#Escape from Terror City

[xboxissues]

New Xbox Games for September 4th-8th 2023

[mikami1992]

Danny, Arkham Guard… but more supernatural.

We've all read some version of what happens when Danny ends up as a Guard (either alone or accompanying Jazz), and we've all come to the conclusion that Danny is the one who terrorizes the naughty inmates…

but we haven't taken something into account…

Danny's mere presence increases the ambient ectoplasm, and a mental institution like Arkham must have its ghosts…

so give me a story where everyone (inmates, guards, doctors and even visitors) start to see, even identify people who shouldn't be there… because they had already died in some riot or escape…

yes, where everyone and even his grandmother start losing their minds from terror while Danny eats his sandwich calmly in the background without caring about anything (and where no one can say that he is the guilty one)

and when you ask him why so calm…

Danny: "I come from the most haunted city in the world, this is just any Tuesday"

[mo0nfairy]

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

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

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 12.3k.

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, gender neutral reader, smut (not involving reader), murder, death, violence/gore, suic1dal tendencies, suic1de attempt, alcoholism, weaponry, panic attacks, ptsd, hallucinations, & sleep paralysis.

leon kennedy's yandere traits are . . .

clingy, heroic, & territorial

──── Leon Kennedy hates sunlight in his eyes. Yet still, he finds himself basking in the warm rays.

When the sun hits the window just right, ensnaring the room in its golden hues, he bathes in its light the same way he'd lay in a hot bath. The lulling warmth melts his muscles and eases his body. After he falls asleep in the office after another unsuccessful investigation, your sunset is there for him. When he passes out after a drunken night at the bar, your sunrise is there for him. You're looking down at him always, embracing him in splotches of sunlight.

For a while, Leon thought he knew what it meant to be alive. To touch the hands of guttural pain; to feel the jagged juts of his past nestle against him. But, after that horrid night six years ago, after the exposure to sunshine he did not know existed, he truly touched the scorching surface of rock bottom.

And it is killing him. All because of a singular person.

Y/N L/N. The name he will never forget.

Leon remembers your exuberant eyes, your adorable mannerisms, the glimmer of your smile; he will never forget how you sparked the beginning of his life in Raccoon City.

He remembers the orange lights had swayed in his vision. How everything was stuck in a blistering sea of vertigo. Listening to the fire crackle and creatures groan, Leon coughs from the tickle caught in his throat. There is a weight pressed to his chest, something akin to a cushion. White. Artificial fabrics, a plastic touch. An airbag, maybe?

September 28th of 1998. The memories all return to him like a violent supercut. The yell of his name, the squeal of the brakes, the collision afterward. His precious Jeep Wrangler had now been flipped upside down and he was now caught in the savagery of the aftermath. The blood rushing to his head has the world swirling around him, lulling him into another state of unconsciousness. Leon touches the passenger seat with his red hands, terror ensnaring him upon realizing the seat was empty.

Something blurry in his trail of vision grips his attention. Through the shattered window, a figure stumbles through the brume of the flickering streetlights. Blue glares frame the dirt-stained "R.P.D" sign and the figure hastens towards its doors.

A whimper of your name is stuck on his tongue, as words get trapped in his congested throat. Don't leave me. In Leon's efforts to escape, his foot gets caught on the gear shift. He pulls with all his might, despite the twists and strains his ankle endures. Y/N, please don't. Shards of glass fall from his hair as he wrestles his way out. A few pieces manage to leave shallow nicks against his flesh. Come back to me.

Leon then plummets to the wet pavement, finally free of his demolished car. Frivolous debris and fresh corpses litter his path. His newly-purchased white sneakers (which he bought solely to show off to you) are splattered in the disgusting matter. Stumbling, he is able to persevere through all of this and he quickly trudges through the wreckage.

Leon barrels through the doors of the R.P.D. and surges through the police department. Bullets pierce through the skulls of pedestrians and coworkers roaming the building. Blood paints his body like rainfall. All while he is searching for the face that will end the torment reigning havoc through his mind.

The holding cells are inspected thoroughly while Leon's disposition is one of acute desperation. The adjacent areas are consumed with infected prisoners, all of which he promptly executes. Much to his dismay, however, the rookie does not find you sitting at a bench or clinging to the rusted bars. It is all empty, leading him to become more frantic in his search for you.

Something navy blue then captures his attention. Left on the floor of a cell is a name tag. Something small and wet with blood.

Leon takes the object into his fingers. His heart wrenches when he reads the name stamped on the plastic. The familiar "Mizoil Gas Station" is printed above "Y/N L/N".

A gasp fills the empty silence. Y/N... Where did you go? Why did you leave me?

"Hey.”

He jerks around to the intruding voice.

"Who is that?"

"Stay sharp."

Behind him is a rotting face with dead, paper-white eyes staring right through him. The zombie towers over him, growling for a bite. Leon yanks Matilda from his holster. The action is swift. Adept. Exactly the way he was trained. The echo of a gunshot permeates through the large expanse and fuses with the squelching sounds of brain matter oozing from the zombies' open skull. The corpse falls to the grimy floors with a thud and once more, silence returns.

The click of stiletto heels treads closer to Leon. On the threshold of the prison cell, a woman walks into his train of vision.

Ada Wong.

Finally, a human! Leon thinks to himself. He is quick to take advantage of the company of a normal, uninfected person. The pestering questions he has all tumble out out his mouth like an avalanche of blabbering nonsense.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone!"

Her lack of articulation urges Leon to continue.

"My name is Leon Kennedy."

He takes a breath before continuing.

"The person I'm looking for- they, um- they're about... this tall." He holds his flat hand up to demonstrate your height. "Their eyes are Y/E/C. Well, maybe not like an exact shade of Y/E/C. It's more like a softer, prettier-"

She scoffs, cutting him off from his incessant rambling. Turning her heel, Ada begins to walk away from the pathetic mess she stumbled upon.

"Wait! Their name is Y/N!”

The woman halts.

“Y/N L/N! Please, you have to help me find them!"

Body tense, her eyes peer at him through the dark barrier of her sunglasses. Her arms weaken, once sternly folded over her beige trench coat.

"They're my partner... Please..."

Ada's lips part. From them, a sharp inhale.

Leon begs her with desperate worry, encompassed in a vehement frame of mind. His plead is spoken with such clarity, Ada can only assume it as truth. And the prospect of you belonging to someone else cuts like a dull knife. It is gross, it is nauseating. Unnatural. Like worms slithering around in her stomach, trying to escape the heart-shattering effect this information has on her.

Then, there is the anger. The betrayal is like a song too loud, the resentment like sheer alcohol on her tongue. Everything manifests into a spirit so overwhelming that Ada cannot find air to breathe. This blanket of rage stirs with her sorrow like two conflicting chemicals. The reaction sparks something iniquitous.

So, in turn, she does what she does best.

Lie.

"Y/N is dead."

A silence settles in the room.

Leon stares. That is all he does.

He stares at Ada and tries to scrutinize her to find some other truth. Anything other than this.

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

Ada speaks with defective emotion. The words land mercilessly and hit with ruthless force.

A harsh ringing noise permeates around Leon. He covers his ears, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He shakes his head no, as though he merely disagrees with fact. It's not true. It can't be! Losing grasp on the only good thing in his life is something he will not accept. He refuses to.

You are his sun. What is existence without its warmth? What will happen to Earth without its necessity?

How can he possibly survive without you?

Ada rolls her eyes at the dramatic scene now playing out at her hand. She ignores her own hypocrisy, of course. If she had learned of your demise, only God knows what blood-curdling reaction she would have. When it comes to Leon, however, every blink of his eye and twitch of his muscle has her riddled with irritation. Does he not know how lucky he is? Ada would endure any pain if she knew she had the comfort of calling you her lover. It is a dream she would kill to make reality.

Leon soon collapses to the floor. A shot of pain courses through his knees from landing harshly on the cement. His hand clutches over his heart, absolutely gutted by the torment forced upon the organ.

Ada then leaves this lie where she puts it down. She struts out of the prison cell, thus continuing her search for wherever in Raccoon City you may be.

You do not need a boyfriend. Especially one as pathetic as Leon Kennedy.

The man in question has been rendered into a puddle of blubbering nonsense. Questions still fill the silent air. How, when, why? Why did it have to be you? The one person on this disgusting planet who did not deserve it. Why couldn't you have just stayed with him and let him devote his life to protecting the precious gem of your life? Why? Why? Why?

Leon has already lost so much, you were the very last thing keeping him afloat. You are his life preserver in the middle of the ocean. He has now succumbed to the thrashing waves, as he was always destined to be swallowed by the sea. Saltwater permeates his lungs and his limp body sways with the lulling current. As though this is what his life was always meant to be: crawling after happiness just to have it yanked away when he gets too close. In the end, his sugar-sweet delusions will always sink down to the ocean floor.

Tears do not escape Leon, no matter the weight of the pain. He does not care for anything but you. Now that you have left him, nothing else matters. Therefore, no emotion can be elicited from him anymore. He has been touched so violently by this intensity, it eradicated any surviving nerves.

His handgun had been left on the ground, a few feet away from him. Assumably falling from his grasp after his knees gave out. He takes the weapon and it shivers in his trembling grasp. It's blurry in his gaze, as his entire vision is overwhelmed with stupor. Should he? God knows he wants to. What is there left to experience in life without you there with him?

As he guides the barrel of his gun to his temple, the static ringing in his ears accelerates in volume. Somehow, though, Leon does not feel fear. He does not feel anything. No dread, no despair — just sheer, hollow nothingness. It infuses his entire body like a roaming virus, ensuring it does not leave any traceable fragments of emotion.

A quivering finger hovers over the trigger. One pull and he will be free.

Leon presses his finger down.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing happens.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

"FUCK!"

Leon chucks the gun to the ground. His yell comes out guttural, a touch away from being a growl.

The clatter of Matilda's impact is not enough to appease him, as this swamped nothingness is more than he can endure. In a fit of defeat, Leon balls his fists and punches the cement floor. Agony surges through his entire hand and blood smudges his knuckles. The sound of his bones cracking still does not satisfy him in the slightest. Nothing can aid him now. Absolutely nothing.

With heavy legs, Leon stands to his feet. He holds his broken fist close to his chest and limps out of the empty prison cell. As he meanders through the station, he finds a set of car keys to a police cruiser on the corpse of his former co-worker. Despite claiming the title of "hero" when he first earned his badge, he does not intend to help anyone tonight. He couldn't save the only thing he ever loved, what kind of hero fails to do that?

The screaming of pedestrians and desperate pleas for help fall on deaf ears. The vehicle's engine rumbles and Leon's dead eyes stare at the road ahead. He leaves Raccoon City forever in his dust.

Six years have passed since the night you were taken from him. Leon wants to die, that much is for certain. The only thing preventing him from giving in is the fact that people need him. They all fail to see that he needs you, as he always will. Besides, he’s got some last few words he wishes to tell Umbrella before he bids this life farewell.

This is his life now. And in a morbid way, he thinks it is romantic. He read somewhere that if a swan dies, their surviving mate will fly into the sky and let themselves plummet to their death. Is that you and him? Should he put the final puzzle piece in your happily-ever-after and end it all? When the sun shines through the window and he wakes up without you again, however, Leon cannot romanticize the empty shell he is trapped within. He is desperate to know why you couldn't have taken his body with you on your way to heaven. Why death couldn’t have brought him eternal peace the very second you passed.

These several years have been spent drowning in alcohol. Leon has no preference for whatever booze he consumes, either. Anything that will make him forget it all will do the trick. At the bar with concerned bartenders or in his almost-empty liquor cabinet at home — he’ll take whatever he can get his hands on.

All his nights are now spent beneath the golden lights of the local bar. Dawn is spent crying on the kitchen floor with a queasy stomach. His days are all the same, too. Saving the lives of helpless citizens, he never forgets how the glimmer of gratitude in their eyes should have been yours.

This night in particular was no different. Leon has nearly drunk the entire bar's alcohol supply in hours. He imbibes a glass of whiskey and cringes at the cheap taste. Too sweet. Poorly made. He does not mind this, however, as anything that can ease the pain is satisfactory enough. And just like any other night, Leon is thinking of you. He watches the ice cubes dance in the cup, arms lazily resting on the sticky countertop. If only things were different, then he wouldn't have to be in this shit-hole right now. He could spend all his nights with you, instead. God, he misses you.

"You look lonely."

Leon didn't have to look up from his glass to know what was happening. At a place like this, it was inevitable.

He never took to heart whenever his coworkers teased him with names such as "pretty boy" or "Leonardo DiCaprio." It seemed to be a "chick magnet," as they so called it. So, when another stranger approaches him with that familiar glint in their eye, he knows what they want from him.

"I can fix that."

Leon looks to where the woman is sitting beside him. Like he does with every courting, he searches her for any remnants of you. If he were honest with himself, these people served as a good distraction. Enough bottles and he can delude his fuzzy brain into believing it was you standing beside him instead of another stranger.

The sight is blurred from his intoxicated state, but his judgment is clear as day. Her face shape and height contrast from yours. She is an inch or two shorter. Her smirk is sensual, not as toothy and adorable as your vivacious smile. Her body is entirely different, as well. Too bony, with wonky proportions that were nothing like you. The only similarity was her eye color. Your exuberant shimmer was missing, but the collection of hues shared puny similarities.

Eh. Good enough.

"Daddy! S-So big- fuck!"

The blaring sounds of heavy rock playing outside the motel room do not ease the headache Leon has, nor does the vociferous calamity of this woman. She doesn't sound anything like you. Too submissive, too goddamn insufferable. In his head, he can only imagine the dulcet sounds he could pull from your pretty lips. This woman was ruining that heavenly fantasy.

"I told you to be fucking quiet."

He uses his strength and pins her harder against the squeaking mattress. Insufferably irritating moans are muffled upon shoving that loud mouth into the pillows. Leon squeezes his eyes shut and puts all attention to the image he has painted in his mind.

You'd be different, much different. He can only imagine you beneath him like this. Harsh demands formed from your dulcet voice, commanding his every move and action. Telling your puppy dog to make you feel good with the promise of a reward — the thought alone never fails to send a shiver through his body. Leon is sure your golden voice praising him is all he needs to die happy.

"Fuck, 's too much. Daddy-"

The reverie shatters as quickly as it was formed. His calloused hands find the woman's hair and he forces her further into the pillows. She is not opposed to being treated roughly in the sheets, discernible in the way her moans and mindless babbles increase in volume.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Leon would be different, too. Much softer than this. He would handle every inch of your skin like he's unmasking an archeological masterpiece. God, he couldn't treat you roughly even if he wanted to. Ruin every orgasm of his, leave his body littered with bruises and scratches. He would be a slave to your every whim, as pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other. And in return, Leon would still touch your body with the same glass-like softness he is only ever capable of treating you with.

He buries his face into the stranger's shoulder and inhales the scent of their perfume. It is nauseating and nothing like you. Artificially sweet and too strong. Leon desperately fills the plot holes in his fantasy and imagines you dolling yourself up for him. Maybe after a tireless day at work, he would arrive home to you greeting him with a surprise. Where you got all dressed up for his eyes only and allowed him to indulge in your body again and again and again and again.

He can only imagine the look in your eyes when you call him your puppy, your husband, your good boy.

The thought sends him over the edge.

It is not a euphoric unfolding. It is sharp. Gross and weak. It is merely something to help him get by, even just barely. At least tonight Leon was able to finish inside a warm body instead of the plastic toy he keeps in his bedside drawer.

He doesn't even remember the name of this stranger. However, that doesn't matter when loud whines of your name jump out of his throat instead. The word tumbles from his mouth as though if he spoke it enough, you would materialize into this bed with him.

The unsatisfied woman does not overlook this. Another person's name shamelessly moaned by the man she thought she would have some late-night fun with, is he serious? She rolls her eyes and escapes from his sweaty hold. As she dresses herself, rehearsing how she'll tell this horror story to her friends, Leon stays on the bed. He does not try to stop her from leaving.

The afterglow is feeble, but he merely pretends it is as strong as he knows it would be with you. He wants to ensnare his body around yours and reaffirm just how deeply he loves you. He just wants to be with you again, no matter what the circumstances are. In the sheets after Earth-shattering sex with the love of his life or back in the grimy streets of Raccoon City, he will take anything if it means looking into your eyes again.

The door closes with a slam. Leon is now alone. But, then again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like, after all.

2,327 days and counting since he lost you.

If you asked him all that time ago where he thought he'd be right now, he would answer with the hope and happiness he only had then. He'd sit cozy in the little cabin in the woods you and he would occupy, he was sure of it. Summers would be spent in the sunlit lakes and Winters would be spent huddling for warmth by the fireplace. Years would pass like this. All laughter and kisses, snuggles, and healing hearts.

These fantasies haunt him like a horror-flick ghost floating around an attic, as it is what his life could have been had he not failed to protect you. He could have you in his arms this very second, but because of his God-awful driving skills, your body was left behind in the rubble of Umbrella's mistakes. It is what he devoted his entire career to now: tearing down that damned corporation. It is why he is in this motel room, to begin with, where he rots in these musty sheets and sleeps with people he can't remember the names of.

Images of you and him sharing smiles flicker through his brain and lull him. Your eyes are the last thing Leon sees before he falls asleep.

It is a light slumber. He does not dream, he is merely unconscious. When he wakes an hour later, it is like he has not slept at all. As if the short period of time passed in a sheer blink. This is what his sleeping schedule normally looks like nowadays, complemented by the heavy, storm-grey bags beneath his eyes.

The sheet draped over his waist leaves him cold. The Winter weather creeps into the room and engulfs his naked skin in goosebumps. When Leon tries to grasp more of the cheap blankets to drape himself in, he is at a loss when he finds himself unable to move. Almost as though a weight had forced him back onto the bed. He can't move even a muscle; he is wholly and utterly paralyzed.

There's a soft footstep that permeates. Leon's eyes dart around the room, but there is nothing to perceive in the dark emptiness. When he tries to open his mouth and question if that woman has returned, his jaw remains locked shut.

Another footstep. He searches for anything to defend himself from whatever monster lurks in the shadows.

Then, another step. There is no doubting someone is in this room with him. He tries to regain mobility of his body, scrambling to use his fists or to find his gun.

"Leon?"

Something blooms within him. A vibrant, healthy flower persevering through the fiery ashes.

"It's me..."

Home. That is the only word Leon could use to explain your voice. Like the swirling scent of oven-fresh cookies made by his grandmother. Like the imagination in his mother's voice when she read him a bedtime story. Like the scent of freshly mowed grass when he plays outside after school. The cadence and inflection of your words bring a sense of comfort like no other. Honey-sweet in the purest form.

Through the dust-ridden curtains, the hues of streetlight seep into one corner of the room. You step into the light, midnight shadows framing your features. You're dressed in the exact clothing he last saw you wearing, in the absence of all that blood and grime from that night. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes bore into him as you step closer. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, a smile grows on your lips and robs him of all coherent function.

Leon can't but wonder if this was it, if he had died on this disgusting motel bed and you were finally taking him back into your arms. He doesn't even mind losing all sense of mobility, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Neither his face nor his body can physically react to the rush of emotion that comes with your presence, but it is more than perceptible in his eyes. Sky-gray irises drowned in oceans of fervor. Baby blues overwhelmed with shimmering, flamboyant love.

"If only you had just heard me out, then I could actually be with you right now." Your words, as heavenly as they sound, confuse Leon.

You tuck some fallen wisps of blonde hair away from his face and he swears it is real. His heart hammers like a snare drum. This is real, it must be real, it has to be.

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me. Then neither of us would be in this mess, would we?"

Something shifts in your gaze. That smile he loves so much is torn away and replaced with a scowl. There is now a perceptible rage in your expression, drowned in hollow emotion that clenches his heart.

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!? Like everything we have means jack shit to you!"

No, no, no, no, no! It's not like that! She means nothing, she is nothing! He only used her as a placeholder for you! There isn't a single redeeming feature about her that compares to you. Jesus Christ, how could he want anyone else when you exist?

Leon tries to respond, he really does. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how badly he wishes he could go back six years and change it all. How many hours he has spent with his hands clasped in prayer, apologizing relentlessly to the sky and hoping you'll hear him from down here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.

You stand from the bed, hands balled into fists at your side. "You're not gonna say anything? Just lay there and look at me like I'm nothing but-!"

A figure then barrels at you from the shadows. Your infuriated rant was cut short with a gut-wrenching shout when you are knocked to the ground. Saturated flesh peeking from dead skin and groans of hunger plunging from their slack mouth — a zombie had leaped from the darkness and sunk its teeth into your shoulder. Blood spouts from your wound and cascades down your body. You plead for Leon to help you, that he not leave you behind like he did all those years ago. And so desperately, Leon tries to.

A scream is locked behind his closed mouth as he tries to wrestle his way back to you. It pries and fights to escape, as though the force of his shout would be enough to convince this brainless creature to leave you be. Eyes blown wide with dizzying panic, all he can do is watch. His toned chest, sheen with sweat, rises and falls with rapid movements. Muffled whimpers of horror escape from the subtle crease of his mouth.

With every beating second your life fades away, the more Leon latches to any vigor he can grasp. His efforts to save you are overwhelmed in sheer desperation. He cannot let this happen all over again; he cannot lose you a second time. It would kill him, he is sure of it.

Something twitches in his finger. Then his foot. And for a moment, hope flickers in his mind. He can save you and atone for what he failed to do before. When the squelching sounds of flesh torn asunder fill the silence, that hope wears thin.

Like a bag of sand, Leon is able to drag his limp body across the mattress. His jaw weakens, to where sounds of despair are granted the ability to escape in roaring fervency. Off the side of the bed with the speed of a slug, he hits the ground with a harsh thud. Hauling himself onto his stomach, a verbiage of your name leaves his mouth.

He begins to crawl helplessly to where you are, only to stop in his efforts when he finds nothing. The lights from outside still seep into the room and the racket sounds of rock music still play from a room over. But, you have vanished. Leon stares at where you had fallen, scrutinizing every detail for any resemblance of you.

Misery strikes like a gunshot through his chest. Why did he fail again? Why can't he be enough, even for just once?

Why do you always leave him in the end?

He is alone again. Sat by himself on top of the soiled motel carpet and used condom he had frivolously thrown across the room. But, once again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like. And now, it is what the rest of his life will likely be encompassed in — empty solitude and hopeless dreams of you.

Leon does not sleep for the rest of the night. He is far too restless from the stressful events, terrified of watching that scene play out all over again. The digital clock on the bedside table provided minimum light, where the vibrant red numbers tick away. All he does is lie in this mess, watching the hours drift away.

A dark blue soon ensnares the sky. Birds squawk and sing. Dawn has finally arrived and so does the sun, bathing the room in its glowing orange and pink hues.

Your sunrise welcomes him, once again. The warmth and its serenity fails to placate him, though. Sitting here, he realizes how much of a fool he was to believe it was you in some form. The very second you left, you took everything warm and bright with you. You left him cold and empty and lifeless. You nestled the sun behind your resting eyes when your life faded away.

Cuddling up with you in that imaginary cabin is the only thing that can vitalize him. Two cups of steaming tea, watching the wind sway through the trees from the porch. Oh, the things Leon would take to bring this fantasy to life. To bring you back into the warmth of his arms is all he could ever need, where you will be safe and forever alive.

6:02 AM on the clock, Leon is expected at work in the following hour. Without a morsel of energy left in his feeble body, the thought of standing on this grimy floor overwhelms him with disdain.

Despite how badly he wishes to beat all scientists involved with Umbrella to a bloody pulp, he must take a course of action that abides by legal standards. To do this, Leon must work behind the scenes, ensuring every nail and screw is fastened with flawless finesse. This slow journey toward his goal of tearing Umbrella to shreds has taken a toll on him. No punching bag to take his rage out and his anger nestles itself into his body. Once Umbrella is six feet under, only then will he grant himself permission to join you and let Earth reclaim his body.

Today, Leon is now a part of the Torrents: a Capture-Force team designated to take down Umbrella's rumored return and prosecute those working for them. He has been assigned to replace someone on the team upon their suspension for "severe mental issues,” or whatever that entails. Alcohol heavy on his breath and bags beneath his eyes, Leon arrives at work for the day. He walks through the doors of a sanctuary Umbrella was confirmed to have been located at but has since fled from.

"You're late."

Leon doesn't care to look at the voice, as he already acknowledged and dismissed the vibrant "7:39 AM" on his wristwatch. They should be grateful he was even here in the first place and not rotting in bed.

"Not exactly rooting for employee of the month. Do I look the type?"

Leon's comment causes him to let out a quick huff of laughter. This new guy is much more amusing than his previous coworker, after all.

"Tyrell. Call me 'T."

He takes his hand out for Leon to shake, which he ignores. Tyrell stuffs his hand back into his pocket upon his refusal to reciprocate. An awkward silence settles between them.

"Leon. But, you knew that already."

The blonde then walks away from his new acquaintance. He can't recall the last time he had one, no less a genuine friend. The only person he put honest effort into discerning was you. Everyone else was just painfully bleak background noise stood behind your radiant aura. There is no one in the universe he wishes to befriend anymore, not when you're gone.

Leon treads through the building in search of the office organized by the team. Working behind a desk provides him his wanted rest, but taking part in the action scene provides an acute distraction. With his hands covered in blood and his fingers reeking of gunpowder, it is the most peace he can feel. Punch after punch, shots upon shots — the thought of you is eased little by little. The memory of you still lives on, but it is ephemeral moments like this where Leon can forget it all.

Several workers walk through the halls with heavy boxes marked "EVIDENCE". Others photograph imperative scenery around them, while some are busy scribbling on their notepads. Leon passes all of them without a second thought. However, two of his coworkers in particular capture his attention.

They both guide a surviving patient through the hallway. A young man holding a file in his hands and a perceptible fear in his eyes. The man then swiftly, albeit pathetically, throws himself at Leon and the file is shoved against his chest upon impact. A few of the files' contents slip from the folder and splat against the tiled floors. Hands curled around the sheepskin hems of his jacket, the man begs Leon for his help.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone."

Leon's stare is harsh. Cold and empty. Any living creature would surely keel over beneath that terrifyingly vacant gaze. The man, riddled with desperation, perseveres through this fear and continues to plead.

"They're my best friend... Please..."

The guards quickly shuffle over to the scene. Their hands grip the man's shoulders, but do not apply any further pressure. They look to Leon, waiting for the demand of their superior.

And without breaking eye contact, Leon speaks.

"Get him out of my sight."

They do as told, nearly shoving the man to the ground in their efforts to escort him out of the building. The hopeless gleam in his eyes should have sparked some form of guilt within Leon. Looking into that man's eyes, however, he feels nothing. Leon instead shifts his gaze to the ground. There, right beneath his boot, the sight of something causes his heart to quicken. Swiftly taking it into his gloved hands, his breath is then yanked from his chest.

In the polaroid is no other than you.

Snow engulfs the ground and you’re dressed in a large coat that practically swallows you whole. Pine trees blanketed in the white matter surround you. With chunky mittens on, you form a heart with your hands. Snowflakes descend from the sky, a few landing on your shoulders and knitted hat. Behind you, a stack of plastic sleds. You're captured with that smile of perfection on your face, the very smile that could rival the sun.

How...? 

How did he have this? Leon could've sworn he had every picture of you...

He crosses the hallway in several large strides and finds him in mere seconds. With every sliver of strength in his body, Leon tears the man from the grasp of the guards and shoves him against the wall.

"Where did you get this!?" His voice has been reduced to a gruff timbre. A horrifying whisper.

Gesturing at the Polaroid, the man looks at him in bewilderment.

"W-What are you talking about-?"

Leon's forearm pushes against the base of his throat, pressing harder and arousing choked gasps from his throat.

"I won't ask you again..."

"Me! Me, I-I took it! I took the picture!" The man, wide-eyed and terrified, desperately exclaims the truth. However, his answer seemed to be the exact opposite of what his interrogator wished for.

Calloused hands clasped around his collar, Leon pulls the man back before shoving him back into the wall. A blood-curdling crack, then a grunt pervades the air. The unmistakable scent of iron diffuses from the man's skull, inevitable from the force of the hit. Leon practically snarls through his heavy breaths.

"When!? When'd you take this fucking picture!?"

The man slurs out his answer, now rendered delirious from the strike his head endured.

"Jan... January... La-Last January..."

The world then shatters around Leon.

The tumultuous clamor of everything falling apart before his eyes robs him of any coherent, proper function. These past six years play out like another nightmare. Every sip of alcohol, every aimless nightmare, every mediocre hookup — it all crumbles and joins the rubble of the destruction.

This whole time... This whole time you...

His vision blurs as the revelation settles, swimming through a void of vertigo and devastation. A sharp ringing permeates around him. It complements the sound of his hyperventilating breaths and hammering heartbeat. The firm grasp he once held on the man weakens, to where he scrambles away from Leon and his violent antics.

This whole time you were... 

Alive...?

Leon turns his feet and stumbles away. Sweat seeps down his face and then his neck, staining the musk-stained clothes he had not washed in weeks. The sheer luminosity of the white lights, white walls, and white floors do not aid him in his attempts to soothe his sorrows. There's a sudden tightness in his chest. Leon brings his hand up to the painful ache, falling in his efforts to mend his affliction, once again.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The new voice could easily be spoken from miles away. Vanished and impossible to discern. Leon tries to clutch the walls to maintain his stability, but this inevitably fails him, as the shock derived from this epiphany sends his weak body to the unforgiving ground.

"I'm dying..."

He can hardly recognize his own voice. It is now a higher, fearful pitch than he is used to. The other person speaks once more, but he cannot perceive what was said. Their words are merely a quiet boat in a thrashing ocean.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

This feeling of realization bubbles in his chest and infiltrates every inch of his form. His chest is overwhelmed with panicked breaths. Up and down, up and down. The stranger then sprints away from Leon. Their shouts for a doctor are distorted, now an echo Leon cannot discern.

Voices from his past speak to him from all directions. As though the very walls surrounding him were taunting him. Mocking every failure of his.

"Leon- LEON-!!"

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!?"

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him."

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me."

His world has been torn to paper-thin shreds. Then, it all goes dark. Leon is left alone and unconscious in this vast abyss of nothingness.

Tyrell sighs in frustration. He wonders why this team has such a knack for hiring people with "severe mental issues".

A harsh cut to reality is what Leon was next met with. Inside this shoebox-sized hospital room, ragged belts are restrained around his limbs. Doctors rush in and out of the blinding-white room. A myriad of drugs course in his system, intended to ease the rampant panic pumping through his body. The aftermath of his panic attack was fresh, yet still, all Leon could think about was you.

How you, his sunshine, his sweet baby, have been alive all this time.

Leon thrashes and fights against his restraints, as though you were just outside the door, waiting for him to come scoop you in his arms and close the distance between you at once. For the umpteenth time, several nurses race into the room and sedate him. Again, he is forced into another fit of unconsciousness. This routine will go on to repeat numerous times. Knowing you are out there somewhere, alone, makes for a man inconsolable.

Several days pass before Leon is brought to a state of mediocre tranquility. His heart is still rampant, but with fear of more time wasted without taking proper action, he abides by the doctor's demands. He will do anything to get to you, after all. Kneel before God, succumb to the Devil. Face him with the most torturous, humiliating, gut-wrenching fate with the promise of your return and he will simply smile in response. Leon will lay with blood painting his teeth and purple bruises caked into his skin, unhinged with euphoria knowing you are the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Mere picoseconds had passed before he sprung into action. He is swift to return to his work. Fervently, he begins scouring through every detail Umbrella left behind to pinpoint the exact location you reside at.

The most valuable piece of evidence was security camera footage. A prominent clue that made Leon's stomach coil like a snake ensnaring itself around its prey. Outside of the window to your bedroom, the night-vision camera highlights the scene of two intruders. With careful ease, they pull your unconscious body through the room and flee to the adjacent forest with you in their arms.

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira are their names.

Or, as Leon prefers to refer to them, two names that have now been added to his lengthy list of those who will face his wrath.

The team has theorized the two have been working for Umbrella and were assigned to sneakily escort survivors to a new location. Due to this, patients still in this present location are now being sent to a hospital guarded by the Torrents. A place where they will be kept far away from Umbrella's grasp. What the team can't piece together, however, is why the two never came back to take more survivors. They had plentiful opportunities, but you, Y/N L/N, are the only missing patient. Or, as the team has now assigned your code name as, "Baby-Eagle".

Now, Leon is coursing through Spain. Guns strapped in their holster, knives out at the ready, and a reveling rage in his eyes — he counts every second spent away from you. The chilling temperatures gust against his skin like sharp teeth as he practically tears the country asunder. All that matters is finding the face that has been stamped in every dream of his for the past six years.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He still can't believe it. You are alive.

If Leon grants himself permission to revel in this fact, he will lose what little control he still possesses over himself. God knows how much he needs the slivers that still remain. These feelings, despite all, have kindled strength Leon never recognized. A new spark; a fresh, riveting chapter. Emotions which only you, some sort of sorcerer, are capable of conjuring.

A day has now passed of his relentless search. More and more does fear cradle Leon. Like a warm blanket nestled around his heart, he is horrified by the silence that ventures through the land of Los Iluminados. The mere thought of potentially stumbling across you, lifeless, is enough to evoke a gag from the back of his throat. He cannot handle that. He cannot lose you again.

The dim light of dusk irradiates the loading docks. Every rushed step Leon takes causes the decrepit surface to moan weakly from the weight. He scrutinizes every shipping container, every nook and cranny, every barrel splattered with yellow paint. He becomes increasingly more ridden with desperation as his lasting hope begins to flicker.

Leon turns a corner and finds it: the sight he has been crying every night to see for six years. His mouth speaks before his brain can emulate these soul-crushing sensations.

"Y/N...!?"

You turn your head to the intrusion. Leon is shocked he had not died right there beneath your gaze.

You, his epic, undying love, rest there as though Botticelli painted you as the focal point for 'Birth of Venus'. Sat against some paper sacks like Venus stood on her scallop shell, Leon has never seen a sight quite as perfect as this. Strikingly similar to the pearl Venus resembles, you and her are pure and exquisite as you are brought to life. In a way, it is precisely the events which take place now. Six years wrestling with the burden of your death, only for you to be reborn before his very eyes like the natural, divine God you are. Absolutely, irrevocably perfect in your stance.

Leon stands frozen in place. Staring at this work of art, this utter masterpiece mere yards away from him. He is then taken aback when he feels something wet trickle down his cheeks. What he assumes to be rainfall is actually... tears?

All these years, he has begged the universe to feel his emotions. Or to feel anything, for that matter. It will not bring you back, as he wholly prayed for every night, but it would bring temporary, weak relief. Right now, as though you had some form of superpower, Leon cries. He cries like he has never before. His face twists into an ugly scrunch; he can feel the hot tears and stringy snot seep down his skin. He listens to the gut-wrenching sobs protruding from his chest and holds his hand over his heart, overwhelmed by the intensity the organ is enduring.

Despite the tragic scene, Leon has never been happier. The journey these six years have taken him on has been rough. Irrevocably soul-crushing. Seeing you here, beautiful as you always were, makes everything worth it — utterly, indubitably, and completely.

Then, someone else interrupts.

Ada Wong, a few years older, steps into view. Guarding you from the unwelcome intruder.

The epiphany strikes like a broken heart. It is not betrayal, as he has never trusted Ada. Rather, it is a flood of humiliation. It is absolute shame, unadulterated and pure. How could he have been such a fool?

All this time, Ada had kept you with her. She was the reason he was apart from you; she was the distance that stood between two soulmates. That must be the story, right? She sunk those acrylic claws into your pretty skin and took you away from him, spewing lies about your death and granting Umbrella access to you.

Leon is hit with this epiphany. Hit with what he perceives to be the truth. And it makes him alive with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it...?"

The silence is shattered by his voice. Sewn with fury and nestled deep inside him. His attention, once solely devoted to the love of his life, has now been shifted towards someone else. The one he believes to be responsible for these six years of sheer agony.

"This whole fucking time-!"

In one swift motion, Leon storms over with his fingers clenched to his holster. You stand from the paper sacks and use your body as a shield between Ada and him. Your hand ghosts over Leon's chest to prevent any more unwanted violence. And how unaware you are of the sheer impact your physical touch has on this man.

For a moment, just a fleeting second, Leon is able to overlook the context of the circumstances. Your hand barely makes contact with his body, and from them, he can feel your warmth. The same warmth he has been chasing after; the same warmth he has killed himself over and over to try and retrieve again. It is like a gentle breeze, like tepid bath water. Somehow, your simple touch has pacified his rage as though it were merely child's play to you. Something Leon never thought was feasible.

And just like always, Ada Wong is there to shatter yet another trance.

"Have you really gone so far off the deep end, that you think you could ever amount to being their boyfriend? You truly believe you deserve that title?" Ada laughs. A deep, mocking chuckle. "Are you really that delusional or just naturally blonde?"

You look at Ada and speak for the first time.

"'Boyfriend?'"

An expression of puzzlement is plastered on your face. In return, their heads whip to stare at you, brows furrowed while searching for confirmation.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Leon was never my boyfriend...?"

Their confusion deepens. Ada questions how she could have so foolishly fallen for a fantasy this dumb boy created. Leon questions why you are telling her such lies. You've been dating for almost seven years now, what are you talking about? 

"Y/N/N, you don't have to lie to her. You know I won't let her hurt you."

Now, it is your turn to be just as perplexed as they both are. What the fuck is he talking about?

As you're busy scrutinizing him for an explanation, Ada grasps hold of your forearm. Protectively and with softness, she guides you away from the deranged antics of Leon. You lean into her touch in response, as your trust in her is stronger than whatever you feel for him. Especially after the events you and Ada have both endured today.

The man in question, however, does not favor this action. With a swiftness that makes you dizzy, Leon shoves her off of you. Ada falls to the ground from the force of his strength but gracefully springs to her feet. Eyes narrowed and hunting knife in hand, she is ready for battle.

A shriek then falls from your mouth when Leon takes his pistol from its holster but is replaced with shocked silence when Ada kicks the gun from his grasp with her stiletto heel. A stab towards his chest is easily blocked by his meaty forearm, but she still manages to retaliate and surges a punch across his jaw.

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible for you to keep up with the speed of it all. When Ada drops to her feet, encasing her leg around Leon's ankles and sending him to the floor, the loud clamor of his harsh landing takes you back to a few days ago. That bang! is all too familiar. The fire of gunshots out of Jill's gun and the pounding of their fists against flesh — these memories return more harshly than before. Your heart hammers with dread and adrenaline, as though the same inner turmoil has returned yet again.

Once again, who do I choose? The clingy customer at Mizoil, the overly affectionate Superwoman, or myself?

In a state of pure instinct, you do what you predominantly fail at the most. Run.

You don't anticipate how close they may be behind, or if two of your past lovers may be waiting somewhere in the forest. You do not pay these thoughts any attention, for that matter. Focused entirely on the path ahead, you run like you never have before. And if it weren't for the rampant adrenaline coursing through your system, you could say you've become familiar with this forest. It is almost ridiculous how much you have raced past all these trees. Burning lungs, numb legs and all — oh, this is really getting old.

When a sudden force knocks you to your feet, you can feel yourself begin to succumb to lethargy. The relentless sprint and post-laser-induced pains have become too much for your body to endure. Shifting your gaze up, however, you are met with a burst of energy when you see that you have collided with... A person?

Thick gear is strapped to his strong body. Glasses are rested upon the bridge of his nose. This is the first stranger you have seen in months and you do not know how to handle it.

"Oh, shit. It's really you..." His concerned gaze peers at you through his foggy eyewear.

When his fingers ghost over your arm, you flinch away from him. You do not mean to do this, but your body, riddled with turmoil and trauma, reacts before your brain can.

"It's alright, it's alright..." His voice goes softer. "My name is Tyrell. I'm here to help you."

He reaches a cautious hand out to you, as though you were a feeble, terrified animal backed into a corner. Your trust has been worn thin, but whatever fight left in your system has entirely perished. You cannot run anymore; you cannot defend yourself. If this is death, then you will welcome it with open arms. At least you can say you've made it this far.

Lifting a shaky hand up, you let out a gentle gasp when you make physical contact with him. With tender encouragement, Tyrell brings you to your feet. Your tired legs wobble as though you were a baby fawn. Touch that does not inevitably follow with romantic expectations is something foreign to you. This level of kindness has almost become a stranger. Although you would never verbalize it, his touch feels good. It is a comfort; a softness.

Before you know it, your eyes flutter shut. Your body fails you and you collapse into Tyrell's arms. Now, unconsciousness comes as a solace, instead of that familiar trepidation.

And so engrossed in their own feral need for dominance, neither Ada nor Leon had taken notice of your sudden disappearance.

Fresh bruises and blood splatters permeate their bodies. What neither of them realizes about the other is that Leon fights hard, yes, but Ada doesn't fight fair. In a matter of several seconds, she takes the man to the metal floors, once again.

Leather heels pressed to his neck, she points his own pistol to his face.

"Now stay down."

Leon has never been one to back down. Even with death staring directly into his eyes, never once has he begged. However, with you here, alive, he can't bear to be torn from you again.

"Don't... Please, I-I'll do whatever you want. Just please don't take me away from them. Not again..."

Ada is nearly struck dumbfounded by this new side of him. Leon Kennedy, the savior of the president's daughter, one of the few survivors of Raccoon City, is begging for his life? What has she done to this man? Or, above all, what have you done to him?

"Tell me what Umbrella wants with Y/N."

Leon's eyes trail off behind her, seemingly searching for something with frantic movements. Her words had merely gone through one ear and out the other. His silence is only met with frustration.

"I've kept you away from them for this long." Her finger moves to hover over the trigger. "I can easily turn those six years into forever."

"Where did Y/N go?" Leon cuts her off.

Ada nearly snaps her neck with how fast she turns around. Dark eyes scanning the loading docks, her stomach sinks into a sea of dread when she cannot find you. Leon scrambles to his feet and searches alongside his nemesis. Shouts of your name echo into the gloomy skies; their hammering hearts could rival a war drum.

From here, yet another search for you begins. And between them, there is now an unspoken agreement, a newfound alliance. Although their plans rarely come to fruition, they have both found a conclusion together. The two are now wholly focused on the scheme they will achieve or die striving for.

Find you, ensure your safety, and keep you forever in their arms.

A warm, wet rag pressed against your forehead is what you awaken to next. The sudden shift into consciousness causes you to jerk back. Your eyes burst wide, scrutinizing as much of your environment as you can.

You're finally out of that dark forest. Now, you've been rested upon a dilapidated couch. Damp clothes are still stuck to your body, but a thick comforter has been draped upon you. The golden lamplight highlights Tyrell, who sits on the coffee table beside you. With a bowl of water and a rag in his hand, he looks at you with a concerned gleam in his gaze.

You are brought to a mild sense of ease once you comprehend your surroundings. You do not have it within you to trust anyone, but for some reason, this man has brought tranquility you cannot explain. Safety has become a rarity. And you gobble every breadcrumb of it you are able to garner.

"Welcome back." He jokes. His tone is still quiet, as it has been. Careful.

Your throat aches, but you still speak.

"Where am I?" You nearly cringe at how scratchy, how pathetic your voice is.

"My house." This does not calm you. Tyrell notices.

"Hey, no one can get you in here. You are safe, I swear it." His assurances help ease you. He, once again, takes notice of this before continuing.

"I'm sure you have a 'lotta questions for me, huh? I got some for you, too."

"Umbrella. What do they want from me?"

"That's a good question because I don't know either. It's what we're trying to figure out." You furrow your brow, to which he answers to your confusion. "I work with a team called the Torrents. We've been tasked with locating Umbrella and finding any survivors. You were top of our list, 'Baby-Eagle'. Now that you're safe and sound, my teammates can finally get some sleep."

Your smile grows at that nickname. God, when was the last time someone elicited a genuine smile from you?

"We think they may have been testing on some of the patients they have. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Then, the dread settles with the realization. Jill and Carlos were right this whole time. When you would travel to the ends of the Earth to defend that corporation, it was all for a lie in the end. When Jill and Carlos saved you from them, you paid them back with cruelty and distrust. You left them both in the dust when all they wished to do was save you. Should you have ever left them?

"What about Carlos Oliveira? Jill Valentine? We know they had, um... taken you. If you're willing to talk about them, I'm all ears. 'Got all night, anyways."

There Tyrell goes again. The voice of reason in a bubble of incoherent regret.

"All I-um... All I remember is being at the sanct- er, Umbrella. I drank some tea and then I woke up in Jill and Carlos' house. The next several months, they-uh, they convinced me we were in a... relationship, of some sort. Matt- or Umbrella, found us in the end. They all hurt each other. Real bad. Then, I ended up here." Your words are quiet and broken, but Tyrell manages to pick up every cracked piece of your voice.

"Okay. I see..." He nods. "Do you think Jill and Carlos could have possibly been working for Umbrella?"

This question leaves you taken aback, evident in your dramatic reaction and scrunched face.

"God, no! They despised Umbrella. And I... I defended Umbrella. I thought they helped me, I thought they were the good guys. Every time Jill and Carlos talked shit about them, I would get so-" You interrupt yourself with a coughing fit.

Reaching to his side, Tyrell holds a plastic bottle of water in his large hands. The prospect of drugs floating through the liquid fills you with apprehension. However, with your throat on fire, you eagerly take the bottle and nearly down the entire beverage. Tyrell is one of the good ones, he wouldn't do that to you. You're sure of it.

"It's alright. You don't have to answer any more of my stupid questions, don't worry. All you 'gotta do is rest."

If you were more conscious and without the weight of fresh trauma, you'd make a joke of how he should be a voice actor with such a soothing voice like his. Tyrell's hand finds your shoulder and softly guides you back down to the couch. You ignore the unfamiliar, teenage-love-like bolt of electricity that flows from his touch and you follow his lead. When your head hits the rough fabric of the pillow, you let your heavy eyes fall.

When a door down the hallway bursts open, you cannot tell if you had been asleep for hours or if you had slept at all. Without Tyrell's presence, that all-too-familiar sense of terror returns. When you are barely able to discern his muffled voice through the walls, that terror is slightly diluted with ease. The context is what lies outside this room still has you riddled with fear.

Then, like every cheesy romance film you've ever seen, Leon Kennedy stands on the threshold of the living room entrance.

You are barely allowed a mere second to process his presence before he is barreling for you. His arms, thick and warm, ensnare around your waist. He exhales your name with a breathless tremor, burying his head further into the crevice of your neck. And you melt into him. After everything you've been through, a hug is something you are in dire need of. Leon croons in response, latching onto you tighter. Nestling himself closer against you like a touch-starved, needy puppy-dog.

"Oh, sunlight... I was so worried...!" Although this man has suffered drastic changes in the six years you've been without him, he never seems to have let go of that saccharine tone. Unbeknownst to you, you are the only one capable of summoning that side of Leon.

Although you feel safe in the comfort of Tyrell's home, there is still that stagnant terror fizzing in your stomach. A myriad of questions overwhelm your brain. What has happened? How much time has passed? Where is Ada?

You weaken your hold on him. He does not like that. "Leon. Please, I need to know-"

"Shh..." He interrupts, his hands trailing up your form until they grasp hold of your face. His grip on you, tighter than ever, shifts so he can gaze into your eyes.

"Just let me look at you..."

And that he does. Seconds, then minutes pass. All Leon does is stare directly into you. As though every inch of your irises were being studied to memory by him. As though he was pulling the depths of your soul to the surface of your eye, all for him to gawk and goggle at. It should make you blush and avert your gaze, as the characters normally do in those romance movies. However, you can't bring yourself to. You feel uncomfortable and scrutinized. As though you are restrained to a metal table for strangers and doctors to poke and prod at.

The doorbell then rings and the echo roams through the halls. You are broken from this entrance with Leon, but he is not. God, how could he?

With you here, all the cruelty he has been faced with is now wrapped together in a pretty bow. It was all a present, he now realizes. Everything that has happened led him to the personification of utmost, perpetual happiness. So, you must forgive him if he finds himself staring for too long (not that he even realizes, for that matter). It is impossible to fathom the flood of euphoria rushing through him, hence the dumbfounded, love-struck expression stamped on his face.

"Y/N..." He exhales, honey dripping from his voice.

Although he does not wish to close his eyes, Leon cannot imagine a better time to kiss you. Where the music swells, the candles glimmer, the moon gleams. It is what he has been dreaming about for six years, after all.

Just as Leon leans in, his intentions are cut short. Someone else, once again, interrupts.

Tyrell avoids the death glare from Leon and focuses on you, oblivious to how this action is the root of Leon's fury.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Someone was just here for you, Y/N."

Carlos and Jill are the first people who enter your mind, here to take you back to the affection-ridden toxicity of their humble abode. When Tyrell holds his hands out and displays what this stranger left, however, you're taken aback.

"She claimed to be your wife...?"

Tyrell informs you with uncertainty in his voice.

"And she left this."

What he then gives to you is a plushie, one you remember all too well. It is an opossum, the very same opossum you cuddled with every night during your time at the sanctuary. You've missed him very much whilst you were stuck with Jill and Carlos. Despite your expressed wishes, they never made the effort to retrieve your darling opossum. Why cuddle some measly fabric and cotton when you can cuddle them instead?

You let out a sigh of relief. Thank God it is not those two at the door.

The only striking difference in your fuzzy friend is the blood-red ribbon tied around the opossum's neck. Wedged between the silk and faux fur is a folded piece of paper. Both Tyrell and Leon watch as you open the letter, digesting the contents written on the surface.

In red ink, "Wait for me, petal..." is written with flawless, cursive handwriting. Beneath, a dandelion is drawn. The pappus drifts through the wind and scatters across the paper.

Ada?

Why is she here? Where has she been?

Or, more importantly, how the hell did she find your opossum?

A rough, sharp gasp sprouts from Jill's throat when she awakens.

A flickering light sways above her, the sight blurred in her tired gaze. Her body aches from the awkward position she was unconscious in. Lifting her weakened body up, Jill discerns several bodies, painted in blood and grime, that had been splayed in a frivolous mess. There are miscellaneous documents scattered amongst this violent disarray. Shifting her distorted gaze, she finds two metal doors that had been sprung open. How the hell did she get inside of a truck? What caused it to crash in the first place?

Using the dented walls for support, she stumbles forward. Black dots dance in Jill's vision for a moment, before returning to a hazy blur as she staggers out of the vehicle. With an abrupt grunt, she collapses into the mud. Her hands, stained with dirt, hold her ribs in an attempt to ease the stagnant pain.

For this simple moment, Jill is alone in the world. When the most important thing in her life finally flashes through her mind, the pumping of her heart accelerates.

Y/N... Where did you go?

Memories of her last encounter with you return, as well. It harbors terror like no other. She speaks your name and it sprouts from her throat in a desperate call.

Jill's breath quickens when she discerns a voice. The indubitable sound of someone crying for help echoes through the forest. She turns to the source with hope and worry shimmering in her eyes. Oh, it's her baby, her butterfly! You need her help!

"Y/N...! I'm coming..." Her voice is weak, but her attempts are the entire opposite.

Jill limps through the forest, clambering over wreckage with frantic effort. Averting her blurred gaze to the sound of cries, her face drops when she finds something entirely different.

That doctor you are evidently so infatuated with is stuck beneath a pile of rubble. His face appears as though it had been sunken in. Drowned in a mess of gore.

And sitting on top of the doctor is no other than Carlos Oliveira, whose fists are painted in that same gore.

His clenched fists plunge into Matt's face over and over and over again. His teeth are barred and bloodied like some sort of animal. His voice is several octaves lower than ever before, all guttural growls and grunts like some sort of rabid creature. It is something Jill has never seen before. Not in Raccoon City, not when they took you from the sanctuary, not even when she took you out for a ride on her motorcycle. He is now a monster in its absolute form.

However, Carlos is not something she is concerned with at the moment. She hurls herself over to the two and shoves Carlos off of Matt. He falls to the ground with a loud thump and a harsh curse. Jill ignores his dramatic reaction, before climbing atop of Matt and ensnaring her hands around his red-stained neck. Jill then proceeds to interrogate him of your whereabouts.

"What did you do to them? Where the fuck did you take them!?" Jill does not recognize herself, either. Her voice has morphed into a low, violent tone, an inflection she never knew she was capable of producing.

Matt does not respond to her pressuring questions. He chokes and gurgles on chunks of blood, teeth, and spit. His eyes, now puffy and swollen from the relentless blows they have endured, gape at her in confused terror. However, not that Matt could even be given the chance to respond. Jill glances at the sudden movement in her peripheral and is met with Carlos' fist striking her cheek. The force of the punch sends her to the dirt.

"This is all your fucking fault, Jill!" Her ears almost ring from the sheer volume of his shout.

Once again, it is a side of Carlos she has never seen before. She can take a punch, that's for damn sure. God knows she's handled worse. But fuck, is he out for blood right now.

"If you had never taken Y/N outside, they never would've wanted to leave in the fucking first place!" The tremble in the back of Carlos' throat jeopardizes his intimidation factor. Of course, he is crying, Jill sighs to herself.

Her lanky fingers press into the damp ground to stabilize herself. Before she can bring herself back to her feet, however, something catches her eye. A single document among the millions. She takes the closest one into her grasp and reads through the classified contents. With that damned Umbrella logo in the corner, Jill is fully aware of what evil, corrupt plans await her in the following passage.

As Carlos sobs like a child behind her, whimpers of "my baby" and "come back to me" filling the silent air, she scours through the information printed on the page. Three names are stamped in bold: Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, and Y/N L/N. More survivors collected from Raccoon City, they claim. There are reports of your physicality and state of being, accompanied by their predictions on how you'll react to their new testing. "Las Plagas" is what they refer to it as.

At the very bottom of the document, most imperatively, is a series of coordinates to their new location.

With this newfound, fruitful information, Jill trudges over to Carlos for additional aid. When she finds him practically tucked into a ball, sobbing his lungs out, she cannot restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

"Get up. Get up, pussy, come on-!" When she tugs on his arm, he pushes her harshly away from him.

"You don't understand!” Brown eyes, overwhelmed with tears, glare at her in accusation. “I can't live without them..."

Jill is swift to counter back. "Neither can-fucking-I! And we will never see 'em again unless you man-up and fuckin’ listen to me!"

This grabs his attention.

"So, are you just gonna sit there and fuckin' whine about it or are you gonna help me?"

With a sniffle, Carlos nods in agreement.

"Good. Now get your shit together and find me a goddamn map."

Jill does not waste another second before springing into action. She begins with a thorough scrutinization of the scene of the crash, searching for any specific landmarks that will inform them of their current whereabouts. When all she finds is a street sign made of decaying wood that reads "Los Iluminados," she knows her luck is wearing thin.

When Carlos announces with a cracked voice his discovery, Jill limps with urgency to him. Nestled beneath the passenger seat is a map, crumbled and stained with filth. Jill yanks the paper from his hands and searches for the street they are currently stuck on, while also discerning the coordinates Umbrella had disclosed in their document.

Meanwhile, Carlos chokes out demands left and right. Asking her what all of this is for, and how this will help him in his efforts to reunite with his sweet bumblebee. Despite his irritating questions, she does not respond to him. She is too engrossed in her own head, manipulating her detective skills.

"There." Jill finally breaks her fit of silence.

Presenting the map to Carlos, she points to where the coordinates line up.

"That's where Y/N is."

A beat passes as Carlos, too, inspects the contents before him. Then, he snatches the map from Jill's hands. He storms off in the direction she advised with a desperate vengeance in his disposition.

When Jill takes a step to follow him, something clutches around her ankles. With a sharp gasp, she looks down to identify the sudden matter. When the hopeful fraction of her mind told her it could be you, she was met with disappointment when she finds Matt. Whining and pleading for her help, blood still oozing from his butchered head and seeping into the mud below.

Jill stares at the man with absolutely nothing in her eyes. She, instead, snatches a loose, sharp twig from the mess of detritus scattered around. Before Matt can obtrude another helpless plead, she drives the stuck directly into his eye. Blood squirts from the fresh wound like a fizzy soda. One last gurgle for air and his body finally goes limp.

She spits on his corpse. Then, Jill turns back to follow Carlos on his trail.

Wherever you may be, she will find you. Even if it kills her.

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

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I TRY TO FALL FOR HER TOUCH,

BUT I'M THINKING OF THE WAY IT WAS . . . ❞

long wait but we back again babyyyyy

gif creds :: leon.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Season 2 Poster Details

From top to bottom :)

This is a Buddy Holly song Everyday which was originally supposed to be the Good Omens theme :)

Neil talks about it in the Introduction to the Script Book: “In the scripts, Buddy Holly’s song ‘Every Day’ runs through the whole like a thread. It was something that Terry had suggested in 1991, and it was there in the edit. Our composer, David Arnold, created several different versions of ‘Every Day’ to run over the end credits. And then he sent us his Good Omens theme, and it was the Good Omens theme. Then Peter Anderson made the most remarkable animated opening credits to the Good Omens theme, and we realised that ‘Every Day’ didn’t really make any sense any longer, and, reluctantly, let it go. It’s here, though. You can hum it.”

And there is also the Buddy Holly Everyday record! :)

Book The Crow Road by Iain Banks. The novel describes Prentice McHoan's preoccupation with death, sex, his relationship with his father, unrequited love, sibling rivalry, a missing uncle, cars, alcohol and other intoxicants, and God, against the background of the Scottish landscape

Book Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad. An early and primary event in the story is the abandonment of a passenger ship in distress by its crew, including a young British seaman named Jim. He is publicly censured for this action and the novel follows his later attempts at coming to terms with himself and his past and seeking redemption and acceptance.

Important themes in Lord Jim include the consequences of a single, poor decision, the indifference of the universe, and the inability to know oneself or others.

There is book The Body Snatcher by Robert Louis Stevenson. Its characters were based on criminals in the employ of real-life surgeon Robert Knox (1791–1862) around the time of the notorious Burke and Hare murders (1828). Neil said: Oddly enough, episode 3 will take us to a little stint of body snatching in the era.

There is Catch-22 book by Joseph Heller that coined the term Catch-22: situation from which an individual cannot escape because of contradictory rules or limitations.

Is there only one hand or are there two? :) EIther 6 ;), or 6:30 :).

Through the window we can see the coffeeshop Give Me Coffe or Give Me Death where Nina works! :)

Azi is wearing his nifty glasses :).

Crowley is wearing his new glasses, they are RIGARDS X UMA WANG - THE STONE ECLIPSE (VINTAGE BLACK/BLACK STONES) - $435

There is the Holy Bible Aziraphale used in Season 1 :)

There seems to be a broken phone :).

The cakes behind Aziraphale are Eccles cakes :).

Azi is reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens published in 1859, set in London and Paris before and during the French Revolution. The novel tells the story of the French Doctor Manette, his 18-year-long imprisonment in the Bastille in Paris, and his release to live in London with his daughter Lucie whom he had never met. The story is set against the conditions that led up to the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror. 

Another book there is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - Neil said said that we will learn a lot about Jane Austin we didn’t know before.

And finally the Treasure Island book by - again :) - Robert Louis Stevenson, an adventure novel with pirates.

There are three geckos cuties. Who are they? Pets? Is Ligur haunting the bookshop? Who knows :).

A mysterious pamphlet, 'The Resurrectionists’ leaflet. (unofficial spoiler :)).

Also there is an old camera... mmm 🤔 Did Azi made some photos (of what? Him and Crowley, ducks? :)) Will we see them? :)

Their positions is an homage to the book covers! :)(x)

Will update this as fandom discovers new things! :)❤

[gghostwriter]

Deepest Fear

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer wakes from a nightmare and you comfort him Trope: Comfort (can this still be considered fluff) w.c: 0.8k a/n: This idea has been in my list for so long and I just never felt the time to write it until now. My head canon of later Spencer Reid is someone who finds rest unsettling due to horrors so here's my take on that. Not proofread as I didn't want to think of how heavy and realistic this actually is. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The digital clock on your bed side table says: September 3, 12:35am. The hustling city in slumber as all its occupants rest and gather energy for the coming hours. Except maybe for one resident, you. 

Nights like this were exceedingly rare—him asleep while you sit on your bedside wide awake. It had always been the opposite. With the terrors that graced his desk day to day bleeding into his dreams, creating nightmares that transform the victims into his loved ones. Some featured the team but most—most if it featured you and Diana at the mercy of an unsub that seemed three steps ahead of him.

It only got worse during his stint in prison with it become in a reality for his mother. Now, his nightmares of her were flashbacks of his time incarcerated, unable to do anything while Diana was held captive. Whatever his expansive mind conjured up to torture him when his eyes close were enough to make him like sleep less and less begrudgingly turning him into an insomniac. 

Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night with him, back up against the headboard, arms tight round you, and eyes trained to every entrance and exit. It was unsettling but you learned to live with it—you’d learn anything just to have him still. That was how much you love him.

He twitched in his sleep, hand on your stomach tightening its grip on your borrowed Caltech shirt as if you were a buoy that could keep him afloat. Your hands found solace in softly caressing his locks of hair that were slowly sticking to his forehead due to sweat. It was a sign you knew all to well—a nightmare had come and hooked it’s long, black claws to his once pitiful slumber.

His hand shot up to yours with a grip so tight that a small whimper left your lips. 

“Spencer,” you whispered. “Spence, it’s me—“ his eyelids still closed shut. “—I’m here. You’re safe—”

His voice hoarse from sleep. “No. No. No. Not her, please—hurt me—take me instead. Please.”

A single tear escaped from his eyes. Spencer was once again losing, begging, pleading to an unsub that is incapable of remorse and relishes in his suffering. You chewed on your lip before leaning down and placing feather like kisses to any part of his beautiful yet strained face you could reach. 

“Come back, Spence,” you breathed out. “It’s me. You’re safe—we’re safe. Come back to me.” 

His hand holding yours slowly losing it’s death grip as his eyelids fluttered to an open. Unfocused doe eyes staring into yours before his wetted lips opened to form a word. No sound came out but you understood.

It was your name. 

It was you he was pleading for in his dreams. 

A tremor passed through, his taught body relaxing onto yours. Spencer was coming to.

“Love?” He called. 

Your pink lips stretched to form a small smile. “Hey, you. Are you alright?”

“I—I don’t—” he slowly sat up, matching your position, leaning against the headrest. “It was Cat Adams. I dreamt she had—” his calloused hand dwarfing yours. “—somehow escaped and got to you. And then, she got me too. When I came to, she had us tied in front of each other and a gun against your head and all I could think of was—” his voice trailed off.

Maeve. 

“—and I just kept thinking, ‘not again, I can’t lose you’ and she kept taunting me about how I break everything I love. No matter how much I begged, she just kept laughing and laughing and I thought ‘I won’t make it without you. I refuse to. She’ll win and I’ll have nothing.’”

You wiped away the tears making its way down his face. The hatred that you felt for Cat Adams was dark and infinite. Yes, Spencer had beaten her twice at the sick, sick games he did not want to play in but during this moments when his guard was down and should be feeling safe in the confines of his own home, you questioned who really won and at what cost. 

You cradled his head to your chest, near the cavity that enclosed your beating organ that he fully branded as his own. “I’m safe, Spence. You hear that?” A pause. “That’s my heart, alive and beating. You’re with me and you’ve kept me safe.”

He inhaled, fingers slipping past the shirt to feel your skin, leaving in its wake goose flesh and butterflies settling on your stomach. “I love you. Stay with me?” 

“Always.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[ashraffamily]

Help Ashraf's Family Escape Gaza Genocide

Leget and Vetted campaign; #391 on this spreadsheet ❤️🌿

I'm Ashraf from the war-torn Gaza. I've lived an entire life under siege in Gaza, facing relentless military actions and life-threatening conditions daily. In October 2023, the conflict escalated drastically, devastating my newly built house, my neighborhood,my workplace, and jeopardizing the lives of my family.

I mourn the loss of our safe haven, but more urgently, I need to secure a future for my family away from the constant threat of bombings that have become our grim reality.

Meet Yamane, our precious seven-month-old. Who was born during this war, We aspire to provide him with opportunities that surpass our own experiences, fostering a future filled with joy and prosperity.

This campaign is a call to arms for all who believe in the transformative power of community support. By contributing, you're not just donating; you're actively shaping Yamane's world, ensuring his journey is filled with the promise and potential every child deserves. Join us in making a profound impact on his life

Yamen... he's only a baby. He doesn't understand the fear that grips us, the darkness that engulfs our lives. He just smiles, his eyes bright with innocent wonder, oblivious to the terror that surrounds him. He reaches for me with tiny hands, his laughter a fragile melody in this symphony of destruction. 💔

But how long can this innocence last? How long can we shield him from the reality of this war? How long can we keep him safe? 😥

Another side of this war

No gas. No electricity. It's just the cold, empty space where a stove should be.

It's a cruel irony that the war, which has already taken so much from us, has also taken away the warmth of a home-cooked meal. We are forced to rely on makeshift methods, the flickering flame of a makeshift stove fueled by wood or charcoal, a testament to our resilience, and our determination to survive.

The wood crackles and pops, spitting sparks that dance like fireflies in the gloom. It's a dance of desperation, a desperate attempt to coax warmth and nourishment from the ashes of our former lives. Each meal is a battle, a struggle against the elements, the hunger, and the uncertainty of the future.

We boil water in rusty pots over open fires, the smoke stinging our eyes, the fumes filling our lungs. We bake bread in makeshift ovens built from clay and debris, the aroma of baking dough a faint reminder of better days.

But even with these meager resources, we persevere. We cook, we eat, we share. We find solace in the act of preparing a meal, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, life continues. Yet, the weariness lingers, the weight of the war pressing down on us like a heavy cloak. We yearn for the simple normalcy of turning on a stove, of cooking a meal without the fear of smoke inhalation, of the comforting hum of a refrigerator.

The war may have taken away our electricity and gas, but it has not taken away our spirit. We will continue to cook, to eat, to survive.

We will continue to fight for our right to a life of peace, of prosperity, of simple joys. And when the darkness finally lifts, when the smoke clears and the city breathes again, we will remember the lessons we learned in the shadows.

We will remember the strength we found in adversity, the resilience of the human spirit, and the enduring power of a simple, home-cooked meal.

Please help me secure a future for my family away from the constant threat of bombings that have become our grim reality. We are immensely grateful for any support you can provide. It’s more than a donation—it’s a lifeline.

Leget and Vetted campaign; #391 on this spreadsheet

[azrielandhisshadows]

winter's kiss

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.2k (I tried to make this shorter, but I'm a yapper)

warning: over-protective, older brother, Kallias

summary: the reader has lived a sheltered life under her brother, Kallias, the high lord of the Winter Court. when the reader is given the opportunity to go to the Dawn Court for the High Lords meeting, she is ecstatic. While there, she meets the most of the Inner Circle and one of those members will change her life

part 2 part 3

__

Light reflecting from the snow outside blinded you as you stepped out onto your balcony. Despite living in the Winter Court your entire life, you have never gotten used to the views of the snow-capped mountains and the city sprawling beneath you. You only wish you could see what was beyond the snow-capped mountains. 

Your older brother, Kallias, had always been determined to keep you safe from the dangers lurking outside your home. During Amarantha’s reign, he kept you hidden, and all you knew of the terrors she inflicted on your people were whispers. Even after her defeat and the stories of a human who had freed Prythian, your life remained firmly within the confines of the Winter Court.

You sat in the corner of your room, reading one of the many books that have allowed you to imagine the world outside of the Winter Court. Stories of fierce warriors that protected their people from outside danger, much like the threat of Hybern that loomed on the periphery. Your heart sank at the thought of another threat plaguing your home. Another threat that you were powerless to stop.

A knock sounded at your door and Kallias and Viviane entered your room. Viviane directed her attention to the book you held in your hands and gave you a sympathetic smile, knowing how you desired to escape your sheltered life. Your brother cleared his throat and looked uneasy as he said, “Y/N, we have decided to bring you with us to the Dawn Court for the High Lords’ meeting.”

Your breath left you at your brother’s announcement. Viviane’s gaze met your own with a satisfied smile, knowing that she had persuaded her mate to allow you to attend this meeting with them. Shooting up from your chair, you wrapped your brother in your arms, holding him tightly, “Kallias, thank you. This is fantastic! What do I need to do during the meeting?”

Kallias’s stoic demeanor softened as he returned the hug, ruffling your hair affectionately. “Easy there. You don’t need to do anything specific. You’re my best-kept secret, and I want the High Lords to see that I trust them—and that I trust you. Just be yourself.”

You pulled away slightly, a playful smirk on your lips. “Best-kept secret? That’s better than being your biggest embarrassment, I suppose.”

Kallias rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, very funny. Just try not to make me regret this decision. We don’t need a repeat of that time you tried to help me with diplomatic correspondence and nearly signed us up for a snowball fight in the city.”

Laughter erupted from you and Viviane and you nudged Kallias’s shoulder, “I promise there will be no accidental diplomatic disasters, but I might bring up how the High Lord of the Winter Court lost said snowball fight.” Kallias chuckled, shaking his head. “I would expect nothing less from you, but you need to get packed. We leave in the morning.” Kallias gave you a quick hug and left to oversee final preparations.

Viviane lingered in your room, her warm presence a stark contrast to the cool air outside. “Let’s get you packed. We have a lot to prepare for and I want you to be able to enjoy everything the Dawn Court has to offer.”

Night passed into morning and you were unable to sleep due to the excitement of your awaiting departure for the Dawn Court. A golden hue broke through your curtains signaling that it was time to leave. You met Kallias and Viviane in Kallias’s office as they were going over final details. Viviane looked at you expectantly. “How are you feeling, Y/N? 

You look between the mated couple, your heart beating out of your chest. “I’m as ready as I can be. Let’s go!” Kallias chuckled at your enthusiasm. Receiving a nod from Viviane, he raised his hand and enveloped the three of you in a sparkling blue. You felt the frigid air of the Winter Court begin to dissipate and was replaced by a warm breeze unlike anything you had felt before. Blossoming flowers and chatter from the halls reached your ears as you took in the sunlit room you were winnowed into. A squeal pierced your ears and you looked over in time to see a tall blonde embrace Viviane in a hug. 

“Mor, how I’ve missed you.” Viviane said to the female, returning her hug with equal excitement. Viviane and Mor separated from their embrace, both wearing wide smiles from the reunion. “Viviane, you look fantastic! I’m so excited that you’re here,” Mor’s gaze glanced to your wide-eyed frame, still taking in your new surroundings, “Who is this?”

You looked at the beautiful female and reached out a hand, “I’m Y/N. I’m Kallias’s sister.” Mor looked in between the three of you with shock lining her features. 

“Kallias, I did not know you had a sister.” 

Kallias’s cold features looked at the bright-eyed female and looked at you protectively, “No one outside of the Winter Court does.” Mor looked uncomfortable as Kallias placed a protective hand on your shoulder. You peered behind Mor’s to the group she came with and you saw three striking males with large, membranous wings behind them, their tan skin and dark hair making them stand out. One of the females looked at you, confusion lining her features, trying to figure out who you were.

Mor’s gaze followed yours, and she stepped aside to reveal the group behind her. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the Inner Circle.”

The first to step forward was a male with an aura of effortless confidence. His violet eyes pierced into you as he extended a hand with a grin. “I’m Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” Your jaw dropped as you hesitantly accepted his hand. Rhysand, the most powerful high lord in Prythian and the one who was rumored to have killed the Winter Court children.

Seeing your discomfort, Rhysand’s smile faltered slightly. “I assure you, I didn’t harm those children. I understand if you’re wary, but I hope we can start fresh.”

His words carried a sincerity that eased your anxiety a bit. As he introduced you to the rest of his court, Cassian’s boisterous welcome and Feyre’s warm smile helped to soften the tension. Yet, it was Azriel who captured your focus completely. As his shadowy tendrils brushed against your arm, an unexpected wave of nausea surged through you. Your vision blurred momentarily as an intense, disorienting sensation swept over you.

Kallias and Viviane were instantly by your side, their concern palpable. “Y/N, are you alright?” Viviane’s voice was filled with worry, her hand gently resting on your back.

You struggled to steady yourself, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel. His face was a mask of shock, his usually composed demeanor fractured. When he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, it was as if the room itself fell silent, drawing all attention to his words. “Mate. You’re my mate.”

The weight of his revelation settled over you like a tangible force. The golden thread of connection that linked you both was almost visible, a shimmering bond that pulled at your very essence.

Mate.

[jellys-compendium]

Eat Me - Ch.1

A Nanami Kento x F!Reader Vampire AU

Rating: 🔞 (18+ only, Minors DNI)

Pairing: Vampire!Hunter Nanami Kento x Vampire F!Reader Summary: An aristocratic vampire working in the corporate world is a thing rarely seen, but you're determined to live the normal life you've always longed for. Once you escape your oppressive family, a friend recommends you reach out to the higher ups at JJK Inc., and before you know it, you find yourself settling into a new life. Everything is going smoothly once you settle into your new job; that is until you discover that your stern but outrageously handsome boss, Nanami Kento, knows all about your little secret. CW: smut, vampire au, human/vampire relationship, boss/employee relationship, forbidden love, mutual pining, vampire bites, blood drinking, grinding, dry humping, biting, finger sucking, nanami kento probably has a biting kink but you didn't hear it from me Word Count: 9.2K A/n: This is a rewrite of a previous fic that I posted in the past but have since deleted. Initially I had structured it as a multi-chapter work, however I want to explore some other AUs with Nanami so I decided to rework this into a standalone oneshot. Scenes have been expanded and added so I hope this feels like a fresh read to you all! <3 Edit 04/08/2024 : It's a series now.

Chapter Index: 1, [2]

The putrid scent of burning flesh slams up Nanami Kento’s nose as he enters his target’s opulent office. It’s a familiar and deeply unpleasant smell, one that fosters bad memories and a nauseating churn in the pit of the hunter’s stomach.

Looks like someone beat him to the target.

Nanami’s nose scrunches against the offending aroma, briefly betraying his distaste before his trained gaze scans the spotless space around him. There are no signs of a struggle. Not a single table, chair, or speck of dust is out of place. Everything in this obnoxiously expensive office sits completely undisturbed, as if Nanami were the first person to enter it all week.

Cursing under his breath, Nanami removes his glasses. There is only one vampire hunter alive that is capable of such a feat, and Nanami has no desire to deal with his colleague's theatrical antics tonight.

Satisfied that there are no other uninvited guests in the shadows, Nanami pockets his shades in his breast pocket and journeys deeper into the darkened office. Like a hell hound he follows the scent of death. The soles of his shoes clack ominously against the polished floor with each step he takes, signaling his approach to his colleague.

Not that Gojo Satoru needed the warning.

The smell leads Nanami towards the massive windows that display the city’s beautiful skyline. The sight of the shimmering neon lights against the black backdrop of the night sky provides Nanami with the briefest of mental reprieves. Looking upon those lights, Nanami envisions with longing the night he could have had if he’d only not answered Masamichi’s call.

Enjoying the serene solitude of his apartment across town, sipping away at a glass of bourbon while he languidly worked away over his stove, experimenting with that risotto recipe that he’d seen while perusing a magazine easier that day. That would have been a night worth having. Not one where he had to think about corpses, monsters and death.

Rounding the ludicrously expensive desk that sits in the center of the room, Nanami’s honey brown gaze trails down to the floor, finally arriving at the scene he had expected to see. 

A mangled corpse in the process of burning from the inside out lays on the floor. Its eyes are wide with terror and its mouth is stretched open in an eerie, silent scream that would have sent shivers down Nanami’s spine had he not seen this exact same scenario hundreds of times before.

A vampire in the throes of death is a gruesome thing. The sight, sound, smell, and brutal agony of it all will always haunt him. But even though dispatching them is rotten work, Nanami understands that leaving them to their own devices is even more so. The gluttony of their kind when their thirst overcomes their senses is unparalleled. That and their lust for cruelty.

As Nanami silently watches the body burn, the red veins glowing disturbingly before the skin and bone turn to ash, he notes that the form remains perfect and pristine through its destruction. Its blood was uncorrupted. So it had been a noble after all.

Abruptly, a playful chuckle rings through the office and Nanami turns his attention to the source, his brown eyes meeting the inhuman blues of Gojo’s.

The playful hunter smiles.

“Looks like they haven’t all been wiped out.”

Nanami’s brows furrow, the muscles in his shoulders tensing instinctively. The creature truly never stood a chance. No one—human or inhuman—ever saw Gojo coming. They were dead before they even knew they were in danger. In fact, Gojo is so effective at his job that frankly Nanami almost feels sorry for the creatures they hunt. Almost. 

“Seems so.”

Gojo’s smile spreads wider across his handsome face. He steps forward, his unmistakable snow white hair illuminated by the glowing lights from the city below. The crunching sound of his boot as he steps over the ash is a perfect allegory for the world at Gojo Satoru’s feet. It truly is only a matter of time before he completely wipes them all out.

“Glad you could make it, Nanamin,” The man teases, his expression gleaming with satisfaction. “Our dusty little friend here told me the most interesting little rumor.”

Nanami’s expression sours, his hands curling into fists as he feels the tension in his body coil tighter. He knows exactly what Gojo’s next words are going to be.

“Another assignment?”

Without a word, Gojo reaches into his pocket and produces a cell phone. Nanami watches, silently annoyed as the man nonchalantly whistles a merry little tune as he opens the phone’s contents. After a few seconds of scrolling, Gojo turns the phone towards Nanami and shows him the target.

A woman. The picture had been snapped at a distance, capturing her in mid stride as she climbed out of the back of a Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Nanami reaches up and zooms in on the picture, his sharp eyes absorbing every detail. Every part of her is in pristine order. Her hair, her clothing, shoes, make-up and nails. Impeccable, immaculate, like a model who had just stepped fresh out of the pages of a magazine.

Everything about her screams untouchable luxury, prestige, and old money. Everything, except her eyes. They are…glassy and distant, as if the soul inside were somewhere else at the moment this picture was taken. 

That familiar state of forlorn disconnection, of going through the motions while dissociating from the world around you because that’s the only way you can survive…

A pang of sympathy hits Nanami square in the chest. He understands that feeling all too well.

“A vampire.” The hunter dryly surmises, glancing up at his coworker. “One of the nobles I take it?”

Gojo Satoru’s lips pull back into a spine chilling smile.

“Oh, far more interesting than that.”

The office is plunged into a foreboding silence as Gojo turns the phone in his hand. He types away for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket. Not a moment after, Nanami’s own phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the notification.

Gojo Satoru

Target’s image attached. Have fun Nanamin~ <3

“She’s royal.” (xxx)

21 months later

Groggy, your mind surfaces from the depths of sleep. One by one, you slowly feel your senses returning to you. 

The first thing that returns to you is touch. The feeling of the soft, warm fabric of your pillow and sheets forming a pleasant cocoon of warmth around you is one of the best things in the world.

The second sensation is scent. The smell of the cool, crisp morning air tickles the tip of your nose. It’s wet and fresh, meaning that it must have rained sometime in the night. 

The third sense that returns is sound. From your open bedroom window, you can hear the traffic and bustle of the city below start to swell, building into that buzzing morning rush crescendo that you’ve become so accustomed to in the last year.

To many, mornings like this are predictable and mundane, but to you it’s a little piece of heaven. This is your home, your space, and your time to yourself. No one else's. 

And sure, while there may be some days that may feel lonely, overall you are at peace, and that is invaluable to you. 

Living this quiet and mundane little life in this dingy yet cozy little apartment, there’s no one here to tell you what to do. No one to lord themselves over you, or tell you what to think and say. No one to tell you what to wear, who to talk to, and who to shun. No one to sneer at you should you prove a disappointment. 

Here, you’re allowed to be your true self. You can finally breathe, grow, and rest.

Rest.

Snuggling deeper into the blankets, you plan to do just that. However, something in the back of your mind compels you to open your eyes. You usually wake up a few minutes before your alarm clock, but it feels a little later than usual doesn’t it?

Heaving a sleepy groan, your eyes flutter open, only to shut so that you can rub away the blurry fuzz that clouds your vision. Once satisfied, your eyes squint open again and focus on the glowing red numbers on your alarm clock. It takes a second, but the moment you’re able to process the numbers 8:43 AM, panic immediately floods your every nerve.

“Oh shit!” You shriek as you jolt awake. “No, no, no, no!”

You’re going to be late on the one day you can’t be late. Oh god, you’re going to get an earful from your boss.

Like a speeding bullet, you make a mad scramble for your bathroom, turning on the hot water taps for both your sink and shower all while cursing yourself out.

God, you can’t believe that you slept past your alarm! This is so unlike you, you’ve never slept through your alarm like that. Well…not on an important work day like today that is. It was so unusual, even if you had been sleeping more heavily, the blaring sound of that heinous clock had always gotten you out of bed on the dot before.

Racking your dozy brain for answers, you fiercely stick your toothpaste coated toothbrush into your mouth and hop under the hot spray of the shower. It isn’t until you’re half way done lathering yourself with soap that it hits you. 

You had consumed your last blood pack yesterday morning, and had been so swamped with completing your proposal at work that you had completely forgotten to contact your supplier and restock on your way home last night.

Doing the math in your head, you quickly realize that it has been well over 24 hours since you’d last fed—the longest time you’d gone without blood, and it’s safe to say that your body is already cashing in on the grueling consequences. 

Lethargy and brain fog are your main symptoms, but there’s also that gnawing little sensation of hunger that sits at the pit of your stomach. Occasionally, the sensation bloats, crawling up your spine to tease at the base of your brainstem, coyly stimulating that little feral part of your brain.

Luckily, these are all symptoms that you can manage for the time being. You don’t have any time to stop by your supplier before work, so you’ll just have to hold out until the day is done.

The next five minutes are a blur of toweling, styling, moisturizing and make up—all done poorly but done nonetheless. You tie up your wet hair as best as you can before dashing back to your bedroom. It takes only two additional minutes for you to get dressed in your business attire and out the door, and only another three to make it out of your building and into the nearest cab. 

“JJK Inc, please!”

The driver nods, and you look down to check your watch only to realize that you’ve forgotten it on your nightstand. Cursing under your breath, you reach into your briefcase and pull out your phone, thankful that you didn’t forget that too. 8:58AM. You have exactly two minutes to get to work and you know that this drive takes at least twelve.  

Reaching for your purse, you pull out a couple of the biggest bills you have, and towards the driver’s seat.

“Excuse me mister, I’m in a really big hurry today. Could you please go a little faster than usual? I’ll pay you triple for your trouble.”

The grizzled cab driver makes eye contact with you through his rear view mirror, then his gaze falls to the money in your hand.

“You're bribing me to break the law, ma’am?”

A sheepish little smile spreads across your lips and you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. If you had just gotten your ass out of bed at the right time, you wouldn’t even be in this situation. 

“Um…well only a little.”

The cab driver snorts and his dry chuckle fills the cabin.

“Unless you’re willing to pay me my year’s salary, we’re getting there in twelve minutes.”

Begrudgingly, you accept that you are now at the complete mercy of the city’s brutal traffic. Your heavy sigh of defeat answers the cab driver well enough, and he turns his attention back to the road while you sag against the back seat. 

That’s it, you’re going to be late for the monthly department meeting. The meeting in which you are scheduled to present your financial proposal for the company’s next fiscal year. You’ve been working so hard on it for the last four months. Way to foster a sense of competence and reliability. Instead you are going to show up ten minutes late, looking like you’d just had a run in with an angry grandmother armed with an umbrella. 

Your eyes land on the phone in your hand. 8:59 AM. Your mouth instantly becomes dry and your panic flares.

You have to text your boss and let him know that you’ll be late for the meeting. Although, truth be told, you'd much rather jump out of the cab and let the oncoming traffic put you out of your misery. 

But despite your shame, you know it’s the right thing to do. Especially since your boss has supported you so diligently throughout the entire year. Staying late nights at the office with you to help crunch data, patiently answering all your questions and never sparing you details that others may think are “over your head”. He never undermines or insults you when you don't understand something and he has proved time and time again to have faith in your competence. 

He may be stern and generally unapproachable, but the subtle emotional support Nanami Kento has given since the first day you walked into JJK Inc means the absolute world to you. 

And…you can't help but feel completely downtrodden at the very idea of letting him down. You’ve actually come to like him. 

A lot. 

…

Maybe a little too much, actually.

You heave out another sigh, hands falling limp on your lap.

Just stop being such a coward. Just call him. He’s not going to fire you over something so miniscule, right?

The cab is suddenly filled with an instrumental little jingle, and your phone begins to buzz in your hand. The sound snaps you out of your thoughts, calling your attention to your device. Your heart nearly stops when you see the name flashing on the display.

Mr. Nanami Kento.

Oh shit.

You’re frozen, suspended in momentary panic as you watch those haunting letters light up with each vibration. Should you let it go to voicemail? What’s worse, getting chewed out now or later? After about half a second of contemplation, you realize that letting the call go to voicemail would only serve to land you in the hottest seat in the house. 

So with trembling fingers, you swipe right on your green call button and bring the phone to your ear.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Our department meeting has started. Where are you?”

Straight to the point, like always.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you resist the urge to twist the fabric of your pencil skirt between your fingers. It’s not even lunchtime yet and your day has gone terribly so far, like you want to add to it by showing up in wrinkled clothes.

“I’m so sorry sir,” You lick your lips, your tongue like sandpaper. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

A pause of silence on both your ends serves to add kindle to your blazing nerves, but you wait patiently for your boss to respond. After a few more beats of silence, Nanami speaks. His tone is low and soft, like he’s pulling you aside for a private little word in a large gathering of people.

“This is unusual for you. Is everything alright?”

A tingling shiver runs down your spine, the rhythm of your heart skipping a beat at the sound of his low and concerned drawl. God, it should be illegal for someone to sound that good—that sensual.

He’s your boss.

So what if he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? So what if butterflies swarm and swell in your stomach everytime you think about him? So what if his face is the one on your mind when you slowly glide your fingers between your thighs in the dead of night? 

It would never work out between the two of you, despite your fantasies to the contrary. Nanami Kento is a human and you are a vampire. Your life spans are different, your lifestyles are different, and you’d be damned if you dragged a good man like him into the complicated shit storm that is your personal life. 

A soft call of your name gently coaxes you to the surface of your thoughts. Nanami pauses again, but his silent urge for you to proceed is palpable. So you close your eyes, inhale a deep breath, and lie.

“I’m alright sir, thank you for your concern. I just mistakenly slept through my alarm, that’s all. I’ll make my way straight up to the boardroom once I arrive.”

Another beat of silence, then a deep, affirmative hum.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

And the call disconnects.

(xxx)

In spite of your tardiness, the department meeting had gone off without a hitch. In fact, upon your arrival you were elated to discover that not only had a seat been left open for you, but sitting on the table right in front of it was a steaming hot cup of coffee and a singular pain au chocolat wrapped delicately in a brown napkin.

You had nearly cried at the sweetness of the gesture, but managed to hold it together as you took your seat. Once situated, you looked at your coworker, Akari Nitta, and mouthed a ‘thank you’. To your shock, Nitta had then responded with an unsubtle shake of her head and then an even more unsubtle glance towards your boss who stood at the head of the table. 

Your eyes widened, and impulsively your gaze flew towards Nanami Kento. He paused in the middle of his debrief, a single blonde brow rising at your reaction to his gesture. 

Realizing that you were causing a scene, you immediately sunk into your chair and whispered a quiet apology as your face blazed hot. You got out your laptop and focused with all your might on your proposal and its presentation to the department. Fortunately, the presentation went well, garnering you lots of praise from your coworkers, and even a nod of approval from Mr. Nanami himself. 

Now you sit at your desk, feeling simultaneously relieved but also like you’re going to jump out of your skin. The stress from the meeting and the presentation of your proposal have long since passed, however in its place another problem has reared its ugly head. It pokes at your every nerve and buries its claws into your sanity itself.

Hungry…

Eyeing the clock every few seconds, you’re desperately willing for it to go faster. Your hunger for blood has grown exponentially since the morning started—so much so that even your coworkers are beginning to look delicious. Especially one man in particular…

It’s okay. Just make it to lunch, then get a rare steak from the restaurant downstairs and that should appease you until the end of the day.

And yet as each agonizing second ticks by, your hunger only grows and grows, and it’s not long before you start to feel weak and a little bit dizzy.

If you aren’t careful, it won’t take much to trigger a nip at someone’s neck. And given the sexual (and unfortunately sometimes violent) connotations of the act of feeding, you’d really like to avoid that if at all possible. You never want to be in one of those unfortunate situations where a vampire has denied their hunger for too long and sadly ended up attacking a human.

Luckily, you aren’t in dire straits yet as the process of descending into that blood lust-fueled madness takes several days. Still, that doesn’t mean that you’re comfortable and willing to suffer the side effects.

Your eyes once again look at the clock on your laptop’s screen. 11:46AM. Close enough.

Quietly, you put your computer to sleep and stretch, groaning with pleasure under your breath as your tight muscles tense and then relax. 

In a few quick movements, you collect your coat and purse and start to make your way down the hall of cubicles. Once you reach the cubicles of your friends, Nitta and Ijichi, you poke your head in and whisper.

“I’m heading out for lunch, I’ll be back in an hour.”

Ijichi raises an eyebrow, and both he and Nitta exchange a quizzical glance.

“What?” You ask.

“Did you forget? Mr. Nanami is going to take us all out for lunch today.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“He…he is?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Nitta sighs, tossing the document in her hands onto her desk. “Mr. Nanami announced it at the end of our meeting this morning. He said that he wants to treat us to lunch for all of our hard work. Well, all of your hard work.”

“Ours,” You correct firmly. “I wouldn’t have managed it without everyone’s help.”

“Oh, so modest.” Nitta teases. “No wonder you’re Mr. Nanami’s favorite.” 

You roll your eyes. Seriously? Of all the days to—

“I’m not his favorite. Mr. Nanami acknowledges anyone who's done a good job.”

Nitta and Ijichi exchange knowing glances with one another before turning their attention back to you.

“Sure.” They reply in unison, waving your words away like smoke.

Irritated, you decide to end the conversation and continue to make your way down the hall of cubicles and towards the elevator.

“Hey!” You hear Nitta call. “What about lunch? Aren’t you going to join us?”

Not if you can help it. You want to eat lunch alone since being known as the office lady who enjoys eating borderline raw meat isn’t exactly the reputation you’d like to garner for yourself. Plus, having a moment away from the office to clear your head will do you good. 

“Are you declining to join us for lunch?”

Your body jolts at the sound of that familiar, deep voice. Turning around, of course you see none other than Nanami Kento standing a few steps away from you. He approaches you, the differences in your height becoming alarmingly apparent as gets closer. 

And despite the fact that you’ve seen hundreds of handsome men come and go throughout your multiple lifespans, for the briefest of moments you can’t help but feel a little awestruck.

Nanami is so tall compared to you—not to mention built like a bulldozer. Armed with his steely demeanor, freshly pressed suit, polished shoes, perfectly styled hair and the smell of that aftershave that is to die for, you can say with full confidence that there are few men who can hold a candle to Nanami Kento. 

Nanami’s presence has always been nothing short of imposing. No matter which corporate hot shot from the other departments stormed into his office, he would always put them back in their place. In fact, it’s a common sight to watch them scurry down the hidden path of shame between the cubicles, their tail between their legs after they had a meeting with your boss.

“Well?” The soft, honey brown color of Nanami’s eyes does little to counteract the sternness of his expression. He leans in closer, covering you in his shadow. Goosebumps erupt all over your skin as you stifle the lascivious tremor that courses through you.

“Do you have some other previous engagement that you neglected to share?”

As you lock your gaze with Nanami’s, you suffer the briefest moment of weakness. 

You wish you could confide in him who you really are and what you’re going through. You’d give anything to have just one person know the real you. Not the confined and sheltered vampire you used to be, nor the workaholic vampire pretending to be human. Just you. And maybe someone like Nanami would be able to handle it, but you can’t take that risk.

“Um…no. I’m not declining.” You reply. “I’m just uh–really hungry.”

Nanami studies you silently for a moment. The weight of his gaze, taxing and on your already frazzled nerves. He sees more than what he lets on, you’re sure of it. But right as you’re about to squirm under his scrutiny he breaks his stare, then checks his watch before turning towards Nitta and Ijichi.

“Since your colleague seems to be eager to go, let’s make it an early lunch today. I’ll meet you all at the restaurant in ten minutes.”

Then, the three of you silently watch him as he disappears into his office.

Following Nanami’s orders, you wait for Nitta and Ijichi as they pack up and then join you in the journey to the elevator. You are absolutely exhausted, but Nitta looks totally ecstatic. Ijichi, as per usual,follows behind in silence. 

“Lunch on the boss!” Nitta exclaims. “That means we can get anything we want, right?”

“I don’t think that’s very good manners, Miss Nitta.” Ijichi advises as he hits the call button. “Mr. Nanami is already being generous enough as it is.”

“Awww,” Nitta pouts. “You’re no fun, Ijichi.”

Nitta looks at you, her friendly smile widening.

“What do you think? We should indulge ourselves today, don’t you think?”

You shake your head.

“I think Ijichi is right, we shouldn’t take advantage of him. Even if he can afford it.”

Nitta scrunches her nose and crosses her arms with a half-hearted huff. 

“Oh all right. It was mostly a joke anyway.”

(xxx)

The sky has long since darkened, the only thing illuminating the horizon now is the glowing moon and pink and blue neon lights from the city. 

You had said goodbye to your coworkers as they trickled out of the office hours ago, wishing that you could have joined them. But your proposal needs finalizing and Nanami’s final seal of approval before you can call it a day. He gave you until 10:00PM tonight to finish it. 

A tired groan escapes your lips as you focus on easing the tension in your shoulders. You give your eyes a break from staring at the screen as you reach your arms up for a good stretch. As you move, you glance at the empty cubicles around you. Admittedly, it’s strange and a little spooky being the only one in the office at night, but luckily you aren’t alone. Nanami is holed up in his office at the end of the hall and he has made it clear that you are welcome to come and find him if you need anything.

Letting your arms fall back down after that long stretch, you reach for the steaming mug sitting by your computer and bring it to your lips for a sip. The remainder of the tension in your body eases as the comforting scent of peppermint wafts up your nose.

It’s so liberating being out on your own and away from the pressures of your family. While you hold no hatred in your heart for them, being at the mercy of their tyrannical sheltering in combination with all the stifling traditions, gaslighting, and the social pressure that came with being a member of the royal family, was a torture that you are grateful to no longer endure. 

In that place, you were nothing more than an ornament— a possession. All you amounted to in their eyes was something pretty to perch on a pedestal and look at. Back there you had no right to your own words, or thoughts, or feelings, or even to your own body.

Then that one fateful night the incident occurred and you finally reached your breaking point. You ran away, smuggling yourself out of your family’s compound and into the big, wide outside world you’ve only ever seen from a distance. 

Admittedly, it had been very difficult in the beginning since your sheltered past had left you with little survival skills, but thanks to the friendships you had developed and the stability offered by your work, you found yourself thriving within half a year’s time.

Gazing out of one of the office windows, you admire the beautiful glowing moon. The callous words of the people you once called “family” resurface in your mind.

“The world is dangerous. Those humans and the other vampires are savages. They’ll eat us alive.”

“Careful. Don’t want to misbehave now do we? It would be terrible if the hunters got a whisper of your whereabouts.”

“There’s no way someone like you could survive on their own.”

They couldn’t have been more wrong. And you’re so proud of yourself for being able to prove that each and every day. You were born a royal to the vampire world and a monster to the human one, but you are the master of your own mind, body and soul. No one has the right to tell you who you are.

A sudden growling sound interrupts your contemplation. Startled, you look down as your stomach tightens and twists painfully, immediately alerting you to the culprit.

The hunger is creeping back with a vengeance. The time you bought is running out.

Luckily, the lunch you’d ordered did the trick in satiating your appetite throughout the afternoon. 

Unfortunately though, you now have to carry the lifelong joy of replaying the scene of your very confused and concerned coworkers asking you if you were okay after you had ordered an “exceptionally rare” blue steak with a straight face. 

God, the complete silence that had fallen over the table as the waiter brought out the practically bleeding slab of meat and placed it in front of you had been mortifying. It ended up stalling your appetite and—you imagined—the appetites of your coworkers.

As the silence persisted, you remember practically feeling the secret glances your colleagues sent towards you and to one another. Your cheeks had grown hot, and your mouth as dry as a desert as both embarrassment and anxiety sat heavy in the pit of your stomach. Flustered, you felt compelled to apologize and make up some kind of excuse.

“Sorry. I ah…grew up on a beef farm and it wasn’t unusual for us to eat meat like this.”

But then, your boss speaks up and effectively breaks the tense atmosphere with a single statement.

“There is no need for you to apologize or explain your preferences.”

And that had been the end of it.

Gently placing your mug of tea back down, you make quick work of replacing your smudged lipstick before leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes. Of course, the first and only thing your fevered mind conjures is him.

You wish that your thoughts could stay in the realm of innocent admiration, but as your hunger grows and your brain juggles the phenomenon that is Nanami Kento, all your thoughts go straight to the gutter. A sweet lick of heat pulses between your legs and you clench your thighs, groaning quietly in your attempts to stifle it.

You want Nanami Kento. You’ve always wanted him. You have tried so hard to keep your feelings and lewd fantasies under control, but like opening Pandora’s box, your hunger has revealed the truth of your longing.

The way that man sternly commands a room. How he simultaneously supports and takes responsibility for those around him, how caring he can be despite the subtlety of his emotions. All of these are the qualities that have drawn you to him. 

But that being said, Nanami’s physical qualities are nothing to scoff at either. The way that man rolls up his sleeves while he’s hard at work, or how his strong brows furrow when he’s faced with a particularly complex situation. The large breadth of his hands and shoulders, the smell of his aftershave and skin, how unbelievably mouth-watering he looks in those form fitting dress shirts with that perfect blonde hair just slightly tousled…

The roar of your hunger intensifies, and you can feel your fangs throb and start to emerge.

Oh no.

You inhale deeply, fingers digging into the seat of your chair. You lick your teeth in a foolhardy attempt to help yourself settle down. But the fire in your body sparks and burns brighter, your lust for blood and a certain CFO flaring with a vengeance. Your body is punishing you for daring to distract it with some cheap imitation, especially when the person that you truly want to sink your teeth into is just down the hall.

Ignoring the dampness between your legs, you take a series of long deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself. Then, once you manage to get that burning lust to taper, you exhale a sigh, place your fingers on the keyboard, and force yourself to ignore their trembling. 

You are going to finalize this proposal. 

You are going to email it to your boss.

You are going to review it with him and finally put this project to rest.

Then you are going to climb into his lap and wrap your arms around him before latching onto that delicious notch between his neck and shoulder and…

Stop it.

You give your head a furious shake and force yourself to focus on the numbers on the screen. You are going to be done by 10:00 PM, come heaven or high water.

True to your promise to yourself, you work furiously into the night, but by 9:40 PM your blood withdrawal symptoms return with full force. The trembling in your hands has spread to the rest of your body making it significantly harder for you to focus. You're starting to sweat down your back and between your breasts and your heart’s rhythm quickens as the sweet ache in your sex only grows.

Intrusive flashes of your lewd, late night fantasies of Nanami play in your mind on repeat and the feeling of your elongating teeth scratching against your lower lip makes your actions all the hastier.

Almost there… 

Through sheer force of will, you finish the last portion of your proposal ten minutes before your personal deadline. Breathing a sigh of relief, you quickly send Nanami an email, letting him know that it’s ready and that you’ll make your way to his office to discuss it. Only one nail biting minute goes by before he sends his reply. 

“I have time now.”

You’ve never been more thankful for Nanami’s punctuality and curtness. Closing your laptop, you stand up and immediately your body sways. You grab the desk, steadying yourself as you’re suddenly demobilized by the onset of a pounding headache that swallows all sound and blurs your vision. 

Shit, you’re going to pass out.

Tightening your grip, you try to focus on your breathing.

It’s okay. You’re okay. Just go in there and finish this. Then you can contact your supplier, go home and pass out.

You hold on to your desk for dear life and wait for your hearing and vision to return. Once they do, you thank all your lucky stars.

Knowing you don’t have a lot of time left, you grab your laptop and immediately make your way towards Nanami’s office. Your knees tremble with each step you take and you grip your laptop close to your chest for fear of dropping it.

Almost done. Just a little more.

You knock once you reach Nanami’s office.

“Come in.”

Clenching your hand around the doorknob, you take a deep breath to help steady yourself before opening the door and stepping inside. 

The office is warm, almost cozy with its dimly lit atmosphere. With the exception of a singular lamp that sits on the far left of his desk, Nanami’s computer screen is the only other source of illumination in the room.

Nanami’s office is quite tasteful, with the exception of a few decorative items it’s filled with only the essentials that the man needs to do his job. Nanami himself sits at his desk, his brows furrowed as he pours over the documents on his desk.

Despite your sorry state, you can’t help but steal another moment to admire him. 

God, he really is breathtaking, the dim light betraying you by slyly highlighting his best features. Combed blonde hair that beckons your fingertips, rolled up sleeves revealing the powerful, veiny arms beneath, his sharp brown eyes that never miss a detail, and those strong and chiseled features of his, Nanami makes you weak in the knees every time. 

Standing silently at the door’s threshold, you wait for Nanami’s tired eyes to look up. Once his gaze meets yours, he exhales a heavy sigh. Your tongue swipes along the throbbing tips of your fangs as you watch him lean back in his hair, all raw masculinity and tempered power as he removes his glasses and rubs his eyes.

“Let’s have a look at it then.” 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you make your way deeper into his office, fingers clenching around your laptop as you pray for your legs not to give out. 

The moment you reach Nanami’s desk, his warm and tantalizing scent hits you like a freight train. You can practically feel the steady beat of his heart on your tongue. The painfully throbbing ache in your fangs increases as your vision blurs again for another brief second.

Calling upon the strength of your willpower once more, you manage to suppress the raging hunger inside you for just a little longer. Your lips press into a thin worried line and without a word, you place your laptop on Nanami’s desk, turn it to face him, and open it to show him your finalized proposal.

But Nanami’s attention is focused squarely on you. Those brown eyes of his feel like they are slowly taking you apart and then putting you back together again. Maddeningly. Piece by piece.

You’re on the verge of screaming, or bolting out of his office by the time your boss glances at the screen you’d presented to him.

The wait is torture. You have to resist the urge to chew your lip, hiding your trembling fingers behind your back in a desperate attempt to conceal your distress. It feels like an eternity before Nanami’s attention finally returns to you. He pins you again with that intense stare of his, holding you captive like a wriggling insect caught in a spider’s web.

Then, Nanami breaks the silence and you are surprised to see both that intense stare and the harshness of his tone soften. 

“You’re unwell.”

A statement, not a question. Nanami’s words are enough to freeze the words in your throat. He saw right through you. Of course, he did. 

Desperately trying to save face, you scramble for the words to deflect Nanami’s astute observation.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Wow. Phenomenal.

Nanami sighs, his heavy hand reaching up to gently close your laptop. Your eyes linger for a second too long on his thick fingers before your body stiffens at the thought of being caught. 

The sound of a chair sliding against the floor makes your heart jump. Your breath stalls as Nanami stands up from his seat and circles the desk towards you. He stops his advance when your bodies are only mere inches apart. 

Then he leans down and whispers,

“Don’t lie to me.”

Instantly, your senses come alive. You feel your fangs extend fully in your mouth as your eyes latch hungrily onto Nanami’s throat. His intoxicating scent, the thick muscle of his body, and the pulsing veins beneath his skin all have your mouth practically watering. 

“You’re unwell.” Nanami continues. “In fact, you’ve been unwell since yesterday.”

Nanami hit the nail on the head. There’s no point in keeping secrets anymore. Twisting your fingers behind your back, you have no choice but to answer him.

“I uh—”

You pause and study Nanami’s expression. 

He’s patiently waiting, his gaze unwavering from yours. It’s firm and solid, but beneath that stoic professionalism you can see a flicker of warmth and understanding. And even though you are currently in the hot seat—panicked and on the edge of being exposed—you also feel strangely at ease.

“I’m anemic so uh…just feeling a little faint. It runs in my family.”

Nanami’s expression shifts into one of undisguised doubt. 

“Anemia. That’s what’s left you in this state?”

You slowly nod. Your tongue darts out in an attempt to moisten your lips before carrying on with your explanation.

“It’s not that bad, really. I’m just tired and a little dizzy. I’ll be able to finish up this proposal and then I’ll go h—.”

And then in an ultimate gesture of betrayal, your body starts to sway again. Your pounding head begins to feel light, sounds disappearing once more as your vision blurs and then goes completely black.

Fortunately, in the midst of all this you still have enough of your wits to make a grab for Nanami’s desk and steady yourself. 

Unfortunately however, you end up missing the desk entirely and instead are sent plummeting into the awaiting arms of gravity. Or at least, you would have been, had Nanami Kento not used his own arms to scoop you up and keep you from falling.

The feeling of Nanami’s arms around you is enough to bring you back. Your vision returns and your entire body freezes as alarm bells go off in your head. You’re reaching your limit. 

The heat of Nanami’s body radiates through yours, turning the blaze inside you into a raging inferno and reigniting the sweet ache in your core. Your fangs throb and your sex pulses as your arousal pools in that private little space between your thighs.

God, you want him. You want to taste him and fuck him so badly you feel like you’re going to go insane.

“You’re not fine,” Nanami’s tone is low, almost sensual. “You’re on the verge of passing out.”

“N–no, I’m—”

Nanami cradles you closer, shouldering the entirety of your body weight as he holds you steady against him. He guides your body towards his desk, leveraging you against it before securely wrapping his grip around your waist. Your head falls on his shoulder. Exhausted, you surrender everything.

“I–I’m sorry.” You whisper, fingers tightening around his biceps in an attempt to ground yourself against the rabid haze that’s taking over every last lick of sense you possess.

Fuck, he smells so good.

Then without a word of warning, Nanami abruptly picks you up and sits you on his desk. Your pencil skirt naturally rides up your thighs as he slots himself between your knees.

The next words that fall from Nanami Kento’s lips change your life forever.

“Eat me.”

Both your heart and breath stop for what feels like an eternity. Your eyes widen as your mind struggles to process the meaning of Nanami’s words. Eat him? What does he mean by that? Surely he can’t be talking about…

“W-what?”

Nanami leans in closer.

“You need blood and I have an abundant supply.”

Panic, hot and sharp, stabs right through your chest. 

Holy shit. He knows. 

You had taken so many painstaking precautions to conceal your true identity and had done everything in your power to make sure that your secret was kept safe. How did Nanami Kento discover it? Had you slipped up at some point? Or had you been outed by a member of your family? 

The venomous words of your father, the ones that he always used to threaten you with, ring like a gong in your head.

“Careful. Don’t want to misbehave now do we? It would be terrible if the hunters got a whisper of your whereabouts.”

It all snaps into place.

Breathless and freshly teary eyed, you look up at your boss.

“You’re a hunter.”

Nanami’s jaw clenches, hard bone grinding beneath tight skin. Then finally, he nods.

“I am.”

You do your best to try and make a break for it, wriggling to the best of your ability out of Nanami’s hold. But the man’s grip is like iron and your body is too weak. All you manage to do in the midst of your trepidation is dishevel your clothing and bring your body closer to his.

Nanami silently holds you captive, his expression betraying nothing as he watches the rebellious little fire inside you snuff out, surrendering to the merciless gale of your starved exhaustion.

Only when your body stills does he speak again.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you. I will never harm you.”

Frustrated and distraught tears roll down your cheeks, your fingers grip and twist the pristinely pressed dress shirt covering Nanami’s chest. More lies. For once in your life won’t someone just tell you the truth? 

“Stop lying to me. You’re a hunter. Killing vampires is what you hunters do, right?”

Nanami pauses, his lips thinning as he contemplates his answer.

“Yes.” He finally admits.

Your heart sinks, despair tightening your chest as the realization dawns on you that perhaps all the kindness and support that Nanami had shown you throughout your time at JJK Inc had been part of an elaborate ruse. Easing you into some false sense of security before finding the perfect moment to take you out.

And as you look at him, tightly cradled in his grasp and unable to escape, you wish that you could be anywhere else right now.

“If you’re going to kill me just do it already.”

 A tired sigh falls from your boss's lips, his left hand coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose. You follow the motion, gaze lingering on the plains of his handsome face. The bags under his eyes are a bit more prominent than usual.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Right,” You sniff, voice frail and taunt as you fight back against your tears. Nanami Kento is the last person on earth you want to see you cry.  

“So said everyone else.”

The weight of Nanami’s grip leaves your side, and when you feel both of his hands gently cup the sides of your face, you practically melt. Nanami’s hands are warm and comforting and they soothe away your fear and despair. He regards you gently, smoothing his thumbs along the soft edge of your cheekbones—wiping away your tears.

“I’m not just anyone.”

Nanami releases you and you watch, spellbound, as his fingers reach for that signature leopard print tie. Your eyes widen and your heart pounds, the beat roaring in your ears as he loosens the flimsy article of clothing with a single elegant movement.

“Now,” His words are stern, deep. Undeniable in their finality. 

“Eat.”

As Nanami loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt, your eyes immediately land on the thick column of his throat.

“You—” Another swallow as the saliva in your mouth begins to flow and pool. “You don’t know what you’re offering…”

“I know perfectly well what I’m offering. Take it.”

Your body grows hot to the touch—near feverish as your arousal reignites. Your grip tightens, grasping at his shirt as you desperately resist the animalistic urge to just sink your teeth into Nanami’s thick flesh without a drop of restraint.

“Mr. Nanami…”

His hand reaches up again and he cups your chin, thumb gently tracing along your slack bottom lip, smudging the lipstick you’d replaced just an hour before. You shudder as his thumb precariously brushes against one of your exposed fangs.

“I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve never drank blood from another person before.” You confess in a hushed whisper. “The rules around feeding where I come from are very strict and the act itself can be very…intimate.” 

Nanami’s hand glides to the back of your head then down to your neck. His touch is electric–addicting–like a hit of pure ecstasy.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed with me.”

You shyly lick your teeth and avert your gaze to the glowing doorway. You’re stalling and he knows it.

Nanami leans down, the feeling of his warm breath caressing the side of your face as you teeter on the edge of unchained desire.

“Go ahead.” Nanami coaxes. “Eat.”

And with no more words, you arch your body upwards, open your mouth, and then sink your teeth into your boss’ neck. Nanami grunts, and the moment his blood touches your tongue every inch of you sings.

Nanami’s taste is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s rich and warm, powerful and potent. Like a spiced wine only served to those with the most expensive palates. And as his blood flows your mouth it invigorates you with a heat that is as searing and as all consuming as that of the sun.

A lewd moan bubbles in your throat as you instinctively draw him closer, lips latching and sucking hungrily against his neck. Nanami responds with a moan of his own as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and pressing the entirety of your body against his.

You cradle him between your soft thighs, hands reaching under his arms and around to his back so that your fingers can dig into the delicious muscle they find there. 

Nanami’s heart pounds against your tongue, feeding you all the more as you deliberately press the swell of your breasts against him. The sweet softness of your panty covered pussy is next, and you’re so love drunk, so caught up in the moment that you don’t even think twice about rubbing yourself against the growing tent in his pants.

Nanami's deep groan in response to your actions makes your pussy clench. He leans forward, pushing you down until your back hits the polished mahogany desk he’d perched you on. His heavy hands slam against the wood as he climbs on top, steadying himself against the shuddering waves of bliss that tear through him.

Perhaps you’re taking a little too much…

With a pleased sigh, you release Nanami’s throat, kissing the little red wounds you’d left there before trying to pull away. But Nanami’s hand slips under your head, cupping the back of it and ushering you back to that bite mark.

“Keep going,” His voice is low and raw, rumbling like a thunderstorm on the horizon, on the verge of losing his restraint.

“Don’t stop until you’re full, darling.”

That sweet and genuine term of affection nearly knocks the air out of your lungs, and you can’t help but whimper wantingly. You’ve never wanted anyone like this before. 

Staring into his eyes, your hands wrap around Nanami’s body again. Your fingers sink back into their rightful place along the muscles of his back before you tilt your mouth back up towards his neck.

Then, greedily, you sink your teeth back into Nanami’s flesh.

“That’s it.” He praises, lips pressing comfortingly against your temple. “Good girl. Take what you need.”

An intoxicating cocktail of love and lust roars inside of you, intensifying with each swallow. You’ve had your fair share of selfish lovers and cold sheets, but never anything like this…never something so hot and wild and that felt so fucking right.

Another wave of intoxicating ardor sizzles along your skin and your body responds by arching against him, rubbing yourself lewdly against his hard cock.

Nanami growls, the deep sound curling your toes as the hands he had rested by your head curl tightly into fists.

“Touch me.” You plead, licking a wicked stipe up his throat.

Cursing under his breath, Nanami pushes your skirt up to your waist, exposing your soaked cotton panties. His hands find your hips, tightening in a vice grip as he angles you just right before beginning to rut his clothed length against your pussy.

You lick the bruised bite mark on Nanami’s neck in apology before laying back down on the desk, arching and moaning as you’re overcome by the hot friction between your bodies. 

You’re dizzy, blissed out and utterly intoxicated as you grind your sex against his. The hurried rustle of fabric and the stifled moans from both of your lips rises like the sweetest music.

Nanami’s eyes meet yours, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands travel up your waist. Abruptly, he pulls you down, forcing your sensitive pussy harder against his throbbing cock. You can practically feel him pulse between your folds.

Crying out, you grasp onto Nanami as he hikes up your leg over his shoulder, exposing you further before surrendering the weight of his massive body onto your smaller one. Pinning you deliciously on that desk and grinding against you with animalistic fervor, he makes you feel breathless and trapped, but oh so far from helpless.

“M–Mr. Nanami…p-please, don’t stop.”

“Not until you come,” Nanami promises, licking his bottom lip before popping his thumb into your wet mouth.

Moaning, you instinctively bite into the fleshy pad. When you catch a glimpse of Nanami’s jaw clenching, his eyes glued to the seductive glimmer of your fangs biting deliciously into his flesh, you nearly come then and there. 

“Harder,” Nanami commands, snapping his hips against you and hitting your swollen clit with the head of his cock just right. 

Mewling with pleasure, you sink your fangs into his thumb and Nanami shudders. The pleasured purr that leaves him is one of the most erotic things you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Good girl.”

He thrusts against you harder now and your combined moans harmonize as the two of you lose yourselves. The hot coil in your stomach tightens as you roll your hips, grinding against Nanami desperately while spreading your legs wider to accommodate his size. 

“Suck,” Nanami groans. “Suck on me as you come.”

Eagerly, you suck his thumb into your mouth, eyes drooping with euphoria as the taste of his blood couples with the force of your oncoming orgasm.

“N–Nanami,” You whimper sloppily–pathetically—around his finger, drool falling from the side of your mouth. 

“C–coming–I’m going to come—ah!!!”

Nanami pulls his thumb from your mouth, but not before gliding it along your lipstick smudged lips and coating them in his flavour. 

Thrusting his hips against you one last time, he leans down and claims your mouth with his, swallowing your scream of ecstasy as you come in his arms.

“That’s it,” Nanami coos, the pleasured hum in his throat lulling you in tandem with the tender little kisses he presses to your lips “Hold onto me, baby.”

And you do, for dear life, until the last pulse of your pleasure fades and you’re left a completely exhausted mess on Nanami Kento’s desk.

The two of you stare at one another in that dim light, chests heaving and cheeks burning. Wondering if he came too, you look down at Nanami’s beige slacks. You almost die of embarrassment when you realize how drenched you’d made them.

“Did you come?” You ask him.

Nanami’s low, rumbling chuckle is your answer.

You’re about to protest and are ready to offer your body so that he can have his pleasure too, but Nanami halts your words by pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

It was one of the sweetest gestures you’d ever been gifted.

“Next time, darling.”

Next chapter ------>

dividers by @/saradika

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Clockwork sees how stressed Danny is from trying to be the goodest boy and never do anything remotely bad that could turn him evil and thinks he may have overdone it. At this rate his panic over never doing anything evil is going to force him to emotionally burn out and stop caring. Then he'll turn evil anyway.

So Clocky does something that sounds completely ridiculous in theory. He scoops Danny up and drops him into a universe full of superheros and villains and tells him to "Do whatever you want. There will be no consequences for you." Then he leaves.

And just like that, Danny goes apeshit. He decides to do the one thing he always wanted to do but was too afraid to because he didn't want to be judged, or worse, forced to join his parents.

He becomes a supervillian. Not as Phantom, no. But as Fenton! He goes full super genius mad scientist and terrorizes whatever city he's in. The local superhero is being driven insane as Danny builds death rays, shrink rays, his own modified version of the GAV, ect.

The best part if that the local heros can never catch him for long and when he is caught he always escapes before he is transported to whatever facility they wanted him in. He always ends up back in his home dimension where he goes back to acting normal and no one from either human dimension or the Infinite Realms knows what he's up to (except the stop watch of course)

After a particularly fun day in which Danny highjacks all broadcasting services to teach everyone in the world how to make insulin at home so you didn't have to pay a ridiculous amount for necessary medication, the Justice League was now on his tail.

Danny just laughs, thinking there's no way they'd ever be able to arrest him. Little does he know some guy calling himself Batman is leading the mission and he has no intention of arresting him. Danny, much to his horror, becomes far to familiar with adoption papers. As in he keeps having to set them on fire.

[littlejuicebox]

Astarion talks in his sleep.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav (Shadowheart is our lovely supporting role though.) Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3, "good/spawn" Astarion ending, all fluff Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 900+ Notes: Inspired by this post here!

-----

Astarion talks in his sleep. It’s something you’ve never mentioned to him, because it’s mostly when he’s having a nightmare about Cazador or some other horrid trauma from his past. You'd quickly determined it not worth bringing up, for fear of embarrassing him. Plus, if you were being honest, part of you found it rather endearing... especially the lighter drabble that would escape his lips. Delighted giggles, little purrs... it could be overwhelmingly adorable, on occasion.

In fact, the first time you ever heard him say he loved you was in his sleep. Then you'd waited weeks… anxiously, impatiently, unbearably for the revelation to come out while he was awake, under his own terms.

But tonight, the talking and tossing isn't cute. The vampire writhing in bed disturbs you, and your eyes flutter open, catching the smallest glimpse of daylight between the thick, tightly drawn curtains and shuttered windows of your bedchamber. You'd just fallen asleep, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit annoyed.

You idly try to figure out the date. Adjusting your schedule to the night life was… difficult; you often lost track of dates nowadays. But somehow you manage to remember that it's been nearly six months since you all saved Baldur's Gate; six months since Astarion had been returned to a creature of the shadows. Six months you've been in the house provided by the city as you two adjust to whatever normalcy you are able to conjure up and figure out your next steps. You were a strong proponent for the Underdark; Astarion was not quite sold.

At first you think the silver-haired elf's tossing and turning is a night terror… it’s been nearly two weeks since the last one. He’s overdue. You ready yourself to pop out of bed and grab your calming herbs to steep a quick sleeping draught. But then you hear him, soft and garbled, laced with thick strings of sleep.

“Will you marry me?”

You turn to stare stupidly at the elf, eyes piercing through the blackness of your room; his face is obscured, you cannot tell if he’s awake. “…what did you say?”

Silence. A long, unbearable stretch of silence where your heart is pounding into your throat, practically rattling around your chest cavity at the sudden shock. And then he’s snoring again, and you’re left with your brow furrowed and robe half pulled onto your shoulder. Well, so much for your sleep.

You meander down the hall to the kitchen, where Shadowheart has several jars and plants strewn across the table. She’s practically taken over the kitchen since Gale left, not that you particularly mind, since she’s also taken over the cooking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” She asks, spotting you out of the corner of her eye, not lifting her focus from the mortar and pestle in her hand.

“You won’t believe what Astarion just said in his sleep.” You murmur in dazed response, walking over to the cabinets and rummaging through the contents. You grab an old kettle and fill it with water, turning to look at the cleric.

“Gods, what was it? I’m quite thankful to be out of the camp... his night terrors woke all of us up at one point or another. It's no wonder you’re struggling with the schedule adjustment.”

“He said, ‘Will you marry me?’” You respond, almost giggling at how silly that sounds in retrospect, as you place the kettle on the stove.

Shadowheart pauses. One, two, three beats of silence. “Shit… well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” She murmurs with a shrug, before returning to grinding her herbs.

“Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come off, don’t be daft! You had to expect it would be coming sooner or later. Gods, your love is almost sickening… it was sickening, having to hear it all the time... once again, so thankful for the separation of these walls.”

You are frozen, your hand still holding onto the kettle as you appraise your friend. Shadowheart is right. You knew a proposal would come sooner or later… you just figured it would be much later. Astarion was still struggling; more often than not you woke to him in tears or in the throes of a sleeping fit. Countless calming elixirs and teas had been drawn up by you and Shadowheart in the last six months. Truly, you hadn’t thought he was thinking that deeply about it... you hadn't been, if at all. Gods, you two still didn't even know where you were headed after leaving this city-supplied house... the lease was up in a few weeks' time.

“I guess… well, I suppose I didn’t think he was ready.” You sigh, lighting the stove and sitting across the table, watching the cleric as she works.

“Oh, trust me, he’s ready. And he's certain. Perhaps not about anything else... but definitely about this. He's been writing to Gale for weeks trying to source a particular ring." Shadowheart responds, now pouring the contents of her grinder into pouches. "Just promise you'll act like it's a surprise when the time comes... he's been talking about it for a while. He's put a lot of thought into things."

"When will it be?"

Shadowheart laughs, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she flicks her gaze toward the ceiling. She’s now cinching the sachets and sorting them all into a nearby basket. "Now that I'm not telling you. I've already given away too much."

You try for a few more minutes to pry the information from your friend, but she remains tight-lipped. You even threaten her with detect thoughts, though you both know you'd never go through with it. Finally, a whistle from the kettle beckons you back to the stovetop, and the conversation is halted as you ready your tea and aim to go back to bed. You might not know when your love is going to pop the question, but you do know that when the time comes, your answer will be a resounding yes.

Click here for Part 2

[oldpotatoe]

as many of you know, gaza has now gone dark.

targeted israeli strikes have wiped out the telecommunications infrastructure. phone lines and internet services are gone. gazans cannot call their loved ones to check if they are still alive. they cannot call for ambulances for aid. if they survive the increased bombardment tonight and the following nights, they will bleed out alone with no aid.

now i will tell you what will happen in the next few days/weeks, and i pray it to be untrue. unfortunately the apartheid state, also known as israel, has been quite obvious and transparent with their plans.

the stated goal of many politicians over the years from israel, including netanyahu, has been to have the entire strip of land of gaza as israel, with no separate region for palestinians. i am not going to provide links, google is free and i am fucking tired.

what they had done before tonight, in the last two weeks, was destroy over 50% of buildings in gaza city as well as neighbouring areas, so gazans have nowhere to return to. gazans have been forced south, and israel will use this opportunity to have troops in north gaza (currently referred to as the ground invasion) advancing south while bombing "h*mas sites" in the south. israel will do this knowing there are plenty more civilians there that will die, causing terror and panic and having palestinians want to flee to anywhere, anywhere that is safe.

israel is doing this in the hopes that this panic and terror will convince egypt to open the border (well, the border israel isn't currently bombing) so that palestinians can escape to the sinai desert in egypt.

once survivors leave, the area that is currently the gaza strip will 1) be reduced in size if a lot of palestinians stay, should they not be bombed out of existence, or 2) be entirely absorbed into israel if very few palestinians stay, which is the ultimate aim of israel. those remaining palestinians will be moved to the west bank, or the remainder of gaza will be converted to west bank conditions where they'd go through the same problems palestinians in the west bank go through (reduced access to water, checkpoints to go from any place to any place within their own land, getting dispossessed, or randomly killed by racist extremist settlers).

now, egypt has been adamant not to displace the palestinians. in online discourse, people have been dehumanising palestinians by talking about past disruptions in other refugee areas and saying that is why egypt does not want to take them. while there may be slight truth to this from egypt's perspective, the major reason egypt is refusing is that no palestinian refugee abroad has even been given the right to return to their own land. and this will be the fate of gazans if they are made to leave in a mass exodus to egypt/other neighbouring countries such as jordan, which these leaflets from army-backed israeli are threatening palestinians with (photo from salfit in the occupied west bank):

therefore, what i likely see happening is the above bombardment (in increased numbers now that gaza has gone dark) -> mass panic in gaza, more so now that gazans are cornered in the south -> a reluctant egypt, but with the US will promise a large amount of "aid" money to egypt to facilitate the mass exodus of palestinians, the borders will open.

palestinians will be forced out. israelis are already planning on hoovering up the prime real estate there, for amusements park no less!

this is nabka 2.0. this is genocide.

btw, as we speak: israel's leading newspaper is already making claims that h*mas's main operation base is under shifa hospital. the hospital currently housing 50,000 displaced palestinians. the idf is claiming h*mas is using the hospital as a human shield, which is their new favourite phrase to justify killing civilians. so you already know what to expect in the news.

[oizysian]

Like The Mutt You Are | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Vampire!Wanda Maximoff x Pet!Reader Warnings: non-con, cnc, blood, magic penises Word Count: 3.2k Genre: smut Summary: A young girl finds herself in the possession of a Queen vampire, chosen as her new pet.

•Kinktober Masterlist•

Lady Maximoff was the most influential vampire in Old New York. She owned most of the human cattle in the state and held the most power on the east coast. Other vampires respected her, humans feared her, and children were raised with the horror of her deeds as reminders of what would happen to them if they acted out of line.

Those not categorized as human cattle were just as unfortunate, paying a blood debt to Lady Maximoff to keep their “freedom.” The families that couldn’t afford to pay their debt either gave up what little freedoms they had, or they had to sacrifice one of their family members.

Y/N’s family was currently drowning in their blood debt, unable to pay their monthly dues, so they had no other choice; they had to give Lady Maximoff one of their own.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” her father spoke softly, his eyes downcast towards the ground. “We just can’t do it anymore.”

“But, she’ll kill me!” She cried, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, wrapping his arm around his sobbing wife. “We just can’t give any more blood.”

She cried then, bawling into her hands as the realization began to hit her. She was going to die at the hands of this bitch of a vampire. She hated them. She hated her.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She whimpered softly, her voice cracking with emotion.

She knew it would only be a matter of time before they would come for her, binding her in chains and stripping her from all of her freedoms, how few of them there were.

Before anything more could be said, there was a knock at the door. Y/N’s skin crawled with abject terror as she realized what was to happen to her.

Her father looked at her for a long moment before releasing his wife, heading for the front door where three very large men stood.

“We’re here for Y/N Y/L/N.”

“No!” She cried, nearly falling to her knees in distress.

They approached wordlessly, grabbing her by the arms and binding them behind her back with thick, heavy handcuffs and chains.

“No, please, papa!” She cried as they dragged her out, her screams echoing throughout the house.

Her parents turned away, unable to watch as their only daughter was given to one of the most dangerous monsters in the country.

Her screams continued as they loaded her into the van they came in, throwing her in the back, the chains heavily falling against her. She sobbed as one man got in the back with her and the other two got in the front seat, wordlessly pulling away from her childhood home.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked the man softly, but he just stared straight ahead, ignoring her words.

She sniffled, wiping her face on her sleeve and eyed the doors to her freedom.

“Don’t even think about it.” He growled, grabbing her chains and tugging on them, forcing her to the ground in front of him. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

She panted softly, looking up at him. Could she take him? Absolutely not. Would she die anyway if she didn’t try to escape? Definitely.

She pushed away from him and rushed towards the doors, the chains clanging as she tugged on the handles. He growled at her, his fangs elongating in his anger as he grabbed her by the shoulders, throwing her back. The chains fell on top of her and she cried, her only escape plan failing.

“You’re going to our Queen, bitch. You belong to her now.”

‘Queen?’ She thought. ‘They consider her their Queen?’

It was hours later when they finally arrived in the heart of the city, where Lady Maximoff resided. Y/N felt weak, hopeless, and all but gave up on her freedom. It was over for her.

The van came to a stop and moments later, the doors swung open, the two men from earlier stood there waiting for her to come out. She stayed still, unmoving, until the vampire in the van with her grabbed her and pulled her out with him.

She fell to the ground in a heap, her shoulders shaking with choking sobs.

“Get up.” One of them snarled, and the other one nudged her with his foot. “Get up!”

“Fuck you!” She cried, pushing herself away from them.

“Get …” he grabbed her by the back of her shirt, dragging her to her feet. “Up!”

She stood between the men, her back slouched, her head hanging as they pushed her to walk forward.

She followed closely behind as they walked, entering the large building ahead of them. When they entered, it was obvious that this was no ordinary establishment. There were cages all over; lining the wall, hanging from the ceilings, with people inside - old people, young people, naked people.

She backed up and hit the body of the man walking behind her.

“Move.” He growled, pushing her into the man in front of her.

She caught herself before she fell, her hands pressing into the vampire’s back. He smelt like smoke and death and she felt that nothing would ever get that smell out of her nose.

They led her into a cold room where other captives were standing on a stage before a woman sitting in, what looked like, a throne. Y/N’s eyes were round like saucers at the sight of her. That was Lady Maximoff.

They pushed her up the steps of the stage and she stumbled as she climbed, lugging behind her the heavy chains.

“What have you brought me this time?” A delicate voice spoke.

“The exchanges, my Queen.” One said, getting on one knee in front of her.

“Ah, yes.” She directed her attention towards the people on the stage. “Your families sold you to save themselves. I want you to remember that as you die.”

A young girl cried out and all the vampires watching in the crowd laughed. Y/N wished she could just kill them all. If she could kill the Queen, they’d all be free … right?

She got off of her throne and walked up to the stage, examining all of the captives superficially. She wasn’t particularly impressed with this group.

“Send them off to the cattle house. I’ve no use for any of them.”

One of the vampires grabbed at Y/N and she elbowed him in the stomach, the chains hitting him in the crotch.

The Queen stood and watched as this lone girl fought back, amused by the display.

“Stop.” She said calmly and the vampires holding down Y/N ceased their actions.

The battered girl looked down at the woman, a fire in her eyes that Lady Maximoff had never seen before.

“Leave that one.”

Others began screaming and crying, begging for mercy from the woman, but were ignored and led out to be taken to the cattle houses, to be used and then killed when no longer usable.

The Queen gestured to Y/N with her finger, beckoning her to walk over to her. Y/N eyed her for a moment before making her way to the edge of the stage, cautiously watching her footing as she walked.

Red wisps came towards her from within the Queen and she was lifted up off the stage and pulled to the other woman, mere inches away from her face, noses practically touching.

“You smell divine.” She whispered, inhaling the girl's scent deeply.

She struggled against the foreign magic, trying desperately to break free from it.

“You’re afraid.” She tilted her head. “And oh, so angry. You want me dead.”

Y/N gritted her teeth, not willing to admit to being afraid or being angry. She wouldn’t give this bitch the time of day.

“So much anger within you.” She smiled, her fangs almost glistening in the light. “I can’t wait to fuck it out of you.”

She spit at her then, right in her face, and Lady Maximoff didn’t even flinch.

“I’ll have fun breaking you.”

She wiped the spit off of her cheek and turned on her heel, walking out of the room with Y/N floating close behind her.

“Let me go, you bitch!” She screamed, still wriggling to get out of her binds, but it was no use.

Lady Maximoff didn’t even turn around as she flicked her fingers, the wisps tightening around the other girl.

“Stay quiet, little pup. You need to learn some manners.”

She could feel the Queen inside of her head, like maggots in an open wound. She groaned softly, images and feelings unfamiliar to her suddenly flooding her senses.

“I’ll make you feel good, pet. You’ll see.”

“No!” She grunted. “Fuck you!”

Lady Maximoff did nothing but laugh as the bound girl was forced to follow her, leading her up spiral stairs to a large bedroom with double doors. The furniture and décor was all dark, some candles burning provided extra light, but the fireplace was where most of it came from. It was a beautiful room and if she wasn’t being held captive, she might’ve complimented it.

“Now, what shall I do with you first, hmm?” She asked playfully, tapping her chin with her finger.

“Let me go!”

“No, I won’t be doing that.” She finally turned to face the other girl, walking up to her and touching her chest beneath the wisps. “You’re very beautiful, you know that?”

Y/N just bit her lip, as staying silent seemed to be the best bet at this point. Lady Maximoff tilted her head ever so slightly and brought her hand up to the young girl's head.

She tried to jerk herself back, but still was unable to move as she raised her fingers to her forehead.

Y/N moaned softly as feelings of absolute pleasure invaded her mind and body, her virgin pussy reacting to the images the vampire witch was putting into her head.

“S-stop,” she moaned, the wisps loosening and caressing her instead of binding her. “Please …”

“Please, what, pet?” She cooed, taking her time in unbuttoning the slacks the girl was wearing and tugging them down as the dark magic she was using slid underneath her shirt, swirling around her breasts.

She let out a shuddering moan as Lady Maximoff slipped two fingers between her folds, collecting her wetness and bringing it up to the girl's face, smiling as she did so.

“So needy. So ready for me.”

“Don’t, please!” She trembled as the vampire slipped her fingers into her own waiting mouth, tasting her new precious pet.

“You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” She was nearly intoxicated by the taste and smell of her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get enough of you.”

With a flick of her wrist, the remainder of her clothing and her chains were gone and she hovered naked, teased, in the middle of the room. Lady Maximoff admired her, watching excitedly as her nipples turned into hardened rosy peaks and inhaled deeply to smell the wetness dripping down her legs.

The girl trembled, aroused and afraid - afraid of what this woman was capable of. How could she make her feel like this? What kind of witchcraft was at work here?

“Chaos magic, darling.” She said with a smile, running her nails gently down her chest to her belly. “You’ll love what I can do with it, I promise.”

The Queen stripped herself of her own clothing, slowly, to give the girl a show. To her delight, the girls arousal grew at the sight of her naked body and she knew that she wouldn’t have to use her magic on her mind for very much longer.

“I’m going to give you a little demonstration.”

The girl was laid out on the bed, her hands and feet bound with chaos magic, and from between her spread legs, a dick grew, tall and proud. Y/N watched as the vampire crawled onto the bed with her, and couldn’t hold back the guttural moan that escaped her lips when she wrapped her long fingers around her brand new cock.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” She stroked her cock and Y/N shuddered under her touch, her hips bucking upward to meet her rhythm. “I’m gonna fuck myself with your pretty little cock.”

She cried, tears spilling down her cheeks as her precum spread along her length.

“Well, ‘little’ isn’t the right word, is it?” She smiled, straddling the young girl and positioning herself above the erect magical dick. “I made you very well endowed.”

“Please, don’t, it feels …!”

She moaned loudly as the vampire lowered herself down, slowly, as to accustom herself to the girth of the cock.

“Yes, pet. It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

The young girl cried as her cock twitched inside of her, the new feelings overwhelming and nearly overstimulating. The enchanted cock let her feel every delicious bit of Lady Maximoff’s pussy, and she couldn’t help but be intoxicated by it.

She rode Y/N, her hands gripping her breasts as she thrust herself down hard and fast. The vampire knew that the girl wouldn’t last long, but that was the point. She would get her pet addicted to her pussy so she would beg to please her.

“L-Lady Maximoff!” She cried, her hips jerking underneath her. “Stop! You’re gonna …”

She felt the hot cum shoot up inside her before she saw the girl react to the fact that she had came. She flung her head back on the pillows and let out a yell, her cock twitching and pulsating inside other woman.

Lady Maximoff smiled triumphantly, milking Y/N for all that she was worth. She loved the feeling of being full, but especially being full of her cum. Her new pet was beginning to be very special to her.

“L-let go,” she whimpered, her hips moving against her will. “I can’t do it again.”

“Yes you can, darling.” She cooed. “Once more for your Queen.”

She bit her lip and thrust her hips up against her, making the vampire moan with complete satisfaction. Not only was she a good fuck, but she was an obedient one.

She brought her hand down to play with her pussy, her strong, talented fingers rubbing circles along her clit. She let out a little moan, her brow furrowing and her eyes falling shut as she came.

She milked the poor, abused cock and Y/N couldn’t help but cum inside of her again, another pathetic cry spilling from her lips as she lost all control.

“Poor little pup,” she breathed softly, watching as the other girl came down from her high. “So pathetic and needy. I can help you.” She leaned down and pressed her lips to Y/N’s, a chaste kiss only to get a little taste of her. “I can make you feel good forever.”

“No …” she cried, her dick twitching once again as the vampire cockwarmed her.

“Oh, yes.” She kissed her once more, this time piercing her lower lip with her fangs and licking up the little droplets of blood that trickled down her chin. “You’re mine forever, my pet.”

She finally released her cock, pulling herself off and laying down beside her. She flicked her fingers at the enchanted penis and it disappeared, but the feeling between Y/N’s legs remained.

“I have a present for you, my darling.” She said playfully, propping herself up on her elbow and admiring the mess she had made of the girl.

Around Y/N’s neck appeared a collar, complete with a name tag and leash. She struggled to look down at it, only being able to feel it in the position she was being held in.

“What should we have the name tag say, hmm? Mutt? Pup? Bitch?”

“Let me go,” she whimpered pathetically, trying and failing to press her legs together to ease the painful ache between them left from Lady Maximoff’s magic. “Please.”

“You don’t really want to leave me, do you?” She asked sweetly, her fingers drawing imaginary shapes on her belly.

Her stomach twitched and her skin was hot with arousal. She was unable to deny the fact that this woman now had a hold on her. She was in her mind, and soon she would be in her body.

“I know you don’t.” She cooed, pouting playfully as her fingers worked their way up Y/N’s bare chest, teasing each rosy nipple to a hardened bud before slipping up her neck; two fingers finding their way inside the girl's opened mouth. “Suck them.”

The girl shook her head, refusing, before Lady Maximoff’s eyes turned red, and suddenly she was taking her fingers eagerly, swirling her tongue around the intrusive digits as they pumped in and out of her mouth slowly.

“That’s a good girl. Get them nice and wet for me.” She watched as she took her fingers with ease and her mind wandered, wondering what she would look like on her knees, taking her cock.

She pulled out of her mouth, her fingers wet with saliva and absolutely ready to explore the virgin pussy before her.

“I promise I’ll be gentle.” She smiled as she brought her hand down between Y/N’s legs, slipping her fingers between her slick folds.

She moaned, her hips rising as she eased her fingers inside of her, slowly at first, gently, but then the feeling of her became too much, and her thrusts quickened.

She let out a whimper of pain, despite being under the Queen’s complete control, and began to cry.

“No tears, dove.” She said as she fucked her, her fingers now easing in and out of her pretty pussy. “My little pet will feel so good now. So good.”

She let her thumb caress her clit and she twitched, her pussy pulsing with a need the girl was unfamiliar with.

“Do you need more, my pet? Shall I add another finger to your needy pussy?”

“No …” she cried, but Lady Maximoff smiled and shook her head.

She pulled out, adding another digit before slipping back inside, Y/N letting out a throaty moan at the feel.

“Yes, it does feel good, doesn’t it?” She fucked her harder, faster, hitting the deepest parts of her, curling her fingers and playing with her throbbing clit. “Come undone for me, pet. Come all over my fingers.”

The red wisps of magic slid along her body, heightening the sensations and pushing her over the edge, her legs jerking as she came.

“Unh … oh, Lady Maximoff!” She cried, tears in her eyes and drool dripping down her chin; a wisp curled around her neck and slipped into her mouth, pumping in and out.

“Mm, I’m still not done with you.” She purred, bringing her fingers up to her face and putting them in her mouth, sucking them clean. “I’ll never be done with you.”

She moaned around the wisp, flinching as she felt it jerk and twitch with pleasure inside of her mouth.

“Suck it, darling. It’s good practice.”

She obeyed, her head bobbing as the dark magic inside her mouth spurt gobs of its masters cum into her waiting orifice.

The Queen moaned as she and her magic came, smirking slightly as the wisp left her mouth and left a trail of drool and cum in its wake.

“You’ve made such a mess.” She said condescendingly, tutting her. “I’ll have to hose you down like the mutt you are.”

•

@natashaswife4125, @poison-blackheart

[rebelspykatie]

Part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s never thought about kissing another guy. He rarely thinks about kissing anybody. For the longest time, he was convinced that no one would ever want to kiss him, so he never saw the point in dwelling on it. 

But maybe that was unusual. He might have mistaken his apathy for normalcy when really he’s the freak. The average person probably thinks about kissing an awful lot. He’s listened to Jeff talk about asking out Lacy from his calculus class and Gareth go on and on about how unfair it is that he can’t make out with his boyfriend behind the bleachers to know that the average high schooler is pretty horny. 

Yet, Eddie’s childhood wasn’t littered with school yard crushes. There aren’t fond memories of girls that he imagined sneaking off with during lunch period or recess. There’s just…nothing. A part of that was his rocky childhood and jumping from his parents, to just his dad, to Wayne. But a lot of it was pure disinterest in the hottest girl in their grade growing breasts before all the other girls, or how tenth grade Mandy would make out with anyone with the right incentive. 

He’s never thought about it long enough for anything to stick. He figured, one day, when he was old enough to escape Hawkins and all the small minded bigots who think he’s a devil worshiper, that he would find a girl that appreciated his specific eccentricities. That he’d settle down somewhere quiet, a little closer to the city than Hawkins, and find some blue collar job and start a family. That’s just what everyone does, right?

He knows that’s not true, though. That everyone doesn’t follow that path. He knows people like Gareth and Robin, and apparently Steve, don’t get to just walk into happily ever after. There’s no white picket fence in their future, and Eddie’s never had to confront that reality so head on before. He knows what it’s like to be different. To have a target on your back. But, it’s nothing like the ostracization of being gay. 

Thinking about kissing Steve scares him. When he closes his eyes, it’s a looping replay of that day. Steve’s soft lips on his unmoving ones. Big hands cradling his face. He can perfectly recall the terror and confusion. It’s seeped into his bones now, because he’s realized something about himself and he doesn’t know what to do with the information. 

He can do nothing. He can move forward and pretend that he doesn’t wake up panting, picturing Steve on top of him pressing him into the mattress with their faces attached. He doesn’t ever have to acknowledge that for the first time in twenty years of living, he’s having honest to god wet dreams that involve another person. And that person he’s envisioning is a guy. Everything can just be swept under the rug.

But he’s pretty sure it scares him more to know that he can’t. It’s eating away at him. Eddie feels trapped in his own skin. The truth is clawing its way to the surface, wanting to break free, even if Eddie’s shutting down as it tries to spill out. He knows it’s inevitable, that overflow. The dam breaking. 

It takes an intervention to set everything in motion. Wayne’s been fussing over him for weeks. He’s been doing that worried parent thing that he thinks Eddie doesn’t know about, where he stands outside Eddie’s closed bedroom door like he wants to knock and say something, but doesn’t. He’s studying Eddie over their morning cereal like the little floating letters are going to spell out why Eddie’s been holed up in his room almost mute. 

But the final straw is when Wayne comes home from work to Eddie painting figurines on the stairs of their new trailer while pretending that he’s not watching Steve help Max fold laundry next door. There’s this polite distance between them and Eddie that didn’t exist before, this wide expanse where before Eddie would’ve been sitting on the picnic table in front of Max’s trailer teasing both of them, or maybe helping if it was a low pain day. 

Instead, he’s sat like a toddler in timeout, taking furtive peaks over the little paint brushes and praying that Max’s sharp intuition about situations like this is dulled by her literal lack of being able to see Eddie from over there. Steve can see him, though, and Eddie’s feigning that it doesn’t bother him. What a grave he’s dug for himself here. 

“Boy, don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” Wayne sighs as he climbs out of his truck, this world-weary, too knowledgeable sigh that makes Eddie squirm. 

“I don’t know what you mean, old man.” Better to just play ignorant. Even though Eddie’s pretty sure he can’t escape Wayne’s withering gaze. He hasn’t in over ten years, so he likely won’t be starting now. 

Wayne just stares at him. A raised eyebrow and crossed arms that tell Eddie he means business. He’s not getting out of this. 

Eddie’s jaw shifts and he looks down at the figure in his hands. “I don’t really know what to do, Wayne.” 

“Move over,” Wayne says, settling down beside Eddie until they’re shoulder to shoulder, barely waiting for the little shuffle Eddie does to make room. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares across the yard in the same direction Eddie was moments before, a contemplative look on his face. “This about that boy?”

Eddie follows his gaze over to Steve. His silence goes on a little too long before he softly says, “yeah.” 

Wayne hums, still looking at Steve. “You know, you always were a late bloomer.”

That grabs Eddie’s attention. He turns towards Wayne, who takes that as his cue to continue, and sets down the figure behind them. 

“Nothing ever happened when I thought it would when you were a boy. Lizzy said you took forever to walk and talk. I kept waiting for you to come to me about the birds and the bees, but you didn’t. Not sure if that was a good thing to let go, but I knew you weren’t getting yourself into trouble. Probably wasn’t much I could offer you that public school wasn’t already teaching you.” 

Eddie wonders briefly if he should’ve hidden the condoms in his room better, but maybe that’s what gave Wayne the confidence to leave Eddie to his business. Even if they were collecting dust before they became dust that day the trailer cracked open.

“You never brought anyone around.” He nods in the direction of Steve. “Not until him.” 

The conversation with Steve is distantly replaying in his head. How he went over their every interaction with Robin and they came to this same conclusion. Maybe Eddie really is an idiot. 

“It wasn’t intentional,” Eddie adds. “I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing, son. That’s part of life.” He pats Eddie on the back. “It’s ‘specially a part of being in love.” 

Eddie’s not sure he’s willing to start that train of thought, yet. He’s grateful for the quiet, unspoken acceptance, but he’s not ready to think about labeling it something as profound as love. He flounders for a second before saying, “I think I’ve missed my chance there,” as he looks back over at Steve. 

“Are you dead and I don’t know it?” He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder. “Seem pretty real to me.” He whacks Eddie’s head gently. “Ain’t nothing missed if you’re still alive to make things right.” 

“Hey!” Eddie laughs, mock offended at the attack, rubbing the back of his head and leaning away from Wayne. “Isn’t it socially unacceptable to joke about someone that was legally dead for almost three minutes?”

“I think I get leeway as the one that kept you alive for ten years by myself.” Wayne wrangles him into a side hug, pulling him to his chest with an arm around his neck. “Just cause things are broken, doesn’t mean you can’t fix ‘em, son.”

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k

In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.

Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.

Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.

From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.

Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.

Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.

Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.

In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.

And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.

In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.

"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."

There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.

"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."

With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.

"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."

But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.

"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."

With a final message sent, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.

As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.

"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."

The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."

There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.

As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.

With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.

You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.

With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.

"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."

There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.

"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."

But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

“I was working on my tan, boss.”

"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."

There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"

Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.

"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."

Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.

"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."

The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."

A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

“You will always belong to me.”

[poisonlove]

Stay with me | t.c

Pairing: Tara Carpenter X reader

Summary: Tara had a nightmare and the first person she thought of calling is y/n.

Words: 7.6 K

Warning: Post-traumatic trauma

"Tara! What the hell happened?" I tighten my grip on the phone, wondering why Tara was calling me at 4 in the morning. Sleep fades away as anxiety takes over.

I had met Tara Carpenter weeks ago almost by chance, arriving late to class. At that moment, I saw an empty seat next to a girl with brown hair and without a second thought, I headed in that direction

.Later on, we exchanged pleasantries, but over time those exchanges became more frequent, with added walks along the corridors and chats after school.

"Are you okay?" I ask quickly, feeling a deafening silence from the other end.

"Tara?" I inquire, feeling the worry growing inside me.

I was bitten by anxiety, my lower lip trapped between my teeth as a thousand thoughts, none of them encouraging, raced through my mind. Recently, Tara had told me about the horrible experience she had in Woodsboro with her friends and sister because of two psychopaths disguised as Ghostface. She literally went through hell... losing friends, suffering horrible injuries, and the growing anxiety of being pursued.At that moment,

I had hugged her to try to convey my support. Tara had buried her head in the crook of my neck, returning the gesture almost hesitantly. I knew she was scared, terrified of the idea of trusting someone again and reliving that horrible experience.

But despite everything, she trusted me.

"Y/n?" Tara's voice was broken, her nose sniffling as she sobbed. "Tara!" I say with my heart pounding, waiting for Carpenter's words.

"Can you come over?" Her voice becomes weak as she speaks, sobs threatening to escape any moment. "Are you hurt?" I ask, terrified, anxiety threatening to drive me insane.

Tara sniffs, the sound of her breath making me even more anxious. Should I run? Take the bus? Call an ambulance and rush to her apartment with a weapon? But would I be able to kill to defend her? A thousand questions assail me, and just the thought of having to kill sends shivers down my spine.

"No..." she says hoarsely, and a sense of relief washes over me.

"Has he... come back?" I timidly ask, biting my lower lip.

I didn't know what the term Ghostface would provoke in Tara, so I just asked if her fear had followed her to New York.

"No" Tara says timidly, her sobs threatening to escape from her lips.

I relax and look out the window, seeing the city shrouded in silence, the light from some lampposts illuminating bits of the street, and cars passing by occasionally.

"What's going on?" I ask calmly, knowing the brown-haired girl was safe."I need you..." she whispers weakly, her nose sniffling. "I had a horrible nightmare," she concludes with a faint voice, her voice still broken.

"Tara..." I respond gently, my heart squeezing at so much tenderness. "Is Sam not there?" I ask as I get out of bed, searching for my clothes.

"No... She'll be back from work at 7," she says timidly.

"Is it really that urgent?" I ask, biting my lower lip, sighing. "Yes..." Tara replies hoarsely, and I know the only way out of this situation is to go to the brown-haired girl's apartment.

"What did you dream about?" I ask timidly as I put on my pants, the phone between my ear and shoulder to keep it up. "I... I dreamt of him again... He was killing you in front of my eyes, laughing," she says with terror in her voice, sighing loudly. "I felt so powerless and scared," she sobs.

"I'm here," I say gently.

I put the phone on speaker as I put on the sweatshirt Tara had given me. "When I woke up, I was crying, and not seeing Sam panicked me," she confesses quickly, and I smile at her words.

I was glad she called me because she wanted my company.

"I'm coming, okay? Just give me 10 minutes," I say gently, wanting to reassure Tara, and the brown-haired girl mumbles in response. "10 minutes," she says timidly.

She had woken me up in the middle of the night, but when it came to Tara, I didn't mind.

(...)

"Hey! sorry for being late, I thought some chocolate might..." I start to apologize for being late, but Tara's arms around my neck freeze me in surprise.

A smile spreads across my face as I let myself be enveloped by her warm embrace, responding to her need for contact. Tara seemed to have developed a particular affection in the last few weeks, perhaps she was scared to be alone. It was entirely understandable considering what poor Carpenter had been through.

I sigh and leave a kiss on her forehead.

"You're here," Tara whispers against my neck, the sound of her voice muffled but full of meaning, and I can only smile in response.

Her arms tighten slightly around me

"always," I whisper timidly.

Tara pulls away from my neck but her arms remain around my waist. Her eyes look at me sweetly, chin up and a dazzling smile showing her dimples "you're my friend, that and more for you" I confess a bit bitterly for the word friend.

Why deny it? I liked Tara, a lot.

Tara continues to look at me without blinking, a shy smile on her lips. I could see the freckles dusted along her face. "So... Did you bring the chocolate?" Tara clears her throat, her eyes pointing to the chocolate in my hands.

"Oh yeah," I say and chuckle timidly, cheeks reddened with embarrassment."Thank you, you're adorable," Tara smiles widely and takes the chocolate.

The brunette puts the chocolate on the glass table.

Then her arms found purchase around my shoulders, her nose brushing against the weak point of my neck. "Why did you want me here?" I ask timidly, my voice just a whisper against Tara's ear.

Tara sighs loudly and presses her face more against my chest

"I feel safe with you" she murmurs weakly and my cheeks flush red.

Tara looks at me and her cheeks were flushed.

I raise an eyebrow seeing how Tara's eyes were slowly closing due to sleep. Tara mumbles and yawns."You're sleepy huh? I could keep you company on call until you fall asleep" I chuckle timidly and Tara yawns again.

"No," Tara whines with a cute pout, and I feel her body curl up even more against mine "I was really scared... I needed a hug."

I sigh deeply, feeling the weight of her vulnerability and without hesitation, I pull her into my arms, trying to convey all my support.

"I... felt like that night when I was attacked," Tara continues, shuddering against my body as her words pierce my heart. "Alone at home... vulnerable... but terrified because I knew there was someone who wanted to hurt me," she confesses, and my heart breaks for her.

"I'm here," I whisper gently, placing my lips on her forehead hoping that my gesture can somehow soothe her suffering.

Tara sighs against my chest.

"Come on... Let me take you to bed," I say timidly, my arms around her waist. "Sam is coming," I whisper, and Tara nods against my chest.

"Will you take me?" she asks weakly, yawning, and I smile when I notice her firm grip on my neck.

I bend down to gather her into my arms, and we head towards the bed where Tara emits a small sigh of satisfaction at the contact with the mattress.

"Goodnight," I say timidly, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. "No... Stay with me," the brunette says determinedly, her hands clinging to my hoodie."But Sam..." I begin, trying to express my concerns about her sister's reaction, but Tara interrupts me with a pout.

"Sam won't say anything, stay with me please," Tara whispers sweetly, looking at me with eyes full of hope and vulnerability like a deer in need of comfort.

Faced with her tender request, I find myself unable to resist.

I sigh and settle down next to her, feeling the warmth of her body close to mine and a smile graces Tara's face. "When Sam arrives, I'll go home," I whisper gently, feeling her hands wrap around my arm as if I were a plush toy to cling to.

"Yeah..." Tara responds briefly, resting her head against my chest, and my heart skips a beat at her response.

I sigh with contentment, allowing myself to be completely enveloped by her embrace, smiling weakly as I reflect on the evening (or rather, morning) we've spent together.

In the end, Tara doesn't let me go, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.