#kinda feel bad for depriving the world of this

[ontarom]

GOTG 3 came out and the roughly 4000 words of Peter/Draxx smut I wrote around when 2 came out still sits unfinished and unposted in my hard drive

[luveline]

I love anything strangers to lovers with James, something with him maybe coming to a muggle pub with the guys and coming over to talk to you, trying to be all suave but entirely relying on everything muggle studies has taught him and like mixing weird things up but he’s still so endearing you kinda don’t care

ty for requesting❤️

James is holding Remus’ hand when he sees you. They’re being touchy and weird because there’s nobody around to see it but strangers, aware that it’s a little too touchy but uncaring. The drinks they’ve had makes it less overly friendly and more this man is my best friend in the whole world. 

He sees you and abruptly drops Remus’ hand. 

“James,” Remus says, pulling his hand back. 

“Sorry, but– but look!” He gestures to you, leaning down as though this might stop you seeing him before he’s ready. 

You’re really something. In a group of friends two tables and what looks like fifteen chairs, too many bodies, you’re hanging back with your glass held to your chest, giggling at someone’s loud joke. You’re so pretty James feels it in his chest, like woah! Like, he has to talk to you. Maybe it’s the way you’re smiling as you laugh, he loves it. 

The longer he looks, the more convinced he becomes. 

“What are we looking at?” Sirius asks, back at the table with a new drink. 

Remus quickly takes it. “It’s who are we looking at,” he corrects. “There’s a girl over there James likes the look of.” 

“She’s gorgeous. I’m going.” 

Neither friend tries to stop him. James isn’t drunk nor stupid, and he’s not a bad flirt. Not that every girl he tries to talk to wants to talk back, but he isn’t disrespectful or grim. 

He tries not to overthink it. 

“Hi, ladies,” he says, directing his hello to your little gaggle off the main group. You sit between two other women, all smiling politely as he speaks up. “What are you guys doing out tonight?” 

“It’s my birthday,” you say. 

“It is?” he asks, surprised. “Happy birthday! You aren’t wearing a badge?” 

“It’ll poke holes in my shirt.” 

He nods solemnly. “Well, never mind it. Are you having a good night?” 

“I would be, if the person feeding the jukebox would stop playing Bee Gee’s,” you say. 

Feeding the jukebox, James repeats in his head. He looks around for some sort of animal but doesn’t find one, nor does he spot any games of Bee Gee’s. “People are terrible pet owners these days,” he says. 

You laugh like a riot, so he must’ve said something right. “Only an animal would play disco!” you agree, standing up suddenly. “I need another drink. Are you coming with me, or did you fancy someone else?” 

James grins. “I’m coming with you, please.” 

He sees the little twitch on your smile that shows you’re pleased; you aren’t as confident as you’re trying to appear, and your question had been a brave one. James will try to reward your courage. 

“Do you come here often?” he asks, following you through tight tables and down a step to the bar. 

“Only on birthdays.” You grin as he shields you from a passerby. “What about you?” 

“Here? Never in my life! It’s quaint though, I love the taps and the posters and the pork scratchings!”

“They don’t have pork scratchings at home? Where are you from?” 

He shrugs. “Somewhere awful. They don’t have birthday girls half as pretty as you are back there. Did you get anything nice for your struggle?” 

“What, the struggle of getting older?” You lift your chin. “Do I look like I’ve struggled? In ageing?” 

“You look like you’ve been deprived of a drink. What’s your favourite?” 

“Can you guess?” 

James slows with you, just shy of the bar. What a peculiar thing to ask. Maybe muggles play this game, maybe this is a flirting ritual. James chooses the prettiest drink for a nice looking girl. “A French seventy five,” he suggests. 

“What’s that?” 

“Gin and champagne, mostly.” 

“I don’t know about that one.” 

James grins. “A cherry spritzer, then. Ice, a little sugar, cherries on the rim. You look like you like cherries.” 

James buys you a cherry spritzer with extra cherries —it’s your birthday. You say thank you twice and sip it at the bar as he nurses a cold dark thatchers, your elbows touching. James briefly notes how you compliment one another in the mirror above the wines. He tries to catch your eye in it, but gets distracted when the TV box above it changes colour. 

“Do you watch the football?” you ask, noticing his gaze. 

“Oh, yeah. Love football. Weird shape for a ball, but. Do you like it?” 

You take a second to answer, “Well, what about rugby?” 

He’s more familiar with rugby, they talked a great deal about it in muggle studies. “I love rugby! All the scrums and scrimmages.”

“Do you play?” 

“Um, no.” 

“Well, you must play something.” 

“Are you flirting with me?” he jokes. 

“You look active!” 

“What do you like?” he asks, happy to change the subject and learn more about you at the same time. 

“I like lots of stuff, mostly books. Oh, I like karaoke,” you say. “I’m not very good.” 

James knows what karaoke is. “I bet you are. It’s about patience, right? Filling in all those little boxes. I can’t get behind the numbers part, I’m terrible at arithmetic.” 

You look at him like he’s grown two heads. You don’t mean to, he can tell, because your expression immediately clouds with guilt, and then something kinder. He likes fondness on you, and he loves for it to be directed at him. 

“I’m terrible at maths, too,” you say, smiling, nearly shy. “Do you want to get a table with me?”

“Did I say something wrong, before?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

It’s much later with his hand behind your neck when he realises the numbers game is sudoku, not karaoke. He laughs against your open mouth. You ask him what’s so funny, but the warmth of your breath on his lips has him forgetting.

(James was a tad weird, you think that night, his phone number on the back of one of your birthday cards and your lips still fizzing, but he’d been earnest even in kissing, and for that you can’t complain.)

[threepandas]

Bad End: No Good Turn

I rushed to catch up, as I saw the party leaving. Advisor Leukippos was a hopelessly busy man after all. Seeming to drift, with elegant unhurried steps, from appointment to appointment at a somehow impossible speed. It was near impossible to actually catch him NOT in the middle of something. And believe me, I'd been TRYING!

"Advisor! Respected One! Please wait!" I did not so much... shout (as that would be RUDE. One must NEVER be RUDE around the Yanderians. They take GREAT exception. I've looked them up. Have even started taking classes on the subject.) as sorta? Pitched my voice to carry? Kinda the verbal equivalent of that awkward half jog, not run, people do.

My Yanderian pronunciation is god awful. Probably butchering the words, since I can't, you know, actually HEAR any of the nuanced under or over tones. The slight inflections. Yanderian is a language of SONG. Poetry. Composing some of the most beautiful audible art in the known universe. Some of the pieces I've heard? Are like whale song made of starlight. Birdsong made of thunder.

And that's the RECORDINGS! Which are said to miss SO MUCH of the in person nuances, due to technological limitations!

I, being a human, literally don't have the philosophy to even speak the language properly. Never will.

Not the voice box, not the HEARING, and certainly not the lung capacity. But I wanted to at least try, you know? If nothing else, maybe learn the language. There WERE after all, auditory aids for Yanderians with ear injuries. And! I theoretically? Could contact the company? To see if they would be willing to design a set of nuance readers for a human sized head! Adjusted for human hearing and visual ranges!

To be honest? I just was waiting to be able to send my message in Yanderian first. To prove that it wouldn't be a waste of time. Nuance readers were a time consuming project after all! Had to be customized to the life form wearing them.

Leukippos and his entourage had stopped, turned. Some fully, some only half way, to glance in bemused and startled confusion at the (no doubt strange) little creature trying to hacksaw her way through a sentence in their language. None the less, they DID stop for me, for which I was grateful. Their people were fuckin TALL, man. Long legs. Holy SHIT long legs. G-gimme a second! Gotta...! Breathe...!

I could practically feel their amusement from behind the assorted fans. Eyes curving up to match hidden grins.

"No drink to spill upon me, little one? How shall I recognize you now?" Comes teasing song speech from the man I've been trying, for DAYS, to catch outside of any one of his many responsibilities. I think? That particular rumbling quality? Means "playfully said, not insulting you?"

His body language certainly suggests it.

The laugh that forces its way out of my body? Is the sort that you make, while contemplating throwing yourself into the fucking SEA or a bottomless pit, after dumping your breakfast on like... a world leader.

Because I Basically DID.

Which? Ha ha... oh god, kill me. They wear FUCKING WHITE. The higher the rank? The MORE WHITE! (It's the color of Divinity and Honor! Which DOESNT FUCKING HELP! Oh GOD, does this mean what I did was SACRILEGIOUS TOO?!) Nothing but pale, easily and irreversibly stain-able colors, as far as the eye can see! And I accidentally? Dumped my shitty break room "whatever has caffeine and is still in stock" on him!

FIVE TIMES.

I've literally GIVEN UP open air caffeinated drinks because of this! They are the devil! Evil! Trying to ruin both my sanity AND my life! I don't CARE if canned coffee is more expensive! At least I can't DUMP IT ON A DIGNITARY.

The worst part? The ABSOLUTE WORST? Was how understanding and calm Leukippos was, while I lost my shit. It wasn't even MY outfit. He was the one covered in probably still burning coffee! As I hyperventilated and blubbered apologies and cried at him. Hair a mess! Sleep deprived as FUCK because my boss is an asshole. Well... WAS an asshole.

He came over to yell at me.

Did not go well for him. What with that being Rude™ and me having already spilled the beans that the whole incident was CAUSED by me being overworked. Sleep deprivation slows reaction times, you know?

But then... but THEN! It? Kept?? HAPPENING!!!

Turn a corner? Bump! Right down his front. Leaving a lift? Bump! Splash! There goes my cup! Oh but what about a SAFETY cup? I, like FOOL, naively think! Ha ha...

I nearly concuss him! Somehow! Right over the edge of some railing! Slams into the ground at his feet. Nearly hitting him from THREE STORIES UP, right on the head! Pretty sure the sound I made? Was just as painful to HEAR as it was to rip out of my own throat in panic.

No More Cups! Cups are BAD. This? Anti-cup having household.

We'll drink from fucking SPOONS if we have too! Bowls!

NO CUPS!

And every? Single?? Time??? Leukippos not only stops, in the middle of his unspeakably busy schedule, to calm down and reassure this random ass low ranking alien, who's dumped potentially toxic or dangerous unknown alien foodstuffs, just ALL over his incredibly expensive clothes? He's KIND about it! Polite! Makes light hearted little jokes and says not to worry!

It would be one thing, if he was an asshole about it? But!? He's so politely understanding instead? You just end up standing there. Staring in HORROR. At the slowly spreading stains, on that beautiful, delicate, lovely embroidered white fabric. Clothes that are HAND CRAFTED. Take months if not YEARS to make!!! And you just? Feel your soul... die inside.

Kill me. Fucking END me. I deserve it.

Oh my god.... What Have I Done?

But, hey! If he wants to turn my Horrifying Drink Based Trauma Crimes into a cute friendship meet cute? I'm so unbelievably down for that. Literally ANYTHING so I stop feeling like I'm constantly setting this man's ceremonial robes on fire in front of him, then having him ask if I'M okay or need anything.

Speaking of which? Excitedly I reach into my messages bag, asking if he remembers the over robe he lent me. Another victim to our coffee attacks, the over robe was of a style that traditionally hung open, so it only slightly got hit. His main robe suffering the worst of it. Most importantly, though? The over robe is the main decorative one! Heavy on the subtle off white on white embroidery.

It creates a kind of magical looking effect as the light hits it, it's hard to explain.

But! I got coffee'd too, right? Right down my front! So what does he do? Leukippos slides off his over robe and puts it on me. So I won't be walking around in state that would get me socially embarrassed. Cause a scandal. Still not sure if it's a Yanderian or a "their region of the galaxy" thing.

However, that? Left me with a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL and quickly staining white over robe. Not Today, Satan! So I looked up how to save it. Rushed it to a professional cleaners. They kept it from getting worse but couldn't help me, due to the unique fibers the robe was made off, but knew who COULD and sent me on my way.

I ended up in a breathing mask in little Kkbrixxtttishky. And I know, okay? It's mostly oxygen in that dome. Yeah, it IS, but there are enough fatally toxic trace elements in the atmosphere that unless you have a REALLY good filter mask? It's just safer to go full breathing mask. It's not fucking "paranoid" or "racist" or whatever garbage they'll tell you.

Half those fuckers saying that? Wouldn't even TRAVEL there if their LIVES depended on it! For ALL sorts of VERY reasonable excuses, I'm SURE. Bastards. One breathing mask and an uncomfortable decontamination shower between domes is all it takes! It's barely a few minutes delay between domes. Then you're in!

And? The whole area is beautiful. Everyone is super nice, deeply kind (especially when you get lost... like... A LOT). And oh my god? Do you know how badly I wish I could eat the food without, you know, dying? (God those little pie thingies looked so fucking GOOD...)

Anyway! Long and short of it? The Kkbrixxtttishky cleaner knew how to clean the robe! Even stored it in an air tight container so it could be decontaminated for my safe handling. They? Were so sympathetic? Shared my absolute horror at the situation. We're and ARE an absolute gem. Swear to God I plan to recommend them to anyone who can breathe that grade of atmosphere.

It was worth every unit.

Pulling out a clean, neatly folded robe to return? Feels like a triumph.

"The robe of which I gave you, clean once more." He says, recognizing it on sight. The smile behind his fan seems to grow, from what charmed expression I can see of his face, as he steps closer. "Such care, in trusted hands, this robe has found. Little one, you have gone to great lengths. No easy thing, the cleansing of such cloth. And to return it? None would think you less, should you have kept a gift..."

The songspeech has a distinctly warm tone to it, more then the already fond tone that had been there before. Heck yeah~ Knew it! I KNEW I did the right thing! And besides, it WAS the right thing. I tell him as much. He didn't really GIVE me his robe, he leant me it to help me save face.

The Galactic Senate is unspeakably vast. He was running the risk of never seeing it again but did it ANYWAY. Just so I wouldn't be seen walking around covered in a mess. I was just sorry I couldn't fix the OTHER robes my clumsiness had ruined.

"Virtuous little one~" Leukippos says sings, the nuanced tones, which I could only barely hear, suggesting his words were meant to be both teasing and praise. He driftes closer. His other hand elegantly raising to join the first. Both gripping his fan in an... almost coy sort of way? Ah, I'm probably reading that one wrong. Still learning, after all...

"Won't you join me? A walk with good company, is a pleasant one indeed. I have not had chance to speech casually with you before. We would have sent you correspondence; In accordance with tradition and regard, however..."

Leukippos trailed off. Politely not saying the obvious. Which was that it was fuckin impossible to find me in the G.S. directory, since I was effectively a Nobody, and you'd have to know Going IN which Embassy I worked for. Even then, it'd be rough as hell, dragging me name out of that thing. I was the afterthought of an afterthought, that the forgettable once might of had.

But hey, it pays the bills.

I grin. Of course, I'd love to join him. If I'm not getting in the way! The robe is handed off to one of the smiling members of the entourage. Tucked away somewhere. And I am swallowed into the center of the group. Holy SHIT, they are tall. Like? I knew that. On average? Yanderians were about a foot and a half taller then humans... but STILL? I think these guys might be tall for Yanderians? I feel dainty. Wild.

Leukippos helps with my pronunciation, as we walk. Recommends a few new up and coming artists who's works sound fascinating. Distracted by it all, I don't notice our path meandering away from what I know is his next appointment, and towards his office. At least, I don't until we're alone.

His fan lower gently from his face, revealing handsome features.

I startle, don't know where to look. Uuuuuuuh?! No, wait, what!? No. See, I REMEMBER my basics of Yanderian etiquette block, from the sociology lessons I'm taking. He's not allowed to DO that! He can't DO THAT! Illegal! Naked! Why is he FACE NAKED!? That's like taking your SHIRT OFF! Fine around close friends and family. But JUST around them! ONLY them.

Going 0 to 150 REAL FAST, my guy!

Sputtering, I spin around. I saw NOTHING. Sexy lil fangs WHOMS'T? Ha ha! Jawline whaaaat? No, no! I'm actually BLIND. As of just a bit ago! Terrible, really. Should probably see a doctor! Now actually! Yeah. Now sounds good. I'm just gonna-!!

Softly, elegantly, like a dancer's pose, an arm in billowing white reaches over my should to delicately press against the door. It's the old fashioned kind. Swinging, not slide, made of wood. Must of cost more then I make in a year. The hand presses one finger at a time, a precise little sequence of tap tap tap.

Each finger accompanied by the softest sound of sharp nail tips.

I am suddenly hyperaware. H..How did he move that-?

The friendly atmosphere, the comfort, seems to have been sucked out of the room as thoroughly as an open airlock straight to the void. I am alone with a man I do not... now that I think about it... actually know. I FELT like I knew him. We keep meeting. I've been learning about his people. But do I know HIM? Personally? The nature of HIS character?

I... I do not.

And he is a very, VERY powerful man.

My eyes are locked on the hand, gently holding the door shut. I haven't tried my strength against his. Yet. But the numbers are in my head. The odds. Cold sweat prickles and beads along my skin, my breathe shallow, as I stand utterly frozen. It's a beautifully manicured hand, I note. Strong wrist, there a hint of true muscle, under all those robes.

He smells of trees and musk, spices and flowers not native to earth. The sleeve flowing over my shoulder is dangerously soft. His existence a pillar of heat, right behind me, not touching... but close enough. He seems perfectly content to wait me out. My mind is static.

"We fall in love quite easily, did you know? Oh little one..." His words are sighed confession, sung like falling leaves. Another hand comes up, on the other side of me. "My people greatest folly. Our weakness, our despair. Oh little one, we love too much. It frightens people. How quickly and deeply we fall..."

Why was he telling me that? I... I know the most obvious reason why he MIGHT be. B-but surely not! Ha ha. No way. C-can't be! So Why Is He TELLING ME THAT?!

"Courtship requires planning of course. Research. 'Meet-Cutes' I believe they are titled? Did you enjoy them? Were they proper? I'm to take you on outings next, yes? Flowers and material goods. To prove I can provide and know you well, and ah~"

There was mouth pressed to the nape of my neck, breathing deep against my skin. I could feel the almost lazy hunter's grin, splitting those lips into a smirk. Sharp teeth and hot breathe, dangerously close and already lusting to leave behind marks.

"And I DO know you so well. I have made certain of that, my little one. Dearest little one. Jewel of my heart, soon to be keeper of my name. I will court you in your ways, then I will court you in mine. Our wedding will be beautiful."

My heart was racing. I had to get out of here. Go and never, EVER come back. Oh god, at this distance? There was no WAY he couldn't hear everything. I had to lie! Do something! Anything! Just get out of this room. Back to Earth's embassy!

I... I couldn't move. Afraid. I was afraid.

He's so big. So much stronger then me. I have to get out.

"You shall such peace and love on Yanderia, darling. The other partners will rejoice for a new friend and you will be welcomed. Isn't that lovely? There is so much we do not show outsiders. But you, little one?"

"You will have the rest of your life to learn it ALL~"

[yandere-daydreams]

hi. so this is kind of a random musing that doesn't have anything to do with what youve been talking abt on your blog recently so feel free to ignore it, but i love how you write yandere nanami and between going live and an ask one of my followers sent me i kinda had a revelation. i wanted to see if you had any thoughts.

i think that before meeting reader nanami would be a virgin.

even if were talking non yandere nanami, i don't think he's ever had sex. i can't see nanami being the kind of person who likes hookup culture - he doesn't want to be used by someone - but i don't think he'd be able to justify getting in a romantic relationship because his job is so dangerous. he wouldn't want to die one day and leave his partner widowed. so he stays celibate, he's come to terms with the fact that he'll die untouched.

(he just jerks himself to freaky ass porn to get his fix (maybe even a camgirl hehe))

at least, until he meets a woman who makes all of his morality fly out the window.

suddenly, his sex drive is higher then ever. he's cumming into his fist every night to the thought of this special girl doing abhorrent things on his dick. he loves her. he's never loved someone this much in his entire life so she has to be the one to deflower him. that's probably one of the most romantic things someone can do in his mind, so it has to be her. she's his soulmate

all of this to say, i think nanami would kidnap reader and force her to teach him how to have sex through some fucked up means. it just tickles something in me imagining how stupidly giddy he'd be, so unabashedly pathetic as he undresses a woman for the first time.

like, him holding her hand with his forehead pressed to hers, cumming inside of her, jumping through as many mental hurdles necessary to justify what he's doing (or maybe just not caring bc she'll come around eventually, right?)

i love your work. thank you for listening to my ramble. <3

tw - non/con, kidnapping, manipulation, delusional behavior.

no no no i agree entirely,,, no amount of propaganda can convince me that any of the jjk men every had their dicks touched before the age of twenty-five at least, with nanami probably being the worst offender among them. i mean, he doesn't really connect with people outside of the sorcerer world, not really, not in a meaningful enough way to lead to that kind of intimacy, and as for other sorcerers... no. just no. he'd rather die a virgin than resort to anything as desperate as that, which is quickly becoming a very tangible reality.

and then he meets you (or, alternative, stumbled onto your stream at some ungodly hour, his cock already in his hand and his pleasure-deprived brain frantic for something soft and pliable to latch onto), and he decides that it might not be so bad to consider alternatives after all.

i can see it going one of two ways: if he has any reason at all to believe that you're also a virgin, whether or not it's true, he'll immediately lose all patience. if that wasn't the case, he might be able to take his time, stalk you for a few months before consummating your blooming relationship, but now he's on a clock, now he has to get to you before someone else does. he still tries to make it romantic, lights candles and brings you flowers and all that, but he's rushed, panicked, babbling incoherently about 'being each other's firsts' as he haphazardly undresses you. it's a miracle he remembers to do any prep at all - he's just in such a rush to be inside of you, to be the first and only person to every know what it's like to fully, genuinely actually be with you. if there's any pain, he'll comfort you later, make up for two and a half decades of abstinence with his tongue and hands, but only after he's already ruined you for anyone else.

if you're not a virgin and he can't make himself believe you are, then he'd probably go a little less absolutely feral (at first, i mean). don't get me wrong, you're still getting kidnapped asap, but rather than a beacon of innocence and purity that he can taint, you're the corruption forcing him to fall from grace, and he's going to want you to act like it. he's got a list of virginities he needs to to take (his first handjob, his fist blowjob, the first hickey, etc.), and between every milestone, he's going to want you to teach him how to pleasure you, even if you're still insisting you'd rather not let him touch you at all. he wants your full participation - it doesn't matter how many times he makes you cum on his tongue while you're sobbing into your pillow and trying to block him out, he's not going to stop until he hears your sweet voice encouraging with the little 'right there, kento's and 'good boy's he's made you rehearse. by the time you actually take his virginity, he's going to have made you feel dirtier than you ever could've made him feel, but so long as he's the one you're feeling dirty with, nanami doesn't really mind. not when he's buried inside you, his chest pressed into yours and he's too lost in his own pleasure to think the tears staining your cheeks are anything but beautiful.

anyway loser virgin nanami you will live forever. perhaps loser virgin gojo will pay for his crimes next.

[feukt-42]

Elden ring + Shadow of the Erdtree lore thoughts

Alright, so, first off, obviously, spoilers ahead.

I've been thoroughly enjoying and getting my ass kicked by SotE and what ive seen of the lore so i wanted to ramble about it.

I specifically wanted to talk about how Elden Ring explores power and godhood.

In the base game, godhood isnt seen as inherently bad. Marika's golden order is fucked up six ways to sunday, but the blame mainly rests on Marika's shoulders it seems. She's a genocidal homewrecking war-mongerer who threw two of her children in the sewers bc of racism, she's not a good god, but it doesnt portray the problem as her being a god, just her being a mess. The game provides several "solutions" to unfuck everything :

Ranni's ending has you completely throw the system in the trash. She says, fuck it, godhood's the problem, im out of here. She is kinda right, but the lands remain fractured and the power vacuum left behind is going to be immense. We're on the right track but could be better.

The frenzied flame ending is just pure concentrated nihilism so i think we can move past it for this one.

The bunch of other endings are fairly similar : you beat Marika/Radagon's ass and you impose yourself as Elden Lord to keep her in check and fix the issues you see as most important. This doesnt fix anything long-term, the god in power is still the exact same fucking mess but with a chaperone now i guess.

None of these endings are very satisfying, they all leave you with a sense of "it could be worse i guess" (except the frenzied flame one but you get the point). This is where Miquella comes in :

Everything we hear about Miquella sounds great. He's kind, compassionate, against racism, doesnt like violence, etc etc. Cherry on top, he's even one of the characters with a direct shot at godhood, brilliant ! Why cant we just put him in charge, he'll do much better than the absolute wreck we have right now.

And thats where the base game leaves us, Marika is a fucked up mess of a person, and the obvious solution is to put the much better Miquella in her place.

Shadow of the erdtree, on the other hands, aims to set the record straight. The problem wasnt just Marika, the problem is inherent to godhood in and of itself.

In SotE, we see the land of shadow, the realm where Marika came from and ascended to godhood, and the realm where Miquella intends to do the same. And the more we hear about who Marika was before in snippets of lore, and the more we watch Miquella tread the road to godhood, we realise something :

There is no such thing as a good god

It doesnt matter how kind and compassionate you were, what your morals were, who you loved, who you loathed, none of it matters because you cannot grasp the power to become a god without sacrificing who you were before.

In the dlc we see Miquella shed more and more of himself, his flesh, his arms, his eye, his heart, his doubts, his fears and even his love. Miquella has shorn so much of who he was that he formed an entire new person (St Trina) from it. Some of him remains, he still wishes for a kinder world, but he cant sacrifice anymore of himself for it. Now he has to start sacrificing others.

Miquella was always blessed with the ability to charm others, and he sees it as the least painful path to make others do as he wishes. And so he charms his sister, he charms Mohg, he charms Radahn, his followers, Leda, Moore, Thiollier, Freyja, the hornsent, Ansbach, and everyone he can convince to give themselves up for his dream of a kinder world, regardless of the pain they might cause or feel by being enthralled by him.

And oh boy do they feel pain. Mohg is used and discarded like a ragdoll, and his followers and dynasty slowly crumble to nothing as the last pureblood knight watches helplessly, himself entranced by the one responsible after he failed to kill him. Radahn's soul is shoved in a corpse so that he can play consort to a god that is his antithesis, depriving him of his glory and honour as lord of the battlefield. Malenia is left alone to rot after Miquella has no use or help for her, and she endlessly waits for her brother to return. Every one of Miquella's followers has to grapple with those feelings of betrayal, manipulation, and lost memories returning all at once. It is by no means painless.

And so we end up with a god that is not much better than Marika was. On his path to godhood, Miquella has caused as much pain to those along the way as his mother once did, in this very same land that still feels the scars of Marika's ascension.

The only way to gain power is to take it from everyone else, and that cannot be achieved without pain.

[angstylittleb1tch]

The brightest star in the night sky. (Aether x creator!reader) pt. 2

Summary: Now that the traveller has made an unexpected visit in your peaceful yet boring life, what all storms will he bring?

Note: Since you guys showed so much love towards the previous part of this fic I decided to continue it (Haha I definitely did not just quit writing mid fic and was awol for months lol who said that😄😄) though I do have to say I have my conerns with how uh *cough* feral *cough* some people are towards aether like chilllllll- anyways I hope you enjoy this part aswell.

Also this is very much NOT proofread at all, I kinda just wanted the part to be out there already after depriving you guys for so long lol.

Warnings: Aether definitely has abandonment issues, borderline yandere(?) Aether, mentions of starvation, Aether being cute as fyck.

Pt 1

Previously on mean girls teyvat:

"I never told you my name."

Both Aether and Paimon looked at each other as the atmosphere took a turn for the worse. There was no humor in your voice and your face looked cold, completely contradicting your laughs and smiles earlier.

"I- Please let me expla-"

Just as Aether took a single step in your direction vines sprung at him, securing him in his place as they wrapped around him. Paimon tried to pry them off but to no avail. He looked back up towards you but all he saw was a pure black sword pointing at his throat and a dark look in your eyes.

"Who am I, to you."

Now:

Life wasn't always kind to you during your stay in teyvat. Yes, you were the first and only reincarnation of the long-forgotten creator of Teyvat and Celestia but no matter how everyone puts it, even a God has Bad days, and you were currently having one of your worst ones.

"Don't make me repeat myself traveler. I expect only the truth and I have to say, my swordsmanship skills are decent enough to behead someone so speak wisely."

Aether had never felt more angry at himself and his own stupidity right now than his entire stay on teyvat. But how could he have known that a small slip of the tongue would have made you this guarded? He knows it was his carelessness yet he also feels a little pang of disappointment in his heart for reasons unknown.

"I'll explain everything y/- I mean, You grace, please lower the sword." He manages to choke out with the vines digging into his neck and hands.

Despite your better judgement you comply because deep down you know that Aether would never even think about harming a hair on your head. Maybe it was the trust and years of exploring teyvat as Aether that made you want to listen to anything he said or maybe the fact that you grew attached to the blonde haired male somewhere along the way. Far more attached than you're willing to admit out loud.

"Thank you your grace, I apologize, I know you want answers and I'll answer any questions you have so please ask away"

"How. How did you know who I was? No one was alerted of my presence, I made sure of it so how?"

"I- Your grace even I don't know for sure but I assumed its because you chose me."

"Chose you? What do you mean?"

"Yes your grace, do you not remember? Back when me and my sister were trying to leave teyvat but were stopped by the unknown god, you chose to bless my with your protection which is why I was able to escape the fight."

"Oh. Right I suppose that did happen in the game."

"What was that your grace?"

"Nothing! Uhm- So then why are you here? It's obvious you want something from me, no?"

"I- there's nothing of the sort your grace. Quite frankly I- I have no idea why I started to find you in the first place. It's just something in the back of my mind, When I first felt your presence In this world I- I felt as though finding you was all I could do, Like I had to protect you from something. It's weird isn't it? I couldn't sleep nor eat for days, I felt a sort of a gravitation or pull towards you, I still do."

"What? A Pull towards me? That's- not supposed to happen-" You stumble back a bit suddenly feeling as if someone tied an anvil to your head.

"Your grace?! Are you alright?!" The vines wrapping Aether weaken and he's able to immediately pull them off and rush to your side, Paimon not far behind.

"Your Grace! Can you hear me?! Keep your eyes open! Y/n!!"

You could barely make out bits and piece of Aether's voice as you started seeing black spots in your vision. You couldn't maintain your balance and fell right into Aether's arms, eyes promptly shutting as both his and Paimon's words drifted out of your head.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sounds of water rushing down a river and chirping of birds stirred you awake. A small groan left you as you got up into a sitting position and opened your eyes.

You were no doubt beside a riverbed and definitely not where you last remember being. Wait, what were you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be in the....

Your brain fills with memories of what happened before you passed out. Aether was there, and he knew you. He never claearly explained how he knew but you weren't all that concerned about that right now with the fact that you're in the middle of an unknown forest with no recollection of how you got there.

Deciding to get up and find some sort of a way out you pick a direction and move towards it.

What you didn't however notice was the the water in the river didn't seem to reflect you at all.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Fallen leaves crunched under your boots. You'd been walking for hours now yet no matter how much you walked you found yourself going in circles. Admittingly you didn't have great navigation skills but surely walking straight doesn't get you going in circles?

Coughs escape you as its been hours since you've last had a single sip of water and coincidently, every water body seems to want to avoid you. So much for being a reincarnation of a god huh.

However, your chain of thoughts was broken when you heard the snap of a fallen branch behind you. Your head whipped around towards the source at an astounding speed, "Who's there?!" The bushes you were so carefully staring at rustled indicating the presence of something.

Soon after though, a small rabbit hopped out of the bush, instantaneously easing your worries. It was pure white with icy blue iris' staring right back at you. Scratch the easing your worries part, this thing was terribly creepy. (A/N: IS THAT GOJO?)

It slowly hopped its way towards you, making you take a step back incase it decided to maul you to death. Yeah rabbits can definitely do that. It hopped closer and closer till it was touching your leg.

You despite your better decisions, slowly kneeled down and sat albeit uncomfortably. The rabbit however either didn't sense your unease or just simply didn't care. It hopped in your lap and nestled in. You hesitantly, out of reflex started petting him.

The rabbit let out a purr of approval. This isn't half bad eh? "Are you lost too?" You were surprised that the rabbit didn't understand you. Yep you were definitely going insane. Talking to rabbits? You were no snow white.

You definitely needed to get out of this forest and soon. "You're my friend now" Insane or not this rabbit was the only source of life you've seen in the past dozen hours. Screw you for wanting to have some semblence of a conversation.

The rabbit looked up at you with a deadpan expression, almost as if it understood what you said and didn't agree in the slightest. "Don't give me that look life's been hard ok?" The rabbit gave you another look.

It hopped out of your lap and headed for the direction opposite to the one you were going in. However it stopped after a second and turned around to look at you, almost beckoning you to follow it.

You did just that.

Following a creepy rabbit in a creepy jungle when you're alone without food and water? Seems like the most sensible thing to do no?

Trudging down the path behind the hopping rabbit your mind began to wander back to Aether. What did he mean by having a feeling of wanting to protect you? Was it merely because you're The Reincarnation or something else?

I suppose we'll know in due time eh?

The rabbit soon came to a halt. You looked up to see where it had stopped, finding a small house with a little farm beside it. Whoever was living here must have been for a long long time.

The rabbit moved out of the way as you walked up to the doorway and raised you hand to knock. Just as your fist was about to make contact with the door, a voice called out to you from inside the house "Come in!"

Huh that was a little weird. You looked behind you only to find the rabbit gone without a trace. Slightly creeped out, you obeyed the mysterious person's call and opened the wooden door stepping in.

You were immediately greeted by warmth, noticing a fireplace not far from where you stood. The house was exactly what you expected it to be inside. A small living area decorated with rugs and blankets, the fireplace providing warmth. A dining table enough to accommodate two people. Paintings everywhere. On the walls, the fireplace and even the kitchen counter top.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so you let your legs take you further into the house. Thats when it hit you. The smell of food. Your nose decided to guide your body to the dining table where you found tons of delicious looking options, from pancakes and waffles to eggs and bacon. The sight simply made you drool.

"Well sit down already, breakfast's almost ready dear" You heard that voice again though there was nobody around you at all. It confused you beyond anything.

"Who said that?" You managed to croak out of your parched throat.

"Introductions will be made in due time, first you should eat and drink something. You look starved. Let me help you"

Next thing you know a chair pops out from behind you, pushing your legs making you fall on it and tucks you right into the table. Dishes and utensils float out from the cabinates in the kitchen and place themselves infront of you. Without a thought in your mind, you give into the temptation and scarf down the food presented quite comically.

A choking sound emanates from your throat at the improper ingestion of food. Looking around for water a hand presents the desired liquid in a glass from beside you.

"Woah, easy there darling, we have plenty of time, eat like a human being please" You grab it thankfully and drink it letting out a sigh of relief from your suffocated state.

Your eyes move up to find the source of the sound only to see the most beautiful man you've ever been near smiling back at you. Though you cannot decipher any details of his face you just can't help but be in awe.

"W-who are you?" You sputter out.

"Me? I'm whoever you wish me to be darling."

Just as he says that, a bright light emanates from within him, momentarily blinding you and making you shield your eyes. As the light dulls down, you look up, only to see aether smiling back at you.

But that's not Aether.

No matter how perfectly every crevice of this person's face matches Aether's you know in your heart and soul, that the person across you is far from Aether.

"It seems you can only tell the difference when its him huh?"

"I'll ask you one more time, Who. Are. You."

You demand standing up from your seat as you come face to face with the man thing using Aether's face.

"Worry not dear, i'm not here to harm you. I'm actually doing the exact opposite, i know you aren't aware much of this world you've been thrusted into yet so i'll try to explain as swift as i can but you'll have to drop the cold looks and give me a solid chance."

You, although regrettably, wipe off the sourness on your face and morph it into slight displeasure. The being hums in content and sits down on a chair that wasn't there a second ago, motioning for you to sit down too.

You begrudgingly take a seat and look at the person expectanly.

It sighs and begins to speak "I suppose it started when the original creator of teyvat, Rhea, who was a dear friend of mine, had met her untimely end. She wasn't immortal like me nor was she a god at first. She was an ascender. Ascenders are people chosen by the gods to take on godhood, become deities and live like us. The aren't regarded as pure gods however, since a part of their mortal nature still clings to them."

"However Rhea was different from the other ascenders. She had a secret even I didn't know of till her final days. Rhea wasn't a complete mortal and due to her dual nature, the ascending ceremony had resulted in her unleashing a power that was thought to be long lost. You see, though immortal, us gods are not unkillable. Just as there is life for us there will also be death. We are slaves to the rules of the universe just as the mortals we create."

"Rhea had the power of Yang. She was the only being in existence with energy and power completely opposite to us gods. If we created, she destroyed. However Rhea was not cruel. She was the most admirable and loving person to ever exist, it's ironic how the kindest soul had been given the cruelest power." The being spoke, his lips stretching into a sad smile at the thought of his dead best friend.

"She had grown to hate her power. It had almost killed her and plenty of our other friends multiple times and had driven her sick. And thus came the one night neither I nor any of the surviving gods would be able to erase from our memories, Rhea made a decision. Rather than letting her power slowly destroy her and those she sought to protect, she would create. And she did. She crafted teyvat from her bare hands and used every ounce of her Yang to breathe life into teyvat.

Her power almost leveled the entirety of celestia that night. Had she not locked away herself with her powers in teyvat, there would be nothing left of us." His face had a grim look as his eyes moved up to look deep into your own.

"And that's where you come in dear. You y/n, are the only one in the entirety of the universe, capable of bringing Rhea back."

"M-me? You must be mistaken. You have to be. There's no way I can bring back a dead god! Yes I might be some reincarnation but you're asking me to bring someone back from the dead for heavens sake! Th-theres no way that's possible!" You didn't know what else to say, much less do, all this talk was starting to drive you insane.

"Dead god? Oh darling I never said Rhea was dead. Only that she'd been locked away in y—" A loud sound interrupted his words. Both your head snapped towards the front door and the window beside it. Golden light started to pool in from the windows and door cracks.

"What is happening? Are you doing this?" You asked looking back at the being only to see his face in a calculative and almost nervous look.

However, before you could say anything else, you felt as if you were being forcefully pulled away from the being across from you. His gaze snapped to you as his face contorted into a surprised look which soon morphed into an angry one.

"YOU!"

His voice boomed througout the room, however you noticed that his gaze didn't seem to be on you, rather on something behind you.

But before you could turn you eyelids started drooping, a sudden wave of dizziness and sleep overcame you as your body hit the floor. The last thing you could comprehend being a distorted voice saying,

"You—....keEp___..... from....y/n........make suRE.....you ____......time—...___ ProTect—......her!"

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The sound of a strange buzzing awoke you from your deep slumber. Your head felt like it was being hammered in and that wasn't a pleasant feeling at all. Regardless you decided to open your eyes.

The first thing you could make out was the moss growing on the ceiling. A familiar sight. You were in your room. The thought alone brought your body to relax. The next thing you percieved was a strange heaviness resting on top of your right hand.

You moved your eyes down to see a flock of golden hair resting directly by your side. The familiarity of the hair struck your already throbbing head as you finally realized what that strange heaviness was.

Aether was sleeping peacfully near your bed.

A turmoil of emotions crawled up your spine. Why was he here? Why is he asleep? Is he grabbing my hand? Indeed, Aether had fallen asleep with his fingers interlocked with yours and his head rested by your right hand.

The contact had alone made a blush make it's way to your cheeks, dusting them pink. God, his hand felt perfect in your's, almost as if it was made for you to hold.

However you had no time to let your thoughts fester in your mind as Aether had begun to stir from his slumber due your racing heartbeat. He of course had no idea he was the cause of said heartbeat.

"Y-y/n? You're— you're awake." He stammered out, honorifics completely leaving his mind at the sight of you.

"I could say the same" You speak out, gently squeezing his hand causing him to look down at his fingers.

It was Aether's time to blush now.

Being caught holding your hand much less sleeping next to it was definitely among the top 3 most embarrassing things Aether has ever done. Honestly, who could blame him?

When you had fallen down all of a sudden like that, Aether's heart had almost leapt out of his chest. For the first time in his life, seeing you so deathly still in his arms,

Aether was unmistakably scared.

Yes, the mighty powerful traveller who had fought dragons and gods and rivalled archons in power, was scared.

Your face had never looked so still before, and nothing could have terrified Aether more than when you had stopped Breathing for minutes on end. Aether had absolutely refused to even think straight. You being gone was never a thought he would let into his mind. He wouldn't lose you. Not after he lost everything else important to him. Not you though. Never you.

Back then Aether hadn't paid attention to anything except thinking about how to wake you up. The only thought in his mind being

You. You. You. You.

So unsurprisingly, when the connection he had been feeling for months up until he finally met you today was bursting with actual visible golden energy, that thrummed all the way from his chest, through his veins and into his hands, he hadn't thought twice about thrusting that power into you, hoping it could save you just as it saved him all those months ago.

And his trust was not misplaced.

Soon enough he could feel your heart starting to beat again. The same rhythm he swears to have memorised by now. His hands moved under you and curled around your shoulders and legs to lift you up effortlesly as he moved further into the cottage to set you down someplace comfortable.

Paimon had followed Aether worriedly, seeing how he ignored the way all the plants and flowers around the two of them had shriveled up and lost their life the more Aether continued to use that mysterious power on you.

The only flowers that remained were the Inteyvats, shining among the withering flowers, like the brightest star in the night sky.

Well shit. That was honestly WAY longer than I'd initially planned this to be 😭😭

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS PART THO.

Did you guys enjoy the massive lore drop? Or was it the Aether going almost yandere that you guys liked?(this wasn't planned btw I promise I can write non yandere stuff😭😭)

Tbh i wanted more y/n and Aether banter in here but I'm content with how this chapter turned out lol.

With how long it's taken me to write this ch (because i originally intended for this to be a standalone with no sub parts) but now that I'm writing the idea out, it just keeps getting longer and longer😔😔

SO ALLOW ME TO RE-INTRODUCE THIS AS A SERIES TO YA'LL<3

I'd heavily appreciate it if you guys were to send me ideas about how you think this story would turn out, and what character you think we'll be seeing in the future lol. I have a basic idea of how I want this story to turn out but I'd love to hear your thoughts as well!!

Well then, I suppose I'll see you all in the next part eh?

Until the next one~

Taglist:

@mthewitchsworld @tealconie @ravenstuffs @sirspin @valeriele3 @ash1 @leafanonsforest @the-dumber-scaramouche @goldenglow149 @elite2307 @m-majoko @yourlocalstranger123 @blueberry-jelly-stars @strawpez @sipysuki @esesfurki @ifeellikejumpingoffacliff @toybonix @theabysss @fancyhawk45 @resident-cryptid

[evilminji]

Okay, But, >.> Listen...

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, I am an incureable RoFan Isekai nerd. Shut up about it, maybe. What're you a cop? Mind your business. BUT! And hear me out...

W...What would actually? HAPPEN if Danny went into a Visual Novel? Some Otome game? You know, aside from being vague flustered by and then DEEPLY ALARMED by these walking Red Flag Fruitloops that girls are supposed to find "dreamy" or something?

Like we know how MMOs work for him. And probably OTHER open world games? But a visual novel? Would it be like the Christmas Episode? Would he hear narration? Be stuck in static "scenes"? Or would it be like a cut together "only the interesting parts" movie that he's somehow IN?

Like?? At SOME point his curiosity is gonna get the best of him. He's gonna want to know what different video games are LIKE on the inside? What's Pong like? Tetris? Mario? One of those Mama's cooking games? Etc etc.

He probably hits up a game sale. Buys a box or two. Figures he can always resell um or just give them away for free. Might even use them for parts. Who knows. And?

It's kinda cool!

It's even SCIENCE! See? Tucker's in charge of notes. Sam's in charge of hilarious commentary and pizza. Jazz is keeping them from drinking and doing ghost shit (terrible combination, we never speak of What Happened(tm) again). And the Dr's. Fenton got distracted by making fudge and debating what games should be counted towards which categories.

They've made an afternoon of it.

And NOW? They've reached the bottom of box one. It was "Survive The Villainess! My Rose for You!" Or... judging by Sam's climbing eyebrows and growing scowl? A DEEPLY unpleasant porn game about school girls.

You could not PAY him enough.

Yeah, he DOES realistically kinda want to know what happens.. if.. like? You know... sexy games... like would he? Or does he just WATCH or...? *awkward cough* But! That's NOT for Family Science Night! And DEFINITELY not THAT game, THANKS.

He'll find himself an ETHICALLY SOURCED smutty game full of consensual boning. For PRIVATE TIME. Those test results are gonna show up like MAGIC and we WILL NOT be talking about them! Got it? Good.

Now what the fuck is he look at here?

Jazz is surprisingly knowledgeable. They are not allowed to ask. They respect it. The main character "wakes up" inside the body of a "villainess" and must survive. Turn her terrible reputation around. Avoid "death flags". Preferably romance one of the hot guys?

Uuuuuuuh... you realize Danny's in a committed relationship, right?

Sam and Turker allow it. But they reserve the right to blast his taste in Fantasy Guy's. Chose carefully, for their roasting shall be BRUTAL. Luuuuuv yoooou~♡

He wants a divorce. They're not even MARRIED and he wants a divorce. You see how they mock him, Jazz? The cruelty he suffers? He's taking the Blobs and moving to Frightknight's. They always warned him about you living folks and your fast ways, but he didn't listen! *continued dramatics* *is smacked with a pillow*

But actually going IN? The weirdly, vaguely European over the top EVERYTHING? Giant jewels and ridiculous, fancy dresses? The walking red flag Romantic Archtype Leads? He wants to PUNCH half these guys! This is ABUSE! Are people OKAY!?

Like? I feel like he'd stay way, WAY longer then he needed too? Just out of morbid curiosity? W-where is this plot GOING? It's so dramatic. Why is my dress MORE dramatic now? Why is everything so... Sparkly.

It would be? AMAZING and baffling and I would pay real money to hear their live commentary. "Why not simply judo flip the crown prince off the balcony, then take over the country, sweetie?" "Solid plan, honey! He deserves it!" Beautiful. Flawless. Sage advice really. Too bad Danny can barely walk in his five million bows dress.

It's the BEST Au and I might be a genius. Or deeply sleep deprived. Meh. We'll 50/50 it, six of one, half a dozen of another.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[mandalhoerian]

lamb to the slaughter | leon kennedy x reader

read part 1: moth to a flame pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader summary: ❛ You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince. ❜ It's as easy as that three word sentence for Leon to undo a month of moving on from him right after he comes back from Spain. Easy as surrendering to sleep. Eagerness for his uninhibited love makes you forget he isn't one to open up like that in the first place, you should have known the moment he showed up on your doorstep on his own volition that he wasn't your Leon. He'd only come back to spirit you away. Yet, each man kills the thing he loves, as a famous poet would say. But what about when the beloved lets herself be led to the killing? word count: Almost 25K (im sorry) warnings: DARKFIC, proceed with caution. porn with plot, switch leon, yandere leon (kinda? he's infected/plaga leon), lots of smut (face sitting, dry humping, couch sex, rough sex, mirror watching kinda its a window, chained leon, blowjob, tail riding, kinda bondage with chains, creampies, no protection dont be like this kids), jealousy, angst, things go to shit, abduction, leon infects you, protectiveness, confinement, psychic connection through plagas, corruption, consensual arousal-inducing venom. you got the bad ending. lmao dont look at me. we are not seeing the pearly gates notes: 🐑 i say bad ending for a reason, you can accept this as a sequel to moth to a flame or just ignore it! 🐑 leon's appearance here is inspired by the red eyes mod + the mechanic of his superior species is built on what we saw with krauser and all the plaga leon fanart i've seen. though he only lets his tail out and nothing else. 🐑 the pressure of leon's characterization got too much so i threw it all out of the window. now everyone can be equally upset. thank you for all the love, i hope you enjoy this!

🌀 read on ao3!

Leon comes back from Spain a bit different. 

Different is the specifically chosen word here because you’re not accustomed to seeing him like this. It might be you who’s the problem here, but right off the bat something’s out of place to you.

A pattern has been broken.

No contact with him for nearly a month and he appears on your doorstep one night with a dreamy smile on his face you could only imagine a younger, more carefree version of Leon could afford as if all the weight of this world has been lifted off his shoulders, and as if he isn’t here to pick up whatever he’s left behind after your break-up. 

You’re more flabbergasted than anything. He’s absolutely glowing. Healthy. His black compression shirt leaves little to the imagination underneath that leather jacket, and the tight jeans hug his legs in just the right places, your nose picking up the whiff of some rich cologne that would have you normally salivating over him had it not been for the timing. 

A delivery to home directly from your late night daydreams, tempting as a mirage in the middle of a desert, as he intends to be — you’re acutely aware why in the hell he’s dolled himself up at night knowing you’d be either reviewing some documents for work or getting ready for bed, all in your humble, homely peasant outfit. 

It doesn’t feel good knowing what might be the reason. Feels even worse sensing something’s up. 

The thing is… When Leon decides he’s done with ghosting you after the eventful business trips that have him dropping off the face of the earth, it’s almost always in bad shape. It’s rare that he breaks a bone or two, but purple, yellow and green are his colors, along with the sunken, red, and sleep-deprived, exhausted eyes. He comes back to you like a cat seeking refuge from the storm outside, for a safe place to get some rest where he can switch off the survival mode. And you’ve learned to prepare for these rainy days he tends to make his return on. 

This man standing in front of you with take-out dangling from his hand, relaxed and confident with light in his brilliant blues, perfectly silky hair, and a well-rested, handsome face that lacks all the gloom? You almost don’t recognize him. His soft and exuberant voice as he greets you, “Hey,” might as well belong to a stranger. “I look that bad? Haven’t seen you make that face in a while.”

“No,” you refuse automatically, squinting your eyes and trying to wipe the sleep off via rubbing, shaking the initial shock and the whiplash off, your hand tightens on the side of the door. The more entertaining quips have escaped you, such as: ‘More like, haven’t seen you in a while, and that, second.’ But of course your woozy first instinct is to relieve him, and rooting for how Leon can’t look bad even on the worst of days, but that’s irrelevant now, isn’t it? “Sorry, I’m a bit loopy.”

“Ah, shit.” He raises his wrist and shakes it so the sleeve of his jacket would pull back to reveal his watch. “I didn’t realize it was this late. God I am so sorry—”

“No, it’s fine—”

“I bring offerings for your time, if it’s any consolation.” He looks hopeful. God, when has he last been this youthful? It’s blinding. “Have dinner with me?”

You would have jumped at the offer one month ago and done your best to keep him around as long as possible, especially when he’s the best you’ve seen him in a long while — but he’s supposed to be a stranger to you now, an ex. You have tried to move on already, it’s such a betrayal to your overworked heart that the desire to bask in his presence is still strong as ever. 

“Hey, um.” Ever so slightly hiding behind the frame of the door, you watch as his face falls, your hesitance telling everything you can’t put into words out loud. “It’s too late for dinner.”

It comes out weird from your mouth, maybe you should have worded it differently — it feels like it’s not dinner you’re talking about, and him staring with a wrinkled line between his eyebrows as if he’s trying to control his countenance isn’t helping. 

“Should seriously focus on trying to break old habits,” he chuckles hesitantly, a voice crack towards the end of the sentence, and you have to break eye contact. “I forget my normal isn’t normal sometimes. I’m sorry.” 

You fold. 

Not because it’s what you always do, but to get whatever he wants out of the way and get him out of your life as abruptly as he decided to randomly come back today. You want this to be over already. “I’m making an exception for tonight, okay? You can’t come here like this anymore, Leon. Please understand.”

Leon's hopeful expectation slowly fades, replaced by a disappointed understanding. His eyes, once filled with a vibrant light, now dim slightly, and the confident aura that surrounded him wavers for a moment. He takes a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, before nodding slowly.

"I see," he says, carrying a tinge of sadness, you kick yourself inwardly for wanting to reach out and comfort him. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just... I wanted to see you again… To—to explain, I mean."

His words catch your attention, curiosity sparking a small candle light within you. Despite the whirlwind of emotions and confusion, you find yourself opening the door wider, gesturing for him to step inside.The way he visibly relaxes, shoulders deflating and the flash of an involuntary relieved, tiny smile on his face before he follows you inside makes your chest contract in endearment. 

This is a grown man you decided to let go. This grown man walked out on you. This grown man made you lose years of your life. This grown man doesn’t need your protection, you shouldn’t want to hide him in your ribcage, you’d be taking in a fish instead of a bird. 

The aroma of the take-out food fills the room, teasing your senses and reminding you of all the shared meals and late-night conversations you used to have. Memories flood your mind, threatening to break down the walls you had carefully built to protect yourself.

God, it hurts. He brought your favorite that he doesn’t like all that much. 

You go ahead and settle at the dining table, the take-out boxes placed between you and where he usually sits — where he used to sit whenever he came over, your base instinct embarrasses you. And as you open the containers, you look back to see what’s taking him so long or if he’s left to wash his hands, and notice that he’s just standing there in the hall, engulfed by the shadows, looking alert in the direction of the living room. You can’t see his face. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask, weirded out by how tense he is suddenly. 

He turns to you, and the kitchen light reflects strongly in contrast from his eyes precisely because he stands in the dark, like some cat. “It… smells.”

“What?” You walk over to him, mortified, trying to pick up what he’s talking about. “Is it the floor cleaner? I changed it to lavender recently. What, you don’t like it?”

“No, you… You—” He takes a few slow steps away from you as if you said something hurtful to him, awe and betrayal taking over his features. 

“Leon,” you try to reach out, confused. 

He’s looking you up and down, the weird shock he went through transitioning into perturbance. “Who is it?”

“What are you talking about—?”

“There is someone else?” He points towards the living with his chin, a look of devastation twisting his forlorn features, arms basically flattened to his side. “You brought them here and— and—”

An icy wave of chills wash over your body. “How do you know that?”

“Because it smells.” He brings a hand up and puts it on his middle as if it’s hurting, alternating between rubbing his nose and down to his chest again, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. “Shit.”

Leon's reaction takes you aback, his sudden accusations leaving you bewildered. This is the most ridiculous thing you ever heard, what is he, an animal?  “Smells? You smelled him?”

You can’t fathom how he could have possibly known about someone else in your life, let alone the details of their presence in your home.

He gestures with his hand and slaps it back to his side, pressing his lips into a thin line before speaking. “Wonderful.” 

Never in a million years would you have expected to see Leon get bothered by another person in your life. He just isn’t the type to react, this has happened before because of course you tried him, to see if he’d get jealous the way you did — he didn’t, something about you having the right to be with anyone you want and that he can’t stop you. This was early into your ‘arrangement’ — where the line was blurred between hanging out and sleeping together, and you were naive enough to bring the scattered, floating letters between him and you together to define the word. 

This right here has to be about something else, bitterness maybe, that you could move on from him. It gets you worked up, blood slowly heating up. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. We’re not anything, Leon. Not anymore.”

Leon's gaze hardens, and for a moment, it seems like the fragility of hurt and anger flashes and trickles in. He sharply inhales, his chest rising and falling as he tries to steady himself. "I know we're not anything." He flexes his jaw, turning his face to the side in self-inflicted disappointment. "And I’m the reason, that’s on me. But damn, it’s only been a month and I’ve been miserable while you—"

You take a step closer, looking to find the middle ground in all of this. "While I’m just going about my life.” Confusion swirls in your mind as you struggle to comprehend Leon's reaction.You hadn't anticipated such a visceral response from him. You don’t know why the next second you’re trying to smooth things over to spare him, there’s no need. But you still are doing it anyway. “And he and I are friends—"

He tilts his head, something entirely cold and hostile under unreactive stoicism squares his shoulders, it’s that perpetually uninviting face of his that scares everybody off. His nostrils flare, but his voice is low and smooth. “Friends that fuck on the couch?”

“How did you—” It’s the cold chills again. “This is getting weird. How can you know that?”

Leon's eyes narrow, and the tension in the room becomes almost palpable, your nervousness almost makes it like the blue of his irises are brighter. He drops to a low, dangerous tone, but he isn’t doing anything to be threatening, so why?—. “It’s dangerous, you know? Letting unknown guys into your home. Who knows what they have in mind? What they want to do to you?”

“Sex, Leon,” you bite back, a bull to red into your apprehension, thinking why in the hell should you be intimidated when he’s being the weird one, you still have to hear about how he knows about your relations. “We had sex. Don’t be dramatic.” 

He laughs in a way you’ve never seen before, and suddenly it’s making sense why you felt like something was wrong when you opened the door to him. Maybe he’s drunk on something different today and it’s influencing him. Different liquors have different attitudes. 

“I, on the other hand, have to still hear about how you know. Have you been spying on me?”

“I apparently should have.” 

“Excuse me?” You shake your head, trying to rationalize the situation where he is practically lacking, lost in his own head, his usual personality is currently unavailable to the call for reasons unbeknownst to you. He is a calm guy. Reasonable. You don’t get where this immaturity is coming from, anger-related or not. “Leon, you can’t just go ahead and talk lightly of invading my privacy! I don’t want to joke around right now!”

You should send him away to talk later, or both of your hearts are going to break ugly tonight.

Leon's gaze doesn't waver, his eyes narrowing with a mix of concealed pain and anger. "No, I wasn't spying on you," he retorts sharply, giving you the information you want to know. "But it's hard to miss when the person you care about moves on so quickly."

So he must have seen something? He came back from Spain earlier than you thought? Was this visit about interrogating you all along? 

You hate the way your hands warm up immediately with his admittance to caring about you, even though he will never outright say that he likes you or anything more. It’s unbelievable that’s what your heart decided to pick up on instead of literally anything else right now. 

The hall feels suffocating. It's as if the air itself has turned tar-thick. You take a step back, and escape into the kitchen, trying to gather your thoughts amidst the rising storm of confusion.

“I thought you wanted this. Why would me moving forward be a problem?”

“Because I can’t.” 

You want to yell at him. Why should that be your problem? He wanted this. You prepared yourself because he was perpetually with a suitcase in his hand, so much so you can’t imagine his visage otherwise.

Be calm about this. You’re a grown adult. 

"I don’t understand.” Hands grabbing at the handles of a chair, you spare a glance at him over your shoulder. "I thought we would give each other space, go our own ways."

A bitter laugh escapes Leon's lips, devoid of any humor. "Space? That's just another word for running away, isn't it? And haven’t you immediately found someone else to run towards? That’s how important I was to you, huh?"

The accusation stings, and you struggle to find the right words to defend yourself, his honesty coercing the affection out of you within the ice of self-preservation. "Leon, it's not like that. I’m trying to navigate my life, this isn’t me trying to get back at you or hurt you."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration carved into every line of his face. "Well, congratulations. You succeeded anyway."

This is getting ridiculous. You don’t know how to handle the situation because he never put you in one like it in the first place. 

How are you the guilty one? How is the blame on you, now? Why? Being with him was slow torture, loving him was a doomed gambit, and now he has the gall to make you into the bad guy — for what, prioritizing yourself for once? 

The silence hangs heavily between you, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city outside. It feels as though the foundations of your bond are crumbling beneath the weight of unresolved emotions, the connection you once shared now seems fragile, teetering on the edge of irreparable damage that you’re not sure you want to let go even though it really is the best solution to let it be. You remember how you told him that break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, it seems how the afterward would be like hasn’t crossed your mind at all. 

“Ironic of you to say that,” you mumble, turning away from him with a disbelieving smile, hands on your hips. 

“What?”

“I said,” you turn around, cold anger freezing your features in a silent mask. “That’s rich coming from you. Running away, I mean. All this time I’ve known you, you’ve run away from me—” With each example you give, you take one slow step towards him. “From intimacy, from a deeper connection. I know you couldn’t help but be away for your job and that’s not the issue here.” You stop right in front of him, seething, looking up, doing your best to keep your shit together as you shake a finger at him. “But you don’t have the right to accuse me of running away.” 

He just stands there like a statue. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away. As if this means nothing at all to him, forever the unaffected, desensitized man that he is. You have to flatten your lips to keep them from quivering.

“I’ve had to chase you like some race horse while you were sitting right next to me,” you jab that finger into his chest, not to get something out of him, but because the floodgates were finally open. “I have betted on losing dogs this entire relationship.” Another jab. “I let you treat me like a doormat.” Jab. “I gave you the patience and understanding some mothers wouldn’t give to their children—” And it finally ends with a slap with the back of your hand on his wall of a chest. “Because god smite me I made the mistake of falling in love—” A fucking joyful, pretty sparkle in his eyes that has his eyebrows lifting. It bloods your boil like nothing else. “—-and all of this for you to come into my home and pick a fight over who I fuck after breaking up with me?” You push him — or, rather, try to push him further back into the hall, and when it doesn’t work, raise your arm to point to the door. “Get out.”

Leon's jaw tightens as he stares at you and you see it jump, his gaze piercing through you, ablaze. He tries to grab you by the elbows but you shake him off. “Sweet girl, I—”

The nickname has you on the edge of crumbling and you ricochet back as if burned. “No, nuh-uh,” you rapidly shake your head and one hand at him, eyes burning, deliberately looking at his shoulder not to make eye contact. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. No. Just go. Get out of my house.”

The room plummets into an agonizing quietness filled by the heavy breathing you’re doing your best to stop from shaking as Leon stands there, his hand still lingering, frozen in a futile attempt to reach out to you standing in the light of the kitchen, and him in the shadows. The absoluteness of your words is the hammer of a judge about to fall on his head, sharpened by your anger and the shattered remnants of your flightless hopes. 

You never wanted this. It had ended so peacefully, why was he back as a vengeful ghost bringing the worst out of you — why now? Why?

Finally, Leon lowers his hand, his gaze falling to the floor. There's a momentary lowering of his guard that flickers across his face, a crack in the armor he usually wears. "I know I messed up, and I've been running away. But it's not because I don't care, it's because... I'm — I couldn’t give you anything. Not anything you deserved. Not everything I wanted. And I couldn’t face any of that without having to confront I needed to get out of your life," he says softly, caked with remorse and self-hatred. “Like being somewhere between life and death, I didn’t know what to do, how to move forward.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your anger momentarily waver, you’ve seen the pain in his eyes before, the demons that haunt him from his past — you understand, you understand. In every reality possible, you’d understand, even when you don’t know. “I know, Leon.” The acknowledgment leaves you pained, but this time, don’t give anything in consolation, don’t justify the harmful outcomes of his escapism just so he wouldn’t be scared and pull himself back. Yes, you know. But that’s it. It has to be enough.  

“I want you to also know — I’m not that man anymore.” He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively, but you flinch away, unwilling to let him touch you, and he stands right at the threshold of shadows bleeding away into the light streaming from the room behind you. 

"Are you seriously about to tell me you changed, Leon? Really? No, I know you," you assert, your voice tinged with skepticism and a lick of frustration. Folding your arms across your chest, you wait for his response, your gaze fixed on him, brows furrowing but a slight smile souring your lips. “But I’ll humor you. Tell me, what could have possibly happened in such a short amount of time, because I’m not having it if it’s about us separating—” It’s mean, the way you outright grin at him, one small part of you regrets laughing at his face when he’s declaring he’s changed, but you can’t stop the poison from wanting to sink into his skin, from wanting to see yourself affecting him. “You, my late blooming pupa, had two whole years to break out of your cocoon. Don’t even waste your breath.”

Leon meets you head on, unfazed by your demeanor, it makes you feel like a child when you were in the right, brings sense to you that this was Leon you were trying to hurt, you knew he wouldn’t give you excuses some man after some piece of ass would — the hurt is bringing the girl out of you that wants to maim as she has been maimed, and he just stands there and takes it as if he wants to show you he’s had way worse before. It isn’t fair.

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand unconsciously fidgeting with the edge of his jacket as he prepares to explain, raising his hands up and tracing the invisible line of the veins inside his wrist. His body language conveys a distant sense of sincerity. 

"I received a gift that opened my eyes," he confesses, his voice carrying a brooding, yet grateful significance. His eyes momentarily drift, as if lost in memories of what transpired. His fingers continue to rub along the veins, he’s recalling something, it’s not a self-soothing nervous habit that betrays his inner turmoil.

Your skepticism wavers, switched with a curious glimmer. The lamb sees the slaughterhouse and thinks it’s home again. You unfold your arms, inching closer as you invite him to elaborate. 

"It saved me. Gave me a new life. Changed me.” He pauses, looking far, far away again. “It changed everything," Leon states with a sense of conviction. He stands a little taller, his demeanor transformed by the profound impact of this revelation.

Your eyes flit in rapid blinking, captivated by his warm, honest intensity. A welcoming, pleasant surprise lingers on your face as you take in the magnitude of what he's sharing.

"Changed everything?" you question, holding back your wonder and uncertainty in fear of disappointment. Your body involuntarily leans forward, drawn in by where he’s taking this.

"Yeah. For good this time. Because I’m not… bound anymore, I’m not trapped. For the first time in forever, I know what it’s like to be truly free.” 

“Oh…” You begin to speak, but words escape you. He is uninhibited, truly elated, that soft smile on his face doesn’t carry the anxiety of what comes next. This is a first for Leon Kennedy. When you remember you mocked what might have happened to him, it fills you with shame. So, something truly wonderful did happen — could happen. It has to do with his job, that much you know. No wonder he’s insisting things have changed, what he does for a living is what haunts him like a shadow, after all, you couldn’t be more aware of that. “I’m… I’m happy for you, then, Leon. I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re not wrong for doubting me. I did.” He looks down at his arms, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I believed I had changed before, you know — had been changed, whatever you wanna call it... Because I had to," Leon admits with introspection. He pauses, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his experience. 

"Then someone I know told me no, you haven't, you just think you have. And both of those options are worse than each other in retrospect, don't get me wrong,” his voice cracks slightly, revealing the conflict within him. There's a flicker of nostalgia and longing. 

He takes a steadying breath, his eyes locked onto yours, conveying a yearning for understanding. This is the most open he’s been with you, the most you’ve seen of him, you’re hypnotized.

"I envy who I was in 1998, but I don't want to be him. The me one month ago is superior, but he was miserable and fucking blind," Leon confesses, the air around him somehow gravitating towards him, becoming hard to breathe because of how hard he’s frowning. Self-deprecating. And his eyes are on you again, back to the moment. “You wanna know how I know I’m different now? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

He steps forward, into the kitchen, into the light, and shadows dance on his face, and you know what this is — the cat has decided he wants pets, seeking to butt his head into you to initiate contact, and you step backward with the sudden panic sinking in your stomach, but he keeps advancing the more you back off. 

“I’m not afraid anymore,” he rasps, and you make a small sound at the back of your throat. “Not afraid of what I want. Not afraid of wanting. Not afraid of what comes next.”

“Leon—” you interrupt, hands shooting forward, hovering just between you two, feeling his body heat, but terrified of touching him in fear of what might ignite inside you if you do. 

But he catches both your hands, intertwining your fingers and pinning them on two sides of you on the counter the moment your hips hit the lip of it, and you’re immediately steaming underneath your skin, shutting your eyes and turning your face away as his body snuggles in, flush against you. 

“It’s pathetic, the person I used to be—” he breathes, a gentle invitation, a subtle beckoning, though his words are harsh, he’s uttering them so sweetly like it’s a love letter to you, and hot wind from his words licks the side of your face, you can feel the feathery touch of his lips moving a hair’s breadth from your cheek. Your heartbeat is hammering. “He would have bitten his tongue and gone right back home to lick his wounds. Never see you again. He would think it’s what’s best for you, that he’s protecting you this way.”

You swallow, and he chases the motion, head following the movement. His nose caresses the column of your neck, the sigh that escapes his lips echoes the hidden depth of his desires, an unspoken language of pining. 

Your breath catches in your throat as Leon's increasing body heat and tantalizing weight knead and melt you like dough, his words moving you from within, his proximity creating a charged volume that crackles with tension and desire you were fighting so hard to deny. Every fiber of your being is acutely aware of his presence, his warmth pressing against you, and the raw defenselessness he's revealing. 

You missed this. You missed this. You missed this. 

The blood coursing through your veins sings to him, sings for him, and you’re alive again after one month of absolute emptiness, and hate him for doing this to you.

Love him for coming back. 

His grip on your hands tightens, and you can feel the tremor in his touch, mirroring the intensity of his emotions. “Look at me.” 

You know you don’t want to, because if you were to see him right now, what he’s showing, what he’s finally allowing you to see, you wouldn’t know how to look away ever again — don’t want to hurt.

Your own heart races in response, fear and anticipation swirling within you. And he places his knuckles on your chin, gently guiding you to face him, “Don’t look away.”

Your glazed over eyes lock with his in a moment that feels suspended in time.

"Leon..." you murmur with a blend of longing and caution. The weight of unspoken possibilities bursts in color in the air between you, begging for acknowledgment.

He nuzzles closer, his lips grazing your skin with feather-light touches. Your body reacts instinctively, a tremble washing through you as his sigh tickles your neck. It's as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the magnetic pull between you, drawing you inexorably closer. It’s sweetness so intense it’s trying to hold back the bitterness, a muzzle on a hungry dog’s jaw. 

His voice, a whisper against your ear, is temptation, a pied piper. "I don't want to make the same mistakes anymore. I can't keep denying what I truly want, what my heart desires. I can’t lose you. I’m not losing you. Not like this. Please."

The admission electrifies the mood. Time stands still as you process everything, mind foggy, your own desires intertwining with his. It's a precarious precipice you find yourselves on, teetering between the past and the mirage of a future, between fear and the possibility of something more.

“That’s awfully self-centered,” you laugh weakly, not knowing if this is you unable to look away from his lips or unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze. “What if it’s too late? What if that ship has already sailed?”

He nudges your nose with his, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “You don’t want me? Look into my eyes when you tell me, then.”

In that moment, you make a choice. With an upsurge of courage, you do as he asks, searching his need-darkened patience waiting for you, and you let your guard down. Closing the remaining space between, your lips find his in a tender yet fervent kiss, an unspoken consent that verbalizes everything. 

God, you want this man with all your being. One moment of vulnerability, the confirmation you needed for so long from him was enough to melt all your walls down and conquer without war — the things you let him do to you… 

What was tenderness from you ricochets back from him as desperation, he licks into your mouth like a man starved, and a sigh shudders from Leon, you feel it roll through his entire body. He catches your waist in a tight, unyielding grip, his touch conveying a scared need to hold on to you, as if to make sure you're real, and not a fleeting dream. 

“Fuck, I want you so bad. Never wanted more in my goddamn life.” The pent-up tension and unspoken emotions flow between you, igniting a flame that burns brightly, dispelling any doubts or regrets. “Let me have you. Please, let me have you.”

“Give me half of you, and I’ll give you half of me.” His lips, soft and warm, melded with yours in a passionate embrace, separate with a wet pop. “How’s that for a start?”

Leon's lips attempt to dip into yours again, but he wavers to a panting stop, leaving a lingering, ticklish warmth in their wake. His declaration, filled with a mix of intoxication and determination, spills forth. “‘ll give you all of me,” he mutters, his kisses raining down upon your skin in a frenzy of affection. “—Give you all my love. Want all of yours, too.” 

Love. He said love. 

Someone must have hit you over the head, you feel like it, all breath is knocked out of your lungs.

Leon pulls back only inches when he feels you freeze in his arms, and you see it in his eyes — he doesn’t try to hide it… 

And you realize, you’ve seen the ghost of this look before, the shyer one, the more apprehensive, curt one that was prone to hiding away. The pure adoration on his face makes him look younger, like a whole other man. 

Yet, you ask. It’s all you’ve ever wanted from him, only a passing acknowledgement and you’re a sunflower bending over backwards with the first rays of the sun. "You love me?"

Your stomach does a summersault at feeling his heart miss a beat.  "Y... yes?" he stutters, his voice rising. "Yeah."

All that romantic talk. All the insane things he said, and it’s scary to him when the word is spelled out loud. 

The room goes completely noiseless for a moment, your ribcage might as well explode at this point, and then he lets out an audible sigh, trying to calm himself down. "Is that so strange to you?" he adds. "Is that... something you... don't want?"

He knows what you feel. Known it all along, danced around it for both your sakes. Yet, he’s still asking — exposing that defenseless underbelly of his that reveals he thinks he’s unlovable, not worth it, skeptic that someone could want him in that way. 

His eyes stay locked with yours, but some of his confidence seems to have drained away. All that's left is his look of pure, unbridled infatuation, and the expression of genuine, unwavering honesty.

Your mouth seems to have gone dry, heartbeat picking up, stomach swirling, looking at him like he's out of this world, eyes flying everywhere on his face. No words come to mind for a good while. It’s a slow blooming flower at first, but the beaming of your smile takes him aback. “It’s all I wanted,” you practically exhale. 

He makes a small noise of relief and chokes out a smile. 

As your lips mold together again, a new symphony of sensations unfolds. His kiss has the devotion of held-back hunger, lips seeking and exploring every contour of yours, and you surrender completely. To how he desires you, to the intoxicating pull between you, letting your inhibitions fall away. There is only the searing heat of his touch, the intoxicating sweet taste of his mouth, the mint from an already discarded gum and something uniquely Leon, and the synchronization of your combined breaths.

He moves downwards to take nip at the corner of your mouth and then your chin, a soft hum escapes from deep within you, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure he makes you feel by the littlest of sensualities.

“Leon…” Your hands find their way to his tousled hair and a waft of his shampoo fills your nose, you pull him closer, yearning for more of him. The room fills with the heady scent of desire, starting to pool deep in your stomach drop by drop.

He bites down on your jaw, knowing just how to make it pleasurable and not hurt, and you gasp out loud. “Sweet girl, my sweet girl,” he chants. His lips find their way to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing a path of feverish kisses and gentle nips. “My sweet girl.” Each sensation sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you rasping and yearning for more. 

You arch into him. His hands, now guided by a primal instinct, roam freely over your body. They explore every curve and dip, tracing the contours of your silhouette as if committing every inch to memory. Fingers dance along your spine, leaving a trail of delicious shivers in their wake, before finding solace in the small of your back. 

With a firm yet gentle grip, he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the counter, the cool surface contrasts with the scorching heat that burns even your palms up as he slots between your legs immediately afterwards. 

With a delicate yet possessive grip, his hands glide along your upper thighs, and a needy warmth trickles down to the crevice he grinds his crotch against, the roughness of his jeans delectable against where you need him. 

Your own hands, emboldened, mirror his actions, eagerly exploring the planes of his chest, nails dragging through the fabric. Overwrought fingers interchange between pulling on his leather jacket and the compression shirt that hugs him so tight it won't stretch. “Get this off."

A low growl reverberates deep in Leon's chest as your hands keep hungrily tugging at his clothing, seeking to peel away the layers that separate you. “In the kitchen? That impatient for me?” 

Ah, he’s trying to embarrass you. Not going to work. “Shut up you hypocrite, you made me come on your thigh in broad daylight, in the kitchen.”

“I don’t remember you complaining,” he grins against your lips, and you feel him grow bigger, straining against the cage of his jeans. “God, you were so fucking hot using me like that. Want to see you more — pleasure yourself more — in front of me. I was about to make a mess of my pants like some teenager, just looking at you and,” he rocks both of you upwards as he babbles, and your hands glide down to cradle his flaming neck, your eyes closing, head spinning with his words. “Your pussy on me, shit. I still feel it.”

“Stop running your mouth and get these off then,” you half-heartedly order, not at all an attempt to hide how turned on you are and practically dying to feel him already. 

He opts to tease, “What the lady wants, the lady gets,” like he’s only doing it because you asked him to, but he willingly complies, his movements hinting to be fueled by a shared hunger and a desire to feel your touch against his bare skin.

The leather jacket slides off his shoulders, revealing the sculpted contours of his chest, accentuated by the tight shirt that clings to him. And in one motion, that’s also off, you don’t even get to watch how his muscles ripple and flex, but your hands are on him right after, groaning at just how high his body temperature is, how wildly his heart is beating underneath your palm.

Your mind short-circuits at something foreign wiggling underneath your palms on his chest and not at the way he’s sucking red flowers on the underside of your thrown back chin. 

Your mind can be playing tricks on you, because you swear you can feel something move underneath his skin that’s not tendons, but before you can dwell on it, his lips, now free from their exploration of your neck, capture yours once more in a searing kiss, filled with a soulful need, an unspoken plea for more, as if he wants to consume every ounce of you. 

“Can’t believe kissing alone feels this good,” he says. “I could just do this all day. Have you on my lap, underneath me, above me, and just.” Your lips are teasingly bitten and tugged on. “Have this to myself.”

As his hands continue their tantalizing journey along your thighs, inching higher, you find yourself surrendering to the exquisite sensations. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, craving more friction as the restlessness grows tighter. 

The hardness of his crotch presses against the heat between your legs, creating a delicious ache that demands to be satisfied. He hisses and sighs into your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t wait. Hold on to me.” 

Leon has his arms locked tight around your legs clamped on his legs the next second, and begins to carry you out the kitchen as you hold onto his shoulders, once again in awe of how easy it is for him to manhandle you like this without at least grunting. 

You think he’s taking you to your bedroom and worrying if you left it too messy, but where you find yourself sprawled on your back instead, is the fucking couch in your living. 

The couch your one night stand had his way with you on. 

You sense a subtle shift in the currents of his shadowy gaze bearing down on you, in the flicker of his eyes, in the tightening of his jaw, that you glimpse a revelation you have not anticipated hidden beneath layers of charm and composure, the shifting of tectonic plates beneath calm waters. It’s uncharted territory. A dormant beast awoken from slumber, his demeanor betrays an unfamiliar greedy intensity that enthralls you. Once soft, subtle adoring nature of his, now holds a smidge of territorial longing, as if he yearned to claim you as his own, to wrap you in the cocoon of his desires, the undercurrent untamed, raw, unfamiliar — both to you and him. You’re no stranger to his intensity, his passion, but this is foreign to you. 

With surprised anticipation, you laugh to hide the nervousness. “I didn’t know you could be jealous.”

“I didn’t know I was capable of it either.” His big palm comes down on your stomach, fingers fanned out, and it drifts up as if he’s just taking you in, with some pressure sinking into you, and your shirt rides up because of it, exposing your stomach all the way to the beginnings of your lower ribs. “Of this much need to monopolize.” 

He hooks a strong arm around your waist and tugs you a bit up to meet his descending mouth to your revealed abdomen, leaving wet kisses and kitten bites all over, teasing by faking you out that he’ll go higher to play with your aching breasts, the tip of his nose touching the bottom curve of one and then going lower. Either way, it’s your loss, heat keeps pooling in the ever-so-hungry pit as your panties become uncomfortable already. He knows how to build you up.  “It’s so ugly in my head right now because of this goddamn smell—and all I think is what I’m looking at right now was seen by another man. Wanna fucking tear into you to get rid of it.”

You quip, “Does he smell that bad?” amused, an attempt to distract yourself from how easy he has you, hands finding his hair again and tugging, eliciting muffled groans from Leon, but the promise of roughness thrills you, the shiver going through you perking your nipples up. You honestly didn’t know he had this much of a sensitive nose up until today, goes to show how little of himself he showed you in the past. 

“He reeks.” He drags his blunt nails through the line of your waist soothing it with feathery, tickling, lazy strokes of faint pleasuring zaps as he bucks into your clothed core, drawing hisses and gasps from both of you. The rough zipper line of his jeans accentuated by his hardness hits just the right spot, you could do this forever — gosh, you have a wet spot in your panties, it feels gross but it’s so warm and it’s so good — 

Oh you love the way his eyes darken, the way his voice deepens ever so slightly when things you never thought would come from him in a million years are sent your way, goosebumps awaken all over you at the, god, you can’t believe you’re saying possessiveness. “We could, you know, get it reupholstered. If you’re paying for it—” 

“I have a better idea,” A devilish smirk curls at the corners of Leon's lips as he lifts his head from your abdomen, eyes glinting. His grip on your waist shifts to the waistband of your pants, teasingly tracing the edge. “How about instead I reclaim it so you won’t be able to sit on it ever again without getting so hot and bothered by what I did to you here. Hm?”

His touch sends invigorating currents coursing through your body, pooling desire between your thighs. You arch your back, wordlessly urging him to continue. and he kneads your hips, digging into your flesh with a delicious pressure. “I’ll make my sweet girl so fucked out stupid she forgets any touch that came before me.” He squeezes once and your cunt just throbs. “Only remembers my name.”

Fucking hell. 

"But if it bothers her, I'll consider reupholstering," he continues, a hint of playfulness there. "She’ll just have to pay in other ways."

A mischievous gleam dances in your eyes as you match his playful banter. "Oh, I have a feeling I can think of a few ways to make it worth your while," you purr, your fingers still tangled in his strands, urging him to bring his lips back to yours.

“That right?” Leon's chuckle reverberates through his chest, vibrating against your skin. He leaves a trail of heat and moisture on your stomach as he climbs up, capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth with a fervor matched only by his growing desire.

His heat washes over you, and your breath hitches as you struggle to control the rising tide of need, and you can’t stop the small whine from escaping when he tempts. “How would she like it?” with hooded eyes, you see him imagining — thinking, living the filth out in his brain and not hiding it from you at all. The thought of being completely consumed by him, of surrendering to his desires, sends a torrent of suspense coursing through your veins.

With deliberate slowness, his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants, grazing over the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen, and you nod fervently, wanting Leon to stop with the leisurely approach and just fucking throw you around or bury his fingers into your pussy already — “Use your words sweet girl.” He chuckles when he sees the delicately restrained agitation of yours, his touch is both gentle and possessive, his fingertips tracing maddening circles that dangle you over promised pleasure.

His piercing stare ensnares you, a captivating force that renders you powerless. His inquiry lingers, emphasized by his almost restlessly eager fingers massaging your skin, akin to a tantalizing vow of sensual delight. In this very instant, a revelation dawns upon you—Leon's unchained greed does not arise from insecurity alone; rather, they stem from an unquenchable thirst to know you’re his, to conquer every fragment of your being and eliminate any shadow of uncertainty.

In a flurry of emotions, your words spill forth, infused with a potent blend of yearning and submission. “Take me, I want you to take me. Wanna feel only you…” Succumbing to the irresistible yearning surging through your veins, you surrender yourself to the overwhelming craving that courses within you. “Any way you want.”

His jaw falls open slightly in shock, like the shape of language has left him, hold stilling around you in an iron grip — the way his cheekbones get slightly pinked gets you bucking up to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, extending your arms at him like you’re asking for a hug. “Make me forget however you like.”

His chest expands with the big breath he sucks in, a guttural growl escaping his throat, a primal sound that makes him feel almost inhuman with another trick of the light that makes his veins appear darker, dancing, almost, as he pulls you up, leaves you dizzy with how quick he reverses your positions, it’s his back on the plush cushions now, one knee bent a little bit and you on top of him, straddling his lap. He’s looking up at you, and you flash to how you had him exactly that way before he left for Spain.

“Sit on my face.”

You blink a couple times. “What?”

His fingers catch the band of your pants and underwear. “I want you to ride my face.” The small grin that breaks out on his face after licking his lips is downright sinful. “Wanna be fucking suffocated by you.”

“Will you be alright—”

“It’s nothing to me,” The persuasion is nonchalant, like he has experience being waterboarded and it’s something trivial. “I said I’d make you remember me whenever you sit on this couch, didn’t I?” 

His request is bold, ramming the boundaries of your comfort zone, there’s the fear of crushing him and there’s the embarrassment of how he’d receive your weight, yet overcome by the part of you that craves to fulfill his desires, overtaken by how he always wants to give pleasure and not take it. 

You slowly rise from his lap, and he momentarily releases you from his hold. Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the waistband of your pants, undoing them and sliding them down your legs, along with your underwear, his dilated pupils are fixated on the silvery thread of your arousal stretching. Your heartbeat quickens, a flush heating your body up at the deep assertion of, “Attagirl. Come here.”

With a deep sigh, you find the courage to surrender to the experience, encouraged by how much he seems to want this. You shift your position, allowing him to steer you to straddle his face, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his head. Your core hovers tantalizingly close to his waiting mouth, aching for the pleasure he promises to deliver. 

Not knowing when his hand sneakily crawled between your legs, you are caught by surprise when he drags a finger through your slit, gathering the moisture and spreading it around. “This all for me?”

“Hmmm,” you confirm, heartbeat shooting straight downwards, pulsing against his finger. “All for you.”

“Don’t be shy, take a seat,” A deep rumble vibrates in his chest, he’s looking drunk already, and you twitch upwards with the way hits your wetness, then, he’s massaging the tension of your thighs holding your body up. “All of your weight, sweet girl. Don’t hold back. Just sit. I promise I’ll make you feel so good, it’ll feel so good, just—” He raises his head to lick an galvanizing stripe right where you want him and you moan, the experience all the more elevated by being able to see how his eyes flutter close as if he’s feeling in and the focused pinch of his eyebrows. 

Trembling legs weakened by his begging, you begin to lower yourself onto him, the searing, wet warmth of his breath against your sensitive, aching folds making you gasp. His hands guide you and you hold onto his bulging biceps, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you find the perfect angle, anchoring you in place. 

“Le – ah! Leo—n!” You can’t even arch off from the couch when his mouth dives into your tender cunt, only able to throw your head back and tremor in place because he has you in an iron grip against him, fingers sinking into the plush of your hips the moment he hears the stutter of your sweet whining. 

He hums, and you feel the vibrations reverberate inside you, mouth hanging open when his tongue delves in, as well. 

“So good — shit…” You fall forward, hands finding purchase on the armrest of the couch, your nails digging into the fabric as his skilled tongue dances against your most sensitive parts, exploring and teasing with an expertise that leaves you respiring, a particularly shocking jolt of ache striking and leaving your vision with dancing stars when he gently nips at your clit with his teeth, your hips spasming, but unable to even squirm in peace because he won’t let you move away from him. “That! That — ah, yes, yes!”

He is just delighted and it shows in his excited panting when it gets you to start rocking your hips in sync with him, and after a while, falling back and letting you take control of the pace. 

He traces delicate patterns against your most intimate parts, setting a pattern and then breaking it, building you up and pulling you back down, teasing and exploring with a fervent hunger. “That’s perfect — yes, Leon, you’re making me feel so good, you’re — hmm! —”

The groaning moan is swallowed by an even prettier whine when you pull on his hair, it wasn’t the intention to get him to do this, you were just particularly feeling good, but you try again, and he shudders this time, a more restrained version of the sound, you swear, literally makes you gush. 

“You sound — you sound so pretty moaning from making me feel good— So pretty—” You can’ complete the sentence as he sucks on your clit, only able to babble. “So pretty, so pretty…!”

You absolutely weren't expecting being accidentally called pretty would be the final straw to start palming himself against his jeans and fucking dry hump his hand, leaving only one hand to hold you down, and he wraps his entire arm around your waist to staple you to his mouth, you feel the veins and the flexing muscles on your skin from how much strength he’s using, and it’s enough to heighten the throb in your cunt.. 

“You’re gonna come in your pants from eating me out?” The bucking of your hips becomes harsher, faster, the coil in your stomach tightening just from seeing his blissful mien and urgency of his hip thrusts, walls contracting around his tongue. “That’s so fucking sexy—”

The pleasure builds, spiraling higher and higher, each flick of his tongue sending you higher and higher, his ability to read just when you get close is exquisite, and you enjoy him slowing you down, each flick and swirl of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy, but not quite getting you there, his own hand matching that pace and edging himself on, as well. 

The world narrows down to the sensations between your legs, the sound of your own moans building in speed and pitch mingling with his fervency, a blast of heat building deep within you unexpectedly fast, like dropping from the peak of a roller coaster, a wildfire spreading. “So close, so close, so close so closesoclose!”

You cry out his name as your pleasure crescendos, he holds your gaze the entire time through it, an explosion of sensation that engulfs you in waves of ecstasy, your voice mingling with his muffled groans of satisfaction against your sensitive flesh, body oscillating with pleasure, every nerve ending electrified by the intoxicating completion Leon provides — and he laps everything up, 

He does not give you one single break. 

The next second, you’re knocked on your back, and then flipped on your stomach like a ragdoll, and he shoves you up toward the other armrest of the couch until you have to hold onto it and hold yourself up — and you have to, from how much your thighs are trembling. You don’t even have the time to look back after hearing the frantic fumbling of his zipper being pulled down before feeling his rock-hard length gliding through your puffed and abused cunt, and a pained whine shakes your body as you snap your knees shut. “Leon—Leon—I can’t—”

“You can,” he coats himself in your dripping wetness, and you’ve accidentally created more friction for him by snapping your legs together, he’s just dragging himself against you, not entering, but pushing strong enough that it gets you to shake and squirm to get away, but he hooks one arm across your torso and grips your shoulder, pulling you up so your back is flush against his sweaty, burning chest. He extends an arm and places his hand just beside yours for support. “You’re so perfect taking everything I give you. My sweet girl, always so good to me, so gorgeous — just look at you.”

He gently nudges your chin up to get you to look at something, and —

You are looking straight at the reflection of yourself in the window ahead, Leon’s chin on your other shoulder, he is also staring, watching you there — both of you look so fucked out already. 

He seems to be in a more of a drunken daze than you are, his hair is so sexily messed up as if it was deliberately styled, the fact that it was you has you clenching around nothing. You hiss when the head of his cock slips in momentarily, only to slip out as he keeps the motion of sliding back and forth,  teasing, edging, your moans become softer, yelp-ushered, and shorter.  

“Look how pretty you are,” he nips at your earlobe, looking straight into your eyes in the window. You see the raw desire etched across your face, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, and the unbridled lust that courses through your veins — the sight of yourself, lost in the throes of passion, sends a rush of arousal through you. 

He begins to bite and suckle at your neck and shoulder as the edging persists, the tension within you, yet again, beginning to stretch beyond belief without a snap at horizon, your whole body is quivering at how fast it’s coming down on you. 

“I’m gonna— Leo–n, please, please—!”

You’re teetering on the edge of ruin, the need for release becoming all-consuming. You cling to his well-built, thick arm holding you to his chest, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming pleasure. A particularly sharp bite at the most meaty part of your shoulder makes you cry out and he begins mumbling in your ear, needy, and keeps up the same pace just for your pleasure even though he sounds so needy. “Come for me, I want it, pretty girl, come on, give it to me—” 

With a final plunge, Leon relinquishes the tease and thrusts deep inside you, filling you completely to the hilt, and your vision goes completely white as pleasure crashes over you in a wave of intensity, your body attempting to thrash around with the force of your orgasm, his chest shudders at your strangled cry. 

He stays buried deep within your convulsing walls and just breathes and softly hisses as you come down from your high, following you as you fall forward to rest your head on your forearms on the armrest. 

He plants kisses on the ball of your shoulder, trailing a line all the way to the other one, and then coming back to your nape. “You okay?”

You whine in response, completely blissed, and feel him jump inside you.

He sighs with force. “Don’t rile me up like that just yet.”

“‘m not doin’ ‘nything…”

“You don’t know what you do to me.” His chest rumbles from how thick and deep his voice lowers, albeit in affection. “You could be watering flowers or something and I’d go out of my mind for you.”

You weakly sputter in laughter, heart expanding nonetheless. “Watering flowers?”

“Yeah, I mean—”

“Couldn’t you have chosen something mundanely and unconsciously sexy. Like, I don’t know, sitting and reading a book?”

He scoffs, but you can tell he’s tiredly endeared. “Reading is sexy to you?”

“Well. You squint your eyes and clearly need glasses but the concentration is definitely hot.”

“I don’t need glasses.”

“You do. Leon, baby, you squint when you’re trying to read—”

“Maybe because I’m trying to understand what I read—”

“You don’t understand anything you read, then? Because you do it all the time.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve never had a problem with my vision.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, dumb jock of mine.”

He responds with one singular fast and shallow thrust, testing the waters, lips curling up against your shoulder at the sweet sound rising from you. “You must have gotten the rest you needed if you’re sassing me.” 

“Fuck—” you hiss at the stretch, so delicious, stings so good. “Leon, can we just—”

“No,” He presses you forward, squishing you, and one of your hands digs into the armrest and the other one on his forearm that lines like a special pillow just for you to bury your head in. Your teary eyes accuse him in the window, your mind playing tricks on you again and makes it seem like they flash a deep red at you like some demon in your imagination. “Eyes on the window, watch me.”

He starts torturously slow, setting a lazy ebb and flow, the tip of his cock aimed to hit your G-spot every time he inches into you, his fingers are curled underneath your chin and still making you watch, but you can only look at how feral he is marking your neck like he’s some vampire, sucking and popping noises spreading around your body in ripples, and behind your tears, you can see the red eyes still on yours.   

“Faster,” you sob, feeling like you’re about to pass out from yet another building orgasm but know ultimately that’s not going to happen and it’s just how well he wrecks you. 

He moans obscenely into your ear, completing that with a delighted hiss as your nails mark his forearm laced with defined veins. “Gonna come for me again, huh? How many minutes has it been, and you’re gushing already? Are you just that perverted or is it me?”

“Yes, you, it’s you.” You throw your head back and rest it on his shoulder, and he lowers the fingers on your chin to hold you by the throat against him, putting slight pressure with at the two sides of your neck — not cutting your airway, but the blood flow to your brain, plunging you into cloud-soft, pleasure-fueled fuzziness.

“Inside?” he asks for permission, strained. His thrusts pick up, not shallow, but brutal all the way, and so do your whimpers. “Can I—” 

You can imagine the sensation of the warmth of him spilling into you. You’re so thankful for actively looking for hook-ups before this and getting on birth control for it. “Yeah, inside, come inside me—”

He bites down again, it has to be a new favorite thing for him, and he reaches down to circle your clit, pressing and playing, gentle and then sharp. 

You feel a familiar fullness growing, and clench yourself up, it makes Leon hiss. “Bathroom—” you choke, panicked. “We have to stop, I have to—”

He doubles the finger on your clit and you squeak, squeezing your thighs together — something’s coming and he keeps hitting that spot over and over and over again — you’re going to fucking wet yourself — “Leon, I’m serious, I’m gonna—”

“It’s not what you think it is,” he says, reassuring, caring, peppering kisses everywhere.

How is he so sure! 

“No, no, I can’t— Leon, Leon, Leon, Leon!”

Third time, third time it’s something else, you can’t, you can’t—

“You can.” He grunts, smothering your squirming by his weight. “Go ahead sweet girl, just like that. You’re doing wonderful, I got you. Let it go. Let it come.”

You hear the brief spray of something, the trickle of liquid between your thighs and the intermittent whining of his as he comes inside, but you swear you fucking pass out for a good fifteen seconds from how the coil of pleasure detonates in your core and shatters your consciousness in a foggy haze.

You fucking squirted. 

Didn’t even know you could do that. 

He made you because he was jealous.   

“Asshole,” you cry-mumble, trembling like a leaf. “My couch.”

He just laughs. His eyes are still glowing red in the window’s reflection. 

You’re too sleepy for this.

You’re dreaming that you’re Leon. 

It’s a weird nightmarish vision bleeding pulsating black at the edges probably fueled by imagining him as a mean demon ravishing you yesterday. 

One moment you’re looking down at yourself suffering in your sleep at the backseat of a car, head resting on his lap, some blond man even buffer than Leon is driving the car, you can see the outline of a scar at the side of his face and you call him Major Krauser; and the other you’re intensely gazing at yourself in the bathroom mirror, eyes are still red, but this time, there are dark veins mapping all over your body, all over your face, and they’re pulling back and moving.

You startle awake to an unfamiliar bedroom, a dull ache in your chest, weak and absolutely sick to your stomach that it feels like your guts are restlessly moving around. 

“The hell?” Just where are you right now? This isn’t your home. “Leon? Leon!”

Soft, muted hues adorn the walls, casting a serene ambiance that envelops the room, but you’re far from calm, the tight feeling in your chest pushing up into your lungs. Gentle lighting, emanating from carefully placed fixtures, are dancing upon the surfaces, creating a mockingly soothing ambiance with a faint scent of cleanliness, mingling with freshness.

You are on the plush bed, adorned with crisp linens and plump pillows, the centerpiece of the room, with bedside tables holding the essentials within arm's reach. Ahead is a cozy seating area with its comfortable armchairs and a snug loveseat and a work desk, strategically positioned near a well-lit window or a dedicated reading lamp. This awfully looks like a hotel room. 

He emerges from a door, and you see the glimpse of a bathroom behind him before he shuts it behind him. “Hey, you’re awake.”

The anxiety of the gap in your memory dissipates the moment you see him.

“And confused, where is this? Why don’t I remember getting here?” You grimace and prop your body to sit up, pressing the heel of your hand to where your heart is, his eyes flicker to the motion, eyebrows dropping down. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, faintly smiling, trying to hide his worry. “You were sleeping.”

You reach for the bottle of water sitting on the bedside table to your right. “And why did you feel the need to bring me somewhere while I was asleep?”

He eerily looks mysterious for a second. “You remember me talking about the gift I was given?”

“Yeah..?” 

“I’ve shared it with you.” 

“Oh-kay…” God, that water was heavenly. You weren’t aware that you were parched. “Is that why I feel sick? Did we go out last night and get blackout drunk or something, is that it?” 

“You feel sick?” You stop playing with the plastic bottle when his face hardens. “You shouldn’t be hurting, why…”

“Can we dial it back a little?” You raise your hands, remembering your priorities. “Leon, where are we? I can’t be here, I need to go to work, there is this article about the Spanish guest President Graham has dropped everything to meet with today and I need to get it out—”

“I’ve called in for you. You’re good.” 

Well. 

It was truly the right call to make given just how weird you’re feeling, just on the precipice of getting badly sick, you’re grateful he took the initiative for you but it wouldn’t have been bad to be told before he did this. The newspaper could have caused big trouble. “I would have appreciated it more if you asked me first.”

Leon looks genuinely bothered, you don’t know if it’s because you’re telling him off. “Sorry about that, I had no time before—”

“Time for what?” 

“Well…” He trails off, lost in thought. “How about I start from the beginning?”

“I’m more than happy to listen, but first, where are we? Spoilers are fine.”

A voice you don’t know abruptly cuts in and makes you jump. “Spain, sweetheart. You’re in Spain.”

Why the hell is there a stranger in your room?

“Who the hell are you?” You pull the covers up even though you’re not naked and dressed in a casual outfit you have no memory of throwing on. His presence in this room feels like a security breach because you’re in bed. “Why are you — Leon, why is—“ 

“Krauser.” Leon shoots up from his seat in urgency. “I told you to—”

What he said registers suddenly. “Spain?” You’re unbelievably alert. It’s the guy you saw in your dream, driving the car. Leon calls him the same name you heard in it, as well. “Leon, who is this, what is he talking about?”

His chest puffs up in concentrated dejection, misery engulfing him as he looks at you, mute. You ask him with your eyes to tell you the random guy in your room is kidding, but he doesn’t. 

You edge closer to the other side of the bed like you’re some scared animal. “What the fuck is going on?”

The glare he gives to the guy would have scared you shitless had it not been for the shock you’re going through. “Get out.”

This isn’t a prank. 

You finally explode, hands gripping the linens in a tight ball, heart beating a mile an hour. “Listen, I would like to be spoken to! Spain? Can you please explain it to me already!”

“Your boyfriend has given you the Las Plagas parasite, and you’re here to go through the initiation ceremony, so to speak. You’re to be presented to our Lord. Sorry, kid.” A pitying chuckle. “Should have had better taste in men.”

Huh.

Huh?

The very military-looking man, with the beret and the outfit and all, says it with the most fed up and serious intonation ever that a loud, ringing, involuntary laugh comes out from you and rings in the room, but something in your stomach hurts from the force of it, so you double down in pain, gasping. Something moves in you. “What… God, fuck, ow…”

You clutch your abdomen, the pain intensifying with each passing moment. It feels as though something is writhing inside you, twisting and contorting with a sickening energy. It’s foreign. Doesn’t belong in your body, you’re about to hyperventilate. 

Your mind struggles to process the gravity of the situation unfolding before you. Spain? Parasites? Initiation ceremony? It all sounds like a macabre nightmare, but the agony coursing through your body is alarmingly real.

You don’t know when Leon moved to get to you, but he is next to you all of a sudden, supporting you, eyes widening with concern, his earlier mysterious demeanor crumbling away. He moves swiftly, his hand reaching out to prop you. "Easy, take deep breaths, it’ll pass, I promise, I’ve got you," His voice drips with something icy as the person he’s addressing changes. “You told me that shit would take away her pain.”

Major Krauser watches the scene unfold with a mixture of detachment and sympathy. His presence is imposing in his stern countenance. "I told you it would make it easier," he interjects, gruff. "The worst of it is over. Superior species process differently than the regular one."

“Can’t we just—”

Fear grips you like a vice as you try to comprehend the magnitude of what is happening. "Why... What have you done to me?" you manage to make out, wavering with both pain and confusion.

His hands move gently, yet frantically to caress your arms in attempts to comfort you through the pain. “I saved you.”

“Oh, you are gone in the head, rookie.”  

Leon looks scary, a barely contained rage just under the surface, gripping you tighter. 

Your mind races, trying to make sense of the fragmented information you've been given. It all feels like a nightmarish delusion, an absurd reality you've been thrust into.

What’s going on? Just what’s happening right now?

Gasping for oxygen, you manage to choke out a question, desperation just beneath. "What kind of sick game is this?"

Krauser, stoic and unyielding, interrupts with a dispassionate tone, his eyes fixed on you with an unsettling intensity. "It's not a game. Lord Saddler seeks vessels, chosen ones who can carry the power of Las Plagas. You were chosen, through Leon."

You reel back, disbelieving. "Chosen? Lord Saddler? Leon, what in the world—"

Leon's gaze turns somber, regret across his face. "I made a choice, so we could be together. So you would be protected." He becomes pleading. “The world is about to change forever—”

Oh what the fuck.

You begin to cough uncontrollably, slapping a palm on your mouth, whole body wrecked by the velocity of the fit.

There’s blood when you remove your hand. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper, but the spillage of blood also marks the ebbing away of the pain, it’s gradually fading.  

“Make her drink it again. It should be fine, three days have passed.” 

Major Krauser, the enigmatic man who claimed you had been infected, remains stoic but watches your distress intently before leaving the room from another door. 

Three days. Three days? You slept for three days?

“I want to go home. I want to leave.”

Leon sighs, visibly sad. “I know, sweet girl, but I can’t let you go anywhere right now.” 

“Why!” You yank away from him, crawling to put some distance between him and you. You trust Leon, you see that he is loyal to you, but can’t stop freaking out. “Then explain it to me! What the hell is Las Plagas or whatever the hell it’s called! Just what did you do to me?”

“First, you have to know I’m — I was a government agent. I work to wipe out bioweapons, the kind in Terragrigia. That’s the basic gist of it, anyways. Spain was a mission. To save the President’s daughter.”

“What.”

Throughout the long and agonizing day, you continue to plead with Leon, hoping desperately that he will release you from your confining prison. Each time, he feigns sympathy and expresses apologies, but his determination remains unyielding. The realization that the man you love has become your captor sinks its fangs deeper into your psyche, a tormenting truth that threatens to shatter your sanity.

Moved to a more luxurious room, attended to by servants who treat you as though you were some revered figure, you feel the suffocating weight of your captivity. Leon, on the other hand, freely comes and goes, moving about with an air of authority and control here in this unknown location. 

The stark contrast between your roles within this twisted dynamic only further amplifies the madness of the situation. It becomes increasingly difficult to maintain your composure when everything around you appears normal, yet you are trapped, on the verge of losing your grip on reality.

Leon's attempts to justify his actions, delivered with a soft and soothing cadence, only serve to deepen the chasm between the man you once knew and this deranged version standing before you. He speaks of a global project involving the parasitic vaccination of the entire world, claiming that he only sought to protect you and longed for your reunion in this new world order. 

According to his words, everyone will be connected through what he refers to as the Holy Body, and he brought you here to shield you from the chaos that looms outside. He even speaks of defying some enigmatic figure known as "their Lord," as if he had waged a battle for your favor against him.

It’s insane. He’s insane, but looks perfectly okay saying all of this stuff. Leon wasn’t like this one month ago, it’s Spain that changed him, the dots connect themselves — the gift that he talks about wasn’t a gift at all, he was most likely infected against his will like you were, and now believes in the batshit crazy nonsense he’s talking about like it’s gossip over tea.  

You realize quite a bit late that this is a cult because of his perfectly ordinary demeanor. He’s Leon and you trust him, and it stalls your thought process. 

You have to repeat it over and over again to process it.

Leon took you against your will, to a fucking cult. 

They even have a name for god’s sake, Los Illuminados — the ‘servants’ are cultists. It’s easy to fall into the normalcy and accept it the way Leon puts it, like some fairy tale, like telling you about news from another country. 

With the new knowledge of his past, you don’t know to be in awe of him or terrified, your whole relationship unraveling in transparent context littered between the lines as you rediscover who he is as a person and why he did the things he did — but definitely lean towards the latter the more you can’t get through to him to let this stop already, it becomes more clear to you very quick there’s a certain instability to him now that wasn’t there before, something dark as if he’s balancing himself on the razor’s edge of control, it swims closer to the surface whenever you mention you want to go home. 

The Leon you remember was gloomy at times, yes, but he was also rational, calm, and grounded. He was unyielding in the face of adversity and never subscribed to such ludicrous beliefs. The dissonance between the Leon of the past and the current incarnation, who mindlessly parrots the teachings of the cult, leaves you utterly bewildered. You struggle to reconcile the two versions, grappling with the question of who he truly is and why he committed these unthinkable acts.

In these moments, when Leon reverts into the preaching mode, his gaze becomes vacant, as if he is merely regurgitating the words he has been fed. It is only when his attention turns to your well-being that glimpses of the man you love flicker to the surface. 

The conflicting emotions within you reach a boiling point, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of how to proceed.

The gaping divide between the Leon you once cherished and this altered persona rattles your very core. Fear grips your heart as questions swirl in your mind. What now? What lies in store for you? The uncertainty looms like a dark cloud, casting shadows of doubt and despair over your fragile existence.

The answer and possible salvation comes to you in the form of a man, a mysterious figure who materializes from an entry point to the room you had no idea was there. 

The dim light casts eerie shadows on his face as he greets you with a slight bow. 

“Who are you?”

“Luis Serra, Princesita. Your only chance.” He nods, lighthearted, but you see the weight of his seriousness. “We don’t have much time. If you want to get rid of the parasite, come with me, I’ll explain on the way.”

Why do you feel like all you do is being swept with whatever current washes down your way? 

It’s bizarre to be running away — from Leon, of all people. Go with this random man number two, where? To do what? What happens to Leon, then? 

Thrown off by his sudden appearance, you try to assess the situation, searching for any signs of deception or ulterior motives. 

Despite your apprehension, something about his urgent demeanor and the glimmer of hope in his eyes instill a soft landing for trust in him, you feel that he can help you somehow — but there is the obvious elephant in the room. “What about Leon?”

“I’m doing this because he asked,” Luis replies, his words carrying a sense of loyalty and commitment. They have some sort of history you don’t know. 

Without further delay, he administers a serum, providing you with a temporary respite from the torment inflicted by the parasite Leon’s infected you with. It offers relief, albeit temporary, buying you precious time before the inevitable returns in Luis’ words.

You decide to go with him and see where this path leads, you have nothing better to do, can’t see any way out of this. 

He motions for you to follow him, leading you through a concealed passage that winds its way beneath the labyrinthine corridors of the cult's stronghold — a castle, as you’re shocked to take in. The path is bleak, the air heavy with a musty scent, but you push forward, driven by pure survival instinct to get away to safety.

Luis starts explaining not too much into your journey, hushed, he has all the answers you needed in the first place, quick to the point. "Las Plagas are ancient organisms with a malevolent sentience. They infest and control their hosts, erode their will and sanity. They were made to be… weapons to be harnessed by Los Illuminados. Those who succumb to it become pawns of their leader, Saddler, carry out his agenda. Slaves to his will. They don’t have their minds intact, just flesh prisons to obey his orders."

Your first thought is of Leon, the horrible sinking feeling unspun in your stomach. 

Luis knows what you’re thinking. “Leon… and his buddy Krauser are exceptions. They possess what’s called the superior species, newly engineered.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at the same time, like he’s contemplating a good business deal. “That means free will. To a degree. Their parasites are connected to Saddler, so their bodies can be controlled, but not their minds. Not entirely. They’re not like the inferior ganados. That’s why he was able to seek you out with his own volition.” 

The realization that Leon is trapped within this nightmare strikes you like a blow, your heart sinking with each passing moment. "He isn't controlled?" you inquire, hope blossoming in your chest. "Can you save him too?"

Luis's response is filled with regret, his eyes reflecting a sorrowful truth. "I'm afraid he's beyond saving," he confesses. "The procedure I have can only remove newly hatched eggs, and Leon... well, he's already been consumed by this darkness."

The words reverberate through your mind, the horror of the situation fraying your soul. "But... I can't just abandon him!" you protest, determination and anguish trying to overpower one another.

"You'll be gone forever too if you don't," Luis warns. "It's now or never. If you hesitate, if he catches even a hint of your trail, it will be over."

“You said you were helping me because he told you to.”

“Before he was lost, yes, he made a final wish.” Luis softens, and you realize he’s grieving, too. “He told me to take you as far away as possible from him if he ever were to try and get you involved in this mess. Because he would never do that to you in his right mind, so he said. A total romantic underneath all that ice, eh?”

He would never do that to you in his right mind… 

You flash back to three days ago, to his words, to how he said he loved you, all his adoring, the broken dam of affection and how he didn’t hold back anymore. 

He wouldn’t have decided to go through with opening up to you like that had it not been for the parasite’s influence? 

Uncertainty dangles heavy as you fight with the bitter reality you thought was a dream come true, the heart-wrenching realization that the man you love has been ensnared by the very darkness he sought to protect you from — that only giving into it broke his control of keeping away from you emotionally.

Regret etches itself onto Luis's face as he observes your inner turmoil. "I'm truly sorry, Princesita," he offers with empathy. 

The moment hangs suspended, an agonizing choice looming before you, as you weigh the love you hold for Leon against the desperate need to escape the clutches of this cult. 

You don’t want to leave Leon, even when there’s something clearly wrong with him that can’t be fixed, but on the other hand… 

“Can you honestly tell me he isn’t the man I know?”

“He is less and more.” His tentativeness bleeds into the clearest possible simplification he’s able to give you.. “But isn’t the same.” 

“So what do we do? What should I do?”

You still cannot wrap your head around your whole world flipping upside down, can’t comprehend you have to leave Leon behind, you barely processed him being an agent. You’re stalling. Hesitating. And deep down in your heart, you know why. It’s because you don’t want to go. 

Leon is still Leon. 

But you’re terrified. 

 "The choice is ultimately yours to make. But I implore you to consider your own well-being and the chance to break free. I know that’s what he truly wanted."

“I—”

But as you open your mouth to respond, a sudden, excruciating pain shoots through your head, causing you to cry out in agony. It feels as if someone has driven a searing spike into your skull, rendering you momentarily incapacitated. Your body crumples, and you find yourself on your knees, clutching your head, desperately trying to block out the piercing ringing in your ears.

Amidst the torment, your consciousness is abruptly whisked away, transported to an ethereal realm. It is a dream-like state, observing the world through the lens of another's mind. The golden chandeliers cast a cascade of shimmering light upon turning corners and ornate doors, as the person you are connected to races frantically through the maze-like passages.

The frenzied movement abruptly halts, and your vision pulsates in tandem with the rapid beat of a heart. It’s Leon’s voice echoing through the recesses of your mind, a hidden depth of anger and desperation at the heart of his control. "I feel you," he utters, a slight tremble of heartbreak. "You're in here. I know you're listening. Where are you? Why did you leave?"

Realization dawns upon you, a profound understanding that you are inhabiting Leon's thoughts, sharing his fears and confusion. The sheer intensity of the experience overwhelms you, and you cry out, "No, make it stop!" Your consciousness briefly returns to the physical realm, tears streaming down your face, the pain of the connection too much to bear. "It hurts!"

The ethereal realm engulfs you once more, Leon's emotional turmoil swirling around you. His voice billows with remorse and longing. "It might... Things might have escalated a bit too quickly," he confesses, his tone laden with regret. "It's my fault, I got too cocky, too impatient. But I never wanted to scare you off. I only ever wanted to keep you safe. You have to trust me and open your eyes so I can do that, sweet girl, okay? I'll come get you. We’ll talk it out. You can’t run."

Confusion intertwines with the pain coursing through your being. Leon's words perplex you, as if there is a hidden meaning beneath his pleas. "My eyes?" you utter, the question hanging, unanswered.

Luis gets so loud that you’re brought back to your location for a split second. “Shit. Do not open your eyes!”

Leon hears what he says somehow — and it suddenly comes to you that if you’re in his head, he is also in your head. “Luis. I should have known.”

You feel a sharp pinch at the side of your neck that cannot even compete with the tremendous headache, and the vision begins to crumble, Leon getting fainter — his presence fading away, the last you hear of him is a furious and equally anguished, “Goddamnit, no!” before everything goes black.  

Luis detects the stirring of your consciousness before you do, and as your awareness is brought back from the dormant state you were in, he calls to you in the darkness surrounding everything. “Don’t open your eyes yet.”

You shift around, feeling the coolness of a rough surface against your back and the firmness of the stone floor beneath you. The silence is broken by a peculiar sound—an unsettling symphony of metallic echoes. Chains. Accompanied by Luis’ feet shuffling around, they slither across the ground, you can almost envision their length, extending and coiling, like serpents of iron, their echoes intertwine, creating an eerie melody because you can’t see them. 

“What are you doing?”

Luis's response is calm and purposeful. "Setting the scene," he explains. The sound of nails being hammered into stone with an underlying jingle punctuates his words, causing you to jump in surprise. "For Lancelot seeking his Guinevere."

The pieces start to come together, albeit slowly. "You want to trap him," you realize.

Luis acknowledges your understanding. "Wonderful, Princesita," he praises. "You catch on fast. Leon is connected to you somehow, and we can't progress if he sees through your eyes. So, we need to create an illusion."

Confusion and concern overflow as you question the feasibility of their plan. "But Leon is... He could be listening right now."

Luis dismisses your worries. "Do you feel that he is sharing your head at the moment?" he asks. The uncertainty in your response betrays your lack of knowledge. "Ey, you'd know," he asserts. "That means he isn't present. Perfect."

Doubts linger in your mind as you consider the risks. "Will it work? He's... well, I recently learned he's an agent. I don't think it'll be easy."

"Whose side are you on?" he teases, playful. But when he senses your unease, he quickly reassures you. "No worries, I get it. He's better with the ladies, I've learned."

You can't help but feel a pang of guilt. "Luis..."

He brushes off your concerns with understanding. "I'm almost done here. He's supposed to think you're alone, so you can't look at me when I tell you to open your eyes. I'll be hiding. Don't talk to me, don't acknowledge me, just wait."

Curiosity gets the better of you as you ask, "How are you going to..."

Luis's response is concise and determined. "It won’t be me who’s doing it. It will be you. I will be your distraction.” You hear his footsteps approaching, and something small but heavy being placed on the floor just beside you, hidden from your line of sight. “You’ll hide when he arrives, and when the time comes, I want you to shoot. Don’t worry, it’s a tranquilizer gun. Wish me luck so he won’t kill me on sight, eh?”

It doesn’t take long for him to signal you. 

You open your eyes, the darkness giving way to dimly lit surroundings. The scene before you is carefully arranged, meticulously designed to deceive. The chains that previously echoed through the room now come into view, hanging ominously from the winch on the ceiling, you follow the line with your eyes to see the other end is secured to the stone wall by a circle of nails. The clinks and clanks reverberate, amplifying the tension.

Luis is nowhere to be seen, but his presence lingers, a silent reassurance that you're not alone.

In the deafening silence, doubt gnaws at you, and you question the madness of your current circumstances. 

You’re unsure of what you truly desire, unable to look over how you really just found yourself going along with Luis's plan, not because it feels right, but because your mind is clouded, unable to think clearly. You feel like a reluctant child, accepting the path laid before you simply because it seems to be the only option available.

Uncertainty presses heavily upon you as you contemplate the impending encounter with Leon. Fear grips your thoughts, entwining with the deep-rooted emotions you still harbor for him. Despite the revelations and warnings about his true nature, your heart remains entangled in a web of love and trust, the idea of seeing him again evokes a conflicting mishmash of longing and apprehension. 

You find yourself yearning for his presence, against the knowledge that he is not the same person you once knew when the mere thought of his return conjures a happy expectation of hope within you, a desperate desire to be whisked away from the nightmarish reality that has unfolded — deep, deep down, you pine for him to be the savior, the one who can shield you from the horrors of this supernatural ordeal he inflicted upon you himself.

Yet, simultaneous fear engulfs your soul, you question your own liability, knowing that you still trust him, still harbor the potential to be swayed by his words and actions. The thought terrifies you, the notion that you might have readily agreed to his plans had he presented them differently, had he explained the sinister truth of the parasite in a more inviting manner. It's a terrifying realization, the awareness of your own susceptibility to his influence, and despite everything, he’s the only anchor you can hold on to not be swept away into that chaos. 

You want him to enter the room, to make everything right again, tell you all of this is a nightmare you made up in your head because in the real world you still miss him, and at the same time you also fear what his arrival may entail.

As if attuned to your thoughts, a prickle in your mind disrupts your musings—a subtle trickle of awareness, the sensation of being watched by an invisible presence sharing the same space as you.

So you wait, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the impending confrontation with Leon bearing down on you. Every second feels like an eternity as you strain to listen for any sign of his approach. The air grows heavy with anticipation, and your senses are on high alert.

Suddenly, a noise echoes through the chamber, a faint, careful creak of a door opening. Your breath catches in your throat, he was so deadly silent infiltrating the building this basement is in, and you scramble to crouch and hide behind stacked boxes facing his direction, praying to god he hasn’t heard you. 

His eyes search the room in  a hardened gaze, a mask of determination, scanning every corner, every shadow with professional coldness. 

Leon cuts through the silence, as if he’s been hurt by you somehow. "Come on, I know you’re here, you don’t need to hide from me, I’m just here to talk.. Don’t be afraid of me.”

Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, you fight back tears, reminding yourself that this is necessary, for both his sake and your own — you can’t crumble right now, absolutely dreading what actually hearing him out would do to you. 

Luis emerges from where he’s hiding, unknowingly coming to your rescue, stepping forward with calculated confidence. "Looking for someone, Leon?" he asks, dripping amused intrigue.

"Where is she?" Leon demands, and you’ve never heard him like that before — that bone-chillingly cold and intimidating, menacing, low tone is downright terrifying. 

“Not even a hola for your old friend?” 

Leon fucking pulls a gun on him and your heart jumps to your throat. “Where. is. she?”

Luis raises his hands in a placating gesture, a sly smile playing on his lips. "No need for violence, my friend. I'm here to help."

Leon's grip on his weapon tightens, his suspicion evident. "I don’t need your help anymore. Tell me where she is."

Luis chuckles softly with a trace of mischief. "Ah, the stubbornness of a man in love. But I'm afraid your Princesita is in another castle."

Anger flashes in Leon's eyes, his frustration mounting. "Don’t bullshit me Luis, I know she’s here. What are you up to?"

Luis takes a step closer, sympathetic as much as he’s purposeful. "I've done what you asked of me. She's safer without you." 

Leon's face contorts with disbelief and fury, threatening to consume him. "Safer? You have no idea what you’re talking about. There is no safer place on earth right now than by my side. The world's about to go shit. The President is down, and the impending mass vaccination is nothing but a precursor to chaos. Do you think this is some deranged lover’s obsession? No."

With hopeless resoluteness, Leon continues to pour out his frustrations and fears. "Someone, be it the WHO, Terrasave, or the BSAA, someone will eventually expose the truth about the parasite spreading through medicines. And when that happens, all hell will break loose — do you understand the scale of what I’m talking about? The illusion of a smooth and controlled resolution is nothing more than a lie, and we both damn well know it."

Emotions wash over Leon, leaving him vehement and exposed, self-deprecating, raw. "I may have failed in my mission, and I may have failed everyone, but I refuse to let her become a mindless puppet like those villagers and cultists. I won't let her perish chasing scope after scope for news articles that’ll get her killed. She's all I have left." His voice quivers with a defeated tenacity and desperation, he shakes his gun at Luis. "So yes, I made a choice. It's the right one. It's the only one. A choice where I can be with her, where she can stay safe. A choice where I become the monster, but I can’t care less about the consequences anymore. So, get out of my way, Luis, and take that getaway chopper of Ada's while I'm still giving you the chance. That a good deal?"

“What happens when Saddler loses?” Luis sighs through his nose, totally unaffected by all that talk. “What happens if you die on that hill?”

His question lingers for a moment before Leon responds, less baleful and more mournful, even accompanied with a strange sense of happiness. "I know the end. As long as I get to die in her arms, it doesn't matter."

In that instant, something within you snaps. The anguished anger and the raw empathy you feel for Leon flow through your veins, overpowering any rational thought. Without hesitation, you make a decision that feels both natural and inevitable — to shoot the tranquilizer. 

You pull the trigger, the dart finding its mark with an unsettling precision, and time slows as you watch it puncture his skin, him flinching with a hand clamping around the dart and yanking it out, his wide, red eyes finding yours as you stand up, the realization dawning in his eyes. 

You want to cry when it’s relief and happiness that comes first to him upon seeing you as if on instinct, and confusion and hurt wash over his features next as he sees what’s in your hands. It's a sight that cuts through your heart. He staggers, toward you, his body fighting against the encroaching numbness, as if defying the very fate that befalls him. With outstretched arms, he reaches for you, fingers trembling, yearning for connection amidst the sense of betrayal. 

Yet, despite his desperate efforts, his strength fails him. His legs give way beneath him, and he tumbles to the ground, his reach falling short. You watch, your heart splitting in two, as he crumples in a heap of confusion. His fingers graze at where your presence is, a touch that never finds its mark.

In the waning moments before unconsciousness claims him, his eyes search yours, pleading for answers that you struggle to provide. You stand rooted to the spot, grappling with guilt and anguish, questioning the validity of your actions, second-guessing the choices that have led to this heartbreaking scene.

As Leon finally succumbs to the claim of the tranquilizer, his body surrendering to the oblivion of unconsciousness, you're left with your final commitment, crystal clear. 

Your heart was set on this from the start. You were just too scared to admit it. 

You’ll stay with him in this darkness.

Leon’s all alone here, knows he’s doomed by the narrative, can’t leave — and all he thought throughout that was you and what would happen to you. 

You can’t leave this man in the solitude of tragedy, with the first ever selfishness of his was seeking you out despite himself to protect you. No moment has solidified his love for you more than this. How he thinks of you tremendously. 

You can’t not love this man. You can’t bring yourself to obey his wishes and abandon him.

The lamb doesn’t want to leave the slaughterhouse. 

With a heavy yet determined tone, you utter the words that seal your fate. "Go, Luis."

Luis protests, filled with concern and a touch of reluctance. "You can’t—"

Tears well up in your eyes as you gaze at Leon's unconscious form, lying helpless on the cold ground. The depth of your emotions overwhelms you, but you gather your resolve. "I can't abandon him now. Not after everything he's been through. He needs someone by his side."

Luis hesitates, torn between honoring your wishes and his genuine concern for your well-being, making a final attempt to persuade you. "I understand your heartache, but you're risking everything for him. Are you sure about this? There's so much at stake — you’ll become just like him, you know? You’ll never be able to leave Los Illuminados and go back to your old life."

“You don’t get it do you? It’s true that I'm scared, Luis. Scared of what lies ahead, the stuff you’ve talked about is straight out of a dystopian novel. But I'm more scared of losing him in all of this.” It haunts you how he said it doesn’t matter if he gets to die in your arms, no regard for his own well-being and health. Leon has never cared for himself enough, that much you know, but to think his entire system has collapsed like this, to the point where he’s let himself go entirely and came to you while wounded… It’s something you can’t turn a blind eye to. A cry for help you can’t ignore. “He looked for me in this chaos. Underneath all of the excuses of protection, Leon’s just scared. He doesn’t want to be alone.” You can’t look away now that you’ve seen everything. “I can’t go back anyway after knowing this. I’d never forgive myself. It's better to face whatever’s coming with him, no matter what horrors it holds.”

“There’s absolutely nothing I can do to change your mind?”

The fact that he’s set on doing this and looking out for you until the last second because he has promised Leon and is truly concerned warms your heart up. “You really should catch that ride before it’s too late.” 

“You’re making a mistake.” His concern mingles with a touch of admiration for your unwavering will. “But he’s hell of a lucky bastard to have you by his side throughout it all. This is the sacrifice of your life, I’m not joking. And I hope it’ll be worth it.”

He’s not like you, and that’s okay. You actually admire and envy his sense of self-preservation overweighs his loyalty and promise to Leon, that’s how a normal person should be. But the situation is far from normal, and you’re infected by a mind-altering parasite for fuck’s sake, and you’re not even sure you’re going through the quarter of what Leon has. 

“Thank you Luis.” Touched by his understanding, you reach out and take Luis's hand, gratitude shining through. “For everything.”

A somber atmosphere settles in the room as Luis grows more melancholic. He takes a deep breath before making his final request. "Before I go, there's one last thing I want to ask. Considering we don't know how he’ll react when he wakes up, I think it's best to be cautious. We should chain him up, just to be safe. I don't want him accidentally hurting you in his confused state."

You hesitate, unsure about the idea of restraining Leon, but Luis's earnestness compels you to consider it. "I don't think he would ever harm me..."

Luis interrupts gently. "Oye, let me worry about that, Las Plagas is unpredictable and dangerous. Do me this favor, it’s the least you can do to pay me back, yeah? A little caution won't hurt. And if Leon questions it, you can blame me. I can handle it from a safe distance out of his reach in the comfort of my luxury ride."

With Luis's words echoing in your mind, both of you set to work, struggling like you’re trying to roll a boulder up a hill with the weight of Leon's unconscious body. The effort is tremendous, sweat pouring down your faces as you maneuver his unexpectedly heavy frame. 

Exhausted from the strenuous task, Luis hands you the key, his face flushed with exertion as you finally finish securing Leon in chains. The room is filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the sound of your own labored breaths.

As the unvoiced question of what happens now makes itself known between you two, caught in the tension between Luis’ desire to stay and the necessity of his departure. His words come out disconnected, hesitant, obviously having an awkwardness that comes from bidding farewell under such circumstances. "Well..." he begins, trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. "It was a pleasure to know you, Princesita." His smile is half-hearted, betraying the mixed emotions within him. "I hope we never have to meet again."

The unexpected humor in his remark catches you off guard, and a genuine laugh escapes your lips, the sound reverberating through the room, mingling with the faint clinking of the chains as Leon stirs behind you, his presence a constant reminder of what you’ve decided to get yourself into.

Luis's insistence breaks through the brief moment of levity as he implores you, his eyes flicking between you and Leon's kneeling form. "Take care of him," he urges, a sense of responsibility coloring his words. "And yourself."

You offer him a reassuring smile, endlessly thankful for his guidance in getting you to realize Leon’s perspective. "Will do. You too, Luis," you respond, nothing but warmth in your heart for him as you acknowledge his efforts. "Don't feel bad about not being able to help us, please? You've done all you can."

He nods once, his features a blend of bittersweet defeat and acceptance. With a final glance, he retreats into the shadows, his presence fading away. The room feels emptier without him, and sadness washes over you, a stab of guilt for potentially failing him now that you are left alone with your thoughts and the finality of the decision you have made.

The room remains shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint sound of Leon's steady breaths and the gentle rattling of the chains that bind him. 

Your gaze inevitably falls upon him, bound and unconscious before you. 

The sight of him, held captive by the chains, elicits strange emotions that defy explanation. There is an undeniable allure that emanates from his restrained form, drawing you in despite the chaos that surrounds you. It is a conflicting blend of fascination and revulsion, a cocktail of sensations that confound your senses. You should be consumed by panic, overwhelmed by the dire circumstances and the looming threat of the parasite within you. Yet, in this moment, a strange calm settles within your being. Is it the influence of the parasite that dulls your anxieties, or is it a resolute acceptance of the path you have chosen?

Despite the restraints that hold him captive, there is an undeniable attractiveness that surrounds him, gluing your eyes to the sight before you.

Kneeling on the floor, Leon’s muscular physique is accentuated by the susceptible position he finds himself in, the chains tightly holding his wrists above his head, rendering him defenseless and at your mercy. His sculpted arms, stretched taut and slightly strained, display the evidence of his strength even in his helpless state, veins beneath his skin appear more pronounced, as if awakened by the touch of captivity and the strain of gravity. His tousled locks of blond hair cling to his forehead and darken in shade where they meet with sweat, adding to his prettiness. Even in his unconsciousness, there is a magnetism that emanates from his chiseled features — strong jawline, cheekbones, and glistening lips that have known both determination and tenderness. The pinch of his eyebrows low over his eyes adds a touch of rugged toughness, contrasting with the vulnerability imposed upon him by the chains. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, betraying the calmness of his unconscious state. Light and shadow dance across his defined torso, revealing the slopes and curves that bear witness to his physical prowess. 

It is an unintended pull that arises from the juxtaposition of strength and exposure, dominance and surrender. The image of Leon bound and kneeling, his arms raised and secured by the unyielding chains, creates a powerful visual dichotomy — a captivating blend of control and submitting, strength and fragility.

You didn’t know you were into BDSM. Is this what it is? Why the hell does he look so mouth watering in chains to you when there are more dire matters to feel about — you are being a giant pervert about an unconscious man. Sympathy, desire, and protectiveness intertwine, blurring the lines between what is right and what is alluring. In this moment, you are both drawn to his physical presence and compelled to ensure his well-being, torn between the magic of his bound form and the urge to set him free to not let your thoughts run further.

You have no idea how much time passes before Leon's eyes flutter open, blinking away the haze of unconsciousness, and you stand up from where you were sitting, hands clasped before you in an anxious gesture, fearing his reaction. Panic briefly flashes across his face when the drowsiness clears enough for him to notice he’s bound by heavy chains, his arms held aloft and his movements restricted — the harsh tug on the chains makes you jump and that’s how he spots you standing nearby, concern etched on your features.

"You’re okay," Leon breaks the silence, his words a murmured astonishment. It's not a question, nor is it a statement of certainty. It's an observation imbued with gratitude. He's taken aback, as if his mind is struggling to comprehend that you are here with him at all. That’s the first thing he worries about? That’s what he cares about? “You stayed.”

The corner of your lips tugs upward in a soft, bittersweet smile. "Yeah, I did," you reply. The way he looks at you, as if you hold a small piece of his shattered world together, tugs at your heartstrings.

Leon’s more wary and threat-seeking when he brings up the stranger. “Luis?”  

You start playing with your fingers. "He left.” A pause. “It was my decision.” 

He sits up straighter, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Is… that so?”

It’s so bizarre having a serious conversation with him in chains now that you’re living it. “I’m… I’m sorry for the chains, I, Luis, uh—”

“No, I get it.” He says it like it’s a given and he doesn’t mind it — and that’s when you’re reminded again that he’s a specially trained agent, that’s where the attitude weirdly used to these kinds of things has to come from. “I haven’t given you a reason to trust me.” He gazes at you, his eyes betraying remorsefully hidden emotions, voice dropping down to a low whisper. “Yet you stayed anyway even when I’m like this. I never thought... I never expected anyone would ever, for me… You know.”

Your heart is a soaked towel and he has just wrenched it dry. The way he sees himself physically hurts. "I couldn't leave you, Leon.” You sniffle, head shaking as you confess, revealing your devotion. “I could never leave you."

He reaches out, his restrained hands straining against the chains, as if longing to touch you, to reassure you of his own unwavering devotion. But all he can offer is his words. "That’s all I’ve been terrified of," he admits. It stays unknown to you if the subject of the sentence is you leaving him or you not leaving him. "Ever since I caught myself falling for you, that’s what all this has been about and — this shit inside me amplifies the worst in me, and you’re still here. Damnit.” 

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. "Leon, you are not alone in this." You want to kiss away all worries and fears he keeps to himself, now in front of you in all of their intricate, overthought glory. "I made this choice because I believe in you. I believe in us."

His gaze intensifies, searching you for any trace of doubt or unease. But all he finds is unwavering faith, and a love that refuses to be shaken. "I don't deserve you," he murmurs,  barely above a whisper. All of a sudden, the tiredness you know all so well pushes down on him. "Not after everything."

A soft smile graces your lips, a gentle warmth spreading through your entire being. Luis is wrong. He is definitely wrong — this is Leon, and he’ll always be Leon. "And I don’t deserve your love." He immediately looks like he’s going to disagree on the spot, but you don’t give him the chance. "But here we are anyway. I'm here, no matter what. I’ve made my choice. If you’ll have me too—"

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe," he vows, engraved with purpose. Just the way he says it could be added to a resume, the self-confidence and intentness of a professional in his field behind the power. "I'll prove to you that I can be the person you deserve."

"Leon, I already know the person you are. And I'm not going anywhere."

Leon's widened gaze inflames, breathing becoming more labored as he hangs his head down and nods a couple times while hiding his face from you. “Okay.”

You didn’t expect that to make you burst out laughing, and his head shoots up when he hears your laughter echoing in the chamber. “Sorry,” you cover your mouth, turning around to not let him see and think you’re mocking him. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.” You manage to turn it down to snickering, screaming at yourself to stop already. “It’s just… that was so unironically you and… God, help. I don’t know why this is so funny to me—”

“Okay...”

“Stop! Stop saying okay.” You laugh again at his intonation, pushing the back of your hand against your nose. “That’s all you can say?”

Some sort of fascination surfaces beneath his stoic mask, like he’s someone who’s hearing the birds chirp for the first time. “Actually, I have a lot to say, but…” You watch him rise, his height allowing him to hold his chained wrists on his waist level. He reaches out with his shackled hands, beckoning you to come to his side, yearning for a connection, “You’re too far away for it.”

You jokingly tease. “Will you be a good boy?”

It has an immediate effect on him, sweet adoration stains into something suggestive, lingering between you like a charged current, and you can feel the shift in his demeanor, the warning tilt of his head, the faint red shine swallowing the blue of his eyes, the chains rattling as he grabs onto them in a tight, restrained grip, body tensing, a coiled energy barely contained. 

As his voice emerges in a single, sharp syllable, a low and husky whisper, “Don’t,” it sends a shiver all over your body. The words are measured, deliberate, and carry an undertow of caution that both entices and warns. It's a dark invitation. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

It’s not just you. 

You’re both fucked up. 

And you take a step closer, closing the distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest, and he watches you like a hawk. “I’m just asking a question.”

His eyes glow with an intense crimson hue in response, piercing through the dim light, making you halt when there’s only about five feet left between you and him. Black veins spread across his skin like intricate patterns of ancient curses, marking him up. And extending from his lower back, a large scorpion-like tail emerges, its barbed stinger poised in the air, and just as how the spine is a series of individual vertebrae, small bones stacked one upon the other, his tail too is articulated, allowing it to curl like a snake, curving and undulating with an eerie grace, almost as if it has a life of its own.

It dances through the air, floating towards you, its presence both beguiling and unsettling. You watch, apprehensive and curious, as Leon manipulates his tail, rotating it to show you every angle. As he nudges you gently with it, an unexpected tenderness shines through his alien appearance. "It won't hurt you," he emphasizes, a soothing reassurance. He looks like a creature plucked from the pages of a fantastical novel, but his care for you remains undeniable. "Try touching it."

You observe the chitinous exoskeleton, marveling at its texture and the otherworldly allure it possesses. "Will you feel it?" you ask, a snap of fidget in your curiosity.

Leon's eyes meet yours, a flicker of a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips. "That's a dangerous thing to want, don't you think?" His words carry a double meaning, an underlying invitation to explore the depths of desire that lies beneath the surface. In that moment, you realize you've unknowingly become a participant in his intricate game, a delicate dance of discovering boundaries.

"Leon, half-insect or not, I would want every part of you," you confess, unapologetically honest and smoking with desire. A swelling of boldness overtakes you, fueled by a mix of desire and affection. You take a step closer, your hand reaching out to grasp his tail. The texture surprises you—smooth and warm, defying the expectations of a creature born from nightmares. Leon's tail jerks slightly in response to your touch, the connection between you both sending a jolt of static through where you’re touching, and he is momentarily stunned, his ardor momentarily subdued by your unabashed declaration. “I want you, always.”

"Alright, alright. You made your point," he interrupts, a flicker of bashfulness visible beneath his attempt to maintain a composed facade. The teasing spark in his eyes is replaced by a rare sentiment, his emotions laid bare before you. "Well. " Some sort of self-consciousness fogs his expression as he looks down. "Though I do feel the same,"  he concedes, pink creeping across his cheeks.

But you're not finished. You close the remaining distance between you, your eyes locked with his. "Leon, I love you." You pour your heart into those three words, stronger, unmoving, louder, hoping he understands the depth of your affection if he hasn’t gotten it yet.

He looks away for a brief moment, his gaze fixated on something indiscernible, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. "Yeah," he mumbles softly, almost lost in the space between you.

Undeterred, you reach out to gently grasp his face, turning his gaze back to meet yours. "I love you," you repeat, scolding him that he’s not taking you seriously. You want him to hear it, to understand the magnitude of your feelings.

A flicker of surprise crosses his features, quickly replaced by something akin to relief, leaning into your touch as if you’re the coolness he needs on a hot summer day. He likes hearing it from you, that much is clear, but the unfamiliarity of the sentiment leaves him momentarily at a loss for words. "Okay," he finally responds, his voice a soft affirmation.

You're about to reprimand him, demanding that he say the words you long to hear in return before you unchain him. But before you can voice your frustration, a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you, throwing your world into disarray. Your vision blurs, the room spinning and tilting on its axis. You desperately blink, hoping to clear your sight, but the disorientation only worsens. The force of gravity seems to intensify, tugging at your stomach and weakening your legs, causing you to stumble forward. The pain strikes you with a merciless blow, knocking you off balance and into Leon's waiting arms. Your hands, once cradling his face, now find purchase on his shoulders for support.

"Hey!" The weight of your limp body causes Leon to follow you down, sinking to his knees just as you do. However, the chains that bind his arms above his head prevent him from fully supporting your torso. In a swift motion, he maneuvers his tail to secure your body against his, stopping you from falling backward. Your head lolls on his shoulder, basically shaking against him.

"Hang in there, come on," he pleads, trying to reach you. "Talk to me, what's happening?"

Struggling to keep the pain under a manageable level, you reply briefly, not wanting to talk. "I don't know... Felt… dizzy..."

"Shit, okay," he curses softly, his concern deepening. "Does it hurt?"

You just make a curt sound, wanting him to let it go and keep yourself from flopping like a fish out of water on the ground from how it’s ripping you apart. 

“I gotta know if it does. Can you tell me?”

You’re suffering, how does he not see? Does he need verbal affirmation that badly?

“Yeah,” you say behind gritted teeth. “Sure does.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to sting you, alright? Only a drop of venom into your bloodstream,” he explains as merciful and comforting as he’s able in your state.  “You’ll feel a pinch but it’ll relax you. It might put you in an… aroused state because of your parasite, but you’ll no longer feel pain — it’ll feel good. I’ll take care of you.”

The mention of the potential side effects of whatever he wants to do to you makes your brow furrow in confusion, but there's no time to dwell on it. The pain has become unbearable, hacking at your every thought. "I'll feel good?" you question, dying for any kind of escape from the burning.

"Yeah," Leon affirms, a tenderness that reaches deep into your soul. "You'll feel good."

A stream of questions floods your mind, but Leon interrupts before you can voice them. "Not now," he interjects, pressing the syllables with more stress and emphasis. "Will you let me take care of you?"

His distress resonates with your own need for relief. "Yes," you respond without hesitation. "Yes, okay. This pain is killing me, just do it."

With a swift movement, his scorpion-like tail hovers near your exposed nape, its barbed stinger poised and ready.

"I promise, it'll be over soon," Leon whispers, dead set on his goal. "Just hold on."

The venomous tip of his tail makes contact with your skin and a sharp pinch sends a jolt of sensation through your body, but the initial pain subsides almost instantly, replaced by a soothing coolness that spreads from the injection site. It's an odd sensation, the venom working its way through your bloodstream, numbing the pain and replacing it with a peculiar mix of relaxation and heightened sensitivity.

A soft exhale is pulled from your lips as the effects continue taking hold, the relief washing over you like a gentle wave, and you melt against Leon, wrapping yourself around him, having automatically sought him out on pure instinct. He carefully adjusts his sitting and goes down on the balls of his feet to allow you to crawl on him, ensuring you're comfortable, his tail retracting to support your back for a more comfortable embrace.

"You're doing great," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos. "Just let it take effect, I’m here."

The heaviness in your limbs dissipates, replaced by a newfound lightness, as if a mass has been lifted from your body. The world around you becomes hazy, the edges blurred as the arousal Leon had warned about intertwines with the relief spreading through your veins, 

It begins with a tingling warmth that spreads across your limbs, akin to tiny sparks dancing on your flesh, and then, the heat gradually intensifies, caressing your senses with a gentle yet invigorating burn that awakens every nerve ending. But amidst the rising warmth, the usual wave of the venom’s coolness follows, like a frosty breath gently kissing your skin. The burn and the coolness entwine, creating an annoying race of who gets to be on top. The heat stimulates your awareness, drawing attention to how good it feels to have Leon’s strong body against you, how you would like more, how you want to explore this new form of his as he’s ribboned up like a present before you; but simultaneously, the coolness acts as a tranquil connection to reality, tempering the fiery sensations with its gentle touch.

Leon’s unique smell underneath your nose pours into your circulation from your heaving lungs, you snuggle in to get more of his scent, in the crook of his neck, right behind his ear… You can’t help but rub your head against it like it could somehow pass to your own body — it’s all instinct, the space of your head pleasantly misty, the feeling of only wanting to get closer wiggling enthusiastically inside. You notice your hands are on the move later, running up his sides and his back, only when you feel the ripple of bumps on his spine following your fingers gliding up and down as if responding to your touch. 

“Leon…” He sucks in a sibilant sound when your nails run down his back, momentarily shivering against you. “Leon…”

“Yes, I’m here.” It’s his tail that cuddles you against him because his hands are unavailable. “What do you need, sweet girl, hm?”

How do you say you want to fuck his brains out and do as you wish with him as he’s chained when he can’t retaliate, and how turned on you’re getting by the minute? “I need you.”

You hear the chains rattle and glance up briefly to see his hands balled up in the restraints. “How do you need me?”

His tendency to take things slow and enjoy the augmentation of need as it builds up is a formidable adversary to the you of the present, the frustration is testing the limits of your endurance. There’s something carnal in the way you want him right now, eating away at your patience for playing games with him. 

You rise on your knees still framing the outside of his thighs, and taking advantage of the small difference of height it gives you, yank his hair back to make Leon look up at you, his eyebrows arch upward in an arc, the ascent giving away the shock, and his mouth falls agape, lips parting to release a whispered exclamation “I don’t need this dirty talk, I want your dick in my throat.” You stare him down, catching your reflection in his red eyes and see that the same blight webbing him up is also infesting you, shining in your eyes in the same shade of crimson as his. You simply don’t care. “Is that a satisfying answer?”  

His chin lowers, leering lascivious, and you swear the veins on his face become a more prominent shade of black. “Jesus Christ.” He yanks on the chains, the harsh sound higher in pitch with the power behind it. “Gimme the key.”

“Nooooot gonna.” He leans towards you when you scooch away from his lap, but is unable to chase you fully. You fixate on his crotch, mouth watering, throat anticipating taking in his shape, phantom soreness reminding you what’s coming. You reach out to his thighs and place your palms on his knees, running them up awfully slow, feeling the rigidifying limbs under your touch. 

“Huh? Hey, what do you mean—” He’s stuck between trying to get up and staying that way for you. “What, you’re not untying me?”

“Shut up, I’m in heat right now.” You pop the button of his jeans and bring down the zipper, palming his half-hard bulge above his underwear. “Stop complaining.”

His hips jolt up into your hand, eyes fleetingly rolling behind his head from the satisfying contact, and his cock continues to swell up in your hand, straining against the confines of his briefs. “I’m not complaining — ”

You yank his underwear down, his head popping free and dangling, you bring the underwear underneath his hips along with his jeans with a little help from him rising up and allowing them to slide down better. “You brought this on me, so I’ll feel good the way I want to. Stop. Talking.” 

Chuckling in an underestimating mirth, he’s in the middle of saying, “Yes, ma’am—” mockingly when you lift the edge of his top up to shove the crumpled fabric into his mouth, exposing the carved dips and curves of his chest and stomach. He’s rendered shellshocked for only a second before he lukewarmly glares at you, that’s how you know he doesn’t hate it and only acts like he does. That interested swishing of his tail would be enough to break the chains, but he doesn’t attempt it at all. A silent communication passes between you two, that this is an extension of the role-reversal sex you had the day he left for Spain, and he makes it clear he’s down for whatever you want to do with him. 

Without breaking eye contact, you kiss down his chest and the pads of your fingertips glide along his heated, soft and firm skin, and slow down when you reach the plane of his pronounced abs that tense with each lick and open-mouthed nibble from you, the tautness increasing when the way down from his navel and the path you follow along the veins end up becoming torturously unhurried. 

He has to breathe from his nose, and you pick up where he is on the scale of impatience from his control breaking for it to seep into how sharp or deep they become 

You decide to go on your stomach for now,  letting him remain perched, the coldness filtering into your clothes from the ground not really all that important compared to drinking in all of Leon’s crumpled microexpressions. 

A satisfied noise rises from him as you take him into your hand and give a couple pumps and purposefully stick your tongue out to let your spit dribble considerably on it for better slip and slide, he’s starting to get red in the face. 

And when he thinks it’s about to start with the usual opening of getting him in the mood by the standard jerk-off and the buildup from there, you catch him off-guard by taking him all the way into your throat in one go, concentrating to keep your gagging and choking at a manageable bodily response that won’t make you recoil and start coughing — and surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt, whatever’s in that stinger of his is making everything feel different, you are actually scratching an itch at the back of your throat with Leon and it feels so fucking good to give him head and hearing him respond so eagerly to it. 

The sound he makes despite holding his shirt up with his mouth is choked and powerful as his hips jerk forward and pushes into your mouth, his guttural whine stutters from Leon as you swallow around him. He can’t talk and respond or tell you how you’re doing, but all the pretty noises, from gruff groans, to desperate humming, and restrained moaning tell you all about how he’s feeling. 

You run your nails along the skin underneath his naval and the muscles there jump, the bobbing of your head picking up unexpectedly as you’re literally working to rip his climax off, and he doesn’t feel it sneak up on him, breathing getting more rapid and panicked at how fast you’re wrenching it out of his dick and unconscious shallow thrusts meeting your movements right in the middle — you know exactly when he’s about to come from the slight swell of his dick in down your fluttering esophagus and the tightening of his stomach. 

That’s when you stop and take him out with an audible pop, your lips puffed and red, eyes teary. It twitches before slapping against him and his shirt falls from his teeth in an agonized and disappointed groan as his hips stutter forward in an attempt to search for friction, the fucking saliva trail connecting his lips to the fabric makes your heartbeat swoop downwards. “Why? I was right there!—”

You bat your eyelashes at him, blowing cold air on his denied arousal. “I know, baby.”

“You…” His lips draw back in the middle of a low sound at you gripping his base and giving the head kitten licks, alternating between swirling your tongue around and focusing on sucking the tip only. “Ah, what the fuck.” Your tongue delves into the slit of his head and precum gushes forward, his teeth are exposed in a breathy sharp hiss and a jolt.  “Yeah, that’s it… Shit.” 

The view of his fat chest and his strained, sweat-glistening strong neck swallowing is divine, you pick up the momentum again just to see him get worked up enough to throw his head back for the sight of his striking Adam’s apple, the black veins are doing something else to you that has your insides flipping.

You catch the glimpse of his tail swishing in the air, curling at tandem with your movements. You try taking all of him again to see how it’ll move and the sudden stop and trill has you wanting some friction between your legs. “Fuu—ck, your mouth is a vision, full of me.”

You lick along the bigger vein trailing up under his cock. “Does it feel that good?”

He only nods and thrums a small shudder, but you don’t let him off the leash just yet. “How easy.” Leon’s eyes snap open at the audacity. “Being chained and played with like this…” You give him a particularly harsh pump and the chains jangle because of his sudden tug. “Letting it happen because you want it so much. Desperate to be fucked.”

The degradation alone gets him to pulsate in your hand a couple times, his brow wrinkles as if he’s suffering. “You like this.” You drag a sluggardly strong grip up his weeping cock and his tail whips the ground. “Say it.”

His muscles tense and release, creating a rhythmic movement beneath the surface of his groin upon your teeth getting into the mix. “Shit — I love it.” His arms flex, causing his shackles to rattle. “Everything you do — everything you do to me feels amazing. Keep going, nearly there, I’m about to—”

You hum around him, and he clearly feels the vibrations, rising his hips in an unbelievably hot fluid movement and cursing under his breath, ruby-stained eyes glassy and feverish and mouth thinned and bit from inside. His thighs caging you begin to shake, and you’re made aware he’s close again. 

And this time, it’s him who knows you’ll pull back when he needs it the most. “Oh no, you don’t.” 

Something coils around your torso and pins you in place so his dick can’t slip out of your mouth, you struggle for air and attempt to pull back, but Leon barges in on your alarm, hoarse and gravelly. “Easy, it’s just me, don’t worry.”

Your hands grasp to the fabric of the jeans on the inside of his thighs, finally able to comprehend he used his tail to bind you — surprisingly gentle yet immovable, it doesn’t suffocate you, nor hurt you in any way. 

Mouth still around him, you look up to see he’s watching you, possessing a smoldering zeal, hunger a glint on a knife’s edge, shadow of a sly smile dances upon his lips, a knowing smirk, a sense of assuredness amplifying how he has you, one that reveals all that he’s thinking and claims control from your hands. With every heavy breath he takes, his chest rises and falls, revealing the heightened state of his arousal, and it seems his irises glow a shade darker crimson, a pulsating energy radiating from him, a palpable magnetism that ignites a fire within your own being.

“I’m going to move us around, stay still.” 

He makes sure to remove his erection from your mouth without hurting you before it’s with a natural predator’s grace he rises and stands up, his tail maneuvering you around to sit on your knees right in front of him, and you can only gape as he wraps the excess of chains around his wrists so they don’t get in the way, his forearms and biceps pop like they belong to a god like this. 

“Pretty mouth, waiting just for me.” At this height, he’s able to reach down and run a thumb along your bottom lip and push in, rubbing through the length of your tongue, fascinated.  

The giant appendage, then, unwinds around you, but much to your astonishment, doesn’t slither away, the thinnest end sneaking its way between your thighs instead and your legs clamp around it, but the drag forward defying your refusal has you squeaking. God, the jointed nature of it, like some weirdly shaped anal beads, is acting as periodic zaps moving against your heated sex. It even has the strength to fucking lift you up. Your panties are going to be ruined at this rate. “Leon, what—”

“Wanna make you feel good too.” You’re boosted up when it gives you a particularly harsh press, stars shooting everywhere in your vision with the delicious press not just focusing on one area, but rolling through your clit and dipping to make your entrance contract. “I’ll move it, you focus on taking me.”

Fuck, this is basically the thigh riding from before but on another level, that’s so hot —  

His manacled hands wrap around the angry red of his cock, the size of his hands so titillating fisting the length. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth, is that okay?”

You reflexively swallow, mouth watering instantly. “Please. Please.”

“Such a good girl, begging for my cock down your throat. I can’t refuse when you plead like that.” He rewards you by a rich thrust of his tail forward, your eyes closing in delight, you’re sure that a wet spot is forming with all that moving around. “Open up.” 

You obey and loosen your jaw as much as you can to let him set the pace, hands grabbing on the moving appendage between your legs in preparation to be used like some glory hole, but unlike your aggressive start from before, Leon is much more deliberate and unhurried in bottoming out, your head is swimming in a sea of dizzyingly gratifying smog, white and blanked out as he pleasures you through it. 

You get so lost in it that he sharply hisses and caresses your forehead with shaking hands and has to warn, “No teeth, sweet girl. Relax… Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so well, so perfect, making me feel so good.” 

You don’t mean to mewl around him the way you do, but his praises are so sweet as if he’s always getting his dick sucked for the first time, makes you feel appreciated, makes you feel special. 

Tears are streaming down your face, saliva drooling down your chin, you’re sure you’re gonna have a sore throat after this, and that sight would be ugly and messy to you, something you wouldn’t want to show anyone, needlessly embarassing, but it spurs Leon on, he craves prettying you up as he says, loves that you become a mess just for him — and you had missed all of that being a sign of neediness before all this. He loves the feeling of being special just as you do, loves that he’s able to get you filthy like this. 

“Shit — can’t believe I get to have this forever, now… Never thought… Never—” He breathily laughs, the sound turning into a wanton growl as your throat constricts through his drawn-out, unrushed thrusts. He’s babbling like a man in a confessional, speed beginning to pick up, the movement of his tail also reflecting the frenetic climb, sending your snowballing itch spiraling into completion. “Don’t care what happens anymore — don’t care, don’t care, only need this—sah, fuck!”  

His hands hastily rest on top of your hand to keep you in place and you whine and squeal, his stretch digging impossibly further down, a long groan echoing in the chamber at the same time of something metallic shattering and falling off with incredible strength, Leon’s hips twitching in place with your nose buried deep in the fuzz of hair at the base of his cock. Waves of warm spurts drizzle down your esophagus, and you don’t taste anything, but have a go at swallowing on instinct, and it coerces a strained, debauched moan out of him. 

His tail moves to pull you away from him and you sit back on your heels, shaking more so from your impending orgasm being pulled right under your feet like a rug because of the abrupt halt of the rhythm, unable to stop the coughing, wrapping a hand around your throat for dampening the soreness, and before you know it, his lips have taken the place of your hand, smothering your neck and your face with kisses. 

“You did so good. A fucking angel of sin — for me only.” He doesn’t hesitate to entwine his tongue with yours tenderly as if it’s a honeyed treat to lap up, his gratitude and enthusiasm running high as before. The way he speaks into your mouth gets you pressing your legs together to ease the painful, sweet throbbing between your legs. “You were amazing, sucked the soul out of me, holy shit.”

A whiny, “Leon,” and a tug on his shirt is all he needs to know you need him.  

“I know sweet girl, I have you.” His tail sneaks around your waist again, loose in case of your refusal. In the corner of your eye, you see the winch fastening the chains on the ceiling is squashed on the floor, yet his hands are still bound. “You trust me to make you feel good, right?”

“Yes, always.”

“You can say no if you don’t like this.” The sensation of being moved so easily by something alien is frightening as much as it’s arousing when it’s coming from Leon, your anticipation is about to drip down your legs at his tail gently propelling you up to stand on both feet steadily and turning you around so your back is facing Leon. You are bent down from the waist, and the fear of falling makes you jump, but the appendage is fully supporting you, almost making you float, you could stand on your tiptoes with full body weight and you wouldn’t crash on your forehead. “Is this alright?”

You are about to break down in a series of tremors from how much this is turning you on. “Yeah.”

His hands run along your tailbone. “I’m going to chain your wrists behind your waist. That okay?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” He doesn’t need to reach for your hands, you align them to rest on your waist on top of each other. He does adjust them a bit and sets you straight after you crane your neck to take a good look at what he’s doing — you’re only able to get a single frame of him unwinding some of the restraints around his wrists to bind them around yours, affectively connecting both your shackled wrists together in a short line of chain. One of his hands grabs and tugs, securing his tail around your torso a bit better at the same time. “How is that? Any discomfort?”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Can you please just fuck me already, I’m about to die.”

He lets you go to slide two fingers up your clothed pussy, your folds quite literally pulsing at the contact. “It’s burning up —- you want to brand me, huh?”

You don’t indulge in his running mouth, just wanting to enjoy the fiery pleasure his fondling fingers light in their wake. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He switches to pulling your pants down together with your panties, but not all the way down, making it hang in the middle of the most supple part of your thighs, efficaciously getting them to act as yet another restraint, this time, around your legs so you won’t be able to part them. Two digits easily slide inside and you yelp, held in place mercilessly. “Fuck,” he says, faintly, a subdued composure, the voice going straight to your pussy and making you clench over his fingers. “You eat me up so eagerly. That hungry, sweet girl?”

Your head’s tingling and buzzing from all that rush of blood in this position, everything gets more overwhelming when you bow your head. You just want him inside you. “Please…”

 You pitifully moan at the loss of your fingers, and the brief squeeze of his tail is comforting. “I’ll relieve you.” The replacement of his bulbous tip running through your lower lips is enough stimulation for your toes to curl inside your shoes. 

You’re shaking with the release of your anticipation, and he curses. “Fuck, you’re sucking me in.” The same chain that binds you both rattles when he grabs your bound wrists, your eyes widening at how his tail also simultaneously pulls you towards him to sink into his girthy length, working together with his hips. 

He’s working you. Using you. Manhandling you, drilling you into him like he’s using a fleshlight as he pleases and everything feels so euphoric, your mind descending into a foggy, floaty bliss despite the tears of instant gratification; the whole burden of responsibility, decision-making, and external pressures melt away and only he exists, and the ecstasy Leon’s spoon-feeding you.

He checks in on you, pulling on your binds, voice tight. “Feel good, sweet girl?” 

“I wa—” You hiccup, followed by a trembling whimper, wanting something for your neglected clit, you can’t reach the threshold like this, you keep rising but not enough. “I wanna come, please, let me—”

“Sshh.” His tail is circling you, like a snake twisting around its prey, and you don’t get it at first that he’s getting more of it into the grip for the fat and curling part of his stinger to be able to reach and roll over your unattended, swollen nub. 

Your mind is so sunken into the pleasure you can’t even worry about the barbed part getting near your vulnerable parts, but he’s an expert at making it knead just the way that gets you uninhibitedly screaming. “I got you, I got you.”

Your legs collapse beneath you, his tail carrying your entire weight as your climax fractures within you unexpectedly, not even taking some time to grow and spread and take time aching — it just explodes, making your body convulse in aftershock shudders, unable to contain your palpitating sobs. 

“Ah, Jesus Christ, fuck!—” The clamp of your cunt around Leon also dropkicks him into his own orgasm, shooting straight into your cervix. He rams into you a couple times before he bottoms out to the hilt, his chained hands having yours in a death-grip, staying like that until the twitching of his cock subsides and he starts going soft. 

When you come to next, the chains are completely gone, broken and shattered on the floor, even. Your clothes are straightened and he sits cross-legged on the ground, his back to a wall, and you’re on his lap, tightly hugged by him, still struggling to catch your breath. The view of his muscular arms around your waist is a delight, as always. 

“I feel disgusting,” you say. A sense of discomfort washes over you, amplified by the lingering physical sensations of sweat and fluids. Your face contorts with a mix of satisfaction and unease, the need to cleanse yourself from the stickiness that clings to your skin uncomfortable.

“I think that was amazing.”

You snort. “Not that — I mean, I want to take a bath, everything feels so sticky.”

Leon plants a kiss to the side of your head. “I’ll take you.” 

He probably means somewhere you can clean yourself, but you can’t help but ask. “Take me where?” 

He pulls you in to snuggle better, resting his forehead on your shoulder, tired but playful. “Well, there’s this castle.” 

He still hasn’t told you all that much about what’s going to happen. There is no salvation from the parasite inside you anymore, it has its home in you, but you know you’re not a captive, not when you share the same chains as him. “After our visit, can I—can we return home, then?”

“I…” The sentence dies as it starts. “I don’t think that’s possible. Not for a while.”

“Because you won’t let me?”

“Because I don’t know what Saddler will want with you.”

He knew the consequences. 

Something inside you makes you change your mind — no, he chose the lesser of two evils for you knowing what was coming. 

You can’t bring yourself to blame him, this was meant to happen — you were meant for this gift, meant for this fate, to carry this creature, share it with him. You feel less doubtful and sure of this now, feel the same red of Leon’s eyes, the black of his veins, you shoulder the agony together. 

Your common sense gives a last breath as it fades into non-existence. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

He chuckles, shielded and spiteful. “Yeah.”

“But you still wanted me by your side.”

“I was worried.”

“You were lonely.” He succumbs into a muzzled silence, and you try to reach out once again. “At least we’re together, right?” 

“Yeah… Together in this hell.” You don’t get to see what kind of face he’s making. His deep voice is raspy, and despite his contrition, he’s holding onto you tighter than before. Failure is a shame upon him, and he doesn’t let himself be comforted. “I’m sorry for bringing you down with me.”

“I’d burn for you, anyway. I don’t care.”

He’s brusque and uncompromising. “I wouldn’t let you burn.”

“Then I’d burn with you.” You turn in his lap to look him right in the eyes — his red meets your red. “Together in this hell, right?”

Lambs to the slaughter. 

[ratcash-wasgud]

A gentle breeze could be our end ༊*·˚

Okay, so I had a vision about this very specific idea for a fic, which is...what if you took the role of Kinuyo? Hear me out, plsplspls.

(i altered a lot of canon things, sorry sorry. (i'm also sorry if anyone has done this before))

WC: 4K

TW: Abuse, Sexual harassement, Pedophelia and Prostitution. Basically kinda fucked up, sorry.

You always felt like a burden to the world. Even in the womb, you hurt your mother. She died the moment you left her body, maybe even halfway, taking a great thing from the world, and giving it something useless with your own birth.

You didn't cry out when you saw the light, your little mouth opened, but no sound came out. The world was quiet.

As you grew up, you never managed get grow into anything you wanted to, and your father hated you for it. You never heard him say a word, but you knew he said hateful things. You tried to learn to read in secret, but only managed to barely get through one book after years. Learning was hard. Living was hard too.

You were 10 when he first hit you. It happened because you accidently dropped a cup, shattering it on the ground. You felt his footsteps approaching behind you, then when you felt his presence right behind you, he striked. He noticed how you survived, and you only gained a bruise from it.Plus, you couldn't yell for help, nor tell anyone. This gave him confidence. He started hitting you for every little mistake, sometimes even just for being born. You could see him feeling bad about it sometimes, but he still did it again. It just made you believe it even more that this is all your own fault. For being born wrong.

And you were 15 when he started missing your mother too much. He touched you, he made you touch him, and he forced you to open up and show him everything he wanted. You hated it. You hated your own body for exsisting, and giving him this option of using you. For having a body that could please men. Please...him.

One day though, he got caught. A neighbour, bringing over some leftovers caught him, standing bare before you, your tears dripping to the floor, as he hold your nose shut, so that you'd eventually open your mouth for him. But he got caught. It was over.

He had to get rid of you, so he sold you. But even after he left your life, he still wanted you to have a rotting future. He picked the brothel where he knew the man were disgusting. The most deprived kind. He sold you to Madame Kaji's brothel. By that point, your body was weak, and even walking was something you hated doing. You just wanted to lay down, and wait for your body to disappear.

But she was something warm. Something beautiful. Madame Kaji took you in, and smiled at you. She taught you everything you yearned for to know. She taught you to properly read and even write. She taught you manners and how to hide your fear. How to survive, even if you're weak. And she never hurt you in the process. She taught you sign langauge, and in the process, you learned to even read lips a little. She taught you a sign, which, in your head, you named "Love". It consisted of her gently kissing her fingers, then putting her hands around herself. Like a hug and a kiss in one. Love.

As you got better in writing, you wrote down everything that happened to you so far to her. Sometimes you teared up while writing, but she was always there, gently soothing you, and caressing your hair. She promised you that no man would ever touch you again, and she'll give you hapiness. You slept in her room, never leaving her side when it wasn't really necessary. She kept you safe. You were happy. She became your world. You wanted to be by her side, forever.

Living in a brothel made you more concious about people's sexual life, and every time you saw a man's face contort in pleasure, a shiver ran down your spine, prickling at your intestines, feeling your insides recoil in fear and disgust. You wanted to run away, and just jump back into Madame Kaji's embrace, but you had to be strong, like she wanted you to be. You never had to sleep with a man, but sometimes you went out to serve drinks, having to see the girls, who you admired greatly and saw as big sisters, having to engage in acts that would've have made you have a breakdown. Still, you stayed useless.

You wanted to be useful, you really did, but she never let you do much. You were too precious, she claimed. You really did love Madame Kaji, but you felt like a burden. No...you knew you were a burden.

One day, you managed to somehow convince her to let you serve drinks on a busy day. You nuzzled your face into her palm, gently kissing it before you picked up a tray and hurried into the customer area. You saw a man, middle aged, balding, the usual kind of man she sees there, sitting alone at a table. You sat down at the table, giving him a small, weak smile, and poured him sake. You put your finger on your lips, signaling that he shouldn't expect words from you.

The man smiled, sipping the sake. He stared at you, and kept...he kept staring. It started to feel really uncomfortable. His eyes started to burn through your clothes, and you suddenly felt his hand on your knee...slowly creeping up. You felt like throwing up.

Suddenly, Madame Kaji appeared next to you, her hand slipping his off you.

"Boss Hamata," Madame Kaji greets the man, as you sit there, not hearing a word. She signals you to leave, so you do. "She's not up for business." She says to Hamata, wearing a polite smile.

"Oh, is she now?" The man says with a cruel smile. "She's be a great addition to my home." He says, mostly to himself, as he stands up.

"You don't want another girl? Your usual is free at the moment." Kaji says after him.

"No," The man says again. "I lost my apetite." He then casually leaves.

The next day was your doom. The same man you remembered from last night returned with an army, and tore you out of Madame Kaji's hands.

Hamata was the devil himself. He took you because you were weak and couldn't fight back. He took you as his bride the same day, and left you covered in bruises the same night. He squeezed your throat, kneeled on your wrists, hit your skin, and forced his way in. He loved it, but you felt yourself slowly die inside day by day.

The worst thing? He was the same as your father. He had the same disgusting glint in his eyes, he licked his lips the same way, and he...he...tasted the same too. You tried jumping off the balcony, he punished you after. You tried stabbing yourself, he punished you after. You tried to poison yourself, he punished you after. You yearned for death by that point.

You spent most of your free time, when you could move, on the balcony, watching the brothel's door...hoping to catch a glimpse of Madame Kaji. Even seeing her form would give you comfrort...but you never did. You missed her more than anything. More than your own freedom.

One night, you were trying to sleep with the pain that he left behind that day, sorrounded by guards, to make sure you're not trying to kill yourself again, until...the guards fell, one by one...and a samurai walked out of the darkness.

Mizu looked at you, the weak, deaf and mute girl she was set out to kill that night. She was determined. She needed those informations that Madame Kaji offered as payment. She had killed a lot of inocent things before, what's one more?

But when she saw your face...covered in bruises, shaking and tearing up, she felt something change inside her. You crawled away from her, backing up until your back hit the wall. She stepped closer to you, not liking the fear in your eyes. She couldn't help but see your beauty, even if it shouldn't matter right now. She extended a hand to you, but you didn't take it.

Obviously. You were afraid of her too. In your eyes, she was a man. A threat.

So, she did the sign Madame Kaji told her to. "Love." She saw your eyes soften, and your features almost brighten up. She offered her hand again, and this time, you took it. She heard more guards coming, so as you took her hand, she started running and pulled you with her. She hid with you, and held you close, gently soothing your hair. She felt you shaking in her arms, and she...she felt something snap inside her. She put her hands around your head, to quickly snap your neck...but she couldn't. Her hands wouldn't move. So, she stood up, leaving you in the hiding place, and started casually walking out.

She knows if the fact that she was here gets out, Hamata sends out his Thousand Claws to burn down Madame Kaji's brothel...so she needed to act now. She decided to face the army now.

As she walked out, and the Claws started charging at her after exiting the first door, she fought back with all her might. She slowly got tired. Her body was about to give out after slashing down hundreds of men, but something flashed in her mind.

She saw Mikio's face. Their duel. The face he made when he betrayed her. And she couldn't help but see your face too. She knows the world betrayed you too. She imagined you getting betrayed in the same way she did, and imagined you crying along with her. She saw you get killed by the men she is currently slaying down.

She couldn't give up. She finished the whole army, and went back to get you, wounded and exhausted. When you saw her, covered in blood, your eyes widened in fear.

You got scared of her again. She sighed "Love" again, but this time, you shook your head, and curled up in your hiding place. Mizu sighed, and kneeled by you.

She then started to write on the floor, using the blood on her. "I'll protect you." She said it as she wrote it, trying to convince you to communicate too.

You read the text, and looked at her, your eyes still so scared and vulnerable, it made Mizu's heart squeeze. She didn't know you, she reminded herself. Still...she meant when she said she's protect you.

Your hand shook as she reached out, dipping your finger in a small pool of blood that dripped down from her clothes. "Protect the Madam." You wrote.

Mizu sighed. Why did you care about Kaji right now? You're obviously scared for your own life too, so why not care about saving yourself?

"She'll be safe." She writes back. "I killed the ones who could hurt her." She finishes. It's true, she did kill everyone...but left Hamata to be slayed by Kaji herself.

Then you looked up at her again, and stood up. You followed her outside, leaving that blood ridden house.

When she brought you back to Madam Kaji, you jumped into her arms.

"They won't come looking for her." Mizu says, switching back to deadpan, as she nudged her head towards the wounded Hamata at the exit of his house.

Madama Kaji nodded while gently while gently caressing your hair.

"Still...she can't stay here. In a place like this...they will want to take her again." She sighed. Mizu's eyes widened. "I couldn't protect her once...I'd rather perish than see her be taken again."

"You want me to take her with me? She'll die by my side." Mizu responds, shaking her head.

"You're the reason she's alive. You didn't give her the freedom of death, you gave her the freedom of life. You didn't do what I asked you to...so I ask you to keep her safe."

Mizu, biting the inside of her cheek, kept quiet for a couple moments, thinking about it.

"I'll find her a new home." She says, sighing. "I'll keep her safe until then." She says, now looking down at you.

Considering now that she was alone, since they took Akemi back to her home, and Ringo left her after she did nothing about it, still...she couldn't enjoy being alone. She now had you.

You cried when Madame Kaji told you that you had to leave. You kissed her hand repeatedly, like how you always did when you nuzzled into her palm, and clinged to her clothes. After you let go, Madame Kaji signed "Love", and with one simple tear, she bid goodbye.

Later that night, after walking the whole day, Mizu set up a small campfire in the woods for the night. You sat there, not even trying to communicate, just staring at the fire. Mizu felt confilcted. She didn't know you, she reminded herself again, but deep inside she already got herself attached. She lightly poked your shoulder, making sure not to make too much contact and to scare you.

You turned to face her, your big eyes shining at her, and your features shining in the light of the camfire. Still...you had circles under your eyes, bruises on your neck, your lips wounded from you...or someone else...biting on them too much.

"I saw you reading lips." Mizu says, making sure to articulate every word properly. "I didn't know you could do that."

You tilt your head at her, then purse your lips. You pick up a stick from the ground and start writing in the dirt. Your hands move softly, gently even, as if the stick was breathing in your hand. You focused your eyes on the thing your were writing, and your gaze followed your hand. Your hair fell into your face a little, framing your features.

"Madame helped." You write, then turn your face back to Mizu, to read her lips if she responds.

"...kind of her." She murmurs, making you unable to read it. She wanted to talk to you, but somehow...it was hard. Not for the fact that you were deaf or mute, but the fact that she somehow...felt nervous. As if she made the wrong move, you'd shatter where you stand. You seemed so delicate, and Mizu knew her blood stained fingers and harsh words would only cause you harm. She really didn't want herself to be the one to look after you. Plus, she knew you were deadly afraid of men, and you saw her as one. Suddenly, she felt this strong urge to reveal herself. To make you feel safe. Or maybe because of other, more selfish reasons...to make you feel more comfortable around her. To make you open up.

"Don't be afraid." She says, now articulating enough for you to read. "I'm no man." She says, putting a hand on her chest. Your eyes widened in surprise, and wrote "Boy?" in the dirt.

Mizu shook her head. "Woman." She says, correcting you. You looked at her, utterly confused. Mizu slowly lowered her haori, revealing her binded chest. "Woman." She repeated.

Your gaze softened. You finally understood. A small smile pulled at the ends of your lips and nodded. You moved your hand again, writing again. "Fooled me." You then look at her, your smile reaching your shining eyes. Mizu chuckles in response.

"A habit of mine, yes. I do it most people." She leans back on her hands, now feeling more relaxed. She looked at your face again, and...she felt mesmerized. She felt horrible when the thought that she understood why Hamata wanted you popped up in her head.

You then start writing again, and Mizu's gaze snaps back to your hands again. "Thank you." You then give her a weak smile. "I'm not like you. I am not strong. I will die easier." You stopped for a moment before continuing. "So thank you for not letting me die."

Mizu's eyes widen. If she thinks about it, it's true, but the fact that you're talking so openly about it bothers her. "You won't die easily. You're strong too. I mean...you're still alive. That has to mean something." She says, squinting her eyes at the fire.

Mizu sees your shoulders move a little, as if you're giggling, but no sound comes out. She does imagine what your giggle would be like though. She imagines it to be soft and gentle, since that's the only way she ever seen you do anything. "True. But I wish I wasn't born wrong." You write.

Mizu presses her lips together and looks at you with pity. She doesn't know why she feels pity, she herself was born wrong too. She's a halfblood, someone who has always been a dog. Something rather than someone. "Sometimes the world is not fair." She shrugs. "But you need to make the most of your situation. You're lucky in a lot of ways."

Your eyebrows lifted, and you tilted your head, as if saying "Like what?" Mizu noticed that you were able to communicate a lot with your eyes and the way you moved your head.

"Well, for starters...you're beautiful." She said, not managing to keep her gaze on you. That was a stupid thing to say, huh? Why would she even say that? She met you the other day, saving you from some sadistic bastard, and having to take you in afterwards...she's not being appropriate.

But when she turned her gaze back to you, she saw you with your eyes wide and your cheeks flush. Oh. Did she do that?

The days go by, and wherever she goes, Mizu's first thing to do, is ask around for a new home for you. She doesn't want to bring you along to this wretched journey of hers any more than needed. You already had to see her kill a group of people the other day, and it left you pale and scared. She remembers how you looked with a drop of blood splattered across your face, and how you wiped it away with a shaky hand. She never wants to see it again.

While traveling together, Mizu learned how precious you are. She knows your past, and she sees you flinch when a man passes by you, but still you want to do anything you can for her. Even if it's small things like running the errand of buying food, running after her hat that fell off her head then got kidnapped by the wind, and sitting by yourself at a river for hours, trying to scrub the blood out of her clothes, even if it makes you shiver. Your delicate hands started to have small callouses from living out in the open with her, but your bruises faded away. Good, she though. You don't deserve to have any, so she'll never have you gain another one again.

Hm. She was planning more and more ahead. Why? Wasn't she planning to find you a home that's not beside her? She knew you couldn't be happy by her side, it wasn't the life you deserved. You deserved to find an angel of a husband, who's strong enough to protect you, coddle you daily, and never let you do any work. Who'll kiss you whenever he sees any sign of gloominess on your features, and someone who'll make you believe you're not born wrong.

And she knows you'd be the sweetest wife too. You'd put your delicate hands on his aching muscles after a hard day, massaging away the pain, then gently kiss the tip of his nose. You'd snuggle into him after feeding him something delicous for dinner, and trace the words you want to say into her skin with your fingers. Mizu would hum in response, just gently playing with your hair, letting the peace take over as she'd put her hand under your chin, making you look at her face when she'd say something, so you could read her lips. She'd never tell you about the blood she had to shed that day, only the good things. Like when she saw a small bird, and it reminded her of you, or when she managed to buy a kind of sweet you liked on her way back. She'd feed you that candy by hand too. She'd watch your pouty lips open as she'd place the sweet treat in your warm and wet--!

When did this turn into being about her? Something like that could never happen. She's a woman with a quest, not some domestic husband. Still...she wants it to be like that. She'd treat you well if she had the chance...But she doesn't. She lacks everything for that. She can't abandon her quest.

So, one day she finds an inn. The inn keeper tells her about recently losing his daughter, who was his only staff. He even sheds a tear. Mizu tells him about the girl she's traveling with.

"She's deaf, she's mute...but she's a hard worker. She can read lips, and writes well." She tells the inn keeper with a serious face. "I'm sure she won't even ask for payment if you take care of her." She says, but inside, she doesn't want to do this. She wants you to stay by her side, but...that's a wretched path. You need this. You need a peaceful life.

The inn keeper seems to be deep in though for a couple of moments before he nods. It's settled. After two months of torture, being in her care, she finally found you annew home. It's good news, right? So why...why does she feel like slashing the inn keeper's throat just for agreeing? Why does she feel the need to burn the whole inn down and running with you, hand in hand? She hates this. This dumb, annoying aching in her chest when she thinks about not staying by your side.

Your eyebrows shoot up when she breaks the news to you, and she sees you freeze. She sees the gears basically turning in your head, then...you shake your head and take a step closer to her. You point to her, then to herself, finishig the sigh by putting her hands together.

Mizu's heart skips a beat. "No, look...I can't let you stay with me. This guy, the inn keeper...he seems like a nice guy. He just lost his daughter, and he's willing to take care of you."

You shake your head again, and sign "Love". Mizu sighs. She wants to say "I love you too." but that's not how it works.

"I have a quest to finish, and you'll surely die in the process. You know that. So just...be happy about this." She says, averting her gaze. Your eyes droop, and your shoulders deflate. You shake your head again and hug her, wrapping your arms around her torso.

She hated the fact that she had to leave you, with a man no less, but she hoped she's making the right decision. She really wanted you to be happy. And if she wanted you to be happy by her side, then she needed to find her own peace first. She had to save ehrself first before she could save you.

In reality though, she knew you saved her.

After the hug ends, she looks into your eyes. "If I survive, I'll come back to you." She says, gently petting your head. Your eyes brighten up and you nod.

That was farewell, because Mizu left withouth another word.

And she meant it...she'll come back. She just wishes you'd wait for her, even if it's the most selfish wish she ever made. She sheds every drop of blood, thankful you're not there to see it. She closed her eyes every night, hoping you're doing the same too under a warm blaket, filled with warm food. And she sat sail, making a silent promise about spending the first night by your side when she arrives back in Japan.

That will be her true peace.

༊*·˚

[schoenpepper]

Just like the last anon I kinda do think that your writing and story for Ruggie SMAU was the one I liked the most. Do you think you can turn this into a fanfic? Like a continuation of what's happening in Ruggie's life after the death of his lover if you don't mind? 👀

When the Time After You Comes

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, angst, major character death (you)

A/N: PSA I opened up a kofi haha it's on my bio. You don't need to tip, but if you like my work and have a dollar or two to spare, I do need to fix my phone :D Not opening comms tho just req if you want me to write anything kkk

Masterlist

Sunlight peeks through cottony white clouds and bathes Ruggie in all its too-bright glory. It’s nauseating, almost. The birds are chirping too loud and every face he encounters in a crowd looks to be smiling. It could be the truth. It could be his tired brain playing tricks on him—one can’t assume that a sleep deprived hyena hybrid would be very alert or active when the bags under his eyes are almost big enough to carry the takeout in his hands and his steps stagger to the point that the single red rose almost tethers over the plastic holding it in place. He’s not a pretty sight.

Oh, but you always are.

He’d asked his grandmother to take the time out of every Sunday to help clean your resting place, so even now—when it’s the first time he’s visited you in over a month—your headstone shines pristine as the day it was mounted. There are wilting flowers that he has to clear away, likely from your old friends in NRC, but he takes a seat on the grass beside you.

He can still see your smile.

“Sorry, I’ve been away forever, I know,” he places the rose atop the headstone, “I just…”

Ruggie sighs.

He ruffles a hand through his hair, fluffing up the brown and blond mess so that the locks stick up with his twitching ears. His tail taps rhythmically against the engraving of your name, as if the fur was gently caressing each and every letter. “I took up another job,” he moves to open the takeout box, “I need to pay off that loan. I know Leona’s not going to ask me ‘bout it anytime soon, and it’s a damn good deal that he’s not even taking any interest, but I can’t just sit by knowing even at your final moments I was still leeching off someone else.” Maybe it was a sick, twisted sort of possessiveness. He chose your coffin and the plot of land, and the flowers and the people at the funeral. Yet he couldn’t bring out a single dime because you would have despised that.

“I’d be dead and gone, but you would still need to live.”

You understood him. You knew he was just about ready to ignore his own wellbeing for you, and you convinced him his money would be better off feeding his family.

He could never win against you.

Ruggie stabs the flimsy plastic fork through the sauteed beef, almost breaking off the tines. It’s too salty. Not nearly as good as when you used to go to that restaurant with him.

“Maybe they skimped on quality control.”

His words hold no merit when he has to wipe the tears running down his chin.

“It’s soupy…”

After visiting, he needs to get to his part time job. Leona pays well, but Ruggie has so many things stacking against him that the world might as well be atop that list. He needs to pay for the money that the lion beastman had shelved out for your funeral. He needs to pay his own bills. He needs to pay to send the smarter kids to school. He needs to pay to keep his grandma on maintenance. In life and in death, the bills are haunting him.

Even the roses he gives every time he visits are expensive.

Red roses.

Not white lilies or whatever flowers the shops outside the cemetery are selling. He has such a different message to convey; he misses you, but most of all, he wants to express that the love he feels for you has not dimmed since the day you left. It still burns with a raging, passionate fire that allows him to keep going, keep moving, keep living and not just slump down in the back of some alley and wait to join you on the other side.

He cleans up the boxes and plastic cutlery.

He stands up, pats the dust off his pants, and looks at your name again.

It’s already carved into his soul.

“Please don’t be mad if I don’t come for another month,” he sighs, “you know I think about you every day. Just, when the finances get a bit better, alright? I’ll buy you a dozen roses in the fancy bouquets.”

For now, he’ll just have to leave you again.

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Tuesday was the development between you and Eddie Munson. Wednesday, peace finally seems plausible for the two hurt kids, and understanding becomes a valued aspect.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, implications to verbal abuse, self deprecating thought, mentions of anxiety, bulling, parent abandonment, domestic abuse, and childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've gone back to all my posts and tagged everyone for the tag list. Literally. If you commented, I tagged you. If you reblogged and remotely mentioned you wanted more, I tagged you. If you were not looking to be tagged, please let me know so I can remove you. Also, I sincerely apologize to anyone who I've accidently been excluding from the tag list, that was my mistake.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲

There was no investment in moral quandary for him. Logicality. Everything had to be logical under the guise that all faults of the world had been facilitated by the emission of emotions that tainted the globe. 

Feelings were wrong. Sentiment was wrong. Empathy was wrong.

He believed it was such vulnerability that led to the downfall of his life- not that he’d ever verbally admit his life had crumbled right in front of him, but a pit within the deepest tunnel of his consciousness recognized it. Drilled it. Cemented it. He had chosen to blame the emotions of amenability for the reason why his wife came home at four in the morning with the familiar scent of the neighbor’s cologne. From there, he knew to get rid of it. Emotions. So when you sobbed, asking why mommy hadn’t been home for a couple of days, he said it was not worth crying over. When you had to stand in court upon a scary looking man in a robe and hear mommy agree to only seeing you every other weekend, he said to not worry and suck it up. And when mommy stopped picking up calls and seemingly “forgot” it was her day to see you, he said to get over it. But maybe it wasn’t too bad, right? He always said to be grateful that, at least, he stuck around. At the minimum, he always provided good take-out often, though you were quick to realize it was because he had no desire to cook for you. But, hey, he had always let you watch TV during dinner. Granted, it was because he never sat with you, and chose the comfort of the living room couch, where you could always see the history channel playing from the archway of the dining room where you sat lonely. It was then, you got a deep understanding of the Civil War. And at least his stoicism permitted a great hatred for the presuppositionalism that had infiltrated Hawkins, Indiana. That was good, right? Though, you were never one to define metaethics through divine revelation, so it kinda didn’t matter. But it could be worse. He always said he could be worse. That his choice to deprive you from any physical harm was somehow enough to garner him some merit as a parent. 

And maybe that was one of the underlying reasons as to why Eddie Munson scared you so much. He was like your father. And your father scared you. 

-

Mid week. The morning of spring Wednesday had been a groggily dawn of humidity and fog. Though no weather circumstance could derail the perfected routine of your father’s morning. Wake up, shower, brush teeth, make coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterer, the better. Because that was by true definition strong. 

It was like clockwork. Every morning. Because routine leads to success, he's ingrained. It was the only reason why every summer break since you were a child he had you waking up before sunrise with intentions of appearing downstairs for two hours of study time with a tutor he spent hours meticulously searching for that fit his standards. One with saggy cheeks, thin eyebrows, a thick accent, and a bad habit of reprimanding you with a smack of a ruler whenever you humanly made a mistake. The worst thing that could happen in his eyes was watching his daughter slack because of relaxation over summer. Especially after he programmed you into perfection. 

But the unthinkable had occurred, and his routine was interrupted. 

Between 6:30 a.m and 6:45 a.m, your father was set—like everyday—to retrieve the morning paper, sit down, set the timer, and complete the crossword puzzle. Ten minutes. Nothing more. 

But by 6:33 a.m, Eddie Munson was nearly murdered by your father. 

Oh, his girl. Of course, there was his sweetheart, Eddie was damn near devoted to that warlock, but then there was his girl. Definitely not the everloving relationship he had with his sweetheart, I mean, he touched her, and the harmonious sounds from her strings could elevate the pain of his mind, but there was still no doubt that a sentimental part of his heart was dedicated to his girl. Rusted and cranking, the old van had been gifted to the young man after countless hours committed to Harry’s Auto Shop over the summer. And though her imperfections nearly had him pulling the roots of his hair out of his head weekly, she still managed to get him from point A to point B—not to mention, she looked totally sick and provided the best comfort place to spark up a joint or spend time with a pretty boy or girl whenever the opportunity came (it never did).

But besides that, the moral of the story is his van, his girl, was deeply cared for. 

Except for the occasions of last night. 

Because right now, your father was wrinkling the informative pages of the daily news with a tight grip of pure seethe, because some dirty, gross van had parked over the curb of his property and ruined the pristine, clean-cut, green lawn with muddy tire tracks.

-

You had heard it all.

The blaring alarm at 5:45 a.m, the running shower from your father’s bathroom, and the heavy steps of his feet descend into the kitchen.

Exhaustion couldn’t fathom the ache of your body, as the fluffy duvet beneath you held no substance to the stiffening floor underneath. Not to mention, the heavy sorrow of the events that had only occurred a couple hours prior were relying heavy in your mind, prompting the loss of true sleep, made only worse when Eddie’s drunken snores were echoing as a constant reminder that he was right there. 

Eddie Munson was in your bed- Eddie Munson was in your bed!

The ever so slight glimmer of the awakening sun was bleeding upon his sleeping figure, almost dead with no movement. He hadn’t shifted an arm or a leg, mouth still agape from his roaring slumber with a puddle of drool staining your satin pillow. You’d timidly approached the edge of your bed, knees scraping along the rough floor to reach his peaceful face. The disheveled bangs of his forehead had crumpled against themselves, shielding him from the oozing light through your window. 

This was the calmest Eddie Munson had been in weeks.

No lumps in the mattress, an actual comforter, the pungent stank of his cigarettes now replaced with the captivating vanilla scent of your perfume, which eased him into a comfortable sleep and an all too real dream where you were in his arms. It felt scaringly natural. 

There was a part of you that didn’t want to wake him. Whether it was because you could take an hour studying his pretty face, which led you to wondering how anyone could even fathom being so nasty to something so beautiful, or whether it was because that childhood anger and nestling vexation against a world that hated him was still deeply residing within Eddie, and you could easily fall victim to such hatred. It happened before, it could happen again. 

You rested your head against your bed, a slight alleviation to the malaise of the floor, and let his warm breathing fan across your face. The tips of your fingers benevolently stroked the unruly strands of his bangs away, to reveal the fluttering eyes of his face. You wondered what he could be dreaming of. 

You.

You were all he could think of. Awake and asleep.

“Eddie.” You softly whispered. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best choice given his hangover coma, but Eddie needed gentleness. “Hey, wake up.” You shook his shoulder. A pained groan prolonged far longer than you expected, as his face scrunched in a wince of a pounding headache. “Are you okay?”

That was too real for any dream. Eddie’s dry eyes snapped at the sound of your saccharine voice, suddenly realizing the devastating events that occurred last night. “Sh-shit!” He attempted to sit up, but your hand held his arm back.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You cooed, as he peered around frantically confused. He cracked his neck with a sharp turn, and his big eyes landed on you; once again, comforting him, as though he hadn’t put you through hell in the mere days he’s communicated with you.

His head fervently began shaking, as if to reject all that he’d done, as if everything he ever did you to was just a nightmare of his own fears, that he didn’t do what he did. But he did. And his eyes started welling up. “I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He choked. “For everything, I didn’t- I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Shh, Eddie-”

“I don’t want to scare you, and I’m s-sorry for doing it in the first place, I’m so so fucking so-”

“Eddie, just lay down, it’s okay.” You attempted to ease into him, as you lowered him down, his begrudgement leaving him hesitating until his back was flat against your bed. 

Once relaxed, it seemed his body and mind gave up on the restraints of his emotions, and his stream of tears came pouring with all dejection and regret of how everything had played out between you two. Eddie Munson hated himself. Hated who he was. Someone set up for the failures of life, he rejected anything that could steer him from a path of love and acceptance. And he hated that. He hated the life he had. At any given opportunity to go back in time, he would scream at his father, hit his father, just get him and his mother away from his father so that he could just grow up to be a normal person. A normal person, who could process their emotions and not deduce themselves into a nihilistic asshole. A normal person, who wouldn’t degrade the only person who’s held him without hurting him. A normal person, who would love you and cherish you as you deserved. Yet Eddie Munson hated his life and hated any momentous occasion that could possibly diminish the pain of life… like you. Because good things don’t happen to Eddie Munson, and you held so much power to hurt him.

Seeing his palms stab into his eyes, you gently held his trembling wrist to relieve him from the pain he believed he deserved. “Come on, Eddie, please stop.” You softly spoke trying to ease his hands away from his face. “Everything is okay, I promise.” 

“N-no, it’s not!”

“Shh!” You rushed out. “My dad’s awake downstairs.” You whispered.

“S-sorry.” He spoke so meekly, as his hands cleaned the staggering wetness of his eyes and cheeks. 

The atmosphere between you both fell stagnantly silent, as he tried to control his breathing through the tiny sniffles of his nose. He felt you staring, eyes boring into the side of his head, as he peered up at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t stand to look at you right now. He had just drunkenly sobbed and was now blubbering like a child, because of all the bullshit he just put you through. He was a-fucking-shamed. Ashamed of all he’s done. Ashamed of who he was. And you were seeing the worst of it. 

“Eddie.” He closed his eyes and shook his head no. “Please.”

He slowly turned his head and met your tired yet so fucking beautiful face. God, he could stare at you forever. How could he do this to you? Put you through off of that, just because he was scared. He fucking hated himself, and you could so clearly see the despise against himself in his saddened eyes. I’m sorry I am the way that I am, I’m sorry you have to put up with me, I’m sorry I’m here ruining your life. He didn’t have to say it, it was engraved on his face.

His heart almost lunged out of his chest when you crept closer, noses nearly touching, as your eyes engulfed him with a meaningful stare. “I’m really glad you came.”

“What?” You truly couldn’t have been, but your head nodded with the soothing confirmation he needed. 

“Yeah, I am.” You whispered. 

“You shouldn’t be.” He whispered. “What I did was awful.”

“I know.” You sighed. “I know, and please don’t ever do that again. But I’m still glad you came. Glad that we talked. Glad that I got to understand.”

“I wish I told you sooner… and better.” He pinched his eyes closed at the haunting memory. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, I’m so fucking sorry I did.”

“I know you are.” There was no “it’s fine” or forgiveness to offer, because he truly did cross a line that terrified you. But you could accept his understanding of the wrongdoing he did. Because acknowledgement was a valuable step in moving forward. 

“I just- Y/N, I just really want to be with you.” There it was. He was putting himself out there once and for all, risking it, because you deserved to know. The torment of his emotional unavailability was ending, because he was ready to face the adversity of his trauma to make you happy. But that was exactly the issue. You could see he was ready to do it for you. Not himself. And whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson would not magically dissolve the underlying issue within both of you under the guise that you both got together and skipped away into the sunset happily ever after. Reality was a harsh slap in the face, and you knew he’d hate it, but it was what was needed. 

“I just want you to be okay, Eddie.” You confided with a heavy bite of your lip. “I… want to be okay, Eddie.”

His eyes were glossing with threatening tears again. He knew what was coming. “You don’t wanna be with me.” He murmured. It was no question, but a simple truth he had to face. 

“No.” You spoke with deep conviction. “I don’t want to be with the person you are right now. I can’t be. Not now. It wouldn’t be right, and I just want us to be okay.” You brushed his bangs away. His lips began trembling, but he accepted your boundaries with a vehement nod to his head to let you know he understood. “Eddie,” you punctuated so it became cemented, “I don’t want you to do this again-”

“I won’t, I swear, I won’t drink-”

“No, Eddie… I don’t want you coming here. To my house. To see me.” You sighed, as his eyes desperately scanned your face for the off chance you’d say you were kidding and you wanted him over all the time. But your words continued. 

“I’m really fucking sorr-”

“I know you are, Eddie. I know.” A heavy breath from your chest escaped. “But I need time, and it may not seem like it now, but you need time, too. So I don’t want you calling. I don’t want you asking anyone where I am or how to talk to me. Not Chrissy, not anyone. Promise me.”

He agreed.

But Eddie Munson would break this promise. Not for some drunken, overbearing, emotional reason, though. But for good reason. All because your bedroom door slammed open.

Synchronized through driven fear, yours and Eddie’s head snapped at the sudden bust of your bedroom door, where your father stood effervesce with indignation of pure enragement at the sight of Eddie in your bed. 

“Get out of my house!”

“Dad, wait!”

Your words were not of care to your dad, as he shoved you onto the ground with a shriek of horror escaping your lungs, as he charged himself onto your bed. The shot of adrenaline had coursed out any inebriations from the night before, as Eddie went against the swelling pounding of his head to jump from the comfort of your sheets and tumble onto the floor.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Imprinted with the mud of his shoes, the pool of his drool, and now crumbled under the heavy weight of your father’s fall, the sanctity of your bed—the only thing that had caressed you through the hardships of your life, where you found solace in the safety of its soft cotton and silk, where your mother once cuddled you to sleep as she spoke of the future, I’m gonna lay your pretty prom dress right on the bed and watch you become so beautiful for your special night, where you cried yourself to sleep for countless night because she left you and she didn’t actually want to see you become so beautiful for your special night—had demised under the ruins of men who made you bawl your eyes out and made you feel so little about yourself. And maybe your bed being derelict was a cursory occasion to cry over, maybe it wasn’t; nonetheless, your eyes began to brim with the flooding tears of the overstimulated stress of an exhausted mind, dry eyes, and a splitting heart.

“Please stop.” Too quiet and airy for any big, angry, men to hear.

Because big, angry, men don’t care for the aching pain of the people they hurt. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” Eddie stumbled onto wobbly feet, planting the palms of his hands to stand himself away from your reaching father. “M’so fuckin’ sorry!” At that point, the directions of his words were either targeted to you or your father, you couldn’t decipher, and truthfully, you didn’t care to decipher. 

Your father managed to unravel himself from the hold of your blankets, stepping off with heavy stomps to follow Eddie around your room. “You better get out of my fucking house, I’m fucking calling the cops! How dare you fucking touch my daughter?!”

“Dad, please.” Weak, broken, unheard.

“I fuckin’ didn’t!” Eddie was fortunate enough to spot his beloved jacket, snatching it from the confines of your desk chair, where he was able to roll it out as an obstruction to your father’s determined path of strangling Eddie Munson. 

Because in the mind of a relentless resolute driven by all the wrong ideas because of the pain he so adamantly refused the face, Eddie Munson was the cause of your ultimate failure. Eddie Munson manipulated his daughter. Eddie Munson got his daughter suspended. Eddie Munson would be the reason your failure tainted the family name. 

Eddie pummeled through your door, coming face-to-face with the extravagant expanse of your home. Cold. Everything was freezing cold, from the temperature to the decoration. Deprived from any signs of life. As if it was a museum. His bulging eyes found the large staircase, and it truly amazed him how his feet found every step without thought, simply autopilot. There was a yanking urge that was demanding him to go back. Go back for you. Make sure you were okay. Make sure to clean your tears up. Once again, he was making you cry. Maybe not entirely his fault, but his being was partaking in your agony and he fucking hated himself for it. But the weighing steps of her father marching right on his ass prompted him to move forward. Your front door was swung carelessly, welcoming the hot air of the burning morning, where once again, the clean cut grass of the manicured lawn was falling victim to Eddie’s destruction of mucky shoes. Maybe drinking hadn’t been too bad of an idea—it absolutely was—as Eddie’s drunken state, at nine at night, had left his keys impaled into the ignition ready to go. 

The haggard van erupted to life, Eddie had never been so grateful to hear the god awful clunk that definitely needed to be checked out. Peer out once more, your wrathful father ran with a tirade of curses that condemned Eddie Munson back to hell, but the screech of his reversing tires interrupted his polemic. “Don’t you ever come back! You’ll be dead before your kind can even step foot into my fucking neighborhood!”

Eddie Munson would return back in eighteen hours. 

-

“There’s an old man sitting next to me…” Wayne softly chuckled, as the lyrics had been repeating out of his mouth for the entirety of his shift, after Rodney Nickelvich decided to play the voice of Billy Joel during break. 

It’d been a particularly difficult shift. His back wasn’t getting any younger, and the evident ache that decided to settle in the lower region was making it known. But the stiffness of his folding bed would alleviate enough, at least until his next shift. But that never came for Wayne Munson. Because the second—the literal second—his head managed to even briefly skim his flat pillow, the presence of his caterwauling nephew combusted through their front door with no regards for the tired old man in the living room. Eddie hadn’t even looked his way. A straight B-line to the phone. 

“And where the hell have you been?” Wayne groaned with prostration. “Comin’ in here like you own the place, have you lost your mind, boy?”

But there was no answer. 

Where Eddie would have normally spoken back with a clear answer of respect, there was nothing. No acknowledgement. 

“Ed.”

Already engraved into his mind like the chords to his guitar, Eddie punched the buttons to your number on the yellow phone. But then he stopped. “I need the time… I don’t want you calling.” But this was bigger than that, right? He needed to know you were okay. “Please don’t hate me.” He scrunched his brows in the burning pain of betraying your boundaries. Once again. His finger dialed the rest of the numbers. 

But it was dead. Not a ring. Not a buzz. Not a single indication that your phone was even ringing. Just a deadline. And Eddie’s heart sank to the deepest pit in his stomach. “Fuck!”

“Eddie.” Wayne’s face etched with concern. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Eddie’s chest began hyperventilating with worry for you. “I-I… shit, I-uh… I really gotta get to school.”

Wayne sat up, now. Never in the decade he’s been in the care of Eddie Munson had that boy ever rushed out to get to school. Something was deeply wrong. But he couldn’t even hurtle a question of scrutiny, as Eddie had already slammed the door shut with his being gone, so deeply perturbed. 

-

Eddie was truly pissed off at this point. 

The entire proposition of arriving early to school was to find Chrissy Cunningham, but just as it occurred yesterday afternoon, the cheerleader was nowhere to be seen in the breadth of Hawkins High. He knew he was going against your wishes, quite specifically, but his heart and mind couldn’t fathom the possible danger you could be subjected to. He had too. Right? Would you just hate him more for interfering? God, he was shooting himself over the complication he construed the entire situation to become. Asking his friends had quickly been classified as the most imbecilic measure he’d ever succumb to, as those guys had never found the courage to conjure up an idea to jump start an actual conversation with an actual girl. Knowing where the head cheerleader was was beyond their source of knowledge. Yesterday’s clothes, dry mouth, red eyes, the residing ache of his hangover still tormenting his sore limbs, and now having no comprehension of whether or not you were safe at the aggressive hands of your father, Eddie was about to traject the heaviest waterfall of beer and bile onto the grimy floors of Mr. Hall’s carpentry class. But the shrieking bell unexpectedly pacified the turbulence brewing in his belly, and he was shoving passed visibly annoyed bodies to reach the cafeteria. His only chance. 

His overloaded mind didn’t even process the trouble he was walking into, but unwavering was Eddie Munson as he marched into the bustling cafeteria of crackling students and cardboard food, legs pushing him to the table. “Chrissy!” Heads snapped like automated robots. Yeah, he probably should have thought this out. Glares couldn’t even amount to the looks he was receiving from the highest of Hawkins High. This was no laughing matter, but the urge to not laugh at Jason Carver’s battered face left all self control out of Eddie, as the perfect comb-over paired with the purple swollen skin personified the magnificence of juxtapositions.

“You want something, freak?” Jason stood with a puffed chest.

“Look a little different, Carver, that new?” Eddie gestured to the contuse skin, smirking oleaginously. As if it was previously discussed, Andy McAvoy and Chance Williams stood to defend the precious honor of their friend. In Eddie’s mind, it pleased him to know a conversation of protection was ordered by Jason to his goons to preserve any remaining prettiness of his face. Prom was coming up. “Relax, I didn’t say your names, did I?” 

Eddie and Jason’s gaze looked down upon Chrissy, who’s brows were cinched with confusion and worry as to what was going to occur. Jason could only snicker incredulously. “She’s not speaking to you! You really think I’m gonna leave her with some devil worshiper like you? Why don’t you do this whole town a favor and fuck off with the circus, fucking basketcase.”

But Eddie was indefatigable to the insults of the perfectly pristine. They’d been propelled since childhood, the last thing to strike his ego would be the dense words of Jason fucking Carver. Eddie had bigger issues at hand. 

“That’s really cute, Carver, but she can make her own decisions, and right now,” Eddie locked eyes with a frantic Chrissy Cunningham, “we have something important to talk about.” It was imperative for Chrissy to understand, and the moment her eyes softened, a breath of relief escaped Eddie at her understanding. Your name was oozing importance. 

“Are you that fucking insane-”

“Jason,” Chrissy held his hand, “h-he’s right.”

“What?!”

A disgustingly pompous smile eased onto Eddie’s face.

“It’s, uh, it’s for, um, Mrs. Durberry.” Chrissy nodded. “I-I have to, uh, tutor Eddie. We, um, we discussed it yesterday during, uh, lunch. Yeah, during lunch!”

“During lunch.” Eddie smirked with a condescending nod. 

Jason huffed through flared nostrils, bending down to look Chrissy right in the eye. Though whispered in secrecy, Eddie rolled his eyes with agitation. “Are you sure about this? Is he just making you do this?”

“No, I promise.” Chrissy assured. “You know I aced chemistry, Mrs. Durberry is just trying to give me an opportunity to get community service hours, and tutoring was the perfect chance. You know it’ll look good for college applications.”

The lie was good enough to believe- not good enough to like, but good enough to believe, and that’s all Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham needed. Jason sat down in defeat, the other players following in unison, as Chrissy gathered her items. “You try anything, Munson, and you're dead.” Jason pointed with a stern finger. 

Chrissy had quickly walked by, hoping Eddie would just follow, but of course, he couldn’t leave without the last word. “Right, right,” he slyly smiled, “might wanna put some ice on that, s’looking a little nasty. Who did that to you again?”

“Eddie.” Chrissy chastised.

Now, it was most abundantly clear that Chrissy Cunningham was not an indictment of the American education system, her grades almost as perfect as yours—though no one could come close to your precociousness—yet Eddie had to reevaluate his beliefs when Chrissy was marching vastly farther than anticipated. 

“Jesus Christ, Chris, y’know we don’t actually have to intrude Durberry’s class? She fucking hates me.” Eddie giggled. “‘Specially after I used the bunsen burner to light a joint. Kept asking “what’s that smell” for a week.”

Chrissy finally came to a halt after turning into another empty hall. “Sorry.” She sighed. “Just can’t have Jason following us.”

“Y’know, you could probably do better than some control freak who follows you around.” Eddie shrugged.

Chrissy blinked at her shoes in contemplation. Eddie hadn’t expected the words to hit so deeply, a mere critique to the numerous problems he found in Jason Carver, but nonetheless, the cheerleader got extremely quiet, before shaking her head to get back to the point. 

“A-anyways, um, what is it that you, uh, wanted?” She rushed out.

“Oh! Right, um, I need you to go to Y/N’s house.” His eyes widened, as his lips tightened between his mouth. He knew it was outrageous to ask.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know that’s a big ask-”

“I already gave you her number and address, why don’t you g-”

“I did!” He heaved. “I fucking did, and I messed up!”

Chrissy slumped,“Again?!” 

Eddie winced. Again, again, again, again, again. 

“Look, I “made” it to her house, and we got to talk. But her fucking dad caught me in her room, and just went haywire on me. Practically chased me out.” Eddie stressed. “And I-I tried to call her to make sure she was okay, I mean, it’d been a long night and she was crying when I left, and, fuck, Chris, I don’t know what her dad is capable of.” Is he like my dad? “Her line was dead when I tried, like off the hook, and I can’t go over to make sure she’s safe, Chrissy. I have to make sure she’s okay. Can you please just, I don’t know, do this for me, I’m fucking helpless here, I’m…” Helpless to my mother.

Chrissy was taken aback by the pure fear in his eyes as he rambled into oblivion. She knew you. She knew your father. She could only imagine how ballistic he’s gone in the past couple of days knowing what’s happened. “Okay, okay, okay, yeah, um, yeah,” Chrissy took a deep breath with a soft nod to her head, “Yeah, I’ll try to come over- but her dad’s really strict, Eddie. Like extremely, he’s the only reason why she’s so, you know, hard about her grades and stuff, I don’t know if he’d actually let me see her-”

“Please, please, just try.” Chrissy took notice of just how tightly his hands were balling into themselves, knuckles turning a blistering white from the lack of ease he was inflicting upon himself. “She’s your friend, and she doesn’t want to see me, so please, I’m begging you, Chris-”

“I will, Eddie, I will.” She reassured, as she adjusted her knit sweater that suddenly became itchy on her sensitive skin. “I just, um, I’ll probably have to come up with an excuse, a-and skip practice.”

“Look, m’sorry I’m dragging you into this, but I just need to make sure she’s okay, and maybe you can finally have a chance to talk to her about…y’know.” Chrissy shook her head quickly, acknowledging but not trying to think about her implicit endorsement to the status quo at Hawkins High, and how much it had hurt you. And she let it hurt you. “Just- you can’t tell her it was me who sent you, okay? Sh-she wants nothing to do with me, and I’m trying to respect that, I just need to know she’s safe, but she can’t know I sent you. I don’t- I don’t want to make her more upset, Chris. I can’t, I just-”

“Eddie,” Realizing the words were once again coming out a mile a minute, he bit his tongue, letting a bubble of air constrict his lungs with a fervent grip. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. Not here. Not at school. Not in front of Chrissy fucking Cunningham. Not that she’d judge much, she could already see the sheen of his eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll check on her. A-and I won’t say it was you.”

His body was finally able to ease at her response, finally letting his airway release all tensions from the stirring anxiety that was still nesting in the crevices of his stomach. “Thank you, thank you so much.” His hands reached for her shoulders with a firm shake of acknowledgement, though his strength had her stumbling on her feet a bit. Not that he noticed. He was still worrying about you. “Just, uh, call me or something, the second she, uh- the second you know she’s okay.” Eddie didn’t want to think of the other possibility. The possibility where your father had laid a hand on you. Or worse. He wouldn’t know what to do. In his experience, silently crying and letting daddy take his frustrations out was the safest option. It was what mommy said to do, so dad wouldn’t do worse. At least ice cream was always promised at the end to make it all go away.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.” She nodded in agreement. 

With the confirmation stated, Eddie had already begun walking away with a determined plan in mind to sit in front of the yellow telephone until the shrilling call came through. His mind dead set on you. 

“Wait!” Chrissy had to snap him back to reality. “Eddie, I don’t have your phone number.” She lightheartedly scoffed.

Chrissy Cunningham began to worry. Yes, about you. She was ready to march her way past your father in order to make sure you were okay, and to pour her heart out on a well needed apology just so you could understand how sorry she was. Even if you didn’t accept it. But she was also worried about herself. Never in a million years did she expect Eddie Munson, of all people, to show her what true feelings were. He hadn’t even talked to you for more than a week, and he was bending over backwards to ensure all his wrongs were corrected for your safety and comfort. Jason Carvered loved her, she knew it, but the subtle things were becoming pronounced. Do you really think you should be wearing that? My parents will be there. Just come to the party, I’ll look bad if my girlfriend’s not there. When she comes back, I don’t want you hanging around Y/N anymore. She’s bad news and betrayed your friendship by fucking around with that trailer trash. Don’t make yourself look bad by being friends with her.

“Shit, yeah, sorry, my, uh, my brains all over the place.” He crazily signaled with a swing of his hand. Unlike yesterday, Chrissy’s pink pen was tainting a small torn sheet of notebook paper rather than skin, as risking the chance of Jason Carver seeing Eddie Munson’s phone number written on her hand would prompt another outburst of fury between the boys. So as Eddie reiterated the numbers to his home, Chrissy copied with intent. 

Intent to see you. Intent to apologize. Intent to inform Eddie.

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I leave her place.” Chrissy assured, as the queasiness in Eddie had simmered but surely hadn’t left. He knew as soon as he got home, the consternation would eat him unalive. 

Eddie nodded his head. “Yeah, thanks again, seriously, I’ll owe you whatever.” He sighed, before his brows perked. “Oh! I can give a twenty percent discount!” He didn’t even have to specify. 

Chrissy Cunningham didn’t smoke. But at least he was trying. 

“Uh, s-sure, Eddie.” She simply agreed, and it was able to give him a satisfied smile. “Anyways, yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Just try not to worry too much, I’m sure she’s okay.” She inspirited. 

“Okay, yeah, as soon as you can.” Eddie sighed. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m gonna go throw up or something.”

-

Luckily, Eddie Munson didn’t vomit in the filthy stall that is the boys’ bathroom at Hawkins High, though Chrissy Cunningham sure felt like she was about to hurl today’s lunch and breakfast standing at the doorstep of your home. Her toes tensed in the comfort of her sneakers, hearing the incoming steps of your father approaching the door. Hands gripping the straps of her backpack, she was ready- well, as ready as one can be about to face their best friend’s—did she even have a right to call you that—daunting father. 

The door swung. “Hi, Mr. Y/L/N!” Smile, a bright smile and wave from Chrissy Cunningham was sure enough to get anyone to be polite. But his face plastered the same dead expression he’s had for the last four years Chrissy had known him. No smile. No squint of the eyes. Unemotional stoicism. 

“Hi, Chrissy.” Robots had more pep in their voices. “Sorry, but Y/N is grounded, for quite an extensive period actually, so she’s not allowed visitors. Go home.” He began to close the door, but Chrissy’s manicured hand abruptly stopped the closure. 

“Wait!” She immediately reeled back, seeing the disrespecting look take over his face. “Sorry, sir, I-I’m not here to hang out, it’s just, uh, I brought all the school work Y/N’s missed. You know, from her suspension?” She spoke sheepishly. “A-and well, we don’t want her falling behind, sir.” A nervous chuckle accompanied her faux parent voice. “In fact, Mrs. Durberry and I actually discussed tutoring, so, you know, Y/N is back on track by the time of her return.”

It was in regards to your grades, your father’s favorite. Chrissy Cunningham was a genius. 

“Really?” He questioned quizzically.

“Yeah!” Chrissy bounced on the balls of her feet with a firm pat to her backpack. “I’ve got all her work right here. She’s free to turn it in when she gets back, and you know, she’s firmly secured that valedictorian spot, so there’s no need to worry.” She smiled, and of course, of course, that’s all he cared about in the wake of your suspension. 

So easily had Chrissy been let into your home. She wondered what she would say to you, as she followed behind your father to your room. It was strange. Your home had always been a cold one, but your laughter and the endless sleepless sleepovers had the ability to bring warmth to such a colorless environment. But all that suffocated her was hostility. Long gone were the memories of an innocent friendship between the two girls. Another factor to consider was the mere fact that your father was guiding Chrissy. She’d been over to your house for years, the layout didn’t suddenly change over a couple days, and a nervous thump began upsetting Chrissy’s heart. And she found out why.

“Had to lock her up.” He uttered with no shame, as he pulled out a glowing key from his pocket. Haphazardly bolted on your door was a new lock, evidently cheaply and hastily done, as the lock resembled the numerous ones used for the lockers at Hawkins High, and the chipped paint and exposed wood could only insinuate the fury in which this job was done in. Your door lock, one onced used when you and Chrissy discussed the boys you thought were cutest at school in your pink pajamas, was now accompanied by a prison lock keeping you captive in your bedroom. “Should've seen the trash she was bringing in.” He muttered mostly to himself. Chrissy didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. Too disturbed for her own wellbeing. “Do me a favor, kid,” he unlocked the door, “knock some sense into that disgrace.”

He walked away without a care.

The door creaked open, and Chrissy had taken a deep breath. Stepping inside, with a soft click of the door behind her, her eyes landed on the still figure on your bed. Turned away and engaging at the neverending nothingness of everything, you cocooned yourself in your blanket, like a hurt child. Because you merely were one. Chrissy looked away, inching tiny steps closer. Disheveled would be an understatement to the usual cleanliness of your room. Knick-knacks and personal items were thrown about, cracked, and broken, and damaged beyond the actions of someone who was depressed. No, this was the destruction of deep rooted anger. 

No expecting the company, you simply screwed your eyes closed with the awaiting words of hatred you thought would be coming from your father at any second. But it didn’t. Only the familiar softness of Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend. “Y/N…?”

You immediately jumped at the sound, meeting your reddening, wet eyes with Chrissy’s round, worried blue ones. “Chrissy…”

The occupying distrust you had for her was incomparable to the pain of what had occurred today. Yes, she hurt you. Yes, you lost your one true friend. But you needed her. And your arms opened like the broken child reaching out for help, and she immediately embraced you on your bed. Your bed, where you spent countless times giving each other at-home mani and pedis, even though your allowances provided enough for professional services, but this was more fun. Your bed, where Chrissy once vented about the first fight she ever had with Jason Carver, because he disregarded her at a party to do a keg stand—yes, it was trivial, but they were sixteen at the time. And your bed, where you both shared the vulnerability of losing a mother, either physically or emotionally, through sobbing tears and tight hugs, but none of that mattered because you were best friends and had each other. Forever. 

“Are you okay?” Her vision appeared blurry under the disorientating state of water welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.” Chrissy stroked your hair. You couldn’t muster a word to respond with, merely silently crying into the junction of her neck, where she smelled of spring flowers. You’d picked out that perfume for her. Her seventeenth birthday. “I should’ve stuck up for you, I-I should’ve told everyone to stop, I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

Her apology suddenly revealed why you lost trust in her in the first place. Urgently pulling back from the hug far quicker than Chrissy would have liked, you brought your knees to your chest, letting your face find solace on the tiny space rather than her embrace. 

“What are you doing here, Chris?” You mumbled so quiet, she was barely able to register it from the chirping birds outside. 

“I came to apologize to you.” At least she wasn’t drunk. “I- Y/N everything I did to you was awful.” Her plucked brows furrowed with shame and remorse. You carefully picked up your head, as she gently held knee. “When everyone started saying stuff about you, I was so confused, and before I could even question it, Jason had me promise to not be around you, and I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, I just should have known better, and I needed to apologize to you.” 

Your eyes had closed in relief. You were beyond the trenches of exhaustion, everything was so sore from the exertion of crying, that the simple apology brought the grand relief you’d been yearning for. “I-I think I need space away from Jason.” That had your eyes snapping open. Jason and Chrissy, in love since the tenth grade, becoming the embodiment of young love in Hawkins. Their parents had practically set up a future in which both attended the same university as young adults, and married each other with the expectation of kids by the age of twenty-five. 

“I don’t like who he is as a person.” She confessed with a wobbly lip. “ I know he loves me, but I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

You took her back into a loving hug, where she fell limp in your arms, as her tears stained your clothes. Though muffled you spoke with a small whine, “You sound like Eddie.” Which had her giggling through tears. 

She had slowly pulled away, smiling at the small curve of your lips that was brightening your face. She wiped your tears, and caressed the hairs out of your face. “Yeah, he’s kinda my new friend now.” She shrugged. “Even offered me a discount to his… business.”

You laughed with a roll to your eyes. “Quite the entrepreneur he is.” She snickered in agreement. “But yeah, I could tell when he came to my house yesterday.”

“Oh, god.” Chrissy plopped back on your bed. “How did you even figure out it was me, you’re so smart?” 

You giggled, joining her, as you stared up at the ceiling. “Seeing someone like Eddie Munson show up with pretty pink writing on him doesn’t seem like something that occurs innately in nature. Figured you had something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.” She turned to look at you. “I shouldn’t have given him that information without asking you. He just really wanted to apologize to you, too, and it seemed like the right thing to do. What even happened?” She sat up to get serious.

You couldn’t fathom retelling the occurrence of what happened, so you merely opted for the safest choice, and nodded your head in silence. “He did apologize, just wish he would have done it differently.” You sighed. “And, uh, my dad-” Your throat had automatically constricted at the simple mention of him, eyes tightening with the hopes of suppressing the whirlwind of tears that were about to flood your face. “Chrissy, he wouldn’t stop yelling.” You began bawling, as she pulled you up to wrap her arms around your shrinking body. “H-he kept screaming a-and shouting, then he just- he just started throwing things-” Chrissy could only rock you body, gently and softly, letting your tears hit her shoulder with all might. “I was so scared.”

The dreaded question. “Did- did he hit you?” Chrissy spoke into your hair, terrified of how you might answer. But luckily, the tiniest bit of luck, you had shook your head no, and she let out a deep breath. But the harsh slap of reality was that your father had still severely crossed a line that put you in an unsafe environment. And you were petrified. 

“He’s not letting me leave my room.” You whispered through sniffles. 

“Did he take your phone, Edd-” Chrissy contemplated for a second, before she spoke extremely softly. “Eddie said you didn’t pick up when he tried to call you after what happened.”

“He tried to call me?”

“Just to make sure you were okay.” She emphasized. “He said he’s trying to respect your wishes of wanting space, but after what happened, he just needed to know you were safe… that’s why- that’s why I’m here.” Your brows furrowed and you immediately sat up. “I’d been wanting to apologize to you, and Eddie had been dying to make sure you were okay, so he asked me to come check on you, and so I could finally say sorry to you. He- Y/N, he really cares about you. We both do.”

This was the bit of progress you were wanting to see. To know that the Eddie Munson you met Friday afternoon, the one who coward away at the mere idea of feelings and compassion, the one who uttered the vile words that stabbed right through you, the one who shouted in defense because he was hurt, that that wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t who he truly was. But a recovery from trauma was not a linear progression, and last night you were able to understand the fluctuations of Eddie Munson, the reason why he berated and hurt, the reason why he comforted and protected, the reason why he wailed and sobbed. 

“Chrissy, when’s the next time you’re gonna see him?” You cleared your face from staining tears.

“I’ll see him at school tomorrow, but he asked me to call him to make sure you were safe first.”

You nodded. “I, uh- can you actually ask him something for me?”

-

That one clunking noise Eddie had once been so happy to hear? Yeah, he’s returned back to detesting it, as he felt it drew so much attention to the all too quiet streets of Pinecrest Acres. He made the conscience—and sober—decision to park behind the gray De Tomaso Pantera—fighting the urge to just pop the hood and look at the beauty inside—that resided two houses down from yours. It gave him enough coverage away from any view of your father. Eddie was terrified. Much to his dismay, Chrissy had been fairly vague over the phone when she rang him at 5:59 p.m exactly. Luckily by then, a buddy of Wayne’s had taken him out to an early dinner before their shift at the plant, so his uncle missed out on the Olympic-worthy run Eddie had made to the phone the second it began ringing. And Chrissy had spoken. A lot. But so little at the same time. He was happy to hear you guys made up. Truly he was. But Chrissy had carried on for a five minute tangent about how gladly you accepted her back into your life again. Eddie Munson was honestly jealous. Though she had mentioned how you specified wanting time away from her, too, maybe meeting up to speak that coming Monday at school when your suspension would be over. Eddie had wondered if you would speak to him then, too. But he didn’t have to wonder much longer. After he so kindly told the cheerleader to get to the point, the real point he wanted to hear, she had assured him that you were okay. Physically, at least. Eddie had dropped to his kitchen chair with a breath of relief that no one had touched you. But then Chrissy kept speaking. She wants to see you. Tonight. That had Eddie trajecting back up from his seat. But his questions had disappointingly gone unanswered. No details. No explanation. No reasoning. Just show up, Eddie. At midnight. At her window. And not drunk. Chrissy had never gotten the full story as to what went down between you and Eddie, so that part desperately confused and intrigued the girl, but she didn’t push any further. Eddie, though, had cringed in disgust at himself because he knew. 

An owl had hooted in the distance as he followed the tracks his beloved, dying van had made on your green lawn. Once again, Eddie had found himself in the same position as last night, cracking his neck and rolling his limbs for the climb of a lifetime. If it was somehow possible, he felt he was quivering more than when he was three beers down and no dinner. Yes, he was sober, but his heart could stop beating at the neverending questions his mind was bombarding against himself. Were you mad because he sent Chrissy over? Surely you couldn’t be, she would have said so. But you could also be really fucking pissed. The same type of anger that caught him off guard when his father swung on his little face when Eddie thought they were having a good time.

But he couldn’t rely on heavy thoughts as such. He just needed to get to you. Passed the trellis, over the trimming, onto the roof. Quiet as Eddie Munson could be. He couldn’t really be quiet, but he tried for you. Crouching his way to your window, he sucked in a deep breath before he ever so gently tapped on your window. He was eyeing his reflection, wondering who the hell he had become. The one definitive figure he didn’t want to become: his father. A relentless pessimist, hatred against the world, bruteness to show off, and the inability to take accountability for the hurt they cause, because they were hurt first, right?

But then your curtains opened, and there you were. You.

You, who’d included his friends when no one wanted them. You, who made him smile despite his hesitations of getting hurt. You, who took the fall for everything. You, who gave Eddie Munson a chance. 

You lifted your window open. “Hi.”

Eddie could cry right then and there. His shaky trembling hands slowly offered themselves to you, and you peered down, gently laying yours in his, where your warmth dissipated his coldness. He sighed with a loving grasp. “Y-you’re okay? He didn’t- did he touch you?”

Eddie had heard it from Chrissy, but hearing your small “no” was more comforting than a third-party person. 

“Why, um, why did you need to see me?” He softly cleared his throat. 

“I want to talk, b-but not here.” Eddie nodded ardently at your request. “Just somewhere far.”

Somewhere far, he could give that to you.

Helping you out of your window, you followed Eddie’s led to the edge of your roof, where you traced the dying height from your second story room to the hard, hard, ground. “Don’t be scared.” He soothingly smiled. “Remember, I made the climb drunk.”

You shook your head in disappointment, but he saw that small, beautiful smile peak through your lips. “Just, um, please don’t let me fall.” Your stomach sunk at the eerie possibility. 

But Eddie was there, and he let you know with a secure squeeze to your joint hands. “Never.”

You watched him descend. Off of the roof. Over the trimming. Down the trellis. He made it look so easy, as if he actively partook in the illegal activity of breaking and entering. Eddie would never admit it, not now at least, but for good reason he had done it once. Once. Mr. Godly had a cat that fifteen-year-old Eddie once saw the old man kick. Safe to say, Cronkers now resides in the makeshift cat house of cardboard, wood, and a childhood blanket behind the Munson’s residence. Her favorite is Wayne’s Monday meatloaf. 

He encouraged you down delicately. Instructing you to take small movements, find your steps, and he’ll be right there. He’d always be there. When your Converse hit the holes of the trellis, his hands faintly found your waist, where you trusted him to carry you down the last couple abrasive steps onto your crushed garden. Feet safely on the ground, you gazed up at his staggering height and met his concerned eyes. You merely nodded before he could get the words out, are you okay?

“Your car?” You interrupted his staring. But in his defense, your face was illuminated mesmerizingly in the moonlight of the dark sky. 

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He muttered in embarrassment, as he quickly walked away before you could see his flushing cheeks. As if you hadn’t already witnessed him ugly cry drunk in your bedroom. 

You walked the quiet trip to his van, where he graciously opened the door for you. You didn’t know at the time, but the couple yards it took to get to his car, he’d been battling himself whether or not that’d be the right move to try. He’d never opened the door for anyone. But your small “thank you” that flashed his way had him praising to the gods he didn’t even believe in that he was a genius.

His car smelled strongly like cigarettes and weed. It honestly hurt your head, but you hadn’t expected anything less from Eddie. It made you giggle to yourself. The usual was everywhere; littered receipts and wrappers crumbled into the door compartments, numerous scented trees hanging from the rear view mirror, which you could only assume had been Eddie’s attempt to mask the nicotine and marajuana, and of course, an array of tapes thrown upon the floor at your feet, you could vividly imagine Eddie getting tired of a tape and carelessly getting rid of it. But then there was something else.

Eddie appeared in the front seat. “You ready?” He heaved.

“Yeah, but, um, why do you have these?”

“Ice cream?” He questioned more than answered. Yes, ice cream sitting in the tight space of his cupholders, two cartons with a spoon for each. “Um, well, I figured it’d be nice to, uh, have. I always, uh, liked having it, I guess. Always made me feel slightly better as a kid. It’s vanilla and chocolate. You can take whichever.” You eyed him incredulously, he eyed you worriedly. “Do you not like either of those flavors? I know I went basic, but I thought they were safe choices. I can get you whatever. Strawberry, cookies n’ cream, mint?” He grimaced, as though it was a deal breaker but he’d look right past it.

You giggled at him. “No, Eddie, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.” You shyly smiled.

“Okay, good.” He smiled, with a whistle of relievement. “So, it’ll make you feel better?”

-

Lovers Lake had been the destination of choice for Eddie. It was quiet and calming. The car ride had been, too. Eddie had suggested some music, but was adamant about his disdain for the radio, though you weren’t necessarily in the mood to have the voices of Megadeth screaming at you this late at night. Eddie had begrudgingly agreed. So it was quiet. He was itching to ask you why you wanted to talk, though that only seemed appropriate whenever you would arrive. You had reached over and played with the mini bobble head figure of Garfield that was nestled against his van’s windshield. You said it was cute. He blushed. Then proceeded to nervously ramble about how Uncle Wayne had one of Odie in his work truck. You didn’t know Uncle Wayne, but he spoke about him like you knew every detail about Wayne already. The lake had been abandoned and lonely upon arrival. The lights to Rick Lipton’s lake house had been shut off for nearly a year now after his arrest. Eddie had only agreed and smiled when you mentioned how an old, lovely couple probably lived there and sat out by the lake to watch the sunset. Sure, something like that. He’d let you have your fantasy. The way the idea lit up your face and eased your tension, he wasn’t about to ruin that. 

“We can, um, head to the back.” He offered, to which you agreed.

In truth, the bundle of blankets and pillows in the back of his van didn’t paint him out to be the greatest of all people, but he quickly assured that he frequently takes nap in the comfort of his van when he doesn’t have the energy for Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice. Specifically adding a yapping gesture with his hand to emphasize. So there you were. Sitting in the back, doors open to let in the midnight breeze, as you looked out to the glistening waters. You’d settled on vanilla after you noticed the tighter grip Eddie’s hand had clutched around the chocolate flavor, and surely, a blooming smile erupted on his face when he got to secure his preferred flavor of dessert.

“So, um-”

“I just wanted to speak to you.” You confided. “You know, when we’re not yelling, crying, or drunk,” you giggled at his wincing face, “as we have been doing for the past couple of days.”

“M’a fucking mess, I’m sorry.” 

“So am I, Eddie-”

“No, you’re not.” He firmly attested. “You were absolutely perfect before I came into your life and fucked everything up.”

You teased, “You're saying I’m not perfect now?” Your mouth dropped in a dramatic gasp that had him smiling. 

“No! No! I’m not saying that at all, you are perfect now, you’ll be perfect for the rest of your life and you won’t even have to try.” He sheepishly grinned, filling his mouth with a big spoonful to bite back the smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Eddie, but I’ve been far from perfect even before I met you. I wish you would see that. It’s doing more harm than good.” You spoke sincerely. “I don’t like you placing me into a bubble, Eddie, especially when you’ve hated the people who’ve done it to you. But I never have.”

His head dropped with a nod. “You’re right.” He accounted. “I’ve had the bullshit done to me for years, I thought it’d finally make me feel good to do it to someone like you. And it was fucking gross of me, because you’re right, you’ve never done anything to me. Actually, that night you took our photo, that was quite literally the nicest anyone has ever treated me- us. And, fuck me, did I like the shit out of you.”

You laughed at his shy revelation. “You have such a romantic way with your words, Eddie Munson.” You joked. 

“Sorry.” He covered his mouth so kidlike. “But, uh, yeah I obviously liked you, and well, something in me was just fighting me to stay away. Or get away, more than anything. Because, um, it’d… it’d really fucking hurt if you didn’t like me back.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, speaking with pure shame as to who he was as a person. “And, well, mission fucking accomplished, I, sorta, kinda went above and beyond with that logic.”

“You think?” You smiled.

“It was so stupid of me.” He regrettably sighed. “Because-because I thought- you were just so nice to me. Ready to be my friend and everything, that I knew, I fucking knew my feelings would get too much for me and the realizations that I couldn’t be with you fucking scared me.” His voice had significantly softened to ease the burning ache in his throat. “A-and I’m such a shit excuse of a person that I fucking hurt you when you didn’t deserve it.”

“You are not that, Eddie, don’t say that-”

“But I am, Y/N, I’m so fucking terrible. I-I’m, fuck- I really fucking hate my dad.” Your brows creased at the sudden change of topics. “He was an awful person, he- he would-” The crying began. “Fuck,” he wiped his tears completely embarrassed, “He would just do terrible things to me and my mom, and I fucking said- I fucking said I wouldn’t be like him, be like her- she just fucking took that shit, Y/N, she said it was for the best.” You held his hand, his ice cream long forgotten and pushed to the side. “I just don’t want to be like him- them. M’tryin’ so fucking hard that it fucking backfired. M’such a terrible person, and I’m so sorry.”

You wished this conversation wasn’t full of tears, but you realized how inevitable that idea was. You and Eddie Munson were hurting and releasing. Crying was necessary.

“You are not a terrible person, Eddie.” He had to hear, loud and clear. You rested your head on his shoulder, where his head dropped upon yours. “Terrible people don’t sit and wonder if they’re terrible. And the fact that you care about how you are as a person shows it.” You caressed the back of his hand. “You are a worthwhile person, Eddie. I can so clearly see it.”

“I’m really fucking sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Y/N.” He wiped the incoming snot from his nose with his denim sleeve. “I-I need you to know that everything I did was out of fucking stupidity.” He huffed. “What I called you, those names, that was fucking disgusting, and I don’t believe that about you at all. I never have.”

“I’m sorry for what I said about you, too-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry for telling the truth.” He deeply laughed through his sniffles, voice deeper from the being nasally stuffed.

You smiled back guilty. “No, I am! What I said was really mean, too.”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “What was it, ‘a sulking asshole too pathetic to deal with their problems?’ You hit it right on the nail, princess.”

“Well,” you giggled, “even if you won't let me apologize, I need you to know that I still feel bad. Slightly.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned. “But I do need to apologize, and I need you to know that I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. For what I said. For what I did. For making you feel horrible and scared. And for just putting you through all that. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“I know.” You whispered. “And if it’s any consolation to you, Eddie, I also hate my dad.”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie clutched his heart. “He really put a fucking number on me, fuck me.” He groaned, turning to face you. “Please, please, please tell me if he does something. I won’t be able to fucking live my life not knowing.”

Your lips tucked tightly within themselves, and with a soft nod you assured him you would.

You spoke. You both spoke for a while. The hours had passed unknowingly until both tubs of ice cream were empty by 3:33 a.m. Tears and laughter had flooded the back of the van, and you felt like you’d been his friends with him since childhood. He couldn’t fathom the way he treated you, when speaking to you floated him into another dimension of peace and acceptance. Something he hadn’t felt in the entirety of his life. But when you caught a glimpse of the repeating digits on his watch, your heart panicked and you urged him to take you home, which he suddenly complied. This time, though, Megadeth was gladly played, and to say you were shocked would be quite an understatement. Eddie had belted a laugh at your abrupt introduction to metal, finding your this-is-weird-but-I-don’t-want-you-to-think-I’m-judging-you face as the cutest thing ever. And sooner than he liked, he pulled up behind the De Tomaso Pantera. Your attempt to say goodbye fell short, though, when he shot down your idea to walk home alone.

“Really, Eddie, go home, it’s late.” You huffed, when you reached your house.

“I will, I will,” He snickered with defensive hands. “Just, uh, th-thank you so much for, um- well, being so understanding even after all that I did. I just- you really are the best, Y/N.” He ranked his hands over his face in hopes of concealing the ever growing smile on his face.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You giggled at his flustered state. “You’re quite incredible yourself.”

“Do, um, where does this… leave us?”

“I still want space, Eddie.” You spoke honestly, to which he concurred. “Until we’re okay.”

“Until we’re okay.” He sighed. 

-

Eddie had managed to take advantage of the four hours of sleep left until school began. There was no sleeping past his alarm clock, no rush to get dressed, no giving up when lateness was inevitable. He’d shown up, showered and full with a bowl of cereal that went a long way, as he approached Ms. Kelly’s office. It was nerve wracking. He’d never considered this to be a good idea, in fact, following his father’s word, therapy was a pussy excuse for the delusional to waste money on. But those were the words that held him captive from the potential he so well deserved to reach. Turning from her filing cabinet, Ms. Kelly had caught sight of his timid figure standing at the door. 

“Eddie.” She hadn’t been unfamiliar with his being, she’d actually been the one to break it to him the last two times that he was in for another year at prison Hawkins High. “How can I help you?”

He sauntered his way into her office, taking a seat with a gruff. It was evident his persona to seem calm, cool, and collected was falling through the cracks, as his finger spun the numerous rings on his fingers. “I, uh, I was wondering if it’d be cool to, um, just talk?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. Kelly dreamed of the day Eddie Munson would enter her office with good intentions. “Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Just got a lot pent up inside, I guess.”

“Well, the floor is yours, Eddie.” She smiled. “Talk as much as you need.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Unfortunately, my tag list for this series has gotten too long, so I will not be adhering to any further requests to be included. I'm so terribly sorry, but the amount of tags has beyond reached its limit, and I think it's best to stop. I hope it's understandable. Nonetheless, thank you all for your kind support, I hope you guys continue to enjoy the series, and if you ever have any ideas as to what you'd like to see, I'd love to know!

@sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

[ne-videl]

𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘

♡

yandere Wriothesley x gn!reader

another long day with your duke.

yandere, reader is a murderer sentenced to death and is ok with it, imprisonment & isolation, mentions of going insane and you really are kinda insane, no happy end :(, poor english, sfw. not very yandere (except you're literally isolated) actually, but well I felt like thinking thoughts don't judge me

word count: ~2.2k

a/n: hiii

not really my best work but uh well I tried. the question is, how do I get that man to sit on my face 🤨

also go check my masterlist ^^

enjoy.

it's difficult to determine what time it is in the Meropide Fortress, so it is better to take a watch with you.

you turn over the next page with boredom, hardly paying attention to the contents of the book, and lazily glance at the clock. in the farthest corner of this prison, in a huge room, a murderer is deeply hidden, who is once again bored.

lunch has already passed, which means he will certainly come soon.

from the very beginning of your imprisonment, he always found you wherever you were hiding, and eventually you completely gave up trying to escape from him. after all, the world is not so huge, and your own is completely concentrated in this copper fortress.

your duke is the only one who speaks to you. actually, he was the reason for your forced loneliness, so that he could generously dispel your boredom. to be the only one who can do it at all.

and the gray, yellow and dirty-green walls of the copper corridors suddenly lose all their sullenness, and even breathing seemed to become easier, as soon as you heard this cherished "how are you". it's amazing what a live conversation with a person completely deprived of any human society can do!

yes, your kidnapper was kind and affectionate, of course, but he still was your kidnapper. even you forget about it sometimes.

well, who wouldn't start going crazy at your place?

Wriothesley combs your hair, humming softly.

"can you not make that face?" – duke bends down to look into your eyes, and his sharp gaze captures every tiny detail of your frown.

"you're awful at this." – you huffed, getting out of his arms.

"I'm trying to learn." – he answered you with a sly, deceptively harmless smile.

yes, that was his style. to pretend that everything is fine.

"I don't like it here. terribly boring." – you mumbled, leaning back so that your back rested against his broad chest. – "did you know that the lack of sunlight is bad for health?" – Wriothesley listened to your little tirade without interrupting you for a second, putting his hands on your shoulders and knowing full well that he was not going to let you go anywhere at all.

what else could he do? to look at you as much as he wanted, yes, at least he could do that. the duke kisses you on the top of your head, once again ignoring your words, and speaks with his kind smile, boring into your back with a loving, but slightly frightening look.

"let's talk about something else. you seem to have read a new book today." – Wriothesley grabs you by the arms, sitting down on the sofa and sitting you on his lap. you don't resist, but huff irritably.

even if you don't answer him, it's nice to just be in your company – he thinks, looking down at you.

"it's not fair." – you still don't even deign to give him your arrogant look – "other prisoners can move freely around the fortress. can talk to each other." – you remark bitterly, resentfully.

a strange, sticky feeling of contempt for the person sitting in front of you has passed through your heart. as if the sudden realization that you were locked up, and locked up for nothing, at his whim, suddenly came over you like a wave.

and resentment, anger and longing flashed in your eyes; a look that, however, was met with the same gentle, painfully sweet smile of your dear kidnapper. Wriothesley left a kiss on your trembling palm, and the pair of handcuffs on your wrists flashed in the dim light of your room.

they didn't constrain movements at all; and it was not even clear why these restraints were needed at all, carefully fastened by Wriothesley on your wrists and ankles like an engagement ring.

they didn't constrain movements at all, but nevertheless, they were always on you, and were palpable: like another reminder of your stolen freedom, forged in cold, soulless metal.

"but you're not like them at all, [name]. what if you get hurt?" – he almost purred, playfully, almost mockingly, as if perfectly aware of the absurdity and contrivance of his reason for keeping you under lock and key. – "oh, I would never forgive myself for that."

strong arms hug you, squeezing your shoulders in a tight, almost suffocating grip, and you internally laugh at yourself for another attempt to reason him. another failed attempt.

"I hate you, you know? I wouldn't put up with it if I could, but instead," – you feel the indifference slowly returning, filling your mind with the usual boredom. – "i'd strangled you instead." – you stretch out your chin more comfortably on his shoulder, ecstatically imagining how your hands close around his neck.

"I wouldn't mind." – Wriothesley pats you on the back, responding with the smile you know so well. – "please hate me until you die. never forgive me." – he exhales somewhere into your neck, and you are almost sure that on his face there is a familiar expression of sick, obsessive affection.

Wriothesley was really afraid of very few things, but even the tiny thought of your indifference drove him into a frenzy, ringing with an alarming noise in his head. even if you cannot love him, he could be satisfied with your hatred, any feeling. any.

please, hate me.

maybe one day your hatred will turn into love, maybe one day you will look at him the same way he looks at you.

please hate me until you die.

♡

"lovely." – Wriothesley briefly commented on your story about the contents of the book, sitting opposite you and sipping tea.

your duke always spoke lazily, with a tiny bit of fun in his voice, like an actor in an old play laughing from the stage. so that any will and desire to scream, cry and try to explain to him at least a little common sense immediately disappeared.

Wriothesley remembers your first meeting well. how the murderer in shackles laughed in the faces of the guards, led through the damp corridors of the fortress, and how relaxed, even familiar they behaved in front of him.

and how insignificant his greatness suddenly seemed, whole life and all death in front of this person, this different person, unlike anyone else he met.

"how happy and calm I am now that death is finally breathing down my back," – you smiled at him that day, – "do me a favor, your grace, please do not delay the execution."

oh, beautiful creature, how lovely is your smile. but why don't you deign to even look at him?

it was like a virus, like a bright flash; your image had entered into his consciousness, become ingrained in his blood; the memory of your laughing eyes could not be eliminated either by the judgment of reason or common sense. but it's not a bad feeling, he sometimes mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

the duke liked it very much.

his obsession had neither teeth nor claws. he did not have that simple-minded fervor, haste with which a young man loves, or the cold cruelty with which a psychopath loves; on the contrary, the duke adored you tenderly, affectionately, like a good-natured dog, a breath of wind on a sultry summer day, a warm ray of sunshine after a cold winter. he never hurt you, rather, he took every tiny wound you had as his own.

and yet, there were shackles on your wrists and ankles, and you hadn't spoken to anyone but him for years. every day you felt how sanity was gradually slipping through your fingers, how consciousness and purity of thoughts were slowly being replaced by a static noise in your ears and that terrible, disgusting smell of dampness and the shine of copper pipes, and your once lively, thoughtful expression with a dull, meaningless calmness and a tired gleam in inflamed eyes. boredom, oh, what a boredom.

but Wriothesley didn't even think to stop your isolation.

how well you suited each other! if you have something to chat about before going to bed for so many years, then you were not mistaken when choosing a life partner.

even if said life partner became so against their will and chattered out of sheer boredom and loneliness: let it be, let it be so. the main thing is that he has you, and you have him. two out of seven billion, the prison's administrator and the murderer.

"freedom and equality?" – you raise your eyebrows in mock, arrogant surprise, – "to say that to the face of the person you've been keeping isolated for years, duke, you have to be either a fool or an incredible hypocrite."

"oh, I am undoubtedly a terrible fool, my dear [name]. the worst one you've ever known." – Wriothesley speaks in a laughing tone you know so well, sipping tea – "what other duke would allow himself to have conversations with a prisoner like this?"

you've never been impressed by his stories about the construction of the fortress; rather, they were depressing or, at the very least, made you smile sarcastically.

"indeed, you must be one of a kind." – you say lazily. boredom always leads to philosophical reflections, causing your mind to wander and hesitate.

almost all of your conversations were like this: meaningless, about everything and nothing at the same time. Wriothesley was talking because he desired your company, and you were talking because you had nothing else to do. oh, what a terrible melancholy! how can you not go crazy when every day is so similar to the previous one?

but at least your dear kidnapper was good at entertaining you.

and, in particular, one of his most outstanding skills was the ability to make you think over and over again that everything is fine; as if you are not a criminal at all, and he is not at all the one who makes you slowly go insane with loneliness.

"I love you, [name], do you remember that?" – Wriothesley speaks calmly, as if this is another conversation about something unimportant, abstract and meaningless. he speaks, glancing at you imperceptibly, as if trying to find an answer in your features, a reciprocity. something he could cling to, something that would tell him that you care, that at least you're sorry.

his infatuation has not been interesting or touching for a long time. you smile slyly, leaving him unanswered; rather, giving a silent answer, as you have done many times before. I know. and you know that I know, so why remind me of that?

duke is indeed a fool to keep repeating these words to you and keep hoping for a different result. for a result that won't happen.

but even seeing the sadness that flickered in his eyes for a second, you're not sorry. you're never sorry, and the fool is the one who thinks it could be otherwise.

"and even now, you don't love." – calmly, even casually, the duke concludes, but you know him too well not to see how his strong facade is cracking. – "and you'll never be able to?" – he looks up at you again, looking at you expectantly.

"never." – something made you feel overwhelmingly funny, as it has never been during your stay in this fortress.

as if in this conversation between you two he demanded an answer not really to his another confession, but rather, your explanation of this whole idiotic situation, as if he himself was not the cause of it. your whole current life suddenly seemed like a stupid joke, a meaningless performance for the amusement of a bored audience; and you must be an incredibly awful actor!

so you laughed.

"what guilt-seeking eyes you have, your grace." – wiping away a stray tear, you giggle – "and what should I do now, take up a revolver? take my own life? or should I be slavishly grateful to you all my life for the fact that you adore so much such a sinful and vicious me? oh, is it really all my fault?"

indeed, you must have gone completely crazy, you think with a laugh. the duke was somewhat taken aback by your sudden half–mad laughter, and could only look at you with sincere confusion, waiting for the end of your strange monologue.

"have mercy, your grace! redemption in this damn prison, love, remorse," – you lean closer, for some reason poking at him with your finger, and a handcuff glitters on your wrist – "I was spared from this. kindly leave this poor condemned person to wait for execution."

the duke silently looked at you with a cold, deathly calmness in the features of his beautiful face, but with a heavy, inflamed and passionate gaze. and it seemed to you that he would certainly die himself rather than let you die.

your cold hands intertwine with his hot, scarred ones, and you look into his eyes.

in a world without any hope or anything particularly important, the duke of Fontaine asked for the love of a murderer.

"I'm an awful fatalist, did you know that?" – Wriothesley leaves a kiss on your knuckles, looking at you with a vague, cruel emotion in eyes the color of a winter sky.

"you can be anyone and do anything you want as long as you stay here. stay, [name]."

you must not be the only one insane here, you think, looking at him desperately squeezing your hand.

you're not the only one who's cruel. just as you break his heart over and over again, he still keeps you in solitary confinement. you do not regret; but neither did he, that he so selfishly, on a whim and driven by low jealousy, deprived another person of any company except himself. it was cruelty, a blatant injustice; and Wriothesley understood that. and this made the situation worse, worse a hundredfold: he understood, but he did it anyway, and did not feel guilty for it.

none of you were sorry.

♡

today's execution seemed like a farce, a stupid misunderstanding – after all, here was his precious murderer, laughing and munching on their last meal, alive and cheerful, and sitting right in front of him. of course, there was no execution!

"come on, come on, take it off. I'm awfully tired to be in these things." – you sipped a fragrant tea, watching as Wriothesley huffs with a screwdriver in his hands over the shackles on your ankles, sitting on his knees.

duke sighed jokingly, taking off you the worn metal and watching you flex your limbs contentedly.

of course, there was no execution.

"it's summer now, isn't it?" – you ask, wiping crumbs from your lips, and answering to yourself. – "good, good. just wonderful. it's been a while since I've been in the sun."

Wriothesley just smiles weakly as he leads you by the hand out of your solitary confinement room.

a pleasant, warm and languid feeling curled up in his stomach when he held your cold palm in his. as if the whole life was waiting for him, life with you, as if everything was going to get better and it would certainly be fine.

there was no execution. there wasn't!

the guillotine flashed in the sun, reflected in the laughing eyes of the murderer.

and only one of the two remained.

it's 3AM now and I feel like I should go visit a therapist

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived | Fourteen

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, smutty smut smut, oral (fem!receiving / male!receiving), fingering word count: 3.6k a/n: i kinda went off with this one?? i kinda fucking ate??? i actually am so proud of this chapter????

pov: layla

I don't know what was going through my head. I didn't understand why I was doing what I was doing. I never wanted to be this close to someone, figuratively and literally, but something felt different about Matt. He gave me something I had never felt before and I couldn't figure out what it was.

I hated it at first, it made me never want to see him again. But instead, I felt myself drawn towards him soon after our drive to McDonald's. His sense of naivety, innocence and pure love for the world made me want to protect him from it. I knew I would destroy it if I stuck around too long but selfishly, I wanted to be the one to show him what life was like outside of his beautiful little bubble.

So I popped it and leaned in to place my lips against his. He didn't move for a moment and I thought I had made the wrong move, maybe he didn't want this. But then that feeling washed away when his mouth moved against mine gently, his lips sliding against my own in a soft and caring manner.

It was like that for a moment, soft and delicate just like he was. But there was a switch, a moment of passion and adrenaline between us and I moved to straddle his waist, a heavy breath leaving his lips when I did so. He placed his hands on my waist, gentle fingertips gripping the warm skin of my hips so softly as if he thought I would break if he pressed too hard.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, sliding myself forward as I tangled my hands in his brown curly hair. I couldn't stop myself, my body felt like it was out of my brain's control as I pressed my body against his further as our mouths moved in sync. I'd kissed people before, I'd been this close physically to someone before, but it never felt like this.

There was always a disconnect, a gap no one could ever quite fill. There was never a passion, a longing to hold someone so tightly as if you were scared they would slip away at any moment until this point in time.

I rolled my hips forward over his own, a groan emitting from his mouth that ignited a fire in my stomach that I couldn't ignore any longer. I repeated my actions and I felt his hands gripped my hips ever so slightly tighter.

"Layls," he mumbled breathlessly against my lips and I barely pulled away, still rolling my waist back and forth against his.

"What is it, pretty boy?" I asked softly, catching his lips in mine again quickly before I pulled back again, this time opening my eyes to see his cheeks had a tint of pink across them, his lips slightly puffed.

"Are- are you sure this is okay?" he asked quietly and I smiled at his genuine concern before I nodded.

"Mhm. Are you okay with this?" I asked in the same hushed tone, using my fingernails to scratch the nape of his neck lightly and he nodded, "I need words."

"Yes," he answered quickly before leaning forward, connecting his lips with mine again. There wasn't a hesitance to his actions anymore, his hands gripping my sides unapologetically as his hips began rolling into my own.

A whine escaped from my lips as he squeezed my hips and I felt him smile against my lips, the heat building between my thighs as every second passed. I pulled his bottom lips between my teeth, biting down lightly, a hum emitting from him. I kissed him gently again before biting his lip ever so slightly harder eliciting a moan from his lips.

I pulled back and looked down at him, a smirk on my lips as I said, "Matthew Sturniolo, do you have a pain kink?"

"A little," he answered quietly, looking up at me with dilated pupils as his eyes glazed over with lust and a smile on his lips.

"Cute," I mumbled as I leaned forward, placing my lips on his and he melted into me again.

I began grinding my hips against his again and he let out a small, "Fuck."

"Matt," I breathed heavily as I continued kissing him, "You don't have to be so gentle."

"I don't wanna do something you don't like," he responded quietly, placing a kiss on my lips as our breathing got heavier.

"I'll tell you if I don't just please..." I trailed off as I tugged on the hairs on the nape of his neck and I moved to trail kisses down his jawline before I whispered in his ear, "Touch me."

That was all he needed before the switch flipped in his brain, his hands travelling from my waist to grab my ass roughly. I let out a heavy breath, still trailing kisses down his neck before I sucked on the skin just below his jaw. He let out a groan and unexpectedly I was flipped over onto my back, a gasp leaving my lips from the sudden movement.

He sat between my legs, leaning up to slide his shirt off of his head and I stared at his torso in awe. I never got sick of looking at him and I'd spend all day just staring at him if I could.

"You okay?" he asked while crawling over me, placing his hands on either side of my head and I nodded, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him down to my lips again.

He trailed his right hand down to my waist, gripping it lightly before his hand slowly made its way up my shirt. He smiled against my lips when he reached my chest, realising I wasn't wearing a bra.

"Can I take this off?" he asked against my lips, tugging on my shirt lightly and I nodded. He leaned back and I gripped his forearm to pull myself up. He grasped the hem of my shirt, sliding it up my body at a teasingly slow pace as I lifted my arms up, allowing him to pull it over my head before throwing it onto the bed beside us.

I fell back onto the bed and I looked up to see him staring at me below him. Instinctually, I covered my chest and stomach with my arms but Matt reached his hands forward, gently grabbing my wrists and pulling my hands away from my body slowly.

"Don't hide from me, pretty girl," he whispered as he leaned forward gently trailing kisses down my neck as I tilted my head to the side to give him more access. He made his way down to my chest, looking up at me as if to study my reaction as he kissed between my boobs making me shudder.

He pecked kisses all over my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. I felt slight anxiety being so exposed to him, the vulnerability making me feel uncomfortable but I didn't want him to stop. I let out a whine as he wrapped his mouth around my left nipple, using his hand to knead my other boob. I tilted my head back, my hands finding their way to his hair before tugging on it slightly making him groan around me.

As he sucked and licked my chest, I shifted on the bed. The ache between my legs was becoming unbearable as he began lowering himself further, kissing down my stomach and I sucked in my stomach subconsciously. He paused, looking up at me as I let go of his hair.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked softly and my eyebrows furrowed.

"Doing what?" I questioned back and he placed his palm on my stomach.

"You don't have to suck in your stomach, pretty girl. I think you're beautiful just the way you are," he looked at me with a soft smile and I sighed, letting my stomach return back to its normal shape. He smirked up at me before trailing kisses along my waist. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts before mumbling, "Can I take these off?"

"Please," I pleaded, lifting my hips up to show my urgency. He chuckled as he leaned back further, pulling my shorts down before I kicked them off my feet. He leaned back over me, placing his left hand beside my head to hold himself up as he kissed my lips again.

He suddenly cupped my pussy with his right hand over my underwear making me moan into his mouth. He began circling my clit painfully slowly and I bucked my hips upward to make him hurry up.

"So impatient," he mumbled against my lips before he pulled his hand away making me whine from the loss of contact. He continued kissing me before he slid his thumb on the inside of the waistband of my underwear making me shudder. He teasingly dragged his thumb against my skin before he pulled back from me, sitting back on his heels to look down at me.

He hooked his hands inside the waistband, looking at my face for any sign to stop as I shifted under him. He pulled my underwear over my legs at a slow pace before I kicked them off my feet like I'd done with my shorts moments prior. I clenched my thighs together, insecurity flooding me again and he ran his hands along my thighs. Wettness was pooling between my legs so much that I was convinced I was dripping onto the sheets below me.

"You okay?" he asked while squeezing the flesh of my thighs in his palms and I nodded, "Words, baby."

"I'm okay," I mumbled, still holding my thighs together as I placed my arms over my stomach, "I'm just completely naked and you're still in jeans."

"You want me to take 'em off?" he asked, a smirk on his lips once more and I nodded quickly. He began unbuttoning his jeans while looking into my eyes as I breathed heavily. He undid the zipper before pulling them past his waist, sliding them over his knees and kicking them off his feet. My eyes trailed down his body seeing the imprint of his dick through his black boxers making me bite my lip. His hands travelled back down to my thighs, gently pulling them apart before he stared down at my pussy.

"Don't just stare at me. Do something," I demanded impatiently and he chuckled, shuffling down so his head was between my thighs as he lay on his stomach. He trailed kisses down my thighs, sucking and biting at them every now and then as I whined, "Matt."

"What is it, pretty girl?" he mumbled against my skin and I threw my hands back, balling the sheets between my fists.

"Please. I need you to do something," I asked quietly and he chuckled against my thigh. The scruff on his cheeks brushed against my thigh as he made his way down to my core, wrapping his arms around my thighs to hold them in place.

He licked a stripe up my core making me whine loudly from the sudden friction. That was all the confirmation he needed before he wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking and licking softly as moans tumbled from my mouth. I moved my right hand to his hair, tangling it between my fingers as my hips shifted to grind against his face.

I tugged on his hair roughly eliciting a moan from his mouth that travelled straight to my clit, the vibrations making another loud moan fall out of my lips.

"Fuck, Matt," I panted as I tilted my head back, my back arching in pure pleasure. The hair on his cheeks added to the sensory overload I was feeling, my thighs clenching around his head making him hum against me. He removed his hands from around my thighs, one of them reaching up to grab my boobs roughly as the other joined his face between my legs.

He slowly inserted a finger into my pussy making me pull on his hair once again as he moaned into my clit again. He began pumping his finger in and out of me slowly as he pulled his mouth away to look up at me, his chin dripping with my wetness making him somehow look even sexier than before.

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth and my breathing became more rapid. He carefully added another finger and I clenched around him as he looked down at my pussy in awe. He let go of my boob, quickly finding my hand that was gripping the sheets beside me and threaded our fingers together before his head dipped back down to my core.

The sensation of his hand in mine, his hair running against my thighs as his mouth worked on my bundle of nerves while his fingers quickened their pace made the knot in my stomach tighten and I knew I wouldn't last much longer.

"Matt," I moaned out as I pulled on his hair even tighter as he hummed against me, "I'm gonna-"

My words were cut off by a moan and I squeezed his hand tightly. I pulled his head impossibly closer towards me as his tongue swirled my clit rapidly and I let incomprehensible noises fall from my mouth.

"You wanna cum, baby?" he mumbled against me, the vibrations adding to the pleasure even more.

"Uh-huh," I panted, my hips shifting as I came so close to my high.

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he demanded as he went impossibly faster on my clit, his fingers feeling like heaven inside of me. It pushed me over the edge, finally reaching the climax I had been chasing.

"Fuck, Matt!" I yelled as my thighs squeezed around his head as he worked me through my high. My legs shook uncontrollably around him and he moaned against me, rutting his hips into the mattress below him. He slowed his pace as I clenched around his fingers, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

I let go of his hair as he carefully pulled his fingers out of me before placing one last kiss on my clit making my body jerk at the sudden contact again. He kept his other hand in mine as he moved to kneel between my thighs again, bringing his fingers between his lips and sucking them clean.

How does he get hotter with everything he does?

He crawled back over me, placing a gentle kiss on my lips before smiling against them, whispering, "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that."

I smiled against him, tasting myself as I ran my tongue along his lips before I let go of his other hand, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

"My turn," I mumbled against his lips before I pushed him onto his back and I climbed on top of his thighs. He let out a huff from the unexpected movement.

"Layls, you don't have to-"

"I want to," I cut him off as I ran my hands along the soft skin of his chest. Although I was sweating, my nipples were rock hard from the cold air and I bit my lip looking down at him, "I wanna make you feel good. Please."

He smiled up at me before nodding and I pursed my lips, hiding the shit-eating grin that threatened to cover my face as he said, "Just know I don't expect you to."

I let the grin now cover my face from his sweetness and I nodded before saying, "Tell me if you don't like anything I do."

"I like everything you do," he replied smoothly making me shake my head before I shuffled down, hooking my hands under the waistband of his boxers. His chest rose and fell rapidly as I slowly pulled the boxers down his thighs, his dick springing out and hitting his stomach from how hard he was.

"Fuck," I whispered to myself as I looked at the length in front of me, not realising how big he was until now. I moved off of his lap, sliding his boxers off of his legs and onto the floor before I grabbed his knees, sliding them apart.

I moved to kneel between his legs which were still flat on the bed as I felt him observe every move I made. I felt the wetness pool between my legs again just from looking at him splayed out on the bed. My eyes locked with his and I smiled, a giddy feeling arising in my stomach. His mouth was hung open, his eyes filled with lust making me want to pleasure him even more.

I shuffled down even further, carefully wrapping my right hand around the base of his dick making him hiss from the sudden contact. I slowly began pumping him in my hand as I shuffled back, bending forward to give him the perfect view of my ass.

I paused the movement of my hand, licking a stripe from the base of his dick all of the way to the tip making him whine as he clenched his eyes closed, balling the sheets in his fists as if to contain himself. I kissed his tip, a whimper falling from his lips before he looked down at me. I opened my mouth, looking up at him as I began taking his tip into my mouth, my tongue swirling around it teasingly before I pushed my head down. He hit the back of my throat and I closed my eyes, thankful my gag reflex was practically nonexistent.

A moan escaped his lips as I bobbed my head up and down, my hand working on the rest of his length that I couldn't fit into my mouth. His hips jerked forward, his tip hitting the back of my throat roughly and a choked moan left his mouth.

"Fuck, sorry," he mumbled and I looked up to see an apologetic look on his face, letting me know he didn't mean to move his hips. I pulled back, spitting into my palm before working my hand around him faster as he panted heavily, whimpers and whines leaving his lips desperately.

I swiped my thumb over his tip, a loud moan leaving his lips involuntarily as he bucked once again. I smiled at him as he tilted his head back, his jaw clenching. I continued pumping his dick quickly, running my hand over his tip every now and then eliciting a moan from him every time.

I let my hand go from around him, placing it on his stomach as I leaned forward. I kissed his tip before I forced my mouth down on him, taking him fully as I felt him bulge in my throat. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as they began watering, the sensation winding me up once again.

"Fuck!" he yelled, gripping my hair roughly making me moan around him as he began guiding my head over his length. Unimaginable noises emitted from his throat as he gripped my hair, sliding me up and down his dick with ease.

I let him use my head however he wanted, going as fast and rough as he needed to feel good. I quickly tapped his stomach and he loosened his pressure on my hair, allowing me to come up for air as I used my hand to pump him again.

"You feel good, pretty boy?" I panted, catching my breath the best I could as he nodded, catching his own breath before I pushed my head back down, taking him down my throat once again and he moaned so loudly I wouldn't be surprised if the whole neighbourhood could hear him.

"I'm gonna cum," he said so quickly I almost didn't catch it and I quickened my pace as he whined loudly. He gripped my hair tightly making me moan around him.

"Oh god," he moaned loudly before I felt a warm liquid coat my mouth and I continued to work around him, slowing my pace so he didn't get overstimulated too quickly, "Oh my fucking god, Layla."

I pulled him out of my mouth with a pop before I swallowed the cum, some of it dripping from the side of my mouth. He let go of my hair, reaching his hand around and wiping the liquid from the side of my mouth. I grabbed his wrist, pulling it toward me before I slid his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it gently as he looked at me in awe.

I pulled his thumb out and he smiled at me as I crawled forward, laying down on his chest as my legs fell between his. I placed my hand on his chest before putting my chin on the back of my hand, looking up at him with a smile as he caught his breath.

"You will be the death of me, woman," he mumbled with a dopey smile and I giggled at him, pushing a few pieces of hair out of his face with my other hand.

"You're welcome," I smiled up at him and he wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me tight against him. He swirled my lower back with his thumb gently before I leaned up, placing another kiss on his lips. I pulled the covers over our naked bodies despite the fact we were both warm from our activities but I wanted to keep his warmth on me as long as possible.

"If you stay on me like this, I'll get hard again," he smirked as he looked down at me and I smiled, shrugging my shoulders.

"I won't be mad if you do," I giggled to myself, the dopamine of my high still travelling through my brain as he pulled a hand up, brushing my hair behind my ear gently.

"You're so cute," he whispered as he leaned forward, placing a kiss on my forehead and I closed my eyes contently, hoping I could stay in this moment forever.

tags:

@ilovechrissturniolo1 @sturnfix @lilsstvrn @sturniololol @sturniolowhore @dsturniolo @chrisstankyleg @lov3bug @pinklittleflower @thatcrazybitch-69 @trinity2058 @alorsxsturn @leprechaunbirthdaygirl

[ariseur]

May I request a headcanon for Sephiroth with an S/O who loves to sing?

sephiroth with someone who loves to sing hc’s 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

i wrote this while watching ‘isle of dogs’ and now i wanna cry a little bit 😞

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions and two to four bullets of post nibelheim sephiroth, intended lowercase, lmk if i missed anything 💕!!

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

❥ getting started right away, i think this would be like heaven for both pre nibelheim and post nibelheim sephiroth.

❥ when i first read this request, i couldn’t stop thinking about this one image where sephiroth’s just flat out-tired and he comes home, utterly collapsing into your arms until you finally give into his pleas to sing to him. and when you finally look back down at him, you see him all tranquil resting his head on your lap— hair splayed out beneath him in an almost ethereal manner. so great, now you have a 6’1” / 185cm first class SOLDIER sleeping on you. i almost imagine sephs like a really big cat in this scenario— .. or any scenario, really.

❥ i think it soothes him to a great degree, even hearing your voice while you speak to him is an honor in itself. so after a tiring day, your voice is just what he needs.

❥ god forbid you’re insecure about your voice or you think you don’t sing well, this man will prove you wrong and he will leave no room for argument. it’s not even like he means to be so stubborn, he just doesn’t understand how anybody could find your voice unappealing for you are the siren and he is the sailor— waiting to be lured into your trap for one sliver of hope once more.. except you wouldn’t eat him.

❥ i love the idea that sephiroth just appears around random corners, or like, he’s so quiet you don’t notice when he’s right behind you. so i just imagine you’re singing or muttering your favorite song while you’re completing whatever mundane task, before turning around and seeing your tall ass lover just admiring you lol. it gets kinda creepy, but he means well i swear. he’s just a tad bit awkward 😭

❥ if you have any career related to singing or if you desire to, sephiroth is your biggest fan!! if you’re already employed as a singer or musician, he will show up to all your performances and just absolutely admire you in awe. if it’s at a club, he might not go considering he’d be recognized— you know, considering he’s labeled as a war hero and an icon of shinra. so he’d feel bad regardless if he went or not because he really wants to support you, but he doesn’t want to steal the spotlight from you because god knows you deserve it.

❥ if you wish to pursue a career in music but you don’t know where to start, he will help you!! he’ll ask everybody and anybody for advice to give to you or to see if they can pull a few strings to get you in somewhere. he’ll want to support you the best he can, after all— you’ve supported him all this time as well, haven’t you? it’s only fair that he does the same, whether you guys were together or not i’m sure he’d still want to support you in whatever way he can.

❥ while post-nibelheim seph still loves your voice, he doesn’t care all that much as he would before nibelheim. he’s too busy plotting revenge on the world, you know, because this planet IS his birthright after all. he’ll still encourage you to sing; he promises that once he has control over this world— the world that he believes was promised to him, he’ll put your face everywhere for everyone to see and come to your shows as he wants them to witness your glory and talent before them.

❥ i’d like to think there’s at least a sliver of humanity in sephiroth after the events that took place in nibelheim, and i believe he only wants to be loved after so many years of being deprived of genuine affection and adoration. so i’m imagining that one day, he uncharacteristically falls into your arms ( and if you had met him pre-nh then i’d imagine you’d tear up at least a little bit thinking sephiroth still has some of his sweetness left in him ), and asks that you sing him something, like how you used to. and sephiroth falls asleep in your arms, clutching your waist as he buries his head in your stomach with a tight hold. just like how he used to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

“what was that song you sung to me last night?”

you cocked your head at SEPHIROTH’s inquiry, hands still carding through the silkiness of his hair. it was an odd sight to see. the war hero, sephiroth, draped over your body as he rested his chin on your shoulder as he interrupted the quietude, his velvet words almost blending in with it.

“what song?” you asked. you felt small puffs of his breathing on your shoulder as you patted his back. you could tell from his soft breaths that he was tired, almost coming out in sighs rather than deep breaths. you didn’t even have to look at him to guess that his eyes were probably drooping close with just your voice alone.

“i’m not sure,” his voice trailed off into a quiet amused chuckle, his full body weight resting on you, “that’s why i’ve asked you.”

sephiroth could feel your eye roll, even from where he was positioned. and at first, he believed you would’ve given up on trying to recall the song and would instead lay in silence with him, which wasn’t so bad either way.

but then your voice began— and it was like you casted a spell on him. his eyelashes fluttered with each lyric that left your lips, melodies that echoed in his brain constantly only in the form of your voice. hell, he’d even hear a sweet song on the television and he’d imagine it was you behind the microphone, singing those sweet tunes to him as you looked at the camera. it didn’t help how you rubbed his back so soothingly, he could already feel the serenity of sleep overtaking him as the soft whispers of your voice got to him.

he finally let his forehead rest against you, closing his eyes as he made a note of a promise of only to sleep for five minutes— although you both knew that it definitely wouldn’t be just five minutes, not after the day he had. your words faltered for a moment as you let a sweet chuckle slip past your lips at the man before you, trying to stifle your laughter as he groaned at the vibrations in your chest, clearly grumpy in his half-sleepy state.

you kept singing, lulling him into a state of sleep in which he’d dream of you, your voice only fueling his idea of you as a divine being come down unto to bless him, for what reason he doesn’t know— but he’ll enjoy it for just a little bit longer.

[icycoldninja]

I’m feeling angsty today so I came up with the idea.

Can you write the DMC men when they’ve been in a relationship with the reader for a relatively long time and they thought that they’ve been truthful to one and another and understand their flaws and uniqueness but one night, while in bed, the reader mutter under her breath:

“ You’re too good for me, how? And why? To be loved and desired…is one’s closest feeling to being immortal in this vast universe yet…why me? Of all those out there?”

She muttered as she thought they were still sleeping, but in fact they’re listening very carefully what she says, the quiver in her voice and the cracked tone of one’s suspension of crying

Then they turned to ask her why she thought she didn’t deserve to be loved, she kinda replies that it feels wrong to be loved and feels wrong to love someone knowing you can’t return the gesture how you want due to wither their financial limitations or emotional limitations, even though one should never be deprived of such feelings disregard of race, gender and class

Then she muttered that:

“If anything were to happen to me, you need to move on, forget about me, fall in love with others and treat them like how you treated me and start a family with them, okay?”

“You should not bind yourself in the past for my sake…even though it pains me to see you with others…but to not let you move on would be my biggest guilt”

How would they initially react?

This one's gonna be a bit different since they're more like reaction headcannons than anything else. Enjoy.

Sparda boys + V reactions headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante cannot believe you just said that. He's shocked, genuinely, undeniably shocked.

-He loves you because you're an awesome, sweet person who dared to get close to him despite all his issues and emotional baggage; someone who stuck with him through his crazy highs and depressed lows, and he'll forever be grateful for that.

-Then he hears you yammering on about how you want him to move on if something happened to you, and wonders if you've gotten amnesia.

-What kind of monster do you think he is?! He could never get over you even if he tried, and besides, with him around, nothing bad could possibly happen to you.

-That's it, Dante can't stay silent any longer. He decides to wake from his pretend slumber like Dracula and tell you all this straight to your face.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil, the ever alert insomniac, heard every word you said and was quite upset about it.

-He chose you because you had the strength to stand before a son of Sparda and not quaver in your boots. You accepted him for what he was, and loved all of him equally, from Urizen to V.

-He was insulted by the next string of blasphemous words that left your mouth. How dare you suggest that he, the King of Motivation, would allow you to get hurt? Did you really have such little faith in him?

-He would not let you die--he would sooner kick the bucket than let you meet your demise, and even if you did pass away by some unfortunate turn of events, Vergil would never get over it.

-He could see it even now, how he'd lay his remaining human half to rest alongside your corpse, fully embracing the demon within him and going on to conquer the world, disregarding his brother and all that you'd built together.

-Vergil probably should have told you this, since the only reason you were saying such depressing words was because you needed comfort, but decided to keep silent. After all, he wasn't supposed to hear what you said, so he'll pretend he didn't. However, he will snuggle up to you so you can at least feel the comforting warmth of his presence.

□ Nero □

-Nero was awakened by your mumbling and managed to catch most of what you said. It took him some time to process everything since his brain was foggy, but once he understood what you meant, his heart broke.

-Why is that even a question? Why do you sound like you're about to cry? Are you considering leaving him? Are you terminally ill? What would make you say such a thing?

-Nero loves you because you're sweet and you care for him in ways no one else can. You're ready to die to protect him, and so is he--no one else could replace you.

-How dare you ask him to move on if something happened to you? He loved you, and only you! If you died, Nero would be inconsolable, he'd probably fall into a deep, deep depression and overdose on painkillers or something, but this is all speculation.

-Nero would sacrifice anything and everything if it meant keeping you safe, do you should have nothing to fear.

-Nero knew the only reason you were mumbling such things was because you thought he was asleep, meaning you intended for these words to be kept private. As much as he wanted to keep that illusion alive for your sake, he couldn't let you say these things and go to sleep thinking so negatively. Thus, he arose from slumber and pulled you into his arms, repeatedly reminding you of how much he loved and needed you until you fell asleep.

● V ●

-V happened to flutter awake at the exact moment you began your nocturnal lament, mumbling about how you didn't deserve him, or something like that.

-V was taken aback, wondering why you would even think that when it was clear he was the one who didn't deserve you.

-Then you started muttering about how you wished he would move on, forget about you, and start a new life if anything was to happen to you. This made V's heart shatter.

-He could believe you would say that; you were the love of his life, the one woman who cared enough to stay with such a weak, physically pathetic, borderline invalid for so long and enjoy the experience. You'd left a lasting imprint on him, one that he wouldn't forget anytime soon.

-The very fact that you'd suggest such a thing was not only heartbreaking but also insulting. V wouldn't let you continue thinking like this any longer.

-He got up and immediately wrapped you in the tightest hug he could muster, whispering sweet words of affirmation into your ear until you broke down in tears, then covering you with kisses till you calm down.

[francesderwent]

I’ve been on a real Fearless kick lately and it always makes me feel some kinda way about Olivia Rodrigo’s body of work. and not even primarily about her and her talent and her songwriting, just about how different an experience it seems to be growing up as a young millennial woman versus growing up as a young gen z woman. take the total absence of any jealousy/self-image song on Taylor’s debut album or Fearless—because social media wasn’t this omnipresent perfect image factory and so the insecurity of growing up looked more like “Place In This World” or “The Outside”, fundamental experiences of questioning and longing that are deeply connected to our humanity, as opposed to “jealousy jealousy”, “pretty isn’t pretty”, or “lacy” which are founded on an obsession spiral that is literally only possible on that level because of the invention of the smartphone.

look at “Tell Me Why” or “Other Side of the Door” as opposed to “vampire” or “logical”—Taylor’s approach was a very straightforward “you acted this way and this is how it made me feel." it wasn’t until later that she started to make statements about patterns of behavior, because she simply couldn’t see them except in hindsight! she couldn’t say “this is what kind of man you are” or “this is what sort of relationship we had” until she had fully processed what happened—which is when we get songs like “Fifteen” and “Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve” and “The Manuscript”. but because the younger generation breathes the air of pop psychology buzzwords, Olivia is diagnosing her exes and labeling her relationships right away. and you might say this is a good thing, that young women are armed with terms like “gaslighting” and taught to be suspicious of age gaps because of the power differential. but having the knowledge doesn’t seem to have protected Olivia at all. she still makes all the same mistakes, there’s literally a whole song all about knowing something is a bad idea and doing it anyway. she still dates the older guy, but then she has so many labels readymade to explain why it didn’t feel good that she doesn’t ever actually get down to saying how it felt—because I don’t think she knows. the younger generation acts like processing an experience means figuring out what tiktokified sound bite applies to it and then slapping the label on and moving forward. “my parents were emotionally abusive” “my ex was a narcissist” “my ex best friend gaslit me” etc. but it seems to me that’s skipping some necessary stages of actually processing your shit. “vampire” is Olivia trying to write “Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve” before she’s ever written (or felt) “Tell Me Why”. it’s the difference between “here’s to you and your temper, yes I remember what you said last night / and I know that you see what you’re doing to me, tell me why” on the one hand and “went for me and not her ‘cause girls your age know better” or “master manipulator, you’re so good at what you do” or “you convinced me it was all in my mind” on the other hand.

and another side effect of this, the big names in this younger generation of artists aren’t really writing love songs, and I don’t think that’s accidental. they literally do not have the vocabulary to do so. the psychology buzzwords that go around are all about toxic relationships and red flags. and so, deprived of a way of thinking about being in love, the love songs either fall flat (“I’ll go anywhere he goes and he says I’m so American”) or they simply don’t exist. the open-hearted sincerity of a “Hey Stephen” or “Jump Then Fall” is nowhere to be found.