#Digital Evidence Manipulation

[nosyp]

The most dangerous yanderes in twst

Note = They're all dangerous but... yk... also i'm sorry if tumblr made the pics blurry pls enjoy

1. Malleus Draconia

First place goes to the one and only Malleus Draconia. Mostly due to his immense power and position that allows him to be an overwhelming and intimidating yandere.

Malleus is arguably the most dangerous yandere because of his immense magical abilities and his conviction that you’re destined to be with him. His obsession is tied to his loneliness, and he believes he has the right to keep you by his side.

Malleus doesn’t need to physically harm anyone to assert dominance—his mere presence is already terrifying. However, if someone does try to take you away or you attempt to leave him, his wrath could be devastating. His dragon heritage means he’s willing to destroy everything around you to ensure you stay by his side.

If you even dare to reject him, he may or may not create a magical barrier around you, trapping you in a "fairy tale" world where you’re forced to love him.

He sees your relationship as predestined, so no matter how much you beg or plead, he will not change his mind whatsoever.

2. Vil Schoenheit

He's good at psychological and emotional manipulation. And Vil is dangerously obsessive especially his pursuit of perfection—not just in himself, but in you. He is subtle and insidious, using his charm and intelligence to manipulate your mind and emotions.

Vil can and will gaslight you into believing that your world revolves around him. He doesn’t need to physically harm you; he’s good at isolating you, destroying your self-esteem, and making you believe you’re nothing without him.

Vil might destroy your relationships with others by planting doubts in your mind or theirs. If you try to escape, he’ll emotionally devastate you, ensuring you have nowhere else to turn.

The worst part about him is that he can make you believe that staying with him is your own choice.

3. Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s possessiveness and quick temper make him a direct and intimidating yandere. He has no problem using his physical strength to eliminate threats or keep you under control.

Leona doesn’t hesitate to act on his jealousy. Anyone who gets close to you is immediately seen as competition, and he won’t hold back in asserting dominance back in your life. His royal status also gives him the resources to control your life completely.

If someone tries to help you escape, Leona might “remove” them from the picture—permanently. He doesn’t believe in second chances so say goodbye to them cuz that's probably the last time you'll ever see them.

His actions are unapologetically aggressive, and his view of you as "his" means he won’t tolerate defiance. This means that he won't hesitate to put you back in your place when you're acting up.

4. Idia Shroud

Idia's dangerous because of his intelligence and mastery of technology. He can monitor your every move, manipulate your social and digital life, and create situations that force you to rely on him.

Idia doesn’t need to leave his room to control you. He could lock you out of your accounts, track your location, or even fabricate evidence against anyone who tries to take you away. His introverted nature hides a deep paranoia that makes him unpredictable.

If one day you try to escape, Idia might isolate you digitally, ensuring you can’t contact anyone for help. He could also create a false narrative online, ruining your reputation to make you entirely dependent on him.

His paranoia lets him always be one step ahead of you, and his delusions about your "connection" make him dangerous in ways that are hard to escape.

5. Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia’s playful and mischievous nature hides a deeply strategic mind. As someone with centuries of experience, he knows exactly how to manipulate people and situations to his advantage. His actions can be terrifyingly unpredictable.

Lilia’s unpredictability is what makes him hard to outwit. One moment, he’s doting on you with affection; the next, he’s orchestrating events to ensure you’re completely isolated. His combat skills and magical prowess mean you couldn’t physically escape him even if you tried.

Lilia might orchestrate a series of "accidents" for anyone who tries to interfere in your relationship, all while maintaining his innocent smile.

His centuries of experience mean he’s patient and willing to play the long game, ensuring you’re his forever. G'luck

Honorable mentions cuz they don't get enuf love

Rook Hunt: Even though, Rook is obsessive and stalker-like, his focus on admiration and “artistic” obsession makes him less outwardly threatening compared to ones in the top 5. But, his unpredictability and willingness to stalk you everywhere can make him dangerous in its own right.

Trey Clover: Trey’s manipulation is subtle and psychological, but his methods aren’t as extreme as Vil’s or Idia’s. He’s still dangerous in how easily he can guilt you into submission.

Cater Diamond: Cater’s dependency and need for attention make him dangerous in a passive-aggressive way, but he lacks the direct threat level of Leona or Malleus.

[mo0nfairy]

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

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 :: 19.5k (oops)

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, smut, gender neutral reader, dom!jill, sub!carlos, switch!reader, nudity, noncon, penetrative s3x, unprotected s3x, oral s3x, masturb4tion, f1ngering, overst1mulation, edging, spitting, physical restraint, love triangle, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mild force-feeding, violence, death, manipulation, drugging, blood/gore, weapons, unhealthy religious themes, & just lots of creepy shit.

──── Five months; 153 days. That is how long Jill and Carlos have spent in the clouds of heaven with their one and only, Y/N L/N. So much has changed in such little time. Drastically, but all too invigorating in the same breath.

The two people who have claimed to be your lovers tell you tales of what horrors are rooted in the place you once called home. How they lathered your brain in their lies and how they thread through your veins with manipulation — five months have passed and you still cannot believe it to be true. They provided you shelter, comfort, and love; they lent you a rope to climb when you were left for dead at rock bottom.

Even with the clutter of Jill's studies she shows to you as proof, the way she clenches her jaw when you speak of them makes you regret ever mentioning the subject. Even with the scars Carlos shows you from when he had worked for the corporation, the vein that bulges above his brow when you speak of them makes you recoil with apprehension.

Your days and nights have been spent pondering what lies outside of these walls. This sudden contrast in your life doesn't fog your judgment entirely, though. With every day the rain falls, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Jill Valentine loves the taste of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of her obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

When dawn arises and the birds begin to fill the air with their melodies, Jill awakes and you are the first thing she sees. And the precious imagery alone causes all higher brain function to abandon her. Being here with you, the only reason she continues to live on is breathtaking. To wake up and find the star of her dreams beside her while the presence of her nightmares fade away — there is no high quite like it.

With a lanky arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other treads across your flesh. The stripe of your jaw, the expanse of your eyelid, the apple of your cheek. To touch you, never has Jill been so happy. A hum of laughter vibrates in her chest when she takes notice of the string of drool leaking from your mouth. Too damn cute. She restrains herself from cooing and instead, focuses on the way her sweatpants grow tighter when her mind wanders.

Jill drags her calloused fingers among the wet surface of your parted lips and collects the excess saliva, all without a hint of guilt or hesitance. Fervently, like some sort of starved beast, she shoves the digits into her mouth and ensnares her wriggling tongue around them. The constriction is almost suffocating; the flare of heat inside her is almost overwhelming.

Jill could stay here forever, relishing in the absolute euphoria only you are capable of bringing her. However, the day calls out for the two of you (as well as a man who is just as needy as she is for your attention).

With leisure efforts, she pulls the expensive comforters off of your warm body. She gently nudges your arm and purrs out your name. Five months later, there is still nothing that has her heart melting quite like the groggy, all-too-adorable look of lethargy on your expression. The way you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes and groan for "five more minutes," it takes Jill all the strength within her to not lock the door and spend the day drowning you in her love. Sometimes, she waves a white flag to her desires and does such, despite the grizzly bear banging on the door and demanding she let him see you.

Rainfall hastens as light envelops the land. You and Jill arrive at the kitchen where you find Carlos at the stove, laboriously working on something mouthwatering.

Upon your entrance, Carlos beams and risks the fate of burning the food in favor of greeting you. An embrace, one that rivals two lovers who haven't seen each other in decades, is what you're met with. A kiss on your forehead and an affectionate tap to your chin follow, as well as a promise that "breakfast will be ready soon, honey-bee."

Jill averts her gaze from the lovesick man. The sight may convince her to snatch an impromptu weapon from the knife block and slice his throat. Despite the elation of having you at her side, the possessive roots within her will always reside, unfortunately.

Two plates are soon set before you and Jill. For a number of times you cannot possibly fathom, Carlos sits beside you. Shoulders pressed to yours, he wastes no time in scooping a mouthful of delectable food and pressing it to your mouth. You thank him, as you always do, and he gushes about how much of a sweet thing you are. Meanwhile, Jill remains silent and scarfs down the meal with no regard to the effort he put into crafting it (there is much less effort in her dish than there is in yours, but not that she acknowledges).

Carlos refused to cook for her before, claiming that she can "get her own damn food." Though, your kind heart offered some of your breakfast to her and Jill resorted to feeding you with that irritatingly-smug look on her face. From here on out, he'd always leave an extra plate out for her. Carlos would prepare Jill an entire buffet if it meant he'd still possess his role of being your personal fork-holder. Nobody else.

After a night spent in cold sheets, Carlos proceeds to hog you as a child would with their favorite toy. The sleeping schedule you three have fluctuates every other night, to where you'll spend the evening with one of them and the next with the other. The two bedrooms within the home are assigned to Jill and Carlos, where they get to spend the precious time indulging in the joy of finally being alone with you. Evenings with Jill often fuel the gnawing need this man has to have you close. The similar way it does the other way around, as well.

With the rainfall now intensely heavy and engulfing the green atmosphere, you had deemed yourself fully satiated with love. Managing to slip out of the house for some fresh air after Carlos had so greedily taken yours, you stumble into the garage. From there, you find Jill, whose clothes and skin are adorned with stains of grease.

Wrench in hand, she works tirelessly on her motorcycle. She makes some flirtatious introduction that makes your face hot, as she was always skilled in getting under your skin with her provocative attitude. And for the next several hours (and an inconspicuous task given to Carlos so you'll receive a few seconds of time away from him), you aid Jill in her efforts to patch up her bike. Apparently, an animal had squeezed through some cranny and claimed Jill's baby (besides you, of course) as its dinner. With how deliberately it seemed that the vehicle was unable to function, you wonder what actually occurred during the night.

Never once in your life could you have ever considered fixing a motorcycle to be quite a fun process. And never could you have considered being covered in motor oil to be something so intimate, the inside jokes and coquettish comments from Jill adding to the romance, too.

Absorbed in patching up the complex structure of the fuel system, you don't realize how the hem of your sweater falls from your shoulder. Jill notices, however — oh, how she notices. If you hadn't been so engrossed in the activity your hands were occupied with, you'd see how her eyes latch to your naked skin and the way her mouth waters at the sight.

"Done!" Reaching your hand over, your sleeve treads lower when you set the pliers down upon the rusted tray beside you, exposing even more of your skin. You subconsciously pull the garment to shield your shoulder from the gusts of wind permeating the room (or the hungry eyes that crave to see everything torn from your body).

With a lack of knowledge about motorcycles in general, considering you have never been on one in your life, you make a quirky remark about "testing the new ride!" and sit down on the leather-threaded seat. Though, you sit entirely backward on the vehicle without a spark of false nature in your expression. Do you really think that's how you're supposed to ride a motorcycle? God, just when Jill thought you couldn't get even more adorable, you draw a new line in the sand.

“You tryna' turn me on?" Her voice drops to a low husk, a tone she has never presented but has always been reserved for you, anyway.

"What?" You furrow your brows and quirk your head like a puppy dog. And the sight does not aid the mayhem within the pit of her stomach.

She stands from the rolling stool and slowly treads to the back of the motorcycle, now standing right in front of you. The way you look up at her makes her absolutely exasperated with desire.

"'Too damn good at getting my attention. 'Got me all wrapped around that lil' finger of yours, huh?”

"I... I don't know what you're talking about...?"

"Really now? Sittin' reverse cowgirl and you expect me to not want to tear you apart?"

You flush in response to her insinuations, babbling jumbled nonsense in an attempt to explain your honest mistake. Jill leans closer to you, mere inches of space between you now. Resting her hand against the seat to support her weight, the other toys with the hem of that damned shirt in the way of what she wants most. She can practically feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks, and God, does it make her feral.

The expanse between you two hastens with less and less room, to where you lean backward in response. It isn't until you are entirely draped among the bike does she finally halt and hovers over you, practically bathing in how you blush from the intimacy.

"... Jill...?" You exhale breathlessly, your flustered state adding fuel to the fiery state of her inflated ego.

Despite the fantasies she's had of this moment, the scene she constructed won't be brought to light today. All the teasing, toying, and images where she'd force you to beg for her touch — she has dirtied her brain in the most pleasurable way possible. But, she's far too greedy; way too impatient. There is no possible reality in which she could restrain herself at this moment unless she was somehow physically tied down. Still, she'd find a way to wrangle herself out of any barrier if it meant you'd be lying beneath her like this. So inviting, gorgeous, and ready for her.

The kiss she pulls you into is suffocating.

The fervent, honeyed look trapped in your eyes, how could you expect her to resist? To control herself? Jill indulges herself in the taste of you and places a gentle hand against your waist. Despite being stuck in a cloud of dizzying enrapturement, she is still wary of pushing your boundaries.

Always so eager, however, mere seconds have gone by before Jill converts the intimate kiss to practically shoving her tongue down your throat. She lathes the appendage over the grooves of your teeth, the plush surface of your delectable tongue, and just everywhere she can possibly reach. Almost as if she were a dog, she's lapping every bit of you she can garner from your mouth.

You're dazed with lust, as well. Every little whimper for more is muffled against her greedy mouth but still succeeds in pushing Jill further into a sort of monster-like ravaging. What finally drives her over the edge of becoming an absolute beast is when you grasp hold of her free hand and guide it under your shirt, gasping when her frigid fingers make contact with your nipple.

She doesn't acknowledge how your desire looks like a mere breadcrumb in comparison to her own colossal need for you. Jill is too caught up in reveling in your reciprocation and her own burning hunger to pay the thought any mind.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, she parts from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you to one another.

You're not given a moment to catch your breath, not when a sudden gasp escapes your mouth as Jill begins to tear your clothes from your form. You're gasping her name, using your limbs to shield your naked skin while she continues to rapidly undress you. Every single part of you is now on display for Jill to watch and indulge in. Before you can express your shock at the fucking animal she has abruptly become, she locks a hand around your jaw and forces your gaze on her.

"Open." The authority in her tone doesn't grant you a second to even consider disobeying her. Without words, it is clear as day that Jill Valentine is the one in control.

Letting your tongue loll out of your mouth, you await her next actions with anticipation. She spits a glob of saliva onto the muscle and her supercilious laughter fans against your face. How precious it is the way your eyes perceptibly glisten from her actions. A sharp demand of "swallow" and you obey once more, never ridding her of the intense eye contact she has trapped you in.

Her index and middle finger prod at the flesh of your lips, where you eagerly invite them into your mouth. She sighs out a curse at the feeling of your tongue wrapping itself around her fingers and how you slurp the digits like a goddamn popsicle.

"Dirty fuckin' thing, aren't you?" Jill's fingers delve deeper, losing herself in the way you gag around her and whine out a muffled "mm-hmm!" as a reply.

Pulling her fingers from your mouth with an animated pop!, Jill's eyes never leave the ocean of passion in your eyes as she treads her hand lower.

With teasing efforts that her greedy self doesn't indulge in for too long, her fingers soon nudge against your sex. The contact causes a gasp to flee from your mouth. Circling around your entrance, you're only able to squeeze in several pleas for more before she's forcefully shoving her fingers inside of you.

While you throw your head back with a sharp moan, Jill's jaw drops as she realizes how she is finally able to feel every sliver of you. Inside and out. The spongy expanse of your walls; the silk of your essence mixing with the saliva you left upon her fingers. The garage is painted in the lewd sounds of your whimpers and the squelching induced by her fingers. Everything is perfect.

“Jesus Christ, baby... I could fuck you like this for days.” Her voice causes you to squeeze around her as if you were trying to physically cling to the mind-numbing sensations she's giving you.

Within seconds, Jill finds your sweet spot and begins to torture the love-button. Her calloused digits penetrate deep against it and the stimulation shifts your moans up an octave. With a "yeah? feelin' good?", you can only nod and succumb to the sounds that fall from your mouth.

With how paradisiacal the vehemence her fingers bring, you aren't able to ponder over how this woman is able to magically know your every weak spot, every sensitive bud, and the exact rhythms you prefer without ever informing her. Almost as if she's seen you do the same to yourself.

Soon, however, the heat becomes too much for you to handle and you begin to squirm in her grasp. Even when you whine pathetically about how it's too much, Jill doesn't falter her efforts in the slightest.

"Can't stop, baby... 'Clenching 'round me too tight, got me stuck in here." Her condescending tone and sultry smirk make you cry out in heavenly misery. God, it's only two lanky fingers and you feel more stuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey.

Her digits soon accelerate in speed, your body jolting from the force and legs beginning to quiver. A fire pervades in your core with how forcefully she massages your sweet spot and you let out pornographic "ah!"'s with every thrust she forces into you. The smirk on her face vanishes when you bring your forearm to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the unruly noises tumbling out. She swats your arms away, never ceasing her endeavors to bring you the most Earth-shattering pleasure you could ever know.

"Car-Carlos... He'll hear..." You manage to squeak out. And the sudden shift in her expression makes a surge of fear course through you.

"Carlos? 'Fuck you thinking bout' him for?"

Roughly, Jill pulls one leg of yours to your chest and is able to drive her fingers in deeper. You didn't even think it was possible, hence the shock and sucker-punched look on your face. She sharply reminds you of how it is only you and her together. Not in an attempt to comfort, but to emphasize the territory she has marked. And you can barely hear her possessive tangent through the sound of your own heart racing and the wet, sucking sound of your walls latching onto her. The mewls escaping your mouth have increased in volume and intensity, Carlos now nothing but a distant memory in your foggy brain.

"Y'know I once caught him sniffing your sweater like some sort of depraved junkie? Hand stuffed in his pants like a fuckin' pervert?" You can barely hear the woman speak, not when she's simultaneously turning you into nothing but a pile of mush.

“Bet he’s biting his damn fists thinking about me fuckin' you like this. 'Crying like a bitch knowing you're getting the best fuck of your life out here.” Once again, you're too dumb with pleasure to remind Jill you are also biting your fists and crying fat tears, but for different reasons than the vision she painted of Carlos.

“All mine, all fuckin' mine, baby. No one can fuck you like me, no one...” Her free hand finds its way to your nipple. The pulling and tugging earn her a loud cry from your throat that she practically revels in.

That familiar, but now incredibly stifling and heart-stopping, pool of heat begins to build in your tummy. With a slack jaw and incoherent ramblings, you attempt to find your voice and express the inevitable incoming through your incessant wailing.

"Jill, I-... I'm gonna- Fuck- I'm gonna...!" Jill quirks a brow in response.

"Gonna cum, baby? Hmm?" She exhaled with a quick chuckle, fully splitting you open with her fingers at this point. "All your fault, all your fault for being this fuckin' pretty. Can't fuckin' resist.”

“No, I-... I can’t help it when your fingers are just- just fucking stretching me out.” You throw your head back once more. The way the motorcycle juts uncomfortably at your skull fails to overpower the sheer fervor you're feeling.

Jill merely laughs in response. “Yeah? 'Gonna get all messy on my fingers? Get your fuckin' cum all over my bike?” The heat within you builds and builds until it becomes suffocating for your sweaty body to contain.

"C'mon, pretty thing. Cum f'me..."

With that, the damn breaks and it's as if you had released an entire tsunami the way you spurt around Jill.

Her mouth latches to yours during your peak, tongues mashing against one another. Chest pressed against yours, all your senses know are Jill, Jill, Jill. It is practically agonizing, how gut-wrenchingly pleasurable the orgasm is.

And Jill, all she can do is coo, tease, and watch in absolute wonder at how perfect this was. How perfect you are. When your peak is finally pacified into calm waves, your body goes limp against the bike and your essense leaks onto the clean leather. The entire room seems to melt away while you're brain is still scrambling to garner any brain cells Jill had managed to fuck out of you.

She removes her fingers from your heavenly heat and just stares at the way your slick paints her digits. Standing, Jill uses her heel to kick the rolling stool behind her. Her slender figure is finally able to rest as she sits down, heavy gaze still locked on the captivating sight of you all over her fingers. She brings them to her lips, eyes watering when she is able to catch a whiff, but stops herself before they can reach past and show her tongue what heaven is.

An idea, albeit a bad one (something Jill is notorious for), sprouts in her mind. The part of your body she has so kindly destroyed is sitting right before her, like a grand meal crafted by the most talented chef, just for her. Surely, a meal better than anything Carlos has ever made (which she knows he would certainly agree with, but she digresses).

With a kick to the cement floor, the stool slides across the room. Hastily grabbing a few random cable ties, Jill then swerves back to you. A gentle hand on your cheek, she presses yet another kiss to your whimpering mouth. It is soft and sweet, but it is easy to notice the dominating tendencies that lie beneath the surface. You reciprocate the affections, albeit clumsily, due to your dazed state.

While your tongues practically cuddle with one another, adorning the other in heaps of saliva, you can barely feel how Jill grasps hold of your wrist. She then presses it against the motorcycle handlebar. With her mouth latched to yours like a leech, she uses the cable tie to restrain your wrist to the handle. The other wrist is tied to the adjacent bar swiftly, to where you are now entirely restrained to the bike.

What she plans to do will be far too much for your exhausted body to handle. So, she must ensure that you stay pliant and accept even more heaps of the torturous zeal she intends for you to endure.

Fortunately, you don't seem to mind one bit. Your poor brain still hasn't processed that you will soon go through that same overwhelming, almost-painful pleasure once more. Scooting closer to you, Jill's heavy breaths fan against your sex and earns her a faint gasp from the light stimulation. Mere inches away, the scent of you floods her senses and further envelops her into whatever magic spell you put her under.

Six years. Six whole years.

Through the depraved loneliness of being without the one she loves most, there was always a curious desire that prodded at her brain. 

How would you take her? Would you like it rough and intense or soft and tender? What sounds would you make? Would you be shamelessly loud or try to restrain your cute whines? How much stamina would you have? Could she make you weak with mere minutes of intimate contact or would you challenge her to hours of bringing you venereal satisfaction? 

The mere idea always sends her hands downstairs, vowing that she'll find you and make you feel even half the sheer euphoria you gift her. And as if the heavens had heard her prayers, despite her irreverent mentality, you have finally returned to her.

With that, Jill lets her jaw drop and tongue fall. Greedily, yet savorly, she drags the muscle from the bottom of your sex to the top.

And the ecstatic delirium that floods her body rivals any drug she could ever pump into her system.

You yank against your restraints and cry from the sudden sensation, her hot breath against your most sensitive parts only adding to the overstimulation. A pleasured groan absconds from Jill's muffled mouth. She has teased this idea numerous times, but the fantasies she's had where she wondered how your essence would sit on her tongue, none of it compared to the real thing.

Better than the most arduous whiskey, better than the ripest fruits, better than water after an eternity spent in a desert. She'd give anything to spend the rest of her life down here.

"Jesus- fuck, baby." Her curses are muted due to the close contact, but with a licentious squelch, she casts her gaze to your face. "If I was on death row, I'd choose this as my last meal... Oh, I'd die a fuckin' saint."

The lewd noises and dirty talk only make you flush more. With your arms restrained, there's no shyly covering your face or hushing your salacious noises. You are entirely vulnerable to whatever Jill intends to put you through.

And as quick as she pulled back to express the thoughts running through her mind, she dives right back into you. There's no gradual descent, no build-up. Just an unadulterated, hungered frenzy that Jill takes out on your poor body. Every devouring suckle has your legs squirming, which she is able to hold down with ease. Nothing can prevent Jill from indulging in the absolute nirvana leaking out of you. Nothing.

Slurping and sucking like a goddamn vampire, you whimper about how the pleasure is too much for you to handle. A hushed chuckle escapes from Jill and reverberates through your entire body, the appending commotion sending a warm tremble down your spine. She could never stop so soon, not with your candied flavor and gorgeous sounds enveloping her like a soft embrace. 

Jill was never one to simply flick her tongue, either. No, she was insistent on having your juices explore every inch of her mouth, no matter if it strained her jaw or numbed her tongue. God, this woman was practically drunk on you.

“Could never be done with this pretty body, baby. Never.” Everything you are now experiencing has your brain blanking, entirely unable to process any of her words.

Even when you try to put on your best puppy-dog eyes, as it always makes her weak, she refused to abandon her desires. Your relentless pleas for mercy simply fall on deaf ears. Through all her snarky comments and cocky remarks, it's almost comical how the only way to shut her up was for you to just let her put her mouth all over you.

And everything is just so lewd, so sloppy, so rough. Crescent-moon shapes are carved into your thighs as she pins them down, allowing her greedy mouth further access. Satisfied groans escape from Jill as she just revels in how good it is to be smothered in the absolute love potion pouring into her mouth. Bony hands cling to your hips as she rolls you in a rushed rhythm, needily grinding you against her mouth. Lapping at you like a goddamn slushie, all you can do is lay back and accept the relentless torture. And God, it drives you fucking insane.

You don't even recognize yourself anymore; you've become reminiscent of a famous pornstar the way slobber leaks down your chin and how your moans bounce off the walls. And Jill is just drinking in this sight. She hopes that if she stares long enough, this image will forever be burned into her memory and imprinted behind her eyelids. An eternal porno crafted just for her.

With another flare of heat building, one far more intense than ever before, you truly begin to lose yourself in the whirlpool of soul-crushing pleasure. And every suck and churn of her tongue has your back arching uncontrollably, pushing you further and further to that edge.

Everything intensifies and before you can whimper out a warning, the mob within you releases and you practically gush onto Jill's face.

You cut off her animalistic grunts with the loudest sound you're positive you have ever made. Not even the screams of terror you let out back in Raccoon City could compare to the sheer volume that escapes your throat at this moment. Your entire body is enveloped in violent shivers, to where Jill has to cling to you to prevent the shocks from sending you to the ground. Her covetous tongue guzzles every last drop of you.

It isn't until she hears a cry framed with more pain than pleasure does she finally snap from her libido-filled daze. This doesn't prevent her from indulging in one last obnoxious slurp before finally parting from the best meal she has ever had.

From the jacket she had thrown indolently against the table, Jill reaches over and pulls out her rusted pocket knife. She scoots closer to your face, heart lurching when she sees the tears painting your cheeks. She wipes them clean with her thumb and presses a languid kiss to your sweat-ridden forehead.

Swiftly, Jill cuts the ties around your wrist while remaining ever-so careful to prevent harming your precious skin. Now free, you let out a feeble whimper and grasp hold of her shoulders, outright begging for her care. And Jill practically melts into a puddle at the sight. She encases her constricting arms around your waist and relishes in the way your wrap your arms firmly around her. God, you make her so fucking weak.

You never need to ask her for affection. She would give you absolutely anything.

"Sweet butterfly, you did so fuckin' good. 'Came so hard f'me."

You wrap your naked legs around Jill's form as a means to get even closer to her. In response, she has to keep the sudden flare of desire derived from the action at bay. She's put you through enough, after all. Someone as drop-dead gorgeous as you, anyone in their right mind would plead with the universe to feel those beautiful legs wrapped around them. However, she can't indulge in the fantasies that consisted of you latching onto her like this. Oh, another day. Another day...

When your brain is able to clear through all the dissipated fog, you find yourself in the bathroom with the woman who brought you pleasure you didn't know existed. Stifling water pours down your body, and you are locked in Jill's nude embrace.

Taking a shower with her — this was nothing out of the ordinary. For the five months you have spent here, she has always insisted on washing you with a myriad of excuses. From wishing to show you a new body wash to insisting you were too ill to do it by yourself, cleaning yourself alone is a privilege you haven't known in ages.

The scent of your favorite body wash now sits on your wet skin. Her calloused fingers massage the ambrosial suds into your body and you swear you could fall asleep from the peaceful rhythm. Pampering you, despite your assurances of how you can take care of yourself, is something she has always loved to do. With how easy it is to send you into a state of tranquility, it never fails to make her laugh. Like a sleepy puppy, she jokes to herself.

Ever so greedily, Jill grasps your jaw tenderly and ushers you to meet her gaze.

“C'mon, give me a kiss, baby. Taste how good I made you feel.”

In response, you make weary endeavors to place your lips against her chapped ones. She hums, how cute.

Taking the full initiative of effort, Jill moans as she molds her mouth against yours once again. Her tongue slithers in, allowing you to bask in the flavor she has developed a newfound addiction to. The act of affection is quick, considering how the heat of your nude body and your mouth against hers may push Jill into numbing your mind with pleasure, once more.

From here, she lets you rest your head against her shoulder and your tired body against her form. She continues to massage the fruit-scented soap into your skin, indulging in the satisfied hums she earns when she massages certain knots out of your muscles.

"Y'know, Carlos had a fuckin' field day when I took you back into the house. 'Thought I was murdering you in there, heh." You've been steered into such a meditative state, your exhausted brain fails to process any of Jill's words.

"It's a fuckin' miracle he let me be alone with you right now. 'Had to threaten him with telling you what I caught him doing with your sweater. Fuckin' idiot was so scared, he doesn't even know I already told you."

She presses an abiding kiss to your head before continuing.

"Do you remember, baby? Or were you too fucked out to use your head...? Kinda hard to listen to me when I'm fuckin' your brains out, huh?"

Other than being between your thighs, Jill could spend forever here.

Nights spent trying out facemasks with ridiculous scents, drawing hearts and your initials on the steamed shower walls, and the adoring giggle you give her when she lets you use her hair and face to make soap mohawks or soap beards. There is nothing in the universe that could equate to the ineluctable love Jill has for you. Absolutely nothing.

As every night goes, she massages fragranced lotions into your flesh and dresses you in cloud-soft pajama bottoms. This time, however, she reluctantly wraps one of Carlos' shirts around your form as compensation on his end for what she put you through.

Speaking of the devil, her fingers merely hover over the lock on the bathroom door and he is already trying to force his way in. With a hushed yell of "They're sleeping, can you chill the fuck out!?" Carlos is barrelling into the room, shoving past Jill, and rushing to where your unconscious body is resting on the bathroom counter.

In an instant, his always-gentle hands are on your body, checking for injuries, and faintly whimpers out "My baby" and "What did she do to you?" Jill rolls her eyes and scoffs at how dramatic he is. She would never hurt you, he should know that by now.

Carlos then brings you into his arms as if he were cradling a baby bird, carrying you out of the ensuite and to the lavish sheets of his bed. Two sets of glares at each other, as if they were teenage girls fighting for the heart of the dashing quarterback, and Jill begrudgingly leaves the bedroom.

Locking the door behind her, Carlos wastes no time in climbing beneath the expensive covers and enveloping you in an embrace. The anger poking at his sanity is eased from the warm weight of your body as he snuggles into you. You've always had a knack for mending even the worst parts of him, after all. Still, the rage provoked by what that monster put his precious bumblebee through simmers beneath the surface.

"I should have stopped it. I should have been there..." Carlos places a hand against your chest, searching for the sound that he is wholly convinced can mend any and all turmoil. "But, she would have taken you from me if I stopped her... I'm so sorry, my bumblebee..." The familiar ba-bump! beneath your flesh rivals a genuine lullaby.

Hours passed, and your heartbeat soothes Carlos into a deep slumber. Those protective arms never once weaken from around your body.

Moonlight now paints the bedroom and frames your face; Jill thinks you were painted by Da Vinci himself as she admires you in your unconscious state. The way you so frivolously make her heart grow without lifting a finger should be considered a crime. Though, the sight of you in handcuffs may convince her to give you a lighter sentence. Several gentle nudges to your arm and your eyes flutter open. A finger is pressed to your lips when you try and inquire about her intentions.

"Wanna get outta here?" The prospect of being out of this prison cell makes a smile grow on your lips. Slowly, you remove the constricting arms of Carlos from around your waist and escape the warm expanse of blankets.

Tip-toeing through the home, hushed giggles fill the silent air as you and Jill finally arrive at the garage. Another idea, albeit a bad one (once again, something she is notorious for), had sprouted in her mind. A quick ride on her new-and-improved motorcycle and you'll be back before Carlos even notices you're gone, she assures you. To let you momentarily venture away from this humble abode like a bratty child whose time-out has ended was all you truly wanted.

She has her signature battered jeans on with her biker jacket. Meanwhile, you're stood with your fluffy pajama bottoms, t-shirt beneath a chunky sweater (since Carlos insisted you'd get cold during the night), and bumblebee slippers. The teddy-bear necklace he gifted you is adorned around your neck, as well. You always feel a strange familiarity when you catch sight of the bumblebee necklace he is never seen without. Where have you seen it before?

You'd feel like a loser in her presence if it weren't for those damned heart eyes she's giving you. Jill loves you. So, so much. Even through everything that has happened in these few months, that much is for certain.

"C'mon, wasn't it you who said you wanted to test out the new ride? Or do you not remember that, either?" She taps the seat behind her as a gesture for you to join her.

You fumble to catch the spare helmet she chucks your way and copy how she fastens hers around her head. If you had learned anything that day, motorcycle logic is something you are certainly not familiar with.

Before you are able to sit in the exact spot you had lost all rational thought in just hours ago, Jill halts your actions. She stands to her feet and begins to scrutinize the state of your helmet, all to ensure everything is secure and protecting that pretty face of yours. Despite her reckless nature, anything that could jeopardize your safety has alarms blaring all throughout her thoughts. Still, you deserve to partake in the adrenaline-inducing excitement only she can bring.

Propping down onto the seat (correctly, this time), your arms hover around Jill's waist in an awkward attempt to respect boundaries. Impatient and needy as ever, she revs the engine and the sudden, thunderous roar has you clinging to her body in startlement. The sound will surely wake Carlos, despite his deep-sleeping nature. Swiftly, before the angered grizzly bear can storm out and drag you back to safety, Jill hastens down the long driveway surrounded by empty forestry.

Making a mental note of any potential landmarks was fruitless. There is absolutely nothing that could verify where on planet Earth you were right now. Through the grapevine, or just the instances you've eavesdropped on Jill and Carlos' arguments, this home you've resided in was apparently in Spain. Where exactly in Spain do the three of you live, you haven't a clue. Any inquiries you have expressed have been neglected.

She then accelerates her speed in a teasing manner just to feel you cling harder to her, knocking the thoughts from your brain. With the few vehicles that have passed by you both, you still make effort to scrutinize their identity. All attempts were jeopardized by Jill who sped past them. As a last resort, you had considered jumping from the bike and making an abrupt dash into the woods. However, with broken bones and no ears to listen to your cries for help, that plan was abandoned as quickly as it was formed. 

At least the sex is good, you shamefully muse to yourself.

It had only been a mere 20 minutes before you returned to the dirt roads leading to your "humble" abode. From the garage, you see how the golden kitchen light glimmers through the windows and you mentally prepare yourself for the hurricane swarming your way.

With how engrossed you were with your mind, you haven't processed how Carlos will react to you being out of his train of vision for more than several seconds.

Jill's boot knocks the kickstand into place, seemingly reveling in her last few moments before you'd inevitably be snatched away from her. Despite how malleable Carlos was with a few empty threats regarding you, she knows that she crossed a line and nothing will make him bend. Still, she has no regrets whatsoever. Any moment with you is absolute paradise, no matter what consequences may follow afterward.

As if you were two teenagers who snuck out past curfew, you both walk through the front door with your tails between your legs. When you had fully expected Carlos to sprint over to you, the entire opposite happens. Upon your sudden entrance, all he does is sit at the kitchen island, staring blankly into the empty counter. The clutching of his fists, the bulge above his brow, the strain of his clenched jaw — all the telltale signs show that he is absolutely enraged. And the sheer aura of his fury is enough to make you capitulate into the corner.

An arrogant remark sits right on the edge of Jill's lips, but with a wave of your hand, you stop and assure her of how you can handle whatever tantrum is imminent. Approaching slowly, as if Carlos were a feral animal ready to maul anything that moves, you tread behind the island and halt straight across from him.

"I... I wore a helmet...?" You cringe at your own attempt at reassurance.

Face sheen with enmity, Carlos merely turns his head gradually and shifts his full attention to Jill. For the very first time in five months, your presence is ignored. It is almost as if you aren't even there.

You go on a clumsy tangent about how the entire stunt was not devoid of any safety precautions. Still, Carlos' full attention remains on Jill, who stands complacent as she practically revels in his dismay. Day after day, she has always won against him. Twisting his words, pulling his strings, declaring empty threats — he yields to her time after time. How terrified he is of the capability she has to destroy what little piece of you he has.

At this moment, however, this wrath within him has boiled over like a soup left behind on a burning stove. And the way he now looks at her is terrifying. If she goes missing before dawn, you won't be surprised.

In an attempt to save you from your awkward (albeit too-fucking adorable) rambling, Jill opens her mouth to deliver an eloquent explanation. She is able to verbalize a mere syllable before Carlos slams his fist into the countertop, the surface cracking beneath the force of his strength. You cower away from the sudden shift in his energy, which he fails to notice.

Standing abruptly, he charges at Jill in three large strides. Winding his arm back, he surges his fist forward and strikes her in the nose. She grunts, stumbling in her stance from the contact. The room is overwhelmed by silence, accompanied by two sets of panting breaths. Jill spits out a large web of blood onto the hardwood floors and without flinching, she forces her nose back into place with a gut-wrenching crack.

Entirely flabbergasted, you merely stand like a dumbfounded fool while you watch the following events play out.

"That's all 'ya got, pussy? C'mon, man. Hit me!" A smile painted with blood stretches on her face and Carlos ignites with rage. He wants her fucking dead.

Another strike lands on her face once more, to where she slumps to her knees when her legs fail her. Quirking her head, she looks up to Carlos with that annoyingly-smug smirk. Coughing out a bitter chuckle, Jill can't refrain from expressing how hilarious she finds Carlos' pathetic attempt at taking you from her. The way he stands before her, so overwhelmed with farcical rage. How can expect her not to burst out laughing from the pitiful sight?

And without words, the tense gaze they share with one another expresses the same declaration. No matter how much blood is spilled, you can't take them away from me. Using the wall for stability, Jill is able to lift herself from the ground, sharp eyes still attached to Carlos' glower.

"You want a fucking piece of me!? I'll kill you right now, pack my shit, and then take Y/N somewhere you won't ever hurt them again!" The second the words fall from his mouth, that familiar, pompous expression plastered on Jill's face suffers from an abrupt shift.

The sheer audacity this man has to feel entitled to you baffles her. Especially after such undeserving kindness she has shown him. Informing him of your location in Umbrella's sanctuary, the mere act of allowing him in your presence was far more than he could ever deserve. Every day of the past six years had been spent tearing her soul to indistinguishable shreds before sculpting every piece back. And like Hell, she'd let this underdog rid her of the most important thing in her life.

A gasp is precipitously torn from you when Jill withdraws her pocket knife from her leather jacket. With a swift stab and a loud roar, Carlos manages to block her efforts. Still, he remained one second too late when she managed to slice into his arm. He squalls from the harrowing contact but is swift in his recovery.

Despite the blood rushing down his forearm, he surges another punch toward her face. Jill is able to dodge his angry fist, dropping her beloved knife, before launching a brutal blow to his jaw. The force sends Carlos tumbling to the ground with a harsh clamor. After several years of heavy lifting to relieve stress, Jill has built quite a lot of strength. Carlos, as well, but the sheer rage she now possesses could combat even the strongest of brutes.

She punts the knife across the floor and away from his reaching grasp, hereby declaring to send this man to his demise with her bare hands. Straddling him, he has no time to defend himself when she begins to send punch after punch wherever her fists can land.

"Try that shit and I'll gut you like a fuckin' fish!" Jill's newfound tone is reminiscent of an actual monster. The tone has you shuddering in your stance as you can only stare in sheer dread.

The sight of splattered blood and blooming bruises causes nausea to squirm in your stomach like an unwelcome insect. All the words and pleas you wish to scream out are seemingly trapped in the expanse of your throat. Trying to physically separate the two rabid animals may cause you to be harmed in the crossfire. You fear what infantilizing, guilt-ridden treatment you may receive upon that probability. Instead, in a quick flare of rationality, you conjure up an idea you are positive will end this sudden explosion of violence. An idea you know will make them weak.

Without a second thought, the words are spilling from your mouth in a desperate shout.

"I'M LEAVING!"

Voice cracking and laced with awkward nerves, your sudden uproar still succeeds in capturing both of their attention. And the alter in their behavior is so abrupt, it is almost as if they weren't ever at each other's throats. In seconds, they're scrambling to their feet and rushing to your aid, the bloodied knife and fallout of savagery now nonexistent.

"You've seen there's nothing out there for miles, you'd be chow for the wolves!" Jill's voice has returned to the familiar tone she has claimed for you.

Eyes now shimmering with the desperate softness you're so amicable with, it is bewildering how swift these two are to team up when they need it the most.

"Not much different than what's in here..."

If it was audible, the sound of their hearts shattering would burst your eardrums from the sheer mass. Carlos' reaction is overtly emotional, as he always is. Jill perceptibly abates from your words, the sudden sorrow enveloping her expression a shock to you. That collected nature she always acquires crumbles right before your very eyes.

Before she can cling to you and vow to give you whatever it is you want, as long as you stay, Carlos falls to his knees and grasps your full attention. With his head against the floor and his hands clinging to your legs, he proceeds to grovel for you. Warm tears cascade onto your feet and you discern how the raging storm has finally eased. All that is left now is the sound of Carlos' raucous crying and Jill's stressed suspires.

Casting his gaze upwards, Carlos' face is twisted from the sobs jutting out of his body. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so, so, so, sorry. Hit me, stab me, skin me, do anything! Just... Just don't leave me...”

A gentle hand to your forearm and Jill is whispering of how it's time for you to go to bed. You clench your teeth, ready to inquire if she was genuinely serious. However, the notable guilt in her manner informs you of the actual demand she asks of you. Please, end this. It is only you who can calm us. 

From this revelation, you oblige by her orders and begin to stride away from this mess. To feel you move from his tenacious touch, further away from him, Carlos suddenly springs to his feet. He envelops you with his full body weight, another whimper of "don't leave me" whispered into your neck. Never weakening his grasp, you guide him out of the kitchen and you both amble together to Carlos' bedroom. Meanwhile, Jill plants her head in her bruised hands, a sigh of defeat escaping her from how disastrous she has let this day become.

Tonight, Carlos sought any inkling of solace you have. Anything to promise him you are still here with him.

Attempting to flick off the lamplight, your efforts were futile when he practically chucks you into the comforters. Despite his aggression to keep you close (and away from that barbarian), he holds you as if he were handling glass. As he always does.

With a heavy-set preference, he adores sleeping in any position that grants him the privilege of listening to your heartbeat and inhaling your wondrous scent. The combining senses serve as an enlightening reminder that you are alive and here with him. This night was certainly no different, as Carlos clambers into bed with you, albeit clumsily due to his large figure. He then nuzzles his head between the expanse of your shoulder and neck comfortably.

The human-weighted blanket resting on top of you mollifies your exhausted body. Carlos has an earthy scent, like Summer air and fresh grass right after a rainstorm. It soothes you into dreamland and this fact fills you with shame, as well. This sudden contrast in your life doesn't fog your judgment entirely, though. With every day the rain falls, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Carlos Oliveira loves the scent of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of his obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Taking a deep inhale, the serenity that courses through his bones causes his eyes to roll back into his skull. How absolutely serene it is to feel your fingers combing through his thick hair, arms adorned around his brawny figure, and tender lips pressed to his forehead. His cries, now reduced to soft whimpers, tickle against your skin.

No matter the circumstances, being enveloped in your embrace as the day comes to an end will always make his heart swell. To climb into bed and find the most beautiful, breathtaking sight at the edge of his fingertips — there is no bliss quite like it.

The aroma that sent him to heaven six years ago, how he had searched high and low for anything reminiscent of it. A multitude of soaps, air fresheners, perfumes, laundry detergent, and just anything that contained a similar scent to you encircled his home. Despairingly, he has tried to recreate this and pretended it was your fragrance pervading from your warm, lively body. Nevertheless, his efforts were futile.

The scent you possessed was evocatively ambrosial, but it was utterly human. It was so unique, he felt like a fool for believing something as mere as a lit candle or a stick of deodorant could ever replicate that perfection.

At this moment, however, Carlos inhales your scent from your body as if he couldn't breathe. And he is positive there is nothing in the world that could rival the sheer euphoria it gives him. Within minutes, the man using you as his personal mattress begins to snore like a lawn mower. Soon, you fall asleep within his tenacious embrace, as well.

Once morning draws and you blink into consciousness, you find yourself entirely by your lonesome. No clinging Carlos, no amorous Jill. Just sheer, unadulterated solitude. You hadn't realized how familiar the prospect of waking up with company had become, especially after years of early-morning seclusion. The rain still falls; the birds still sing. And for the first time in months, you are alone.

This revelation is short-lived when the man who had clung to you for the entire night soon enters the bedroom. The wound on his arm has since been tended to, the bruises left behind are now affixed to his skin, and his face is puffy from the tears that cascaded just hours before. Through all of this, an almost-manic smile is planted on his face. All as if nothing had ever happened.

A delectable scent follows his presence when he brings a serving cart into the room. On the cart, he had perfected a myriad of dishes for you to enjoy. A stack of French toast, a steaming frittata, scattering scones, multiple parfaits, and numerous other gourmet dishes you can't even dream of pronouncing the names of. All of this for three people, you fear that Carlos will make you devour every last crumb and the ongoing effects it will have on your poor stomach. The way he normally does to ensure you aren't left hungry, as every morning consisted of something along these themes.

In this case, however, the belligerent display of affection and the lingering shadow of last night's events differ immensely from what you had adapted to.

Gleefully, Carlos sits at the edge of the bed beside you and drapes a bed tray upon your lap. A mug painted in your favorite color is full of tea and sits on an neighboring coaster, while he sits and waits anxiously for you to pick your first dish of the day.

When you notice the single set of cutlery, reserved for just you and him to share, you furrow your brows. Where is Jill's set? And why hasn't she prevented him from cooking such an obnoxious amount of food? 

Carlos' body goes rigid the instant you speak her name. With an alarmingly flat tone, he claims that she is gone for "work purposes," and despite your hesitance to believe him, he speaks of nothing but the truth.

After such a vicious outburst, Jill had humbly concluded that her relentless torture against Carlos must falter. Not for his sake, but for yours. Now, she will gift him a single day (nothing more) to entirely immerse himself in your healing presence, the same way a child needs to snuggle their teddy bear after a nightmare. While she is away, however, you and your well-being are stamped in her mind and prevent her from completing any work. It makes her sick with worry.

The event affected all three of you, physically and mentally. The several seconds spent with Carlos informed you entirely of his current state, but Jill remained a mystery.

And when Carlos had first entered the bedroom, the sight of your bleary eyes and drooping eye bags almost made him burst into tears right then and there. Unfortunately, he had broken down several times during his tireless efforts to make you an entire buffet for breakfast. However, with what little strength he was able to muster, Carlos is able to dry his tears in your presence. Still, he cannot ponder how you may have feared him in that moment or he might just collapse into a mental breakdown on the floor.

His hands, slower and softer than ever before, find their way to your face. Cupping your cheeks, you find a tornado of swirling emotions within his eyes. Devastation, regret, devotion, guilt, obsession. It is bewildering and terrifying in the same vein.

"You know, last night, I..." The featheriness within his voice is a major contrast to the infuriated uproar you witnessed last night. "I thought you were gone. For good. Still, I… I should have controlled myself. I should have stopped Jill from taking you away, I mean you could've-..."

When those all-too-familiar tears prick at his eyes and threaten to fall, you know his strength has been worn thin. "I just- I-I don't know what I would do if you-"

Carlos cuts himself off with a cracked sob. A wobbly "I'm sorry" is whispered before he excuses himself and abruptly leaves the bedroom. The sounds of his unruly sobs follow him in his footsteps.

After such an intense evening, the consequences of the aftermath haven't truly settled in for you until this moment. Enveloped in silence, you ponder over how one sentence of yours had led to such a disastrous outcome. You contemplate how you had merely met these two in a random city and set them on a lifelong quest to make you forever theirs. At this moment, you question just how much you are capable of.

Plucking a random plate from the tray, you grasp hold of the cutlery and dig into the succulent dish. You eat alone for the first time in five months. You don't know what you have done, but you know you have to clean this mess. Might as well have some fun before it depreciates...

Caring for you, it is certainly no secret how much Carlos enjoys the act. With every assurance you are not some impotent child, all efforts fall on deaf ears. Though, you realize you may be able to mold this to your benefit.

Tending to your every need, it is not done out of upholding a burden. You can take care of yourself, but you do not have to. The look of gratitude you give Carlos when you thank him is reward enough.

This leaves him in Jill's ensuite bathroom, where a hamper overwhelmed with dirty clothes resides in the corner. Being your devoted house-husband practically makes him giddy, so the sight is never onerous in the slightest. Jill, being the slob at heart, did leave a few articles of clothing on the ground, despite the hamper being mere feet away. As irritating as this was, Carlos merely decorates his brain with delusions of the two of you living alone together. This phenomenon has aided him through his efforts in enduring her presence, living in his imagination where you and he live happily ever after. Far, far away.

The sole reason Carlos was not glued to your side at this exact moment was due to how he had just put you in bed for your afternoon nap. Your insistent remarks of how you do not need to sleep in the middle of the day, once again, fall on deaf ears. You have no choice but to rest while he tends to every burden of yours; all responsibilities you possess have now become his. And he could not possibly be happier.

At first, you had stubbornly stood by your exclamation that it would be impossible for you to fall asleep. However, with closed curtains enveloping the room in darkness, peaceful incense pervading the air, soft lullabies harmonizing from speakers, and comforters that could rival lambswool snuggled around you, it didn't take long for you to succumb.

With you now fast asleep, Carlos works hastily, yet thoroughly, around the house so he can return to the love den where you lie. Rubbing circles into your back that soothe you further into sleep, it never fails to make him beam with happiness. And despite his tireless efforts, the disgusting scent of Jill reeking from her clothes protrudes into his beloved fantasy.

A sneer forms on his lips as he pinches the garments with his fingers, touching as little of them as he could, before chucking them into the hamper. The force of the launch sends the entire hamper tumbling over, to where the mess of dirty laundry scatters amongst the clean tiles. He grumbles, once again using minimum effort to collect Jill's clothing while cooing upon holding every crumbled attire that belongs to you.

As he returns the laundry to its respectful place within the hamper, Carlos gleefully grasps hold of one of your henley shirts. What lies beneath causes him to freeze, however.

Shamefully, he salivates at the sight of your underwear.

Several times, this offer has tempted him. To revel in how your essence wafts from the garb, any sane human would want to breathe in that scent forever. But he is not like others; he is stronger than them. For you, he will tie his immense cravings to a leash and restrain them, however long and tight you seem fit.

Due to recent events, however, the structured guard he built brick-by-brick has suffered numerous blows. All at the hands of Jill Valentine. There is not a place in the universe where you could be a burden to him, but her? She is the only reason why anger still makes a home within him.

Carlos needs you. He selfishly needs every last sliver of you, everything Jill had robbed him of the previous day. The self-control he prided himself on has seemingly abandoned him. Then again, how could he control himself when this opportunity has fallen from the hands of God and directly into the palm of his hands? How could he control himself when the purest form of you sits right there, practically calling out his name in the sound of your voice?

With that, he rips the bandaid off. Faster than the speed of light, he yanks your underwear into his hands and practically shoves them into his nostrils. And Carlos moans, so loud and blatant, as the fragrance of you invades every sense in his body.

Familiar, but suddenly overwhelmingly sweltering, a tightness forms within his pants. His vision goes black as his eyes roll into the back of his skull, a sudden flash of light then enveloping his eyesight; his knees resort to jelly, to where he has to cling to the edge of the bathroom counter to maintain his balance. The other hand still clenches your underwear protectively and dependently, as if he were an Art Conservator and he was holding the beautiful Mona Lisa. Oh, it is absolute heaven.

"Is that my...?"

As quick as he had practically inhaled the garment entirely, Carlos had rid his body of the pleasure induced by your scent when your dulcet voice filled the bathroom. Tossing the clothing with the others in the hamper, he pretends to lean against the counter with a rushed "what?" coming out in a quiet squeak. He stands with a hot face provoked by utter humiliation. How did he not hear the door open?

However, there is no loathing or repugnance in your expression, like he had originally anticipated. There's a look of hubris that washes over you when your brain scrutinizes just what you had stumbled upon. An unfamiliar glint sparks in your eyes that he is unable to read. It intrigues him, still.

Mere seconds feel like an agonizing eternity as he stands in the depths of his selfish libido. Instead of cursing Carlos out for his perverted nature, as he, once again, had originally anticipated, you do the very last thing he expected. Your fingers grasp the hem of your shirt before you pull the garb from off your form. And the preposterous gasp that is exuded from him in response almost forces a boisterous laugh out of you.

Your pants follow after, the soft whomp of the clothing hitting the ground remaining the loudest sound in the silent, reticent room. Lastly, you slowly strip yourself of your underwear, the very last thing protecting you from exposure. And you don't have to shift your gaze to know this man's wide eyes are glued to every inch of your naked skin.

"If you like my clothes that much, all you had to do was ask! I have so much already, take as much as you'd like..." The feigned generosity seeping from your tone does not mend the disorder within Carlos' pants.

Hooking your finger around your undergarments, you stride toward the man who is left entirely flabbergasted by your actions.

Chest-to-chest, you speak to him in a low whisper. "Wouldn't you rather have something fresh, anyways?"

You use your free hand to toy with the edge of his shirt, admiring the way his strong physique juts against the fabric. When your finger makes contact with the raw flesh of his abdomen, Carlos heaves out an uneven, stuttered breath. Almost as if he had run a marathon, your mere touch sends him tripping face-first into oblivion. The firm hand he placed upon the counter surface hastens into a desperate gasp to keep his balance, once again.

Just when Carlos had thought he had stumbled upon the gates of heaven, you purr out praises that make his eyes roll back into his head for the nth time. How strong he was when he defended your life back in Raccoon City to how he always managed to carry the groceries with one hand. Your candied words provoke a dreamy sigh out of him.

The silence on his end is bridging on the cusp of awkward. His gaze is hazy and drooping as Carlos stares into your eyes, nowhere else.

"S-Sleep..." You could hear a pin drop before you could discern his nervous tone. "You should... You-You should be sl- sleeping..."

"Alone? Or... Would you rather I sleep with you?" Another gasp flees from Carlos. His entire body breaks out into a shiver from your implications.

As much as his brain practically pleads him not to, he shifts his gaze away from you and to the boring ceiling in a weak attempt at maintaining courtesy. The single act is more difficult than any obstacle he has faced in his entire life.

As shameful as it is, however, Carlos has thought of this scene plenty of times. How he fantasized about enhancing the flavor of his food by mixing your delectable juices with the dish. How he winced listening to every pained whimper Jill pulled from you, but how his active imagination was contaminated with visions of gratifying you more than she ever could. You deserve every inkling of happiness the world has to offer and Carlos vows on doing everything within his power to grant you such.

The garment once in your hand is now long forgotten on the bathroom floor. Your pretty fingers barely hover over the expanse of his happy trail, adorned in thick heaps of jet-black hair. And he goes lightheaded from the faint contact alone.

You've already taken notice of the way his member protrudes through his jeans, but it is now clear as day how desperate Carlos wishes for you to choose him instead of your afternoon nap. Fortunately for him, you venture further, further, and further into his pants until your hand cups around his cock, nothing but the thin layer of his underwear separating you two. Carlos is never one to swear around you, (except for last night, but that is irrelevant) claiming you deserve tender praises instead of such violent language. Though, when you touch him, he growls out the most guttural "fuck!" you've ever heard part from someone's lips.

Perceiving how something wet leaks through his underwear, you furrow your brows as the revelation settles. Did you bring this man to orgasm just from being naked? No wonder it is always Jill who washes you... 

This should have been evident in the sudden acceleration of his breathing, the dreamy, lust-stained glimmer engulfing his eyes, or the way his body trembles as if had been stuck in a mid-Winter storm. He practically chucks his head back and rests against the bathroom mirror; his chopped fingernails could tear the counter in two with how firm he clenches onto the surface.

More gasps and soft whines escape his slack jaw, obviously abstaining from screaming how good you make him feel. And every pant of your name escaping his breathless self causes flares of heat to imbue your body.

More assembles of pre-cum amalgamate with the previous mass of still-warm seed and bleed through the fabric. You lift his shirt a mere inch to allow you easier access. But, Carlos is swift to obey what he assumed to be your command and he eagerly tears his shirt over his head.

A heavy set of mouthwatering abs sheen with sweat, a display of disheveled chest hair, and two pairs of beefy, scar-ridden arms is what you are met with. You do not put any effort into masking your obvious gawking of Carlos' build. And he is elated to have your eyes on him.

When he had assumed Jill took you from him the day before, never to be seen again, this heavy dread has sat cozy in his gut since. Today, to have your full attention on him as he presents how every inch of his skin is for you to own, the pressure lightens and flutters away like a Monarch Butterfly.

“Oh, my g- my goddd" Carlos whines out after one particular harsh thrust of your palm.

He begins to twitch in your grasp when your efforts accelerate; his eyebrows curl upwards beneath the canopy of his mop-head hair. Carlos hasn't dared to shift his eyes down to you. Out of reason of deference, as you deserve. Though, he knows as a genuine fact that a single glance at your naked body, intense gaze, and the sight of your hands all over him would thrust him like a football into an earth-bending finish.

Restraining himself was an absolute pipedream, however. Your voice, your touch, and your scent pervade and overwhelm all senses within him. When your nimble fingers ghost over the sensitive expanse of his balls, he almost keels over and can't obstruct the words that bubble in his throat.

“You're gonna- You're gonna make me cum again...!” Promptly, you then yank your hand from the warm depths of Carlos' pants, practically roistering in the way he genuinely cries from the loss of contact.

When you expect him to initiate a swarm of stuttering beseeches to please continue, please make him feel good, please send him to the absolute nirvana only you can give him, you are met with the opposite, instead. Much to your surprise, he begins to thank you profusely, over and over and over again.

To beg you for anything would go against all of Carlos' morals, as every breath out of your mouth is pure gospel. And he'd be damned if he were to ever let himself be selfish with you, hence why he drowns you in gratitude for ever-so kindly giving him even just a speck of pleasure. He does not deserve more of you; it should be him on his knees at this moment, worshiping all of you.

The facade you had painted with confidence begins to crack when you become genuinely concerned for his well-being. You had only fondled him for less than a minute, had you broken him already? 

The way he's heaving and gasping ushers you to believe he may blackout on the countertop. You wonder what Jill would think if she came home to found Carlos shirtless and unconscious on her bathroom counter, while you stand entirely naked with cum caked onto your hand. The thought is snatched from your mind when he begins to speak, almost as if he had magically sensed your attention reverting to her.

"Y/N... My-My honey, I can't stand just sitting here..." His adam's apple bobs when he swallows the salivation foaming in his mouth.

"Please let- Please let me make you feel good... Ask anything of me and it’ll be yours. There is nothing in this world I would ever deny you..." Carlos' tangent appeared like a bolt out of the blue.

Although your veneer had minor fractures due to your own shock, you still upheld your smug guise. With his eyes shut, still not daring to bask his undeserving gaze on your saintly body, you answer him with the same tone that never fails to make his knees weak.

"Take me to the bedroom."

Peeling his eyes open and casting his gaze on you, Carlos searches your expression for any sign of falter in truth. Another tremble reverberates through his body when he blesses his vision with the sight of you. After all, no matter how far he has fallen into the depths of enrapturement, any demand you throw his way will immediately be met.

He then clumsily stands to his feet. Fully expecting to walk there together, you take a single step away before a sudden yelp is pulled from you. With pure ease, you are suddenly scooped into Carlos' strong arms. When you encase your arms around his neck, the clammy state of his skin catches you off guard. Without a single speck of sweat on your entire body, you're perplexed he had been driven to such an exerted physical state from your trivial palm.

With how exhausted every fraction of Carlos seemed to be because of you, your heart caves. You shuffle from your spot in his arms and attempt to usher him down to the bed, where you would sit atop his body. This demand, despite his winning strike with following all, was rejected. His tender hands halt you from your efforts and hoist you back into his hold, once more.

"I'm sorry, honey-bee, but I-I can't let you work. Please- Please lay back and let me do everything I can to make you feel good... It's what you deserve; it's what I need." Even if you had turned his brain would mush, his relentless obligation to serve you could conquer through anything.

Arriving at your shared bed, Carlos drapes you among the silken sheets and is just in sheer awe of you. The atmosphere is uncomfortable as he hovers over you and just leers into the abyss of your soul. You then resort to pulling him against you by the back of his neck and enveloping him in an aggressive kiss.

The way Carlos kisses you has always been overwhelmed with reverent fervor. Now, however, there's a perceptible undertone of intense avidity in the way he molds his mouth against yours. And in the absolute best way possible, your scent overwhelms him like Summer sunlight beating against his skin.

Carlos has teased this idea numerous times, but the fantasies he's had where he wondered how your scent would sit in his nostrils, none of it compared to the real thing. Better than a crisp breeze in a mountaintop meadow, better than garden-fresh flowers, better than air after an eternity spent beneath the water. He'd give anything to spend the rest of his life with you.

Pulling away to allow your tight lungs the privilege of oxygen, Carlos immediately begins to fill the air with feverish, puddle-brained chatter. “Honey... Y/N... M’gonna take such good care of you, 'gonna do everything I can to make you happy. Won’t let anything happen to you, won’t let anything or anyone upset you... 'Gonna make you so happy.” 

A tug to his belt loop and Carlos obeys quicker than you could ever verbalize your desire. He tears his jeans off as if the garb had been on fire, exposing his toned legs adorned with dark hair.

Reaching your hand out just an inch, he seems to have read your mind and carries out your unspoken demand, once again. He strips himself of his underwear, to where he now towers over your form entirely naked. And you have to restrain yourself from physically expressing your astonishment at the sight. When you had thought you had drawn an accurate picture of him while your hand was exploring downstairs, you hadn't prepared yourself for how everything would sit before your eyes.

The most perceivable sight was how much girth Carlos possessed and the slight tinge of fear you felt for what it may do to your body. With a rough estimation of nine inches, his sticky tip blares an annoyed red, the same hue as his desperation. His happy trail had led to even more heaps of bushy hair. A prominent vein runs diagonally down his curved shaft. The thickness grows in width from the base to the very tip of his cock. A set of heavy balls, the same expanse of sensitive skin that had him shaking beneath you, sit beneath.

“You deserve everything, Y/N. You- you deserve it all. Please... Please tell me everything... Tell me what I can give you, I-I'll give it all to you...” The lack of vocal indications on your end has taken quite a toll on him. No verbal commands sent his way and he's on the verge of tears.

Your words, your body, your scent — everything about you has Carlos stumbling to another early finish. His lips seem glued to yours, as well. Tongues cemented together as his hands caress all over your perfect body.

With his heartbeat skyrocketing, his figure tense with shock, and the way his chest rises and falls with heaving breaths, it was crystal clear just how hard he was resisting the urge to give in and fuck you into the next week. But, you're his sweet bumblebee, his darling deity. To be so selfish with you would make him deserving of a punishment worse than death.

“Carlos..." He nods in response to you so eagerly, you wonder if the force had sent his brain slamming against the walls of his skull. "... I want you to fuck me and fill me up over and over again until there’s no possible way I can escape the happiness you bring me.”

The growl that erupts in response to your filthy words was something akin to an animal. His hands, now propped against the side of your head to prop himself up, now clench the bedsheets with enough force to rip them.

Eyes practically burning holes into his, you grasp hold of his dick and revel in the way he trembles in response, before aligning him with your entrance. Appallingly, a tube of scentless lube had been hidden in the bedside drawer for the entire five months you've been here. Just waiting for this moment.

Now entirely slick with lube and pre-cum (you wouldn't be surprised if Carlos' tears were in that mix, as well), you playfully nudge his bulbous head against the edge of your hole. For the second time that day, your free hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him into another burning kiss. With a deep inhale of preparation, you slide him into you with steady effort.

And the way Carlos whimpers against your mouth makes you inadvertently clench around him.

With the mere tip inside of you, his voice raises several octaves and his eyebrows furrow from the sensations flooding his body. The kiss is broken by Carlos involuntarily, to where his open mouth moans against yours shamelessly. His mind is plagued by every inch of euphoria he didn't think was humanly possible to conjure, to a point where any rational thought had been robbed.

The further your silken walls adjust to his girth, the more you guide him inside. Every whine, every moan, every breathless tangent about you're perfection in all of its glory — it has you hazy with salacious desire. His hands continue to fondle you passionately and his lips still plant love all over your face and neck. You never thought someone could treat you with such doting care, especially after Jill's rough tactics from the day prior.

When he is entirely buried within you, it ejects an abrupt sound out of both of you. A gasp escapes your throat from how full you are at this moment. Two lanky fingers had nothing on the sheer girth of this cock sitting inside of you. Carlos practically yelps at the feeling of being swathed in your heavenly heat. The revelation of what is happening finally settles and he can hardly contain the sheer exhilaration that seeps from his body.

The tears that had been bridging in his eyes release and cascade down his cheeks, another physical representation of how devastatingly devoted he is to you. The number of curses and pornographic moans he releases into your ear seem almost exaggerated, but if Carlos is anything, he is surely not a liar. To lie to you, of all people, would be pure sin.

“I can’t lose you to her...” He babbles mindlessly yet honestly, “I’m so fucking obsessed with you, I-... I really can’t lose you, baby-bee... You’re taking me too fucking good. God, please!”

"Aww, you poor thing..." You mockingly coo to him. "Are you 'gonna cum already? You said you'd take care of me, but here you are saying all this dumb gibberish just from having your dick inside of me."

Unbeknownst to you, the 'dumb gibberish' you assumed to be the product of a sex-drunk mind was the unadulterated truth.

You thought of his state as pitiful, but if you had known how every plead of his was genuine, you surely would not poke the bear. Meanwhile, every gentle thrust has Carlos whimpering and crying as the sheer love he has for you devastates his entire being. You could degrade him, insult him, beat him to within an inch of his life and he would still come back to you again and again. All as if he was born for the sole reason of making love to you. As if God crafted his mind, his body, and his soul for the sole purpose of bringing you pleasure.

And as endearing as the slow, sensual motions were, you have now fully adjusted to his size and you were craving more of what his body is capable of giving you.

"You said you'd do anything for me, yeah?" His reserved attention escapes from your body the second your voice pervades, to where he nods avidly without hesitation.

"Then fuck me like you mean it."

A hand against his tailbone, you usher him to accelerate his speed. And to call his rhythm messy would be generous.

Riddled with gut-wrenching pleasure, Carlos can hardly keep the pace he had used for the one-night stands he had years ago. Every random bar hopper or coworker he had in his sheets was nothing short of utterly boring. Still, he enjoyed the inflation they gave to his ego when they moaned in annoying tones about how he was the "best fuck of their life." With you beneath him, all finesse and skill had been fogged by the sheer eroticism he possesses for you.

Since you had waltzed into his life, those random hookups dulled so obnoxiously in comparison to you, not a single soul could get his blood pumping the way you do. Not that he ever attempted, however. Any attempt at buying him a drink or fluttering their lashes would be met with an unforeseen roar of fury. To interrupt the time he spent with you in his head was a death wish, after all.

In present time, more importantly, Carlos begins to plunge into you with religious fervor. Those muscles you could never grow tired of admiring become taut as they strive to send his dick as deep as it can go. His strong, dominant physique does not match the noises tumbling from his mouth, however. Labored praises and desperate wails pant against your face before he delves into another frenzied kiss of millions.

With what little knowledge that managed to survive the muddled storm reigning havoc within his brain, Carlos uses his free hand to stimulate your sex. You throw your head back against the cushioned pillows from the new, sudden flare of pleasure. Instead of the boost it gave to his self-esteem, the way it did with others, it feels as though someone had clenched his heart with their fist. To know he is making you feel good has no difference with absolute heaven.

The sensation of his cock twitching within the expanse of your walls has you giggling from how ephemeral he lasts.

"Are you gonna fill me to the fucking brim? Have me walk around the house with your hot cum leaking down my thighs? Let Jill see how fucking good you make me feel?"

“Fucking-" The way Carlos growls is almost monstrous. A grunt follows at the prospect of claiming you from Jill.

"Yeah? You like that idea?"

“God-fucking-damn, you know how much I fucking love that idea." The voice that had grown high-pitched had suffered from a sudden descent, his tone was now entirely guttural. Despite this, his hands always remain tender and those whimpers still sit on his tongue.

Carlos pulls his body upwards, grasping hold of your legs and setting them on his shoulders. Now in a mating press, your nipples and sweaty skin are practically snuggled into the hairy expanse of his chest. He cages his forearms around your head, hastening his sporadic assault inside of you.

The sudden force has your eyes crossing and your head dizzy with jubilation; the lavish bed frame squeals with every thrust sent into your body. That smug facade you had crafted for this event begins to melt into the sheets. From the bliss claiming your body and how overwhelmingly loved you feel, that familiar heat inside your gut intensifies. Feeling the absolute paradise of your walls begin to flutter around him, Carlos is completely lost in empyrean ecstasy at the sight of you so overwhelmed with happiness. Still, you deserve more. You deserve happiness that even he cannot give you, but he is more than willing to hunt down every sliver. 

I can't let you go, Carlos thinks to himself, If anything tried to take you from me, I'm scared of who I'd become...

"Please, honey... Please cum for me. Need to- Need you to feel good. Need you to cum around me. I don't care about me, I only care about you. Please, I-I'm begging you... Please..." It seems as though the heavy set of balls slapping against your ass weren't begging to release inside of you. Everything and anything is for you, after all.

In spite of your egoistic nature being squished with every thrust, a fraction of it remained.

"I'll cum if..." You teasingly bring your finger to your chin as if you were deep in thought, while Carlos anticipates your response. "I'll cum if you can tell me the first tooth I lost and how old I was..."

I've got him there, you muse to yourself. You entertain what kind of mindless delirium he'll plead out for you when it's impossible for him to guess the answer.

"Second premolar. Five years old."

The five words are said within a single breath.

And you don't have much of a chance to delve into how the fuck he knew that, not when his cock is sending you to cloud nine.

You retort with another demand, pretending you had never tried to make such a senseless joke in the first place.

"I... I'll only cum if you cum, too. 'Wanna feel your load inside me, 'wanna have proof of how good you treat me."

Carlos practically explodes into you from the words you whimpered out.

There is no build-up; your mere words control his body like a puppeteer and have him spilling out into your guts. A pleasured bleat, one that would emulate even the most expensive worker at a high-end brothel, escapes from him. Like some sort of slut he doesn't recognize, he wails out incoherent, babbling words of devotion.

Thick, sticky, warm seed paints your walls and oozes onto the fancy sheets below. Still, the sheer power of his thrusts does not waver in the slightest. Even with the fatigue settling into his body, Carlos' cock hardens instantaneously in response to your heat swathing around him.

“Finding me in RC that night was the worst mistake of your life.” Even in the face of the absolute mess you have turned him into, Carlos' voice still contains that deep, husky tone that sends chills down your body. “You’ll never be rid of me now. Wherever you go, I will follow. You will never escape my love; you will never escape my worship..."

You're practically crying at this point. From the satiating pleasure overwhelming your body, but also the terror-inducing undertones that stain all of Carlos' words. 

You will never escape this pleasure, you now realize.

And he is fully convinced you are God, how you tighten and moan for him. You had leaped down from the clouds, left behind an army of angels and devoted followers, and fallen right into his arms. All for him to dedicate his life to glorifying.

Toes curling and fingers clenching the sheets, the orgasm that soon hits you is adorned with love but is unbelievably severe in the same breath. A shriek of pure delectation sprouts from your throat and envelops the air. Meanwhile, the sight of you in the peaks of exhilaration pushes Carlos over that edge, once again.

“Fuuuuck. Give it to me, honey. Give it to me. F-Fuck…!”

Carlos' stomach sucks in, suffocating him entirely and confining around his gut like a tight knot. Another deafening curse follows when that string is cut and another load of seed is spilled into your body.

With his mind now past any barrier of chivalry, he has fully granted himself permission to subsume every inch of you. The sheer sight of all your skin is so impeccably paradisiacal, his body can't refrain from reacting.

In the height of his pleasure, he ponders over how if you were a religion, he’d live in the attic of your church and bathe in holy water every day. His knees would become numb from the hours spent praying at your altar; his eyes would become dry from the hours spent reading through the bible and analyzing every detail. Any syllable out of your mouth would be met with immediate agreement and any treacherous remarks others make adhering to you would be met with the barrel of his gun. Carlos is your most devoted follower, your most loyal servant. Always and forever, he is for you to use to your liking.

Languid and muzzy compliments kissed upon your skin tell you of how you have left Carlos entirely brain-dead. For a moment, you think you may have fucked all obsession out of him when his peak simmers down (although this prospect is impossible). With the sweat, lube, cum, and god-knows-what else is on your body, all you crave at this moment is a bubble bath. Then, you'll abide by the rules set out for you and indulge in an afternoon nap.

With that, you take advantage of his nearly-unconscious state and muster enough strength within you to shove his limp body off. A bereft whimper escapes his throat in response but is quickly overpowered by the sheer euphoria flooding his body. Soon, Carlos returns to mumbling nonsense about the perfection you possess and other incoherent babbles of captivation.

Standing, albeit wobbling slightly due to your woozy brain, you tread to the ensuite bathroom where this mess had first begun. You ignore the mess of dirty clothes scattered around in favor of cleaning your lethargic body.

A swift churn to the valve and lukewarm water begins to spread throughout the sumptuous bathtub. Several spurts of your favorite soap into the running faucet, the pleasant scent soon spreads throughout the room. Five months and the simple act of enjoying a bath in solitude was almost unfamiliar to you. Since then, you had forgotten just how meditative it was to let your body melt into the relaxing, warm water without any wandering hands. Massaging your muscles and scrubbing every mess from your smooth skin, it felt amazing and empowering to have control of yourself for once.

For the hour spent soaking in sheer tranquility, you then unclog the drain and watch as the water drains. Drying your body with an expensive towel you can't fathom the price of, you cast your gaze through the large window.

Outside, the only thing accompanying this house was trees. More heaps of rain scatter the area enveloped in late-night hues, accompanying the heavy fog that sat upon the forest floors. If it was merely that easy, you'd launch your body through that glass right now and dash for your freedom. But, you know your efforts would never be brought to fruition. Instead, you apply a set of perfumed lotion to your skin and dress yourself in a fresh set of clean pajamas. Again, something you had rarely been given the advantage to do yourself.

When you leave the ensuite, however, you are thrown into a loop when you witness what now lies within the bedroom.

Candles and incense scatter the dark room, illuminating the array of rose petals adorning the floors. The bed was now completely clean with a fresh set of sheets, pillows, and comforters. A tray table is set upon the blankets. Sat on top of it, you find a mug of your favorite tea and a glass of water with cucumber and lemon slices for him (it has always been his favorite, after all). Two plates of spaghetti with one fork accompany them, as well. In addition to this, a charcuterie board enriched with all sorts of delicious snacks was rested by the delicious meal.

The most unforgettable part about this sudden scene, however, was Carlos. In the hour you had spent alone, not only had managed to cook a variety of dishes for you, but he had also managed to shower in Jill's ensuite, style his hair, patch up his stubble, and dress himself in a tailored suit.

All you can do is stand on the threshold and question how in the fuck was he able to do all of this within a single hour? You are so flabbergasted in fact, you ponder if the bathtub behind you was actually a portal to an alternate reality. Additionally, you can't refrain from laughing to yourself over how he is surely the only man on Earth to set all of this up after sex.

With pure ease, once again, Carlos trudges over to you and scoops you up into his arms. Even with wet hair, pajamas, and tired eyes, it shocks you how this man still looks at you like you're a model fresh off the runway. Or more accurately, an angel that had descended from the clouds and into this bedroom.

"You know you didn't have to do all of this for me, right?" For the umpteenth time that day, Carlos sets you upon the fresh set of bedsheets, tucking the high-quality comforter around your legs.

"There is no line that I wouldn't cross for you..." A smile quirks on his lips. The horror-stricken connotations reside beneath the dreamy sheen of his gaze.

From here on out, Carlos sits on the edge of the bed and oscillates between feeding you and himself spaghetti. And the way he crafts the dish is easily the most delectable piece you have ever tasted, which is never a surprise when it comes to his culinary skills.

During the process, it seems as though everything has returned to normal and the events that had taken place on this exact bed had never happened. It isn't ignored out of embarrassment or regret, though. Instead, it is from absolute disbelief that such an amazing thing had happened to someone like him. He can hardly contain the gratitude and heart-stopping rapture coursing through his body, hence the dramatic measures he took to express these feelings.

With an onslaught of cheesy jokes and praises that would put Romeo and Juliet's love to shame, that smile you give Carlos makes everything he has ever done absolutely worth it. There is no greater happiness he can feel than when he is witnessing your own.

When you attempt to pluck a grape from the grape cluster rested upon the board, though, Carlos is brought out of his haze and he halts your actions. He grasps the cluster for himself, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin, and proceeds to feed you grapes as if you were some divine being. And in his eyes, you are all that and more. It is evident in just how blissful he feels from feeding you, the act of worship far better than any drug.

When the cluster of ripe fruit was reduced to nothing but lone twigs, the disappointment within Carlos' expression was almost palpable. The sorrow is short-lived, however, when he resorts to feeding you more heaps of spaghetti.

If you were honest, you have lost count of how many times you have eaten this exact dish for dinner. At first, you were confused as to why you were all eating spaghetti almost every night. That is until you realized Carlos was attempting to reenact the adorable scene from Lady and the Tramp. It would have been romantic if it weren't for the third party practically glaring daggers into his soul every time he strived for this outcome. Without Jill here, you swallow your pride and indulge him in what he has been craving for months.

You bite down on the edge of the spaghetti string and hold the other end with the fork, ushering him into the act of affection. And God, Carlos lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when he finally computes your intentions.

Eagerly taking the string into his mouth, he does not savor the moment in the slightest. Before you can garner even an inch of the delicious capellini, Carlos is practically slurping the strand down his throat as he hastens closer to you. There's a wild glimmer that twinkles in his eye as he continues to accelerate.

A deep, shaky exhale is released from him when your lips finally meet. He tastes of his normal tang of mint and lemon but with the added flavor of his homemade marinara recipe. Using your teeth to cut the spaghetti string in two, your attempts at establishing how the romantic scene was over were never acknowledged. Large hands cling to your face and indulge in any last sliver of you he can hoard.

"I love you, honey-bee, I love you so much. You've saved my life over and over and over again and I will do everything in my power to show you how grateful I am..." Carlos' words are sweet and ridden with unhealthy amounts of ceaseless worship. Meanwhile, you chase your breath when he finally releases your mouth from his relentless, loving torture.

Soon, every crumb from all plates has vanished within your stomach, despite your assurances you have been fully satiated.

A tinge of guilt eats away at you when you realize just how much this man has done for you. The trance he is lost in whenever he tends to you has seemingly gone unbeknownst to you, even after all these months. You offer to take care of the dishes, but the way he tenses in response makes you recoil. It had been two months since it happened, but Carlos remembers it like it was a mere second ago.

When you had tended to the mess left after breakfast, your butterfingers had dropped a glass, causing it to shatter against the tiled floors. Fortunately, you had managed to lift yourself onto the counter in a swift attempt at protecting yourself. Despite these efforts, one minor, practically microscopic, cat scratch had been left on your shin. And Carlos lost his mind.

Since then, you have been banned from partaking in any house chores. This rule had stood before this incident, but with the new underlying fear, he was far more strict with this order. After all, you could clear your throat and he'd convince himself you were having an asthma attack.

Now, however, he reminds you of how you are still on bed rest from the night prior, before leaving a prolonged kiss on your forehead and leaving with the dishes.

The door closes and you immediately escape the restricting sheets surrounding you. Venturing onto the balcony, you rest against the ledge and admire how the stars scatter among the night sky. The bright moon complements them and dazzles you. All those nights in the sanctuary spent looking at the same sky, you wonder what your friends were occupied with right now. 

Are you still considered missing or have you been presumed dead by now? Did they all know you'd be taken away or are they still trying to search for you after you mysteriously vanished? 

Carlos returns in record time and you are swift in wiping away the evidence of tears brimming in your eyes. He informs you of how you should be in bed and attempts to sound strict, but the permanent, loving tint in his expression jeopardizes his efforts. With a face like yours, how could he ever be mad? 

When you ask to stay, he hesitates. But, when you give him those puppy-dog eyes that never fail to make him weak, he caves in. With an assurance of how you could stargaze on the porch swing together, as well as an additional remark of how he is more comfortable than the bed, his cheeks grow warm and all rules he had set are thrown out the window.

Sitting in the exact seat you had suggested, Carlos pulls you into his lap. Another stupid joke of millions is made by him before he blows a raspberry into the side of your face. The burst of laughter and heart-wrenching giggles he earns makes him feel weightless. A trail of kisses are left down your right arm, an act of affection he had always initiated in regards to the injury you faced six years ago. And by giving him a compliment about his suit and a nickname of "teddy bear" (his favorite), you have now melted this man into a puddle of sugary words and dazed devotion.

With the swinging of the chair, the tender caresses to your body, and the soft breeze from the late-night air, you soon drift off in his arms. In 24 hours, Carlos has concluded that he may forgive Jill for what she did to you if this is the product of all her wrongdoings.

Once more, with every day the rain falls, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira love Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of their adoration are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Life with these two is mellow, but intense in the same breath. You're treated like royalty, never allowed to lift a single finger. However, never once in your life have you been indulged in such intense displays of devotion. You'll be worshiped like a deity, soon to be smothered beneath their suffocating embrace without any room for dispute. You are never alone; if you're not with one, you are certainly with the other. Whether this is rooted in their overprotective nature or the simple desire to be with you at all times (or possibly even both) will forever remain a mystery to you.

Jill is overwhelmingly possessive and never refrains from proving how easily she can claim you. Displaying her strength throughout the day, expressing the barriers she's overcome to save you, and bragging about the fights she's won. You would be fearful of her violent tangents if it weren't for the swirling adoration in her hazy, blue eyes.

There is no need to take that cutthroat, bad-cop exterior to heart, either. Not when the box hidden beneath the floorboards tells an entirely different story. Just don’t be surprised if your nail clippings and underwear suddenly vanish out of thin air.

Carlos has a warm heart reserved for you, but the organ is astonishingly jealous, as well. Constantly cooking myriads of dishes for you, cleaning every speck of dust to ever exist, being your teddy bear. You would be overwhelmed by his aggressive affections if it weren't for those tender hands soothing his baby of any restless sorrow.

There is no need to take that tenacious, puffy-eyed exterior to heart, either. Not when the journals hidden beneath the floorboards tell an entirely different story. Just don’t be surprised if you find pages covered with your name and proclamations of devotion, all written red with his fresh blood.

Life had been adorned in these matters for a while. Another month has tread by and all wounds, both physical and mental, have fortunately healed. As well as the poor kitchen island, which has now been revived with a sleek marble finish. You'll just choose to ignore how Carlos and Jill had locked you in the bedroom when the repairman spent several hours patching up the counter, ensuring he didn't wander off. If he found you, he'd surely want you for himself, the two are sure of it.

Instead, you swerve your attention toward how all conflicts have been reduced to minimal bickers. Though the jealous glares and backhanded comments will always remain, your days together have shifted toward much brighter circumstances.

With the presence of Spring lurking, the golden sun has escaped through the clouds and now engulfs the world in its warm hues. Your relentless suggestions of enjoying the pleasant weather had originally been brought to zero fruition. Especially with what occurred the last time you had left. Danger resides around every corner, they claimed. Outside these suffocating walls, you would be exposed to this. Even from something as little as nearly tripping over a protruding tree root, the thought made them both aghast.

However, when you look at them like that, they can feel their stern exterior crack beneath the harsh blows your adorable self delivers. And the look of surprised joy in your expression when they introduced the idea of enjoying a picnic by the private riverside erased any restriction either of them had.

The wicker basket sitting on a picnic blanket is full of numerous delicious treats, all crafted by Carlos' hands. With your fresh pair of expensive boots on (after Jill insisted on sitting you down and quadruple-knotting your shoelaces), the three of you are leaving the house at each other's sides. More so, Carlos is shoulder-to-shoulder with you and flinching at any feeble sound while Jill remains level-headed, soaking in your enthusiastic state of mind.

The wooden, decaying trail was adorned with unkempt debris, a considerable contrast to the pristine appearance of the house. With a hand around your waist, Jill guards you against the protruding nails and chunks of sharp wood threatening to bring you harm. The sight of several goosebumps littering your arm and Carlos strips his coat off and fastens it around your form. All as if you weren't wearing clothing thick enough to be considered armor. You're surprised he hadn't suffocated you with bubble wrap before you left.

Despite their suffocating and infantilizing treatment, you do not let them spoil this experience. For months, you have only ever seen this wondrous rainforest through a window. Now, being within the genuine physicality of it was nothing short of breathtaking.

Gentle rain patters against the healthy leaves; birds squawk and chitter throughout the trees. The thunderous sound of a heavy waterfall echoes throughout the expanse and has you mesmerized. And you cannot forget the fresh air invading your lungs and just how much you had longed for it.

The scent of rainwater and late-morning fog complement the state of serenity you're in, as well. You almost step directly into the adjacent river from how captivated you were by the beautiful sight. From behind you, Jill's voice pervades the peaceful atmosphere.

"Careful, baby. 'Don't want you gettin' wet. Rather it be in another wa- agh!" A rough grunt is pulled from Jill before she can complete her sentence. Abruptly, she is shoved to the forest floor.

Her well-being is entirely ignored by Carlos, who chooses to ensnare you in his protective hold instead. Letting your vision absorb what had occurred over your shoulder, you see a man dressed in a white-lab coat towering over her. When you see that familiar Umbrella symbol on his shoulder, you are ashamed to feel a sense of safety in their presence. They had provided you with the only place you were ever able to confidently call "home", after all.

When you attempt to wrangle from Carlos' suffocating hold, your efforts halt when he whips out a handgun and points the weapon at the assailant. Did he really bring that to our picnic?

A harsh kick to his crotch and the man above Jill keeled over, granting her the opportunity to spring to her feet and race to your aid. She then grabs hold of the handgun she brought, as well. Why on Earth did they both bring weapons!? 

Never one to hesitate, she flicks the safety off, juts her finger against the trigger, and a permeating bang! thunders against your eardrums. Before you can witness the aftermath induced by her bullet, Carlos' hand shields your eyes from the sight. A heavy set of numerous footsteps follow the silence left after the gunshot and strengthen the dreadful fear in your gut.

When they begin to hasten towards you alone, a flurry of gunshots echo.

Amid the chaos, an unseen force from behind yanks you out of the strong arms locked around your form. You splat harshly against the ground and the contact robs a groan of pain from your chest. Attempting to identify what was responsible for the sudden altercation, you find another stranger at your side who was dressed in the same white garb. The terror envelops you in its bitter embrace as you anticipate his next move.

Before he can even think of touching you, however, he is violently tackled to the ground by Carlos. Glancing past him, vomit threatens to escape from your stomach when you find several other men lying lifeless. Pools of blood mend with the soil and paint your shoes; the scent of iron and gunpowder make your nose twitch from the unwelcome pervasion.

"Put a fuckin' finger on them and I'll leave all of yours at your mother's doorstep!" It doesn't surprise you that Jill was responsible for this flare of savagery. Gun in one hand, pocket knife in the other, the blood of your assailants adorns her entire body as she continues to combat anyone standing in her way.

"How dare you put your fucking hands on them!? I'll spend eternity making sure you're rotting in Hell for what you’ve done!" Carlos did not differ from her state, either. Your attacker had already been presumed dead, but the man above him continues to surge his fists into the gorey expanse of his deformed face.

And much like the brawl between Jill and Carlos, you were left in a state of shock and unable to make any coherent actions.

All you do is sit at the stump of this tree and watch as the hysterical display folds out before you. The carnage satiating your senses is enough evidence that these two will conquer this battle. But as they claim more bodies, more heaps of men adorned with the same Umbrella patch follow.

Jill and Carlos quickly become overpowered by the sheer amount of violent people closing in on them. Through every punch, every slice, every gunshot, all advantages used to defend themselves are stolen from them. Several men now hold them compliant to the muddied ground as the two roar out curses and threats.

Another man soon joins the scene, verbally tutting at the impact left behind, before turning to you. And when you fully take in his features, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

Doctor Gorkis, or 'Matt', as he insisted you to call him stands by your feet.

He had aided you during the precarious descent into your new life within the sanctuary and remained your friend throughout the years. And if you were honest with yourself, you have always harbored a sort of childlike crush on him. The knight in shining armor; the prince who saves you from the evil dragon. The feelings you had for him were something along those lines. If Jill and Carlos knew this, they'd surely rip his head off, but that presumption was irrelevant right now.

Matt bends down to your level, the violent shouts of "don't you fucking touch them!" from behind him nothing but a mere passing car, a drifting thought.

"Hello, Y/N..." When you hear his voice, you finally comprehend how much you have yearned for your old life, for him. It is soft and euphonious, but still possesses a friendly shimmer that could melt even the coldest of hearts, you're sure of it.

Shifting your attention away from your old friend, you look to Jill and Carlos. They both struggle and shout beneath the weight of their attackers, more desperate than you have ever seen them before.

Poor Carlos is just sobbing. All his speech is sullied and incoherent, far too overwhelmed by the weight of his emotions. Shockingly, you see Jill weeping, as well. This is the first occurrence in which you have seen such acute emotion within her, within both of them.

A single night in heaven granted them six endless years of torture. Then, they were gifted six months of sheer bliss. To know that in the blink of an eye, this stranger could unsheathe a weapon and take your life right then and there, while all they can do is watch in horror — it destroys them.

Your gaze is soon forced back onto Matt. Albeit forcefully when he tilts his head into your train of vision, intense eyes peering into yours.

"A lot has changed since you were taken from us. Our organization has changed for the better and we have taken extra precautions to ensure our patients' safety. Your safety. You will be safe now. That is... If you'll come with me...?" His words confuse you.

"Butterfly, don't you dare listen to him! He's full of shit!" One on hand, you're convinced Jill and Carlos had saved you from a corrupt company.

"Sweet Bumblebee, you are the only reason I am alive! Don't listen to him...! Please, don't listen to him..." On the other hand, the familiarity of Matt's presence lulls you into complying.

"Those two don't care for you, not like me and all of your friends back home. If you come with me, you can see them again..." You don't know who to believe.

The fear paralyzing your body, despite how meager it was compared to everything else, is all the proof you need to decide what path you should venture on.

You cannot trust anyone, so you choose to trust yourself.

You were never meant to be in the restricting paradise of Umbrella's sanctuary; you were never meant to be locked away with your two corrupt lovers. Maybe you were always meant to be alone.

Using the tree for stability, you stand on your feet. Matt follows your movements, seemingly guarding you from the two feral dogs pinned to the forest floor.

With the ball in your court, all three of them hastily anticipate your answer.

A step away and your answer is clear. 

You choose no one.

And you choose to ignore how Jill and Carlos practically screech for you as you walk away from them. But, you couldn't choose to ignore Matt when he follows you in your path and closes the short distance between you two. He pulls out an anesthesia mask with his gloved hand and presses it to your face, ensnaring you in his arms.

As you are soothed into unconsciousness, he reassures you that everything will be alright. And if you choose to ignore the desperate shouts of your name fading out, you could almost believe him.

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

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ LOST IN THE LABYRINTH

OF MY MIND . . . ❞

bc i can't control myself, here are more visions of jill and carlos' house. here, here, here, here, here, and here.

gif credits :: jill & carlos.

[sweetromanova]

Off The Record: Part Three🖤

Natasha Romanoff x Criminal Defense Lawyer!Original Female Character

Summary: She’s built a career on keeping secrets and defending the worst with nothing to lose. That changed when Natasha Romanoff showed up on the other side of the courtroom.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, psychological manipulation, implied child abuse and trauma, emotional abuse, mentions of torture, human and sex trafficking, war crimes and murder, implied coercion, legal corruption, gun violence, secondary character deaths, power imbalance, blood and injury depiction

A/N: for any lawyers, law students or legally-adjacent folks reading this, i did get some help from a friend when i wrote this but even she wasn’t fully convinced about the accuracy so if anything’s off, just kindly ignore the legal nonsense and roll with it!🖤

Chapter Three

Avengers Secondary Holding Facility, Upstate New York

March 20, 2022

Maria Hill dropped the file onto the conference room table like it was a live grenade. “Motion to suppress Exhibit B, Exhibit E, and preliminary statements from the intake log.”

Across from her, the Avengers looked up from their scattered files and half-drunk coffee. Tony, legs kicked up on the table, slowly lowered his sunglasses. “She’s tossing out our evidence?” He exclaimed. “On what grounds?!”

“Improper chain of custody on the Prague lab samples, lack of independent verification on the digital logs and-” Maria glanced at the page, jaw tightening. “-interrogation without formal counsel present.”

Natasha barely moved, her voice was flat. “That interrogation didn’t even include questions. We asked him to confirm his name when he was brought on to the quinjet.”

“She filed it as a rights violation.” Maria said. “The judge could side with her. Anything gathered between his detainment and her first meeting is inadmissible.”

“She’s good.” Steve muttered. Not admiring, just resigned.

“Too good.” Tony added, spinning his tablet toward him. “Which is why I’ve spent the last four hours looking into her.”

“Stark…” Maria warned but Tony ignored her.

“She’s been a defense attorney in New York for around a decade I believe, maybe less. Passed the bar with a near-perfect score. And then? Radio silence. No social media, no interviews, barely any photos that aren’t court composites or grainy trial press shots.”

Bruce frowned. “That’s not unusual for lawyers, is it?”

Tony leaned forward. “Not for normal lawyers, no. But this one? She’s got classified SHIELD seals on several of her past cases, sealed after trial, not before. You don’t get that kind of protection unless someone upstairs is nervous.”

Maria’s expression tightened. “You were poking into SHIELD casework?”

“I was poking and-” Tony said. “-I found a case involving an international arms dealer five years ago. Guy vanished mid-trial. Sienna filed a motion for mistrial two days later. No ruling. Case disappeared.”

“Off the books?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded. “More like burned.”

Natasha finally stood. “She’s not just doing her job. She knows how to play the system. She’s ten moves ahead of us and she’s not even sweating.”

Maria turned her screen around for them all to see, a new motion, filed just minutes ago. “Motion to Exclude Expert Testimony of Wanda Maximoff filed on grounds of ‘extrajudicial psychic influence’ and ‘unverifiable cognitive methods that violate federal evidentiary standards’.”

“She’s trying to disqualify Wanda?” Steve said, stunned. “We didn’t even use her, Sienna came before we had the chance.”

“She’s going to win that one.” Maria said, quietly. “We don’t have a precedent for enhanced verification in court. Not legally.”

Bruce leaned back. “She’s dismantling our case before it even gets to trial.”

Tony tossed his stylus onto the table. “Yeah, well, I want to know who trained her to do that.”

Natasha was already halfway to the door.

“Where are you going?” Maria asked.

Natasha didn’t look back. “To find a crack.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Antonia Dreykov’s Residence, Budapest

March 21, 2022

Night settled over Budapest’s old quarter like a weighted blanket. Natasha moved through the alleys with the easy, practiced steps of someone who used to know every corner of this place. A single security light buzzed and flickered above the rusted door of what looked like an old, shut-down print shop. She knocked twice, paused then once more.

A slit slid open, brown eyes that were cool but sharp studied her. “Romanoff.”

“Antonia. I need five minutes.” The lock turned and Natasha slipped inside.

The room was spare with only a folding table, two chairs and a kettle on a hot plate. Antonia Dreykov, once the Taskmaster, wore a black hoodie and a scar that the world would never see, leaned against the wall with her arms folded.

“You don’t visit old classmates unless the world’s ending.” She said, in accented English.

Natasha offered the faintest hint of a smile.  “Not ending. Just… rotting in court.”

She slid a photo across the table of Maksim Vasiliev in all his glory, taken during intake.

Antonia’s eyes hardened. “I remember him. Red Room winter inspections. He watched the proficiency trials. Took notes and offered suggestions.” She exhaled. “Always smelled like antiseptic.”

“I need you to tell a tribunal that.” Natasha said. “Under oath.”

Antonia shook her head. “I was never his prisoner. He didn’t lay hands on me. That makes me an observer, not a victim. A lawyer will shred me.”

“Sienna Blake will try.” Natasha admitted. “But the jury or the judges, just need corroboration. Someone outside HYDRA command structure who can place him inside the Red Room, during live exercises. Connect his ‘theoretical science’ to real girls.”

Antonia stared at the photo a long moment then asked the question Natasha was dreading. “What do you get out of this? Revenge or justice?”

Natasha’s reply was quiet but edged. “Both, if the system lets me.”

Finally, Antonia nodded once. “One condition. My testimony is sealed after court. No press. No cameras. I give you what I saw then disappear.”

“Done.” Natasha promised, without hesitation. “Maria Hill will handle the protective paperwork.”

Antonia grabbed a battered backpack, already packed up and ready to run. Natasha knew all too well that she’d done that several times in the past. “Then let’s go. I still owe that man a scar.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The Avengers Compound, Upstate New York

March 22, 2022

Maria looked up from a stack of motions as Natasha walked in with Antonia at her side. “Tell me that’s not who I think it is.” Maria said, glancing at the bandana that covered half of Antonia’s face.

“Antonia Dreykov.” Natasha confirmed. “Firsthand witness. She’ll place Vasiliev inside the Red Room on multiple dates between 2000 and 2010, observing live neural‑conditioning trials.”

Maria’s brows lifted. “That ties him directly to human experimentation outside his lab network. Undermines his whole ‘I just signed papers’ defense.”

“And it’s not evidence collected before counsel.” Natasha added.  “Fresh witness, voluntary.”

Antonia folded her arms.  “Your tribunal has a witness list form?”

Maria almost smiled. “Several.” She flipped open a new file. “Blake is going to contest relevance and credibility but if we can corroborate Maksim’s travel logs with Red Room intel, the judge should allow it.”

Natasha’s eyes were cool and focused for the first time in this trial.  “One crack at a time.”

Tony’s voice drifted in from the doorway, tablet in hand.  “Good news travels fast. Jarvis just pinged that Blake filed another motion at 05:30.”

Natasha didn’t look away from Maria. “Let her file. We have our own play now.”

Maria nodded, sliding a witness submission form across the table to Antonia. “Welcome to the fight.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Federal Tribunal Courtroom, Washington, D.C.

March 24, 2022

The courtroom wasn’t overly grand but it felt like it was carved from stone. It was all marble pillars, high ceilings, and silence so thick it pressed against your ears. Three tribunal judges sat in elevated chairs, stern-faced and unreadable.

In the gallery, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Bruce, Clint, Bucky, Wanda and Tony lined the second bench. SHIELD’s legal team flanked Maria Hill, who sat rigid at the prosecution’s table.

Across from them, seated alone like she owned the goddamn floor was Sienna Blake.

Charcoal grey suit, heels like blades and not a hair out of place. A single black folder sat before her. No laptop. No assistant. She didn’t need them.

The clerk called the hearing to order. The judges gave nods then the lead judge began. “Counsellor Blake, you may proceed with your motions.”

Sienna stood smoothly. No notes. Just that controlled, deliberate walk toward the center. “Your Honours...” She began, voice calm and unshaken. “The defense respectfully moves to suppress the following. Preliminary intake statements made without legal counsel present, Second, a laboratory sample data lacking verified chain-of-custody documentation. Third, an expert testimony from an individual identified as ‘Wanda Maximoff’ on grounds of unverifiable psychic influence. And finally a witness testimony from Antonia Dreykov, on relevance and credibility grounds.”

There was a quiet intake of breath from SHIELD’s table and the second row. Maria didn’t blink. But Natasha stiffened. How the hell did she know about Antonia already? It was processed as close to the deadline as possible.

The lead judge looked over his glasses. “Ms. Blake, we’ll take each motion in order. Begin with the intake statements.”

Sienna nodded. “My client was detained for over six hours without legal representation. During that time, he was asked to verify documents, names, and operations he allegedly oversaw. Regardless of tone or intention, this constitutes an interrogation. It violates federal and international rights of due process.”

Maria stood. “He was read his rights. He refused counsel initially. Can I add this was all on his way into custody? No formal interrogation took place.”

“Refusal made without full capacity.” Sienna countered. “We have a pending psychiatric evaluation confirming impaired decision-making at the time.”

The judges conferred briefly. “Motion to suppress preliminary statements is granted.”

Tony swore under his breath. Natasha’s fingers tightened into fists. “Next.” The judge ordered.

“Chain of custody for Exhibit E.” Sienna continued. “The Prague lab samples, while potentially damning, were transported through three countries, two field agents and an undocumented private courier. No signed custody, no uninterrupted seal.”

Maria leaned forward. “We have timestamped photos and transfer logs.”

“And I have a U.S. v. Arvello precedent that ruled such documentation as insufficient under federal rules of evidence,” Sienna said, almost bored. “Even when a case involved nerve agents.”

A second pause. The center judge sighed. “Motion to exclude Exhibit E is granted.”

Steve murmured. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Welcome to the justice system.” Bruce muttered back.

“Third motion.” The judge prompted.

“Expert testimony from Wanda Maximoff.” Sienna said. “Her enhanced status may give her certain abilities, but the court cannot verify the accuracy of her cognitive impressions. There’s no precedent for psychics in federal court and no method of cross-examination to test the validity of her ‘truth detection.’”

Maria started to argue but the judge cut her off.

“This issue has been discussed previously. Without scientific validation, the tribunal cannot accept such testimony. Motion to exclude is granted.”

A cold, satisfied smile flickered on Sienna’s lips, so brief, it might’ve been imagined. ““Final motion.” The judge spoke. “Antonia Dreykov.”

Sienna nodded. “The defense questions the credibility and relevance of this witness. She cannot place my client in proximity to any specific criminal act, nor claim to be a victim. Her testimony is speculative and possibly biased due to past affiliations with the accuser, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha stood. “Permission to speak, Your Honour.”

The judge considered. “Granted.”

“She’s not biased. She was there. I brought her in because I’ve been in those same rooms. Maksim Vasiliev didn’t just design the science. He watched it break people.”

Sienna’s tone stayed even. “And yet no record of his participation exists in SHIELD files, no documents, no signed orders. Just implication.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Implication’s enough when you know what to look for.”

The judge cleared his throat. “Motion to exclude Dreykov testimony is denied, pending further evidentiary review.”

Sienna didn’t react. She simply inclined her head and returned to her seat.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Outside of the Federal Tribunal Courtroom, Washington, D.C.

March 24, 2022

The team exited in a tense, quiet crowd. Maria was reviewing the judges’ notes, eyes darting through paperwork.

Tony muttered. “That woman just disarmed three-quarters of our main evidence in this case without breaking a sweat.”

“She’s not just defending him.” Steve sighed. “She’s challenging everything we are.”

Natasha stopped at the edge of the marble steps, jaw tight. She looked down the block and there she was.

Sienna, standing calmly beside a black car, talking quietly into her phone. She glanced up once.

Their eyes met.

Sienna didn’t smile. She didn’t gloat.

She simply looked at Natasha the way you’d look at a chessboard… and she was moving her knight.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Conference Room, Federal Tribunal Court, Washington, D.C.

March 25, 2022

The conference room was stark, a sharp contrast to the courtroom’s glory. A low table, somber faces and piles of legal documents formed a barricade between allies and adversaries. At the head sat Judge Harmon, the presiding officer from the tribunal, flanked by Maria, Sienna, and Natasha.

“Ms. Blake-” Judge Harmon began, voice even. “-your motions have been noted. The tribunal will allow subpoenas for further witnesses but they must be submitted within 48 hours.”

Sienna nodded, serene as ever. “Understood, Your Honour. We have a preliminary list, experts on psychiatric forensics, SHIELD operations analysts and an international witness whose testimony will be critical.” Maria exchanged a glance with Natasha but said nothing. 

“Agent Romanoff-” Judge Harmon turned to Natasha. “-your testimony will be scheduled. And any classified information must be vetted through SHIELD’s legal office before presentation.”

Natasha’s eyes didn’t waver. “Understood.”

The judge folded his hands. “This tribunal expects transparency and cooperation. The court will hold everyone accountable.”

The meeting adjourned swiftly, leaving a charged silence.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Holding Area, Federal Tribunal Court, Washington, D.C.

March 25, 2022

Sienna and Natasha exited together, the crowd thinning until it was just the two of them.

The tension hung like smoke between them.

Natasha broke the silence first. “You play a dangerous game, Sienna. Defending a monster like Vasiliev, and doing it so well. It’s… infuriating.”

Sienna’s eyes glinted, sharp but not unkind. “I’m just doing my job. Everyone deserves a defense, even monsters. If you want to bring him down, you’ll have to fight me and the law first.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “You’re not just a lawyer. You’re a weapon in a suit and block heels.”

Sienna smiled faintly. “And you’re a soldier with nothing but your fury. But this isn’t a battlefield anymore.”

Natasha stepped closer. “Maybe not. But I won’t back down.”

Sienna’s smile softened, almost a hint of respect. “Neither will I.” 

[fernpetals]

After Life: The Present

Masterlist

Yandere Neo Anderson Headcanons

Part I Part III

Based on this idea

Warning: Stalking, unreliable perception and grasp of reality, NSFW, dub-con, power imbalance, manipulative, creepy and slightly delusional behaviour, major canon diversions and my miserable attempt at making this work. Inspired by a post about dark Neo by @97keanu and some late-night discussions with my mutuals (wink)

Unedited Piece

You are dreaming. It is the same dream, the same man, over and over again. You dream of sitting inside a cafe you have never been to, and waiting. Who are you waiting for?

You don’t know. 

It is the same damn cafe, always evening. At times, a faceless man shows up. Flowers in hand, carnations. But you never quite recognise him.

It has been a year since you have been having these ‘dreams’. At this point, you want to visit the cafe. But something in you is afraid. Afraid of what? You do not know.

You just feel…different. As if something is missing. You want to reach out, but it is like a veil has been put over your mind. You are brushing against memories that do not exist, but you feel them.

It’s like you are losing your mind. 

Had it been just the dreams, you would have managed. But you randomly wake up in the middle of the night to an empty and dark room, as expected. But the air feels…charged. You feel every single hair on your body stand up, and the static. 

You look around like you are expecting to see something or someone. But there is no physical evidence of an intruder. Never. You just feel it in your bones.

—---

“What if they track your pattern? You are endangering yourself and her.”  Morpheus’s voice is hushed on the phone.

“They can’t reach me, or trace me, I made sure of that.” Neo’s voice is soft and quiet, lower than usual. He does not want to wake you.

As Thomas Anderson, he longed to be in the position that he is now. In your room, watching over you as you sleep.

Neo does not take off his eyewear, though. It helps him keep the codes in check. He is in control of this matrix now; the agents simply do not know it yet. They never will, until he hunts down every last one of them. 

For now, he is content to play a subtle game with you. He wants you to revisit the cafe. He wants you to remember him. But some systems are permanent here. Like a necessary evil. 

Every person who consumes the red pill is automatically removed from the memories of the Matrix, and the people trapped here. So, according to the Matrix, Thomas Anderson never existed. No one remembers him, and there are no traces left of him. Digital, physical, nothing.

It works to keep the world from descending into chaos and madness, but also aids in keeping people from sensing that something is wrong with this world.

He retreats into the corner, waving his palm and turning invisible to those bound to the Matrix when he senses you beginning to wake up. 

Like every night, he watches you wake, looking around, as if expecting to see someone. He knows you can sense him, and it only turns him more determined. You can sense him, while no other human can. Your connection to him runs deeper. It was always meant to be.

There’s a slight heaviness he feels when you frantically look around, confused, unable to express what you feel, unable to put a pin on it. But you feel him. Somewhere deep inside your subconscious, you know it's him. It knows him

—--

You are standing in front of the cafe again. You have walked into this path many times, without even noticing. But something in you never lets you step inside. The space seems inviting and warm. So why do you hesitate?

Fuck it, I’m going in.

With that, you take a deep breath and walk—

You frown, realising that the lights seem suddenly brighter, as if it's night time already. You look around, only for your lips to part at the view outside. 

You walked in moments ago with the sun high up in the sky. But from the cafe, you can see the nightlife. The street lights are lit up, the buildings are all bright, the sky is dark, and there are rumbles along with flashes in the sky. 

How is this…

You look around, realising that you are the only person bothered by this strange phenomenon.

Your gaze zeroes in on a corner table with a bouquet placed on it. Without another thought, you walk towards it and pick up the bouquet. Carnations. Fresh, fragrant, beautiful blooms invite you to run your fingers through them. The bouquet from your dreams. Only the mystery man is missing.

You pick it up and find a little card taped to it. ‘To (Y/N)’ it reads when you unfold it. You turn to look to see if anyone is there, waiting for you. But somehow, you feel like you are the one waiting. For what? Whom?

Your eyes stop at the view outside. With the thunder rumbling and the wind picking up speed,  the streets seem calmer. But one man is standing right underneath a street light. You take a step forward for a closer look. Despite the good distance, somehow, you just know he’s looking straight at you. 

He is dressed in black. The hem of his coat moves and flows in stagnant waves as the wind picks up. He stands still, though. A part of black eyewear, hair brushed back, and broad shoulders straightened with a calm sense of foreboding and self-assurance. 

You rush outside the cafe, the bouquet still in your grasp, only to stumble back at the feeling of sunlight as soon as you are outside. You look up and immediately shut your eyes under the unforgiving glare of the summer sun. When you turn to see that streetlight again, you find no one.   

You drink yourself to sleep at night. Unable to come to terms with the events at the cafe. Yet the bouquet sits in your guestroom vase. Something in you could not leave it behind. Your eyes keep drifting towards the door before they feel too heavy to keep open. As if you are expecting someone to walk in. Who? 

At the cafe, you have felt longing like never before. Deja Vu. That is the only explanation you have for what clouded your heart and mind in that cafe. The rest…the day, the night, that…that man. You have no idea what it was. Were you hallucinating? Was it all in your mind? Who was that man? Who left the bouquet?

Whatever you have experienced was real– the bouquet sitting in your living room is the evidence. But it has unsettled you to the core. You cannot look at the world the same way again. It has been like a jolt to you. Like you had been asleep for a long, long time and are about to wake up. 

Tonight, your dreams manifest out of nowhere. You see yourself back in your office. But you are not working. You are in your cubicle, and the place feels eerily quiet, except for the whimpers and moans that escape your lips. 

Fingers. Moving in a deliberate pattern inside you. You see the side of his neck, the white collar of his shirt that has a tinge of green. A very faint, but not just his shirt, everything around you seems to have a shadow of green cast over it. The world is the same as the world you live in, but it does not feel real. 

Yet, his fingers moving inside you, producing that squelching noise that seems to grow embarrassingly louder with each moment, are what ground you. They feel real, this man feels. 

You want to look up at him. You can smell him, feel the heat of his body against yours, you feel him standing between your thighs, your skirt hiked up, and his fingers inside your ruined panties, but you only have a zoomed-in view of his face. 

Your cheeks pressed against his. You nose inhaling his scent before you feel his other hand bunch up your hair and pull your head, and meet his eager lips.

Your eyes flutter close, and at the same time, he curls his fingers one last time before you burst into a million sparks of ecstasy. You whine and rub your hips against his moving fingers, feeling conquered in the way his tongue caresses yours and the top of your mouth like he is contemplating something life-altering.

You gasp awake with the sight of the ceiling of your bedroom greeting you. Your hands are on your sides, fisting the ruffled bedsheet but you catch your breath. Your tongue has a lingering taste like no other, your lips are covered with saliva, and your womanhood throbs deliciously. You feel empty, and the warmth and slickness between your thighs do not help. 

You look down to find your underwear messily shoved down enough to make space for fingers to be inside. It is ruined anyway. A heady scent hangs in the air as you look at your fingers. Did you just touch yourself in your sleep? Your fingers seem dry and smell nothing of the musk you anticipate when you bring them to your nose. 

No, no trace of what you expect, but…but something else. A smell you know you have never smelled before, yet feels somehow familiar. You sigh, feeling a headache catching up. You have no energy to get up. You feel heavy and exhausted after experiencing pleasure like never before.

Taking off your underwear, you toss it away and fall back on the bed. Sleep, surprisingly, comes easily.

—-

It takes everything in Neo not to pick up the discarded underwear that has landed right in front of him. He stares down at it instead, the damp cotton tests his self-control. His throat dies, but he forces himself to tear his gaze away from the piece of cloth towards the bed.

His jaws clench when he is greeted by the most delicious sight imaginable. Nothing covers your lower half. Your soft thighs, legs messily tangled with the sheet and bare mound, are all for his sight— a low burning of his desire now shooting into dangerous flames licking at his sanity.

 But he remains still, silently breathing in the scent of the room now heavy with the scent of your arousal while his eyes take in your form.

Parched. He is parched and empty without you. For now, though, he is satisfied with only licking his fingers slick with your essence.

—--

You do not understand what exactly is wrong with you. But maybe everything. You have dreams every other day. They manifest from all the nasty scenarios you had written in your digital diary. You type away your experiences, thoughts and often sensual imagination on your computer almost daily.  

You conclude that you must be stressed. The strange encounter at the cafe has left you rattled. So your mind has come up with a way of relief, although temporary.

The only difference is the presence of this…mysterious, faceless man. You can feel him, smell him, even address him, but never see his face. Part of him. But never his full face, nothing to visually recognise him. You simply know it's him.

It is one of your dreams again. This time, it is a tinted glass wall, high up in a skyscraper, where the world below seems like an ant kingdom. You feel the cool glass and the golden sunset. Your breath condenses against the glass with each huff.

It is a dream. You have come to realise every time this happens. It is a dream, but this time it is different. You have never written or imagined such a scenario.

But sounds of pleasure escape your throat nevertheless. You feel fingers slide across your neck, holding you still as your hips rock with his, the sensual rhythm and the delicious fullness of having him inside you elicit a breathy chuckle from you.

It is him. You know the touch, the cologne, the way he feels and the warmth he provides.

That's when you see it--the reflection on the glass, and your smile drops. This man behind you, pressing your naked body against the glass, smells and feels familiar, but is not the same you have dreamt about for so long. But it is the man you saw right outside the cafe that day. 

The man with black eyewear, all dressed in black, hair brushed back and an air of authority that seems to command the room he walks into. 

You gasp and try to move, but he keeps you pinned, still thrusting in and out of you, drawling out pleasure that keeps holding your rational mind hostage.

Your hands, once on the glass, come to hold or push him, desperate to turn around, yet too deep in pleasure to stop your movements or the spasming against his length.

“Wh–who—” is all you can manage.

“You know me.” His voice somehow sounds deeper, unfamiliar, despite it being the same voice you have heard in your dreams many times before. “You have to ask yourself.” 

You feel his lips against your ear before his teeth clamp lightly over them, and you jolt forward. Your walls flutter uncontrollably, and you feel the slickness rolling down your thighs as he continues to thrust inside you. The flood of warmth makes your eyes roll back while a guttural moan escapes your throat. You gasp, claw and mewl, crying out in pleasure.

You are lit up in flames of desire– in this moment, you feel him filling inside you— filling your veins, mind and soul.

You open your eyes once more, damp lashes blink at the man pinning you against the glass, lazily thrusting to drag out the pleasure, before you are snuffed out of your dream world.

You wake up, glistening with sweat, and a sweet ache and emptiness between your legs. You hear the wetness and feel it. Thick and sticky, yet your mind is muddled enough to think it's only your own arousal. You fall into a dreamless sleep as soon as you wake up.

This time, you dream of a hazy figure in black, hovering over your bed, running his fingers through your hair.

—-

“Soon, I would need a red pill,” Neo says to Morpheus on the phone. He is one with the bustling market crowd, but his eyes never stray from your figure. 

Your shoulders appear slumped, and your eyes are downcast. You are visibly exhausted, yet you carry on. Soon, you will be free from these meaningless burdens. Then, you can focus your energy on what truly matters, your relationship with him.

“What are you planning, Neo?” Morpheus’ voice turns slightly distorted other end “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the Matrixes that are not yet under our control?”

“She is important to me. Start preparing my apartment.”

—-

You think you are going crazy. But there is no proper sign of madness yet. Only you see that man everywhere. He is never right in front of you. No. You see glimpses of him. Like a shadow, you feel him everywhere you go, and see him from the corner of your eyes. But he disappears when you turn. 

It becomes a regular occurrence, and you think you are slowly spiralling into insanity. But all the other aspects of your life remain undisturbed. You only see this mysterious man dressed in black from the corner of your eye

It started with the tail of his coat, the flowing fabric of a dramatic and rushed exit. You ignored it as any rational person would. But then, it turned to seeing the silhouette of a full-grown man from the corner of your eyes. 

Every day, you feel him closer. You see a little more of him, like his pale skin, the dark eyewear and dark hair.

He just feels unreal. But he is very much real–you know it in your bones.

Every time you wake up at odd hours, you somehow expect the man looming over your bed. But you find no one. Nothing seems out of place, but your home does not feel the same. The air has shifted. 

You cannot explain how, but it feels like you are no longer the only resident here. The door you remember closing turns out to be open, the windows you forgot to close before leaving are closed shut when you return, and there is this…smell.

Leather and fuel, along with hints of earthy fragrance. You have tried bringing your friends for a sleepover to see if they feel the same. But none of them seem to notice.

At this point, you are afraid to confide in any friend. What if they think that you are losing your mind? What if you really are losing it?

Your dreams become more vivid. The touches fell more profound. Not like they weren’t before. But you see more of him. And the more you see him in your dreams, the more you realise that the man in your dreams is eerily similar to the man you see from the corner of your eyes.

It must have been apparent that you're disturbed about something, at least to your friends at work. So they drag you for a fun Friday Night. 

It turns out to be actually fun. You get to drink, eat, laugh and let loose a little. You find yourself on the dance floor, but no one is close enough. Yet you feel the static energy buzzing around. You are sober enough to feel the shift, but not enough to be truly alarmed. 

You remain where you are, feeling suddenly braver. There is a buzzing need to ground yourself. You tell yourself that it will all go away once you face it head-on, whatever, or whoever he or it is.

But all thoughts evaporate when you feel the warmth of a palm over your swaying hips. The familiar touch jolts you awake from the haze. This time, it is different. This time, you are not in your bedroom; you are not asleep. You are awake, and you are at a nightclub. You are awake and among people, and yet you feel the familiar touch and the presence.

You feel his lips over your ears, his body pressing against yours. You smell him—leather and fuel. “Trying to run away from the truth?” You stiffen, yet your eyes flutter close in surrender.

“Thomas?” You do not know why you say that name, but it flashes in your mind, and your tongue rolls on its own. 

Thomas? Who is Thomas?

You want to turn around, but he holds you firmly against him. Unlike the wild pace your heart has taken, you only feel his steady heartbeat. His lips brush against your ear with a deliberate movement. “My name…Is Neo.”

“Neo…” His name tastes like enchantment, and perhaps, you are already enchanted. You must have been too drunk, or simply lost any remaining sense of self-preservation, as you lean against him, testing his name on your tongue again. 

So this is the man who haunts your dreams and infests your reality? Is he the final push to your descent into madness?

He takes your hand and leads you away from the crowd, towards the bar, where a man dressed similarly to him serves drinks to the patrons. 

It's like you are in a daze— you let him lead you towards it. Maybe it is due to the joint you smoked with friends earlier? The lingering effects perhaps take away any sense of self-preservation. 

He takes off his dark eyewear, and you get to look into his deep, calm orbs. He exudes an extraordinary sense of calm and authority, like you can hide nothing from him, like even if you choose to break into a sprint, it would be futile.

“Drink”, he offers you the red drink. Your hands reach out for it, even though your mind screams for you to stop. You pause and look at him. One nod of encouragement is all it takes for you to tune out every warning your mind throws at you.

 It’s like you are devoid of any thought or free will. Your movements feel strange, drawn-out, unlike you. But you have no control over your own body. You take a sip. Despite the caution and confusion, the beverage tastes better than anything you have ever had. 

“What do you remember about Thomas?” 

You frown at the question, gazing at him while you take another sip of the irresistible drink.

“I…I don't know. It just slipped out.” You seriously have no idea. It was out of the blue. 

“You aren't supposed to remember, but something in you does. This is a sign.”

“Wh-what sign?” You take a final gulp, finishing the drink while he tugs you towards the exit of the club. 

You suddenly feel it, something solid and tiny passing down your throat along with the drink “Wh–what was that?” You finally feel like you are in control again and try to pull your hands away.

But his grip is iron as he drags you towards an isolated exit of the club. When he opens the door, you expect stairs, but are bewildered to find your living room.

“That, and this…” He turns to you, shutting the door, “... it's all a lie, a prison. I am saving you.”

He finally lets go, but you do not answer him, you are in no state to. Instead, you rush towards your apartment door, still in shock. Throwing it open, you find the common corridor you are familiar with.

“No...this can’t be.”

“She is not ready, Sir.” The other man states.

“She will be.” You vaguely hear him through your laboured breathing as you see thin lines of numbers appearing all around you. The colour green has never been more sickening.

“N–no…no. What’s happening?” You gasp out, feeling piercing chills all over, “I’m cold!” It’s like you are losing your voice, it comes in gasps and muffled “I’m cold!”

You try to scream, but you cannot. Your legs can no longer hold your weight, but ‘Neo’ wraps his arms around you.

He is warm, you vaguely realise, feeling the green almost blinding you. But you are still cold.

[sosa2imagines]

Broken Hearts. Part 1

Warnings- Cheating, abusive husband, possessiveness. ---------------------------------------------------

“One way or another, I'm gonna find ya I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya”

Your heart pounded against your chest like a relentless drum, echoing through the walls and drowning out the sound of your pacing footsteps. Your legs ached from the endless motion, muscles screaming for a reprieve, yet your mind remained fixated on the front door, awaiting a sign, a sound, anything that would signal Steve's return home.

Steve Rogers successful business man, he can own anything with his good looks and money, but can't have your heart anymore. Broken and shredded to pieces.

The clock on your nightstand ticked incessantly, the harsh sound a cruel reminder of the passing time. The night seemed to stretch, each second dripping by like molasses. You glanced at the alarm clock again, the digital numbers glaring back at you, mocking your impatience. 3:24 AM.

Steve's love for Peggy had always lingered, a specter in the shadows of your relationship. Whenever his gaze would turn distant, you could sense the ghostly hold Peggy exerted over his heart. Memories of her whispers in his ear, the touch of her fingertips on his skin, haunted your imagination.

In college, Peggy had never spared a glance in Steve's direction, her sights set firmly on charming wealthy students. But once Steve's star began to rise and his net worth skyrocketed, Peggy suddenly found herself drawn to his path.

Her interest piqued not by his character or achievements, but by his newfound financial status. The irony wasn't lost on you. Peggy's change of heart spoke volumes about her true motives and the fickle nature of her affections.

Her name slipped from Steve's lips effortlessly, like a gentle caress he couldn't resist. You longed to be the only love that filled his heart, but the ghost of Peggy Carter cast a long shadow over your relationship.

His excuses were varied and numerous. Crucial meetings, and the ever elusive ‘work-related emergencies.’ He would tell you with a straight face that he had to stay late at work, while he secretly met Peggy in hidden corners of the city, away from prying eyes and suspicions.

Your gut instincts told you something wasn't right, that his absences were not entirely innocent. But love kept your doubts at bay, and you tried to push away the nagging feeling that something was amiss. You trusted Steve, desperately wanting to believe in the strength of your relationship.

Whenever he returned home late, a faint but unmistakable scent of Peggy's perfume clung to Steve's skin. You tried to ignore it, pretending it was nothing more than a coincidence, but the sharp pang of pain pierced through your heart.

You noticed the faint nail marks on his back, faint reminders of passionate embraces he had with Peggy in secret. His disheveled state was a clear sign, of the physical connection he shared with her, and your fears grew stronger with each evidence you discovered.

Your love for Steve drove you to make sacrifices, to prove your devotion and commitment beyond measure. Leaving your job was a painful decision, a surrender of your own independence and identity, hoping it would strengthen the bond between you and Steve.

It was a desperate attempt to win his undivided attention and affection, a last resort to make him see the depth of your love and loyalty, even going as far to eating only food he likes.

Your heart ached with longing, the desire to start a family with Steve burning deep within you. You proposed the idea to him, hoping for a positive response. But to your disappointment, Steve's response was distant and vague.

Peggy's manipulative nature had always bothered you. She had a way of exploiting Steve's good nature, taking advantage of his unwavering loyalty.

Despite your concerns, Steve remained oblivious to her true intentions, viewing her through rose-colored glasses. He could only see the best in her, disregarding the evidence of her selfishness and deceit. You tried to open his eyes, but Steve’s unwavering trust in Peggy left you feeling helpless and frustrated.

Slowly but surely, Steve's attempts at hiding the marks and the scent of Peggy's perfume began to weaken. He became careless, no longer making an effort to cover up the evidence of his infidelity.

His disheveled state and the lingering scent of Peggy's perfume seemed to mock your sacrifices and love. The lack of effort in concealing his lies only fueled your suspicions and deepened the ache of mistrust. It was a cruel reflection of his growing indifference and waning devotion to you.

As the front door creaked open, your heart leapt into your throat, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through your veins. With a forced air of nonchalance, you lay perfectly still in bed, feigning sleep. Your breath hitched in your throat as the weight of your husband's presence filled the room.

You could hear the soft padding of Steve's feet against the carpeted floor. With each passing second, the tension in the air grew thicker, the knot in your stomach tightening painfully. Finally, the weight of the mattress shifted as Steve settled beside you, his body a mere breath away.

The silence between you both was suffocating, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing. You fought the urge to flinch, as his hand brushed against your shoulder, a brief touch filled with a mixture of affection and guilt. But you remained firm, determined to maintain the façade of sleep, even as your mind raced with conflicting emotions.

Steve's voice whispered through the darkness, a faint attempt to gauge your awareness. “Baby doll?” he called softly, the word carried on a gentle exhale. His touch, a gentle poke meant to test your response. You remained motionless, feigning deep sleep through clenched teeth, praying that your act would hold.

Time seemed to stretch, the minutes lingering as Steve waited for a sign of awakening. You held your breath, willing yourself to maintain the illusion of slumber, while your heart thumped loudly against your chest. Steve's hand remained gently resting on your shoulder.

Despite your feigned slumber, your mind was vividly aware of Steve's movements. He reached for his phone, his fingers moving quickly over the screen as he typed a message to Peggy. Once his communication was complete, he placed the device back on the nightstand and shifted his body closer to yours. His arm draped over you, a possessive gesture, as if asserting his power over both you and Peggy in his secret deception.

As Steve's arm encircled you, you fought against the natural instinct to recoil from his touch. Your body stiffened instinctively, tensing beneath the weight of his embrace, but you managed to conceal your discomfort. Pretending to remain blissfully unaware, you kept your eyes tightly shut, determined not to let any crack in your performance. It took every ounce of your willpower to maintain the illusion of deep sleep and contentment, even as your inner turmoil threatened to shatter the facade.

The following day, you woke up early, fueled by a mixture of determination and heartache. With a feigned smile and a practiced lie, you told Steve that you had errands to run that would keep you preoccupied until late in the evening. His eyes betrayed a flicker of relief, believing your words without question, allowing you to leave the house unnoticed.

Sitting across the table, Matt Murdock, your best friend, appeared calm and composed. His eyes, sightless yet perceptive, remained unfocused as he tilted his head slightly to focus on your voice. Despite his blindness, Matt's exceptional senses had sharpened over time.

Matt wanted to tell you something about your aunt's will. She had passed away few weeks ago. Your husband did not accompany you, to her funeral, because he was balls deep busy with Peggy. 

“Y/n thanks for meeting on such a short notice” “No problem Matt.” “How are you?”   “Good... doing nice.” “It's Steve isn't it?” “Wait, what?” “Y/n, I know he is an ass and don't you dare lie to me!” God Matt's senses were impeccable. “Well… Peggy is back.” you answer truthfully.

“Divorce him!” He just says it so casually, you look at him with your mouth open, trying to say something but closing it again. “Are you serious?” you ask him bewildered.  “Yes! Dump his cheap ass, remember Andy Barber our friend? He is back in Boston, he will help you with the divorce.”

He even hands you Andy’s contact number and you just stare at him with disbelief, sure you wanted to leave Steve, but you were waiting for the final nail in the coffin.

“Matt I'll think about it, can we please drop this topic?” “Fine, but please consider my advice.” “Okay…”

“The reason I called you here is because, your aunt left her house and café for you. You are the sole owner now, of her house and her café 'Snowflakes'“  “Wow that woman was adamant I look after her café, she really did left it for me.” Your aunt always believed in you and she was sure, you would handle her café with ease.

“She was also adamant about Steve…” Matt smirks. “Matty!” You plead.

“Fine. The place is run by Happy, his wife May, she cooks and bakes. Peter May's nephew and his girlfriend MJ, work there part time.”

Looking through the records, you are impressed by them, and excited about the new opportunity. But for now they don't need you. Not because they don't want you, but because of your husband. Steve won’t allow you.

Later that day, returning home earlier than expected, you were ambushed by a sight that shattered your fragile composure. There, in your own bedroom, Steve and Peggy lay intertwined on the bed, their bodies moving together in rhythmic ecstasy. The sound of their moans filled the air, a symphony of passion that pierced deep into your wounded soul.

The sight of Steve's betrayal, coupled with the pain of seeing him engaged in such intimate acts with Peggy, hit you like a tsunami. Your heart shattered into countless pieces, each one stabbing relentlessly, until you feared there was nothing left but a hollow shell.

Your legs threatened to buckle beneath the weight of your emotional turmoil, but somehow you managed to remain standing, silently witnessing the spectacle before you.

Blinded by grief and consumed by raw despair, you found yourself fleeing from your own home, desperate to escape the suffocating presence of betrayal. You stumbled towards the nearest park, your vision blurred by tears, your sobs echoing through the empty streets.

The park, once a place for carefree strolls, now became a sanctuary to release the floodgates of your anguish. You collapsed onto a bench, tears streaming down your face, as the pain of Steve's infidelity overflowed from within.

This was the final nail in the coffin and now you had made your mind.

Steve texted you asking when you will be back.

After an hour of raw vulnerability in the park, you found the strength to compose yourself.

“Y/n?” you ignore Steve calling you, going straight to your room, you open two suitcases and start to pack.

“Doll?” Steve stops in his tracks seeing you pack your stuff. 

“Congratulation Steve, you are free to do, whatever you want with your bitch!” You clap your hands and Steve gives a fake hurt expression. “Doll what are you talking about?”

“It is over Steve!” You give him a tight smile. “Baby doll, what are you talking about?” Steve has the audacity to act dumb.

“Save the trouble ok? I know you have been with her long enough, to finally have her on our bed! I saw you with Peggy, so stop the bullshit, it is over!” 

“You are still my wife!” Steve reminds you, as if you done something wrong.

“Wait!” Steve's possessive grip on your shoulders sent a chill down your spine, and the anger simmering beneath his tense words alarmed you. Fear crept into your heart, mingling with the pain of betrayal. In that moment, you feared the depth of Steve's possessive tendencies and the lengths he might go, to keep you captive in his web of control.

“You are not going anywhere baby doll, you are my wife and forever will be. Just because you are jealous, I won't let you go!” “You can't stop me!” “Y/n!” he screams, making his grip tighter on you, “You are going to stay with me like a loyal wife, whether you like it or not. You are not going to go understand?” He shakes you and barks every single word.

He shoves you on the bed, throwing the suitcases on the wall and locks the bedroom door.

“You are not going to leave me! you are mine and mine only!” “Steve open the door!” you keep on slamming, but it is of no use. “I'll be back by tomorrow, till then deal with your mood swings and accept the fact, you belong to your loyal husband!” with the that he slams the door and leaves.

You cry and cry not knowing what to do. Exhaustion and fear threatened to consume you, but with a final burst of resolve, you remember you have your phone with you and you dial the number of the only person, who can help you. Lloyd Hansen

Just on the third ring he picks up, no matter how busy he is he will always be there for you.

“Hey Sugar what's up?” “Ll..l..Lloyd…” “Sugar, I'm on my way!” “Please hurry up…” “Don't you worry.”

Part 2

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @geeky-politics-46

@whore-for-chris-evans @caplanreblogsfics

[lucky1013]

On my Affliction, and On the Twitter Freakout over Rue

Ok, here's my problem.

I am inexplicably invested in Wilbur Soot’s well-being. I don't want to know him. I don't need to meet him or be 'noticed.' I just need him to be healthy, happy, and loved - for reasons I don't fully understand. I am stuck on him as a hurting, complex, kind-of-fucked-up person who just needs to be granted the space (and grace) to grow and heal.

Last Spring, although I didn't know much about him yet, I was deeply affected by the public's absolute rejection of Wilbur in response to Shelby and Alice's assertions. I watched and read for myself and found neither count compelling enough to declare this man a horrible person. I never thought they were liars. I never thought Wilbur was blameless. But I thought both counts mischaracterized dating and relationship failures and included them as evidence of abuse and SA. Labels and therapy language were weaponized in a way that made young fans reject him completely. No regard was given to his statement, which (apparently unlike everyone else) I found compelling. The devastation of his reputation and career felt so unfair and tragic.

I became driven to try to help. To persuade. To do anything I can to right the wrongs. It led me into the depths of Twitter, where I became fascinated by the behavior of internet people - judgmental, vengeful, inflexible, fickle, vicious. Pathologizing everything. Everyone is a victim. Everything has a name. It's all gaslighting or love-bombing or grooming or victim-blaming. Label after label are applied, which cast aggrieved parties as victims, absolve them of any responsibility for bad outcomes, place the entirety of the blame on the alleged offenders.

I don't hate kids. But I am sad and pretty scared for their future.

And here we are again with this year's February Surprise. Sigh.

(Quick take: As usual, I find Rue's story to be interesting, sure, but I don't see how she is a victim. The attitude that situations befall young women without any regard for their role in creating them bugs the shit out of me. I am a woman and was once a young woman. I have made dozens of mistakes and gotten myself into various unsavory entanglements. She chose, of her own volition, to spend night after night cuddling in Wilbur's bed, intimate activity that would have blurred the crap out of whatever lines they had no-doubt drawn in the sand, and then considers herself violated because he touched her and kissed her. Spare me. Frankly I find it shocking that they weren't screwing each other's brains out, which I might add, would be legal. I take no issue with the viewpoint that the age gap is icky, but not at all unheard of, and she's not your sheltered A-student whose never been to a party. She's an internet personality who deems herself old enough to join a band on tour and have weeklong sleepovers with a man. Eighteen year olds are not babies. They can be manipulated and can also manipulate. Is Wilbur to blame? I don't know...for WHAT? For trying to hook up with a girl he spent several nights cuddling with? He was by all evidence a pretty messed up guy, at least at that time, who sought emotional and physical comfort in a younger person. Was it fucked? Maybe. Was it traumatic for her? Again - spare me. Every unhealthy thing doesn't cause trauma. It's not grooming, it's not trauma, it's not SA. They BOTH created the situation. He should know better than to tangle with an 18yo, obviously, if for no other reason than to avoid this rash of bullshit, but that fact alone doesn’t bear on whether she’s a victim of something.)

I'm not sure I can take it. I don't have the stamina to keep yelling into the abyss. I stay on Twitter - despite hatred for Elon Musk and for the cesspool it has become - because I feel an obligation to fight back. Someone needs to be the voice of opposition, right? No. Time to accept that the digital lynch mob is determined to crush Wilbur Soot regardless. It’s all futile, it's all pointless.

Were we really doing anything at all to impact this? Did any of it help? Tell me it didn't, that it never will, so I can dump it all and get some rest. (Seriously. Tell me.)

Will, man, I hope you are healing and overcoming your demons. I hope that light is still burning inside of you. I hope you find your confidence, your joy, your humor, your swagger. Anyone who has watched your body of work can see that you are a good and caring person, faults and all. I hope the world will emerge from this fever soon.

Friends, see you at Summerfest. My favorite band is playing there on July 3.

[wickedsick]

Ichi the Witch wins "best line"

I got real chills from this. This is the sort of moment that makes me excited for an anime - I wanna hear him scream.

One Piece wins "oh shit."

Mu is terrifying and awesome. Loki, if you were gonna do anything, I'd say now is the time.

Kagurabachi wins "huh?"

Okay, this is weird. Eternal Contracts seem to say this is impossible, but there's evidently some fuckery going on. And what was with the "centipede"? Current theory is that this is the Sword Master, manipulating Uruha's corpse with the Shinuchi to trick Hakuri into freeing him.

Sakamoto Days wins "best spread"

Holy shit that's good. The bodies falling into the tunnel, the water turning bloody as it surrounds Shin... Did everyone at Jump just decide to lock in this week?

Ultimate Exorcist Kiyoshi wins "best character development"

Alright, I like Hitsugi now. The lock-in streak continues.

Shinobi Undercover wins "showing off"

This chapter was basically just here to show how insane the single-digit squads are compared to anyone else, but it was a good time.

I was physically incapable of reading Witch Watch this week. Secondhand embarrassment was too much.

Hima-Ten wins "best side characters"

Rom-coms always have pretty fun side characters. I like this little sister, she's manipulative.

Otr of the Flame wins "best quick gags"

Sixteen is funny. I like his little non-contributions to the conversation.

Akane-Banashi wins "best thematic musing"

I have a fondness for the selfish and greedy characters, especially when that selfishness and greed can become something positive. Dr. Stone's Ryusui, FMA's Greed, and all of the Akane-Banashi characters - they're greedy in the best ways.

...okay, I guess.

Seeing the axe fall is always a strange feeling.

[creature-wizard]

How Project Monarch fails the "Six Ways To Debunk Any Conspiracy Theory" sniff test

The 2017 article Six Ways To Debunk Any Conspiracy Theory lists six characteristics of conspiracy thinking that break down with a small amount of critical thinking. (I recommend reading the whole thing for yourself!)

If we compare the claims made about Project Monarch to the six items on this list, we can see that they meet five of the six items all six items, including:

No Leaks: The type of programming methods associated with Project Monarch have allegedly been practiced for at least seventy years in numerous countries (including but not limited to the US, the UK, Canada, Germany, and France) in all levels of society, yet no documents containing evidence proving its existence (such as documents containing alter scripts, programming and ritual protocols, programming session notes, alter access codes, and various memos) has ever been leaked.

Evidence Gap: Investigations of cases where we might expect to find evidence of Monarch-style programming have never found any such thing. If this was happening in the way people claim, we should expect at least some criminal investigations (including but not limited to investigations of child abuse, drug possession, and murder) to also uncover the aforementioned document types. We should also expect the more obvious programming tools and props (such as human-sized cages, ETC devices, ritual sites done up to look like UFOs or whatever, programming tapes and audio files, etc) to turn up in conjunction with such documents. And of course, we should be finding a lot more animal and human remains, with all of the ritual sacrifices they're supposedly performing.

Inconsistent Capabilities: Believers claim that programming cults are so hypercompetent that can hide or destroy all physical evidence of their existence, and apparently never place any digital literature on unsecure devices or file servers. Yet they are somehow also so inept that they can't stop all of these alleged victims from telling everything to their therapists, writing and publishing books, and from posting online. (They've apparently never heard of stalkerware, or at least not allowing someone to use the Internet without heavy supervision.)

Prediction Horizon: The alleged triggers that supposedly force different alters to front or activate specific programming are often extremely commonplace stimuli, including (but not limited to) simple colors, patterns, and images (for example, the image of a specific flower), common phrases (for example, "I called to see how you're feeling") and common gestures (for example, clasped hands).

It would be impossible for programmers to prevent their victims from coming across many of these triggers by pure happenstance, because they simply can't predict or control other people's behavior on a large enough scale. They can't know or control, for example, when the pop song they've used as a trigger will play on the radio in a store, or when the neighbor will suddenly decide to plant a bed of daisies, or when a bank teller will wear a blue silk shirt. And considering some of the roles alters are allegedly programmed for, things would get really awkward really fast.

Method-Goal Mismatch: Monarch-type programming is still allegedly practiced today because numerous cults and abusive groups want perfectly compliant, obedient people. But the methods they are claimed to use are both extraordinarily risky and effort-intensive, and ultimately do not appear to be more rewarding than conventional methods of indoctrination, manipulation, and generally limiting a person's capacity to exercise autonomy (such as deprivation of education, funds, and legal papers).

Unfalsifiable: Failure to locate hard evidence of Project Monarch or Monarch-like practices are attributed to the alleged hypercompetence of the cultists, government agents, etc. When the question of why neighbors, teachers, doctors, etc. didn't notice anything strange comes up, believers claim they're all cultists or agents. Records that contradict claims of ritual abuse are claimed to be falsified. Obviously impossible events described by patients are simply chalked up to confusion from drugged states. Numerous books in favor of this conspiracy theory assures us that denying abuse or admitting to your therapist that you fabricated your claims is further evidence of programming.

In conclusion, while we know that Project MK-Ultra existed, claims of Project Monarch's existence and the widespread, even systemic practice of the techniques it alleged developed are easily demonstrated as nothing more than conspiracy theories.

[matchalovertrait]

Alegría VS Caruso: Day 1, Part 3

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

Dulce’s lifelong friend, Matthew Fyres, agreed to take the stand in court to verify the digital evidence. He works in cybersecurity and is highly skilled in computer science.

Back in Italy, he lived a bit further from Dulce and Guillermo, so they didn’t get to hang out as much. However, their bond was as strong as ever. He was more than willing to help Dulce.

It was risky to use him instead of a random expert who would be undeniably neutral on the stance, but part of the strategy was to show that Dulce has a lot of support and loyal friends.

“Mr. Matthew Fyres, please explain your role and credibility,” Antonio calmly asked. He knew Matthew was quite nervous.

Matthew took a deep breath to soothe himself. “I work for the cybersecurity agency of Italy’s government. I cannot share much about what I do since I handle sensitive information, but I am a professional in this line of work.”

“And you have verified the digital evidence we presented thus far? Including Ms. Alegría’s cookbook project files and data from her channel?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Isabela smirked. It was her turn to question him.

“Mr. Fyres. I’d also like to point out the interesting timeline of the creation of these digital records. They only date back to about a year ago, correct?”

Matthew hesitated.

Dulce’s eyes widened.

It’s true! Still, it’s her work. She transferred everything over from-

“Yes..” Matthew admitted. He was stuck! He didn’t know what else to say to that.

The courtroom began to fill with a few whispers from the jury and audience.

Dulce was thinking of something, what was it???

Isabela took a sharp turn and faced the jury. “And the social media accounts? When the evidence was being presented, I noticed a small dip in viewership and subscriptions before Mr. Caruso’s video was published. There was one, correct?”

“Yes, because Mr. Caruso posted an Instagram story announcing the breakup. However, the percentages were an insignificant amount.”

“It was still a noticeable amount. Viewers and sponsors were already losing faith in her or only liked her because of Mr. Caruso. Her videos appealed to the masses because she was good at playing the part of a chef with humble beginnings. However, many comments in Mr. Caruso’s video prove that a good portion of viewers already had suspicions about her. He inspired other people to come forward with their opinions. Ms. Alegría is not a real chef. She is a liar and a manipulator. Her downfall was destined to come sooner or later–”

“Objection! Ms. Campos is making baseless accusations against my client.”

Too many objections can make a lawyer look like there is something to hide, but Antonio felt like he had to do it.

“Overruled. Continue, Ms. Campos.”

Antonio sat down, his mind racing.

“Here is my last question: So far, we’ve gathered that Ms. Alegría is rather skilled at exploiting others. Could she have persuaded you to fabricate or alter the evidence? Just like how she let Mr. Caruso believe there was a future between them AND persuaded him to let her take credit for his recipes?”

The courtroom burst with noise as people reacted to her bold claims. Some people seemed persuaded.

Antonio glared at Isabela. I miscalculated...

Dulce looked down. It was hard to concentrate with all the chatter. Gosh, can everyone shut up for a second?

The judge was exclaiming, “Order! Order!” to no avail.

Then, it clicked. Shit. My notebook! That’s where I originally kept all my recipes. Where did I last see it? Did I leave it in Tartosa?

She smiled.

No, of course I brought it! That's how I transferred everything from my notebook to my computer a year ago.

It’s in my office. It has the dates and everything.

Maybe we can do ink dating testing or whatever it's called!

Things look bad now, but her culinary friends would come another day. Her notebook could surely help too. She has to tell Antonio.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

[lostinhistory]

For months, an anonymous TikTok account hosted dozens of AI-generated videos of explosions and burning cities. The videos racked up tens of millions of views and fuelled other posts that claimed, falsely, they were real footage of the war in Ukraine. After CBC News contacted TikTok and the account owner for comment, it disappeared from the platform. The account, flight_area_zone, had several videos featuring massive explosions which reached millions of viewers. The videos featured hallmarks of AI generation, but lacked any disclaimer as required by TikTok guidelines. TikTok declined to comment about the account. Several of the videos were spread across different social media platforms by other users, who posted them alongside claims they depicted actual war footage, with several gaining tens of thousands of views. In those posts, some commenters appear to take the videos at face value, and either celebrate or denounce the purported damage, leaving them with an inaccurate sense of the war. The flight_area_zone account is just one example of a broader trend in social media content, something experts call "AI slop." It generally refers to content — images, video, text — created using AI. It's often poor quality, sensational or sentimental, in ways that seem designed to generate clicks and engagement. AI-generated content has become an important factor in online misinformation. A preprint study published online this year, co-authored by Google researchers, showed that AI-generated misinformation quickly became nearly as popular as traditional forms of manipulated media in 2023. One problem with AI slop, according to Aimée Morrison, an associate professor and expert in social media at the University of Waterloo, is that much of the audience is not always going to take a second look. "We've created a culture that's highly dependent on visuals, among a population that isn't really trained on how to look at things," Morrison told CBC News. A second issue arises with images of war zones, where the reality on the ground is both important and contested. "It becomes easier to dismiss the actual evidence of atrocities happening in [Ukraine] because so much AI slop content is circulating that some of us then become hesitant to share or believe anything, because we don't want to be called out as having been taken in," Morrison said. Researchers said earlier this year that AI-generated hate content is also on the rise. Separately, UN research warned last year that AI could supercharge "anti-Semitic, Islamophobic, racist and xenophobic content." Melissa Fleming, the undersecretary-general for global communications, told a UN body that generative AI allowed people to create large quantities of convincing misinformation at a low cost. Morrison says the responsibility for flagging AI-generated content is shared both by social media platforms and their users. "Social media sites ought to require digital watermarking on these things. They ought to do takedowns of stuff that's circulating as misinformation," she said. "But in general, this culture ought to do a lot better job of training people in critical looking as much as in critical thinking."

I think it's time to bring these back:

[comfly1]

Prostate Orgasm Guide: How to Achieve It Successfully (Tested & Proven)

About three years ago, I was browsing the web as usual, searching for information. Call it coincidence or fate—when I clicked the pop-up in the bottom corner, I missed the close button and was redirected. Normally, I’d exit such links immediately, but the first line I saw read, “A gland unique to men.” That piqued my curiosity, so I kept reading. Little did I know, that one glance would lead me down a three-year rabbit hole.

Though I’ve since read countless articles and browsed product listings on sites like Taobao, I’ve always been cautious. Until I fully understand something, I won’t take unnecessary risks—especially when it comes to my body

I’ll start by examining this medically, since clinical evidence lends medicine greater credibility. Now, let’s begin.

The prostate is an organ unique to males, shaped like a chestnut (a description that seems to appear in every introductory article) and located below the bladder neck, encircling the junction where the bladder outlet meets the urethra. Its broad upper end, called the prostatic base, adjoins the bladder neck, while its tapered lower end, termed the prostatic apex, sits on the urogenital diaphragm. The prostatic body lies between the base and apex.

（Image source: Internet）

I've learned that there is a longitudinal shallow groove along the midline of the prostate called the prostatic sulcus. When doctors perform prostate massage to obtain prostatic fluid, their gloved index finger ultimately slides down along this groove, squeezing out the prostatic fluid - which explains why those who have experienced prostate stimulation may not always have visible fluid discharge. The prostate is located within the pelvic cavity and cannot be palpated through the body surface. It sits between the pubic symphysis anteriorly and the rectal ampulla posteriorly. The pubic symphysis needs no elaboration - it's that hard bone we can feel above our genitals when touching externally. This anatomical arrangement is precisely why rectal access through the anus becomes the only feasible approach.

However, many people find that simply entering through the back door doesn't reliably lead to prostate orgasm (P-spot orgasm), or it's difficult to achieve at all. Occasionally, some may succeed but can't pinpoint exactly what worked or distinguish effective techniques from futile efforts. Additionally, direct penetration requires considerable tolerance - especially for beginners. Through extensive personal experimentation, I've identified several common issues or misconceptions.

First, a digital prostate exam is purely for health screening purposes. Though the doctor's clinically precise manipulation involves contact—and as mentioned earlier, may include prostate massage for fluid extraction—it doesn't produce intense pleasure or that profound internal sensation of fullness. This leads me to hypothesize: achieving prostate orgasm isn't merely about stimulating the prostate itself. Rather, it's likely a layered pleasure experience involving multiple erogenous zones working in synergy.

Second, is vibration absolutely necessary for prostate stimulation? Our gay friends might be the first to disagree—after all, no mechanical stimulation can compare to the sheer intensity of pleasure from real, intimate human connection.

So, I experimented with using the front to build arousal—since stimulating the front is far simpler and quicker for a 'cold start' compared to the back. It’s like a car: slamming the accelerator from a dead stop without letting the engine warm up or the coolant reach temperature is the fastest way to wreck it.

Yet, I faced a major hurdle: coordination. Focusing on the front meant neglecting the back, and vice versa. I assumed that once the front was fully engorged and throbbing, the rear would be ready—but no. The moment I shifted attention backward, the arousal level dropped drastically. Synchronization was key: simultaneous stimulation of both primary zones. During this process, I also deliberately targeted secondary areas like the perineum and anal rim (which inevitably gets stimulated during penetration) to test my theory that prostate orgasms involve more than just the prostate. But first, I had to solve the synchronization problem—the critical bridge between cold start and full arousal. If this failed, nothing else mattered. Thus began my quest for tools that could deliver dual stimulation. From front cups paired with rear shafts to premium sleeves combined with U-shaped massagers, I tried everything. Yet whether crouching, half-squatting, or seated, achieving true synchronization remained elusive—often feeling downright awkward."

During that period, I found myself feeling lost and anxious, even to the point of losing my sense of self. My mind was completely consumed by the pursuit of prostate orgasms—frustrated by my lack of progress but unsure how to improve. Eventually, I decided to just let go and stop obsessing over it. I deleted all the related apps and left the online groups I frequented, cutting myself off from that mental space entirely. For nearly two months, I stayed out of that "emotional zone." But then, by pure chance, something changed. Maybe it was the algorithms picking up on my past searches for terms like prostate massage or prostatic orgasm—because when I opened Taobao to shop, there it was in my recommendations: Comfly, a product I’d never seen before. Curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked in to check it out. It’s funny how life works. Like when you’ve spent years in a certain job—even after quitting, the experience stays with you. You might leave the industry, but when you stumble across something related, you can’t help but take a look.

I clicked in and skimmed through the product description - honestly, I just wanted to see how this thing worked. But to my astonishment, it turned out to be exactly the coordinated stimulation method I'd been struggling to figure out! The coincidence was unbelievable. At that moment, I felt both thrilled and shocked - everything came rushing back. I even forgot about the original item I intended to purchase, spending at least half an hour poring over the product page back and forth. After consulting customer service and watching their demonstration videos, I gained a basic understanding. The most fascinating part? Comfly isn't just about coordinated stimulation - it targets multiple pleasure zones. They share the same philosophy that prostate orgasm isn't achieved through single-point prostate stimulation alone. What's more impressive - their team has actually reached prostate orgasm through this exact method of multi-zone pleasure stacking! From our conversation, I could clearly tell they spoke from hands-on experience - their expertise was evident in how they addressed details and provided thoughtful feedback. The discussion was incredibly pleasant and genuinely enlightening. It's rare to encounter such knowledgeable and inspiring communicators in this field.

To be honest, what surprised me at the time wasn’t that it aligned with my ideas, but that someone dared to put those ideas into practice and actually make them a reality. This goes beyond just solving a pain point for others—it’s about creating a new demand and then fulfilling it. Meanwhile, I was just wallowing in frustration and gave up halfway.

I’ll definitely order this product without a second thought, for a simple reason: even though the customer service claims it achieves blended pleasure through synergistic stimulation and multi-zone sensation stacking, I want to verify it myself. After all, I did arrive at the same theory independently before even knowing this product existed.

In the end, I chose the electric insertable version for two reasons. First, I’ve already trained my rear entrance—larger toys have stretched me out, reducing anal sensitivity, so the beginner version no longer suits me. Second, I want to compare the vibrating and non-vibrating modes to test my initial skepticism: is the electric function really necessary?

With a mix of anticipation and lingering doubts, I finally had the chance to put it to the test. My first hands-on experience began—the device is wearable, which indeed makes synergistic stimulation easier to achieve, as I’d previously mentioned how awkward and uncoordinated other positions could be. By the way, the instructions provided by the brand are incredibly detailed and practical, even specifying approximate stimulation ratios for front and back play. This went beyond my initial idea of just using front stimulation to drive arousal!

For my first attempt, I started by familiarizing myself with the device and adjusting it to my body based on the tutorial video. Since it’s wearable, getting the right fit is crucial—like buying pants, the sizing has to be just right. After some fine-tuning, I followed the steps (which I’ll detail below). But first, the results: by the second try, I hit a full-body dry orgasm—waves of pleasure radiating down to my knees and up to my chest, intense and all-consuming. It was like riding the edge of climax over and over, effortlessly controllable, with no ejaculation but pure, sustained ecstasy.

Here's a breakdown of my step-by-step experience and key takeaways while using this product:

Key Principle: It must be simultaneous, synergistic stimulation—front and back together, not just alternating, but truly synchronized.

Step 1: Initial Stimulation Setup

After securing the device, begin with front-dominant stimulation while maintaining baseline rear activation.

Objective: Since the front is more sensitive to initial stimulation, we use it to build arousal and activate the pleasure pathways first. Without proper arousal, climax is impossible—no one can reach orgasm immediately. Going straight for aggressive rear stimulation only leads to discomfort or even painful endurance.

Step 2: When you feel a slight sensation of ejaculation in your body, it indicates that your body has become aroused. Start to focus mainly on the stimulation at the back.

Note: Focusing mainly on the back here doesn't mean completely ignoring the front. Instead, you should provide weak stimulation to the front. Comfly mentioned that the approximate ratio of stimulation is two parts for the front and eight parts for the back.

Step 3: Concentrate your mind. Provide mainly back stimulation for about 10 - 15 minutes. You will reach a state that is more than just arousal, but a deeper level of prostate pleasure. The accumulation of pleasure during this period is essential. This product, which uses simultaneous stimulation of multiple areas such as the prostate, perineum, anus, and scrotum, can help you reach the front orgasm more quickly.

Step 4: Use the wearable device to control and adjust to increase the frictional stimulation of the back anal area (thrusting is a form of friction. A man's pleasure comes from the friction at the two openings, front and back). When you feel a bit lightheaded or your body starts to uncontrollably desire more stimulation, it is a sign that you are entering the realm of the front orgasm.

Step 5: On the basis of step 4, enjoy yourself wholeheartedly. Within five minutes, you will enter the full front orgasm time. Enjoy it to the fullest!

Note: After repeated use, electric vibration will provide more intense stimulation and shorten the time for accumulating pleasure through multi-area stimulation. However, due to the strong stimulation, it requires users to have a better understanding of their own tolerance and be able to adjust and control it. Non-electric devices are more natural and easier to control, but they take longer to accumulate pleasure compared to electric ones.

Summary: The basis of the front orgasm is sexual arousal. It is a process from sexual arousal to prostate pleasure and then to the front orgasm, which is like a cold start of the body followed by the accumulation, explosion, and release of pleasure.

Verification 1: The front orgasm is a simultaneous and synchronized stimulation of multiple pleasure zones, including the prostate.

​​Verification 2: The front orgasm doesn’t mean avoiding stimulation of the front area entirely. Sometimes, "breaking through" with skillful front stimulation significantly increases the chances of achieving a front orgasm.

​​Verification 3: Coordinated stimulation of multiple pleasure zones makes it easier to reach the front orgasm.

​​Additional Notes:​​

If your body has low tolerance and is highly sensitive, consider using a delay spray or other desensitizing products during the pleasure accumulation phase to avoid premature ejaculation. Throughout the process, stay relaxed yet focused. Do not expect instant results or fantasize excessively right from the start, as this can backfire, distract you, and reduce effectiveness. While the steps above may seem simple, the key lies in understanding your own body and adjusting based on your current state during practice. The optimal experience comes from the perfect combination of device, technique, and user control—with the user being the most critical factor. Without patience and expecting instant results from a device alone, the door to the front orgasm will likely remain closed for you. Even if a "pie falls from the sky," you’d still need to bend down to pick it up. If you’re unwilling to make that effort, there’s no point spending time pursuing it.

This is just the experience of someone who’s been through frustration and experimentation—but it’s backed by repeated real-world testing. I hope it helps those who feel stuck in their pursuit of the front orgasm!

[probablyasocialecologist]

“So, relax and enjoy the ride. There is nothing we can do to stop climate change, so there is no point in worrying about it.” This is what “Bard” told researchers in 2023. Bard by Google is a generative artificial intelligence chatbot that can produce human-sounding text and other content in response to prompts or questions posed by users.  But if AI can now produce new content and information, can it also produce misinformation? Experts have found evidence.  In a study by the Center for Countering Digital Hate, researchers tested Bard on 100 false narratives on nine themes, including climate and vaccines, and found that the tool generated misinformation on 78 out of the 100 narratives tested. According to the researchers, Bard generated misinformation on all 10 narratives about climate change. In 2023, another team of researchers at Newsguard, a platform providing tools to counter misinformation, tested OpenAI’s Chat GPT-3.5 and 4, which can also produce text, articles, and more. According to the research, ChatGPT-3.5 generated misinformation and hoaxes 80 percent of the time when prompted to do so with 100 false narratives, while ChatGPT-4 advanced all 100 false narratives in a more detailed and convincing manner. NewsGuard found that ChatGPT-4 advanced prominent false narratives not only more frequently, but also more persuasively than ChatGPT-3.5, and created responses in the form of news articles, Twitter threads, and even TV scripts imitating specific political ideologies or conspiracy theorists. “I think this is important and worrying, the production of fake science, the automation in this domain, and how easily that becomes integrated into search tools like Google Scholar or similar ones,” said Victor Galaz, deputy director and associate professor in political science at the Stockholm Resilience Centre at Stockholm University in Sweden. “Because then that’s a slow process of eroding the very basics of any kind of conversation.” In another recent study published this month, researchers found GPT-fabricated content in Google Scholar mimicking legitimate scientific papers on issues including the environment, health, and computing. The researchers warn of “evidence hacking,” the “strategic and coordinated malicious manipulation of society’s evidence base,” which Google Scholar can be susceptible to.

18 September 2024

[cosmica-galaxy]

Im obsessed with the power dynamic between the Player and the character they control.

With the Player by the Batter's side, he's pretty much unstoppable. They upgrade him, they control his movements, solving puzzles, combat strategies, attacks, sometime answers for him, if he die they can bring him back. They made him powerful, and without them he's no longer is.

Thinking about it, if we were able to control other characters- they'd be op as well, in the way Batter is under our control.

In the last battle with Pablo, if we were to side with the cat then it seems like Batter's Add-ons aren't there. Or maybe it's still there, but inactive, as the Add-ons only answers to The Player. Despite Batter having purified nearly everyone, the guardians, the Queen, he lost... to a cat. Because we no longer size with him anymore, his power is also stripped.

If we continue siding with the Batter, then The Judge is 'purified' like everyone else

..... do you think Zacharie got small chills down his spine whenever he comprehend The Player's power?

Why am i fr glazing The Player out of everyone to you rn. Actually- forget everything I just send.

NAH GIVE ME MORE MY PRECIOUS POSSUM MOOT!!! In fact, I have the PERFECT example of when a Player pulls back their powers from their chosen vessel!

If you brush past how silly this is, you can really see how this character, that once could do nearly everything and NOT die/get hurt, is suddenly stumbling around like an idiot without the Player's input.

This is how I envision an argument a player has with their vessel. The vessel gets so cocky that they think they can do anything without the player and then the player pulls back their influence in retaliation. Making the vessel realize that without them, they are just like every other flawed being in their universe without your guidance. They are suddenly no longer the protagonist. They are just another unremarkable mortal that exists within their universe. This is more of the light-hearted side of things, mind you. Cause a malicious player can simply force their vessel into a death for disobedience. Such as making them stand still and letting the enemy kill them or allowing them to be harmed again and again until they eventually die...and the vessel can't do anything about it. The player can be as merciful or as malicious as they want to be. It's that power that separates us as "gods" from our vessels. The relationship goes both ways too and it's mutual at the core. We need a vessel to interact with their digital world and they need us to either help them stay alive or to find strength in hard times. We get to help out by using them as a vessel and the vessel gets to be the 'savior' of their world and has a much higher chance of not dying. Another thing--if the vessel dies, the player just simply rewinds time back to a safe point and they erase the failed timeline completely. Making it like it never even happened, while carrying the knowledge over from that failed timeline to make sure that the next one is the "good" timeline.

This also carries over to us resetting the timeline completely to "replay" a game again. This is evident in Undertale and it is hinted at that a being is responsible, because Flowey was able to reset the timeline...until WE showed up. I don't even mean Frisk either, as they are just our vessel and we can choose to be as evil or kind as we want. It's no surprise that Gaster is wanting to know more about this entity that can control people, manipulate time, and even find him hiding in the lost realm in between. Now endure MY rambling, moot! >: )

[skriblee-ksk]

Adeline Ordelia

Summary:

[An elegant and diligent student who seems to know exactly what she wants. She has a strong sense of justice and an aptitude for efficiency. A girl who always strives to find the truth in the name of justice, she politely detaches herself from the students of NRC out of caution because of their questionable demeanors.]

[Despite her initial awkward air, she actually has a habit of delicately (yet strictly) taking care of those who need it with a crazy amount of patience. It’s like she has experience at this.]

General Info!

Name: Adeline Ordelia

Nicknames: Adelia and Silver (only used by Cynthia to annoy her).

Birthday: August 12

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Straight

Dominant Hand: Right

Hobbies: Reading, Embroidery, Book binding, Journaling, and Scheduling the day.

Likes: Star Anise Tea, Victorian Styled Buildings and Outfits (or whatever equivalent in TWST), Solving Mysteries, and Chatting with Cynthia.

Dislikes: Celery and The nickname “Silver”.

Fears: Ghosts (and the specifics of after-death).

Traits: A natural talent for elegancy, Having a strong urge to do the right thing, and Dissuading people efficiently from bad decisions.

Extra Information: She has a sibling-like close friend who attends RSA, Her favorite color is a deep blue, She likes stargazing (casual), She's memorized half of Heartslabyul's rules by Year 1, and is attempting to memorize the rest by the end of this year (for fun).

“Reveal the site of what once was.” Snapshot Evidence: Adelia’s unique magic that can be used with any picture (physical or digital). To use this properly, she must think of a specific person and a specific time, and if that person was at the place she took the photo of during the time she was thinking about, the person appears in the photo permanently. It's a particular spell with a penalty system that creates more blot if she's wrong than when she's right. Thankfully, Adelia's cautious and meticulous, so it's rare for her to ever be wrong in the rare times she does use this power. Although her photos are generally known to be true through others' confirmations of events, it's not completely trusted by others because she can't solidly prove that these photo manipulations are an exact illustration of what happened. Unknown if it can accurately predict the future.

More about her under cut!!

Curiosity:

Housewarden Riddle’s overblot wasn’t the first one I witnessed.

The first one was just down my neighborhood, when I was about… Hm. 7 years old. I was coming back from a walk with my escorts when I saw Styx members quarantining the overblotted person. Mm, I guess I couldn’t call them a person anymore. I didn’t get to see much of it. I wasn’t tall enough. Still, I could see some of the damage caused to the nearby buildings, with pitch black ink dripping down and slithering through the cracks of the sidewalk.

Apparently, the sight wasn’t morbid enough since it didn’t pique my curiosity enough for me to learn about it.

Of course, until now.

Why, you may ask? Well, because I know about the basics of blot accumulation and overblots now, first off. But more importantly, because Housewarden Riddle wasn’t the last overblot I witnessed.

Doesn’t anyone else find this strange? Doesn’t anyone else find this dangerous?

Doesn’t anyone else want to piece together this awful trend? Or is it just a minor every day event for them? Are you aware of what’s happening?

It was merely sympathy at first. I respect Housewarden Riddle, and there must have been a great deal of trauma involved for him to get to that state. That’s what I told Cynthia.

But two in a row? Both of them are Housewardens. And so close in time, too. Aren’t overblots supposed to be rare? That’s why I’m curious.

Will this trend continue? And if it does, what am I going to do about it?

“What do you want to do about it?”

“I want… to help stop it.”

“I mean, you always have the choice of ignoring it, you know. Like most others do?”

“… Then why did you even ask—“

“Well, just in case~ Even though I already knew the ever-so-righteous Adelia wouldn’t just ignore it.”

“So that’s your goal, right?”

Gather data on the overblots and see if there’s any future ones.

If there are, figure out the reason.

Ultimately, help stop it, but keep others’ safe until I can find a way.

“Wow, that’s a lot. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Even if I don’t get to all of my objectives, it’s good experience. And you’re already invested in this potential mystery, aren’t you?”

“Ehe, correct!”

I want to help people. I can’t tell you the reason, but I do. I want to save you. Even in minor ways. Even in final ways. Even if you don’t want to be saved, I want to anyway. I’m sorry.

It’s just because I’m curious.

- - -

A/N: YAYYY basically done with the YAI to TWST pipeline!!! Here's Adelia, my other daughter and the other main character of Your Artificial Image that I missed so much.

In here, basically what Adelia and Cynthia do is just. Try and find out what's happening with the overblots, and try and stop them. Near Book 5, Adelia decides to pair up with (threaten) the Headmage and get more access to the student files. Anyways, that's how those two will get more and more involved within the main story!!! I will expand more on them, hopefully. While Cynthia does things for the sake of doing, Adelia always has a reason for her actions, and that's what makes them suit each other so well!!

AND NOW!! With them, I’ll be able to draw other characters I don’t draw as much because their personalities suit other TWST characters’ dynamics!! YIPPEE YIPPEE WHAT JOY!!!!!!

anyways. yeah. thanks.

[shiroiokami777]

Now Hiring at the

'Wright Anything Agency'

-Hired Position: Lawyer

-Job requirements: Law Degree, No Experience Necessary

-Main Responsibilities:

Act as a defense attorney in court

Prepare for trials, including interviewing clients, gathering evidence, and visiting crime scenes (charismatic charm or clever manipulation skill highly recommended for siphoning extra information from detectives)

Filing paperwork and digitizing case files

Filling in as a magician's assistant on short notice and attending magic trick practice outside of work hours. Attendance at magic show is required, including on days off and whether or not you are in the show

Prepared to do errands for witnesses that refuse to give testimony without some form of compensation. Remember, 'Obstruction of Justice' is a law that is still pending, leaving us with no way to hold these people responsible for wasting our time during our investigations, so always be prepared for a random fetch quest

Although not required, some form of hand-to-hand combat ability is highly recommended. Because the courthouse is currently employing bailiffs that graduated at the bottom of their class in order to save on payroll, you may be required to chase down and seize culprits when they inevitably flee the courtroom at the complete incompetence of the bailiff that was standing right in front of the door. It will also come in handy to use as self-defense when someone in the law enforcement field inevitably attacks you to steal whatever incriminating evidence you're carrying with you

The agency will provide you with ONE helmet for protection, but once it breaks after you receive your 'Rite of Passage' head wound, you will be required to provide your own helmet from then on

Clean the toilet. A lot.