#cloudy leo

[emaadsidiki]

Waterfront Wonders 🏙️

[pinkasher]

I saw this in my photos and I decided to see how much I’ve changed from last time!

Original rottmnt-bingo

[vinescreens]

Stardew Valley

[heathen-hands-astro]

6th house in Leo ♌️

⁺☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ 𓃠‧₊˚ ☁︎‎‎⁺

[pochaccoups]

things you do that make svt bust quick (nsfw)

seungcheol —; tell him how good he’s doing

he’s a leo male… please stroke his ego.

tell him how you love his cock, how big he is, how it hits so deep inside you. tell him “right there,” and “keep going,” and to do it “just like that.”

stroke his possessive side too. tell him no one else can fuck you like he can, no one else can stretch you out so good, no one else can make you cum like he does. tell him that your pussy is made for him only.

be loud for him. god, he loves hearing you moan. say his name, beg for more, sob, whimper, gasp for him. don’t be shy about it. it’ll only be a matter of time before you butter him up enough to make him cum.

jeonghan —; beg

everyone knows yoon jeonghan likes having people at his mercy. he gets a little unhinged when he has power over someone—so imagine what he gets like when you’re writhing on his cock, gasping his name so sweetly, your eyes glimmering with tears as he fucks you hard.

“what is it, pretty?” he asks, and like the devil he is, he slows the movement of hips, pulling out of you until his tip barely kisses your also weeping hole. it’s torture for him too, to leave the hot, tight haven that is your cunt, but to him it’s worthwhile.

“wanna cum, hannie,” you whimper.

“hm… i don’t know if i should let you yet,” he says, dipping back inside just an inch. years of him being yours means you don’t miss the tiny strain in his voice that betrays his perfectly collected demeanour.

“please, hannie, please, please, please, let me cum. i’ve been so good,” you sob, squeezing your thighs where they rest on his hips.

you watch as a switch flips in his eyes within a millisecond. a grin lights up his face and he shudders, and he’s sliding back inside you, fucking in and out of you harder and faster than before. safe to say it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum after that.

joshua —; make eye contact

his pretty doe eyes make staring into them your favourite thing in the world, and if you asked him his favourite pastime, he’d tell you that it was gazing into your irises.

it’s also his biggest weakness. from the way you’ve got your mouth wrapped around his dick, throat gagging even though you’re only halfway down it, joshua feels his sanity slipping away. his fingers curl into the bedsheets below as he watches you work him, revels in the warmth of your tongue sliding up and down his shaft.

when your eyes flick up to meet his he doesn’t stand a chance. not with how glimmering they are, brimming softly with tears, yet swimming with adoration. with worship.

heat washes over his whole body, he’s gasping, and the salty warmth of his release pools on your tongue.

jun —; put his fingers in your mouth

when junhui gets inside you he has a one-track mind. he becomes rapt with pleasure, drunk from the warm squeeze of your pussy around him, focused on nothing but the sensation of you, the sight of you under him, the sound of you in his ears.

the effect you have on him is dangerous, because you’re equally obsessed with him as he is with you, and you’re not afraid to show him.

and you love his hands, he knows you do—knows how you love his slender fingers and their soft touches all over you, inside you. your brain is cloudy, fogged by lust when you take him by his wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. your eyes sparkle as your lips wrap around his index finger, your soft tongue swirling around it.

jun’s mouth parts with awe, his eyes growing round. a second later, he stills inside you with a gasp of your name, like he’s praying to you, all the while you’re sucking on his finger like a devil.

hoshi —; scratch him

he’s a little bit of a freak, and a masochist too.

when he’s got you folded in half, hitting all the right spots inside you, you cling to him in every way you can—fingers grabbing at his biceps, his shoulders. one particular stroke of his hips has you squealing.

your nails sink into his skin, crying out his name as you rake them down the toned planes of his back. the second you do, soonyoung is grunting, hips stilling, cock twitching as a sticky warmth suddenly floods your cervix.

the worst part about it is how he always has the stupidest, most shit-eating smug grin on his face when he examines your damage in the bathroom after, and you know that if he could, he would post the selfies he takes in the mirror all over instagram. what’s even worse though? seeing your marks makes him hard again.

wonwoo —; cry

you’re such a sensitive little thing and wonwoo adores you. one orgasm on his fingers and you’re already overstimulated—“but baby, i haven’t even put my cock in you yet,” he’ll coo.

like it’s your fault you have a boyfriend with skilled fingers and a skilled tongue and who knows you inside and out like the back of his hand, who knows where to touch you and how hard and what pace makes you writhe the most.

by the time he does get inside you, you’re gasping and whining and clawing at him, tears springing to your eyes because he’s so big and so deep, but the stretch is so addictive that it’s dizzying. his voice is low and husky as he mutters to you a mixture of teases and praise, calls you his pretty girl and then laughs at sensitive you are, pretends he’s not on the verge of coming from the sound of your choked gasps.

your belly starts to pulse with that familiar heat and by then you’re keening for him, whimpering a mixture of his name and endless pleas as it starts to become too much. your sobs go straight to his cock, and it’s only a matter of time before he reaches his climax, and his gasps of pleasure harmonise with your own cries.

woozi —; pull his hair

he’s been growing his hair out. after all your begging, he finally listened. in a way, though, it’s backfired a little on you, because the longer it gets the more insane you become. and the thing is you never expected him to let it get to his shoulders—and still he doesn’t plan on cutting it. well, good. you would kill him if he did.

when his face is between your legs you’re nothing short of a feral animal—your hips bucking wild against his mouth, your legs trembling on his shoulders, your fingers, of course, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. he makes you whine when he pulls away from your needy, sticky cunt to tsk at you, tells you to cut it out and keep your hands to yourself. (it’s because he’s about to cream his pants).

when he bends you in half beneath him, ruts into you hard and fast and relentless, you need leverage. your hands land on the back of his neck, fingertips grazing at his roots, then one slam of his hips into yours has his cock bumping against the most sensitive spot inside you and your grasping at his hair and crying his name so desperately. no longer can he hold back, strained groans slipping past his lips as he lets go inside you.

dokyeom —; hold his hand

a sentimental sweetheart, seokmin is an utter romantic who thinks that being inside of you, whether in your mouth or your pussy, is intimacy in its purest form. now imagine showing him just how much more intimate things can get.

he’s losing his mind at the feeling of your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, the way you swallow his length down making him see stars. he can’t bare to look at you—he needs to focus on taking deep breaths so that he doesn’t cum straight down your throat. then he feels you grabbing at one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, and no amount of deep breathing can stop him from releasing.

and when he fucks you it’s no different—it’s him in near tears, whimpering your name between incoherent words over and over, and as soon as you take his hand in yours and your fingers wrap around his, there’s nothing else he can do but succumb to his own pleasure.

mingyu —; take control

he’s big and strong; strong enough to put you into whatever position he wants, to make you cum at his command, to do just as he pleases with you.

but that’s exactly why he likes it when you slap him around a little.

you can’t exactly bend him into doggy or use your weight to keep him pinned to the mattress, but you can sit yourself pretty on his cock and ride him teasingly slow. you can tell him he’s not allowed to touch you or you’ll stop moving. you can tell him to kiss you, to go slower, to go harder.

you can sit up and put a hand around his throat, still your hips, and tell him he can fuck you himself if he wants to cum. and he’ll do just that—and as soon as you utter the words, he’s gone, whining out curses as he fills you up in white, warm spurts.

minghao —; whisper in his ear

minghao often tells you how he adores your voice. when you talk to him he’s entranced, and he’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and it’s perfect because you always have so much to say, and minghao will listen to every last word of yours.

your voice—minghao’s kryptonite, his achilles’ heel, his undoing and, oh, the way you moan for him when he’s got you on his cock is enough to make his heart stop beating. the perverted part of him wishes he could record you, hide the file away on his phone and listen to you when he’s overseas and he can’t call you. maybe he’ll ask you about that, if he can find the courage.

the final blow is when you’re getting close. you lean in, right next to his ear, so close that your breath sends shivers along his skin. “please, hao, i’m so close,” you whisper, yet you still sound so desperate and depraved. “you are too, right? cum for me, please. i’ll cum for you too.”

so he does just that—minghao gives in and lets his orgasm wash over him, fingertips drawing circles on your clit until mere moments later he hears the sound of your own cresting pleasure and he feels himself getting hard again.

seungkwan —; wrap your legs around him

it’s a fact that seungkwan loves to be close to you. if he could, he would crawl inside of your skin and live in your heart. but since he can’t, constant physical touch is the next best thing.

he likes to think he has relatively good self-control…most of the time. like when he’s buried to the hilt inside you, he’s incredible at keeping in rhythm, fucking into you at the most perfect pace for both you and him, hitting the spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

somehow he never sees it coming—when your arms are snaked around his neck and you’re holding onto him for dear life as he takes you to heaven, and your legs wrap around his waist so that you can pull him in impossibly deep. then you bring his face to yours, and you have the most irresistible little pout on your face when you make your request. “cum inside me, seungkwannie?”

and it’s not like he has much choice with the way you’ve trapped him inside of you, but that’s the very reason why the next second he’s pumping you full, because when it’s you, how is he supposed to have any self-control?

vernon —; touch yourself

it’s not like vernon can last long in general. he thinks you’re the hottest thing alive and he’s so enamoured with you that it’s too much for him sometimes, but you best believe he’ll put his all into holding out just for you.

there are times, however, where he’s just a man. and what’s a man to do when he has a goddess riding his dick? when your tits look so pretty, bouncing in his face, when you have that fucked out look in your eyes, when you feel like heaven and hell all at once?

and what the fuck is a man to do when your hand drifts down between your legs, to your aching clit, and your fingers start to rub it in circles, or when your other hand grasps one of your tits and tugs at one of your own nipples? and your sweet pussy clenches around him so tight when you do, clamps down on him in an hot, wet embrace, so what else can he do but cum?

dino —; say ‘i love you’

another sweet, sentimental boy. lee chan is head over heels for you, enamoured, obsessed, smitten, infatuated with you… the list of things he is around you is endless.

it shows in the way he fucks you—always takes his time with you, never rushes taking you apart. every touch of his is intentional, meant to set you both ablaze. when he eats you out to prep you for his cock, he has to try not to cum in his pants from how pretty you are.

where he really doesn’t stand a chance however is when he’s bottomed out inside you, as close as he can possibly be with you—so close you’re practically one. the sweetest sounds fall from your lips, spurring on his expert thrusts.

his forehead is plastered to yours, the pair of you revelling in one another’s sweat and gasps for air. “i love you,” you confess gently, and chan falls over the edge of pleasure not a moment later.

[pumpkinbxtch]

hi!!! I was wondering if you could do hcs for what arguing would be like with the HOO boys

Don't talk me like that! | headcanons

— arguing with the hoO boys

warnings: angst, language, boys being...boys

who's here: jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang ands percy jackson.

a/n: ohh ohh ohhh, yes. I can. I love drama.

— jason grace:

To get into a real fight with him, you must have come a long way because he's so peaceful and always tries to negotiate calmly, making sure both of you communicate effectively. But at the end of the day, you're like any other couple and sometimes end up having real fights.

The big issue is Jason's nature. He goes silent when he's really upset, his emotions hard to show.

When he’s that mad, you can see it on his face. It’s scary, let’s not lie.

When the ice breaks, he tries to take charge to explain what's wrong, which often makes things worse.

He keeps his distance when you argue, tense and rigid. He’s like a handsome, angry log.

Sometimes he says things reluctantly, like "don't act childish," which is so him.

Yes, he raises his voice and gets frustrated, "no, I said NO, THAT’S NOT HOW IT IS, gods…"

If you're wondering if his powers show, the answer is NEVER, or at least not against you. His mouth might taste like metal or his fingers might spark, but that's just him being really stressed.

His eyes get cloudy and grey.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples while muttering.

When things finally start to work out, he breathes better and starts talking more because he knows nothing will work if he doesn’t.

He’s practical, coming up with solutions to problems.

When the fight's over, he hugs you and kisses your forehead, relieved to be out of that situation.

Can he stay mad for days? Depends on the problem, but he’d prefer it doesn't last more than a day.

— leo valdez;

Leo and you usually argue over small things because you have that kind of relationship where you bicker and tease for fun, but when things get serious, the arguments can get heated (get it? heated? laugh, please).

That’s when things get tough. He may seem easy-going, but Leo has a strong temper and is very stubborn when he's mad. Whatever made you really fight doesn't matter because he’ll be stuck on his point.

"No, that's not how it happened." You could be contradicting each other all day until you both turn away and stop talking.

"Well, screw you!" you say, and he growls back, "Yeah, you too," swearing in Spanish. "vale ma-" "me lleva la ch-"

Yes, he switches languages mid-sentence.

"I already told you no! CUANTAS VECES TENGO QUE DECIRLO, carajo!-"

If you know Spanish, you can reply; if not...

"I don’t understand you, idiot. Say it in English or fuck yourself ." (just in case because you’re not sure what he said)

Swearing is common if he's really mad, but it's more his way of dealing with it than being mad at you.

That or sharp sarcasm.

Yes, he might cry if the argument is really bad.

His rigid feelings and insecurity can come up.

Leo is attached, so he’s constantly thinking of ways to fix it because he can’t stand being away from you for too long.

He keeps his distance, terrified of hurting you with his powers, which makes him nervous. "No, DON’T COME NEAR ME." It's for your safety, but it hurts him to see the look in your eyes when he says it.

Can he stay mad for days? Absolutely, but he misses you a lot, though his pride might keep him from showing it.

Don’t worry, he’ll eventually sit down to talk it out, and you’ll both calm down and fix things.

Then he'll give you a big hug and kiss your cheeks.

— frank zhang:

it’s hard to imagine: WHAT DID YOU DO TO FIGHT?

Yes, Frank is Mars’s son, but he’d never choose the battlefield for his lover. He’s very careful and always considerate, but yeah he can be severe when things get bad, and when isn't enough just have a serious talk.

You end up fighting in not-so-quiet whispers, with your faces and gestures being the most expressive.

"Of course not, I already told you, hey!" He raises his hands, and his body tenses up threateningly.

Frank tries to understand your point and make himself heard, always mindful of both your feelings. He knows how to set boundaries.

Sometimes, he just can’t take it anymore and signals a pause. "You know what? This is getting too much, and neither of us is in the best shape. Let’s talk tomorrow or later, please."

Does he raise his voice? Hardly, only when he really needs to make a point.

His eyes are bright, tinged with sadness and anger. The deadliest is his calm face or the way he slightly curls his lip, almost growling.

His eyebrows always seem to be touching, even if he doesn’t want them to.

He keeps a cool head to solve things.

Can he stay mad for days? Yes, while clearing his mind and thinking. He’ll come up to you, and you’ll talk it out, making things work in the end.

He’ll take your hand. You might feel guilty for pushing a guy like Frank to his limit, but he doesn’t mind having relationship problems with you:

"I hope we fight many more times, but about totally different things because it means we’ve really solved the previous issues."

— percy jackson:

wtf did you both do to get into a fight?

Percy won't waste a second, trying to resolve it immediately by asking and reflecting on his own actions. "What did I do wrong?" if it was his fault. "Can you listen to me for a second?" if it was you.

He hates being mad at you, just can’t stand it. But if the fight starts, he wants to start or finish it (or both).

Yes, he might cry.

Yes, he might raise his voice. "No, I didn't do anything. LISTEN TO ME."

Then he apologizes for it because he lost it.

He tries to hold your hands and says, "Babe, babe…"

He makes you both breathe and talk calmly.

He argues, of course, but differently. He’ll stop the conversation. "You know what? I'll think about it." He leaves or makes you leave.

Consequently, he might stay mad for days, or both of you might be mad at each other, but he’s thinking of what to say rather than just calming down. (Nothing wrong with that, everyone handles feelings differently and that's valid.)

Yes, he asks his mom.

Yes, he asks Paul.

You both end up fixing things, and he hugs you tight, giving you kisses all over your face while pouting.

"I missed you, babe."

[elene78-blog]

When Jeremy walks off the court into the parking lot, the last thing he expects to see is Leo waiting for him, leaning against his shiny car with a cocky grin. Leo waves at him with a flick of the wrist, and Jeremy's stomach tightens, but not for the better.

"What's he doing here?" Laila asks, her face twisted with rage.

Laila doesn't know that Jeremy continued sleeping with Leo after the car incident (even though Jeremy told himself it was out of revenge, he knows it was purely pathetic and doesn't want anyone to know). But that was a long time ago. Jeremy hasn't seen Leo in months. Honestly, so much has happened that Jeremy doesn't even think about him.

Jeremy looks over his shoulder. It takes him a few seconds of visual scanning to find Jean. He's with Tanner and the pen of little Trojan chicks, getting ready for extra training. Jeremy doesn't know why, but he's immediately relieved to know Jean is there, just a few steps away.

Jeremy turns to Leo after winking at Laila. Away from her, his calm smile disappears.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"You've become so serious after so long! Aren't you happy to see me?" Leo asks. Jeremy doesn't answer. Leo persists. "You disappeared without saying anything, all of a sudden. You haven't responded to any of my messages."

"I changed my number"

"After you leave home?"

Jeremy wonders how Leo knows this, even though he hasn't tried to keep it a secret. Only those closest to him (his Trojans and the coaches) know about the violent way Jeremy left the house. Even after being on the bench for two and a half months, this circumstance hasn't been made public. Jeremy knows it's only a matter of time before people start speculating.

The shadow of suspicion hits him like a tsunami.

"How do you know I'm gone?"

Leo looks down for a second. Jeremy clenches his fists.

"Your mother told me. I went to see you but you weren't there."

"Of course, because after they pay for your car, they want you to hang around there... did Warren send you?"

Leo has the decency to look affected, but he doesn't deny it.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to just leave?"

And then Jeremy understands. The anger is intense, but it doesn't hurt anymore. Not like it used to.

"Tell Warren I won't say anything that might compromise his interests. He already has his perfect family. He just needs to forget about me."

"I don't think it's that easy. Everyone knows you're a Wilshire, even if you kept your father's name."

"That won't be a problem soon."

Leo laughs. It's mocking. Jeremy wonders how he ever liked that laugh.

"So what are you going to do, give yourself a French surname?" And it's here, at this moment, that Jeremy's blood starts to turn to lava. "That's what your brother Bryson told me, that you're crazy about a Frenchman... although that's not exactly the word he used."

Jeremy imagines the word, and it takes all his willpower (which isn't a small amount) to keep from attacking Leo. "It's not your capacity for cruelty…" he reminds himself.

"I don't owe you anything, Leo, and I don't feel like talking to you anymore. I'm not coming back. This time you'll have to live with the frustration."

Jeremy has nothing more to say, but Leo grabs him by the shoulders to insist. Immediately, Jeremy thinks of a finger carefully lifting his chin to examine his expressions, of the intense longing for worldly touches more pleasurable than a life of excess, of the roughness of the court gradually lowering its intensity to become a dance of wills, altered exhalations, and hungry, yearning gazes. He thinks of the gray of a cloudy, stormy day, the gray of an unbreakable, yet also vulnerable, steel.

Jeremy flinches when he pushes Leo hard, nearly knocking him to the ground. Leo is stunned.

The two hear a loud bang at the court's exit. The security door hits the wall with a violent kick. Cat and Laila watch them like two mother hens with their beaks raised, surprised but also ready to defend Jeremy. Behind them, Jean seems taller than ever, enormous in comparison, like a bear assessing a potential threat before starting to run with its jaws outstretched.

Leo stares at him, eyes wide open. Jeremy isn't surprised. Jean's healthy, well-trained appearance is quite intimidating.

"Is that…?"

Jeremy doesn't give him time to finish.

"I didn't leave because of Jean, and if my family... the Wilshires think that, I can't do anything for them."

"I don't think you realize what you're giving up," Leo continues. Jean's threatening look and Jeremy's violent response dissuade him from touching him, but Leo doesn't budge. Jeremy doesn't know what Warren has promised him, but it has to be something juicier than a car. "You have a secure future with them. A good job, renown, money to bore you... if they get annoying, make a deal with a girl, marry her, and give birth to a couple of kids. That way, they'll leave you alone, and you can do whatever you want, as long as you're discreet. The price is very low for everything it entails."

Now it's Jeremy who is completely dumbfounded.

"I'm not listening to this... No... Is that what you wanted to do to me, for it to be your... dirty secret? Do you really think this is going to change my mind? I didn't remember you being so gullible."

He sees Leo's brow furrowing slowly, turning red because he thinks he's making fun of him. Jeremy knows he's starting to get angry (he's always been quick to get angry when his pride is hurt). Jean's watchful presence and Jeremy's unexpectedly aggressive shove only make him angrier.

"You can't be serious. You're going to throw your life away to do... what? Play a fucking sport? You really think you're good enough to do this professionally? You think they're going to draft you after what you did? Everyone knows you're gay, and this is a contact sport. You'll get eaten alive."

Jeremy doesn't even try to defend himself. He's tired of dwelling on the subject, but after the first few offers from professional teams, his anxiety has subsided. He feels like he's regaining some of his lost dignity when he shakes his head, tired of Leo. Tired of his words.

"Leave it alone, Leo. It doesn't have to end so badly. Go on with your life, whatever it is. I'll go on with mine."

Jeremy walks away. He feels like a weight has been lifted, and Laila's raised fist and radiant smile relieve him even more.

Halfway there, Leo shouts:

"It may not be for a car, but your French boy will do the same as me, Jeremy, don't be a jerk and take the hand your family is holding out to you!"

Jeremy's heart leaps. Laila and Cat immediately shout unkind words, but it's Jean who runs toward Leo. Jeremy grabs him by the shirt before he can follow, and Leo jumps in the car and speeds out of the parking lot.

Jeremy sees Jean's murderous gaze for a few moments, even though he doesn't know a quarter of what's going on.

"You wouldn't do it," Jeremy says. He doesn't know if he says this because he truly believes it, or because he needs to. "I know you wouldn't. You wouldn't."

Jean's muscles relax. He places a finger under Jeremy's chin and tilts his head up to look at him. It's at this moment that Jeremy realizes Jean wouldn't do that, without a shadow of a doubt, as Jean's expression goes from polar cold to hot, malleable metal. Iron melting before Jeremy.

"What wouldn't I do?"

The girls don't come any closer. They enter the court, blindly trusting Jean's ability to comfort Jeremy. After all, this is about Jeremy, Leo, and Jean. And also about the long pattern of hookups that Jeremy has allowed too many things, and that he wouldn't now. He's not going to keep fooling himself; Jeremy would keep doing it, just as the old Jeremy would keep self-destructing with cocaine, but he owes it to the people around him not to. He owes it to Noah. He owes it to the Trojans, who deserve a healthy captain with a proper reputation. He owes it to Coach Rhemann and Adi, who took him in and taught him that loving endlessly was possible. He owes it to Cat and Laila, who are the sisters there (hopefully, one day, his biological siblings... Jeremy has hope).

He owes it to Jean… Regardless of what they both feel for each other.

Maybe, one day, Jeremy will start to believe he owes it to himself, but not yet.

Jeremy takes a breath.

"You wouldn't trade me for a car," he says.

Jean frowns and Jeremy tells him everything.

[chil-aglia]

Feel The Need to Hide AU

There is no price we won’t pay

How Leo got his curse…

Heh, thanks @cimmerian1275 for beta reading this little oneshot

Leo gulped as he watched the ancient looking artefact tilt precariously for a few moments before it began toppling over the side. "Euuugh boi..." the vase fell off the podium from where it once stood, and he lunged forward to catch it, just a moment too late. The shattering porcelain echoed and bounced off the walls of the museum, Leo winced at the volume.

Why did he agree to handle this mission alone? Donnie knew Leo shouldn’t be trusted on his own for too long, he was bound to break something.

“Uh… maybe if I just sweep it under the rug, no one would notice—“ Leo muttered, surely there's a fancy rug around here big enough to cover this up until he could ask Raph to fix it? He gingerly crouched down to carefully pick up the pieces, his eyes swept across the empty room that no one else besides him currently occupied. It was filled with paintings, trophies and other ancient relics.

He was in luck, because a fancy large rug conveniently lay behind him when he looked over his shell. Leo whistled to himself with relief as he went to push the broken vase under the said rug, beginning to unsheath a katana so that he could sweep it all underneath in one go.

Only to suddenly throw himself back when a bright light began to shine through the cracked pieces scattered across the floor, and a cloudy soft blue mist began to gather around him. A loud roar vibrated through the room and Leo stilled, body shaking with adrenaline as he felt that roar resonate through his very bones.

He looked up, a figure began to rise from the mist forming itself into a large, sleek and serpentine creature. The body was a pearlescent white and ethereal, red and gold markings etched into shimmering scales that went down the side of their body and twisted around the eyes. The creature had no arms, but had fins flowing down its spine, two horns resting on its head that curved like waves. Its luminescent blue eyes pierced his as they emitted a low growl that reverberated through the air and glared down at the slider.

“You dare to break… my treasure?!”

The voice was powerful, feminine, and Leo could tell she was absolutely ticked off. “Do you understand what you’ve broken? That vase was the only remaining relic bearing my true name. Without it, the memory of me fades. My legacy, erased."

Leo’s breath caught in his throat. Guilt wrestled with panic in his stomach as her long neck slithered in the air around Leo, who hastily backed up.

"...Geyyyeeue. Okay, so—maybe there's a way to fix it? Or replace it? I know a guy who’s great with glue and borderline illegal tech—"

The creature hissed loudly in annoyance, lips curled up and white teeth bared as she leaned towards him threateningly. "You will restore what you have broken. Or you will carry my legacy yourself."

The ancient creature smirks, staring down at the slider who raised his non-existent brow at her. “I’m afraid to ask, but… what do you mean by that?” He chuckled nervously, flinching back when the creature laughed, her voice resounding through the room as she moved gracefully through the mist, circling him.

“My name is Zarynthia and I am the last of my kind. Known as ancient Sea Serpents. I have lived for eons, alone and bored…”

She coils and entraps Leo with her mystified body, the leader in blue wincing slightly at the hold as he tries to wriggle free from her grip. 

“While you clearly cannot repair the vase… there are other ways to suffer the consequences.”

Leo gulps, staring at her wide eyed.

“S-suffer?”

A pulse of magic surged through the room, the mist somehow growing heavy. Leo’s eyes widened as a glowing mark began to etch itself into the air before him—shifting, forming a sigil that seemed ancient and heavy with purpose.

The sigil surged forward—straight into Leo’s chest.

Leo choked on his own breath, gasping for air as the Sea Serpent goddess released him, quietly watching him as Leo writhed on the floor, twitching in agony as his body and muscles spasmed ferociously.

The goddess hums, her voice softening but still laced in a mocking attitude. Taunting him.

“Now, you’re one of us. One of mine.”

Her body faded into air as Leo’s vision blurred, black dots creeping into the corner of his eyes before he passed out on the floor, the broken vase laying beside him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leo just can’t catch a break fr

masterpost

[dorabellingham]

Beach or?....

warnings: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when you go for a walk on the beach and end up flert with him

may contain spelling and translation errors!

The day was perfect, mild sun, very clear blue sky, that good wind coming from the sea and the warm sand under your feet. Jude had planned the morning carefully: he carried the backpacks, chose the quietest beach in the region, put Leo's small board in the car just in case he wanted to play on the side and even separated a snack with cut fruit! -he barely knew how to cut tomatoes when you met.

You only laughed when you saw his excitement, thrown into the passenger seat with sunglasses, with the bikini under the light dress and the loose hair dancing with the breeze.

-You look like a first-time father on a school outing.

-And you look beautiful.

He replied, without even thinking.

You gave a corner smile. It was impossible to fight with him when he said these things in that automatic way, as if your beauty was an absolute truth and not something you were still rebuilding little by little.

The beach he chose was not so famous, but it was beautiful - with clear waters, few families, almost no paparazzi (miracle of miracles), and a strip of sand good enough for your baby to play and both of you to relax without worry.

You installed the towel, the umbrella, put on a protector to avoid any discomfort later and sat cuddling while he ran to wet his feet.

-This is my kind of perfect day, did you know, babe?

You said softly, your head resting on his shoulder.

-You, me, Leo and the sea?

Jude asked casually, caressing your face with the tip of his nose.

-And your hand holding mine, with no one to judge.

But the peace lasted... well, enough to look like a dream. Because it was only when your boyfriend got up to get more water from the backpack and walk to the back of the beach that the unusual situation began.

The woman was more or less the same age as you two. White, tall, sculptural body, tiny bikini and a floor that clearly knew it drew attention. When shw crossed paths with Jude, she smiled widely and didn't stop there.

You, lying on your side on the towel, with sunglasses and hat, watched everything in silence. That woman ran her hand through her hair, laughed at something she clearly invented to bring up the subject, and put her hand on his arm as if they were childhood acquaintances.

To you who meditated, did therapy and repeated mantras mentally tried to breathe. To you jealous, dramatically and emotionally committed to monogamy, I wanted to get up and pull the girl by the blonde strands.

But you didn't move. Still.

Bellingham, who was nice by nature and blinded by you even on a cloudy day, answered something briefly, smiled politely and pointed out where he was with his family. But the woman didn't seem to understand limits or education. She gave one last giggle and touched his shoulder again. You squeezed the canga as if it were the girl's neck.

-Wretth. -You murmured through your teeth, low enough for anyone to hear. -Go laugh to your grandmother, bitch.

-Look at this, my God, she touched again. Again! Jude, I swear by everything that is most sacred—

You were grumbling alone like a crazy in love, looking like an owl with sunglasses, with your eyes sparkling behind the lenses. And that's when he finally came back, with a bottle of water in his hand and a wide smile on his face.

-Is everything okay here, darling?

He asked, as if he hadn't left a trail of hormonal tension on the way.

-Oh, everything is great. I was here enjoying my life as a betrayed girlfriend.

-What?

He laughed, sitting down again and handing over the water.

-I'm talking about that one over there, the Victoria's Secret model with a crisis of need. She touched you about three times. Three. You should apply alcohol gel.

-Darling...

He started laughing, even more so when he saw that you were really angry.

-Don't laugh, Jude Victor. It's not funny. I was here being a sucker, seeing you all handsome, and the woman thinking you were a bingo prize.

—Bingo prize, Y/n?

-Yeah, like that microwave that everyone wants, but only one takes.

He laughed, he really laughed, throwing his head back, with the bottle of water falling on the sand and his eyes shining with so much laughter.

-You're jealous.

-I feel like throwing sand in her face, that's different.

Jude approached, leaned his forehead against yours, still smiling like a fool.

-I love you, just you, even with a ridiculous hat and swearing in a whisper.

-She laughed too loudly. No one laughs like that at someone they just met.

- I didn't hear.

- I heard. And I have proof. My soul heard it.

He put his arms around you and pulled uou into a hug full of affection. Leo, on the other side, was still trying to set up sand castles and sing some "Cocomelon" song at the same time. What about that woman? He had already left, probably in search of another less married and less loved victim.

-You know what? -You said, with a little smile now, your nose leaning against his neck. -I'm going to walk with a little plate. "This one is mine. Leak."

-I support. Even if you want to get a tattoo, I'll pay.

- Tattoo?

-"Property of Y/n", on the forehead.

-You laugh, but I really tattoo.

You laughed together now, jealousy turning into a joke and the day returning to what it was: calm, light and completely yours.

And from then on, Jude only approached the tent if he was accompanied. Because even if it was just to get water, you always said:

-Go there, my award-winning microwave. But if any woman tries to touch your digital panel, I'll come back with a frying pan.

[bluemoonsymphonies]

Headcanon #5

The reason Donnie is scared of beach balls is because once, when he and Leo where 11, he had stayed up for 3 days in a row to work on a machine to turn water into food after they watched Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs for the first time.

Leo gaslit him into thinking that the machine had turned him (Leo not Donnie, although that would be even more hilarious) into a beach ball. After Donnie had 'fixed' the machine and 'turned Leo back' Leo told him that the only way he wouldn't tattle on him was if he went to sleep whenever Leo told him to.

After Donnie had slept properly the deal became blackmail so that Leo wouldn't tell anyone that Donnie fell for the blatant lie. Donnie still has odd nightmares involving beach balls.

Masterpost | Ko-Fi | First | <Prev | Next>

[hobbies-miscellaneous]

"Magister Merlin"

All 10 of the Arcane Souls incarnations from The Magister Supreme from The Immortal War to current day Magister "Linnie" Merlin Von Ryeham.

Further lore under the cut! (There's a lot!)

1. Magister Supreme Merlin: Long white hair and beard. Hood always covers his face. Arcanists set. Very strict and methodical. That sword from the trailer- that’s his.

2. Magister Meredith: Long white hair, eyes were ice blue but are now white and cloudy. Order of Frost set. The Merlin who fought in the first divine war. She was badly injured (Burnt by Berial, how she lost her vision). She is quiet yet has an authoritative presence.

3. Magister Ludos: Short red hair and beard. Red eyes. Obsidian Moth set. Lived in the era after the divine war where things were still very tense. Was very prominent in the Lightbearer’s military. He may have been the Merlin to tread a slightly darker path.

4. Magister Amalie: Short white hair, fringe and ringlets, cyan/teal eyes. Fem Verdant set. Looks a bit like a Flapper. She is the youngest Merlin. Extravagant, theatrical, a riot to be with.

5. Magister Leo: Vaduso fashion set. Soft, short brown hair and moustache with a flower crown growing around his temples, black eyes. First Wilder Merlin. Very docile and a great diplomat.

6. Magister Kirsty: Brown hair in a bun with bangs, has bright blue eyes. Fem classy finery set. Oldest Merlin. She is very matronly. Also took a lot of orphans under her wing. Came from a noble family.

7. Magister Rhosdyn: Short, fluffy white hair, green eyes, diamond facial scars. The only Graveborn Merlin. Has glasses and the white autumn set. Very soft spoken. Discovered the artifacts every Merlin from then on would receive from Dura. Might have made the void relic? In good faith to alleviate a Graveborn’s suffering but I don’t know????

8. Magister Beatrice: Long blonde hair, yellow eyes, is a feline Wilder. Is a very devout acolyte of Dura. She will strike down anyone who badmouths her or Dura. She perfected sealing and purification magic.

9. Magister Charon: darker skinned, grey eyes, swept back white hair. White facial markings, vine covered antlers. Red coloured verdant set. Third Wilder Merlin. Very free spirited. Almost shirked his duties. And someone took offence to that. My have died horribly. Fate is still unknown.

10. Magister “Linnie” Merlin. Hair was originally honey blond. Turns white and grows much longer. Honey eyes (left one turns purple). Has a short beard/stubble and freckles. Always wears a monocle. Has a few outfits. He is quiet, socially awkward and can spook easily. Unless it’s a Hypogean. The second Merlin to have Merlin as their given name and not just their title.

The overall influences of each incarnation: Linnie gains some “natural” talent in magic, the flute and in dancing; sometimes in other things such as military strategy or swordplay . He also gains a few personality traits or sides to him. Like his strictness, the rage that burns, his desire to keep the likes of Mirael and Cassadee safe and his deep running hatred for Hypogeans.

Then there is the worse stuff...memories that aren’t his that come to him via dreams and hallucinations. Like the one about Charon’s fate, a few from the first divine war and possibly even the Immortal War.

He doesn’t know quite exactly what to make of it all. Apart from the clear fact that it scares him. He doesn’t like how some emotions don’t feel exactly his either, familiar yet not at the same time. He waters it down to his amnesia but it really isn’t. He has a hunch that it isn’t but he refuses to admit it.

[pinkasher]

okay so y'all said yes to choose another character that I love but haven’t watch the series. So I love 2012! BUTTTTT I haven’t watch the series since I’m way to busy🥲

Usagi🩵

[seafoamreadings]

full moon lunar eclipse at 25 pisces. conjunct neptune.

the eclipse is not exact yet but you can feel it from now, especially if you are a piscean, virgoan, or neptunian, or a leo or cancer. the effects are an aftermath lasting well into the ingress of the moon into aries. my best advice at this time is to go to great lengths not to deceive or to be deceived and if this is difficult, abstain from any cloudy or questionable dealings as long as possible so the effects of this eclipse can pass and begin to settle. meanwhile, an introspective, calm, restful, and magical couple of evenings are advised. then upon waking, carefully record any dreams you can remember, even if you only can retain shards of them. these will contain messages that may be deeply personal, prophetic, or that come from people you used to know who seem to be long gone.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

First Night Home pt. 1

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Aiden wishes he could know the way home by heart. Feel a sense of comfort, that indescribable pull, as familiarity marks the closing distance to the place where he belongs. It’s a foolish, naked yearning. One that hangs in the spotlight of his focus a moment too long, leaving him feeling just as exposed. 

He spreads his fingers on his legs to stop from curling them into fists. Curling his toes in his shoes is a cheap substitute for grounding himself but at least it keeps that look off Leo’s face. 

The one that confirms Aiden is a burden he didn’t sign up for, companion or not. 

“Almost there,” Leo says, pulling away from a stop sign and turning left. 

His stomach drops and he turns toward the window to hide his face. 

Just like the first night, he has no idea what to expect when they arrive. He should be able to grant Leo a fraction of the trust he has felt but is always unable to find when he needs it most. It’s overwhelmed too easily, road salt cloudy headlights on an unlit route, feeble light swallowed by darkness before it can illuminate anything more than the rush of pavement before it disappears. His catastrophizing is stunted by exhaustion but the longer they drive down the winding roads, the more his stomach knots and twists, anticipation-turning-to-dread the only mile marker he has. He worries about losing to his nausea, as much as a passenger in his body as he is in the car, heading toward the inevitable. 

When Leo turns off the road, Aiden panics even more, scanning the row of four identical condos, porch lights still casting a dim glow in the pre-dawn light. He doesn’t recognize anything, except Leo’s work van at the end of the shared driveway. Shame rises along with the bile in his stomach. It’s disrespectful to Leo and the invitation to share any part of his home—to entertain it as a place he could pretend to belong—if he can’t even recognize it from the outside.

For fuck��s sake, it’s the barest of minimums required to lay claim to any place.

He bites back his apology. Stutters won’t be the only thing that comes out if he opens his mouth just now. He wouldn’t be able to articulate the transgression anyway. Little progress he made earlier trying to explain he wasn’t trying to run from Leo at the hospital, that he was just trying to give him a shot at getting his life back. The one before he took on a damaged—

“Home sweet home.” Leo kills the engine and lets his head fall back against the headrest with a sigh.

Aiden lowers his gaze, guilt swirling in his stomach. Again, the apology is on the tip of his tongue but his eyes start to burn hot with tears. He will not cry again. He cannot. He bites the inside of his cheek and the taste of blood is a quick distraction. 

Worse than dissolving into a crying mess would be getting sick in Leo’s sister’s car. 

Leo’s on the move anyway. With another sigh, he gets out, leaving Aiden alone to clap his good hand over his mouth and force deep breaths in and out through his nose. He even closes his eyes to beg himself to be capable this time. Better for this second-second chance. Easier after everything. 

Little good it does. 

By the time Leo reaches his door, Aiden is resigned to ducking around him to throw up. The bar lowered to please just don’t get sick on Leo’s shoes. 

The cold air hits him in a blast when Leo reaches the door and helps him out. He blinks against the sharp sting of it, both hands gripping Leo’s forearm. Another lungful of brisk winter morning and the nausea settles. 

His next inhale is full of sky. Deep blue night softening with the light of day from one horizon to the other. A whisper of purple hinting at the brilliance of more colors soon to come. He could stay here forever, taking in the spectrum of dark to light, the stars fading out in the west and the sun soon to rise in the east. He watched the sunrise a few times from the bedroom window upstairs but he can’t remember the last time he stood under a sky like this. 

Or the last time he was outside in daylight at all. 

“Hon, you alright?”

Leo’s expression has probably passed concern because Aiden let a few tears escape. They’ve already slid down his cheeks, warm at the outset, their wakes chilled in the fresh morning air. 

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still looking up. “Thank you,” he hears himself whisper and somehow it comes out crystal clear. He wishes he could say more, thank Leo for this morning sky he had nothing and everything to do with. But he doesn’t trust himself not to ruin it. 

Leo doesn’t say anything back, just wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

As soon as they step inside, he wants to run back to the feeling he found under the sky. But Leo’s exhausted and he already waited with Aiden until the sun started peeking over the horizon. Watching the sun rise wouldn’t stave off the inevitable. It’ll be over in minutes anyway. 

Aiden winds up hovering at the edge of the kitchen, unsure if he should stay out of the way or help. The bags sit on the island, handles still standing at attention from being lifted there. 

Leo relieves him of any guesswork by setting a glass of water on the island. “Think you can drink this?” 

He nods, grateful for an easy opportunity to be obedient, and slides onto a stool, watching for any reaction from Leo out of habit, but he’s looking down. Aiden’s stomach knots when he realizes he’s reading the slip of paper from the doctors again. 

If Leo tells him to take any of the medicine, he should. He will. He’ll do anything Leo asks him to. Happily. If what Leo said about finding him is true, he owes him his life twice over, maybe three times if he considers—

“Aiden?”

He jumps and Leo quickly leans over to clamp a hand around his teetering glass.

“M’sorry.” He tucks his hands between his legs, apology not quite audible even to his ears. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“S’okay,” he whispers. 

Leo’s sigh makes him flinch before he can catch himself. 

Leo holds up his hands, one still holding the rescued glass. “Easy, sweetheart. We’re all good. It’s all good.” 

Aiden nods. He’s overreacting, reading into Leo’s every fucking exhale. He’s just overreacting but still, tears are building behind his eyes. He nods again, squeezing his hands into fists but the pain that radiates up his arms makes the tears fall. “M’sorry, m’sorry.” He shakes his hands out at his sides, swipes furiously at the traitorous tears, and refuses—refuses—to meet Leo’s gaze to see how completely exasperated and disappointed he is. “M’sorry, m’sorry—”  

“Aiden. Aiden.” Leo’s beside him now, warm hand on his shoulder making him realize just how much he’s curled forward. “Just breathe. That’s right. You’re okay, you’re good.” 

He nods, sniffling. He needs to pull himself together. “M’sorry, m’sorry.” 

“Hon, look at me.” 

He meets Leo’s eyes, letting himself shelter in the ease of obedience. 

“You’re good, it’s all good. We’ll figure things out together, step by step, in the morning—or, well, later today.” Leo’s soft chuckle, tired as it is, tempts Adien further into the lulls of earned safety and he doesn’t have the energy to resist. Leo rubs his shoulder. “Everything will look a little better after some sleep, yeah?” Leo goes to the sink to top up his glass. “Let’s head up.” 

His stomach drops and maybe even his lungs too because he can’t feel himself breathe anymore. He’s too busy trying to read Leo’s face. What about the mess upstairs? Should he get the bleach? Or is this the moment Leo finally punishes him? 

He follows Leo to the stairs, shoving his shaking hands into the pocket of the hoodie. He knots his fingers together as much as he can without it hurting too much. He’s not sure what they’ll find upstairs. He can only remember blurs and there’s no telling what happened after his memory stops. 

“Better get scrubbing, ‘359.” 

He shakes his head but the flashes of the facility tiles, covered in blood, are so bright in his mind. His hand gripping the banister feels far away, feet climbing the stairs even further. A few more steps and he’ll be able to see the bathroom. 

The blood, the tiles. 

“Aiden?” 

He flinches, attention snapping back to Leo a few steps ahead. “M’good,” he says, too quickly because Leo narrows his eyes. He walks back down and stops one step lower so they’re the same height. 

“There’s no— there’s nothing to worry about. I asked Jesse to come over while we were out.” 

He nods slowly.  

“Everything’s clean, it’s all good.” 

Aiden hopes he hides his shameful relief better than his lack of understanding. “Mmm’thanks…” It’s not enough. He’ll never be enough. 

Leo holds out his arm. “All good, hon.” 

At the top of the stairs, he goes the extra mile and flicks on every light in the bathroom. The brightness hurts Aiden’s eyes but the bathroom is indeed spotless. 

Like nothing ever happened.

Leo walks him to the second bedroom, sets the glass of water on the desk and clicks on the little lamp. “I’ll get you some clean pajamas.” 

The pressure in the room changes when Leo leaves. 

Aiden’s breath comes easier, inhale and exhale deeper. The air no longer feeling finite to leave space for all the anticipation that accompanies Leo. 

But his relief is quickly spoiled by the discomfort of idleness. 

Using the desk chair for balance, he strips to his underwear, neatly folding the dirty clothes to be put in the hamper in the bathroom. He doesn’t want to see the bandages on his hand or arms, nor the gauze taped to his elbow and collarbone. Any visible trace of blood and Leo will want to check them, clean the stitches, change the bandages, ask him how he’s feeling, if he wants to take something for it and he can’t answer, he can’t look, he can’t handle having Leo examine him like that, so careful like he’s breakable when he’s done all this to himself and— 

He covers his face with his hands. Tries to pull in a deeper breath but the smell of betadine under the bandages makes his stomach churn so he lets his hands fall. 

There’s a smudge on his upper arm. Rubbing at it with his thumb does nothing. He turns to see it in the faint light coming through the window— 

It’s blood. Dried blood, all over. A ragged stripe of it snaking across his upper arms and chest. He can see it spreading, hear the drip, drip, drip of the faucet he was shaking too much to turn off completely. 

He pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head but when he opens his eyes again it’s even worse. It’s everywhere, splotches up and down his arms, all over his torso. 

Splattered all over the bright, white tiles. 

He can’t get it off. He has to get rid of it. He has to wash away the blood. 

“Scrub those tiles good and clean, ‘359.” 

No, this can’t be happening right now. 

His breath trembles and he can’t fill his lungs anymore but it doesn’t matter because the sounds of his panic have already caught Leo’s attention. 

“Aiden?” 

He spins to face Leo, bumping into the door which hits the wall and makes him jump all over again. His apology comes out as more of a strangled whine. 

“Easy.” Leo makes his movements slow and deliberate as he sets the clothes down. “It’s alright.” 

Aiden nods along. Of course it’s alright. He knows it’s alright but he still can’t seem to catch more than tiny gasps of air at a time. It’s just Leo. He’s here with Leo. He’s—

“Hey, hey, look at me.” 

Leo doesn’t try to move any closer, just holds his gaze. “That’s good, just breathe. We’ve got all the time we need. There’s no rush. Just take it easy. Take some slow, deep breaths.” 

He hates how immediately possible it is when he can hear it as a command. 

“Good, that’s good. You’re good.” 

Hates even more that he sinks his teeth right into all the warmth and relief he can get from the shallow praise, a shiver running up his spine in its wake. But it helps and he can already stand a bit straighter, think, and see a bit clearer. 

Leo waits a few more deep breaths. “All good?” 

“Mhm, m’sorry—” He clears his throat. “I—I—” He steels himself and lets his arms fall, eyes locked on Leo’s expression. 

“Ah. I didn’t think of that.” 

Leo’s frown makes his heart race. He crosses an arm over his chest, as if there might be a chance Leo can actually see the hair-trigger reactivity he’s got tonight. 

“I’ll get a washcloth with some soap, I can—” 

“Please—” he chokes out, calves hitting the bed frame. He blinks away Harrison, standing over him, cold and indifferent while he begs and cries. 

“Okay, never mind.” Aiden is still holding his breath so Leo softens his voice. “Hey, hey, easy. Not that one, okay? Forget I suggested it.” 

He drags in a strained breath. “M’sorry.” Forces himself to take a step back toward Leo.

“It’s alright, don’t be sorry. I need to know these things, it’s good you’re telling me.” 

He swallows and looks down. Unsure if he’s more ashamed that Leo has to spell it out for him or that it’s necessary at all. 

“Well, I guess a shower is the next option. What do you think?” 

Aiden nods, trying to look at least a little more composed to face the bathroom. 

“Okay,” Leo says but he doesn’t move. 

Aiden looks down again to let him think. He wants to shake out his arms, and his legs too while he’s at it. Just because he can and that’s why it helps. But he doesn’t want Leo to think he’s impatient. He’d probably tip right over anyway. 

“Sorry, okay, yeah. Just a quick shower, I’ll help you.” He turns and Aiden follows. 

It won’t be as simple as that but it’s a lie of solace they’ll cling to like a life raft. 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney

[tmntfixationxreader]

♡A Dance in the Rain♡Leo x reader♡

~Leo won’t let a little rain mess with your fun~

Word count: 962

Warnings: Complete fluff, slight kissing.

*****************************************************************

“Yes! I’m so excited to… Oh…” You open your front door to the building you were staying in, looking out into the empty front yard, only to discover it was pouring down rain.

Leo looks over your shoulder out at the rain.

“Dang… Looks like we won’t be taking that walk after all…” You mutter, and go to close the door.

Leo’s hand holds the door open.

“Why not? We should go out!” He says excitedly, then blushes. “Out- into the rain..”

You smile, but raise an eyebrow. “Why? won’t we get-”

Leo already has your hand and he pulls out onto the front steps.

Rain pours down on both of your heads, soaking you almost immediately in cold water.

“Leo!” You chuckled, flicking some water at him.

He laughs so genuinely it makes your heart flutter. He flicks water at you back, then kicks the grass to send more water droplets at your legs.

You laugh again, and look up at the sky, watching the rain fall from the cloudy heavens.

Leo watched you.

Your face smiling up into the sky, the water falling down from your hair and all down your skin, soaking your clothes even further.

You, his best friend, the most attractive person he swears he’s ever met, looking up into the sky, water drops rolling down their face.

He felt his heart flutter and melt, and his cheeks get warmer.

You noticed him watching, and smiled at him. He blushed more, but wasn’t afraid to stop looking at you.

“What?” You giggled to yourself.

“Just admiring the beauty of mi ángel,” He smiled wide.

You blush and laugh.

“I bet you came down from the sky just like the rain…” He grinned, taking a step closer to you and slowly cupping your cheek.

You chuckled giddily, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You're a tease…”

“Maybe, mi amor, maybe…” He smirked, and gently kissed your cheek. You blushed a thousand and one shades of red.

He chuckled. “Your face is so red…”

You laughed, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “It’s probably from the rain…”

“Suuuuuuure it is…” he smirked again, water running down his face from his soaked blue mask.

“Leo!” You objected, grinning, and giving his shoulder another shove.

He laughed, then his face lit up with an idea.

He shoved his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling out his phone that was somehow dry.

“Leo, you're gonna get that thing soaked,” You say, watching him bend over it slightly to protect it from the rain.

In only a second before his phone began to play your favorite slow song. He must have either had it saved or memorized, because he found it right away.

He put his phone back into his pocket, and held out both hands with raised eyebrows.

You smiled, taking one of his hands and putting the other on his shoulder.

He held your hand gently, then put his other hand on your hip. He seemed confident, but his face was blushing and he was clearly nervous.

You smiled at him, blushing.

Slowly he took the lead, and stepped backwards. You followed his movements, and soon you two were slowly dancing in a square.

Surprisingly, you two only stepped on each other's feet a couple of times.

You couldn’t help but smile giddily.

Leo smiled, and his mask, now soaking wet, slipped down over his eyes. He was about to fix it, when you reached up and fixed it for him.

You adjusted his mask so he could see out the eye slots, and kept your hands there for a moment longer.

“Heh.. Thanks…” he muttered, cheeks as red as the crescents around his eyes.

“No problem…” You mutter back, smiling.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, and his settles onto your hips.

He swallows, and dampens his own lips with his tongue (even though he was already soaking wet) before he speaks.

“Y/n… Could I… Can I…” He muttered, glancing down at your lips nervously.

You smile, blushing just as much as he was. You give a small nod, and couldn’t help but look down at his lips too.

He was surprisingly slow. For the turtle who was always fast and bouncing off the walls, he was the slowest he probably had ever been.

Leo leaned in, lips hovering just over yours. You could feel his warm breath against your lips.

You leaned a little forward to let him know you wanted it.

He smiled, then pressed his lips against yours.

It was warm… Yet the rain pouring down around made the both of you cold.

He was slow, taking his time and just resting in the position for a moment, before finally moving his lips a little. You matched him and slowly you two built a pattern…

Until the sky rumbled and you heard a loud crack! of lighting. Both of you jumped, lips separating, and instinctively looking towards where the lightning had struck… But of course it was far enough away that you couldn’t actually see anything.

Leo turned back to you with a smile.

“Uh, maybe we should go back inside…” He grinned, running his hand up your back over your wet clothes.

You chuckled. “Probably…”

The two of you hesitated, glancing down at each others lips before-

Crack! Boom!

Lightning and thunder stuck within the sky again and the two of you jumped.

“Ok- maybe we should go inside-” You say hurriedly, and let go of him, grabbing one of his hands.

Leo laughs, squeezing your hand as the two walk towards the front door.

“Yeah, yeah, I think mother nature is trying to tell us to take this elsewhere…” Leo smirked in a tone that sent butterflies to your gut.

You blushed, chuckling. “Leooo!”

****************************************************************

Leo spanish translation:

Mi ángel = My angel

Mi amor = My love

Master post

Bye bye butterflies!

[swiftmorgan13]

BLACK QUEEN — mafia!billie eilish x fem!oc

SERIES MASTERLIST

⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟⍟

October 27, 2029

The persistent drizzle of Seattle soaked the runway as the soft roar of a private jet sliced through the cloudy sky, descending with surgical precision. It wasn't a commercial flight, nor one that appeared in the airport's public records. It was one of those flights the government allowed without asking questions, but not without taking note.

From a safe distance, several unmarked black SUVs with tinted windows watched closely. Inside them, FBI agents observed through binoculars and earpieces connected to secure frequencies. No one spoke. No one moved without cause. Only one phrase floated through the internal channel:

"Confirm: it's her"

The jet, a custom Gulfstream G700, landed smoothly, its tires biting the wet asphalt with an elegant hiss. Its matte-black fuselage had faint golden lines barely visible in the gray morning light. On the front door, a discreet inscription in Icelandic: "Ég hefnist ekki. Ég stjórna." [I don't come for revenge. I come to rule.]

The aircraft door opened with a hydraulic hum. And then, the figure descended.

Billie Eilish O'Connell stepped down the stairs unhurriedly, as if time didn't exist, as if the rain knew her and had learned not to touch her. She wore a long black leather coat that flowed with each step like darkness itself followed her. Under the coat, a monochrome outfit: black silk shirt, loose pants, and custom-made combat boots.

But the most striking feature was her face.

Unchanging. Cold. A monument to calculated patience. Her ocean-blue eyes scanned the surroundings with a mix of superiority and boredom. She wasn't searching for threats. She knew none would dare. She was simply calculating. Thinking. Dominating.

A step behind her, her brother Finneas followed. Seemingly relaxed, he wore a beige jacket, dark scarf, and sunglasses. But his eyes, always alert, moved like those of a chess master. Finneas rarely spoke in public, but he was the brain behind many of Billie's decisions. Advisor, strategist... and, at times, executor.

Last to descend was Elijah. Towering. Dark-skinned, visible tattoos on his neck, and a gaze that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken warnings. His military-cut jacket concealed a bulletproof vest and two hidden weapons only a trained eye could spot.

Elijah didn't talk to strangers. He didn't smile. He didn't relax. His mission was simple: if anyone touched Billie without permission, they stopped breathing.

Billie walked across the tarmac like it was the runway of her own empire. A black SUV pulled up and stopped a few meters away. A slim man in a gray suit stepped out quickly and bowed in a barely noticeable gesture.

His name was Leo Marsten, Billie's legal liaison in the state of Washington, an attorney with more buried clients than living ones.

"Welcome to Seattle, Ms. O'Connell," Leo said quietly, reverently. "Everything's ready at the Queen Anne mansion. Security is active, staff screened. The mayor sent a... discreet message."

Billie simply nodded. She paused for a moment and looked toward the horizon, toward downtown, as if she could see through the fog.

"This place... smells like soft arrogance," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "Let's sharpen it."

Finneas gave a crooked smile, the kind worn by someone who senses the storm before the wind. Elijah already had the SUV door open. Billie stepped in without looking back.

The convoy rolled out in tight formation. In the distance, an FBI helicopter shifted slightly to maintain distance. In its cabin, a veteran agent watched the monitors and muttered.

"Black Queen in motion. No contact. Observation only."

The armored SUV exited I-90 onto a dirt road flanked by tall, dark pines. No one ended up there by accident unless they knew exactly what they were looking for.

The Burrow was a restaurant disguised at the edge of the woods: rustic façade, small windows, warm lighting, and a supposedly excellent Italian kitchen. In reality, it was one of the logistical hubs of Billie Eilish's western network. Weapons, money, and purchased silences flowed through it.

But tonight, the silence had been broken.

The convoy stopped. Elijah got out first, his boots thudding against the gravel. With a subtle gesture, he signaled the perimeter was secure. Billie stepped out slowly, unhurried. She didn't need to be. Fear walked ahead of her.

Inside, the restaurant was closed to the public. The lights were low. The central table was set with candles and an open bottle of Chianti. Sitting across from it was Tomás Delgado, known in the circle as "Tommy D", the cash flow manager from Portland. He was charming, dressed well, and always talked too much.

Until he stopped paying.

Billie entered like velvet-wrapped shadow. Her black boots made crisp sounds on the wooden floor. Finneas stayed near the door, arms crossed. Elijah stood firm at her left. Only the fireplace's crackle dared to break the silence.

Tommy stood when he saw her. He feigned a smile. The sweat on his forehead betrayed everything else.

"Billie," he said. "What a joy to see you, even so unexpectedly."

Billie didn't reply. She walked to the chair across from him and sat down. Slowly, she pulled a small glass vial from her coat. She placed it on the table. Inside was a single white die. Six sides. But only one face had a number. The six. The rest were blank.

Tommy swallowed hard. "Are we really doing this?"

"You already did, Tommy," Billie replied calmly, almost softly. "When you signed the deal. When you took the money. When you thought no one would notice the missing pieces."

Tommy tried to keep his composure.

"Business got complicated. The border's hot. I lost two shipments. Yes, there are losses. But no betrayal. I swear on my daughter."

Billie looked at him. Not with hatred. Not even with contempt. She looked at him the way one examines a wall before deciding whether to tear it down or paint it.

"Don't swear on what you love," she said, even softer now. "Because then you force me to look in that direction."

Tommy clenched his fists.

"What do you expect me to do? Give you money I don't have?"

Billie picked up the vial, uncorked it with a single flick of her wrist, and rolled the die onto the table. It spun slowly... and landed showing the six.

Tommy exhaled in relief. A second later, Billie pulled a second copy of the die from her coat. This one: completely blank.

"See?" she whispered. "No one rolls twice at my table."

A terrible silence fell. Elijah stepped forward. But Billie raised a hand.

"Not yet."

She turned to Tommy.

"Listen carefully: tomorrow at 8 p.m., you send me 60% of what you owe. If you don't have the money, send assets, land, vehicles, even people if necessary. But give me something. Because if you don't..." she smiled slightly, and there was no joy in it, "...you'll have to explain to your daughter why she's sleeping alone for the rest of the year."

Tommy nodded, shaking. "Understood. I will. I swear."

Billie stood. Pocketed the trick die. Took a sip of the wine without asking and left it half-finished.

"Disgusting," she murmured.

And with that, she left the restaurant. Elijah and Finneas followed. Tommy collapsed into his chair, face pale as flour.

The crunch of wet gravel marked each of Billie's steps toward the black SUV. Her coat fluttered lightly in the crisp September wind, steeped in the scent of damp forest and cheap wine that still burned her palate. Elijah was already opening the rear door for her to get in. Finneas, ever alert, was speaking into a comms device with someone on the perimeter. Everything seemed under control.

And then, it happened.

First, a flash.

Then, a sharp, metallic sound: clack!

Finneas spun around instantly. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before shouting. "GET DOWN!"

Gunfire shattered the silence like close-range thunder.

From the trees, at least five men with automatic rifles opened fire on the vehicles. Bullets exploded through glass, pierced metal, sparked and shredded body panels.

Billie barely managed to turn when she felt the first impact.

CRACK.

A bullet struck just below her ribs on the right side. She dropped to her knees with a grunt, not screaming. Her right hand instinctively reached for the wound, blood already seeping through the leather. Elijah, without hesitation, stepped in front of her like a human shield, taking a round to the bulletproof vest.

The second shot was worse.

It tore through the lower part of her abdomen. Billie collapsed, bracing herself on one hand, her breath ragged, her face tense but composed.

Finneas rolled toward the car door and pulled out a compact pistol. He wasn't a soldier, but he knew how to shoot. He landed a hit on one of the shooters in the trees, who dropped with a muffled cry.

"THE BETRAYAL IS INTERNAL!" Elijah roared as he drew a Glock and fired in tight, accurate bursts.

From the ground, Billie clenched her teeth and forced herself to stay conscious. It wasn't the first time she bled. But it was the first time she hadn't seen it coming. Tommy. That son of a bitch.

Elijah managed to drag her toward the back of the SUV as Finneas covered the right flank. The driver was already dead, his head slumped grotesquely against the wheel.

"We need to go, now!" Finneas yelled, jumping into the driver's seat without hesitation.

Elijah climbed in with Billie in his arms, placing her in the back seat.

"Stay awake, boss. Don't close your eyes," he muttered, voice low and firm, while pressing down on the wounds with a makeshift towel.

Billie's eyes fluttered open. She was gasping, but she spoke. "Tommy... is dead."

"First we save you. Then we kill him," Elijah growled.

Bullets were still raining down as Finneas reversed the SUV, smashing through part of the restaurant porch. One attacker rushed forward, but Elijah fired three rounds through the glass, dropping the man like a soaked puppet.

The vehicle sped off into the woods, splashing mud and leaves, leaving behind chaos and corpses.

Inside the restaurant, Tommy listened to the gunfire from the basement, nervous, thinking his move had worked. But he didn't know yet that Billie Eilish didn't die like that. And what he'd unleashed wasn't victory, it was a hunt.

Inside the SUV, Elijah was on the radio with a secured contact.

"En route to the nearest hospital. Critical condition. Double abdominal gunshot wound. Keep it clean, no police notifications. I want the best trauma surgeon in Seattle. Now."

Destination: Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital

The emergency room double doors burst open as the armored SUV skidded to a stop, defying every protocol, traffic rule, and sense of decorum. Elijah emerged from the backseat covered in blood, carrying the semi-conscious body of Billie Eilish like she was his own daughter.

Nurses and doctors froze at the sight: a young woman soaked in blood, two visible gunshot wounds, and a face pale as marble.

"GUNSHOT WOUND TO THE ABDOMEN, MASSIVE BLOOD LOSS!" Elijah shouted.

Morgan Shepherd spun on her heels. She was exhausted, eleven hours into her shift. But when she saw the half-open ocean-blue eyes of the woman on the gurney, something inside her snapped into focus.

There was no time to process.

"TRAUMA ONE, NOW!" Morgan barked, already pulling on gloves as two residents wheeled the gurney into the ER. Her voice was sharp, steady, the voice of someone who'd seen too much blood to ever hesitate.

"BP 80 over 50 and falling!" a nurse shouted.

"Get me two units of O-neg, prep for exploratory laparotomy, and keep that IV wide open!"

Elijah marched beside the gurney, reluctant to leave Billie's side. Morgan stopped him with a single look.

"You wait outside. If you come near the table again, I'll throw you out myself. And it won't be gentle."

Elijah stared back for a second... and obeyed. Because he saw something in her: pure authority. And because Morgan, though she didn't know it yet, was built to face monsters in human skin.

The gurney disappeared through the doors. The OR flooded with white light, blood, and tense, whispered commands.

And then, they arrived.

The silence was broken by the crunch of tires from a second vehicle. The unmarked SUV parked beside the entrance. Four figures stepped out with choreographed precision. Dark suits. Earpieces. Weapons not visible, but definitely present.

Leading them was Special Agent Rachel Torrance, angular face, dark brown hair pulled back, a gaze like cut ice.

"Confirmed. It's her," she said to her team as she looked at the fresh blood on the pavement.

She displayed a warrant signed by a federal judge: immediate arrest as soon as her medical condition allowed. But Torrance wasn't going to wait that long.

"This is a civilian hospital, Agent," one of the security guards told her.

"And you have no idea who you're dealing with."

Torrance walked through the ER doors.

"Compression! Suture here! Don't let me lose her!"

Morgan was soaked in sweat and blood. Her hands were inside Billie's open abdomen, searching for the source of the hemorrhage. Every second was critical. Every move, a surgical dance between life and death.

"Pulse stabilizing," said a resident. "But very weak."

Morgan leaned over Billie's body. Her still-unconscious face had something unusual: even on the edge of death, she looked... in control.

The doctor allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She gently touched Billie's cheek to check the pallor.

"Who are you...?" she whispered.

And in that instant, the OR doors burst open.

"Special Agent Torrance, FBI!" a commanding voice rang out.

Morgan turned, furious. "YOU CANNOT INTERRUPT A SURGICAL PROCEDURE!"

"That woman is under federal arrest. For association with criminal organizations, arms trafficking, international money laundering, and murder. The moment she leaves that table, she's ours."

Morgan clenched her jaw. "If you interfere with this surgery, I'll put you on a gurney next to her."

Torrance didn't step back, but she didn't step forward, either. She knew that, for now, medicine won. Still, she walked to the edge of the room and stared at Billie's unconscious face.

"Enjoy your last hours of freedom, O'Connell."

One hour later.

The operation was a success, against all odds.

Billie was transferred to the ICU, with federal custody already stationed outside. Elijah had been temporarily detained. Finneas was missing.