#comparison with other works and get torn down

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

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

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[that-one-p00k1e]

───〃★ the way I love you ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

Their love language w/you ft. Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Ren Kaji, & Haruka Sakura | Demon Slayer ver.

c/w: 🎀OOC🎀, fluff, gn!reader (I think), use of "my lady" in Suo's, established!relationship in Umemiya's

GRADUATING 2DAY RAAAHHH🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅

—Haruka Sakura being the easily flustered tsundere he is, words and physical touch aren't really in his dictionary of how to express his feelings. He isn't good at being forward verbally in the environment of love, nor is he able to initiate close proximity gestures.

Without realizing, one of his particular ways of showing his care was through acts of service. Helping each other around town has become a normalcy. Thus, he wouldn't stand out when doing you a favor purely out of his own will; he prefers to be discreet to avoid getting called out, not wanting to be viewed as soft and lose his dignity.

He'd claim that he couldn't give any less of concern for anyone. Yet, he couldn't help but feel an uncomfortable tug at his heart when you mentioned forgetting to bring an umbrella during the rainy weather. He contemplated whether to do something about it or not, torn between his pride and feelings.

Just as you were about to step foot outside, you felt a hand on your shoulder that brought you to a halt.

“The hell do you think you're doin’? Trying to get a cold?”

You weren't given enough time to let out a reply before a folded umbrella was held up to your face.

“You could've asked to borrow one, y'know. I have a spare, so save the fuss and just take it.”

With that, you thanked him and gave a smile of gratitude before taking your leave with the lent umbrella. Little did you know, that boy did not own a spare…

—Hajime Umemiya is so pure he's guaranteed to shower you with every. possible. way. imaginable to express his love. But physical touch would be one of the most prominent.

No matter the occasion, no matter the time, you somehow will always get pulled into an embrace one way or another. He loved the feeling of cradling your petite figure between his strong arms; it made him feel like he was shielding you from any harm. His hugs were warm, comforting, and provided a sense of safety. He'd wrap his arms around your waist from behind and spoon you in, he'd rub his hand up and down your back as you cry into his chest, he'll run up to you and let you jump into his arms, spinning you around as he lifted you off the ground.

He loves the feeling of your hands against his; your soft skin contrasting with his calloused palms. The comparison between the size of your hands and his was somewhat cute to him, making him want to protect you even more as if you were the most precious yet fragile treasure in this world.

“Next time you come in here looking all beat-up, I'm kicking you out and locking you outside,” you scolded him as you tended to his injured hands, irritation yet concern etched on your facial features.

Ume let out a chuckle at your threat, gazing at your grumpy yet worried facial expression which he thought endearing.

“Aww… You really have the heart to be so cruel to your beloved and caring boyfriend??” he whined as he looked at you with an exaggerated pouty face.

“So-called ‘caring’ but doesn't even seem to care about how worried his girlfriend gets when he comes over looking like a used dog toy.” He felt a twinge of guilt at your words, feeling bad for making you so worked up over his condition.

Gently, he held your wrist and brought your hand up to his face, softly placing tender kisses on your knuckles.

“I'm sorry for worrying you, sweetheart…” His deep, gentle voice conveyed such words so smoothly, like a soothing melody strumming its way through your ears and into your heart. You couldn't help but loosen the wrinkles that tugged your eyebrows, letting out a sigh as the tension slowly left your nody. You knew it was his duty to protect the town and all, but the amount of fight he gets into this week devastated you.

“Just… try to avoid doing it alone, please? I know you're strong, but it hurts me seeing you go up against many by yourself.”

“I'll try… Promise.” With that, he leaned over to plant a reassuring kiss on your forehead.

—Hayato Suo enjoys being discreet and mysterious. He finds amusement in seeing your confused face when you receive any form of gift anonymously. At first, he'll start out completely unknown; he wants to satisfy his curiosity on how you'd react for the first time. Once he saw the confused yet happy look on your face, it made him want to perform the act of gift giving even further.

The type of gift would often be small flower bouquets. Occasionally, a little pack of candy would be stuck to it alongside a little note. Written inside those little notes; through either riddles, poems, or song lyrics, he started giving subtle hints on who the sender was. Day by day, he watched patiently as you took your time to connect the pieces.

Until one day.

You were at Pothos, helping out Kotoha as the first-year gang hung out. While wiping the front counter, you overheard Nirei sharing his opinion on how cool Suo was that he understood flower language. You internally agreed. Suo was a man of many quirks, and you've secretly admired him for that. He understood trivial things that most people wouldn't; poems, flowers, riddles– Holy shit.

Your body froze up the moment realization kicked in, heartbeat accelerating as you tried to quickly form everything in your mind. The elegant handwriting, the heart touching poems, the beautifully arranged varieties of flowers. Could it be–

“Suo.”

The crowd suddenly went quiet at the abrupt mention of one of the personel. You decided to take things somewhere a little more private.

“Please be honest with me,” you demanded as the both of you stood in front of the café.

“Are you the one who has been placing random flower bouquets in front of my doorstep? And before you come at me, there is no one else I know that understands flower language, poems, or-”

“Ah, so you've finally noticed,” the brunette chimed innocently with a sweet smile.

You blinked. “W-What?”

“Yes, I'm the perpetrator behind all those floral gifts you find every day. Are you uncomfortable with it? I can stop if you'd like–”

“NO! I-... I appreciate it. It's just… why? What for? Did you get a dare or something?”

Ever so subtly, his eyes softened at your words. “Why, it is simply because I like you.”

The moment the confession escaped his lips, it felt like your whole world was shaken. You were excited, happy, yet unsure. Unsure if he meant it or not. After all, you knew the kind of person he was.

“... Please don't joke about this.”

He understands what you mean, and he doesn't blame you for that. “My lady… I may be one to bluff, but involving one's feelings is where I draw the line,” he spoke with a tone oh-so gentle, wanting to convey the sincerity his words bore.

“Then… what are you trying to get out of doing all of this?”

“Your heart.”

Blood rushed into your cheeks like a marathon. Your heartbeat acceleration exceeded a speed limit you didn't know you had. With a deep breath, you gathered all ability left to respond.

“... You already did.”

Not even a second passed, and the young man felt a pair of arms embracing him tightly; a sigh leaving his lips as he looked down at the fair maiden in adoration and fondness.

Little did they know about the little audience they had through the glass window of the café.

—Ren Kaji has an aloof demeanor that he tends to keep to himself and distance his existence from the world. He's not one to listen nor speak, preferring to focus on the music blasting through his headphones. Though he enjoys being in rowdy places, he doesn't get loud and excited himself. All in all, quality time would be his best aspect in the language of love.

He'll accompany you on your walks, either when he bumps into you during patrol or when you're going home from school. He'd claim that walking you home was a part of his ‘duty’ and that you just happened to appear as an excuse. Along the journey, he'd listen to you talk your heart out while humming occasionally to let you know he was listening. Even if his headphones were on, he'd lower the volume to be able to hear your voice.

Never had he admitted how he felt comfortable with your presence, and maybe he never will. Words and touches weren't in his field of knowledge, making him seem to be difficult to approach. But little did you know that deep down, he held a spot for you as one of the exceptions – which he was clearly oblivious to.

“... Kaji… Kaji.” He rolled the sucker in his mouth and pulled down his headphones as he felt a poke on his cheek.

“Go on ahead without me. I'm gonna head someplace to eat.”

“I'll come with.”

“But you have patrol.”

“And I also have Enomoto and Kusumi. End of discussion.”

With a defeated sigh, you decided to eat at Pothos; the safest place to eat and thankfully the closest to your place. You offered to treat Kaji for dinner – not wanting to be the only one eating – but the young man declined and said he wasn't hungry. You didn't care; still getting him something as a way to thank him for his willingness to accompany this whole time.

“What? I said I wasn't hungry,” he claimed in defense while pulling his head away once he saw you bring a spoonful of omelette rice to his mouth.

“Just shut up and eat. I'm not living with the guilt for having you go through all this trouble for me.” You pulled out his sucker and replaced it with the awaiting spoon, not giving him time to argue back. He swallowed and looked away before muttering lowly.

“I'm not doing it for you.”

“Whatever you say…”

He begrudgingly let you feed him the whole food, chewing quietly and kept himself distracted on his phone. Unbeknownst to you and him, tints of pink adorned his cheeks.

Little did y'all know, Tamon's second year's vice captains had a good view, but decided to save themselves a scolding.

[satsuha]

i'm always really interested in how the characters call each other in japanese games, so i laid out a few differences between the japanese and english versions of some ace attorney games that particularly interest me. this isn't meant to be an exhaustive list but it did get really long 😭

i highlighted english nicknames/etc in blue while japanese nicknames/etc are orange just to make reading a little easier

AA1-2

while only playing the english version i liked that maya called phoenix nick, it's a nickname that makes sense and phoenix is annoying to say and write anyway (lol) but the reason maya gives for this nickname in english is that it's what larry uses for him, which pales in comparison to maya in the japanese version opting for how mia used to call him: naruhodo-kun.

to me, this is a LOT more meaningful and informative than the english nickname because it not only is evidence of how much maya heard about phoenix from mia using that nickname, it also gives us a glimpse of maya's personality and her relationship with phoenix. -kun is an honorific that's usually used for either male classmates or for teachers/superiors to use with their students/subordinates. maya falls into neither of these categories with phoenix, but it also lines up with how she acts like the boss of the office a lot of the time. SO LIKE... ultimately the nickname nick just does not hold up in terms of both maya's reasoning for using it, and phoenix's apprehension at her calling him that... which i just think is a shame!! in the same vein, this nickname is passed down to pearl, and again you see phoenix having a Reaction to it which makes sense considering it's funny that a kid is calling him naruhodo-kun...

i don't only want to talk about changes in english that i don't prefer, so i also want to mention that i'm very impressed that they managed to get phoenix and edgeworth referring to each other by their surnames in english to sound natural... because it's also exactly what they do in japanese except there, the idea of male friends using their surnames with each other is a very very normal thing. i AM torn on the fact that in japanese larry also refers to the two of them by their surnames, which means all 3 of them are on equal grounds in that respect. AT THE SAME TIME... english makes larry's "nick" and "edgey" work so well that i really can't say we missed out with this localization, but i do like the relationship between these 3 so i do like that the japanese is indicative of it too :)

AA4

i'm skipping ahead to aa4 because trucy's also a very interesting localization to me... the first time i played aa4 i felt like trucy wasn't sufficiently differentiated enough from maya's character which is like. debatable but those were my initial thoughts anyway. in japanese though she uses third-person pronouns (calling herself by her own name, minuki) which is VERY distinct from maya. there are a number of ways to interpret this choice but i like the one that indicates that it's part of her stage persona. aside from that though, she also has a very normal nickname for apollo (odoroki-san, with -san indicating general politeness) while polly is um well canonically the name of a parrot LOL

i do find it pretty interesting that the above exchange is the first instance trucy uses the polly nickname, because it's entirely different in the japanese version. phoenix says "if this onii-chan over here can't help you..." to which trucy responds by saying "how could you, onii-chan!" this exchange is hilarious to me because phoenix referring to apollo as an onii-chan is pretty normal? it's common to refer to any young man as that and in this case he's also referring to apollo from trucy's perspective. but trucy DIRECTLY calling apollo onii-chan (brother) is just so funny because HERE it's a lot closer to how an actual younger sister would refer to her older brother; there's a difference between saying "this onii-chan" and just "onii-chan". now i'm not saying this was direct foreshadowing because onii-chan is also used between close friends/acquaintances but like... the possibility is there.

AA5

now onto simon because i don't actually have a problem with the localization making him a british weeaboo i think that's really funny but i DO wish the nicknames he uses for the defense attorneys were more... appropriate? the honorific -dono that he uses in english does complement his samurai look but it's usually used in contexts where there's some respect involved, which is... not simon's intention in japanese. i'm admittedly not too familiar with the nicknames he uses in japanese; he uses "[kanji] no ji", while using a kanji from phoenix/apollo/athena's surnames. by searching it in japanese, i'm finding answers that it was medieval slang used by men usually in red light districts and such, and was used to refer to those with equal or lower status to oneself but never to those of higher status. this is kinda the opposite of what -dono is which is used for those of equal or higher status!!

i also find it pretty amusing that despite him using the first kanji in phoenix's name; 成 (turn into, grow), he uses the second kanji in both apollo and athena's names; 泥 (mud) and 月 (moon) respectively. i can only imagine that he did this because the first kanji in their names; 王 (king) and 希 (rare, hope) respectively, were too positive/complimentary for him? LOL

AA6

now i want to to talk about apollo in aa6 because NNGNRHGH i'm not normal about this one. because like, similarly to what i said up there about phoenix, edgeworth and larry's relationship, it's completely normal for close male friends to use their surnames with each other. phoenix, being apollo's boss, refers to him as odoroki-kun (mirroring how mia and maya call phoenix). trucy uses odoroki-san, indicating general politeness and athena uses odoroki-senpai, because he's her senior in their workplace. clay uses odoroki (no honorific), which is the same "level" as phoenix/edgeworth/larry's relationship.

a male character never being referred to as their first name is pretty normal, which is also the case in the aa games. franziska calls edgeworth by his first name reiji which is SUPPOSED to stand out because it's notably impolite/informal for someone who is younger than him, which suits the idea of her thinking of herself as the elder sibling. for additional reference, phoenix is only referred to by his first name by dahlia/iris; ryuu-chan ("feenie" equivalent) and desiree; ryuuichi-kun ("nicky boy" equivalent). so apollo is referred to exclusively by his surname, because there isn't anyone who's associated with him who would feasibly use his first name.

THAT IS. UNTIL we meet datz who is the first (!!) character to use apollo's first name in japanese. this moment doesn't stand out in english because i KNOOWWW datz uses the AJ nickname which is very cute but he doesn't actually use that nickname the first time he indicates that he knows apollo in case 6-3!! phoenix's momentary confusion here is also explained because while he obviously knows apollo's full name, he's never heard anyone refer to him with it!!!

so phoenix's thoughts in japanese here were originally "housuke... wait, that bracelet! that's odoroki-kun!"

dhurke and later nahyuta (during the last moments of the 6-5 trial) also refer to apollo with his first name, which is... really nice!!! they're family!!!! i mourn the fact that this distinction isn't visible in english because most characters just call him apollo but it's special in japanese... it's only dhurke, nahyuta and datz who use his first name.... i'm normal i promise

funnily enough i sort of have the opposite issue with nahyuta, who is generally referred to as prosecutor sahdmadhi in english but nayuta-kenji (prosecutor) in japanese. i'm assuming this is because his name is written with his given name first unlike japanese names, so they just used his given name instead of his surname...? unfortunately we don't have an example of any other foreign prosecutor as reference (i'm excluding van zieks here because they DO use his surname but it's also an entirely different time and place) but i prefer the english here since it also makes it stand out when apollo, dhurke and datz (with yuty hehe) use his first name with him.

but then again... rayfa also refers to him as prosecutor sahdmadhi in english, but just calls him nayuta in japanese. there aren't a lot of characters rayfa refers to by name but generally she's either overly polite (with ga'ran and inga) or overly impolite (with phoenix and apollo). it makes sense that the way she calls nahyuta is a little unique, since he's of lower status than her but not enough to get a rude nickname fdjhja... and then of course at the end of the game she tries to call him onii-(chan? san? sama? we just don't know) which nahyuta interprets as oni (demon) i think the localization here is really impressive actually. they somehow managed to seamlessly fit braid head into the mix of barbed head and horn head (both nicknames that refer to their hairstyles) while braid also begins with the same letters as brother... anyway i think i slightly prefer that rayfa (and ga'ran) call nahyuta by his first name rather than by his prosecutor title, it's indicative of their higher status because of the lack of an honorific but by the end of the game it fits in with the idea of them all being family...

TGAA1-2

you would think that because tgaa opted to leave japanese honorifics in the dialogue that there wouldn't be any differences in how the characters refer to each other but there are... first of all kazuma and ryunosuke are once again male friends who refer to each other by their surnames without an honorific in japanese, but the english has them use their first names with each other instead. i can understand this change because characters using only their surnames with each other feels oddly distant in english, and while it worked for phoenix and edgeworth's relationship it definitely doesn't suit kazuma and ryunosuke's.

additionally, the way susato calls ryunosuke was also changed from naruhodo-sama to naruhodo-san. this is... also an interesting change since it requires the player to have some basic knowledge of japanese honorifics but for some reason decided to change it anyway, despite the fact that susato also uses -sama with kazuma... one thing to note is that susato does use kazuma's first name instead of his surname like she does with ryunosuke, which helps indicate their closer relationship despite her still showing respect with the -sama honorific. in that sense naruhodo-san feels like an interesting middle ground because she's still using his surname but doesn't seem to view his position with her as equal to kazuma's? i assume that was the intent of the localization, similarly to how the way kazuma and ryunosuke call each other was changed to indicate closeness to the english-speaking player

--

anyway while i do prefer the original japanese version most of the time, my general view of original vs localization is like wow! two cakes! i might prefer one of those cakes more, but the english version usually provides enough that i like that both canons exist. because of this i can't agree with the idea that all localization is bad nor the side that believes the original doesn't matter because you're engaging only with the english side of the fandom. both are good and can reveal interesting things about the characters, story and setting!!

and thank you for reading if you got this far 🙇 i'm not an expert at japanese so i try to do my research and use multiple sources to get a better view of things, so please let me know if i got anything wrong! i also recommend checking out this post if you haven't seen it already since it's where i got some pointers on the trucy and simon segments

[gay-dorito-dust]

Are you taking requests for kraven? Maybe dating hcs where reader is lowkey insane?

Reader might come off a little more deranged/ morbidly curious rather than insane. But yeah enjoy whether this was.

You came across as a typical upstanding citizen of society, nothing out of the ordinary but not everything about you was ordinary when animals -whom are good judges of character- were adamant in avoiding you, running away as fast as they could if you were nearby and or show hostility towards you in hopes that you’d leave them alone.

You unsettled them as you were silent chaos waiting to break out, other people just get an unnerving feeling about you that they’re quick to dismiss when you show them a side that’ll make them less skeptical of your true nature. It was rather easy to fool others by putting on a charade that they can digest.

Sergei -upon first meeting- had a feeling that something was off about you as his eyes took you in, you looked normal but yet something within him told him to be weary of the fire within your eyes as you smiled at him.

Then again your meeting came at a time where one thing and one thing only was preoccupying his mind, so human interaction with anyone that could potentially get hurt by his father’s associates was far removed from his mind as he was quick to pick up where he had left off.

But it wouldn’t be long before you were too deeply involved with his plot against his father and you would have to remain close by the burly man for your own safety in fear that his fathers men would come back and finish the job that they should’ve beforehand.

However you seemed unfazed by all the violence and blood that came from Sergei’s lifestyle, almost coming across as numb when you saw how he’d tear through people as though they were nothing, your eyes would be wide slightly in morbid fascination at how effortlessly limbs were torn off and sent flying elsewhere.

Had it been anyone else would’ve ran away and seek for shelter for their own safety, get away from all the chaos and destruction happening before you. But you were a little different as you would only sit yourself down on a nearby surface and watch Sergei go to work in awe of how truly violent one man could be to cause so much bloodshed.

Sergei would naturally be a little pissed that you were so close to the violence, so close to getting hurt and looking about as unbothered as you were being told something that didn’t affect you directly. Like nothing truly disturbed you because you’ve already seen your fair share of chaos and carnage in comparison to a normal civilian.

It was eyebrow raising to say the least but your safety was his bigger concern as he held you by your shoulders and looked at you with wild eyes, expecting you to flinch but you didn’t, if anything you only smiled at the man as you hugged him tight; not caring for the blood that stained him as you knew simple but effective methods to get rid of such a stubborn substance.

‘You could’ve gotten hurt.’ He tell you.

‘No I wouldn’t.’ You replied so certainly, a little too calm for someone who’s seen people die before their eyes. ‘I have you.’ You added.

‘You act unfazed by such displays of violence,’ Sergei starts, ‘I wonder why, you don’t seem to have any background in anything that could have you withstanding the sight of a man with his entrails hanging out.’

You merely shrugged. ‘I might just have a strong stomach and the idea that you know so much about me and my background should off put me from you as being creepy, but I kind of admire a man who wants to learn all about his prey before pursing them in a hunt.’ You cackled as you messed with the fur lining of his coat.

Sergei removed your hand from his coat, holding them in his own as your fingers caressed the bruised and bloody knuckles tenderly. ‘Having a strong stomach is one thing love but your reaction alludes to a darker side of you that I have yet to see, almost as if the thrill of the hunt excites you along with the harm it causes others too.’ He adds in a low whisper as though he finally had you figured out, his eyes narrowed by his hold on you was still gentle and protective as though he was trying to protect you from your darkest version of yourself.

You pecked his lips innocently. ‘The hunt does thrill me, though only when I get to see you at what you claim as your worst and still feel nothing but love and affection for you my beloved Sergei.’ You tell him as you squeezed his hands, memorising their roughness and each individual callousness they had with the idea of worshiping a man of such raw power and strength. ‘You’ve always fascinated me, and you only continue to fascinate me even more.’

‘I’m not safe company.’ He tried to tells you.

‘I don’t care whether your safe company or not, they’re going to come after me regardless if you explained that I have no ties with you, and this-‘ you gesture to the dead bodies nearby. ‘Will only tell them that there is something between us. A connection that they can exploit to their advantage against you, so if anything I’m in safer company with you than without you.’ You replied.

Sergei knew you were right, the damage was already done and more people will only be after you and him because of it. However this doesn’t solve the itching feeling that he got from that darkness within your heart, that curious nature that you possessed that could borderline dangerous.

Who was he romantically involved with and why did it send his senses haywire into whether keep you safe from that inner darkness or keep himself away from that very same thing?

[felikatze]

Euphrasie and the End

A Deep Dive into the Head Housemaiden and her symbolic meaning

Introduction

Spoilers for the whole game, and also the prologue, by the way.

Hello everybody. You may know me from that other post about Euphrasie or maybe the ludonarrative essay or the QOL one. No matter the case, today I return to my favorite side character, Euphrasie, the Head Housemaiden.

This all starts with a central thesis you're likely to be familiar with.

Euphrasie represents the end. In the most literal sense, she is where every journey ends. She is the representation of Siffrin's fears. With every repetition, Siffrin grows to dread and fear the sight of her, more than they ever do facing down the King again.

And I want to look at that.

The Damsel

It's a tale as old as time. The big bad has kidnapped the lovely princess! Everyone, we must save her! And so, our epic tale begins, as Mario chases after Peach and Link vows to return and save Zelda -

That, quite obviously, is Euphrasie. Albeit not your traditional princess, she's still a female figure with great importance to our protagonist. (Our protagonist, quite obviously, being Mirabelle.)

Mirabelle's entire journey begins with her fleeing the House and embarking on an adventure with one goal - return home, and free everyone. ISAT invokes many many many stereotypical RPG tropes.

It uses those tropes by going, well, you know how the story goes, let's get right into the meat of it, yeah? Because ISAT is a story that only works on the precipice of an ending. It's the last dungeon! We're back in starter town, transformed by the big bad, and now we gotta take it back. (Like, do I have to invoke Ocarina of Time, or something? You know how it goes, you've seen this story before.)

Siffrin isn't afraid of the journey, the intro makes that blatantly clear all on its own. This entire journey is, quite literally, the happiest Siffrin can ever remember being.

He doesn't want it to end.

The story ends when you save the damsel. She will reward the heroes (usually with a kiss, but this time with a hug), thank them for their efforts, and then the credits roll. If we want to stay here and be pedantic, we can pull examples out of our hats all day for this trope as old as time.

Euphrasie is the end, not just within the context of the game's individual story, but for its type of story. Pretty woman, trapped by the bad guy, last person to be saved, emotional importance to the protagonist, dramatically awaits the rescue by her dashing protagonist after giving her the magic ocarina blessing to give Mirabelle her Special Protagonist Power that makes her super special and immune to the bad guy.

Euphrasie also gets the addition of being the wise mentor, combining tropes a bit, though I don't think it's uncommon for mentor figures to be the kidnappees either, even if the example I'm thinking of first is Eyvel from Thracia 776. (And you see once again, that I am incapable of thinking outside of Fire Emblem comparisons.)

So, simply from her role alone, we expect her to be the story's natural conclusion, but the setting helps that point, too. It's the rooftop of the final dungeon. Very obvious location, yeah?

The game's structure also builds anticipation into meeting her. Here and there, you hear about her from Mirabelle. And, right before facing the King, that's when Mirabelle talks about Euphrasie in-depth, how Euphie should've been the chosen one. We've got a lot of ideas about Euphrasie now, we're thinking about her as we go into the final boss.

And Siffrin dies. Duh.

We're so close to the end, and it's torn away from us. We need to get to it, get to her. Finally get past the King to meet her.

She's the conclusion. And in this moment, she is the goal, too.

Speaking of the King, though --

The True Final Boss

As Siffrin faces the King again and again, they grow less scared. More jaded. If you die to him thrice (or play START AGAIN), you get the option to say "Let's just get right to it", and skip his entire monologue.

After all, you've beaten him once. You can do it again. So who cares about him, yeah? Facing him only gets easier and easier as the game progresses. The King may be scary still in some story aspects, but in gameplay? Not a chance.

ACT 4 doesn't end with him. It ends with her.

As Siffrin faces Euphrasie again and again -

(No, no, no, she could've answered your questions, why?!?)

(Even though you asked for something different at the start of this conversation...)

(WHY IS SHE REPEATING THE EXACT SAME THING?!?)

Siffrin (yelling4): "JUST TALK TO ME!!!

Talking to her again makes her scarier, because Siffrin may have gotten past the King, but he's never gotten past her. For all intents and purposes, Euphrasie is the final boss of the story.

Again, ACT 4 - Siffrin's deepest moment of despair, confirmation of ultimate failure, is her.

Speaking of final bosses...

They both cut a rather striking silhouette, don't they?

Yes, yes, islander theory, white hair. That's an in-universe theory though, but the point is, it does make them look similar. They both have long cascading white hair, they're both extremely tall. They are both similar yet different in appearance.

Euphrasie is rounded where the King is jagged, namely. Soft where he is imposing. But those similarities still remain. Contrasting figures that only enhance the similarities all the more.

(I felt utterly insane for seeing this, but. Do you see it. DO YOU??) (Like. Outside of any theory stuff, her being the only person to have white hair beside King and Siffrin, long white hair to boot, has thematic signifcance as well, yes?)

[Side note: Yes, it is utterly irrelevant here that insertdisc5 said her hair is dyed, because it is STILL a striking resemblance of character design that can be interpreted with symbolic meaning, thank you~)

The trangles.

Though she may overshadow the King as the Endpoint past ACT 2 in ISAT, she does not in START AGAIN.

In START AGAIN, the ending beyond does not exist, for all intents and purposes. The endpoint was pulled forward. Whereas ISAT Siffrin's true dread sets in after beating the King, in SASASAP, it does so in the break room right before facing him.

Or, well, the resignation.

In In Stars and Time:

Siffrin (fake1): "Hi." Siffrin (fake1): "You can start breaking down now." Euphrasie (sorry1): Breaking down...? What do you...

In Start Again:

(You wonder how everyone will die this time.) (Will the King beat them with Craft until they are no more?) (Will he freeze them in time, unable to move or breathe for all eternity?) (How will YOU meet your end?) (In blood and stars maybe... In tears and time perhaps...)

The natural acceptance that, (you can look at the title of this again) this is the end. That there is no getting past this. They are both the last obstacle that can never be overcome, between the games.

Hell, just COMPARE SAP's true ending to like, the end of ACT 4.

Siffrin awakens in the meadow. Everything was in vain. Everything was useless.

Siffrin finally, after a thousand loops or even more, beat the King. This is supposed to be the end, but it's not. So, this proves once and for all that there is no escape. They're trapped here forever.

They built it up for so long in their head that all they have to do is beat the King, and then the suffering's over.

And in ACT 4... Siffrin builds it up for so long in their head... All they have to do is ask the Head Housemaiden about Wish Craft. That's it. That's the answer! After that, it's the end! It'll be over! He just needs to do this one thing...

Loop (away1): ...Is that so? But, didn't you already-- Siffrin (unhinged1): "It is so!" Siffrin (unhinged1): "I might be able to break the loop, somehow!" Loop (away1): ... Siffrin (unhinged1): "You know, it might just be that I need to make everyone's wish come true! And everything will be back to normal!" Siffrin (unhinged1): "If I talk to her, she'll know, she'll be able to tell me what to do..." Siffrin (unhinged4): "If I can just talk to her...!"

And is wrong, of course. They wake up in the meadow and despair. So, this proves once and for all that there is no escape. They're trapped here forever.

Siffrin: "Or, or does it mean-- It means--" Siffrin: "It means I'm stuck here for good, aren't I?" Siffrin: "Forever?" Loop: ... Loop: . . . (. . .) Siffrin: (No.) "You think I'm stuck here forever."

It's the exact same mindset with different characters representing the end point. The parallel becomes even more evident in that Siffrin's very last manic shot at victory is the exact thing that proved Loop's failure - supposing that the King is the true end point.

Yet it's also different, in what these two characters represent.

The King is very much a representation of the past. His fate in ACT 5 ultimately proves what it means to refuse to let go - being frozen in time is both a metaphor and very literal. He's stuck in the past, by choice. He could've lived and chosen to embrace Vaugarde and move on, but he didn't.

Y'know, he's a bad end Siffrin, metaphorically (albeit not literally. Narrative mirrors and all.) He's what Siffrin would end up like if they never learned their lesson. If they keep refusing to let go of the past... and embrace the future.

Euphrasie's Agency and lack thereof

To Siffrin, there is no future. They can't conceive of what happens after this journey. So, the character marking the endpoint of the journey, and the start of a new chapter in Siffrin's life, cannot see a future either.

It's... fascinating, to me. How Euphrasie is a vessel of Siffrin's insecurities by force. Siffrin's Wish has taken hold of her. It's using her as a stop, on purpose.

Odile (worried2): Because... Talking to you... Means our journey to save Vaugarde is really over, isn't it? Odile (gimme1): And for you, Siffrin, it also meant all of us going our separate ways, doesn't it? Isabeau (angry1): The very thing the loops were trying to stop...

(Points at my first point about Euphrasie being the Damsel, and thus the natural endpoint of any given RPG. Hey. Hey do you see how obvious this is yet.)

Euphrasie seems to have some sort of ability to feel Wish Craft, or the Universe, or Change, or whatever. She knows what her role in this play is, most of the time. "I can feel it! We both know this! It's all over when you talk to me!"

(IT'S ALL OVER WHEN YOU TALK TO HER.)

What she says mirrors what Siffrin thinks about her. This becomes most obvious only in retrospect, looking once again at the ACT 4 finale.

Euphrasie always says the same thing, because she is the end and the end can neither change nor ever arrive, but she can only say something new in one circumstance.

Siffrin (angry4): (You just wish she would ANSWER YOU!!!!!!) "Now that you know, now that I know, you can fix it!!!" Euphrasie (ending3): . . . Euphrasie (ending3): Fix it?

When Siffrin wishes for her to. Her capability to act in new ways is directly controlled by Siffrin's desire. Since the entire loops are caused by their subconscious desire to stay with everyone, she fulfills the role of keeping everyone together.

Thinking back on what she says...

"I know you thought your quest was over, but it can't be."

Your quest. Yes, quest is also used in a general story context, especially in fantasy, but Quest has long since become a well-established term in video games of all stripes. Sidequests, Main quest, hey, isn't it weird how ISAT refers to all its storylines as quests?

Friendquests being the obvious example. Fetch Quest, Companion Quest, Tutorial Quest, Really? He doesn't need your help with a quest?

But outside of that... I know I just know these terms because of my script wizard activities, but every storyline is a quest. Kingquest. Loopquest. Friendquest.

There's any number of words that could be chosen ("journey" probably being most prominent) and yet she says quest. By using a term inoxerably tied to video games by this point, she's saying "I know you thought the game was over, but it can't be."

And see how the game uses glitched imagery and static to represent everything breaking down, both at the end of every loop, and in ACT 5. This imagery is just confusing and means nothing to the characters, but is very obvious if you are Playing A Game.

The fuzzy static of an old TV, the bars of screen corruption, random symbols in text, the distorted music like a malfunctioning cassette tape…

If I may be so bold as to harken back to one of my own previous essays... The timeloop is the game.

It all ends when you talk to her. Everything ends when you talk to her. The goddamn game ends when you talk to her for the last time.

I got a bit of track here from the point, which is- her agency.

As we've established, she functions as Siffrin's own stop, on purpose. She can only act independently when Siffrin wishes her to.

And her not doing so is the beginning marker of everything breaking down in ACT 5, as well.

When Mirabelle interrupts her usual greeting speech, Euphrasie reacts differently immediately. She takes a look at Siffrin, diagnoses them with Craft overusage, and says they just need rest.

"But he'll be fine, now that the battle is over."

But, as usual, she can... sense what's happening.

"Every time I've tried to reach out and feel what's happening, I sense... Chaos..." "It feels like something is... Rotting..."

Mirabelle: "...?" Isabeau: "Rotting...?" Euphrasie: "I know you thought your quest was over, but it can't be! Something's broken, something's failing, rotting!"

She even skips back and forwards between all her different lines, everything Siffrin expects of her and has memorized by now, when we've seen that she was acting differently just a moment before.

It's Siffrin's wish kicking in again that marks the final straw once more, their clashing desire to stay in the loop against his desparate will to escape, resulting in Euphrasie being torn between who she actually is (acting new! moving forward!) against what Siffrin needs her to be.

(you're still stuck here) (but isn't it fine?) (eternity is within your grasp)

Mentioning eternity even harkens back both to the King ("I just want eternity.") AND the ACT 4 ending ("To know you'll be trapped for all eternity, Siffrin... I am so sorry!!!").

Again, like, Euphrasie's agency being torn from her, falling back into that old pattern, is what marks Siffrin realizing he's been wishing for eternity this entire time. It's written on the wall all over ACT 4.

Like, literally, textually, if you choose to pray to the intact Change God statue in ACT 4, Siffrin's prayer is "(You wish for eternity.)"

Because in the course of all these loops, Siffrin has been denying everyone's agency. Euphrasie is just the most prominent example. In ACT 5, by wishing for eternity, what Siffrin has (accidentally) forced onto Euphrasie all this time, he is trying to force onto everyone.

Whether or not Euphrasie is allowed to be a person is a direct marker of Siffrin's ability to escape the loop. It's only over when she's allowed to be free.

Euphrasie is the first person in the ending to mention going home.

"Finally, you'll all be able to go home!!!"

But in ACT 6, she doesn't. She doesn't mention going home at all. Instead, she tells everyone a new story. One Siffrin's never heard before.

Allowing Euphrasie to be free turns her back into the symbol of change that she's supposed to be. I'm repeating myself, but it truly is her change that is the definite, 100% sure marker that Siffrin is free, too. That the future is here.

Why are circles a symbol of change, anyway?

In me saying, Euphrasie symbolized stagnation, until Siffrin allows her to stand for the future again, it is irony. It is immense irony that the Head Housemaiden of Change Itself turns into a symbol of endings and stagnation through Siffrin's denial.

And, on the topic of irony, I ask you:

When the hell are circles a symbol of change???

You know. Circles. The things that famously represent cycles (wow, wonder if those words are related), repetition, infinity and eternity.

Isn't that weird. Isn't that ironic. The entire symbology of the House of Change is supposed to represent, well, Change, but just amounts to representing cycles (yknow, THE LOOPS. LITERAL TIME CYCLES.) through the recontextualization of Siffrin's experience with them.

Even the Change God doesn't oppose the time loops, instead being excited for how Siffrin changes as everything else stays the same.

The circle symbol is a witty act of irony from a design standpoint, and one I must only applaud, because why the hell didn't I see that sooner.

No, like, for real. If anybody knows some real life religion or culture where circles represent change and new beginnings instead of revolutions or the turn of seasons or the cycle of life and all that stuff. Please do tell me about it? I'm not omnipotent.

But generally, the irony of Euphrasie carries forward into the irony of the Change religion as in-universe these are symbols of change, but out of universe, to us, the players, they're symbols of repetition. Just like how to everybody else Euphie is a change, but to Siffrin she is stagnation. (Re: my other essay where I compare Siffrin to a video game player and the timeloops to a video game and I go on a whole metanarrative tangent.)

This plays into the metanarrative! Making meaning to the characters and to us incongruent! And it's cool as fuck, what can I say.

To cap off, let's compare what she says in every normal loop, and ACT 6, won't we?

Euphrasie (smiling4): Finally, you'll all be able to go home!!! Euphrasie (smiling3): If there's anything the House of Dormont can do to thank you... Please do not hesitate. Euphrasie (thankyou1): But for now... Bask in the feeling of a job well done!!!

And, in ACT 6….

Euphrasie (smiling2): I'm sure you must have a lot to talk about with everyone. Euphrasie (smiling1): But be sure to talk to me when you're all done! Euphrasie (smiling4): So I can happily bless you and your companions' new journey!!!

A Plain Ol' Euphrasie Character Analysis

Heyo, that finishes my essay on Euphrasie's symbolic meaning about narrative and shit! But...

It feels kind of mean, to write so much about what her agency and lack thereof represent, without actually talking about who she is. I didn't mention that a lot, see, because it's not important. Because that part's not important to Siffrin, because during the timeloops, Siffrin doesn't see her as a person.

So. Let's talk about her! Who is she? What is she like? What does she do?

Personality

The Good and the Funny

She's really funny. I mean it. Generally, she loves to joke around, and she has this ojou-sama style "Ohoho~" laugh that I find utterly delightful.

Siffrin (tired2): "But you might know something about--" Euphrasie (smiling4): Ohohoho! Euphrasie (smiling4): Sorry, I know nothing until you talk to your friends! Euphrasie (smiling3): And quite honestly, it is a little funny to see you get steamed about this, ohoho!

So many things in this bit. This is from when you try to talk to her before all the others in a regular loop. The reason she doesn't talk back first is of course because of the whole Agency thing (see above), but also, it's funny for her to take the piss.

Yet her wanting Siffrin to talk to everyone else first also shows that she's a very considerate person! This is The Saviours' Big Moment, and she is dying to talk to Mirabelle's new friends, but she doesn't want to take away from that. She's gonna give them her moment, and only butt in once all the hugs and tears and cheers have been had.

You can see this in ACT 5, too. She doesn't pass out or anything when Siffrin smacks her away, she just recognizes that her presence is upsetting to Siffrin, she doesn't know them or their problems, so she's gonna step back and let them figure it out themselves.

Euphrasie (smiling4): Ohohoho! Don't worry about me, everyone! Mirabelle (awawa1): H-Head Housemaiden! You're okay!!! Euphrasie (smiling3): I am! I was staying away for a little bit. Euphrasie (thankyou1): You all seemed like you needed to talk, so I was patiently waiting for you all to finish your conversation! Bonnie (serious1): That's very considerate of you. Isabeau (hahaha1): It IS very considerate of you!

She even during the hand holding scene is SO considerate that she doesn't speak up and include herself until Odile asks her to join in. Which might be a bit much, actually.

Odile (lol2): Fine. Let's hold hands, then. (Odile takes Bonnie's hand.) Odile (yeah1): Head Housemaiden? Euphrasie (thankyou1): Oh! Yes, of course!

That lil "Oh!" showing she's surprised to be adressed and included in this conversation.

Anyways, the previous exchange also gives us two OTHER delightful facts about her.

Euphrasie (smiling3): I haven't had this much fun since reading the last issue of "The Cursing of Château Castle"!!!

Meaning:

She's a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and considers getting slapped across the room "fun"

The coveted last issue of Cursing of Chateau Castle in the pottery room is hers.

Delightful woman. I love her.

She's also pretty frank! She talks a lot in snappy phrases and witticisms. She's kind and patient, for one, but really not afraid to mince words.

Euphrasie (smiling4): I thought we all knew that the Change God is a pretty lazy deity! Bonnie (wait1): Wow... Odile (urgh1): Isn't that a sacrilegious thing to say...?

Really makes me like her all the more that secondhand, she comes across as graceful, larger than life, almost, and then she simply doesn't care all that much about propriety and what someone of her station is actually supposed to be like. It really fits in with the Change Belief and the ethos of being true to yourself that she doesn't bend herself like that.

I'll also continue to be delighted that she described the King defeating her as knowing that "[she] was toast", just, she's just so casual.

Guilt and Responsibility

In more serious matters. The guilttttttt.

Yeah, she's casual, but she still obviously puts a lot of focus on her responsibility to the people of the House, of Dormont. We know that she was preparing for the King to arrive. She was studying Wish Craft, she was contemplating counter measures. She was making charts of who wished what to figure out whether this could stop him.

(...The Head Housemaiden...) (She's the one who wrote this. She knows about Wish Craft.) (She knew something was wrong, this whole time.) (She might know... How to...)

There's a degree of paranoia evident that we don't see in any of her time onscreen, but you can wonder what it says about a woman to have a deadly rock trap in front of her office.

AND she doesn't have her key out in the open, she has it taped to the underside of her desk drawer. Not an infallible hiding spot, but still hidden, and not just stored.

The other people in the House were all also revealed to be the ones locking doors in the party's path, hoping that it would stop the King.

Bonnie (sad1): . . .You know, I was wondering... Bonnie (sulk2): Like, the King clearly closed this door, and put the Tears in our way... Bonnie (sad1): But the... But the locked doors, weren't they... Mirabelle (sad2): ... Odile (dotdotdot2): Yes... We were wrong. Odile (dotdotdot1): They were most likely locked by residents of the House.

Speaking of people hoping to stop the King, she has a mountain of notes on him in her office as well.

(Some notes about the King.) (The Head Housemaiden must've been looking for more information about him...)

She hid her key, trapped her door, and before that, gathered information on the King and how to counter him. So, let me ask, do you think she improvised her blessing?

Mirabelle (excited1): She's also a great Crafter! She always creates wonderful items that makes everyone's lives easer! Mirabelle (awkward2): She taught me so much... Most of the Craft skills I know, I learned from her.

She's a skilled Crafter to boot, eh?

Looking at this, I don't really think so. Beneath that jolly front, she is a logical and pragmatic woman. Looking at her ability to specifically counter the King's Curse in context of how much we know she prepared for his arrival, I believe she prepped this blessing beforehand. Whether she actually finished it, I don't know, but she had to pick Mirabelle as a subject for it quickly and under duress.

Mirabelle wasn't the ideal choice. She was the logical choice.

Euphrasie (smiling3): Well, I only had the strength to bless one person, and I was already toast, and you were almost out of the House when the King attacked... Euphrasie (smiling3): So, really, you were the only logical choice!

There are some more emotional reasons for the pick, which I'll go into later when talking about Mira, but, still. She mentions this first, before going into Mirabelle's virtues as a person.

Plus, Claude (who will also get a section later), is the person closest to the King and Euphie. She's got the Secret Ingredient for the bomb on her, and had obviously been working on making a Craft Bomb beforehand, as discovered by the gizmo gadget in her room.

Combined, we can surmise that Euphie and Claude were both making different preparations to counter the King, with Euphie focusing on Craft both by studying Wish Craft and working on a Craft to nullify the King's Curse, whereas Claude just worked on a bomb to blow him the fuck up.

Euphrasie was, simply put, working to protect the people she cared for. It's her responsibility.

And she failed.

LET'S TALK ABOUT HER GUILT!!! WOOOO!!!!

When you talk to the people in Dormont during Loopquest, some of them mention the Head Housemaiden also asking them about their wishes, but none of them know why. This implies that Euphrasie was covert in her research, likely not sharing her information either because she was unsure of its verity, or to not cause undue panic. The only other person we see with less than impromptu countermeasures is, after all, literally just Euphrasie's girlfriend, who would be the number one person Euphie would confide in about this stuff.

Even then, though, there is no concrete evidence that she did confide in Claude, outside of Claude preparing the bomb, which is circumstantial at best. Really, did she not have any issues with Siffrin's treatment of her in ACT 5, or did she just swallow it down out of pragmatism?

Can we be sure that it's sincere, when she brushes off Siffrin's worry for her?

Siffrin (US_guilty2): "You said the things you always say when I come and talk to you." Siffrin (US_guilty2): "About how the world is rotting." Siffrin (US_sad1): "And you can't do anything to help." Euphrasie (sorry3): Hm... Euphrasie (smiling4): Interesting! I don't feel like saying it now, though! Euphrasie (smiling1): Or at all! The wind feels nice and fresh. Euphrasie (smiling4): It just feels like a beautiful day, doesn't it?

After all, in the loops themselves... She's the first to notice it, every time. She knows, deep within her bones, that something's wrong, and that it's her fault.

It's especially potent symbolically, that the phrase she never gets to finish is "I hope you can learn to forgive us."

Which is a phrase that received a slight change from its comic counterpart:

"I hope you can learn to forgive me."

Regardless of the me versus us, she, with the most intimate knowledge of Wish Craft right next to the King, directed the people of Vaugarde's wish, and knows that Siffrin ended up as the Wish's subject. She can't know that this is a side effect of Siffrin's wish being entangled with her own, but she does know her own wish is involved.

She starts crying. She's disraught. She breaks down.

Euphrasie (ending2): I can't fix it on my own, not before it all ends... If only I had noticed sooner!!! Euphrasie (ending1): I should've seen it, prevented it!!!

She says that she should have seen this and prevented it. It was her responsibility to do this, and she failed.

Euphrasie (ending2): It's my fault that you have to suffer like this.

Again, she was the only one who knew, the only one who could have ever possibly had any shot of defeating the King before things got too bad. But she fucked up, he stormed in before she could prepare properly, and she squarely lost whatever confrontation might've occured between her and the King.

Euphrasie: Something goes wrong, every time!!! Euphrasie: If you're here now, asking about Wish Craft, then something must be wrong, isn't it? This isn't the first time you've gotten this far, isn't it?!? Euphrasie: It shouldn't be like this... Why does time loop back, even though the King has been defeated?!? Euphrasie: The only answer I can find... Is it's because we did it wrong.

She's responsible, pragmatic to the point of paranoia, and it wasn't enough. Of course she feels guilt. A lot of it. After all, she believes that she personally has doomed someone to eternal stagnation. That she has caused all of Vaugarde to be trapped, and for one person to suffer for it. That she caused all of Siffrin's suffering.

It's so odd to me that she manages to immediately grasp that Siffrin is in a timeloop. It could be Siffrin's wish using her as a mouthpiece, it could be that weird innate connection to the Universe she seems to have, it could be her own immediate deduction on the logic of Wish Craft, or it could be a combination of all three.

But point is, she recognizes Siffrin's looping without having to ever be told about it. And I do not think that goes away, even in ACT 5 & 6. It's just not the time and place for her to speak on her own struggles right now, not when Siffrin is finally getting the help that she cannot provide. Not when she can recognize that she is the conductor of everything that just occured, which, again, nearly broke the entire work.

Euphrasie: If only... If only we had fought back against the King, instead! If only we didn't wish for such a thing! Euphrasie: If only I knew this would happen, if I had noticed it sooner, I would never have let people wish at all!!! Euphrasie: To know you'll be trapped for all eternity, Siffrin... I am so sorry!!! Euphrasie: It's our fault, all of Vaugarde, that you have to suffer like this!!!

She gathered her intel and made her bet. She just made the wrong one.

(Yet what she never seems to recognize is that this had to happen. That without the timeloops, yeah, the King wouldn't have been defeated! The country would have been frozen!)

(But that doesn't mean anything, does it. When she had to take away Change Itself from some innocent bystander.)

Relationships

Anyways in more cheerful news let's look at the two most important people to Euphrasie we know of.

Mirabelle

Mirabelle!! The Meeble!! Euphrasie is super important to Mirabelle, and Mirabelle, in turn, is super important to Euphrasie.

From the third snack break:

Mirabelle (sad2): The Head Housemaiden... She's such a wonderful person. Mirabelle (sad2): She helped me out so much! I couldn't do anything before I came to the House, I could barely sew my own clothes, and she helped me, she taught me... Mirabelle (sad2): I wouldn't be the person I am without her! Mirabelle (sad2): And when the King attacked...  She protected me. Mirabelle (sad2): Everyone... Everyone was being frozen in time around me... Mirabelle (sad4): And the Head Housemaiden made sure I could escape! Made sure I lived!!! Mirabelle (sad4): She gave me her blessing...!!!

Similarly to some of the other older Housemaidens, Euphrasie had a big part in raising Mirabelle (which does imply some things about Mirabelle's past, but that's not the point right now). We don't know the exact sequence of events for Mirabelle escaping (outside of Mirabelle happening to be closest to the door), but Mirabelle adds some action to Euphrasie during whatever happened, saying Euphrasie "protected her".

From Euphie's office:

Mirabelle (sad2): But the King was too strong, and attacked out of nowhere, and now... I don't know what happened to her. Mirabelle (sad2): When I fled the House... The King might've already... ...

They weren't in the same room, Mirabelle doesn't even know what exactly happened to her, but still says Euphie protected her, and obviously shows great esteem for her all around.

Mirabelle just loves Euphie so much, man!

Euphrasie (sorry3): And, Housemaiden Mirabelle... Euphrasie (smiling1): You have always been the most hardworking Housemaiden in the House. Always striving to learn new things. To better yourself. Euphrasie (smiling2): Always meeting challenges head on, even if you didn't think you'd succeed. Euphrasie (smiling3): You were the only logical choice, yes, but you were also the only RIGHT choice! Mirabelle (sad2): Head Housemaiden... Mirabelle (gentle1): No, Euphrasie... Thank you!!!

Mirabelle credits Euphrasie for the person she is today, but Euphrasie turns that back and gives credit to Mirabelle's own strengths. It's just, very cute. She might have taught Mirabelle her literal skills, but the determination and bravery were all Mirabelle's own.

This scene also demonstrates that the bond goes both ways. Euphie loves Mira right on back, and considers Mira to be "stinking cute!" which even the Change God Themself agrees with. She's so proud of Mira!

I also wanna point to the switch from Mira using Euphie's title, to then using Euphie's name after Euphie reaffirms how proud she is of Mira. Throughout the entire adventure, Mirabelle's unwitting deception (that she had been blessed by the Change God instead of by Euphie) had weighed down on her, and Mirabelle kept questioning why she was the one who had to go on this journey, when Euphrasie would have been so much better at it. Like she stole Euphie's spot.

I think that bled into the relationship, here, that she kept imagining Euphrasie being disappointed in her, so she uses the title to make some distance to that mental image. It shows off how distant and unreachable Euphrasie is.

(It's also just a good show of politeness from Mirabelle. Like, if I'm talking to my mother, I'll call her Mama, but if I am talking about her to someone else, I'll say "my mother", as demonstrated by the first part of this sentence.)

Lastly, really minor thing: apparently, Euphrasie is looking into dual Craft types! That's one of the random papers on her desk.

(It's an essay about the 3.5% of people who are dual Craft types users, like Mirabelle.)

That makes me think she started reading on it because of Mirabelle, which is cute.

Generally, the basis of their relationship is very much mentor-student, yet it goes much deeper than that with Euphrasie's big role in raising Mirabelle. TLDR: they love each other, your honor. Fambly.

Claude

Second on the agenda, Mirabelle's roommate, Claude!

Lookin at Claude. It's obvious they're romantically involved. The first hint is the letter on Euphie's desk, of course, but that could imply this is a recent situation, too.

(It's a lovely, cheesy, mushy love letter from someone named Claude.)

Except, well, no. The letter isn't sealed, otherwise Siffrin wouldn't be able to pick it up and skim it if they had to open it first. It was already open, meaning Euphrasie already read it.

And, in Act 6:

Claude: Okay! We'll come and say hi later, then. I'll need to go and plant a big kiss on Euphie, anyway.

Claude mentions how she has to give Euphie a big kiss, which you wouldn't exactly do with someone you only just confessed to. Meaning the relationship has been ongoing for a while now, and also implying that Claude still writes love letters to Euphie, or that Euphie kept Claude's initial confession on her desk, both options make them big saps, which is really cute.

Also also, Claude's the only one to call Euphie Euphie, an endearing nickname.

I also touched on before how Claude was the only one to also prepare for the King's attack by making the bomb, and...

Mirabelle (sad1): I... used to think she should've become a Defender, because she was always helping people, and trying out weird experiments to solve their problems... Mirabelle (sad2): And she would always, ALWAYS help the Head Housemaiden with hers. Mirabelle (sad2): Always trying new ways to organize her desk... To help her finish tasks... To make sure she'd get some free time... Mirabelle (sad2): She'd do it with a smug smile, saying it wasn't that big of a deal, that she'd do it for anyone, but... Mirabelle (sad2): If she knew that the Head Housemaiden was in danger... She would've ran anywhere, everywhere, so she could help her. Mirabelle (sad2): Not only because the Head Housemaiden would've solved anything, would've beaten the King if she could, but because... Mirabelle (sad3): Because... Mirabelle (sad3): . . . Mirabelle (sad3): If Claude is this far into the House, she must've... tried to stop the King herself, so he wouldn't get to the Head Housemaiden.

Mirabelle trails off on that last "because" concerning Claude's motivation to go rushing to Euphrasie, and I think, considering the love letters, we can guess what that was. It's quite evident from Mirabelle's words that the two are super close. "[t]hat she'd do it for anyone, but... If she knew the Head Housemaiden was in danger... She would've ran anywhere, everywhere, so she could help her."

Mirabelle's framing of it reveals that Claude wouldn't do those things for just anyone. That Euphrasie is special to her.

In both ISAT and SASASAP, Claude is the last frozen NPC you find, the closest to the King. Her bomb wasn't finished, but it's telling that Claude carries the Secret Ingredient on her person. Whatever it is, she probably nabbed it from her room and set out to help Euphrasie in her fight against the King any way she could.

I guess the summary here is more simple, but the devotion on display is amazing. Like, again, the bomb wasn't done, Claude had NO weapons to speak of, but came rushing in anyway, because Euphrasie was in danger. She loves her girlfriend so much!! They're mushy and silly and affectionate, and, if Claude is the one organizing Euphie's desk, did Claude keep her love letter on display just to show off? Again, it's. It's cute! It's a lot of environmental storytelling for an NPC!!

Wah. Clauphie are so cute. We don't see Euphrasie talk about Claude at all (because Euphrasie does have more uhhh pressing things to worry about), but just, from the letter on the desk, it's gotta be reciprocated.

There's just so much to speculate about how things went down when the King "attacked out of nowhere", because Euphrasie is at the top of the House. Even when the King is defeated and the House returns to normal, it's still the roof. So, did she draw him up there on purpose to give everyone else time to escape?

I personally think Euphrasie was probably frozen first, with Claude rushing in second. So she did hold him off as long as she could, and that sacrifice allowed Mirabelle to escape in the first place. Nothing would've been possible without her. Euphie feels so much guilt for what she's done, but Mirabelle and Siffrin would not have suceeded without her, okay. She's instrumental.

Which is less about Claude and more about Euphrasie's importance, but hey, this is my essay, and I can be as uncoordinated as I want.

The Job

Last thing I wanna touch on!! Just a fun lil thing.

What the hell is a Head Housemaiden anyway?

Mirabelle and Isabeau react scandalized at the notion of people sharing shrines, so it seems unlikely that the House functions anything like a church at all. Every Housemaiden has a personalized figure of the Change God that they pray to in private, as we see from Mirabelle talking about them, in addition to basically every room in the House having one, down to people making more in pottery class. So, it's suuuper unlikely that the Head Housemaiden has much of a religious function. Spreading the good word, maybe, but actually leading prayer? No way.

Odile (wonder1): We make shrines for our gods, and everyone shares the shrines. Isabeau (huhwah1): SHARING GODS............

She seems to have a much more logistical function, being more like. The manager of the House. This is a files thing, but the map for her room is actually called "admin". She also has a lot of quote unquote boring administrative papers on her desk that Siffrin doesn't care about. Makes one wonder how the position is selected, whether one is elected into the office, or it's just whoever wants to do the paperwork to keep the House running.

(It looks like boring administrative papers.) (It's a petition to serve more bread at lunch.)

Mirabelle (happy1): She manages the House and makes sure everyone is happy and fulfilled! She organizes a lot of events too!

Among things such as "what to serve at lunch" and "organizing events", she's more like the headmaster of a community college, especially considering how heavy the House just resembles a community center. Less of a religious institution, more just a place to host fun classes and a living space for all who need it.

It's hard to tell whether Euphie demands a lot of respect due to her person and office, or it's just Mirabelle specifically that respects her most, since most of what we know of the House and its people is filtered through Mirabelle's perspective.

Speculation!

It's headcanon time, babey.

Yup, after straying close to actual facts for so long, I wanna get speculative. You're probably already gonna know islander theory. (And if you don't, go read that. This is like, the third time I linked it.)

But I wanna like, talk about how that influences how I read Euphrasie a lot!! I didn't go in-depth with that aspect in the og theory post but you can swear to any god you believe in that I've thought so so much how this enhances other aspects of who she is and stands for and also SHOUTOUT TO OCEAN!!! WHO ALSO THINKS ABOUT THIS SO MUCH!!! And again in fact thought about all of this before I did and is also someone who talk about excessively about this. AND ALSO GOT TO PREVIEW A GOOD CHUNK OF THIS ESSAY and motivated me to finish this eheh.

Anways! I wanna circle back to some points here first!

That whole past vs future thing

You might recall how I compared Euphie and the King a lot, esp between their respective roles in ISAT and SASASAP being pretty identical. And I said the King represents the past, as he is literally frozen in time, choosing to remember what he has lost instead of living in the present, and Euphrasie represents the future, which can only arrive when she is permitted to be her own person!

So yeah, uh, how's that feel when you suppose that they're from the same country, and thus, suffered the same loss.

Reading Euphrasie with this HC in mind opens up a very neat second parallel to Siffrin. King is someone who can't let go of the country, and Siffrin is torn between not wanting to let go and knowing they have to. So to put them up against someone who has let go is just pretty nifty.

Euphrasie is content with her life and the culture she lives in, even being a pillar of the community! Whereas King is a 'bad end' counterpart, Euphie, in her Showing The Future Function, is the 'good end' counterpart for that, showing that someone in Siffrin's situation can overcome their grief and find new fulfillment.

The End

So! That's everything I got on Euphrasie! She represents The End, but just as you gotta break an egg to make an omelette, she represents new beginnings, too. Her agency and freedom are change itself.

Mirabelle (hm3): It's to remind us that before changing, we must stop and think about what will be irreparably destroyed. Mirabelle (hm1): But destruction is just a part of change, and we must accept it... Isabeau (brag1): Yeah! It'd be awful to keep yourself from becoming a person you feel comfortable with just because it would upset someone else. Odile (huh1): Huh... That's a harsher belief than I thought.

In conclusion, I love her. This has been 7.4k words. Good night!

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Castiel taking care of his traumatized darling—my darling, oh, my darling. I'll keep you safe as the day is long.

cw(s): yandere themes, misuse of the term boundaries and overstepping them, non-descriptive gore and murder, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, trauma, and self-harm

🪽 He has known about the scars left on your soul far longer than you have even known his name. They are sacred to him, a reminder of the protection you need. The protection he casts over you. His wings are not merely his, but yours. He would allow them to be torn to shreds for the rest of eternity if it meant keeping you safe.

Your soul, the thing of most import that is intangible to humans but seen as precious to all other creatures. It is always watched over by his eyes. Even in the most dire moments, he chooses you above all else. God, his brothers and sisters, even the Winchesters pale in comparison to you. You are his freedom. 

Freedom is a length of rope in his eyes. He will never allow you to hang yourself with it.

🪽 He tames his fervid nature in favor of an affable, benevolent one. The sin consuming him is washed away in your presence. In those moments, he is back to what he once was: a pure, untaintable guardian. A gentle presence just within your reach if you so choose to delight him with your touch.

Yandere Castiel may lack knowledge on the concept of boundaries, but they quickly learn about them through your reaction to them. He feels your soul flare in a protective manner. You sink away from him and shut down. That is the opposite reaction he wishes to get from you.

Dictionary... a dictionary...

He had to look through it to find the word.

( Boundaries • The border or limit so indicated. )

🪽 He has to learn to communicate with you about boundaries. That word, now that word is lost on him. Eons he has been an angel, and this type of communication has never been a priority. Boundaries has never been a word that existed up in heaven. You got an order, and you followed it. He never thought, even after rebelling, that he got to choose such things.

He seemingly moved from one master to another. He mindlessly followed his father's orders, then the Winchesters, then his own selfish desires. He never consciously chose; his hand was always forced.

At least he is able to communicate using his true voice. You are one of the few that aren't pushed to the brink of death by his voice.

He is more frightened of these conversations than you are. He always gives you the space to say what you need. He'll try to coax it out of you, but he is always able to read your mind if that doesn't work. He is aware that reading your mind without your consent is breaking one of your boundaries—but you don't know! And he is just trying to help you.

🪽 'Personal space' is the boundary he likes the least. It is of great import that he respects that boundary, but it just feels impossible! He wants to be near you all of the time, watch you, and guard you. When you want more space from him, it hurts. His wings droop, but he understands. He will stand on the other side of the room or leave if you really need him to. 

Humans need their space.

That is one of the first things they learned when interacting with them.

Their favorite boundaries of yours are any where they are able to help you with their angelic abilities. Whether that be helping to stimulate you properly through toning down sounds and sights or getting to mercilessly torture people who hurt you behind your back. It gives him a solitary purpose. He is able to help you on your healing journey.

He is a good angel. He's your good angel!

🪽 Castiel also comes to understand anxiety. It's that thing he feels everytime—no, just all the time, when something pertains to you.

He sees how it creeps into your mind and causes your soul to nearly deplete into embers. He has been the one who has had to hold you during panic attacks. He has had to calm you when something triggers you. Oh, the wrath he has had to hold back to whatever has hurt you in such a way. Castiel, your Cas, will always take care of you.

They soothe you through their grace and willingness to be with you.

One of his wings is always guiding you gingerly, as long as you have consented.

Your sins are all erased under his guise.

You are blameless in his eyes. A saint.

Do not fear people nor ancient entities.

For you are blessed by one.

🪽 He does not want any voices to mislead you from his safety. Please, do not harm yourself. He loves you far too much. Any scar of yours is kissed by his doting lips, as long as you consent, and is healed by his grace. They should not be shameful but signs of pride. You have survived things many others haven't. While angels on high mourn their loss, he praises your survival.

He keeps all of your safety items near when you are upset. He is easily able to conjure up anything you may need at a moments notice. He loves decorating you with pretty band-aids, stickers, and little doodles—as long as you allow it. Cas is incredibly good at distractions, even if he is a bit awkward with the more risqué ones.

Feel free to let your anger out on him. You cannot do any noticeable damage to him. Of course, if you somehow got ahold of an angel blade, they would have to disarm you. Other than that? Feel free to do anything.

Just don't turn that turmoil inward. They won't allow it.

🪽 They want you safe and healthy. Healing isn't linear, as they have learned. He loves you even more for it. In a way, you are able to heal them. They are no longer this internal, fractured being. They are a guardian once again. They are a lover. They are yours.

"Iubebit enim angelis suis de te custodire te omnibus modis vestris." Ille, si modo bonus est, patrem suum fecit.₁

1 | "For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." The one, if only good, point his father has made. |

[lovelytsunoda]

the day you kissed a writer in the dark // han lue (tokyo drift)

summary: she's stood by his side for years. his loyal mechanic, the brains behind his brawn. but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt to watch him flirt with those other women in his club, when he came home to her every night in secret.

bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark, now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart. i am my mother's child, i'll love you 'till my breathing stops.

pairing: han lue x mechanic! reader

warnings: smut, inappropriate use of a drifting car, insecurity and self-doubt, secret relationships, unplanned pregnancy.

author's note: here's something a little different today, lovelies! it's a departure from the usual realm of f1 content i usually bless you all with, but i felt like i needed to do something different to avoid burning myself out, and rewatching tokyo drift gave me the inspiration that i needed :)

she hated the club.

in the back end of her mind, she always resented the mere existence of that secret room leading to han's garage. the fact that he chose to surround himself with women in tight dresses with long legs and perky boobs like he was some kind of yakuza punk.

well, this wasn't crows fucking zero. this was real life.

she couldn't help but draw comparisons between these beautiful girls and herself. as she curled in on herself to duck through the crowd, she frowned at her reflection in the window: her torn up jeans, the grease stain on the cuff of her army-green sweater, the zip barely done up enough to cover up her double-d's, a small nut from her very first car hanging limply from a chain around her neck.

some days, she wondered why han had chosen her of all people.

"sean?" she asked quietly, poking the young american boy in the arm, practically shouting to be heard. "have you seen han?"

sean shook his head. "no, sorry. have you checked the garage?"

"i'm heading back there now. thanks, sean." she sighed, backing out the way that she came, trying not to think about all of the places that her boyfriend could be right now.

the anxiety ate away at her. was he with one of the other girls? one of the prettier, taller, thinner ones? was that why he wanted to keep the relationship under wraps?

was han ashamed of her?

she hurried down the rickety metal staircase, dropping her purse on the workbench as she went, subconsciously placing a hand over her stomach as she thought about the white plastic stick inside the fake leather bag.

they'd been sneaking around for a year, but they'd known each other far longer. she had come to tokyo when she was twenty-one, with a pocketful of cash and a monkey wrench. she had a high school diploma, but that didn't mean much to the rally teams she had applied to work on the pit crews for.

and that's when han swooped her up. when she became the bonnie to his clyde, the mechanic for his little street racing gambit.

that was three years ago. now she was almost twenty-five, he was twenty-seven, and he was in far too deep for them to keep going like this.

she knew why he had to keep it a secret. telling the world that she was his lover would put a target on her back. because that's what happens when you get in deep with someone like dk.

she pulled her hair back with the green rubber band on her wrist, pushing up her sleeves as she reached for a ratchet and approached han's car, the hood already open and ready for her.

working on the cars had always been her safe haven. her distraction from the outside world. fixing something that was broken gave her a satisfaction like no other.

"babe?" han's voice echoed through the garage, and she hated herself for the way that she froze up, fingers tightening around the ratchet. "sean said you were asking around for me? is everything okay?"

she withdrew from the car, slamming the hood down. "you're pushing the car too far. the engine is wearing down, you have to get something stronger. the serpentine belt is at it's brink."

"and that's why you're the brains of this operation and i'm just the pretty boy who drifts." han said playfully, wrapping his arms around her midsection as resting his chin on her shoulder.

"be more careful out there, seoul-oh." she said softly, placing a cold hand on top of his warm one before turning her head and kissing him softly. "i don't know what i'd do if anything ever happened to you."

han spun her body around gently, his hands on her waist as she jumped to perch her body on the edge of the hood, her fingers tangling in his dark, silky hair.

"you don't need to worry about me, sweetheart. i'm going to be okay."

she sighed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "where were you, han? wandering around your club with a girl on each arm? a girl that's three times prettier than i am, maybe one who's clothes are a little more revealing-"

"y/n, stop." han said firmly. "baby, you're the only one. my only one." he kissed her on the forehead softly. "i love you. i love you so much that it hurts. i wish i could shout it from the rooftops, but i can't put you in danger like that. i don't want dk to know, because that's a target on your back that i don't want there."

he pulled her as close as he could, arms wrapped securely around her as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "i couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to you."

the sincerity in the older man's voice was reassuring. but some days, it wasn't enough. she loved him more than words could say, but she was getting tired of being his little secret.

but at the end of the day, it was her bed that he always came home to. his arms she woke up in. his terrible singing in the kitchen while he made coffee with breakfast.

han lue was hers.

she kissed him again, still sitting on the edge of the toyota's hood. this kiss was stronger, harder. with more feeling as she bunched han's sweater up in her fingers, trying to wrestle it off his broad shoulders, his hands gripping her thighs tight enough to make her moan against his lips.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled as han broke away from her, pulling his sweater off the rest of the way before tugging his everlast t-shirt over his head.

they fit together like well-worn puzzle pieces, his lips finding that place on her neck that made her crumble, turned her legs to jelly as he slipped a hand up the front of her sweater, thumb tracing comforting shapes against her stomach as he nipped at her neck, biting down gently. there would be a hickey there in a mere matter of hours.

trailing kisses back up her neck, he gently bit her earlobe before placing one hand on the side of her face to guide her lips back to his, the other hand braced against the hood of the car to hold himself up. she bit down on his bottom lip, wrenching a growl from the back of han's throat.

he pulled away, dropping to his knees in front of the car as his large hands dipped under the waistband of her jeans. after reaching down to untie and kick off her beat up vans, she reached above her to grab the exposed beam in the garage ceiling, pulling her body up and allowing han to pull her jeans and panties down her legs in one fell swoop.

"oh, not on the car, baby. you'll stain the bodywork."

"don't care." han hummed, kissing the soft skin of her thigh. "i can't think of anything prettier than you. on the hood of my car, legs spread wide for me." he mumbled in between kisses, inching ever closer to where y/n needed him most, her arousal dripping onto the cool metal hood of the drift car.

and when his lips touched her throbbing clit, she could have sworn she turned electric, using one hand to brace herself against the car and burying the other in han's hair as she threw her head back in a throaty moan.

"han." she panted, grinding against his face as his tongue licked and sucked at her core. "oh, baby, yes."

han smiled to himself, kissing her clit gently as he held her thighs open with his hands. "still think that i don't find you attractive any more?"

"shut up, please. i need you so bad." she'd barely finished speaking when another low, seductive moan left her mouth. the arm that was holding her body up threatened to buckle underneath her as she tugged on han's hair, urging him to keep going.

han chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her body as her arm buckled, and she found herself lying against the hood, her head on the windscreen as she bucked her hips, searching for more as her lover tongue-fucked her, her legs thrown over his shoulders with reckless abandon.

"seoul-oh." she whined, clenching her thighs around han's head

"i know, baby." he mumbled softly, kissing her thigh. "you're doing so well darling. come for me."

and that's exactly what she did. with a moan so loud that she was shocked that the patrons of the club couldn't hear it echoing through the garage, she let go, her juices coating the lower half of han's face as he licked her clean before wiping off the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand.

"fuck." he mumbled, standing between her legs and leaning over the car to kiss her. "i can't get enough of you, baby. i think i'm gonna need more."

"oh yeah?" she smiled sitting up slightly, resting her weight on her elbows and raising an eyebrow when she saw the obvious hard-on struggling to break free from the confines of han lue's jeans. "and what do you think we should do about it?"

"back. room. now." he said, softly but firmly, kissing her in between each word as she wrapped her bare legs around his body, allowing han to pick her up and carry her over to the back room, where a double bed was piled high with blankets for the nights where they worked late, or drift races lasted until the mere hours of the morning.

or, nights where neither of them wanted to go home. han was sure that they had fucked on almost every available surface of the garage.

she undid her sweater slowly, revealing the lacy white bra underneath, the makeshift pendant on her necklace hanging delicately just above the hollow of her breasts as she cast the fabric aside, reaching up to snap the elastic band in her hair, letting it cascade in waves down her shoulders.

"you're beautiful, you know that?" he said softly, kneeling on the mattress as he rested one hand gently against her cheek.

she leaned into his touch, reaching up to wrap her slender fingers around his wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand.

she knew she should tell him. han needed to know.

but now was definitely not the time.

not that she could find the words while he kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach, his fingers dancing across her back as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, erection straining against his jeans.

"han, babe." she mumbled, reaching behind her. "it's been a year now, you should know how to undo a bra, mr. womanizer." she joked, pushing his hands away as she pulled the bra off by herself.

"why would i need to know how to do it when you just take it off by yourself most of the time?" he grinned, standing up to unbuckle his belt.

he started to undo his jeans, pausing halfway as if he had forgotten something before he darted over to the rolling toolbox in the back of the room, pulling a small foil packet out of the top drawer.

fat lot of good a condom would do them now.

not when she was already carrying his baby inside of her.

her body trembled with anticipation as she watched han rid himself of his jeans, the echo of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoing around the room before he rolled the latex sheath onto his thick, hard cock.

god, she was a fool in love. han seoul-oh made her feel every range of emotions all at once.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled, lips against his as he clambered onto the bed, covering her body with his broad one.

"hm?" han mumbled, pressing kisses all over her face.

"i love you, han lue." she said firmly, gently pushing his face away so she could look him in the eyes. "i mean it, babe. you've ruined me for anybody else. you're it for me."

"good, because i don't think i could love anybody else if i tried." han breathed out, kissing her again, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

she squirmed under him, a small gasp escaping her lips before she bit down on her bottom lip.

she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg. that wasn't what tonight was for.

han knew this as well, gently pushing himself inside her. tonight was about more than just chasing a high. for both of them. it was about love, and reassurance, and intimacy.

she threaded her fingers through his hair, whining as han moved ever so slightly, the sensations they both felt sending shockwaves through their bodies.

"seoul-oh." she moaned softly. "please. god, you feel incredible."

"yeah?" han crooned, thrusting softly and barely holding back a moan of his own. "you look so pretty with my cock inside you, my sweet sweet girl."

"just like that." she whined as he thrusted again, bucking her hips into him, trying to take his length deeper. "keep doing that, fuck."

when han's nimble fingers came up grip and massage her right breast, she knew she was a goner, arching her back to drive her body into him with a moan as he kissed her chest.

"you like that, baby? yeah, you love having my hands all over you. and i love touching your beautiful body." han murmured, sucking a hickey onto her collarbone. he could feel himself unravelling, knew that the end was nigh as he moaned against her skin, blindly reaching for her hand.

there were no more slow thrusts as the driver began to pick up the pace, his lover's legs wrapped tightly around him as she moaned his name.

"oh god, han, baby. fuck, keep going." she panted, one hand trailing down her body to play with her clit. anything to get her closer to that release she craved as she whined and squirmed under han's touch.

she'd seen this film before, and she already knew the ending. and the start if the sequel.

"come for me, baby. i know you can take it, just give me one more, okay?"

"han, han, holy shit." she moaned, feeling the coil in her stomach finally snap, her high crashing over her like a wave.

her lover groaned above her, a guttural sound ripped straight from his throat before han gently pulled out of her sensitive body, the evidence of his own peak contained within the clear latex that he slid off his member, tying the condom off in a knot before punting it into the trash can next to his desk.

she pulled the blankets up as han settled in the bed next to her, his warm fingers dancing in gentle circles against her sweaty skin as they laid together in the afterglow, a content look on his face as he kissed her on the forehead.

"seoul-oh." she said quietly, twirling his long, dark locks of hair around her fingertip. "i have to tell you something."

"what's on your mind, pretty girl?" worry creased han seoul-oh's face, a pit forming in his stomach.

he hated seeing her like this.

"i'm pregnant."

han's eyes widened. "what? babe, why didn't you tell me?"

"i've been trying all day. but you've had your hands full with dk and sean and drifting." she said sadly. "but i can't raise this baby with dk breathing down our necks. you need to get out of this life, seoul-oh."

han frowned thoughtfully, one hand resting against the side of her face. "i'm going to be a father. fucking hell, babe this is incredible. i promise you, i'm going to make a plan, and i'm going to get us out of tokyo."

"you know we can't keep this a secret any longer, right? i'm already eight weeks along, once the first trimester ends, i won't be able to hide it."

"you're right, you're right. we'll test the waters. i'll tell sean and twinkie in the morning, see how the news of our relationship goes over with them. i want to keep it from dk until i can find a way to get us out of here."

y/n nodded, lacing her fingers with han's and placing his hand on her stomach. "okay. let's do this thing." she broke out into a smile. "we're going to be parents, han. can't you picture it? sitting behind the wheel of your toyota, with our little gremlin on your lap, teaching them how to drive before they can even walk."

han laughed. "they'll be born with a monkey wrench in one hand and a bag of lays in the other."

"i love you, seoul-oh." she said softly, kissing him gently. "i'm so glad i found you three years ago.

"i love you more, y/n. and i can't wait to raise this kid with you."

Tags (though im not sure if any of you are interested loll):

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh

[clownyclaushoe]

art the clown x reader 🔞 | i taste blood and it's turned into an obsession series

part three | touched by angels though i fall out of grace

part one | part two | part four

reader finally gets fucked by art 😫 chapter title taken from i never told you what i do for a living by my chemical romance

this might be the final part, idk. it depends on if i get inspired to continue 👀

🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤

you looked back at art from your position leaning on the work bench to see him stroking his fully hard cock. even as his cum still lingered on your tastebuds, you couldn't believe any of this was happening, that it wasn't an elaborate wet dream.

the details of which making up your wildest fantasies since you met him. with all your imagining of what art's dick looked like up-close and hard, after glimpsing it flaccid and from afar, it had exceeded your expectations. it was surprisingly pretty, as long and thick as it was; the smooth shaft a dusty pink, his groin hairless just like the rest of him, his balls large and firm. the slick wetness of his tongue burying into your pussy, his large nose pressing repeatedly at your clit as his mouth fucked you. and his slender fingers that you fantasized getting fucked by hadn't disappointed you either. there were too many shifts at work that you had snuck away to the restroom to stuff your fingers in your pussy while imagining they were art's, though they'd reach deeper and stretch you wider than your own ever could. you had decided it was too risky, especially with the way it was difficult to keep from moaning art's name, the deafening wet sounds alone would've made it too obvious what you were doing.

art slaps your ass twice in quick succession, making you jolt against the table, bringing you back to the present. a begging whine escapes you, and he swipes his cock over your pussy, smearing precum over your folds, the slow drag excruciating.

"please. fuck me, art."

mercifully, he presses the head to your pussy, swiftly pushing inside you, grabbing your shoulder as he filled you completely, far more than many other cock, dildo, or vibrator ever has. in an instant you felt a shift to your entire being, as if you were torn apart and put back together again, feeling close to breaking down into tears under the immensity. a defining moment in your life, that you couldn't fathom ever existing.

it's so fucking perfect, like his cock was made for you, and your pussy meant to be stretched by its girth. as mindblowing as his fingers, tongue, and the toy he made you was, they paled in comparison to his big, fat clown cock.

he wastes no time, and begins pounding you, setting a brutal pace, made all the easier with how wet he's made you, your practically dripping, your essence coating your inner thighs. you wish you could see the sweet slide of him working in and out of you, his fat balls hitting your clit, so painfully swollen with cum you wanted to coat your spongy inner walls.

"ahhh, art, oh my fucking god." art gives another punishing smack to your ass, likely at the mention of 'god'. "again, please. need more."

he complies with your request, giving another two harsh smacks, his long fingers gripping your reddened ass. you hiss at the sweet assault to your senses that is getting fucked by art. you swear you could feel his cock swell even impossibly bigger inside you, as he hiked your leg up and held it firmly.

his hands move to grip your hips, digits digging into your skin, your body thrashing with the force he fucks into you. screams of art's name and obscenities tear from your throat, not caring if anyone could hear, though you know with as isolated as art's hideout is, it's unlikely.

you push back against him in time with his thrusts, determined to chase your orgasm, incapable of any other thoughts than to come all over his cock and milk him of every drop of cum.

"breed me with your demon-baby." you say deliriously, wishing you could see his reaction. though within moments you feel it, his hot load spilling inside you, sending you over the edge instantly, and you're coming with strained, rugged moans, squirting yet again - even more than the first two times - drenching your legs, forming puddles on the table and cement floor.

art leans on top of you, pulling your hair aside to bite your neck hard enough to draw blood, licking at the small wound. you hiss at the sensation, only adding to the pleasure thrumming through you.

your pussy clenched and throbbed around him, draining every ounce of cum. he pulled out of you, his hand resting at your lower back as you pressed your face against your arms, body trembling in the fiery afterglow. once you're a little less shaky you stand upright and face him.

"i love you, art."

art's gaze moved over your face, his nose nudging against yours in a little nod, seemingly that tenderness and vulnerability his small way of repeating it back to you. in the past times of introversion about your feelings for art, you'd wondered if he understood the concept of love, if he'd ever felt it, or any other positive emotions outside of his own warped glee from causing pain, fear, and death.

you'd wondered what it'd say about you, that you could love a monster, an angel of death. did it make you a bad person, possibly just as irredeemable as him. you'd always had a reputation as a good, sweet girl - albeit a little weird and quirky. maybe you weren't as good as everyone had thought, and there was an untapped darkness within your own heart to attract you to someone like art, and to attract someone like him to you. all the questions and what-ifs that fogged your mind - could your love save him? redeem him? did his mercy for you mean his heart could be changed? why were you so fixated on seeing that he changed, because then he'd no longer be art, the man turned demon that had - beyond all odds and reason - captured your heart. would there come a day when you too would be victim to the miles county clown? - all faded away as art's arms slipped around your waist, letting you fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest, you found that you didn't care about the details.

hope you enjoyed! 🖤❤🖤❤🖤

© angeljeonjkk 2024

[azrielsdove]

Petals and Pain: Tamlin x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Suggestive, Longgggg

The halls were dark, quiet, and cold. A stark contrast to the last time you stepped foot in this manor. You crept through the ruins, remembering how the grand place had looked before. It had been fifty-odd years since you last came here, since you last saw your oldest friend.

Everything had changed since then.

You had left Prythian on what was supposed to be a month trip to the other territories. You were to go both as a diplomat and as a tourist. Tamlin had wanted to try to better the Court with what you learned there, a task you so willingly took. You had bid him farewell and set off, excited to see what the world had to offer.

You didn’t know it would be the last time you saw him.

He sent a letter the moment Amarantha showed her evil hand, bidding you stay put. Every instinct in you screamed to run home, but you knew you could be of more help if you stayed away. Perhaps you could seek out assistance from one of the territories.

Your heart ached for the Spring Court all those years. Your travels brought you beauty, sure, yet it all paled in comparison to your home. You longed for the manor, its large windows and warm sunshine. You wished to walk through the gardens, so full of magic and peace. Above it all you missed Tamlin. The two of you had met long ago, when you were both not more than babes. Your parents were high up in the Court, trusted advisors to the High Lord. Often you were brought along as their pride and joy, their perfect little pawn. Talks of a betrothal to you and one of the High Lords sons began as you grew, your parents vying for the eldest. They knew he had the most chance of being the next High Lord. The goal was to get you in the highest position of power possible.

Your friendship with Tamlin grew as you did. He was pushed to the side more often than not, the youngest brother with no hope of ever being High Lord. Your parents were unhappy that he was the one you chose to befriend, but they couldn’t keep you from seeing him. Not without potentially upsetting his father. No, that wouldn’t do for their plan.

Until the slaughter of the entire family occurred. Your parents were unlucky enough to have been there at the time of the attack, murdered alongside Tamlins. Too quickly the manor went from a busy, full, lively place to just the two of you. Tamlin begged you to stay after that, insisting that he didn’t want to be alone. You couldn’t deny that you felt the same and gladly moved into the manor. He appointed you emissary, setting you as the first member of his court. Not long after Lucien showed up and turned your duo into a rather happy trio. You and Lucien worked together to keep the Spring Court in good favor with the other Courts.

You wondered where Lucien was now. What exactly had happened here, besides what you got out of Tamlins last broken letter. You continued further into the manor, peering into each room as you passed. There was no sign of life anywhere. You weren’t even sure if Tamlin was still here. You stuck a hand in your pocket, finger running over the edge of the letter that brought you here.

Spring has fallen.

It is all my fault.

The threat has gone.

Short, and not nearly enough information. You had raced back to Prythian as quickly as you could, trying to imagine what had happened.

Though nothing prepared you for this.

“Tamlin?” You called out softly, unsure if danger lurked nearby. A chill flew through the air, sending shivers down your back. A noise from a few rooms down the hall startled you, eyes darting towards it. You moved hesitantly towards the door, noting the dim light showing from underneath it. Slowly you pushed it open, once again calling out his name. You looked into the room, heart sinking at the sight.

You had found Tamlin.

From where he sat you could see his hair was matted, covered in mud and leaves. His once smart attire was torn and dirtied, hanging loosely off his much too thin frame. You could see his skin was pale, scratches covering most of it. “Tam?” You asked, voice shaky. He turned slowly to you and your hand flew to cover your mouth. His eyes were dark, sunk deep into his head. He looked as close to death as you could get while still being alive. “Oh Tam.” You dropped to your knees in front of him, gently wrapping your hands around his. You stared deep into those haunted eyes, heart breaking. “Let me help you.”

He gave no response, just continued to stare at you in that dead sort of way. You began to doubt there was anything of your friend left. You quickly busied yourself with all the healing remedies you brought from your travels. You weren’t certain what sort of state Tamlin or the Spring Court would be in when you arrived, so you brought as many fit into your bags. A good thing too, for several of these were desperately needed. You gently poured a few different vials into his mouth, watching carefully to make sure they took. You wanted to heal his body and mind as much as you could, in hopes that he could explain what had all happened. You administered one final draught for the night before gently leading your friend to lay in front of the damp fireplace. “Sleep should kick in soon, will you lay here for me?” You asked, laying down the cloak you wore as a sort of sad attempt at a bed. Tamlin laid on it with no comment, the horrid blank stare still on his face. You waited until he was asleep to go scrounge around for some wood, leading to a rather pitiful fire in the great stone fireplace. At least it was better than nothing.

You settled down in the least damaged chair you could find, watching Tamlin. Your mind was racing with questions. You were completely lost on how your once witty and charming friend had been reduced to this husk of a male. And where was Lucien? You were struck with a chilling thought, one that you didn’t wish to dwell on. You shook your head, shooing it away. Lucien had to be alive, something just must have come up. There was a perfectly logical reason for why he wasn’t here, and why the Spring Court lay in ruin. You just had to wait for Tamlin to wake and you could get some answers.

***

It was days before the High Lords eyes opened once more. You spent your time forcing water and various medicinal mixtures down his throat, exploring what was left of the manor when you felt up to it. Your heart ached at seeing what was once your beautiful home in such disrepair. It shattered completely when you made your way to your old rooms and found that they were the only place untouched. Dusty, yes, but otherwise just the same as you had left them. You had quickly brought Tamlin to them after your discovery, setting him up in your grand four poster bed. A reminder of a life that feels so long ago now.

It was soon after that Tamlin came to. He still looked close to death, but there was a minuscule brightness to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He murmured your name, a hand reaching out for yours. You grasped it tightly, tears pricking at the back of yours eyes. “Tam,” you whispered, “what happened?”

He gave a sad smile, shaking his head. “It was all my fault, truly. Everyone left. I let them all down. I allowed war to come to these lands, I allowed terrible things to happen.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “All in the name of love. Love. What do I even know of it?”

You were confused, and a tad bit hurt at the mention of this so-called love. “Tell me from the beginning.”

And so he did.

He told you of what Amarantha had done, how she had tricked the Courts. How she vied for his hand and when he denied her she cursed all of Spring. He told you how she cut out Lucien’s eye, wincing as he did. He talked about the rules of his curse, how the only way out was to get a mortal to fall for him.

He spoke of Feyre, the love he had mentioned before. You could feel the pain in his voice as he did, as he explained how he tried to save her. “I was ready to sacrifice my entire court, just so she would be safe. A fool I was. A selfish, horrid fool.” He told you how they were all taken Under the Mountain, how Feyre came to try to save him. What she suffered in the months down there. How he didn’t know what to do, besides send Lucien to try to help her.

He talked about Rhysand, who you remembered all too well. He explained how the other High Lord assisted Feyre Under the Mountain, how Tamlin had thought it all a nasty trick. His voice broke as he recalled Amarantha killing her, but Rhysand and the other High Lords worked together to bring her back.

You had no words, shocked at the amount of respect they all had for this girl. Truly, you couldn’t help but be in awe of her yourself.

Tamlin continued, telling you how they were supposed to wed. How Rhysand had crashed the wedding, whisking Feyre away. He told you how Lucien and him thought Rhysand was nothing but evil, mind controlling Feyre to hate them. “Of course, she had every right to hate me. I didn’t know how to treat her after Under the Mountain. I allowed her suffering.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly, urging him to continue.

On he went, explaining that Rhysand and the Night Court were never truly evil, that there is a goodness there. He spoke of the war with Hybern, of what he had done to Feyres sisters. He told you how Feyre had turned the court against him, but it was his own actions that lead them to believe her.

He talked about Lucien, how he had fled with Feyre in the end. “I couldn’t even keep one of my oldest friends. I have done irreparable damage to everyone I cared about. It is good you were away, otherwise you would’ve been hurt too.” His gaze was faraway, eyes shining with untold pain.

You sat in silence for long moments, processing everything he had told you. Lucien had left him. That was no small fact, that what Tamlin had done was bad to have driven him away. Yet as look at the male in front of you, you struggle to see that he is truly evil.

“I believe your heart was in the right place, however your actions were a bit extreme,” you said slowly, careful with your words.

Tamlin laughed. “Just a bit?” You looked up at him, his eyes shining bright as he smiled at you. For just a moment you could see the old him in his face, the strong High Lord you once knew.

“Okay, perhaps a lot. I do not see why that should mean you must live like this now. It is not too late to make amends to your Court, and to Lucien. I am home now, Tam. Let me help rebuild our home.” And you, you thought, looking over his sickly state once more.

He nodded, agreeing. “Yes, yes. You always know what to do. For now, I will rest. I tire too easily these days.” His eyes were closed before he finished speaking, exhaustion taking over once more.

You sat in the quiet room for a while longer, still holding his hand. Your questions were answered, but in their place were a million more. For the first time you began to doubt if the Spring Court and its High Lord were truly fixable.

***

You spent the following days cleaning up what damage you could from the manor while Tamlin regained his strength. You took notice of how most of the destruction seemed caused by a rather large animal, piecing together what must have happened. What sort of a state had he been in to destroy his home in such a way? You had paused your questioning for now, focusing on his healing first. You did find where Lucien now resides and sent him a letter as quick as you could. You weren’t entirely sure what had all happened, but you hoped he would return once more. If not for Tamlin, then for you.

You were busy cleaning in the grand entry when a rather cold chuckle came from behind you. You turned quickly, holding your mop out like a weapon.

“Oh relax, it is only me,” a silky voice said, purple eyes glittering. You frowned.

“Rhysand.”

He placed his hand dramatically over his heart at your cool tone, feigning being stabbed. “Ouch. How long has it been since we last spoke, then? Welcome back to this side of the world. Noticed I didn’t see you in the war.”

You rolled your eyes, setting your mop down. “There could never be enough time in between our meetings. I wasn’t a part of the war, as I was unaware it was happening. The last I heard was the day Amarantha played her nasty trick, and I was told to remain away.”

“Lucky you. Away on your travels, galavanting around while the rest of us suffered.” Rhysand scowled at you, eyes narrowed. “You seem not any worse off for it.”

You crossed your arms tightly in front of you, anger flooding your body. “I did only as my High Lord commanded.”

Rhysand scoffed. “Some High Lord he is. Do you not see the state of your beloved Court? Do you truly believe an innocent male allowed ruin to befall your home like this?”

You took a step closer, ever defensive of your old friend and home. “What I have found is a hurting male, trapped all alone in a nightmare of his own creation. I have heard his regrets and his helplessness. I came back to find my home a dark shadow of itself, my High Lord, my friend, not more than a shell of who he was.” You looked Rhysand up and down. “I have found you, the male who won it all. You have your mate, Rhysand. You have your grand Court, your faithful family. I’ve heard you even have a perfect little son. And yet here you stand, coming to do what, may I ask? Taunt Tamlin? Kick him some more while he’s down?” Your fists clenched, anger tight in your chest. “I admit I do not know all that has transpired in my absence, but I know enough to say what you’re doing is wrong. I do not argue that he has hurt you, has hurt your mate, but to what end must he suffer? Will you not be happy until his heart has ceased beating? What more can he give you?”

Rhysand stood as still as death, eyes studying you carefully. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “You show a devotion I do not often see. If you ever come to understand there’s nothing for you here, i’d be pleased to see you in Night Court black. As I said so many years ago, Tamlin will never give you what you want.” He was gone in a dramatic swirl of darkness, nothing but a grandiose show of power. You frowned deeper, ever unsettled by the High Lord. He had always been condescending to you, deciding that you were worth hating just for being close to Tamlin.

As I said so many years ago, Tamlin will never give you what you want. You scoffed as the words played again in your head, picking your mop back up. Rhysand had convinced himself long ago that you only stayed close to Tamlin in hopes of being his bride. You’d laughed in his face the first time he said this, completely taken aback by such an accusation. You can admit a part of you would not have been unhappy with such an arrangement, but you had your position in Court on your own. Rhysand never saw you as more than a lovesick puppy that followed Tamlins every move.

When you returned to Tamlin you mentioned the meeting rather briefly, not wishing to upset him any further.

“Rhysand was here?” He asked sharply, eyes scanning you as though for injury. “Did he hurt you? What did he want?”

You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at him. “He did not do anything, Tam. I assume he came to make sure you were still miserable. He wasn’t very pleased to find me instead.” A teasing smile danced across your face, an attempt to lighten the situation.

It didn’t work. Tamlin frowned deeply, clearly upset that this happened. “He comes every now and again to remind me i’m worthless and alone. He laughed himself silly when he saw how sickly i’d become last time.”

You forced your anger down, not trusting yourself to speak. While you understood why Rhysand would be so full of hate for Tamlin, there has to be a limit before it becomes just pointless cruelty. You took a deep breath, looking intently at your friend. “Whatever he has said to you is irrelevant now. You are healing, as is this Court. That is all that matters. Do not dwell on the events of the past, not now.” You reached over and grabbed the warm tea you had made, filling his cup with it. “Now drink, and rest. I gather soon you’ll be up to a walk around the grounds.”

***

Tamlins healing came slowly, and not without challenge. The first day he got out onto the desolate gardens surrounding the manor he fell into a darkness deeper than before, pained at seeing what his home had become. The physical healing was only part of the battle, the healing of his mind was what truly ailed him. You had brought him back to bed, forcing him to eat and rest. Once you were certain he was down for the night you made your way back outside, sitting on the cracked grand steps leading up to the entry.

And you cried.

This task was more than you expected. Tamlin was in worse shape than you ever imagined, the Court was nothing more than a few dead plants. You had no idea where to go from here, how else to aid in his healing. Even when he was healed, how were you going to go about healing the Court? Bringing the fae home? You’d heard how it had fallen, the poison Feyre had spewed, the ways in which some of what she had said rang true. You knew how Tamlin put his faith in the wrong beings, how his focus on her lead to his destruction. This was beginning to feel like all too much on you, but you refused to give up on him.

Someone spoke your name softly.

You shot up from the steps, eyes narrowing as you took in your surroundings. Your heart stopped when you realized who was standing in front of you.

“L-Lucien?”

His name was enough to have him running up to you, wrapping you tight in his arms. You sunk into his embrace, tears taking over with a new force. You allowed yourself to let out all you had been holding back, safe in the arms of one of your closest friends. Lucien held you close, body shaking with his own emotion. The two of you stood that way until your eyes were dry. When you finally pulled back enough to look up into his face your heart ached. One hand came up to gently touch the scarring left by Amarantha, anger and pain in both of you. “I’m so sorry I left.”

Lucien shook his head vigorously. “None of that. I stood by Tamlin when he decided you should stay away. I do not regret that choice for a moment.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, giving you one last squeeze before letting you go. “How is he?”

You sighed deeply. “He’s bad. I am starting to lose hope.” You were ashamed to speak the words out loud.

Lucien reached out and grabbed ahold of your hand. “Take me to him?”

You nodded, leading him through the desolate manor. You heard his sharp intake of breath as he took in the destruction, even with your pitiful attempts at fixing it. You paused outside of your rooms, looking up to Lucien. “He has not told me all that transpired between you, however he has told me enough. I am sorry for the pain you have suffered at his hand. The male you are about to see is but a shell of the one you once knew. If it’s too much I do not expect you to stay.”

Lucien squeezed your hand reassuringly. “At the end of it all, Tamlin was one of my greatest friends. And you are worth more than any pain he has bestowed upon me. I do not wish to see either of you suffer anymore than you already have.”

You gave him a watery smile and pushed open the doors. You felt his hand go slack as he took in the sight of Tamlin tucked into your bed, how sickly he still looked. You stayed close to the doors as Lucien approached him, allowing him to process what he was seeing. “Oh, Tam,” he whispered, a hand running across his face. “What have we done?” He stood there for a while, looking over his old friend. You went to him when you noticed the gentle shake of his shoulders, tears falling slowly down his cheeks.

“Come,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around him. “He will not wake until well into the morning. I’ll make you something warm to drink and you can rest until then.” You led Lucien down to the kitchens, fixing him up a cup of tea. He sat in silence while you did, staring blankly at the wall.

“I should not have left him in my anger,” he finally spoke, looking up as you handed him the cup. “I was so hurt by how he had acted, but I was not innocent in all that happened. Even when I disagreed with his actions I still followed him, up until the end. I’ve allowed him to fall into this state.” You knelt down in front of him, wrapping your hands around his.

“You must not think like that. We all have our own guilts and pain, but we must come back together now. Everything has changed and yet so much is the same. I have missed you, Lucien. I have missed the both of you more than I can say.” You looked down at your hands around his, taking a deep breath. “We need to come up with a plan to help him, to save our Court. Otherwise it will remain dead for eternity.”

***

Weeks went by. Lucien stayed and helped you, the two of you fixing up your home. Tamlin had improved greatly in the physical sense, but his mind was still riddled in guilt. Your pain at seeing him struggle had slowly turned into anger. “What else can we do, Lucien? Do you expect me to sit and wait decades more for him to move on?” You seethed, pacing back and forth in front of the grand fireplace. The two of you spent most nights in the newly refurbished study, the favorite of the rooms you’ve redone. The estate had been mostly repaired to its former glory, aside from the missing staff and High Lord.

“You know how long it can take. You saw the state he was in. I know it is frustrating to continue waiting but what else do you propose we do?” Lucien was as exhausted as you were, but his own guilt at letting Tamlin fall this far kept him slightly more amicable. You paused your pacing, turning sharply to look at him.

“I’m going to tell him off. We have let him deal with everything in private as much as we can. He needs a wake up call, and so help me I will do it.” You made your way from the room before Lucien could stop you. You knew you should calm down before you get to Tamlin’s rooms, finished only days ago. Your hands were clenched tightly into fists at your sides as you stormed through the manor, trying to decide what to say. All you knew was that you were angry and tired of watching your dearest friend lose himself.

You reached his doors rather quickly, shoving them open without a second thought. They clattered against the walls, alerting Tamlin to your presence. He looked over at you curiously, eyes scanning over you. “Has something happened?” He asked, sitting up in his bed. You crossed your arms tight in front of you.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Something has happened.” You watched his expression change slightly at the pure rage in your voice, as if he knew what you were going to say. “You. You, Tamlin. I am sick and tired of watching you wallow in self pity. I understand, you were hurt. You are ashamed of how you acted in your own rage. But how long must this go on? I am home, Tam. I am here, for you. Lucien and I have repaired this estate and you have done nothing but sit in this godforsaken bed and pout!” You couldn’t help the increased volume in your voice, all your hidden frustration bursting free from you. “I want you to get up. I want you to get out of this bed, put some damned clothes on, and come to work. Do you understand?” You stared him down, breathing slightly heavy.

Something strange flickered through his eyes, an emotion you had never seen in him. His voice was deathly cold when he responded. “Are you making demands of your High Lord?”

An exasperated sigh rolled off your lips. “At this point I’m more High Lord than you are.” You knew that was cruel, a direct attack to his already hurt pride. The rational part of your mind was screaming for you to calm down, to take a step back. But your anger was winning. “I came here to help you, Tamlin. Have I not done so? Have I not devoted my life to yours?”

His scoff cut you off. “No one forced you to do that,” he spat out, leaning back against his headboard. “You did not have to come back here. You shouldn’t have come back here.”

You rolled your eyes. “This is my home. You are my home! Don’t you get it, Tam? It has always been you!” The anger rushed out of your body at your confession, a sudden lightheadedness coming over you. “It was always you,” you whispered out, a hand coming to rest on your forehead. The strength left your body, your legs failing to hold you up. The floor was coming up fast, blessedly fast. You hoped you would hit it hard enough to forget this moment, your embarrassing confession.

Then you stopped. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you back up. One stayed tightly around your waist while the other cupped your chin, forcing you to look into the perfect green of Tamlin’s eyes. “Say it again,” he whispered, breath ghosting over your lips.

“It is you. You are my home,” you murmured, brain foggy at his proximity. In all the decades of loving him, you had never been caught in a moment like this.

Tamlin took a deep breath before moving a millimeter closer. “How long?” He asked, each syllable causing his lips to brush against yours.

“Since we were children. My father pushed for me to marry one of your brothers, but I never held any interest in them. My heart has always called out for you.” Your body was on fire, every slight brush of his lips against yours a lightning strike under your skin. “I waited. I waited for you to choose me at Calanmai.” You felt his nails dig slightly into your waist at that, a shuddering breath running through him. “I waited for you to seek a wife once you were more comfortable as High Lord. I waited and waited. Then you sent me away.”

The hand under your chin moved to hold your face, thumb running gently over your cheek. “I sent you away,” he began, voice heavy, “because it was getting too hard to focus with you around. With the constant need running through my veins.” His hand dropped to the back of your neck, squeezing ever so gently. “Every Calanmai my body sang for yours. It took insurmountable control to not drag you in that cave with me each year.” You couldn’t help the noise that came from you at that. Something in Tamlin snapped, his pupils blown wide before pressing his lips fully against yours.

The kiss was harsh, unleashing decades of pent up desire. You cried out when he bit your lip, canines sharp. The taste of your blood on his tongue was positively sinful, making you feel a way you never had before. His lips moved from yours, running down your neck before his teeth sunk in to your shoulder. You moaned his name loudly, throwing your head back in a silent plea for more. Tamlin growled, the arm around your waist moving to slide down between your thighs. His fingers teased the waistband of your pants, your skin burning in the wake of his touch. You had half a mind to grab his hand and force it where you needed him the most, when Lucien decided to make his presence known.

“I see we kissed and made up?” He cooed, a smirk on his face as he leaned against the doorframe. Tamlin turned sharply to him, elongated nails and teeth on full display.

“Leave. Now.”

***

One year later

The Spring Court was alive once more. In fact, it was more beautiful than it had ever been. The flowers bloomed bright and big, their pleasant perfume filling the lands. The grass was the richest shade of green, the trees sang in the wind, and the air ran fresh. It was a paradise. You were admiring the peonies in the garden when two arms wrapped around your waist, tucking you close. You leaned into Tamlin’s hold, a content sigh escaping you.

“How are the flowers today, my love?” He asked, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“They are perfect,” you said with a smile, resting your hands over his. You looked down at the glittering emerald set in gold on your finger, a matching golden band circling his own. “How is my husband today?”

“Mmm,” he groaned, pressing more kisses down your neck. “Greatly improved now that I have you here. The other Courts are being rather obtuse about answering our letters.” You turned in his arms, resting your hands upon his chest.

“Do you wish for me to deal with them again? You know they rather like me,” you teased, playing with the fabric of his shirt. Your husband rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweetly.

“They do seem to prefer you, High Lady.” You smiled at the title, a name you were still getting used to. You caught his lips with yours once more, threading one hand up through his hair. He sighed into your mouth, pulling you tighter against him. You lead the kiss, allowing his mind to grow muddled under your touch. You tugged on some strands of his hair, relishing in the guttural sound he made before pulling away from him and out of his grasp.

“Come on, High Lord. Let’s go convince the other Courts that a Spring ball is an excellent idea, planned by their very favorite High Lady.”

***

Ahhhh I LOVE this one. I hope you all do too! This took me agessss to write, but I am ever so thankful for your patience with me. <3

Note: If you do not like Tamlin, that is fine, but do not come here to argue. Just scroll on <3

[dwntwn-strnlo]

HAND MAKING matt sturniolo

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, dwntwn-strnlo.

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. im back :) . . . is this me trauma dumping? idk yeah probably

↳ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. matthew sturniolo x harvard student!reader

↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. to relax ones mind

↳ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃? no!

↳ 𝐂𝐖! slight panic attack but not really, crying, failing school? happy ending, pet names ig idfk, profanity

"what are you doing?"

"im making your hands, darling!"

you felt like a crumbling mess. school has been pushing you to your brim, and you just left the building with the knowledge that you just failed two of your finals. you wanted to fall to the floor in front of your professors, and just cry. hoping that your desperate pleas for a stable future would be enough to let you retake the mind numbing tests over again.

how in the world could one study at the most prestigious university if they can't even ace a final? you worked your whole life for this school, practically threw away your childhood and lived with the gilmore mindset to get here. just to fail. just. to. fail.

stepping off the campus and reaching the city bus, it slowly started to set in. you felt nauseous. like you were being held upside down, feet in the air and your arms on the floor. but no. you were sitting in a bucket seat that matched some torn down 80's arcade floor. so, you held your bookbag close to you, closing your eyes. overcompensated with the feeling of dizziness and fatigue.

as much as you tried to tune it out, you couldn't get rid of the lingering smell of weed and coffee that permanently stained the crisp air that is of cambridge and boston.

---

nearing the inner city, you opened your eyes and picked up your phone. pressing it to your ear after hitting call.

the phone rang once before it was picked up on the other end and a gentle "hey," comes through. you could hear the smile in matt's voice; the one simple, sweet word rang in your brain. bouncing off the tissue walls before settling back to silence.

"im almost home," you mumbled. your voice was lower and raspy then you intended. the last thing you needed was for your boyfriend to grow worried. but that's exactly what you knew would happen.

you could hear him suck in a breath on the other end of the phone, "is something wrong? why are you coming home early, baby?"

"i uh- i finished my final early." your voice was still tiny in comparison to the chatter that danced over the bus.

he hums, not wanting to necessarily drop the conversation, but he knew that you would be more open about it face to face. and not on a public transport bus that has heard and spilled countless secrets.

"i'm almost home," you uttered. hanging up the phone call before matt could ask more questions.

you sat silent the rest of the ride, bouncing your leg until it grew numb.

---

walking in the door, tears brisked at your eyes. you could finally let your walls down now that you were in a safe environment. you called out your boyfriends name as you walked up the stairs. the sound of ruffling and a door opening echoes through the house.

"hey, baby," he gently smiled, his attempt to comfort you immediately works. just his presence makes you giddy, your heart starting to race.

you didn't want to load your troubles onto him, but you could no longer fight the stray tears that glide down your cheeks.

dropping your bag on the floor, you close your eyes. attempting to stop your tears from flowing, but it doesn't work.

it doesnt take long for you to be embraced by matt. his arms snaking around your waist as you held yourself against his chest. sobbing quietly into his grey cotton shirt. "i fucked it all up, matt..." you cried. holding onto him tighter then you thought possible.

matt soothingly rubs his hands up and down your back, pressing a soft kiss atop your head. "c'mon," he whispers softly, "come talk to me." he carefully pulls you over to the couch, and you open your eyes but sit down without glancing at his face.

"i failed my finals," you sobbed, squeezing your eyes tight. tears streamed down your face, you felt like a total mess.

"aww baby..." he cooed. the frown in his voice ultimately made you feel worse. he took your hands in his, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of your palms. "i'm sorry."

you couldn't help but stay silent. even if you tried you didn't think you could speak again.

matt started massaging at your hands, and you perked up. he played at each knuckle and each indent, each scar and each freckle.

"what are you doing..?" you whispered, looking up to meet his swirling eyes.

he smiled softly, "i'm making your hands darling!" he giggled, trying to cheer you up.

you felt like clay under his touch, like he was molding you perfectly to fit with him. he held your hand close to him as he soothingly caressed your skin.

you felt like his sculpture in the back of an art studio, the lights blinding as it's a late night and school ended hours ago. your artistic sculpture was due days previous, but matt wouldn't settle for anything else other than perfection. taking his time to make you a work of art.

you felt like sand at the beach, matt's hands as the water as they came with the tide, and gently washed at the tiny beaded rocks that were your knuckles and scars.

you felt like-

"are you alright?" he asked sweetly, bringing your knuckles up to his lips as he pressed a kiss onto your skin.

until he spoke you didn't even realize that your tears had dried, and you were more focused on his touch than anything. school pushed to the back of your head, becoming the least of your worries in this very moment.

you slowly nodded, a small smile peaking over to meet his.

TAGLIST

@thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @oneirophobic @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @fenoy7 @mlimmm @prettysturniolo @ssturniolo @gabbylovesreading @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @matthewmurdockswife @jellybeanbby @slaysturniolo @iheartshifting @mxqdii @luvsturniolo @lvrsparadise @partoftoofuckinmanyfandoms @sstvrnioloo

[tenebraevesper]

With Light In My Heart, Entry 2: The Mural

''Don't let this be your destined fate, you know I can't just sit and wait. That plentiful sigh, that beautiful lie, I won't deny how this broke you. I'll ask you once where this all ends, you won't just simply make amends. Unjustly profound, brought up to break down, your reverence was torn apart. How far will I go in spite of my cries? I know that I'll see it through! I'll look right up to the timely skyline! We will push until we go beyond your wildest dreams! We go beyond the ever-unknowing! Beyond, not without you! We go beyond that very endless blue! Well I know, wherever I go, I won't be alone! I haven't lost my pull to you! When, not until the end, not without my friends, push on into the beyond!''

– Beyond by Victor McKnight and Callie Rae (Sonic Frontiers)

xXxXxXx

''There is nothing better than having a well-balanced breakfast,'' Sonic said, stretching his arms as he gazed at the food on the table.

''You're eating chili dogs. You can hardly call that junk food 'well-balanced','' Shadow responded in a dry tone, sitting across the table and holding a cup of black coffee, with a pastry and coffee beans on the side.

''Says the guy who eats coffee beans raw,'' Sonic pointed out in a snarky tone, albeit with a smile on his lips.

''Tch.'' Shadow took a sip of his coffee, not responding to Sonic's question. He knew that his own taste on food was weird in comparison to other people, but he didn't care. Sonic chuckled softly, grabbing a chili dog and stuffing it into his mouth, enjoying it's savory taste.

The two hedgehogs were currently sitting at a café inside the Restoration HQ, with Sonic having dragged Shadow there to get some proper breakfast before they leave for their journey. Shadow went along with it, having been a little curious about the Restoration HQ as he didn't recall ever visiting it, not even before it got destroyed by it's own battleship during the Clean Sweepstakes Incident. He had to admit, it was impressive how everyone put so much hard work to build it, and later on rebuild it, and keep it operating. They were also well coordinated, rebuilding any damage across the Earth left by Dr. Eggman and other threats, as well as protecting citizens and reconstruction efforts. Since G.U.N. had been out of commission since the Eggman War, they were the only organization who could do anything on such a level.

Shadow noted how Sonic had a relationship with the Restoration similar to the one he used to have with G.U.N – neither hedgehogs were members of their respective organization, even though Shadow had been several times mistaken for a G.U.N. agent by those who didn't know the truth about his status. Instead, Sonic would help the Restoration out whenever he could, preferring to do his own thing and having the freedom to act on his own rather than having to listen to someone else. Shadow's own situation was a bit more complex, as he didn't particularly care about G.U.N., but he wasn't above becoming allies with them if their goals aligned. Otherwise, he stayed out of their way and Commander Abraham Tower didn't bother him unless necessary, since their relationship was still a little tense and the last thing G.U.N. needed was to get on Shadow's bad side. Shadow also doubted that Commander Tower forgot about him, Rouge and Omega breaking into a G.U.N. base to steal one of their rockets to travel to the ARK when he sensed Black Doom's return.

Shadow broke out of his thoughts, ignoring the noise in the background as people passed by, talking, doing tasks or just following their daily routines. He put down the coffee cup, glancing at Sonic, who was still busy finishing his plate with the chili dogs. ''Have you thought about where you'd want to go on this adventure or do you plan to go into this blindly?''

Sonic paused for a moment, thinking about it. ''I actually wanted to do a detour to Angel Island. I had promised Knuckles to check on the Master Emerald from time to time.''

''I'm surprised that the echidna was willing to leave it unprotected,'' Shadow commented.

''Knuckles agreed that the Master Emerald isn't really in danger of being taken since Eggman seemed to have lost interest in it. In fact, the last time it was in danger, it was because Neo Metal Sonic took it to power himself up and become Master Overlord, and I doubt that Metal Sonic would try that again,'' Sonic replied, with Shadow vividly remembering that event. ''Since then, Rouge was the only one who had tried to steal the Master Emerald, but considering how Knuckles brought her along, there doesn't seem to be anyone he has to worry about.''

''Hmph, I can only imagine how their treasure hunt will go,'' Shadow commented as he took another sip of coffee. He knew well that Rouge loved to mess with Knuckles, having a great fondness for the echidna, but whether it was because she genuinely liked him or because he was in the possession of the largest jewel she had set her eyes on, he couldn't tell. He assumed it was a little bit of both, but he wasn't going to speculate about their relationship since it was none of his business.

''I think they'll be fine,'' Sonic said, being more optimistic than his rival. He knew that Knuckles and Rouge weren't the best of friends, but at the same time, they could get along well and he was sure that they had fun on their treasure hunt.

''I assume that there is also a reason for why you're not guarding the Master Emerald full time,'' Shadow said, with Sonic giving him a sheepish smile.

''Actually, during the first few days when Knuckles was gone, I had gone to Angel Island and tried to see whether I could pull it off,'' Sonic admitted.

''Let me guess – you didn't even last an hour before getting bored and leaving,'' Shadow said, giving Sonic a smug smile as he imagined his rival going stir-crazy while standing on the altar.

''For your information, I did last more than an hour,'' Sonic replied, furrowing a brow. ''In fact, I lasted several hours.''

Shadow rose an eyebrow, clearly not too impressed. ''I still have my doubts.''

Sonic tried to keep a straight expression, but it was obvious that there was no way of convincing Shadow as the dark hedgehog saw through it. Sonic sighed, coming clean, ''Okay, I guess the only reason I lasted so long was because I decided to take a nap.''

Shadow snorted in amusement. ''I knew it. You don't have the patience to just stand in front of the Master Emerald when there is nothing going on.''

''Pffft, don't tell me that you could do it better,'' Sonic responded in a challenging tone, with Shadow immediately responding without even thinking.

''Of course I could do it better than you, and you know that. In fact, it wouldn't even be a challenge for me,'' Shadow said confidently.

''Hey, Sonic! Woah, you're also here, Shadow?!''

Before Sonic could respond to Shadow's taunt, they were interrupted by two familiar faces, those being Tangle and Whisper. Sonic greeted them, while Shadow just nodded politely in response.

''I didn't expect either of you to see here. What's up?'' Tangle asked.

''Shadow and I have been talking about going to Angel Island. What about you two?'' Sonic asked.

''We were about to have a girl's day out, since nothing is going on,'' Tangle replied, flashing a bright smile to Whisper, who smiled back warmly.

''Tangle wanted to spend some quality time,'' Whisper added in her trademark whisper, being just loud enough for Sonic and Shadow to pick up what she wanted to say. Tangle, shooting Whisper a playful grin.

''I think we've earned it after all the hard work.'' She then turned to the two hedgehogs. ''You two also have fun!''

''Don't worry, we will!'' Sonic replied, smiling brightly, while Shadow remained silent and less optimistic. He still wasn't sure what to make of the whole journey he agreed to go on, but he doubted that he would have much fun since he was certain that Sonic would keep annoying him. Once Tangle and Whisper left, Shadow turned to Sonic.

''How do you plan to get to Angel Island?'' he asked the cobalt hedgehog.

''We'll use the Tornado…'' Sonic trailed off for a moment when he realized something. He then chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. ''Except, Tails took the Tornado when he left.''

''You don't have any alternative plan?'' Shadow asked, furrowing a brow, with Sonic's sheepish smile telling him everything. He sighed in exasperation. ''How did you even manage get on Angel Island previously?''

''Knuckles left before Tails did, so I could still use the Tornado to visit the island. I guess that's why my mind jumped straight to that,'' Sonic explained.

''That's just typical…'' Shadow muttered, taking another sip of coffee, placing the empty cup on the table and eating a coffee bean. ''I guess I'll have to look out for you, again.''

Sonic pouted. ''Oh, do you have a plan, Mr. Ultimate Lifeform?''

''I have a Chaos Emerald on me. Once we get close enough to the current location of Angel Island, I can use Chaos Control to get us there,'' Shadow replied, a smirk forming on his lips. Sonic quickly perked up, feeling a familiar rush of excitement.

''That's great! If you're done, we can leave as soon as possible,'' Sonic replied. Shadow nodded, placing another coffee bean in his mouth as he wondered how that visit would go.

xXx

There was a flash of cyan light when Sonic and Shadow suddenly appeared at the outer part of Angel Island, being surrounded by a jungle. Sonic had a rough idea of where they were, turning to Shadow with a curious look.

''If I remember this right, you know the way to the Master Emerald altar, but you haven't seen the rest of the island,'' Sonic said, with Shadow nodding. ''Lucky for you, I've been on Angel Island enough times to know what places to visit, even with Knuckles trying to kick me off the island most of those times.''

''I couldn't even imagine why he would do that,'' Shadow replied in a deadpan tone, his lips curving into a wry smile when Sonic gave him an exasperated look. He had figured that, if he was already going to tolerate Sonic teasing him, he would step up to the challenge with some teasing of his own. They were equals, after all.

''In any case, I was thinking that we could race to the altar,'' Sonic said, deciding to ignore Shadow's comment, not wanting to admit that he was well aware that he did give Knuckles a reason to kick him off the island a couple of times, but he was convinced that the other times the echidna got annoyed at him wasn't his fault. Besides, he and Knuckles were on much better terms now. He then flashed a cocky smile. ''Ready? GO!''

Sonic didn't even give Shadow the time to orient himself, vanishing in a flash of blue as he dashed towards the altar. Unfortunately for him, Shadow was already on his tail and catching up fast. Even with Sonic getting an early start, Shadow knew him well enough to be aware that the moment his rival mentioned a race, he'd have to be alert and match Sonic's energy. He could hear Sonic's laugh as they were head-to-head, dashing between the trees to find an optimal route to the altar, with the flora only serving as an obstacle course. Sonic actually wished that the race lasted a bit longer when they spotted the ruins and the bright green Master Emerald on top of it, with the two hedgehogs skidding to a halt right in front of the staircase that led to it.

''Ha! Sonic the Hedgehog once again proves that he is The Fastest Thing Alive!'' Sonic boasted, pumping his fists as he struck a victory pose.

''Tch, you call that fast? I was clearly ahead of you,'' Shadow told him, scoffing as he folded his arms across the chest.

''No way, dude! I totally won this one!'' Sonic replied, trying not to look at the skid marks left on the ground proving that their race was a tie. Frankly, he didn't really care about winning or losing the race, he just wanted to banter with Shadow and he was happy that his rival was responding in a positive way rather than keeping quiet. It made things between them much more interesting and he really enjoyed it, sincerely hoping that Shadow enjoyed their rivalry just as much.

Their banter died down soon, with both looking at the Master Emerald on top of the altar, keeping Angel Island safely afloat. There was something awe-inspiring about this powerful gem of unknown origins and the reason for many battles over it. Sonic was well aware of the origins of the Chaos Emeralds, thanks to his adventure on the Starfall Islands, but the Master Emerald remained a mystery.

''Looks like everything's fine with the Master Emerald,'' Sonic commented, with Shadow's ruby eyes shifting to the side as he glanced at the cobalt hedgehog, arms folded across his chest.

''I suppose the fact that the island wasn't stuck in the ocean was the first sign that the Master Emerald was still where it belongs,'' he remarked in a dry tone. Sonic just chuckled lightly at the remark, then took note of a couple of Chao playing nearby the altar.

''At least these guys are having fun,'' Sonic commented, then beckoned Shadow to follow him. ''Com'n! I did say I'd take you on a tour, didn't I? I hope you can keep up with me!''

''Don't underestimate me, Hedgehog!'' Shadow responded, quickly following Sonic.

xXx

''Welcome to Hidden Palace!'' Sonic said as he and Shadow reached the next area, having left just Lava Reef or, as Sonic described it, the ''more scenic route''. Shadow disagreed, having had to pull Sonic away from stream of lava that suddenly burst through a wall after Sonic got too close to it. The enthusiastic hedgehog was too busy telling Shadow everything about his own first time visiting Angel Island too notice the more hazardous spots, but, as usual, he didn't really care that much about the danger he found himself in, but he thanked Shadow for the save.

Shadow followed Sonic to Hidden Palace, taking note of how it was a massive subterranean cavern populated by plateau-like formations of crystalline rock that line the floor and ceiling for as far as the eye can see, followed by an architecture adorned with pillar walls and a multitude of bright neon colours. Having already seen several other Zones, like Marble Garden, Carnival Night (with Sonic briefly getting annoyed at a particular Spinning Wheel), Sandopolis, Azure Lake and so on, he had to admit that he didn't expect the island to have such a variety of places. In fact, he realized that he knew very little about Angel Island besides it being the location of the Master Emerald and Knuckles' ancestral home, noting how Rouge probably knew her way better around the island than him given all the times she came here to annoy Knuckles.

''If we go over there, we'll reach Sky Sanctuary, which Knuckles had told me was a sacred territory only he could visit. He still allowed me and Tails to go there because we were all chasing after Eggman to get back the Master Emerald,'' Sonic explained, pointing at the path ahead. Shadow rose an eyebrow.

''If it's a sacred place, are we even allowed to go there without the echidna's knowledge?'' Shadow asked, with Sonic pausing for a moment. He knew that Knuckles had trusted him with watching the Master Emerald in his absence, but the echidna never said anything about keeping an eye on the other Zones. ''Ehhh, I guess he wouldn't mind since he agreed to let me keep an eye on the Master Emerald. We'll just do a quick peek. Besides, if you enjoyed seeing the previous Zones, then you have to see this one! The sight is amazing!''

''You're the tour guide,'' Shadow stated in a matter-of-fact tone, shrugging. So far, Sonic's tour didn't disappoint and he found himself interested in listening to Sonic's tale about his past adventures. Admittedly, Sonic was far from ideal, since his own descriptions were based on either what he had experienced or what Knuckles had told him, but he managed to keep Shadow's attention.

The dark hedgehog suddenly stopped as they came across peculiar room, his jaw dropping slightly as he stared in stunned silence at what was depicted on the stitched mural on the wall. Sonic took note of Shadow not following him and turned around, following Shadow's gaze and grinning as he realized what distracted his rival.

''Right, I forgot this was here,'' Sonic said.

''Is that…?'' Shadow trailed off, glancing at Sonic, who just nodded in response. Their attention then turned back to the mural, which was an abstract depiction of Dr. Eggman being inside a large robot and holding the Master Emerald while confronted by Super Sonic.

''You know, I was also surprised when I saw this. I had actually asked Knuckles later about it, but he said that the mural was ancient and that he had no idea who made it. He even speculated that it may have been thousands of years old,'' Sonic explained.

''Whoever made it, they had to have some kind of insight into the future to depict you in your Super Form fighting against the Doctor,'' Shadow said, not really sure what to think about what he saw. Clearly, whoever created this mural deemed this battle important enough to be etched into the wall.

''I guess… Oh, wait!'' Sonic snapped his fingers. ''There is another mural I could show you, but it's at Mystic Ruins. There is a really exciting story tied to that one, and we could also crash for the night at Tails workshop.''

''I suppose I could Chaos Control both of us to Mystic Ruins,'' Shadow said, then followed Sonic as the cobalt hedgehog rushed forward to where Sky Sanctuary was, deciding they would go the first before their detour.

At Sky Sanctuary, Shadow had to admit that Sonic was correct in describing the Zone as ''amazing'', and he also understood why only Knuckles, as the Guardian, was allowed to go here. It felt as if he had entered a different world, the Zone being an ancient, aerial temple located high up in the sky above the clouds. There were many ancient ruins scattered across it, made up of white, mossy stone that floated in the sky; as well as of dark blue glass with a technological pattern. He noticed that it also appeared to serve as the home for Chao, with a few of them flying past them, and two Chao who have been playing where they were standing getting curious about the two hedgehogs.

''Angel Island really does have some interesting locations. I can see why Knuckles protects not only the Master Emerald, but the whole island,'' Shadow said. Sonic whistled.

''Wow, you should tell Knuckles that,'' he said, grinning. Shadow didn't respond, instead just gazing ahead, with Sonic knowing that his rival wasn't the type to just compliment people unless he had a really good reason for that. ''Should we go to Mystic Ruins? I know I didn't show you all of Angel Island, but you can always return here by yourself to explore it.''

''I'm fine with leaving,'' Shadow replied, reaching for the green Chaos Emerald in his quills and holding it up. ''Chaos Control!''

There was a bright flash of light, with the two hedgehogs suddenly vanishing, along with the Chao.

xXx

Sonic grinned when he found himself on the familiar grounds of Mystic Ruins, beckoning to Shadow to follow him to a shrine, neither of them noticing the Chao who had followed them. ''Over here!''

Shadow was genuinely curious about what Sonic wanted to show him, aware that the Mystic Ruins did hold a lot of significance, even if he was unware of their full story. They eventually reached the shrine, finding a mural that shocked Shadow even more than the one at Hidden Palace.

''The BioLizard?'' he muttered the first thing that came to his mind, his eyes wide, only to notice Sonic giving him a surprised look. He then shook his head, immediately realizing his mistake. ''I… Forget about what I said.''

''Well, it does kinda look similar to the BioLizard at first glance, but it's not the BioLizard,'' Sonic said in an understanding tone, glancing back at the mural of a blue, lizard-like being destroying a town. ''That's Perfect Chaos.''

Feeling a little relieved that Sonic didn't tease him for his mistake, Shadow turned his attention back to the mural, figuring that Sonic would soon launch into an explanation in regards to who Perfect Chaos was.

''This was during an adventure that happened before I met you. It's a bit of a long story, though,'' Sonic started.

''Go ahead. I've been listening to all of your previous stories, and I don't mind hearing more,'' Shadow replied in a rather matter-of-fact tone. He actually meant it, having noted that Sonic wasn't as obnoxious as he could be and he was curious about the story behind Perfect Chaos. Sonic grinned at the encouragement, having actually been a little worried that Shadow might lose interest. He turned to the mural, only for both of them to see the two Chao flying up to it, staring at the mural in curiosity, recognizing the being depicted on it, but unsure what to make of it.

''You guys know who that is,'' Sonic stated, with the Chao turning around and flying up to the two, with one Chao settling down on the top of Sonic's head, while the other preffered holding onto Shadow's shoulder, both eager to listen to Sonic's story.

''So, everything began when I ran into this water being at Station Square and battled him, only to learn from Eggman he was the God of Destruction, Chaos. Eggman and Chaos disappeared, but the next day, when Tails was testing a Chaos Emerald at his place, we got ambushed by Eggman who stole the Chaos Emerald, giving it to Chaos, who then transformed. As it turned out, Eggman wanted to gather all the Chaos Emeralds to make Chaos stronger, so Tails and I made the decision to stop him. That didn't really go well for us, because he had managed to steal the two Chaos Emeralds we recovered, and we ran later on into Knuckles, who thought that I stole some of the Master Emerald shards,'' Sonic explained.

''Why would he believe that?'' Shadow gave Sonic a questioning look.

''I dunno. I guess Knux had been getting tricked by Eggman, again,'' Sonic replied with a shrug. ''We did end up battling Chaos again after he absorbed another Chaos Emerald, but he and Eggman then retreated, and when we tried to pursue them, the Tornado got shot down, and I found myself at Station Square again in the aftermath. There, I ran into Amy, who wanted me to protect a Flicky, Birdie. I wasn't really in the mood to deal with her, but that didn't matter because she and Birdie ended up kidnapped by one of Eggman's robots, so I had to chase after them,'' Sonic added in a sheepish tone. While he certainly cared a lot about Amy, he didn't look back fondly on her clinginess and relentless pursuit. ''Luckily, Tails found me with the Tornado 2, and we got onto Eggman's ship, where we found Amy, Birdie, Eggman and one of Eggman's robots. I fought against the robot at first, but Amy got in-between us and said that he was her friend and that he had helped her.'' Sonic hummed in thought as he recalled the memory. ''I think his name was Gamma. He kinda looked like Omega, only taller.''

''If he looked like Omega, it is possible that he was part of the same E-100 Series robot line. Omega was the last one to be created,'' Shadow said, tilting his head. ''I suppose he'd be happy to hear that he wasn't the only one to rebel against Eggman.''

''Heh, yeah. Anyways, I told Tails and Amy to leave because the ship was losing altitude, while I went to pursue Eggman. I eventually found him with Chaos, who had absorbed six Chaos Emeralds, and Big,'' Sonic continued, with Shadow giving him a look of surprise. He still remembered his own meeting with the purple cat in the White Space, having been displaced from time and space, but nonetheless being good company. ''Turns out, Chaos absorbed Froggy, so we had to fish him out first before we could continue. Luckily, we defeated him, and when I went after Eggman again, only to find myself here, at Mystic Ruins. That's when I saw this orb of light, who guided me to this shrine and showed me the mural.''

''What was that light?'' Shadow asked.

''Her name was Tikal, and she was an echidna who lived thousands of years ago. She had shown me what happened in the past, with the full story being that the echidnas back then raided the altar where the Master Emerald and Chaos Emeralds were, hurting many Chao in the process. Tikal tried to stop them, but their destructive behavior only enraged Chaos, who was the protector of the Chao, causing him to turn into Perfect Chaos. Since Perfect Chaos had the power to destroy the world, Tikal had no other choice but to seal him and herself into the Master Emerald,'' Sonic explained.

''Cha-chao…''

Both hedgehogs turned to the Chao who were with them, taking note of their sadness. The story of what had happened was quite traumatizing, even if it was so long ago, showing just how destructive greed and rage could be.

''I know that it's not something you guys want to hear, but it was key information that we needed to understand Chaos,'' Sonic said in a sympathetic tone, with Shadow glancing at him curiously, his expression hiding what was on his mind. Sonic continued the story, not even noticing Shadow's gaze, ''In the end, we confronted Chaos once more at Station Square after he became Perfect Chaos by absorbing the negative energy of the Chaos Emeralds and flooding the city. Tikal wanted to seal Perfect Chaos again into the Master Emerald, but I refused, since that wouldn't be right. Considering how Perfect Chaos' heart was filled with rage and anguish, it wouldn't have changed his feelings even if he got resealed. After all, if he got unleashed again, he would've gone on another rampage, and I wanted to stop that from happening for good.'' Sonic then shot Shadow a grin. ''So, I used the positive energy of the Chaos Emeralds to become Super Sonic and defeated him and calmed him down, with Tikal and Chaos then disappearing. However, that wasn't the last time I fought him.''

''Really?'' Shadow tilted his head, both him and the Chao being surprised to hear that.

''Yeah. Remember the Time Eater?'' Sonic asked, with Shadow nodding, having an idea where this was going. ''I was sent to a version of Station Square that had been attacked by Perfect Chaos, but this time I had managed to defeat him without the Chaos Emeralds. That's impressive, right?''

Shadow knew well that Sonic was just fishing for a compliment, so he decided to tease him a little. ''I suppose it shows your growth between the two events. Unfortunately, growth in strength doesn't indicate a growth in maturity.''

''Ouch,'' Sonic grumbled, noting the smirk on Shadow's lips. ''Are you even able to talk to people directly without making backhanded compliments?''

''I'm merely pointing out the obvious. For all the saving you did, you also made a lot of reckless decisions that endangered our world,'' Shadow responded in a matter-of-fact tone. Sonic rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips as he furrowed a brow, not backing away from this argument.

''Fine. Name one event where it was completely my fault that the world was in danger,'' Sonic said.

Shadow gave him a hard stare, responding, ''Two words – Paradox Prism.''

Sonic's eyes suddenly widened when he recalled that particular event. His ears drooped as he felt a sudden rush of anxiety, followed by the sound of shattering and the image of a void filled with gates to other places; remains of his own world. He suddenly turned around, a nervous look forming on his expression as the rubbed the back of his head and avoided Shadow's stare, with the Chao on his head giving him a worried look.

''I… I guess that was my fault,'' he muttered, only to give Shadow a questioning look. ''Hey, what did you even do with the Paradox Prism?''

''I made sure to hide it somewhere where neither the Doctor nor you can find it and shatter it again,'' Shadow told him in a sharp tone, with Sonic wincing.

''That sounds right…'' Sonic said, falling silent for a moment, then sighed. ''Not gonna lie, I actually thought that the event you'd mention would be the Metal Virus.''

Shadow's eyes widened, as he was genuinely stunned to hear Sonic bring that up. He lowered his gaze, recalling the frustration and anger he felt when he confronted Sonic, putting all the blame for Mr. Tinker becoming Dr. Eggman solely on his shoulders. He felt a sting of guilt, having had enough time to reflect on what happened to understand that he had been too harsh on Sonic. After all, Sonic wasn't the only one who saw that Mr. Tinker was different from Dr. Eggman, having lost all of his memories, as the Chaotix Detectives, Rouge and Shadow himself had also been there, all of them agreeing with the decision to leave him in that village. Not to mention his own reckless decision of refusing to back off from the fight against the Zombots, his pride and belief of having immunity to the virus as the Ultimate Lifeform getting to his head. In the end, he payed the ultimate price for his own arrogance and jerkass behavior.

''I… I regret what I said during the Metal Virus incident,'' Shadow muttered, turning on his heel as he left a stunned Sonic, walking away. ''We should bring the Chao back to Angel Island.''

''H-Hey, wait!'' Sonic joined the dark hedgehog, who did his best to ignore the cobalt hedgehog, as well as the uneasy look the Chao on his shoulder gave him. It didn't work, as he felt Sonic grabbing his arm. ''Shadow, wait.''

Shadow stopped, glancing at Sonic, who gave him a sympathetic smile. ''I don't think we really had an in-depth talk about all the stuff that had happened, but if you're okay with it, I would like to talk to you more openly.'' Sonic let go off his arm, lowering his gaze. ''I know that I'm not the best at talking about my feelings and that kind of stuff, and you aren't comfortable with it either, but I feel like some of those conversations are long overdue.''

There was silence, with Sonic wondering if he overdid it. Then, Shadow nodded.

''This is something I can agree on,'' he replied, his response filling Sonic with relief. He smiled, glad to see that Shadow would be staying instead of avoiding him. He had figured that it wasn't necessary to talk now, since they had time. Instead, he stepped in front of Shadow, with a challenging smirk.

''Then, I assume you would also agree on a race around Angel Island? And by that, I mean the whole island. You already saw the race track,'' Sonic said, noting how Shadow perked up. If there was anything they felt comfortable with, it was their rivalry, and they were going to take full advantage of that bond.

''Are you that desperate to lose?'' Shadow asked, taking out the green Chaos Emerald.

''Pffft, I will run loops around you,'' Sonic replied, him and Shadow glancing at the Chao, who cheered for them both. They couldn't help but smile at them, feeling a bit more at ease.

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[buryustogether]

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

[sol-consort]

Salarians: Eggs are a symbol of fertility in our culture.

Human: Oh sick! Us too! *the human says as they bite into their fried egg breakfast.*

On the other end, salarians wouldn't get weird or aversive to human periods. They'd be immensely understanding and helpful.

They are desensitised to eggs being anything but sacred—including the ones still in a mammal's body, resulting in them viewing periods as a casual conversation starter, albet still important event.

Of course you can take the week off work human, your eggs are being torn down and remade! Hell, take two weeks even! Oh wait they're not your eggs? they're your bondmate's? Then what are you doing here! You should be by their side at all times during such a critical event. Three paid weeks off.

You have to remember that to them a "once a month" event is nothing minor. They only live for 40 years, that's 480 months, in comparison to human's 1,800 months.

Salarians would think humans were the weird ones for not treating periods as a normal topic or providing more resources and help. A salarian roommate would definitely go out of their way to change your hot waterbottle, restock the pads and try their hand at some human cooking without you having to ask just because, they treat you like you're fresh out of surgery whilst not being overbearing by giving your privacy.

[leviathans-body-pillow]

My height and body headcanons for the brothers

(With my Mc to put their heights in perspective)

I wanted to practice some different body types and drawing different heights next to each other so I thought it would be fun to draw some head canons I have about the boys. (Ignore their lack of hands this already took so long lol)

I’m one of those people that headcanons demons and angels as being large on scar age than humans so Levi and Mams are right around average in height.

Going into detail from tallest ti shortest

Beelzebub

He took a lot of hits during the war shielding his brothers and Lilith so his body is pretty scarred up.

He had a hard time recovering but was never in fatal danger just lots of pain.

Very big boy! Only second to Diavolo in his demon form.

Being an insect type demon he doesn’t dark grow body hair but he does have so light peach fuzz in areas

Lucifer

Used to be toned like his brothers but after years of desk he’s lost a lot of it

Don’t be fooled by his lack of tone he’s still very powerful and muscular. He’s just got a little squish over top from inactivity.

He can feel down about it from time to time.

Only Beel and Mammon know this. Beel, because he’s asked for advice on staying in shape. And Mammon because he drunkenly confided in him about it.

He’s tried to work out multiple times but it seems like every time he picks it up he gets too busy to keep up with it.

A little bit of body hair on his chest and legs with a nice happy trail

He doesn’t have many scars on the front but his back is completely torn up. He almost dyed while healing from his injuries.

Satan

Has the exact same structure as Lucifer he’s just visibly younger and much thinner.

I’m a strong believer that he bleaches his hair

Not much body hair but he does have a bit of a happy trail.

Absolutely no scars as he’s never really seen a real battle.

He’s rather thin in his humanoid form but hulks out do to speak when he’s enraged in his demon form.

Leviathan

Swimmers body. Weaker legs but broad chest and shoulders. Unless he’s in water his muscles are useless since he’s built specifically for swimming.

A few scars but he got out without any major injuries.

No body hair as he’s a aquatic type demon.

Mammon

Very much has a model’s build.

A gold lip piercing, he also has cartilage piercing but their hidden by his hair. He wants more but they make it harder to get modeling gigs

He shaves his body hair except for his happy trail and crotch area. Claims it’s too much work he’s scared of cutting his balls

Doesn’t have any scars from the war. All of his injuries were either internal or too shallow.

Belphegor

The hairiest of the brothers. It grows pretty much everywhere and he doesn’t bother to maintain it.

He’s not very muscular at all, not super thin but not chubby. His body reflects his life style for sure.

Lip ring and a stretched septum piercing

Major eye bags

A few scars but Beel took most of his hits so he didn’t get injured too bad.

Has a few discolored patches on his leg that have always been there, they turn black in his demon form.

Asmodeous

He got fucked up in the war. Almost died after falling and had a very rough recovery. His face and neck got hit the hardest.

He uses a glamor charm to hide the damage to his face. It’s exhausting and uses that majority of his magic to maintain but anything for beauty! He hides his neck with turtle necks and scarves.

Super thin. He works really hard to maintain his toned yet slim appearance.

Tw: ed. We actually know from canon he skips meals, goes on fad diets, and avoids gaining muscle while still trying to work out.

Nipple and belly button piercings.

Goes for regular waxing so his skin his always smooth.

And lastly my Mc for a human comparison

[vintageshanny]

Officer Presley and the Librarian - Part 10 - The Karate Kid

Content: BDE in fall of 1974, fluff, smut, talk of pregnancy, 18+

I’m quite sure this pales in comparison to @be-my-ally ‘s karate fic, but ever since spotting the torn pants photos, I felt compelled to write about it.

The dates don’t match up perfectly, but the karate part is based on the actual demonstration from September 1974.

As your eyes locked with Elvis’, he gently moved his hand down to your stomach and traced his fingers over your soft skin.  He looked down, as if studying you, taking every detail in, and a slow smile began to spread across his lips.  “We’re gonna have a baby.  I-I-I’m gonna have a son,” he said, his eyes filled with a joy you hadn’t seen before.  “Woah, Elvis, we don’t know that yet.  And even if I am, you don’t know if it will be a boy,” you whispered, feeling stunned and unsure of every emotion coursing through you right now.  “No, I know honey, I have a sense about this, and you’re gonna give me the son I’ve been waitin’ for.  Ain’tcha happy, baby?” he asked, looking back into your eyes.  His own were misty with emotion.

“I am, of course,” you said quickly, not wanting to dampen his spirits again, “I just think we should wait to know for sure.  Plus, um, I mean, aren’t you worried about how it will look?” your voice dropped to a whisper at the end.  “With us not being married, I mean?”  Elvis frowned just a tiny bit as he considered, seemingly for the first time, the optics of the situation.  “W-w-well, we’ll jus’ havta get married right away,” he said, perking right back up with this simple solution.  You swallowed, trying to quell your feelings of disappointment at this very spur-of-the-moment, unromantic proposal.  There was never any point in trying to hide your feelings from Elvis, though, because he could always see right through you.

“Baby,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead soothingly, “I was gonna marry ya anyway, ya know that.  A-a-and i-it’s gonna be special, you’ll see.”  He gazed down at you lovingly.  “Ya still wanna be with me, right?” he said, a wave of shyness and nerves suddenly washing over him.  “Elvis, the one thing I’m always sure of is that I want to be with you,” you said reassuringly, stroking his hand that was still pressed gently against your abdomen.  “Why don’t we have a test done and then we can decide what to do next?” you asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.  “‘S a good plan, baby, I’ll call the doctor right away.  He can bring the testing stuff here so we don’t have to go out.  There’s a test now where they can find out in just a couple hours.”  You grinned a little bit at this information.  “How do you know that?” you questioned teasingly.  “I read it in my medical books,” Elvis shrugged with a little smirk.

Two hours later, the doctor had come and collected a sample from you with the promise that he would call as soon as the results were in.  You sat on the couch in the living room trying to decide what you wanted the results to be.  You loved Elvis so deeply and you had always wanted a family.  Elvis made it so easy to be hopeful and believe that all your dreams were within reach.  On the other hand, there would be no turning back after this.  The mood swings, the fears about other women, the pressure of his strange schedule…all of it would be your life now.

Your train of thought was broken by Elvis approaching you with a little boy look on his face and something metal in his hand.    “Sweetheart?  Would you pwease cut my toenails?” he said in his baby voice.  “My yittle sooties are hurting.”  Despite your anxiety, you giggled and pulled him down on the couch next to you, patting your lap for him to put his feet on.  He leaned back and rested his bare feet on your thighs.  You took the nail clipper and set to work, being careful not to cut the skin.  “Baby, this one looks ingrown.  I think you need to have the doctor look at it,” you frowned as he winced in pain when you touched it.  “Okay, mommy,” he said with a little smile.  You finished the other toenails and lifted his foot to your mouth, giving it a soft kiss right as Charlie walked in the room and gave the two of you a look.  You dropped the foot back to your lap, flushing with embarrassment as Elvis let out a loud laugh. 

“Y’all two are somethin’ else,” Charlie muttered with disgust as Elvis kept laughing.  “What?  I can’t have my baby kiss my feet in my own livin’ room?” Elvis said with mock outrage.  “We’re waitin’ for an important call,” he said, his tone changing to something more serious.  “Oh?  What’s up, boss?”  Charlie asked, concerned.  You looked over at Elvis, trying to silently signal him to stop talking, but it was no use.  He never could keep a secret for longer than ten minutes.  “We might be havin’ a baby,” he confided with glee, his eyes lighting up just from saying the words out loud.  Charlie’s jaw dropped so far to the ground, he looked like a cartoon character.  “Wow,” he finally managed to sputter out.  “Congratulations?  This is good, right?” he asked nervously.  “Of course, man,” Elvis said excitedly.  “My little Yisa will finally get that brother I promised her,” he smiled.  You could see Charlie trying to suppress a grin at Elvis thinking he could control what sex the baby was.  

The phone rang and Elvis nearly leapt off the couch, ignoring the pain in his toe.  You sat nervously, your stomach in knots, waiting to hear the news.  Elvis came back in the room, looking down, but you could see the energy radiating off of him.  You knew what the news was before he looked up and showed you the huge crooked smile that spread across his whole face.  “We’re havin’ a baby!” he yelled excitedly, quite literally sweeping you off the couch and into his arms.  When you saw the genuine happiness rolling off of him as he pulled you in for a big old kiss, you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be without him, no matter what complications it might bring into your life.  For the first time in your life, you felt that you shared a love with someone that could get you through anything.  

Red and Sonny came running up from the pool room when they heard the commotion, and Charlie filled them in while Elvis was still holding you tight.  “Congrats, man, when’s the wedding?” Red asked.  “As soon as possible,” Elvis said, finally loosening his grip on you.  He reached his arms around you from the back and held your belly gently, nuzzling his chin down into your shoulder.  You smiled blissfully at him, the two of you lost in your own little world for a moment until Red cleared his throat a little bit.  “You have that karate demonstration that’s supposed to be filmed this week, boss.”  “Well, maybe we can have the weddin’ here next weekend then,” Elvis said.  “Yeah, that should work.  Have someone start makin’ plans.  We have to go celebrate,” he said with a wink as he led you upstairs, his hand carefully guiding the small of your back.

“So how did you want to celebrate?” you teased once the two of you were alone in the bedroom.  “Ta be honest, baby, I jus’ wanna hold ya,” Elvis whispered as he helped you onto the bed and laid next to you.  “I’m so happy, I jus’ don’ even have words for it,” he said as he stared into your eyes.  You could feel your heart melting into a puddle as he gazed right into your soul.  “I think God has given me a second chance at having the happy family I always dreamed of,” Elvis spoke in a soft tender tone as his fingers traced over your features, memorizing the feel of them.  “I ain’t gonna waste it, baby, I’m gonna do right by you.  Give ya everything ya deserve.”  Tears filled your eyes at the sweet words you’d always longed to hear.  The two of you fell asleep in a tender embrace, dreaming of the possibilities the future now held.  

The next morning, well maybe early afternoon, you awoke to the sound of Elvis muttering right outside the bedroom door.  “Goddammit, lemme carry it!  I wanted it ta be somethin’ special from me!” you could hear him snapping at whoever was out there with him.  “Baby?”  you called out sleepily.  “Are you okay?”  Elvis came bursting into the room with a big cheesy grin, carrying a tray with french toast, orange juice, a single red rose in a vase, and a small black velvet box.  Your face lit up when you saw what effort he’d put in, or at least had someone help him put in, to make a romantic gesture for you.  “What’s all this?” you smiled as you sat up against the headboard, unable to contain your excitement.  Elvis set the tray on your lap and sat at the edge of the bed next to you, his leg bouncing with nerves.  

“W-w-well, baby, I w-w-wanted ta show ya how special ya are.  Ya wrote me those sweet poems, so I wr-wr-wrote s-s-somethin’ for you,” he said, stuttering so badly he could hardly get all the words out.  He pulled a little paper from his pajama shirt pocket and unfolded it, peering at it through his glasses.  He cleared his throat nervously, and you could see his hand that was holding the paper shaking a little bit.  You reached out and gave it a reassuring squeeze as he started to read.

“Baby, I never thought I would find someone who’d understand me completely and accept me for everything that I am.  You never make me feel bad about my interests or my spiritual search, you only lift me up and encourage me.  I want us to take care of each other forever.  Wh-wh-what I’m tryin’ to say is, Roses are red, Violets are blue, I can’t imagine my life without you.”  With that, Elvis turned and gave you a little lopsided smile and opened the black velvet box from the tray.  Inside was a giant sparkling sapphire and diamond ring.  “Honey, will ya marry me?”  he whispered.  Tears spilled out of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks as you responded.  “Elvis, it would be a dream come true.  Thank you for making this such a special moment.”  “Of course,” he said, slipping the ring on your finger and brushing your tears away with his thumbs.  “I gotta take care of my baby.  Babies,” he added with a smile, patting your belly.  “Now honey, you just enjoy your breakfast and rest.  Charlie’s gonna take me to have my toe looked at so I’m ready for the karate demonstration tomorrah.”  He kissed your forehead and went to get dressed.

You couldn’t stop staring at the ring as you leaned against Elvis in the car the next day.  You were on your way to the karate demonstration, Elvis’ toe freshly bandaged after having the ingrown nail removed.  “Are you sure you’re okay to do this demonstration?” you asked with concern.  “Of course, baby, I ain’t gonna let a sore toe stop me from doin’ somethin’ this important.”  “I am excited to see you do your karate,” you admitted with a sheepish grin.  You could feel yourself blushing as Elvis looked down at you with a knowing smile.  “Oh, yeah?  How excited are ya?” he whispered in your ear as he leaned in close.  “I’ll let you know after I see all your moves,” you teased.  

Your excitement only grew once you saw Elvis in action.  They were filming the demonstration for a karate documentary he was working on, and you could see how confident and passionate he was about it.  He looked so handsome in his special white karate uniform trimmed with red satin.  Unfortunately, the uniform could not quite hold up to his passion.  Or his muscular thighs.  A few minutes into a kicking demonstration, a loup rip could be heard, and Elvis quickly moved his legs together.  He laughed nervously as the audience looked at him, confused, wondering what had happened.  “Um, i-i-it seems I just split ma pants,” he announced to Kang Rhee and the entire room.  “I’m not wearin’ underwear,” he continued, a slight flush rising in his face, “so we’re gonna have ta change the demonstration a little bit.”  

The audience chuckled and Elvis seemed to take the whole situation in stride, but your heart started racing.  Little Elvis was just hanging there under some ripped fabric, waiting for you to take care of him.  He was hidden from view, but just knowing what easy access you’d have to him made your heartbeat throb in your chest and down below.  Now you couldn’t wait until the demonstration was over. 

Elvis showed some self-defense moves, including what to do when the attacker has a gun.  In one situation, he got down on his knees and told the audience that their only recourse now would be to pray, which caused some more laughter.  You were proud of what a great job he was doing, but you also couldn’t wait to get him alone.  Elvis looked back at you and smiled, waiting for a look of approval on how he was doing.  You looked him up and down and winked, which made his face turn almost the same color as the satin trim on his uniform.  He shook his head slightly and looked away, but you could see a smirk on his face.

After the demonstration was finally over and everyone was clearing out, Elvis came back and leaned in close to you.  “Baby,” he whispered, “ya can’t be lookin’ at me all hungry like that when I ain’t got nothin’ to keep myself…constrained.  Ya don’ want everyone here to see him pokin’ out, ready to play, do ya?” His hand roughly squeezed your thigh as he spoke.  “No, but I’m ready to play,” you whispered back, creeping your hand in between his legs, searching for the rip in the fabric.  Elvis glanced over his shoulder and saw the room was now empty.  He turned back to look at you right as your hand found what it was looking for.  “Uuuhh,” Elvis groaned as your fingers reached through the hole in the crotch of his pants and traced over the soft chubbiness hanging there.  You could feel him start to firm up right away, twitching under your fingertips.  His hand found its way up your thigh and under your skirt.  “A-a-anyone could walk back in, baby,” he whispered even as he slipped his fingers through the side of your panties and felt the wet heat waiting there for him.  “I can see the door,” you whispered as you wrapped your whole hand around him, stroking his now hard length.  “I’ll stop if someone comes in.”  Your soft panting filled the room as you both worked on pleasuring each other, his long fingers deftly dipping through your soaking folds and rubbing the wetness over your clit as you tugged gently on him and rubbed your thumb over the weepy slit on his head.

Just as you felt your legs about to start shaking around Elvis’ hand, footsteps sounded outside the door.  You quickly pulled your hand out of his pants and smoothed your skirt down.  “Oh, Master Rhee, it was a great demonstration,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t sound strained.  You stepped in front of Elvis to hide the giant erection he was still sporting.  He stood so close behind you, you could feel him pulsing against your back.  After you were alone again, you turned to Elvis and smiled.  “Let’s finish what we started, baby,” you said breathily, needing to find some release.  Elvis nodded, grabbing your hand needily and putting it back on his cock.  “Honey, you don’ know whachya do ta me,” he groaned.  This time he got you to the finish line without interruption, and after your legs stopped shaking, you knelt down before him so he could finish without leaving a mess anywhere but your mouth. “That was definitely a satisfying demonstration,” you teased, licking your lips as he helped you to your feet.  “Mmm, ‘m glad ya enjoyed it, baby,” he winked.

As the two of you drove back home, you leaned against Elvis and let out a contented sigh, tracing your hand over his belly how you always loved to do.  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, rubbing your leg soothingly.  “I’m just excited to see if our baby is as good a kicker as his daddy,” you said with a big grin.  “See, you think it’s a boy too, don’t ya?” Elvis exclaimed.  “I can’t wait to find that out too, baby.”  He kissed the top of your head and nuzzled his cheek sweetly against it.

Tag list: @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @doll-elvis @artlover8992 @richardslady121 @everythingelvispresley @raginginkedslut @msamarican

[ashrillvenheim]

Awakening Past

Chapter 26

pairing: Ashley Graham x Leon S Kennedy.

Content: (+18) romance, angst, gore, erotic/suggestive themes at some point, slow burn, violence, action, self-harm, death talk,

If you're a MINOR DON'T keep reading, thank you.

Archive of our own / WORK LIST / Awakening Past Masterlist

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The sky glowed in a more yellowish hue than usual, or maybe it was his eyes? She blinked and looked down from the sky to observe the ground.

Very high up.

She wasn't standing on anything that would lift her off the ground like that, so how was she so high up? She looked around and saw only huge trees and ferns surrounding her. There were no flowers, and some plants were not familiar to her at all. Where was she? 

Her body shifted and she felt terribly heavy, as if she were almost anchored to the ground. She noticed a small pond in the distance and silhouettes drinking from it.

Wait a minute. Those were... Dinosaurs?

She didn't understand what was going on. Why were there dinosaurs alive? 

Her body kept moving and then from her throat emerged a strange roaring or screeching sound that didn't resemble any familiar sound...or did it? It resembled...the shrieks that...the pests produced.

The dinosaurs in the distance snapped their heads up and without a second thought took off running, but a poor unwary Ankylosaurus wasn't fast enough.

From out of the trees and bushes emerged huge, almost alien creatures.

Pests.

They assaulted the poor dinosaur who roared in despair. But it could do little in the face of the sharp blades that sank into its flesh until it was dead.

The body jerked in convulsions until it stopped moving altogether, only to have its body rise up a second later.

Like a zombie.

The dinosaur was dead. Its torn and bleeding body showed that it could harbor no life in it, but tentacles emerging from its back made it move like a living body.

The walking corpse reached down to her and when she looked down she saw that its own limbs were claws and tentacles What the hell was that? What appeared to be her own hands reached out towards the Ankylosaurus and slowly dismembered it and the plague that inhabited it, then devoured it.

The rest of the Plagas returned to her with water in their bellies or small insects. All for her, as...if she were their Mother.

The Plagas were huge, but small in comparison to her, and they scampered around her delivering food or preening her limbs. She began to understand their behavior better when suddenly there was a strange sound. She looked up at the sky again and saw a glowing trail across the vault, illuminating it as if it were the sun itself. The fireball spread into the distance and hit the horizon.

Silence fell.

A rumbling began to be heard.

And the earth began to shake.

The impact of the air threw her body to the ground and the plagas shrieked and ran without understanding what was happening.

Suddenly everything became more diffuse. The sky suddenly darkened, the landscape changed, as if she had moved to some other place. She began to feel cold in her body and the pests were taking longer and longer to bring her food, traveling farther and farther and making her unable to give birth due to lack of nutrients. She seemed to perceive some colors in the sky, like blue and purple flags waving in the dark starry nights. Were they aurora borealis?

Her vision became more and more blurred as the sound echoed louder and louder. What was it? It sounded rhythmic and continuous, like a drum.

The images became darker and increasingly difficult to make out, only perceiving the loneliness of no longer having young to come to her.

The beats were fast and deep. That sound rang a bell. She felt it thundering in her eardrums more and more, until everything faded away and only that rumbling remained.

The beating of her heart.

*

Her eyes snapped open as her hand touched the hilt of the knife. She felt that horrible pressure still inside her throat, preventing her from breathing. 

She had to get it out before it suffocated her.

She heard screams and gunshots, the alarmed voices of Chris and Jill unloading their weapons on the beast.

And Leon calling out to her.

Still with a foggy mind she managed to grab the knife and cut the tentacle that was trying to choke her. The beast roared and Leon saw Ashley move again. Her heart pounded again as Chris and Jill threw everything in their arsenal at the critter and she used the distraction to leap at the larger tentacles. She climbed up onto what looked like the neck and pulled the knife out while Ashley did the same from the ground. She managed to pull the appendage out of her throat and breathed out with a cry of pain.

She wanted to cry from the insufferable burning, but her instincts plunged the knife into the flesh and cut it.

She cut. And cut deeper. And deeper.

Leon plunged the blade all the way to the hilt, only to separate the muscle and plunge it in again. They became blind and deaf to the rest, only able to focus on slicing his head off as the beast thrashed and buffeted them violently.

They sank their knives. And they kept going again and again and again amidst desperate roars. Their sweat burned and froze at the same time. Their voices broke from the effort. Their visions blurred under the pressure.

They cut and cut and cut.

And the head fell.

The tentacles lashed everywhere, knocking Leon and Ashley to the ground. It convulsed violently and then instantly collapsed.

Silence reigned in the place, disturbed only by the gasps of those who had prevented that beast from destroying the place.

“ Ashley!!!”

Leon's shout made Jill and Chris react as they searched with their eyes for the blonde's body among the appendages. Kennedy grunted as he lifted the one holding Ashley imprisoned and she violently turned over her body to vomit.

Blood gushed from her throat, mixing with tears of pain and saliva. Leon clutched her tightly, his breathing ragged, and distraught with panic at the sight of the blood gushing out of her.

“ Chris, call for help!” shouted the teary-eyed agent toward the Captain. Redfield was stunned, the first time he had ever seen such an expression on him.

He had never seen him with such deep fear written all over his face.

Without another thought, he pulled out his cell phone and called, while Jill calmed Narsson in the hallway.

“Ash, Ash!” Leon called out to her in anguish, hearing her sobbing in pain.

She was white as paper and her body was shaking limply. He had seen her lying there. Immobile and unconscious. For a moment he thought there was no escape.

Ashley vomited scarlet again and at that moment none of them noticed some small dots that seemed to be present in the viscous liquid. Vision began to blur again as she gasped for air. She still saw fleeting images flash through her head in no order that she could understand. Even if she started breathing again, she felt like she was going to collapse. She managed to grab hold of Leon's arms before collapsing, unconscious, on the floor.

“ ASH!” he lifted her up with his muscles screaming in pain and rushed to get her out of there. Jill lifted Narsson as well, who paled at the sight of Ashley covered in blood in Leon's arms. Everything was spinning around her, she wasn't able to process what had just happened, what had come out of a fossilized rock.

Had she lost her mind? Was this a nightmare? Had she died? Ashley was-

“ Enma.”

The woman blinked, and her greenish, terrified eyes turned to the skies of the woman beside her. She couldn't respond. She couldn't remember how to utter words.

“ Let's go.” helped her up and led her away from the nightmare that now lay headless on the ground.

*

He hated that sound.

Of everything he had ever heard in his life, that intermittent beeping sound that followed the rhythm of a screen was definitely the worst.

His head ached. His body ached. Everything hurt. And yet, he was only able to focus on that beeping sound and the breathing of the woman lying in bed. 

He looked at the floor. Still. Sitting in the chair backwards, with his arms crossed over the backrest and his head resting against them. But his thoughts were not there, only his senses.

In his head still hovered the image of that hideous creature out of the underworld, which resembled and at the same time did not resemble the demons they saw in that village.

Seeing her there, lying on the ground, immobile...had brought him back to that hell. When he almost lost her. When he was about to fail in his mission.

For a moment he went back to Raccoon city.

He found himself again on that bridge about to collapse, holding Ada so she wouldn't fall into the void.

Only this time he didn't see Ada.

He saw Ashley.

For a moment he saw her and felt just as helpless as he had that first and last day as a policeman. Fear, helplessness, anger at himself and frustration were the only emotions he had when that beast had almost suffocated her.

He had felt weak again and unable to protect the people he loved. The most important people in his life. He counted them on his fingers. People who, if he were to lose, his sanity would hang by a thin thread on the edge of an abyss.

And now, the one who had become the main one, lay unconscious in the bed of a private medical center.

Hunnigan had pulled strings after Chris's call for them to be treated under seal. A helicopter came for all of them and Ashley, Leon and Narsson were taken care of, but the agent had refused to leave her alone.

He had done it once before, when they had found them in that cove after escaping from the island, and he didn't intend to do it again.

This time he would not leave her side.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of the gun, hanging from his hand, but not moving a millimeter. Even if his mind was not present, all his instincts were alert. 

She would not be harmed.

No one would hurt her.

The door swung open and he jerked up with the gun poised to fire.

William stiffened when he saw the barrel pointed at his head. Leon's bloody hands, the sweat, his tired breathing, his deep circles under his eyes and wounds all over his body.

Nothing stopped that man who had not hesitated to aim at the first person who had approached Ashley. Not even the president himself.

Leon's blue eyes met William's, and the president could see that the agent was not well, not when he hadn't even recognized him. Patrick stepped between Graham and his partner.

“ Leon, hey, Leon, it's me, can you hear me? Mr. Graham and I are here to see you.” Jonshon's voice was calm, but deep down he was worried to see his friend in such a state.

Leon finally blinked, and as if waking from a dream, he met his companion's gaze and then noticed the president behind him.

He lowered the gun, remembering to breathe again.

Patrick let out a long sigh and approached his partner cautiously and then looked toward the bed.

“ How's she doing?”

Leon turned to Ashley, lying on the bed with the monitor beeping steadily.

“ Stable.”

William and Patrick felt a shiver as they heard his voice, hoarse, tired and broken. Graham looked at him with a shrinking heart and saw the way he was looking at her. With his eyes lost not only on the sleeping figure in the bed, but on something much deeper. He didn't see him blink, as if he was afraid Ashley would disappear if he did.

His attitude was much like it had been when he and Ashley were in quarantine, but at the same time he felt...something different.

He had already noticed in Viktor's office that something had happened between them and the way Leon hadn't hesitated to point his gun at whoever came through that door only confirmed it.

William took a soft breath and walked over to the agent, gently resting a hand on his shoulder.

“ What happened?” he asked in a calm voice.

Leon needed a second to think and another to drink some water and be able to speak. Patrick and William waited patiently.

Leon gave them a summary, for the sake of his throat. He mentioned Ashley and Narsson's argument, the blood and the appearance of the creature because of it, and the confrontation. 

He told it all without taking his eyes off the door, alert that no one would hear them and no one would enter. 

Patrick sighed as his companion finished bringing them up to date.

“ Hunnigan told me she had the lab cleaned out. It's a good thing it was late and the rest of the workers weren't there, but she's going to have to talk to the museum's security staff.” He informed Leon and Leon just nodded.

Ashley grunted and started coughing. Leon's eyes widened and he hurried to sit her down so she wouldn't suffer any complications. His blue eyes met her amber ones and watched her try to speak, but it only caused her to cough more.

“ Shh, don't force yourself Ash, it's okay.” Leon whispered gently, brushing her sweaty locks away from her face. She nodded, but terrible nausea made her suddenly cover her mouth, but she couldn't hold back what her body was trying to force out.

She vomited through tears of pain and Leon grabbed her hair and head without hesitation.

“ Easy, throw-”

His voice was cut off when he saw tiny silhouettes among the reddening bile.

Those were...plagas?

Ashley coughed and vomited again, groaning in pain. Leon held her when she looked like she was going to collapse again.

“ Call Viktor.”

Leon's voice was barely a whisper. Patrick looked, horrified at the small creatures scattered on the white sheet. William had gone white too.

“ W-what is that?” Jonshon hesitated.

“I said call Viktor!” roared Leon, causing him this time to groan in pain and cough as he forced his voice out. William went static and Patrick startled, only to then leave the room in a flash and call Viktor.

William stared at his daughter in Leon's arms, who wiped his mouth before balling up the sheet and pulling it off the bed.

“ Have this burned, sir.” The officer held out the cloth. It took Graham a second to react, but then he did as he was told and called housekeeping to have the sheet burned to ashes. No one asked any questions.

Ashley gasped, her eyes watering with pain as she processed what had just come out of her. She was pale and trembling in Leon's arms. He soothed her and threw one of the clean blankets in the closet over her, laying her on the bed again. William re-entered the room and seemed to calm down when he saw his daughter lying down again.

“ Leon, what was that?” he asked in confusion, though something in him told him they were familiar. Leon dug his fingers into his hair and sighed heavily.

“ When Viktor comes, we'll know better.”

William looked at him worriedly and could see the deep frown on the man's face. His eyes reddened with pain and exhaustion and his gaze lost in some thought as he looked at Ashley without blinking.

“ Leon, I think you should get some rest.” William whispered, concerned for him.

“ I will when she's discharged.” he replied dryly, looking at her like a hunting dog that wouldn't take its head out of its target. Graham sensed something deep in his voice. The president was aware that Leon was very important to him, and no longer as an agent. He was a boy he cherished and had become indispensable around him, just like Ashley. Almost like... family.

“ Leon, at least sit down, I'm going to be here too, you're going to end up fainting after your injuries.” He pointed to the gauze scattered around his neck and limbs, as well as the bandage around the tear in his arm, caused by one of the bug's tentacles.

“Sir, I'm-”

The door burst open and Narsson appeared with an anguished expression and agitated breathing. The first bruises could be seen forming on her face and arms, but other than that, she was unharmed. 

“ Professor,” William turned to her. “How are you?”

Enma looked at them in distress and then turned to Ashley, sprawled out and pale. Her eyes watered suddenly and tears began to cascade down her face, unable to contain the guilt of what Ashley had suffered.

“ It's my fault…” she mumbled between sobs in anguish and almost unable to breathe. 

William and Leon looked at her worriedly and Leon took a step towards the woman.

“ Keep an eye on Ashley, Sir.” he asked the President as he wrapped his arms around Enma's shoulders and led her out of the room.

Enma wept inconsolably, unable to look Leon in the eye as he carried her to a more secluded spot.

“ I'm sorry...I'm sorry...God...it's my fault.”

The woman repeated in despair. Leon looked around as they stopped at the end of one of the corridors and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“ Enma, look at me, please." he asked gently.

She shook her head.

“ This is all my fault, Leon.”

The agent held her gently, not wanting to bruise her any more.

“ Enma. Look at me.” His voice was soft, but firm. Narsson tried to hold back her sobs and finally raised her head somewhat hesitantly. Her greenish eyes met Leon's blue ones.

“ Now tell me, what have you done?” her voice was no longer as alarmed as it had been when she discovered that Narsson had tried to hide something from her, but he still made it clear in his eyes that he didn't intend to let her go until she told him.

Enma was very upset, but managed to get some thoughts in order.

“ She texted me, she found me in Iceland and told me that you would destroy everything, that you were getting me in, I...I didn't want to believe her, but...I ended up thinking that Ashley had lost her mind and I...and I...sent her the location of the lab." she sank her face into her hands as she cried again from guilt.

It wasn't detailed, but Leon knew.

He knew who she was talking about.

He was now aware that it wasn't his imagination that red blur he saw at the bar in Iceland, before Ashley and Einar fought.

She had followed them from the beginning.

Leon's jaw tightened and his eyes darkened in anger, but he held back the urge to want to punch the wall.

“ Go to your room Enma, and get some rest, okay? I'll take care of this.” he whispered, gently shaking her hair. The woman could only nod as he escorted her to the door of her room. He left her with the nurse and returned, striding back to Ashley's room.

With the gun, now holstered, she entered the room with a serious, darkened expression. His thoughts and emotions much clearer than ever.

William heard him enter and he and Patrick turned to the agent.

“ Viktor is on his way.” Patrick informed him after talking to the doctor.

“ Okay, keep a close eye on Ashley, if she vomits again and you see those things, burn the sheets and if necessary the mattress too.” he said with a grim expression that made Jonshon swallow. His partner nodded without complaint.

“ Where are you going?” William asked with a worried tone.

The agent's eyes lost their sparkle for an instant. Turning cold floes of ice.

“ To take care of someone.”

Graham froze. He had never heard him speak in that tone or in that manner. His expression was...menacing, but not simply an intimidating one, no. His eyes betrayed a much deeper, more visceral instinct that had been seared into him with red-hot iron.

A murderous look.

William hesitantly stopped him, ready to tell him not to go and do something crazy.

“ Le...on…”

All three turned with a jerk at the weak, broken voice.

Leon's blue eyes flickered and the expression from a moment ago disappeared. He walked over to her and leaned down beside her.

It was as if everything disappeared around him. The anger, the pain, the anguish, it all disappeared when Ashley's voice called out to him in pain.

“ Hey…” he whispered leaning towards her, oblivious to the fact that they were not alone in the room. But he forgot about the rest of the world for a few seconds.

There was only her.

Those amber eyes turned to him, reddened and clouded. She reached up her trembling hand to grasp, weakly, his shirt. He held her gently and brought his other hand to her head to stroke her hair. Ashley parted her lips and her expression became pained as she tried but failed to speak to him.

“ Shh, shh, I'm here, don't force yourself.” His body moved on impulse and he bent his head to rest his forehead against hers.

“ I'll be back, I promise. I won't leave you alone.” he whispered intimately and lovingly, almost as if her anguish was his own.

Ashley moaned painfully and managed to lift her face enough for their noses to brush. She couldn't speak, but it was her way of telling him that she heard him, that he wouldn't think of breaking his promise and showing her affection back to her.

William watched the scene in silence. Any father might say it was shameless and that he should intervene. But he knew the relationship Leon and Ashley had developed after Spain. He knew it was complex, from the beginning he knew that. But he had a feeling that there were things inside them that...weren't settled.

And at that moment he saw it.

He saw, in the way they both pressed their foreheads and noses to each other with their eyes closed, that there were things unspoken between them.

But he did not intervene.

Leon slowly pulled away from Ashley and kissed her forehead without thinking. He pulled himself upright as he watched her close her eyes again and her expression slowly returned to that which William had seen before.

His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. He rounded Ashley's bed.

“ I leave her in your care.”

William grabbed the agent by the wrist, feeling his daughter's bracelet strapped under his palm. His gray eyes met Leon's and his voice was firm.

“ Be careful.”

Leon felt the president's words in his bones and nodded decisively before he let go of her wrist and left the room. The first rumblings of thunder echoed in the distance and the rain soon followed.

*

She forced open the back door with one of her many tools, shortly before she heard the first thunder in the distance. She raised her brown eyes to the dark clouds that covered the night sky and sighed.

She wondered why on most of her missions it always ended up raining. She definitely didn't have good luck with the weather as she did with other things.

She opened the door and walked quietly into the museum.

She glanced at her cell phone and the small blinking dot on the screen, marking the exact address Narsson had sent her a few hours ago. She wouldn't have thought they'd have the lab in the natural museum itself. It made perfect sense, but at the same time it hadn't occurred to him that it would be in such an obvious place.

Sometimes what you're looking for is right under your nose.

She had made sure to wear noise-absorbing footwear and to suppress her scent. She never would have guessed that Ashley would develop the nose of a bloodhound. She still remembered how she sensed it in that village in Norway, when they were talking to other cavers at the dig. It was very difficult, but she managed to find old documents in the database from almost 3 years ago, where the doctors who treated Leon and Ashley in Spain in their quarantine, noted changes in their sensory abilities. She didn't think much of them, after all she knew Leon had very keen senses, but Ashley's sudden change in little more than 2 years had been...overwhelming.

She brought her hand to her head, where now rested a soft reddened layer from the wounds Graham had inflicted on her with headbutts. 

She had become dangerous, maybe even more so than Leon. Ashley held no sympathy for her unlike Kennedy, and that showed in the way she didn't hesitate to shoot him when he fled in the helicopter in Iceland.

She was now a threat to Ada.

She walked the halls of the museum, avoiding the cameras or hacking them to move out of place. She followed the directions on her radar and walked down the stairs to the labs until she reached her destination.

She opened the door and arched her eyebrows.

Where was everything?

She entered the room and shone the flashlight around her. Where were the samples Ashley stole from her? She sat down at one of the computers and forced her way in to see if she could find anything. The latest notes showed that they had been sorting a fossil, one she had no record of. Would it be that thing Ashley had extracted the eggs from? It seemed they still hadn't managed to find the origin of that critter.

She leaned back in her seat with a sigh. Had she been too late? No. Narsson had sent her the location a few hours ago, and that was assuming they had discovered it, if they hadn't, the fossil should still be in that lab, but for some reason she only saw the dented tables and everything in a mess, as if there had been a fight.

Had Narsson and Ashley fought? Clearly Ashley would win, but moving a boulder like the one they brought was very complicated.

She got up from her seat and shone a light on the ground, looking for anything that might give her a clue.

Then she heard footsteps.

“ I guess we're getting paid overtime for this, aren't we? I wasn't on the night shift this month.” A male voice echoed in the corridors outside the lab and Ada hurried to hide behind the door.

“ They better hope so. They had us coming at full speed and to meet a bug like that, how disgusted I was getting picking up those squishy tentacles, it looked like it was melting.” said another who was walking next to the other man. Ada heard them approach the door and open it. She stuck against the wall, protected by the shadows and before they closed again she slipped out of the room. She stood outside, eavesdropping.

“ I don't even want to ask what that thing was that they had us clean up on such short notice.” followed the one whose voice was a bit more raspy, but young.

“They don't pay us to ask questions. Let's finish cleaning up the mess and go home.” said the older-looking one.

“ Puff, the work that still remains for those in the furnace room, I didn't know this museum had a crematorium.”

“ Less talk and more work, I don't want to miss my daughter's theater tomorrow because I came home late and overslept, come on.”

Ada walked away from the door and pulled out her scanner. The crematorium, where could it be? She decided to head back toward the entrance to look for the museum plans in the security room, but her thoughts went elsewhere as she analyzed what the two workers had said.

A bug? a squishy one? had Narsson been mistaken? Ada hurriedly reached for the museum map. Those workers seemed to have come on outside orders, they weren't even from the museum itself if they didn't know there was a crematorium on the premises.

They had definitely been sent to clean up whatever was in the fossil they brought in.

She reached the security room and used her scanner to reproduce a map of the museum on her device. She twirled her fingers around the 3D silhouette shown on her screen and saw an area that appeared to be the basements of the museum. There were only a few rooms in that area so he hurried, he didn't want to get chewed out by his bosses again.

In the darkness of the place, protected by shadows, he slipped through with the agility of a cat. The thunder rumbled loudly outside, like war drums, as if they were furious at what Ada was doing. But she had long since stopped listening to the voices that wanted to stop her. She did what she wanted to do, and it would stay that way, because her life was hers and hers alone.

She didn't have to look far when she reached the lower floors. At the end of the hallway she could see the glowing light of a furnace and voices echoing. There seemed to be only two of them.

She pulled out the gun and loaded it with stun darts as she approached the room, feeling the heat coming off the fire all at once.

“Don't forget the little ones too, they're in that bucket over there.”

Ada listened silently as she slithered like a snake through the door. She gasped for air for a moment as she saw them throw out a huge chunk of meat that seemed to be melting into a viscous liquid like tar.

That wasn't a stone or a fossil. That had been alive.

“ The bucket would be the last of it, wouldn't it?” the second man took the handle of the bowl, where there was blood collected, contaminated by some small dark bodies that seemed inert.

“ Yes, although these little things don't seem to be moving.”

“ We've been told to burn everything.”

“ Yes, Sir-”

Ada raised her gun as she came to and fired quickly when she saw them go to throw the bucket on the fire. The other turned as he saw his companion collapse.

“What the-!”

The dart stuck in his neck and a short second later he was lying next to his companion.

Ada walked toward them and saw the bucket at the entrance to the furnace, melting hopelessly.

But, in the light of the flames, she could see a few tiny figures that the fire couldn't reach. She hurried to collect them in a small pot and closed the container to get a better look at them.

Those were...plagas. But they weren't moving. Well, neither did the fossils when she found them and now it turned out that they had somehow come back to life.

But that was none of his business.

She gripped the boat firmly and took the darts away from the workers so as not to leave a trace. She took a few steps back, watching the silhouettes inside the flames melt like wax, and for a moment she remembered the screeching of those creatures. But she soon silenced those memories.

There was no room for emotions at work.

She turned and left the room the same way she had arrived. Silently and like a ghost.

*

The rain was violent when she stepped outside and lightning decorated the sky like pale veins. Ada pressed the button on her watch, sending the call for them to come pick her up at her location. She looked up to find a good area and noticed the main tower of the museum. She spun on her heel and headed for the roof. 

In the end, her soundproof footwear and odor suppressant had done her no good. She hadn't run into Ashley or Leon, so she assumed they would be debriefing whatever had happened in the lab.

She climbed the stairs and opened the door to the roof, being greeted by the cold rain. She looked at the small canister in her hand as she walked to the edge of the tower, waiting for her driver.

When she heard a click behind her neck.

“ We should stop running into each other like this.”

Ada froze. She hadn't heard him, but she knew who it was.

“ Unexpectedly?” she replied with a subtly amused smile.

“ At gunpoint.”

Ada turned on her heel and her brown eyes met those deep blue irises. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds as Leon pointed his gun at her.

“Give me the boat, Ada. You know how dangerous those things are.” Leon's voice was strangely calm, but at the same time deep and threatening. Ada looked at him with that almost imperceptible smile.

“ Are you still playing the hero?”

The rain was falling on them like a reminder. Just like in Raccoon City.

“ And you the villain?”

“ Oh Leon, I'm just doing my job.”

“ And I'm doing mine.”

Ada's smile faltered for a second. It wasn't the first time they had been in that situation, but there was something about Leo's tone and the way he looked at her. Something in Leon's tone and in his gaze that felt...different. But he pushed the thought away. She knew Leon and she knew he was weak with her. He always had been, and always would be.

“ Didn't your pet come with you?”

Leon clenched his jaw at Wong's dismissive tone toward his companion.

“ She's no pet.” he growled under his breath, holding the gun tightly.

“Are you still mad about Iceland? You know I'm right.” she smiled mischievously, speaking softly and trying to make him flinch. And Leon sensed it. He could see it now with blinding clarity.

“Yes, but I know you're right.” He lowered the gun and Ada smiled. 

“I'm always right.”

“ But Ashley has it more.” he paused, looking at her with ice cold eyes. “Ever since I met you you've only lied to me, I doubt Ada Wong is even your real name, but I've had enough since Raccoon City. I will not tolerate you harming the people I love. You used Narsson to your advantage and Ashley has been hurt because of it.” He pointed to the vial in Ada's hand. “This is my last warning, Ada. Give me the vial and don't get in my way again.”

Wong was surprised at the man's words, but she was still sure she had power over him. She didn't listen to the little voice telling her to be careful. That there was something strange.

She took a step toward Leon, closing the small distance that separated them. She stared at him, brushing her chest against his subtly.

“ Are you going to shoot me? You're too good for that, Leon. I know you.”

Leon felt the venom slide across those lips that once kissed him. But that felt terribly cold compared to those of...Ashley's.

Leon's expression darkened and a dark chuckle escaped the man's lips. Ada shivered as she felt his gloved hand reach up to stroke her cheek coolly.

“ You've hurt a lot of people Ada and there's a person important to me in the hospital because of it. This is not a warning, it is a PROMISE. If you harm her in any way again, I will not hesitate to pull the trigger.”

The little voice got louder and her smile faded.

“ You're not going to-”

“Goodbye, Ada.”

The hand on Wong's cheek slammed against her chest and as she blinked she darted over the edge of the tower.

Time stood still. Her eyes looked at him unblinkingly. Unbelievingly, uncomprehendingly, as her body fell into the void. 

She would never have imagined that he would throw her. That was what she had sensed from the beginning, what had felt so different about him. And in that moment she realized that she had come to lie to herself.

She didn't know him.

He was no longer the same as in Raccoon city. She could see even in Spain, after those 6 years, that he had changed, but a part of her continued to think that he still felt the same as he did that fateful night. That he still remembered that kiss she gave him.

She saw him raise the gun again towards her and the roar of the shot echoed even louder than the thunder itself to her.

A sharp pain flooded her up and down as she fell and she managed to fire the hook at the last moment. 

She fell violently to the ground, out of breath and searched for the source of the pain, finding her hand bloody. He had shot the vial and now she had nothing left.

She heard the helicopter arrive and raised her eyes to the tower. The rain hissed and thunder rumbled along with the lightning that illuminated the figure at the edge of the tower.

She had believed that in that cat and mouse game she would always manage to beat him with chunks of cheese. That she would always be one step ahead.

But the mouse turned out to be a wolf.

*

The bike gave way gently under her weight. Leon dropped onto the seat with his eyes downcast and his head down, still hearing the propellers of Ada's helicopter in his head. 

He felt...heaviness and at the same time lightness. There had been a time when he felt that sensation, although the guilt was greater at the time. When his partner left him before leaving for Raccoon City. That night was more painful than now, but the lightness came later.

At that moment...sitting on the bike in the rain...the lightness was greater than his guilt.

He had finally been able to face a part of him that he had come to hate. That side that clung to what Ada made him believe she gave him in Raccoon City.

But everything she showed him was nothing more than a lie.

In Spain, when he met her again...he already felt something different.

Mistrust and...anger.

She was the one who made him lose the ability to trust people. He was always told, since he was a child, that he was an honest person and that he trusted others.

But Ada broke that.

Only to meet Ashley and...have her give him back some of the humanity he had lost.

The cell phone vibrated in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He took the call and held it to his ear.

“ Tell me.” His voice was muffled.

“ Have you...been able to take care of the problem?” Hunnigan's voice sounded on the other end, sensing his partner's depressed tone.

“ Yes.” he answered without much explanation and then added. “Has Viktor seen her?”

Hunnigan nodded on the other end of the line.

“ Hunnigan nodded on the other end of the line. They've given her a full assessment and made sure to remove all the debris from her body. She said she was out of danger, that her body was getting rid of whatever had been put in her.”

The news made Leon's shoulders slump and he suddenly started to feel the cold.

“How is she doing? I'm going back to the hospital now.”

“ Viktor has sent her home.”

“ What?” Leon tensed again, worry tingeing his voice hopelessly.

“ Relax. Ashley woke up after all the scrubbing and asked to be sent home, you know, because her wounds heal so fast and all. She didn't want to draw any more attention to herself at the clinic, so Viktor released her after making sure she was okay to go back. Chris and Jill have taken her home.”

Leon let out a long sigh of relief, but also of exhaustion. He was at a low level. The adrenaline was gone from his body and he now felt like a walking stone.

“ I see...then I'll go home.” he sighed feebly.

Hunnigan heard him on the other side and was silent for a few seconds before she asked softly, concerned for him.

“ Leon...are you all right?”

No. He wasn't, but he wasn't to talk to anyone about it either. He trusted Hunnigan, but...it was too personal a subject that even she didn't know the depths of.

No one knew how deep his thoughts, regrets and emotions went. Only Ashley was the one who had managed to delve the deepest into them.

“ It's nothing, I'm just...tired.”

Ingrid heard the sigh and heaviness in the man's voice and, even though she knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth, she knew this was no time to talk about it. She had learned to interpret Leon's tones. He had never been the most expressive person in the world, so he had to manage to be able to interpret his words based on his tone of voice.

And at that moment he was overwhelmed.

“ All right, get some rest. Good night, good night.”

“ Good night.”

He hung up and stared at the black screen.

Ashley was safe and out of danger, but...god, the guilt was gnawing at him like a piranha.

They had talked about it. They'd talked about it that night, in the therma. Ada's words that made him wonder if he was to blame for Ashley having followed in his footsteps. He couldn't help but feel responsible, even though he had already told her that it had been her decision.

The demons were much stronger that night.

He gritted his teeth and sunk his face into his hands as he leaned over the bike. Was it Ada's poison that was giving him such a headache? Now that he had decided he would protect Ashley at all costs, even from her?

He needed...time. Maybe he needed to digest everything that had happened in the last few weeks. His head was in chaos and just thinking about what it had meant for him to do what he had done in the tower left him exhausted.

He took a deep breath and managed to pull himself together enough to start the bike. Better to go in parts, first back home, then...he would think about how to deal with the rest of his demons.

*

Ashley sighed as she finally managed to swallow some water. Her throat hurt horrendously and she couldn't make a sound for now. She stroked Mint's head with her free hand, lying on her thigh. She smiled at how calm he was and felt Pepper climb up on the couch next to her. The dog gave her a soft lick on her cheek, as if showing his concern. Ashley smiled at her and kissed her muzzle lovingly and then tapped the hollow next to her. Pepper looked for a spot and curled into a ball.

Silence reigned in the living room for long minutes, leaving Ashley alone with her thoughts. She kept an eye on her cell phone, but soon blocked it as she wasn't in the mood to chat with anyone. As she did so, the black screen reflected the dark skin around her neck and jaw.

The tentacles had caused ugly bruises all over her body and, from what Viktor had told her, they would take a little longer than usual to heal as her body seemed to be fighting off the toxins that bug had put into her.

She dropped her head on the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain lashed against his windows with force.

Those images she had seen, what were they? Right now she couldn't remember anything, everything was blurry and I couldn't remember the scenery or elements she had seen. 

Her body weighed a ton, but she didn't feel tired. She had tried to sleep when she got home, Chris and Jill had even offered to stay with her if she gave her security, but she still wasn't sleepy.

Not when she knew Leon had gone out alone.

Neither Patrick nor her father had been able to tell her where he'd gone, only that he had to take care of someone. 

Every time she tried to think about who it might be, her head started to hurt like hell. She took another sip of water and sighed again, staring blankly at the dark TV screen.

She thought of her argument with Narsson, of the injuries Leon had suffered before the Plague, of the bugs that came out of his body when he vomited, and of the way he promised her he would return to her.

She closed her eyes, recalling the softness of his lips against her forehead. She could barely maintain consciousness when he did it, but the warmth of the gesture and his words came to her like a bonfire on a cold winter night.

She was worried about him and so she couldn't sleep.

She looked at the time and saw that it was well into the early hours of the morning. Viktor had ordered her to rest until further notice, so she would probably spend the entire day tomorrow sleeping. Maybe if she read a little she would get sleepy.

She decided to give that idea a chance and got up from the couch to head to her room. 

And Leon's scent reached her.

She stopped in her tracks and turned toward the door at the back. She stood in silence for a few minutes, until she finally heard the sound of the elevator. Her body moved of its own accord and she approached the entrance, standing silently.

The dogs sensed him as well and got up from the couch to walk around the living room, curious. Ashley stood still, listening to her companion's heavy footsteps approach the door.

She heard him pause and for a second nothing else was heard.

She knew he was there, and she was sure he knew she was there too. She thought he would knock on her door for her to open it, or ring it in a whisper so he wouldn't use the doorbell so late.

But she heard him take a step to the opposite side and the jingle of keys echoed like a noisy bell to her.

She couldn't control herself. She reached out and turned the knob to open the door.

She saw him stand still. He was shod from top to bottom and his back betrayed the tension inside. Ashley just stood in the doorway, watching him. She saw him subtly tilt his head, as if hesitating and after long seconds of silence, he turned to face her.

The light from Ashley's living room illuminated Leon's shadowed face. He had dark circles under his eyes, just like her and his expression was tired and grim.

Their eyes met in the silence and Ashley could see in those deep oceans the torment his mind was suffering at that moment. So much so, that he had been about to leave for his apartment without telling her.

Ashley exhaled, relieved to see him well. His arm was still bandaged and he had small wounds across his neck and face, but he was safe and sound. Her body shifted and she gently reached out her hand to him, holding it out to him. Leon looked at her, somewhat reluctant and confused. He saw him hesitate and tense his fists, debating inwardly what the right move was, but finally gave in and took it.

Ashley gently tugged him inside her house and knew they were both in a delicate moment. Her head was a mess from everything that had happened with the plaga and Narsson and Leon seemed to be waging an internal conflict with his emotions.

When he entered the apartment, the dogs came to greet him, but Leon wasn't much in the mood to play with them, so he just petted their heads with a tired smile.

“ Hey guys, good night to you too." he greeted in a tired whisper. He could barely lift his arms to pet them, his muscles ached too much to even try. 

After giving the dogs a small helping of affection, his eyes lifted to Ashley. He noticed the very dark purple color that covered her entire neck and jaw. She had cuts and bruises all over her arms and legs and he imagined that underneath her clothes she would be the same or worse.

“How...how are you feeling?” his voice wavered and he had to swallow saliva to soften the lump he felt in his throat at seeing her in that state. Ashley gave him a soft smile and nodded her head in positive response. Leon seemed relieved to see her out of that horrible bed.

He had so many questions and worries, but his mind and body were so saturated that he didn't know where to go from here. Ashley sensed Leon's state and knew they both needed calm and...closeness.

Leon may not have said it, but Ashley could see the gentle twitch in the fingers of his hands, as if he was holding back from lifting them toward her. She could see him so...down and that's when she caught another scent.

Ada's scent.

Ashley froze for a few seconds. That had been the person he had gone to see? The one he had to take care of? Her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of that woman, remembering the anger she felt at their first encounter.

Doubts began to populate her mind and questions piled up like grains of sand on a beach.

But one thing was clear. He had returned to her, just as he had promised.

She smiled gently and stepped toward him to take his hand gently. Leon looked confused at first, but let her pull him in. She led him toward the bathroom, where she closed the door and turned on the bathtub faucet. Steam from the water soon began to envelop the room and Ashley turned to him, raising her hands to the buttons of his shirt.

For a moment Leon tensed, not understanding what she wanted to do, but soon surrendered to the smoothness and calmness of her movements. He felt his tired heart subtly quicken as she slowly moved down and finished removing his shirt. He let himself be done without complaint, feeling the cold leave his drenched body little by little. 

He felt her fingers move down to his belt and calmly unbuckle it. His breath hitched, but he watched her walk away a moment later. Ashley turned off the faucet to the tub now open and covered in an even layer of bubbles. She finished unbuckling his belt and motioned him toward the tub before exiting the bathroom.

Leon understood the duties and lazily finished undressing. He slid under the water and a deep growl emerged from him hopelessly. His muscles screamed at the pleasant warmth of the water and he needed a few seconds to breathe calmly again.

A few more minutes passed when he heard the door open timidly and Ashley came in with clean towels and a tracksuit she seemed to have gone to get from his apartment.

She set them down on a stool and picked up another one to approach Leon and sit behind him. He turned with a worried expression and whispered to her.

“Ash, you're hurt, you shouldn't-” his partner's fingers sealed her lips and she saw him shake his head.

“ Ashley…” he replied as he saw that look he knew so well. She arched her eyebrow, adopting an expression that didn't let him argue anything else and just hoped he got what he gave her. 

Leon sighed and gave up, unable to bring himself to argue against her.

Or rather, unable to when she was looking at him like that.

Ashley took the movable faucet from the tub and began to wet the agent's hair. Her fingers gently and softly glided across his scalp. The shampoo suds emulsified between his hands and thoroughly massaged Leon's skin. 

Silence reigned in the place. The gentle movement of the water, the faucet or Ashley's hands soaping the man's head, were the only sounds that pervaded the place.

It was just calm and quiet. They both needed it. Ashley had felt Leon's dark shadows as vivid as the night of his nightmare and had wanted to do something. Maybe wanting to wash his head and bathe him was a way to distract herself too, to stop thinking about everything that had happened in the last few hours and to stop smelling...Ada's scent on him.

She still wondered what he would have talked to her about, if they had talked at all. Even if she'd had her voice, she wouldn't have been able to ask him. Not when he seemed to be in pain. Was it because of Ada? Or was it about something else?

Whatever it was, she didn't let those thoughts wander much in her mind. She focused on Leon, just as he had done while she was bedridden in the hospital.

She heard him sigh in exhaustion and pleasure, surrendering to Ashley's massages as she washed his hair and then rinsed it out. He wanted to tell her so much. He wanted to tell her about his decision regarding Ada, what had happened, in how she had been the one behind Narsson all that time.

But the words got stuck in his throat, unable to find their way out, maybe out of tiredness or maybe embarrassment, he didn't know.

What he did know was that all that attention was calming him down, but at the same time making him feel dirty and...guilty.

And so, he could only remain silent as Ashley's gentle hands kept the demons that threatened to drown him at bay. Memories began to come to him, bit by bit. One of those memories that...stuck with him by fire and he was sure with Ashley as well.

A stormy night on their escape, in a moment of rest they found and...shared many things.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ashley patted him gently on the shoulder, being aware that she had finished grooming him. He raised his eyes to hers and Ashley gave him a faint smile again, pulling the towel and clothes closer to him.

“Thank you.” he whispered in a husky, velvety voice. Ashley blushed subtly and waved her hand to get out of the bathroom and give him some privacy to get dressed.

She went to the kitchen, petting, tenderly, the dogs that had laid down on their respective beds on one side of the living room on her way. She decided to make some of the infused milk Leon showed her, hoping that, in this way, sleep would eventually come to her. While the milk was heating, she took the dryer into the living room and tossed the wet, tattered clothes Leon had brought in to wash. Although, on second thought, it was a better idea to throw them away and buy new ones, seeing the state they were in.

She turned off the fire and heard the click of the door opening. Ashley poured two cups of milk and took them to the coffee table. She saw in Leon's expression the worry and guilt that she was doing all this for him, but it only took one look from the woman for him not to reply. Ashley tapped the seat for him to sit down and plugged in the dryer.

Leon simply ducked his head in front of her and let her do it. She turned the air to the lowest setting and gently, she slid her fingers through Leon's soft hair, drying it.

He closed his eyes, elbows resting on his knees and head down, until the point where he hopelessly let his head fall forward against Ashley's belly.

She stood still for a moment, feeling one of Leon's broad hands gently hold her leg. She stared at him for a moment and couldn't help but smile with a slight blush on her cheeks.

That was Leon's way of showing his affection. Small physical gestures, like caresses or squeezes. She let him rest his head against her belly while she dried his hair.

That situation was very intimate and they both seemed to have butterflies inside. The storm outside made them feel like they were in a bubble, away from danger and trouble. There were only two youths there, tired and exhausted by their surroundings, seeking refuge in each other. The calm and the feeling of home they conveyed to each other was the only thing that mattered to them at that moment. The mundane sound of the dryer was a small glimpse of normalcy in their surreal lives.

They were just grateful for the peace they felt at that moment.

The dryer turned off and Leon opened his eyes as he felt Ashley's hands stop massaging him. He lay still for a few seconds, not wanting to move his head away from her belly. He groaned softly and closed his eyes as she massaged his neck gently. 

They didn't exchange words for long seconds, but they both understood the need they had at that moment for each other.

“Could I... stay on the couch?” Leon's voice was soft and deep, feeling the sleep and exhaustion begin to weigh his body down. Everything Ashley had done for him had helped horrors and the smell of infused milk was finishing whispering to him to rest.

But, as much as he wanted to hold her and lay with her, another part of him needed to be alone with his thoughts. He lifted his blue eyes to her amber ones, waiting for her response. Ashley looked at him worriedly for a moment, but then smiled and nodded.

She moved her hands away from his neck and went to give him some blankets and a pillow while Leon drank the milk.

The warmth of the drink was what was missing for his nerves to calm down and his mind was too tired to think too much.

Ashley brought him the things and between the two of them they set up the wide couch for him to sleep on. She picked up Leon's empty cup and smiled at him as a goodnight gesture.

Leon was quick to catch her wrist, looking down at the floor with some embarrassment.

“Thank you.” He whispered to her with a tone of guilt, but genuinely grateful.

Ashley stood still for a few seconds and then took his hand. She raised it to her face and kissed his knuckles softly and then gave it a gentle squeeze.

Silence reigned in the room when they turned off the lights, plunging the place into a static atmosphere, as if time had stopped. The storm raged outside, but the apartment was warm and quiet.

A haven. A refuge for both of them.