#‘bid’ and ‘bidding’ don’t feel like real words to me anymore

[regscupid]

1/7 prompt: headache (1113 words) - @jegulus-microfic

Every year at the start of football season, Regulus’ university team holds its annual Boy Toy Charity Auction. A makeshift stage and runway are set up in whatever large, open space the event planners can secure and the players are sent out, one by one, to sell themselves to the highest bidder for the night. It’s a win for everyone really– the money goes to a good cause, the bidders get to go on dates with their pick of ‘the hottest guys on campus’, and the football players get nice, long, strokes to their egos. Regulus couldn’t have cared less about the whole thing.

And yet, here he stands in a room packed tight with people who have spent the whole night ready to throw their money at every attractive man to walk down the runway, too-loud music and voices speaking over each other sending Regulus hurtling towards a headache. Most players have already been bid on, and Regulus can feel himself getting restless.

He only came because Sirius insisted. Absolutely not because James, Sirius’ best friend and the guy he’d been mildly pining over since he was twelve, would be a part of the auction. Even less so because there had been a recent shift in their relationship, barely concealed hope growing a bit with every interaction between them. He wasn’t desperate to see who would bet on James, and how James reacted to it. Not at all.

“Do you think they’ll bid out the sound guy?” Sirius cranes his neck to get a good look at the tall man on the side of the stage, clearly trying to do as much of his job as possible without being seen. Regulus recognizes him immediately as Remus Lupin, the TA in one of his classes.

Regulus scowls, “I don’t know? I don’t care.”

Sirius bites his lip, still distracted by Remus when Regulus’ words seem to register. He turns back to Regulus, squinting. “Just because you’re getting impatient waiting for your choice bid doesn’t mean you get to have an attitude. No one likes a grouch.”

“I’m not bidding on him,” he mumbles.

Sirius nods with a look of mock contemplation, “So you’re fine with someone else bidding on him then?”

Regulus ignores the way his face heats up and his chest tightens at the thought, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll live.”

The music fades as the man at the podium begins to announce the next player.

“Alright, this is our last boy for the night, so get excited and turn out those pockets! Remember, this is for a good cause!” The music swells as the crowd cheers.

James Potter has always thrived on attention. Regulus figured it had to be some mix of being an only child and being as attractive he is. It had to have gone to his head.

So, it’s unsurprising when he bounds onto the stage, smile blinding as people in the crowd whoop and wolf whistle. Regulus watches dumbfounded as he struts to the end of the runway, before reaching down and pulling his jersey over his head, revealing the “BOY TOY” painted across his chest.

“Here we have team captain and heartthrob, James Potter! Do we have a first bid?” The announcer has to all but yell into the microphone to be heard over the crowd.

“Eighty dollars!”

“Jesus,” Sirius laughs. Regulus is not laughing.

“Eighty dollars! Do I hear eighty-five?”

Panic grips Regulus as the bid gets higher and higher. Most bids that night hadn't even reached eighty dollars, yet alone started there. Before his senses can kick in, he’s calling out a bid of his own.

“One hundred and ten!” Just out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sirius turn toward him, mouth agape. His face burns, and he can’t look at James, but he has already committed to it.

“One hundred ten! Is there a one-fifteen?

“One hundred and fifty dollars!” a woman somewhere in the crowd calls. Regulus grits his teeth.

“One-eighty,”

“One-ninety!”

Regulus groans under his breath, too aware that he only had two hundred dollars in his wallet at the moment. He turns to Sirius, who's watching with wide eyes and an amused grin. “Do you have cash on you?”

“Yeah, fifty. Why?”

“Give it to me.”

“What? No.”

“Please for the love of god, Sirius, I’ll pay you back and introduce you to the sound guy, I know him. Just do this one thing for me.”

“One-ninety going once!”

“Fine.”

“Two-fifty!”

When no one attempts to outbid him, Regulus lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in since the bidding started. He finally looks at James as he begins walking backward on the runway. His smile has turned into a smirk, and he winks at Regulus before turning around and jogging backstage. Regulus’ stomach curls into not entirely unpleasant knots.

“I can’t believe I just agreed to give you fifty bucks to get with my best friend.” Sirius mumbles, before a slightly delirious laugh bubbles out of him. “I knew you couldn’t handle someone else bidding on him.”

Regulus chooses not to respond, only shoving his arm instead.

Everyone begins clearing out, either disappointed that they didn’t win any dates, celebrating their winning bids, or simply buzzing from the dramatic end to it all.

“Better go see your ‘date’. Tell Prongs to have you home by midnight or I’ll hunt you both down.”

Regulus scowls, but there's no real bite to it, the nerves beginning to get to him. He says goodnight, then works his way to the table set up next to one of the doors for payment. Just as he’s finished telling the woman his name and handing over the money, he catches James standing a few feet behind him. His arms are crossed over his chest and Regulus has to try very hard not to look down at his biceps. Not that looking at his grin dead-on was much better.

“If you wanted to go on a date that bad you could’ve just asked, you didn’t have to drop two hundred and fifty dollars on me.”

Regulus is hyper-aware of the woman sitting there watching them. So, with the payment all taken care of, he steps away from the table, expecting James to follow him out of the building. He does.

“Don’t get a big head about it.”

James rests his hand on his chest and faux-gasps, “How can I not when the Regulus Black wants that badly to go on a date with me?”

“...Do you think they do refunds?”

“No, you’re stuck with me.” James’ smile softens, and Regulus can’t help the small smile that pulls at his own lips.

[ylangelegy]

like real people do ☢️ seungcheol x reader.

little is known about the apocalypse of 2017. a century later, archivists are now unveiling the relics they found from those who lived through that time.

★ seungcheol x reader.  ★ word count: 2.1k ★ genre: alternate universe: apocalypse, alternate universe: soulmates (the only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye), angst, romance. ★ warnings: major character death. depictions of death/violence, injuries/scars. established relationship; suggestive scenes but no real smut. set in a fictional apocalyptic world. doubling down on the angst warning; i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending. ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. viv gave me an inch (a request for angsty seungcheol) and, in turn, i am giving her a mile (a whole thing instead of just a ficlet). mahal kita, @heartepub! this will be the last hozier brainrot i offer you— for now. + much thanks to @gyubakeries and @tusswrites for beta reading! love you both to the end of the world. ❤️‍🩹

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ like real people do by hozier. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex. i know the end by phoebe bridgers. fourth of july by sufjan stevens. interlude: i’m not angry anymore by paramore. atlantis by seafret. end of beginning by djo. nobody’s soldier by hozier.

When the fish started dying, you did not think: This is how the world will end.

Why would you? The decimation of marine mammals and seabirds didn’t make the news. The misguided scientific breakthrough that triggered everything was kept under wraps.

It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 

The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.

There’s some cruelty in the timing of it all. The two of you had just moved in with each other, coasting on the honeymoon phase of a long-term couple with a new thing to share. The paint on your apartment’s walls had yet to dry when the government declared a state of national emergency.

Dozens of other countries followed suit not long after, all blaming one thing or the other. Food crises. Social unrest. Cultural collapse. 

“This is crazy,” Seungcheol grumbles. 

The television is playing clips of a hurricane tearing through the Philippines. Extreme weather conditions, the reporters are saying. Due to the rise of CO₂ levels. 

You and Seungcheol are sprawled out on the floor, watching it unfold. The furniture store meant to deliver your couch has delayed shipment until further notice. 

Seungcheol has always been the sulky type, though the expression on his face nowadays has been less of his trademark pout and more of a serious frown. You can feel his growing agitation in the stiff way he holds you, in the set of his eyebrows. 

“It’s crazy,” you agree quietly, resting your hand on his knee in a bid to calm him a bit. “But it’ll pass.” 

Your touch seems to give some sort of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders. He unclenches his jaw. 

“It’ll pass,” he echoes, reaching out to intertwine your fingers. 

Neither of you knew just how wrong you could be. 

April 8, 2017 

Weird times. Cheol knows just how anxious I get when I’m cooped up, so he encouraged me to pick up journaling. I’m not sure how much this will help, but it’s worth a try. 

It’s been a month since everything has essentially gone on ‘lockdown’. The news says that all of this started because researchers wanted to regulate harmful algae. Their genetically engineered virus ended up infecting all algae, and now the majority of phytoplankton are just... dead. 

I don’t know what to write about. Terrible oxygen levels? Seafood costing a fortune? This ‘work from home’ system everyone is trying to figure out? 

I guess I should just write about the good stuff. That way, when I look back on these entries, I can remember something good.

Today, Cheol tried to fix a leaking faucet himself instead of calling for a plumber. We flooded the kitchen floor, and ended up wet from head to toe.

I cooked pasta, called mom and dad on Skype, and watched the latest episode of Santa Clarita Diet. 

Once everything opens up again, Cheol and I have to visit my parents. (And ‘get better screwdrivers’, he claims.) 

When Seungcheol first kissed you, you did not think: This man is my soulmate. 

It had been a clumsy, shy thing, traded way back when the two of you were high schoolers still stealing away from your eagle-eyed parents. Seungcheol liked to wax poetics about how it was perfect even though you know that first kiss was more a clash of teeth than anything. 

You don’t discover the truth of everything until a couple of years into dating. Seungcheol had gotten into playing basketball, and, one evening, you absentmindedly pressed your lips to a scar he had at the bend of his elbow. 

The mark smoothed out instantly. 

Seungcheol had giggled at the development before spending the rest of the night kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach— injured or not. You still think it’s one of your best memories as a couple. 

Kisses that healed scars. You hadn’t believed in the stories yourself until it had happened to you, until you realized how fortunate you were that your soulmate wasn’t halfway across the world or something. No, you had your soulmate, and he was more than willing to kiss away all your wounds. 

You had counted yourself as lucky. You still think you are, even now, as Seungcheol strokes your hair and holds you to his chest in the pitch black darkness of your apartment. 

His voice is quiet and small when he speaks up. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” you mutter back. 

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined,” he says. “For us moving in together and everything.” 

An amused snort escapes you. Of course that would be your boyfriend’s concern. There’s the rotational power outages and the merciless prices of goods due to inflation, but Seungcheol is worried about your expectations not being met. 

You shift in his hold. The days have been getting warmer and warmer, and the evenings are no exception. Seungcheol has taken to sleeping shirtless. You’re a couple of celsius away from doing the same. 

“It’s not your fault that we decided to move in together for the end times,” you say into the skin of his bare chest. 

He gives the small of your back a light thwack. “What have I said about the apocalypse jokes?” he chides lightly. 

You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”

His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 

Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces. 

He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 

“Cheol,” you whine against his mouth, the protest already at the tip of your tongue. The end is near; sex should be the last thing on your mind. 

But then Seungcheol’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, and he sounds so, so sweet when he mumbles, “Yes, soulmate?” 

That’s always gotten to you. 

“Unfair,” you groan as you work on shucking off your own clothes. “You’re so unfair.” 

In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 

June 15, 2017 

Cheol and I are on the run. 

He keeps telling me not to call it that because it supposedly makes us sound like criminals. I think it’s just funny, and God knows I need something to find humor in. 

As badly as I want to say “we have gone through worse before,” that would be a lie. We’re out of our apartment and trying to make our way to some place where there’s better air quality. In the meantime, we’re living out of his car. It’s so funny to me that I’ve started laughing until I’m crying. 

Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!”

Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 

When Seungcheol finally admits to you that he is scared, you did not think: This means that things are much, much worse than I thought. 

Maybe because there were bigger concerns, like the car’s blinking fuel warning light and the scratches littering Seungcheol’s arms. Like the fool that he was, he had gone against your well-meaning advice to not look for help. 

He did not return unscathed. 

Your lips are pursed in a thin line as you rip open a Band-Aid. It’s one of the few that the two of you have left, and Seungcheol seems to remember the fact. He reaches out to stop you. 

“Hey, c’mon,” he urges, obviously trying to aim for levity. “You know there’s other ways we can fix me up, right?”

The frown that tugs at your lips shows that you’re still less-than-pleased at his little stunt. 

“Maybe if you didn’t head out in the first place,” you grumble. “We wouldn’t need any of this.” 

Seungcheol looks like he might push back, but seems to decide against it at the last minute. Instead, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives you a gentle tug. 

“It won’t happen again.” His tone is edged with remorse, enough to almost convince you. Almost. 

“No more playing hero?” you ask. 

A corner of his lip twitches upward. “No more playing hero,” he concedes before tugging at you again. 

You let him. You move closer into his space until you’re practically in his lap, until you’ve got a better view of the angry red cuts on his skin. 

Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 

After a moment, he mumbles, “Is it bad that I want you right now?” 

“Seungcheol.” 

“Okay, okay.” A beat. “I want you all the time, actually.” 

“Shut up!”

The sound of his laughter fills the car. It’s enough to have you forgetting his murmured confession of fear, the vulnerability that he had tried so quickly to cover up with affection. For a moment, there is nothing else in the world except this, except you, except him. 

September 23, 2017

Is it weird to say that I’m starting to forget what it was like before all of this happened? Cheol is trying to assure me that it’s to be expected, that we’ll all be back to ‘normal’ soon, but I don’t even remember what normal is like anymore. 

I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. And so here is a small list of things I took for granted: 

The first breeze that tells you winter is coming 

The kindness of people who don’t know you 

The smallest fish in the sea

Date nights with Cheol 

Clean water 

Breakfast

My parents

Cheol says there might be some biodomes ahead. Oxygen-regulated habitats. It sounds like something only the rich can afford. We don’t have a lot left between the two of us, and it’s getting harder to jump from building to building. 

But there’s something waiting for us on the other side— right? There has to be. 

May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 

When the gunshot rang out, you did not think: This is it.

Seungcheol never gave you any reason to think that way. He had held your hand as you raided rundown grocery stores. He had positioned himself in front of you when there were stampedes. The world might have been ending, but he was with you.

He was with you even when the strangers you ran into started getting more aggressive. He was with you even when fights would break out over necessities like water and medicine. 

“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind.

He was with you. He was kind. He was yours. 

Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 

There is not much that you remember after that. 

The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor.

The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky.

When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 

You kiss him. Again.

And again. 

And again. 

December 1, 2017

The kisses don’t work on bullet wounds. 

▸ Archivist’s note: The following entries are undated and some portions had been redacted/deemed untranscribable. We are led to believe that the author struggled to cope in the aftermath of their soulmate’s death. For posterity, we have still reprinted their final entries.

You’re so unfair. 

I still want you. 

Things I took for granted: ███████, you, ███████, youyouyou. 

What now? 

My love, it’s only a matter of ███████—

▸ Archivist’s note: Nothing follows.

This concludes our transcribed logs. The full collection can be viewed at the National Museum of Remembrance.

It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. 

We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 

[pullupinarari]

Who I am away from the lights [LH]

author’s note: this season was hell, but this is just a little something about the end of an era. I keep crying like a bitch so don't mind me, just wanted to write a little something about today.

‼️ disclaimer: this is a work of FANFICTION, I don't mean, by any way, to try and describe Lewis how he might or might not be in real life. 90% of what you are about to read is a product of my imagination. This isn't an essay, I'm not stating facts, I am just writing what comes to my mind without the intention of causing any harm. All the descriptions that you're about to read were just made up by me!

• masterlist

wc: 4646 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

Lately, Lewis’ mind has been working as an album made of memories. Every single movement makes his brain search for a reminder of every thing that he has lived for the past years of his career. 

Feeling more thoughtful now than ever, he finds the need to be alone for a minute, away from all the noise, from all the eyes. 

Lewis knows he isn’t the same person today that he was when he first got to F1. As the years pass by, the man finds himself continuously growing, in a never ending learning experience through life. 

Nowadays, the man often finds himself remembering the bold Lewis from 2007, who got his chance in Formula 1 to prove his worth. The adrenaline rushing through his veins would fuel his brain during every race, almost in a reckless way, making him show everyone how hungry he was for that opportunity. 

Walking around his trophy room, each award triggering a memory - and when his eyes land on his first World Drivers’ Championship trophy, a soft smile plays in his features. Winning his first championship in his second season in F1 really must mean something, no?

Looking back on 2013, the 28 year-old who moved from McLaren to Mercedes only had one purpose: to follow his heart, to be part of something that had the ability to grow and become special.

He knew he had it in him to make a change, to help create something bigger, something historical. And no words can describe the feeling of pride, joy, and even melancholy spreading through his chest when he looks at everything he conquered at Mercedes. Six world championships for his personal account, eight constructor’s championships for the team - alongside an uncountable number of pole positions, podiums, and victories. The move that everyone considered to be crazy, a take so risky into the unknown, became something historical. 

Apart from all the trophies, the numerous champagne celebrations, the glory, there’s something bigger that was built over time: the sense of being surrounded by a newfound family. 

Eleven years ago, Lewis felt like he had found his place, the team he would retire with. And, until recently, it would have never even crossed his mind that he would be getting ready to say goodbye to Mercedes - bidding them farewell, only to meet them on track, while wearing a different color, driving a different car. 

The truth is, as years went by, Lewis grew up and developed who he is while inside this sport. Today, he is not as bold as the 22 year-old Lewis was - he makes sure to make more thoughtful decisions, to try and manage his own feelings in a much wiser way - even if, sometimes, that feels impossible to him.

He needs to remind himself that his decisions don’t just influence his own life anymore. Now, he has you - to be accurate, you have been a part of his life for eight years now. And a love as strong as yours couldn’t fit just inside your hearts, creating the most important piece of your lives: your three year-old daughter Grace, who is now the reason for every single one of Lewis’ decisions. 

Lewis is absolutely devoted to his family, finding his safe haven in your arms, in Grace’s laughs. 22 year-old Lewis would find it hard to deal with all the problems and anger that would burst into his veins after a bad day. The 39 year-old Lewis feels eager to get home after a bad day, so he can smell his daughter’s hair, watching the way she smiles while he hugs her tight - only to end up cuddled in bed with his wife, the one who makes life seem so much easier when he is next to you, surrounded by a comfortable silence, just allowing himself to melt at your caring touch. 

The driver finds in his family the protective bubble to wrap himself in when things get tough. It has always been like this: you are the shoulder he cries on, you are the one who makes him laugh, caring for each other like your lives depend on it. 

To tell the truth, the last few seasons have been rough: on the team, on Lewis, and on your family. 

Ever since that fateful end of the 2021 season in Abu Dhabi, it feels like things just started crumbling down, piece by piece. The next few seasons seemed like nothing was working out, none of the solutions were making sense. 

But still, Lewis - the devoted man, the devoted driver, was dedicated to work alongside the team, firmly believing that Mercedes would be able to overcome the surfacing problems. 

There’s only so much one can take, though. Weekend after weekend, first a terrible qualification, then a bad race, Lewis would have to pretend like everything was fine, forcing himself to lie to journalists, doing his part until the front door of your house closes. 

It’s only in the safety of your arms that your husband lets his cover down, allowing the biggest of sighs to leave his body, letting all of his anger, guilt, doubts out of his frame, watching them hover in the air, almost creating a cloud on the ceiling of your bedroom, that seemed to chase him everywhere he went. 

Every weekend it’s the exact same: Lewis tries his best to put his feelings to the side, focusing on pretending that everything is okay, playing his part in this theater act that he is a part of now, feeling like a puppet in the other's hands. 

Apparently, he is very good at seeming that way, since everyone appears to buy every one of his words. However, the man can’t stop feeling like everything he does is a lie. 

Who is he, when he is away from the lights? He is a caring husband, a dedicated father, and he wishes he could have more time for you and Grace - and no other weight leans as heavily on his shoulders as the guilt of constantly being away from his family, losing so many important moments of his baby growing up.

Lewis keeps fighting a silent battle with himself: whether he should keep racing or retire - dedicating himself more to his family and his other projects, or whether he should take the offer he has on the table or stick with Mercedes. 

He knows your opinion about it - it’s his decision, and whatever he thinks is best for him, you will always be by his side to support him. You can’t deny that you would love for Lewis to finally slow down, to spend more time at home, just so you could stop holding your heart in your hands every time you watch him hopping into a race car. 

But you know he won’t do it just yet. He still has it in himself, and you see it every time you look into his eyes: the fire that keeps glistening inside of him, that passion that drives him to keep going, the wish to fight for an eighth title. You are just patiently waiting for him to understand that, deep down in himself. 

Even if he has been acting like he is fine, he allows his real feelings to show when his head is hidden in the crook of your neck, the vulnerability pouring from his form while you hold him close, hearing the small whimpers leaving his body as he sniffles quietly. His mind has become a whirlwind of thoughts, questions, doubts, insecurities, not knowing what to do anymore - his real state contrasting so heavily with the unbreakable persona that talks to the cameras. 

Tired of feeling like he keeps falling even further behind, your husband uses the silence to do some introspection. Sitting down in his home office, he rubs his hands together soothingly, as his eyes travel across some of his prizes, pictures, memories of his career so far.  

The realization of everything that has been happening from the past few seasons kills him: seeing the team that he helped put on top, not making it; seeing the struggles, the miscommunication, the never-ending problems that don’t stop piling up.

As much as he tries, Lewis feels like it’s not enough: he can’t take the weight of everything that happens on his shoulders, it’s not fair. He shouldn’t be the one trying to come up with answers about all the problems surrounding an entire team when he is just a piece of the puzzle. 

He shouldn’t feel like he is on the edge of a knife every time something goes wrong - as he should definitely not be the only one giving his chest to the bullets, getting little to no support from his own team, nowadays. This is the reason why he believes that, the longer he stays, the further his salvation slips away.

Over the years, he has met the conception of a family in Mercedes. And it hurts to find himself analyzing the possibilities of going to different teams. But sometimes, we need to let go of what’s holding us back, give a step back to be able to move forwards. 

Lewis understands that, there’s moments in life when we have to be selfish and put ourselves first, before anyone else. And that’s what he keeps in mind while making his decision: he can’t continue putting a team first that hasn’t been able to give back to him, lately. 

On the other hand, the man knows that he won’t be driving for much longer. He is nearly 40 now, and still holds an uncountable list of dreams yet to fulfill, outside of F1. He wants to be a more present father, he wants to have more babies with you, he wants to develop more projects with the ideas that keep swirling around his brain at night. 

Your husband wants nothing more than to continue opening the way to people that hold a story similar to his own, he wants to make a difference. But, inside the sport, he still has one childhood dream to complete: driving in Ferrari red. 

Spending most of his time trying to make a decision, deep down, Lewis knows what he has to do. Even if everyone doubts his move, even if everyone wants to give their opinion: this is his decision and no one else's.

After putting Grace to bed, you and Lewis meet amongst your bed sheets, your limbs intertwining as you have the night time just for yourselves. Lying your head on his chest, his fingers play with your hair as he kisses your forehead softly. 

You usually use this moment to talk about your daughter, about your days, and even about the future. But tonight, you can see it in your husband’s eyes, in his body language, that he has something to say. His muscles feel tense, his breathing is deep, his replies to you sound shallow, like his mind is somewhere else. 

- What’s wrong, Lew? Come on, spit it out. - you encourage him, dedicating your entire attention to what he has to say. 

Taking a deep breath, he finally speaks up.

- I have made my decision, love. - he quietly says, his hand still caressing your scalp. 

Nodding your head, you signal for him to continue his train of thought. 

- I’ve decided to go red. It’s a dream that I’ve always had, and now I have a chance to go for it. I know you want me to stop, but I need to write this page in my book, love. I know I still got it, and I know this opportunity didn’t reach my hands in vain. - his eyes examine your features, searching for a reaction from you. 

Lewis was anxious to tell you, afraid that you might be hurt by his decision - putting the sport in front of everything else, once again. But instead, he is met with a loving smile on your lips. 

- I knew it, baby. I knew from the beginning that you were going to choose Ferrari. I know it was a tough decision to make, but honestly, I think it’s the best one for you now. You deserve another chance, my love, and I’m glad you finally realize that inside of yourself. It was only a matter of time. - your lips connect with his in a kiss of security, protectiveness, shushing away all his fears. - And even if things don’t go as planned, you know you will never be alone. You have your two biggest supporters right here. Plus, I look better in red anyways. - Lewis giggles at your words, hugging you closer as your hand caresses his features. 

There’s a feeling of comfort in your heart, knowing that your husband has made the decision that he finds best for his future, but it’s also a weird sensation. Looking back, ever since you started dating Lewis, he was already at Mercedes - so, in a way, Mercedes has been your family for the past eight years as well. 

They were there when you and Lewis got married, they were there when Grace was born - they’re still there when you take her to some of the races, playing with your toddler, showing her around, teaching her everything about the racing world. So, even if you act like it’s not, it will be hard for you to let go of every moment you have shared with the group as well.

Saying goodbye to a team that has been his family for over a decade will definitely not be easy, but tonight, under the light of your bedside lamp that gently illuminates your bodies, Lewis knows that he will be alright. 

And as the season comes to an end, reality starts hitting him: it is really coming to an end, and he will really have to say goodbye to the team that he considers his family, to the garage that he considers his home. In just a few months, everything will be completely different. 

The last few weeks have been emotional for Lewis - he doesn’t regret the choice he made, but there’s a bitter feeling in saying goodbye to Mercedes, after conquering so much together. 

So, when the driver sits next to his daughter, he takes a look at what she is drawing. 

- Daddy, look! That’s me, mummy, you and Roscoe! - the toddler says, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the pencils in front of her as she points to every member of your family. 

Lewis takes a moment to inspect the drawing, noticing how the little girl even tried to draw him wearing his racing suit, the purple and yellow over his head signaling that he had his helmet on.

- That’s so beautiful, princess! You are such a talented artist. - a genuine smile plays on Lewis’ lips, his arm easily wrapping around the girl’s small figure, hugging her as he leaves a kiss on her cheek. 

Grace giggles at the compliment, giving her daddy a kiss back, before a frown appears on her face.

- I was trying to draw your car, but I can’t, daddy. Can you help me? - the three year-old shyly asks, earning another kiss from her daddy as he scoots closer to the table, grabbing a pencil as well.  - Do you want to draw daddy’s racing car? - he confirms, getting a nod from his baby. 

Handing her the pencil, his hand holds her little one, helping her trace the lines of something similar to a racing car. These are the moments that he cherishes, that he yearns to have more and more of as he senses time ticking by. 

He looks at Grace, and he notices how fast she is growing, developing her personality and interests in front of him, and he just prays that he won’t miss much of her life while he is away. He hopes that, somehow, she can wait for him to grow, so Lewis can be the father that he always dreamed of being, being faithfully by his girl’s side.

- Are you excited to go to daddy’s last race before Christmas? Yeah? - he asks, smiling as his princess excitedly nods her head. She hasn’t been to many races yet, but she seems to love the paddock, the garage, and everything surrounding the races. - Is this the one when we are saying goodbye, daddy? - the girl absently asks, leaning her head on her dad’s chest, her big eyes looking up at him. 

After a second of silence, Lewis replies. 

- Yes. Yes it is, love. - he kisses his daughter’s forehead, reality hitting him. This is it. - Can we still be friends with everybody? I like them, daddy - the kid innocently says, making Lewis’ heart feel tight in his chest. - Of course, my love. We will always be friends. - with another kiss to her hair, the driver feels how the toddler’s words sink in his chest.

And after a brief moment, an idea pops in his mind. 

- How about we write a message to Mercedes on your drawing, baby? Do you think that would be a good idea? - he suggests. - Would they see my drawing, daddy? - the girl curiously asks, and Lewis nods at her words. He will personally make sure that everyone will get to see it. 

Grace chooses a pink pencil, and while Lewis holds her hand again, they carefully write each letter together: ‘Thank you, Mercedes’.

In that moment, Lewis realizes that this won’t take a toll only on him. It will also affect his family, his close ones that were used to meeting him at the same garage for the past eleven years.  

When the final weekend of the season arrives, it takes a lot of emotional strength for everyone to stay in the right frame of mind, to deal with the suffocating emotions that hover in the air. 

Lewis makes sure to be as present as he possibly can, wanting to enjoy each moment, each person to the fullest, experiencing every detail of this team for the last time.

He wants to do everything he can to enjoy his time. That’s why he takes every single person from his team on a hot lap, sharing one final moment with each face that he grew so familiar with for the past years. 

After the entire group had their portion of hot laps, your husband stops the car next to you and Grace, signaling for you two to enter. Sitting your daughter safely in your lap, locking the seat belt around her body, you and Lewis share a smile - one of love and companionship: in the end, you are his team, the one he keeps running to in the good and the bad. And you know what this weekend means to him and to you as a family.

- Are you driving, daddy? - Grace nudges his arm with the tip of her finger, making Lewis’ eyes focus on his mini-version. - You want to go for a lap, love? - he giggles as the girl chants ‘YES!!!’, nodding and clapping at her dad’s offer. 

Starting the car, Lewis starts driving around the track with the utmost caution, barely pressing the throttle of the vehicle, just so his daughter could have a look at the views her daddy has when driving around the track, while the sun is slowly hiding in the horizon.

The little girl doesn’t look impressed at all, and Lewis continues to study her facial expressions. 

- Aren’t you enjoying the drive, baby? - he asks. - The car seems to move a lot faster on the telly - she explains, looking almost disappointed by how slow the car is actually moving.

You and your husband laugh in unison at her complaint. 

- It’s camera magic that makes us look faster, baby. - he gently explains with a wide smile, amused by his daughter’s reactions. - How dangerous was it if daddy was driving around super fast? We can’t do that, love. - he tries to reason with her now, while the girl has no idea of speed. 

The toddler just wraps her small arms in front of her chest, patiently waiting for the ride to come to an end, as her big, curious eyes still look around the track, memorizing every detail. 

Holding Grace safely in his arms, he brings you into the garage after the hot laps, gathering his team to show everyone his new helmet for the last race with Mercedes. Uncovering it, the helmet shows his daughter’s drawing of little Grace, Roscoe and you cheering on Lewis - who’s ready to race with his car beside him. Under the drawing, the words ‘Thank You, Mercedes’ that Lewis had helped his little one writing, stand. Holding it in his hands, he proudly shows it to the group, a joyful smile splattered on the driver’s face. 

The toddler’s eyes wide immediately, her mouth agape as she covers it with her small hand - surprised to see the figures that she drew, on her dad’s helmet. In fact, he wasn’t kidding when he said he would make sure that everyone would get to see it.

- That’s my drawing! I did that! - the girl points out, repeating the words more than once, so everybody can know that she is, indeed, the artist of that masterpiece.  - You were the one drawing this amazing helmet, Gracie? - Bono asks, nudging the kid while smiling. - Yes! - the girl nods. - My daddy isn’t a good artist. Daddy helped me draw the car, but I don’t think it looks like the real one - the entire group laughs at her words, while Lewis puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by his child’s words, playfully. 

Amongst the laughs and smiles, some warm tears appear on the corners of your eyes. There’s a mix of different emotions diving inside of your chest: it’s sad to leave the group who knows you so well behind, but it’s also exciting to know that your family will enter a new, important phase soon. 

And there’s a feeling of familiarity here, at this moment: it’s your family, thanking the group that took you in, that supported your husband and nestled him so many times before - the family that you found in F1. 

After another disappointing qualification, Lewis was still trying to keep his spirit high, just wanting to enjoy his last time with the car. You spent the entire weekend feeling emotional, always on the verge of tears as things started to feel more and more real. It’s sunday, now. This is it, this is the moment when one of the most historical partnerships in Formula 1 would come to an end.

Your husband reaches for you and Grace, the traditional ‘good luck’ kiss shared between you two as Lewis hugs his princess, who also wishes him a good race. Seeing your other half climbing, for the last time, into a Mercedes car, is enough for the burning sensation in your eyes to come back - your mind reminding you of all the races, all the stress, the victories, the chants, all the stories and memories that you have in this team’s garage. 

Even if the last few seasons haven’t been good for your husband, both of you decided to leave with a feeling of gratitude, knowing that a part of yourselves will always belong in this group, after sharing such a huge chapter of your lives with all these people. 

Picking on the skin on your lips, on your nails, trying to find ways to relieve the usual stress that creeps through your body while you watch Lewis racing, you feel like every sensation is heightened by how fast your heart beats in your chest today.

Lewis is starting from p16, and your hands shake slightly as you try to hold Grace close to you, almost unable to contain the anxiety running through you now - analyzing the chaotic start, your heart sinking for some of your dear friends that didn’t get to finish their last race before leaving F1 - and, looking at the leaderboard on the side of the screen in front of you, a warm smile spreads across your features when you see Lewis’ performance. From p16 to p4 with a passion and talent that he, undoubtedly, still has in himself. 

From the donuts, to the crowd chanting his name, the team radios, to the way he stays inside the car a minute longer to try and calm down his cries - to say that you are a mess now, would be an understatement. 

Immediately running to hug you, the man hides his face in between you and your daughter’s figures, merging himself in the most healing, safe hug that he has ever known. 

Lewis feels the love - emanating from his body, receiving it back from everyone around him, the fans, the team, and he knows that everything that he conquered with Mercedes was real, it was the result of a true, mutual partnership. 

But Lewis can’t keep setting fire to his soul to warm up the team, so the group won’t burn alone. He gave his soul, sweat, blood and tears to Mercedes - and he doesn’t regret it, because he also got a lot back from them. However, the only person Lewis would burn his entire self for, is his daughter.

Savouring every moment, your husband makes sure to speak to every single person in the crew, having a proper farewell from the ones who helped him the most when he was on track for so many years. Pictures, hugs, some tears, this is a moment that will forever be engraved in his mind.

- We dreamed alone, but together we believed. - your husband confesses, breathing as he tries to wrap his own brain around what this moment means.

It’s the end of an era, a door that closes but that, in reality, will always have a crack open - due to everything that ties Lewis and Mercedes together, a duo that will never be forgotten. 

It’s with pride in his heart and a light spirit that he leaves the silver arrows family now, knowing for sure that he leaves a significant part of his legacy connected to the team - whether it’s titles, or changes within the sport that he managed to draw attention to. 

Thanking Mercedes “for all the courage, determination, the passion - for seeing him and supporting him”, Lewis is, more than ever, ready to hold your hand as he takes another challenging step into the future, into a new era of his career: Hamilton in red.

Now, it’s time to stop pretending. It’s time to embrace a new phase that will test him even further, to delve into a new team, surrounding yourselves with different people, with a glimpse of hope for what the future holds for you and your family. 

It will definitely feel strange to hear his next team radios without having Bono guiding him, without hearing the iconic “Lewis, it’s hammertime”, it will definitely feel weird to see him in the same context, but with a whole new crew beside him. But that’s what you’re here for. 

Because, just like your husband said: 

- What started out as a leap of faith, turned into a journey into the history books. 

And that will never, ever be forgotten. 

Kissing Grace on the cheek, holding her close to his heart as his fingers intertwined with yours, Lewis is ready to move forward with the most important piece of his entire life: his family. 

With the legacy he keeps building, he thinks about the 2007 Lewis when he first got to Formula 1, the 2013 driver who tried his luck at Mercedes and succeeded. He couldn’t be prouder of himself, and it’s a feeling that you two share. 

For 2025, the future is bright, brighter than he thinks, as a new team is ready to welcome him with open arms, ready to continue writing his name in history, while a new baby Hamilton will be born in this upcoming, Ferrari era - he just doesn’t know about it yet. 

[lewisvinga]

chocolate almond croissant | jude bellingham x fem! perez! reader

summary; jude bellingham and the granddaughter of florentino pérez, the president of real madrid, soft launch their relationship

fc; nailea devora

note; i haven’t written in forever and i’ve never done a smau on tumblr so here’s my attempt😋😋 my requests are closed btw 😁

masterlist !

liked by bsfuser, judebellingham, and 739,038 others!

ynperez: in france, kinda want a baguette

user1: mother

user2: i wanna be u

bsfuser: u only know the words oui and allez les bleus

ynperez: i know cama ooh too

camavinga: i feel so special

user3: anyone see jude in her likes

user4: he’s trying to get on presi’s good side

user5: our future president

user6: tell papa pérez to send the damn bid

user7: i’m a culer but i love yn

liked by ynperez, camavinga, and 2,038,937 others!

judebellingham: the south of france

user8: we were in the same country we’re meant to be guys

user9: my faves

user10: going feral rn

camavinga: QP QP-skyyy

vinijr: 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄me dejaron

judebellingham: restttt bro😘

ynperez: ur so unserious

judebellingham: thx

user11: isn’t yn in france rn??

user12: who is yn??

user13: she’s florentino pérez’s granddaughter, he’s the president of real madrid 😭

liked by judebellingham, aurelientchm, and 723,938 others!

ynperez: when bae ate the last bite of your chocolate almond croissant

bsfuser: u look so sad

ynperez: nothing to smile about in my life

user14: BAE????

user15: omg she’s not in her single era anymore

user16: 100% believe she’s dating a real madrid player

aurelientchm: how many bites did he take

ynperez: one too many

ynperez: and one too many sips of my matcha latte 💔💔

judebellingham: sounds delicious 😁

ynperez: yeah yeah 😒

user17: can you blame her?? jude and aurelien are on that team i’d want them too if my father was the president of the biggest club!

user18: real

liked by ynperez, vinijr, and 2,985,034 others!

judebellingham: new found love for chocolate almond croissants

user19: it’s illegal to be this fine

user20: damn

user21: call me delusional but didn’t yn pérez talk about her ‘bae’ eating her chocolate almond croissant & they seemed to be in france together

user22: delusional

vinijr: wonder what else you love 😂🤣

judebellingham: hey man, chillll🤫

ynperez: u should try matcha lattes i heard they’re good

judebellingham: i’m a fan of them icl

user23: no way jude isn’t dating yn pérez

user24: tryna get on presi’s good side like presi didn’t speak english for him at his presentation 😭

liked by judebellingham, camavinga, and 940,038 others!

ynperez: bf always taking pics of me mid complaining should i dump

user25: yn so cute😭

user26: THE SECOND PIC LMFAO

user27: dump him u can do better (me)

judebellingham: I CANT HELP IT THAT YOU LOOK CUTE WHILE COMPLAINING??

ynperez: ur so dumb ur lucky ur cute

judebellingham: oopsies

user28: JUDES COMMENT IM SCREAMING

user29: i knew those twitter threads were right

camavinga: it only took so long for jude to explode

vinijr: to be fair u always complain

ynperez: i helped sign him he should be grateful for me!

liked by judebellingham, vinijr, and 1,482,038 others!

ynperez: ruined my soft launch but it’s okay, mi novio is tan lindo y lo quiero 🤍 [my boyfriend is so cute and i love him]

tagged; judebellingham

judebellingham: i said i’m sorry😔

ynperez: it’s ok pumpkin

vinijr: just so you know he giggled

judebellingham: i don’t giggle idk what u mean

judebellingham: i love you🤍

ynperez: i love you 🤍🤍

user30: I KNEW IT

user31: it couple

user32: now we know why jude signed for real madrid

yourbsf: finally u posted him, such cuties 🥹

ynperez: i wanted a cute soft launch but this will do😔😔

user33: she calls him pumpkin that’s so adorable

user34: idk if i want him or her

user35: anyone see vini’s comment 😭

liked by ynperez, camavinga, and 3,028,937 others!

judebellingham: prettiest girl ever, te quiero, mi flor 🌹🤍 [i love you, my flower]

tagged; ynperez

ynperez: AWHH U SPOKE SPANISH TO ME YOU LOVE ME🥹🥹🥹🥹

judebellingham: what can i say, i have vw the best teacher!

ynperez: te quiero muchísimo mi querido [i love you very much, my dear]

judebellingham: te quiero siempre [i love you always]

user36: 50% of me is crying but the other 50% is so excited

user37: him speaking in spanish for her?? that’s so cute stop

camavinga: he asked me 20 times to make sure he was saying it right btw

judebellingham: mate, don’t expose me like this 😕😕😕😕

user38: camavinga 😭

user39: wanna know how presi feels

ynperez: papa pérez is happy that his granddaughter is happy 😁

user40: i’d sign for real madrid too if that means yn perez would be my gf

[melrodrigo]

Tardy, part 8

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected family member reveal sends you spiraling, will anyone trust you now?

Warnings: Angst that turns into fluff, mention of violence, mention of sex

Word Count 2.6k

A/N: I was dying writing this chapter (both physically and mentally) but I think the writers block is gone! Thank you for 600 followers!! As always, love u guys, and tell me what you think <33

“Mom, who’s my dad?” You asked absentmindedly, legs swinging from your living room couch.

“All the other kids at school know who their dad is, who’s mine?” You continued, blissfully unaware of the tension you had just created.

Your mom turned sharply, cigarette between her lips as she spoke.

“Oh, sweetie. Your dad’s gone. It’s just you and me now.” She said as she brought the lighter up and ignited the cigarette.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” You’d asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Your mom lets out a frustrated huff before she answers again.

“I don’t know, he’s just gone. Okay? He left town. Would you leave this topic alone now?” She sounded annoyed, and you don’t want to upset her any further, so you nodded quickly and turned your attention back to the TV screen.

“Okay, Ma.”

-

You flash back into another memory, this time you’re older; freshly graduated from high school, ready to move across the country to start university.

You’ve bid your farewells to friends and relatives, promising you’ll come visit every year.

Your mom’s pulling you aside looking at you weirdly. She’s getting old, you can tell by the increasing wrinkles on her face every day.

She smiles softly, and you think she looks like the sweetest grandma ever.

“Honey, I want you to know something. About your dad.”

You raise an eyebrow, mouth dropping slightly.

Your dad has always been a touchy subject for your mom, she’s never really allowed herself to tell you the full story.

Sure, as you’ve gotten older, you’ve learned bits and pieces. He was a dirtbag, leaving your mom right after she gave birth. You’d also learned that you were born in a small town called Woodsboro but had been whisked away almost immediately.

Your mom sighs now, and everything suddenly feels very heavy.

“I just tried so hard to be both parents for you, I know it wasn’t fair to keep this from you for so long. But if you’re ready to learn who your dad is, I’m ready to tell.” She says, voice cracking only the tiniest bit. You can see how strong she’s trying to be.

You suddenly see your whole childhood flash before your eyes. Your mom sending you off and picking you up every day after school. Making meals for the two of you every night, working overtime to support the family.

“No Ma. It’s okay. I already have a dad, and his name is you.” You say, pointing to her heart.

She opens her mouth but you cut in before she can say anything.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need a dad when I have you.” You say, and you mean it wholeheartedly.

Your mother swells with happiness and takes you in a big hug. Wraps her arms around your shoulders.

“Be safe, honey.” She whispers into your ear.

-

You splutter, staring at the page in front of you with a jumble of letters that don’t look like coherent words anymore.

No…it couldn’t be?

There’s no way your dad was Stu Fucking Macher.

It doesn’t feel like you expected it would, finding out who your real father is. Years and years of endless crying; wondering why and why and why.

Every moment has led up to this.

This light, breakable paper in your palms. It’s telling you all you’ve ever wanted to hear, and yet somehow it’s also the thing you need to hear the least.

There’s quick flashes of déjà vu as you stare at the name.

Blood; lots of it. Splattered on the ceiling, all over your body. Screams, loud and clear as day, piercing through your eardrums and starting a ringing sound.

You snap back into reality as Sam steps up to you.

You brace yourself for the worse, you wouldn’t be mad if Sam kicked you out bare into the street right then and there, hell, she could hurt you and you wouldn’t even be mad.

She raises her hand but the impact never comes. Instead, she kneels down to you and holds your shoulders tight.

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard.” She says, soft. Her lips are pulled into a frown but her eyes are sorrowful.

“It’s- it’s okay?” Tara splutters, staring between you and her sister. Flabbergasted would be a minuet way to describe her expression.

“Yes. It’s okay. Can everyone leave the room for a minute? I want to talk to YN.” Sam says, and everyone heeds her orders; shuffling down through the living room hallway.

You stare at Sam, eyebrows knit tight together. She’s hated you since you the day you met, and now she’s the one protecting you?

“Why?” You ask, curiosity seeping through your voice.

“Everyone here has been through something.” She says, biting her lip. “And believe me, if anyone knows about being framed as the bad guy, it’s me.”

She hesitates a little before she opens her mouth again.

“Let’s not pretend that everyone here doesn’t have immensely traumatic things happen to them. Me and Tara…well we know about that. But Mindy and Anika and Chad? You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard from them.” She says, twiddling with her thumbs.

“What if I’m actually the killer?” You press, gauging Sam’s reaction.

She tuts and answers sharply.

“I don’t believe for a second that you are.”

It takes you aback, her being so sure about it. You stay quiet, try to think of anything to say.

You can’t, it’s all too much information to get.

“How can you know that?” You say finally, tilting your head up to make eye contact with Sam.

She pats your back lightly. “You’re a good person YN. We can all tell.”

“We’re a family. One fucked up family, but family all the same. Including you.” She says, voice sure.

You hold eye contact for a while, a silent conversation being spoken. Setting aside all your differences, Sam was actually a really cool person. And you can tell she feels the same way.

Before you know it she’s out down the same hallway the group left in.

You’re sat on the couch, mouth open and eyes glazed.

Huh.

“YN? Mind if I come in?” Tara’s voice sounds from in front of you. You can’t decipher what the tone is.

“Yeah…yeah of course.” You answer, watching as Tara enters and stands before you.

You can’t handle her intense stare, and you drop your head immediately. Anxiety floods you, heart picking up speed.

You don’t notice her until she’s right in front of you, taking your cheeks in her hands. Stroking, softly.

10 minutes ago she was mad, and now she’s comforting you? This girl and her mixed signals.

“I believe you.” She murmurs, leaning down to press her lips on your cheek. She’s so short that even when you’re sitting down you’re almost the same height.

You don’t want to think about any of this now, you don’t want to think about it ever. You want to tell Tara this, but you can’t bring yourself to speak.

Your throat feels dry, eyes slightly teary.

“So what do we do now?” You whisper.

She continues stroking your face fondly, cradles you in her arms.

“We continue with the plan.” She says, and there’s a sense of finality in it that makes you shiver.

-

They’ve pushed back the date on their plan to capture Ghostface a little bit. Tara won’t admit it, but you know she’s the one who suggested it. She must think you need time to process the sudden father reveal, no doubt.

It’s sweet, but she’s wrong. In fact, right now all you need is a distraction. Something to take your mind off all the racing thoughts through your head, the sense of betrayal you feel.

Maybe I should call my mom.

“Hey. Whatcha thinking bout?” A voice sounds from behind you. It’s Anika, and you send her a soft smile; feeling weirdly glad to be in her company.

“Oh nothing much. Just about how my dad was one of the original Ghostfaces and that we’re literally running straight into danger in a few days.” You say, trying to make your voice sound light and teasing.

Anika seems to pick up on the underlying message, and you hear her sigh a little before speaking.

She rounds the couch to come sit down beside you, a pack of medical supplies in her arms. She splays it across the table and turns back to face you.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know what it’s like to have a rough family. My parents were…dipshits to say the least.” She says, casually.

Oh.

You try and think of something appropriate to say in response, but your brain seizes up and it goes blank.

“But you don’t have to feel bad for me. I have a new family now.” She continues, smiling at you; genuine crinkles at the tips of her eyes. She pats your back lightly.

“Just so you know, I don’t think you’re the killer. Who cares if your dad is Ghostface? It’s not like this is the first time it’s happened in our friend group. I trust you, really.”

It’s enough to make you teary-eyed again. You look away, hoping she can’t see them.

“Thank you.” You mumble. “That means a lot to me.”

She chuckles warmly before taking you in a hug. You guys don’t say anything the rest of the time she fixes up your wound.

-

“Are you blushing?” Tara asks immediately when Anika leaves the room, footsteps light.

“What? No, I’m not.” You say, running a hand through your hair.

“Did she make you blush?” She’s asking, a teasing smile on her lips.

You frown.

“She just said some very nice things to me, okay?” You huff, cross your arms like a child.

“Aw, baby. You look adorable.” She murmurs, giving you a peck on the lips.

“Are you not jealous?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She brings a finger to her lips and feigns thoughtfulness. Then she smiles wide and takes your lips in a searing kiss.

“No.” She mumbles against them. “Because I know you’re mine. And I can definitely make you do a lot more than blush.”

It’s enough to make you flush completely red. You let out a little whine at her words.

“See?” She’s asking as she leans back, a smirk on her lips. You try and wipe it off by wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for another kiss.

She’s not wrong. But you’re not going to admit that. It’s a fatal flaw, really. How easily you relent when it comes to Tara. You’d die for her, you’d kill for her, and she knows it.

“Come on,” She’s whispering. “Let’s go to my room.”

You pull back, amused.

“I don’t think I can even stand and you’re asking me to do what?” You ask pointedly.

She tugs on your shirt, obviously not in the mood to play one of your games right now.

“Then maybe I’ll just take you right here.” She whispers into your ear, laughing as you shiver beneath her.

You gulp, stare at her with big eyes. She crawls forward, leaning her elbows into your sides on instinct.

You can’t help but wince.

It seems to break Tara out of her lustful haze, because now she’s looking at you with worried eyes.

She’s getting up kind of panicky, fiddling with her hands.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I should let you sleep.” She says, sort of fast, words tumbling out of her.

You smile at her, grip her hands tight.

“It’s okay, Tara. Although, I do want to hit the hay for a while. Care to join me?” You invite, tugging her closer slightly to make sure she doesn’t leave.

She grins shyly and nods.

“Okay.” She says, biting the inside of her cheek. She’s the cutest with the excitement that radiates off her.

-

When you wake, Tara’s not in your arms anymore. You stir, rubbing your eyes aggressively.

“Tara?” You groan, trying to look around the weirdly dim room for any sign of your girlfriend.

You notice the candles immediately, more than a dozen of them lining the table and making a little pathway to the fireplace.

Your girlfriend appears in front of you now, wearing a little white sundress; one you’d specifically bought for her weeks ago.

She looks so good, you almost start drooling. Like an angel, the way she’s standing and staring at you, playful, excited gaze.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.” She grins, bending down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“What is all this?” You question, looking around the room in further inspection.

There are two plates set up quite nicely on the dining table, along with a bottle of champagne and a single flower in the middle.

It’s all so, romantic.

Tara twirls, and gives you a little show of her dress. Then she takes your hand and gently helps you up, leading you to the dining room with her.

“I never got to take you on a date. I think it’s time I return the favor.” She says, nodding along to her sentence; like a reassurance.

“You’re adorable.“ You say, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She blushes a little.

“Thank you.” She mumbles.

The smell as you enter the dining room is mouth-watering. You recognize it immediately. It’s your favorite pasta, ravioli with white wine and tomatoes.

Tara’s an amazing cook, you know this already. But the flavors that explode in your mouth when you take a bite out of it are otherworldly.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked.” You speak through stuffed cheeks, eyes wide and happy.

Tara picks up a piece of her own and eats it.

“I didn’t know what to make you, so I called your mom. She said this was your favorite, so I went on youtube and tried to replicate the recipe.” She says, somewhat shyly.

You beam.

“You called my mom?” You ask, teasingly. Boop her on the nose. You celebrate internally when you see her flush red.

“Yeah, it was no biggie. Just a phone call.” She disregards, biting her bottom lip to try and stop the color that’s overtaking her whole face.

She reaches forward to grab another piece of ravioli before she stops short and gasps.

“Oh! I almost forgot to give you these.” Tara says, reaching behind her chair for something. She pulls out a huge bouquet of flowers, filled with your favorites.

You don’t try and hide the surprise in your face, mouth open and gaping.

She slaps your arm lightly at your reaction.

“Hey! I can be romantic too you know.”

You nod sarcastically.

“Oh yeah no doubt no doubt.” You say, taking the bouquet from her hands in favor of bending over the table and kissing her.

“Thank you, baby.” You say against her lips. She smiles wide, scrunching her nose as she pulls back.

“You taste like pasta!” She’s giggling, pushing you back into your chair.

You finish the dinner in record time, and that’s due entirely to how good the meal was. You and Tara sit and talk for a little while before moving to the floor to watch a movie.

Tara’s annoyingly secretive about it, not letting you see whatever she’s setting up. You huff and go grab snacks from the fridge instead.

When you get back it’s to the TV covered, and there’s a small projector at the side shining light on a random bed sheet she’s hung vertically.

“Impressive speed.” You praise.

Tara’s sitting smugly, arms open and inviting you to come sit.

It’s playing 10 Things I Hate About You, one of your all-time favorite movies. You settle down into the spot next to her and sneak a glance over, but she’s already staring at you; hard.

You let out a breath of happiness and pull her closer by the waist. Kiss her on the forehead, murmur against her skin.

“Thank you for this. I needed it.”

She nods into you and pulls you impossibly closer.

“Of course.” She says.

You decide Ghostface can wait, your dad can wait. All that matters right now is Tara. Her and this movie and you.

The only three things that exist in the world.

[jinns-arcane-feverdream]

Love Without Words

Master List

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Chapter Two

Chapter One

The sound of funeral bells rings in my head as I button up my jacket. Dark colors adorn my body as I look in the mirror. My hair doesn’t quite cooperate, but it doesn’t matter; my hood will be up, at least until I get inside. Then? Well, I’ve changed. I don’t fit that respectable image anymore - I never did. That’s part of the reason why I left, the main reason. When you live somewhere you don’t belong for too long, you get desperate and flee. You cut ties, throw away all you know, for a life you hope fits you better. And I was lucky enough that my new life did.

As I adjust my jewelry, I think back to the times where I would do this for weekly events. My mother - no, abandoner - would stand behind me as I used the mirror to perfect my look. It was never to her liking, though, and she always ended up shoving earrings into my lobes in places where there were no holes, scarring me over time. Now, I go to a piercer to get new earrings shoved through needle holes in my ears. It’s cleaner, healthier, and better. 

I find earrings that fit well enough with my dark attire and quickly slip them through my piercings. I use my finger to straighten out my septum before I turn to leave the bathroom. My apartment isn’t much, but it’s good enough for me. No one in the undercity has much, unless you’re a Chem Baron. My boots aren’t shiny or new, and there’s plenty of scuffs in them, but they’re the most comfortable shoes I have - and they go with my outfit.

“I’ll be back later, don’t get up to any trouble while I’m gone.” I lean over to look at my little betta fish swimming over to the glass to look at me. “I know, I haven’t spent enough time with you lately. But I promise that I will make it up to you,” I tell him. After reaching for his food, I drop a single pellet in for him to eat. “No more until I get back, I don’t want you to get dropsy.” Huy, my fish, stares at me with his beady black eyes. His mouth opens and a bubble comes out, signaling that he probably burped. 

A laugh slips from me before I stand and head to the front door, and my smile slips as I sigh. It’s not fun going to Piltover, but this time, it feels necessary. An old friend’s mother has died; someone who used to occasionally provide for me. The least I owe is my condolences to my friend and her father, and a brief respect given to her mother. Though, she is part of the reason I fled - I’d become a burden to her and her family. I was an orphan who took too much from her. I was needy, and she was rich. I was wild, she was proper.

The door closes firmly behind me and I quickly lock it. A few whistles ring through the air as friendly neighbors bid me goodbye. I offer a brief wave behind my back before beginning on my trek. No one knows what I’m up to, not even my closest friend - well, he’s more like a brother. My actual closest friend had been in Stillwater for the last 7 years, and as soon as she got out, Vi began running around with some random chick, trying to find her sister and save her. We only knew each other for a small amount of time before she was thrown in prison, but I managed to visit her often due to my connection with the guard - it helps to be an orphan in need of guidance, and he was kind enough, or maybe dumb enough, to take me under his wing. I have another friend as well, Ekko, who brought me into the Firelights group. We met one night while I was walking back to my apartment after visiting Vi. I’d gotten surprised by one of the firelight creatures when it landed on my arm. Ekko had been chasing it, and coincidentally ran into me. After that, he’d let me into the group and their home; a beautiful place with a real tree at the center.

Back to my ‘brother’. His name is Thieram, and he works at The Last Drop—my first stop on the way to Topside. Coincidentally, due to me visiting him often at work, I became sort-of friends with Jinx and Sevika, mainly due to the fact that Silco’s office was above the bar. I only ever saw the man in brief passing because when Thieram would see him come in, he’d make sure I looked anywhere but at his boss. He always warned me that one wrong glance would earn me Sevika’s knee in my jaw.

“Where are you off to wearing such a gloomy outfit,” Thieram asks as I walk into the building. 

I take my normal seat at the bar and take that shot he offers me. “Piltover.”

“Topside? How come?” he questions while preparing me another shot—he knows how much I hate going up there, even if it’s for business. He’s heard plenty of drunken rants to know exactly what I would say to any question he’d ask after I returned Underground.

“Friend’s mother died, felt like I should at least show up for once. Haven’t seen her in years anyway, it might surprise me to see what she’s become,” I explain before throwing back the second shot. “Thanks.”

“‘Course. You sure you wanna do this, though? No one’s forcing you to go up there.”

“I should go,” I sigh, taking the glass of water he offers. “I kinda miss my friends up there, ya know? Sure they weren’t the best and didn’t really understand me, but they did their best. I think.”

“You have friends?” he jokes, and I crack a smile. “There it is, I missed those crooked teeth.”

“My teeth are not crooked, thank you very much. Although your nose still is from the last time I broke it.” The snark comes naturally, and of course, he has a quick retort.

“I’m not gonna bother fixing it, knowing how dirty you like to spar,” he laughs, and I join in with him. 

I slip off my bar stool and stretch, a groan coming from me as I do. “I better be off now, Thier,” I say with a crack of my neck, “Sorry I can’t stay more than a minute, I don’t wanna be Topside when it gets dark. They’ll probably think I’m some filthy Zaunite robber,” I snicker.

“Wait, you aren’t?” he asks, faking exasperation.

“I mean, they don’t need to know I am,” I laugh before reaching over the bar and trying to slap him playfully.

“Hey! Knock it off! You don’t slap the guy who gives you drinks,” he says while glaring at me. “Now, go on and git.” He sticks his tongue out at me, an action that I playfully copy.

“See ya later, Thiery,” I say while waving as I walk out. He smiles and waves back, offering me the same salutations. As soon as the door closes behind me, my mood drops again. I’m not glum about her mom being dead, as bad as that sounds. I’m upset about having forced myself back up there, a place that never fails to push me back out each time I venture across the bridge.

Nobody seems to notice me as I walk through the lanes, but the second I step onto the bridge, the eyes of multiple enforcers are glued to me. I keep my head down, trying not to draw any attention, but some young, probably new, enforcer bee-lines to me and blocks me from walking any further.

“State your business,” he says while glaring at me. “And take off your jacket, you’re getting a search.”

“A search?” I ask bewildered, “What did I do to be searched?”

“You came from the Undercity. Now answer my question before I detain you for being difficult.”

I open my mouth to protest before biting my tongue. I pull my jacket off and forcefully shove it into his hands while he signals someone to come over and pat me down. “I’m going to pay respects to an old friend whose mother died recently,” I explain, “hence the dark clothes.”

“And what is the name of this friend?” he asks as the other nods to signify that I’m clear.

“Does that really matter? You won’t believe me, anyway,” I huff. He opens his mouth to object before a superior officer comes over and tells him to let me pass as I had cleared the search. He scoffs before throwing my jacket back at me, but not hard enough, causing me to have to move forward to catch it before it hits the ground. I spit next to his shoe before slipping my jacket back on and pulling the hood back up. I don’t look to see who the other enforcer is, not caring about who came to my ‘rescue’.

As I walked along the bridge, I glanced at the water to my side. I’d never been good at swimming, but there was always the urge to jump in and let the slow current carry me along. The River Zaun looks peaceful, despite being disgustingly polluted and full of who knows what kind of creatures. The rays of sun reflect off of it, catching my eye and causing me to look away. A dot is in my vision now from the brightness, but it’s a welcome change compared to the constant darkness and glow of the Undercity.

I cringe at the sound of my boots on the tiled street of Piltover. My heels seem to produce an echo that reverberates down the row of buildings, and I feel as though it’s a summoning, an alarm that a Zaunite has wandered up to Piltover. Enforcers pass by as I walk the familiar route to my friend’s house; they tend to be more prominent in the rich neighborhoods, probably due to wanting to protect the wealthy more than anyone else. How else would Piltover fund their excessive police force and academy?

I stop at the end of the street to gaze at the gates before me. The metal glints in the sun, and I feel small as I watch them rise into the sky. They don’t send an inviting message, but I force myself to walk over anyway. To my surprise, they’re open, and I walk through them and up to the door. I knock once, softly, before knocking harder, twice. I take a few steps back before putting my head down and waiting. After a few moments, Mr. Kiramman answers the door.

His eyes are wide as I look up at him. It takes only a second for him to recognize me, and once he does, he immediately moves to the side to let me in. “We’ve wondered about you,” he admits to me, shattering the awkward silence. 

“I’ve been alright,” I respond simply, “is Caitlyn here?”

“Yes, I can let her know that she has a guest. Would you like me to tell her it’s you?”

I think for a moment, considering the options. “No, I think I would like to surprise her. Maybe it could be…something to bring a bit of joy to her, in this hard time.”

Mr. Kiramman nods before leading me to a sitting area. “I’ll go let her know, then,” he says before turning and taking a few steps.

“Wait,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. He turns back and looks at me, and I give him a small smile. “I never thanked you guys before. I know it’s probably far too late, but I appreciated everything you did for me, no matter how big or small.”

He smiles briefly before looking down as the smile fades. “We could’ve done more. But Cassandra-”

“I give my condolences for your loss. She was a strong woman. May you find peace in her honor.” I cut him off, not needing to know any more of how Cassandra Kiramman had always thought of me as lesser, an orphan mooch. Mr. Kiramman nods before turning again and heading to find Caitlyn, understanding my tone as one indicating our conversation is over.

After a minute, I hear steps ringing through the house. I stand and face away from the stairs I knew she’d be coming from. I can’t bear to face her yet, not after so long, and not after her mother’s recent death.

“I was told you were here to see me?” Her voice sounds hollow, and I can sense the emotional drain she has gone through. “Well? Are you going to turn around?”

I take a deep breath before speaking as I turn. “I…should have visited sooner,” I say before looking up. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back, resting a hand on the arm of a chair for support.

A mumble of my name leaves her lips before she lunges forward and wraps me in a hug. “I thought you were dead, or in jail!” she cried into my neck. “I…I didn’t think I’d ever see you again! Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

I slowly pull away and glance into her eyes, seeing a mix of excitement, relief, and hurt. “I…well, it’s a long story,” I admit with a sigh. “It’s not why I’m here. I wanted to offer my condolences—”

“I don’t need any more of those,” she cuts in with a sigh. “Please, sit. Can you tell me anything about these past 6 years?”

I sit and think for a second before nodding softly. I fidget with my hands for a second, deciding how much to spill. “I fled to the Undercity. I realized that I’d fit in better down there, being a poor orphan and all. Topside…well, you know I never fit in here. You and Jayce were the only ones who gave me a chance, but even then…” My words trailed off. I didn’t want to make her feel bad about her past actions, or those of her mother. “I eventually joined a…morale raising group. We embrace the possibility of a better Zaun.” Caitlyn stiffens up in her seat as I speak, and I stop when I can tell she has something to say. 

“A morale raising group? You’re not a part of Silco’s crew, are you?”

“No,” I quickly deny, “they’re kinda our rivals down there. We fight for control, for influence. The group I’m in, we’re more about peace and bringing people together. Silco’s crew…they’re more about fear tactics, forcing people under their control.”

“I see,” Caitlyn says before relaxing again. “It was one of Silco’s people who killed my mother. I had to make sure you weren’t a part of it.”

I shake my head no before studying her outfit, realizing why it seemed familiar to me. It’s my turn to stiffen up in my seat, and I divert my eyes from her enforcer uniform.

“Is there something wrong?” Caitlyn asks, having noticed my sudden tension.

“You’re…an enforcer…” I comment, meeting her eyes again. “An enforcer.”

“Yes, it had always been my dream since I was little,” she explains. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“A problem? Do you understand what enforcers—no, nevermind. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not all enforcers are bad,” she counters me, “We have orders and directions we have to follow. Sometimes they’re more harsh than normal due to external factors.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Cait,” I sigh, “I need to go soon anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad about the Undercity. It’s just-”

“No, I get it. Your mother was killed by one of us. You’ve grown up and lived in Piltover your whole life. You don’t know what it’s like down there. You don’t know what it’s like for us to see an enforcer.”

“Us?” she questions, her brows furrowed in confusion. “You think you’re one of them now?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve been accepted into the world down there, unlike how I was tossed aside up here. It’s…refreshing, feeling like I belong somewhere. But, again, I need to leave. I don’t want to be stuck here when it’s dark.”

Caitlyn glances at the ground for a second before perking up again. “Have you visited Jayce?” she asks as we both stand. “I can give you an escort to his lab if you’d like.”

“I don’t need an escort, and I wasn’t planning on seeing him. I’m only up here to offer you my condolences,” I explain. “And…I don’t think Jayce would be happy to see me.”

“He misses you more than you know,” she counters. “Please, let me have someone take you there. Or I’ll write down the directions if you feel more comfortable. I’ll just have to give you a note with my official seal to show the guards. Please, just visit him for me.”

I roll my eyes before obliging, letting her quickly scrawl out a note for me, and directions on how to get to the lab. “Thanks,” I say while placing the note in my pocket. I’ll…see ya,” I say, a wave of sadness washing over me again. In a second, her arms are around me again, and I return the hug. “I miss you, Cait,” I whisper to her.

Her arms tighten around me before she responds. “I miss you too. Please visit.”

“Sure. I’ll try.” It’s a lie, and we both know it. She hates the Undercity, and I hate Topside. When we separate, we offer weak smiles to each other before I turn to walk out. As the door closes behind me, I let out a long breath. My heart is racing, and I feel it pick up as I see Vi walking past the gates. 

“Vi? What are you doing here?” I ask in bewilderment.

She says my name in surprise before running up the steps to be next to me. “I’m here to see Caitlyn. What are you doing up here?”

“Same thing. Caitlyn and I were friends before I fled to Zaun. How do you know her?”

“She’s the one who got me out of Stillwater and helped me look for Powder. We’re…dating, I think.”

“Dating? You’re dating an enforcer? What the hell, Vi? They’re the ones who killed your parents!”

Vi steps back, startled by my sudden anger. “Yeah, but Caitlyn wasn’t the one who did it! My sister killed her mother, how do you think that makes her feel seeing me?”

“Vi,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, “those people think we’re dirt. They don’t care about anything other than oppressing us and trying to scare us. How could you be with one?”

“You don’t understand,” she huffs, “you don’t know what she’s gone through, or what she’s like. She doesn’t just go down there to harass us. She does her job.”

“The job of enforcers is to harass us. I can’t believe you would just…switch up like that.” I throw my hands in the air in emphasis of my words. Vi holds eye contact with me for a second before scoffing.

“I don’t owe you an explanation. I gotta go, I’ll see you around.”

It’s my turn to scoff as I shake my head and begin walking away. Soon enough, I’m past the gates and back on the street. I walk quickly, wanting to get my day of reunions over with as fast as possible so I can go back to The Last Drop and have a drink with Thieram. 

The sun is just past midday when I see the building Jayce is supposed to be in. Of course, a guard of enforcers is stationed outside. I groan internally while walking up, and a young ginger girl stops me from going any further. A man that is possibly a Vastaya lingers back, watching the ginger enforcer carefully. I don’t pay attention to him, or how his frills seem to twitch up when he looks at me.

“Hello, do you have clearance to be here?” the ginger girl asks.

“Yeah, I have this note from Caitlyn Kiramman,” I say while handing it to her.

“Caitlyn? You know her?” the ginger asks excitedly. “She’s such an inspiration to me, I could listen to her for hours.”

“Uh, cool,” I say casually, not sure how else to respond. “I’m just here to see Jayce Talis.”

“Oh, I could escort you in, unless you know your way around,” she offers kindly. “Don’t need a good looking person like you getting lost in there,” she jokes casually. 

“If you just tell me the directions I’m sure I can find it.”

“Alright,” she says, a flush of slight embarrassment covering her face in her failed flirtation attempt. “I’ll write them down on the back of this note for you.”

“Thanks,” I say while shifting awkwardly. I spare another glance at the other enforcer, and catch him quickly looking away. His ears twitch but I don’t think anything of it, and turn back to take the directions from the ginger. “Thanks,” I say again before she steps aside to let me continue in.

The halls are large and empty, and I feel a chill roll through my body as my shoes once again echo as I walk. I check the note and make a turn, quickly coming up on the door I needed. I’m surprised at how easy and fast it is to get here, but I suppose it’s easier for Jayce to reach his work quickly when he makes a research breakthrough.

As I walk into the lab, it’s dark and cold. I pull my jacket tighter and cautiously step in. A tall thing catches my attention as it lights up the room. It looks like there’s a body inside it, but I can’t tell what it really is.

“I told you I need to be alone, Mel. I…I don’t want to see you right now.”

“I’m sorry then, I suppose, since I’m not this ‘Mel’ person,” I say slowly as I step into the light. 

Jayce sits up in his seat, snapping his head in my direction. He exclaims my name before standing and walking toward me. “Is…is it really you?” he asks, reaching out to touch my arm.

I resist the urge to move away from the contact and let him feel that I’m not a dream or a hallucination. “Yes, it is. Last time I checked, at least.” I crack the small joke, and his eyes fill with joy before he wraps his arms around me and lifts me up, spinning around with me in his arms. “Alright, alright, put me down!” I say firmly before he sets me back on my feet.

“I’m sorry. I just…it’s been so long! Me and Cait, we were so worried! You didn’t even leave us a note!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I thought it would be best to just disappear, though,” I explain. “I…I didn’t mean to hurt you guys.”

He smiles softly at me. “It’s okay. I…guess I could understand. Feeling like disappearing is the best option, I mean. My best friend…it’s my fault he’s like this,” he says while waving an arm toward the thing with the person in it. “If I would’ve done more to prevent the Undercity from getting Hextech, he wouldn’t be like this.”

I look at the floor, a wave of hurt washing over me. “It’s not the Undercity that’s the problem. It’s a certain individual. One of Silco’s people.”

Jayce glances at me for a second before nodding and looking away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I should go,” I say, beginning to turn to leave.

“What? Already? Wait-” Jayce reaches out and grabs my arm, and I pull it out of his grip.

“I don’t want to ruin anything, since I’m from the Undercity,” I snap at him.

“I said I was sorry,” he counters, “please, let’s…let’s catch up!”

“No, Jayce. I need to get back before it’s dark. You don’t understand how dangerous it is for a Zaunite to be near enforcers at night, especially when we’re in Piltover.”

“I can escort you back. I’m a Councilor now,” he counters again. “Please, you’ve been gone for so long. I miss you.”

I shake my head without looking back at him. “I’m sorry, Jayce. It was a mistake coming here. I only came up to give Caitlyn my condolences then leave. She made me visit you. Goodbye, Jayce.”

I quickly leave the room and head for the doors, not wanting to waste another second up here with friends who don’t understand me. Guilt washes over me as I push open the front door. I ignore the sounds of Jayce calling for me as I descend the stairs, but when I step off and take a few steps down the street, Jayce catches up to me. The two enforcers from before perk up, but he signals to them that everything is okay.

“Please, just…keep in touch, or something,” he says. I look at the desperation in his eyes before shaking my head.

“I’m not the friend that you remember me as, or think that I am. I’ve changed, Jayce, and so have you and Cait. I don’t belong up here, I don’t belong around you guys. We’re from two different worlds, and I’m choosing to return to mine. I’m leaving yours behind.”

“What if we meet on the bridge, once a week? To…I don’t know, stay connected?”

I look in his eyes again, and shake my head while offering a sad smile. I grab his hands and squeeze them briefly. “Jayce, I will always have love for you and Caitlyn in my heart. But I cannot do as you wish. I have a life, responsibilities. I…I could send you mail, once a month, but that’s the extent of it.”

Jayce drops my hands and shakes his head, sadness covering each part of his expression. “Why? Why come up here just to leave us again? Why visit just to say goodbye?”

“Because, Jayce,” I explain softly, “it’s closure. For me. For you, for Cait. Our friendship can be laid to rest now, and we can save our memories for times of reflection.”

“I don’t want you to just be a memory, though,” he begs, “why does it have to be this way?”

“It’s what I need to move on in life,” I explain before taking a few steps back. “Goodbye, Jayce.”

With a final turn away, I leave behind my childhood friends, and make my way toward the bridge. As I cross over, the sun sets, causing a range of beautiful colors to dance across the sky. I take a moment to observe it, remembering how I used to come down here as a child to watch it whenever I didn’t have homework or chores. I lean over the railing to look at the water, feeling the soft breeze flowing around me. I step up onto the railing, feeling the urge to feel taller, to let the breeze carry me.

A sudden strong gust, and my heart drops as I feel myself fall forward. A quick reaction, and someone is pulling me down and to secure ground. My eyes are wide as I tremble from the jolt of fear. A hand rests on my arm, and I turn to look at who it was that helped me. The male enforcer from outside Jayce’s lab pulls his hand away, but I can see the unasked answer in his eyes. “I’m good,” I breathe out, “thanks.” He nods and gives a small smile before stepping back and giving me more room. I quickly get on my way again, making my way across the bridge before descending into the Undercity.

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@gffhjtui @toma-is-tired @dreamingbluerries

[hheaven-sentt]

blood and bone III

summary: vulnerability leads to injury. sometimes, injuries can heal with minimal scarring | leon kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 4.8k

warnings: mentions of violence and gore, alcohol consumption, language, two idiots in love, angst for a bit, mentions of regrets and a bit of self loathing, reveal about reader (i have been planting the seeds of it omg i'm so excited)

notes: part 3 as promised omg i feel unstoppable | ao3

blood and bone ml

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It feels like there’s a hole in your chest. You go through the motions, not paying attention to much else. It feels good to throw yourself into your work. There’s nothing else keeping you steady anymore. The sting of rejection hangs heavy on your skin, it’s all you can think about. Does Leon know? Does he know that you want to know him as intimately as you know guts and sinew? Does he know how bad it hurts to know that he won’t let you?

“You’re being dramatic,” Rebecca says. You look at her through your lashes over the files you’re examining. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,”

You sigh. No, perhaps it wasn’t. “I don’t know,”

Rebecca frowns, contorting her soft features into some kind of sympathy, and leaves you to your sorrow.

Your apartment is so empty when you return to it. It’s always been this way, but it somehow feels worse now. Before your trip to New York, you’d had something to hope for. You felt a bit brighter. Now, you feel as empty as the living room of your place. It’s too cold here.

You collect your forgotten glass from last night. There’s a bit of liquor still loose in the bottom. You wash it out in the sink and place the glass on the counter. You feel like crying.

Everything is too much. The case that is no longer yours lives in your brain, Leon’s rejection weighs down your bones, and you feel more alone than you have in months.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the salty taste runs over your lips. Tears claw at your throat, feeling like barbed wire scratching at your insides. You try to blink them away, but it just makes their assault worse. With a sigh, you sink to the floor. You feel pathetic, crying on your kitchen linoleum. There's nothing worse than crying alone in a place not meant for tears. You breathe in deeply, feeling empty with each intake. You put your head in your hands.

It’s then that your phone rings. With a groan, you stand, snagging the phone from where it rests on the counter. You flip it open with one hand.

“Hello?” you ask, sniffing aggressively in order to maintain some sort of composure.

“You okay?” Rebecca’s voice, soft and delicate, drifts into your ear from the speaker.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Place is real dusty, made the mistake of kicking it all up,”

With a small laugh, Rebecca continues. “I just wanted to remind you of the gala tomorrow night. The whole team is going, which includes you, so wear something nice,”

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll sit this one out. Those places make me anxious anyway,”

“No way,” Rebecca says. “You have to come. You’re, like, the guest of honor,”

You frown deeply, scrunching your features together in what looks like a wince. A gala is the last thing you need right now. It really sounds like your worst nightmare.

“He’ll be there,” Rebecca says. You frown more.

“Is that supposed to convince me to come?” you ask, picking at a piece of the counter that’s peeling up.

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Probably a month ago,” you say, pursing your lips. “Haven’t seen him since we got back from New York,”

“Yikes,” Rebecca says. You roll your eyes. She doesn’t know the half of it. “Just wear something nice, okay? I expect to see you decked out in all your best jewels,”

“Right, because I’m known for those,” you joke.

She bids you goodbye, and you stare at the shadows on your floor cast by your body in the light of the rangehood. You don’t even know what you would say to Leon. An apology doesn’t seem quite right, neither does pretending nothing ever happened. If anything, you’re sort of hoping he ignores you completely. That would be much easier than pretending to enjoy small talk.

With a groan, you take yourself to bed. This is something you can think about in the morning.

The sunlight does not shed any new perspective on the situation. You’re hopelessly staring at your closest, running through your options of what to wear.

“This is childish,” you mumble to no one in particular, and thread through your clothes to find a simple button down and pleated pants. They will have to do.

You dress quickly. You’re stuffing your shirt into your pants when a button pops off. It lands with a clang against your mirror. You groan, a long, drawn out sound that releases some of your tension. Why can’t anything go right for you on days like this? You reach down to pick up the fallen button, choosing to discard it on your nightstand. Maybe you could figure out how to sew it back on. It can’t be much different than sewing up a wound, right?

The taxi ride to the banquet hall is silent, save for the staticky noise of the radio. The cabbie doesn’t speak, and you prefer it that way. There’s not much for you to say anyway, at least in terms of small talk. You’re not exactly keen on sharing your pathetic situation either. So you remain silent until you pull up to the building. Checking your pockets for your necessities, you push out of the cab. It’s starting to drizzle, so you hurry inside.

You find Rebecca quickly, wearing a beautiful tan dress that hugs her figure well. You suddenly feel frumpy. The cuffs of your sleeves are fraying, your shoes are a size too small, and your pants barely brush the tops of your feet. Maybe you should’ve just stayed home.

“You made it!” Rebecca cheers, shoving a glass of champagne into your hand. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would,”

You force a smile, and say, “Me neither,”

She grins at you, threading her arm through yours. She drags you amongst the other guests, greeting the ones she knows and introducing herself to the ones she doesn’t. You admire her ability to fit into any space. There’s no evidence to suggest that she has ever seen horror, no clues that point to sorrow running in her veins. You cannot say the same for yourself. You’re fidgety, uncomfortable, and try your best not to speak to others. Your eyes shift across the ballroom, looking at the hundreds of heads that are crammed into the space. It makes you frown.

“Doing okay?” Rebecca asks. You nod. “We can find somewhere to sit?”

“You keep mingling,” you say, pulling your arm free from her. “Come find me when it gets boring,”

She flashes you a smile that has lingering worry, and lets you drift into the crowd. This is the last place you want to be, and she knows it. You find an empty table near a big window. The curtains are drawn back, and you can see the rain beginning to pelt down onto the courtyard outside. You’re not sure how long you watch the rain fall, casually sipping your champagne. The screech of a chair being pulled out beside you draws you back to reality.

Leon looks handsome, albeit uncomfortable, in his pressed suit. He fidgets with the cuffs of his jacket as he sits, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. You swallow hard.

“You looked lonely,” he says, adjusting in his chair. “Figured you could use some company,”

“I appreciate the kindness,” you say, setting your glass onto the table. He finally levels his gaze on you, and a chill snakes down your spine. “I’m alright, though,”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get away from the crowd,” he says, half smiling. 

You’re not sure what to say, so you don’t say anything. You turn your gaze back to the throng of people casually conversing like nothing bad has ever happened. The thought makes you frown. Of all the horrors and devastation you’ve seen, this has got to be the worst. People mingling and drinking like others aren’t dying a few states away.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Leon’s voice pulls you back to him. It’s a bit gruff and worn, like he’s been talking all night. Maybe he has. “Seeing people dance and laugh and be so care free?”

You nod. “They have no idea what’s out there,”

“No, they don’t,” he says, trailing his eyes over your crossed legs. “Maybe it’s better that way,”

“Maybe,” you muse, reaching for your glass again. It was half full before Leon sat down; it’s now almost completely empty. Your mouth feels dry.

“How’ve you been?” Leon asks, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. You watch him carefully, like he’s hiding something.

“Fine,” you say. You’re not sure why the words come out so clipped. You can’t find it in yourself to be sorry, though. He wants arm’s length? That’s what you’ll give him. “You?”

He frowns. “I’m alright. Just haven’t heard from you,”

“Didn’t know you wanted to,” you say. The lines around his mouth deepen, and you want to kiss them away.

“Are we back to this, then?” he asks. You feel his gaze on every inch of your skin. You feel suddenly exposed, raw. You frown.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you ask, swallowing. “Easier that way,”

You’re not sure why you throw the words back in his face, but you don’t exactly regret it. He watches you like he’s studying you.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, voice low and delicate, like he’s treading uncharted waters. You suppose that’s exactly what he’s doing.

You frown. “You said it. Not me,”

“But is that what you want?”

You don’t know. You want him to give you more than surface level. You want him to be open with you. You want him to laugh at your jokes, and sit on your couch, and help you cook dinner. You want him to know you.

“I don’t know, Leon,” you say. Something sparks in his eyes, an emotion you can’t quite place.

He’s silent for a while before asking, “What’s your sister’s name?”

You gape at him. “Angela,”

“Did you like having a sibling growing up?” he asks, scooting his chair a few inches closer.

You smile a bit. “Sometimes. Other times, I wanted her to disappear. Y’know, sibling quarrel and all that,”

“I don’t, actually,” he says. You furrow your brow. “I didn’t have any siblings,”

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much else you can say. “You’re welcome to have mine, if you like,”

He laughs then, bright and wide. “I think I’m alright. I’ve learned to like being alone,”

“What did you do?” you ask. “Before everything, I mean,”

He contemplates your question for a moment, like he’s deciding if he wants to share pieces of himself with you. “I was a cop,”

“Noble,” you say, smiling. “That tracks,”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you say, sighing. “Was training to be an EMT, but…things got in the way, and now I’m here,”

“So you’ve always been interested in medicine?” he asks. You nod. “Did you ever want to be a doctor?”

“No,” you say. “Wanted to be in the thick of it. Saving lives, and all that,”

He grins. “Bet you regret that a bit now,”

You shrug. “Sometimes. I like my job,”

“Even when it’s hard?”

“Even when it’s hard,”

He’s silent then. You watch him watch you. Something shifts in the tension between you, and you relax into your chair a bit more. There’s no one else in the room, no music playing, nothing. Just you and Leon, trying your hands at getting to know someone. You’re not sure you know how to be vulnerable like this anymore, not after everything. Visions of blood caked under your fingernails and memories of the screams of the damned make knowing another person challenging.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask. He grins at you like a child.

“Green,” he says. You nod. “Yours?”

“I like a good burgundy,” you say. He rolls his eyes playfully. “Or maroon,”

“Are those not the same thing?”

You laugh. “Not even close. Burgundy is more brown, maroon is more of a reddish purple,”

“Right, my bad,” he says, smiling.

The hole in your chest begins to close. This feels like an olive branch. You want to pull him into your orbit, feel him on every inch of your skin. You want him to consume you. You’re almost positive that he would.

“Come dance with me,” he says. You almost drop your jaw at the suggestion.

“Who are you and what have you done with Leon?” you tease, wringing your hands together. You want to take him up on the offer, more than you think you know, but it doesn’t seem like something he would do. You’re almost worried that this is some cruel ploy.

He laughs. “We can do something normal for once. No harm in it,”

You nod, standing to follow him into the crowd of other couples. His hand is steadfast on your waist, the other gently clasping one of your own. You feel stiff as he leads.

“Loosen up,” he says, leaning further into you. Your throat feels like it closes up.

“I’m loose,” you lie. He grins at you, perfectly soft lips pulling around his stupidly white teeth. God, you want to kiss him.

You decide then that you don’t want easy. You don’t want to keep him at an arm’s length, and you’ll do anything to convince him he doesn’t want it either. You want him, wholly and vulnerable, completely. You want him to look out for you. You want to do mundane, domestic things with him. You want to cut his hair because the barber never gets it right. You want to walk into the kitchen and see him doing the dishes, not because you asked but because he wanted to clean up your conjoined space. You want to fold laundry with him.

You’ve never wanted this way, or this much. Before, you’d been so content to let him be cold and detached, to throw yourself into your work and live alone. Now, you’re not happy with that. And you think he knows that too.

“You look nice tonight,” he says, voice low and gentle. It washes over you in a wave, settling your bones and warming your blood.

“Careful,” you tease, smiling. “I might think you’ve gone soft on me,”

“I think you knew that already,” he says. “This is the part where you tell me that I look nice too,”

He does look nice. You knew that already. His suit is almost all black, save for the cuff links that shine against the lights of the ballroom. He looks more than nice. He looks perfect, collected.

“Well, now you’ve gone too far,” you say, grinning so wide that your cheeks hurt. He rolls his eyes. “You do look nice, though,”

When the music fades out, he doesn’t let go. You don’t want him to anyway. You want to stay here, like this, forever. You want him to keep holding you until you’re both no more than dust. He drums a rhythm on your side with his fingers, and a shiver runs through you.

“Take a walk with me,” he says, almost bumping his nose with yours when he leans in to look at you. He’s a hair’s width away, and if you leaned in a touch, you’d be kissing him. You wonder what would happen if you did.

“Okay,” you say.

He leads you out of the crowd by your hand, which you can feel the beads of sweat beginning to form upon. You catch Rebecca’s eye as you move through the crowd. She gives you a wide smile and a subtle thumbs up, which you scowl at. It’s raining hard when you exit the ballroom. You can barely see the cars on the street ahead of you through the thick sheet of water coming down.

“Still want to take that walk?” you ask, looking up at Leon. He’s still holding your hand. He grins at you.

“Afraid you’ll melt?” he returns. You laugh. He gives your hand a squeeze. “Just for a bit,”

You’re soaked to the bone two minutes after you step into the shower. Your clothes stick to every inch of your skin and a cold wind blows, threatening to freeze the very marrow within your body. You won’t let it, not when Leon is looking at you the way he is, cheeks tinged pink from laughter and smiling so wide that you can see your reflection in his teeth.

He never once lets go of your hand as he leads you down the sidewalk. You’re silent, but it’s not uncomfortable. A car whizzes by, nearly splashing you, but Leon pulls you into him and covers your body with his. You catch a whiff of whatever fancy cologne he’s wearing, and you almost feel drunk on it. Maybe it’s the champagne you’d been sipping, but you’re not sure. He keeps you within reach, just in case another car attempts to sour your evening, he says.

“Why do you never call me by my name?” he asks suddenly, looking at you through stringy and soaked hair.

You shrug. “Everyone calls you by your name,” you say. “That’s also not entirely true. I only call you ‘Kennedy’ sometimes,”

“Only when you’re mad at me,” he says, grinning. “Which is often,”

“Well,” you say, returning the wattage of his smile. “There’s your answer,”

You stare at him for a moment, taking in the sheer beauty of his person. Before, you’d thought he was all hard edges and crisp lines. That he would cut you if you got too close. Now, though, in this moment and this lighting, he is the softest thing you’ve ever seen. Round cheekbones, soft lips, gentle features that are perfectly symmetrical. He has a few freckles dotted across his cheeks, smile lines that make his eyes crinkle. A hairline scar that extends across his right cheek. Without thinking, you reach out, smoothing your fingertips over it. It’s not that deep, barely snagging on the ridges of your fingerprints. You hear a breath hitch in his throat at the movement.

“Sorry,” you say, retracting your hand. “I didn’t mean to do that,”

“It’s okay,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes scan your face, lashes fluttering against the assault of the rain. He returns the gentle gesture by pushing a few wet strands of hair out of your eyes. His touch is ghostly, barely there.

“I never thanked you,” you say. He furrows his brows. “For staying with me that night. It…it really helped me,”

“You needed me,” he says. “Did you know that you snore?”

You bark a laugh that you can’t stop from bubbling over the surface. “I do not,”

He grins. “You totally do. It’s almost scary. I didn’t know a person could make that kind of noise,”

“You’re so mean,” you say, frowning. “You really know how to flatter someone,”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go. I need out of these clothes,”

He leads you down a few winding streets, making turns that seem random. It dawns on you then that he’s bringing you back to his apartment. Your heart leaps into your throat, clogging up your breath and your functioning. Your brain is swimming. You’re going to see how he lives, what his life looks like outside of work. He’s letting you.

He only drops your hand to get the door open. The lock jams, which you can’t help but laugh at, and then he’s finally letting you into his space.

His apartment is almost bare, similar to yours. White walls wrap the space, a few items dotted around on tables. He doesn’t own a television, you note. There’s a wall of shelves, though, filled pretty decently with books. You didn’t take him for a reader, but you suppose it makes sense. You toe your shoes off near the door, soaked clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor beneath you.

“Sorry about the mess,” you say, looking up at him. He shrugs.

“Better rain water than something else,” he says. You smile.

You follow him to his room, watching the way he begins to loosen in the space. Regardless of the lack of personality, this place is his home. It’s where he feels most comfortable, most him. And he let you into it. He digs through a tattered dresser that has likely seen many homes, turning only to haphazardly chuck an old shirt at you. You barely catch it, letting out a huff of air at the impact. He follows it with a pair of shorts.

“You’re welcome to shower,” he says, tugging off his sopping suit jacket. He begins working on the buttons of his shirt next, and you almost let your jaw drop.

“I think I’m done with water for a few hours,” you say, cheeks growing warm. He’s halfway to his navel when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You guess on which door it is and push into it, closing it behind you. You catch your breath.

You feel giddy. You can’t help the childish smile that creeps onto your lips.You change quickly, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You look frumpy, but very comfortable. You wonder what you’ll do next. Maybe he’ll just call you a cab and send you home. You pray to whoever is listening that that isn’t the case. With a heavy exhale, you leave the bathroom.

“Just leave your clothes in there,” Leon hollers from his bedroom. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow,”

You nod, following his voice. He’s clad in a sweatshirt that is a bit too big on him and a pair of sweatpants. He looks so human. You take a moment to look around the room. Where he didn’t have a television in his living room, he does have one in here. You think that’s odd. There’s a VHS player balanced precariously on top of a few books, wires running across the floor to connect to the television on a table. You wonder if this is where he spends most of his time. He leans over the VHS player, popping a tape into its mouth. Then, he settles into his bed.

You’re standing in the doorway, wearing his clothes, watching him get comfortable in his bed. You feel like some weird stalker or voyeur. It makes the tips of your ears burn.

“You can come sit, y’know,” Leon says, grinning at you. Something shifts in his gaze; he must see the turmoil on your face. “Or I can call you a cab,”

You shake your head, moving to join him. He leaves plenty of space between you–always the gentleman. You don’t recognize the movie playing on the screen, but you watch it anyway, focus so trained on it to prevent you from staring at Leon. The film drones on even though you’re not really paying attention. Leon shifts beside you, arm brushing against yours. You almost stop breathing. You feel silly for feeling this way; childish, weak, vulnerable. You wish you could be more nonchalant, more like your peers. But you don’t know how to be like that anymore. You only know quick action and timidness. You only know how to hide vulnerability for the sake of keeping people from asking if you know what you’re doing. You only know how to be closed off in the hopes that people won’t ask you how you are.

Because you know the answer. You know that if someone asks, you might unload on them. You might tell them how much you miss your family, how hard it is to dig through bodies and pull out their most valuable pieces. You might tell them how much you miss home, how much you regret taking a job in Raccoon City, how much you wish you’d stayed in school, how much you wish you could hold your nieces. 

As you think about it, you begin to cry. You’re not even sure why. It’s after a particularly unbecoming sniffle that Leon shifts his focus to you. You feel very embarrassed, trying in earnest to not let him see you cry.

“I’m sorry,” you say, wiping at your eyes with your wrinkled palms. “Sometimes I get lost in my brain, and it makes me cry,”

He shifts a bit closer to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. His fingers move in circular motions, and you can’t deny how much calmer it makes you feel.

“Talk to me,” he says, almost whispering. You look him in the eye then, and you see the sincerity in his gaze. “I want to listen,”

You sniffle again. “I thought it was easier to be mean to me,”

“I don’t want easy,” he says. You gnaw on your lower lip. “I’m sorry I said that,”

“I don’t want easy, either,” you say. He grins at you then, full and wide, and bright enough to blind you. You wonder if this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You wonder if he’s finally going to kiss you and get it over with.

“Can I be honest?” he asks. His voice is so soft, so calming, you wonder how you never noticed it before. You nod. “I thought, for a while at least, that if I was just rude enough to you, you would stop following me on missions. I thought that if you couldn’t stand to be around me, you wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t follow me into the jaws of death. Obviously, that didn’t work. That day that you stitched me up? It all hit me. I just…don’t know how to be the man you deserve yet,”

You smile, face warm and light, insides gooey and sticky. “I saw you as a challenge. I would continue to work with you out of spite,”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that now,”

“My turn for honesty,” you say, voice shaking a bit. “I was…in Raccoon City. When everything happened, I mean. I saw it first hand. It’s the reason I am where I am. I was training to be an EMT there, had some friends I’d been staying with. That’s why I get so…weird when I have to do my job. It’s why everything is so hard,”

He nods as he listens. “That must have been hard,” he says. You nod.

“It was devastating,” you say, breathless. “If I was shy before–which I was, mind you–I was a recluse after. It’s why I don’t go out, why I don’t like groups of people, why I have such a hard time being vulnerable,”

“I know what that’s like,” he says. You feel like your heart cracks open, beckoning him inside.

“You make me want to learn how,” you say, trying your hardest not to look away from him. “You make me want to learn how to be vulnerable, how to be open. I’ve told you things even Rebecca doesn’t know about me. I just…struggle with it sometimes,”

He’s silent as he watches you, and you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing. Maybe he just wants to be friends, have an extra shoulder around for when things get to be too much. Maybe you’ve read every situation, every interaction completely wrong. You don’t really know what you’re doing, after all. Maybe your naivety clouded your judgment.

It’s then that he does kiss you. It’s soft and pliant, warming you to your very core. Your hands shift to hold him better, fingers curling around the collar of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer. You melt into him, letting him set little fires across every inch of skin he consumes. You want him to devour you whole. One of his hands finds the back of your head, tilting you ever so slightly to give him better access to you. You give it up without a second thought, a small gasp escaping you as your tongue meets his. In this moment, nothing else exists. The movie playing on the television is drowned out by your bliss, the deafening roar of blood in your ears settles to a beautiful hum. It feels like the crest of a wave splashing back down into the ocean, like a symphony crescendoing. You could die here, wrapped in his warmth and his kisses, and be happy.

When he pulls away, breathless and kiss swollen and reddened, you want to sink back into him. You find it cruel that he would pull away from you, leave you cold where you were so warm before.

“Keep being vulnerable with me,” he says, breath uneven and stuttering. “Please don’t ever stop,”

If he keeps looking at you like this and kissing you, he doesn’t have anything to worry about. You’re more than willing to be whatever he needs, reading to be molded like clay into his desires. You want it. You want him. Your heart flutters at the thought that he wants you too.

[fleeting-sanity]

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Thank you to @swtorramblings for proof-reading!

He slept for the longest time in his entire life, dreamless. His body was still weak; in this year alone, there were too many times where he had to be rescued and nursed back to life. They kept insisting on repaying his kindness that way, which took him back to his own words of extending compassion to others. His eyes stared at his foot, and he told himself to not waste this chance.

But his senses told him that things were bad out there. He wanted to leave Dantooine as soon as possible, believing himself to be fully cured and fit to resume duty. However, he received a surprise guest early the next day.

“Hey. Just wanted to stop by to check on you. I heard from your sister.”

“Thank you. I’m touched you thought of me. Um… how are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m fine, I just found a lead on my objective. Also, Arn’s going to be Knighted next week, just wanna tell you that.”

“That’s amazing! I’ll be sure to attend and give my commendations.”

Tau chuckled. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll try to holo you if you can’t make it.”

It always warmed his head whenever he was around Tau’s presence, for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, or her beautiful features. Further into their conversation, Tau looked like she just realized something. She hesitated for a second before delivering the news.

“Have you watched the broadcast? I can hardly believe that Vaylin is actually alive, after all this time. But I’m glad she won’t be a problem anymore. She and her brother might be sentenced harshly.”

To say that Riornivo was gobsmacked was an understatement. His reaction surprised her, and they were both speechless for a few seconds. The Barsen’thor snapped out of it, embarrassed by the figurative potential of a fly entering his gaping mouth. “I, um… she’s… alive?”

“You seem… surprised.” Tau could sense that wasn't the right word, but asking more felt like prying. The atmosphere turned awkward, when they were mingling with mirth just then. She bid farewell to her fellow Jedi after stating her intention of resuming her mission.

He had to take a moment to sit and digest the information presented to him. That was what his senses were telling him, he thought. Vaylin’s anonymity was never promised permanence, but he didn’t think it would be revealed this soon. Anxiety scoured his psyche, wanting to meet her immediately. There was another thought of how it came to this, which led him to phoning his twin brother. The first few dials failed with a busy signal.

“Red.”

“Can we talk later? I’m-”

“Please, Red. I know-” “I know you know. I think it’s best if we talk in person. I’ll come there tomorrow, don’t go anywhere.”

Rionnic quickly ended the call, feeling unprepared to talk about the situation. He was fortunately saved from follow up calls by his sister knocking on Riornivo’s door. Vyria immediately sighed upon looking at her brother’s facial expression. Before he could utter a single word however; “Hold on. Just… hold on a minute okay? Let me go get my tea real quick!”

Vyria returned as fast as she went. Seeing her face meek and frowny made Riornivo rein back on his intense desire for the truth. This would be a calm and rational conversation–the basics of being a Jedi. 

“Yeah, alright, okay, you’re going to talk about her. Look, before anything, I haven’t been on Odessen since I got here. This is all I’ve heard from Red. She’s safe with her brother. She turned herself in, no casualties–no fuss. I think her Mom’s with the grandkids. Uhh… what else is there…”

“Thank you. Please be at ease, Snowy. I see that you’re quite flustered.”

His observation was confirmed by her taking a big gulp from her cup. “Oh, oh yeah… one more thing. She uh, she doesn’t wanna see anyone. Including you.”

Riornivo nodded. Frankly, his reaction wasn’t what Vyria was expecting.

“Huh… okay, here's some advice you didn’t ask for,” as Vyria’s index finger shot up, her face relaxing. “Maybe this time, you should heed her request–leave her alone, and don’t play into your feelings for her, okay? Remember the Code.”

“W-what feelings? I’m just concerned–didn’t you say Arcann was there too?”

“Ugh, you’re so bad at lying. But you reaaaallly have to listen. Give her space and time,” and then Vyria got up from her seat to leave; “Oh, and… could you uh, bake me a Bestine Threeberry pie again? The one with the golden sauce.”

He gave his sister an affirmation with a chuckle, but not a second later it reminded him of the taste of Vaylin’s cooking. His smile faded. He couldn’t help but feel as if she was plunged back into the worst time of her life all over again, undoing the progress they both have been through. Whether the latter part was true or not, all he could do was nothing, and it corroded him inside.

Perhaps he should write her a letter. With ink.

The first few drafts stacked the refuse bin, but then he remembered to not leave any trace of correspondence between them. Every letter started with an apology. What he wanted was to clarify his feelings towards her, but the concept sounded a little too illogical for him. He tried rationalizing the resistance towards it by two fronts: that it was not what Vaylin needed at that time of strife, and he wanted to keep it to himself. Vaylin deserved more than a man such as him. He kept delaying finishing the letter, as life kept borrowing him away from her.   

But the letter was smuggled in anyway, now in Vaylin’s hands. She kept staring at it, almost going a full day without opening it.

For a cell so completely anti-Force, the lack of intense surveillance perplexed her. Was the Alliance undermanned or under-funded? But it was definitely better than her cell in Nathema. She recalled how there was no privacy inside the glass-walled cage–just another factor designed to break her will. There were no taunts, no torture, no experiments, no conditioning. It was more than she deserved, she thought. 

There were no visitors allowed as per her request, except for Serrus, who handed her the letter. 

Dear Vaylin,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite your circumstances. I want to apologize for the way we parted ways that day. I wish things would have been different… You’ve been an invaluable lesson for me, and I don’t want it to stop. But if you wish to not see me, I respect that. If it’s the opposite instead, I will eagerly fly to your side. You can always confide in me about anything.

Your nieces are healthy and loved. I visited Aryuni and Senya the other day. Understandably, they were deprived of the spirit and drive they once had, but I’m going to help them through it. I’ll make sure they’d always have everything they need without assuming Arcann’s role. Speaking of him, we talked recently about logistics and the reason behind your decision. Without talking to you directly, I can only take Arcann’s words with discretion. We’re working together with your defense team for the trial.

I know you want to be responsible for your actions, but I can’t help believing that you deserve compassion, or another chance living the life free of your father’s dominion and isolation. 

I apologize if my words offend you… or come across as patronizing. You are a strong, independent, insightful, and talented woman. The more I get to know you, the more I admire you. I treasure the times we spent together, and I thank you for being the person you are.

Warmest regards,

Riornivo

She scanned the letter repeatedly to look for something more obvious. It left her feeling rejected yet again, it was as if he was saying nothing while skirting around the subject they should be discussing between them. Of course, the news about her nieces and the outside world was a relief to hear, but it was nothing Serrus had not already relayed to her. She crumpled then threw the letter, annoyed at his empty yet honeyed words. It was unexplainable, but she didn’t feel abandoned this time. The people who mattered to her were all in her corner, and she was sure they’d understand her condition of wanting solitude. Especially that stupid Jedi.

She picked the letter back up, straightened it and kept it inside a cabinet.

Shortly after, a group of Knights and droids delivered additional amenities for her. Even without looking inside their helmets, she could tell that they were on high alert, some nervous, some afraid of her presence. The only words exchanged were that of the Paladin stating their purpose then excusing themselves.

There was an easel with art supplies, a holonet receiver, some gardening equipment, and a datapad. Most of these objects could hypothetically be used as tools for escaping, and she was sure Rionnic knew of that. But from her point of view, this generosity felt unusual for someone like him. Was it his twin brother instead? 

She ignored the new additions to her cell and went to sleep.

From the next day onwards, there were interrogations after another. She mostly spaced out during them, unable to disperse that foggy layer made of his words. Another part of her desperately reached around the darkness for the remorse she should be feeling. 

“Vaylin? Are you listening?”

“It was Arcann who ordered it. I’m just an observer.”

“And what about Voss? Exactly six months and twenty one days after the… five worlds.”

“That was me.”

She admitted to every single crime and atrocities. That wasn’t a popular move with her defense team, but they were aiming for damage reduction anyways. Those discussions with them were droll to her–she wanted to get it over with while leaning towards capital punishment. An instance stood out to her though; one of her lawyers had a wild idea of her seeking asylum in the Empire. He pitched the idea as a gamble: that maybe she would be feared and respected over there, instead of facing consequences. Another lawyer, a Neimoidian woman named Britu, laughed at that.

“You’re kidding, right? Don’t waste our visitation time. Focus on our case!”

She wouldn’t want that anyways; she’s had enough of being used as a weapon. When asked about Arcann’s choice, the lawyers responded by working towards a life sentence. Understandable, as his twin daughters still needed their father. The next days proceeded as usual for her; utilizing the tools she was given with. She painted an abstract piece depicting broken wings representing light amidst the blood and darkness.

Deep down, she felt a vague unfulfillment looming over her heart. 

She waited until there was a break from building her case to utilize the tools given to her for escaping. The note she left stating that she would return to her cell after a few days would probably be ignored, but that’s their problem. All of her escape attempts failed at Nathema, but Odessen felt like it was intentionally unguarded. Was this a ploy of the evil twin? To make her punishment even worse, perhaps?

Being a new master of disguises, she successfully got off the planet by sneaking into an aid shipment and landed on Dubrillion. The feeling of distributing aid to the people she massacred was indescribable. Her hands were shaking. A child amputee was among the ones receiving food from her hands. The girl smiled and thanked her.

“Auntie? Why are your hands shaking?”

It wasn’t just her hands, but her voice as well. “U-uh I, I just… haven’t had b-breakfast yet! Don’t worry about me!”

It wasn’t as if she hadn't seen an amputee before–the example was one of her own blood. But the sight and smell of the destruction did something different to her this time. The way the child hurdled back to wherever she came from, limping and alone. Her co-workers ushered her to resume the distribution upon seeing her idle, but she couldn’t function well due to the overwhelming feeling. She tried defining what it was.  

She was scared of those victims. 

Soon it was break time for the Alliance crew. Her coworkers barely ate anything, and instead spent the time preparing for more aid and helping the restoration effort–the latter had the most participants of the Force-wielding nature, including her. Her Knight disguise allowed her to freely utilize the Force, but cautiously so as to not alert the others of her power. Brick by brick, she reconstructed some destroyed houses and infrastructures. While most of the Alliance personnel retreated to rest their tired bodies, she kept on going. Throughout the process, anxiety never loosened its grip on her. It didn’t matter how many buildings she helped to repair, the dread would not go away.

As the day turned to dusk, she was again approached by the girl from earlier. 

“Hi auntie… we’ve been watching you for so long. Would you want to join us and rest? Please? Aren’t you tired?”

The sweetness of the girl’s tone made her finally stop. When the girl escorted her with the hand on her remaining arm, it made her weak. It didn’t help that the girl almost resembled her twin nieces. She altered her voice as best as she could to ask for the girl’s name.

“My name’s Aulia. What’s yours?

“Um… Syl. You can call me Syl.”

She didn’t dare say a word throughout their short journey to the encampment. There she saw children playing joyfully despite their circumstances. Some Republic soldiers were cooking food en masse, some medics applying tourniquets, some were preparing for a funeral not far from there. 

“He survived initially–for almost a year... Which is remarkable despite the lack of resources we have to help him. The last of his family. But we’ve let him know that he’s loved and remembered…”

The hushed eulogy she overheard distracted her from Aulia who handed her a bread. She apologized sheepishly, but couldn’t think of an excuse as to why she wouldn’t eat the bread yet. Undoing her disguise there would be like a death sentence, especially with how she was careful to stay in Aulia’s good graces. She prayed that the child would buy her next excuse: that she had to answer nature's call first. Luckily, it worked.

She planned to eat but not before finding a spot away from any eyes on her. 

Taking off her Knight helmet, she began eating the bread, which was stale. Every few bites, she kept rotating her head around, paranoid and jittery. It was such an effort to calm herself down–the helmet made things worse, but she had to put it back on before anyone saw her. 

But someone saw her.

[b0nten]

MIGHT AS WELL

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ a love like yours was hard to come across. one like you he’ll never find, nor does he wish for. he only wants you, had only the stars aligned.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ angst, mentions of vomiting, rindou calls reader some very nasty words!

rindou was good at doing splits. he was good at fighting. he was good at surviving in juvie. there were plenty of things rindou was skilled at, except one. and it just so happened to be gentle, loving, and funny. it happened to have h/c luscious hair and striking e/c eyes. it so happened to be you.

rindou had had his fair share of relationships and hook-ups, but never had the thought of falling in love crossed his mind. he was of the simple hit-and-quit type, a curse he loved to blame on his older brother, and therefore got along with the idea of never settling down.

one windy september afternoon, though, the stars finally had mercy on him and faith guided him to you. it would’ve been a normal day, another fight, another drink, another stroll through the streets but that particular tuesday it so happened to be special.

unlike after most fights, that day he was pissed. he had not found his correct footing and ended up slipping, falling face-first into a pile of rocks, inviting some maggots to take their chance to kick at him. although still coming out victoriously, rindou couldn’t contain his anger, but he couldn’t let it out anymore either, since there was nobody standing anymore, so he just bid his farewell, and with a purple face took a long walk.

that also ended up not working, so he rushed into the nearest convenience store he could find, thanking the universe he knew roppongi like the back of his hand, and sliding past every rack, he bolted for the refrigerators and took ahold of the biggest beer he could find.

he wasn’t even out of the store by the time he took his first sip. once out the door he moved to the right, leaning against the tempered glass, closing his eyes.

“are those hickeys or did you get beat up real’ good?”

“fuck you want from me?” he said, not even opening his eyes.

“you could at least look me in the eyes when you’re being an asshole, plum face.” you spat back, this time just as angry as rindou.

when he opened his eyes, cupid’s arrow struck him.

“i’m sorry, uh..”

“y/n.”

“i’m sorry, y/n, i’m having a bad day.”

“should’ve guessed, i’m sorry for the joke.” you apologized in return, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks.

“it’s alright, don’t worry.” rindou reassured, “rindou, by the way.”

“so, rindou, why are you drinking cheap 7-11 beer at 4 in the afternoon?” you couldn’t help but ask, since his purple face was too intriguing.

“wouldn’t wanna bore you with it, it’s alright.” the blonde said in return, taking another sip, “and the beer’s actually good.”

“i’ve got a feeling you wouldn’t bore me. still skeptical about the beer tho. come on, talk, it might actually help you.”

and as corny as the encounter may have been, that is how you two became the closest friends ever and, finally, started dating.

there was never a dull moment with rindou, from amusement park dates to museum visits to shopping or cooking together, everything was exciting. he made your heart pump faster every time you saw him, and his heart was ready to jump out of his chest every time he even thought about you.

through patching him up after fights and curling his hair, you were always there for him. in confessions of heartache and fears, you were each others’ shoulder to cry on. and one says that in order to love, one has to let live, so what was happening with him in front of you right now?

his hair was messy and his voice tried not to tremble or break, but the guilt was eating him alive since he had come to this decision. in those two years he had finally learned how to live and love because of you, you had never seen him like this, he is sure of that.

but still, how can he bring himself to just shoo away the love of his life, but how can he keep you with him when it’s just so dangerous? his heart is torn apart in two, and his mind blank. should he be selfish or selfless, whichever way the words may fit to what he wants to do? should you live and hate him or possibly die while loving him?

was it actually selfless to let you go and selfish to keep you? or the other way around?

“we’re done, y/n.”

his eyes are glued to a painting to his left. his eyes burn, trying not to let out any tears at all.

you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. their penthouse feels like a small metal box and the air around is thick. you think you can hear you heart break or maybe it’s the construction work being done outside. the first time he said it you thought you had misheard him, but he really wants to break up.

“rindou, what? are you for real?”

he doesn’t say anything, he just nods, this time just looking at the floor.

“speak to me, rindou, at least have some decency!” you half-yell, not being able to call him names.

“i’ve gotten bored,” he says, “two years was way too much to work and i’ve gotten tired.” he wants to bite his face off but he knows he has to stay still.

“bored? of what? of us, of me? what the hell are you on about, rin?” he almost breaks down when he hears you call him by his nickname, and the sweet memories it holds are just excruciating.

“yes. and don’t call me that, you cheap whore… i-i know you only used me for money and drugs so it’s hight time you go and find another one to screw.”

you’re left dumbfounded at his words.

“what has gotten into you? are you alright?” you step closer but he takes a step back. it shatters your heart even more, and here you were thinking it was already down to zero.

“wake up, y/n! i’m not in love! i don’t love you, i never have, you dumb, foreign, ugly slut! you were one of my many whores, what did you think was so special about you?”

he feels a lump build up in his stomach, and his mouth is drenched in saliva, he feels the need to throw up immediately.

he finds the silence strange, creepy, obnoxious, why aren’t you talking anymore? he musters up the courage to look up and he wishes he hadn’t. you’re there, or is it actually you? he can’t tell. he sees your figure, he sees your eyes.

your eyes. they’re empty. they’re nothing anymore. they look like they’re hollow. he’s scared, he’s disappointed in him, he’s even sicker in his stomach.

he turns around to go anywhere, and before he reaches the door you speak up.

“you might as well have beat me purple like how you were the day we met. it would’ve been easier to get over.”

upon you ending the sentence, he swings the door open and goes out, the impact with the wall closing it shut again. he finds the nearest hollow or almost hallow object — a plant — and throws up in there. he cries as he lets all of the built up anger, regret and sadness fill the flower pot. he curses himself out and curses bonten even more, but thank god you’re still in there.

[brain-works]

this is literally word vomit, feel free to ignore, I just needed to get my thoughts out because I feel like everyone on social media (twitter) is acting insane right now and I can’t take it anymore.

in case you don’t want to read all that:

TL;DR stop being weird it’s just racing.

- - - - -

it feels crazy to me that RBR are allowed to constantly taunt Lando on social media (his insta, his threads, his tiktok, etc.) and have their TP and other high ranking members of their team call Lando pathetic, and post a livery reveal that looks like blood dripping, inviting a lot of disgusting people to comment that “it looks like Norris’s blood” and “they’re going to k!ll Norris”…

but the second McLaren post a factual analysis video that reiterates everything that everyone already knew (it was just an accident, with more blame leaning towards Max since you can literally see him move towards Lando on the helicopter camera), they’re the villains.

like, I understand that the social media admins can move real weird sometimes, but this all just seems so overblown to me. If RBR are allowed to constantly poke fun at it and act tongue and cheek about the incident, McLaren are allowed to remind people (who, by the way, are now trying to say that the incident was actually Lando’s fault the whole time - I’ve had to block a lottt of people) what actually happened and whose race it actually ruined.

I like both of these teams (lean more McLaren, if that wasn’t obvious), and I don’t root for anyone’s downfall, but I’m so tired of social media right now. yes, Max was more in the wrong for the collision. no, that doesn’t mean Lando is absolved of all guilt. but yes, it did hurt Lando’s race & championship bid more than it did Max’s, and he reacted accordingly (not correctly, necessarily, but accordingly).

any further conflict beyond that should be dealt with by them (and probably has already been dealt with) since they’re the only two people involved. it shouldn’t matter beyond that. and now both drivers are getting constant hate and death threats thrown towards them, and it’s exhausting. I just want to watch racing! I could not care less about the infighting that comes after every single time a driver makes a move! sometimes people run into each other, it happens!!!

this weekend, Max was in the wrong. last weekend, Lando was in the wrong (Spain grass incident). but it doesn’t matter! it’s racing! stop asking people to kts over a bunch of millionaires racing in badly drawn circles! and stop trying to blame the other driver more than your fave, you’re just continuing the circle of hate.

and also, as an aside, if you’re going to post hate/anti- posts towards a driver, can you please at least tag them correctly? so I don’t have to see post after post of vitriol towards my favorite drivers when I’m just trying to escape from it all? thx

I don’t know if I made the point I was trying to make but I’m just so tiredddddd like it’s been three days can we just move on to the next race. no one got injured, no one died, let’s just move please.

[thecaptiveheart]

Hello..?

Can anyone hear me??

I suppose not.

It’s been days here. I think? I don’t know how days spend anymore. I’m not sure how time works here. It flows like water sometimes. Other times…

Are you here? Somewhere else perhaps then?

I don’t think anyone can hear me.

I’ve been trapped here. I don’t know if I’m trapped actually. I just don’t know how to leave.

I serve instead. There is nothing else to do. And they feed me.

It’s unusual here.

I used to think thoughts that might have been everyday things. Now, I…

Today, I was sent to the rooms of the Calet.

She is a hulking creature. She sits dourly and frowns at me for a while.

“How dare you,” she tells me. “How dare you people think you that after I’ve spent my whole life not needing help, I would need yours.” So, I help her. I do not like being called you people. I do not mention it.

The spoon is small and silver as I raise it to her lips. She has eaten most of her meal herself, but now she wants me to feed her. I do. One bite. Two. She turns her head away, “enough.”

She bids me throw the food away.

There is a second mouth in her belly. It growls and spits into the dirt. The wide splitting grin frightens me, but I know I cannot show fear. I cannot show disgust. I must smile. I must play nice.

I do not like the days I attend her. She can be callous and cruel. Sometimes, she seems fond of me. Nothing connects these two points. There is no way of knowing which I will receive. The worst of it, she lies. Not real lies, but small sharp things that are lies shielded in half truths. They make me feel ashamed. They make me angry.

I can only do so much to serve her.

She sleeps for most of the day. I sit by the door grateful for the reprieve.

Before too long , there is a rumbling in the bed. I know I must attend her. I know I must go inside. 

I do not want to.

Slowly, I approach. The gaping mouth set in her belly is worse than I remember. I do not like this part. I wash it with damp cloths. I try not to let my fingers too close. I am afeard that it shall bite me. I do not think I would last long here without fingers.

There are bodies she has collected in small nooks and crevices. They are small piles and I do not want to think too much about them or where they come from. I do as I have been taught. I peel small thin layers of the skin from their corpses with a practiced deftness I try not to think too much about. The knife is sharp. It is easy work, but there is a lot of it. One by one, I place the thin layers of rendered flesh atop her gaping belly mouth. It hisses at me as I drown it in skin. It takes hours.

When I am done, she almost looks human. She is intact and displeased, but indifferent. Perhaps I have hurt her layering the skin, but she does not seem angry. She has a hushed and muted air about her now. You could not tell there is a mouth there. I think of the last heel I have cut skin from and try extra hard not to frown. She may look more human, but I am far less than I was.

She will look intact tonight though- until that mouth eats its way through the flesh from the inside out. My work will not last long, but I hope it lasts long enough that she will dismiss me.

I can smell the stench of decay on my skin and in my clothes. It clings to my hair with an acerbic viciousness I cannot bear. 

I smile and step back.

She smiles at me.

I have done well.

She dismisses me.

There are no words of thanks. 

There never are.

All I want to do is bathe and stop that smell.

It clings to me.

I wish for chocolate.

I do not know exactly, but I may have not eaten in days.

It is hard to tell because time runs oddly here and because you can never know if it is real food that you’re consuming.

I think for a moment that if I do bathe perhaps I can slip inside the revels tonight.

Not close enough to  join, but close enough to catch a glimpse of him.

And where my heart sits.

Sparkling on his finger.

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Komamura Sajin (Bleach) : Extra 1.

“O-Ohaiyo Komamura-taicho!”

You bow, because honestly you’re not certain how you should be acting around him anymore. It’s clear that things have changed, but you’re nothing if not an awkward mess. He smiles, slowing his pace when he catches sight of you.

“Ohaiyo (L/N)-san. Were you waiting for my return?”

You nod sheepishly. When you heard he would be coming back this morning you couldn’t help but race to the doors to meet him.

“I appreciate the gesture.”

You’re blushing, head lowered and he pats you on the head.

Yes, this is typically how your encounters go. You’re too bashful to initiate any real contact, so your relationship is at a bit of a standstill at the moment, but you can’t help but feel fortunate.

You’ve always been enamored with him in your own little way, but this recent development has made you extremely happy. The way he smiles at you, looks at you, gives you those encouraging pats, it’s more than you could have asked for.

The days drift by, everything is pretty much quiet. You make trips to and from the fourth division, sometimes to drop off documents, others to just see your friend Hanataro. He’s become a lot better in his healing techniques, though he’s still the cute clumsy guy you’ve always known.

“I have to get these to Kuchiki-taicho, would you like to come?” Hanataro asks.

You nod at his question, following along happily as he holds the short stack of documents. You exchange words back and forth, and before you know it, you’re almost to the sixth squad. You’re about to walk down the hallway when a group of reapers catch your sights.

The reaper that turns to you is easy to spot. You frown. She grins the second she sees you.

Miko Kuno.

“If it isn’t the captain’s pet.”

You ignore it, and Hanataro glances in your direction.

It’s better to ignore her.

“Let’s go, Hanataro.”

You both walk past her, but you know that won’t be the last encounter. You’re grateful at least she’s not with her two little weasels.

The rest of the day allows a chance for relaxation. You bid goodbye to your captain as you head back to your quarters. When you step out of your squad barracks, you don’t expect to see Komamura.

“K-Komamaura-taicho!”

You give a short bow.

“W-What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping we could go for a walk.”

“O-Of course!!”

You’re practically glowing and Komamura steps to the side so you can walk out.

You fall in step with him, eyes trying to stay ahead. It’s always been hard for you not to steal glances. Before you were better at hiding it.

You didn’t want him to mistake your admiration for something else. But now, you feel like you have the opportunity to do so without worry, but it still makes you a bit embarrassed.

“He’s always so cool!”

You’re lucky at least you have enough control not to utter such words aloud. You’re not truly familiar with the spot that he’s taking you, not until you get on that little hill. The expanse of grass, as well as the lights below are quite beautiful. You can see the Sereitei so clearly from this spot.

“Wow…”

He’s content with your awed expression.

“I have been coming here for hundreds of years. It is not often that we’re able to take in the beauty of this world. It is always good to appreciate it.”

He’s right, more often than not you’re all in some kind of battle.

War.

Seeing bloodshed so often sometimes clouds your vision. You need the reminder that darkness and hurt isn’t the only thing out there.

There can also be light, and hope.

“Thank you for sharing this with me Komamura-taicho. “

“Of course, after all, we are lovers.”

The smooth statement has your face heating up immediately.

“L-L-L-LOVERS!!”

“Yes.”

Steam is pouring out of your ears and Komamura merely chuckles.

More than anything, it’s easy being with him. There is no pressure, just a path for growth with the both of you. This new part of your life, you want to cherish it more than anything, even if some people don’t approve.

So all you can truly do is enjoy it as you carry on with your life.

The days continue.

“Watch out!!”

You jumped, grabbing the child out of the way as a fellow reaper slashed the hollow down the middle. When you landed, the hollow was already disintegrating. You smiled, placing the girl on her feet. Her friends came running over, hugging her happily.

“Good catch (Y/N)-chan.”

You laugh at your friend as the children begin to run back along to their homes, waving at you happily.

“THANK YOU REAPER-SAN!!!”

You return the wave, letting out a sigh of relief. It’s not often that it turns out so well. You’re glad that you've gotten there in time.

“Tch, all she did was grab a kid, what’s so good about that.”

You recognize the condescending tone anywhere. You turn, not impressed by the woman. You’re going to waste anymore energy entertaining her annoying comments.

“We have to report back.”

That’s all you say. You intend to move right past her, but she grabs your wrist and you stumble.

“Just because you’re close with a captain you think you can give orders, what gives you the right!”

You glare.

“If you’d like to stay, feel free.”

You pull your hand out of hers roughly and your friend looks a bit weary at your side. Getting in a fight here isn’t desirable. Especially given the hollow activity. You turn your back, and Miko looks angry.

“What right do you have to stand by him? It’s not fair. You’re acting all high and mighty, but the only reason Komamura-taicho even gives you the time of day is because he feels guilty.”

Her words make you flinch.

“You know as well as I do how kind he is, you’re just taking advantage of his kindness!”

Just for a second, you waver.

“That’s enough.”

The sudden appearance startles the both of you, and Miko doesn't look as sure. Komamura lands right in front of you. It’s not that strange, he must have responded to the release of spiritual pressure. He’s shielding you almost protectively.

“K-Komamura-taicho! I-I was just-”

“I understand that there might be some conflict, but there is no need to act so irrational. Return Kuno-san, and report to your squad. I will be escorting (L/N)-san back. “

You can see the reluctance, but she finally bows in defeat. There’s no way she can cover up what has already happened.

“Yes, Komamura-taicho.”

Just like that, she’s walking away. Your friend sends you a smile, bowing as she follows behind.

For now, the issue is resolved.

The trip back is quiet.

As happy as you are that he’d shown up, her words refuse to leave your mind. You more than anyone are aware of his kind nature. So it’s possible that he has indeed just accepted your confession out of pity.

Now standing outside your door, you slide it open. You enter, and he follows, very keen to your silence. He closes the door, but you still seem distracted.

“(L/N)-san.”

You blink, then turn.

“Ah, sorry Komamura-taicho. I guess I just zoned out. Thank you for walking me back.”

You bow, rising with a smile.

He’s not oblivious to the sadness behind this smile. You won’t truly look at him. He’d gotten there just in time to hear the commotion. So he understands that the problem isn’t as small as you’d like him to believe.

For a moment you're silent, but then your shoulders seem to drop in defeat.

“Komamura-taicho..”

Your voice is soft, almost like you’re scared to ask the question, but he knows that you will.

“Did you really…just accept my feelings out of pity..”

Your eyes tremble, and you want to believe that it's a lie, but it’s hard.

He knows now that giving you kind reassurances might not be the answer. He needs to be completely honest about everything.

“There were some truths to her words. Initially I considered your feelings out of kindness.”

You lower your head, lips quivering.

So it was true after all.

“But I have gained feelings for you of my own accord.”

Your eyes widen, and you look up. His expression is so soft, and when he reaches out and cups your cheek with his palm, the warmth almost makes you melt right in your spot.

“I admire you for your strength, your bravery in taking such a step. I have always been aware of you, but I have recently begun to see sides of you that have further convinced me that all I would like to do is stay by your side. I understand that you may have doubts, but please never doubt this. “

You suddenly feel foolish. You should have just trusted him, nothing he has said or done has led you to believe his feelings aren’t sincere. You just find it hard sometimes. He’s easily one of the most amazing people you’ve ever met. So you know there are times where the insecurity crawls in, but you’re grateful for this, him.

“I-I’m sorry Komamura-taicho. I should have trusted you. I’m really sorry.”

He shakes his head, and when he leans down, you all but hold your breath.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

That’s all he says before he kisses you. Your hands are gripping at his robes, and your heart is beating faster than you thought possible. The height difference is so noticeable, and when he pulls back, straightening, you’re almost mesmerized. Komamura smiles.

“Your expression is quite honest (L/N)-san.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you cover them.

“D-Don’t look at me!!”

You’re embarrassed and you squeal when he picks you up.

“It is impossible to make such a request.”

His words are so earnest.

“I can only look at you.”

Your heart leaps, because he is indeed looking right at you. Every insecurity about your relationship seems to have vanished.

It’s impossible to fake something so pure. It’s in his eyes. You can’t believe you’ve never noticed it.

You’ll never forget. 

[chokchokk]

so uh nora i dunno if this is the right timing to say i don't know FUCKSHIT about hybrids and uh. knotting and all that. LMAO HELP ME i'll still probably find it hot sooooooo.....

omg watch me develop something for hybrids?????

(spoiler: i did)

so much cum, like a crazy amount, very unrealistic amount of cum

LMAO I SNORTED

buckling up, filling my cum-chalice, making myself comfortable, the weekend may begin~

the clouds resembled cotton candy

ohhh we are going to EAT tonite baby...... we gon eat...................

nuzzling his cheek into your lap.

(just the deepest, breathiest snickling)

You smiled. He was your good boy.

hh,hhmhmh,,hmh. hnh,. mhm. yes you are. i mean yes he is.

my good boy indeed..... ..fj.gjmgfjf.

“But, ngh- I don’t wanna get your clothes dirty.”

PUNCHING HOLES INTO MY WALL. SHREDDING MY CHAIR.

MAKING THE BED.

GET IN HERE. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

the subtle perk-up of his ears at the nickname,

brb sobbing. i think i actually whimpered when i read that. im so real.

San drowned himself in the overwhelming pleasure

drinking up every drop of his pleasure until his body is DRY. not even in a metaphorical sense.

the poignant scent of lavender permeating the air around you

there he is. i was preparing for him honestly but i think he's going to be the end of me i'm sure of it LMAO

Sandwiched between the two bodies,

LETSGO

“not enough”

the whole scene. burned into my head. my thigh is so. lonely. my singular leg is craving so much warmth.

("warmth".....)

ohhh to have a manwhore grind on my leg and cum...

you gathered the symptoms in your head, a final diagnosis flashing in red before your eyes. Of course.

reader is so smart

i wouldn't have formed one coherent thought at that point. diagnosis? horny.

Your good boy, following your unspoken instruction.

STOPPPITNORAAAA YOU CANT FEED INTO THIS SO MUCH I'LL ACTUALLY DIE. MYYYYYGOOOODBOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

"Youngie, ‘s enough,” San pleaded, voice drowned out as he dug his face further into the crook of your neck, and Wooyoung decided he liked that reaction.

i am deciding to hold my peace and be normal about this uh-huh even if san is being the most adorable cumslut i have yet to fully grasp the image with the hybrid stuff FUCK he is so cute img ongangafoam out of my mouthhhhhhhhh

To your surprise, San’s attention focused back onto you, his eyes lidded but still aware, not yet clouded with the thick haze of his heat.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

(that's all i have to say to this)

“No!” Pink painted his cheeks at the sudden raise in his tone, his next words uttered under his breath with embarrassment laced into the syllables.

BABYBOYBABYBABYNYBNBABYOBYBOABYOBYOABYA

i can not be rescued. i have to own him. i have to have him. i have to-

San’s ears perked up

i had to search for my first ever poorly drawn reaction because i can not find the words anymore.

Veiny hands found San’s waist, gripping the narrow diameter

FUCKAWFFFFFFFFFFFF YOU C ANT DOTHIS TO ME NOT THE SL UTTTY LITTLE WAAAAAIST

puckered his lips to drop a wad of spit over it, adding to the mess San had already made.

i think i drooled. haha. hahahahahahahahahahahahaahaha-

“is kitty being lazy?”

WOOYOUNG YOU BITCH. I LOVE YOU.

“Mommy should feel good too,”

MY BABY. MY BABY. MY GOOD BOY-BABYYY.

chest flushed and heaving as a melody of moans fell off his tongue. Unsatisfied with the pace San was going at, Wooyoung returned to his frenzied rhythm

music to my mind fr. singing a song. dancing. tangoing the fuck out of these images you are planting into my mind. GOD, NORA

Whispered I’m sorry's blew over your skin, the setting sun bidding you farewell through the open blinds and painting the walls in a pinkish hue, the rays’ warmth nearly equivalent to that within you as San’s cock spurted weak ribbons of white between your walls

RIBBONS. RIIIBBOONNS. EVERYTHING IS JUST TO. CUTE. I CANT. I CANT I CANT I CANT I can I CANT I CANT

eyes roaming over the liquid dripping off your breasts and down your abdomen, a cheeky smile stretching his lips until his canines peeked through: “I think kitty's all out of milk.”

cum chalice: full my mind: fed thots: yes thot?: me, yes

Despite his drowsiness, San peeked an eye open to look at you, an easy smile curling the corners of his lips once he found your gaze.

NNNOOOOO-RA.

NO.

You mooned over the tranquillity weaved into his expression—the subtle tug at the corner of his lips, a smile he couldn’t hold back even when unconscious—as though he carried no concern for the next wave of his heat, content so long as he remained encompassed within the familiar scent of vanilla and lavender.

so beautiful!!!! poetic!!!!!! im gonna ignore the amount of cum that i had to imagine !!!!! my thoughts sound muffled because of all the cum !!!!!!! vanilla and lavender !!!!!!!!! why am i craving pudding !!!!!!!! fuck !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i can't even say that this was filthy but it surely was and this was surely a way to start into my saturday LMAO !!!!!!!!!!!!! nora, 'twas amazing. feets were kicked and hair was twirled, my roomie had a great time watching me from across the room, 10/10 experience (he may never know what my mind was fed.)

ꕥ— 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮

navi | taglist

pairing: kitty!choi san x owner!reader x puppy!jung wooyoung

w.c.: 4.4k

tags: smut, fluff, hybrid au, fem reader, mxm heavy (check tags)

squeezed between your body and wooyoung's, kisses littered over his heated skin and whimpers dragged out from between his lips, you guided san through his first heat.

A/N: this is thank you gift to one of the sweetest people I've had the honour of meeting!! @roodles17 /@littleocean-rose thank you so much for everything, and I really hope I did your idea justice!! happy reading~~

nsfw and warnings under the cut—minors dni 🔞

warnings: threesome (m/f/m), thigh humping, unprotected sex (👎), vaginal sex, mxm, anal fingering, some rimming, anal sex, slick for lube lmao, bottom!san, top!wooyoung, sub!san, service dom!reader, who knows what wooyoung is, man just wants to fuck, reader is referred to as 'mommy', knotting, multiple orgasms (m&f), so much cum, like a crazy amount, very unrealistic amount of cum, handjob, male squirting, breeding kink, lots of praise, lots of overstimulation, lots of creampies, which leads to some buldging, some cockwarming, some spit, san is very whiny, nicknames (mommy; woo, youngie; sannie, kitty, love, darling), I think that's all?

Fingers pressing into the tattered keycaps, you basked under the sliver of sunlight filtering through the open blinds above your desk, the shining orb only now departing from its locus, a couple more hours to go before the sky changed hues and the clouds resembled cotton candy. You sighed as you turned your attention back to your screen, urging your hands to move while your unfinished report stared back at you.

You don’t hear the muted shuffling behind you, bare feet padding along the floorboards until they reached your side, a subtle gush of air blowing over your skin as the cat hybrid crouched beside you, nuzzling his cheek into your lap. You smiled at the gesture, moving one hand off your keyboard to run it through his blonde locks, taking in his docile form as he sat on the floor by your desk chair. Your mind wandered back to his first few weeks with you: he would only eat when he was alone, startle at any sound, hiss and bite whenever you tried getting near him. But now, that same hybrid sought out affection and even began initiating it, growing whinier every second your attention was not on him, his lips pouting egregiously until you welcomed him into your lap.

He tilted his chin upwards, setting it on your thigh to look up at you expectantly, shifting onto his knees as his eyes grew wider. You huffed out a laugh at his expression, and you knew the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with the golden rays of spring shining through your window. But your work deadline ticked in your head, your eyes flitting back towards your laptop as its fan whirred in the background, sighing in defeat.

“I really need to get this done, Sannie,” the disappointment on his face pulled at your heartstrings. “I’m sorry, love. Give me an hour or two and I’ll be all yours, okay?”

The pout on his lips persisted, but a hesitant nod shook his head. You smiled. He was your good boy.

San remained by your side for next hour, cheek smushed against your pajama bottoms and his tail brushing over your feet every time it swayed. It distracted you at first, the subtle purr vibrating over your thigh, but soon your fingers began moving steadily over the keys, typing paragraph after paragraph, San’s restless fidgeting going unnoticed as you immersed yourself into your report.

He stared up at your profile, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and your lips pursed while you worked, a shot of pain surging through his tight abdomen. You’d heard San make a lot of noises—needy meows, hearty giggles, feisty hisses—but the pained mewl slipping through his lips wasn’t one of them, instantly turning your head towards him. Teary eyes met yours, his chin propped up on your thigh and his face contorting into that of fiery need, fingers grasping at your calves in an attempt to ground himself. You noted the trail of slick left on the floorboards under him, shimmering under the sunlight as he rutted over the solid wood.

Drawing your attention back to his eyes, you held his face in your palms, “Sannie, can you tell me what hurts, love?”

“I-I can’t wait anymore, ‘hurts,” tears welled up in his eyes, and before you could repeat your question, San’s hand finds its way between his legs, palming over the tent in his pink sleep shorts with built-up desperation. “Please, ‘want you now.”

You glanced at your screen, the nearing deadline ticking in your head as you weighed your options. Small hands tugged at your flowy bottoms, the sound of reckless shuffling focusing your attention on San as he dragged his hips along the floor, soft whimper slipping through his parted lips. Your fingers twitched over his skin, slipping down to rest on his biceps.

“How about you grind against mommy while she gets the rest of her work done, hm?”

San’s eyes lit up, and he hurriedly scrambled off the floor to straddle one of your thighs, panting heavily as you moved his waistband down—sucking in a deep breath at the lack of underwear—and snapping it under his balls. The thin material was soaked through, precum and slick darkening the cotton as San’s arousal flooded out of his delicate body. You’d never seen the cat hybrid act this way, eying over his reddening skin while he grinded his leaking cock over your upper thigh, streaks of precum staining the fabric.

“Good?” You pushed back the blonde strands sticking to his damp forehead.

“’F-feels weird, mommy, I- ah!”

“Weird how, love?” You brushed a thumb over his shut eyelid, a silent request for him to look at you, and he did, peaking at you through the thick veil of arousal clouding his senses. “Tell mommy how you’re feeling.”

“I-I don’t know...”

The pout on his lips drew a smile on yours, “Do you not feel good?”

“No! ‘Feels so good…. I-I’m so close,” his hips slowed, San's eyebrows furrowing at the languid pace despite it being his own doing.

“Does kitty want to cum?” You smiled, tucking a loose strand behind his ear.

He bit back a moan, canines digging into his bottom lip as he tortured himself with slow drags over your clothed skin. “But, ngh- I don’t wanna get your clothes dirty.”

Fondness flooded your chest, your heart about to burst at the innocence held within his words, contrasting the flushed state of his skin and the precum seeping into your patterned pants. “Oh Sannie, you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” Your lips stretched further at the subtle perk-up of his ears at the nickname, “don’t worry about that, darling, we can wash them later.”

Your hands found their place on his behind, guiding his movements over your thigh until airy moans poured out of him. Tucking his face into the crook of your neck, he breathed in your scent, blowing hot air out of his lungs while he frantically rolled his hips back into your palms, and forwards over the soft cotton. Mumbled pleas and heavy pants muffled by your skin, the stutter of his hips as you moved them over you, San drowned himself in the overwhelming pleasure, his cock pulsing while ropes of white painted over the pattern on your pants.

A rough tongue ran over your pulse point, suckling on the delicate skin as he continued to grind over you, still hard and not showing any signs of fatigue. Unusual, you thought, as the hybrid was usually satisfied after one round, feeding off the attention you’d given him until another wave of need overtook him. Frenetic hips continued to move over your thigh, aided by the translucent liquid coating your pants, his thrusts only calming down once a third body entered the room, resonant footsteps turning hushed as bare feet pressed into the fluffy rug in your study. A curious—and slightly erratic—nose dug into the side of San’s freckled neck, Wooyoung’s hanging ears along with a few strands of purple brushing against the side of your face, the poignant scent of lavender permeating the air around you. Sandwiched between the two bodies, you watched queryingly as his sniffing nose trailed upwards to nuzzle into the other hybrid’s hair—yet another unusual occurrence.

After a couple months of cautious steps and endless bickering, the two hybrids were basically inseparable. Their scent mingled into one, and one of their beds was almost always empty as they began to favour a shared sleeping arrangement. But Wooyoung was acting strange, as though he was experiencing a new side to San, inhaling a scent different to the one he’d grown used to.

“Smells so good,” he muttered into the blonde locks, arm circling the two bodies in the creaking chair to pull San closer with a hand on his lower back, pushing him further into your chest with the gesture.

“Youngie…” Wooyoung’s ears perked up at the gravelly tone, but his face remained buried into the side of San’s head. “Youngie, ‘want you, please,” his hips gave a few aggressive thrusts before another load of hot cum spurted out of his angry cockhead, a broken cry sending a wave of arousal down to your core, and—judging by the grunt leaving the puppy hybrid’s lips—Wooyoung’s as well.

You gave San a few seconds to wind down, sucking in a surprised gasp when the hybrid returned to his insistent grinding, a whispered “not enough” on his lips. With your hands on his shoulders, you pulled him off you until his flushed face returned to your field of vision, glossy lips parted and eyes lidded with lust while he moved his cock over a puddle of his own cum. Levelling Wooyoung with a warning look, the hybrid pulled back his meddling nose with a dejected whine, allowing you to examine the cat hybrid without his unneeded assistance. You placed a hand on his cheek, the other on his forehead, eyebrows raising at the abnormal warmth seeping into your palms as the blonde nuzzled into your touch, a soft purr vibrating in his chest. The high temperature, the urgent need for stimulation, the obscene amount of cum coating your thigh—you gathered the symptoms in your head, a final diagnosis flashing in red before your eyes. Of course.

Your fingers slid into his hair, thumb brushing over his cheekbone while you scratched at the hair behind his ears, the worry pulling your eyebrows together lessening at the way San melted under your touch. “Oh, love, you’re in heat?” It was as though your words had reminded him of his current situation, his movements growing frantic again, the hand you’d slid down to his hips proving useless in calming him down. “My poor baby,” you cooed, allowing him to move as he wished, “you won’t feel better until you get a knot in you.”

San’s head snapped upwards, looking for the puppy hybrid’s eyes and finding them staring right back at him, the veins in his hands protruding out of the delicate skin as he gripped the edge of the chair behind you to prevent himself from reaching out to San. Your good boy, following your unspoken instruction.

Small hands circled around your head to grab fistfuls of Wooyoung’s shirt, making you on eye-level with San’s chest as his eyes grew teary with overflowing need, “please, Youngie, please knot me.”

Peering down at you with a questioning gaze, hints of desperation glimmering in his hooded eyes, Wooyoung silently asked you an obvious question, his fingers twitching beside your head. You smiled, huffing out a small laugh as your chest brimmed with teeming adoration.

“What do you say, Youngie, should we help our poor kitty out?”

--

Small hands kneaded at the backs of your thighs, folding you in half and leaning over your body while he dug his blunt nails into the flesh, the relaxed pace at which he squeezed at your skin contrasting that of his hips, hammering into your soaked pussy without relent, as though he hadn’t dragged two orgasms out of you already. You slid a hand over the side of his neck, bringing his head down until the tell-tale roughness of his tongue grazed your collarbone.

San’s thrusts faltered, his hips now shallowly rolling into your cunt while mumbled gibberish mixed with whimpers poured onto your chest in hot exhales. He was more so rutting his hips back than forward, meeting Wooyoung’s long fingers as they stretched him open, a stream of slick dripping down San’s balls and mingling with your arousal and his cum, a thick load already stuffed deep within you. At the change in demeanour, Wooyoung prodded the pads of his fingers at the swollen gland again, eyes following the frantic sway of the fluffy white tail in front of him, and noting the subtle twitch of San’s toned thighs.

“Youngie, ‘s enough,” San pleaded, voice drowned out as he dug his face further into the crook of your neck, and Wooyoung decided he liked that reaction. So he repeated the motion, once, twice, until you felt his throbbing length pulsating within you. “Nghh! P-please I-”

He drew his hips away from the relentless digits, sheathing himself within your warm walls as Wooyoung milked him from the back, his muscles jerking with every brush against his prostate. He pulled his fingers out at the first protest from the cat hybrid, a feisty paw swinging backwards in complaint, instead leaning down lick a stripe over San’s winking hole, clenching uselessly as slicked oozed out of it. That same paw reached back to press against the back of Wooyoung’s head, pushing him further between his legs as the starved tongue lapped at his puckered rim.

To your surprise, San’s attention focused back onto you, his eyes lidded but still aware, not yet clouded with the thick haze of his heat. Rolling his hips experimentally, San’s eyebrows furrowed in discomfort momentarily before relaxing, languidly grinding his once-again hardening cock into your cunt, exhaling breathy moans that reached your face in negligible puffs, “am I making you feel good, mommy?”

You carded your fingers through his soft locks, the sound of Wooyoung suckling excitedly on San’s rim drowning into the background as gentle eyes awaited your affirmation. “You feel so good, Sannie, always so good got me, love,” the corners of your lips curved into an easy smile, your overwhelming infatuation towards the hybrid pouring into your expression. But then his face contorted again, as though every motion within you wounded him. “Sannie, does it hurt, darling? We can stop now if you’re tired-”

“No!” Pink painted his cheeks at the sudden raise in his tone, his next words uttered under his breath with embarrassment laced into the syllables, “p-please don’t stop, mommy feels so good.... ‘wanna cum again, please, can I?”

Holding his face between your palms, you drew him closer to smack a few open-mouthed kisses onto his heated forehead, thumbing over his cheekbones while you eyed his features for a few seconds, his soft whine reminding you that he’d asked a question, “of course you can, darling, you can cum as many times as you want.” San’s ears perked up, his tail standing straight for a moment before beginning to wave at a building pace, becoming uncontrollable after he’d picked up your next words, “do you wanna try coming on Youngie’s knot?”

San's hips stilled, partly at your words, but also due to the firm chest now stuck to his sweat-covered back, Wooyoung’s cock snug between his cheeks. Small fingers clutched your thighs again, digging into the skin as Wooyoung teased his cockhead over the perky hole, smearing precum around until it formed a homogenous mixture with San’s slick before finally breaching his entrance. The tinges of neglect you’d been feeling faded away with every inch Wooyoung pushed into the hybrid above you, your position under him granting you a front-row view to his changing expressions—his delicate features reforming as pleasure seeped through his nerves, his eyes fluttering as he tried to keep them open, drawing a perfect circle with his mouth and widening it into an oval once Wooyoung bottomed out. You resisted shutting your eyes, wanting to take in the hushed whimpers escaping the back of San’s throat without any external interferences, but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the hybrid’s face.

Wooyoung’s patience had never been the greatest, always first to jump off the couch whenever he heard your footsteps approaching the front door; not backing down even after getting scolded for crowding you while you made dinner. So you weren’t particularly surprised when he allowed San only a few seconds to adjust, snapping his hips into the hybrid with urgency, pushing his body into yours with every forceful thrust. Veiny hands found San’s waist, gripping the narrow diameter while he drove his cock into his dripping hole, lowering his head to watch himself sink into the stretched rim, and puckered his lips to drop a wad of spit over it, adding to the mess San had already made.

The sweat coating San’s forehead smeared over your chest, his body curling in on itself as he simply took Wooyoung’s cock, giving up on his lousy attempts at thrusting into you. Wrapping your arms around San’s shoulders, you cradled the back of his head and pressed your lips to his hair, the sound of skin-on-skin blending in with the soft mewls vibrating against your chest while Wooyoung pounded into him.

“Kitty feels so good, so warm inside, ah-” his hands slid off San’s waist, one curving over the slope of his ass, spreading him open until the stretched hole peeked at him, squeezing deliciously around his cock, the other pressing onto his lower back.

San's back arched, his nipples rubbing over your torso with every forward jerk, “Youngie, please m-more- ‘want more- hnngh!”

The tone of his voice, the airy moans paired with the drool pooling over your skin, the minute brushes of his cockhead over your g-spot—you were beginning to feel impatient, walls clenching around his throbbing length. That was enough to drive him over the edge, your eyebrows shooting up when warmth spread through your lower belly, the hybrid’s body shuddering as another orgasm rushed through him, Wooyoung’s hips resolute as he guided him through his high.

Through the thick haze of lust, Wooyoung’s eyes locked on you, seemingly noticing your restless state as you warmed San’s cock. He leaned over the blonde’s body, planting a kiss over his shoulder blade, “is kitty being lazy?” the words seemed to fly over his head, his eyes barely open as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm, so Wooyoung gave him a harsh thrust to drag his attention back to him, a startled cry leaving his lips, “Does Sannie like Youngie’s cock that much? Too dumb to do anything but take it?”

San’s head shot off your chest, craning his neck to look back at the puppy hybrid, “l-love Youngie’s cock, please, ‘want it so bad-”

Despite San’s pleads, Wooyoung remained still, one hand squeezing at the flesh of his ass and the other reaching forward to lock with yours, “uh uh, you gotta move properly, San-ah,” he rolled his hips once, moving San with him, his cock hard and throbbing inside you.

“It’s okay, Woo,” you tried, but Wooyoung shook his head.

“Mommy should feel good too,” he pulled his hand away, holding San’s hips and guiding his movements—forward to properly fuck into you, then back to sink his cock into his tight heat.

With your walls wrapped around him and his around Wooyoung’s, the leaking cockhead pressing into his prostate every time it split him open, San’s breathing quickened, chest flushed and heaving as a melody of moans fell off his tongue. Unsatisfied with the pace San was going at, Wooyoung returned to his frenzied rhythm, taking San’s hips with him as he hammered his cock into his tight ass. Soft fingers grasped at the sheets by your head, glimmering eyes—glazed over and glassy—staring back at you, his lips moving in unuttered words as he found his voice through the sounds of pleasure occupying it.

“A-am I doing good, mommy? Is Sannie making you f-feel good?”

The desperation in his voice caused the butterflies in your stomach to thrash around, your fingers gentle as they caressed the hair at his crown, your other hand rubbing soothing circles between his shoulders, gliding smoothly over the sweat beading over his skin. “My good boy, doing so well for me,” you cooed.

And he was. Shots of pleasure seared up your spine as his cock dragged over your pulsing walls, curving into your sweet spot to push you closer to the edge. You could hear the distinct purr reverberating in San’s chest, the gap between your bodies small enough to allow his perked-up nipples to faintly brush against yours with every onward sway.

You could hear Wooyoung’s growing frantic, leaning forward and growling into San’s neck as he fucked into his dripping ass, “mommy, please, hah- c-can I fill kitty up? ‘wanna fuck his breeding hole full of Youngie’s cum, can I please?”

Heat surged through your insides at his words, his lidded eyes peeking at you over San’s shoulder, and you could see his tail wagging violently in the background. You pushed a purple strand off his forehead, brushing your thumb over his eyebrow as you spoke, attempting to maintain a steady tone while San’s hips bucked into you, “you have t-to ask Sannie, baby, not me.”

Burying his nose into San’s neck, inhaling the sweet scent emitting off him between the words he muffled into his skin, “Sannie, can I? C-can I give you my knot? ‘Want you to have Youngie’s pups.”

A whimper escaped through San’s parted lips, not knowing whether to pump his cock into you or to fuck himself on Wooyoung’s, his rhythm all over the place as he pathetically whined and begged for release, “y-yeah- yes, please- ‘Wanna have your pups, g-give it all to me- nghh!”

Amidst the chaos occurring above you, your nerves lit up as your orgasm snuck up on you, your lips parting in a silent cry while San continued his arrhythmic thrusts despite the tremors shaking your body. Whispered I’m sorry's blew over your skin, the setting sun bidding you farewell through the open blinds and painting the walls in a pinkish hue, the rays’ warmth nearly equivalent to that within you as San’s cock spurted weak ribbons of white between your walls. You whimpered at the overstimulation, and San pulled out of you, resting his softening length on your mound while the other hybrid used him like a fucktoy.

The rasp in Wooyoung’s voice echoed in your ears, “gonna look so pretty when you’re swollen.” San’s mewled in response. “All mine, my pretty kitty, going to take all of Youngie’s cum,” he ended with a throaty grunt, snapping his hips thrice before stilling, his knot locking in place and his abdomen flexing as he unloaded inside his heat.

San’s body seized up atop of yours, his face scrunching in discomfort momentarily before easing, and his muscles turned to jelly as he relaxed over you. But Wooyoung’s hand reached between their tangled limbs, pressing San’s spent cock into your lower belly and ignoring the broken protests from below. Grinding his hips into San’ stretched rim, he emptied his thick load inside his used hole, his hand dragging the blonde’s cock over the faint bulge in your tummy where a pool of his cum sat within your womb.

“Youngie, ‘hurts, it hurts-” He hiccupped, and yet his hips followed the movement, forcing his eyelids open to watch his angry cockhead smear watery cum and remnants of your arousal over the skin. “I can’t- please, I-I-”

“Yes you can, Sannie,” you interjected, running a shaky hand through his damp locks, “you can give Woo and I one more, right?”

His eyes welled up with tears, but he nodded nonetheless, the thick knot tugging against his swollen entrance as he slid his length over your skin. “F-feels weird, mommy,” but San kept moving, Wooyoung’s hand still spread over the length to trap him against you.

It was as though a pressure had been rapidly building inside him—Wooyoung’s knot stretching him open and his cum fucked so deep inside him, your skin so smooth and tender under his overstimulated cock as he continued to rut against it. Rough fingers wrapped around the base of his tail, tugging harshly and sending waves of euphoria crashing through San’s trembling body. The pressure burst in the form of translucent streams, his cock twitching uncontrollably as Wooyoung palmed over the head, urging more liquid to squirt out of it and coat your torso. A broken cry ripped out of San’s throat, jerking backwards and away from the puppy’s merciless touch until he gave him some reprieve.

Strong arms wrapped around San’s waist, holding him against his firm body while his chest rose and fell erratically. You sat up, running gentle hands over San’s thighs while peppering kisses over his damp skin, patient while the spasming in his muscles died down. Resting back on his heels, Wooyoung’s arms remained protective around San’s delicate body, eyes roaming over the liquid dripping off your breasts and down your abdomen, a cheeky smile stretching his lips until his canines peeked through:

“I think kitty's all out of milk.”

Once Wooyoung’s knot went down, he slapped off the sticky paws clinging to him and kissed away the pout painting San’s lips, rushing out of bed to clean up. San complained for less than minute before you walked in—showered and carrying a wet rag—to clean him up, running the cloth between his legs and wiping away all the slick and cum. He would shower later, but now, he allowed you to slip a fresh pair of matching pajamas onto his limp body, inhaling the familiar scent of your vanilla-scented laundry detergent before sinking into the clean bedding you’d laid out.

Settling into bed with his head tucked into your neck, limbs tangled up underneath the duvet, you heard the resonant purr sounding in his chest a few seconds before wet footsteps breached the doorway. A warm body followed by a trail of floral bodywash stretched over you to flop behind San's figure, arms enveloping the fatigued hybrid and his hands falling over your waist. With a final look at the two of them—San’s eyes fluttering shut as he succumbed to his exhaustion, cheeks flushed and his hair matted with dried-up sweat; a soft snore dragging your attention to the knocked-out puppy, damp, purple locks spread out on the pillow under his head while he squeezed himself flush against San’s back.

Despite his drowsiness, San peeked an eye open to look at you, an easy smile curling the corners of his lips once he found your gaze. You leaned forward to press your lips to his forehead, then his cheekbones, and finally his pouted lips, moving back while scratching behind his fluffed ears to watch slumber pulling his eyelids shut. You mooned over the tranquillity weaved into his expression—the subtle tug at the corner of his lips, a smile he couldn’t hold back even when unconscious—as though he carried no concern for the next wave of his heat, content so long as he remained encompassed within the familiar scent of vanilla and lavender.

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[whisperingmonsters]

I ache, but why, I do not know.

I barely knew them.

It must be that I’m missing the version of me when I was around them, then.

Or was it the journey of getting to where I am about my disability and being able to tell my most honest story in 23 minutes?

Ok writing this confirmed the latter. Im crying a lot more now. Three weeks went by too quickly as I created this very personal work. Just like that, it’s over.

But it’s not over in real life. Not at all. I’m still here processing my entire life experience of both masking and unmasking. I cannot mask my tics but on the other hand I have masked everything and anything that would make me stand out or appear weak and fragile and stupid. So afraid to ask for help. So afraid to seek support. So afraid it would make me less than.

Maybe that’s why I am aching too. It was my first time asking for help and support in spaces I usually feel small in. Trying to be brave.

Yong Ah’s parting words last week were “you don’t need to be afraid anymore.”

I thought to myself, yeah sure. Because there’s definitely no way I will not continue to be afraid in this world that’s not made for me. But those words are landing now. Somehow. Somewhat.

The trip back from Korea was a breeze. There was support when I asked for it. The producer informed the bus driver about my condition before we bid goodbye. And I travelled in the 3 hour bus ride with a fellow artist. I also took my Valium to sleep.

At the airport, the lady at the check in counter arranged everything for me. I got my vacant seat next to me with no hassle. I had to check with her multiple times because I could not believe it was so easy. Granted, the flight was not full. She also informed the cabin crew herself. On the plane, the person seated in front of me changed his seat. That didn’t bother me. There was this one stewardess who looked out for me too.

These things happened the morning after Yong Ah said those words to me.

I was not afraid.

But only because I had support.

But still, I think there is some kind of power one attracts when they’re not afraid. Not fearless but maybe brave. Maybe support gave me courage and courage gave me more support.

[abyssmarked]

“ i just want to feel something. “

the fiend kept herself from feeling anything for so many years, feelings only made her weak. feelings only got her hurt, in more ways than one. but she's been peeling back the many complex layers of astarion over these last few weeks, slowly sharing more parts of one another, and not just the physical parts. though, the more they relate to each other's tales of woe, the more they open up about their traumas — the more akin she feels to him. their sexual encounters feel more genuine, less strategic.

there was only ever one brief moment in her entire life where a sexual encounter felt — intimate. ninety - nine percent of sexual experience she's acquired has been shrouded in fear, pain, force : for the first half. the other half feels... better — but far from intimate. the latter half of her life has been spent quite literally fucking people to death, the bidding of her fiendish patron in the abyss. he gave her the power to be free of her captors from the brothel she was sold into, and the knowledge of her true nature, and taught her the ways of the devils. of the succubus. for a long while, she considered that her patron saved her life, all she had to do was kill men with her body and deliver their souls back to him, the souls of powerful leaders, noblemen and tyrants alike. for a while, she liked it. and she still does, absorbing the entirety of a man's life - force as he slowly writhes beneath her, nourishing her, intoxicating her, strengthening her — it's one of the most euphoric things the succubus has ever experienced. but she's tired of someone else having a say over what she does with her body, and when she does it. she's been desperate for her own autonomy for as long as she can remember.

the spawn’s words fall upon tentative ears, as the two ‘monsters’ stand alone together a short ways from camp. they’ve been meeting up like this after the other fall asleep for weeks now, but only recently did it start feeling more significant. ` me too, ` she responds, her voice soft, icy hues trained on red ones as she slowly strides up to him, closing the space between them, ` not just anything, though. not anymore. i want to feel something real, ` she lifts a warm hand to brush his cool cheek, letting her gaze wash over his face, studying his reactions to her touch ; her closeness, ` and i think you do too. when is the last time you felt like someone truly cared about you ? cared about what happened to you ? because i don’t think i’ve ever had that, until you. will you tell me if i’m wrong ? ` there is a hint of despondency within in her eyes, wondering if astarion had truly grown to care for her the way she has for him, and afraid to find out he might not.

[peterpparkrr]

Pinned (Pt. 6)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m so sorry! But we are close to having some real breakthroughs!

prev. part // next part

It doesn’t take long for him to find you. You’ve changed your work schedule. Asked your fellow tailoresses not to tell anyone who asks what days you work now. No matter how much money they offered them. 

But within days Anthony has already tracked you down. 

The power of wealth and primogeniture, you suppose.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You tell him as he makes his way up to you as you’re trying to purchase fabric from a wholesaler in the market.

There’s no teasing in your voice now. Not a hint of amusement. Just your mouth in a hard set line as you stare at Anthony Bridgerton.

“Are you alright? Has something happened?” He asks lowly as his eyes search your own, full of concern.

There’s no putting this off. He won’t ease up until you put a stop to this.

“No, we need to talk,” You tell him. “Privately.”

He allows you to pull him into the secluded alleyway. With the lines of laundry strung between the buildings and the din of the crowd in the street beside you no one will see you back here and no one will hear you. 

“People know,” You tell him. “About us.”

“There will always be rumors-” Anthony starts to argue.

You cut him off with a sharp shake of your head. 

“No you don’t understand, we can’t keep doing this if people are going to find out.”

“What are you trying to say?” Anthony asks after a beat, his own face now hardened to match your own.

You sigh as you glance to the side, turning away from him ever so slightly.

“Lord Bridgerton, we cannot see each other anymore.”

Anthony doesn’t say anything to that. He merely stares at you, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” You repeat, with even more emphasis. “Whatever this is, it needs to stop.”

“I can’t stop. I want to be with you. I need to be with you.” He tells you. His eyes shine as he pulls you to face him, pulling you close so that your faces are mere inches apart. “You are all I can think about.”

“My lord, you forget yourself,” You say as you carefully extract yourself from his grasp, placing distance between you two as you shake your head.

“Do I?” He asks. “I could make you happy, take care of you. I could buy you a home, a proper home, we could-“

“We could what, exactly? Meet in the dark of night? After your pretty little wife goes to sleep you’d crawl into my bed?” You ask as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I cannot marry you,” Anthony blurts out before he can stop himself. Before he can realize just how harsh those cruel words sound when they land on you.

“Obviously not, my Lord,” You reply stiffly.

“I will never be your mistress,” You tell him plainly. “I will never judge another woman for doing what she must to survive, but that is not the life that I want for myself. I cannot do it. I will not be beholden to your whims, I will not live my life by your rules, the fact that you would even dare to ask me to do so means that you do not know me at all.”

“I’m not asking any of that,” Anthony argues. “I won’t ever treat you like that. Just let me take care of you.”

“There are already rumors, it’s only a matter of time before we end up in one of those gossip columns,” You say. “My brother has aspirations. I have aspirations. We will not survive this kind of scandal.”

“Please,” Anthony pleads. “We can be more careful. We can-”

“Your feelings for me are a fantasy. You’re attracted to the idea of an escape. From your life. From your duties,” You tell Anthony. “And the fact that you cannot grasp why what you’re asking of me is problematic just demonstrates to me how you cannot even see your own privileges.”

“I will bid you goodbye,” You finish. “My lord,” You add with a small curtsy before you turn on your heels and leave the alley before Anthony has the chance to respond, disappearing into the crowded street.

You walk straight into the crowd. And you don’t stop walking or look back until you’re home.

Once you’re inside your flat with the door closed soundly behind you, you collapse into the wooden chair at the small table in the corner against the window with a sigh, your head falling into your hands as the tears begin to stream down your face.

Later that week, Anthony was sitting in his mother’s sitting room, nursing a cup of tea whilst Hyacinth did her best with the Beethoven piece in front of her as she sat at the pianoforte. 

“Well done, dear,” Violet Bridgerton cheered on her youngest child once the piece came to a merciful end. “Would you go tell Mrs. Kroll that I would like to push dinner to eight tonight? Your sister and her family should be here by then.”

Hyacinth nodded to her mother before scampering out of the room.

“I’m so glad your sister can make the visit, it’s wonderful to have all my children together under one roof. And to see your sister so happy,” Anthony’s mother told him as she smiled fondly. 

Daphne’s marriage to Simon, the Duke of Hastings was the greatest success of his mother’s life, other than her own happy marriage and subsequent right children. She couldn’t have dreamed up a more advantageous marriage for her eldest daughter, and a love match at that. 

“It is indeed,” Anthony replied, placating his mother the best he can. He knows that her sending Hyacinth out means she wishes to corner him into a conversation and now all he can do is brace himself for whatever she has to say. 

He knows what the subject will be. The not-so-subtle mention of Daphne and her happiness combined with the fact that his mother had introduced him to every eligible young woman she had ever made the acquaintance of made her goals for this season quite clear.

His marriage was her next project.

She wants to know why progress has stalled. And Anthony doesn’t know what to tell her. He can’t tell her the truth. That you had ripped his heart out in that alley. 

“You’re turning into quite the dandy, Anthony,” His mother commented as she turned her attention to him.

“Am I?” Anthony asked.

“Benedict told me that you’ve been to the tailor nearly every other day,” Violet continued. “I can’t imagine where this sudden care for your appearance came from.”

Anthony was going to kill his loose-lipped brother. He should have never mentioned the pretty tailoress to Benedict. 

“Well, with all these parties you keep dragging me to. I have found my wardrobe suddenly lacking and had need to purchase some new clothing,” Anthony tells his mother, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

Causing her to merely hum in response.

“What? Mother,” Anthony bites. “If you have something to say you ought to just say it.”

“I can’t help but wonder if you are truly serious about marrying this season if you simply intend to continue on with your ways,” She says as she looks up at him.

“And why would you be calling that into question, because I am taking care of my appearance? Am I dressing like a cad? Or did I just truly look like a slob before?”

Anthony doesn’t mean to sound as defensive as he does. And when his mother sighs he knows he’s been too sharp with her.

“I don’t want to pick a fight with you, Anthony, and I don’t want to bring up indelicate questions, but if you are taking up with a young woman who works-”

“I will ask you to stop speaking now, before you say something that we will both regret,” Anthony states harshly as he stands from his seat. “How I spend my time is none of your business, mother, but for the record, the young woman who works at the tailor shop, who I am sure you know nothing about, or else you would not be making such baseless allegations against her, wants nothing to do with me so you can rest easy at night knowing that she is not my mistress.”

Violet stares at her eldest son with wide eyes.

“It was not an allegation against her, for a woman in her position it would hardly be fair to place the blame on her,” Violet replies with a shake of her head. 

“It is you that I am worried about, I thought after that business last season with the opera singer that you were finally ready to grow up and take your place in this family. But if you are falling into old habits it is not fair to any woman you are involved with, of any standing to string this marriage business along,” She tells him.

“You have a duty to this family. And you have excelled in your position in so many ways, and I am certain your father would be so terribly proud, but whatever it is about marriage, or heirs, or love that you find so challenging, you need to work through it.”

“I just want you to be happy. However you find that happiness does not matter to me,” She continues. “You are my son, I can see the veil that has hung over your life since your father died. I just wish you would let someone in, someone who could help you work through your grief and make you happy. But what you have been doing, has only deepened your loneliness.”

Anthony sits in the silence for a long moment, unable to look up from his shoes after receiving such a profound dressing down.

Violet Bridgerton always had a way of making her disappointment crystal clear to Anthony. But never has it been drenched in so much love and care for her that has forced Anthony to grapple with his life.

“I appreciate your concern, mother,” Anthony finally replies, his voice crackling in a way that he wishes it wouldn’t. “I really do. But surely you must acknowledge that love is not for everyone. Some people are not meant to be happy. Some people are not meant to be in love.” 

“But you are,” Violet presses. “Anthony, you have so much love in your heart, I see it every time you are with your siblings.”

“You just need to find someone who will accept that love, without rules and expectations,” She continues. “And who you will let love you just the same.”

“Forget about duty and honor. Find your happiness.”

Anthony stares off into the distance for a moment as he considers his mother’s words.

“I need to go. I-I need to think,” He finally says as he stands up abruptly. He’s pulling on his coat and rushing towards the door before his brain can catch up with his actions.

“Anthony! Daphne, Simon, and Augie are due any moment. We’re supposed to have dinner at eight!” Violet shouted after her son, though he was already out the door.