#valentine imagine

[ivorydragoness44]

Jay (Disney's Descendants)

Occupying one of the picnic tables, you continued to draw in your sketchbook. A gentle breeze made the leaves dance in the trees above you. It was calm and quiet. At least as quiet as Auradon could get.

"Hi."

The familiar voice behind you brought a smile to your face. "Hi, Jay," you said, placing your pencil down in between the pages.

Swinging his leg over the seat, he kissed your temple tenderly before sitting down.

Before you could say more than a greeting, he presented you with a cupcake. It appeared unbelievably chocolatey with a small decorative sugar heart on top.

"It's not much, but I got you this."

"Aww, Jay," you cooed. "Well, I think it's great. Thank you." In your warm feeling of gratitude, you gave a soft kiss to his cheek. "Wanna share?"

His nose scrunched up at your words. "You want to share your chocolate? Are you feeling all right?" He asked, causing the two of you to laugh.

~~~~

Be sure to check out the OP for the Valentine's Day prompts

[waifujuju]

What if Cloud unconsciously mimicked Avalanche?

[nonranghaes]

"i bought something today." you step into chris's makeshift studio, bag hidden behind your back. "do you wanna see?"

chris looks up, tugging at the edge of his beanie. he clicks a few things, then turns to face you fully. "sure! is it another bath bomb? because last time was really relaxing, and i wouldn't mind cuddling--"

"it's not," you stop him, then pause for a second. "... but i'll keep that in mind next time i'm at the store. so." you pull the bag out from behind your back, reaching in to reveal the ugliest little plushie chris has ever seen. it's this brown scorpion with heart-shaped eyes, and it looks more dopey than cute, but chris knows you. he knows you saw it and fell in love with how dumb it looks. the tiny smile you're giving him now is proof enough. "... well?"

"he's kinda ugly," he says with a slow nod, as if appraising him like a piece of art.

you just smile bigger, brighter than before. "i know, right?!" you toss him over to chris, who catches him with relative ease. "he was on sale. i think he was some sort of valentines day plushie that someone pawned for a couple bucks. i just couldn't resist snagging him since he was marked down even further."

"did you name him?"

"nah," you lean in, pressing a quick peck against his cheek before making your way over to the couch. "left that up for you. i like when you name things."

"well," chris sets the plushie into his lap. "i love him. i'll get back to you on the name, yeah?"

"yeah, yeah," you sprawl out on the couch, phone in hand. "i'm gonna stay in here for a bit. that fine?"

he nods, already pulling his headphones back on. "might have you listen to something later for feedback," he says, settling back into his chair. "but sure. i work better when you're around."

"sap."

he smiles to himself as he presses play. he is. he's your sap.

[godnectar]

yanderes tying you up and overstimulating their darling beyond their limits >>>>

☆ note : kinda shady and dark depending on how u read it,,, but I still wouldn't mind actually writing something like this if anyone requested it yk 👀... ( inbox here! )

your yandere lover who truly cannot help it. he cannot help it because it just feels so good —you feel so good— that he could never stop trying to make you shiver in pleasure, especially since you can't do anything against it. having tied you up at the beginning of the session, he didn't even notice the way your legs started to shake, or the way your eyes flooded with blissed out tears, too lost in his own world as he continued to kiss, bite, grope and thrust into you.

yandere dilf, pup, househusband, jock, florist, crush, himbo + upcoming nerd, ex-boyfriend, bodyguard, werewolf, and best friend!

your yandere lover who's completely aware of what he's doing. you thought he would untie you and let you go just like that after giving you the most mind-blowing fuck ever? of course not, sweetheart— he's not even done yet at all. why should he stop, when you look so so so pretty while writhing and mewling under him, though? you're certainly in for a night full of worship and pleasure, no matter if you might be a bit too dizzy and exhausted at the end.

yandere professor, bully, sugar daddy, husband, neighbor, assistant, vampire + upcoming tutor, doctor, pharaoh, merman, and boss!

© godnectar 2024. please do not modify, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my permission.

[maggie44paint]

I absolutely despise how I drew Gabriel here but V1 serves cunt

Happy (early) Valentine's Day!

[novelbear]

valentine's day scenarios (but it's enemies to lovers)

prompt list by @novelbear

"you have a date? how much did you pay them?"

crashing their date with another person purposely

^ and it all was definitely out of spite. not because they were jealous. never. totally not.

sending them flowers that they just know sets off their allergies

^ probably left with some smartass note too

laughing at them simply because they seem to care about the holiday

"you celebrate this corny day?" "just say you're lonely and have no one to spend it with, next time, 'kay?"

"i told my friends i'd go on this stupid double date with them." "and that's my business because..?" "..i don't have a date."

catfishing the hell out of them online leading up to the holiday

and then it backfiring because they realize, they're actually pretty nice and sweet outside of all the arguing.

"i thought bringing you roses would be a romantic! you know!?" "not when they still have the thorns on them, dumbass!"

giving them those boxed chocolates, but replacing the filling with something else instead (like wasabi for example lmao)

"you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry."

giving the other candies because it was simply "left over" and "definitely stale"

perfect chance for a little secret admirer thing to go on since one may be just too embarrassed or scared to face things head on

[mo0nfairy]

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

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

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 12.3k.

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

leon kennedy's yandere traits are . . .

clingy, heroic, & territorial

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey.”

He jerks around to the intruding voice.

"Who is that?"

"Stay sharp."

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

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

Ada Wong.

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

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

Her lack of articulation urges Leon to continue.

"My name is Leon Kennedy."

He takes a breath before continuing.

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

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

"Wait! Their name is Y/N!”

The woman halts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lie.

"Y/N is dead."

A silence settles in the room.

Leon stares. That is all he does.

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

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

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

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

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

How can he possibly survive without you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon presses his finger down.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing happens.

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

"FUCK!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look lonely."

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

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

"I can fix that."

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

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

Eh. Good enough.

"Daddy! S-So big- fuck!"

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

"I told you to be fucking quiet."

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

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

"Fuck, 's too much. Daddy-"

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

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

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

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

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

The thought sends him over the edge.

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

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

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

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

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

2,327 days and counting since he lost you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Leon?"

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

"It's me..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why do you always leave him in the end?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're late."

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

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

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

"Tyrell. Call me 'T."

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

"Leon. But, you knew that already."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And without breaking eye contact, Leon speaks.

"Get him out of my sight."

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

In the polaroid is no other than you.

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

How...? 

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

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

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

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

"W-What are you talking about-?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world then shatters around Leon.

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

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

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

This whole time you were... 

Alive...?

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

"Are you alright, sir?"

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

"I'm dying..."

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

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

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

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

"Leon- LEON-!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira are their names.

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

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

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

Alive. Alive. Alive.

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N...!?"

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

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

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

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

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

Then, someone else interrupts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This whole fucking time-!"

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

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

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

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

You look at Ada and speak for the first time.

"'Boyfriend?'"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now stay down."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat aches, but you still speak.

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

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

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

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

"Umbrella. What do they want from me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just let me look at you..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyrell informs you with uncertainty in his voice.

"And she left this."

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

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

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

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

Ada?

Why is she here? Where has she been?

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N... Where did you go?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This grabs his attention.

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

With a sniffle, Carlos nods in agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's where Y/N is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I TRY TO FALL FOR HER TOUCH,

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

long wait but we back again babyyyyy

gif creds :: leon.

[inupibaldspot]

Call me by my name

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : college au! Where nerd! Yuta goes out on his first party and manages to snag you, a popular girl who just needed someone to have ‘fun’ with.

The room is hot; surrounded by your friends continues to talk and laugh about how Yuuji, who was the star player on the football team slipped in the college cafeteria. But you weren’t interested in such talks— not right now, when you had an aching pain in between your legs.

Normally in such situations all you had to do was flutter your eye lashes at Choso, your ‘study partner’ who loooved doing all your assignments and at the same time, who had been trained to memorize every inch of your body inside and out but alas! He had to go on a study trip.

Your eyes wander amongst the crowd of people as you take a sip from your plastic cup, paying no heed to the burning sensation passing through your throat from the heavy drink— bingo! You spot your target.

A boy with dark haunting eyes who seemed to tilt from side to side, laughing nervously as he has both of his hands on a cup talking with two familiar figures— Maki, an all rounder athlete and cousins to one of your friends, Fushiguro Megumi and Inumaki Toge, a guy you shared a class with.

As soon as you see the two people leave the poor boy whose eyes was dropped to the floor instantly, probably nervous to make eye contact, you make your move.

“Hey there.”

Yuta raises his head to see you in-front of him, his breath hitched almost instantly as he takes on your appearance. You had a beautiful face with eyelashes which flutter in a flirting manner; but one thing he was trying to avoid looking at was the curve of your ass as the way you leaned down makes the swell of your breast very much visible.

He gulps. “Hey…”

“I’m y/n.” Yuta catches a whiff of your perfume laced with alcohol which makes him intoxicated, his pants suddenly becoming so tight.

He clears his throat. “I’m Okkotsu Yuta… Nice to meet you.”

“Say Okkotsu…” you lean in as you place a hand on his chest, leaning into his ears. “It’s kind of hot in here so how about we go somewhere else.”

As soon as he gives you a green light, you smile. Guys like him who was probably a virgin, who only saw naked woman through a screen were just so easy. You hold onto one of his wrist as you drag him to a washroom in the secluded part of the house.

You didn’t mind teaching Okkotsu the ways to touch and pleasure you; it was more fun that way in your opinion.

So tell me when the situation had turned and now it was you who was a moaning mess while Yuta had you in the palm of his hands.

“Nghhh— Ah…ugnn…” You let out another moan as your legs start to shake. Yuta grips on to one of your legs and brings the other one over his shoulders; you whine as your ability to grind on his face has been completely taken away from you.

“Your whimpers are so so— adorable.” Yuta’s voice almost comes of as a whine as he places small kisses all over your heat before his head completely dives in, his face was filthy from all your juice over his face.

You manage to look down, over the swell of your breast where your nipples remain hard, wet and swollen from the previous sucking and tugs which had almost made you pass out; As you see him slurp, making such nasty, filthy sounds with each action. As if sensing your gaze, he looks up at you almost innocently.

“I want to fill you up with my cum. I want to come inside this pussy— please? Please say ‘yes’.” He whines, looking so needy.

Just where did he learn to do all of ‘these’?

He beams when you reach out your hand as you cup his face. “Ngh…O-of course you can, Okkotsu.” He buries his face in completely once more.

His tongue was deep in you “You can call me by my first name.” Your heavy breathing makes his blood go straight to his his cock making it drip with need.

From a moaning mess,you completely stiffen as you open your mouth. Then proceeded to close it.

“Oh…” His eyes darken as an felt the grip on your thighs tighten. “You forgot my name…”

“Part your legs a little more, sweetheart.” You whimper at his words.“By the time I’m done you’ll have my name running through your mind with every ache.”

[bunnyhugs77]

Valentine Vixen

★Pairing: Stripper! Reader x Rich! Jungkook

★Happy Valentine's Day, Mwah

★WC: 3k

★Content: some fluff, clubbing, jk is so cute, he gets flustered, teasing, mutual pining, ft player! tae, reader is so hot, mentions of break ups, lap dances, double life, suggestive themes, a smidge of angst, brief psychology talk, mentions of boobs.

Other Content: desperate kisses, domme reader, hand jobs, grinding, almost cumming in pants, oral sex (m! receiving), subby jk. handcuffs, desperate jk, reader is a tease, nicknames, manhandling

"Look, that's her." With a subtle jut of his head, Jungkook directs Taehyung's line of sight about twenty meters off into the distance where you step up on the step ladder to shelve more novels.

Tae's eyes widen ever so slightly before his face relaxes into an all-knowing smirk, "So this is what's got you spending so much time at the library lately?" Jungkook shoves him in the side and you pretend not to notice the two of them obviously staring at you.

Letting your short acrylics graze over the spines of the paperbacks, pinpointing where the book in your hand should go. "I can't see her face from here, but I know a nice ass when I see one," Tae states obnoxiously and it makes Jungkook's face turn sour.

"C'mon, Tae." The elder rolls his eyes, "Lighten up. It's just a joke. Hopefully, tomorrow will help you chill out a bit." With an arched brow, Jungkook turns to face his best friend. "Tomorrow?"

"It's Valentine's Day, and I think it's about time you got some ass, Kook. Seriously, when's the last time you had a nice pair of tits in your face, huh?" Jungkook's cheeks flush but he does think about Tae's question.

After no more than a second had passed Tae interrupted his thoughts, "See. You can't even remember, don't worry. That's why I'm here. You're bound to get your dick wet at Red Haven tomorrow, the dancers there are next level." Tae raves, hands waving around to express his eagerness.

Red Haven was the new club that opened not too far from campus but it attracted a lot more than just some touch-deprived university students. Men were ranging from the ages of twenty-one to sixty-five.

"But-" Jungkook was about to object but Tae had picked up a call, reassuring the person on the other end of the line, "Maria, you know you're the only girl in my life." He coos and his face freezes, "Oh shit, this is Jessica? Baby, I was just joking. I don't even know a Maria." Tae walks off trying to save himself from the deep hole he'd dug himself into.

Leaving Jungkook at the table by himself once again, his eyes naturally gliding back to where you once were but he couldn't see you. His feet guided his brain over to the bookshelves where you once stocked away hardcovers.

He stops in his tracks as he lays his eyes on a certain book that caught his eye. 

In your head

"That's a good choice." You startled him, the book slipping from his grasp and hitting the ground. The two of you reach down for it at the same time which in practicality wasn't a good idea. The impact of your heads colliding nearly knocked you to your feet.

"I'm so sorry," He apologizes, gaze checking in on you while you worked on picking up the novel off the floor. "I should be the one saying that. I didn't mean to scare you." You say, finally making eye contact and nothing could stop Jungkook from holding his breath.

You're breathtaking.

Beautiful dark brown eyes that held the most innocently seductive eye contact. The way your tan skin dimpled in your cheeks and the perfect formation of waves that your hair mimicked as it flowed down your shoulders.

"I've seen you around here a few times but I never got your name." Jungkook does his best to be subtle as he fishes for your name. It wasn't exactly the most discreet but you think it was a cute effort.

"I'm Y/n," You smile, handing him the book back and he just about collapses inside. Anything you wanted he would give it to you, and he's rich, he could make it happen. God, he would make sure you never had to lift a finger around him.

"I'm J-" It seems he didn't need to introduce himself because you already seemed to know him. "-Jungkook, right? The Dean's son." He sighs, of course.

That's how everyone knew him.

Being the son of the dean at the most prestigious university in the country wasn't something easy to escape. It continued to precede him anywhere he went. "Have you read it?" Your perfectly manicured finger points towards the book now in his possession and he nods.

"It's incredible, the way it examines the interplay between conscious and unconscious desires. I think it's pretty amazing." You blink once, then twice. "Don't pin me for the reading type, right?"

"Honestly, no, but trust me, I'm the last person who should be judging based on first impressions." He smiles at the sound of your soft chuckle. "Do you like psychology?" Your gaze now focused back to the shelves, "I hope so, I wouldn't want to be taking that major and not like it." You turn to him.

"You're a psychology major?" The tone of your voice gave away your disbelief but he wanted to know why this was so shocking.

"Yeah?"

"Weird. Usually, we would've had at least one class together if we shared the same major." He swallows thickly, briefly zoning out because he realizes he is talking to you. Finally, after months of watching you from a distance, trying to work up the nerve to approach you.

Getting too stuck in his thoughts, he loses his ability to speak. Settling for a hum of agreement. You sigh, disappointed. "What a shame. I would've liked having a cutie in my class like you." Your finger gently traces along his jaw and it feels like fire against his skin.

Before he could blink you were strutting away. Hips swaying like you were on a runway, he licks his lips. He'd never fumbled so badly before, but your beauty was something entirely different. It made him disoriented. He needed to get a grip.

Who would've thought the cute library assistant was so...tempting?

★★★

"Hey, Kook! I don't know If I'll be able to stay with you much longer. The bartender is giving crazy fuck me eyes and I can't leave her disappointed now can I?" Tae grabs his friends by the shoulder amidst the crowd of moving bodies.

"What about Maria?" Jungkook questions, referring to the woman Tae had spent all day before this one buttering up in hopes she would forgive him. Tae shrugs, "She'll forgive me again." Jungkook scoffs as he watches the silver-haired man travel through the sea of bodies.

Sometimes he couldn't believe that was his best friend, but he had to remember he wasn't always like this. This was just some terrible hoe phase he was going through.

He had gotten out of a 3-year-long relationship with Yara no more than 3 months ago and he's been on some sort of fucking spree ever since. He claims he feels so 'free' but deep down he was hurting and Jungkook knew that, but Tae refused to admit it.

But what could he do? It was a canon event and he couldn't interfere, even though he tried to once. Didn't end well. Tae was on a hunt for as many women as he could get, and he knew that eventually he would get sick of it and regain his senses.

His mind was pulled out of his thoughts once the entire venue went black for a few moments and the music was shut off. Jungkook was confused, maybe even a bit scared but it seemed there was no need to be as the crowd roared to life.

It seems they knew something he didn't.

"Introducing Red Haven's Vixens!" The announcer's voice rang through the speakers but the crowd was so much louder.

Jungkook was deep into the middle section of the audience so it was hard for him to get a clear view of the stage but he could see eight beautiful women walking onto the stage, in outfits he could probably use to floss.

There were so many colours on the stage. It was as if he'd died and been brought to the end of the rainbow where the sexiest guardian angels waited to bring him to heaven. Although there was one that piqued his interest.

All the girls were wearing some form of unique face paint that was accessorized with rhinestones, each one matching the general colour scheme of their outfits. There was something about the girl in the hot pink two-piece.

Jungkook fought to make his way to the front, face now up close to the base of the stage, looking up to the woman with hearts in his eyes. The way her hips swayed with the music, and her ass jiggled with each sharp movement.

She was a natural, with one hand on the pole she leaned back, looking right into the crowd. Her eyes scanned for a target before they landed on Jungkook as she began to grind your hips down onto it, making such a lewd expression.

She bit her lip and furrowed her brows just like one would as if they were close to- A shock ran through his body. It was you. Even with the gems and the paint around your eyes, he knew it was you, and by the slight smirk that crept up your lips, you knew he recognized you.

Once the performance was over Jungkook had found his way back to the front counter, eyes desperately scanning over the list of private sessions they offered. "How much would it cost for a room with the girl in pink?"

The clerk reminds Jungkook, "A private session grants you a private dance from one of our vixens. No touching of any kind is permitted unless granted by the Vixen, you must-" The rest of the rules were no brainers and Jungkook desperately wished he could fast forward the long speech.

"Got it. How much?"

"Well, Destiny is our Vixen of the highest demand, a 10-minute session could cost you up to five hundre-" Jungkook couldn't take it anymore. "I'll give you a thousand." He interrupts and the woman's jaw drops. She promptly hands him the key, "Third door on your left."

He'd been sitting in the nicely decorated room for the last five minutes. He was sitting on the chair that faced the door, his right leg bouncing uncontrollably. He was so nervous, and if he was being honest, he was already sporting a semi just from the thought of you walking through that door any second now.

The lights in the room flickered from the bright blue as it strobed to a gentle purple before a deep pink. The door opened, and there you were. In the same outfit you'd worn on stage except this time the music had changed to Wild Side.

"It is you." Jungkook gasps cutely as you take confident strides towards him. "Right, you are." Your heels made you tower over him once you stood before him.

"B-But- why?" You laugh, "The same reason why billions of other people have jobs. I've got an expensive tuition that won't pay for itself." He frowns, speaking before thinking. "I'll pay for it." You give him a playful roll of your eyes before you bend at the waist, bringing your face close to his.

"You're lucky you're so cute." The mere proximity was making Jungkook's brain get mushy and hazy with lust. He wanted you so badly, would do absolutely anything to have to, anything you said.

"Now, let me see those hands." You order and just like a dog to its owner, he follows instructions immediately, his hands out in front of you and you slowly walk around him, taking one hand then the other and handcuffing them behind his back.

He doesn't even remember seeing you walk in with handcuffs then again there was a lot about tonight that he didn't see coming. Like how smoothly you were able to straddle his lap and begin a slow, deep grind.

"So I really can't touch you at all?" Your heart skipped a beat at the way he was almost pouting when he said it. "You can try, but it's so much more fun this way. Watching you struggle to touch me." Your voice is as gentle as a whisper that should've been lost over the music but it was spoken right into his ear.

The feeling of your breath against the shell of his ear sends the hairs on the back of his hair to stand, and goosebumps to raise. He was rock solid in his jeans, although you already knew that. You could feel it. With every sensual roll of your hips, the man beneath you became a little more whiny.

"Do you think about me touching you?" Whipping your hair to the side as you leaned down intentionally close to his neck, making sure he felt your presence all over. His hips stutter under your set pace and it caused you to jolt slightly, "Fuck yes- Every day." He answers. Voice empty and high-pitched.

"Yeah?" You slowly slide off him, and let your knees hit the soft cushioned floor. You weren't doing anything, simply resting your arms on his knees and letting your head rest innocently on your hands.

How dare you look up at him like such an angel while you tempted him with a world of sin.

"Tell me, what do I do to you?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he feels your hand slowly glide up the inseam of his jeans. "You-" He gets distracted, losing his train of thought the moment your hand gently squeezes the thick muscle of his thigh, "Shit. You take my cock in your mouth and you suck me off until-" you squeeze his thigh once again, a little tighter this time.

"Hm? Until what? Until you cum in my mouth? Or on my chest?" Leaning back up, making an intimidating eye contact that Jungkook was unable to hold. "Look at me, Kookie." God. That nickname was so belittling, made him feel like he was being teased, but oh how he loved it.

"Until What? Say it." You grit, your hand holding his face, just firm enough for your middle finger and thumb to press into his cheeks. "Until I cum in your mouth and you swallow it." He looked so ashamed to say it, but it only caused you to grin bigger.

"Can I touch you, Kookie?"

He nods, nods and nods. "Please." His voice was a mere whisper, and at a certain pause during the music, you could hear him fighting against his restraints.

Back on your knees, your hands worked skillfully on getting him out of his pants and pulling how his briefs, just low enough for his throbbing dick to be released. Already budding with precum, some of it sticking to the base of his shirt as it rests against his abdomen.

"Nice cock." You almost wanted to laugh at the cliché, but it was true. Jungkook really had the prettiest dick you'd ever laid your eyes on, and he was big too.

He doesn't respond, eyes focused on your every move while his cheeks tinted red. He was anticipating for the contact between your hand and his length, but he still wasn't prepared.

Sucking in a sharp breath as he watched you spit on it and proceed to flash him the most charming smile he'd ever seen. You wanted to kill him, and Jungkook was afraid you'd succeed.

Your hand languidly rose from base to tip, working him up but he didn't need that, he wanted to last. His hips bucked up with every motion of your hands, "Relax," You coo, hand continuing its ministrations while Jungkook's head fell back. Hands still fighting against the cuffs desperately.

"a-ah." he moans so sweetly as your lips unexpectedly place a chaste kiss on his tip. Eyes shooting wide open, "Shit- 'm not gonna last." He warns but you continue anyway. Letting your tongue swirl around his tip like your favourite popsicle.

"Y/n-" His groans became more breathless and frequent, "Oh shit- Y/n-" Being ambitious you relaxed your throat and took deep breaths through your nose as you deepthroated his length. Fondling his balls in your left hand as you continued to work the base that you couldn't fit with your right.

That was it for him.

Jungkook's hot cum was filling your mouth with no further warning and the sound of the clashing metal rang in your ears, you grin. Looking up at the man who you've just ruined.

He blinks down at you with no thoughts behind his eyes, you maintain eye contact and swallow. He groans; and just to make sure you made his dreams come true, you stick out your tongue when you're done.

You stand, and the song changes once more, now playing sex with me.

How fitting, you think.

You uncuff Jungkook's wrists and with all the strength in his body, he tugs you back down to his lap. "Let me kiss you," A big strong man like him had just manhandled you to his will yet here he was still asking for your permission.

Good boys deserve treats.

You lean in, tilting your head to the side as your lips meet in a lustful exchange of saliva and desperation. This was all Jungkook needed. His hands unconsciously roamed down your backside until they found comfort on the soft flesh of your ass. Giving it a confident grip, you moaned into the kiss.

The two of you hardly pulled away, kissing like you wanted to become one. The way your body rolled against his and he pushed up into you.

"Can I fuck you?" He looked up to you with stars in his eyes and he was just the cutest thing, just as you wanted to answer, the lights strobe back to their default blue colour.

Slowly, you dismount him. Pretending that you weren't soaking through your costume. "Next time," You leaned down to drop a kiss on his cheek and begin to make your way out, "Happy Valentine's Day." You flash him one last wink and walk out of sight.

Happy Valentine's Day ♡

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pink roses

words: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ only!!, smut, female receiving oral, CHEATING!, ex!rafe, mentions of violence and drinking, its valentines day during the second part of the fic :)

you moved on. thats what you tell everyone. absolutely over rafe, even got a new boyfriend. 

you definitely don’t think of your ex every time you kiss him or hold his hand. definitely don’t think of rafe when your new man is between your legs.

“hey baby.” darren says, giving you a tight hug after you open the door, not cradling your body against his like rafe used to.

“hi.” you smile, letting him into your house. “just give me like five minutes to touch up my makeup then we can head up.” “okay.” darren nods. you frown as you walk up the stairs, knowing its not the response rafe would have given you. he would have said that you already look perfect, not needing to touch anything up (though you would absolutely still reapply blush and swipe on some more lipgloss).

you don’t even feel like going to a party tonight, only going because darren has some friends that he wants you to meet. truthfully, you know you’re using darren. you know that he’s just a fling to get over rafe, and you feel guilty when he clearly values you and wants to show you off.

“ready!” you call as your heels click down the stairs.

“perfect.” darren smiles, placing his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out to his car, having to tug your dress down to not reveal yourself as you lower into the passenger side of his sedan.

“where is this party at anyways?” you ask, inspecting your fingernails, freshly painted in a lightly shimmery pink.

“topper thorton.” darren says. he must see your face go pale. “why, do you know him?”

“uh, yeah.” you pick at a nonexistent thread on your skirt. “he's my exes friend. you know, rafe. the one everyone warned you about.”

you chose to rebound with darren because he had just moved to town, wouldn't be scared into silence from rafes reputation alone.

“ah, damn.” darren says, but doesn't ask if you still want to attend. you know you're going to see rafe, and you're honestly not sure if you can see him touching other girls.

you are quiet until you get to the party, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as darren leads you inside, the music bounding out of the speakers, so loud it almost shakes the house.

“y/n!” toppers eyes are wide when he spots you. “didn't expect to see you here.”

“yeah…” you suddenly feel awkward and insecure in your dress, tugging the hem lower.

“rafe is um… rafe is on the patio. i would avoid him if i were you. he's… he's not the same since the breakup.” topper nods to you before walking away. 

“you said this rafe guy broke up with you, right?” darren asks.

“yeah.” you nod, feeling like you can't form any other word.

“then why does he care? who cares if he sees you? im not letting some random guy stop me from going where i want with my girlfriend, come on.” darren grabs your hand, tugging you towards the back of the house.

“darren, no!” you shout, but he's moving too quickly, the music too loud for him to hear you yell, and before you can grind your feet to a halt, you're out on the patio. your eyes flicker around, trying to pick the familiar face out of the crowd when you suddenly see rafe, his eyes already bouring into you.

“come on, let's dance baby!” darren says, your gaze fixed on rafe as darren moves behind you, grinding into your bum. you can't move, stuck in the power of his blue eyes.

“do you not like this song?” darren asks, having to shout into your ear as someone turns the music up impossibly louder.

“i told you, my ex.” you say, line of sight being broken by dancing bodies, finally allowing you to take a deep breath and move, turning to face darren.

“what? you not over him or something?” darren asks, his expression suddenly turning a mix of anger and disappointment.

“no!” you echo what you tell everyone. “no, it's just the first time ive seen him since the break up. it's just… weird.”

“okay.” darren says, but you can tell by his tone that he's going to bring it up later, and it's not really the end of the conversation, just for now.

“shit, there's my boys!” darren's expression quickly changes. you watch as he daps up two guys, who he then introduces to you, but you don't even hear their names, barely able to nod and smile, putting on a pretty face while your mind is other where. you know that's all you're truly there for anyways, a nice grin and tight dress for darren to flaunt.

he leads you back inside and away from the loud speakers so he can sit and chat with his friends. your eyes continually scan the room and the entryways, waiting to see those blue eyes and sandy blond hair.

“darren, baby, im gonna go use the bathroom.” you tell him as he takes a sip of his beer. you just need to move, feeling like a sitting duck just waiting for a predator to strike.

“alright.” darren literally waves you off, too enticed by the conversation his friend, who you thinks name is matt, or maybe mark. miles? 

you stand up, having memorized the layout of toppers house from parties with rafe. you know the most private bathroom is upstairs and inside of one of the tucked away guest room, a guest room rafe often took you to. 

you push past people to get to the stairs, dodging couples making out on the steps as you make your way up. you sigh when you finally get the guest bedroom door closed behind you, glad to be alone and somewhere somewhat quiet compared to the sensory overload of the rest of the house. 

you turn towards the room, ready to head towards the bathroom door when you see a slight movement in the shadow. you reach behind you for the light switch, feeling across the wall, sure that your eyes are just playing tricks on you, but as the ceiling light illuminates the room, you come face to face with the one man you didn't want to see.

“rafe, i-” you cut yourself off. you don't know what to say, have no excuse. a small part of you knows you said you had to use the bathroom just to get back into this room, look at the bed that rafe took you on so many times.

“he's not as tall as me.” rafe says. “you hate guys with that color hair.”

you urge your hand to reach for the doorknob and flee, but rafes deep voice keeps you captive.

“i would never ignore you like he does in favor of stupid fucking friends.” damn, so rafe was watching, and you couldnt even tell, probably too far in your own head.

“and im sure he doesn't fuck you like i do.” rafe steps towards you, having to round the bed from where he was leaning against the corner of the wall. “tell me y/n… does he make you cum as much as i do?”

“did.” you manage to bite out. “in case you forgot, you broke up with me. not the other way around.”

“i didn't expect you to settle for such trash.” rafe is now only feet away. he smirks as his eyes glide down your body and tight dress before landing back on your face. “you look stressed, baby. he's not giving it as good as me at all.”

rafe sighs like he truly cares about the kind of service you're getting in the bedroom.

“he's fine.” you argue back, the best defense you can manage. rafe was always able to tell when you were lying.

“so if i offer to eat you out right now, you'd say no? don't want my tongue, baby?”

“this isn’t fair, rafe.” you say bluntly. “you can’t break up with me only to tease me like this.” “get on the bed, underwear off.” rafe simply commands. your body moves before your mind does, still trained to his instructions. and once your underwear is on the floor, you figure theres no point in stopping now.

you do think briefly to darren, chatting innocently away with his friends downstairs, not a clue that your ex is about to go down on you, but when rafe lays between your thighs, your thoughts couldn’t be farther from darren.

“the most gorgeous pussy i’ve ever seen.” rafe says, pushing your dress further up your body. “missed her so much.”

rafe leans forward, tongue instantly zeroing in on your clit, switching between rubbing with the tip of his tongue and lapping over it in broad strokes.

“oh fuck!” you moan out, head pressing back into the pillow, sure to ruin your perfect hair.

“little bit louder and your new boyfriend might hear you.” rafe smirks before letting his tongue explore your cunt, even slurping at your juices.

“shut up, you’re so fucking unfair.” you groan, but reach down to grip his hair and push his face further into your pussy.

rafe shows you just how skilled he is with his mouth. there really is no comparison to darren, who you swear things your left lip is your clit.

rafe focuses in on your entrance, tongue sweeping in tighter and tighter circles until it juts forward into your hole, taking a moment to appreciate being back inside your tight heat before he begins to thrust his tongue, his thumb moving to rub your clit.

“tell me i’m better.” rafe says, barely pulling away to speak the words. “no.” you shake your head. you shouldn’t give rafe the satisfaction of admitting it, as if your moans aren’t evident enough.

“tell me or i’ll stop right now. won’t make you cum.” 

“fine.” you close your eyes, as if somehow not seeing rafe makes it less like you’re cheating. “you’re better than him. just, please.” 

you’re not above begging. you wish you could say that you were better than that, better than getting into bed with your ex the first time you see him.

“there’s my good girl.” rafe purrs out in his oh so seductive voice. he resumes movement of his thumb, rubbing you just the way you like, knowing it brings you to the edge quickly as his tongue continues to thrust inside of you.

“oh, oh my god! rafe!” you shout his name as his thumb quickens until it’s all too much, a flood of wetness gushing out as your back arches off the bed, hands gripping at the duvet. rafe continues his movements as your high works its way through your body until the snap of sensitivity hits and you have to shove his hand away.

you blink your eyes open, vision slightly blurry as you look down at rafe between your legs, face going pale when you realize that you didn’t just cum, but squirted, leaving rafes face dripping.

“holy shit, it really has been a long time since you came if you’re squirting like that.” rafe chuckles, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, only for his tongue to dart out and lick the juices off his skin.

“you-you-” realization comes flooding back of what you just did. you may know that you’re using darren, but you never intended it to go as far as to cheat on him.

“i only did what you wanted me too. even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself.” rafe moves up to a kneeling position, his cock clearly straining against his pants. “want me to fuck you now baby? i know you’ve missed this big dick.”

“no!” you snap your thighs together, mind much clearer now that you’ve gotten your orgasm. “no, i-i have a boyfriend!”

“go downstairs and break up with him and then come back up here and let me hit.” rafe says, tapping your hip to get you moving. 

“i am going downstairs.” you say, swinging your legs off the bed. “but it’s because this was a mistake.” you grab your underwear off the floor and put them back on before attempting to readjust your dress and hair to acceptable levels, well aware that darren must be wondering where you are by now, having been gone for so long.

“baby-” rafe tries to stop you, but you’re already out the door. 

--

“oh baby, this is so sweet!” you plaster on a fake smile. you were easily able to explain to darren what happened at the party a few weeks ago. you got caught up talking with some old friends and the time slipped away from you. not completely a lie.

you’ve avoided being out in public at all for fear of seeing rafe. you’ve even manage to banish most thoughts of him. most… except for when he forces his way back into your mind when your fingers are in between your legs, finishing yourself off after darren had gone to sleep next to you.

“a beautiful red rose for my valentine.” darren gives you a kiss on the cheek as you smile at the rose. it’s a nice gesture, it is valentines day after all and he is your boyfriend, but you just don’t feel in the spirit of the holiday, mostly because you aren’t in love and are just waiting for the right moment to break up.

you pull out your phone, opening up your instagram and snapping a photo of you holding the red rose, quickly uploading it to your story.

“what else do you have planned for today?” you ask darren, but his face quickly grows pale and you realize he doesn’t have anything else planned, thinking a singular red rose was all he needed to please you.

“we could go to the park later.” he recovers quickly. “have a nice picnic.”

“okay, sounds good.” you nod. “i’m gonna go put this in water.”

you flee quickly to the kitchen, leaving your boyfriend sat in your living room. your parents are rarely home, spending all of their time traveling when your dad isn’t working out business deals, and it feels like darren has practically moved in since they’re rarely home, and it’s only causing a bigger divide in your relationship.

you get the rose put in a vase with some fresh water when your phone vibrates from your pocket. you grab it out, eyes widening when you see that rafe has replied to your story.

doesn’t he know you like pink roses?

the doorbell rings, making you drop your phone with a loud clatter onto the countertop.

“i’ll get it!” darren calls out before you can process the sound, suddenly rushing after him as he opens the door to reveal rafe standing on your doorstep, not just one pink rose but an entire armful of them, the largest and most beautiful bouquet you’ve ever seen.

“who the fuck are you?” darren asks, but rafe looks right past him to where you’re stuck frozen in the foyer.

“i’m giving y/n the valentines day flowers that she deserves.” rafe pushes past darren with ease, transferring the large bouquet into your arms.

“and you’re getting the fuck out.” rafe turns to darren, now blocking him from moving back into the house.

“fuck if i am.” darren laughs. “and she’s my girlfriend.”

“she’s only your girlfriend because i broke up with her knowing she was too good for me and needed to find someone better, but instead she settled for you.” rafe turns his head to look at you, his voice softening. “it’s okay, sweetheart. i don’t blame you.” 

“lets let y/n decide.” darren says, rightly deciding not to fight rafe, being smart for once in his life knowing rafe would easily annihilate him, but wrongly thinking that you would choose him.

“get out.” you say, eyes moving to darren. “get out, darren. i don’t even like red roses.”

“baby-” darren begins to argue, but then rafe surges forward, shoving him out of the door before slamming it in his face.

rafe takes a deep breath before turning to you, looking so small with the roses drowning in your arms.

“i’ve missed you.” rafe moves towards you, his hands cradling your face and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “i’m sorry for breaking up with you, princess. thought you could do better.”

“i’m just glad you’re back.” you lean forward, rafe quickly understanding that you’re asking for more kisses as his lips glide over yours, familiar and warm.

“let me carry these for you.” rafe scoops the bouquet out of your arms. “and then you can go ahead and get ready for all the things i have planned for today while i gather your exes shit and make sure he knows to never come back here again.” you giggle and follow rafe, knowing you should feel bad for dragging darren into the mess that is rafe, but you’re just happy that he served as a distraction before rafe came back.

rafe walks up to your room, glad to be back in your house. he realized seeing you with a new guy how much of a mistake he made and knew it had to be corrected.

rafe sets the roses on the bench at the base of your bed before frowning at the bed itself, your side clearly neatly made while the side that used to belong to darren is a mess still, showing a complete disrespect for how you like to keep your belongings. 

“i’m trying to decide between fucking you on the sheets he used to sleep in or taking them outside and burning them.” rafe says, placing his hands on his hips.

“maybe…” you wrap your arm around rafes waist as you bury your head into his back. “we add buying new bedding to your valentines day plans?”

rafe turns around to take you into his arms, eyes soft as he looks down at you. “you’re always gonna be my valentine from now on, baby. i love you.”

you shift your weight to your toes as you lean up to kiss rafe, his mouth slowly moving over yours as you make out, feeling him swell against your lower stomach.

“i don’t think i can wait until after we buy new bedding, baby.” rafe groans.

“well… i do need to take a shower before we go.” you smirk, walking backwards towards your attached bathroom, slowly unbuttoning your pajama shirt.

“and you know how much i love to conserve water.” rafe chuckles, following you as your clothes hit the floor.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

[pupkashi]

satoru asks you to be his valentine every year without failure

he will do the whole routine of buying you balloons, writing you a love letter, giving you a plush holding a pink or red heart, a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers, boxes of chocolate and a nervous smile on his face as he asks you.

“will you be my valentine, sweets?” his heart pounds in his chest every year, eager to see you smile widely, roll your eyes at him and tell him yes.

“you know I’ll always say yes, angel boy” you grin, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing soft kisses to his cheek. “you don’t have to do so much every year y’know,” you assure him, struggling to find a place for the newly acquired gifts.

“oh but i do,” he defends, “need to show you that my love grows only stronger for you every year,” you can tell by his slightly puffed chest he’s proud of how eloquent he sounded.

“and I’m thankful for it every year,” you reply, following satoru to the kitchen as he puts the flowers in a vase, throwing out the ones he’d bought you only two weeks ago and replacing them with the fresh valentines bouquet.

he’s be sure to make plans for the two of you, be it a cozy afternoon in with your favorite takeout or a home cooked meal, or a reservation at a restaurant or a picnic he’d set up, he would always find the time for you.

and every year satoru would have the same blooming feeling in his chest and in his stomach, face flushed when you said yes and pressed kisses over his face, telling him you love him.

“my forever valentine” you’d mumble at night, smiling as you watched your lover giggle at the words.

“i like the sound of that, sweetheart,” he whispered, “my forever valentine.” he places a kiss to your forehead before you cuddle into him closer, the smell of his body wash filling your nose.

gojo would live up to the nickname; always making sure you were his valentine before the 14th came along, never missing a year since the two of you got together. it wouldn’t matter if he was across the world on the 13th, he’d be in your arms by the 14th, eyes full of love and heart thumping to same beat as yours.

a/n: something short and sweet before Valentine’s Day <3 hope you guys enjoy :3

masterlist

[midnottart]

FFVII • Vincent and Baby Sephiroth

[slasherscream]

Crazy Ass Girls Gang ft. what type of yandere are they

warnings: yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Tiffany Valentine / clingy, obsessive, manipulative 

You'd better be damn sure you want to be with Tiffany before you ever bring up dating her because there is no escape once you've embarked on the exciting journey of being her romantic partner.

But if we're being honest you never really had a choice. You think you met organically? Became close by fate? No, Tiffany saw you and wanted you and decided to have you.

It was love at first sight on her part.

You'll be friends for a few months as she weaves the inescapable web around you. Best friends, actually. You'll tell her absolutely everything about yourself. Learn everything about her in turn. It's pure bliss to have a friend like Tiffany. Supportive, charming, affectionate.

You can tell she loves you more than anything. Loves you more than anyone else has ever loved you before, and she isn't afraid to show it.

You probably already had a partner when you met Tiffany. She was heartbroken when you first told her. The heartbreak didn't last long. Why cry over spilled milk? She wants to take it slow with you anyways, make sure that this time every aspect of the life you build together will be perfect.

She's come in too heavy before. You can't rush perfection, her mother always told her. For you, the lesson is finally worth learning.

Everything can be a tool. In the right hands. And Tiffany's hands? Why, they're incredibly skilled. She uses your soon-to-be-ex as a diving board for your upcoming relationship with her. Even if you'd been perfectly content with the relationship until you met Tiffany, suddenly everything is awful.

Tiffany points out every mistreatment. Every cancelled date. Every strange tone they used when talking to you. Every shitty, unoriginal gift. Every moment they weren't enthusiastic enough about good news you had to share.

It gets to the point where you can't even look at them half the time. You'll end dates with your partner early just to go spend more time with Tiffany: "What do you think they meant when they said that, Tiff?" / "I think they forgot who they were talking to, sweetheart! They're lucky I wasn't around or I would've cut out their tongue."

Tiffany has you so wrapped around her finger she's not even the one who suggests the break up. She was still going to wait a month or two before she began to truly push.

But when you show up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, holding flowers and her favorite takeout, rambling about how you've been so blind and it's always been Her...

Well, she has to smile as she pulls you in, savoring the last first kiss your lips will ever gift another soul.

She almost forgot how good she is at getting what she wants.

Jordan Li / protective, obsessive, lucid

You're so sweet. It was the first thought Jordan remembers having about you. The beginning of the end. They haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that one fatal moment.

Jordan has plenty of other things to think about. Things that should outclass you in importance easily. Their ranking, Brink's careful mentoring, their grades. They tell themselves that it all still matters more than you but they know they're lying to themselves.

It scares them a little, how much they actually think about you. Not a minute can go by without their thoughts drifting to you.

Did you eat today? / Your next class is in ten minutes, let me walk you, I've got the time. / You were running out of your favorite perfume. Got you a new bottle. / You look upset. Did someone fucking say something to you?

They can't help the way they hover around you during every spare moment they can find.

Jordan knows your schedule by heart to maximize the amount of time you can spend together. It's a balancing act they have to play with their brain for the simplest of tasks: you can spend the rest of the day with Y/N but you have to finish grading these essays first.

They can't function properly when they go too long without you. They swing on their sparring partners too hard. Stare at the clock during lectures instead of listening. They rip textbooks and snap pens by holding them too tight.

Sometimes they have to give up and call you. If they can't go and see you for whatever reason the sound of your voice makes it better. Hearing you talk, the sound of you breathing, laughing. It helps. Calms the buzz beneath Jordan's skin. They dial your contact, glaring into space as they wait for you to pick up. As soon as you do their body relaxes.

They recognize that their behavior isn't normal. Always needing to know where you are, who you're with. Feeling sick when they don't know.

You're like a drug for Jordan. They know you're an addiction, the way you've crawled under their skin. No high on earth compares, and Jordan has fucking compared them all. They pull you into their lap, as close as they can get you and it's never enough. Nothing is ever enough.

"Please don't fucking go anywhere, yeah?" Jordan will mumble into the skin of your neck. Their grip on you is too tight, face twisted at the desperation they feel. It's not pillow talk. They're begging. Genuinely. They'd do anything to keep you this close, always.

"Of course not, Jordie." You coo back. They close their eyes and pretend the words are enough. Nothing ever is.

Nancy Downs / delusional, possessive, obsessive

As soon as Nancy wants you there's no other option for you besides her. You can either choose to go along with it or you can fight it.

Fighting against her is like fighting against the tide, though. You can tread water for awhile. Keep your head afloat, sure. But eventually you'll get tired. Nature wins. Besides, fighting against Nancy becomes unpleasant fast. Being hers is so much nicer. She's gentler that way, kinder.

You're allowed to have friends, she doesn't isolate you completely.

It's just your old friends sucked. They didn't appreciate you. Didn't look out for you. Selfish users just like everyone else. Moths are always drawn to the light, and she'll kill every moth that strays a little too close to you, before it ever gets a chance to singe itself on your warmth. It's a mercy, really. Living a life in the darkness and having one brief moment in the sun is miserable. Nancy should know. It almost drives her crazy when you're not around. If you ever left she'd want to be put out of her misery too.

Her coven, though? They're perfect. Her coven is a family. And you were the last missing piece of it.

Anything about your old life, the life before her, can be viewed as a threat at a moment's notice. Family. Friends. Memories you speak of a little too fondly. Even a hobby could do it. She wants your focus to be her. It's only fair, her only focus is you.

Even when she's not around. Even when you're completely alone you swear you can feel her eyes on you. Her magic drifting against your skin as if she was sitting right beside you.

Nancy's intensity can be scary but she makes anyone else's love seem dull in comparison.

Who else could love you like she does? Who else would die for you? Nancy wouldn't even have to think about it first. All she asks in return is for you to do the same. Live for her. Dedicate every breathe in your lungs to her.

It's not so hard, she'll lead by example.

Jennifer Check / manipulative, possessive, clingy

She couldn't give a shit about anyone else but you. Somehow you managed to sneak your way into her heart and she can't let go of you. Won't let go of you. You're the only thing that's keeping that small, soft, human part of her alive. You dragged that bit of her back from the grave she put it in, actually. So it wouldn't be fair for you to try and leave, after you made her weak again. Human again.

Her world revolves around you. Her priorities are her next meal and you. Of course she gets pissed off if you don't reciprocate her energy. Look at her, how could you ever put anything above her?

Jennifer wants you to be everything to each other, though she won't say it out loud. It shows in her actions.

You belong to her. Every version of yourself that exists in the world should belong to her. The version of you that you are when you're someone's best friend. When you're someone's partner. It's all hers. She won't let anyone else take root in your life in a role that she can fill. She'll do a better job anyways.

The enormity of her ego and the way she clings might seem at odds. She thinks she's a God walking amongst fucking cattle. But she sticks to you like a second skin. A hand always at your waist. Her lips always chasing yours, whining when you don't give in fast enough, when you don't melt like she does. Her grip iron clad when you hold hands. If you pull away too soon from a hug, from a kiss, she bites, she holds on with claws.

She coos at the marks she leaves on your skin and kisses all the scratches and bruises she leaves better. / "I'm sorry baby, you know I hate letting you go."

Carrie White / idolizer, protective, selfless

Not in her wildest dreams did Carrie think anyone could be as kind as you. People are cruel. Their first instinct is to cause hurt before they'll ever reach out a hand to help, to shield, to love.

But you're not like that at all. You're something ripped straight from a fairy-tale. The rare ones that her Mother let her read, that weren't hiding devil worship between their poetic words.

You're so patient with her. So gentle. You treat her like glass. You hold her close, and kiss her soft, and cup her face in your hands that are always so warm.

You say you love her in a breathless way, every time. Like even expressing how much you care makes you dizzy. As if she overwhelms you. She feels dizzy herself as she hangs on your every honeyed word. Clings to you every time you reach out your hands to hold her.

Carrie doesn't know if she believes in God nowadays, but if she did you'd be an angel sent straight from heaven. A gift, maybe, to make up for all the years of torment she endured from everyone she'd ever known.

She'd think you were some kind of God yourself, if you had any sort of abilities like her. But you don't. You walk around doing what's right, being good down to the marrow of your very bones just because it's who you are. You greet the world with your fists raised and you're only human, and it scares Carrie so much.

You're the last decent person alive and you'll throw yourself onto any pyre you see if it means doing what's right. Carrie loves that about you. It terrifies her.

So Carrie throws herself into the ring with you. Your sweet, gentle Carrie who you're always trying to protect. But Carrie doesn't need your protection. She's not the helpless little girl she used to be. She won't let anything hurt either of you, from now on. For the rest of your lives you'll be safe, happy. Together. Carrie would burn the world to ash if it meant not a scratch would befall you.

"You're an angel, Y/N. The most wonderful angel God ever made."

Ginger Fitzgerald / possessive, impulsive, protective,

Sometimes Ginger wishes everyone else in the world would disappear, besides the two of you. They're a hindrance.

She feels insane when she watches you. She feels her claws come out and makes herself bleed as she fights against the instinct to rip out every tongue that speaks to you, and every pair of eyes that's ever looked into yours.

She shivers when you claim her. The only time she enjoys being around other people now is when you're introducing her: "This is Ginger, my girlfriend." "This is Ginger, my partner." "This is Ginger, my best friend." "This is Ginger, my everything."

She loves being yours. Relishes in the way you say the word mine. She wants to lick the words from your mouth, the weight of your total ownership over her sweet and poisonous.

She wonders if you get the same pleasure from belonging to her. She wants you to. She wants to carve her name into your skin with her claws and have you moan at the first sharp sting of the letter G.

It's primal, the way she wants you. Beyond anything humans have words for. She leaves her scent on your skin and wants to growl when you wash it away with artificial soaps and perfumes. She sucks bruises into every inch of you that anyone else could see.

She wants you to do the same. Wants to roll onto her back and expose her neck, and have you bite so hard you draw blood.

Ginger's wanting comes with teeth. What she is demands she sinks her teeth into things, that she draws blood. Even when she loves you. Because she loves you, maybe. She needs to leave a mark on you. She needs to always be there. She needs the same from you.

Needs you to leave scars on her that she can touch when you're not around. Proof that you were there. Proof that you're coming back. You don't carve your name into things and then abandon them. When you own things you keep them.

When you're gone the world goes dim and cold. She couldn't survive in a world without you. She wouldn't even attempt it. What would be the fucking point?

"We're a pair. We belong to each other. Always, yeah?"

[xopinkroses]

Sleeping with the RE boys + girls (SFW)♥

Summary; How the RE boys (Chris and Leon) and girls (Jill and Claire) sleep with their s/o. Warnings; nightmares, insomnia, sleeping issues

MASTERLIST🌸

Jill Valentine

Jill hides how sleep deprived she really is well, she hasn't had a genuine good nights sleep since before that night in the Spencer mansion. More often than not you'll be gently shaking her awake at her desk to guide her into bed for the night. Her sleep is plagued with nightmares and she clings to you tightly through the night, seeking you out both for comfort and to reassure herself that your still with her. Sometimes her whimpering and crying in her sleep will wake you up, but you never tell her when it happens-- you simply wrap your arms around her and run your fingers through her hair, whispering comforting words into her ear until she settles down for the night.

Chris Redfield

Chris has a rigid sleep schedule that he follows religiously and never strays from, no excuses. Shower at 9pm, in bed by 9:30pm and asleep for 10pm-- wake up at 5am the next morning. During the night his burly arms will slowly creep around you, pulling you into his chest and burying his face into the back of your neck. He doesn't snore but you can feel a deep rumbling in his chest as he softly murmurs in his sleep. He's like a bear, holding you and keeping you warm and safe through the night. He has nightmares occasionally but tends to sleep through them, his grip around you tightening, like he's protecting you from the monsters in his dreams.

Claire Redfield

Claire is a cuddlebug and practically koala-bears herself to you at bedtime, watching a TV show or scrolling through yours phone and talking until sleep takes you both. She snores, and will deny it vehemently, and tends to toss and turn-- whining and grumbling to herself as she twists herself into a pretzel, getting tangled in the bedding as she cuddles into you. Sometimes she sleepwalks, usually only when she's stressed though, and will lumber around the apartment until she either comes back to bed on her own or crashes on the couch. If you wake up to her sleepwalking, she'll ramble incoherently to you as you gently coax her back into bed.

Leon Kennedy

Leon has to be exhausted to get a decent nights sleep so he usually goes for a late night run to clear his mind and tire himself out. By the time he's back and showered you are already half asleep in bed. He's a big guy but he's easily able to slip into bed beside you without jostling you too much and drapes one of his muscular arms over your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder. It's late and he's tired, he has work early in the morning, but it'll still take him a while to fall asleep-- and when he does he's restless, nuzzling into you and loosening and tightening his arms around you, furrowing his brow as his dreams are infested by horrible memories. He talks in his sleep, usually quite clearly too, and you have sworn yourself to secrecy that you'll never repeat any of it. Sometimes he repeats past conversations, or say your name and tell you he loves you, or he'll just quietly ramble about whatever has been on his mind lately. He rarely wakes up during the night but when he does he's careful not to wake you as well.

~ 🖤

[ode2rin]

SAY YES TO ME ~ ❀ ·˚

content/warnings. 1.7k+ wc | husband!reo x gn!reader | characters are aged up to late twenties | just lovesick reo asking you to be his valentine's date :> | pure fluff | minimal proofread

𓆩♡𓆪 in which: your husband, reo, just knows exactly how to make you say yes.

For the first time in his life, Reo had never been happier to be the CEO of his company. 

He couldn't recall feeling as alive even when he first inherited the position. While he appreciated the benefits and authority, nothing compared to the freedom of controlling his own time.

As soon as the clock struck 12 pm, Reo sprang to his feet, driven by a sense of purpose akin to a man on a mission. His determined strides echoed against the perfectly marbled tiles of his office floor as he made his way to the elevator. It was five hours earlier than his usual clock-out time, but today was an exception.

Because today was Valentine’s Day— and he had better plans than sitting around skimming through papers that hardly made any sense anymore because his mind was already consumed with thoughts of you, as if he didn’t spend most of his time doing exactly that anyway.

Before finally leaving his office floor, Reo made a beeline for his secretary’s desk to ensure the finishing touches were being made according to his instructions.

“Everything must be ready before we arrive,” he declared to his secretary, his tone more of a command than a request. This was serious business, after all. In fact, none of the investor deals he signed earlier this day would measure up to the importance of this one task at hand.

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied cautiously.

Satisfied, he stepped into the elevator. His eagerness to see you was so evident— anyone can tell. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying one bit to do so. From the way he pressed the lobby button twice, checked his watch incessantly for the past few hours, and tapped his wingtip against the elevator floor as if its speed could hasten his journey home— everyone can tell that his very own company building was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Well, he supposed anyone with someone precious waiting for them at home would understand his seemingly pathetic behavior.

Pathetic, lovesick, whipped— you’ve reduced him to every synonym for such. 

Not that it concerns him; what's more concerning is that he's not bothered by any perception tied to it. If he hadn't outgrown that teenage angst and was still chasing bits to fuel his ego, then it would have been a different story. He would have been hypersensitive to what bystanders thought of him. Now, older and wiser, he couldn’t care less about what they meant to prying eyes or big tabloids. None of their opinions were yours, so none of them mattered.

The journey back home was tenfold more insufferable than the time spent in the elevator. He kept his eye on his chauffeur in the rear-view mirror, and if he squinted enough, he could see the beads of nervous sweat forming at the poor man’s temple. He sighed to himself, seemingly reprimanding his own improper behavior. Hell, what was happening to him? He wasn't even an impatient man to begin with. All because of Valentine’s Day—all because he couldn’t wait to see you.

He got it real bad, as his longtime best friend would like to say. One he couldn't find it in himself to deny. It was true, anyway.

He didn't know when or where it started, but one random night four years ago, he woke up in a cold sweat, and the realization that he was hell deep in love with you gnawed on his center to his throat. So in love it set his heart on fire, all while being in love with the one person who lit the match.

Rumors were true— love never aligned with logic, intricate planning, none of what he excelled at as a businessman. And so, he abandoned logic and acted exactly as his heart had been urging him to. 

The very moment the sun peeked over the horizon that fateful day, he was on his feet, his jet waiting to fly him to wherever the finest diamond engagement rings reside.

It was the best decision he had ever made in his life because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be standing at the entrance of your shared home, his grin widening with each approaching step he hears. You’re bustling around the house just to welcome him home—so, no, he couldn’t have it any other way. The mere thought of doing things differently made his heart leap into his throat, while a hollow feeling settled in his chest.

“Love! Welcome home!” you greet him, your lively voice warming Reo’s heart as it makes its way to him.

Even before you could throw your arms around his shoulders and kiss him senselessly to welcome him home, you're met with a bundle of red roses he had taken from his back.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” you blushed, resembling the vibrant flowers he bought on the way home.

“Nothing is ever a bother when it comes to you,” he mused, big amethyst eyes sparkling back at you.

Ever the sweet talker, you looked at your husband who was now peering over you and the roses you’re cradling.

“Okay, Mr. Charming. To what occasion do I owe this?” you play pretend, your voice tinged with playful curiosity.

Instead of an immediate response, you felt his hands traveling to the small of your back, pulling you close against his embrace. His lips grazed your cheek, before whispering in your ear, “Be my Valentine?”

Here he goes again, you thought. “I’ve been married to you for the last four years, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out to him, keeping your smile to yourself.

That’s not a yes. Huffing, Reo pulled back from your hug to look you in the eye, “Your point being? There are no rules in marriage that say I can no longer ask you on Valentine’s day– if I remember correctly,” and he even had the pettiness to mock your tone.

“Wow, my husband is a bit sassy today, isn’t he?” 

My husband, he repeats in his mind, and just like that, all sassiness and pettiness came flying straight out of the window. “I love being your husband,” he blurted out, totally unrelated to your previous banter.

“Oh, really, now?” you teased, feigning the warmth it sent to your chest.

He does, truly and definitely. A man like him is widely known for what he has– for the possessions under his name and for the power it holds. Yet here he was, wrapped around your arms, and suddenly, being your husband has been the best he has been called and known for.

There was no weight, no expectations, and no pressure tied to it— just love dripping in every letter. There’s no one he would rather be.

“Yeah, am I doing a great job?” smiling at you, he asks, “I’m not losing the charms, am I?”

“Trust me, you’re very much good at it,” you fondly brushed the strands of hair covering his eyes, “and you’re not losing the charms,” you quoted.

“Really? So if I were to ask again, would you say yes?”

“With or without your ‘charms’, you know exactly how to make me say yes.”

Reo let out a hearty laugh at your remark. “You’re right,” his fingers reached out to your left ring finger, where his oath of forever lay glimmering.

God— he really did that. He put a ring on it. It was his name next to yours, his rings on your hand, his bed you share, and his forever you spend with. Four years and more to come, but Reo was certain he would never get over it.

Before his rationality left him and wrecked his own plans, Reo caressed your back, his hands moving dangerously low down your hip and giving it a squeeze, “Still wanna hear it from you though,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “So, what do you say in letting this poor man take you on a date as his valentine?”

You drew closer to his hold, your arms finding their place around his neck, hands occupied with the flowers now resting on his back, “I say,” you pressed your lips as if trying to think, “I’d like some kiss and maybe hear a please first—”

You couldn’t even finish teasing him because in a heartbeat, Reo closed the distance, seizing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss drowning out the sound of words with an intensity that left no room for second guessing his invitation. Nothing about Mikage Reo was silent and subtle– not even when he kissed you. It had to be breathless, deep, urgent, and parting your lips in surrender.

His hands found their way, trailing with purpose along your spine, while his other traced the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch. Teasing fingers then tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, desperate for more.

He pulled back first, leaving you light-headed. He flashed you one smirk, lips almost melting into yours.

“Please?”

Fuck. You didn’t need to be asked thrice. You nodded your head aimlessly, earning a chuckle from him. “Go then, pack some clothes. Our jet is waiting for us.”

“Jet? Did you mean car?” Where the hell was he taking you to use a jet for?

Seemingly reading the question on your face, he answered, “I know what I said, love. We’re going to Paris.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, squirming from his hold completely, “We could just dine somewhere close, Reo.”

Now, who told you he only had dinner in mind? Who did you take him for? You shouldn’t be surprised anymore— there’s nothing in this world that would come close to the satisfaction he got from spending lavishly on you. It was a reminder that he could and most certainly would give you everything you wanted. “You don’t like Paris?”

You tried to reason, heavy on the try so it seemed because you soon realized it was a mistake clarifying your point, “I mean, I do but—”

“I think I heard enough, love,” a sheepish smile formed on his lips, “I’ll wait for you here, alright?”

You rolled your eyes at him before retreating to your shared bedroom to prepare for freaking Paris. Of course, you're going. There’s really no winning against him, you’ve known that ever since. He longed to prove to you that he always had the irresistible charm of making you say yes.

Not that you'd ever thought of saying no. The ring weighing your finger down could attest to that.

note. been seeing people saying their partners no longer ask them valentines bec they're tgt alr... reo would never do that btw do better

another note (pls tolerate me). i'm pretty sure i'm fighting for my life when this gets posted (it's qd!!) so here's me wishing all of you a happy hearts day 🩷

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

and my man, thank you to my man.