with you? You know very well how long that took to brew!” Your attempt to restrain your tone is unsuccessful. Anger pours freely from your words.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough. Looks like the potion doesn’t even work anyway. And on top of that, it tasted bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you remind him. “In one hour, it will begin to take effect, and you will be reduced to a fawning dolt, drooling over my every move.”

“That will only happen if the potion actually works. Which it may not.” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow at you, so sure of himself it makes you want to scream. “I cannot have you selling snake oil to the people of Braewyth.”

You are physically trembling with anger. “That potion is incredibly expensive. You’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fret not, you’ll get your money… if it works.” He swivels around, and is about to make for the door, but you dash in from of him, blocking off his means of escape. “I won’t allow you to leave,” you say, “You’ll make a complete fool of yourself if you’re free to roam the streets under the influence of a love potion.”

Jungkook blinks – innocent – and then laughs, “Come now. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes. Yes, it will be that bad,” you insist, “I’m keeping you here until I can cure you. The last thing we want is for you to cause a scandal.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobs, finally realising that you’re being serious. “What will the potion do to me?”

“You should have asked before you drank the potion.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “It might not work. We still don’t know.” His eyes are wide, like a deer that’s spotted a hunter with an arrow aimed at its heart. “What will it do?”

“It will make you fall in love with me,” you say, “Of course. On top of that, it will cause you great physical pain any time you are not close to me. It will make you desperate for physical contact.”

Jungkook swallows thickly. “Well… let’s… uh… hope you got it wrong then, hmm?”

You frown. “I’ve half a mind to throw you out into the street to make a complete fool of yourself, screaming your love for all bystanders to hear.”

“Surely you’ve got a cure,” Jungkook pleads.

You grit your teeth. “You can’t expect me to simply fix every problem with a magical potion, Mr. Jeon. Alchemy doesn’t always work like that.”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook blurts, “There, I said it. I’m sorry! I know I’ve cocked up. And I know I take your abilities for granted. I underestimate you all the time. I’m sorry, alright? But you have had it out for me from the moment you met me. You hated me before you even knew me. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry for that too. Now can you please stop piling on the blame and help me?” He holds up his hands, plaintive, “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Your shoulders slump. You want to be angry. All you feel is pity.

“Aright, Jungkook,” you concede, “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” his voice is soft.

You set the sign on your shop door to ‘Closed’, and bolt it. Then, you move across to your shelf of books. You know that one of these tomes must contain an antidote for a love potion. It’s not something you’ve made before, and you cannot remember which volume it is in, but you know it must be there. You scan the indexes, the pile of rejected tomes towering taller as you search through each book for any help it may provide.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sits on a stool by the counter, fidgeting awkwardly. 

At last, in your copy of Payne and Nash’s Antidotes for Advanced Alchemy, you find a potion called Aphrodite’s Cure – an antidote for love potions and aphrodisiacs.

Your finger mechanically runs down the list, checking off each one.

Extract from a siren’s tongue

Sap from a cherry tree

Crushed topaz

You have all those items in your shop. If you believed in the goddess, you would be praising her now. Your finger stops, hovering over the brewing time, spelled out in black ink. Two hours.

“Well, Jungkook...” The duke’s son looks up at the sound of your voice. “I’ve found a cure I can brew, but it will take two hours.”

Jungkook’s hopeful expression falls. “Well, I suppose I can bear being in love with a pain in the arse like you for two hours. Even if you are… the most… the most... beautiful maiden I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leaps up from his stool.

Your heart pounds, animalistic instincts telling you to run far away.

Still you remain frozen to the spot, while Jungkook makes his way around the counter to grab at you, pulling you close. Your chest presses against his, while his hands grip your waist.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook murmurs, “Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

Your curse silently, caught in Jungkook’s ardent gaze. Your potion had worked wonders... unfortunately. “Does this drivel normally work on the maidens you woo?” you ask, pushing him away.

He winces as you part. “Please, my dear, it hurts when you force us apart.”

You remember the side effect of Impetus Amor embodies itself as physical pain when a couple is not  close to one another. Despite your disdain for Jungkook, you feel a pang of pity for him. “Okay,’ you say, “You may stay near my side. But you can’t get in my way while I work on an antidote for you.”

“But I don’t want to be cured,” Jungkook retorts, “I’m in love with you, and it feels wonderful. I never realised how good it would feel to experience true love. You truly wish to part me from this happiness?”

“Yes. You asked for this. Remember that.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My past self did not know what he was talking about. I wish to stay by your side, forever..”

“No matter what I do,” you say, “The effects will wear off in a week. I’m merely expediting the process to save you the embarrassment that will follow.”

Firmly, you move away from Jungkook, fetching a bottle of siren’s tongue extract from the top shelf behind your counter, before you dig out your crushed topaz and cherry tree sap from a cupboard. You sit down in front of your caldron and let Jungkook take a seat beside you. His hand comes to rest on your knee. You startle at his touch.

“You said I could stay close to you,” he says, “Sorry, is this too much?”

You shrug. “Do what you need to. Just don’t get in my way.” As you pour the potions into the caldron and begin stirring over a low flame, you try to ignore the heat in your body, shooting up from the spot on your leg where Jungkook’s palm rests. The ingredients begin to bubble in the caldron. You watch carefully, smelling the steam that rises, hoping to discern clues on the quality of the brew. When the scent of caramel begins to waft from the caldron, you remove it from the heat, and allow it to sit for a few minutes before you transfer it to a flask where if will sit for two hours, allowing the ingredients to cool and fully incorporate into Aphrodite’s Cure.

“Well, Jungkook, now we wait.”

He huffs, “I already told you, I don’t want to be cured.”

“Tough,” you tell him. “Eventually you will be, whether you like it or not. Then you’ll be on your own to deal with the shame that follows. I’m not helping you with that.”

He bristles. “I don’t find being in love with you shameful. Not at all. After all, you’re strong-willed, and intelligent, not to mention beautiful! You have more wit and personality than most other women I have wooed. If I were to be embarrassed at the idea of loving you, I ought to cringe at the idea of having bedded the other women.”

“Well, you shan’t be ‘bedding’ me,” you say, “You can’t get between my legs just by flashing me a favourable look.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “You wound me, my dear. You truly believe I only have carnal pleasures on my mind. Do not worry. I know you need respect and commitment before you would allow a man to  crawl between the sheets with you.”

You feel your cheeks burning with a blush. “Let me guess – you wish to be the man who will show me that respect and commitment, and will crawl between the sheets with me?”

“Listen,” Jungkook diverges from your pointed question, “I know I need time to prove myself to you. I haven’t shown you my best side while I’ve been around you. I can only ask that you forgive me, and let me show you how much better I can be.”

“I’m used to the way you treat me.” You move away from Jungkook, but he grabs onto you, hands desperate.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I just need to get on with work. You may have forced me to close my shop, but that doesn’t mean I can sit and twiddle my thumbs for two hours until you’re cured.”

“But I want to sit here with you,” Jungkook whines. The potion doesn’t seem to have just struck him down with love, but also to have turned him into a pouty brat with the attitude of a spoiled toddler.

Give me strength. “Let me guess,” you say, “You want to hold me, and kiss me? Am I right?”

Jungkook’s face turns red. “You shame me my dear, for it seems you have been reading my thoughts. Forgive me, but how can I help but dream of such things, when you are so comely.”

You try not to roll your eyes. Men under the influence of Impetus Amor are intolerable.

You catch a hold of his hand, which is grabbing your right wrist, and wrench him off you. “Jungkook, I am refusing you for your own good.”

“I do not believe that to be true,” Jungkook says as you pry yourself from him, and begin to scour your shelves for any bottles that appear to be running low. The duke’s son follows you around like a lovesick puppy while you pull out a piece of parchment and begin walking along the shelves taking note of vials and containers that are running empty, so you can get fresh ingredients at the next opportunity. Your hands need to be busy. You feel hapless otherwise.

“I truly believe,” Jungkook pipes up behind you, “That even when this potion wears off, I will still be in love with you. I believe that I have been in love with you for a while.”

You snort a laugh, “You truly do amuse me, Jungkook.”

“Is it so hard to believe I could fall for you?”

You spin around to face Jungkook. He is much closer than you anticipated. A gasp breaks your lips.

“Listen, little alchemist,” his eyes bore into yours, as you step back, your spine pressing against the shelf behind you, “I’ve been trying to fight these feelings, for I know my father would not approve of a woman who is not noble-born, yet I still find myself drawn to you. I wander aimlessly to your shop, just to catch a glimpse of you, just to feel the warmth of your company. And you would scoff at this?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. The words are difficult to get past your teeth. “You’re lying. It’s just the potion talking.”

“Why would I lie?” Jungkook’s eyes are troubled, “I’ve been falling slowly, ever since I met you. I tried to push off the feelings by treating you harshly. I tried to forget them in the arms of another lover. But still… I always find myself coming back to you.” He lifts a hand, fingers gentle against your cheek. You shiver at his touch. “It’s always you, little alchemist.”

Your lips curl in amusement. “You almost convinced me Jungkook. You speak so earnestly…” You take his hand in your own, pull it away from your face, and let it drop to his side.

His eyes cloud over. “Being unable to touch you, it hurts me physically, you know.”

“I know.” A shard of sympathy embeds in your chest. “It won’t last long though, I promise. I’ll cure you soon.”

“While we wait,” Jungkook’s eyes are dark, “Could you spare me one kiss? Just to ease the pain?”

“Jungkook,” your hand goes to his chest, rising up to rest on his shoulder, “The potion worked. You lost the wager. You were only to get a kiss if you won.”

“Please,” the word falls soft from his mouth.

You stand transfixed, stuck between your shelf of potions, and Jungkook’s body. His face is mere inches from your own. A dreadful curiosity sweeps over you, one that you know you should ignore. Yet, Jungkook is here before you, eyes urgent, and you are tired of fighting him.

“One kiss,” you murmur, “That’s all I’ll allow.”

His hands find purchase on your waist as he moves closer. Your eyelids flutter shut as his breath fans your cheeks, smelling of rose and gold dust. His lips are warm as they settle on your own, mapping out your mouth. You fall captive to the sensation, and suddenly, you understand the appeal that draws countless women to Jungkook’s side. He may be a pain in the arse, but he is wonderfully skilled when it comes to kissing.

Pressed against the shelf, you give in to the affections from a man you were sure you hated. You promise yourself, as his lips part from yours, that you will wipe this feeling from your memory. Yet, even as Jungkook draws back, the ghost of his warmth haunts you.

Lost for words, you blink in the dim light of your shop, suddenly too bright after the dark of closed eyelids. Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes fixed on you. You struggle, unsure what to say. Instead of saying anything, you simply return to the chores you had assigned yourself, mechanically checking off ingredients on your piece of parchment.

At the counter, Jungkook is suspiciously silent. After a long pause, he finally asks, “What will happen to me when the effects of the potion are cured?”

You turn back to him. “You will forget most of this. It will all feel hazy, like a dream. And you’ll feel a little unwell. Headaches are normal after such strong potions take effect. Some people also suffer nausea, but that depends on one’s constitution. You’ll only suffer for an hour or so, then it should wear off.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Jungkook says gently.

You swallow, understanding, “Your feelings will depart. Whatever you are feeling for me now will be replaced with your genuine feelings, so you’ll go back to hating me I suspect.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “I don’t hate you.”

“Well then you’ll go back to mild indifference,” you say, turning back to your shelf to continue working, while Jungkook sits down at the counter, silent.

The hours drag on, with Jungkook’s eyes following your every move. Occasionally, he expresses a desire for physical contact to stop the pain. When he does so, you return to his side, and gently press your palm to his. The action seems to be enough for him.

At last, the hour glass has run through twice, and the potion is ready. You carefully decant it into a vial, and set it in front of Jungkook.

He catches your gaze, “I… I don’t want this.”

“Jungkook, please,” you press your hand to his one last time, “You need to. No matter what, the Impetus Amor will wear off. I’ll still be here when you’re cured.”

His face firms into an expression your don’t recognise, and with a resolute, swift motion, he tips the contents of the vial into his mouth in one go, swallowing with a groan. “You did not warn me that it would taste repulsive.”

“You were already reluctant to take it.”

Jungkook groans again, lowering his head so that his forehead rests on the wooden counter top, “By the goddess, I feel like death. Do you have a potion for a headache?”

“Not one caused by the after effects of Impetus Amor,” you say, “But I do have herbal tea.”

“Yes please.”

Glad to have a task to distract you, you busy yourself with boiling the water and fetching tea leaves.

From his spot at the counter, Jungkook moans, “I embarrassed myself greatly, didn’t I?”

Watching a pleasing golden red spread out from the tea leaves into the boiled water, you reply, “That depends on what you deem to be embarrassing.”

Jungkook grimaces as he lifts his head slightly, then, upon reconsideration, lowers his head again. The colour has drained from his face.

“I imagine you were acting the way you normally would around any fair lady you intended to woo. You were fine. Quite respectful, actually.”

“Please, I don’t wish to remember,” Jungkook moves his head so that his cheek now rests on the counter.

You pass a cup of fresh tea across to him, ‘That should make you feel a little better,” you say.

“I owe you a ‘thank you’,” Jungkook raises his head to blow on the steam rising from the tea cup, “And an apology as well, I fancy.”

You pause, not expecting to hear those words from him.

“I’ve been an arse,” Jungkook says.

“It’s not often you and I agree on something, Jungkook.”

He laughs wryly. “Well, I can’t deny it, can I? I wasted your time and energy today, and for that, I am sorry. From, Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth, to you, master alchemist and potions-brewer extraordinaire, as my equal, please accept my sincere apologies, and my humble gratitude.” He bows his head.

You are unsure how to react, throat tight. All you can muster is an insincere chuckle, and a feeble “No need to be so formal... If you really want to apologise you can give me the gold you promised since it would appear I won this wager.”

“Oh, right!” Jungkook digs in his pockets.

Suddenly, strangely, you feel unsure of yourself. “Listen, I was just joking. I don’t need the money. Really...”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook dumps a sack of coin on the table. “It’s yours, fair and square.” He grins at you and takes a sip of his tea. “This brew really seems to be helping.” As he downs the rest f the cup, you busy your hands with the bottles on your shelf, straightening them so they stand in a tidy row. Jungkook glances through the window of your shop, where the sky above the roofs of the town is turning gold with the setting of the sun. “I’d better head off,” he says, “My father arranged a ball for the eligible women of Braewyth to attend, and he’s hoping I’ll meet someone there. And by someone, I mean specifically Lady Antille from the province of Armestice.” He grimaces. “I’ve heard she’s a dreadful bore. Not to mention there’ll be lots of business men at the dance, hoping to make a good impression, and get funding from my father’s treasury. So overall, I have a very pleasant evening ahead of me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find a woman you’re happy with?” you ask.

Jungkook wavers on the question, “I’m… not sure. I think I’m cursed by the fact that most noble women are not at all appealing to me.”

You shrug, “It’s all just a pantomime isn’t it? Performing the proper etiquette. Perhaps once the women have a chance to drop the pretence of politeness, you’ll get to know them for who they truly are, and you’ll realise they aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Perhaps,” he looks unconvinced, “But I doubt I’ll have the time for that. My father is hoping I’ll drop down to one knee and propose as soon as I lock eyes with the right woman.”

“Maybe Lady Antille will be the lucky one,” you say.

“The longer this goes on, the more I worry my father will simply pick a lady for me, and force me to marry.”

“I hope not.”

He nods, “Yes. So do I.” He turns for the door.

“Enjoy your evening, Jungkook.”

He pauses at the door, and turns back to look at you, with a gentle smile. “You’ve started calling me Jungkook instead of Mr. Jeon,” he notes.

“Oh, sorry,” your hand springs to your mouth, “Is it improper?”

“A little bit improper,” He smiles, “I like it.”

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Goodbye...” He looks into your eyes, sunshine bathing him from the windows, and your name is soft on his lips. Not ‘little alchemist’. Not ‘wench’. Not ‘my dear’. Just your name. A warmth spreads from your stomach through the rest of your body.

You smile as he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone with the smell of herbal tea filling the shop.

✽ ✽ ✽

As darkness descends on your shop, the sun sinking lower, a lady enters. You recognise the red hood, lowered over her eyes and nose.

“Good evening,” you welcome her as you would all other customers.

Rather than greeting you, she simply asks, “Is the Impetus Amor ready?” Her tone is hushed, despite being the sole customer in your store.

Thankful that you had the foresight to create more than one batch of the potion, you fetch it from your cupboard and place the vial on the counter top in front of her. The potion shines, pearlescent in the fading sunshine.

The lady pushes back a blonde lock from her face, and her shapely lips smile below her hood. “Wonderful. Thank you.” She tales the vial, and places it into her purse. You notice her splendid gown beneath the folds of her red cloak. Only a rich lady could afford such a potion. And such expensive silk. You sigh, despite yourself.

The lady tosses another pouch of gold onto the counter top. “I trust that you will not tell anyone of this exchange.”

You pause, wondering what she means. “All my customer’s orders are confidential,” you assure her.

She nods, satisfied, and swivels on her heel, exiting the shop. As she leaves, she bumps into an older lady who is making her way into your shop. You recognise the older lady, Myrrh, who is one of your regulars. The younger lady’s red hood slips down as she passes Myrrh, revealing a head of golden curls.

“Oh, sorry dear,” Myrrh says.

The golden haired lady bows her head, quickly pulling up her hood again. “Think nothing of it.” With that, she slips into the darkening evening.

Myrrh approaches your counter, while you retrieve her order from the shelf behind you – Fons Iuventae, for aches and pains afflicting old joints. “Well, I never realised you got such fancy clientele in your store, dear,” Myrrh observes, as she counts out her silver coins for you.

You smile, “Her appearance here surprised me as much as it did you, Myrrh.”

The older lady chuckles, ‘Imagine! Lady Antille, in this shop! The store will be the talk of the town soon, I’m sure.”

“Lady Antille?”

Myrrh gives you a strange look as she hands her coins across to you. “You didn’t recognise the Lady of Armestice?”

You shake your head.

“Ah, well now you know,” Myrrh says, “Imagine, me bumping into her like that.” She takes her bottle of Fons Iuventae and heads for the door. You follow behind her, and flip over your store sign to ‘Closed’ once she leaves. The last dregs of sunlight seep through the window. With the shop shut for the night, you go and sit behind the counter, thoughts running at a thousand miles a minute. You know that you should not concern yourself with your customer’s potion usage. After all, you simply provide. You are not responsible for the actions that follow. Yet, you cannot help but have your suspicions.

Before you realise what you are doing, you pick up a vial of Aphrodite’s Cure from yoru counter. Your body leads you to the door, grabbing your satchel, and your cloak, pulling it around you before you step out onto the cobbled street. Your feet lead you to the stable, where you quickly saddle up your mare, and spur her into the dark of night.

The road that leads out of Sientha winds down towards the large mansion where the duke of Braewyth resides. Everyone in Braewyth is familiar with the sugar white house that stands tall, behind a maze of rose bushes. As you ride towards the mansion, rain begins to pelt down, stinging at your cheeks. You continue regardless, pressing your heels into your mare’s side, encouraging her on. You push her harder than you’ve pushed her before, hurtling down the road at a frantic gallop. The mare’s breathing is hard, foam flies from her mouth. Dirt flies from her hooves, kicking up the mud washed onto the road.

Ahead of you, past the sheets of rain, you spot the lights of the Braewyth mansion. Reigning in your mare, you stop her a few paces before the gate, and tie her by one of the trees. She’s breathing heavily, and you give her a reassuring pat before you make for the gates.

A guard, who was leaning lazily against the gate, stands to attention when you approach, raising his spear. “Halt.”

“Please,” you hold up your hands to him, showing that you are unarmed, “I wish to speak with Jeon Jungkook.”

The guard squints at you through the rain. “And who might you be?”

You hesitate. “I’m his alchemy tutor.” Technically not a lie.

“I wasn’t told you would be arriving,” the guard says, “Do you have an invitation to the ball that you can show me?” He sweeps a skeptical gaze over your trousers, flecked with mud, and your fur hood, soaked with rain.

“Please, it’s urgent,” you say.

In the gloom, you see the guard raise his eyebrows.

You wrack your brain, “I have a potion for Jeon Jungkook. He asked me to deliver it to him personally before the ball began.”

“He never told me of this plan.”

Just then, by the mercy of the universe – or perhaps the goddess – Jungkook appears at the other side of the gate.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon,” the guard smiles at you gleefully, hoping to have caught you in a lie, “Have you met this wench before?”

Jungkook walks up to the gate, “Of course. Let her in at once.”

The guard’s mouth hangs open for a slit second, before he quickly corrects his expression, and bows to the heir of Braewyth. “Yes. Right away!” He opens the gate, and scurries to get out of your way.

You hurry over the threshold, and begin walking with Jungkook towards the Braewyth mansion.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks, once you are out of earshot of the guard.

“What about you?” you say, “Do you make it a habit to walk around the garden while it’s tipping it down with rain?”

“I needed some fresh air, and I heard a commotion from the gate,” Jungkook explains, “But I really think you’re the one who ought to be explaining yourself.”

“I...” you’re unsure where to begin, “Has Lady Antille arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook says, “Now, will you please stop answering my question with more questions.”

“Sorry,” you swallow, suddenly realising how silly your reasoning will sound.

Jungkook waits, while you remain silent, walking down the path through the rose bushes.

You take a deep breath, “This may sound mad, but I have reason to believe that Lady Antille plans to use Impetus Amor on your tonight.”

Jungkook’s expression turns frosty. “You’re not jesting?”

You nod. “I could be wrong. But the lady who purchased Impetus Amor was Antille. I did not recognise her at first. I suppose it could merely be coincidence, and she is using it for someone else, but I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

Jungkook is grave. “I suppose it would make sense. After all, a marriage into the Braewyth duchy would be beneficial for the province of Armestice.  The province is too small to defend itself, so would be willing to seek the protection of a more powerful duchy.” He turns his eyes to you. “Will you be able to stay here with me tonight? I must be in attendance at the ball, and avoiding Lady Antille there is out of the question. If she does try anything, will you be ready to help me?”

You nod, “I have the cure in my satchel, just in case.”

Jungkook nods, taking your hand, and leading you up the marble steps to the mansion door. “Alright, if you’re staying, then you need to get changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do not mean to offend, but your trousers won’t be acceptable attire for the ball.”

You swallow as you step into the house. The hallways are greater – both wider and taller - than you had anticipated, with lush white carpets that your feet sink into. You wince at the mud trailed in by your boots.

“Whyn!” Jungkook calls, and a flushed looking maid appears on cue, bowing before him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

“Can you help my lady friend? She needs to be cleaned up, and needs more appropriate attire for the ball.”

“Of course, Mr. Jeon.”

Before you can even get a word in, you are being herded down the corridor by Whyn, who appears overly eager to do Jungkook’s bidding. You’re pushed into the bathroom, and the last you see of Jungkook is his smile as Whyn closes the door on him.

The bathroom is lavish, tiled with white marble. Ornate sculptures depicting gryphons stand at each corner of the room. Steps lead down to a pool of warm water, from which steam rises, smelling of lavendar. A statue of a stag stands proudly at the centre of the water, with a beautiful woman depicted standing beside him, naked. She holds an urn above the pool, and water pours from the urn into the large bath.

Without any warning, or any chance to protest, Whyn strips you down, and pushes you to the water’s edge. “Quickly, m’am,” she urges, “The ball will be starting soon.”

Grumbling, you step down into the water. However, it’s impossible to continue complaining as the warmth envelops you, easing all the aches in your body. You sink down with a sigh, dipping your head under, and letting your hair become fully soaked.

However relaxing the bathing experience is, you know you need to get back to Jungkook quickly, so after a quick once over with soap, you reluctantly leave the embrace of the sweet smelling water.

Whyn is ready and waiting with a warm towel. She starts drying you off, and you complain that you can dry yourself, but she shushes you stubbornly. “Please, ma’m, let me do my job!”

Once your hair and body are towelled dry, Whyn helps you into the ornate dress she has picked for you. You’ve never worn a dress this fancy before, and until this point, you never understood why ladies needed maids to help them get dressed. Now, as Whyn scurries around you, lacing up your corset, and adjusting your petticoat, you understand. The dress has so many buttons, clasps, and ribbons, that it would take an eternity to dress yourself.

The maid finally helps you pull back your hair, pinning it off your face, so it curls elegantly to frame your cheeks. She steps back to admire her handiwork, allowing you to take in your full reflection in the mirror beside the bath. It’s surprising what a maid’s touch can do. You barely recognise yourself. A regal lady stares back at you from the mirror in a shimmering sapphire-coloured dress, with golden stitching around the bodice, detailing embroidered roses.

“Is it alright, m’am?” Whyn asks, “If you don’t like it, I can find another dress.”

“No, thank you, Whyn,” you smile at her, “It’s perfect.”

The girl flushes and bows her head.

You find your original clothes folded neatly in the corner of the room. You rummage in your satchel, and find your vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, tucking it under your corset for safe-keeping. You turn back to Whyn. “I’m ready.”

The maid leads you out of the bathroom down a snaking maze of corridors, until you reach a set of grand mahogany doors. She pushes the doors open for you, and indicates that you should go in.

You whisper your thanks to her again, and then walk into the ballroom. Inside, the dancing has not yet started, and the room is filled with groups of people, conversing with one another. You spot Jungkook at the far corner, by a set of wide windows that look out onto the garden, which is illuminated by lanterns. You walk over, and a smile erupts on Jungkook’s face as soon as he spots you. He steps forward to greet you.

“Whyn has done a fine job,” he says, casting an admiring glance over you.

You feel you face heat up, unsure how to respond.

“If anyone asks,” Jungkook continues, in a low voice, linking his arm through yours and leading you along the ballroom floor, “You are my personal friend. You needn’t give any more information than that.”

You nod, glancing around nervously, “Has Antille arrived?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Jungkook says. “I truly hope your fears are unjustified. But if they’re true, I want you by my side, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on wandering off alone.” Looking around the room, you notice many of the people staring at you. “Why are they looking at us?”

“Well, you are walking arm in arm with the heir of Braewyth, who’s rumoured to be in the market for a wife. People are going to be gossiping about our betrothal as we speak.”

You blush at the thought, allowing Jungkook to lead you around the room, stopping every so often to speak with groups of important sounding people.

Every so often, the door will open and someone will announce the name of the eligible young lady who has entered. The lady will smile and curtsey, and then everyone will go on about their business.

You find yourself stuck in an arduous conversion with an old noble, named Lord Chaperlet, about the effects of increased wheat tax, when the doors to the ballroom open once more, and the announcer cries, “Presenting to you, the Lady of Armestice, the honourable Antille.”

You raise onto your tiptoes to catch a glance at the lady over the heads of the crowd that has gathered.

She’s wearing a gold dress that trails across the floor like spilled champagne , her hair curled perfectly around her face. Lord Chaperlet stops wittering on about wheat tax to stare at the young Lady. “Antille truly is a beauty, is she not?” He winks at Jungkook, who gives a diplomatic chuckle, and says, “Now, now, Lord Chaperlet, what would your wife say if she overheard you?”

The older man gives a hearty laugh. Jungkook’s arm remains interlocked with yours, and shows no sign of budging. You swallow your nerves as Lady Antille approaches.

The lady pauses momentarily upon seeing you by Jungkook’s side, and a flash of ice glazes her gaze before she corrects her expression to a polite smile, and makes her way forward.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she coos, “How are you? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You look as handsome as your portraits portray you.”

Jungkook gives a courteous smile, “I’m wonderful thank you.” He takes the hand she proffers him, kissing her fingers, as is the custom when greeting noble women. “And how are you?”

“Fantastic,” Antille smiles, “Although the coach journey here was frightful! The rain was atrocious. Hence my late arrival, you see.”

“Fashionably late, I would say,” Jungkook replies, and Antille giggles behind her white-gloved hand.

You are out of your depth, silently observing this display of courtly manners.

Antille finally glances your way, in the manner one might glance across at an old dog scratching its fleas in the corner. “And who is this?”

You swallow. You may look different in your gown, but you know she has recognised you from your potions store.

Jungkook answers in your silence. “This is my personal friend.” His arm is still slung through yours. His reassuring fingers squeeze you.

“Is that so?” Antille worries her crimson bottom lip with her teeth for a second, her gaze lingering on you, sizing you up.

It’s a relief when Whyn passes with a tray of glasses filled with champagne, moving between you and Antille. “Would you like a drink?” The maid keeps her head bowed.

Antille takes a glass, and hands it to Jungkook, before taking one for herself, “Might as well enjoy oneself.” She raises her glass to Jungkook.

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips. A flash of worry sparks in your head – the only reason you are here is to stop Jungkook from ingesting any potion. Yet, Antille seems happy to drink the champagne...

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s arm.

A vague scent of rose water and crushed gold floats towards you.

Jungkook glances at you, confused, before understanding floods into his eyes.

Wracking your brain for a good excuse to leave, your hand springs to your neck, feigning surprise. “Oh, I’ve just noticed! My necklace is gone. I was wearing it when I arrived here, but now it’s gone.”

Jungkook picks up on your cue. “Perhaps it fell off in the hallway by the entrance when you took off your cloak. I’ll help you search.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Antille chimes in. “Your friend can manage by herself. After all, everyone in this ballroom is here to speak with you personally, Jungkook. People might talk if you were to leave.”

Seeing Jungkook struggling, you begin sniffing, forcing your eyes to water. “The necklace belonged to my late mother. I can’t believe I was so careless...”

Jungkook hands you a handkerchief so you can dab at your fake tears, and before Antille can say anything else, he escorts you out of the room.

Once the doors of the the ballroom close behind you, you give up your act, following Jungkook down the twisting hallways.

“This is bad,” he mutters, “I should have been more careful. And after your warned me as well!” His hand is firm on your wrist, leading you up a set of stairs, before he slips into a room and quickly bolts the door shut behind him.

You find yourself in a lavish bathroom, this one different from the one you bathed in. Cherub angels are carved into the white frosting-coloured ceiling.

“You need to stay calm,” you tell Jungkook. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jungkook grimaces, “Don’t you understand? That glass came from Whyn’s tray. Antille must have specifically asked her to spike the glass that she would then give me.”

“Maybe Whyn didn’t know what it was,” you suggest.

“Even if she didn’t, a maid shouldn’t put anything into a drink they serve. She’ll loose her job. It’s a shame, I liked her.”

“That’s not the main issue right now,” you remind him, rummaging in the folds of your dress for the vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, “You need to take this.” You hold up the glass to him.

Jungkook smiles, “I’m glad you’re so reliable.”

“I do my best.”

Jungkook makes to take the vial from you, but you pull back, “Wait. You need to take the antidote after the potion actually kicks in.”

“How will  I know when that is?” Jungkook asks.

“Even if you don’t notice, I will,” you say, “You’ll start talking gibberish about how in love you are. And you’ll feel a sudden rush of emotion for the first person you looked at after you drank the potion… which was me, I think.”

“Right, of course. A rush of emotions.” He presses his lips together. “Perhaps, for the sake of clarity, I should confess something in that case...”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“The trouble is,” Jungkook continues “I believe I have already developed feelings for you.”

When you open your mouth, he holds up a hand to stop you. “Before you say anything – no, the potion hasn’t kicked in yet. I’ve felt this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to deal with these feelings, so I’ve repressed them.”

Your heart rises in a flurry of childish giddiness. You don’t know where the feelings come from, but are surprised to find that you desperately hope he is telling the truth. “Perhaps we should wait until you take the antidote, and then we’ll talk about this...”

His eyes glaze over, strange and distant, “My dear, these feelings will remain unwavering, I promise.”

You press the potion into his hands. “Drink,” you command.

He nods, uncorking the vial, and tipping the contents into his mouth. “Goddess, that tastes vile,” he groans. He sucks a breath through his teeth. With his head lowered, he takes a few seconds to recover, before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You remain silent, not sure what to say. Your mind is still racing over Jungkook’s earlier confession. He said it wasn’t the potion causing the words to fall from his mouth. Yet, you cannot be sure. A part of you is unexpectedly sad at the though that his profession of love was simply the potion speaking.

Somehow, despite your determination to hate him, you are surprised to find that you love him.

Jungkook raises his head, eyes fixed on yours, “Without you I would have made a complete fool of myself. Not to mention, I probably would have ended up betrothed to Antille, which...” he blows out a sigh. “Let’s not dwell on that. Thank you for all your help. I know I’ve treated you poorly in the past, but you’ve still helped me regardless. That’s the sign of a good person.”

You bite down on your cheek, “Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“What you said...” Once you start, the words keep spilling, “Before the potion kicked in. About being in love with me. Did you mean that?”

“Sorry, it was improper of me to simply dump that upon you all of a sudden,” Jungkook says, “I suppose I should have kept that to myself. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings, since my father would not approve of someone who is not noble-born. I tried to push the feelings away by treating you brusquely, by distracting myself with other women, but none of it worked.”

“So you mean?”

His gaze is inescapable, “I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Jungkook chuckles, but his tone is earnest, “Sorry, you look like a startled deer. I know it’s improper to confess without suitable courtship first, but our relationship has always been a little unconventional. Spending my time with you, I was fascinated by you. And that fascination turned into something I’ve never felt before. I’ve never been so open or honest with anyone else. You’ve seen the worst parts of me, and you’ve stuck around despite all that.” His cheeks colour, “I truly am just rambling now, please feel free to tell me to shut up.”

You’re still waiting for the part where Jungkook suddenly says, “It’s merely a jape!” His face is serious.

“Jungkook, I… I don’t know what to say...”

“Then don’t say anything, you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to, I just… the words evade me...” you bite your lip, “Your confession certainly came as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one...”

Jungkook’s eyes shine. 

“I’m very happy,” you say, “I would be lying if I said I do not have similar feelings for you. I never thought it would be okay to fall in love with a noble, so I never allowed myself the liberty of even thinking...” You hesitate, “Is it really okay for me to love you?”

Jungkook nods, “Nothing would make me happier.”

“But your father?”

“It’s okay. We’ll make it work. The tradition of nobles courting nobles is ver old-fashioned anyway. I never liked it. Eventually, my father will accept whom I choose. And I choose you.”

He takes your hand, delicately bringing your fingers to his lips. The action is so simple, so gentle – a far cry from the kiss you had shared earlier – yet it feels so strangely intimate with his eyes drinking you in, while his warm mouth caresses your skin.

His lips work their way up to your wrist, then your forearm, then your shoulder, then your cheek, then grazing the side of your mouth. You let him kiss you properly, melting into his warmth, while the carved cherubs smile down at you from above.

Parting, Jungkook sighs, “I wish I could enjoy this without the after effects of Impetus Amor... My head’s killing me...”

You smile, “Don’t worry. There’ll be time for all of this later. I’m not planning on leaving your side.” You hold his hand tight in your own. “For now, let’s go to the kitchen, and see if we can find some herbal tea for you.”

✽ ✽ ✽

After a cup of strong tea, Jungkook has perked up, ready to return to the ballroom. He holds your hand in his own as you make your way down to the main hallway. You can hear string instruments harmonising to a waltz from the ballroom. The dancing seems to have started in your absence.

“I hope you’ll dance with me tonight,” Jungkook says.

“Won’t people talk if they see us together?” you ask.

“Let them,” Jungkook says. “I’ll announce our relationship when you feel ready, and not a second before.”

You smile, “In that case, I’d love to dance with you.”

As you enter the ballroom, Antille glances over at the two of you and blanches. Jungkook lets go of your hand, and walks over to her, asking if she is willing to speak with him.

Antille looks around, as if considering her escape routes, but agrees to go with Jungkook – with obvious reluctance. Jungkook draws her to the edge of the room, away from the dancing couples that glide around the ballroom floor. Where the two of them stand, you can hear their conversation well, although they are tucked away from the rest of the ball guests.

“Antille,” Jungkook says, “I know what you have attempted to do.”

Antille glowers, “Attempted to do? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook continues, “I have enough proof to have you publicly disgraced, but I am willing to let you leave with your dignity intact, so long as you never set foot in this house again.”

“Threaten me all you want,” Antille hisses, “But know that you have made an enemy of Armestice today.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a frown, “That’s not a game you want to play, Lady Antille, believe me. The duchy of Braewyth is not one to be messed with.”

Antille is pale. Her eyes fall to you, and anger flashes vividly in her irises. “I thought I made it clear that my purchase was to be kept a secret.”

Jungkook steps closer to you, “Don’t, Antille,” he warns, “Your quarrel isn’t with her.”

The lady, visibly flustered, turns on her heel towards the door. You watch as she leaves the room.

Jungkook turns his attention to you. “Please don’t worry about her. I know what Armestice is capable of, and it isn’t much. Her threats are simply to stir up fear, but she won’t act on them.”

You smile as he threads his fingers through yours, “Now, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You are aware of the eyes boring into you from all sides as you step onto the dance floor with Jungkook, but in that instant, you don’t care. Jungkook is beside you, his eyes on your face, and a smile on his lips.

For now, that’s enough.

✽ ✽ ✽

It’s a cold morning, but the early spring sunshine is shining stubbornly despite the chill as you walk back to your shop. You have a basket of fresh herbs in your hand, picked from the mountain side.

As you turn the corner onto your street, a smile breaks across your face, recognising a familiar figure standing by your door.

You run over to Jungkook, setting down your basket of herbs, so you can freely fling both arms around him.

He grins, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Good morning.”

You unlock the shop door, and let him enter. It’s still an hour until your shop will open for business.

“How has your morning been so far?” you ask Jungkook, throwing off your cloak, and hanging it by the door.

“Good,” Jungkook says, “The new maid prepared a wonderful breakfast. Eggs and bacon and fresh bread.”

“Sounds much better than the oatmeal I had,” you say.

“Once our relationship is officially made public, you can move into the mansion with me,” Jungkook says, “Then you can have all the eggs and bacon and fresh bread you want.”

You begin sorting the freshly picked herbs into piles on the counter, while Jungkook runs an eye over the potions you have sitting out from brewing last night.

“That will be nice,” you say, “Although I will miss this old shop.”

“I’m sure we can set up a room in the mansion where you can have a workshop to continue brewing potions. People would pay well for potions brewed by the heir of Braewyth’s wife.”

You blush at the word ‘wife’, a thrill travelling through you. 

Jungkook eyes some of your older equipment, “We can even get you some new tools. Some of these seem a little… rusty.”

“They’ve served me well, I’ll have you know.”

“Just a suggestion.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You grin at him, “So what did you want from me this morning? We could continue your alchemy lessons… or...”

Jungkook moves around the counter to be by your side. His hands find  your waist, pulling you closer. “Well I had a few plans of my own.”

Your fingers curl through his charcoal hair. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook ducks his head down, his breath ghosting against your ear as he whispers his plan with words that make you blush scarlet. Desire pools inside you as his lips trace a path down your neck to your collar bone, “Don’t think you’re getting out of your alchemy lesson later.”

“Yes, m’am,” he grins, taking your hand in his own.

You let him lead you from your shop up the creaky stairs to your living quarters. You are happy to forget all responsibilities for the next hour, completely lost in Jungkook. You never believed a love potion could lead to true love – yet here you are, completely enveloped in Jungkook, overwhelmed by feeling. You don’t believe in the goddess but you thank her now, thank her that she decided to ruin your life by thrusting Jungkook into it.

The man you hated more than anything in the world has now become the man you love more than anything, and you couldn’t be happier for it.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it. 

[minarcana]

She clings tightly to him and Urianger hugs her in return. "Thou did not wake me, nor would it be anything to apologize for if thou had. We are here that thou mayst rely upon us." Including Thancred in that. As emotionally... difficult to decipher as Thancred may be for Minfilia, Urianger is confident that he would agree with the declaration. Her voice has heart in it when she speaks again, if only a little.

That's a relief. He's also terrible at comforting those in distress (he's fairly sure he is, anyways), so Minfilia gathering herself quickly does at least make Urianger feel as if he couldn't accidentally make her sadder. "I bet thou could, capable as thou art. But that shall be a bet never decided, as it will be over my life that thy warden taketh you again." A slight habit gained from the pixies, to not name that which one doesn't want called. Not even Ran'jit's name is welcome, thank you. Urianger pats her shoulder as Minfilia steps back. He offers her a smile.

"I have told thee before and will since, thou art welcome to all resources thou desireth at the Shelves. This is thine home, too. Of course I do not mind if thou make tea, and would appreciate if I were included." He can also fetch the tea cookies that are kept on a high shelf. Midnight snacks can be their secret.

her heart fluttered much like a wild bird caught within a cage, grateful to feel it slowing nonetheless. glassy eyes grow more alert as she glances around her room, finding everything as it was — undisturbed. the only other victim was her blanket, which she successfully kicked off the end of the bed in her terror. was she … screaming ? the more minfilia wakes the worse she feels. “ sorry if i woke you up. i kept… calling for someone, and i was sure no one would hear me. “

if she had been screaming, thancred would be here, perhaps equally terrified. she’s glad for urianger, finding him a calm reprieve from the chaos oft burdening them. he’s like my dad, too. that thought alone nigh brings her to tears again, and she’s quick to leap from her lofted bed and cling to his side. maybe it’s selfish, yet she doesn’t let go just yet. “ i’m relieved it was a dream. i bet i could escape now though. “ at least, she’s far braver than she was, enough to try.

she lets go then, stepping back. it’s doubtful she’ll manage to fall back asleep so soon, so she turns towards the stairs. “ do you mind if i make tea ? i can make some for you too, if you’d like. “

[inknopewetrust]

smallest joys (Henry!Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader)

Summary: the tree in the Holmes’ backyard as a place of great peace and laughter of all, and a moment arises for it to be a place of forgiveness and love as well.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: none.

A/N: thanks so much for reading and always remember that authors love to hear any feedback on stories, so don’t be shy to share your opinions. Requests are still closed, but I’m working on getting them up and running hopefully soon! xoxo (gif not mine)

Enola was perched high above the ground in the great gray tree that sat far from the house she had grown to resent without her mother there. It was difficult, the constant want of adventure and thrill that was often smothered because of Mycroft’s inability to have a semblance of joy in his life.

Throwing the shading pencil in her sketchbook and closing it with a huff, Enola heard a set of angered footsteps make their way towards the tree in which she inhabited and she balled her fists against a branch. Half expecting it to be Mycroft yelling at her for leaving the study and half expecting it to be Sherlock doing their eldest brother’s bidding in a kinder manner, one they always hoped she’d fall for.

But it wasn’t. Y/n L/n, Sherlock’s feisty assistant from London was irate with her cheeks as red as apples storming toward the tree. Without noticing Enola above, Y/n leaned against its trunk and her head fell into her hands in embarrassment.

“Did you do something stupid?” Enola inquired and you jumped ever so slightly, looking up with great haste at Enola above. The young girl was smiling down on you kindly but also with such an inquisitive mind, you weren’t sure if she truly cared or just wanted manor gossip to share with the housemaid.

“And why would you ask such a thing, young lady?” You shoved your hands on your hips and narrowed fine eyes at Enola, trying to forget why you stormed out in the first place, though that was practically impossible because you knew he would follow after an argument.

“I asked you first, Y/n. And I’m not a young lady, you sound like Mycroft.” Enola swung her feet off a branch and rested her head in her intertwined hands that laid on top of another arm of the great tree.

“What happened? Did Sherlock finally recognize your talents for discovery or did you say something stupid that angered him?” Enola asked again, more in depth than before and her eyes narrowed now at the woman she had grown to admire very much.

Y/n was always someone who Enola could depend upon. Whether it be for new books from London or a simple lesson on dust particles, she knew Y/n had many of the answers. But as of late, with her mother gone and the tension in the home only growing, Sherlock appeared to be easily angered or upset by small comments, jokes or jabs at him that were not unusual from his assistant and Enola took notice. She saw the way Y/n’s eyes fell or how she would storm out of the room, angered at either herself or his reaction to her little joys and she couldn’t quite figure out why it was always her he was getting angry at. It had never happened before they had come to stay at his childhood home to help with Enola.

“Enola, I do not want to burden you with the petty arguments of adults. It is no concern of yours.”

“If it is my brother’s fault I consider it my concern.”

You pursed her lips at the girl before indulging in your frustrations.

“Every little comment I make he gets angry at. I am not use to being yelled at by him and I certainly do not understand why he is so uptight ever since we arrived. I try to help with his inquiries about your mother but even then, my input seems to go in one ear and sails out the other! Enola, I mean nothing by this, truly, I am simply frustrated by always being second fiddle to a man who appears to need no help at all.” You managed to mutter out in a moments time and Enola understood. Mycroft was the one treating Enola the same way at the moment and she wanted nothing more than to place a metal helmet on his head and bang a stick against it to set his mind straight. The men just do not appear to respect the intelligence of the women in the house.

“I am not meant for a life of domesticity, Enola. I am sure you can tell by the way I stir a pot or fold the laundry, I like adventure and I enjoy mystery very much. I simply want Sherlock to see that too. I don’t want to lose my dearest friend over one little spat.”

Enola smiled down at you and jumped down, meeting the grass with a thud and wiped off the shards that managed to catch themselves on her stockings.

“And that is why I admire you, very much, if I may add. And are you sure you don’t love him? If friends act the way you two do, I would have to choose my friends wisely.” You chuckled, reassured her you were simply just friends and embraced Enola in a some-what motherly manner, though Enola saw it as what she’d imagined would be a best friend, or sister.

“I would tell him how you feel. Make him understand you better and believe me when I say he will listen.” Enola retracted from the embrace and shot off towards the house, leaving you in state of bewilderment and confusion but when you turned around yourself intending to watch Enola run toward the house, you were met with the man you had no more than ten minutes ago stormed away from.

Sherlock stood with one hand in a pocket and the other clutching a book to his chest and a small pout on his face. The pout wasn’t one of sadness or disappointment, but of wonder and curiosity, already trying to decipher the situation before him.

“She was quick to run away.” Sherlock observed and moved toward the tree, leaning his back against it and looking over to you, just slightly to the side of him but facing him, not the land surrounding the tree.

“Well if she knew your temper as well as I do, I would run away too but obviously that has proven to not be an option.”

“I came here to apologize.” Your eyes, ears, and heart managed to perk up at the sound of Sherlock saying the word “apologize” because it wasn’t one he had ever said before, certainly not to you or anyone else he interacted with.

“An apology? From the great Sherlock Holmes? What ever shall I do with this honor?” You faked a gasp and held a hand to your forehead in a manner that only suggested a maiden swooning. Sherlock enrolled his eyes at the joke, seeming to understand that it was simply that, and as your hand made its way down from your forehead, he captured it softly in his empty one and held it gently, yet firm and your eyes flicked up to meet his.

“I would like to be serious about this, Y/n. My actions towards you the last few days have been unlike me and I am sorry for making you feel as if your opinion doesn’t matter, because it most certainly does.”

So he had heard you short conversation with Enola.

“Your opinion I value more than anyone in this world and I am frustrated I have gotten nowhere with my mother’s case in several days. I want her to return safely and with every passing day that outcome becomes less likely.”

“If you spoke to me about your concerns earlier we may have found a middle ground Sherlock. I accept your apology but I will not forgo my jokes in any situation so enjoy the humor while I still walk this earth.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but let the smallest smirk grace his face at the comment. He knew you always took your work seriously, but humor helped with the difficulties some cases can bring and he often failed to recognize the importance of laughter and enjoyment even in the darkest times. He still held your hand in his, in which he then brought it up to his lips and kissed the inside of your palm. It was personal, intimate, and apologetic.

“I am sorry you have to put up with me. I shouldn’t be so harsh when you’re trying to brighten the darkest days.”

“If I want to leave I can, but I seek thrill too much to let you or these cases disappear from my life.”

Sherlock actually smiled and sat down against the trunk, leading you to sit beside him and wrapped his free hand around your shoulders pulling you close. Ever since you arrived at his home, intimate interactions were seldom as Mycroft would have a million harsh words about how you were not a “proper lady to Sherlock”, but it wasn’t like Sherlock would have cared anyway.

“Shall we return to this story?” Sherlock said in a low, “fancy” voice in your ear and you couldn’t help but let out a snort at his attempt to be regal.

“I sincerely hope Elizabeth slaps Mr. Darcy across the face after what he said about her family. If that does not happen, the story dies there.”

“Would you slap every man who offends you? Because if so I’ll brace for one now.” Sherlock was actually joking for once but you slapped his chest lightly with your hand and let it fall, playing with a button on his waist coat. He looked down at you, a curl from the top of his head falling onto his forehead with a spring and you smiled at the handsome man you curled up against. 

“Perhaps.”

Sherlock laid a lingering kiss on your forehead and opened the book, removing the leaf that served at the bookmark and began reading in total comfort with you beside him. It was perfect until a rumble came from the bush and Enola shot up with sticks in her hair.

“So you ARE together!?”

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwynriel angst

I’m backkkkk! It feels good to be writing about my two favorite characters again. Idea from @bookish-isha

Gwyn peaked over the edge of her book to see Azriel watching her from the library doors. Surprisingly, his shadows were no where to be found. She turned her eyes back to the page she was reading without further acknowledgment to the man at the door. They stayed like that for awhile, Azriel staring from the doorway and Gwyn attempting to read, failing, and turning the page anyways. It was a game between them to see who would speak first, and it was not going to be Gwyn. She had put herself out there only to be rejected. If he had something he wanted to say to her, he could speak first. Eventually, a long sigh escaped from the Shadowsinger.

"Gwyn."

She ignored him and continued to pretend to read.

"Gwyn."

She shifted on the couch to cross one leg over the other.

"Gwyn, I know you are not reading."

She sighed heavily before slamming her book closed and setting it in her lap. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

"What do you want, Azriel?" Gwyn finally caved. He watched her through narrowed eyes for a moment causing her to roll her eyes.

"I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Her question seemed to surprise him. His eyes widened for a millisecond before his normal unreadable face was back in full force. He cleared his throat before crossing the room to sit next to Gwyn on the couch. The space between them suddenly felt suffocating, forcing Gwyn to turn away from him. Luckily, he did not attempt to touch her.

"For hurting your feelings. It was not my intention." He sounded genuine, but he was an excellent liar. Gwyn had to remind herself that she could not blindly trust him like she instinctually wanted to.

"What are your intentions, Az?" She turned to look at him, only to find an adorably confused look on his face. Adorable was not a word she would have used for Az often, but in the moment it was quite apt.

"What do you mean?" His hands laid limp at his sides. Gwyn wanted to hold them, wanted to feel close to him, but figured it might be inappropriate now.

"Are you with Elain?" Azriel avoided eye contact. His shadows still no where to be seen.

"Does it matter?" His response only infuriated her more.

"Of course it does Azriel! Do not sit here and act dense. I am not just making this all up in my head. We have been...well I suppose I don't know what we have been doing. But if you are with someone else, then this," she motioned between the two of them with her hand, "is inappropriate."

A lone shadow slipped out to caress her cheek, but she did not want to be comforted right now. She quickly turned her head away to avoid the touch. The shadow jolted back and once again could not be seen.

"Elain is...complicated. But I do not want to lose your friendship."

"Friendship." Gwyn muttered to herself as she rolled her eyes. Azriel heard her, but said nothing else. Gwyn did not want to be Azriel's friend. "Are you not tired of chasing women who don't want you?" It was harsh and perhaps not true. Gwyn did not know how Elain felt about the situation. Azriel flinched at her words. It was so microscopic, Gwyn thought she might have imagined it. Imagined or not, she still felt bad.

"Sorry." She muttered.

"Gwyn, this would never work." He said in a soft tone. He wasn't trying to be mean, just honest. It still felt like a stab to her heart.

"And you and Elain would?" She sounded as miserable as she felt.

For the first time ever, Azriel's face turned bright red. He refused to meet her eyes. He wasn't telling her something and she was going to discover what it was.

"Why do you think this wouldn't work?" She narrowed her gaze at him as he shifted away from her. She grabbed his hand to keep him from running away. He shook his head as if to say he would not tell her, but she did not accept that.

"Why, Az?" She interlaced her fingers with his and pulled his hand into her lap to force his full attention on her. "Why?"

"I know this sounds bad, trust me," he gave her a sideways glance before looking away again. He couldn't meet her eye. "It's just that I have needs in a relationship and I would never want to push you into something you're not comfortable with and I also would never want to hurt you by seeking for it elsewhere..." he trailed off, taking a peak at her before pulling his hand back into his own lap.

Gwyn was not understanding as she tried to make eye contact with Azriel. Was she missing something? What needs could he...her thoughts trailed off as it finally hit her.

"Are you talking about sex?" She felt the need to clarify before saying anything else. He still refused to look at her, but gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was absurd enough that she started giggling hysterically. Azriel glanced at her curiously, obviously confused by her response.

"Trust me that would not be an issue." When her laughter finally stopped, she felt the need to clarify. Her face was warm with heat and she also found it difficult to look at Azriel.

"What does that mean?" He asked. His shadows were out in full force now. A few of them were touching Gwyn, but she did not mind so much now. She could, begrudgingly, admit that she liked their comfort. He angled his body so that his knees were almost touching her. Now it seemed that all he wanted was eye contact from her while before it seemed he could not even look in her direction. He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger and pulled her to look at him. Once their eyes met, she was locked in place. He kept his hand on her chin as they spoke.

"Gwyn, what do you mean it wouldn't be an issue?"

She cleared her throat awkwardly and squirmed in her seat.

"Do you really have to ask? All of Pyrinthian wants to sleep with you. Why would I be any different?" Her voice was quiet as though she was afraid someone might overhear her. Azriel's expression became difficult to interpret. All she knew was that he was staring at her with such intensity that a dangerous heat was starting to pool low in her stomach.

"Gwyn, I would never assume that you..." he trailed off in a tortured voice that had Gwyn all sorts of confused. "You have not shown interest in sex with anyone so I just assumed..." he trailed off again. Gwyn shrugged.

"I am not interested in sex with just anyone. I am interested in sex with you."

"Oh."

Azriel's hand was still on her chin but their faces had moved closer together since the start of the conversation. There was only about an inch or two between their mouths. Both of their eyes kept flickering down to the others lips. It was quiet for a long time before Gwyn remembered why this was inappropriate. She pulled away and sat back into the couch.

"Doesn't matter though, right? Because of Elain." She sounded bitter, but she could not help herself. Azriel looked torn.

"I am sorry Gwyn. It's just..." he did not seem to have the words to explain whatever his situation with Elain was. Gwyn figured this would be her last chance to convince Azriel, so she better make it count.

She grabbed his face with her hands, and slowly brought his face to hers. She wanted to give him time to pull away if he did not want this. He did not pull away though, instead their lips softly brushed each other's. It was a thrill like any other. Gwyn had kissed a few people recently. None of them really all that noteworthy, except maybe Nesta. But this kiss, this kiss was exactly what kisses were supposed to be like. Gwyn tried to deepen the kiss as she pushed her body closer to his, basically sitting in his lap. He tried to slow the kiss down, but Gwyn did not want slow. She wanted to prove to Azriel that she could handle whatever he wanted from her. She held his face tighter in her hands and slipped her tongue between his lips. The first touch of their tongues was electric. Gwyn moaned, loudly which seemed to illicit a groan from Azriel. She noticed his hands were laying limply at his sides which just wouldn't suffice. She pulled Azriel over her as she laid on the couch and pulled one of his hands to rest on her thigh under her gown. He tried to nestle himself between her thighs, but the gown was too restrictive. Gwyn hiked it up around her waist and then they were lost in the kiss again. Everything about his kisses were all consuming. She never wanted this feeling to stop. It was almost like a glow in her chest. The kiss became more erratic, hungrier from both ends. He squeezed her thigh causing her hips to buck up. She made contact with his hips and moaned as she felt the full extent to his excitement. Even as the kiss intensified, Az did not move his hands or hips to Gwyn's utmost annoyance. She moved one of his hands to her ass and the other to her breast, eliciting a sweet sounding moan from him. She could listen to him moaning all day long. It was better than any symphony she had ever heard before. She lifted her legs to wrap around his hips and pulled them down to meet hers. Finally, he started moving on his own accord. Grinding into her and massaging her chest. Gwyn ran her hands through his hair as they wrestled for control over the kiss. Eventually, Gwyn let him takeover. It was everything she could ever dream of sex being and they weren't even having sex.

"Never stop." Gwyn whispered in his ear. He shuttered against her as he lowered his mouth to her neck. He licked and sucked and bit that spot so perfectly that Gwyn thought she might finish right then and there. His wandering hands felt so good.

"Gwyn." He moaned low in her ear while he pushed himself against her. It would be a lie to say she wasn't intimidated by the size hiding in his pants.

Everything felt so intense that Gwyn had to let her hands wander. Gwyn threw her hands around his shoulders to pull him closer when she accidentally brushed against his wing. He, suddenly, cried out. Gwyn couldn't decipher if it was pleasure or pain and pulled away to check.

"You okay?" Her chest was moving rapidly as she tried to catch her breathe. Azriel's eyes were squeezed shut while he pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His body was no longer pressed to every inch of hers, but instead hovering. She tried to push him closer again. Instead, he quickly disentangled himself from her.

"I need to go." Gwyn thought she might get whiplash from his sudden change of mood, but one glance at his pants had her understanding.

"It's okay, Az." She grabbed his hand and pulled him back on the couch. She hiked her dress up again as she straddled him before setting it back down. He refused to look at her and the hint of a blush colored his cheeks.

"Sorry." He muttered. Gwyn shook her head with a smile.

"Don't be." Gwyn grabbed his face to look at her while sitting on his still semi-erect cock. "You'll have to end things with Elain before I let you go any further anyways."

A look she couldn't decipher crossed his face. It was definitely a look she didn't like either. It slowly started stamping on the warm, glowing emotion she had been feeling. She sighed heavily before pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was short before he pulled away.

"Wings are extremely sensitive." He started to explain.

"It's okay, Az. Really, don't worry about it." She shrugged, but he only shook his head.

"No, I want you to know that if we did have sex, it would not be that short. As long as you avoided the wings." He was so serious about it that a thrill shot through Gwyn. He wanted to have sex with her. Might even be planning to have sex with her.

A mischievous smile crossed her face.

"How does it work exactly? I just touch the right spot and you finish?" She was walking two fingers up his arm when his hand clamped down on her wrist and put it back at her side. A slightly annoyed expression crossed his face.

"I'm not telling you." His bottom lip jutted out in a pout that Gwyn had never seen before. It would be very effective in persuading her to do just about anything.

Gwyn climbed off Azriel and started heading for the exit once she had smoothed down her clothes and hair.

"That's fine. I will just have to figure it out on my own, I suppose." She tossed him one more flirty smile and headed towards the dining room.

She bumped into Cass on the way, who she thought was in windhaven. She felt nervous that perhaps he heard the two of them, but Azriel would have known he was here and stopped anything from progressing.

"Hey Cass." She kept walking, hoping to avoid any conversation.

"Hey Gwyn," a small smirk pulled up the corner of his lips. "Have you seen Az? I need his help." Gwyn stopped and turned back to quickly finish the conversation with Cassian. She barely contained the blush she wanted to give.

"I think he might be in the library? Could also check his room." She shrugged as if she did not just exit the library after sucking the soul out of the Shadowsinger.

"Alrighty." He turned to leave. Gwyn thought she was in the clear until he turned back once more. "I'll let him know he should be more careful with his placement next time." And then he tapped his neck. Right where Gwyn remember Azriel devoting quite a decent amount of time to biting. Gwyn shrieked, slapped her hand over her neck, and ran all the way to her room. She was going to kill the Shadowsinger.

[krisdreaming]

heyoo<3 hru?, could i request a scenario with Daichi? where his s/o is secretly pregnant and they have a fight (maybe about him being at work a lot and never seeing him) and she walks out for a breather coz they were just yelling over the top of each other but Daichi finds the pregnancy test and runs to find her and its all fluffy and happy tears. sorry if i worded this terribly :/// <3333

Ahh I love this, and I was instantly inspired when I read it, so thank you for sending bby 💞

Fem reader, for obvious reasons!

WC: 1k

You’re seething, and if he were thinking clearly Daichi would agree that you have every right to be. As it is, he’s having a little trouble seeing past the red clouding his vision. How can you say that he doesn’t spend enough time with you when everything he does is for you? He snaps up every overtime shift because he knows that sometime in the future you’ll be glad for this little nest egg he’s been building up. It’s not his fault that you can’t see past this to the long term.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just want to see my own husband now and then?” You ask hotly, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he exhales forcibly through it.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m making this sacrifice for you?” Finally, he opens his eyes and fixes them on you. Your arms are crossed stubbornly over your chest.

“Oh ho.” You laugh, but the sound is anything but mirthful. “A sacrifice. So valiant,” You huff, “You know, maybe we’re just not seeing eye to eye on this.”

“You think?” He snaps back, watching as you bite down on your lip and hot tears fill your eyes.

“I do,” You agree more softly. “You know what? Daichi...” Whatever you’re going to say dies on your lips, and you shake your head. “I have to get out of here,” You snatch your jacket from the rack by the door and slam the door behind you on your way out. 

The moment you’re gone, Daichi rakes his fingers through his hair, the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through him. With a twist in his stomach, he can’t help but think that he hadn’t expected you to actually leave. Still, maybe it’s for the best that you both have a chance to cool down. 

The only place he can think to go is the bathroom. He curses too loudly when his foot catches on the trash can and sends the contents scattering anywhere. He ignores it for the moment and grips the edge of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He sees the way his nostrils are flaring and the way the blood has rushed to his cheeks, and immediately feels a wave of remorse. 

He shouldn’t have been so harsh to you. You’ve been suffering from the lack of time spent together - maybe he should have been more sensitive to your needs. Truth be told, he’s been missing you, too, but he kept telling himself it was all going to be for the best. He sighs, running cold water and splashing it on his face. Maybe he owes you an apology.

Resigned, he stoops down to scoop the trash back into the trash can, shoving a handful of tissues back inside with a grimace. With one hand still inside the can, he freezes. There, on the bathroom tile next to an empty shampoo bottle, is a thin plastic stick that makes his stomach turn in his middle. Slowly, he picks it up and peers into the window, the plus sign not too difficult to decipher. He’s seen so many negative results that you mustn’t have wanted to get his hopes up this time. But...

He stands, not caring that there’s still trash scattered across the floor. He rushes out of the bathroom and lunges for the door with a singular mission: finding you. Luckily, he has some idea of where you’ve gone. There’s a park only a few blocks from your home, and it’s one of your favorite places. He jogs in that direction, holding back the best he can from full on sprinting. He gets a few concerned looks as he blows past other pedestrians, but he doesn’t care. 

He finally catches sight of you on a bench, your elbows propped on your knees as you cradle your face in your hands. He can’t tell whether you’re crying, but his heart wrenches in his chest anyway. He really had said some awful things, even if he hadn’t entirely meant them.

“Y/N!” He calls out when he’s within earshot, nearly breathless as he leaps across the last few yards separating you. You lift your head, and he sees the tear stains tracking down your cheeks. He repeats your name, dropping to his knees in front of you and reaching to cup your face in his hands. For the first time, he realizes he’s still holding the pregnancy test tight in his fist. 

Your eyes widen, and you let out a shaky breath as he holds it up, unable to mask the smile that’s been tugging at his lips ever since he saw it. “You’re pregnant?” He asks in disbelief, and you nod, tears springing quickly to your eyes.

“I was going to tell you,” You say under your breath, voice raw from the tears both shed and unshed. “Honest. I just-”

“I’m so sorry,” He cuts you off, a giddy chuckle falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t. From now on, I - I’ll do better. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help it - you’re laughing along with him. “I’m sorry too,” You grip his wrists with your fingers, grinning into his face and not caring that you’re in a public place and anyone could see. “I was being selfish.”

“You weren’t,” He shakes his head firmly. He can’t hold it back anymore. “I- I’m going to be a dad?”

“Mmhmm,” You nod, grin growing ever wider on your face.

He’s not sure what to make of the sound that escapes him then, but he draws you to your feet and crushes you to him, holding you close as every single emotion comes crashing over him. “I’m such a jerk,” He breathes, pulling back to look you in the eye, fresh concern on his face.

“You didn’t know,” You say softly, still unable to control your grin. “Let’s just forget it, okay?” After all, you have much more important things to discuss. All he can do is crash his lips into yours. He vows to make it all up to you somehow.

[ao3komorii]

Lost Love’s Ruination (Viego/Reader)

Done at last! Was desperate to get this one out before Isolde was released for obvious reasons, so glad I got it done xD Once again, I tried to make it that you don't need any lore knowledge to get what's going on, though I would recommend maybe watching Ruination (the league short). Also no apologies for all the Senna because I love herrrrr

As a warning, there is smut at the end. Hope you enjoy it :) ----

A woman’s body, her beauty spoiled in apparent death, was lowered into beautiful crystalline waters. You couldn’t see who was lowering her into the water, or who stood around viewing the scene. You never could.

As it always did, the water grew poisoned with death as the woman revived from the dead, her features twisted with anger and confusion. Like a caged animal that had been freed, she lashed out, ripping a great blade out of someone’s grasp, and before you could react, the blade was plunged into your chest.

With a gasp, you woke up, your body broken out in a cold sweat, like it always did when you had that particular dream. You had had that dream many times before, but it never got any less terrifying. Long ago, you had considered visiting a dream reader to decipher what the horrifying nightmare meant, but you were scared that you would be told you were cursed and gave up on ever knowing.

It was a relief that most days you didn’t have much time to worry about your nightmares. You had been working on a farm in rural Demacia ever since you had been taken in at age four. You had been told that you were the only survivor of a fire, but you had been so young that you had no memories of the fire, or of your parents.

The owner of the farm had given you a home, but he was far from being family. You were given enough food to survive, but no more, and it was always contingent on you working on the farm seven days a week. You were grateful to have a bed to sleep in at night, even as hard as it was, but couldn’t help but feel some envy watching the other girls in your town go about their lives without the responsibilities that you had.

You might as well get up, even with how early you had woken up. Today was sheep shearing day, the longest day of the year for you. The sheep liked you more than they liked the owner, so that meant that you were stuck shearing all the sheep by yourself while he went to the town bar all day.

Putting on your old and worn boots with a sigh, you wished you could find a way out of this life. But you had no skills besides farming, and no money. The only way a girl like you could get out of this life was to marry a likely-older man, and that was something you wanted to avoid at all costs. The owner’s brother had previously expressed an interest in you, but luckily for you the owner hated his brother, or you would have likely had to live on the streets to avoid that marriage made in hell.

The owner was out in the field feeding the sheep when you exited the farmhouse. He glanced up at you, but you knew better than to expect a good morning, instead heading towards the small shed to fetch your shears.

Only when you returned to the field did he finally speak up. “Have some buyers comin’ for the wool tomorrow, so make sure it’s done today.”

“Right,” you answered. He was always the gruff, no-nonsense type, so you knew by now that talking back would get you nowhere. You had learned that lesson soon after you had come to this place twenty years ago. He was your employer, not your father, and he made sure you never forgot that.

“Alright, I’m off then,” he said, giving the field of sheep one more look over before heading inside to change out of his overalls.

You finished setting your things up as the owner left for the bar. You watched as he headed down the road, knowing that he wouldn’t be back until late. You didn’t really mind when he was gone, even if that meant you had a larger workload; he never seemed to have any interest in you other than what you could do on the farm, so he wasn’t one for long conversation. Without him around, you were at least able to relax and work without feeling like you had someone breathing down your neck to finish faster.

Luckily, the sheep were more than willing to listen to your worries, even if they didn’t understand what you were saying.

“I just want to stop having that dream,” you said as you began shearing one of your favorite sheep, Tulip. The owner had no interest in naming his livestock, so the job was left to you. Names didn’t make a difference to the owner, but it made a big difference to you, even as sad as it was to have your only friends be farm animals.

“I just wish I could make them go away,” you told the uninterested sheep. “Things would be much easier if I could dream about grass like you probably do, Tulip.”

Tulip turned her head to face you and you sighed, petting her freshly-sheared back. You always felt silly talking to the sheep, but it wasn’t like you had any better options around here.

Every time you had dreamed of a more exciting life, you had backed down and given up on your plans. Beyond your lack of money or skills, you knew very little about the world outside your small farming town. You had only been outside the town once, many years ago when you went with the owner to help pick out some new livestock from a larger town.

As your life stood right now, you had very little idea of what your future would be like. Would you eventually get tired of this life and set out on your own, get married off, or stay here until you were old and gray? None of those options seemed particularly appealing to you, but for now, all you could do was sit here and talk to sheep about your nightmares, wishing you could have a chance to see more of the world than your small town.

It was already a pretty warm day, and handling heavy sheep’s wool wasn’t helping. You had sheared about half the sheep by midday, but your work had been slowing down, likely due to your poor night of sleep. You would have to pick up the pace considerably if you wanted to finish in time to get any sleep tonight.

You had been pushing through your increasing thirst for at least an hour in the name of finishing on time, but had finally given in and headed inside for some water. Your dry throat ached, but the water was still nice, as you knew the owner would be upset if you passed out from dehydration before you finished your day’s work.

As much as you didn’t want to go back out there, you knew you had to work to earn your keep. It was a little harder to stay focused on work when you were dirty, sweaty and covered in balls of wool, but you had to push through and just look forward to a nice bath after the day was done.

You paused to stretch as you stood before the front door, knowing it would be back to work as soon as you were back outside. Stretching only served to emphasize how sore you were feeling after several hours of tedious work, with many more still to go. That was the same reason why you hadn’t bothered to pick the excess wool off of your clothes; why bother when you would look like a patchy sheep by the end of the day anyways?

Saying goodbye to your brief moment of rest, you opened the door at last, reluctantly ready to get back to work. Looking out over the area, you were surprised to see the field in more chaos than you had left it.

Your stool had been knocked over, but that was easy enough to fix; your real problem came from the sheep. You had expected them to wander around the field while not under your supervision, but the scene before you was something you had never experienced before.

The sheep were all crowded along the fence that faced the way into town. Walking closer, you could see nothing along the road that led past other farms and into town, at least nothing that would catch the attention of the entire flock of sheep. The dirt road was clear, the only noise around drifting over from the other nearby farms, but that wasn’t unusual.

You walked closer to the sheep, still unsure of what their problem was. You had never seen them act like this before, not even when large carts would pass by them travelling on the road. Could they see something that you couldn’t? You had never heard of sheep having supernatural senses, but were having a difficult time coming up with any other explanation for their sudden strange behavior.

Approaching the sheep, you tried to gently pry one away from the fence, but it wouldn’t budge, digging its hooves into the ground with an indignant bleat. You tried the same tactic with several other sheep, but were met with the same stubborn refusal to move. Even Tulip rebuffed you, regardless of any pleading on your part. What was wrong with these sheep?

You covered your eyes with your hands, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. You really didn’t need this right now. You had a job to do, and a limited amount of time to get the job done or the owner would surely be upset with you. You would have to do whatever it took to get the sheep to comply with you, even if the owner was unhappy with you using extra hay as a bribe.

Before you could return your focus to the sheep in front of you, you were interrupted by a loud bleating from all around you. Removing your hands from your eyes, you looked around you to the flock of loudly-bleating sheep, and then back to the still-empty area ahead of you, still utterly confused as to what was happening.

All of a sudden, the sheep were desperate to be anywhere but where they were as they all turned and fled away from the fence. Unfortunately, you were unable to move in time and were sent falling to the ground, which was not helping your already-sore back. Sitting up with a groan, you lamented how rough your day was going, at least until you looked out at the scene beyond the fence.

Where there had been nothing out of the ordinary before, now you could see something that was not there before. Far off in the horizon, so far that you had to squint to see it, was a patch of dark black-green in the sky.

Standing up, you leaned over the fence, trying to see what it was when suddenly the patch grew bigger, or as you realized with a gasp, it was getting closer. The horrible black-green sky got closer still, close enough for you to tell that it was not sky after all, but a thick, dark mist, and it seemed to be closing in on your small town.

And then your world was swallowed by black.

Senna sat in the small boat, watching as the black-green mist began to dissipate, knowing that its creator had vanished as well. She could feel nothing but guilt and dread; she had failed not only herself, but all of Runeterra. Now that the ruined king had the memories, he was one step closer to achieving his goal, and then his focus would turn to the world that he felt had let him down.

“We have to find the girl,” Senna said suddenly, watching as the last of the mist faded from the cliff they had just been on.

“The girl?” Lucian asked.

Senna turned to face her husband. How often she forgot that Lucian hadn’t seen what she had seen, didn’t know what she knew. But this was no time to get lost in the past, not when so much was at stake.

“His wife died a long time ago,” she began as Lucian took hold of the boat’s steering wheel. “I’ve held her memory within me since the mist came to my island when I was a child. Now that he has her memory, he will seek out her body to reunite the two.”

“He’s looking for a thousand-year-old corpse?” Lucian sounded dubious.

“No,” Senna sighed ruefully. “His wife was reborn, but she has no memories of her past life. He thinks that he can force her memory into her new body and return her to his side.”

Only when it got closer did you realize the true amount of trouble you were in. The dark mist began to swallow the land, the sky, covering everything in its path as it headed straight towards your farm.

As it got even closer, you began to see more detail in the ominous mist, taken aback when you noticed ethereal green streaks in the mist that crawled along the black mist as if they were alive. This was no ordinary storm, no, this mist looked downright sinister. You stared, frozen with terror, until the screams from one of the neighboring farms snapped you out of your petrified stupor.

You had to run. Now.

You backed up a few steps, knowing that you had to leave but afraid to take your eyes off of the rapidly-approaching deathly black mist. Turning around at last, you ran across the field and towards the woods beyond the back gate of the property, hoping to find some safety within the dense forest.

The sheep had already got there first and were trying to break down the back gate to escape. The field was large, as you also had many crops growing, sections of which had been trampled underfoot by the terrified animals as they fled.

You were halfway across the field when the sheep scattered, bleating loudly as they gave up on the back gate, running instead to cower in their pen. As they moved away from the gate, you noticed with horror that the black mist was now rolling out from the woods as well. Stopping in your tracks, you looked around you, only to see that the mist was coming at the farm from every direction. You were trapped, and the mist was only getting closer to engulfing you.

Desperately looking for any way out of your impending death, you caught sight of the farmhouse. If you couldn’t escape this mist, then maybe you could delay its effects by hiding in the cellar of the farmhouse long enough for help to arrive. It was the only option you could see other than waiting here to die, so you took it.

Your legs were burning from all the sprinting you had been doing in the last few minutes, but you couldn’t stop, not when it was the cellar or certain death. You were almost to the farmhouse, so close you could almost feel the temporary safety within your grasp, when the looming mist beat you there, swallowing the house into its depths just as you were about to reach the door.

Jerking back with a scream, you backed away from the writhing mist, not wanting it to touch your skin. By now, the mist had surrounded the farm, so close to you that you could no longer see the fences that surrounded the property.

You stood still, having nowhere to run as the mist surrounded you on all sides. Shaking with fear, you were surprised when the mist stopped advancing, leaving you in the middle of a circular patch of field.

You watched with wide eyes, waiting for the mist to swallow you, but it didn’t come any closer. You weren’t dead, but it wasn’t like this situation was much better. You couldn’t fight off a supernatural mist with sheep shears, and even if you could, they were on the ground somewhere in that mist.

The farmland was deathly silent; you could no longer hear the screams of your neighbors or the bleating of the sheep. Now that it was so close and with nowhere to go, you had nothing to do but stare at the mysterious fog that surrounded you.

It was dark, so dark that you couldn’t see through it, the sickly green streaks running around the edge of the mist like circling sharks. Following them with your eyes, you struggled to figure out what they were. You had a very limited worldview to draw on, the only comparison coming to mind being like a ghoul described to you in stories when you were a child.

You weren’t sure what was happening; the mist had swallowed everything else without mercy, so why were you a different case? You weren’t left waiting long, as the mist gave way to a tall figure who entered into the open section of field.

He was tall and ethereally pale, clothed all in black, which contrasted sharply with his short, wavy silver hair. Looking at his well-defined torso, you realized that he was too pale; his face and shirtless torso were gray-white, like all the life had been drained from him.

His outfit was simple, a black pair of pants and dark cropped jacket, obsidian armor covering his arms and legs. More than anything, your eyes were drawn to two unusual features; on his head was a sharp three-pointed crown the same color of the ghouls still circling you, and on his chest was a black triangle, so dark that it seemed like it was a bottomless hole.

His eyes glowed with a supernatural light, a shiver running down your spine as your eyes met his. Immediately, he began to stride towards you, sending you into a panic.

There was nowhere to go but into the mist, and that wasn’t an option, but that didn’t mean you wanted the ghostly man anywhere near you. You clutched your hands to your chest, backing up as far as you could without entering the mist, but the man would not be deterred.

His eyes never strayed from yours, his gaze so intense that you felt it hard to look away from. With nowhere to run, he was quickly upon you, but to your great surprise, he came to a stop before you.

He raised one gloved hand, and you flinched as he reached towards you, stunned when the hand came up to gently cup your cheek. Shaking with fear, you stared at him, scared to even breathe and attract his ire.

“My love,” came his voice, gravelly and in an accent that you did not recognize. “Finally you return to me.”

“Who are you?” you whispered, shivering from the cold of his armor-tipped fingers against your skin.

His head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was appraising you. You wanted to shrink away from his gaze, to remove his hand from your face, but you were terrified of upsetting him and risking yourself. As stagnant as your life was, it was your life, and you didn’t want to die here.

“You do not remember me,” he spoke softly, voice laced with disappointment. “A shame. But you will soon.”

You were scared to ask him what he meant, but felt relieved as he finally pulled his hand away from your cheek. Your relief was short-lived as his hand instead went to lay over the deep black triangle on his chest. Now that he was so close to you, the triangle truly did look like it was made of endless darkness. You could see no flesh in the black space; it looked like a keyhole to a dimension of utter black, the sight of it reminding you of the black mist that swirled around you.

There was also the fact that he had spoken to you like he knew you. You had never seen this man before, that you knew for sure. The only part of your life that was hazy was your life before the fire that had claimed your home and parents, but you couldn’t imagine meeting this ghoulish man back then and not remembering him.

You inhaled sharply when out of his chest materialized an orb of wiry light. The strands of light that made up the orb buzzed with energy, and seemed to act as a sort of cage for a small white light in the center that looked like a flickering flame. You knew that it was not natural; but no matter how long you stared at it, you would not be able to place its origins.

The orb was so bright, and felt very out of place in the void of darkness that you were currently trapped in as its light helped to illuminate the face of the stranger before you.

Even with how deathly pale he was, his face was still handsome, jawline sharp and free of even stubble. No matter how much you stared at his face, you couldn’t tell how old he was; he looked around your age, but also had the aura of someone or something much, much older. He looked down at the thrumming orb with a strange fondness in his eyes before he turned his attention back to you.

“I have missed you so dearly, Isolde,” he said as he began to bring the orb towards you.

“No, please!” you cried out in response.

You weren’t sure what that orb was; all you knew was that you didn’t want it touching you. He didn’t seem to hear your desperate pleas as the orb got closer and closer to your chest. You had nowhere to run, and nobody to save you from this ghostly lunatic.

The orb was almost at your chest, a tear dripping down your cheek as you stared down at it, and then everything was light.

You closed your eyes against the bright light, but were surprised to feel no pain. Hearing a male grunt, you opened your eyes as the light beyond your eyelids faded as quickly as it had come.

Looking around you, you saw the stranger across the field, the orb on the grass nearby. Immediately, you noticed that the area was better lit, looking over to see a large split in the dark mist that led across the field to a figure holding a large metallic device.

“Hurry!” Came the call from the figure, too far away for you to see them in much detail.

A snarl from behind you had you looking back to see the strange man getting up, the sight spurning you into action. You made a mad dash for the gap in the mist, ignoring the stranger’s angered calls for you to stop. You didn’t recognize the figure in the distance, but you would take any help you could get as you sprinted towards them.

As you got closer, you noticed that the figure you were running towards was a woman. She was dressed in black and white, gold-accented dreadlocks hanging out of one side of her white hood. You couldn’t place the large metal device that she held; you had never seen anything like it before.

“You will not interfere!”

You glanced behind you, seeing the stranger following behind you, now holding a sword that was longer than he was tall, aglow with supernatural energy. The sight of him, of the fury in his eyes tripped you up, sending you tumbling to the ground.

You scrambled to your feet, but the delay was enough that he was rapidly catching up to you. The look in his eyes froze you in your tracks, only able to manage small steps backward until your arm was suddenly grabbed from behind.

You yelped as you were picked up and then quickly deposited back on the ground a short distance away from where you had been. Looking over, you saw a man in white standing protectively in front of you, twin pistols raised and pointed at the silver-haired man with the sword.

He quickly turned his head back to face you. “Go.” When you hadn’t moved after a few seconds, he barked the order again, his deep voice loud and commanding.

You nodded rapidly before turning to run, hoping that the man would be okay. You knew that you wouldn’t feel confident facing that ghoulish man down, but the man that had come to your rescue seemed to exude a quiet confidence, so you had to trust that he would be okay as you desperately sprinted towards the woman and her strange weapon-like device.

As soon as you were in her reach, she pulled you behind her. You saw the man who had saved you facing off with the sword-wielding stranger, rapidly firing bolts of light at him while narrowly dodging blows from the giant sword.

“Is he okay?” you asked, consumed with worry.

The woman nodded. “He can handle himself. We need to get you out of here while Viego is distracted.”

“Viego?” you echoed, turning your gaze from the fight in front of you to meet her startlingly green eyes.

“I’ll explain everything when we’re away from this place,” she answered, resting her large weapon against her shoulder. “We need to go.”

You were reluctant to leave the man fighting alone, but you had no power to help him. You couldn’t insist on staying here when it would doom all three of you.

As you and the woman ran towards the road, your thoughts turned to the owner, your neighbors… your whole town. Hopping over the fence, you found yourself facing down a wasteland.

The nearby farms looked like they had been hit by a tornado, fences broken and chunks of wood gouged out of houses. You couldn’t see anyone around but you and the woman at your side. Just an hour ago, those farms had been full of life, and now, nothing.

You were led around a bend in the road, where a metal cart waited with two large creatures hitched to it. One of the creatures turned its head to look at you and you stared back, trying to figure out what exactly it was.

“Greathorns,” the woman answered your unspoken question. “They’re very reliable.”

You nodded your head slowly; you felt like you had heard the owner mention greathorns before, but you knew that you had never seen one in person. They were bigger than any horse you had seen, with beige beardlike tufts of hair under their chins and large jagged horns that almost looked like a dragon’s wing sprouting from their heads.

The woman looked like she was about to say something, but she was interrupted by a horrible guttural screech from the direction you had just fled from. You met eyes with the woman, feeling unnerved when you noticed the worry in her expression.

Your momentary panic was shattered as a figure zipped around the corner. You were relieved to see that it was the man in the white jacket, though his clothing looked considerably more scuffed up than it had a few minutes ago.

“Is he–” the woman started to say.

“He’s down for now, but we have to go,” the man answered, running over to join you at the cart.

They both sprang into action, the woman placing her weapon into the cart before jumping in herself and helping you in while the man took his place at the reins, spurning the greathorns into movement.

You turned back to try and see what had become of the farm you had called home for most of your life. The dark mist still lingered over the farm, but it was getting thinner by the second. You didn’t see the strange man, the owner, or even the sheep. It was almost unbelievable how quickly your entire way of life had been decimated; as you watched the ruined farm get farther and farther away, you wondered if you would ever return.

You hadn’t realized that you had dozed off until you were being gently nudged awake. You weren’t surprised you had fallen asleep after the day you had, combined with the long cart ride.

You opened your eyes to see the woman who had rescued you, who offered a kind smile your way when she noticed that you were awake. “We’re here.”

“Here…?” you replied sleepily, before your attention was drawn to the scene around you.

You felt like you were in a world straight out of a fairy tale. Tall buildings made of polished white stone surrounded you, much more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. The roads were paved, people in fancy dress and armor milling about. You were in awe of the fashion, suddenly feeling like a country bumpkin in your wool-covered overalls.

“Welcome to Demacia City,” the man said, steering the cart to a waiting stable.

You got off of the cart with shaky feet, feeling overwhelmed by the reality of the big city you had always dreamed of visiting. Looking out at the beautiful architecture of the city, you only wished you could have come here under better circumstances. The beautiful city instantly dulled in your eyes when you thought back to the state of your hometown, desolated by the dark mist.

“I thought it would be better to let you sleep,” the woman’s voice broke through the fog in your brain and you turned to look at her. “Now that we have a moment to breathe, I thought we should introduce ourselves. My name is Senna, and this is my husband Lucian.”

Lucian nodded to you when he was introduced, and you shyly gave your name back. Once the introductions had been made, you followed Senna through the streets after she had insisted that it would be safer to explain everything once you had arrived at a more secure location.

The more secure location ended up being a large building at the edge of town, the inside of the building a large circular chamber. You could see a few doors on the other side of the chamber, but didn’t get to see where they led as Senna stood in the center of the room, the light from a glass panel far above her bathing her form in a gentle glow. Lucian stood close to his wife, and you came to a stop a few feet away, nervous for what you were about to hear.

“Alright, so the start of this all goes back over a thousand years ago,” Senna started, the sheer amount of time involved stunning you. “That man… Viego… he was a king back then.”

“He was the king of Demacia?” you blurted out. It was hard to imagine someone so ghoulish and cruel being the king of Demacia, even a thousand years ago.

“Not here,” Lucian denied with a shake of his head. “A long-dead empire on a continent east of here.”

Another continent? You had never even heard of another continent; the farthest your geographical knowledge went were the other kingdoms that bordered Demacia. But if he was from another continent…

“…then how did he get here?” you voiced your sudden thought, watching as Senna’s expression hardened, as if your words hurt her to think about.

After a pause, she answered. “Viego was a poor king who instead focussed all of his attention on a peasant girl he had made his wife, Isolde.”

An unsettling feeling made its way into your stomach as Senna spoke her name, but you kept your feelings in, not wanting to interrupt her story.

“With his attention on Isolde, Viego did not govern. Wanting to be rid of their useless king, assassins came to take Viego’s life, but their aim was misplaced. Their poison dagger sliced the arm of the queen, who fell deathly ill from the toxin.”

As her story went on, the bad feeling got worse and worse. It was not at all helped by the knowledge of your mystery scar, the one on your arm that you had no memory of ever getting in the first place. Still, you kept quiet and listened.

“To cure his wife, Viego brought her to the Blessed Isles, but she didn’t survive the journey and was brought as a corpse,” Senna explained. “The elders refused him entry, as the blessed waters could not bring back the dead, but Viego forced his way through.”

You were beginning to have a hard time breathing, terror seeping into your skin as you thought about that dream, the same dream you had been having most of your life. You felt compelled to listen to rest of Senna’s story, even if you suspected that you knew how it would end.

“Isolde was angry and confused after being ripped from death. She stabbed Viego with his own sword, the touch of the ancient sword to the blessed waters turning the whole island into unlife. Viego’s death is what created the Shadow Isles.”

The Shadow Isles? You had thought they were just a myth. Everyone in your town had heard of the terrifying land that was said to be cursed with unlife, its residents thralls to the terrible curse. It had been said that anyone who ventured to the Shadow Isles would lose themselves to death and madness, but you had only heard the place mentioned by parents trying to discourage their children from behaving badly, telling them that the monsters from the from the isles would come and get them if they didn’t behave themselves.

You knew what was coming, but you couldn’t bear to say it out loud, feeling like the words were too horrifying for you to speak. Thankfully, Senna decided at last to get to the heart of the matter.

“Viego took Isolde’s memory from me, and now he intends to reunite her memory with her body,” Senna said, her eyes tinged with regret. “And that is why he’s after you.”

“So then that orb…” your voice trailed off as you thought about the ball of light that had nearly been forced upon you.

“Isolde’s memory from when she was alive,” Lucian confirmed. “Senna has had it with her for a long time.”

“And you think that I’m…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“Yes,” Senna confirmed gently. “You are the reincarnation of Isolde. Viego would not have come after you if you weren’t.”

“But I’m not… I’m just a farmhand…”

You knew that she was right. There was no other explanation, but you still didn’t want to believe it. You were a farm worker, not a long-dead queen. Yesterday you had been pulling carrots out of the ground, and today you were on the run from a demented king who believed he could use your body to bring back his dead wife. You didn’t have an exciting life, but it was yours, and you didn’t want to lose it to fulfil Viego’s twisted obsession.

Senna and Lucian had stayed silent, giving you a moment to try and calm yourself down, which you appreciated. You would probably cry about it tonight, but for now you would stay as strong as you could. You were used to talking about your feelings with the animals on the farm, but felt uncomfortable with being overly emotional in front of other people, considering the main person you talked to was the owner, and he was not one for heartfelt conversations.

“We won’t let him have you,” Senna promised.

“And besides, after what I did to him, he’ll need a few days to recover his strength,” Lucian added.

“Thank you both,” you said, bowing your head low. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t even want to think about where I’d be.”

“Raise your head,” Senna said gently. You looked up to see her with a smile on her face, which made you feel a bit better. “Don’t go thanking us yet. Not until we send Viego back into the darkness for good.”

“Can we really stop him?” you asked.

“We’ll sure try,” she replied as you silently wished you had the confidence that she did. “But first, we have something else to do.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what she meant. What could be more important than dealing with the looming threat of Viego’s return?

“You’ve never left that town, have you?” Senna asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. “How would you like to see the city?”

“But don’t we have to–”

“I’ll handle the work for now,” Lucian cut in. “We haven’t been back here in some time and Senna might aim her gun my way if she doesn’t get some downtime.”

“Me?” Senna replied with mock incredulity. “You were the one going on about missing Demacian sugar rolls.”

Lucian didn’t look bothered by his wife’s sass, staring at her with a pout until she relented with a smile and a shake of her head. “…we’ll get you some when we’re out.”

“Thank you kindly,” Lucian replied fondly.

After giving Lucian a quick kiss goodbye, Senna turned back to you, gesturing towards the door. “Ready to get a look at what the city is really like?”

You had thought the streets of Demacia City were big, but found yourself thoroughly blown away by the sheer size of the grand plaza in the center of the city. It was mostly empty now, but according to Senna, the entire space was packed with people when they held special events. It was hard to believe that you were standing in a place where wars had been declared and kings had been crowned.

The marketplace was less spacious, but no less overwhelming. Merchants of all types lined the streets, selling wares you could only dream of before today.

It was in the market that you got to try one of the sugar rolls that Lucian was so fond of, the crystalized sugar melting on your tongue. With so many new sights and smells, you were having a hard time deciding where to look, at least until you laid eyes on a colorful stand selling various types of clothing items.

Walking a bit closer while Senna perused some metalwork from a nearby shop, you found your attention drawn to a dress hanging on one of the racks in front of the seller. It was short, probably knee-length at best, and the same light blue as the sky. The dress was simple, with long sleeves and an a-line skirt, but it was the finer details that had caught your eye; sewn into the hem of the skirt and collar of the dress were little white birds in flight across the fabric.

You had never seen such intricate design work; in your town, people wore practical clothing for working; there was no need for a nice dress when you were just going to get mud all over it anyways. The more you saw of this place, the more you began to feel dissatisfied with how you had been living up until now. But then again, you may not live at all beyond the next few days, not if the ruined king got ahold of you. What a mess you had made of your own life, and Senna and Lucian’s as well.

“You know you’re not a burden, right?” Senna’s voice right behind you snapped you right out of your thoughts and you turned to look at her, her green eyes piercing right through you.

“I, uh…” You weren’t sure how to answer her as you processed her words. It was hard to think of yourself as anything but a burden; your existence itself had caused your town to be invaded by a long-dead king from the Shadow Isles, and now Senna and Lucian had to protect you or face the destruction of the entirety of Runeterra. You were an incredible burden.

“No, none of that,” Senna said, shaking her head with a smile, before her voice turned serious. “You’re a person with feelings and desires. You don’t deserve to be used in Viego’s plot to bring back his queen. You are worthy of being helped, so don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You were stunned speechless. You wanted to refute her words, but the look in her eyes was telling you that doing so would be a bad idea. Instead, you nodded reluctantly, and her stern face finally relaxed back into a smile.

“Good, then we’re going to practice being confident,” she said. “If we don’t work on your confidence, then you’ll never be able to stop fearing those who reside in the dark.”

She was right. You knew she was. “…okay.”

“See that dress over there?” Senna asked, jerking her chin towards the blue dress with the white bird trim. “You like it, right?”

You stiffened. You thought that she had been perusing the metal works being sold, but clearly she had been paying more attention to you than you had given her credit for.

“…it’s nice,” you admitted at last. “I’ve never owned a dress before. The owner of the farm said they would just get ripped and dirty.”

“I think we should get it then,” Senna replied, voice quieting so the seller couldn’t hear her next words. “Sometimes we all need a reminder that we’re not trapped in the dark. This dress can serve as your reminder that you’re brighter than the darkness that chases you.”

You were reluctant to accept the dress, but Senna paid the seller before you could properly object. Handing the dress to you, she looked pleased as she watched you marvel over the soft fabric and beautiful design. Looking back up at her, you were about to thank her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

“If you want to thank me, you can help me set the wards around the house. Besides, we’ll both get an earful if Lucian has to wait any longer for his sugar rolls.”

You thanked her anyways as you both turned to head out of the market, arms full of dress and sugar rolls.

The next morning found you outside with Senna, helping her set up complicated devices around the outside of the building while Lucian worked to set some of the same devices on the roof. You watched carefully as Senna demonstrated how each ward had to be placed in order to work properly, not wanting to mess up when you set up the next one yourself.

“Will these keep him out?” you asked as you bent down to place a ward against the wall.

“A little to the left,” Senna corrected, and you moved the heavy metal device to the left until she nodded with satisfaction. “Nothing can keep Viego out, but these should weaken his strength enough to give us a chance.”

You winced; you had anticipated her answer, knowing how powerful Viego had seemed from your short interaction with him. Hoping to defeat him seemed like a futile effort, but you wanted to believe it was possible. You knew so little about the world outside of your farming town, so at this point, anything seemed like it could be possible. You had no choice but to hope anyways because if you failed, you would be lost forever, at least if Viego had his way.

Your life had become infinitely more precious now that it had come under threat; you wanted to help Senna and Lucian, the people who valued you for being you, not a dead king who looked at you and only saw his departed wife.

“The roof’s all set!” Lucian called out from above you.

“Good!” Senna called back as she heaved another ward into her arms. “Then you can test the wards when I finish setting this one up.”

“On my way, dear,” came Lucian’s lighthearted reply.

The rest of the afternoon was spent finalizing the ward setup. You had never seen them before, and were surprised to see them light up as Lucian ran by them, leaving him looking exhausted by the contact. You had been even more shocked when Senna had told you that the wards had been set to their lowest setting for the test. If Lucian had been that tired on the lowest setting, then maybe you could have hope that the highest setting would have a significant effect on Viego.

“But are we sure he’ll set them off?” you asked Senna as she turned the wards back off.

“I’m sure,” she replied confidently. “Anywhere you are, he’ll go, except now we can use that to our advantage.”

The only problem being that you didn’t know exactly when he would come. Lucian’s guess of a few days was just that; a guess. He had explained that the day they had saved you was only their second time fighting Viego, the first time being when Viego had stolen Isolde’s memories from Senna. But it had been a few days without any sign of the dead king or his black mist, so you figured that Lucian’s estimate had been accurate.

By the fifth day with no sign of Viego, you began to prepare for the worst. He could come for you any day, at any time, so you were confined to the home with either Lucian or Senna with you at all times. You were disappointed that you could no longer explore the city, but you couldn’t make yourself an easy target for Viego to snatch from the streets.

There were some back rooms with beds to sleep in, but you spent most of your time in the circular chamber that made up most of the building, talking with Senna and Lucian or helping them with tasks. The time going by was wearing on you all as you wondered when Viego would come. By the seventh day, you were unable to relax, constantly worried that every noise you heard denoted the return of the ruined king.

It was late into night of the seventh day, but none of you could sleep, all finding yourselves in the chamber room. You were sitting against the wall, watching Senna as she cleaned one of Lucian’s guns, her own large gun resting on the floor next to her. Lucian had been pacing for a while, and you could tell it was beginning to wear on Senna’s nerves.

“Lucian, if you need to–”

Senna’s quip was cut off by a loud chime sounding from outside. The wards.

Immediately, Senna was on her feet, tossing the gun she had been working on to Lucian before picking her own gun up as they both turned to face the hallway, which was the only way in and out of the building.

“Hide yourself!” Senna called hurriedly to you before turning back to face the hall, Lucian at her side with his guns trained on the hallway.

You quickly heeded her words; you couldn’t see any sign of the dark mist yet, but you knew it would only be a matter of time. You dashed over to an ordinary-looking panel on the wall that you would have found otherwise unnoteworthy, if it hadn’t been for Senna showing you how it worked a few days ago.

Pulling the panel to the side, the secret door slid open to reveal a small nook, just big enough for a person to stand inside. You looked back to Senna to see her staring at you, giving you a quick nod when you looked worriedly back at her. Not wanting to trouble them by ruining the plans, you got into the nook, closing the door carefully behind you.

You were largely in darkness, the only source of light being the small eye-level slit that gave you a one-way view into the chamber. You were glad there was a wall directly at your back, because the lack of space was the only thing keeping you standing right now in the face of the onset of terror you were feeling.

Viego didn’t leave you waiting long; Senna and Lucian jumped back as mist flooded the chamber, retreating to the center of the room.

“There!” Lucian called as a figure suddenly appeared through the mist.

Viego moved quickly to the side, dodging a bolt of light from Senna’s gun. He emerged fully from the mist, eyes scanning the area, assumedly looking for you. You knew that he couldn’t possibly see you, but it didn’t stop you from shrinking back.

“Where is she?!” Viego demanded, the anger in his voice sending a cold shiver down your back.

“Nowhere you need to worry about,” Lucian answered.

“I can feel her,” Viego snarled back, his mystical sword appearing in his grasp. “Where is she?!”

“I think you have bigger concerns right now,” Senna replied smoothly, and then she and Lucian jumped into action.

Lucian quickly moved to one side of the ruined king, firing bolts of light at him before backing out of Viego’s range. Meanwhile, Senna sent several strong blasts of light from her own gun Viego’s way, the two working together to try and take the king down.

Viego let out a frustrated growl as the bolts hit him, but didn’t appear to be injured like you certainly would be if you had been on the receiving end of the might of Senna and Lucian’s weapons.

Now that you thought about it, he didn’t seem any less powerful for someone who had triggered a series of wards that had winded Lucian on their lowest setting. Your theory was confirmed when he didn’t seem affected by anything Lucian or Senna threw his way. You would be frustrated, but neither one of them wavered, sending shot after shot at the ruined king.

“Enough!” Viego shouted, waves of mist pushing Senna and Lucian back. “You will surrender her to me or you will drown in my mist!”

As Senna and Lucian recovered their footing, the mist grew denser as it swirled around the room. You gasped as demonic green figures made of mist rose from the haze of black, and at the same time that Viego vanished into mist, they charged.

Lucian was firing bolts of light at the mist creatures left and right, but they were endless; as one was struck down, another one rose from the mist to take its place. As Lucian tried to fend off the creatures, Senna was forced to fight off Viego himself as he appeared before her, attempting to strike at her with his sword. It was a strange image, the two and their oversized weapons locked in combat, each trying to overpower the other.

The fight was quickly going bad for your friends; Viego was holding back nothing, his creatures aiding him by swiping at Senna, backing her into a corner as Lucian tried desperately to fight his way closer to her as she continued to shoot the creatures that tried to grab at her.

“You shouldn’t have the strength–” Senna growled as she fired at Viego.

“Your feeble wards cannot harm me,” Viego jeered as he swung his sword towards her. “Nothing will keep me from my queen.”

Viego stabbed his sword forward, but Senna was able to swerve out of the way, causing his sword to imbed into the wall opposite from where you were hiding. Viego then was forced to pull the tip of his sword from the wall, and Senna used that time to send a wide blast of light Lucian’s way, destroying the creatures that had surrounded him. Shooting Senna a grateful smile, Lucian began to fire at more creatures around the room, but his efforts still didn’t seem to be making a dent in the influx of creatures that filled the room.

Senna and Lucian’s luck ran out as Viego’s impatience reached a boiling point. With an angered grunt, he swung his sword at Senna, missing her body but striking her gun. The impact set Senna’s balance off, sending her falling to the ground, her gun spinning out of her grasp and onto the ground a few feet away from her. She made a desperate grab for her weapon, but was again stopped by a warning strike from Viego’s sword narrowly missing her arm.

Senna’s moment of weakness was quickly capitalized on by the mist wraiths as she was immediately swarmed, her body held down by many ghoulish creatures while Viego stood over her.

“Senna!”

Lucian’s desperate shout pierced the air as he charged forward, but was unable to get to Senna, his way blocked by the mist creatures. He shot bolt after bolt, but the demons pressed onwards, only growing in number. Soon he too was overwhelmed, pushed against the wall by the wraiths, his twin guns knocked to the floor. You watched with horror as they both struggled under the grasp of the wraiths, but were unable to break themselves free. The hope in your heart that this fight would be the end of Viego was snuffed out entirely as you watched Viego stand over Senna.

“Your life matters little to me, but I will offer one final choice. Give her to me or die,” Viego threatened, his voice cold with fury.

Senna glared up at him, struggling against the wraiths’ hold even as Viego loomed over her. “You will destroy this world.”

“I will destroy you,” Viego corrected. “And all of those who stand in the way of my love. I hope your impudence was worth your life.”

Viego raised his sword to strike Senna down, and you knew that you would only have seconds to act.

Senna and Lucian were willing to give their lives to protect you, but you couldn’t let that happen. You were not worth the lives of two strong, kind people; people who had rescued you and treated you with more care than the owner ever had, despite only knowing you for a week. One thought rang out loud and clear in your head as you watched Viego prepare to take Senna’s life; I can’t let her die.

You would only have a moment to save her life, so you didn’t waste a second, noisily shoving the secret door open.

“Stop!”

The attention of the three people in the room was drawn to you as you stepped forward, dark mist swirling around up to your knees. Viego’s eyes widened upon seeing you, but behind him, Senna was shaking her head, her eyes begging you to run. But you couldn’t run, not if you wanted to save her and Lucian.

“Please stop,” you implored the ruined king, forcing your legs forward even if the thought of moving closer to him terrified you. You had to do this for Senna and Lucian. You couldn’t allow your fear of what would happen to you to still your steps.

Viego’s sword dissolved into mist as he turned to face you, but the wraiths did not loosen their grip on your friends.

“My love,” Viego called as he began to approach you. “I knew I felt your soul call to mine.”

Ignoring his flowery words, you stopped a few feet from him, scared you would lose your nerve if you got any closer. “I’ll go with you, just please… please let them live.”

You stared into his otherworldly green eyes, trying to stay firm despite a desperate cry of your name from Senna. This was the only way, you reassured yourself. This was the only way to save their lives, even if it meant losing your own. You thought of the time in the marketplace with Senna, of listening to Lucian’s bad jokes, allowing the memories to keep your soul warm against the onslaught of dread you were facing down.

“You’ll come back to me?” Viego’s voice was kinder, softer than you had ever heard it sound as he continued to approach you.

“If you let them live,” you repeated. You could not see your friends beyond Viego’s broad form, but your voice still cracked with a sob as you addressed them. “Senna, Lucian… I’m sorry. And thank you for helping me.”

Viego raised a hand to wipe your tears away, ignoring the protests of Senna and Lucian behind him. “I knew I would find you again, my love.”

You knew it was coming, but you still let out a whimper as he once again materialized the buzzing orb of memories from the dark triangle on his chest, but unlike last time, there was no escape for you now.

“Together at last…” Viego whispered as he pressed the orb to your chest.

The orb felt cold, and then warm, too warm, as it pressed into your skin, absorbing into your body. You collapsed into Viego’s arms with a silent gasp of pain, the last thing you heard before passing out being Senna screaming your name.

There was a beautiful girl, her fingers delicately working a threaded needle through soft fabric that lay in her lap. You had never met her, but you knew who she was; after all, you had seen her corpse in your dreams. It was undoubtedly Isolde… you, from your past life.

You were surprised to find that you were watching the scene as yourself, not through her eyes. The realization brought you some measure of relief; maybe you were not lost entirely to her memory, at least not yet.

The scene around Isolde was blurry, but her figure was clear as day as you watched her gently sew along the fabric, and then it all blurred again. When the scene reformed itself, you watched a man approach her, young and handsome, his brown hair falling in waves to his chin. He was easily recognizable, but a far cry from the figure of unlife that he had become. Viego.

You couldn’t hear their voices, or the scene around them, but you watched as Viego bent down on one knee before Isolde and felt the shock and happiness that Isolde felt, and then the world around you warped once more.

Now you were in a magnificent castle, Viego and Isolde dressed in beautiful wedding clothes, figures leaning towards each other as they kissed. You could not see the faces of the crowd that watched, nor hear the vows exchanged; all you could feel was Isolde’s joy, which left you feeling warm, as if it was you there on your wedding day. It made sense; since it was you, the past you.

You felt the next scene before you saw it; a slow sadness appearing in your chest that left you feeling confused. Then the figures appeared; it was Viego and Isolde in a huge room together, his arms around her. Viego looked happier than you had ever seen him in unlife, but your eyes were drawn to Isolde. On her face was a small smile, but you knew she was sad, you could feel the quiet sadness radiating from her. But what did she have to be sad about? You followed her gaze, looking out a window to see a garden outside, birds flying around and flowers swaying gently with the breeze, but before you could get a closer look, you were gone again.

Now you saw Isolde standing behind Viego, her smile dimmer than before. Viego was wordlessly shouting at a faceless girl in servant’s clothes, a messy assortment of wildflowers crushed under Viego’s feet. Isolde was clutching at her skirt, and you felt a sense of powerlessness from her, along with that same sadness that held tight to her chest.

And then the scenes began to go by faster. Viego, blocking the way to the garden, sending Isolde back to their shared room. Viego, refusing entrance to the castle to an older woman who had the same eyes as Isolde while she watched the scene from a window high above in the castle. Viego pulling Isolde back to him when she tried to leave the room.

As the scenes flashed by, you could feel Isolde’s sadness grow. Time went on, and Isolde stopped smiling; you were watching her soul wither away a little more each time Viego cut another person out of her life. She was not allowed to see anybody but him, not allowed to leave his side even for a second… she was not a person anymore, but a doll to be moved at Viego’s whim.

She felt powerless, trapped by the man she had once loved. Your chest hurt, feeling like you were slowly being suffocated by the loneliness she felt; she was caged, shackled by his love, knowing there would be no escape.

But Viego still looked the same, no matter how many scenes passed by you. It was like he didn’t notice her pain, or maybe he didn’t care; didn’t care for anything but himself. You wanted to make it all stop; Isolde’s deep pain had nearly brought you to your knees, tears rolling down your cheeks as you desperately wished Viego would see her pain, but he never did. He always smiled that contented smile, never noticing that Isolde’s own didn’t reach her eyes.

The days finally slowed down and you were left standing in a large chamber room. The scene was tense; men in black swarmed the chamber, purple-tipped daggers poised to take the life of the king. Viego’s soldiers fought back valiantly, but one enemy broke through their ranks, dagger aimed at Viego’s heart, but their aim was put off course by a clever swipe from a spear. The poisoned dagger missed its target, but sliced Isolde instead, cutting through the sleeve of her dress and into the flesh of her arm.

Isolde knew as soon as the poison pierced her flesh that she would die. But while you expected to feel fear, worry, panic… all you felt was calm. The poison would slowly take her life, but that was what Viego had been doing over years with his possessive grip. At least at the end of this, she would be free in death, free of the iron grip Viego had on her in life. But alas, even death would not free her from his grasp.

The scene shifted one final time, and you knew what was coming. Viego held Isolde’s body, cold and dead, in his arms. The scene should have been upsetting, but the feelings that rushed through you were anything but. Isolde was dead, but her spirit was free at last, no longer a prisoner to Viego’s will.

But Viego would not allow her to be apart from him, even in death. So she rose, her anger finally unable to be contained, and stabbed him with his own sword. You watched the scene with no pity for the mortally-wounded Viego; Isolde had killed him, but she had been dead for many years before she had been poisoned. His love for her was more poisonous than any toxic dagger; he had been killing her slowly from the moment they had met, and only in death did she find the courage to return the favor.

Isolde had wanted a loving husband, but had ended up with a loving monster. This was nothing like the tale of true love Viego had spun, but he was the only one delusional enough to not see his marriage as what it was.

The scene faded to black at last, leaving you hurting body and soul, Isolde’s pain and sadness making your body feel numb from the inside out. You felt her emotions as if they were your own, and you supposed that they had been yours, a very long time ago.

The memories faded, and were quickly replaced by a soreness all over, like you had fallen from a decent height. Opening your eyes with a pained moan, you realized that you had beaten the odds; you had confronted Isolde’s memories, but you had not lost yourself to them. You were still you.

But with that good news came a lot of bad. You woke up in a bed, in a room that you had never seen before. The room was ornate, but looked dilapidated due to time. The gold posts of the canopy bed you laid in were speckled with dust, the blanket you laid under severely wrinkled.

Sitting up, you were relieved to see that you were still in the blue dress you had been wearing back in that chamber when you had given yourself up to Viego to save Senna and Lucian. You had passed out before you could ensure Viego kept his word, the memories too much for you to handle. For now, you chose to believe that they were alive, because knowing that you had done everything you could and they had still perished would crush what was left of your spirit.

You doubted you were still in Demacia, and one look outside the half-scratched window was enough to confirm that fact. The outside of the castle was even more depressing than the inside; the outside walls were cracked, the stones covered in black vegetation that you would have thought was ivy if it weren’t the color of tar. Angel statues on raised platforms stood tall in the outside courtyard, looking extremely out of place amidst the sinister green mist that seemed to hover over the whole area.

The supernatural layer of mist confirmed it; you had been taken to the Shadow Isles. The realization made your chances of escape nearly nonexistent. The Shadow Isles were filled with undead creatures hungry for the souls of the living, if the stories you had heard about this place were to be believed. And looking over the land that seemed to radiate unlife, you were certainly inclined to believe them.

Footsteps from outside the room broke your focus away from the view outside. Looking quickly around the room, you did not see anywhere to hide. With no other option, you began to back up to the far wall, staring at the large ornamental door as terror burned in your chest.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing the figure of the man you least wanted to see right now. While your mood dimmed upon seeing him, a smile lit up his face when he caught sight of you.

Viego wasted no time striding over to you while you stayed still, back against the wall both physically and metaphorically. Strangely, as he approached you, your fear began to morph into disgust. This man would not let you go, no matter how many lives you lived or places you went. As he took you into his arms, one word repeated in your head like the beat of a drum. Selfish.

He had stolen Isolde’s happiness, locked her away like a bird in a cage, and now he was doing the same to you. Letting out an internal sigh, you wished that you could go back to your boring farm days, which felt like they had been years ago, not weeks. But Viego did not give up his possessions easily, and that’s what you were now. A doll for a selfish king to keep by his side forever.

You hadn’t realized you were crying again until Viego had pulled back, his fingers sweeping across your cheeks to catch the tears.

“You’re safe, my queen,” he whispered, his words doing nothing to comfort you. And besides, you were clearly not safe if the biggest threat to your safety was standing before you, oblivious to all he had done.

You didn’t know what to do now; he wasn’t going to let you go, but you would rather die than live the rest of your life trapped in this place, pretending you were still the dead king’s dead wife.

“I have waited so long for you to return to me again,” he said, his jade green eyes staring into yours, ignoring your plight, just as he always did with Isolde.

You were tired, you were sad, and you were angry. But Viego only saw his own reflection in your eyes. He only saw what he wanted to see; you wondered if he even saw your features when he looked at you, or just superimposed Isolde’s features over yours in his mind’s eye.

It was a strange feeling; you wanted to be anywhere but here, but at the same time, you wanted the man before you to at least see you as you were now, to know your name even if he addressed you by another. Your mind was a mess, your heart even more so, but you would find no comfort in Viego’s arms, nor in his words.

“Isolde–”

“Don’t call me that!” you shouted, ripping yourself from his arms as you could no longer calm your rising anger. “And don’t call me your wife either! You have never cared about me, not back then and not now. You have never cared about anyone but yourself, Viego! You should have let Isolde stay dead!”

Viego looked shocked and hurt by your words, his silver eyebrows raised high on his forehead. You were expecting him to yell back, to tell you to know your place, but he just stood there, and then like the mist, he vanished.

His form turned to mist, and as you watched him flee, you couldn’t help a desire to have the final word.

“My name is–”

He was gone before you could say your name, but you shouted it anyways. Even if he didn’t use your name, it felt good to say it, even just to remind yourself that you were not the person you had been in your past life. Whatever happened, you would not allow this place to steal your identity from you.

You waited in silence, but Viego did not return. After some time, you reluctantly sat back down on the bed, your feet tired of standing, but Viego still did not come back to the room.

You were unsure what to make of what had happened. The Viego you had seen flee the room contradicted everything you knew about him. Could your words really have reached him? It was the only conclusion you could come to, but it sounded so unbelievable; an all-powerful dead king fleeing a room after being called selfish by a small town farm girl.

The encounter had been short, but you found yourself already tired. With no sign of Viego returning, and not much else to do, you slipped back under the ruffled covers, laying your head on the same pillow you had woken up on.

Maybe it was owing to your trip through Isolde’s memories that you were so tired now. Closing your eyes, you were relieved that you were still you, though you were still having a hard time reconciling how to see yourself with your time as Isolde. You had been her a long time ago, but she still felt like a different person, like a character in a story. You looked different, and lived different lives, but you were still weighed down by the possessiveness of the same man.

You had been surprised to see Viego look so hurt, but you refused to feel bad about what you had said. It seemed like everyone around him, including Isolde, had been too afraid to confront the king on his faults, at least that was what you assumed. You didn’t know where you got the courage yourself; maybe it was Isolde’s sorrow and frustration finally boiling over from a lifetime of being controlled that emboldened your tongue.

Either way, what you had said could not be taken back, so there was no point in ruminating over the situation, not when you were already having a hard time focussing on anything with how exhausted you were. There would be time to lament your situation when you woke up, you decided, consciousness drifting off at last.

You were surprised to feel so well-rested, but your mood was brought back down when you opened your eyes to the same dusty room you had fallen asleep in. It was just as empty as it was before, save for your body under the covers.

With how dedicated he had been to capturing you, Viego’s sudden absence was surprising. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but everything in the room looked the same as it had before you had gone to sleep, so you had to assume that he had not returned while you were sleeping. It was probably for the best; you wouldn’t know what to say to him even if he was here.

Upon waking up, you were confronted with a new problem; your empty stomach. Come to think of it, when was the last time that you had ate something? You still had no idea how long you had been unconscious after Viego forced Isolde’s memories into you, but you had a vague recollection of eating some steamed buns Lucian had brought back from the market a few hours before Viego had attacked. But clearly that had been a while ago, if the gnawing emptiness in your stomach was any indication.

You were reluctant to leave the room and risk running into Viego, fearful of his anger after what you had said to him, but your stomach was so empty it hurt. Maybe you would get lucky and find a fruit laying around and scramble back to your room before you were caught. With that hope in mind, you walked quietly over to the door, prepared to do what you had to in order to survive for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately for you, the rest of the castle was just as dusty and dilapidated as your room had been. It was clear that this place was very old; anyone who had lived here in life was long dead by now. Eventually, you located the closest thing to a kitchen you thought you would find in this place, but instead of food, you found dust, cobwebs and the occasional brittle rat skeleton, which crumbled to dust under your touch.

There was no food here, that much was obvious, which led you to a new dilemma. You couldn’t ask Viego for food; for one, he terrified you, and there was also the fact that you had no idea where he even was. The castle was too large for you to check every room for him with any great speed, and so far you had not heard or seen any evidence of anyone else in this place but yourself.

So what were you supposed to do now? The thought of walking out into the Shadow Isles terrified you to your core, but what alternative did you have? Stay here and starve to death, a prisoner to a man who seemed like he had no further use for you if you weren’t the same person you were when you were Isolde?

It seemed that Viego avoiding you was a blessing in more ways than one, because now he wasn’t here to stop you from leaving the castle. It was easy enough for you to find the front door, following the patchy red carpet until it led down a long staircase that took you to another ornate door. Whoever’s castle this had been must have either been royalty or obscenely wealthy to live in a place this grand. The entryway alone was almost the size of the entire farmhouse back in your hometown. As grand as it was, you hoped that you would never see this awful, lonely place again once you exited the door.

The door was a lot heavier than it looked, but you managed to pry it open, the chill of the outside air telling you immediately that you were about to do something very dangerous. But it was this or starve, you reminded yourself as you took the first step outside, and it was better that you tried to find your way off of this island before you were too weak from lack of food and water.

Sinister green mist clung to the land, thick enough to obscure the far away, but just thin enough for you to see twenty or so feet around yourself. You remembered hearing as a child that the mist of the Shadow Isles was made up of the souls of the damned that had once lived here, but seeing it now, you hoped that it wasn’t true.

The stone angel statues were even more unsettling up close, standing on either side of the pathway like guards, their stone eyes seemingly staring down at you as you passed. Every step you took, you were scared the cracked ground would give out under you, but it held fast. It was a miracle that this awful place didn’t just crumble and sink into the cursed waters that surrounded it.

You quickened your steps, eager to be rid of this place as soon as possible. That, and the faster you were out of here the better a chance you had of getting off this island before Viego noticed you were gone.

The angel-statue-lined pathway opened up to a network of crumbled stone walls of all different heights that looked way more worse for wear than the castle behind you. It looked like this might have been a city over a thousand years ago, before the isles had fallen into this eternal darkness. But now you were the only person here, likely the only living person on this whole cursed island, at least until you got yourself back to civilization.

You picked up your pace even more as you entered a forested area, though the forest itself consisted solely of long-dead trees, their branches black and thin. What you hoped was wind howled, shaking the spindly branches, leaving you to duck and weave through them, their thorns scraping against your clothes and skin. You kept moving onward, pressing on despite the pain from the new cuts on your body, unwilling to turn back now that you had come this far.

You pushed through a difficult thicket of branches, panting from the effort as you looked down at your dress. The once-beautiful blue fabric now bore many tears, stained by your blood where the branches had cut you. You couldn’t imagine your face and hair looked any better, but you could worry about that later.

Taking in your own sorry state, you failed to take in the threat that was quickly closing in on you. You looked up from your dress, expecting to see more branches in your way, but jolted back with a gasp when you noticed the large figure standing fifteen feet or so in front of you.

The figure before you was giant, easily the width of several men, its gray flesh packed with bulk and muscle. It was bald, and wore no shirt, wearing only spiked shoulder armor on its upper half, while its lower half was covered by a large loincloth and equally-spiky leg armor.

It must have been human at some point, but it was far from that now. Its eyes were the same spectral green as the mist that hung over the island, that same green dripping out of his mouth in a drool-like fog. Its skin was tough-looking, like it was halfway between skin and rock, two large chipped horns made from craggy stone jutting out from the sides of its head. It had a manacle on each wrist; broken chains hanging from both of them. That gave you one more terrifying insight; while it was alive, it had clearly been some kind of criminal. And now it was here in front of you, unchained, its focus solely on you.

You turned to run, but the creature was faster. Its gaping maw opened wide with a horrible roar, and you were forced to grab onto a branch to try and resist the sudden pressure you felt pulling you back towards it. Looking back, you saw even the spectral mist being sucked into its sharp-toothed mouth, but you knew that you were its target, not breaking its focus as it stared you down with empty, dead eyes.

You couldn’t escape, you couldn’t even move an inch farther away from the monster’s supernatural pull. You tried to reach for a farther away branch to pull yourself to, but were forced to bring your hand back to the branch you held onto as holding on with only one hand made it much harder to keep yourself from being dragged further back.

Your fingers were hurting, the pressure pulling on you becoming more and more intense, and evidently the creature was done waiting. Not letting up on its pull, it began to move closer, and the pull got even stronger. Shaking from the effort of keeping your hold on the branch, you had no way of escaping it.

Was starving to death really a worse option than this? You had been so stupid, thinking that you had any chance of escaping this island; now this creature would ensure that you would never leave.

With a pained cry, your grip gave out at last, the branch slipping from your fingers as you fell to the ground. You tried desperately to grab at the cracked earth, but your hands could not find purchase in the ground no matter what you did as you were pulled closer and closer to the creature’s open jaw.

The closer you got to it, the weaker you felt, as if the monster was draining your very soul from your body. As the thought came to you, you realized that it was very likely to be the truth; the Shadow Isles were a place of eternal torment, it would not be out of place for this island to be filed with soul-sucking monstrosities.

You were almost within the creature’s grasp now, no more than five feet away from its razor-sharp teeth and black clawed nails. You were feeling more and more drained as it pulled you closer, your vision getting fuzzy as you tried to focus on anything other than your impending death, but it just wasn’t happening. It wasn’t like you had been expecting to see your life flash by your eyes like you had heard happened to people when they were about to die, but right now you would welcome any sight other than the one you had right now of the creature pulling you in, his eyes aglow with sinister satisfaction.

Just as a clawed hand reached down to take hold of your leg, it was sliced clean off at the elbow, stone skin clattering to the ground next to you. The creature let out a pained howl, which turned out to be the last sound it would ever make as it was then cleaved in half by a sword longer than you were tall, one you had thought you had left behind in that castle along with its wielder.

Freed from the monster’s pull, you scrambled away from its dismembered parts, wanting to be as far away from the horrible creature as possible. Shaking from your ordeal, you stared at Viego’s back, then at his face as he turned your way, letting his sword turn into mist as he caught sight of your quivering form.

You went still, afraid of the king’s wrath at your escape from his castle, but were surprised when he rushed over to you, pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you.

“I thought… I thought I would lose you again,” he spoke into your hair, his words full of sorrow and pain as he held you to him.

You weren’t sure what to make of his behavior; it almost sounded to you like he was crying as he spoke, but you were reluctant to pull back and check. Instead, you reached up with sore arms and wrapped them around his waist, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his chest. A day ago you could never have imagined embracing this man, but he had saved your life, and right now you just wanted to feel safe, even if that safety came in Viego’s arms.

“Why did you save me?” you sniffled, voice muffled by his jacket, but loud enough for him to hear in the now deathly quiet forest.

Viego pulled back from the embrace with a sad exhale, his red-rimmed eyes telling you that he had indeed been crying as you had thought. Resting his forehead against your own, he stared into your eyes, brushing some stray hairs away from your face.

“I saved you because I love you,” he answered, voice quiet and hoarse. “Now tell me… why did you leave?”

“I…” You pondered how to answer his question, but decided there would be no point in lying to him, not when he hadn’t made any moves to harm you despite having good reason to be upset with you. “I was scared… and hungry.”

“…hungry?” he echoed, looking perplexed for a short moment before his green eyes went wide.

“Please forgive me, my love,” he spoke, sounding genuinely panicked. “It has been so long, I had forgotten–”

You couldn’t help yourself. “…you forgot that people need to eat food?”

“I haven’t… not since I became…” He was lost in his own world for a moment, before something seemed to come to him. “You’re…”

Without another word, he raised an arm, summoning one of his mist ghouls, who took off ahead of you, passing harmlessly through the mess of thorned branches along the forest path. You weren’t sure where it was going, but if it wasn’t after you, you found yourself lacking the strength to care about the ghoul’s mission.

Feeling drained, you leaned more of your weight into Viego, having a hard time keeping yourself upright. Viego’s eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looked down at you, but your eyelids were already drooping. You felt strong arms lift your body up as your eyes closed, head resting against cold skin. You could only hope that the creature hadn’t drained the life entirely out of you, but for now you had no consciousness left to worry about anything as you drifted off again for the third time since Viego had taken you.

“I pushed her to this…”

Waking up, your stomach was no less empty, but your head felt clearer. You had never considered yourself a lucky person, but you weren’t sure how else you could still be alive after all you had been through recently.

Your eyes didn’t want to open, not yet, but you were immediately aware of a feeling on your head. It took you a few groggy seconds to realize that it was a hand, slowly petting your hair. You had never had anyone stroke your hair before, but found it comforting; maybe your parents had done this before the fire, but the owner had never coddled you like this, even as a child. Absently, you mused that it had been a long time since you had anyone in your life that cared for you, when you were used to an existence of being merely tolerated.

Opening your eyes, you finally remembered where you were as you looked up at the man whose lap your head rested in. Viego’s hand stilled when he noticed that you were awake, but resumed petting your hair when you leaned your head into his now-gloveless hand, seeking out his comforting touch. Neither of you spoke, and you closed your eyes again, deciding to accept the comfort this moment offered you.

“…I was scared,” Viego said at last, and you opened your eyes again to look at him. “I felt that you had gone, and then I felt your terror… I thought that I had lost you again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, but it worked in your favor as Viego was not finished. “I have done awful things, committed atrocities, all to return you to my side. But I never realized that I was only thinking of myself. Your pain… it is all my fault.”

You felt overcome with the need to deny his assertion as you stared at his sad eyes, but you couldn’t. It was true. He had done terrible things and caused you pain not only in this life, but in your life as Isolde.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, sounding like the words were hard for him to say. “But I will do anything to earn it. I…”

His voice trailed off as he removed his hand from your hair. You looked away from him and towards the same door you had exited when you had thought you had been leaving this room behind for good, as you considered his words. With those words, the power dynamic was shifting between you for the first time; he was willing to do whatever you asked of him in order for you to forgive him. And while you weren’t sure what it would mean for you to forgive him, you couldn’t allow this chance to pass you by.

“I want you to call me by my name now, not Isolde,” you said, sitting up and staring into his eyes, trying to silently communicate to him how serious you were with your stare. “And I would like some food and water.”

“Your… name,” he spoke softly, looking down at the bed sheets.

You repeated your name, and he still didn’t look up, but you weren’t quite done. If he was offering anything, you were going to see how far you could push your luck.

“…and I want to go back to Demacia.” You saw the alarm in his face and quickly made to soften the blow. “I want to tell Senna and Lucian that I’m okay. You can come with me if you want.”

“…if that is what you want,” he said eventually.

You could tell that he likely felt rejected by the stiffness of his shoulders and his refusal to look at you, but you would not back down, not when you had gotten him to agree to take you back to Demacia. You weren’t sure how Senna and Lucian would react to seeing you show up with Viego at your heels, but you knew that it was likely the only reason you had gotten him to agree to your request.

Your eyes had been wandering the room again when a soft call of your name had you turning back to face Viego, surprised that he had actually called you by your name. He was looking at you at last, but looked uncomfortable, like a fish thrown onto land.

Reaching down beside the bed, he picked up a simple stone bowl, handing it over to you. Inside, you found some circular objects that looked like oranges that were well past their prime, the orange of their rind mixed with patches of gray.

“Are those… tangor?” you asked. Demacian tangor were a mix of orange and tangerine grown all over Demacia. They were a little sour for your liking, so you hadn’t had one since you were a child.

“I had my servants fetch them. They are the only thing that grows here that will not poison you,” Viego replied.

His voice had hitched at the word poison, but you didn’t mention it, not wanting to draw attention to it. That was how Isolde had died, from a poisoned dagger. Even though you were with him now, it wasn’t like your presence erased the wounds of his past. You were just grateful that he had stopped being so domineering, at least for the moment. You weren’t sure what this was, or what you wanted this to be, but you knew that you were stuck with him at least for the foreseeable future.

Viego left the room to prepare for your journey back to Demacia, leaving you to eat in peace. The tangor were even more sour than you remembered them being, but you happily ate them, relieved to have some food at last.

With Viego gone, you allowed yourself to relax, free of his stare and his unstated expectations. He didn’t have to say it for you to know that he still wanted you to be his wife, or lover, or however it was he saw you in his mind. You hated yourself for even considering being with him in any capacity after the things he had done, but at the same time, you found yourself reluctant to fully close the door on the idea.

He had shown to you that he could do good things, even if they had only been for your benefit. You didn’t have to agree to anything right now, you reminded yourself, at least not while he wasn’t pressing the topic. But as of right now, you wanted to see if you could help Viego, even if you weren’t sure exactly how.

You stared at the bowl of tangor rinds, wishing an answer to your problems would come to you, but you knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. At least you would get to see Senna and Lucian soon; you wanted to make sure they were both okay, and you knew they were probably worried about you.

Placing the bowl back on the floor, you decided to take a look into the large closet in the corner of the room. Your own outfit was a mess; barely hanging together in places after running through the thorned branches. As much as you loved this dress, it was not in any shape to be worn. Hopefully the closet would have something passable to wear in it.

There were quite a few old-fashioned dresses, but they were too gaudy and frilly for your tastes. Sifting through the clearly upper-class clothing, you eventually came upon a dark green hooded cloak that looked out of place with all of the fancy dresses. Pulling it out, you realized that it would probably make a good disguise for Viego; Senna would likely shoot him on sight before you could explain, and you didn’t want Viego to have any reason to try and harm your friends.

Setting the cloak on the bed, you leafed through the rest of the closet, finally settling on the simplest dress you could find, a non-corseted, non-frilly purple dress with long sleeves and a scoop neckline with a hem that went to your ankles. The dress was a bit long for your liking, but it wasn’t covered in frills up to your neck, so it would have to do.

You changed into the purple dress, laying your old one on the bed, and had been running your fingers over a tear in the skirt when Viego re-entered the room. Sighing, you turned away from the dress, mentally apologizing to Senna for ruining the beautiful dress.

You waved Viego over, and he approached immediately, face stony and uncertain. Picking up the cape, you just hoped he would agree to put it on.

“So you won’t stand out in Demacia,” you said, holding the cloak out to him.

“If this is what you desire,” he answered. Though he didn’t seem to understand your concerns, he dutifully wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

Reaching up, you fastened the clasps at the front of the cloak, trying not to feel shy being so close to his intense stare that you was pointed right at your face. You couldn’t avoid his eyes as you pulled the hood over his silver hair, careful not to let the fabric get caught on the metal bands that tied off sections of his hair into low ponytails. With the cloak fully closed, the black triangle on his chest was also no longer visible, which would definitely invite suspicion if left uncovered.

“Promise me you won’t hurt my friends,” you said, needing to hear him say it.

His glare was deadly. “If they harm you…”

“They won’t,” you replied quickly. “Haven’t you had friends before?”

That was evidently the wrong question to ask, because Viego looked like you had hit him in another sore spot, like back when you had yelled at him. Come to think of it, you didn’t remember really seeing him with anybody else when you had watched Isolde’s memories. No wonder his world had collapsed when Isolde… when your past self had died; she was his world, as sad and lonely as that was.

“How are we getting to Demacia?” you asked, figuring you should be merciful and change the subject, feeling bad as you looked up at Viego’s awkward stare.

“The mist,” he answered, and you turned your eyes to his chest where you knew the triangle of black lay hidden under the cloak you had forced him into. “It will carry us over the waters.”

You weren’t thrilled with the prospect of being surrounded by the black mist again, but the unknown waters that surrounded the Shadow Isles were even more daunting; at least you were confident that the mist would not harm you now.

You followed Viego to the cracked window, standing behind him as he opened it, revealing a clearer view of the dark, desolate isle. You were too far inland to be able to see the ocean, your view out of the window largely consisting of millennium-old rubble and patches of dark forest that must have been where you had run into that creature. You stared outside the window, wondering why he had led you here, at least until you noticed the mist that had begun to seep through Viego’s cloak.

“We’re not going to… jump?” The thought horrified you. There was no way you would survive a fall from this high up, mist or no mist.

“I will carry you in my arms,” Viego corrected you. “And then we will travel in the mist.”

You shivered as you considered his plan. “…you won’t drop me?”

You were half-joking, but Viego didn’t seem to pick up on that, one hand cupping your cheek as he stared down at you, voice deathly serious. “I will not allow any harm to come to you. Not again.”

You were once again taken aback by the intensity in his green eyes, even under the shadow of his cloak’s hood. You were still getting used to his devotion to you; it was a weird feeling having someone care about you after so many years of being without anyone who even cared enough to ask you about how your day had gone.

You weren’t sure what the owner’s fate had been, but you were confident that if he had seen you with Viego that day at the farm, he would’ve turned tail and ran, unlike Senna and Lucian, who came to your aid even when you had been a stranger to them. Maybe you should stop thinking of the farm as your home; because if you really thought about it, the only thing that tied you to the farm in the first place was your own fear of not being able to make it if you left.

You allowed Viego to take you into his arms as the mist surrounded you, pressing your face into his shoulder in order to avoid seeing just how far below you the ground was. You felt Viego move, likely exiting the window, and braced yourself for the drop that didn’t end up coming.

You could feel that you were moving, like you were in the arms of someone who was walking on solid earth, even if you knew you were walking through the sky and not the ground. You weren’t sure if the mist blocked your view of the ground entirely or not, but you were too scared to look.

“You were never this afraid of heights back then,” came Viego’s teasing voice from above you.

You doubted that Isolde had ever seen heights like this from the sky, but you welcomed his attempt at conversation, desperately needing a distraction from your growing curiosity to look away from Viego’s shoulder.

“How are you not scared?” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Viego let out a soft, sad laugh. “After what I have seen, what I have lost… there are more horrifying things in this world than heights.”

That was true; he had over a thousand years of life experience on you. Even if you had lived back then, your only memories from that time were ones you had seen flash by you when you had been exposed to Isolde’s memories. You couldn’t pretend you had experienced the hardships that he had; you had died, and he had been left behind, stuck as an undying mist wraith.

“…I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said quietly as you listened to the sound of the wind whipping by.

“They were words I should have heard long ago,” he replied. He was silent for a long time, so long that you thought he was done talking, but then he spoke up again. “I led your life to ruin back then, and I was about to do it again.”

You let out a soft exhale against the soft material of the cloak. You couldn’t deny his words, you knew you couldn’t, but you also didn’t want to give up on him entirely. Right now, here in his arms, it really felt like all you had in this world was each other. You knew that you also had Senna and Lucian, but you didn’t have the history with them that you had with Viego. That, and while you considered them your friends, they would always be each other’s most important person; you didn’t want to admit it out loud, but you really wanted what they had, to be the most important person in the world to someone.

You both seemed content to let the conversation drop as you adjusted your face against Viego’s shoulder, the ends of his silver hair brushing against your forehead. Opening your eyes at last, you stared at his hair as it swayed with the wind. If you hadn’t seen it yourself, you would have found it hard to believe that his hair used to be a rich brown, a far cry from the silver it was now. But he wasn’t the same person he was then, both physically and mentally.

You couldn’t deny that you found him attractive; his eyes were deep-set, his jawline sharp and lips soft-looking. You immediately regretted observing his face when he looked down at you just as you were staring at his lips. You hurriedly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Viego did not say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, even after you closed your own eyes again, leaning your face fully back into his cloak.

The trip to Demacia felt very long, and you had been drifting in and out of sleep, with little else to do, when you felt Viego’s feet touch down onto the ground. Opening your eyes at long last, you watched as the mist that surrounded you faded away, returning to Viego’s chest and revealing the area around you.

You were standing on a cliff, the beautiful blue waters of Demacia at your back. Demacia City stood before you in all its pearly glory, looking exactly the same as it had the last time you had been here.

It looked to be mid-afternoon, the sun shining high in the sky. It was nice to see light again instead of the dreary permanent dark of the isles.

While this was not your first time here now, you still had a difficult time figuring out the way to Lucian and Senna’s place from your current location. You looked over the paths that led into town, trying to figure out if any of them seemed familiar, finally settling on a small stone path that led along the coast. You remembered that their house had been close to the coast, so you hoped that you would eventually find it if you kept on the path.

You turned back to Viego, making sure his hood was down over his head before you two set off on the path. The last thing you needed was for anyone to notice Viego before you got to your destination; you were just lucky he had let you put the cloak on him or else you’d be much more worried about your chances of going unnoticed.

Viego walked at your side, sticking fairly close to you, eyes casually but tactically scanning the area as if searching for threats. There were some people milling about the area, but not many, and none that looked like a threat to you, not unless Viego threatened them first.

“Your… friends,” Viego spoke up, sounding as if the word itself was foreign to him. “Are you certain they will not welcome me with weapons drawn?”

You frowned. “I hope not.”

“They would not be the first,” he sneered bitterly.

“Viego.” You grabbed onto his arm and he looked down at you, staring first at your hand on his arm and then up to your face. “I will make sure they won’t attack you, but you have to be nice as well. No mist, and no giant sword.”

You felt like you were lecturing a child, but hoped Viego wouldn’t feel like you were treating him like one. You swallowed nervously as you stared at him, pleading with your eyes for him to agree to play nice with Lucian and Senna.

His eyes seemed to soften as he stared at you. “I can deny you nothing.”

“Thank you,” you replied happily, letting out a small noise of recognition as you spotted the building that you were looking for in the distance.

Leading Viego over, you signalled for him to wait behind you. He half-obeyed, but stood much closer than you had meant. You let it go, knowing you weren’t likely going to be able to convince him to leave your side, instead knocking on the door.

The wards that you and Senna had set up still lay scattered around the outside of the building, the lack of glow about them telling you that they weren’t activated. You knocked again after no response, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited. Just as you were about to knock a third time, you heard movement from inside at last, stepping back slightly as you waited for the door to open. You felt Viego tense up behind you, but had to focus on the door in front of you as it opened to reveal a frantic Lucian.

He called your name with relief in his voice until he noticed the figure behind you, his features turning grave instantly.

You raised your hands up in front of you, desperate to stop the incoming fight. “Lucian, wait! He’s not here to hurt anyone!”

Lucian looked very skeptical, but paused his hands reaching down to his guns. “Y’know, I can probably activate those wards from here.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, relieved by the joking tone in his voice. “Can we come in?”

Lucian sighed, stepping away from the door to allow you both to enter. “Senna’s not gonna be happy when she gets back.”

“She’s not here?” you clarified.

“Nah,” he answered. “She went out earlier to get some supplies for, uh, findin’ you…”

“…oh,” you replied guiltily.

Lucian led you down the hall and into the large chamber that you had been in when Viego had ultimately captured you. But now there was no mist filling the room, and no weapons drawn, at least not for now.

Lucian stood awkwardly in front of you, picking at invisible lint on his jacket while you looked between him and Viego, who had taken off his hood when you had entered the room.

Nobody was saying anything until Lucian finally broke the oppressive silence. “So how have you been?”

“Good,” you said, desperate to latch onto Lucian’s attempt at conversation.

“Dead,” Viego answered at the same time.

You and Lucian stared at each other for a short moment before you were interrupted by the sound of the door opening down the hallway. Lucian sprang into action immediately, quickly dashing into the hall, likely to warn Senna about what she was walking into.

Once Lucian’s figure was out of sight, you turned to Viego, knowing you had to keep him calm.

“Please don’t hurt her, Viego,” you pleased. “She doesn’t–”

You were cut off by a loud exclamation from the hallway.

“He’s where?! Lucian, get out of my way!” came Senna’s enraged voice from the hall.

You heard rapid footfalls coming your way, Viego stepping in front of you before you could think to stop him as Senna entered the room.

“You–”

You began to panic when you saw dark mist trickling from the front of Viego’s cloak as Senna stormed towards the two of you.

“I won’t let her harm you,” Viego hissed quietly.

“She won’t hurt me,” you insisted quickly, grabbing onto his arm.

You stepped in front of Viego as Senna came over to you and quickly had your wrist snatched by Senna, who pulled you behind her.

Viego stepped forward, but Senna wasn’t having it, pinning him with a fierce glare. “You can stay there, ruined king. You’re lucky you’re still breathing in my home after what you’ve done.”

Viego didn’t look happy at her words, but kept his eyes on yours as you desperately shook your head at him, pleading silently for him to back down. You stared into his green eyes, hoping he would listen to you, and slowly, he backed down, fists unclenching but face still tense. You let out a quiet exhale, relieved that he had listened to you, although a glance at Senna told you that she was no less angry.

Lucian slowly stepped forward with an overly friendly smile on his face. “How about we have a conversation while the ladies talk?”

Viego stared at Lucian, face blank, but Senna didn’t hesitate, pulling you with her to the other side of the chamber and out of earshot of the boys. Once she had felt you were far enough away from them, she stopped, letting go of your wrist and pulling you into a short hug.

“You had us so worried,” she scolded, pulling back from the hug.

“I’m sorry,” you said, guilt pooling in your stomach.

Senna sent you a hard look. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

You bit your lip as you thought back to that moment. “It was the only thing I could think to do. I couldn’t let you and Lucian get hurt.”

Senna let out an amused breath, shaking her head. “I can’t say I didn’t appreciate what you did, but it was stupid.”

“I know,” you agreed. “I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t,” Senna countered. “Though I can’t say I understand why. What did you do to tame him like this?”

“I, uh…” It felt weird to say out loud, but you had no other explanation that made any sense. “I called him selfish.”

Senna stared at you for a second, and just as you were starting to think that she didn’t believe you, she surprised you by bursting out in laughter. She took at least a minute to calm down, and you just stared at her in confusion, not sure what you had said that was funny.

“Well that’s been a long time coming,” she said at last, before noticing you staring at her in shock and shrugging. “Never thought I would see the day.”

“I may have been a bit mean,” you admitted, voice dropping to a whisper. “I told him he should have let Isolde stay dead.”

Senna’s eyebrows raised in surprise before she let out another small huff of laughter, glancing briefly over at Viego. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Probably deserved worse.”

“It was just… after seeing how he treated Isolde for so long… I couldn’t stop myself,” you said.

Senna nodded. “I’ve thought the same things myself, but the difference is Viego actually seems to listen to you.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you replied, sneaking a quick glance at Viego, only to find him already looking your way. You looked back to Senna, feeling awkward locking eyes with Viego like this in front of Senna. “I was so mad at him, but now I’m just confused about what I want.”

Senna didn’t reply, merely raising an eyebrow as a prompt for you to explain. You swallowed nervously, resisting the urge to look back at Viego as you explained your thoughts. You told Senna about Viego fleeing the room, about escaping the castle and running into the soul-sucking monster, and then Viego coming to your rescue.

“At first, I just thought he was scary, but after that… I don’t know. After going most of my life without anybody who cared about me, I…”

“…you want to give him a chance?” Senna finished for you, her voice frustratingly neutral, not giving you any insights on how she was feeling, but it wasn’t as if she was off the mark. You didn’t want to lie to her, so you nodded, unable to help but feel like you were letting her down.

Senna sighed a slow sigh, but didn’t look angry. “So have you told him?”

“Told him?” you echoed.

Senna rolled her eyes at you. “Told him that you want to be with him?”

You averted your eyes, staring at the stone floor. “…no.”

“He won’t know unless you tell him. Men aren’t always great with that kind of stuff,” Senna joked. “I had to spell it out for Lucian, and he’s one of the smart ones.”

“Right,” you agreed. She was right; you couldn’t just hope that Viego would somehow understand what you were thinking, though the thought of opening yourself up to him like that made you nervous.

“We have a smaller place just outside the city for when we need to lay low,” Senna said, fishing a key out of her pocket and handing it to you. “It should have enough supplies to sustain you while you figure things out with him.”

“Thank you,” you replied, stunned by her generosity.

“Come back and see us when you’ve got things sorted,” she replied with a smile. “And make him earn your forgiveness. If he does anything, just let me know and I’ll make him regret it.”

“I will,” you promised with a smile. You really didn’t deserve a friend as good as Senna.

Senna seemed happy with your response. “Then let’s go and save Lucian. He never was great at making small talk.”

You both turned your attention back to the two men across the room and their conversation.

“…so the mist, does it come from inside you or something?”

“The mist flows from my black heart,” Viego answered in a monotone.

“Oh, uh–”

Lucian was saved by Senna’s approach. “Alright boys, we’re done.”

You stifled a laugh at Lucian’s obvious relief at being rescued from his attempted conversation with Viego. Viego, on the other hand, seemed to forget Lucian existed the moment you came close, which was both flattering and embarrassing.

“How about you come with me to return the armor I bought and we pick up some sugar rolls on the way back?” Senna proposed to Lucian.

“Huh? But–” Lucian looked tempted by the offer, but looked back at you with a concerned frown.

“They’re fine,” Senna insisted. “They have somewhere to be anyways. I’ll explain it to you on the way.”

Lucian finally relented, allowing Senna to drag him towards the front door. But before they got too far, Senna turned her head back to you.

“Keep down the road for about an hour. It’s the one with a sun on the front door.”

You nodded and Senna wished you luck before pulling a still-confused Lucian with her out the front door. You really owed her; you would have to try and make it up to her and Lucian after you sorted things out with Viego.

Once they had left, you turned your attention back to Viego, knowing you had to have this conversation with him whether you wanted to or not.

“I was talking to Senna about what I want… with you,” you said, cursing yourself internally for how shaky your voice sounded.

Viego looked like he had been forced to swallow a Shadow Isles tangor, his posture rigid. “Now that I see how happy you are here with those two… I know that you were never truly happy being at my side.”

You were shocked speechless, the words you wanted to say fleeing your mind, your lack of a reply prompting Viego to continue.

“The Shadow Isles is a place for monsters like me. I won’t make you return there with me,” he said, sending you a sad smile before his body began to turn to mist, starting with his legs.

“No!” you cried out, grabbing his arm. You hadn’t expected him to let you go, but you found yourself not wanting him to leave you, even though that was all you had wanted only a week ago.

The moment you touched him, he turned fully solid again, looking down at you with furrowed silver eyebrows, uncertainty plain on his face.

“Don’t leave,” your voice came out quiet and weak, but you kept your hold on his sleeve. “Please don’t leave.”

You were trying not to cry, and it must have been obvious, as Viego quickly brought you into an embrace. Being alone with him again, you finally felt like you could say what you wanted to say, even if you were partially fueled by desperation to make him stay.

“I want you to stay in Demacia with me,” you said, pulling back to look at him, placing a hand on his cheek like he had done to you so many times. Viego seemed mesmerized by the contact, leaning into your palm as he stared at you with hopeful eyes.

“I will go wherever you are,” he replied softly.

“But,” you said, steeling your nerve. “I want you to see me as me, not the me I was when I was Isolde.”

You felt relieved that you had finally gotten out what you wanted to say, but were nervous at how he would take it.

“You are much stronger now than you ever were a thousand years ago,” he replied. “No matter what form you take, you are still my only love.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “Even if I was reborn as a sheep?”

“I would become a sheep myself if I had to,” he responded, and you giggled at both the seriousness in his voice and the mental image of Viego as a sheep.

Staring up at Viego, who seemed puzzled by your laughter, you were struck by just how much your opinion of him had changed since you had watched Isolde’s thousand-year-old memories. It was hard to believe that you could feel like this about someone who had brought you such sadness in the past, but as you stared at Viego’s handsome face, all you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him.

But Senna had given you the key for a reason, and you didn’t want to trouble them by still being here when they returned, so you decided to be brave like Senna, taking one of Viego’s hands in yours and pulling him towards the front door. Viego’s hand was cold in yours, but his fingers held tight to yours. You found yourself wondering what kind of look Viego had on his face, but you were too nervous to look back at him until you got outside, taking the walk down the hallway to gather up all of your courage before turning back to him.

“Senna gave me–”

You were cut off by a gentle tug on your hand by Viego, pulling you back to him. Faster than you could comprehend, his other arm wrapped around your back, pulling you against him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You were shocked, Viego’s arm behind you being the only thing keeping you upright as his lips pressed against your own. You closed your eyes, hoping your inexperience wasn’t too obvious as you tentatively tried to kiss back, wishing your face would stop burning so hot; there was no way he wouldn’t notice the heat in your face, not with how cold he always was. Just as you were getting worried that you were too stiff, Viego pulled away, touching his forehead to yours.

He looked too pleased with himself, his jade eyes glowing with the same mischievous aura as the smirk he now wore on his lips. “You were saying something, my love?”

You sputtered, face red, trying to catch your thoughts. You hadn’t been expecting the kiss, and had also never kissed anyone before, so your brain was struggling to work again as you stared at Viego’s sly grin.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus. Right, the key.

“Senna gave me the key to a place of theirs we can stay in,” you explained. “It’s about an hour’s walk out of the city.”

Viego raised an eyebrow. “It would take much less time to travel there with the mist.”

“No!” you exclaimed hurriedly, noting the few people who were still out since it was only early evening. Your face only flushed more as you realized he had kissed you in front of other people, even if it was only a few. Noticing two women staring at you and Viego, you quickly pulled his hood back down over his head from where it had fallen askew, taking his hand again and pulling him with you in the direction Senna had indicated.

“People are already staring… if you use the mist, they might call the Demacian guard!” you explained as you pulled him with you down the road.

“They can try,” Viego scoffed. “No power in this world will take you from me again.”

You sped up your pace, desperately hoping the two women hadn’t heard Viego’s not-so-veiled threats against the Demacian guard as you pulled him along with you. While you didn’t doubt that Viego was likely strong enough to take on the whole of the Demacian military, it was a confrontation that you desperately wanted to avoid.

For his part, Viego didn’t seem bothered by your increased pace down the path; rather, he seemed to be in too much of a good mood for someone who had just threatened to take on a kingdom’s entire military force. Part of you wondered if he was just talking like that to keep you holding his hand to pull him along, but the notion was too embarrassing to possibly be true, so you dismissed it from your mind, choosing instead to focus on the scenery around you as you walked.

The path out of town was not too different from the roads you had walked back in your hometown. Once you were out of Demacia City, the path of finely-cobbled stone became a simple dirt path lined occasionally with simple houses on either side. The people who lived just outside the city didn’t seem to conform to the fanciful beauty standards of the city, instead dressing more like the people you had known back in the Demacian farmlands. Seeing the more ordinary people go about their lives brought you comfort; as nice as Demacia City was, you had a hard time feeling like you really belonged among its finery.

“I have never seen how the peasants live,” Viego commented from your side, the lightness in his voice making you feel like he didn’t quite get that most people took the word peasant as an insult. “They look happy.”

“I’m a peasant too,” you mused. “I lived on that farm most of my life.”

Rather than looking displeased, as you secretly feared he might, Viego let out a quiet hum. “I cannot help but wonder, if we were both peasants back in Camavor… could we have lived happier lives?”

“Viego…” You looked over at him to see him gazing sadly your way, and for a second you could have sworn you saw the Viego of his youth when you looked at him, tan skin and rich brown hair instead of the pale, silver-haired man you had come to know in this lifetime.

“I led us to ruin, and I almost lost your beautiful smile for good,” he added with downcast eyes. “I will not allow myself to be so foolish again.”

While you were trying to think of a response to his words, your eyes caught sight of a small house in the distance, a golden yellow sun painted on its front door. The house itself was fairly isolated; the last house you had passed had been a while back, and you couldn’t see any other houses in the distance ahead.

It was a relief; while you were still feeling awkward around Viego after that kiss, you knew it was better for everyone for Viego to not be around anyone but you for now. You pulled out the key Senna had given you, overly conscious of Viego at your back, fumbling a few times before getting the key slotted in correctly and unlocking the door.

Stepping inside, you were surprised to see how well-furnished the place was, despite it just being an out of town hideout for Senna and Lucian. The home consisted of a combined kitchen and entryway area with a simple bathroom down the short hallway. Opening the last door, you found a small bedroom containing no more than a bed and a small chest of drawers.

As you were looking over the room, you were surprised by Viego’s arms circling your waist, his chin resting against the side of your head.

“I have missed this dearly,” Viego’s low voice in your ear sent a noticeable shiver down your spine, which he definitely noticed. “It has been over a thousand years since I have felt your body against mine.”

His tone was sultry, and accompanied by a gentle nip at your ear, your cheeks were feeling incredibly warm. You had to assume that you had been with Viego like this, back a thousand years ago. But you hadn’t seen any of Isolde’s more suggestive memories, so you had no idea of what to expect from Viego. That, and you were as inexperienced as they came; it wasn’t like there were many boys around your age in your small town for you to do anything with. You were nervous, but glad it was Viego, and not someone like the owner’s brother who always hit on you whenever he visited the farm.

Viego withdrew from you, a metallic clang sounding out in the small room as he released the clasp on his cloak, allowing it to slide off his shoulders and hit the floor. Chancing a look back over your shoulder, you made eye contact with a once-again shirtless Viego, the black triangle on his chest bared once again.

Approaching you again, he took hold of your wrist, bringing your palm to lay against the spectral-green lined dark triangle in the center of his chest. You inhaled sharply, surprised when your hand was not swallowed by mist or sucked into the black void, but instead pressed against the triangle of black as if it were normal skin.

“The mark you gave me,” Viego said, voice surprisingly soft for someone talking about the wound that had ended their mortal life. “The mist is a part of me, so it will never harm you.”

“It feels warm,” you murmured. How could it feel so warm when the rest of his body was so cold?

“Only ever to you,” he replied, leaning down to kiss you again.

It was a short kiss, Viego giving you several short pecks as he slowly backed you up to the bed. He pulled away as the back of your knees hit the bed, and you opened your eyes as you caught your breath, only to see Viego with a wicked smirk on his face. Before you could question him, you were sent backwards onto the bed with a yelp as a rush of mist from Viego’s chest blew over you.

You found yourself on your back, the sheets a lot softer under you than you had expected. Realizing that the mist had left you feeling a lot colder than you had expected as well, you let out an embarrassed squeak when you discovered that the mist had somehow done away with your clothing, leaving you completely naked against the sheets.

The mist faded as quickly as it had appeared, revealing Viego at the foot of the bed in nothing but his tight black pants, which were noticeably tighter at the front. His gaze was smouldering as he took in your now-fully-revealed form, and while you were overtaken with the desire to shy away, but you were not given a chance as Viego quickly joined you on the bed.

He gently cupped your breasts in his hands, thumbs rubbing against your nipples, the cold of his fingers only heightening the jolt of pleasure that heated your face. Viego stared down at you, looking awestruck, strands of his silver hair falling over one of his eyes. He was so handsome that it was hard for you to believe this was real as you looked up at him, fighting the urge to run your hands through his hair as you let out a soft moan.

“You make it hard to focus when you sound like that,” Viego admitted as he leaned down. “It has been too long since I have heard your sweet voice moan.”

Crawling over you, Viego tilted your chin up with a hand on your cheek, allowing him to lock your lips together again. Unlike the previous kisses, this kiss was heated and intense, your tongue meeting his as his other hand laid next to your head, supporting his body closely above yours.

His body caging yours in should have felt cold with how frigid his skin was in unlife, but all you could feel was warmth as Viego kissed you like his life depended on it. Deciding to act on your earlier thoughts, you slid your hands into Viego’s soft hair, your nails running along his scalp. Viego groaned into your mouth, hips rutting into yours, letting you feel just how hard he was under his leather pants.

Viego’s hand strayed lower, your back bowing slightly off the bed when he began to move his thumb over your clit. He continued the passionate kiss as he kept up with the movements on your clit, the sensations making it hard for you to concentrate on the kiss. Finally, the pleasure got so intense that you jerked back against the pillow with a breathy moan, your face flushed with heat.

Viego pulled back from you entirely, spreading your legs and grasping your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders. Startled, you realized what he intended to do, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to…” you trailed off, fingers grasping the sheets at your side as you stared at him.

Viego’s mouth turned up in a sly grin, looking up at you with his mouth inches away from your naked pussy. “There is nothing I want more in this world right now than to hear you cry out for me, my love.”

Before you could reply, Viego surged forward, tongue licking against your clit while his fingers pressed inside you. He seemed energized by the noises you made, fingers moving faster against you as you closed your eyes, moaning his name as his tongue brushed against you at a spot that had you seeing stars beyond your eyelids.

He was relentless, determined to get you to reach your peak, not slowing down until you cried out his name, nails raking against the sheets as you came.

Viego withdrew, looking very proud of himself as he stared down at your wrecked form. You laid flat against the bed, panting as you tried to catch your breath. As you took in Viego’s disheveled hair and satisfied smile, you let out a soft exhale, still not fully understanding how he was able to make you feel so comfortable with him after all that you had been through. Or maybe it had been because of everything you had been through together, the thousand years you had been apart and the short time you had been together again.

He didn’t make any moves to remove his pants, despite the fact that they looked painfully tight by this point. You stared at him from under your lashes, not knowing what to say as you slowly came down form the high of pleasure he had given you.

“Your form has never been more beautiful,” Viego said, leaning down to kiss you. “Now if only your lips were as honest as your eyes.”

“What?”

“Your eyes are telling me what you want me to do to you,” he murmured into your ear, voice low and sultry. “And I cannot find it in me to deny my queen what she desires.”

Viego sat up as mist flew from his chest, sweeping over his lower half and turning his pants to mist before dissipating entirely, leaving him just as naked as you. His cock was just as pale as the rest of his body, but clearly was still functioning just fine; in fact, you were slightly worried about the sheer size of him.

Viego took his place between your legs, his cock so close to where you wanted it. He took himself in hand, slowly lining himself up with you, looking down at you appraisingly before his cock was sinking into you.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt the stretch of his cock, surprised that it was nowhere near as painful as you had imagined. Once he was fully inside you, he leaned down, caging you in with his arms as he began to roll his hips into yours.

Sliding a hand into his hair, Viego happily allowed you to pull his lips back to yours, groaning into your mouth when you clenched around him after his cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. While you had struggled to focus amidst the pleasure you were feeling, Viego had no such problem, easily able to kiss you breathless while maintaining a slow and gentle pace with his hips.

But as you continued to move against each other, slow and gentle began to be too little for you. You pulled back from Viego’s lips with a whine, looking at him with pleasure-hazed vision as he continued to move against you.

“Viego… faster, please,” you whined, watching him swallow as you spoke.

With a deep groan, Viego picked up his pace, each thrust of his cock hitting exactly where you needed it. Viego seemed to be as lost in the feeling as you were, eventually trading speed for increased intensity as you clung to his biceps.

Viego came first, slowing with a groan, but kissed you hard, rubbing at your clit until you joined him over the edge, feeling your energy drain from you as Viego pulled out of you before pulling your body to his, wrapping his arm around you.

“My heart, my body… they have only ever belonged to you,” Viego spoke, his words sending fondness blossoming in your chest.

Closing your eyes, you leaned against his chest, feeling happy but drained, at least until the reality of where you were came rushing back to you. You were in Senna’s house… in Senna’s bed. What had you been thinking?!

Noticing your panic, Viego lifted your chin, tilting your face up towards him with an eyebrow raised, quizzically speaking your name.

“Senna���s going to kill me,” you groaned in embarrassment.

“What?” Viego hissed, voice flat and dangerous, some mist tricking from his chest.

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands over his chest in a futile effort to keep the dark mist in. In your embarrassment, you had forgotten about Viego’s tendency to react against any threats directed towards you. “I just meant she would be upset with me for…. getting intimate… in her bed.”

Your words didn’t particularly seem to ease the severity of Viego’s misinterpretation of your words, but that would have to something to work on over time. With how harsh his life had been for so long, you shouldn’t have been surprised that hyperbole was largely lost on him. For now, all you could think of to do was distract him, quickly pulling his lips down to yours to hope you could make him forget about his current dangerous intentions, at least for the moment.