#Bittersweet ending?

[ser-res]

Control

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tada, it's finished! it wasn't a good ending haha

i might make a pt 2 to this comic, perhaps...👀

Killer - Rahafwabas

Cross - Jakei

Epic - Yogogeer

Dust - Ask-DustTale

[random-kido]

Krokstar au... angst

That one kill Jon Lenon audio but replace that name with krk polyhex

[hinamie]

in spite of everything, I had fun <3

[biaonww]

"unspoken feelings" sae itoshi based • angst. • i recommend listening to oceans & engines w/ this

may contain errors, similar content is coincidental. • super fast paced huhu, but hopefully still enjoyable :^)

6 years ago —

you were 17 when you had a crush on the sae itoshi. his eyes colored just like the ocean, and his hair reminds you of neutral pink. 

he was always so beautiful, and he did everything so beautifully. soccer, expressing his thoughts, his actions.. all done elegantly. but you knew you were two people who lived in two different worlds. 

but still, you tried to get to know him. and get close to him. 

so if not being lovers with him will settle, being friends will atleast be enough, you suppose.

so you ask for his number from his friend, shidou ryusei. 

4 years ago —

surprisingly, you two did become acquainted, then graduated high school as close friends. 

... the label ‘close friends’ that at some point, people thought you two act like an actual couple that was inlove with one another— but really, that seemt like a whole joke. 

since he was already dating someone. 

and you found out two days ago. 

well, it wasn’t surprising, of course. he’s a soccer star. he’s famous. rich, even. everyone’s dream man. and you can’t just keep him to yourself, too. because that would just be plain selfish. 

so one night, you were just tired of suppressing your feelings. 

the feeling of wanting him. 

you should’ve been contented being friends with him and still being in contact after high school— 

but there’s just this feeling, that it will never suffice for you.  ...

he noticed you acted strangely today. 

and he knows every single bit of you damn well. 

your perfectionism, how much you want to please everyone so that they don’t leave you, how you don’t want to be a second option. 

so you two fought that stormy night. 

“you’re keeping something from me, and i don’t like it.”

“i’m not.”

“you are. don’t fucking lie to me y/n. i know you damn well to say that you’re lying.”

“things won’t get better even if i tell you, okay?!”

“well you aren’t telling me! how can i help when you won’t-“

“sae itoshi! i am fucking inlove with you. but it makes me feel real pathetic standing next to you, while you have a girlfriend already.”

“it annoys me how i turn all mushy when i’m with you. it annoys me that i keep staring at your back going further and further away, because i can’t keep up with you. it annoys me how you can read me so well, but don’t get that i’m inlove with you.”

“y/n.”

“i’m leaving to go back to kyoto, sae. i don’t want to loathe you because i like you. so it’s better if we stop being friends.”

“i’m drained from loving you, itoshi sae.”

and just like that, you slip out of his hands. 

the last image he had of you before leaving to go to kyoto, was that you were soaked in the rain and crying. crying because of him.

guess love never suited him, huh. since it will never last, and slowly rot once he gets a hold of it. 

two years ago —

you’ve heard he got engaged with the same girlfriend he dated three years ago. 

you think it’s time to let go of him. 

to finally let go of the past. 

so you finally send a message to him. a plain but pathetic “congratulations on your marriage, sae. i’m happy for you.”

honestly speaking, you expected him to have a new phone number, and that he blocked you. 

though he didn’t. your message had been delivered. 

still, it’s funny how you never changed his contact name on your phone. 

but you remember that his contact photo was a picture of you and him. smiling and all giddy back in the old days.

*ding!*

itoshi • 1:27 pm

y/n. thanks. i know it’s been a long time.. but do you wanna meet up and catch up?

and so you two hit it off and meet up. 

except, your boyfriend is with you. 

but he didn’t expect your new boyfriend would be rin. his younger brother.

… he can clearly see the way his brother looks at you.

one that represents the way sae used to look at you in late-night conversations that were spent in silk sheets back in high school,

a pathetic man who was admiring you. 

the present. 12 whole years after the past.

sae and you became friends again. 

so you think it’ll be fine inviting him and his wife to your wedding with your fiancè, right?

i mean— rin was good with you. he communicates with you, there’s trust in the relation, communication- mutual agreement.

there were some rough edges in your relation, but he actually tried for you. 

you’re getting ready with your makeup, and someone knocks on the door. 

“come in.”

you mumble, fixing the strap of the wedding dress you’re wearing. 

the door opens and it’s sae. it’s just him, standing alone. 

so you turn back to face him, smiling softly. 

“you came.”

“i did. uh, mia’s just sitting down in the assigned chair you set for us.”

“i wouldn’t miss your important day anyways.”

“thank you.”

“why thank me? i did nothing.”

he softly chuckles, adoring how beautiful you looked in the wedding dress. 

you always looked best in white either ways. 

“what are you staring at, sae?”

“— i’m inlove with you too.”

your smile dissipates, so he takes it as a bad sign. 

“sae. you can’t do this to me. please don’t say you love me.”

“not when i’m finally over you.”

“i know. but i never got to tell you what i really meant back then, didn’t i?”

“… sae. i love you. but not in that way anymore. sure, i’ve missed you as a friend. but i still love rin.”

“after i met rin, he changed my whole life. he helped me get over you.”

“you’re too late. i’m sorry.”

you place the eye shadow palette you were using back on the vanity, standing up as the church bells ring. 

“i have to go. he’s probably waiting.”

“go ahead.”

and so you do leave, walking down the aisle to marry his brother.  

to him, you were just a fraction of his life;

something that was past, but something he was still trying to hold on to, even if it was already destroyed.  if he never let you go that thundery night, would he be the one you were standing with at the altar? — fin.

aa sorry for slow posts :(( im like super busy w things this week so... hopefully i'll get to post the reo fic on thursday/friday tho!! <3 reblogs, likes, and comments are vm appreciated

[chloesimaginationthings]

Friendship never dies in FNAF..

[scribblekingdom]

I just watched the London Special and oh.. oh my god... oh my GOD OH M

[lilybug-02]

A Sweet Farewell

Bug Fact: More than 90% of all Bee species are solitary. But they pollinate just as much, if not more, than bees belonging to a colony. Pictures Below

First || Prev // Next...

Masterpost

Blue Carpenter Bee:

Southeastern Blueberry Bee:

Modest Masked Bee:

Common Carder Bee:

And these are just a fraction of a decimal to all the unique and wonderful solitary bees the world has to offer :)

[supernovasilence]

Ok we all talk about the Pevensies' trauma at returning to Earth at the end of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and their trouble readjusting to life there again but think of all the funny/good parts too

They return from the country, and their mom is surprised when all her children hug her at the station. Even Peter, who thinks he's all grown up. Even Edmund, who went away surly and withdrawn. She doesn't know her children haven't seen her in over a decade.

They miss their dear Cair Paravel, but they absolutely do not miss its chamber pots. Indoor plumbing is amazing.

It takes a while to remember how modern technology works, though. How many heart attacks did the siblings give their parents or the professor because they walked into a dark room only to turn on the light and find the children sitting there in the dark. (They were by the window! There was still plenty of light from the sunset! They would have gotten a candle in a minute!) The kids sheepishly remember oh yeah electricity is a thing.

(Edmund has a new electric torch in Prince Caspian. He was so excited to get that torch. Almost more excited than you'd think a kid his age would be, and his parents expect Peter at least to tease him, but the siblings all agree light in your hand at the touch of a switch is terrific.)

Suddenly getting really high grades in some subjects and terrible in others. Their grammar, reading comprehension, spelling, vocab, even penmanship? Amazing. History and geography? They don't remember anything. One time in class Susan forgets Earth is round and wants to die.

Also they can never remember what the date is supposed to be because Narnia uses different months and years. They can estimate time really well by looking at the sun though, and Edmund at least can always tell which way is north etc without thinking about it (again, using the sun)

Okay but how many times did they go to pick something up or reach something and realize they are so much shorter and less muscled than they expect? It's a common sight to see Peter climbing on counters to reach a top cabinet, grumbling about how he's High King this is demeaning. (No he never takes the extra five seconds to grab a stool. He will climb that shelf.)

Peter and Susan being delighted because they are no longer almost thirty. (In a few years Edmund and Lucy will tease them about being old and their parents will not understand.)

Lucy doesn't have to deal with periods anymore for a few years yet. Susan might not either. Heck yeah

Lucy loves to climb into her siblings' laps and be cuddled. In Narnia she eventually she grew too big, but now she is small and snuggleable again. Peter is her favorite, and if she's upset, he'll tickle her and tell bad jokes until she's smiling again, but really she loves cuddling with all her family. She grew up without her parents; how many times did she just want to crawl into her mom's lap and her mom was a world away? Imagine the first time she realizes she can now. Or, imagine one day, a cold and grey sort of day, when the rain is pattering against the windows, and it sounds like the rain on the windows of the Professor's house, that first day they went exploring. It sounds like the day they played hide and seek. It sounds so like the rain on the windows of Cair Paravel, that if Lucy closes her eyes she can imagine she's back there, having tea and chatting with Mr. Tumnus before the fireplace of her room, and soon the rain will stop, and they will go out on the balcony and wave to the naiads and the dryads and the mermaids, who have come out to enjoy the rain and visit one other on the banks of the Great River winding past Cair Paravel down to the sea.

But if Lucy looks out the window, all she'll see is the rain over London, so it's not only a cold and grey sort of day, it's a lonely sort of day too.

Susan and Edmund are playing chess in the living room (and they must have studied with Professor Kirke, thinks their mother, because they certainly weren't that good when they left). Lucy goes over to Edmund, and oh dear, thinks their mother, now he's going to call her a baby and be horrible to her, but instead he picks her up and puts her on his lap without even taking his eyes off the chessboard; it's simply a matter of course.

"Doesn't the rain sound familiar?" says Lucy in a solemn, wistful way.

Their mother doesn't know what that means, but her siblings must, because Susan says, "Yes, Lu, it does,” and Edmund gives her a little hug with his free arm as she tucks herself under his chin to watch the chess match.

(Five minutes later there is a crash from the next room as Peter falls off a counter. Their mother does not understand the words he must have picked up from the Professor, but he's grounded for them anyway. His siblings have no respect for their High King, because they refuse to stop laughing.)

[passiunclepaltry]

worth mentioning now i didnt mind the direction the F&C ending went it was bittersweet which was perfect and tragic . but also there’s an almost fix-it au comic series published where simon just kisses golbetty in a gay lil ponytail and everything’s normal

edit: not whatsoever saying this was better than fionna and cake not by a landslide it was a little flimsy. but it was FUNNY ab it

[maplebars]

beyond journey's end

[catabasis]

the news about Good Omens s3 being just one 90-minute episode is very bittersweet, but it's still a bit better than not having an ending at all. i just hope whoever they bring on board to write it does a good job and it's made with love. Crowley and Aziraphale deserve their happy ending, in whatever shape or form, and the the cast and crew also deserve to bring this story to the end

[luvrgreyy]

WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?

ex husband!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.

a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^

leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.

the divorce.

it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.

for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.

he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.

your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.

you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.

he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.

you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.

“you okay?”

he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”

he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”

”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”

he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.

leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.

"no, wait, hear me out,”

"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”

he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.

“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”

he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“

“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”

“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“

“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”

ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.

"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.

leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.

you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.

the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.

you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.

but it’s not really easy.

not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.

your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.

‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.

a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.

now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.

you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.

it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.

he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.

by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.

click.

the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.

he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.

“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.

“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.

“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.

his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.

he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.

you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.

once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.

he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.

“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.

“leon!”

he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”

his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.

he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.

his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.

“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”

slurp, smack, suck, repeat.

his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.

“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”

a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.

he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.

it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"

he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.

"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.

"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"

your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.

he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.

he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.

he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.

he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.

he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.

sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.

he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”

"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.

he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.

you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.

“love you, love you, fuck—“

the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"

he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.

he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[ace-daemon]

in a distant time place

the same song of humanity still sang

[hitwiththetmnt]

Just a Number P1 P2

@butterfilledpockets bent boys have a good spread of ages between them to talk about

[justaz]

battle of camlann but merlin wasn’t ancient as shit. he blasts the warriors around arthur away and arthur turns to see a glowering, golden-eyed merlin. he tightens his grip on his sword but isn’t able to raise it. the inconceivable notion that merlin has betrayed him runs through his mind but he cant quite grasp it. his father is screaming in his head to kill the wretched sorcerer but all arthur can see is his friend wearing a face that looks too much like morgana’s. merlin glances up at arthur and the expression of rage fizzles into one tinged with fear and concern - all too confusing for him to unpack in the midst of battle. merlin is slow to approach his side and even then he keeps his distance. before either of them can say anything, mordred appears, sword in hand, glaring at arthur.

merlin tries to draw the former knights attention away from arthur, tries to goad him into fighting merlin instead, but mordred is deadset on fighting arthur. he calls morgana over instead and says emrys’s fight is with her while his is with arthur. with the extra seconds of back and forth, arthur isn’t as shocked when he raises his sword against mordred’s. morgana and merlin blast each other great distances until they’re far away from modred vs arthur and land on the front line between the two armies. both armies back off and watch the light show as morgana and emrys battle until morgana’s army uses the distraction to close in on camelot’s army.

three battles occurring at once until morgana gets a lucky hit in and merlin goes flying. he lands next to a gwaine who is currently bleeding out. he smiles when he sees who’s next to him “merlin!” which sounds so much like his greeting every time they ran into each other before gwaine became a knight. he reaches out and heals gwaine’s wound and leon just looks up at him for a moment before going “you’re always full of surprises, aren’t you merlin?” merlin grins and goes “i got one more” he stands up on surprisingly steady legs and calls on kilgharrah. in for a penny, out for a pound. arthur is already fuming at him, might as well rip the bandaid off right?

kilgharrah attacks morgana’s army while merlin orders aithusa to stand down. camelot’s army is able to march through the charred army and bring down those who remain, mordred is loosing but persevering through rage and spite alone, morgana is screaming (like she always is nowadays). merlin and morgana battle once more until mordred and morgana’s armies have fallen. merlin makes a tactical retreat to arthur who is still staring at him wearily (and definitely irate). he requests permission to kill morgana which is baffling but she is his sister and he’s always cared for her even after her betrayal so he supposes it makes sense. once he gives it, their fight doesn’t last longer than a minute. emrys was always stronger than her, he was just buying time.

camelot emerges victorious though they don’t seem all that excited about it. the other warriors cheer and clap each other on the back, but arthur is just watching merlin. the knights watch them uneasily. merlin returns arthur’s gaze. “is that the fucking dragon i killed?” merlin looks up at kilgharrah who is needlessly burning the remains of morgana’s army. merlin turns back to him “yes.”

[batsyart]

so i read the newest update of @somerandomdudelmao‘s incredible apocalyptic series and i’ve been crying ever since-