#i shamelessly cried in a fic when this happened

[jamminvroomvroom]

George Russell and trying to have sex after he wins his second championship but Sylvie cries awake from her nap. 🤭

THIS WAS CUTE TO WRITE!!!! thank you for sending this in!

same universe as my george fic, which can be found on my masterlist <3

minors dni! there is some very light smut (18+!!), fluffy as hell though too

-

george hovered over you, lips skimming your neck. this had been a long time coming, after a long weekend at the track, and life getting in the way, so you kept him close, your legs wrapped firmly around his lean waist, holding him against exactly where you needed him.

he grazed his hand over your half naked body, finally, finally, dipping his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, long fingers discovering just how desperately you needed him to touch you. he applied pressure, working your body delectably, fulfilling your needs after weeks of obstacles preventing you from what you craved: him.

“oh my god, george, please, i’m gonna-“ you panted.

but as soon as your high was within reach, a cry tore from down the hallway. sylvie was awake. george stopped immediately, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“oh, shit.” you sighed.

you sat up the bed, shaky from your almost-orgasm, when he gently tapped your thigh, stopping you.

“it’s okay, sweetheart, i’ll go.” he kissed you quickly, and you sent him a grateful smile, flopping back onto your bed.

you loved your little girl more than anything in the world, more than life itself, more than everything under the sun and the moon combined, but god, you just needed your fiancé to have his way with you.

you threw one of george’s t-shirts on, reaching for your phone to reply to some emails, knowing that george would probably be a while, knowing how difficult it could be to get sylvie to go back to sleep. you were in the process of trying to fix her attachment to you both in the night, trying to stand your ground and get her to sleep comfortably in her own bed, but it was a slow process.

george was supposed to soothe her back to sleep, in her own room, but when you heard soft giggles in the hallway, you could have throttled him. in he walked, sylvie on his hip, and a sheepish smile on his face. at the sight of your daughter, you grinned, unable to help yourself, but george was not in your good books.

“mama, mama.” sylvie crooned, wiggling in george’s grip, until he placed her softly at the foot of the bed. she wriggled towards you, crawling up the bed until she was tucked under your arm. all she needed was a few moments against your chest, your heartbeat and your smell sending her spiralling into a deep slumber. you put your phone down, glaring at george now.

“what happened to the plan? you are such a soft touch.” you complained. really, you loved how much of a girl dad he was, and how sylvie had him absolutely mesmerised, but it was also important for her to sleep in her own bed.

“i’m sorry, my love. i couldn’t help it. you know what it’s like when those big blue eyes fill up with tears.” he defended himself and you couldn’t really argue with that.

“well, no sex for us now.” you groaned, getting yourself comfortable with the toddler clinging to your frame.

“we could go to the guest room?” he suggested, absolutely shamelessly.

“go to fucking sleep, george.”

[withonly-sweetheart]

Back to the Sea

The mysterious stranger on the boat happens to be your roommate and you can't help but wonder who he is. Something about him captivates you, but what happens when an artist loses his brush?

a/n: so... this is all @chesue00's fault. dont get me wrong ilysm pookie but i cannot tell you how much this was going through my head the entire day like i wanted to get home so badly and write this i almost told my teach to fuck off... but thank u ur so talented it hurts like that inspired me sm and thats what art should do! ty! <333

tw: angst?? bc its not my fic unless its got angst (hopefully...) uhm mentions of like illnesses and the flu and stuff but idk help

wc: 5.2k - yes im not even kidding i wrote this all tdy and its not even grammar checked will do that later hehehehehe <333

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the vast expanse of the ocean, you sit at the edge of the ship, gaze fixed on the endless waves stretching out before her. The gentle sway of the ship beneath you, the salty sea air mingling with the haunting cries of the seagulls soaring overhead; it all served as a reminder of sorrow and loss that clings to you like a heavy shroud.

You take it between your fingers, as if you can feel the harsh, unforgiving ivory material form under your hand, and wrap it around yourself tighter, cherishing the small bursts of warmth you get from sitting up here.

Each wave that laps against the side of the ship fails to cover the whispers of the crowd steadily disappearing around you, pointing fingers shamelessly, wondering why a girl your age is sitting, all alone, staring wistfully out at the cerulean abyss.

Someone clears their throat behind you. The last thing you want is to be bothered, so you twist over your shoulder to dismiss them, but somewhere up your throat, the words clump together into a soft gasp.

You have seen him around the ship, when you were first boarding, but you didn’t get the best look at him. Now that you do, you know one thing as true as the sky is blue.

He’s breathtaking. His eyes, reflecting the azure of the ocean, flash with lightning quick irritation, as if your presence inconveniences him. The curve of his lips set in a straight line, tightening almost imperceptibly, jaw clenching ever so slightly.

If you weren’t looking so hard, you could’ve missed it all. 

But how could you miss anything he does, when each ripple of his feature is like a brushstroke? An artist’s slow, deliberate intentions, painting the man in front of you.

“You are taking up the seat,” he mumbles, so quietly you almost don’t catch it. “Apologies,” you respond, shifting to make room for him. The dip between his eyebrows deepens and you find yourself frowning back. “Is something wrong?”

His gaze clouds, turning a muffled shade of gray. “No.”

You hum in response before turning back to the ocean. The heavy silence writhes between them, its unseen grip tightening with each breath. Your mind churns, sensing dark depths his haunted eyes warn away.

So you stand and stroll away, not sparing a glance at the brooding figure. You don’t wish to descend into his sorrow. You have enough of your own, and the tension crackling between you is nearly tangible. 

You know well that behind every handsome man, there is a troubled mind.

And the windows to those thoughts are the eyes.

<><><><>

“If the brothe bee to sweete, put in the more wine, or els a litle vineger.” 

You recall this line from a cookbook your mother once owned as you stare down at the barely distinguishable liquid in a bowl in front of you. Chips of wood flake off and dissolve into the mess of what you think are minced vegetables pooling at the bottom. Though the bubbles of oil faintly remind you of home, nothing else is the same.

You can’t remember the last time you had traditional soup, from the homeland, where everyone's the same as you and food is plentiful, rich in the scent of tangy spices and fresh vegetables and ripe fruit, where the forest birds sing sweet melodies in your ear.

But you are no longer there. It will, as all things do, fade with time, resolving as just a landscape drawn in your head, reduced to nothing but scribbles.

With a sigh far too troubled for your age, you gingerly push the bowl away, careful not to slosh any of it over the edge. You know you are being picky; food is food, and starvation will slowly creep up on you when you least expect it.

But it is better to starve than throw yourself from the starboard, letting the choppy waves consume you. Hunger takes time, crescendoing pain and ache until you cannot bear it. Suffering will suffice, at this moment.

And across the dining hall, the small room housing yet a few late night eaters, you spot him saunter in. Long, black trench coat brushing his ankles, a hat you did not see that now casts shadows upon his chiseled face.

His overalls strain with effort and crumple into wrinkles as he sits a few tables away, raising a hand, wordlessly summoning a bowl of soup that carries from tentative hands. He waves the aged woman away, and perhaps he does not catch the longing look in her eyes.

She has not seen a man so divine in years. Her time at sea has clouded her judgment. This is yet another reason why you must traverse the ocean blue, to prevent the jobs piling up at what you thought was your home, near the port, where the docks carry back the ashes of your family.

You used to love the ocean, the beach, the shores. When the sea hurt you, your father would kiss the tears away, murmuring soft assurance in the shell of your small ear. Although she was nearly a decade older, your sister would never decline an offer of yours to hunt for the little creatures that popped up from the swirling sand, watching them disappear underneath your slow hands.

You miss them. Influenza never failed to take, take, take; the greedy fingers latched on to your family before you could arrive home that day to sick corpses so pale you could not recognize them.

The doctor had suggested a traditional burial,but you knew there was one more thing the sea needed. You lit the pyres, watched their souls mingle with the smoke that gasped for the clouds, and waited.

When all that was left of your loved ones was charred, ivory dust that seemed to sparkle back at you, unaware of its fate, you gathered it into a pot that your grandmother gifted you.

The ocean rejected your offering, at first. It veered away, pulling water from the shore lines, but you stood fast. And it came back, gathered what was already gone, and took it away from you.

The sea never fails to remind you of what you’ve lost.

But here, on the ship, a marvel of engineering, keeping you afloat, you are not truly with the sea. You will not make yourself mold to the pitiful, lonely girl everyone expects you to be. 

With that resolve, you cradle the soup back to your chest, staring it down with defiant eyes. The ocean will not have another victim, you will make sure of that.

It burns your throat all the way down, saltier than the sea. Bile raises to combat it but you force spoon after spoon into your stomach. All that remains from your battle is the wood, which you tried your best to separate from the soup, but you are sure that you definitely swallowed at least some of it.

As the thinnest definition of dinner warms your insides against the cold that threatens to seep in, your eyes find him across the galley. He sits alone, as always, nursing a tin cup and gazing into its contents as if answers lay within.

You recall your chance encounter in the night, the rare moments of grace amid tumult never far from his eyes. Though he often keeps away from the streams of people, you have the feeling it has less to do with aloofness than wounds not easily unveiled.

As if finally sensing your gaze, his eyes lift and meet yours across the dusty space. There seems to be no cracks in his steely expression, his stormcloud eyes, but there is a flicker of emotion - curiosity, or perhaps kinship's first stirrings. 

You offer the barest nod before returning focus to your meager meal. Yet all the while, currents stronger than the sea pull at your thoughts, drawing them ever back towards that quiet figure and mysteries that beg to be revealed. You tilt your head to the side, rubbing fingers down your neck, feeling your pulse race underneath your skin. Massaging the area, you force yourself to relax.

You force yourself to believe that those eyes haven’t jarred your thoughts.

<><><><>

“I must… have the wrong room.” Those same eyes stare back at you, hands trembling slightly around parchment yellowing at the edges, swirling with confusion. “I apologize.”

“It wouldn’t, by chance, be 930, would it?” you ask. 

“Er… yes,” he admits with a dip of his head, looking almost embarrassed by the situation. “I suppose I’ll go request another-”

“It’s quite alright,” you race to say before you can stop yourself. “I do not mind.”

A small corner of his mouth lifts, if only for a second, and when his expression goes back to being neutral, you find yourself wanting to coax more emotions from him. 

You help him get settled in, telling him he could take the bed on the right. When he’s finished fussing with the sheets, you sit on your respective mattresses, awkwardly staring down at your hands.

"I... thank you," he finally replies, his voice soft. "I did not expect to find understanding here."

“Your name, sir?”

“Leon. Your name, I already know.”

“How fascinating.”

“You are a… popular subject of gossip upon this vessel.”

“Why are you traveling to England?” you ask, finding yourself making small talk to switch the topic. “Are you simply traveling?”

“Yes.” 

“Where is your hometown?” His eyes glaze over with the familiar homesickness you can recognize.

"My home lies in a small village far from here," he replies, gazing into memories only he could see. "A quiet place, surrounded by green countryside and simple folks." His eyes find yours with rare openness. "And you? What brings one so young to cross the sea alone?"

“I’m paying my lovely aunt a visit,” you say vaguely, trying to make your voice light. But he must hear the undertones of it, because he cocks his head to the side, arching a golden eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he muses. “I hope you enjoy your trip.”

“I’ve noticed you carry that briefcase around quite a bit,” you say, quickly changing the subject. “Is it dear to you?”

He laughs, a warm, rich tone that sparks something in your heart. 

Maybe… just… maybe?

“Not so,” he explains. He leans over to grab the case resting on the nightstand and clicks it open. “This is the reason I am traveling, you see.”

You peer over the top of the rusty case to reveal… pencils?

“You are… an artist?” you ask, slightly confused. You hadn’t taken him for a participant of the fine arts, but at your query, his eyes seem to light with an inspiration not previously there.

“I have lost my flame,” he says slowly, cautiously, as if placing his words carefully. “I thought England would fix… the problem… but perhaps… you could help me?” At your face, he bites his lip. "A smooth sea never makes a skilled sailor, as they say."

“Who has ever said that, and who am I to decline a stranger in need?” You chuckle, and his grin seems to usurp his entire expression. 

“You need not do anything,” he rushes to say, hands flurrying to unpack the materials carefully stowed away in the briefcase. The determined, set look on his face is enough to convince you, and even if it hadn’t, realistically, would you be able to say no?

He stills suddenly, observing you, sweeping over you, drinking in everything, as if to absorb your being. When his gaze meets yours, he smiles and it truly reaches his previously emotionless eyes.

“You are… perfect,” he whispers. He holds his pencil up, bottom lip disappearing as he frowns, grumbling in frustration. “But this lighting is… not quite correct.”

Leon eyes the room, then stands suddenly. You watch him, watch him drag a chair from the small writing desk over to the foot of his bed, planting it firmly. He points a finger to the empty space, gesturing for you to sit there.

“What exactly are you planning?” You ask with a smile.

The one he returns matches your curiosity. “We shall see.”

And that is exactly how, a few minutes later, you sit with your legs crossed, hands folded over one another in your lap, with a soft smile decorating your face.

“You must stay still,” he chastises, gazing at you with a languid look in his eyes, voice dreamy, as if he sees something in you that you can’t.

“You have not yet answered my question.” You ignore the red blooming up your neck at his fluttering gaze. He lounges further into the bed, hiding more of himself away, spinning the pencil between his fingers.

He looks almost thoughtful as he scribbles away, muttering to himself, lost in a trance. You lean against the dresser, resting your body weight on it, feeling yourself relax.

His eyes move back to you, and he jolts, like something drastic has changed. His hands fly rapidly across the paper, gaze locked onto you. He smudges something with his finger, erases something here and there, and eventually, he huffs a sigh and leans back, looking somewhat satisfied with the paper.

Intrigued, you stand from your position, stretching your stiff joints. “May I see?”

Leon snorts a laugh. “Of course not.”

“It is my portrait, no?” You grin. “Show me.” Without another word, you lean over the foot of the bed, over the elaborate carvings of wood, and try to sneak a peek at the paper.

He lets out what you can only describe as a boyish squeal, and yanks the pad away from you, clutching it to his chest. “I said no!”

Leon tries his best to play-keep away from your hands, folding the paper carefully in half as he stuffs it into an inner pocket of his shirt. When you try to reach for it, instinctively, he flushes a red hue that matches the crimson of your bedsheets.

“Apologies,” you whisper.

“It’s alright,” he whispers back.

The air has gone back to tense, anguish, as if you are both hurtling towards something you cannot stop, racing towards a finish line in a race you do not wish to compete in. When he climbs into bed, wordlessly, you wonder what you did to deserve this torture, to have a masterpiece sleeping a few feet away. 

He purses his lips and blows out the flame in the lantern standing proud on your nightstand, murmuring a quick goodbye.

As your eyes adjust to the absence of light, you watch the blanket blow out around him, creeping over his body, hugging him tightly. His snores come quickly, gentle and quiet, not bothersome.

You sigh and close your eyes, wishing for the relief of sleep to come as fast as his.

<><><><>

Strangely enough, someone rouses you from your sleep, something you didn’t expect. Breakfast calls were a luxury reserved for those with money, but you weren’t going to complain. Missing the first meal of the day had serious consequences in your household.

This isn’t your household, though. These aren’t your rules.

And that definitely isn’t a handkeep’s fingers clutched around your arm.

“Leon?” you murmur, rubbing your eyes, savoring the fuzzy corners before every comes into focus with sudden clarity. He stands beside your bed, gaze darting here and there. 

“Oh… you are awake,” he says as he isn’t the reason it is so.

“You woke me,” you state blankly, blinking up at him.

“I suppose… well,” he mutters, then sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind that.”

“How often does this happen?” you ask quietly, sitting up. “Are you plagued by night horrors?”

“I am not a child!” he snaps, then immediately softens, regret pooling in his eyes. “It is just… I thought you had left…”

“Yet I am here, no?” you say, slightly bemused. The tips of Leon’s ears turn a salmon pink as he lets out a shuddering breath, nodding. 

“I see that,” he says with a small smile, sitting beside you, leaving enough space to respect your privacy. You return one with just as much carefully measured emotion, not wanting to scare him away, wanting him to open up.

As gray dawn spreads its thin wings slowly over calm waters, he recollects himself. He tells you fragments of his past, picking up pieces of his past until it fits into a puzzle perfectly. An orphan, talent stripped from him by the urge to survive.

You faintly think that he should also be a writer, because the way he tells his story is akin to the way an author paints a scene with just words. You can see his parents in the shadows, echoing in his laugh, in the slant of his nose, the pucker of his chin. 

He shrugs, twisting to face you. “I almost died, there, on the streets.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

His eyes meet yours, “So am I.”

Seeing him in such a vulnerable state, you can’t help but feel inclined to share what truly happened to you as well.

“I’m not… just visiting my aunt.”

A ghost of a smile graces his lips. “I was thinking as much. Tell me, what is the true purpose of your visit.”

“My family recently passed from influenza. Only sorrow trails me in the States. Perhaps returning to my hometown will provide… solace?” You offer a dry laugh, but Leon’s expression goes stony as he takes your hands into his.

“I… did not know,” he says, sounding as sincere as you’ve ever heard him. “I made such a joke without understanding the full context… I apologize.”

“It is really nothing,” you rush to assure him, but more so because the crestfallen look on his face is something you do not wish to bring upon. “I forgive you.”

“You are still tired,” he says with another sigh. “I will wake you for breakfast. Sleep.”

He’s right. Too sleepy to protest, you clutch the blankets around you and shut out not only the slowly growing beams of sunlight from the window, but also the relief that emanates from Leon’s very being, flooding over you, bringing you the peace that lets you drift off.

<><><><>

You wake to frigid air seeping through cracks in the ship's walls, clouds hiding the sun’s bright smile. Throwing off your thin blankets, you grasp the warmth, hoping it still lingers. But your hand meets only cold, empty fabric. 

Panic rises in my throat as you rush from the sleeping quarters. Out on the icy deck, figures hustle to and fro under a pale, stormy sky. Your eyes scan for one in particular, relief flooding through you as you spot his lean form near the rail, gaze lost to the sea. 

"Leon," you call softly so as not to wake the other sleeping passengers. When he turns, worry is etched into his brows. You brush it off with a shaky smile. "I had feared the night's dangers had claimed you at last." 

“At last?” His lips turn up in return, reassuring you with his movement. But you can see the shadow neither of you could outrun, not with Death stalking your decks in his grim dance. 

Drawing near, you trace his stare to the horizon, limitless and cold. You stand in front of him as he lingers behind, hesitating, arms outstretched. 

“I wish to fly, one day,” you say jokingly. “But I suppose for now, swimming will do.”

“I cannot swim,” he admits quietly. “I never will.”

“Of course you can,” you insist. “Anyone can-”

“Not everyone has lost their brother to the sea.”

 The answer burns, searing your back in the way he delivers it, venom in his voice. But eventually, he sighs, as if giving in, and you can feel him get closer.

“May I?” You admire that he asks before anything, and when you nod, he wraps his arms around your waist, pushing you gently against the railing that you clutch tightly. He rests his head on your shoulder, craning his neck to stand comfortably.

Then he speaks again. “My deepest apologies. As you can tell… I miss him.”

"Then we'll face such fears together," you say with such finality you believe it yourself. "None are meant to wander depths of sadness all alone. But your brother's memory lives on you - a gift more precious than any sea could claim. I know this. And what are you doing now?”

Slowly, you can feel his lips curl upwards against your neck, sparking at your words, growing into that smile you’ve come to cherish. 

“You wish to fly? This is as close as I can get you, beloved.”

With a grin of your own spreading across your face, you outstretch your arms, leaning into the wind, wanting to let it carry you both away. Your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, coming to rest on his beating pulse that lives on despite all the world has tried to steal away.

You don’t know what overtakes you, the immense feeling of admiration you feel for him, that might be what spurs you to lean in. And, much to your surprise and pleasure, as soft morning light limns sea and sky in a hopeful blend of blue, your lips meet in a kiss - brief, chaste, yet speaking everything you need to hear. 

“At least I’ll have you,” he says, melting back into your embrace, tightening his arms around your hips. “One thing the sea will never take.”

But you should’ve known.

The waters are never done taking.

<><><><>

You do not know when the screams started. All you know is that they came with the rough tides, crashing against the boat, with the crackle of thunder and smoke hissing in the air. Everyone rushes to cram into the sleeping quarters, but living near the port all your life, you know better. You know exactly what is happening.

The boat is sinking.

And strangely enough, your first thought is to find Leon. He had asked you to wait a quiet moment on the deck, and you had both dismissed the rolling clouds, steadily creeping towards you while he disappeared below the deck.

You had been hoping that he would show you his art. Now you hope that you can get him out in time. But before you can scrunch up your dress and scramble into the quarters, someone grabs your arm.

You do not see the face. You know it is not Leon, he is infinitely calmer and more gentle than the rough fingers of whoever your captor is. As you struggle to look up at the face, you are tossed into a boat that hangs on the side of the ship.

“Women and children first!” a gruff voice calls out, presumably the one that just manhandled you. You try to protest, saying you need to go back, but the small boat fills up quicker than you expect, and eventually you are being slowly lowered down onto the choppy waves.

You stand on tiptoe, trying to make out any sign of Leon on the ship, hoping he makes it out okay. The people rowing the boat harshly yank you down before pushing away from the boat. Every stroke they make takes you farther and farther away, until the dense fog shrouds the entire ship from your view.

And the unexpected happens. You hear a loud crack and the boat immediately splinters into two. The women and their children huddle to one side, the bigger side, while you and some other girls stay put, eyes fixed on where you last saw the ship.

With no one to steer, you veer back towards it and it comes into view, only this time, it is on fire. Flames lick the sides, hissing where it meets the salty sea, climbing up the ship. And you see the mess of blond hair that you so desperately recognize.

“Leon!” You shout, screaming for his attention. His eyes snap to your general direction, scanning the area with a wide, panicked expression before landing on you. Almost immediately his face softens before it returns to its stony, default look.

You are confused for a moment before he quickly surveys the area. A raft hangs from the side, unused, calling his name, and you realize with shame that your boat is starting to sink, dipping into the water.

You and the other girls lean to the other side, pleading for help. Summoning all fading strength, you yell his name once more as waves close over your head. Darkness swallows your cries, drowning them in the murky ocean depths, yet in your fleeting consciousness, your trust for him remains like the anchor you wish him to be.

Breathless, gasping, you break the surface amid a sea of shrieks and sinking debris. There through the smoke a ragged shape appears, slicing swift as any bird towards you. Strong hands grasp and haul you aboard the makeshift raft, lying there to cling and spend your remaining prayers in thanks to Leon as he attends each soul amid the roiling deep, ferrying them from the ocean’s inky grasp with steady hands and calmer gaze.

“Are you alright, dear?” he calls to you after the third and final girl is pulled to safety, gasping for breath. “I did not expect this situation whatsoever.”

“Neither did I,” you murmur, spitting the remnants of the salt in your throat back into the sea, like returning a gift. “I suppose we will be alright now.”

Leon’s face crumples. “I’m afraid not.”

You groan. “What is it now? Is it the sharks from the depths? I will fight them with my bare hands, just you watch!”

You watch his expression flash through amusement, then back to pain. “We… I…”

“What troubles you so?”

He gestures a hand to the sea around you, to the drenched figures, far too many for the raft to carry. You realize this with the drop of your heart.

“There are too many of us,” he says apologetically, like he’s only hurting you. “One of us must leave.” 

For a second, you consider pushing one of the girls off. Anything to keep him. But you realize that your selfish thoughts should not take control. You grab his hands, clutching them tightly, holding them to your chest.

“Then it shall be me.”

Leon offers a weak smile. “No.”

“No?” you sputter. “What- it was not a question!”

“It will not be the answer either, my love,” he says gently, prying his hands from yours. “I will be the last. Please make sure of that.”

And before you can plead for him to stay, his weight shifts and you can feel the raft rising again. He casts one more, sorrowful look at you before he glides into the water, descending effortlessly. You reach for him, and your fingers brush his knuckles before he disappears forever.

Before he is gone. 

Yet another loved one.

Lost to the sea.

<><><><>

You wait for an indeterminate amount of time, waiting for the news to arrive one day at your aunt’s doorstep, that he is still alive, awaiting your arrival in some uncharted region. But no such idea comes. And eventually, the denial washes away and you are left with the loss that nothing can fix.

You rock in the chair of your living room, the smell of your aunt’s soup no longer bringing saliva to your mouth, but tears to your eyes, because now everything reminds you of Leon.

The bell rings outside and you can’t bring yourself to rise and answer the door with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Your aunt knows this, so without sparing you another look, allowing you your privacy, opens the door just a smidge.

She makes conversation with the person standing outside before turning back to you with a soft smile. She hands you an envelope, and you cannot lie when your heart races up to the sky, finding purchase in the fluffy clouds.

You cannot find the words to thank her, but she knows this as well, and walks away without another word. When she disappears behind the kitchen corner, you rush to open the letter.

The first words send your heart plummeting back to where it was, perhaps even crashing through the layer of obsidian and burrowing itself in a place where it will never return. But upon scanning the rest of the thoughtful, heartfelt message, there is a tug that forces you to check the rest of the envelope.

And when you unfurl a piece of paper, long since forgotten in your brain, you muffle a cry with the back of your hand, the parchment trembling in your five, shaky fingers.

It is the portrait Leon drew of you. It made its way back to you.

You know, after seeing this, there is one thing you must do. You lie the paper down on the round table beside you, careful to preserve it.

You wash up, put on a dress your aunt lent to you, a blue, rippling thing that seems to reflect the ocean waves back at you. You tie your hair up, wanting to look somewhat presentable. 

And you call out a goodbye to your aunt, who’s smile you can hear in her voice, evident as she waves from the kitchen, ecstatic to see you out and about. But there is only one place you must go. One thing you must do to find the closure you are aching for.

Back to where it all started.

<><><><>

Tears that are the crystals of salt found in the ocean's depths stream down your face, as unnatural as the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, where one stops, another begins.

In the ocean, you slip from your skin, thoughts descending down a mad spiral, the spirits watching as you mingle with the essence of saltwater stinging your sunburned skin. The night air does little to nothing to cool your thoughts.

Is he there? In the droplets that cradle the back of your hands, trickling from the pool cupped in your palms. You can see him standing, just a few feet away, knee deep in the water, as constant as the waves and as calm as the tides.

Leon’s hair waves in the moonlight, a silent greeting to you, cerulean bathing his face in a ghastly blue, making him seem more and more like the ghost he is.

You raise a hand, out of instinct, choking back a sob. 

A smile curves those salty, timeless lips.

“You left me too,” you whisper through tears, crystals disappearing under the crescents of water brushing against your shorts. “Why can life not just be… easy? Simple?”

Leon chuckles, face softening in sympathy. “Did you forget what I told you already?”

You lift your head, rubbing granules of sand against your nose to muffle your sniffling. “What?” His grin is somehow both brighter than the moon and darker than the water you can’t see through.

“A smooth sea never makes a skilled sailor.”

[friendsoup]

Could I perhaps request Dikke/Tennant with a reader who’s overly emotional/burnt out and cries a lot? (Currently happening to me and they’re like my comfort characters) thank you in advance 🫶🏻

Your Strength

Recipe: Dikke's can be read as romantic or platonic, Tennant's can be platonic if you squint, GN! Reader, Reader is called beautiful (many times), my dove and love, Both Tennant and Dikke are bad with genuine emotions, But they both Really Really care about You, Comfort fic, Shamelessly Indulgent WC: 1,998 (SO CLOSE) Chef's Note: AHHH I tried to get to this one as quickly as I could!!! I hope it's in time to make you feel better, anon :[!!!! Hopefully my work can brighten your day, at least a little bit :]! As always, thank you for the request!

Dikke has never been “in tune” with her emotions. Emotions were something strange and distant to her, they came and went as they pleased, leaving her feeling empty in their absence. To some, she came across as apathetic. That wasn’t exactly true, though. Her emotions simply never reached her face, despite how fiercely they roared in her chest. She could never quite tell how she was feeling. Though she could list symptoms of an emotion, she was never quite able to put a name to it, no matter how hard she tried.

The emotions of others were worse. She knew the basics. A frown meant sadness, a raised voice meant anger. But human emotion had so many intricate working pieces, an entire depth to them she couldn’t begin to understand. Sometimes a frown was meant jokingly. Sometimes a raised voice meant excitement. These little things made Dikke’s head spin.

So when you came into her room, and curled yourself into a ball on her bed, she didn’t know what to do.

The two of you had been seeing each other for quite some time now. Dikke didn’t put any labels on the relationship, and you didn’t mind that as long as you could keep her company. She was a strong shoulder to cry on, and though she was hesitant and awkward with your crying fits, you could always tell she cared.

Initially, Dikke didn’t look up from her blade. You entering her room was not a special event, you did this often regardless of how you felt. She greeted you, then continued to polish her sword, her eyes transfixed on it’s silver gleam. 

When you didn’t respond, a pang of worry hit her. Even at your worst, you always managed to mutter a hello.

She spoke your name softly, turning to you to gauge a reaction. When you did not move from your spot on the bed, her heart began to race. What had happened to you? Were you okay? Had she done something wrong? Had someone hurt you?

She spoke your name again, louder this time, worry dripping from her voice. 

Again, you did not respond.

Dikke put her blade down, discarding it on her desk without much thought. Her mind could not comprehend anything other than panicked thoughts about you. She stood, cautiously moving over to where you sat. 

She didn’t know what to do. Emotions were something so vague and strange to her. It killed her inside, but she knew she wasn’t best suited for the job. She was a hero of justice, meant to serve harsh judgements. She was never meant to be soft or kind or comforting. It wasn’t in her nature.

Hesitantly, Dikke reached out a hand, placing it on your shoulder. You shook beneath her touch, fighting back every emotion in your body. Dikke gave your shoulder a squeeze, as other knights had once done for her. 

“I’m no poet.” Dikke began, slowly scooching towards you. “I cannot sing you ballads of your beauty, nor write sonnets declaring my love.” She was sitting shoulder to shoulder with you now, her hand still resting on your arm. “I could try, if that’s what you wanted, but my voice was not built for anything but battle cries, and my rhymes would all come across as cheap.” When her words gained no reaction, she sighed. Usually, her attempts at jokes gained some sort of smile from you. “But, as a soldier, I can tell you how strong you are.” Her gaze settles on something far in the distance, her shoulders sinking, as if under some heavy weight. “I have seen only a fraction of the things you battle. I know only what you’ve shared with me, and the things we have fought together. Some, you will tell me with time. Others, I will never know.” “And that is fine. I do not need to know the extent of your war to know the strength of your character. I have seen great men fall to what you are fighting. Their minds unable to handle the stress their heart gives. You hold so much love, that it is painful to keep it all in your chest.” You lift your head, trying to form some sort of argument, but Dikke does not leave room for an answer. “Your love takes different forms,” She tells you, “Grief, guilt, anger. You torture yourself with the burdens of others. You try to carry the weight of the world, then grow frustrated when your shoulders grow sore, and your legs weak. You are not Atlas, my dove.” Her eyes flutter over to you, catching yours. “Some things are out of your control. Some things, you do not have to carry.”

“...But I do.” You argue, the words coming out too quick. “If I don’t care, nobody will. I need to prove myself worthy.” You sputter. Warm tears race quickly from the corners of your eyes, staining your cheeks.

“Worthy of what?” Dikke asks, her eyebrows drawn up in concern. “Of life. Of love. Of everything I’ve been given.” You can’t control your sobs now, they escape your lips, leaving you shuttering. “I need to make up for the fact that I exist.”

In one swift movement, Dikke pulls you to her lap. She wraps her arms around you, and you can feel her strength in her embrace. She doesn’t squeeze you hard, just enough to provide pressure. You can tell she’s holding back, as if worried she’ll break you.

“Please don’t say such cruel things to the person I love.” She begged, burying her face in your hair. “Please, be kind to them.” You were unable to say anything now, clinging onto Dikke with an intense desperation. You sobbed into her, unable to pull yourself together again. It was as if something inside you had broken, and now everything was pouring out. For so long you’d managed to keep yourself upright, yet Dikke had managed to destroy any wall you’d put up around yourself.

The two of you stayed there, tangled in each other for an hour. You, crying, and Dikke, muttering lovely words into your ear. Eventually, you grew tired, and fell asleep in her arms. Dikke was exhausted as well, yet she didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

Collapsing onto her bed, she cuddled into you, holding you tighter than she’d ever had before.

Your Beauty

“Genuine” had never been Tennant’s style.

She was a conwoman, who always got what she wanted from her clients. She used any tactic necessary to reach into their pockets. She’d been a lover, a mother, a friend, and an advisor to a wide variety of people. Never did she mean a word she said. It was all a game to her, her prize being the end goal. She didn’t care how she won it, in the end. As long as it was hers.

If you had been another noble lady, appearing on her doorstep in tears, she would have whisked you inside and poured you a glass of red wine. She would listen to your woes, but no matter their contents, she’d have the same solution. Treat yourself with diamonds, wear something nice to fight off the sadness. Show him how much you’re really worth by donning something shiny and expensive. By the end of the night, you would have been under her spell, and deep in her debt. But you were far from a noble lady.

Tennant had no idea how to act around you. She’d been a conning for so long, she forgot how to forge a connection with another human being. So, she treated you the only way she knew how. Soft flirting and batting eyelashes, wrapping you in her arms, but never staying long. The only difference between you and a client, is that she kept her free hand out of your wallet.

So when you showed up on her doorstep in tears, she had no idea what to do. Her mind instantly went to how she could bend the situation to gain your trust, which she hated, as she wasn’t trying to earn anything from you. Yet she didn’t know how to act in anyone else’s benefit. She was completely lost, trying to find some small glimpse of humanity in her heart.

She spoke your name once, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Her touch was light, almost as if she was afraid, as she gently pushed you into her room. “What happened?” She asked, casually. You took a seat on her couch, trying your hardest to muster any words. “It’s so much…” Was all you could say, between choking on sobs and sputters.

Tennant hummed, putting a kettle on heat. As long as she had something to do with her hands, she figured, you wouldn’t see how nervous she really was.

“I’m making tea.” She told you, no question if you wanted it or not. “I’ll make it sweet, for you.” She winked towards your direction.

When her flirt made no difference in your behavior, she grimaced. It was the only thing she knew how to do in this situation. How else was she supposed to get across that she wanted you to be okay? The two of you sat in relative silence. Her, fidgeting with the tea. And you, sobbing on the couch. Eventually, the kettle sang, and Tennant made a glass for both you and herself. Forcing a smirk back onto her lips.

She placed the tea cup down in front of you, and began to drink from her own. The warm cup bringing some comfort during this uneasy interaction. You sniffled, trying to pull back your tears for long enough to drink. When you managed through a shaky breath, you picked up the cup and began to drink. Tennant was right, she did make the tea sweet for you. It was the perfect amount, however. Not enough to rot your teeth, but enough to taste nice. The tea warmed the both of you, making it easy to find some tranquility. When you’d both finished your cups, the two of you sat there, unable to find any words.

You sniffled again, rubbing your sleeve over your nose. You were out of breath, your eyes red with tears, and your entire body shaking with emotional exhaustion. Tennant watched you, observing you closely. This was a private moment, she realized with great alarm. You did not show this face to just anyone. This was you at your lowest, at your most emotional. You were showing her something special, these were not just some pretty tears in order to gain sympathy. 

“You’re beautiful.” She said, without realizing the words were escaping her lips. Her eyes were wide, watching you with great admiration. 

“Right now?” You questioned. “I highly doubt it.” You almost laughed, confused by her sudden change in demeanor.

“Are you kidding?” Tennant spoke, suddenly breathless. “This is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you.” Your face grew hot at the attention, as you focused on fidgeting with your hands. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You argued. 

Tennant shook her head, reaching forward for your cheek. She guided it gently, until the two of you were locking eyes. “Right now, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. More than diamonds, more than gold. You are a work of art, brilliant and bold. You are something to be marveled at.” “You have me at a loss. I don’t know if I want to keep this expression all for myself, or display your true beauty to the world.” Tennant’s gaze was so intense, you felt yourself melting underneath it. “Your tears are worth diamonds, I can only imagine what worth a genuine smile from your lips would bring.”

You looked away, the ends of your lips quirking up from the compliments. Tennant gasped, dragging a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than I could have ever imagined. Priceless.” She whispered.

[marionvonwolfstadt]

Headcanons and/or lore about your omegaverse sebmark fic on ao3

Ohhhh, such a nice ask, thank you 😘 It'll be unorganised and messy probably, sorry for that, so:

- both stories follow real F1 seasons closely, so when you look at the races they happened in that universe

- Seb and Charles were the only omegas on the grid before Seb retired

- their whole relationship had many ups and downs, but they always got back to each other (their friends, including brocedes, Alonso and Jenson often bet on how long they would stay mad at each other, Fernando wins most of them and that's because Mark whines to him about Seb all the time - he isn't happy abot that part)

- Mark was more mad about the hand holding with Kimi on the podium than about Multi-21 in retrospect, because they were married then

-I already talked about the wedding, but the proposal? It was a joined decision and to seal the deal they bought Porsches

- the baby is a girl and she indeed has Mark's eyes, her favourite uncle is Kimi to Mark's dismay, but Leanne is the favourite aunt, so he learns to live with it

- both of their families are 'furious' about the fact that they waited so long to tell them about the pregnacy, Mark's mum decides they're going to Europe immediately, because Seb can't fly while pregnant

- Mark cries when he sees the ultrasound and hears the heartbeat for the first time and Seb thinks it's the most adorable thing ever

- Jenson tries but fails to persuade them to name the baby Jenny

- they both take time to talk about what exactly got them to the point of breaking, especially Sebastian who's new anxiety is both the baby and how Charles is doing at Ferrari

- Mark is paranoid at first, not wanting to leave Seb alone in a room, Seb getting a tracking app on his phone to maybe soothe his overprotective husband a little, Mark also steers clear of any omegas that don't wear blockers, just to be safe (with time they ease up on it, but pregnancy doesn't help with the instincts)

- when they have to live the little one with someone, they once form a plan to bring Nico and Lewis toghether, after all they won't argue in front of a baby (they're wrong)

- Britta of course is the godmother and spoils the little girl the most

- Mark's book editor had enough of his bullshit and told him that five pages about how it was to race such an amazing omega was too much and he has to play into the rivals narrative (I know he's you're husband, Mark, but have you considered enemies-to-lovers? It's an opportunity to sell!)

- they had their angsty moments, but as Seb said, their love always made it work in the end, even if they relayed on it too much sometimes

I'm sure there are a lots of things I missed, but you can picture how their history played out yourself, not sticking to my rambling. Loved the ask anon ❤️❤️❤️

I'm gonna shamelessly use this answer to tell you all that part one of my non-abo SebMark fic is finished, I just need to re-read and edit it, so stay tuned.

[dudewhy3]

Hi Cris!

For the writer ask game :3

1 (not me shamelessly just wanting to know more about your WIPs... Sorry, just excited for anything you write), 3, 5, 15, 26, 30

Have a great day╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

Hi Anna! Thank you so much for your interest! 💜

1. the last sentence you wrote:

I frankly don't remember what i wrote last, my documents are such a mess ;-; but have this sentence from chapter 21 of wpts:

When she opens her eyes, Annie finds Armin already looking at her, a big smile plastered on his lips.

3. how do you feel about your current WIP?

Both extremely excited and quite conflicted, because we're getting so close to this very important part and while i'm looking forward to finalllyyyyy sharing it, i fear that i won't do it justice. I'll leave it at that since saying more would probably spoil the whole thing but yeah.

5. first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unfinished WIP:

Armin takes a long breath in while the others leave the car.

lo and behold, it's another modern au

15. favorite weather for writing

Cold rainy days! As long as I'm inside with a cup of hot coffee and good music, I find the rain rather comforting. It's even better if Pancake the cat sits next to me, much like she does right now haha

26. are you able to write with other people around?

I actually find that I'm more productive when I'm with other people! The last few chapters of wpts were actually written in a coffee house, with lots of people doing their own work around me. It's somehow motivating to be surrounded by other people. Unless they peek over my shoulder. Which has happened exactly one time. I've never switched tabs that fast in my life

30. share a fic you're especially proud of:

Honestly, I'm proud of all of them, but especially Long ago, before we were born. It's two years old as of last month, but it's still the rawest thing I've ever written. It's inspired by this song, that sort of marked the summer of 2022 for me, and I can partially blame my friends for that- for they have introduced me to the song, but mainly because of all the experiences we had that summer, that ultimately manifested into this story. It was a challenge to write for sure, but i'm happy with the result.

ask game in question

[ratmonky]

Wait jkdkdldld monky... Is it okay to request? Like i saw your post (also I am the one who sent the previous ask 🫠 i am so shameless)

And ugh, you said geto & gojo brocode?? Uhmmm... How about a literal one? Them being twins and corrupting their little sis after they hear the elders planning to marry you off to another clan? Nope they can't have that, its either Satoru or Suguru or both of them 🥹 i'll be okay if you ignore this but the idea has been in my mind since the first time I saw jjk 🥹 i am so sorry

Also I am so sorry but yeah, Choso, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, & Noritoshi are all tied in my #1 sister fker list. Its just that I'm a bit biased with Naoya because of that one fic that I have read.🥲

i mean cmon... my requests are always open but i just write for the stuff that catches my attention

in that case, their brocode is that they HAVE to share. they're both shamelessly selfish when it comes to deciding who gets to muffle your little cries and who is the one making you cry.

as for another clan trying to take their precious little sister away, that would never happen, after all, they are the strongest. everyone will obey what they say and do.

naoya is unmatched when it comes to the annual sister-fucking contest sponsored by munkey because he's careless, he believes that he owns every woman he comes in contact with, they are beneath him. his sister is nothing but another pile of trash in the hands of any other man than him, he knows he needs to keep the bloodline pure to make sure they don't have any more failures like the zenin twins. he says he'll breed you until you birth an heir who will only be the strongest sorcerer the jujutsu world has ever seen

however, choso cannot be with any other woman if it isn't his pure little sister. he only has eyes for you and wants to care for you, whether it be by asking you to spread your legs and let him clean you in the bathtub. he says he needs to clean your insides and he’s right because the more he pushes his fingers inside you the more of the creamy fluid comes out of you. it’s slick and he tells you that only he can clean it out of you. he moves his fingers until you feel the dirt coming out of you in the form of a jolt that you feel in your nerves all over. you let him ravish your body however and continue being grateful for having such a good brother as always

[chocoluckchipz]

I love your fics! Do you have any advice for beginner writers?

Thank you and yes, while I'm in no way an expert, but I can offer you an advice I was lucky enough to learn from others and that helped me to get where I am today.

Practice. A lot of writers can talk hours about their writing and their ideas but never actually write a single word. So, practice no matter what. One sentence a day if that's what it takes and yes, even if you suck on a grand scale. You can never improve if you don't write that first horrible draft. Speaking of which, write it as bad as you can on purpose, make that shit as crappy as you can. Once it's out of your system and you know you cannot do any worse, you'll notice a shift in your mindset. Go back to that crappy first draft and edit it into something decent. Or start a new one - it's your choice. As long as you actually write.

Read a lot. I know, I know, this is what everyone is saying but there is a reason they all keep parroting this one out. You learn when you read. You learn the way you want to write as you read something you like, and you learn what you'd rather avoid when you are reading something you don't like. There is no losing no matter how good or bad the book/fic/whatever is when you read it. You'll learn and improve nevertheless. Which leads me to point number 3-

Steal. Shamelessly and unapologetically. But, please, don't misunderstand! I'm not talking about copy pasting sentences or expressions from other works into your own fic. That's is plagiarism and is punishable by the law in most places. Rather, as you read, pay attention to how the sentences you like are structured, how the author uses the language and stylistic devices, how they build their story and developing their characters. Steal the tactics that made you love that story and implement them into your own. After some time, you'll develop your own style, composed of bits and pieces of everyone you've read so far which won't happen if you don't read.

Get a thick skin or two. I cannot even describe how emotionally attached we are to our own writing. If someone critiques it, we feel hurt, betrayed and disappointed. We cry, we get depressed, it feels like the end of the world and if we won't take a step back, sooner or later we'll quit writing all together. Learn to distance yourself from your work. I know it's cute and awesome and amazing but writers need to understand that their work isn't them. People aren't attacking you personally when they critique your work. Some readers might not like the way your story went and decide to be rude and tell you about it, which, honestly, is on them and has nothing to do with you or your work so ignore the jerks. You can't and shouldn't even try to please everyone. We're all unique and have different tastes so if someone doesn't like your story, it's not your story that is bad, it's that particular reader who has a different taste in reading than you and no tact to walk by and not be rude. Don't waste your time on them. Instead, pay attention to those who might genuinely try to help you when they see an aspect in your writing that could be improved (and boy do we all have a few of those). If that's the case, they would be polite and open to a constructive dialogue.

If possible, get a beta to read your work before you publish. If they offer criticism, remember that it isn't personal and aimed towards helping you improve, not declaring you an awful human being and a failure of a writer. Ask questions, think of how to fix the problem in your own way, or leave it as is if you like it your way after all. Side note: working with a beta can be very emotional. God knows, how much I've cried and got depressed over comments my betas were leaving me. I was seriously determined to quit a few times but my betas were wonderful and walked me through the process while being super supportive and strict at the same time. Was it all worth it at the end? Absolutely. These wonderful people were kind enough to pass their expertise onto me and had taught me everything I know about writing. Yeah, their comments hurt at the time because I couldn't distance myself from my work but ultimately, it made me into the writer/person I am today and I wouldn't have it any other way. If you're reading, guys, thank you so much! Sorry for the crap I've put you through!

And most importantly - HAVE FUN! If you aren't, why are you putting yourself through this?

[josiebelladonna]

why are all the men in the green druidess’ fics always portrayed as really shitty.

i mean, aside from frankie bello, they’re all depicted as these shitty, shallow, one-note meat sacks who treat her heroine like garbage and their relationship is always borderline abusive. from the “running from something her past” trope in like loving the dead, and turns out that something was joey; “something happened in my past”, yeah he was poisoned, that’s what happened. which leads to peter turning into a total asshole (or not? the little piece of what i was shown of this latest chapter of that fic, it seemed totally harmless to me) and leads her heroine to nikki sixx—and from the little bit i saw with life after death, that’s not really the best idea.

all the men are really shitty and her heroine is an idiot (re: “first time you get bit, it’s not your fault. but the second time you go in for a petting, you knew.”) 

i mean, i get it if that’s the point. but it gets weird after a time, though, especially when i think about how she sits in my memory. no, not weird. disconcerting.

it gets really disconcerting really fast, knowing this mean person is taking the personae of musical men (who also happen to be dark-haired which is… very unsettling) and depicting them as horrible people. yeah, rpf is just by use of their image, but it confirms my descriptor of her fics as “mean-spirited”. they’re paranoid and overly clean in diction, they get on the nerves really quick, they’re quite problematic in a sense that she shamelessly copies, and they’re mean-spirited, in an ethical sense and in a sense of gender roles. add to this: holy shit, has that trope been done to death. i already don’t really like it to begin with, either: it’s just dumb and i don’t find it very entertaining. the biggest example of this trope that people point to is wuthering heights, but even that’s inaccurate because catherine knew that her love of heathcliff was wrong, but because of institutionalized racism and the fact heathcliff was an outsider. and then, after being treated like dirt for most of his life, he became an abuser in his own rite and you stop sympathizing with catherine and you see the big picture (and you instead feel bad for nelly having witnessed all this). it’s a book about generational trauma and how it’s inherited through the generations, and not only has this been completely discarded, but it’s been watered down and lost in translation so much through wattpad fanfictions that it’s troubling. (really, you read wuthering heights for the “romance”, i’m going to ask you if there was something in your past if you think catherine and heathcliff are a dream couple.)

i’m glad i’m taking the loren bouchard approach with my testament fics and the conflict comes from outside. it’s not just with dead man walking, either: i look back at fever and yeah, sam and alex started out not liking each other, but they warmed up to each other and alex eventually showed his kindness to her, and then they became friends followed by best friends and then at the very end, she confessed her love to him and he tells her he’s loved her since the moment he saw her, he just never knew how to admit it to her. what major conflict happens throughout that fic primarily comes from outside, driven home by the fact it was just the two of them at one point. yeah, they both slip—they both hold a lot inside, and there’s the scene where alex takes great umbrage to the fact sam drew him in the buff without his knowledge, but he realizes that there’s actually nothing wrong with it. 

but it was never anything like… “peter/joey/nikki, what’s wrong?” “THERE’S NOTHING WRONG, GET OUT!” *cries* “oh, baby, i’m sorry, come back” for chapters ad nauseam until she finally tells him to fuck off and yet she’s still heartbroken (you know, now that i write it out, i don’t get why people on wattpad are so enamored by this because it’s so uncomfortable, and more so when it’s just the same fic over and over again at its core. and it’s super on-the-nose, too, like i remember reading the silence and there was a whole section that basically spelled out the entire plot of the fic without a shred of creativity to it). flowers for alexander has the alleged affair between florence and eric but they reconcile and their relationship is mostly wholesome. the real tension is with eric and alex, and also alex and francine: a gay angle and an unrequited thing, too. and with the sci-fi stuff going on in the background, too.

like blood from a stone has the pressure of the royalty and the arranged marriage trope as well as the whole soulmate trope.

eerie inhabitants has the vampires and the things the sisters have to deal with: lily and abby are otherwise partners in crime, because they kind of have to be, their home life blows and the end of the world might happen without their knowing.

in fact, iirc, now it’s dark was like this, too: joey and lars were different à la men in black but they accepted each other because they had to, and they grew and had an arc that way.

blood & chocolate, love is not enough, and—gonna spill the beans a bit—black moon are just about awakening. alex awakening to himself in tandem with my own awakening (with the latter two, it’s through jay, q, and christine). whatever internal conflict there is, it’s always like… “my true love is elsewhere”, or “my friends and i are facing titanic challenges from the outside and i have to leave my bullshit at the door because we have each other”, or “i want to overcome sexual anxiety so i can be at peace”, or “my love left in some irreversible fashion and i’m alone but there are too many questions and this other person seems to get me about that.” there’s always a theme of unity in my fics. i like the loren bouchard/buddy movie approach because it’s fun, but there’s nothing fun about the druidess’ writing, though.  i can only hope that her intent is in a better place.

understand: i don’t want to compare myself to her because it’s ridiculous, but it’s hard not to when i look at her stats in comparison to me and i can’t help but ask questions and be a serious critic for a second.

[l1tw1ck]

Breeding Mr. Aizawa

Your rut started earlier than you expected it to

FTM!Aizawa x Top!Werewolf!Male Reader

Request - Part 2

Warnings: Non-Con to Con, Knotting, Breeding, Age Gap, Rutting, Nipple Play, Womb Fucking

notes: im not all that knowledgeable on knotting so i read a ton of fics for this 😭 sorry if anything seems off

Words: 784

"Sir, can I maybe do some extra credit to raise my grades?" You look down at Aizawa, giving him puppy eyes.

"There's no extra credit. You'll just have to do better in the future." He shakes his head. "Maybe you can ask Midoriya for help." He pats your shoulder.

You impulsively push him to the floor, breathing hard and feeling a sudden need to take. To take what should be yours.

You've had a crush on Aizawa for a long time and him touching you while you were so close to your rut made it impossible to hold back.

"Hey!" He yells. Before he can get up you get on top of him and pin his hands to the ground with one hand.

You rub your knee against his crotch as you use your free hand to rip his shirt off. You throw his scarf to the side, preventing him from using it to fight back.

"Get off me. Now."

You ignore him, sucking on his nipple while your hand works the other.

"I'm not...kidding. I'm going to...have you...expelled.." He squirms around, trying to fight back against the pleasure. You switch to his other breast, giving it the same amount of love as you did the other with your mouth. You move your mouth off and admire your work, his nipples were hard and covered in saliva.

Next, you rip his pants off then his underwear following shortly after.

He kicks you desperately but to no avail. For a student, you're much stronger than he is. Especially in the state you're in now.

His desperation gets worse when he sees your dick. "Stop!" He struggles in your hold. There was no way he could handle your entire size.

He gasps as you force yourself into him, tears involuntarily fall from his eyes. It's been so long since he's cried.

You lean into his ear, growling. "You're tight." You move further in, not even half way yet.

Aizawa whimpers, he couldn't even speak from the amount of pain he was in.

"Relax baby...It'll only hurt more."

He hated that you called him, a 31 year old man, baby. He wanted to keep resisting but he knew you wouldn't stop no matter what.

"That's right.." You push more of yourself inside him, almost completely in.

"Stop...don't...don't go any further."

You ignore him, grabbing his thighs and positioning him into a mating press. You plunge the rest of your size into him, hitting directly at his cervix and earning a loud moan from Aizawa.

He repeats the word 'no' over and over as you forcefully push through his cervix and into his womb. Aizawa eyes roll to the back of his head as an unbelievable amount of squirt gushes out from him.

He leans back, surprised that he hasn't passed out already.

"Please...pull out."

"But you feel good." You start moving, fucking his poor stretched out pussy.

Aizawa moans, quickly losing himself to the pleasure. "Oh~! (Surname) please~ no more~!"

You nip at his neck before going for a full bite. Aizawa gasps at how sharp your teeth are. It was definitely gonna leave an obvious mark, thankfully his scarf would be able to cover it up. He can feel how warm you are, it was clear to him what was happening. You were in rut, and he assumes that you only pounced on him because he was the closest person to you.

"So good.." You mumble, getting close to an orgasm. Aizawa moans feeling you swell up inside him.

"Close~" You squeeze his breast, pulling on his already hard nipple.

He was educated enough on ruts to know that you weren't going to pull out. You were going to fill his womb with cum and he'll just have to take it.

He comes at the thought of it, his morals and resistance turned to dust because of your thick cock. He was going to blame it on your pheromones later.

"More~! Fuck!" He moans shamelessly.

"Gonna give you my pups~" You groan, getting closer and closer.

He prays he doesn't get pregnant from this.

You finally come, knotting in him. You were pumping out so much cum Aizawa was impressed that nothing spilled out.

"Mine." You growl, letting go of his legs and resting on top of his body.

Aizawa takes this as an opportunity to finally catch his breath and process everything that happened. He'll have to get the morning after pill later and pray it was a safe day.

If he didn't end up pregnant he'd definitely want to turn this into a frequent thing.

"I can...I think I can turn your F into an A.."

[shorkbrian]

I love your yan Hizashi and Aizawa teamup fic so much! I love how shy the reader is and how daddy Aizawa is, and then Hizashi comes home - damn! Thinking about that shower ending 🥰🥰🥰

shower sex just hit different bro.

(What to expect - shower sex lol, NSFW, no penetration, just some clit rubbing and hand jobs. Noncon, dubcon, soft domestic stuff too lol)

Like just Aizawa dragging you into the bathroom, Hizashi already in the shower, completely unaware of your presence as he whistles out a jaunty tune.

Aizawa strips you down, pushes you towards the shower before taking off his own clothes. He guides you inside, and you flinch when the water starts hitting your skin, far hotter than what you were used to.

“Oh shit, didn’t know we were gonna have a party!” Hizashi sings as he turns around, eyes twinkling as he looks you up and down.

You’re tempted to hide your body with your hands, the blond’s eyes sweeping shamelessly over your skin, the man grinning when he makes eye contact with you again.

But Aizawa doesn’t give you that option, softly gripping your elbows and pushing you forward a bit more so he can step in completely, shutting the foggy shower door behind him.

“Be gentle ‘Zashi, I haven’t done anything with her yet.”

You assumed the dark-haired man meant “done anything sexual”. He’d touched you quite a few times, hands stroking through your hair, quickly scrubbing you down in the shower, sitting close in bed as he read a book, one hand around your shoulders as he kept you from bolting.

“Oh.... Sho, how could you resist? She’s so beautiful.” Hizashi breathed, hands fluttering up to your face, stroking over your cheeks as the water burned your skin raw.

“I wanted to wait until you got home.” Shouta shrugged, although the tone in his voice indicated that he would rather have not.

His self control was admirable.

Hizashi had less control, hands immediately dropping to grope at your chest, squeezing gently, pulling.

“God, you’re amazing Sho, I wouldn’ta been able to hold back. Look at her, all sweet and ripe.”

Shouta merely hummed, pressing himself firm to your back to stop you from backing away from his husbands’s fondling. His chest was warm against your back, and you could feel his length quickly chubbing up against your ass, excited by the meek little noises of protest falling from your lips.

A pinch to your nipple had you cry out, hands flying to Hizashi’s wrists, pulling them away from your chest.

“Ah, sorry honey, was just feeling’ ya.”

“I told you to be gentle.” Shouta admonishes, wrapping his arms loosely around your shoulders, pulling you protectively towards his body, until there was no room between the two of you.

Hizashi pouted, backing into the spray of water to rinse out his hair, blonde tresses cascading like silk down his back. He was pretty, while the man behind you had rugged looks.

Shouta seemed to share the same thought, because he began slowly rubbing up and down your sides, pressing a kiss underneath your ear that made you shiver before murmuring “Doesn’t he look nice? He’s so beautiful, long hair, long legs....”

He trailed off as he pressed more kisses to your neck, slowly traveling down. One of his hands crept across your stomach, and you keened in discomfort, trying to move away from his touch, but his other hand grabbed hold of your hip, keeping you still.

“You aren’t so bad yourself, mr. mountain man.” Hizashi winked at his lover, before turning around to scrub at his face, hiding his bobbing erection from view.

The man behind you huffed out a low laugh, and then his fingers were slipping between your folds, making you squeal and buck your hips.

Having someone else touch you was entirely different from doing it yourself. You didn’t know the rhythm of his hands, where he’d touch you next, how much force he’d use, if he’d rub, or pinch, or tap.

The heat built up in your stomach so fast that you almost fainted. You came seconds later, knees buckling beneath you with a provocative moan.

“Holy shit, she’s sensitive.” Aizawa kept you standing, leaning you back against his sturdy body as your thoughts swirled loosely in your mind.

It was so intense, you missed Hizashi turning back to the two of you quickly, eyes widening. “Did she just cum? Just from your fingers?”

“I didn’t even get them inside.”

“Holy shit.” Hizashi echoed his husband’s earlier statement, stepping towards the both of you.

At the feel of his long, slender fingers taking the place of Aizawa’s shorter, stubby digits, you cried out, squirming desperately to escape the sensation of too much.

Thankfully, the blond relented. He reached around your body, gripping his husband’s thick length with a kiss over your shoulder with Aizawa, rubbing him slowly.

As you made sense of the world again, you could feel his wrist, how it jostled against the small of your back as he jerked Shouta off, making the dark haired man moan in your ear before capturing Hizashi’s lips in another passionate kiss.

You felt out of place, inserted between the two men, interrupting their private life, such an intimate moment.

Hizashi seemed to notice your discomfort, drawing back slightly so he could find one of your hands in his own.

“Doing so nice honey, bet Shouta made you feel so good. Wanna make me feel good too?”

You really didn’t, but you didn’t know what else to do except let his hand guide your around his cock, jumping when the blond hissed.

“Oh fuck, her hands’r so much smaller than yours.” He told his husband, reaching for another kiss.

“Mm, wonder what it’d feel like to have both of of you strokin’ me off.”

“Don’t be greedy-” Aizawa huffed, easily rocking his hips forward, signaling to his husband that he wanted more attention on his cock, a tighter grip, a faster pace.

Hizashi grinned lazily, letting out a drunken chuckle before speeding up his movements, Aizawa groaning at the stimulation and dropping his head forward onto your shoulder.

The blond’s hand was still on your own, gripping it tightly as he guided it up and down his shaft, the angle awkward and stiff.

But apparently it was doing something for him, because he was moaning breathily. The sound set Shouta off, because he began bucking against his husband’s hand, and subsequently your ass, grunting quietly as he neared his end.

“A bit faster ‘Zashi... ah, there we go. Making him feel good down there?” He directed the question towards you, breath puffing against your shoulder blades as you were jostled from the force of his thrusts into his husband’s hand.

“She’s doing real good, gonna-gonna cum soon.” Hizashi sounded strained, also reaching his climax as he humped against your hand.

And then they were done, cum sprayed over your lower back, dripping steadily down towards your ass, sliding grossly between your cheeks. There was cum on your front too, coating your hand, wet against your stomach.

Hizashi panted for a second, before moving to the side, letting the spray from the showered wash away the evidence of his pleasure, releasing your hand.

“Jesus, you’re amazing hon’, can’t wait to see what else you can do.” A wink was thrown your way, and Aizawa snorted from behind you as he regained his bearings.

“Calm down ‘Zashi, she’s overwhelmed.” And you were, struggling not to let your breath run away, quicken and choke you until you couldn’t draw air into your lungs. This was all happening so fast, and you couldn’t stop it, didn’t know how.

“You’re alright (Y/N).” Aizawa’s voice was soothing, deep and melodic as he shuffled away from your back, moving to your side so he could reach for the soap and a loofah.

“Okay, okay-” Hizashi held up his hands, grabbing the soap for Aizawa while the dark-haired man grabbed the loofah. “-just gettin’ excited, can’t believe our girl is actually here.”

They washed you together, wiping you down gently, careful of oversensitive skin and the tears beginning to brim in your eyes. Hizashi’s hands were quick to get distracted, trying to slip between your legs before Aizawa quickly slapped them away, giving his husband a warning look. Hizashi responded by playfully sticking out his tongue.

“I just can’t help it, she’s just so cute! And I didn’t get to see her when she came, Sho, you shoulda told me it was happening!” The man whined, putting the soap back on the shelf as they finished washing you up.

Aizawa snorted, rolling his eyes as he helped you rinse off. “You’re just an insatiable bastard, we can fool around after we get her taken care of.”

The blond grinned, checking to make sure everyone was thoroughly clean before he switched off the water, hurrying to grab towels. “Fuckin’ sweet! Here, catch-”

A towel was thrown your way as Aizawa helped you step out of the shower, but it was caught by the man behind you before you could blink. He immediately wrapped it around your body, before catching another towel Hizashi threw his way, slinging it around his hips.

“You gonna tell us about America? How did your stomach handle the food?”

Their conversation turned into a gentle drone of background noise as you were dried off, Hizashi’s hands taking over from your own to rub you down while he chatted with his husband.

You were guided into soft shorts, Hizashi holding them for you while you stepped in, Aizawa pulling an oversized shirt over your head.

They set you on the bed while they similarly dressed, and you sat there quietly, lost in your head, dazed, confused, too stressed and scared to do much but stare blankly at the floor.

It was warm when they tucked you into bed, nestled between them. They were still talking, voices soft and fading to whispers as you closed your eyes, silent and overwhelmed. 

Maybe some sleep would help you feel better, and less like the ground was crumbling from beneath your feet.

[nanamikentcs]

MIND OVER MATTER

word count: 890 words

genre: drabble, smut

warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. mentions of female genitalia, overstimulation, dacryphilia, mating press, breeding kink (kinda), just pure smut.

notes: i had a terrible day yesterday, and this is the end result. also for some reason i can only ever use song titles as the titles for my fics so rip. REPOSTING FOR THE LAST TIME BC APPARENTLY CERTAIN TAGS DIDN’T ALLOW MY POST TO SHOW ASDHFSJD.

summary: nanami helps you forget about the bad day you had.

“Should I keep going, love?” The genial tone of Kento’s voice starkly contrasted the harshness of his movements as he continued to thrust relentlessly into you, earning an emphatic moan from your exasperated throat. His face betrayed nothing of his intent—nothing of his unbridled lust—but the firm grip he had on your thighs as he steadfastly supported your legs with his arms and the grunts that danced in symphony with your overstimulated sobs revealed more than the man typically allowed.

By now, having climaxed for the nth time tonight—so much so that you’ve lost count of your orgasms—you were too fucked out to form a coherent response. All self-control dissipated when Kento plunged his tongue into your sopping cunt earlier, logic and sense quickly following suit as his mouth changed its focal point to your sensitive nub and two deft fingers joined the fray. Your first orgasm ripped through you quickly, enough to leave you heaving but not enough to remove your mind from the events of the exceptionally horrendous day you had.

Nanami Kento is nothing if not observant, and was quick to recognize the immediate resurgence of rumination and melancholy in your countenance as you came down from your high. In a fraction of a second of that instantaneous perception of your returning despondency, Nanami once more showered your swollen clit with attention as he dropped his voice to whisper a promise: “I’m not stopping until I’ve pulled your thoughts away from everything that happened today—or until you tell me to stop.”

Hence, your present situation: a sweaty, sobbing, overstimulated mess with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your devoted lover filled you up in ways no one else ever could. You earned a temporary reprieve from your fucked out state as he brought a hand to your cheek, caressing it delicately as he inspected your reactions with an acute gaze.

“Do you want to keep going?” Of course, excellent as he was at robbing you of any intelligible thought as he delivered you from one orgasm to another, his primary concern would always ricochet to your consent.

Bereft of tangible vocabulary, the best you could offer then was the unrhythmic movement of your hips against his, shamelessly divulging your desperation for more despite having had more than enough. At this juncture, Nanami taunted you with a crooked smile, one that made his already handsome features all the more enticing. He brought both hands to your hips, holding them in place and effectively halting your fitful motions. You could only whine in response as his cock remained buried deep inside you, stretching you open without giving you the release you craved.

“Use your words, darling,” he whispered, stooping his head close to the junction between your ear and neck, allowing the contact of the warmth of his breath to stoke the arousal in your core.

“K-kento, p-please,” you were stammering in between sobs, the faintest of tears streaking your face in a slow descent. “K-keep going. Please. I n-need you s-so badly.”

That was all Nanami needed to hear as he pinned your legs close to your chest in a position that allowed him to maneuver himself into you more deeply and resumed all movements, albeit at an even rougher and more unadulterated pace. You were certain your cries would earn complaints from your neighbors the next day, but right now, all that mattered was the fact that Nanami made you feel so good. You’d valiantly face the barrage of consequences, soreness, and complaints in the morning; at the present, your mind was too preoccupied with Kento—only Kento.

As the rhythm of his thrusts became more erratic, you, too, became more frenzied, clawing your way down his toned back with one hand as the other remained tightly grasping his hair. With the combination of a well-angled thrust, a less than gentle nip at your neck, and a sudden pressure applied by Nanami to your clit, you came undone, squeezing his member for all it was worth. The tightening of your walls were enough to send him off the edge as well. Not soon afterwards, you felt him spill his seed into you.

Following a few sloppy thrusts, he finally lowered your legs back onto the mattress, softly stroking your inner thigh in an attempt to alleviate the soreness he knew would set in soon. He cleared the hair from your sweat-adorned visage, observing your heaving figure to check for any signs of discomfort. Seeing none, Kento planted a kiss on your lips, passionately but not roughly.

“Are you still thinking about your bad day?” He queried between intermittent kisses, one hand set in a caressing motion at your waist, the other holding your face. He noted the bliss in your eyes, glossed over with both pleasure and satisfaction, noting the absence of your earlier melancholy with a barely audible hum.

“Nuh-uh,” your ability to form a comprehensible statement still hadn’t returned, but adoration drove you forward so you could say: “I love you, Kento.”

Nanami shifted, laying on his side to pull you close to his chest. He felt the last of your strength slowly dissipate as the exhaustion from your activities finally settled in. Kissing the top of your head with care, he responded before succumbing to his own fatigue. “I love you, too.”

[ac3id]

Hawk’s eye| 18+

pairings: hawks [keigo tamaki] x female! reader

summary: hawks is in his rut, desperate for some relief. his annoying secretary won’t stop irritating him so he decides to take his pent up frustrations on her.       ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

+

anonymous said:

hi!! so while the requests are still open, could you write some headcannons for Hawks x reader when he's in rut? maybe the reader is a bit clueless and doesn't even know he goes through stuff like that? dirty details are welcome 👀❤️

this was high-key inspired by @tainted-wine​‘s this fic. (i hope u like my take on it !! 💓) 

a/n: aaaa this took so much longer than i thought it would take 😭, also thanks @the-grimm-writer  for proof reading this! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) also this is porn w plot so if u just was to skip to da porn. skip to this ‘◌’ bhai 

ALSO THANKYOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS LMAO WTF FOR REAL 😭

tagging: @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa​, @koiibito​, @reinawritesbnha​, @shorkbrian​

warnings: noncon, hate fucking, one slap, she bites his dick at some point, scumbag hawks.

word count:  5862

navigation

The sound of your phone buzzing on the side table with a loud, irritating noise jolts you awake. You roll around on the bed, your fingers reaching to turn the vibrating device off. Groaning, you sit up straight. The warm mattress under you threatens to lull you back to sleep but you shove the thought away instead choosing to stretch your arms over your head and yawn endlessly. You were tired, so goddamn tired. Rubbing your temples lazily you start thinking about the dreadful day you have ahead of yourself. You think about your boss: Hawks, the man who makes you hate your life and job. He has trapped you into a never-ending nightmare which starts the second you open your eyes till the moment you fall asleep and even then he still manages to haunt you in your dreams. 

Cleaning up after his messes, obeying his ever so pliantly. He has turned you into his little pet slave. He says that it’s your job as you are his assistant, his little helper there to make his job a little less hectic. You must listen to his needs and wants and to some degree, you do agree with him: it is your job, it’s what you signed up for after all but you can also sense him misusing his title when he is with you. He never listens to your suggestions which results in him calling you late after work hours to help with his problems knowing damn well you had already warned him beforehand. And, oh his flirty, suggestive comments which borderline sexual harassment. Hawks is a difficult man to work with and you often find yourself wondering how much calmer your life would be if you never worked for him but you do not have that luxury of leaving the job. It pays ridiculously well and you have bills to pay, your family to support. No, you cannot afford to lose this job. So you sit through his torment and hope for the best.

Seconds later after you have gathered your will to live you start scrolling through your phone, skimming through the morning news lazily. Your eyebrows furrow and eyes turn into angry slits as you glance upon a displeasing, astonishing article.

 ‘No. 2 Hero Hawks spotted partying with strippers–’

Your heart stops for a moment.

What the fuck was this? 

You hesitantly read through the article, your heartbeat increasing every second that your eyes focus on the led screen, reading the details of the damned article. Eyes widening as panic settles in your nerves, you realize the gravity of the situation you had found yourself under as Hawks’ manager. Hawks had been spotted partying with strippers in a nightclub with a bunch of celebrities. The crazy stalker who had managed to follow him succeeded in capturing exclusive pictures of Hawks dressed in an expensive suit, his hair styled to perfection dancing under the dim lights of the club with women in basically their underwear shamelessly grinding upon him. You honestly couldn’t have given a single fuck about what Hawks did in his free time but since he had managed to get a paparazzi to tail him and now that his career was at risk; it became your problem. Your first and foremost instinct was to call Hawks and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Not being careful enough, he had managed to taint his entire reputation. The people of Japan now probably viewed him as a reckless party animal rather than the No. 2 Hero! 

Before you could call him, your phone’s screen lights up illuminating a contact you dread. ‘Hero Commission’ it’s written in bold letters, your face drops. Your fingers shake, filled with anxiety as you accept the call. Inhaling and exhaling, you try to calm your nerves. If it is a call from the Commission, you know it’s bad. Bad. 

You pick up the phone and instantly regret it, “What were you doing?” an angry, masculine voice snarls through the screen. You open your mouth to answer but are not given a chance too. “How did you let him go to a strip club during patrol hours?” you bite your lip thinking of an acceptable excuse, “He had to go there for work! It’s a misunderstanding. He went down to the strip club undercover to meet up with a crook to get some intel– that’s what he told me. This is a misunderstanding, I–” your explanation was cut short as the person on the other end of the call deemed it enough. “Whatever it is, fix it and never let this happen again.” he sneers a warning before cutting the call. It wasn’t a complete lie, Hawks did tell you that he was investigating a case on his own and that he would be gaining information from shady people but you did not expect him to go to a strip club out of all places. The worst part: he never even told you in detail anything about this case neither did he notice the paparazzi tailing his back. You sigh in frustration, rubbing your forehead, you quickly ring up his number only for it be sent right to voicemail. You almost scream. Where the fuck was this bastard?

Managing Hawks was not a walk in the park. The hero commission had sent you down especially to be Hawks’ secretary. You had a reputation: you were known to be responsible, diligent, and punctual. You were one of their best, entrusted with the responsibility to manage Hawks and you did a good job but it was Hawks who just made the job so hard. 

Creating problems he could never solve by himself; on lucky days you would get a call from him at three in the morning, him begging you to come to help him. You want to say no, deny him any help. Let him suffer by himself but you cannot do that. If he screws up and you are not there to fix it. You lose your job, you can’t afford that. You give your 100%, you do but it’s Hawks. He has a problem with you, well, he has a problem with everyone in the commission but projects it mainly at you. He does not respect you. 

He chooses to ignore your decisions and suggestions, diminishing them with a cruel chuckle, “Look, I need you but just not now.” He would say with an apologetic smile, “just let me work at my own pace, I will call when I will need you. After all, I love seeing your cute face.” You would always have to force yourself from not slapping his smug face before he took off into the bright, blue sky.

The truth untold, it wasn’t his fault completely either. He was just so fast. It was hard for anyone to keep up with him and since he did his job right; bringing peace to the nation you could not deem him worthless. But it still was a bother at times like this when you were left completely in the dark while Hawks ruined his hard-earned reputation. 

You got into the building earlier that morning to wait for Hawks in his office, you needed to talk to him. This was not his first mishap. Not long ago, another article about him shamelessly flirting with a fan had been published. It had said the fan was visibly uncomfortable with him but Hawks didn’t seem to care, he kept presting. You had managed to cover it up as the two being close friends who were publicly joking around, there was no real harm done. It was a lie though, you had to pay the fan a large check to keep her mouth shut. She accepted the money and the story was lost and forgotten but you had no idea how you were going to cover this hell up.

The clock struck nine as the day began, people rushing into the building all tensed but there was no sign of Hawks. You tried calling him on his number but the call directed to voicemail yet again. You were growing impatient, did something happen to him? Sure Hawks fucked things over sometimes but he never disappeared like this. It got you genuinely worried. Something horrible could have happened to him. After all, he was on a case. 

You waited for another thirty minutes and there was yet no sign of him. His sidekicks came knocking on his office door only to be surprised to see you there instead of their boss. You told them to continue with their day and not worry about Hawks, he was just awfully late. Not a big deal, he will be here soon. Soon. 

Another hour passed by, no sign of Hawks and about now your phone was blowing up with angry calls from his sponsors and business partners, screaming at the top of their lungs frowning upon the scandal. Heck, even Endeavor called you after he couldn’t reach Hawks himself. The call made you nervous as anxiety crept in yet again. Hawks wasn’t answering to Endeavour something bad must have happened. Getting tired of the wait, you make up your mind to drop by his penthouse and to go see him for yourself. His silence was driving you crazy and worried at the same time, you just hoped he would be there well and safe. You could not imagine the ruckus that would create if something were to happen to him. 

You walked out of his office after waiting for an hour. Rushing down to the basement you got into your car and before driving away to his house. Just before leaving, you decided to test your luck by calling him. Hoping, praying he would answer this time and luckily he did .

“Hawks!” you cried, a wave of relief washing over you, “Where are you? What are you doing?” you began pestering him with questions, not letting him answer even once. Hawks, tired of waiting,  interrupted your monologue of questions with a chuckle. “Aw, you’re worried about me, baby?” his tone was low and mischievous, the sentence slurring almost into a moan at the last word. You rolled your eyes and clenched your fists in irritation, you weren’t new to his teasing. Hawks thought it was appropriate for him to casually flirt with his secretary. Send unasked comments about your figure, perverted implications about what he would do to a ‘cute little thing like you’ which made you very uncomfortable being around him at times. But it wasn’t that what made him get on your last nerves. It was the fact that he could even think about joking at a time like this which made you furious. 

You screamed into the phone, giving him a piece of your mind. Degrading him for not taking care of himself, complaining about how he had managed to put you in such a tight spot. 

“Once again I am asking, where the fuck are you. Hawks?” you ended your speech with spite in your words. Hawks sighed, “I am in the office,” he says your name with an edge in his voice, instantly shutting you down, “Where the hell are you?” The smugness in his tone remains and you can tell he is smirking on the other side of the screen as if he’s won. You hang up abruptly before walking out of your car and into the building, hurriedly making your way towards Hawk’s office. 

You slam the door open glaring upon hawks as he sits behind his table. Dirty boots resting pliantly on the shiny, polished wood. His wings out, stretched to their fullest, filling up the room standing on high alert. They have a deeper hue to them, they look darker– a darker red. How did that happen? You find yourself wondering. Is he on drugs? His face is tilted upwards, facing the ceiling. Eyes screwed shut. They open as he hears you enter and walk towards him, his wings falling back behind him calm and collected. 

“You’re late,” he says with a smirk, you bang your fist on the table beside where his feet rest, making him flinch and bring them down instinctively. His eyes widened in shock, he was not expecting you to be this furious. Sure, he knew he knew he had gotten you mad but he was not expecting you to be this angry. Without any hesitation, you start scolding him again. He watches you ramble in ominous glee. A poker face masking his expression, he watches you trot about how much trouble he is in. His job is to protect meek and weak citizens who cannot fight for themselves, what he was doing in a strip in the name of business is something you cannot grasp your head around. You repeat your lecture which you had already tortured him over the phone while the entire time Hawks drums his fingers underneath the table, waiting for you to get over with your dumb speech. His eyes trail on your lips, watching it move. Plump, pillow-like features tinted dark red ramble on about how much of an irresponsible person he was. Complaining about how much trouble he puts you through daily. Honestly, he doesn’t quite catch what you were saying. His mind busy imaging you shutting the fuck and letting him get through the day– or better yet how pathetic you would look underneath him while he shoves his dick down your throat. The thought makes his cock throb. His eyes change from an unbothered, bored look to something sinister as they start trailing all over your body. His eyebrows slightly furrow as he catches up on the few degrading terms you throw at him. 

You talked too much. Way too much, do you realize how much better you would look if you keep your pretty, little mouth shut? The entire time, it’s always: Hawks don’t do this, Hawks don’t do that. Don’t you ever get tired? He wonders whether your dumb little brain had any thoughts other than the ones which tell you to irritate him all the time. You should shut up, really stop talking. He might do something bad, he’s already stressed enough as it is being in his rut and having no way to relieve himself, he is going through a rough time here. The other night he escaped to a strip club in hopes of relieving some stress and it had worked but it had also brought along a mind splitting scandal.

The entire morning, Hawks was busy avoiding people. Whether it be his fans, reporters, or even someone he knew; he paid no mind to them trying to get to the office as soon as possible to deal with the mess he had created.

It wasn’t his fault entirely, he was in his rut and needed sexual relief which he was finding very hard to receive. With his work piling up and you breathing down his neck, he couldn’t even take represents as they slowed him down. He couldn’t risk falling asleep on duty. A stupid, little headline about what he does in his free time was much more favorable than a failed mission in which he would let countless innocent lives slip by his fingers. 

He watches you ramble, his eyes trailing over your body locking on your tits. He stares at them intensely, watching them bounce slowly every time you huff out of irritation and frustration. Your work shirt works him favors, the white almost translucent material shows off the slightest shadow of your black, lacy bra. It’s enough to get him going- imaging how your soft mounds would feel in his hands. How you would whimper under his touch as he tugs and pulls on your perky nipples, you probably wouldn’t sound as monstrous as you do right now. Your moans would be girlish, small whimpers would leave your lips as you would try your best to cover them up. You would try to hide your face under his assault but he wouldn’t let you, pinning you down instead and forcing himself on you while you cried for him to stop. Beg for his mercy. 

He can feel his jeans tighten. 

“So please, Hawks. Just be a little more responsible.” you finish, your voice turning into a plea. He hums and apologizes for his impulsive thinking, like always, he is not sorry. “Let's fix this mess, what do you say?” he asks with an apologetic grin, trying to be polite. You on the other hand don’t even spare him a glance, walking right out the door instead. It leaves him very offended. 

◌

“Ah! What a troublesome day it was,” Hawks chimes in walking into his office with you closely following behind, “It was all your fault.” you spit making hawks chuckle, “Whatever happens, happens for the good.” he says, a scoff leaves your lips, “What was good about that?” you ask annoyed. “I get to have you alone with me now~” Hawks winks at you making you roll your eyes dramatically. Both of you stand together in Hawks’ office after hours. The day is done, everyone in the agency building has taken their leave excluding the two of you. It had been a long day fixing up after Hawks. You were tired and all you wanted was a warm bath and some sleep. 

“Do you want to know why it happened?” Hawks asks out of the blue, “What happened?” you question, “Why was I at the strip club?” you sigh, “I don’t give two shits about your personal life, Hawks.” replying sternly. A look of disappointment arises on his face, “It’s actually more than that, really, I u-uh have this condition- it gets very hard to work during these times-”

 “What are you even talking about?” You interject confused and clueless. You turn to him, a glare evident on your face you stare at him sheepishly. What was he on about now?

“I am serious, I went into my rut, and that's why I went to the strip club-” “Into a what?” Hawks’ eyes widened, were you really that clueless? “A rut, [y/n],” he says like it is a matter of fact, something everybody is aware of. “A rut. You know like how some animals go into heat and they-” your face scrunches as he explains his rut to you, you visibly grow more and more repulsed. Hawks studies you face, his heart genuinely breaking at your expressions. “Why are you telling me this?” you screech, “jeez Hawks, I did not need to know any of that!” you continue. 

Hawks is hurt, he accepted a reaction which showed more concern. Maybe he went a bit too far imagining that you would offer him help but seeing you so disgusted by him shattered his heart and made him lose all his respect for you. You were a terrible human being, no different from those villains he put behind the bars every day. “I am telling you all of this because- this actually happens!  Many- fuck- millions of people like me actually suffer from this shit! You should be a little more emphatic.” he reasons. He accepts you to understand at least now but you gloriously manage to disappoint him yet again. A rude snarl leaves your lips followed by a scoff, “What are you really trying to tell me Hawks? That you don’t want to do your job and to justify your laziness; you are making lame excuses now?” you shove a finger to his chest, it pushes him off the edge. 

Something in his snaps, he looks down where your fingertip touches his chest. You are smaller than him, he’s at least a foot bigger than you. Where does your bratty, puny self get all this confidence from? His eyes darken as something sinister floats within him. He stares down at your finger, wanting to rip it off. He wants to see you cry. He wants to see you in pain and misery, suffering a great deal while nobody comes to help you. 

“Hawks, you know what? I am so done with your bullshit. I am leaving.” You turn away from him, heading to the door but before you could move a step. Hawks grabs you by writs, caging your delicate hand into a bone-crushing death grip, “What the fuck?” you question, “Hawks?” you continue. You wait for his response, turning to him. He is facing the floor, his hair scanning over his eyes making it impossible for you to read his expression, not that you could read what was going on with him normally but now; it’s even harder. “Are you going to let go?” you ask again only to be met by him squeezing your wrists even tighter. You bring your other hand over him to pry yourself free from his clutches but he doesn’t want to let go. 

“Hawks wha-” you don’t get to complete your statement as Hawks pushes you down on the floor making you fall on your butt. You let out a loud hiss. You frown, yelling out “What is wrong with you!?” You try to stand back up but his hands settle on your shoulder pushing you back down. You try fighting but it’s to no use. Did you forget he is the no. 2 Pro- Hero? He is much stronger than you, he brings down villains twice his size daily. What makes you think your weak kicks and punches will be enough to beat him? 

You keep struggling under him, screaming how you were going to report him and ruin his career, how he is going to be sorry for messing with you.

 “Shut. Up.” he finally speaks, he brings his gloved hand to your perfectly styled hair. Pulling tightly on your roots he stretches your face upwards, making it easier for him to look down on you while you cry in agony, “Stop crying.'' His voice is deep and raspy, much different from how he usually talks. You look up at him, fear swimming in your eyes as tears prick at the corners of your sockets, lips trembling. If you already weren’t terrified enough, your horror becomes tenth fold when you see his boner raging in his pants, “Come, on. Hawks..” your voice is small and weak, it's a broken cry. You know what he is going to make you do. He was going to violate you, break you beyond repair. 

This was so wrong. As much you hated Hawks, you never would have thought he would do something like this. Hawks was a hero. He is meant to fight for justice, punish evil. Why is he doing this? “Hawks no. Please. Was it something I said? I take it back I didn’t mean it-” 

“You know, y/n, you are not so different from those villains yourself,” if looks could kill, you would be dead. The pure, anger, and hatred he looks at you with bothers you. It makes you hate yourself, there is something sinister in his eyes which makes you sure about the fact that he is not afraid of hurting you. He has given up on you, after all, his polite gestures, generosity you always ignored- he’s fed up with your sheer ignorance and your ego. He hates you. He does and heck if he wasn’t in his rut; he would never bring his dick anywhere near you. He does not respect you as a human and in no way does he have any romantical attachment to you. All he ever saw was a walking alarm clock, bugging him every second, and now all he is going to see you as is his cocksleeve whom he can stuff his fat cock into whenever and however he seems fine. To him you are just a walking hole he can ruin whenever he wants to, you have managed to get on his bad side and he is going to show you his bad side.

He undoes his belt, his pants falling to his thighs displaying his expensive boxers and his growing hardness. His cock is throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His free hand pulls his boxers down and his cock springs free, hitting his abdomen. It stands long and hard, the tip blushed red and angry, tiniest bit of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit. He pumps his cock in his hand before forcing it against your mouth, pressing it to your lips smearing his pre all over your lips. You whimper in protest, moving your head the littlest you can under his tight grip. “Bitch open up. You had this coming for a long time,” his dick slaps your cheek while his fingers try to pry open your mouth. Pushing his gloved digits forcefully into your mouth, the rough fabric feels disgusting on your tongue. His fingers capture the lower part of your jaw, tearing your mouth apart with deranged strength. A loud cry escapes from you as he stuffs your empty mouth full of his cock, “Yeah, that’s more like it. Fuck.” he bottoms out into your throat, his shaft hitting the back of your throat making you gag, “get on with it. A slut like you would have the experience, right?” he taunts you. You do as he says, puckering your lips firmly around his length, your hands resting on his exposed thighs while you stroke him with your tongue. You feel his chiseled thigh muscles flex under your fingers as he melts in pleasure, tiny moans leaving his lips shamelessly. 

As Hawks drowns in overwhelming pleasure, a criminal idea crosses your mind. Your eyes trail up to his face. His eyes are screwed close, he bites his lower lip softly. Carefully and slowly, you graze your teeth over his cock. Clamping down on it lightly, you hold your position. Your heart beats faster when Hawks stiffens and in a quick flash, he pushes you off his cock throwing you into the ground before backing up, squealing in pain.

 “YOU LITTLE BITCH!” he screams, you sprint to the door. Trembling fingers try to unlock the doorknob while Hawks cries in agony behind you. You can feel him loom behind you, ready to come for your neck. A part of you tells you that you will not make it but the adrenaline rushing in your veins calls to be hopeful. Just open the door and just run. 

Your cold, quivering fingers almost unlock the heavy wooden door but before you can push it open. Hawks appears right behind you, pushing his body onto your back. You feel his cock poking at your ass, his hand grabs your head pulling you, prying you off the door. You scream and cry trying to break free, grabbing his hand clawing on it to let you free. Hawks chooses to show no mercy as he drags you by your hair to his desk, your scalp hurts from his grip. You can feel tiny strands breakaway. He turns you around and slams your back to his wooden desk, you whimper at the contact. He stands in front of you, pressing his knee between your thighs. His hand reaches out to pull at your collar, forcing you to look at him. 

He is livid, eyebrows furrowed with a death glare his jaw clenched, and his eyes darker than you have ever seen before. He looks at you with murderous intent, you think he might as well kill you with his wings flared open. The feathers turning into knives, you beg for your life. 

Hawks observes your face. Broken, scared for your life your eyes are glassy, ridden in fear your makeup smeared all over your face. He thinks it's beautiful, he has finally got you begging for mercy, finally thinking of him as the man he is. He appreciates your submission but it does not erase the fact that you just bite oh his dick. You beg for mercy, your voice is small and broken. It comes barely above a whisper, “I am so sorry hawks, please don’t do this.” He doesn’t listen, staring at you head-on with his jaw clenched. He brings his free hand to the air, keeping it steady for a second before bringing it down with a horrendous force. You feel it before it happens; white, hot flashing pain erupts through your cheek stinging you hard. You cry out in agony as your face drops to the other side. The strike was powerful, it left you sore, you can still feel it sting your face. It leaves you swollen, you try to bring your hand up to your face lightly to carcasses you paining cheek but Hawks pushes your face on the wooden desk before you could, trapping your arms behind your back holding it with one hand. “You don’t realize your position, do you? You know what? I was going- planning to be gentle with you. I thought I would at least make you cum but now,” he pulls a feather out his wings preceding to tear open your pencil skirt with the sharp end. The ripped fabric falls to the ground leaving you in your panties and the pantyhose you always wear under your skirts, “There we go. I hope you are a pain slut, otherwise you would really not enjoy this.” he says with a small chuckle before ripping you out of your bottoms, leaving you in your panties completely vulnerable to him. He abandons his gloves, rubbing his fingers on your clothed cunt roughly trying to gather slickness from your dry hole. Pleasure shoots down your body as his digits find your clit, rubbing tight circles on the little pearl, “Does this feel good? You are getting wet.” a smirk scars his face, “Who gets off to being raped?” he says sharply. Your face scrunches up in disgust and embarrassment. A heavy lump forms in your throat and the waterworks that you had been holding off burst open. Big, fat tears roll down your cheeks as you cry for mercy. You didn't know why this was happening to you, for your entire life you had been a nice person: always helpful, sensitive, and kind. At least, that was what you thought yourself to be. Never in a million years could you- or anyone, in fact, could have ever thought that you would be crying pathetically while your boss: a person known to all as a Hero, the truest, most honest person to exist ever would be the one defiling you, tearing you down to nothing just for his pleasure. 

“Shut up, you like this.” He snarls at you, so sick of your loud wails he even shoves two fingers inside your mouth plunging them to the back of her throat, “Don’t you dare bite now, slut.” he warns. His fingers stop prodding at your clit when he notices the wet spot forming on your panties, he wastes no time shimming them down to your ankles, whistling when he sees your glistening pussy. You only wail louder pleading him not proceed any further. Hawks turns a blind eye to all your begging, “I should just shove it in, right?” he asks petting his finger over your hole, “but that won’t be fun,” he snickers. You feel his move away from your cunt and move higher. Panic settles, he couldn't be serious, “Hawks. Please no. Please don’t. I don-” finger rims along your asshole, inching to dip in, “What? Don’t want me to fuck your ass?” he spanks your ass hard making you flinch, “Please I’ve never-” you cry out hoping he would understand, “No one’s ever fucked you in the ass before?” you whine at the lewd words which shamelessly fall from his lips, “Guess there’s a first for everything.” he says with a scoff. 

His digits bury into your hole, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The stretch burns, filling a fresh set of tears rolling down your eyes, smudging your mascara and eyeliner You looked like a whore. He keeps hammering his fingers inside you without mercy, a loud whine leaves your lips as you feel a tingle of pleasure from him hitting the right spot. “Do you like that? Too bad, this isn’t for you.” he moves his fingers from you before lining his fat cock to your almost too tiny hole, “How will this fit?” he laughs to himself, pressing his engorged tip in slowly, “Will be a tight fit,” he continues to shove his cock into your hole, his face turns off one to ecstasy as your walls take him inch by inch. You scream in pain, his cock was much bigger than his fingers. It was stretching you out, numbing your mind and soul, you did not know how much more you could take. Salty tears fell from your eyes as Hawks bottomed himself in you, he waited for a moment before starting to thrust into you unforgivingly. Dragging his fat cock out and your walls pulling him right back in. As he kept ramming into you. Slowly, you start to pleasure tingle up your spine as his tip smashed against the right spots. Your cries of pain turn to pleasurable moans. Hawks wastes no time in teasing you, “Look at you moaning like a slut,” he spanks your ass with swift force sending your rear to sting. You feel unbearable pleasure starting to build up in your abdomen, a straining coil wanting to burst which each of Hawks’ strong thrusts yet it is left unfilled as the simulation is not enough to make you cum from all alone. Hawks notices this, the pitiful crying for him to touch your swollen little clit which was begging to be played with. He almost thought he would give it to you, after all, he was a good person. Almost. 

Hawks just snicker, his cruel, sadistic laugh echoing in the room, “No, no, no.” he teases, “no matter how much you cry, baby. I am not letting you cum. This is your punishment, you deserve this. You’ve been a bad girl.” Hawks couldn’t formulate how he was able to form complete sentences. The moment he had caught you, he had let himself go feral. Dragging you down like a predator, he finally had you under him. He kept grunting and breathing profanity down your ear along with shameful praises about how well your slutty ass takes him. He is glad he is finally getting his much-deserved relief but he is not done yet. He won’t be done until he is filling your vulnerable womb with his seed, he won’t be done until he hears you asking him to give you his children. He is not going to leave you be until he has destroyed you, balls deep in your tiny pussy. He is going to keep you here all night fucking you, he is going to stay there all night fucking you with hate which he has buried within himself for you over the years. He is going to melt you in his hand, break you until only he can build you up, and maybe he will not let you go even after that. Maybe he will keep you after all hawks mate for life. 

Just hope he lets you cum the next time. 

[blksuwie1]

RivaMika FanFic Rec List Part 1

Hi friends!

I decided to make this rec list because I've been consuming so much RM fic lately that I've been having a hard time keep tracking of which ones I'm recommending. So, I decided to make this for my selfish reasons lol but I figured this would be good to share since it seems we have some more incoming RM fans our way.

We're currently at 916 RM fics as of today. When I first started reading about this wonderful duo, there were only about 600 or so and it just exploded over the past years. It's so awesome to see our little ship gain some headway.

As always, feel free to add in your own recs! This is merely a beginning list. The links to the fics are attached to the title. I'll include some ratings and brief summary. See the tags below for quick info:

Tags

+ = Completed work

- = WIP

* = nsfw

The Song Remains The Same by MoraLeeWright. Rated M, * and +. What can I say about this masterpiece that hasn't been said already? This is probably the best intro to rivamika that you can ask for. Really good rival to lovers done in a realistic manner. So damn good, you'll consume it in less than three days. Recommended to anyone who is a bit iffy about this pairing and needs some convincing. The smut is beautifully done too. Fantastic slow burn.

Just Until The Storm Has Gone by MoraLeeWright. Rated E, * and +. When I tell you I screamed at some of these scenes! A much more angsty composition to the post canon au fics out there, but done so well. You almost forget how much angst the characters feel when the sweetness of their actions outweigh them. Author is incredible and has more works, but these two are just *chefs kiss*.

Surviving Peace by die-forellex (heatinfreezing). Rated E, * and +. This fic was my first RM fic, and I'll never forget it. It's hot, sweet, and oddly comforting. There's a particular, ahem, mouth on private part scene that always me fan myself in chapter 2. The satisfaction you feel when these two are finally finally happy, it's so wholesome. Just mind the tags--ackerbaby and pregnancy is big in this one.

To you, five years from now by a_sassin. Rated E, * and +. A different take on a post war au that has Eren and Armin alive, trying to navigate their last years as Mikasa returns to them. Oh, and she's pining for a certain captain *grins gleefully*. This is angsty but not as heavy as you'd expect. Very spicy but sweet. Definitely give this a try.

The Sound of Lightning by LycheeGreenTea. Rated M, * and -. Ackerbabies? Ackerbaby. This cute but action packed WIP is such a worthy check out. There's something about Daddy!Levi and Mommy!Mikasa that eats at my rm heart. Another take on a post war au that leaves you wanting more. A spicy scene and some domestic fluff is all you need to want more from this author.

After The War by loneackerman (aka the wonderful @rivaille-13) Rated M, * and -. THIS STORY. Anyone who is reading this can attest to just how amazing the plot and development of these characters are. There's a delicious slow burn element to it, and it's recently been resolved...let me tell you, worth the wait. Author is almost done with the fic I believe, but please check this story out. It's one of the best post war canon healing au's out there.

Same Old Thing by Raewyll. Rated M, * and -. Did someone say underground adventure? This was one of the best stories I had the pleasure of following along for a while now. I think the author has one more chapter left over. This is great for those who want something kind of spicy but not too spicy. The tension, plot, and action are all still there though.

I am from a burning village by @valya-azucena. Rated M and -, possible *. There's so much I want to say about this fic but can't coherently describe how amazing it is. The tension and build up of these characters is so SO good, and I screamed at the last update. 10/10.

Inexorable by @alienheartattack. Rated T and +. Hello modern au! I devoured this fic during work shamelessly. It's short and sweet, and there's just something so hot about the secretary/boss trope that eats me up.

Paths in Constellations by LamentableBrat. Rated E, * and -. HOLY SMOKES. This fic has torn me apart, y'all. When I tell you I cried AND am hotly bothered, no one else can do this but this author. It's an incredible fic and am so excited to see where it goes.

Soldiers Don't Get Happy Endings by heretosayhello. Rated T and -. I had to do a double take when I saw this was rated T because holy heck, this author just writes the tension between them like no other. There's a lot of Ackertalk and new plot lines I'm incredibly jealous of that I didn't think of first. SO GOOD.

Deep Sea Running by @linaxlight (shameless self plug). Rated E, *, and +. Post canon AU of what happens when the old Levi squad comes back to Paradis Island. Everyone else seems to have moved on three years after the ending of the war, and they make their peace saying goodbye to Eren. But Mikasa chose to stay behind back then, and she'll need to face Levi eventually. Sequel has Ackerbabies because I love them.

That's all for now folks! I'll do a part 2 next time.

[just-your-local-astronaut]

Out of this world hq fanfics, my favorites (part two)

Please check trigger warnings before reading any of these fics. <3

I’m also taking requests for recommendations. Just fill out the form in the pinned post on my page.

☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆

Title: Something Like Us

Author: the_madame21 

No Archive warnings

Rating: E

Ship: Iwaizumi/Oikawa (IwaOi)

Length: 10 chapters, 28,916

Status: Completed

Author’s summary: Friends since childhood, Oikawa and Iwaizumi now live together, both playing for the National Team. It's no secret that athletes who are bonded perform better. So if the two of them happen to bond...It'd be for the good of the team, right?

The words in the stars say: Shawtys, don’t yell at me for recommending another Omegaverse fic, it’s so good though, and I’m just goin down my list of favs and they were right under each other. Anyways, I love this fic. This story persistently describes the pinning on both sides perfectly. You can clearly see the turning point when Oikawa’s goal changes as the bond further affects his and Iwa’s lives, both positively and negatively. This is one of my favorite IwaOi Omegaverse fics. This story gives the understanding of being connected to the one you love, no matter how it came about, a completely different meaning.

I rate this fic 10 aliens out of 10, please read and if you do talk to me about the convenience store scene, it’s my favorite part :).

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991091/chapters/24479244

☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆

Title: Twitch

Author: CheekyBrunette

No Archive warnings

Rating: Not rated

Ship: Kageyama/Hinata (KageHina)

Length: 6 chapters, 72,501 words

Status: Completed

Author’s summary: "He was aware of the itch he’d feel before he shook his head or scrunched his nose. He recognized the impulse to move, but he didn’t realize how compulsive the behaviors had become. He had to shake his head. He had to scrunch his nose. He had to shrug his shoulders over, and over, and over.It wasn’t until he was nine-years-old that Shouyou realized he couldn’t control his movements like other kids could."

The words in the stars say: I really loved this AU. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about it at first but as I kept reading I enjoyed it more and more. In this fic Hinata having Tourette's made so much sense. I love how the author used actual habits Hinata has in the anime, explained them in the story, and how they work with Tourette’s. The difference between who Kageyama was in the beginning, compared to how he was at the end made me so happy. He clearly learned how he should be treating Hinata with or without feelings and Hinata’s Tourette’s. Such a sweet read for my Kagehina stans. 

I rate this fic 10 aliens out of 10.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103802/chapters/13991060

☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆

Title: The Outside Edge

Author: Ray (RayWritesStuff) 

No Archive warnings

Rating: M

Ship: Bokuto/Akaashi (BokuAka)

Length: 30 chapters, 201,662 words

Status: Incomplete. Hasn’t been updated since 2/15/21 (Imma cry)

Author’s summary: Akaashi Keiji is a competitive figure skater, and has been his whole life. Ever since he could remember, he's always been pushed by everyone around him to be great. To never fail. To satisfy his mother's desire of him going to the Winter Olympics.Everything was going fine for him, his routine at the rink with his friends running smoothly. Until one day, the University Hockey team was temporarily moved to his rink. Thanks to his meddling best friend, Akaashi is pushed into introducing himself to well-known hockey star Bokuto Koutarou. His attraction to the wild-eyed and kind-hearted man is almost instant.Akaashi soon finds himself falling all to fast for his liking. Before he could catch himself, he was pushed out of his comfort zone and into worlds beyond. As his new relationship with Bokuto blossoms, he learns that his worth is so much more than his performance, and to accept the haunting truths in his life he's been running from for so long.

The words in the stars say: I’m a sucker for figure skater x hockey player au’s and man, WHY ARE THEY ALWAYS INCOMPLETE. *SLAMMING ON DESK NOISES* I love them so much, lmk if yall find any others. This fic was just *kiss*. I loved it. It represented Akaashi so well and his mental state as a figure skater. I got the whole experience, I finished it and then went ice skating (unplanned, surprisingly). Bokuto is such a sweet heart and every time he forgave Akaashi while he was struggling, warmed my heart (unlike my fingers while I type this sheesh). I adored the IwaOi, DaiSuga, and KuroKen in the background. 

10/10 completely. I love this fic so much even with it being abandoned. </3

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690535/chapters/59671282

☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆

Title: A Thousand Cuts

Author: lettersinpetals

Underage - Archive Warning

Rating: Teen and up

Ship: Sakusa/Atsumu (SakuAtsu)

Length: 3 chapters, 37,963 words

Status: Complete

Author’s summary: “I’m Atsumu! What’s your name?” The boy mumbled out an answer, and because his voice was muffled by his mask, all Atsumu heard was “...Omi.”“Omi?”“Kiyoomi,” the boy said in a much clearer voice. But Atsumu was already attached to the name. “Omi-Omi! Let’s go!” Shamelessly, he grabbed him by the hand and tugged him behind him. He felt responsible for him — the boy clearly needed all the protection and guidance he could get. Atsumu can be his hero.--The story started when the Sakusa family moved into their neighborhood in Amagasaki when they were nine. Atsumu would always remember that he saw Kiyoomi first.

The words in the stars say: Lettersinpetals has to be one of my absolute favorite hq fic writers. Their SakuAtsu fics are the ones I will ALWAYS rec. This story is a beautiful rollercoaster. I don’t even know how many times I cried (happy ending dw dw) while reading this. I love the childhood friends AU for SakuAtsu plus Osamu and Suna’s drama that pulls you into a heartbreaking story. Lettersinpetals blows me away every damn time I read a fic of theirs. PLEASE PLEASE, read this fic. 

I rate this 10 out of 10 aliens.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094666/chapters/66160312

☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆

Title: Butterfly in the Subway

Author: bigspoonnoya @plotghosts​ 

No Archive warnings

Rating: Teen and up

Ship: Daichi/Sugawara (DaiSuga)

Length: 14 chapters, 62,872 words

Status: Completed

Author’s summary: Sugawara Koushi has no idea he's already in love with the man he's supposed to hate

The words in the stars say: This fic. Oh my god. This fic made me want to have a penpal I write love letters to even when I have no idea who they are. I’m a sucker for poetry and letters, this story was a dessert for me. I adore Suga owning a bookstore. Also the background KageHina, AsaNoya, and TsukkiYama? YES. This fic lives in my head rent free in English class. The scene in the café with Suga and Daichi, I just- *dies*. Read this fic now. It’s amazing and I reread it all the time when I’m sad, such a heartfelt read. I can’t express how much I love this fic.

!!!!SPOILER!!!!  “I hoped. I wanted it to be you.” *sobbing* !!!!SPOILER!!!!

I rate this fic 10 out of 10 aliens. 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576108/chapters/7880601

☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆彡･:*:★☆彡::･★彡･::･☆

╭﹒┄﹒⁀ჲ ˚  ̣ ˖ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄﹒

﹕Thank you for reading!

﹕What did you think?

﹕Dms are always open. Come talk! ╰﹒┄﹒✦ ˚ ̟ ハ ︿︿ ๑ ┄┄┄┄┄┄﹒

<3 -Cal

[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 21

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +4.9k

Chapter warnings: uhm, this chapter is Javier’s perspective ehehe, so, beware fo feelings

A/N: This chapter is set in season three, episode ten. // again, i am really fucking sorry, but we are ALMOST DONE OMG, also i wanna say thanks to my official cheerleaders @queenofthefaceless and @maharani-radha-writes​ that helped me a lot and @alliterative-albatross​ that made me feel sure of some of the ideas i had for this chapter, i love you lots, guys. While proof reading this chapter for the first time i understood why it was the hardest to write, it was because i had just to strip myself naked and understand more of Javier Peña as i had built him... i just... im not quite pleased with the second half of this, but i know its needed.

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

←previous // next→

gif: @javier-pena (thank you so much for making this when i needed it the most, ily)

The air weighed on his chest; he felt his lungs struggling to find air; as he drove home, he felt his heart pounding hard and fast, as if it wanted to rip out of his chest and run and hide and die.

As if his heart wanted the same he did.

Javier couldn’t sleep that night. He didn’t even try to close his eyes after climbing into bed.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

Jesus Christ.

His mind was reeling, he couldn’t stop replaying every single thing you told him in his mind.

“My name is not Florencia Martín”

“A precarious situation”

“Another Los Pepes scenario”

“You do care, you care a lot”

He wanted to crawl into a deep hole and bury himself to stop his body from feeling.

Javier cringed deeply when he remembered he had told you he had fallen in love with you without even thinking about it.

That certainly wasn’t the way you were supposed to find out.

He guessed, while tossing around on his bed, on the same sheets that still smelled like you, that he had it coming. He probably deserved it. But that didn’t make him feel any better, it stung.

It burned.

Javier had stripped himself naked for you, more than just his body, he had let you see him; he had let you touch him; he had let you read him; he had let you know him.

He had let himself feel and… he had let himself think he deserved something good.

He felt like such an idiot, stupid and embarrassed because there you had been… Standing in front of him, in a place he thought it would become something close to his fortress, breaking him. And he let you.

God. He had known you for less than six months, and yet he let you have power over him. All that power to make him whatever you wanted. He had handed you a sledgehammer and his heart and soul on a porcelain platter for you to shatter.

And he just took it.

Javier huffed at his own thoughts while his eyes were glued to the ceiling.

He was an idiot, wasn’t he? Having let himself feel all those things he had been so beware of for a woman he never really knew.

What else was fake about you?

He felt that sting, known and oh so foreign clench in his throat and he fought it. He fought it hard. Why was he feeling like that?

“A precarious situation”

“You do care, you care a lot”

He sat up and brought his knees to his chest, clenching his jaw so tight his face started trembling.

He had to unclench it so he could open his mouth and gasp for air because his lungs were tightening in his chest and he knew he just had to let go. He shook his head to nothing and fought it again. He would not break. He couldn’t.

But then he remembered he was all alone. Just him and his mind and... he stopped fighting for the first time in years and allowed his feelings to pour down from his eyes.

Javier clenched his jaw again as he felt the thick, years old tears pouring and pouring, clouding his sight, flooding his face.

“Fuck,” he muttered to nothing, resting his face on his hand and his arm on his knee, his chest struggling with the silent sobs he was drowning in.

Javier cried for around an hour.

He allowed himself to cry, to cry for you, because if he had allowed himself to fall in love with you and he had allowed you to wield power over him, he deserved a chance to fall apart as well.

He had earned it.

His tears of grief and pain became tears of anger and pain.

He was so angry; at himself, because, thinking again about everything you had told him, you had said something right; he had dragged you into having whatever the hell you two had. He had kissed you and practically turned your wrist into starting something with him only, and just only because he felt lonely. Because he felt like maybe, for the first time in decades, he could have something good. Because he felt like maybe it was time for him to love and be loved again when, in reality, he didn’t deserve to be loved by anyone.

He had let himself believe you could be something else, less complicated. But how wrong he was… Him? Loved? As if. Him? In Colombia? Laughable.

That country… It became more than clear how much he had lost by going down there.

He huffed again in between tears at how it took a massive hit to the heart for him to realize how much he had lost in the years he had been there.

He was so angry; at the system. The fucking system that forced you and him into taking assignments you didn’t deserve to take. There wasn’t another moment he hated more right then, than the moment he had said yes to returning to Colombia. His dad was right, he didn’t like what he found. And it truly changed him before he could change it. How he wanted to have listened to him, how he wanted to not be the stubborn ass he was and just… said no.

And you? You had taken an assignment that promised unreachable things, one that forced you into turning into a liar, one that didn’t let you be yourself.

Fuck, was he really trying to find justifications for what you did even though you had broken him in pieces?

He was so angry; at you. For lying to him and from dropping the facade, for taking off the mask that he had rushed to love, for thinking he deserved the truth instead of you leaving once everything was over. He thought it would have hurt less if you had just… disappeared.

He wouldn’t be crying at three in the morning on his bed if you had just vanished into thin air.

Javier remembered seeing the hope in your eyes when you were telling him the truth, who you really were, he saw it and he wanted to tell you he forgave you. But neither of you deserved something that good.

He was sure it all was some kind of karma. A penance for all his sins, a way too high price he had to pay for all the shit he had done.

He realized then, while sitting on his bed in the middle of the night, the same one he had shared with you for nights that felt burned into his memory, that you and him weren’t so different.

That you two had more in common than he had first thought. That you, as he had said to you before, when you were still wrapped around his arms on that same bed, were a person who was willing to do anything for a greater cause. That you as well were capable of doing anything if you thought it did good, that you also were capable of sacrifice, of losing everything as long as you were doing what you thought was the right thing.

And you had told him, as you cried your eyes out in front of him, facing him and facing and taking all the repercussions of your actions, that you really thought it was the right thing to do.

The realization was truly bittersweet. He didn’t like that even when you had broken his heart and stepped on the pieces as you walked out, he still understood why you did it.

After that despaired, miserable night, he decided he was done bringing you to the front of his mind, so he shoved all the memories of you and tried to repress them in the back of his head along with countless others he didn’t rather to address.

The next day he stepped into the office with less than half an hour of sleep he had seemed to catch while condemning himself in the solitude of his room and avoided looking at your still cluttered desk. Full of you.

He ignored Stoddard when he asked him where you were as he stepped out of the office to head to Cali an hour later and while the elevator brought him down to the lobby he tried to drown the way the mention of your fake name made him feel.

That morning you walked directly to the CIA office, every step you gave into the embassy hurt in your body, mind and soul as if each one had a dagger embedded deeply and an invisible hand was twisting each dagger deeper. You felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. You entered, unannounced, into Stechner’s office, not even trying to hide the enormous amount of pain you were going through. You were tired of hiding things.

“Ah, my favorite DEA agent,” Stechner said when he saw you walk in “well, not anymore, I guess.” he smirked and you felt his gaze linger on your body, shamelessly.

“Let’s just get this over with.” you muttered, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Oh, this is more than over, alright?” the man leaned back on his chair and reached a manila folder that rested on top of others on his desk and raised it so you could see it “resignation, what a word,” he said, putting the folder back on the desk, opening the folder and taking the sole sheet of paper on his hand “really? after you failed almost epically?” Stechner smiled humorlessly and took your resignation letter in both hands and… ripped it in half.

You drowned a gasp.

“You have a flight to Washington today at noon.” he let out softly, feigning a comprehensive tone.

“Of course I do.” you mumbled, dropping your arms to the sides, feeling your eyes flood with tears as you saw him tossing the parts of your resignation letter in the trash can.

You blinked the tears away and quietly took a deep breath, halfway achieving a fake sense of stability you had fed yourself since the night before.

What were you thinking, after everything you did they would have let you get off easy? Of course not you silly girl.

“Oh, honey, you need a hug?” Stechner asked with a teasing gaze and a fake tone of worry “I bet breaking up with Peña really did something on you, you look like a mess”

You tightened your jaw and rolled your hands into fists, Stechner noticed, and his mocking face dropped.

“Anything else?” you asked him, voice hardened, with your eyes staring right into his, admonishing him, warning him. He knew what you were capable of, you knew he did.

He shook his head twice, and you lifted your chin up.

“I really wish you the best, sweetie.” he mumbled, dropping his gaze to his desk and trying to ignore the way your face turned into a scowl at the endearment.

“No, you don’t, you fucker,” you all but growled wanting nothing more than to erase that seemingly permanent smirk off his face that grew after he raised his head to look at you “you’re happy that I’m getting out of here like this,” you chuckled bitterly “you wanted this to happen, I hope you’re satisfied.” you let out all the venom you had been keeping inside you for that man in the last sentence you spat to him.

“You’re right, but I won’t say it,” he tutted and shook his head slowly “you really cost us a lot, sweetheart,” he mumbled and you were sure you were about to spit foam from the rage inside you “I hope you know that.”

You sighed and smiled bitterly at the man. Ever so fucking disgusting. For the first time in your life, you wanted something bad to happen to someone. And you didn’t regret it.

“I won’t ever forget it.” you spat at him in a soft voice that made him glare at you with a serious face.

You turned around and walked out of his office, leaving the door open, feeling his stare on your back.

Feeling, then more than ever, the insides of your mind finishing crashing down. Finally broken. Fully broken.

You walked towards the elevator and pushed the lobby button, hoping to dissolve in the way, hoping the elevator floor would just break and the void swallowed you and your body crashed against the concrete floor of the second basement.

But instead, the doors opened on the DEA floor and Stoddard stepped inside, shooting you a concerned smile as the doors closed.

“Hi, Florencia,” he looked at you and you tried to give him a smile, knowing you failed “you okay?” he asked, you blinked a few times before looking at him. He pushed his glasses up.

“Yeah!” you let out in a squeal “just peachy.” you drifted your eyes away and sighed again.

“I… thought you were in Cali.” Stoddard let out after a few seconds, you turned to see him with your brow furrowed.

“Cali?”

“Well… yeah,” he shrugged “the boss and the guys went back to Cali this morning.”

You let out a sigh, of both relief and worry.

“Oh,” you said under your breath “no, I…” you shook your head and tried to smile at him again and failed, this time he noticed “I needed to take care of something else.”

“I see,” he mumbled, the elevator doors opened and you stepped out “you sure you’re okay?” he asked, looking at you, you nodded several times.

“Yeah, Stod,” you assured him, trying to make him believe it, not quite sure if you believed yourself “I’m fine.”

Stoddard nodded at you as the elevator doors closed and you waved him once goodbye. Knowing it would be the last time. You walked out of the embassy in complete and utter shame, and some part inside you screamed that you deserved it.

Javier rescued another witness that day, because he still wanted to do something right even though he didn’t feel right himself.

But then, after sending Guillermo Pallomari to Miami, he had to return to his office. That place he had thought was his fortress, and then it was turned into… a dungeon.

He didn’t ignore your cluttered desk this time; he was alone in the office, there was no one that could say anything of him if he just… looked around.

A steel cup filled with different colored pens and only red markers, a pile of unsigned DEA reports, in one of the drawers a block of sticky notes running low, the same ones you made notes on and stuck on files when you reviewed them and that Javier hated to see because they were just so fucking bright, your red coffee cup you used when you didn’t have time to grab some at his house because he just kept kissing you until you both were late, which didn't happen at your place because Javier always woke up before you and started the coffee machine, a gun holster you hated to use because it just never clutched the way you wanted to your jeans and a small, brown journal he had never seen before and that he took because there wasn’t anyone that could say anything of him if he just… looked around.

He hesitated for a moment to open the journal, unsure of himself or of what he would find. The first page had your initials, your real initials written on the far left corner and just a list of names he didn’t recognize, next a few scribbles and a phone number. Javier skimmed through the pages and around the middle he found his name. Written in your pretty handwriting, with a few numbers underneath that looked dangerously close to file codes.

He snapped the journal closed and left it where he found it. He shouldn’t have looked.

In his office he found all the documents you had risked so much to gather and all the intel you just handed to him, pretty much as he had handed you his heart.

Javier let out a sigh and grabbed the folders, sitting behind the desk and opening the first one.

He re-read every single piece of information until his eyes stung from the exhaustion, or the cigarette smoke, or maybe more unshed tears he was once again fighting so hard to keep inside him.

Tears of sadness, it was a given. But also anger, and frustration and pain, and, as a bucket of freezing cold water, years of regrets fell on him.

Javier had tried, had tried hard to bury all that shit in some far, deep corner of his mind, as he had tried to bury you and all his memories of the last four? five? months. He really did. But at that moment, sheltered inside an office that didn’t feel like his anymore, past midnight, alone and so damn vulnerable, it all rose to the surface and he found himself drowning inside a sea of his own mistakes and past sins.

It was unbearable to stay there. So he grabbed the files that felt like burning in his hands and took off.

And so, Javier went back to an empty apartment that even though had been his for a long time, felt emptier than it had ever felt without you and reminded him only of you.

Why had he allowed his house to become a fucking shrine to the time you had spent there?

Everytime he looked at everything, from the fucking lamp at the corner of the end table to the damn waterbottle you left the last morning you were there on his kitchen counter, an image of you invaded his mind. Like a suffocating wildfire, spreading with the simplest blow of the wind. Covering him, trapping him, burning him and turning him into ashes.

That night he drank almost all the alcohol he had left in his house and even then, with his body full of booze, his intoxicated mind all the time returned to you. To your face, to your eyes and that color that was so common yet somehow looked so unique, to your voice and how you called his name either on a whisper or on a scold, to your smile and how apparently you had one only for him, to your hands and how you used them one night to touch him and the next morning to grip a gun, to how you drove him crazy from the very beginning. Fuck, he loved you. And he hated you all the same.

You gave him your resignation letter, you had left a job you claimed you loved so much that you had taken on something that did you so much wrong. You quit because of what they made you do, and probably, just probably, he had to do the same. Because of what they did to him.

Was it worth it? Everything he did… Was it worth something? Anything?

He thought again of everything he had done in the past decade and felt sick at what his brain was showing him. It really wasn’t.

The idea of doing something good, doing something that could give him a little peace invaded his mind and he spent half the night thinking of something he could do to finally, finally feel like he was helping.

The next morning he found himself sitting in the conference room with Crosby hovering around him. He huffed at himself, sitting there as if there was nothing wrong going around, with the ambassador looking at him with his ever so present judgemental smirk, as if he wasn't just pieces of a man that put himself together with the weakest glue when he got dressed that morning with less than two hours of sleep after being trapped inside his house that smelled like you with nothing but alcohol and time to think. His pop was right, they did something to him in that country. He just didn’t know what.

“Y’know how many times I’ve gotten a call from the Department of Justice and State the same morning?” Crosby rhetored, Javier looked at him, already tired of the lecture he was about to get “count ‘em on one finger, guess we have you to thank for that.”

Javier dropped his eyes to the oak table in front of him and absentmindedly tried to draw a pattern with the tip of his finger while half listening to Crosby telling him about his meeting with the Colombian president to demand that the gentlemen of Cali stayed in jail. He looked back at his boss and after half a second of pondering he told him he had a draft indictment of the president’s ties with the cartel, omitting the part of the story where he had drafted it half drunk the night before. And of course Crosby laughed at it.

Javier huffed again at himself when Crosby suggested he kept the draft to himself and he felt his blood starting to boil. He sighed and fought the urge to stand up and leave. What was he thinking? That a man like Crosby would back up a man like him? Just like that? What a naïve thought.

“The DOJ’s not gonna topple a government, Agent Peña,” the ambassador told him, obviating the statement, Javier felt his chest turn “you can’t tell me you’re surprised by that.”

“Some part of me was holding out hope, I guess.” he muttered to Crosby, who walked around the table and stood next to him, Javier didn’t even bother to hide his face from him, god how tired he was of hiding.

“Well, you should tell that part to grow the fuck up,” Crosby spat and Javier drowned a bitter chuckle “no, I mean it, Agent Peña, you should be happy,” the ambassador said and Javier frowned at the man “you played the system like a goddamn fiddle, you won.”

Javier opened his mouth to rebut the statement but Crosby just walked behind his chair and left the room, leaving him with the word in his mouth.

He felt his stomach toss in disgust, at his boss, at his job, at himself. Fuck that.

“Yes, sir.” he mumbled under his breath.

Did he really win something? The job that helped him escape from everything, the one at some point of his life felt like a dream, had become a nightmare. The woman he grew to love, after years and years of not feeling that, barely got out of there alive and the name he had whispered in extasis wasn’t even hers. Everything he had once believed in was melting away like wax on a candle and being washed away by a sea of regret, desolation and anger.

Did he really win something when he had lost everything? He had even lost himself in the process of what he and everyone around him had called a once in a lifetime opportunity to end a War that was so familiar to him it almost sat at the table on Thanksgiving with him and his dad.

And when he got out of the conference room, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, the idea of following your steps and quit became a lot more attractive to him.

So he went back to his empty home filled with your memories, resigned that he wouldn’t sleep much that night either, and stood in the middle of the living room, not knowing why he felt like a visitor in his own house, chain smoking, thinking about everything just because he wanted to stop thinking about you.

Javier walked to his window and dwindled himself to watch the cars down the street pass, the city was so unaware of everything. The country was so unaware of how it was being torn apart by the same people that were elected to take care of it. And he was so fucking angry, at everything and everyone, at himself. And so tired. Exhausted.

The phone rang behind him and he didn’t even flinch at the sound, even when practically no one called his house phone. He just let the machine get it.

“Hi, Javi, uhm…” he stiffened in place when he heard your voice and turned his head to eye the cradle “I know you probably don’t wanna listen to me right now but…” you sounded small, your voice sounded thin, Javier turned around and walked towards the phone “uhm, I wanted to apologize again and…” he felt like he couldn’t think, his mind was filled with your voice as if it were a fog that clouded his vision, he wanted to pick the phone up, he wanted to ask you where you were and tell you to come home to him, but his brain wasn’t letting him “I–I’m in Washington and I tho–thought…” his eyes closed on themselves when he heard you sigh and choke down a sob “forget it, uhm, I just… fuck…”

Javier looked at the phone, the sound of static still there, he pondered if he should just swallow his anger and his newfound pride and just pick up.

“I think someone will contact you about this and I just wanted to let you know I–I didn’t tell them anything about... us…” he heard you chuckle softly and he just stood there, rolling his hands into fists, waiting for you to say something else, “I’m sorry, Javi, uhm… I really think I did the right thing by telling you, I’m just sorry it had to be like this…” you sniffed on the phone and Javier sighed, “I guess I also wanted, uhm, to hear your voice… shit.” he closed his eyes and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?” he said and gripped the receiver when the sound of the cut line replied to him.

Javier threw the receiver on the floor and sat on the couch, cursing at himself for his weakness and his hesitation altogether.

He rested his head on his hands while thinking on the few things you had said, if you were in Washington talking to the directives that meant they didn’t let you resign, that meant they were firing you. And you called him to let him know his involvement was minimal, because still after everything you were trying to divert the backlash from him.

God how he was tired.

That’s when he decided, he was going to do it. Not only for what you had made him feel, but because he just needed to leave back all the baggage he had been carrying with him for almost a decade. He needed to let go. He knew it, he needed to free himself of something that turned him entirely into a different person that wasn't even close to what he had been before, because no one else would do it for him.

And he had nothing else to lose. Absolutely nothing.

Once that thought occupied his mind, he finally could lay down on the couch and sleep.

The next morning Javier just re-dressed and called his journalist contact, he had decided, in his pre-sleep haze, that he was just gonna tell the truth. To everyone.

Just as you did with him, he was going to use all the information you had given to him to redeem yourself of your own baggage to get rid of some of his.

Even when he didn’t want to think of you, you were still helping him.

And the truth went out as he told it, and he let himself out of the whole situation by following your steps.

Until the ambassador called him into his office later that day and that time… Javier felt like he could tell the man absolutely anything.

He had nothing else to lose.

When he walked into the office Crosby was watching the news about his little interview. Javier walked and sat in across from him, feeling something that looked like freedom. But his mind was still reeling with guilt and loss.

“You didn’t really call the country that we’re guests in a narco democracy.” Crosby asked without asking, Javier looked at the man and shook his head once.

“Are you sayin’ that it isn’t?” he replied, looking at the ambassador tightening his jaw.

“The state department’s livid.”

Javier nodded a few times.

“Good, they’re responsible,” he let out and shrugged slightly “we all are.”

“Samper is not going anywhere.” Crosby let him know, quite exasperated. Javier dropped his eyes to the man’s desk.

“Well, at least people know the truth.” he said, including himself in the sentence. No more lies.

Javier saw Crosby shake his head and study the four walls that surrounded them, and he caught himself wanting to read him like you would be able to.

“I want you gone, Peña,” the ambassador told him, Javier guessed so “so do the colombians.”

“I understand, sir.” Javier replied and Crosby said nothing else. He looked at the ambassador for a few seconds and saw also a shell of a man. He guesses that it wasn’t so much the job that took a person’s humanity, but the context in which they do it.

He stood up and walked towards the door.

“You know…” Crosby called, Javier turned around “any aspirations you had for your career just got dragged behind the barn and shot.”

Javier licked his lower lip and allowed himself to look intently at the ambassador, the man looked at him with something he thought was pity.

“I resigned from the DEA this morning.”

Crosby stood up straighter when he heard it, Javier said it almost solemnly, and saying it out loud not only made it more real, but it really made him feel light as a feather for the first time since he was a teenager when he walked out of the ambassador’s office for the last time in his life.

←previous // next→

pedrito's perma list: @queenofthefaceless @northernpunk​ @pascalesque​ @sleep-tight1​ @cheekygeek05​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @letaliabane​  @starlightmornings​ @mouthymandalorianalso​ @supernaturalgirl​ @metalarmsandmanbuns​ @purplepascal042​ @asta-lily​ @greeneyedblondie44​

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd​

RushBit tag list: @shestillwrites1 @absurdthirst @alliterative-albatross @disgruntledspacedad @thoughtfulpandawasteland @wifeofdindjarin @lank-sextburg @the-ginger-hedge-witch @helloannbananalove @diogodxlot @pascalslittlebrat @sarahjkl82-blog @pedritobalmando @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @mamacitapascal @dobbyjen @callsigncatfish @feminist-violinist​ @pascalove​ @eury-dice3​ @gingaahhhh @athalien​

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Tug of War

Prompts: Maybe a fic idea if you’re taking them still?

Janus and Virgil got into a mysterious and huge fight (neither of them want to talk about what happened) and that’s why Virgil now hates Janus. Time skip a year later… Janus is outwardly fine but quietly breaks down in the concealment of his room at the anniversary of the fight. And then Logan comes to help? Just an idea if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine.

-Wren

fic prompt. (You dont have to do this I just had an idea 4 somthn) Virgil doesnt get accepted and tell them his name after AA and just returns. Janus shows up. Janus gets accepted. Sad Virgil, Confused Janus, Remus sets something on fire. - anon

Hey if you’re still taking fic ideas could you maybe do one about Janus not really having friends? Like he has Remus but they aren’t close and just kinda screw around sometimes. Maybe some of the others notice and try and fix the fact that Janus is lonely. If you ask Janus, he has a *Reputation* to uphold and why are they trying to be around him? - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: slight unsympathetic virgil

Pairings: none

Word Count: 2334

A pyrrhic victory is a victory that comes at a great cost, perhaps making the ordeal to win not worth it.

Janus wanted to be seen. He wanted to be accepted. He wanted. He wanted. Is that such a crime? Is it a crime to want, to need, to be? He thinks, therefore he is, why is existence a crime? Is it his fault he was created to be condemned, to be scorned, to be hated, when really, there is nothing about him that makes him irredeemable?

To lie, just to survive, is that enough to kill over? To die over? Is that not the point? How much suffering has been spared just by deciding to lie?

Is it such a crime to keep oneself alive?

To survive, he needed to be known. He needed to protect the one he lives to serve and he needed to be seen in order to do it. He needed to lance the infection from the wounds before the whole system decided to give. He needed them to see him, to hear him, to just let him be.

…but at what cost?

At the cost of having his entire existence dismissed and mocked?

At the cost of watching the one person who might’ve trusted him turn his back like he was nothing?

At the cost of choosing to be vulnerable, choosing to be open, and immediately being proven right that it was never the right choice?

Is that what it costs?

Virgil finds him, sobbing on the floor, cradling the now re-gloved hand in his lap like he’s been burned, and is dropping to his knees.

“Hey, hey, J, what’s wrong? It’s okay, shh, hey, hey, you come here.” Virgil tugs him gently into a hug and it’s warm, Virgil is warm, soft, and pleasant against his scales as he cries. “Come here, let’s dry those tears, don’t cry, bud, don’t cry. You’re gonna let us mere mortals see you cry?”

The words are teasing, the tone anything but. It’s hushed, tender, warm in a way that holds him as close as his arms do and maybe, maybe, maybe he hasn’t lost everything. Janus buries his head in Virgil’s chest and soaks up the warmth shamelessly. Selfish. He’s being selfish, he’s taking what he needs, and Virgil seems happy to give it. He hushes Janus gently but doesn’t rush him. His hands are warm and dry over his back and shoulders. He doesn’t try to pull Janus’s hands away from him.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, bud,” Virgil rumbles, a reassuring bulk, “what hurt you?”

Janus lets out a hiccuped laugh. Ah, yes, the great story of his fight, his victory. A victory in a tug of war. When he’s won, when the fight is over, but there’s still mud splattered along his calves, his knees with dirt embedded into scrapes as his legs ache at the very thought of moving. When his hands are burned and bruised from the rope, fingers creaking and aching as he tries to move them. When his chest burns from the air he tries to take in as he notes the line in the mud that means he won. He won, but it doesn’t feel like it.

“I told you, J,” comes Virgil’s voice, dark and shadowy, “they’ll never accept us. We’ll just have to do our best from back here.”

Is there a word for that?

Janus looks up at Virgil slowly. Virgil’s staring off into space, eyes dark. He swallows.

“Maybe one day they’ll accept us,” he repeats, ignoring the way Janus starts to shake there, on the floor.

A word for when you know the price is high?

“V-Virgil?”

Virgil looks back down at him. “Yeah?”

Then he notices how Janus is holding himself and, like a shadow curling up tighter in the dark, he shifts.

“What is it, Janus?”

Janus flinches.

Are you willing to pay it?

“They…they did accept me.”

Virgil huffs. “You don’t have to lie to me, J, I know you too well.”

Are you willing to let the cost be worth the reward?

“I’m…I’m not lying, Virgil.”

It’s like a light switch.

Virgil’s expression darkens and this time, Janus isn’t safe in the dark or the light.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Virgil’s on his feet now and oh, oh, he’s so tall. “You pull all of that shit and they just fucking accept you?”

The knife twists. “Virgil—“

“No, you know what?” Virgil points a finger at him. “No. If I can’t trust a word out of your goddamn mouth—no. No. You know how much it hurt when they rejected me. You know how much that fucking hurts. Oh, wait, maybe you don’t.”

He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding out and he doesn’t even know who for anymore.

“How could you,” Virgil whispers, despair dripping and covering the pair of them, “how could you drag yourself back here and say that you’re the one hurt from this? Do you know how lucky you are? That you’ve got a family?”

Is victory worth that? Is this how all victories feel? Are they still worth it?

“We…we were family,” Janus tries, only for Virgil to scoff and turn away.

“You called Remus evil, you manipulated me into comforting you when you won.” Virgil’s look is ice. “What kind of family does that?”

Virgil starts to walk away. Janus is so, so, cold.

“Go back to your family,” he spits as he leaves, “they accepted you, remember? They’ll give you what you want for yourself.”

You’ve won, my dear, but is it worth it? Would losing be better, because at least you get to keep what was yours? No one bothers to rob a corpse.

Even when Remus sets the couch on fire, Janus can’t move. He’s too cold, he’s too slow.

He’s won, but was it worth it?

What is winning worth?

Is there such a thing as winning?

It is truly remarkable that something can be so cold that even fire cannot warm it.

He understands.

Of course, he understands.

He knows what it feels like to be thrown away, he knows what it feels like to hurt and to try and never get anywhere. And he knows how it feels to watch someone else get exactly what you want and then have to hold back the scream when you see them upset about it.

He knows how it feels to see someone be all the things you were never allowed to be, to watch them get exactly what you wanted and then be forced to support them, cheer for them, all the while ignoring the voice in your head that screams it should’ve been me, and then to hate yourself for wanting what they have.

He knows how it feels to have to work for it, to work for being able to tolerate people who have hurt you when they don’t know the extent of what they’ve done. To have to work slowly and painfully to reestablish the trust, the lines, the know-how of where to go, what to do, how to act, to make sure no one gets hurt anymore.

He knows how it feels to cut something out because it’s only hurting the both of you.

But they never warn you about how much that hurts.

Virgil still isn’t accepted. Janus is. Janus works and tries and all but pleads for the others to give him a chance, to see that he can help, that he’s doing the same work they are, just a little differently. He weathers the patient smiles and the murmured confessions of they’re just not sure, and he understands, he does, but it still hurts.

And he adores them, he does. He adores Patton’s optimism that makes even him smile. He adores Logan’s sharp wit and gentle tenacity. He adores Roman’s passion and the quickness of his mind.

But he misses warm chuckles and dry remarks. He misses maniacal cackles and the occasional scream. He misses the safety of the shadows and the comfort of the dark.

Remus and Roman are finding their own way back. Janus and the others help them along the way, and it’s working, it is, but it still hurts.

So when a year rolls around, and all he can see is Virgil leaving, he closes the door to his room and sinks down to his knees.

He’s back in the mud, knees torn and scraped, little rocks finding their way into soft spots in his skin and burrowing deeper. His hands are burned terribly from the coarse rope, skin peeling, rubbed red and raw. His chest still aches as it wheezes in and out, eyes stinging from the salt of either sweat or tears. He can’t tell which.

The line lies behind him, uncrossable now. A sign of his victory.

But what was it worth?

“Janus?”

Janus turns, sees Logan standing just outside the partially opened door.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m…”

They both know the answer, regardless of what comes out of Janus’s mouth. Logan sighs, head tilted, before he carefully shuts the door behind him and crouches down next to Janus.

“Let me help,” he says kindly, “talk to me.”

A laugh tears itself out of Janus’s throat before he can stop it. “Take a good look,” he spits, “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“I don’t,” Logan says, still in that kind, kind voice, “I do not enjoy seeing you upset, Janus, nor do I derive pleasure from the idea of you in pain.”

“How kind.”

“Whether it is kindness or otherwise, I am here to help you. You are upset, Janus, I won’t force you to do something you don’t want, but you look like you might need help.”

Is this the cost?

Janus swallows. Logan just watches patiently. He doesn’t hush, he doesn’t try to move closer, he just waits.

“Whatever happens,” he says, still in that stupid kind voice, “will happen on your terms, Janus. You reserve the right to kick me out of this room, you can do what you want.”

Janus’s mouth lifts up in what he hopes is a sneer, the shadow pouring off of his tongue. “And what if I want you to hold me?”

Logan shifts, opening his arms and settling himself into a steady position. “How would you like to be held?”

What is the price for hoping for a victory?

“Just don’t let go,” comes the snarl as he digs his fingers into Logan’s shoulders.

He doesn’t want tender. He doesn’t want sweet. He wants punishment for taking something that doesn’t belong to him, he wants them to hurt for giving him hope, he wants—he wants—

Logan’s arms come up around him and oh, oh—

Logan’s head comes to rest against his, not flinching even as Janus’s fingers dig into him harder, even as Janus starts to squeeze tighter, tighter, tighter, until he’s shaking with the effort of it—

“I won’t,” comes the low promise in his ear and—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Janus remembers what it felt like. To grip at the rope with all his strength, to grit his teeth and dig his heels in. To feel the cold, unyielding splatter of mud as it got on his face, in his eyes. To feel the rope grind mercilessly against the palm of his hands and refuse to let go.

And he remembers…

He remembers the warm sting of shaking hands and hearing well done.

Is this a price? Or just part of it?

“Would you like to talk about it?” Logan’s still holding him. “Or would you just like to sit here?”

He wants. He wants.

The question begins to pull the rope out of his stomach, unwinding it up the long journey through his throat, until it spills onto the ground between them.

“You,” Logan says softly as he picks it up and begins to gather it in his arms, “are not responsible for Virgil’s emotions. You are not responsible for his actions. He is his own person, and just because he is hurt, it does not give him permission to hurt you.”

The rope coils onto the ground. It looks smaller now.

“We…’accepted’ you, as you put it, because of you. Not because of Virgil, not because of anything else, but because of you. You haven’t stolen anything, you haven’t hoarded anything, you’re just you.”

The rope is heavy, but he isn’t holding it alone.

“You are allowed to be hurt, and to be upset. That is okay. And you are definitely allowed to ask for help.”

The battle is over. It’s done. There’s no choice to go back and change it. You just have to move on. Scrapes heal. Burns fade. Lines are drawn and redrawn.

Whether or not it’s worth it depends on what you do afterward.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!