#normally i can say like. one or two sentences and then i forget what i was talking about......text is obv different bc i can reread

[lunar-fey]

so. the new adhd med now that i am on a normal starting dose and actually feeling it at all. it doesn't quite feel like i have adhd^2 like the other one did. like that one felt not dissimilar to a manic episode. was not great. THIS one though is like........i still feel like i have a lot of thoughts and a lot to say and gotta GO. but i also am finding it easier to stop or start or change directions. basically...........what if i was just a chatter the whole time but my brain was too fucked...............

[frudoo]

I’m so soft for Simon today y’all.

Warnings: Slight angst—lots of crying. Hurt/comfort. Brief mentions of abuse but nothing specific. Overuse of italics lmaooo. Fem!Reader. Simon is sad :(

“Love?”

Simon’s been quiet ever since the two of you left the Garricks’ house. Kyle’s wife had cooked a lovely dinner, and afterwards everybody moved to chat in the living room. Your friends’ kiddos had been climbing over you and loving on you all night, jumping in your lap or begging you to play games with them. That’s when you noticed your husband’s frown—you had just assumed his social battery had run out, but looking back now, none of the signs were there. No short temper, no irritability, no desperate glances over to you trying to convey that he was ready to leave. Now, as you both lay in bed, he speaks for the first time in what feels like hours.

“Yeah, Si? Everything okay?”

He sucks in a deep breath, and you frown. Your husband has never been one to hold his tongue. It makes your heart pound with worry as you reach over to turn your bedside lamp on. Before you get the chance to turn and face him, he wraps his burly arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You gently raise your hand to scratch the back of his head, fingernails grazing his scalp.

“D’you ever regret marryin’ me?” His voice is so small, carrying the weight of uncertainty and the fear that you’ll tell him exactly what he’s expecting to hear, to break him further.

Your fingers stall their movements and you forget how to breathe all of a sudden. Simon’s breath is labored against your neck, too hot to be normal, too wet to be anything other than the telltale sign of him about to break down. It’s a rarity that he cries, but when he does, it’s the most excruciating thing you can imagine. You can feel his pain like it’s your own. The second his first teardrop falls onto your skin, you finally turn to look at him.

His deep brown eyes are far too glossy for your liking, long blond lashes clumped together by morsels of liquid lies his brain forces him to believe.

“Never,” you frown, rubbing the tip of your thumb over the cleft separating his top lip. “Oh, sugar, what’s brought this on?”

“Y’deserve better than me,” his voice breaks mid-sentence, raspy and raw. “Someone who can- who can make y’happy. Give y’things tha’ I can’t.”

You lean forward to nuzzle your nose against his, gently locking lips with him in a short, tender kiss. You sigh into his mouth, uncaring of the snot and spittle that runs down his face. You’re just about there with him.

“You do make me happy, Simon Riley,” the whispered promise gently whisks across his face like an autumn breeze, refreshing yet not enough to calm his racing brain. “You’ve given me everything I could ask for and more.”

“No. You’ve… you’ve had t’make too many sacrifices f’me, and I don’t deserve tha’. I fucked y’over, and- and stomped on your dreams.”

“Simon, you haven’t-”

“You’d make such a good mum.”

Your mouth snaps shut, teeth grinding together from the sudden motion. Motherhood is a soft spot for you, and he knows it. When Simon first brought up the idea of marriage, he had made it clear that he didn’t want kids—too much risk of him ending up like his father, he explained. It broke your heart, but the thought of living a life where he wasn’t yours hurt far worse. In favor of being his wife, you pushed away the desire to have children, counting on being an auntie or something equivalent to your friends’ little ones.

You bite your lip, trying to blink back tears. He’s just saying this out of hurt.

“Seein’ y’with Gaz’s kids jus’...” Simon trails off, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You’re so sweet with ‘em. Fuckin’- you- you’re perfection, lovie, and you’re settlin’ for a monster like me.”

The tears don’t cease this time. A weak sob rips from your throat, and you dig your nails into his bicep to make him listen.

“You are not a monster. Y-you’re the love of my life,” your lip quivers, hurt evident in your tone. “I married you because I love you, Simon. Because I see what’s beneath the surface. You’re gentle, you’re caring—Si, you’re beautiful. You’re a good person, even if you can’t see it. I see it.”

“I wanna see it,” he murmurs, swallowing hard. “Wanna be better f’you.”

You shake your head softly, a sad smile stretching your lips as you wipe your tears. Pressing your forehead against his, you intertwine fingers with him.

“You’d make an amazing dad.”

It’s Simon’s turn to tense up, squeezing your hand a little tighter but not near enough to hurt—it just proves to you further what a sweet person he can be, that he is underneath his Ghost persona. You’ve never met Ghost, Simon absolutely refuses to let you see the side of him that the rest of the world does, but you know in your bones that even he wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head.

“Love, no, I-I can’t- no. I couldn’t live w’myself if… if I-”

“The fact that you’re so afraid of doing anything wrong is what makes me certain you’d be incredible,” you interrupt, pulling back to look at him sternly, although the fondness that hides in your eyes softens the blow.

“Wha’ if I end up hurtin’ ‘em? Get mad at ‘em and- and I hurt m’own child,” he gasps softly, nervously rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Bullshit. You would never. Si, you couldn’t even bring yourself to kill the moles in our yard, and you expect me to believe that you could lay a hand on a—your child?” You scoff, cupping his scarred face in your hands and moving to straddle him.

“Lovie, m’not a good man,” he frowns, leaning into the soft warmth of your palms. “Got m’father’s DNA-”

“Stop that. You are nothing like that man. I don’t give a fuck what it is you do out on the field, but you have never once brought it into our home,” you huff, hands shaking slightly. “You know the difference between your enemies and your family even on your worst days. That’s more than you could say for your father.”

Your skin is tacky with his tears that continue to fall even when he’s rendered silent. Gently, you redirect his arms so that they wrap around your waist, warm and sturdy.

“I know you’re scared,” you whisper, tenderly rubbing his temples with your thumbs. “But have I ever lied to you?”

“Never,” Simon admits quietly, sniffling.

“Then believe me when I tell you I’m not lying now. You’re a good man, Simon Riley—to me, to your friends, and you will be to our kids. I swear it.”

He’s stubbornly avoiding your gaze, and you can tell he’s genuinely thinking about it. Gently, you press a kiss to the tip of his crooked nose.

“Let’s go to bed, hm? Sleep on it, baby,” you suggest, nuzzling your face into his neck.

You feel him nod and pull you down so that you’re laying on top of him—a comforting blanket of love that he needs you to remind him he deserves. He reaches over to turn your bedside lamp back off again, reveling in the cool darkness that engulfs the two of you.

“I love you,” he mutters, tracing random patterns along your back with his calloused fingertips.

“I love you more, big guy.”

[caws5749]

Late Night Meets

A/N: the beginning two sentences were in my drafts from the first month I started this blog. that is insanity to me. 

The tea kettle was on the stove. You were staring at it, still half asleep. You hadn’t even managed to turn on a single kitchen light, preferring instead to bump around in the dark. As you started to hear the bubbling of the heating water, your eyes drooped shut, your hand just barely holding up your head as you leaned over the counter.

“That is a terrible position to fall asleep in.”

You jolted up, sheer panic tearing through you at the newcomer behind you.

“Natasha,” you sighed happily, clutching at your chest, before realizing your robe had loosened a bit, showing more of your silk camisole and shorts. You pulled it tighter, not noticing the way her eyes dropped to watch. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she questioned, not bothering to flick on the light as she made her way forwards toward the fridge. You shook your head. 

“No. You?”

She gave a wry smile as the glow from the fridge just barely illuminated her face.  “Something like that.” 

She moved over to the island counter, perching on one of the barstools. “How is it that you couldn’t fall asleep, but I found you nodding off over the stove?”

Shoot. She had you there. Maybe you shouldn’t have attempted to lie to the world’s most famous assassin. You were just so tired and it clouded your judgement. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t really been able to sleep at all. Nightmares plagued your mind the entire night and you still couldn’t figure out why. It was always the same- something involving something ominous coming. It felt like a warning, it felt like-

“Y/N?” Natasha’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. Her tone was much softer, gentler than her usual. You stared at her, lips parted slightly in confusion, slight shock, emotion, exhaustion- your eyes welled with tears. 

“What’s wrong?” she probed. 

“I just can’t shake this feeling,” you whispered, shaking slightly from the effort of holding in tears. Her head tilted, waiting for you to continue. “I keep having these nightmares, and I can’t even really remember them but I just have this- this feeling that something bad is going to happen. It’s all I feel.”

Nat’s brow furrowed. She hated seeing you like this, fear all-consuming, eyes darting around as if something was going to pop out from thin air. All she wanted to do was, truth be told, hold you until you no longer feared anything at all. 

But the relatively new Avenger standing across from her in silky pajamas, hair slightly undone in the cutest way possible didn’t know that Natasha Romanoff had fallen for her. 

She must have had some sort of odd expression on her face, for you quickly shook your head, quickly brushing a tear away. “Forget it, it’s stupid.” You moved back toward the kettle, turning away from her.

“No, it’s not,” Natasha said, standing and coming to rest against the counter next to you. “I’m sorry, I just-” I don’t want to see you like this, it breaks my heart. “You aren’t usually so- you’re normally so easygoing and happy and I guess I don’t quite know what to say.” The widow inwardly cursed. She definitely was making a fool of herself.

 You hummed, nodding. 

“When did it start?” she asked. 

“About a week ago,” you answered, pouring the hot water into your mug. 

“After your last mission?”

Your eyes widened. How could you not have put two and two together? 

“God, I’m so stupid, how could I not realize-”

“You’re not stupid,” Natasha chided gently, her hand coming to rest on your forearm. Your eyes flickered downwards at the touch, prompting a blush from the red-head. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, removing her hand quickly. 

You sent her a timid smile. “You don’t have to be sorry for something like that, Nat.”

“How can we make your nightmares go away?”

She said ‘we’, didn’t she? Your heart fluttered. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly, gloom settling back in. 

She frowned at your expression, desperate to do anything to make you feel better, to even smile or laugh, just once. 

“What about a show or something while you finish your tea? I’ll sit with you, maybe that will help you feel safer.. I mean, just having someone there.” Her cheeks reddened even further. 

“That sounds great, Natasha. Thank you. You don’t have to do that, though. It’s late and I’m sure you’re tired and-”

“I’m not,” she interrupted quietly. Well,  she was but that didn’t matter. “I just want to help.”

It was your turn to blush. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. 

“Great. Now let’s go before one of the boys wake up and claim the TV.” 

[elliespassagerprincess]

super confident!ellie x really bold and forward reader at a party and they’re both just bored and the more ellie talks to reader the more shes stumbling over her words by how quickly she responds to ellie’s lines and ellie knows she’s fucked bc she cant stop thinking about the girl that she fucked at the party yayyyyy

Rose - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! i had so many ideas for this, i might make a part 2 because yes or ill make a different version ughhhh...i hope you enjoy it<3

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: sexual themes

Summary: in which she cant forget you

authors note: i submitted my application, lets see if i get accepted because i will lose my mind if i don't

masterlist

The smell of weed was the first thing that reached Ellie's nose when she walked into the house.

Mid term exams has had her stressed and she's barley been out. Whoever said college would be easy, lied because she's never been this stressed.

She needed to blow off some steam and what better way is there than to get blackout out drunk and to fuck a random girl she'll never talk to again.

It was too early in the night to make a move. She need to wait for the straight girls to get drunk, and for the overly emotional girls to come her way.

She sat on a couch scanning the room. So many victims, so many options.

Who will be the lucky girl tonight?

"You know its gross to eye fuck innocent people?" she heard a voice talk next to her.

A small frown appeared on Ellie's face when she turned to you.

Holy shit, who are you?

Her eyes scanned your body.... fuck

Maybe you'd be the lucky one

You noticed her staring and you rolled your eyes before saying: "Take your pervert eyes off me"

Oh you were feisty.

Ellie never had a problem with women. Most of them threw themselves at her, all she needed to do was say a few words and give them a small smile and they'd be moaning her name minutes later.

She was confident that she'll get you too. She just needed to pull out all the stops when it came to you.

Ellie chuckled at your comment "I'm not a pervert, I'm just checking to make sure you don't have a weapon on you?" she joked.

"What weapon? My strap on?" You snorted.

oh.

Ellie wasn't expecting that.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" you teased at her sudden silence.

Ellie shook her head quickly gaining her composure.

"Has anyone ever told you that you were pretty?" She quickly tried changing the subject.

You hummed "quite a few... has anyone ever told you that you suck at flirting?"

Now this made her jaw drop.

You didn't giggle like she expected, you didn't give her a shy smile.

What the fuck is happening?

"You're boring" you state, you got up and left.

You left the Ellie Williams speechless.

The longer the night went on the more her mind drifted to you. Her mission of finding someone to fuck ended as soon as you came into the picture.

She wanted you. She was on a mission to find you. But between all the people grinding up against each other she thought that would be impossible.

"Hey there loser" she heard your voice she immediately turned to you.

"h-hey" did she just fucking stutter?

"Did you find someone to fuck yet?" you asked she shook her head.

"Maybe we can..." Ellie went silent, too shy to finish her sentence.

She made two scissors with her hands and she made a scissoring motion "you k-know.... me and you"

You laugh at her. You fucking laugh at her.

"Don't be pathetic, use your words"

Ellie felt humiliated. Why were you telling her what to do? Normally she was the one giving orders. Ellie decided that its time to switch roles. She wanted to be in charge.

"Well lets go to the bathroom and ill show you what i can do"

"so you're saying im some kind of cheap fuck?"

"N-no i mean... i meant like-"

"see fucking pathetic"

Ellie was sweating, her cheeks were tinted in a dark shade of pink.

What were you doing to her?

You gently took her hand "show me where your dorm is" was all you said.

The rest was a blur to her.

Lips passionately touching each other, clothes flying off, your fingers in her. A tiny rose tattoo on your left shoulder. She's never cum so hard in her life.

After tonight she knew you fucked her over.

No one had made her this nervous, no one has ever made her finish this hard, no one had ever made her this submissive.

Who are you?

Ellie groaned when she heard her alarm go off. She rolled over to the side of the bed you were laying on, but you weren't there.

She opened her eyes to a cold empty bed.

"Fuck" she sighed.

She never got your name, she doesn't have your number, she doesn't know anything about you.

The memory of you on top of her, you moaning was all she could think about.

Fuck, how she just forget that? How could she forget you?

The only thing she remembered was the rose tattoo on your left shoulder.

"Fuck rose who are you?"

<3

[enhard]

choi beomgyu — “fallen leaves”

pairing: c.bg x fem!reader

: just a cozy day at the library, hanging out with your friend… suddenly it all escalating into something more intimate.

cw: SMUT, public sex, blowjob, m!receiving, masturbation, choking, face fucking, cum swallowing, a sprinkle of degrading also kinda getting caught during ittt ok bai

not proofread, enjoy! (MDNI)

getting into your dream college was obviously amazing, but you were super stressed about your upcoming exams, and having to study every single day was only caking up your cortisol.

luckily your best friend from campus, also your roommate, was always there to calm you down during those moments of stress. he either comforted you with your favourite snacks or had silly karaoke nights just to make you forget about lectures from time to time.

“c’mon gyu�� let me read my notes again..”

“alright alright.. but one more song?”

well, this day was no different.

you have an important exam in two days and it is all you can think about. it’s quite literally eating at your brain.

“hey… can you.. drive me to the library.. i need to look through some things.”

“okay but, sure you don’t want a drink first?”

“i guess. if you want to. thank you dude. you’re the best” you smile.

beomgyu nods his head, walking to his closet to look through his clothes. the weather is just the perfect autumn. the leaves are coloured in such beautiful colours, and the weather is not too cold but not too hot.

he chooses what to wear, and finally you both get ready for this small outing. you leave the dorm, getting to your local café, ready to enjoy some freshly steeped coffee.

you insist on paying for yourself but he pulls out his card first.. so you sit down in defeat.

you sit a bit at the table, looking at each other face to face just chatting.. until you decide it’s time to get going.

you both grab the paper coffee cups to take with you to the library. it isn’t that far from the café, so you just go by foot.

once you get to the library, you instantly start looking around the mountains of bookshelves for the books you need, while beomgyu is sipping on his coffee giggling at your determination.

“you’re doing okay over there?” he asks.

“yes ugh i think i found it.. not sure though..” you say, already high up on the ladder.

inherently, you find everything you need, and you both sit down at one of the tables at a more reserved place in that big library, you didn’t want anyone disturbing your learning and beomgyu didn’t want anyone disturbing him from admiring you.

you sit down first, with your books in hand while he chooses to sit right next to you, quite close to you actually.

the sides of your thighs are touching but.. this was quite normal for you two already.

you start taking down notes, breaking up sentences to make them easier for reading while beomgyu scrolled on his phone the whole time.

after you were done with your notes, he sat upright to hear everything you noted down.. but while he did, he placed a hand on your thigh.

not that he didn’t mean to, he actually couldn’t say that he didn’t want to do that for the longest time now..

it’s just that he thought that you wouldn’t like it. but oh how you did.

he wanted to swat his hand away but you quickly placed your hand over his keeping it there. his eyes got bigger and his face got so red like never before.

“gyu.. i .. i like that.”

he smiles in satisfaction.

“oh really? you do? what about this then..”

then he slides his hand even further down your thigh, squeezing your inner thigh tighter and tighter.

“give me more.. please” you plead quietly.

he licks his lips, moving his hand to your crotch, dragging his hand up and down lazily. you grab onto his wrist, making him keep his hand there while you slowly grind yourself on his fingers. he slowly leans in to kiss your neck, leaving pecks here and there.

“you really wanna do this?” he whispers, his voice lower than usual. you slightly nod, knowing exactly how you were going to end this in a bit.

he couldn’t help but get needy seeing you so riled up like that, his erection coming without him barely noticing.. but you definitely noticed.

you smile, seeing that dent in his pants. that’s why you stop and take his hand away, slowly sneaking under the table to be able to suck him off.

this took him off guard but he couldn’t complain less. he had this bulge to take care of before you left and.. it was either this or he took care of it in the bathroom.

he slightly smiles at you under the table, and you grab his pants to pull his zipper down.

his zipper slides down with a bit of pressure, the sound slightly echoing through the quiet room.

you pull his boxers down just enough to take his cock out, leaving his pants on just in case.

you give him a few strokes, making eye contact with him just to signal him to keep quiet through this whole thing. then, being impatient, you finally let your lips have contact with his tip.

without moving down, you start by licking and sucking on his tip, getting to know how much he loves it by the struggle sounds he makes to not raise suspicions.

he starts whining quietly when you begin abusing his tip, kissing on the most sensitive parts. he slowly moves his hand down to move your hair out of your face a bit.

“hold..on.. what are..” but he can’t even finish his sentence. he just lets you continue pleasing him the best you can.

after getting enough of his tip, you decide to take him in slowly trying not to choke too loud. you bop your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks to give him the best head he’s ever got. you begin shuffling sounds out as he’s just watching you, and you think to tease him a bit.

you pull away, looking into his eyes again. “read my notes.” you say with a grin on your face while stroking him with your hand gently.

“what..? what do you mean?” he furrows his eyebrows. “you know exactly what i mean. let me hear you read the words out loud.” then you just get back to shoving him in your mouth. he releases the grasp on your hair to ruffle through the notes on the table, his hands shaking and all.

he begins to read the notes you wrote down, with somewhat high difficulty since his vision got blurrier than it was. his words flow smoothly until you start using your tongue on him again, licking at his tip and working your way down his whole length.

his keeps stopping in his sentences to leave out breaths and.. whenever he messes up you pull away for a few seconds. he whines again and again to make you keep going, but as long as he doesn’t say the words perfectly, you’re not stopping this torture.

“..fuck you’re such a whore.. just keep going ‘kay?” he whispers.

you leave out a thoughtful “mmm”, not knowing what to do with him after that. but you decide to do exactly what you want, and that being teasing him until he gives out.

you pull away again, fisting his cock as fast as you can. “read the notes faster, i don’t have all day hm?” you tease. he groans and just takes those papers in hand to try concentrating. you have him wrapped around your finger now and there’s nothing he can do.

as he’s continuing to read those notes, he really tries to do better this time… and you figure it’s a good idea to give his thighs a bit of love too. as you’re stroking him, you move your mouth down to pull a bit of that jean fabric down with your teeth, just to give them a few kisses here and there, moving down to his balls to leave small kisses everywhere.

you’re aware that someone might walk in right now but the adrenaline of those chances just make you want to continue, even more seeing him like this, you want to feel pleased too.

you slide one hand inside your pants, doing your best to circle your clit in this moment. you start slightly moaning around his balls, beomgyu knowing exactly what you’ve starting doing.

“such a slut for me… keep imagining those fingers are mine love.” he says, making you squeeze your thighs together almost squirming under him.

you start sucking him off again while shoving a finger inside you, wishing it was him instead. you knew all too well how this will escalate after you got out of there so you didn’t even have to worry. he succeeded in getting you so wet, if only he knew then.

you pull your hand away, resting it on his knee instead. you were gonna get your pleasure anyway.. one way or another.. and you knew he would totally be into it.

in between struggled words, he starts swearing and pleading to you, trying to make you slow down a bit.. to let him last longer. but you wanted to see him cum now, and you were going to let that happen.

he’s getting really close, especially with the pace you suddenly picked up.. but it somehow wasn’t enough for him. so instead of holding those papers in hand, he slid both his hand under the table to hold your head in place, while fucking your face to the pace he desired.

he doesn’t know what got into him but the noises you let out right then were inhumane. you begin choking again with your spit dripping down your chin, but you love how much he’s enjoying it.

he leaves out full blown moans in this quiet library not caring anymore if someone catches you. “im gonna.. ohh fuckfuckfuck” he freaks out. you let out a hum to let him cum inside and oh how he does. he cum in your throat, not even giving you the option to spit it out, not that you would anyway, pulling your head away to let you breathe. his cock twitching up a few times from what it just endured, but he swore from then on that it was the best experience of his life. you sit back up next to him, giving him a small peck for behaving so well through this.

“i didn’t know you were so into head pushing..” you laugh. “…sorry, i don’t know what got into me really..” he pouts.

“don’t worry, that was fucking hot.”

his breathing irregular and his forehead sweaty, he smiles at you showing you how satisfied he was.. but quickly his smile wipes off his face when he realises once again that you’re both in a public place. he even notices the convenient open door to the other part of the library that was packed with students from your college..

it’s safe to say that you never went to that library again.

[popopretty]

[Translation] Asagiri Kafka's afterwords for The Day I Picked up Dazai novel

Normally, afterwords would be the last thing I read in a novel, but as there are not many changes to the published novel this time compared to the movie bonus version, I was able to skim through the text quickly and get to this. And to be honest, despite not being a writer myself, I was so moved by Asagiri's views about writing and his characters that he shared in the afterwords, that I had to sit down and translate it right away.

This is just my crappy translation, as usual, but I hope it gave you a short, interesting look into the author and the characters. And please do not forget to buy the novel if you have the chance.

The translation is under the cut, thank you!

It has been a while. This is Asagiri Kafka.

Have you been enjoying Bungou Stray Dogs?

This novel, “The Day I Picked up Dazai”, is a compilation of the first week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side A” and the second week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side B” for the screening of “Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST” movie (hereinafter referred to as “BEAST”).

Normally, it is difficult to publish a bonus like this, but since "BEAST” and “Fifteen” that were published earlier by BEANS Bunko were originally bonus novels too, "The Day I Picked up Dazai” was also published in the same way, thanks to the efforts of all parties involved in the Bungou Stray Dogs series.

It is the story of Dazai and Odasaku’s first meeting, where Dazai who wants to die, collapsed in front of Odasaku’s place, who is neither a mafioso nor a hit man.

Why are there two different stores, Side A and Sode B? Regarding this question, please read the novel and see for yourself. If you keep in mind that this is the bonus for the BEAST movie, I think you will be able to understand it better.

Let me reminisce a little bit here.

This story was actually suggested to me by Igarashi Takuya, Director of the Bungou Stray Dogs anime.

Shortly before BEAST movie premiered, I was struggling. It was because I was asked to write a bonus novel for movie-goers again. I said “again” because, as I mentioned earlier, BEAST itself was a bonus novel for the Bungou Stray Dogs DEAD APPLE movie. I remembered having a hard time writing it, because I let myself run wild and wrote a total of 190 pages instead of 50 pages as requested.

But I had learnt my lesson after the last rampage. I can’t just write whatever I want anymore. I have to wrap the story in a reasonable length, like a pro should do.

A proper, professional story.

Huh?

My pen stopped right there. I stopped, looked around, feeling lost.

What is a proper story?

The act of writing novel is quite different in character compared to other types of media such as writing manga, anime scripts, or game scenarios. You can say it is almost a different thing. Writing novels, rather than narrating an event, is more like putting the flow of emotions into specific sentences. You use the sequence of letters to create rhythms, create flows, and create emotions. If anything, it might be closer to composing a song than writing a story.

Therefore, you have to decide “what kind of emotion will be put in this novel” from the very beginning, or you can’t start writing. That is the only and absolute rule.

Now, however, that is where the condition of a “proper story” hung over me.

A proper novel, of a proper volume, with a proper content for a bonus.

In other words, a proper emotion.

I searched through the drawers inside my head. For a proper emotion that is waiting to be brought out.

There was nothing but emptiness there.

A professional story teller is one with the skill to move the readers’ emotions. When people find the chance to move their own emotions, they will happily be paying for it. Human-being is that kind of creature.

And writers are ones who create and sell those kinds of emotions: the fear, the excitement, the heart throb etc., those that make you think. It is that kind of job.

It is supposed to be that kind of job.

Yet I became unable to move forward.

A good story is a story that moves people. I know that. Then what kind of emotion I should put in the story to make it "proper"?

How do I find that emotion?

I mean, how did I even write novels until now?

I stood still. My legs stiffened, my knees froze, unable to take even a step forward.

I then tried to at least pretend that I was moving forward, by listening to music, by taking a walk around the neighborhood at night. But as good as the night breeze felt, I didn’t manage to reach a single story that I needed to write.

What if I stayed like this forever, what would I do?

I felt a chill plunging into my back.

Then I realized, that stories, or probably emotions too, are not things you can search for or come up with. You have no choice but to patiently wait for it to come your way. You have no choice but to humbly and earnestly sit and wait for the story’s visit.

I got that, but the "proper 50-page story” still refused to come.

It was not long before one week passed. Then two weeks.

I was doing other work, while keeping my heart’s door open, waiting for the story to come to me.

At that time, I had an online meeting with the anime staff. I casually asked Director Igarashi, “Do you have any story you want to see?”

The Director gave it a little thought then told me, "I want to see the story of Dazai and Oda’s encounter”.

At that very moment, the story rushed in through my door, like a bang. I could hear that sound very clearly.

Two stories. Odasaku, and the two Dazais. A story where they met, and a story where they couldn’t meet. A story of gain and a story of loss. If I can portray the gain and loss side by side, the amplitude of the heart will be doubled and rise up in front of us.

That was a momentary event. Rather than pushing my way forward, I felt as if something was pulling my hand. Before I noticed, I have already finished the stories.

I came to realize.

It is not the writer who searches for the story. It is the story that chooses its writer, and at some point it will come our way. A professional writer is no more than someone with the ability to catch that call.

Also, this is the most important thing: there is no such thing as a “proper emotion”. Because after all, the feelings of other people belong to them only. That is why there is no guarantee that a novel can move others “properly”. However, you can move your own emotions. You know what kind of novel can and how it will move you. If you do, you can write just that. That’s the only way. That is the truly professional attitude. That’s what I thought.

Well then.

It is a little bit off topic, but as we are talking about “stories that come our way”, let’s talk about Odasaku’s first-person narrative.

Odasaku is a special character. For me, he is exclusively a novel character, and I have never portrayed him in the manga.

He first appeared as the narrator in “Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era”, then “BEAST” and now this “The Day I Picked up Dazai”. All are novels. That’s why for me, Odasaku doesn’t live inside the pictures, he lives inside the first-person narrative passages.

He is an eccentric guy. Even if you prepare the place and tell him to speak, he won’t speak to you that easily. His way of thinking is rather unique, that if I write his narrative after writing other characters’ first-person narrative, I would stumble for sure. Odasaku doesn’t speak. He just sits there in silence, while I can do nothing but sitting in front of my blank manuscript paper, trying to talk to him, like “What’s up?”, “Here, here”. However, he is a guy who won’t speak when it is not necessary. Sometimes it goes days or even weeks without him saying a word. Why did such a character come to me...?

During such time, there is only one thing I can do. That is, of course, to stay with him, sit patiently, and simply wait.

Finally he will start speaking. In his unique rhythm, word by word. His words have the power to cut through the world from a certain angle. That special cross-section is full of things I have never seen before and it never fails to surprise me.

And then when he finishes telling his story, he will swiftly disappear. To a dark and quiet place somewhere – probably, I can only imagine, somewhere like a bar. He will sit there calmly and keep his own time to himself. After that, it will be hard to call him again. It is a backbreaking task to me, but in the end, that is the type of guy Odasaku is, and if I am allowed to sound self-conscious, that is Odasaku's charm.

This story was written in such a way. There is a chance that he will come back again. And when he does, I will patiently listen to his voice again.

This story was completed and published thanks to the help of many people: in the Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST movie’s Production Committee, the anime staff, Young Ace’s Editorial Department, BEANS Bunko’s Editorial Department, and the many people who were involved in the publication of the book. Thank you very much. It is all thanks to you that the book was published without any problem this time as well.

Well then, see you in the next story.

Asagiri Kafka.

[windvexer]

Hey chicken,

You previously said that you believe even doing simple things in spellwork, like leaving something in a dish of salt, need to be worked over. How would you work over simple things like that? Burning a candle? Just infusing it with some energy?

Even more simple than infusing it with energy, maybe.

This isn't like, set in stone. But I generally believe that the first step of all Witchcraft is permission.

As in, you speak from a place of authority as a Witch, and give permission that reality may become abnormal.

Witchcraft is abnormal, in my opinion. I think it's perfectly nice that people build paradigms based on the idea that magic is altogether completely natural and there is no difference between the magic and normal, but I like the sinister stuff.

So IMO the first, most basic, essential "working over" is to take something (the dish of salt) and, give it permission to become abnormal and begin to effect reality abnormally.

This is the hinge upon which Witchcraft pivots: the Witch going in and taking normal things, and realigning the tracks of fate beneath them, compelling things to start happening which never would have happened if not for that specific intervention.

A dish of salt does not normally just make a space clear of emotions. If it did so, that would not be normal. It would be abnormal. Paranormal, even.

So how do you get salt to stop being normal, and start being a paranormal substance that does abnormal things?

Charging with energy is a later step. You charge with energy to fulfill an intent already set.

The first step is to give reality - the reality of the salt, of the emotions in the room - permission to be a fucked up little guy. It's easy as pie. And it mostly comes down to magical headspace: you seeing reality as something quite permeable, and easy to change, and almost illusory, springing from the web of fate that underpins it; but you can change that fate. Reality likes us. It mimics us to show that it wants to be friends. Put yourself in a state where the world is mutable, and around you the world complies.

So step one is magical headspace.

Step two is telling the salt what to do. "Listen here, you fucked up glorious little guy. Before you were dead, only crystals harvested and mined, sold on a grocery shelf where you've been reduced to nothing but flavor. They chew on your bones and forget to worship your soul. But here, in my house, you are a god. Rise from your grave in this new form, to this new purpose: purify from this room the unwanted, the harmful, and the malignant. By my word and my will, this new fate has been granted to you."

No energy work. No visualization. Just tell it like it is.

Or you could be more corporate about it. "This salt purifies negative energy from the room." It's just setting intent, if you want to be crude.

It's hard for me to do corporate magic. With all apologies to the people who do prefer the very simplified present-tense intentions.

Reality mimics us. If something is stirring inside of you, then something is stirring inside of the salt. No visualizing energy roots required.

A simple sentence may not be enough, or a paragraph. Sometimes it takes a while to find the right words. Maybe the salt isn't really a god. Maybe it's a gnome, a saltwork machine, the dead crest of a long-forgotten ocean wave that preserved a billion amoeba in crystalline purity, ready now to purify your room.

Over time, intuition and experience will both grow and combine to advise exactly what to say.

After all, you're telling it like it is - not making it up.

Go to the place where magic is real and you're doing it.

Assign new fates through words.

These are the simplest steps to working over something.

[literaila]

how do u think satoru would react to reader in a depressive episode, especially what do u think the kids would do

obviously, they’ve all noticed.

the past couple of weeks have not been lived through ignorantly. and you have not been acting normal.

the differences are just that, at first. tiny inconsistencies in your otherwise normal personality, your routine.

and then it becomes more than just a… change.

it starts off simple; megumi’s brows furrowing when you ask him a question—something about his teacher, or what kind of drink he wants in his lunch that day—and then forget what you’ve just said as soon as he answers.

tsumiki watching, smiling along idly, as you rub your temples, sighing with every other sentence and squeezing your eyes tight like you’ll be able to wake up if you try hard enough.

and satoru noticing when you linger in your room a bit longer, as the days pass. staring when you freeze looking at the wall in the morning, zoning out so hard that he has to shake you back to life.

just an accumulation of things that might indicate that something is up.

but as these moments—moments when you’re lost in your head, trying to conceal your entire being from all of them, and pretending that it’s all normal—increase, the three of them learn a little something about observing.

and lying to themselves, of course.

eventually, though, when megumi or tsumiki inevitably say something—usually when you’re not in the room, off hiding somewhere—satoru just shrugs.

(he’s going to lie his way through this, just like everything else, thank you).

“it’s a bad day,” he’ll say, like the two children will comprehend that. like they don’t know what a bad day means. “she’s just tired.”

he could make a million excuses for you. oh, you didn’t get enough sleep last night. oh, you’ve only had one cup of coffee today. oh, the world is a truly terrible place and it’s only natural that it runs you down.

but he leaves them with the simplest of explanations, instead. maybe it’s his subtle way of denying that there’s anything wrong. that you could be upset about something. it doesn’t matter, anyway.

and tsumiki, ever so trusting of all of you, listens to him. if satoru says that you’re okay, then so does she. she’ll draw you a picture at school or try to help you make their lunches in the morning, but you’re fine. her questions end with an answer.

megumi, on the other hand, has never believed a word that satoru has said.

so when the older man swears that you’re okay, that they don’t need to worry, megumi only begins to worry harder.

he sees that look on your face when you walk in the room, and megumi knows. maybe it’s because he’s the most attuned to you, out of everyone, in particular. maybe it’s because he’s observant, or too worrisome for his age (as you tell him).

but he knows.

and if satoru says one thing, megumi’s going to believe the other.

(plus the two of you have always had a symbiotic relationship. you worry about him, and he worries about you. you laugh at him, and he gives a little lip twitch in return).

so satoru is not surprised when megumi brings it up for the fourth time in a week.

“you want me to what, exactly?”

“you can talk to them, can’t you?” he repeats, giving satoru a bland look. something like ‘are you serious.’ “they know you.”

satoru snorts. “i don’t think my bosses will appreciate me telling them what they can or can’t do.”

megumi gives him another look.

and yeah, so satoru already does that. they still don’t appreciate it.

he sighs, smiling at the boy. anything to mess with him, really. he ruffles megumi’s hair. “kid, she’s fine. i can’t just tell them to give her a couple of weeks off. there has to be a reason. and,” he adds, cheerfully. “i’ve been told it’s impolite to speak on someone’s behalf without their input.”

“you don’t care about being polite,” megumi argues, crossing his arms.

satoru groans internally. he’s really not going to let this go.

it’s not that satoru necessarily disagrees, but anything he does to help you is going to be refuted with a “butt out,” or “leave me alone, satoru.”

“true,” he says, grinning as he mocks the boys stance. “but i do care about being yelled at. particularly by your mother.”

“she needs a break.”

satoru rolls his eyes. “she’s getting one. the next couple of days are free, and she’s taking a nap right now.”

megumi frowns, even deeper than usual, and stares satoru down until he breaks.

“megumi,” the man groans, childishly, pushing the boy out of the room. “you don’t need to worry about her. chill out. just go back to reading about rocks or whatever you were doing.”

“it’s geology.”

satoru waves a hand, indifferent.

(secretly trying to come up with a way to get you to talk to him. he can’t ask because you’ll just ignore him. he can’t force it out of you because that would get the two of you nowhere.

what other options are left, really? you’ve put satoru in a terrible position).

“then can we get something, instead?” megumi asks, almost pleading. “flowers, or… whatever girls like.”

“y/n already has flowers. i bought them.”

“buy something else.”

“who taught you to be this stubborn?”

megumi only scowls at him.

satoru sighs, scratching his head. he knows he should do something—but he’s so used to sitting around and waiting for you to fix everything.

yes, he does recognize that it’s a terrible habit, and completely unfair. he also recognizes that he is the worst person in the world.

eventually he sighs. “okay. how about i order dinner?” he asks, almost wincing. it’s the most natural response—everything can be fixed with food, in satoru’s sophisticated opinion. “that’ll be easy. want to go ask mom what she wants?”

megumi practically runs to your room, leaving satoru with no time to remind him that you’re probably asleep, knocking just briefly—from what satoru can hear—before going in.

he tip-toes up to the door, also wanting to check in.

satoru is nothing if not nosy.

and he might as well let megumi do all of the dirty work.

“um, i don’t care,” he hears you saying. “whatever you guys want.”

“it’s for you.”

there’s a pause. then, “really, megs, i’m not very hungry, so…”

megumi is frowning down at you when satoru steps in.

“good nap?” he asks, smiling and sitting at the edge of your bed.

“you don’t need to get dinner. it’s my turn.”

he waves a hand. “i feel like takeout.”

you frown, about to argue when megumi speaks up, glancing between the two of you with an almost furious expression.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft but mad. like usual. satoru realizes that he’s been tricked into contributing to this.

“what?”

“why are you upset?”

“upset?” you repeat, eyes widening. “i’m not upset, megu—“

“are you sick?”

“no,” you say, immediately. “i’m just a little tired but it’s—“

“megumi,” satoru interrupts, trying to ignore the almost hurt look on your face—the glance you send his way, pleading and worried. he knows you hate this the most. “let’s let mom sleep some more, okay? tsumiki and you can decide what you want—“

“no.”

and neither of you can argue, or console the confused boy, before he’s climbing into your bed with a determined look on his face.

satoru tried to grab on to him, but megumi is having none of that, shaking him off before he can get a good grip. you’re looking at satoru anxiously, and this is the worst.

if satoru knows anything about you, it’s that you don’t want to be coddled. you don’t want to accept any help, even if it’s from your sweet, concerned son.

“megumi—“ you say, though, satoru notes, don’t make any attempts to move him when he struggles to get under the covers with you, or when he just sits by your side, barely touching you.

“i’m staying here.”

“really, bud, i’m okay. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“you’re sad.”

“i’m not.”

megumi looks at you, and satoru watches as you both share a glance. an internal conversation he’ll never get to be apart of.

for once in his life he’s not even jealous about it.

“it’s…” you say, but the two boys watch as your shoulders slack and your face drops. all at once, you lose color, life, and just sit there. “it’s fine.”

you say it to them, but it sounds more like a reminder to yourself.

satoru’s face falls. he has no idea what to say, what to do to help you—he’s spent so much time denying that there was anything wrong, that he could do anything to help, and now he’s got no answers.

he feels like an idiot, sitting there. megumi shouldn’t be taking more initiative, he should be the one worrying about you, the one to go to—

megumi doesn’t say anything though. he only moves closer to you, not complaining when your arm wraps around his shoulder and you hold him to you.

like a life vest. a support in all of the vastness.

he doesn’t need to say ‘it’s okay,’ or ‘i’m here for you,’ for the words to ring out across the the air.

and, satoru realizes, quickly, he’s only doing what you do for them. what you do best.

climbing in beside them and making sure they know that they’re not alone. being that support, no matter how unwanted.

megumi’s learned from the best.

“sorry,” you mutter to him. “i know im gross.”

megumi shakes his head and settles into you even further. and the boy doesn’t cuddle—or, at least, without being forced—but your face softens as he leans against you, allowing this kind of intimacy.

and, maybe, satoru thinks, that’s the problem with all of you.

no one knows quite what to say. what to do to help someone with something that they can’t understand. neither he or megumi is sure how to dig you out of this hole.

none of you are very good with words.

but, at least, satoru knows how to be good at this.

he sets his glasses on your bedside table, and he moves you both over with ease, smiling when you both grunt at his intrusion.

and then you’re a tower of people, all leaning against one another. building blocks stacked on top of each other.

you relax into satoru almost instantly and he kisses the top of your head, feeling some sort of pride—just at the fact that you’ll let him be here, with you.

maybe that’s the thing with families, he thinks. no one needs to say anything for it to be okay.

and the uneasiness sits there with all of you. the past couple of weeks—the distancing and disassociating—linger there.

there’s nothing he can say to make everything all better. he could destroy the entire world right now, save for your house, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

but this is nice. a hug might not fix everything, but it won’t make anything worse

and after a minute or two, you say: “where’s tsumiki?”

and she peeks her head out from your door, smiling at all three of you. it takes her three seconds to jump on the bed, having been waiting there the whole time, the final piece to your messed up puzzle.

[sanjisprincesswifey]

jealousy, jealousy ⋆ trafalgar law x reader

summary: eustass helps law realize something

♡: sort of non-canonical wano law content. female reader. 750+ words. sfw content.

law could feel his eye twitch at the sight of you two. it has his stomach twisting in knots and his throat running dry, like some form of horrific torture.

despite being an incredible asset to his team, he was beginning to regret bringing you along on this mission at all.

out of all the people in the country of wano, you had to end up with that red-haired, idiot of a captain. law doesn’t understand how anyone would find interest in that unruly dumbass, but here he was with an arm around you and his face so close to yours that law was sure you could taste his breath.

law never knew exactly what your type was but he wasn’t expecting it to be…that.

“trafalgar, what’re you staring at over there?” the dumbass in question asks, with an obvious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

you turn at the call of your captain and law bitterly rolls his eyes in response, attempting to act as unbothered as he could right now.

hearing eustass laugh in response, surely making you chuckle too, has an unreasonable, seething jealousy burn in law’s chest. and when he turns back his heart sinks, staring in disbelief as the two of you begin to lean in to each other.

law doesn’t know what comes over him, but his vision grows blurry and time begins to feel like it is slowing down. “y/n-ya, can i see you outside for a moment please,” he strainingly calls. he doesn’t bother to check for a reaction from either of you, but he can assume that one of you isn’t too thrilled to be interrupted.

the moonlight that cascades over wano envelopes your skin in a minute blue-ish tint the moment you step out and law momentarily forgets his distain for a couple of seconds, too engulfed in your beauty to be able to think.

“captain?” you question, pulling his head out of the clouds.

he shifts awkwardly on his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “i, uh—“ he dryly coughs, “i needed to see you for a moment.”

you nod, assuming he would continue and inform you further, but he just stood there averting his gaze between the ground and you. “yes…for what?”

his gray eyes seem more lackluster than normal, which was odd, even for him. law usually was so composed and calm, even in the most dangerous situations, seeing him so on-edge was slightly unnerving.

“captain,” you gently say, reaching over lightly grab his shoulder, “you can talk to me.”

before you can retract your hand, law grabs it to hold in his. “i don’t think you should date eustass,” he blurts out, startling the both of you.

his hand that’s holding yours grows clammy, you were certain even he wasn’t intending to reveal that information.

“i—i mean, he just doesn’t seem like your type…no, wait, fuck—“

your head tilts, brows furrowing as you watch him poorly string a sentence together. in all the time that you’ve known law, you’ve never heard him babble like he is right now before.

“so what is my type?” you question, crossing your arms over your chest.

he thinks about speaking before he actually does, “well…you deserve someone who could treat you, you know, good. someone smart, who knows you and—“

your lips curve into a smile, eyes softening when you realize who he’s describing. “law, that sounds like you,” you interrupt.

law’s entire body freezes, his eyes widen as he looks up at you. he shakily points to himself with a confused, almost humorous, expression on his face. the realization on his face soon sets in, finally taking a deep breath. “…that sounds like me,” he repeats, to himself mostly.

“i didn’t realize you felt that way about me, captain,” you say in a much calmer, almost flirtatious tone as you step closer to him. you reach up to lightly graze the stubble on his chin, bringing his lips closer to yours.

his breath hitches, wanting nothing more than to continue where you and eustass had left off. “wait, wait, wait, as your captain…and future boyfriend, i would like to take you out on a proper date first. it’s the least you deserve,” he blushes, trying his hardest to not give in to the temptation of how soft your lips look.

as disappointed as you are, you have to appreciate his dorky, yet chivalrous, nature (which doesn’t surprise you one bit). “i guess that’s okay, the longer i wait, the more i’ll want you,” you smirk, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as you head back inside.

law stands in awestruck, a small drop of blood descending from his nose.

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! (✿◠‿◠)

[gratelove]

*I've been rewatching Orange is the New Black and I forgot how in love with Nicky I am. So here is Nicky one shot I've been thinking about. There may be more of these. Saddle up, cause this is a long one.*

Say You're Mine

Nicky Nichols x Reader

Warnings: cursing, 18+, fingering, oral, jealousy

When you were sentenced and sent to Litchfield, you promised yourself that you would keep your head down and do your time. You met Nicky and became best friends, but still kept your promise to yourself. You wouldn't let yourself get involved with anyone and soon became a prize to win. Boo and Nicky decide to see who can get you first during their competition to see who can sleep with the most girls after Boo finds Nicky's sex diary.

You have been at Litchfield for a year now and you have one year left on your sentence. You told yourself when you got sentenced that you would come in, do your time, and go back to your life. You didn't want to get in any trouble or attach yourself to anyone, and you definitely weren't going to get physically involved. You've kept most of that promise to yourself so far. Most, not all. You have become attached to one red haired junkie in particular, though. Nicky Nichols. She became someone you leaned on for everything. She made this place feel normal.

"Hey, beautiful." You hear a familiar raspy voice from behind you, breaking you from your thoughts, and look from your eggs to see Nicky taking a seat next to you, breakfast tray in hand.

"Hey," you smile and bump her elbow with your own.

"Nicky, great you're here. Y/N wasn't being helpful, and I need you to tell me which dress you like better." Morello slaps a bridal magazine on the table in front of the two of you, pointing to a large, puffy wedding dress. Nicky rolls her eyes and you can't help but crack a smile.

"Morella, I love you, but it's too fucking early for this shit. Can I just eat my eggs in peace," Nicky says as she takes a mouthful of just that.

"Alright, fine," Morello pulls away the magazine and continues flipping through the pages.

"Hey, Y/N. You look pretty this morning." You look to your left to see Big Boo sliding in next to you.

"Morning, thanks Boo," you say and smile at her.

"How'd you sleep, princess," she asks and rests her chin in her hand, looking at you. You furrow your brows together. She is being weirder than usual. Boo has made attempts in the past to get with you, but this is off.

"Fine. Are you okay," you question and she offers an awkward laugh.

"I'm great, especially now that I'm here. I see you finished your eggs. Did you want any of mine?" She slides her tray closer to you.

"No, thanks though. You sure you're good?"

"I'm wonderful. You know," she begins, but pauses to brush a strand of hair over your shoulder. "I'd be even better if you'd sit next to me at the movies tonight." Her smile grows and she raises a brow in question. You hear Nicky scoff from behind you.

"Could you be any more desperate," Nicky calls from over your shoulder, and you turn to see her face slightly red. Her brows knitted together in annoyance.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up, Nichols," Boo says in a sweet voice.

"Um, sure Boo. I'll sit with you." You smile and give her a nod. You hear Nicky scoff again. You wonder why Nicky is so bothered by this. So many questions are running through your head about both of their behaviors this morning.

"Great, let me know your favorite snacks and I'll make sure to pick some up from commissary for you," she says and rubs your shoulder. You look down at her hand, then back at her, with a confused expression.

"Oh, okay, thanks. I'll do that," you nod and she grabs her tray, leaving the table.

"What the fuck? We always sit together for movie night," Nicky exclaims with a frustrated tone.

"Well, she asked and I didn't want to be rude. Why do you care so much, anyways?"

"I don't. Just forget it." Nicky rolls her eyes and continues eating her breakfast.

"Hey, you can sit with us."

"No thanks." She shakes her head and you look to Morello, who gives us a confused shrug. Breakfast continues without another word from Nicky.

***

You are sitting in your bed, reading a book when you feel the mattress sink next to you. You look to see the familiar mane of red hair. You look back to your book, trying to seem as though you are unbothered by her presence. In reality, you are still incredibly annoyed with her because of her behavior this morning.

"What's going on in your book," she asks, knowing how much you love to talk about your current read. You always go into great depth about your books, and even though you end up spoiling it for Nicky every time, she loves how excited you get when you talk about it.

"Nothing," you say and continue reading. She lays her head on your shoulder and your stomach tightens.

"Come on, I know you want to tell me all about it." She nudges you slightly. You don't say anything and she lets of a breath. "Are you mad at me from this morning?" You stand your ground and try to continue to focus on the words on the page. You feel her getting closer until her lips are almost touching your ear. "You know you can't stay mad at me," she whispers, and her warm breath sends shivers through your whole body. You force yourself to keep your composure, but then you feel hands on your ribs. She begins tickling you and you squeal, throwing your book down.

"Stop," you scream through your laughter and fall onto your bed. She crawls on top of you and continues attacking you. You can't help but laugh and scream, pleading for her to stop in between sharp breaths.

"Are you still mad at me," she asks through her own laughter.

"No! No," you screech and suddenly the torture stops. You open your eyes to see her hovering over you. Her hands are on either side of your head, her frizzy locks are a curtain over both of your faces. She has a lazy smile on her face, and you can only assume it matches your own.

"I'm sorry for being a bitch this morning," she says, and moves a piece of hair off of your forehead and behind your ear. Her finger traces the shape of your lobe. You feel goosebumps rise on your skin. You sit in comfortable silence for a moment. You are still catching your breath while you admire her beautiful face. Her finger moves from your ear, to your jawline, up to your bottom lip. She is watching her thumb trace the shape of your face. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and the action makes your chest tighten. You can't help but admit that Nicky does something to you. You push down those feelings and avoid it as much as possible. She does make it hard for you, though. She is never this affectionate, but flirting is common for her. You never let yourself take it seriously. You know her track record and about her sex diary. You found it one day on accident and snooped. You didn't see your name in there, thankfully, but sex is a sport to her. In here, it's a good distraction for most. It's a way to cope. It's hard being alone and never having physical touch. Even you can admit that you struggle with it. Some days it becomes almost unbearable to not want it, but it only leads to trouble. You have seen too many broken hearts or drama start from prison relationships. You don't need that, especially not when you'll be stuck with that person the rest of your sentence.

"Get off of her inmate," you hear someone yell behind you, making you both jump. You look to see Bell standing at the edge of your cube. Nicky rolls her eyes and moves off of you, sitting next to you on the bed. Bell continues on her way down the isle.

"You shouldn't go to the movie with Boo," Nicky says. You stitch your brows and look at her.

"Why," you question.

"Well, she's clearly trying to fuck you."

"Yeah, and that bothers you," you smirk and she gives you an annoyed look, but doesn't respond. "Come on, Nicky. You know I don't play that game. Even if I did, why would you care who I fuck," you raise your brows in wait for an answer.

"Because Boo is a slut. She fucks anything that moves." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Oh what, and you don't? I've seen your fingers in five different girls' pussies just this week. You're not any better. You and Boo are the same with your pussy competition. Who's winning that by the way," you laugh. "At least Boo doesn't keep a bang book." You roll your eyes. Boo and her have this ridiculous competition going on to see who can fuck the most girls. Nicky shoves you and you shove her back. She does it again and this causes a play fight to break out between the two of you. You are both laughing as you push each other, until Nicky grabs both of your wrists. She pulls you close to her, so your faces are only inches away. She has that famous smirk of her lips and you try hard to keep your smile at bay. Her gaze moves from your eyes to your mouth and back again. You could cut the sexual tension in the cube with a knife. You feel butterflies fighting to erupt inside you. She leans in closer and closer until your lips are brushing against one another, just a whisper of a kiss, as if Nicky is asking for permission. Your breath hitches and your head is screaming for you to stop, but your body is pleading for more. Ultimately your body wins the internal battle as you push your fingers into her mane and pull her into you. Your lips meet and her hands find your waist, squeezing slightly. Your lips melt together as one entity as you kiss. She inevitably pulls away for air and you find yourself missing her lips, already.

"You want to go to the chapel," she asks as she bites her bottom lip. Sex. That's all she wants. You can't deny that you want that too, more than you ever have while being in here at this moment, if you're being honest with yourself. You can't, you won't. If she can make you feel like this from kissing, then sex is just going to make you addicted and you don't need that.

"No, I don't. I'm sorry, Nicky." You rub your thumb over her cheek before pulling you hands into your lap. She pulls her lips into a thin line.

"Right, you don't play that game," she huffs before exiting your cube.

***

The room is dark and the only sound filling the room is the munching of snacks and eruption of laughter every once in a while. You are focused on the movie as you share a knitted blanket with Boo while you enjoy the Snickers she got you from commissary. Nicky is sitting on the other side of you, arms crossed, and every so often making a side eye at you and Boo. You feel Boo's hand move to your knee and rest there. You make note of it, but ignore it as you continue to watch the movie. Eventually that hand starts to run higher up your thigh. You put your hand on top of hers to stop it in place. In your peripheral, you see Nicky shift next to you. You move you hand back to where it was. After a while, Boo's hand starts to explore your thigh again, getting closer to the inside. You shift and stop her hand once again. You look at her, and her gaze meets yours, giving you a wink.

"You look sexy. No one will see," she whispers to you.

"Boo, I-"

"Would you guys shut the fuck up. I can't focus on the movie," Nicky leans over and joins the conversation.

"Hey, Nichols, why don't you mind your own fucking business and quit with the cliterference."

"Why don't you keep your hands to yourself," Nicky retorts.

"I don't cock block your efforts, so how about you show some respect and don't do it to mine. You had your chance. You're going to lose, so deal with it." You take in the back and forth arguing between them and finally it hits you. The competition. The fucking competition. That explains their behavior. You're the target. Your blood beings to boil as you realize that they are competing to see who can fuck you first. You told Nicky when you first heard about this stupid bet that you would not be apart of it. She promised that you would not be involved in this. You can't believe that she really let Boo place bet on you.

"Shut the fuck up, Boo," Nicky spats.

"Why don't both of you shut the fuck up? I can't believe you. Me? You made me your fucking competition. Fuck both of you." You throw the blanket at Boo and rip your ear bud out, rushing out of the room. You can't believe Nicky. The flirting, affection, attitude, the kiss were all for this fucking competition. You are not some prize to be won. You are not some piece of meat. You make your way through the halls until you push open the doors to the chapel. You sit on a pew and put your head in your hands. You do your best to fight back the tears that want to escape. You will not let her make you cry. You feel like such an idiot. How could you let her kiss you? How could you let her get to you and make you feel something for her? You know Nicky, maybe better than anyone in here. You know that she can never be serious. She will never let herself feel for someone. It's all just physical, all for her own benefit. After the kiss, she was mad at you for rejecting her, like it hurt her feelings. What bullshit.

"Y/N?" A cracked and raspy voice comes from behind you. The sound of it alone makes you want to explode. It makes you want to scream. "Y/N, I'm so sorry."

"Fuck you, Nichols. Leave me alone." You shake your head, refusing to look at her. More in fear that you will cry than anything else. You hear her sit down next to you. You feel her hand touch your shoulder and you smack it off of you in an instant. "Don't you dare touch me," you say, rage dripping off of every word. Seeing her deep brown eyes makes your heart crack. Your restraint is falters as a single tear escapes. You see Nicky's bottom lip quiver. "Don't start fucking crying. You have no right." you shove her chest and she looks down at her lap. "You have no fucking right," you say louder, pushing her chest again. All she does is take it. "You're a horrible person, you know that?" She still doesn't say anything. "I trusted you. I told you not to involve me in this shit! I trusted you, and you tried to use me!" The anger in you begins to grow and the tears are falling freely now. The more you say, the more angry you get. The more you want to take it out on her. "You're supposed to be my friend! I'm not just some other bitch for you to fuck and dump!" Your palm meets her chest again. "I'm not nothing! I'm not just another conquest!" As your hand is about to meet her again, she grabs your wrist, finally making eye contact with you. Tears are running down her cheeks.

"I don't think that," she yells. "Fuck, I've never thought that." The sentence is barely above a whisper.

"Really, because it sure seems like you do."

"Well I don't." Her voice is sharp. She looks away again, not able to meet your gaze. "Boo wanted to make you competition. I told her no, but she was going to try either way. She said that whoever got you would win. She was fucking set on you. I couldn't..." Her voice trails off.

"You couldn't what?"

"I couldn't stand the idea of you with someone! Someone that's not me!" You breath catches in your throat at those words. More tears slips down her face and the sight makes you hurt. Nicky would never let someone know how much she truly cares. She's said it herself multiple times. She has commitment issues and a fucked up idea of love because of her mom, but here and now, she's admitting it to you. As much as you love hearing that sentence, it also infuriates you.

"Nicky, you're so fucking confusing! You can fuck every girl here, but the minute someone might have an opportunity with me, it's not okay? That's some twisted shit. You know that right," you ask and she offers a sad laugh.

"I never said I wasn't fucked up. I'm sorry, babe," She gives a smile that doesn't meet her eyes as she brings her hand to your cheek, wiping away the left over tears. You can't help but lean into her touch. It is silent for a moment, while you both let your emotions settle. Finally you break it.

"So, you really can't stand to see me with anyone but you? That sounds like a confession."

"Well, we are in a chapel. You're supposed to confess, right?" Her hand moves from your face to your neck.

"So, confess then, Nichols," you lean in closer to her. She lets out a breathy laugh.

"I confess that I want you so fucking bad, all the time, and not just sexually. Even though I do think about that quiet a lot." There she goes, biting her damn bottom lip. Her hand trails down your shoulder, to your arm, then to your thigh. You take in a deep breath, trying to settle the bundle of nerves building in your stomach. "I confess that I think about you day and night. That I love the way you rant about your books, the way you smile, the way you say my name." Her fingers play with the hem of your pants before she slides her fingers under them and into your panties. She runs her fingers over your lips and you visibly shiver, making her smile. Her index finger finds you clit and she rubs small circles. "I confess that I touch myself to the thought of you," she whispers in your ear, before taking your lobe between her teeth. You let out a small whimper.

"Nicky," you moan as the her movement on your core picks up speed.

"I love when you say my name, baby." Your eyes flutter shut and your head falls back when she plunges those fingers into you. You let out a loud moan and feel her move. You open your eyes when her fingers pull out of you. You see her now on her knees in front of you. She grabs either side of your pants and tugs, indicating for you to lift. She pulls your pants off frantically before grabbing your bare hips, and pulling you to the edge of the pew. She throws your legs over her shoulders, wrapping her arms around your thighs, and grips tight to hold you in place. "Fuck, I've thought about the way you taste for so long," she groans and rolls her eyes seductively before bowing her head to meet your throbbing center. You feel her tongue flick up and your head instantly falls back, mouth dropping open. She buries her face into you, her tongue running up and down in fast motions, before stopping at your clit and taking it between her teeth. She gently rubs it between her teeth while sucking, forcing you to let out a loud scream. "As much as I'd love to make you scream, you need to be quiet for me, baby." You nod and she smiles, kissing your inner thigh. "That's my girl," she praises before moving her face back to your now soaking pussy. Her tongue shoves inside you and you gasp.

"Fuck, Nicky," you moan as quietly as your body will allow. As she continues to lick you up and down, exploring every inch of your flower, her hand reaches up to squeeze your breast. She then pulls away.

"Take the rest of your clothes off," she demands, standing up. You obey, pulling your shirts off, and then your bra. You're now bare and suddenly feel self conscious. You move your arms over your breasts and stomach. Nicky grabs your arms, pulling them off of you. "Don't hide from me. You're fucking perfect."

"Take your clothes off," you say, nodding your head toward her attire and she smirks. She pulls her work boots off before peeling off her uniform. She is now standing in front of you, naked and beautiful. You lick your lips and the sight of her.

"Fuck, the way you're looking at me makes me so wet," she moans and grabs your arm. She pulls you onto the stage and behind the podium. She sets you inside the large hollow middle of the podium, hidden away from anyone that may come in. She latches onto your neck and begins to suck hard. You groan as your fingers find her center. You play softly with her folds before sliding your fingers inside her. She is so wet and so warm. She moans and follows your actions by sliding her fingers inside you, while her other hand is placed above your head on the podium, propping her up. You both finger each other and she rests her forehead on yours. Her hair sticks to her the sides of her face from sweat and you know yours is doing the same. You both pick up pace and are plunging your fingers into one another. You are both a mess of moans as you stare into each other's eyes. She has a lazy smile on her lips and she brings her thumb to your clit. Her thumb rubs hard circles on your clit as her index and middle finger pump into you.

"Oh my god, Nicky," you say as your eyes close. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches you being to unfold. "Nicky, fuck," you say her name again, your moans getting louder. Your fingers are still pumping in and out of her and she moans. You take your other hand and being to rub her clit.

"Say my name again, baby," you moans out. The command makes you more wet, if that is even possible.

"Nicky," you moan and her motions on your core become faster and harder.

"Fuck, you're mine, aren't you baby?" You bite your bottom lip and nod. "Say it. Say you're mine." You buck your hips against her hand. She is riding your fingers the same way you are hers.

"I'm yours, Nicky. Fuck, I'm yours." You meet her brown eyes. They are dark in a way you've never seen. They are hungry and determined.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

"Nicky, I'm about to..." You can't even finish your sentence from the tightening building in your stomach and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel like you're about to explode from the pressure rising inside you.

"Me too, baby. I want you to look at me when you cum," she says and you open your eyes to meet hers again. Your legs being to shake wildly as you feel sweat roll between your breasts. You can't hold it any longer and you release. You scream as you stare deep into her eyes and allow the tension to release until you feel pure bliss. Once Nicky feels your cum now dripping down her hand, she pulls out of you and her hand grabs the other side of the podium, squeezing the wood as you finish her. Her eyes slam shut as her head falls back. You bring one of her nipples into your mouth and roll it between your teeth. A moan erupts from her lips as you feel her tighten around your fingers and then hot, wet cum soaks your hand. You pull out of her, making her shiver. She slumps down in front of you, resting her forehead against yours once again. She brings her fingers to her lips and sucks your juices off of them. The action makes your center twitch as you roll your eyes in pleasure of the sight before you.

"You are so fucking sexy," you say and pull her head to yours until your mouth meets. Your lips move in sink, still hungry for one another. She breaks the kiss and laughs as you rest your hand comfortably in her hair. "Tell me you're mine," you demand and she gives you a wide smile.

"I'm yours," she says and kisses you softly.

"And I'm yours."

[fshaechans]

bf! haechan x fem reader

tags: smut, nsfw

wc: 840

warnings: mean dom! haechan, sub! reader, jealousy, manhandling, possessiveness, breeding kink (?), overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex, hickeys/marking (slightly/once), thigh riding, slightly choking… (lmk if i missed something)

•not proofread

•dni/dnr if it makes you uncomfy.

•reposting!!!!

-“Do you think I didn't see the way he looked at you? I bet you enjoyed getting attention from him”- haechan says as soon as the two of you get home after a long day with his friends.

-"What are you talking about? Mark? love, of course not, we were just talking”

-“I saw you laughing at his unfunny jokes, he touching you “accidentally”

-“Hyuck, forget about it, it was no big deal”

-“Can't help but get a little angry when i see him look and touch you like that”

Haechan takes you by the wrist, taking you to the bedroom, throwing you on the bed and locking the door.

-"What are you doing?" you ask, but already knowing where all this is going to end, you might not admit it, but you love when haechan shows his jealous side, because almost every time it ends up with him fucking you without pity and after that, ends up with cuddling in bed and lots of kisses.

-“I want you to come sit here on my lap, wearing just your bra and panties, do you hear me? “- He speaks as he positions himself at the head of the bed fully dressed.

You just obey, taking off your shirt and shorts, leaving only the pieces he asked for and finally sitting on his lap.

-“Good girl, I know you love to rub yourself on my dick like a whore, don't you?-Haechan says holding your waist tightly, while you do the friction with back and forth movements.

You let out a groan, his words are turning you on even more.

-“Hyuck, I need to feel you”

-"Seriously? what you need to feel, tell me loud and clear”

-“You”- you say low hiding in his neck, he picks you up grabbing your neck making you look at him.

-"Look at me, didn't you hear when i said to say it loud and clear?"- he holds your waist again, but this time pressing you so you can feel how hard he is under the jeans he's wearing.

-“And you think you deserve my dick inside you?”

You don't respond since your mind is so consumed with the sensation and can’t process anything, until you feel a slap on your ass, which snaps you out of that trance and makes you arch your back.

-“You better fucking answer me y/n” - he slaps your ass again, this time harder.

-“Hyuck, you know i'm yours, only yours, please fill me up-“

-“Say it again”- he demand.

-“I'm yours”

-“That's right,nobody is allowed to touch you like this except for me.”

He puts his fingers inside your panties, running his fingers through your opening and massaging your clit.

-“Looks like i don’t have to be inside you to make you cum, you are so wet for me. I'm gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard.”

He lifts you up for a moment to get you off his lap so he can unzip his pants and show off his hard cock.

-“Hmm, you are so big hyuck, oh my g-” you moan mid-sentence as you sit slowly on his cock, scratching your pussy out.

-“You can take it. Hands behind your back.”

Haechan gives you some strong thrusts while with one hand he plays with your right breast and puts the left one in his mouth, making circular movements with his tongue around your nipple.

-“Keep your eyes on me, see how I fuck you, only I can fuck you so well, he could never make you feel like this”

-“Haechan”- you moan loudly, looking like you're already close to reaching your climax, the thrusts getting deeper and faster, his words make you more and more aroused.

-“Louder. Let me hear you.” haechan speaks close to your ear, going down to your neck, kissing and leaving a slight hickey on your sensitive area.

-“F- haechan i'm so fucking close-“

-“Don’t hold back, cum for me, show me how much i make you feel good”

Your breathing starts to get a lot heavier than normal as you reach orgasm, but hyuck doesn't stop thrusting into you, which starts to overstimulate you.

-“Baby, too much!” you whimper from the overstimulation, making your thighs tremble and your body go weak, but hyuck catches you holding your waist.

After a few hard and deep thrusts, haechan comes inside you, making a mess and running some of his semen down your thighs, which he catches with his finger.

- "Open your mouth for me" you obey, cleaning and sucking his finger and tasting a little of his taste.

After both of you reach the limit, you fall over his body, which he hugs you, caressing your back and giving kisses on your face.

-“I love you so fucking much y/n. You're mine, and if i have to remind of that again, i will."

You nod and smile.

-“I love you, my sunshine”

-“Now let me take care of you, y/n”.

[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. 

[bloodypeachblog]

Vox x F!Reader NSFW drabbles/headcanons/fic

~~~♡♡♡~~~

I woke up at 5:30 AM this morning and this popped into my head. I had to write it down and post it. It's 7 am now. With that, I'm going back to sleep. Pink text is you, blue text is Vox. Enjoy!

Taglist: @omniuravity @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @neonvehk and anyone who loves Vox and/or Hazbin Hotel!

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Imagine you're in a poly-friends-with-benefits thing with Vox and Val.

You guys fuck on the regular and you all have a great time.

But deep down, afterwards, you don't feel that satisfied.

Your body was satisfied, but not your heart.

You cared about both of them dearly, hell, even loved them.

But you knew that they would never feel the same.

Of course they wouldn't.

One night, after sex, you guys lay there in bed.

You laid between the two men, Val has his back to you on one side, and Vox was laying on his back on the other.

You just lay there, thinking.

Val broke your heart just a few moments ago and it hurt you more than you thought.

It wasn't an out of the blue thing, it wouldn't even bat an eyelash if every party felt it was nothing but sexual.

But it still hurt.

Once you all finished, there was a moment where you and Val looked into each others eyes.

You were hoping that he'd feel some sort of connection between you two, that there was something more than sex there.

But that wasn't the case. He just turned his back to you, not even saying a word other than 'night'.

You didn't expect it to hit you that hard, but as you laid there, your eyes held heartbreak and loneliness, like you would do anything for someone to hold you and love you.

You feel tears in your empty eyes and struggle not to cry.

"Hey.."

You hear Vox, breaking your train of thought. You turn to him and a tear drips down your cheek.

This causes his expression to change, turning towards you with a slightly worried gaze.

"Hey, what's wrong? You alright?"

You immediately wipe your tears away and laugh.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Guess the sex was that good, eh?"

Vox wasn't buying it.

He got on top of you and pinned you to the bed, his expression a stern one.

"Don't give me that bullshit. You're not okay. What's going on? Tell me."

There was no sweeping this under the rug. No forgetting it. He needed to know.

You can start feeling tears building up again and you say, "you promise not to laugh?"

"I won't laugh. Just tell me."

As you talked, tears started to well up and drip down your face as you spoke normally.

"Well, we fuck all the time, and it's great. But I always wanted something...more..you know? But you guys are so big and important, I don't even feel like I deserve to be here right now. I know it's stupid to expect anything like that from you guys. I mean, besides, who in their right mind would ever care about me, or even love me, right?"

You fake laughed as you said that last sentence, but he felt that pain like a plate of glass shattering in his heart and soul.

Oh, that hit home.

He knew exactly how you felt.

He may have been an overlord, but even he felt impostor's syndrome over it.

He'd never show it, but deep down, he felt like he didn't deserve to be as powerful as he was, to have everything he has.

That's why he made an agreement with Velvette and Valentino and formed the Vees, so he could feel important, like he was a part of something.

Everything seemed fine, but he felt so scared..

He felt it was just a matter of time until everything fell apart.

He knew neither of them would be there for him when things went bad. They wouldn't care about him, not one bit.

There was even one small, tiny shimmer of hope that he and Val could be something more, that there would be at least one person who genuinely cared, but he knew it'd never happen.

So hearing you say the words he was thinking and seeing the same look in your eyes was like looking into a mirror.

He gently cupped your cheeks and looked at you softly and only said two words.

"I would."

Before you could properly register what he just said, he leaned in and kissed you on the lips.

You were confused, but then you notice how he was kissing you.

This wasn't a lust-filled, makeout session to get you guys aroused and ready to go.

This was soft, tender, comforting. Like a warm blanket wrapped around you on a cold winter's night.

Then you realized what he said.

He would care for you and love you, not just that...he did.

You feel a few tears drip down your cheek as you closed your eyes and kissed him back.

You wrap your arms around Vox as the kiss continued. Your heart swelled and you could feel your body heat up once more.

Same went with Vox. As he shifted the kiss down to your neck and collarbone, he could feel himself getting hard again.

Everything felt so good, but this was much deeper, much more intense.

It wasn't too long until Vox slid himself inside you and started to thrust.

You moan as he lovingly thrust deep into you.

This wasn't him being quick just to get off; this was slow, no rush whatsoever.

It was like time had stopped just for you two to savor this moment.

The sound of Vox's soft groans and moans in your ear as he thrusted into you made your body heat up even more.

If you guys were louder, you probably would've woken Val up, but he was deep asleep, not hearing a thing.

Hell, he wouldnt care anyway, just thinking you two couldn't wait for him and decided to go together. No big deal.

Vox made sure to hit that deep spot in you, not chasing his own desires and instead trying to get you to cum as many times possible before he did.

But after a few hours (it felt like a few minutes with you two), you both could feel your climaxes building up, ready to explode.

Soon, Vox's thrusts became faster and slower, wanting to cum so badly but wanted you to cum first.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.

Through the moans and the pants, it wasn't long until he hit that spot one final time and made you see stars.

As you came, Vox did something that you never expected.

He came inside you.

As you both came, he kept himself inside and let his cum fill you up.

Him and Val never did that before. They'd always pull out and let their cum land on your body and face while you came on nothing.

But this? This was a clear message to you, a declaration of love, he was wordlessly saying 'this is how much you mean to me. This is for you and only you. This is how much I love you.'

A tear escaped your eye at that realization.

Soon, you both lost your highs and collapsed on each other, Vox sliding to lay on his side, facing you.

He pulled you close and held you, like if he let go, you'd disappear and this moment wouldn't have ever happened.

You held him, your arms wrapping around him and your head resting on his chest.

You could hear his circuits buzzing, his heart beating. That was all for you.

The joy you felt was indescribable.

"I love you." You let those words fall out of your mouth without any hesitation.

You started to drift off, but you kept yourself awake to hear his response.

He gently rubbed your back and said softly, "I love you too.."

With that, you could finally doze off, knowing someone genuinely loved you as much as you loved them.

Vox fell asleep knowing that no matter what happened, even if he lost everything, he'd still have you, and he'd be okay.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

[sturnioloszn]

FADING LINES - M.S

summary; while at the club with your friends, you make the drunken mistake to call your toxic ex.

warnings; mentions of alcohol, clubbing/partying, arguing, toxic relationship.

a/n; this fic was inspired by that one scene in 'after we collided' where tessa calls hardin drunk lmfaoo. alsoo, pls feel free to leave suggestions for fics, thank uuuuu.

The music is blaring through the oversized speakers, which makes my bones vibrate to the beat of the music. I'm surrounded by a crowd of people who are sweating just as profusely as I am, and each time our skin makes contact I feel ill.

After the most stressful week of my life, my friends and I decided the best place to wind down was at the most popular club in LA; so here we are. At this current time, I had about two margaritas, three cosmos, and several rounds of shots in my system, and I was definitely feeling it, to say the least.

With the pounding of the speakers and rapid movement of the people around me, I begin to feel sick. The air is dense, and I feel the alcohol begin to cloud my brain. I try to look for my friends to let them know that I'm taking a break, but I can't seem to find them anywhere.

I eventually give up looking and spot a staircase, leading to a second floor. I make my way up the staircase, making sure to hold the bannister firmly while making my way up. This floor is more empty and secluded but still has the same energy and loudness from the bottom floor.

I whip my phone out from my purse and see it's currently fifteen minutes past three in the morning.

I try to call my friends, but it goes to voicemail each time. Where the fuck are they? While scrolling through my contacts, I come across my ex's one.

My thumb hovers over the call button before irrationally deciding to press it.

I place the phone up to my ear, and I hear it ring. After the second ring, someone picks up. Fuck.

"Hello?" I hear Matt ask over the phone. Shit, I haven't heard his voice in weeks. The last time I called him, I ended up in his bed. No, that wasn't going to happen this time.

"Heyy," I slurred, trying to sound as normal as possible but, in fact, doing the complete opposite.

"Y/n? What d'you want?" He huffs, as if I'm wasting his time. He picked up my call on the second ring I don't think I'm disturbing at all.

"What do I want? A million dollars, but we can't all have everything, I guess," I say, giggling at my own joke.

"What are you talking abo-, are you drunk??" He asks again.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I mock. I can hear him sigh over the phone and mumble something to himself, but I'm not that bothered to know what he's grumpy about.

"Why'd you call? Miss my cock already?" He snickers. Even though I can't see his gorgeous face, I know exactly what smirk is on it right now.

"You wishhhh, I'm actually calling you right now to let you know that I am happy by myself and that I don't miss you one bit. As a matter of fact, I miss your cock the least about you," I ramble as he patiently waits for me to finish slurring sentences together.

"Yeah? So why are you calling me right now?" He questions slyly.

Well, I don't actually know why I'm calling him. I mean, I do miss his voice, and his cock, and overall just him. But he's an asshole. He never treated me right, and that should be enough for me to turn my back and forget about him, but it doesn't bring me remotely close to doing that.

"Because..... I just wanted to inform you that I look hot right now, and you are missing it," that sounded convincing, right?

"You always look hot, what's your point?" He remarks, leaving my speechless. This is what he always does. He slithers his way in with compliments and cute comments, and then when he's done with you, he throws you to the curb.

"My point...? My point is that I'm not wearing any underwear right now. I'm the commander...no, wait. Commanding? No...commando? Whatever it is, I'm not wearing panties!" I giggle, leaning back on the bannister, which is overlooking the first floor.

I hear him whisper something incoherent again before he speaks up, "Why the fuck aren't you wearing any underwear?". He sounds more pissed now but I don't give a fuck, the point was to piss him off.

"Why do you give a shit? I'm not your problem anymore, Matt," I say, smiling to myself, knowing I'm getting under his skin.

"Why do I give a shit? Because you're running around LA drunk and without panties on," he says, getting more frustrated with me by the second.

"Sooo what? You scared another guy is gonna get his hands on me and fuck me better than you ever could?" I question, knowing that this comment was really gonna set him off.

"First of all, I know that nobody could ever fuck you as good as I do. Second of all, nobody is laying a finger on what belongs to me," he says firmly. The last sentence makes my heart skip a beat.

"I don't belong to anyone, Matt, especially not you," I reply, with half the confidence.

"You can try convince yourself of that all you want, baby, but you know deep down you belong to me," he whispers darkly. I felt my heart begin to beat out of my chest. I knew calling him was a bad idea.

Before I get the chance to fight my corner he speaks again, "and send me your location, I'm coming to pick you up,". I hear shuffling over the phone and his car keys being picked up.

No way. I'm out, having fun with my friends, and I am not leaving the club.

"No. You're not coming here and ruining my night," I say, getting upset.

"Either you send me your location, or I find you, and you know I will," He says. His words shouldn't affect me, but they do; and in the worst way possible, too. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache he's creating between my legs.

"Start looking then," I say before hanging up the phone. I take a deep breath, trying to recover from that conversation, but it's not helping, so I turn to the bar for some help.

I make my way back down to the first floor bar, where another two shots are being digested, and I'm currently sipping on a strawberry daiquiri. I still have no luck spotting my friends, but I'm sure they're somewhere.

As I'm finishing up my drink, preparing to go back onto the dance floor, I feel hand on my waist. I turn my head to find a middle-aged man with black hair staring down at me with a crooked smile on his lips.

"Let go of me," I demand, attempting to shrug him off. The audacity men have, pushing themselves onto women and then being hurt when they get rejected.

He keeps his hand firmly there when he opens his mouth to speak, "C'mon babygirl, I know somewhere quiet we can go," giving my hip a squeeze. Before I have the chance to reply, someone else does for me.

"Get the fuck off her," I hear Matt's voice quickly approaching from behind. The man drops his hand from my waist, and I swivel in my seat to see Matt grab the man by his collar.

"Don't ever lay another finger on her again unless you want to lose all ten," he says, speaking through his teeth.

Fuck. I'm glad he got the creep away, but now he's gonna take me away. How did he even find me so quick? There are a million clubs in LA.

The weirdo scurried off somewhere, and Matt turned to look at me. His eyes rake my body, drinking in how my curves look in this tight black dress before his eyes meet mine again. I took a long look at his face, too. His hair was scruffy, and his beard was grown out. Fuck, why is he so hot?

"No wonder you have pigs like him throwing themselves at you, you're dressed like a slut," he says, nodding his head towards my dress.

"I'm not a slut," I say, standing from my chair, trying not to fall over. I'm trying to look as intimidating as possible, but it's difficult when I literally have to look up to make eye contact with him.

"I never said you was, I said you look like one," he says, knowing he caught me out. He then grabs the top of my arm, "Let's go, we're leaving,".

"What? No way. I'm not going anywhere. My friends are here," I say, pulling out from his grip.

"I don't give a fuck if the pope is here, we're leaving," he says grabbing my arm more harshly and dragging me through crowds of people all the way to the exit.

At the doors, I pull away from his grasp again and spin on my heels, attempting to go back inside until my feet are suddenly in the air. Matt lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder with ease, pulling my dress down slightly so my ass isn't on show to everyone.

"MATT, PUT ME DOWN!" I say, banging my fists on his back and kicking my feet. But nothing works. He keeps walking down the street until we eventually stop, and he puts me down in front of his car.

"Get in the car," he says, looking me dead in the eye. I look back at him, pulling the strictest face I could conjure up.

"No." I refuse completely. He then opens the passenger car door and picks me up again, placing me inside the car and slamming the door shut. He walks around to his side and also enters.

"I can't believe I had to carry you away like a child," he scoffs, putting the keys into the car.

"I can't believe you ruined my night, AGAIN," I argue back, turning to face away from him. He then tells me to put my belt on, but I refuse once again. Maybe if I keep being difficult he'll let me go.

I then feel his hand squeeze my face as he pulls it to meet his, "put your fuckin' seat belt on and behave," he says, letting go of my face and I bring my own hands to rub where he just let go. Ow.

I quickly fasten my seat belt, but I still have my back facing him. While he was driving, the car was silent, no talking and no music, just utter silence. The car was rocking me back and forth in a comforting way, making me slowly doze off, I rest my head on the window.

I'm woken up by the cold air of the night hitting my face. I don't even have time to open my eyes before I feel arms snake around my body and lift me up. I force my eyes open and I'm met with Matt's face just centimetres from mine. He's carrying me bridal style into his house.

"Why are we here? I don't want to be here. I want to go home," I mumble against his chest.

"Because I don't trust you to not choke on your own vomit and die," he says, walking through his house and making his way to his bedroom. He kicks the door open and gently sets me down onto his bed.

I watch him slink around the room, collecting a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. He then makes his way back over to me.

"C'mere," he says, reaching for my foot. I watch him unbuckle my heels and slide them off my feet. He then grabs the sweatpants and bunches them up, allowing me to slide my legs into them. The warmth of the clothes was nice, almost enough to make me fall asleep again. He then reaches for the zipper of my dress.

"No, I'm not wearing a bra," I mumble again, pushing his hands away from me.

"So what? I'm just changing you into this shirt," he asks, moving to my zipper again.

"So you'll see my boobs you perv," I reply, moving his hands away again. He stands in front of me with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Really? It's nothing I haven't seen before, and anyway, I'm not looking," he says, attempting to reach my zipper for a third time. This time, I let him inch the zipper down my body, letting my dress fall from my body.

He quickly moves to put the shirt over my head and pull my arms through the holes of the shirt. He then picks up my dress and places it on his desk, moving back to me.

"Here...lay on your side," he says, placing me under the sheets and forcing my body onto its side. As he's about to walk off, I grab his sleeve.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Matt," I say, sinking into the soft mattress.

"Yeah, don't get used to it," he says. I let go of his sleeve, and he walked away. After a few minutes, I feel the bed next to me dip and a body slides under the covers with me. I'm moments away from surrendering to sleep but awake enough to feel Matt wrap his arms around me and pull me into his body.

I feel like I'm laying on a cloud, and the warmth of his body next to mine makes falling asleep so enticing. I know I'm going to regret everything tomorrow morning, but for now, I'm enjoying the feeling of his body wrapped in mine as I drift off to sleep.

a/n; this is sooo long, and i hate the fact that it consists of soo much dialogue, but we move. anywho, thanks for reading, love youu. 💙

[archangeldyke-all]

simp sev

anon i'm kissing you with tongue rn (but only if that's cool w/ u ofc)

SIMP SEVIKAAAA

men and minors dni

she's not just a simp, she's proud of it.

once you're dating, of course.

before you're dating, she tries to suppress her simp tendencies the best she can.

her eyes are always glued to you.

she doesn't give a fuck if she's being obvious to other people, but if you look her way she's blushing and whipping around before you can catch her staring.

if she sees you approaching, she'll straighten her posture and puff her chest out, subtly flexing her biceps. when you pass she deflates again with a sigh, relaxing back to her normal hunch.

you have no clue that sevika's interested in you for the longest time because she's always silent when you're around.

it's not that she doesn't want to talk to you, she just gets tongue tied every time you make eye contact with her-- so she chooses to stay quiet instead.

she grunts one syllable answers to all your questions, never quite looking in your eyes.

but she's always listening. she listens to everything you say. doesn't forget anything.

you're blown away when you bump into sevika on your birthday, and she shoves a small gift bag in your hand.

"happy birthday." she grumbles.

"how'd you know it's my birthday?" you ask, shocked. she stutters out something about you having mentioned it before, and then she flees before you can open the gift or thank her.

you open the bag to find a collection of all your favorite snacks

sevika had kept a mental catalog of which candies she saw you reach for most frequently, which chips you brought in most often.

the gift wasn't anything extravagant, but it took your breath away. you didn't even think sevika knew your name, much less your birthday and favorite foods.

it clicks for you then that maybe sevika wasn't being standoffish and dismissive of you, maybe she was just a huge simp.

you test your hypothesis by wearing a low cut shirt the next time you see her.

she runs straight into a lamp post she's so distracted by your cleavage, and that's all the confirmation you need.

"oh, shit!" you say, trying to suppress a giggle as you run to her side. shes clutching her bleeding nose, kicking the steel lamp post with her boot. "you okay?" you ask, reaching up to move her hand from her nose and inspect the damage. you keep her hand in your hold between the two of you, slowly bringing your other hand up to cup her chin, tilting her head down so you can see her nose better.

sevika looks shocked, like completely flabbergasted. her mouth is open, her eyebrows are reaching for her forehead and her eyes are sparkling and wide. you try not to smile as you tilt her head back and forth.

"you didn't break it." you say, letting go of her hand only to reach up and use the back of your sleeve to clean up the blood trickling down her lips. "but you'll probably get black eyes."

"oh." sevika says. she clears her throat. "okay."

"don't worry about it too much sevika," you say. she chokes when you say her name. "you look hot when you're all beat up." you say, sauntering away.

sevika stays frozen in place for five minutes, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened to her.

after that, flirting with sevika becomes your favorite pastime.

a well timed "looking good today sevika" can make her choke on her whiskey.

a wink shot to her across the room gets her giggling uncontrollably, pressing her fingers to her lips in an attempt to stop.

she starts flirting back too, when she can speak.

you're rambling to her about a recipe you want to try soon when she cuts you off, mid-sentence.

"you have nice eyes." she blurts.

you grin. "thanks, sev." you say.

(the nickname gives her butterflies)

(she jerks off that night to the thought of you calling her 'sev' in bed.)

you actually ask her out first.

she's shocked, so shocked that for a second you think you've read the whole situation wrong.

"oh, shit, i'm sorry sevika, i didn't-- i thought--"

"no!" she blurts. you blink.

"oh. well, okay." you say, trying to take the rejection in stride. she waves her hands in front of you.

"no no no! not no i mean, just-- fuck!" she gulps for air, "i've been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for months!"

you smile. "oh." you say. she nods. "well... you were takin' too long." she snorts.

"so lemme do it now?" she asks.

"no way!" you say. "i already asked! you gotta answer my question fir--."

"yes!" she butts in. "i'll go out with you. but i won't let you pay. and i'm picking you up at your place." she insists.

once you guys start dating, sevika lets her inner simp shine.

the first time she sees you naked she actually swoons. like her knees go wobbly and she falls on her ass. luckily, the bed was right behind her.

she never lets you leave the house without at least three visible hickeys.

you're the only thing she talks about. she's not very talkative to begin with, but when people insist on making small chat with her, the only thing she'll bring up is you.

if someone's looking to get on sevika's good side, they ask her how you're doing.

those card games she's always winning? she spends her earnings on you, coming home with a proud little grin, shaking the coins in her purse at you. "gonna buy you somethin' nice tonight." she says.

she can sometimes be heard grumbling to the cards. "come on. wanna take my girl out for dinner."

won't let you open a door if she's there. always puts your shoes and jacket on for you. carries all your bags.

her favorite thing to do is watch you exist. she loves catching you when you think no one's looking. loves the goofy songs she'll hear you singing under your breath, the way you talk to yourself. the way you move, your unique quirks and ticks.

you guys could be in the worst fight of your relationship, but she'd never leave the house without kissing you and telling you she loves you.

always telling you how good you look in the most outlandish ways. doesn't matter how good you think you look. you could be in sweat pants on day 3 without a shower, and she'd be biting her lip and fucking you with her eyes. "you look good enough to eat right now."

"i look like i climbed out of the sewer."

"you look like the mother of this baby i'm about to put inside you."

she buys you guys matching 'best friend' necklaces, the kind that make a heart when you put the two charms together. she never takes hers off.

[trinketstealingzombie]

Following up on my last post :) Let me know if you want a part 2!

Of course you noticed when Stanford started acting strange. Even after only knowing him for a few months you notice the variations in his usual behaviour. Being two of the only sane people in gravity falls, you and Stan often met up for some much needed social interaction in between lengths of research. Being the good friend that you are you decided to bring him some warm chicken soup with the secret intentions of finding out what the hell was wrong with him.

“Stannnnn” you called knocking on his front door balancing soup in one hand while you abused his front door. The house sounded quiet but his car was in the driveway. You see the shuffle of a shadow and bang on the door again.

“I know you’re in there bum.” You say slightly annoyed.

“If you want me to leave just say so, don’t play gam-“ your stopped mid sentence by the opening door swinging out an inch from your nose. Good lord he looks… yellow? He’s leaning up against the door frame if almost for support but by the look on his face you can tell he’s trying to be cool. There’s something foreign about his smirk and the devilish look in his eyes.

“Stan. Finally. I brought you soup!” You display your steaming tupperware waving it around his face. His eyes are distant as if he’s not listening causing a frown to tug on your lips.

“Come in.” He says. Turning, he heads inside. After closing the door behind you, you take in the state of his house. Slightly destroyed with some feeble attempts to amend the carnage . Cups of who knows what lay abandoned on the floor, the tables (or really any flat surface) lay covered in papers and diagrams scrawled depictions of otherworldly figures.

“Sorry I have not been feeling… much like myself lately” Stan’s says with a wave to the cluster of mess. His eyes land on the soup. He’s body reacts with a growl and a slight salivation.

“Don’t tell me you forget to eat Stan you numb scull” you say digging through the cabinet for a bowl or two while he watched intently . Normally you would not be digging around in his kitchen but something in the air fills you with a sense of urgency. You start to ladle out a portion.

“You’re right I’m such a numb scull, that must be why after all this time you’re the only one to come check up on me!” He says and you stop in your tracks.

“Stan…” you almost at a loss for words. All this time? How long has he been… troubled?

“Are you alright ?” you say gently looking directly into his eyes and finally you get some recognition. Stan looks straight into your eyes giving you a glimpse into the yellowish tint held in them. You wait for him to respond as he stands distracted in some far off thought. Too far for you to see in his eyes or any twitch of the face.

“Of course I’m alright darling” he says. You return to the soup sliding him a bowl. You hang you head to cover the blush. Darling. He must not be thinking straight. He immediately digs in ravenously devouring the soup. He asks for seconds. Thirds.

“Stan I’m really getting worried.” You say a slight waver in your voice. In the past you have had experiences with mental health issues. You have seen them manifest in the people you love. You glance again at the piles of papers note his erratic behaviour. You’re suddenly desperate to help him.

“What do you need me to do. I can help you please. Do you want me to help you tidy up a little bit.” You say as gently as you can. He looks distant for a second then his eyes skim over the room as if seeing it for the first time.

“I have been engrossed in my work. I have lost sight of my priorities in wake of a new discovery” He rises from the table where he was siting. Making his way over to you.

“Stay with me darling” he mutters his breath close to you neck. He moves closer to your ear.

“Stay.”