#this one got a lil emotional ngl !

[todayisafridaynight]

DID YOU MISS THE EXAM... Either way I can believe in that superstition for a sec I'm so sorry 😭😭😭

NONO I TOOK IT. BARELY. I BARELY TOOK IT. I JUST THOUGHT CLASS WAS GOING TO BE NORMAL BUT NOPE <3<3<3

[izzy-b-hands]

How did a fic that was meant to be a simple 'wall sex' prompt fill wind up: filling an additional bingo prompt (trans, bc FTM trans Izzy in this one) along with the first one, and turn into sad and emotional izzy/jack, ed/izzy, and ed/jack/izzy?

I dunno bc I've been writing for like three hours and I was just. along for the ride with how this one flowed so well (thank u fic for behaving so well lol.)

[thef1diary]

One Last Night | G. Russell

Summary: As you finalize your divorce from George, he convinces you to spend one last night together in the home you once shared, leading to a night filled with intimacy and emotional complexity.

this one is for @chilling-seavey the sole reason why George is in the top 5 of my fav drivers, I hope you like this one 🤭

masterlist

warnings: 18+ smut, angst, unprotected sex, a bit of hand kink, choking, fingering, oral, lots of emotions

wc: 7.1k (I got a lil carried away with this one ngl)

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The sun sets over the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the house you once called home. The day’s emotional exhaustion weighs heavily on you, the act of signing papers and exchanging awkward glances, finalizing the divorce that both of you knew was inevitable yet difficult to accept. You sit on the porch steps, wanting a breath of fresh air while your eyes lingered on the small garden you and George once tended with care. The flowers, once vibrant and full of life, now stand shriveled and faded, mirroring the love that once flourished between you has since withered away.

George’s voice breaks the silence, a gentle intrusion on your thoughts as he calls your name, his tone devoid of the pet names he once used. You lift your head to see him standing there, his face a blend of sorrow and nostalgia. He takes a step closer, before lowering himself to sit beside you, a few inches too far away.

The space between you feels like an insurmountable chasm, filled with all the words left unsaid, all the efforts that fell short, and the moments you can never get back.

He speaks again, his voice softer and if your heart didn’t already ache with the necessity of leaving him, it would’ve when he said your full name, emphasizing your maiden name. The sound of it, spoken by him, sends a shiver down your spine, a bittersweet reminder of the life you lived before becoming George’s wife, before dating him.

“It’s been a while since I called you by that name,” he murmurs, his bright blue eyes searching for yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the silence. You find yourself unable to resist, drawn into his gaze as if pulled by an invisible force. The familiarity of his eyes, the depth of longing ensnares you, like it always did.

“Yes, it has,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper, barely breaking through the hush of the evening. The weight of his words lingers in the air, filling the space between you with a poignant nostalgia that tugs at your heart. The simple utterance of your maiden name, once so familiar, now feels like a delicate thread connecting you to a past filled with both love and loss.

Even though there’s a physical distance between your bodies, your hands find each other, resting lightly on the porch. Slowly, your fingers inch closer, making a tentative connection that speaks volumes without words. The warmth of his skin, the familiar feel of his touch, sends a ripple of emotion through you, a vivid reminder of the intimacy you once shared.

You try to keep your thoughts clear, reminding yourself that you’re no longer his, no longer Mrs. Russell. The weight of that truth hangs heavy in the space between you, a stark contrast to the intimacy of your touch.

The tenderness in your fingers grazing his is a reflection of what you once had, but also of what has irrevocably changed. You feel the echo of old feelings stirring, the ones you had just begun to push down, but you hold onto the reality that this moment, this connection, is all that remains. The warmth that used to be a part of your everyday life now feels like a fleeting memory, a bittersweet echo of a love that has transformed into a shared, yet separate, past.

“So, what’s next for you?” he asks, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and sadness, a reflection of the weight of letting you go from his life. The question hangs in the air, imbued with a sense of finality and the unspoken acknowledgment that this might be one of the last times he will ask about your future. A future that you’ll be spending without him.

“I’ve decided to finally open that bakery I’ve always dreamed of. It’s something new to look forward to.”

His eyes lit up with a hint of the old George you remember, a small smile playing on his lips. “Will I get any special treatment whenever I visit?”

You shake your head, the smile fading slightly as reality intrudes. “You probably won’t have time to stop by with your busy schedule.”

An awkward silence descends, punctuated by the weight of unfulfilled promises and unmet expectations. The stillness is heavy with the echoes of unspoken regrets and the haunting reminder of what could have been. The conversation stirs a whirlwind of memories, each one a testament to how, over time, George’s career began to overshadow your relationship.

The subtle shift began with small, seemingly insignificant changes—dinner dates frequently postponed, weekend getaways cancelled, and conversations that once flowed effortlessly now reduced to hurried exchanges. His passion for racing, which you once admired and supported, gradually turned into an all-consuming force that claimed more of his time and energy. The promise he made to never let his work come between you gradually eroded, like a fading echo in the vast expanse of his ambition.

You initially accepted the demands of his career, understanding that racing was his first love and the source of his greatest fulfillment. You saw it as an inevitable part of his life, one that you could accommodate as long as it didn’t overshadow your shared moments. But as the months passed, the imbalance became increasingly unbearable. The distance grew, not just in physical terms but in emotional connection. The shared dreams and future plans you once held close began to dissolve, replaced by a solitary sense of longing and disappointment.

Each missed milestone, each neglected promise, built a wall of isolation between you. What started as an occasional inconvenience became a persistent source of heartache. The intimacy you once shared, the spontaneous affection and deep conversations, gave way to a routine marked by George’s relentless pursuit of success. The career that once bound you together now stood as a formidable barrier, leaving you feeling like a secondary consideration in the grand scheme of his ambitions.

You don’t allow your thoughts to linger on the past for too long, on wondering what could’ve been if you both put in a little more effort instead of watching it play out like a movie

You break the silence, your voice trembling slightly as you ask, “and what about you? What’s next for you?”

George’s gaze drifts to the horizon, as though the future is mapped out in the darkness of the night. “I’ll be back on the track as usual. Flying out next week, you know how it goes. It’s a busy schedule but it’s what I do.”

His words are matter-of-fact, yet there’s an undercurrent of melancholy in his tone. He turns his eyes back to you, a flicker of something almost wistful crossing his face. “I’ll miss having you there,” he adds quietly. “Your support, your presence—it made a difference. I always looked forward to seeing you in the stands.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep inside you. You nod, forcing a smile. “I’m sure the races will be just as thrilling without me. You’ll have plenty of fans cheering you on.”

He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not the same,” he says softly. “There was always something special about having you there, cheering me on. I’m going to miss that.”

The honesty in his confession stirs a pang of regret within you. You both know that his career, while a source of pride, has become the very thing that separated you.

George sighs, his thumb brushing lightly against your fingers, reminding you that his hand never left yours. “I never wanted it to end like this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “In fact, I never wanted it to end at all.”

He clears his throat, the raw emotion evident in his next words. “I thought I could balance everything—my career and us—but I failed. I’m sorry for making you feel like you were never enough. The truth is, you were and still are everything to me.”

Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over, but you blink them away with a deliberate effort. Drawing a deep breath, you muster the strength to respond. “It’s not entirely your fault, you know,” you say softly, your voice quivering with the weight of your emotions.

“You don’t need to apologize. I suppose I should apologize for intruding on your well-laid plans. You always wanted a world championship under your belt, and I genuinely hope you achieve that soon, without having to worry about me.”

As he begins to shake his head in protest, you turn away, pulling your hand gently from his grasp before standing up. “I should’ve realized sooner that your trophies would always hold a higher place in your life than I ever could.”

You made the mistake of glancing at him after your words, and saw him visibly flinch, the impact of your parting words etched clearly on your face. The pain in his expression mirrored the ache in your heart, a stark reminder of the mutual suffering this conversation had caused. The intensity of the moment made it clear that any further discussion would only deepen the emotional wounds.

Deciding to end it there and spare both of you more heartache, you turned away and headed towards the porch steps. You had already planned your leave with a sense of reluctant resolve: you would spend the night at a nearby hotel before flying out the following morning to stay with your sister, seeking comfort and a fresh start in her home.

As you begin to walk down the steps, George’s voice reaches out to you, filled with a mix of urgency and regret. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to leave tomorrow, please, stay here for just one more night.”

You pause, the sincerity in his voice making you hesitate. Turning back, you see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, and something in you shifts. The weight of your decision presses heavily on your chest.

George steps closer, his face pleading as he gently cups your cheeks in his hands. “I want to make it up to you,” he says softly. “I know I should’ve valued you more, I could’ve balanced my life better, I would’ve done everything to keep us together if I’d realized sooner.”

You feel the weight of his words, the sincerity evident in every syllable. You placed your hand atop of his, and for a brief moment, he braces himself for you to push him away. Instead, you simply hold on, a gesture that speaks of the lingering affection between you.

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,” you repeat softly. “It’s too late to blame our past selves for the consequences we face now.”

“Please, stay,” George’s voice trembles, his eyes pleading as he grapples with the reality of your departure, even though the papers are signed and the decision is final.

The raw emotion in his eyes, the vulnerability of his plea, makes your resolve waver. With a sigh, you nod slowly, feeling the tight noose around your heart loosen, giving it a chance to beat. “Alright,” you agree softly. “I’ll stay for one more night.”

In an instant, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. You cling to him tightly, the familiar warmth of his embrace bringing a flood of bittersweet memories. Despite everything, despite knowing that the circumstances could never change, the love you still feel for him is undeniable.

George holds you just as tightly, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving me this one last chance.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the silence speak for the love and regrets that words can’t fully capture. For tonight, you can forget the world outside, the signed papers, and the impending separation. For tonight, it’s just you and him, holding on to the remnants of what once was.

George leads you back into the house, his hand warm and steady in yours. Inside, a calm, almost sacred stillness envelops you both. You hadn’t known what to expect, but this quiet comfort is a relief. As you step further in, your eyes fall on the photo frames carefully placed around the room. Each one tells a story of you and George, moments frozen in time, even a few from your wedding day, radiant and full of promise.

Your breath hitches as a thought crosses your mind, a pang of uncertainty mingling with nostalgia. You wonder how soon George will clean up, scrubbing away the memories of your relationship. Part of you knows he still loves you and wouldn’t simply discard them. Yet, you also know the ache these images must bring, a constant reminder of what was and what could have been.

You don’t ask him. The question lingers unspoken between you, too heavy to voice. You can’t bear to hear his answer, whether he’ll keep them or not. It’s easier to pretend, to let the silence hold the unknown.

He glances at you, his eyes following your gaze to the photos. The sadness in his expression mirrors your own thoughts, a silent understanding passing between you.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks, his voice gentle, pulling you back from your reverie.

“That sounds nice,” you reply softly, following him into the kitchen.

The initial awkwardness lingers as you move around each other, carefully choosing your words, mindful of the delicate peace. But as you start to talk about random things, the tension begins to ease. George makes a conscious effort to avoid mentioning racing, and you appreciate it, finding solace in the mundane topics that once filled your conversations.

As hunger sets in, you decide to cook dinner together. In the kitchen, it’s like clockwork. You move around each other with ease, falling back into old routines.

George chops vegetables while you stir a pot on the stove, the familiar rhythm soothing your frayed nerves. You pass utensils and ingredients back and forth without a second thought, your movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance.

“Can you hand me the garlic?” George asks, glancing up at you with a familiar warmth in his eyes.

“Sure,” you say, passing it to him. Your fingers brush, sending a jolt of electricity through you. You catch his eye, and for a moment, the tension is palpable.

As you continue preparing dinner, the air thickens with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The scent of sautéing garlic fills the room, mingling with the warmth of your shared history.

At one point, you reach for a spice jar on a high shelf. George steps in behind you, his body just inches taller than yours. He places his hands gently on your waist, his fingers barely grazing the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt, steadying you as you stretch to grab the jar.

You open your mouth to question the unexpected intimacy, but before you can speak, he steps away, his touch lingering like a ghost. He moves to another task, his presence still wrapped around you even though he’s no longer at your side.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and continue cooking. The moments of contact are electric, charged with the sexual tension that neither of you dares to act on yet. The unspoken connection between you simmers, waiting to boil over.

As you both move through the kitchen, old jokes and new stories begin to flow. The dinner preparations become an unexpected dance of nostalgia and bittersweet reality, each touch and glance filled with meaning.

As you and George finish cooking, the comforting aroma of the meal fills the kitchen. Together, you set the table, your movements in perfect harmony.

Though you sit across from each other, the table is small enough that if either of you were to stretch your legs, you’d touch. That closeness adds a layer of anticipation, your legs brushing occasionally as you both take your first bites. The flavours are rich and familiar, but the food is secondary to the charged atmosphere around you.

“Remember the first time we tried making this?” George says, his smile tinged with nostalgia.

You laugh softly, nodding. “How could I forget? We nearly burned the kitchen down.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “I think we’ve improved since then.”

As you share this moment, you can’t help but graze his leg with your foot under the table, a fleeting touch that sends a thrill through you. George’s eyes flicker with something deeper, a response to the subtle contact. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his, the warmth of his touch grounding you. His thumb gently strokes your knuckles, and the simple act feels intimate, rekindling the connection you thought you had lost.

As he holds your hand, you’re acutely aware of the difference in size. His hand, though not drastically larger, envelopes yours with a comforting presence. You watch as his slender fingers wrap around yours, their familiar warmth a stark reminder of the countless times they explored every inch of your body—especially around your neck, constricting your airway, or on your thighs, gripping tightly as he held them spread open.

George brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on the back of your hand, letting his lips linger on your skin for a few moments too long.

A playful impulse overtakes you. You let your foot drift up from the floor, lightly tracing its way up his leg. The touch is feather-light, a teasing caress that sends a thrill through both of you. Your foot slides slowly up his calf, over his knee, and eventually finds its way to his thigh, lingering there.

George’s breath catches, and you feel the tension in his body tighten as his grasp on your palm loosens. His gaze locks with yours, a mixture of surprise and desire flickering in his eyes. You keep your foot gently resting on his thigh, savouring the intimacy of the contact, watching his expression shift from playful to deeply affected.

He mutters your name, “what are you doing?”

Your eyes twinkle with mischief as you shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

George raises his eyebrows, a sly smile painting on his lips as he decides to play your game. “Oh really?”

You maintain your playful facade, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Really,” you reply, trying to keep your tone innocent despite the heat building between you.

George’s hand slips from yours, moving with deliberate slowness to rest on your leg, his fingers lightly brushing against your ankle, pressing it deeper against his thigh.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “And here I thought you wanted me to be a gentleman tonight,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper that makes your pulse quicken.

Without breaking eye contact, you let your foot inch higher, sliding it delicately between his thighs. It comes to rest over the zipper of his jeans, the contact making you both shiver. His reaction is immediate—his breath catches, and he whispers your name, the sound slipping from his lips with a sinful sweetness that sends a wave of heat through you.

“You thought wrong,” you reply swiftly, a sultry smirk playing on your lips.

George’s breath hitches at your words, a shiver running through his body as you maintain your foot’s gentle pressure, knowing you can feel his hardening cock straining against the denim.

He extends a hand towards you, his fingers curling in a beckoning motion, deliberately mimicking the way he would caress you in more intimate moments. The gesture sends a shiver down your spine, making your breath catch, and instinctively clench your thighs, fighting to control the rush of sensations.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice husky and insistent.

You can’t resist the command, the raw magnetism of his presence pulling you towards him. You stand up slowly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as you move. George’s eyes follow your every motion, his piercing eyes remaining on you as you near him.

As you stand between his legs, he pushes his chair back slightly, creating space needed for you to be close. He reaches out, his hands grasping your hips gently but firmly, drawing you nearer. His hands slide up your sides, a touch both tender and possessive, as he gazes up at you with a look that promises more.

He’s quick to pull you on his lap, earning a gasp from your parted lips. George’s grip tightens around your waist, his touch a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. He pulls you closer, his body pressed against yours, and you can feel the fierce need in his actions.

“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “No matter what papers we’ve signed, you’re still mine tonight.”

“This,” his fingers hold your left hand, grazing his thumb over the ring still adorned on your finger, “stays on. Just for tonight.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. The reality of your separation fades into the background as you allow yourself to sink into the fantasy of being his again, if only for a few hours. His touch is intoxicating, a heady blend of past affection and present desire. You give in to the moment, your body responding to his with a familiarity that is both thrilling and deeply comforting.

George’s lips trace a burning path down your neck, leaving kisses that deepen into marks. His lips press against your skin with an almost reverent touch, a dark bruise forming beneath his kisses, a parting gift of sorts that will serve as a reminder of what you shared tonight. He smiles against your skin, satisfied with the mark he’s left, knowing it would evoke memories of tonight whenever you see it over the next few days.

His kisses drift lower, his hand subtly pulling your shirt lower, exposing more of your bare skin to his hungry lips. The heat of this touch, and the slow, deliberate exploration of your body made you shiver, your head tilting back instinctively as you gasp his name. Your hips shift, seeking the friction you crave, driven by the intense need building between your legs.

When George finally pulls back, he chuckles softly as the whimper that escapes your lips. “Look at you,” he murmurs with a teasing edge to his tone. “So desperate already.”

He shifts slightly, his hands sliding up your sides to cradle your face. The tender yet firm grip draws you closer, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. Suddenly, you feel a moment of hesitation, a thought flitting through your mind about the intimacy of kissing him. You almost speak, wanting to tell him that perhaps this was too much, too close for a night meant to be a parting. But the look in his eyes, the sheer depth of his need, pulls you in, rendering you speechless.

In a heartbeat, his lips meet yours, and you lose yourself in the kiss. It’s a fierce, consuming connection, full of all the love and desire that has simmered between you for so long.

As you kiss him, you’re painfully aware that your actions now will likely lead to regret and heartache for your future self. But in this moment, you’re allowing yourself to enjoy the intimacy and closeness, even as you recognize that tomorrow’s pain is a consequence of tonight’s decisions. You surrender to the moment, letting it erase the boundaries the divorce created, allowing yourself to be his once more, just for a few more hours.

His tongue slips in between your lips, teasing and caressing with a gentle insistence that makes your knees weak.

Your hand lingers on his chest, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, a silent plea for him to remove it. But he’s so absorbed in your kisses that he barely notices. You pull back just enough to murmur against his lips. “Mm, take your shirt off, baby.”

With a low, breathy chuckle, he pulls away just enough to slip his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. As his bare chest comes into view, you can’t help but trace your fingers over his skin, the muscles beneath your fingertips tensing with every caress.

Before you can place your lips on his skin, his hand gently rests against your throat, holding you back with just enough pressure to make you pause. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he commands.

The return of the pet name makes a blush creep up your cheek. With a slight nod, you move back, your hands reaching for the hem of your shirt. Your eyes stay locked on his as you slowly pull the fabric up and over your head, letting it slip from your fingers and fall to the floor.

George’s gaze roams over you, drinking in the sight of your exposed torso. He pulls you back towards him, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the curves of your body with utmost care.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, the spot where his hand had just been. The warmth of his lips sends shivers through your body, and you feel a surge of anticipation. As he kisses your skin, his hands move with practiced ease to the clasp of your bra. In one fluid motion, he undoes it, and the flimsy material falls away, landing softly in your lap, leaving your upper body fully exposed to him.

George pulls back slightly, his gaze roaming over you with unabashed desire. His eyes darken as they take in the sight of you, the soft glow of the kitchen light casting a warm hue on your skin. He reaches up, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts, his touch light but electric.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his voice thick with admiration and lust. The words send a rush of warmth through you, making you feel both cherished and desired.

His lips return to your body, this time trailing down from your throat, licking each darkening mark he left earlier, to your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss is slow and deliberate, as if he’s savouring the moment, etching each inch of your body into his mind. When his mouth reaches the sensitive skin of your breast, his tongue flicks out to tease, eliciting a soft moan from you. He takes his time, worshiping you with his lips and tongue, making you arch into his touch, seeking more.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders, gripping him tightly as the pleasure builds. George’s fingers dance across your skin, exploring every inch exposed to him, while his mouth continues its maddeningly slow descent. He pauses to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently before grazing his teeth lightly, as his other hand kneads your other breast. The dual sensations make you gasp, your head falling back in pleasure.

As he continues to lavish attention on your chest, you feel the heat pooling in your core, your body responding to his every touch. You grind against him, seeking friction, feeling the hardness of his cock, still strained underneath his jeans.

George lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a mix of tenderness and hunger. “I want you,” he whispers.

You nod, breathless and needy. “I’m yours,” you reply, “just for tonight, I’m yours.”

Without another word, George lifts you effortlessly, his hands strong and sure as they grip your waist. You wrap your legs around his torso, feeling the heat of his body against yours as he carries you upstairs. He pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder, his lips finding yours again in a hungry kiss.

George sets you down gently in the middle of the bed, placing a tender kiss on your lips before moving down your body as you lie back. His touch is both reverent and teasing, his fingers trailing down your skin, igniting a trail of fire in their wake. He stops at your breasts, giving each nipple the attention it craves. He circles his thumb around the peak, teasing you, before pinching the bud sharply between his fingers, earning a needy whine from your lips. He envelops your nipple in the heat of his mouth, easing the sting with a filthy, wet kiss, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. Moving away, he repeats his actions on your other nipple, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

George continues his journey down your body, his lips leaving a trail of kisses and love bites, sucking as many marks as he wishes. Each bruise is a reminder of his presence, a mark of possession that makes your core throb with desire. He reaches the hem of your pants and glances up at you, his eyes widening when he realizes you are already watching him, your gaze intense as he drives you to the brink of madness.

“Please, George,” you mutter, your voice already raw from the moans you’ve let out. The plea is filled with desperation and need, your body aching for more of his touch.

He slides his fingers below the waistband of your pants, his touch electrifying. You lift your hips to help him remove the fabric, making it easier for him to pull your pants away from your body. He parts your thighs, settling himself on his knees between them. His eyes glaze over with desire as he takes in the sight of your soaked panties. You might have felt embarrassed by how wet you are, but the way his eyes darken with hunger reassures you. He licks his lips, his gaze never leaving your covered pussy.

He reluctantly shifts his gaze to meet your eyes again. “You’re dripping, love. Glad to know I still have that effect on you,” he states, dragging his thumb over your cunt, causing you to instinctively push your hips up, but it’s no avail as he moves his hand away, leaving you aching for more.

You roll your eyes at his words. “You always have that effect on me, don’t act like you didn’t know that.”

He chuckles, sitting back on his haunches, bringing his thumb up to his lips. Your mouth drops open as he licks your wetness off his thumb, humming delightfully at the taste.

“Ah, mouthy now?” He shook his head in faux disappointment. “By the time I’m done with you, the only word you’ll speak is my name.” He leans over you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before properly settling between your parted thighs, his face near your covered cunt.

With a sudden rough motion, he grabs your panties and rips them off, the fabric tearing easily in his hand. The sheer force of it sends a thrill through you, a gasp leaving your mouth as you mutter his name.

He tosses the shredded material aside, gaze remaining between your legs. “There’s my pretty cunt,” he mumbles, his voice low and filled with desire. He barely sticks the tip of his tongue out as he notices the glint of your wetness coating your folds.

You clench involuntarily at his words, not going unnoticed by him. He glances at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah? It’s mine isn’t it?” His voice is a seductive whisper, egging you on, as he watches your reaction.

You nod, a whine escaping your lips as you meet his gaze. “Yes, it’s yours,” you admit, the truth of your words resonating in the heated space between you.

George’s smirk deepens, satisfaction evident in his eyes. “Good girl,” he praises, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

He dips his head, his tongue finally making contact with your pussy. The sensation is electric, your back arching instinctively as your hips lift from the bed. His hands press you back against the mattress, splayed wide on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you spread open.

His tongue flicks and circles your clit, driving you wild with need. George takes his time, savouring every moment as he gathers your wetness with his tongue, moaning against your cunt, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

Your hand finds its way into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your body arching into his touch as he brings you closer and closer to release.

George’s eyes flick up to meet yours, the intensity in his eyes sending another wave of pleasure through you. He moves one hand from your thigh to your cunt, collecting the slick between your folds. He coats his finger before sliding it inside you, the sensation making you gasp.

One finger quickly turns into two, pumping them in and out of you, matching the rhythm of his tongue. His fingers, long and skilled, find that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars. The pleasure builds rapidly, each thrust and lick driving you closer to the edge.

When he adds a third finger, your body reacts instantly, a cry escaping your lips. “George,” you moan, barely able to utter a warning before your orgasm crashes over you. Wave after wave of pleasure washes through your body, your muscles clenching around his fingers. You call out his name, your body trembling as he continues to work you through your climax, his relentless tongue and fingers not stopping until you’re completely spent.

He finally eases his fingers out of you, his mouth trailing kisses up your body, tasting the sheen of sweat on your skin. He reaches your lips, pressing a gentle kiss there, tasting yourself on his mouth.

You’re breathless, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “I want you,” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse from the intensity.

George’s eyes darken with desire, his own breath coming in shallow gasps. “I want you too,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He leans back, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes, the sight of his naked body stirring a fresh wave of arousal within you.

George leans over you, positioning himself between your legs once more, but this time his hardened cock nudges your pussy. Sliding it between your folds, he slicks up his length with your cum, nudging your clit a few times with the tip, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Please, George,” you plead, your voice breathless with desire. “Stop teasing me.”

With a deep groan, George finally slides into you, filling you completely. He pauses for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the sensation, then almost pulls out before thrusting back in, taking your breath away. The sensation is overwhelming, your bodies perfectly in sync as he sets a brutal pace. Each thrust is powerful and deliberate, hitting the perfect spot inside you.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you intimately connected, lost in the moment. The room is filled with obscene sounds—gasps, moans, the slick sound of skin slapping against skin. Every thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

George’s movements become more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he loses himself in the heat of your cunt enveloping him over and over. “You feel so good,” he mutters, his voice strained with desire and pleasure.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks as you cling to him. Your only response is a moan, your voice filled with raw need. The pleasure builds rapidly in your core, your body tightening around him, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

George brings his fingers to your lips. “Open,” he commands, his voice deep, his accent more prominent. You obey him, sticking your tongue out and taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and muffling your moans.

His fingers, now slick with your spit, leave your mouth and travel to your clit. He pinches it between his fingers, then begins rubbing tight circles, the added stimulation making your body tremble. His other hand finds its way to your throat, applying just enough pressure to restrict a bit of oxygen entering your body. The combination of sensations makes you clench down on him, your body responding to every touch, every thrust.

George’s thrusts become even more frenzied, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body on a brink of another release so soon. His fingers on your clit, his hand on your throat, his cock filling you completely—it’s all too much.

“Cum for me,” he demands, his voice rough. “Cum for me, love.”

The command sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body trembling as you cling to him, your nails digging into his skin.

George follows you over the edge, a deep groan escaping his lips as he reaches his own release. His thrusts slow down as he fills you with his cum, his body shuddering.

Pulling out, he collapses on top of you, his body spent but his arms wrap around you, holding you close. Your breaths are ragged, your bodies covered in a sheen of sweat but you stay entwined, savouring the closeness and intimacy of the moment.

After a few moments, George lifts himself off you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. He leaves the bed and returns with a warm damp cloth, carefully cleaning you up. His touch is soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the raw intensity you just shared.

As you lie there, your eyes drift to the clock, noting the time with a heavy heart. Only a few hours remain before sunrise. Though you keep your thoughts to yourself, a mental countdown begins, marking each fleeting minute as the fantasy edges closer to its inevitable end. For now, you push those thoughts aside, unwilling to let them intrude upon the closeness you’ve been granted.

George settles back into bed, drawing you into his embrace. His body is warm and reassuring, and he holds you close, as if trying to anchor you both in this fragile moment. His fingers gently stroke your hair, and his murmured words are soft, a soothing balm against the emotional rawness you both feel.

In his arms, you allow yourself to savor the love and tenderness that had been absent from your relationship, even though you know it comes too late. You stroke his cheek with your thumb, pulling him in for a kiss that’s slow and filled with an aching sadness. This kiss is not driven by the fiery passion of earlier but is instead a testament to the longing and melancholy that now defines your connection.

George tries to change the pace, his hands cupping your face as if to draw you back into a passionate kiss, but you resist, determined to let this moment linger. Each touch, each kiss, is a memory you wish to imprint deeply into your mind, a final, bittersweet echo of what might have been.

When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, eyes closed as if to shield yourself from the inevitable morning. The silence between you feels dense and heavy, like quicksand pulling you both deeper into an emotional mire. It’s a silence that speaks volumes, a quiet weight that settles heavily on your hearts.

His voice breaks through the silence, soft yet resolute. “I love you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

You take a shaky breath, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyelids. “I’ll always love you too,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, yet filled with a depth of emotion that words alone can scarcely capture.

In that fleeting, fragile moment, you hold onto each other, letting the intimacy of your shared silence and the echo of your promises wrap around you like a bittersweet embrace. The world outside begins to stir, but within this cocoon of quiet, time seems to stand still, allowing you both to savor the final fragments of a love that was beautiful but not enough.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the curtains, a soft glow starts to illuminate the room. George remains close, his breathing steady and calm as he sleeps beside you, but you lie awake, your mind awash with the bittersweetness of the night.

The silence is no longer just a weight; it’s a space where every unsaid word and unresolved feeling seems to echo. You trace patterns on his chest with your fingers, savoring the warmth and the closeness while feeling the sting of impending farewell.

The morning light casts gentle shadows across the room, highlighting the contrast between the intense passion of the night and the tender, almost fragile peace of the morning. You take in the sight of George, his features softened in sleep, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips. It’s a reminder of the affection you’ve longed for, now tinged with the realization of its fleeting nature.

You let your gaze linger on him, the hurt and longing swirling within you. The memory of his touch and his kisses will linger, a beautiful ache that will accompany you as you face the day ahead. Each moment shared is a precious token to be cherished, even as you prepare to confront the reality of your separation.

Gently, you begin to disentangle yourself from his embrace, careful not to disturb him. The softness of the bed and the warmth of his body seem to hold you in a tender cocoon, but you rise, moving with a quiet grace. You dress in the dim light, each movement a silent farewell to the night that has just passed.

With one last look at George, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the calm of his sleeping face, the last remnant of the passion and intimacy you’ve shared. You leave the room, stepping into the dawn, where the world is awakening and the day is ready to begin.

The fantasy of the night dissolves into the morning’s reality, but the memory of his touch and the echoes of his love will remain with you, a haunting yet beautiful reminder of what once was.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @namjoonswaifu @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @chilling-seavey

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 3

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn’t have the time anymore. good thing both miguel o’hara and spiderman do.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, unhappy relationship, pining, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, allusions to suicide, mentions of strip clubs

author’s note: got a lil carried away with my emotions for this one ngl

Your pink pen pressed harshly down on the science quiz you were grading, smearing a pit of the sparkly ink as the searing noise of an electric guitar being tuned submerged your little apartment from the floors to the ceilings. You glared up from beneath your brows, a predator chained just inches from her prey, as Ferris and his band of four barked and howled between themselves in your living room. From your perch at the tiny dining table, you watched them, your knuckles paling around your pen. They had moved the furniture around to make room for their equipment, shoved your couch, your armchair, your coffee table - fuck, even your television stand - against the walls so that they could spread out and practice for a gig the drummer had managed to score; probably by going down on the manager of the place, but you’d never say that out loud.

Unless they provoked you - which, with every ticking, prolonged minute that passed, you were getting closer and closer to your inclined tipping point.

Sniffing quietly, you shook your head and tried to go back to grading your quizzes. So far, your class had done a fairly good job. A few percentages below eighty, but not many. No matter what score they got, however, you were sure to place a sticker on the corner of the page. Of course, as you had expected, Gabriella O’Hara’s score was a perfect hundred. A small smile graced the corner of your lips. She was a bright kid, you’d give her that. While she needed a little extra help in mathematics from time to time, she practically excelled in every other subject. You scribbled out a little note praising her for a job well done before beginning to move on to your other papers.

From the living room, another glass-shattering, skin-crawling shriek was raised from Ferris’ guitar. You twitched in your seat, subtly raising your eyes to watch the band. Your boyfriend was downing his second beer of the day, despite it being barely eleven in the morning, and he had his feet propped up on some chick’s - the new keyboard player, because the last one stormed out of the group after realizing what a bunch of asswipes they were - and idly strummed a lazy medley on the taut strings of his guitar. It was hooked up to the speaker, so every note that he twanged out was amplified tenfold.

Downstairs, your neighbor knocked against their ceiling with a broom. Telling you all to shut the fuck up, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, you put on your best smile - which looked more like a grimace, actually - and cleared your throat. “Babe,” you said tightly, drawing Ferris’ attention away from the keyboard player. He regarded you with a roll of his head and hand on the strings to stop the vibrations. “Maybe it’s time to pack it up. You’ve been…” You hesitated. “Practicing for almost two hours now. Why don’t you save some of the music for the paying customers tomorrow instead of the neighbors?”

To your chagrin, like he was dumping fuel across the little flame that had flickered to life in your chest, he shrugged a shoulder and went back to his guitar and the girl across from him. “We’ll leave when we’re done,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes never meeting yours again. “Still got some more songs to run through.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed and went back to your work. “You look real fucking busy.”

“If you’re so tired of listening to us,” your boyfriend snapped suddenly, “why don’t you find somewhere else to go? This is my place too, you know.” He exhaled a venomous sigh and downed another swig from his bottle. “Always on my ass.”

By now, the rest of the apartment had gone silent. The other band members glanced between the pair of you, movements suddenly stiff with tension they had no idea how to release. It felt like no matter what they did, it would light the fuse on either one of you.

Feeling your cheeks heat and your palms become sticky with embarrassment, you swallowed thick and nodded your head slowly. Then you stood, began to gather your papers, and stuffed them into your purse.

“Hey,” said the band’s drummer, a pudgy guy with thick lenses that had, actually, always been nice to you despite their leader’s obvious intentions, “if you need us to clear out, we can. We can find another place to set up where we’re not bothering you.”

You released a short huff, sounding more akin to a snarl than anything else. It seemed your judgment in men really was shit; you’d chosen the wrong fucking band member. “That’s okay,” you spat as you tugged on your shoes and checked that you had your keys. The drummer’s face flashed with guilt and you felt bad for a moment, but then your eyes flickered to where Ferris had wandered into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. Like a raging wildfire, the flames in your ribcage roared and seared your insides, making them feel like you’d implode upon yourself if you stayed here - in your own damn home - any longer. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

With that you exited your apartment and slammed the door behind you, not stopping your frantic escape from Ferris’ snarls and rolling eyes until you hit the street down below. Before you on the road, traffic moved at a sluggish pace. Horns blared and street lights flickered. Shop fronts gleamed in the sunlight and bells over doors jingled. As you took a long, deep inhale that granted your lungs a wave of fresh air and your eyes with a certain wetness in the corners, you realized your crumbling relationship with your boyfriend was such a trivial little thing in this city. Nothing was going to stop, halt in its tracks, just because your world was falling apart.

Life went on. There was nothing you could do to stop that.

Plopping yourself down on the bus stop bench, you placed your head in your hands and tried to keep yourself from crying anymore. You couldn’t let anyone else see you cry, because what if they did, and they turned out to be like Ferris? Told you that you were being dramatic, that you needed to pull yourself together and be a girl? Fuck, you didn’t think you could handle someone else telling you that. You didn’t need anyone else against you; it already felt like the entire world was.

What you needed, desperately, terribly, pleadingly, was someone else in your corner.

In your pocket, your phone chimed with an incoming text. Wiping away the tears sitting heavy against your lids, you pulled it out. It was an unknown number; your cyber security app had blurred the message, waiting until you accepted to see it. You swiped on the blurred screen, then clicked open the message.

Hi, it’s Miguel O’Hara. I hate to cross any lines here, but Gabriella is having a hard time understanding the homework assigned for this weekend. I tried to help, but it’s beyond me. Some sorry excuse for a geneticist I am, right? Anyway, I was texting to ask if you’d be able to meet us somewhere today and help Bri. I was thinking the public library? We’re going to be headed to the park afterward for soccer practice… you’re welcome to come along. She’s eager to show you a new trick she learned yesterday. Again, excuse my forwardness. We understand if you’re not available. :)

You sniffled slightly, rereading the text over and over again, trying to stuff down the fluttering feeling arising past the flames inside you. Your head snapped up and you were on your feet in less than a moment, hailing the first taxi that passed you. When you climbed inside, the driver asked you where to.

“The public library,” you said, and managed a smile at him in the mirror.

Half an hour later, you sat at a desk in the middle of the study section of the New York Public Library, already having drawn out fresh sketches and examples of the mathematics homework you had assigned for this weekend. Your foot bounced with anticipation under the table, and you found yourself constantly glancing over your shoulder at the wide, arched doorway that let into the private section.

You’d tutored students outside of class before, so you shouldn’t have been so excited. You’d met with them in diners and cheap restaurants, outdoor pavilions when the weather allowed, hell - you’d even sat with them outside their cramped apartment buildings on overturned milk crates and used cardboard as a back for the worksheets while their parents were busy working three jobs and balancing five other kids on their hips at the same time. You weren’t one to judge; you knew how hard it was out here for some people. You were a teacher; it was your job to love and nurture and teach your kids, no matter who they were or where they came from.

So you shouldn’t have been this excited to tutor one of your students. Even if she did have a smoking hot dad.

Small, quick-paced footsteps - like thunderclaps along the ground in the nearly-silent room - pricked your ears and turned your attention to the doorway. A wide, easy grin broke across your lips as you spied Gabriella breaking away from her father’s side to rush toward you and your table. In her arms she carried a wrapped bouquet of flowers. When she reached where you had risen from your seat, she pressed her face into your belly in lieu of a hug.

“Hi, Miss Y/N,” she said, rather loudly, then presented the flowers like they were sterling silver encrusted with diamonds and jewels unimaginable. An ear-to-ear smile stretched from one of her ears to the other. “These are for you.”

Miguel arrived behind her, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a gentle grin of greeting gracing his beautiful face. He tilted his head at you for a moment, then ruffled his daughter’s hair and said, “What are they for?”

“A thank you,” Gabriella rushed to say as you accepted the bouquet. “For coming to help me.”

You tried to squash the butterflies that fluttered through your stomach when he smiled at you, instead pushing your focus to the flowers clutched to your chest. They were fresh blooms, a collection filled with pinks and purples and a few yellows here and there. “Well, thank you so much, sweetheart,” you said as she rounded the table to go and sit by her father. “They’re beautiful.” You took your seat again and carefully set the gift beside your purse. “And you don’t have to thank me. I was already out today anyhow, so it wasn’t any trouble.”

“Really?” said Miguel. He pulled the bag from over his shoulder and gave it to Gabriella for her to begin pulling her schoolwork out. He quirked one of his thick brows, his sad-looking eyes meeting yours. Jolts of excitement, and pleasure, and adoration went sprawling down your spine all at once, like back to back shocks of raw, untamed electricity. “I figured you would have been staying in during a tourist weekend like this.”

You wanted so badly to tell him just what you were doing out, why you weren’t at home enjoying your two days of free time between your two jobs - one that required every bit of your soul and heart during the day, and another that required every bit of your body during the night. You wanted horrendously to confide in him the troubles plaguing you like an illness only he could cure you from, wanted him to secure those thick, sinewy arms of his around your form and hold you tight, assure you in that husky tone that everything would be alright.

But instead, all you said was, “Can’t let tourists drive us locals from our stomping grounds, can we, Mister O’Hara?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, his eyes stuck upon your form even after you’d pulled your attention to the worksheet Gabriella had pulled out.

For a long while, the three of you sat at that table in the library. You taught Gabriella the maths lesson over again as many times as she needed it, helped her with the more challenging problems on the worksheet, then made up a few on the spot to give her for the extra practice. You even tilted around your textbook so that Miguel could see it and gave him a rundown of the next few lessons so that he could help her the following week, should she need it.

It was perhaps an hour or so later when you sat back in your chair, watching as your student set to work on the few practice problems you’d given her. You shut your eyes for a moment, exhaling a long breath, and allowing your brain to shut off for a moment. You’d succeeding in getting Ferris and his stupid, stubborn fucking attitude off your mind for a time, but now you were faced with the realization that sometime today, you’d have to go back home. You’d have to see him again, most likely get into another argument that would lead to one of you sleeping on the couch the next couple evenings.

Most likely you.

“How are you doing?” came Miguel’s voice from across the table.

You thought for a moment he was speaking to his daughter, looking over her work, but when no reply came, you opened your eyes and realized he was talking to you. You blinked a few times, watching as he smirked kindly and crossed his arms over the table. Fuck, he was so easy to look at. He was wearing a t-shirt against the sunny day today, giving you a generous view of the muscles in his arms. They sloped down to his elbows, and further still to wrists wrapped in Gabriella-made friendship bracelets, to large, wide hands that were callused at the fingers and bruised at the knuckles. You wondered briefly if he boxed during his workouts.

Sliding your hand up your face, you gave him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Despite only speaking to one another a few minutes every time at pick up and drop off, you felt you could talk to him better than even the girls at your nighttime job. “I’m alright,” you said, then added, “Just… tired, is all. Lots on my plate right now. Work, stuff at home, the whole ‘masked vigilante swinging around the city’ thing. Well… you know how it is.”

It was not the last detail that seemed to faze him. It was the second. “Is everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, like that of a curious puppy. The lines beneath his eyes deepened a bit, the untamed hair atop his head slipped to his temple. “Sorry if I’m overstepping a boundary, or anything like that. I just -”

“No, you’re alright.” You reached out to finger at a petal on one of the flowers in the bouquet, fondly brushing the delicate thing as if it would disintegrate if you handled it any rougher. His eyes followed your movements deftly. “And, everything’s… okay. Sort of… okay.” You sighed and pulled away from the flower, instead opting to rub at your temples. “Just drives me out sometimes, you know? Everything… happening in those walls. Sometimes it gets too much.”

“You’re never out on the streets, are you?” Suddenly his gaze had turned serious and stony, his mouth set into a hard line across his chiseled expression.

You swallowed thick, feeling the dropped baritone of his voice hit the bottom of your belly and head south to your core. You shifted slightly in your seat, crossing your legs over one another to mask the subtle movement. “No, never.” Forcing yourself to chuckle, you dropped a hand to the desk. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mister O’Hara. I’m just fine.”

Before you realized what was happening, Miguel had reached out to brush his long, thick fingers over your knuckles. Your skin was suddenly alight with a blaze you didn’t even know existed. He leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice so that only you heard it in the cage between your ribs. “It’s alright to ask for help, you know,” he murmured quietly. You were caught in his gaze, unable to pull yourself away. “If you ever need something, some place to stay… our door is open.”

Your tongue had ceased its ability to work, your heart its ability to beat properly. You could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as he settled back in his chair. Miguel O’Hara had just offered you his home. Fuck - he knew. He had to have known. Maybe he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you whispered; maybe it trembled too much. Or maybe he could just sense it, feel it from the bottomless pit in your soul screaming out for someone to pull it back into the daylight.

Just when you trusted yourself to speak again, both your and Miguel’s phones alerted at the same time. Across the study section, other devices went off, as well. Simultaneously, you pulled out your cells and read the messages scrawled across the screens.

“Jesus,” you muttered upon scanning the message. A kidnapping had just taken place not a block from the library. Car details and plate numbers were attached, along with an urging for anyone with information to call the authorities. “This city gets worse every day.”

Miguel glanced up at your words, hesitated, then looked down at Gabriella. She was still busy with her work, tongue stuck out gently between her pink lips. You sensed him tense from across the table.

“...Miguel?” you asked, tentative to use his first name. “Is everything okay?”

After a short, brief moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something. He stood from his chair so abruptly that it squealed softly against the tile floor, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and rounding the table. “Excuse me just a second,” he said, already heading toward the doorway. “I have to make a call. Ten minutes, tops.” Then he was gone, jogging too quickly and hurriedly to be making a phone call - or so you thought. You wanted direly to follow him, see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. You had your student to take care of.

Inhaling shortly, you turned to Gabriella only to find her staring at the doorway her father had disappeared through. You were quick to find something to change the subject. “These flowers are so pretty,” you told her and nudged the bouquet slightly. She met your eyes, your gentle smile, and it seemed Miguel’s sudden absence was wiped from her mind. So was the inner workings of a nine year old.

“I got to pick them out,” she said proudly, then went back to her worksheet. “But it was Daddy’s idea to get them for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You did your best to maintain your smile, trying not to grasp at your chest and stop the oncoming heart attack making its way through your systems. It had been Miguel to get the flowers? “Yeah?” you said in a small voice.

Oblivious to your strained tone and the excited bouncing of your leg under the table, the little girl nodded and hummed. “Uh-huh. He like-likes you. He told me so.”

Holy fucking goddamn son of a bitch.

You cleared your throat because you knew if you talked about this any longer, you would explode into a little cloud of confetti. Then you’d never even get to see him again, look at him in this new light because fuck, was it a new light. It was a new light you could dance under, twirl and sing and jump under, because no one was going to judge you anymore, and even better, now you could invite him to be under it with you. And you knew you just might have a chance of him saying yes.

And fuck, what a dance that would be.

“Are you excited for the field trip to Alchemax on Tuesday?” you asked her, recalling the months it had taken Washington Elementary’s principal to get permission to bring classes there. She had insisted it was an important place for them to visit, considering all the work they were doing as of late. You guessed your suggestion for a trip to the zoo had been vetoed. “Your dad works there. Maybe we’ll see him. You can brag to all your friends that he’s a fancy scientist.”

“Maybe,” she said, scratching out a wrong answer on her paper. “He works on the seventh floor. I’ve seen his work badge thing. We probably won’t be able to go up there.”

“Here’s hoping we can,” you said to yourself beneath your breath.

Ten minutes passed since Miguel’s sudden disappearance, and then another. Thirty minutes was just approaching, as was the beginnings of sundown, before you sensed him approaching you from behind. Turning in your chair, the first thing you noticed was that he was out of breath, sweating at his temples and down his neck slightly. God, he looked good like that. But then your rational side kicked in. Had he been running somewhere?

“I think that’s enough homework for today,” he said as he reached the table and ruffled Gabriella’s hair again. She batted his hand away, but nonetheless began to pack up her things. As she did so, he switched his gaze to yours, tilting his head in that way he did. “We’re going to head to the park, kick a ball around for a while. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Numbly, because now that you knew he not only liked you, but like-liked you, you heard yourself accept and follow them out the doors of the library and onto the street. The deep purple sky felt a bit brighter than before, and the steps you took together, side by side, seemed a little closer than necessary. The sidewalks were cramped, sure, but not enough so that your hands needed to brush every few seconds. Not enough so that your shoulders bumped when you stepped off curbs to cross roads.

The park was quiet this time of day, occupied only by a few elderly couples leaning against walking canes and teenagers out past their curfews sprawled out on benches making out like they knew they were going to die tomorrow.

How long had it been since you had kissed Ferris? The saddest part of you knew that you couldn’t recall.

For hours, you sat on the sweet-smelling grass of the park’s lawn and watched Miguel and Gabriella scrimmage, kicking around a ball worn by years of scuff marks and green stains from fields. The breeze blew their matching hair this way and that, the dying sunlight illuminated their identical smiles as they round about one another in only a way a parent and a child could know one another. You cheered when either scored a goal. You laughed when they called one another names. And when they urged you to come join, even though the night was throwing itself over the sky and the stars were beginning to wink down at the park, you got to your feet and played.

You realized, through your aching laughter and the grass stains on your knees, that you hadn’t been this happy in a very, very long time.

That night, after you had wished Miguel and Gabriella a goodnight and walked home, after you had found Ferris crashed out in bed and the dishes still in the fucking sink, you found yourself sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building. It wasn’t quite silent up here, not with the helicopter chopping in the distance, or the occasional honk of a car down below, or the dog barking three stories down, but it was better than facing the quiet of your own home. You knew you would go mad in between those damned four walls, listening to your boyfriend snore and the clock in the kitchen tick and the floorboard creak when you walked to the bathroom.

You couldn’t face the quiet, not after the wonderful, deafening, blaring joy of this afternoon.

You let your legs dangle off the edge of the rooftop, sitting back on your hands and staring at the glaring screen of your phone. Your thumb ached slightly from scrolling through anything and everything you could find to keep yourself distracted. The newest clean energy replacement from Alchemax. The latest from politics. The child that had been kidnapped this afternoon, now home and safe, thanks to Spiderman snatching the kid from the backseat before plowing the speeding car with the kidnapper into a metal gate.

There came the soft, muted noise of a weight landing on the power box on the rooftop behind you, and you whipped around to find a familiar - but no less startling - red and blue figure sitting perched on the metal edge. Spiderman tilted his head at you, balanced on the balls of his feet despite the hulking frame of his muscles.

“Just came to check up on you after the other day,” he said through the mask. His eye lenses moved as his eyes roamed your figure. “Didn’t know you were this far gone.”

Clicking your phone off anxiously, feeling your heart thunder in your ears, you gave a little laugh and looked down at the drop beneath your feet. “I think if I was ready to end it,” you joked in return, “I’d go for something a little less traumatizing for pedestrians.”

Spiderman was still for a moment. Then he extended his wrist, and a string of web shot across the rooftop to stick to the space on the lip beside you. He used it to yank himself across the tarmac of the roof, landing again on the balls of his feet on the edge. He shifted himself, resting his forearms overink his thighs, and turned his masked gaze to the city before you both. Golden lights twinkled from skyscrapers and apartments and office buildings, creating a constellation of life between windows. The night air was crisper up here - as crisp as it could get, what with the smog from arsonist fires and churning factories and gas emissions - and the stars seemed to shine just a touch brighter.

“So… how are you doing?” the vigilante asked, keeping his gaze on New York. “After the robbery, I mean. Something like that, it can… stay with you.”

There came a fluttering in your heart. But rather than express such a sensation, because you had every right to be wary about giving yourself away anymore, you said, “It wouldn’t be the first thing like that to happen to me. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” You lifted a hand to the star-lit city, crowded to the rim with life and hatred and love. “We’re in New York. What more can you expect from a city like this?”

For a long while, neither of you said anything more. It was strange being so close to the man everyone had been talking about for the couple weeks he’d been active - so close you could lean right over and pull that mask off. But you kept your distance.

Spiderman took a breath and said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “As if I typically sleep at this time anyway.” Then you turned to face him again, locking your ankles together over the edge of the rooftop. The breeze swayed your hair back and forth, like you were suspended underwater. The tension in your lungs certainly felt that way. “Did you enjoy the show the other night?”

He was still for a moment. For two. Then he met your gaze through his mask, his eye lenses narrowing. Even through the cover that hid his face, the heat of his eyes scorched holes through you. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Feeling slightly bolder than you had a moment ago, you lolled your head at him. “You know what I mean.” You sniffed, leaning back on your hands. “Did you follow me? Or was it just a coincidence that Spiderman showed up to my club the day he saved my ass?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“...Sure.” You felt a flutter of embarrassment within you, of doubt and guilt. What if that hadn’t been Spiderman that night at The Menagerie? What if it was some other guy, with some other scar on his collarbone, and you had gotten it all wrong? Despite your sudden worry, you refused to let your confidence waver. “So… do you make it a habit of checking up on every person you help?”

For the first time, you watched and listened as he cracked a smile and chuckled. The lenses over his eyes narrowed as his cheeks rose and his mouth spread into a smirk. You watched the bit of mask over his lips stretch. “You got me there,” he drawled in that low, husky tone of his that made you cross your legs a bit tighter, squeeze your thighs tighter. “Just… couldn’t really get you off my mind. You’ve got courage, saying no to that guy. That’s admirable.”

You felt your cheeks flush. Spiderman? Calling you brave? What an ironic sense of humor the universe had.

“I guess someone has to stand up and say no,” you murmured into the breeze.

“Yeah. Someone has to.”

Moments turned into seconds, and those turned into minutes. You almost wished you could stay like this forever; here, on the rooftop with Spiderman, with the breeze rustling your hair and the car horns beeping and the rest of the world forgotten.

But all too soon, it was over.

Spiderman rose to his full height in a seamless transition, turning his head to face the street away from you. “Should get back now,” he said, then switched his gaze down to you. You wondered, behind that mask, what color his eyes were. “Sure you’re not going to jump?”

You felt yourself smile. “Promise, Spiderman.” You watched as he nodded his head, then prepared to catapult himself off the building and swing onto the next one. Before he could, however, you called out. “And hey,” you said, drawing his attention, “if you ever drop by the club again, ask for the Monarch.”

He stared at you for the longest moment. Then he turned, stepped off the lip of the rooftop, and disappeared.

You didn’t bother leaning over, watching him spring a web from his wrist to flip through the air and parade down the street above the cars and streetlights. Instead you looked back to the city’s skyline far above yourself, silhouettes of buildings framed by a rich violet horizon.

Perhaps one day, you would see what it looked like without all this smog and the army of dark clouds hanging over it.

But for now, you were content with watching it darken until it was nothing but black and purple.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quantii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead

(strike through means blog could not be tagged)

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Slave!Omega!Dragoness!Reader-

cw/tags: mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics, mating bites, fingering, scenting, pet names, zhongli has a knot and alpha fangs and is not afraid to use them lmao, some nip and clit stimulation ig?? emotional roller coaster ngl.

notes: So remember a loooong time ago when I held a poll and one of the options was "dragon" and it WON?? well actually it was this, (dragon READER heh) it just got WAY out of control. 5.6k words and now I wanna make it into a whole series //head in hands// anyway ye have this weird lil funky AU I poured my sweat blood and tears into (also my heart and soul) idk why I am just so attached I love it so much plsss I have ideas fot other scenes with them already aaaaaaaaa &lt;3

Partially inspired by some of @silentmoths' fics holy shIT I LOVE DRAGON READER AND I LOVE OMEGAVERSE NOD IF YOU AGREE!!

Last but not least if y'all wanna be part of my pinglist uhh I'm making one now so :3c

Part 2 ->

Strange yellow leaves fall around you all over the courtyard…

“Fix your clothes, you have to look appealing… well, as appealing as a creature like you can be.” The voice of your Master calls out harshly, pulling and tugging at details in your outfit. It was a flimsy and silky thing, mostly see-through, rather elegant, but very revealing.

You’re used to it.

“And stop looking so miserable! You better smile and please this Alpha. He’s not just anyone, you know?”

You nod meekly, trying to hide the slight trembling on your body. This will be just another bonding attempt. Nothing else.

It will fail. Just like all the others before.

Silver chains clink and tug the collar at your neck, it shakes you back to the present as you stumble forward.

Master guides you through a maze of corridors, with sleek surfaces of dark wood, decorative lanterns and paper screens. They’re strange, covered in even stranger symbols that look nothing like the ones back in the desert. Your bare feet, used to rough hot sand, now walk along polished wood with your draconic tail dragging behind. Everything looks so lavish…

You’ve been brought all the way to Li- Liu-… Li-yue? A foreign country, to meet a potential client. Well, a client to your Master. You are just the merchandise: a dragonblood Omega. Rare, unique even, “exotic”.

But defective.

Your fists clench in nervousness. How rough will this Alpha be with you? You dread to find the answer. Alphas were cruel, ever since you remember you’ve been taught to please, be gentle, obedient and look pretty, but they were never any of those things. Alphas just took their pleasure and used your body as they wanted, usually until you were crying and screaming, begging for mercy. You just hope this Alpha would give you some pity and be quick… or give you time to rest in between attempts.

Though you had learned since long that your wishes don’t tend to come true.

What a disappointment. After I spent so much money and resources on you.

Such a waste of time, what use is there in an Omega that can’t bond?

Why do I even bother with you? You’re just good for the reproduction camp. Maybe that way you can produce another dragonblood.

This is your last chance, mutt. If you fail again, I won’t be bothering with you anymore.

You feel anxiety creeping on your chest, heart jumping to your throat as the dark thoughts invade your mind. Last chance… your last chance at bonding. At proving you’re not useless and stupid. At serving your purpose as Omega. What was happening to you was fair. You deserve to be punished and you should be grateful you have one last chance after all your failures.

You just want to… to…

Tears prickle at your eyes and you breathe in deeply, trying to contain your distress and hugging your own tail, rubbing your face on the fluffy tip.

Whatever happens today, your fate is going to be sealed.

The nest room is nice.

Like the rest of the place, it is rather elegant, dimly lit with neutral colors and wooden walls, filled with pillows and blankets that had a very subtle flowery aroma to them. Small cabinets to one side with some decorative objects on top and a full-length mirror on the other side. So much different from the barren cold stone walls and tents from the desert camps.

“Hm, pretty fancy.” Master says taking off your collar, your soft unblemished neck now on display, free from any claim. “Now…” He pulls at your hair and you wince, whining and lowering your ears on a submissive display. He wouldn’t hurt you right? You have to look pretty. “The emperor will be here shortly. Make sure to do anything and everything he wants. And you better smile, I told you.”

“E-Emperor?” You pale, eyes widening.

He scoffs and pushes you back, you stumble back into the mess of pillows. “That’s right. I don’t know why but he was very adamant to see you it seems. Perhaps he just wants the prestige of owning the last known dragonblood, hm? Another novelty for his collection, I’m sure. You should consider yourself really lucky. So…” He flashes his Alpha fangs at you with a growl and you whimper again, cowering. “I would suggest you do your best and don’t disappoint this time, he’ll pay a pretty penny for you.”

And with that he leaves, muttering something and almost slamming the strange sliding door.

And so, you’re alone.

Immediately your brain goes into overdrive. An emperor? You had been presented to various Alphas of high status before, wealthy merchants and high-ranking tribe members, but this… this was probably a whole other level.

An emperor had to have an empress, right? Someone of noble birth and high status such as himself, not a lowly sand lizard like you, with weird ears, scales, horns and a tail. Why would he want to see an Omega like you? Perhaps Master was right, he intended to keep you as a trophy in his collection, another pretty thing.

It was humiliating.

But anything was better than being doomed to the reproduction camp…

Maybe the emperor had a harem? You’ve heard of them before, some Alphas liked to boast having many Omegas bound to them. Living in this luxury, not having to worry about much anything except looking pretty and pleasing him once a while. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even pay attention to you, you’d be just a glorified pet.

You could… do that.

Without noticing, your tail starts swaying after you, this could be a chance. Your chance. You just had to make him like you. Forget the bond. Don’t think about it. All you have to do is please him.

You start frantically arranging the sheets and pillows around, building the comfiest nest you ever had with all the extra material, scenting it with excited happy pheromones. You could do it, this was your chance.

You won’t fail this time. You’ll be pretty, obedient, submissive, the ideal Omega. You’ll let him use you to his heart’s content, sure you may be a little sore but it’ll be worth it if he chooses you. He won’t even care about the bond.

…Right?

You jolt when you hear the door slide slightly open again, your heart leaps to your throat as someone walks in.

Oh.

Is… he the emperor? … He’s handsome.

To be fully honest, you expected some fat pompous middle-aged man not this… perfect specimen of an Alpha.

Your tail sways a little with curiosity.

He looks only slightly older than you, tall, wearing elegant robes in brown and golden hues. His eyes are like a sunset: golden, warm, almost glowing. A red liner accentuating them. Long chocolate hair faded to amber at the tips. His scent was earthy and pleasant, subtle unlike most Alpha musk. Almost comforting and… familiar?

He seems to stare back at you with the same surprise, frozen for a moment, eyes slightly wide, he says something you can’t quite hear and it shakes you out of the spell. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, curling your tail around you, ears down and resisting the urge to brush (hide) the scales at the corners of your eyes.

It occurs to you that you’ve been just staring like an idiot, you don’t know very well how to address him, nor know his foreign tongue. So, you simply lower your head in respect. “My Lord…”

You suddenly feel nervous. This is it.

You turn around, following the motions ingrained in your brain. Body splayed on the nest, arms tucked in, head down. Submissive, obedient. Your hands are shaking, you feel dizzy, heart thrumming in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

You lift your butt just slightly, tail curling elegantly over your back, out of the way to expose the flimsy fabric covering your privates, properly presenting to the Alpha. You focus on trying to control your pheromones, letting out just whiffs of a needy sensual scent, worried of mixing in your anxiety and fear and displeasing the emperor.

You had to be pretty, enticing, compliant, and he would, h-he would…

A rather awkward cough has you tense. “There is… no need for that.”

You blink for a moment, taken aback at the rich deep baritone of his voice, so hypnotizing you almost don’t register his words. He speaks common tongue, but still, what does he mean? Isn’t this just… standard protocol for bonding? Isn’t he going to mount you?

You dare peek over your shoulder and see him sitting elegantly over his knees at the floor. He’s outside of the nest range.

He’s also slightly pink at the cheeks and pointedly avoiding looking at you.

Is this a trap? Is he testing you to see if you’ll misbehave? Your hands clench, nails digging at your palms, your breathing and heart increasing pace.

“I just want to talk, I promise.” He tries.

You hold the position.

He sighs, and then-

“Omega, relax.”

You almost squeak at the Alpha command. His voice, his will, seeps into your skin, your nerves, your very bones. You feel your muscles loosen up, tension leaving your body like a bowstring snapping and you lie on the sheets sideways.

Right right right, you’re tense, you have to be soft and pliant-

You look over at him and he’s… heading over to the little cabinets. He picks up a kettle of some kind and little cups that sit on the top, moving around calmly and elegantly as he seems to prepare something. Your head tilts and you gingerly sit up straight. Tail and ears down, curled up not unlike a wounded animal.

“Do you speak the common tongue?”

“Y-Yes!” You nod. “A little…”

“Good.”

The emperor seems… pleasant, he is calm and unguarded, so different from the cold intimidating Alphas you’ve met who like to show off, who immediately order you around. He even used an Alpha command on you but it felt… grounding. There is something equally eerie and entrancing about him and you feel yourself as much drawn to him as terrified of his imposing aura, and you couldn’t explain why. It’s a bit unsettling but also comforting at the same time.

He pours two cups and turns to you. You stiffen and he offers you one.

“Qixing tea is one of the most refined Liyue teas. It tends to be very bitter but this blend has a more pleasant taste, a little floral even. It is also said to help relax one’s mind.”

You carefully take the cup, not wanting to insult such gracious offer, though you’re utterly confused, shouldn’t you be the one serving him?

The cup is warm.

You stare at the golden liquid, small black dots sit at the bottom. This has no alcohol… right? It can’t be worse than snake wine at least.

You carefully take a sip, trying to imitate how the emperor is holding his.

It is… nice, a strong sharp taste but not bad, and very aromatic.

He’s looking at you expectantly and your tail and ears twitch. “I-It’s very good. Thank you, my Lord.”

He smiles and your heart skips a beat. “I am glad. Some say Qixing tea is for older people, but it’s frankly one of my favorites.” He stares at his cup with a somewhat nostalgic gaze, as if it brings him fond memories. “Ah, you can address me as Morax.”

You nod quietly and take another sip. Past the tea’s powerful flowery scent, you can now sense his Alpha pheromones, with him being so close and the air less tense. They’re strong but not overwhelmingly so, sharp and tantalizing, a refined foreign scent you can almost taste in the back of your throat. It stirs something in you, something warm and alluring.

“Do you know where were you born? Who are your parents?”

The question takes you by surprise for a moment as you shake out of your thoughts. Ah, he must be inquiring about your dragonblood. “I-I’m…. I’m not sure, my Lo- um… L-Lord Morax. As far as I know my mother worked at a-a heat house… no one knew who my father was and she passed away when I was very young.”

“I see… so you have no idea where you got your dragon traits from.” It was a sentence rather than a question and you shake your head meekly, taking another sip from the tea, ears lowering back.

“Apparently it could be due to recessive genes.” You once again repeat the same words you’ve heard all your life. You hate bringing attention to your dragon features, people either treat you like a rare exotic creature or a dangerous one. You didn’t know which was worse.

“Hmmm…” Lord Morax seems pensive for a moment, also drinking some of the tea. “Have you been with your caretaker for long?”

You look down. “Master has been in charge of me ever since I… p-presented as an Omega.”

“Does he treat you well?”

Your eyes widen, the question catching you completely by surprise. T-Treat you well? You are… treated like any other slave omega, if only being singled out by your draconic traits. He feeds you, he gives you clothing and education, he arranges the best matches he can for bonding, he even got you here in the first place. You owe him everything, you’re nothing without him.

So then… Why do you find yourself thinking back on all the harsh words, all the punishments, all the screaming and crying, all the… t-touches…

You gulp. “M-Master ensures I have the best living conditions and opportunities I can.” Is what you settle for.

He hums.

There is silence for a moment and lord Morax settles down his cup.

“I don’t think you’re aware of how special you are.”

Just when you thought he couldn’t surprise you anymore, he utters those words and makes your heart speed up.

Is this anxiety? Fear?

“Judging from what your Master has told me, you’re treated like quite the novelty, an exotic half-blood not unlike the Valuka Shuna or Kätzlein. Here in Liyue however those with traits like yours are called Xiānshòu.” The foreign word rolls off his tongue. His golden eyes fix on you and you freeze. “Also known as illuminated beasts. With immense power and longevity, even the half-bloods. They’re well respected and looked up to, why, some are even revered as deities...”

You? Such a fantastic creature? That can’t be…

“Seems to me like things are different in the deserts of Sumeru, however.” His eyes narrow and for the first time you notice his diamond pupils. They look like a snake’s. The same eerie glint he had a few minutes ago is back darkening the bright golden eyes. Yet, for some strange reason you don’t feel scared this time.

A shiver travels down your spine as you feel your instincts purr in delight. Protective… for some reason lord Morax is being protective of you. You don’t know why or how but you can feel it and it made your inner Omega preen inside. An Alpha wanted to protect you, care for you.

“Such a shame.” He adds, sounding almost disappointed but there is something darker underneath. Word simmering with… frustration? “You are such a lovely dragoness, worthy of every praise and prayer they’d sign in your name here.”

You’re very glad your cup rests at your lap, blushing furiously with trembling hands.

For the next few moments, he continued to ask some more questions. What you like or dislike, what you do in your free time, even something as innocuous as your favorite color. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as you grew a little more comfortable with your answers and the whole situation, as though you weren’t talking to an emperor, or even a potential master or Alpha but rather… someone who saw you for who you are.

You liked that. You liked him.

You wanted to stay with him.

You wished to-

“Alright, I think that’s enough. I will have a talk with your Master and we’ll settle things.” He stands up and dusts his attire a little.

Your breath stops.

He is leaving.

He is leaving.

Did you do something wrong? Didn’t he say he liked your appearance? Are you such a failed disgraceful omega? Your last chance at bonding. You didn’t even get to impress him. You want to call out to him, do something, anything. Panic rises in your chest, drowning you, freezing you. You can barely think, instincts screaming, begging, wailing in despair for him. This kind Alpha, this gentle, patient, imposing, majestic Alpha who’s too good for you and yet something deep inside you yearns for him…!

“I am very glad to have met you little xiānshòu.” A small smile tugs at his lips. Then, he turns and heads for the sliding doors.

So, you do the first thing that comes to your mind.

The empty cup falls from your hands, your footsteps thump loudly on the wooden floors, soft fabric clenches between your fingers.

As soft as the lips you crash yours onto.

…

It only lasts a few seconds but when you back just a little, ears low and tail curled up in apprehension, you realize what you did.

You’d kissed him, you’d kissed the emperor.

You’re shaking like a leaf, clinging to him for dear life. He stares at you with wide surprised eyes but you’d rather die right here for your insolence than live the rest of your days in regret.

His scent takes on an alluring hint to it and your inner Omega is overjoyed. Up so close it is almost irresistible. His face remains impassive, if a little tense, but you can see in his eyes something you identify very well… hunger, desire.

“Lord Morax… t-the nest… please.”

“Y-You don’t have to-”

“Please! Allow me to please you, allow me to show you…how…” You whisper against his lips, leaning in again as your eyes flutter close.

And suddenly his hands wrap around you and pull you close, cupping your face, curling at your waist, there’s something possessive in it and you feel slight vibrations as he growls deep from his chest against your mouth. But there is also something sweet, something delicate…

And for once, you want more. You want this.

How did you end up here? In the most beautiful nest you’d ever constructed, with the most handsome, kind, caring Alpha you’d ever met?

His kisses are deep and slow, completely unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You lie on the soft sheets as he looms over you, exploring your mouth with an unhurried pace, hungry yet not forceful, letting you timidly do the same at your own pace.

This is nice…

His hands run along your body, caressing your skin through your flimsy attire. His touch curious but gentle.

“May I?” He asks, tugging at the fabric off your shoulder.

You shiver, at his voice, as the pure want in it, in his eyes, in his scent.

“Y-yes my lord…”

“Hmm…” His kisses trail down your jaw down to your neck as he starts pulling the garments off. Careful, instead of simply ripping them apart, your heart skips a beat. “If we’re going to do this, you can use my name and not just titles…”

Your top falls off and goosebumps litter your skin, nipples pebbled as one of his hands cups your breast.

“M-Morax…” You try, shakily, as if testing out the word alone on your lips.

“No, little one. Zhongli. That is my name.” He kisses down your shoulders, nipping at the skin.

“Ah!” Your tail flickers around and you purr.

You take the initiative to kiss him this time, and your hands start roaming his foreign clothes, fumbling with knots and pawing at the fabric. He chuckles at your frustrated whine. You want more, more of this feeling, more of him. To touch his skin, cover him in kisses, worship him.

(Show him what a good Omega you can be.)

No…

You want to make him feel good and please him.

Elegant fabric falls down discarded as he shakes off the layers of his top and you blink surprised. The fabric was bulky and covered up his figure. Lean but muscled, tantalizing like honey. You immediately latch onto him, nosing, scenting, nipping and kissing, feeling the faint outline of his abs and muscles twitch under your touch. He smells so good, he feels so good…

Your Omega instincts are starting to cloud your senses more and more.

Suddenly one of his hands gently squeezes a soft breast and you moan at the sudden touch “O-Oh!”

“You’re sensitive here, do you like this?” He asks, massaging your chest.

You whimper and nod frantically, tail wagging behind you. You had never been this responsive to having your chest played with, though then again, it was rare… but his sensual touches were quickly undoing you. Wetness pools at your gut and you rub your legs together.

Lord Mor- Zhongli… leans down then and something wet flicks over your nipple making you gasp, before warmth surrounds your nub. You cry out even louder. He sucks and laps at it and you instinctively tangle your hands on his hard dark hair, your legs wrapping around his waist.

You groan again, too many layers on the way.

“C-clothes… off, please!”

“As you wish, my dear dragoness.”

He continues squeezing, kissing, caressing and lapping at your skin, leaving a couple of hickeys along the way and teasing his Alpha fangs against you as his attention descends through your body once more, continuing his trail of kisses along your hip. His fingers dip down the waistband of your mesh pants and when you raise your hips to help, he pulls them down.

You’ve been naked in front of others more times than you’d like to count. But there’s something oddly intimate and special about this situation right now.

Your ears lower in apprehension, and your tail flicks by your side, resisting the urge to cover up. Lying down with your legs slightly spread around him. Already flushed, sweaty and panting.

“…You’re gorgeous.”

Huh?!

“I’m so lucky to have found you.” Zhongli nips at your hip. “So lucky that you want me too.” He kisses at your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches.

You’re the lucky one. Completely overjoyed that this Alpha likes you, desires you.

The first touch at your core has you mewling.

Zhongli strokes at your folds, still gentle, finding you soaked as your slick coats his fingers. Your body jolts and you moan “A-Ah!” He smirks against your thigh and nips there again as his fingers move in circles, teasing, testing, before moving to your clit. A finger pad stroking it just so, making your whole frame tremble, like every nerve in your body is being stimulated.

“Mngh- please!”

His fingers travel between your folds. First one sliding in rather easily, pumping steadily as you shudder in pleasure, and then two, making you writhe, bucking your hips against the touch, pushing them deeper, chasing that feeling.

Your body feels hot, too hot. Every sensation blocked except that warm wet feeling down there, in your new heaven. Your hands claw at the sheets, a pleasant fog setting in and you can feel yourself slipping into your most primal needs. But oh, oh, not like this.

You want him. Need him.

“You- y-you! please my lord!”

Something snaps in the Alpha’s eyes and Zhongli growls. Golden eyes dark, swallowed by lust and need and you whine when his fingers leave you. You vaguely hear rustling noises and before you can protest again, he pulls you up back on his lap and oh…

He’s big.

His erection stands proud between your bodies, rubbing against you and you shuffle impatiently, nuzzling against him.

Yes, yes…

Zhongli helps positioning you, gives himself a few strokes, and you feel his cockhead kiss at your entrance, you whine and stare at him rather confused. “L-Like this? B-But I have never- This is n-not how-”

He kisses your forehead, your nose, and pecks at your lips. “I can imagine this is very different from how they’ve taught you Alphas mount Omegas, but I my dear, intend to make love to you.” He whispers, hot breath fanning your cheeks as he nuzzles you, so close, so intimate. Your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Like this you will have more control. I want you to relax, enjoy, my sweet dragoness.” He kisses at your cheek, down your jaw to your neck. “May I?”

You can feel your eyes water. No one had ever told you that. No Alpha had ever been this patient or even asked your permission before. Words die on your throat as you stare mesmerized at Zhongli. Grateful. Incredulous. Completely enamored.

You nod, and he guides you down.

It’s different like this. So much different.

You bite your lip and whine a little once you start to move, his hands hold your hips as you raise them and sink back down on his cock, inch by delicious inch. You feel… full, but warm, good. Your insides clench around him and he groans.

Oh… you could get used to this…

“Hah… ah! … m-my lord... I’m…” You feel dizzy but in a good way, your body tingles all over and it’s exhilarating, addicting.

He leans forward a bit, nosing at your collarbone, soft kisses tickle your skin and he… he’s almost purring in delight, inhaling your scent. “I told you, you can just call me by my name... Would you let me hear it?”

You buck languidly on his embrace, enjoying this…sensual experience, these new feelings and sensations. His tender closeness, his intoxicating pheromones, his deep baritone.

Him.

“Zhongli…”

His name comes out as a needy cry and he growls, Alpha pride clearly satisfied. His hands roam your body just enough to shift position and pull you even closer, hips rolling in tandem, picking up speed, his fangs grazing your shoulder.

Your head is swimming in pleasure, fuzzy like stuffed with cotton, small little “Ah… ah… ah!” moans punched out of you. You’re vaguely aware of your nails digging onto his skin but you can’t even stop yourself, you need to hold onto something, anything.  

Even your tail subconsciously curls around his ankle (and he doesn’t even seem to mind), like every cell of your body is screaming at you to hold onto him and never let go.

Zhongli’s own breathing comes out in harsh puffs and satisfied groans as he buries himself in you over and over, the sound of skin slapping on skin becomes more prominent.

And then, he hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

Your eyes snap open (when had you closed them?) Back arching as if struck by lightning and letting out a high-pitched moan. H-How did he do that?! What was that? You don’t remember ever feeling like this in previous bonding attempts.

“M-more?” You mewl in delight.

Zhongli looks at you with a satisfied smirk and it only fuels the fire in your belly.

“Gladly.”

That same wonderful feeling travels up and down your body again and again as your moans and whimpers rise in volume, calling his name over and over. Zhongli kisses you, deep and passionate. Whispers praises and sweet nothings on your flickering dragon ears. Touches you so soft and reverently. Your body feels so hot, your mind going blank, you can feel the base of his cock swelling with his knot and the familiar coil of pleasure tightening as you anticipate it, crave it, more intense and satisfying than ever before.

And just as you reach that high, his fangs sink into you.

You come with a squeal, body tensing, clinging onto him, clenching on him as he lets out a deep satisfied groan, knotting you. Wet stickiness coats your insides and thighs. And everything feels right, just right. Perfect even.

It takes a moment to come back to your senses, and it’s to Zhongli’s hands rubbing circles at your back comfortingly, while he laps and kisses at the bonding mark he left on you.

And then the high comes crashing down.

The bonding mark.

Tears well up in your eyes and start rolling down your cheeks, your tail uncoiling from him and curling around yourself protectively, ears down.

Please no… this can’t be…

Please stay…

Please.

Zhongli immediately notices your distress, in your actions and your scent, completely different altogether. His own instincts going wild at the lack of a happy sated mate scent. “Darling, what’s wrong? I’m sorry did it hurt that much? Did I… harm you in some way or did something wrong?” Oh, he sounds so genuinely concerned.

You shake your head desperately. Of course he hasn’t.

But you will.

Your body will. Betray you as always.

No bonding mark has stayed in your neck for longer than a few minutes. They all fade.

Just like the alphas that place them in you.

And then comes the anger, the guilt, the disappointment, the despair, the loneliness…

You can’t take it. Not this time.

“S-stay… please…” You sob.

Your voice sounds so broken, so weak and tiny, absolutely heart wrenching.

And Zhongli embraces you.

“I will, my dearest dragoness. I promise you.” He kisses one of your horns.

You want to believe him but you can only cry harder…

The room is dark as your eyes flutter open. It takes a few minutes to adjust and for your mind to catch up. Where are you…? You look around at the wooden walls, nestled in comfy sheets, you see some wooden cabinets and a tea set-

…!!!

You jolt awake, tumbling some pillows from your fancy nest. Your last chance at bonding. The emperor. He was leaving, and then…!

You slap a hand against the junction between neck and shoulder and feel something there, a bandage… you try to stare at it confused, though it’s impossible from the angle. And then fear consumes you. What if… it’s not there…?

Your body is still naked, though you have been covered with a thick fabric while sleeping, as it now pools at your lap, your Omega scent and that of an Alpha mixed together pleasantly, you turn around.

The Emperor. Lord Morax. Zhongli.

He sleeps peacefully by your side, on your nest, after having mated you.

He stayed.

You stare at his handsome features, fair skin, dark long hair, strong jaw, muscled arms. His lips slightly parted as he breathes evenly. So at ease.

You want to reach out and brush at his hair, touch his face, kiss him.

You want this moment to last forever.

Looking up slightly you see the large mirror, see yourself. A tiny thing, with freaky ears, horns and a tail.

It was… good, while it lasted. Almost like a dream.

Tears start falling down your cheeks again and you try to be as silent as possible as you pull and lift at the bandage in your shoulder. And there underneath it is… something?

Your fingers trace a mark, a wound, it stings and you hiss.

No way. There is no way.

Hope flutters in your chest, your stomach flips and you feel dizzy, nervous. A bonding mark? Is it real? Is it still there?

You shuffle out of the nest as fast and stealthily as you can, standing in front of the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes wide, pale in fear.

And there it is. The clear mark of an Alpha bite, still rather tender. A claim. A bond.

You start sobbing as you trace it, touch it, feel it. It must have been hours, there is no way…

It’s there, it’s there, for real. You want to laugh, to cry, you’re still nervous, scared, hopeful, happy, a million things at once.

But how? Why now?

“Hnng… darling? Are you crying again?” You stiffen as you hear the voice, deep and hoarse, laced with drowsiness. You turn and see him sit up and yawn carelessly like a rishboland tiger. Elegant and intimidating like one too with his bright golden eyes, Alpha fangs and muscled figure. Still naked as well, you note.

“T-the bonding mark… it’s still there!” You exclaim to him, gesturing to it.

“You should let it heal nicely.”

“Y-You don’t get it!” You huff. “My Lord… it’s still there! I’m bonded, I’m yours!”

He chuckles. “Rather, I would say we belong to each other, now.”

Belong to each other.

That sounds nice.

You turn back to the mirror, still staring at it, poking it with a finger softly, as if afraid it’ll disappear, as if it was an illusion, a dream.

But it’s there.

“For years… for years I thought I was doing s-something wrong, that there was something… wrong… with me…” You cry softly. “No Alpha had even bonded me…”

Suddenly you feel strong arms curl around your frame, a chin resting at your shoulder where it kisses your skin, and then brushes over the mark. It stings but you welcome it.

It means it’s real, all of this is.

Zhongli inhales, taking in your scent. “Well you see my dear, a dragonblood… a xiānshòu like you, can only be truly bonded by one of its own kind.”

The words take a moment to process, to sit on your brain, and you frown confused, staring at him from the mirror. And then your eyes widen.

Golden antlers crown his head, majestic and almost glowing, small scales appear under his striking amber eyes, the color of burnt ocher. A large tail, even bigger than yours in golden and brown hues, sways lazily behind him, before finding yours and intertwining with it, the feel is foreign but not unwelcome. Like holding hands.

You turn around so fast you almost trip if it weren’t for his hold. The dragonblood features are still there, in plain sight.

Your throat feels dry.

“You… you’re…”

He raises a finger to his lips and shushes you, then smiles. “I am yours my dear. Just as you are now mine.”

You cling to him and hide your face on his chest as you cry. Overwhelmed, relieved.

Yes, this is where you belong.

[gaoau]

i've been thinking a lot about Suo and i need it to stop, so i wanna analyse him a little bit and say things into the void. normally i like to psychoanalyse characters in fics but i've seen that side of the fandom and i do NOT wanna go there, so i'm saving myself by pulling the same thing i did with Nanao ig.

disclaimer: this isn't necessarily a theory about his backstory as much as it is what i personally wanna see happen. see, if i were writing him, i'd do very specific things that could go in various directions, but since i am not, unfortunately, writing him and he's not my character to fuck with, all i can do is yap. which, also, probably won't be very eloquent.

manga spoilers for literally the whole manga up to date btw.

i don't think we won't be getting a backstory on him, to be honest. with a character like him, yeah, the mystery is part of the charm, and having this much anticipation can suck ass if once the secret gets revealed, it doesn't stick the landing. but i doubt Nii Satoru doesn't have something planned for him. why would bro be leaving Suo's room illustration out of the fanbook if there wasn't something there to talk about? what is in his room to talk about? but that's not what this is about.

anyway i'm gonna be so fr Suo's built like a dog. he's clearly full of shit, and yknow, that's fine, good for him, but there are things that are so painfully obvious he's just straight up lying about. after his fight with Kanuma, which is deadass the first time we see him fight, he says he "doesn't usually get so emotional," which ?? shut the fuck up? that's not true.

i know a liar when i see one. we've seen him fight five times? six if i wanna be generous; in three of those he got crazy emotional (Kanuma, keel, and Endo), and just a tiny bit miffed with the gymnast guy idr his name fuck that freak. which, listen, to be fair, if someone touched a single hair on Nirei's head in front of me, real me too i'd kill a guy. but look me in the eye lil bro don't lie to me. real talk, though, he was more than ready to kill the keel dude, and was going to. he wanted to. he was shaking while Sakura held him back, don't play with me. he wasn't gonna stop just cause someone was interjecting.

bro was itching to kill, side-eyeing Sakura, spitting snark cause how's the hot-headed mf who jumps head-first into a brawl without a second thought staying more rational than him, the rational one? Sakura's talking to him the same way i talk to my dog after she tries to kill my cat. i'm ngl my dog has better self-restraint than this kid. he also just straight up xd's his way out of it? like "oh whoopsies! mb gang! i was just feeling silly goofy! 🤪" like he forgets he's not supposed to glare at people with murder in his eyes.

speaking of murder! this is where i want him to have killed someone before Bofurin. he's, like, 15? so there's not much time to work with, but the same way Kaji was going feral at idk 8 years old, i can see a world in which Suo actually went overboard when he was a younger kid. (i'm not saying this is what things are pointing at, but i want this to be the case. i would do this myself.)

he is emotional, i don't think that's up for debate. i understand why he gets so emotional and i do think it's very noble and cool and swag of him, that's a good person, somewhat, he cares about his friends and it pisses him off when they get hurt. i fuck with that. that's great, get him an ice cream (if he even eats fucking weirdo). but why are we acting like "i am chill ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ" when, clearly, that's not true?

here's where his teacher comes in. for how much grief i'm giving him, i don't think he's all lies at all. i don't think him liking Nirei and Sakura enough to not only speak highly of them, but also fuck a guy up for them, is a lie. i think he is as kind as Umemiya describes him to be, cause honestly, if Umemiya says someone is kind, then they probably are.

i don't think this is necessarily fake as much as i think it's borrowed. it's learned behaviour. it's teachings passed down to him by his teacher. it's discipline. it's not something that comes naturally to him, but it is something a person he respects and looks up to taught him, so he tries to live by it. he's very clearly been disciplined, probably got beaten into the ground by his teacher, got his ass handed to him again and again and again until he sharpened his reflexes and learned how to control himself in a fight.

he talks a lot about adulthood, talks a lot about maturing, talks a lot about self-control and whatnot. which, by the way, this is a child? lil bro you're fifteen go play on your switch idk. but i'd like to think this comes from someone telling him, "hey, what you did was not okay. you have a lot of strength and you're not an animal. use it wisely so you can one day grow into a proper adult." solely cause i want him to have killed someone. that's all i want.

i think it would make sense, really. how funny would it be if he was living similarly to Sakura? i've seen people headcanon him as a rich kid, but he lies a lot, and i wouldn't put it past him to be living in a sad, lonely one-room apartment. there's a billion ways things could be done with him. maybe his parents didn't care to try disciplining him, maybe he grew up with no parents at all. he has a short fuse, that's easy to tell, even if he acts like he's got everything under control. it's a very Suzuri type of situation, so maybe it's not the direction Nii Satoru is gonna take things, but one can dream.

as for the eyepatch, i haven't really thought much about it. the way i see things, he's gotta come from a neglectful background, so losing an eye would make sense. or maybe he did it himself, i'd love to see that (i would do that with a character like this if he was mine). if his eye is even missing at all, cause all things considered, it might be sort of just a way to give himself a handicap to remind himself not to go overboard.

which, circling back to the self-restraint thing, i like to think that's the reason he doesn't really use much excessive force. not to say he doesn't kick and punch, cause lil bro packs a mean punch, but he doesn't gravitate to hitting people. he's usually using his opponent's weight and momentum against them, which is why i was decently surprised when i saw him grab the keel dude and wind back to bash his face in. he's not violent, until he lets go of what little self-restraint he has, and then he is. it's values and principles that come from someone else telling him how to behave, except he still struggles to hold himself back.

to put it in simple terms, if he were my character, this is what i would do. i'd have him kill someone by going overboard as a kid, have him be taken in by this teacher, have him disciplined and clean his act up by beating his ass, and then have him parrot all these teachings at people he meets later. cause that's essentially what he's doing, he's just repeating things someone else told him. what does bro know about being an adult he doesn't even pay taxes go do your trig homework. but he tries, and you can tell he's trying, even if it doesn't come natural, he cares about his friends and he cares about becoming a better person, he's just a little too quick to snap.

you know what i mean? he cares about Nirei in particular, he loves Nirei, he tries to learn from Nirei. (guys i love Nirei i wont shut the fuck up). but fr, he's got that Nanao complex where he instigates things or sets things into motion and doesn't quite participate. he watches from the back, for better or for worse, but he doesn't necessarily involve himself in things. he keeps a distance. he feels like the other side to Sakura's coin sometimes, learning about people and how warm they actually are. he's all prim and proper and nonchalant, but he recognises he's no match for Sakura and maybe even Nirei. after all, it's always Nirei the one grabbing both of them by the arm and dragging them places.

he talks so big and maturely about not meddling too much with people who can't quite handle friendship yet, and then goes "!" when Nirei tells him "? fuck are you talking about? that's the more reason to teach Sakura about friendship." it's the look on his face after Nirei, despite Suo's long-winded and logical argument, goes to Kotoha and insists they help Sakura anyway. he's learning from Nirei too. also Nirei's crazy endearing so real me too but that's beside the point.

i don't think these parts of him are fake, but they might just be artificial. he's still integrating them into his own person and making them his, but he still slips here and there. he's not quite there yet. i hope he killed someone when he was 8yo. that's all thank you for reading thumbsup

[luneariaa]

✧ reunion.

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : { ps5 } harry osborn x fem! reader.

✰ 𝐰. 𝐜. : 800+

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you and harry finally reunited with the others after some time apart.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : not much proofread + more of a test as to try writing him, harry might seem to be a lil ooc here prolly, random writing. also just pure fluff <33

✰ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : been having a brainrot over him ngl like 💙 -- also, i had to do several researches about the game lmao,, he needs more attention ngl

. dividers by @/cafekitsune !! 🏹

Slowly descending down the stairs, your eyes widened slightly at the mere sight ahead of you. Harry has finally returned after almost a year or so; his back is resting momentarily against the rear of his car, looking quite good as ever. Any other thoughts within you are gone in that moment, having your eyes straight at him.

Countless of thoughts have filled your mind, prompting you to remain still at your current spot as Peter and MJ rushes themselves to hug him, clearly have been missing his presence so much, and so did you. A small, yet tender smile is present on your features upon witnessing such a heartwarming sight.

Harry looks genuinely so happy like this, grinning from ear to ear. It's as if nothing bad has ever existed, even his illness. He's truly back.

When the three finally have finished with their little hugging session, the auburn-haired male finally has his gaze shifted towards you-- slowly beginning to approach your form as you did the same. He never forgets about you either; remembering those times when he got the chance to go on several little outings with you. Harry cherishes those days deeply.

"Hey." He begins with his usual charming smile etched upon his face, clearly directed toward you once he stopped just by a few inches away from your figure.

You returned his expression with a grin of your own, before responding back a "hey," before engulfing him into a tight embrace; one that is a mixture of longing and gratefulness.

He gradually wraps his arms around you as well; one of his hands gently held the back of your head, and the other around your waist with equal emotions being poured into it.

"I've missed you.." A soft murmur can be heard from him just right in your ear, "Missed you so much.."

The hug lasted longer than usual, though you didn't pay any mind to it. By this point, MJ has ushered Peter along to leave you two alone for now as you both are having your own moment.

"Have you been okay? God, I just missed you so much.." Harry keeps on repeating the last bits of his sentence, which elicited a light chuckle out of you as you're the first to slowly break away from the embrace.

Gazing up at him, your eyes possess the gentlest expression as ever as you spoke. "And I missed you so much too.. I've been okay, but it gets boring sometimes."

".. and I'm just glad that you're finally here."

You are still the same woman that he has grown fond of, ever since his high school years. You never changed much.

Without thinking twice and purely based on how much time he has lost, he leans forward a bit, and places a soft kiss on your forehead, before holding you into his arms once more. He couldn't even seem to be able to wipe off the grin from his face either.

The way he smiles, dare you say, is one of those things that you considered as precious and contagious-- easily affecting to those around him. Like how could you ever resist? You had no other choice, but to willingly return his actions without any hint of hesitation whatsoever.

"Did you cut your hair?" His sudden question interrupts your train of thoughts almost instantly, brushing several strands of hair that's been covering the half bit of your face.

The affectionate gesture alone has rendered you speechless for a while there, yet you still appear quite unfazed by it since his gentle touch itself is quite hypnotizing to be experienced on.

"Ah, you noticed," you chuckled amusingly. "I did cut it. Just a bit though."

You didn't expect that he could be this observant, but then again, it's Harry we're talking about here.

"I don't know how you did it, but you still look so absolutely stunning to me.."

He just couldn't tear his gaze away from you, and he has no intentions of doing so just yet. You get the sudden feeling that he wanted to finally try doing something rather bold soon; probably in his own way of saying thank you, or he merely wanted to prove something to you.

And you didn't have any intentions to refuse at all, as it is something that you've been longing to do since his absence as well.

Slowly, his fingertips grazes along the side of your face-- pulling your face closer to his as he begins to lean in, angled his head slightly to the side as if he's ready to seal the special, secret deal between you both.

With his eyes fluttering shut and his hand now moving up to hold the back of your head tenderly; the other around your figure, you started to show some signs of reciprocation as you did the same-- closing your eyes as you waited for his arrival toward the main destination that only you have possessed.

It's not for long anymore--

"Hey you lovebirds!" MJ's voice rang through the air with a teasing tone underlying within it, looking quite amused as ever by the whole ordeal uncovering ahead.

"It's getting cold out here!"

That's when you and Harry abruptly broke apart from one another, having this rather embarrassed expression plastered on your faces-- as if you both didn't just try to kiss each other.

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are alright. all rights reserved.

[cupidkenji]

Virginia vampire - 2/2

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x vampire!fem!reader Cw: SLOWBURN BRO, non-gory descriptions of death, descriptions of hunting/blood consumption, angst, fluff, Lolita name drop (the book), non-descriptive mentions of an abusive dad, cursing, typical criminal minds violence, possible ED trigger (more in disclaimer), this chapter has kissing but it's not rlly suggestive Summary: Still reeling from your newly discovered brother, you find yourself struggling with the increased policing of the night life. In this, you also find a new incentive to hunt down your father. Disclaimer 1: Reader is chubby! She's not physically described here at all but a fat woman is always the MC. Disclaimer 2: Reader lives strictly on blood. This story discusses themes of intense bloodlust/hunger, UNINTENTIONAL avoidance of blood (food), and physical consequences due to not eating. This is NOT pro-ana or anything like that, and while these themes are explicitly negative, they are still there and may affect those struggling. Please look after yourself, this is all fantasy and is not meant to trigger you. That's all <3 WC: 6.4k - read part 1 first Y'all are really not fucking with this series but I had to finish it for my soul. Stings a lil bit ngl but I got a little something in the works that'll prob be received better. HEAD THE WARNINGS PLEASE but like usual I highly doubt this will be triggering to anyone, I've had an ED in the past and wouldn't write shit that would suck. <3

The morning after the introduction, you walked into the BAU with more purpose that you’d ever held in your step. You were practically on a manhunt for Aaron. You figured it wouldn’t be long before he found you; he’d been trying to speak to you everyday since you started ignoring him. After a week of unreciprocated persistence, your direct addressal of him hit him like a freight train. He looked at you confused for a minute, wondering if perhaps he was starting to see things as a product of missing your company, but quickly ushered you away upon realizing you were indeed speaking to him. You hadn’t been in his office since the night you’d laid your sins to rest on his lap, and it was uncomfortable to be standing at the scene of the crime. 

“Something happen-”

“Now you want to talk?” He was understandably upset, but his emotions were something you honestly didn’t have time for right now. “I’ve been practically begging you to talk to me for the past week. It was so unbelievably fucked up for you to shut me out like that.”

You sighed, he was for sure in the right but you needed all hands on deck and did not want to confront this right now. “I know, Aaron. I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

“I’ve been helping, Y/n.” You can’t remember a time you’d seen him so expressive. “I lied my ass off to a team I preach honesty to. I didn’t even care because it was to protect you. And then you stop talking to me? Make me give your orders to others just because of…what? Embarrassment? Pride?” You let him finish, mirroring his own exhaustion in a tenfold with the look you gave him. He sighed, putting his hands on top of the desk chair and leaning over it slightly. “What happened?”

Gratuity intertwined with the fatigue in your eyes as he said that. You owed him more than you knew how to make up, but unfortunately you weren’t done taking yet. “I talked to the unsub.”

His eyes shot to you. “What?”

“His name’s Daniel. He’s twelve, Hotch.” You looked down as you thought about him in the clutches of your father. “He hasn’t escaped. My dad is sending him out hunting and I have no idea why or how to find him.”

He breathed out, long and heavy as he approached absolute depletion, putting his hands on his hips and letting his head fall forward. “Ok.” He nodded, looking up with a new purpose than the one he held a moment ago. “We need to tell the team to look for him. We can’t find him on our own.”

The thought was petrifying, but you’d been prepared to share limited details. The team didn’t have to know about your condition to know about your father’s insanity. You could plead a convincing case without using yourself as evidence. “I’ll tell them.” You made eye contact with him, a comfortable agreement falling silently over the two of you. You walked back into the meeting you’d pulled him from. 

You expected the team to have carried on without Hotch there, but it seems the curiosity was simply too overwhelming to ignore, and they chose to sit stagnant and wait for the leader to be returned. You walked in after him, stating the new objective explicitly. You already had a sense like you were running out of time, you had no desire to prolong that feeling. “I’ve made the dynamic weird between everyone the past week, and I’m sorry.” You started, standing before the team as you spoke. “I think we need to start looking for my father as a suspect. I haven’t been honest with you all.”

You saw bewilderment light up the faces of them all, but only Morgan held a slight look of betrayal. He hated secrets, which is why it didn’t surprise you when he spoke up first. “How do you mean?”

You took a deep breath. What a plunge you were about to take. “Obviously you all know my father is virtually off the grid, but I’ve never told you about the man he was when I was growing up.” You weren’t going to give them the ins and outs, just the bare minimum. “He wasn’t a kind man, but he was a devoted one. He always talked about wanting to ‘expand his experiments.’ He swore to the public he’d never go beyond trials on mice but he lied. I found his plans to start human trials when I was seventeen and ran.” Not entirely untrue. The only part that blurred the lines was human trials - you genuinely believed he’d never attempt to make another you. Stupid.

Prentiss furrowed her eyebrows, messing with the pen in her hand as she processed the information. “You think he succeeded? That we’re dealing with a vampire?”

God, you were sick of that word. “I think we’re dealing with a mutated kid. The sun’s not gonna light him on fire, he’s just another victim of my dad.”

“I mean-” She seemed lost for words. “You seriously think he lives on the blood he’s taking?”

You were really praying on their trust in you. You were going to insist with all your might that he be tracked down, there wasn’t another way you were willing to convince them. “I’m positive.”

You were incredibly grateful when Aaron came to your defense. “I think we should look into it.” You saw a reluctant acceptance dawn on the group and internally sighed. Thank God. “Even if we don’t find evidence of human trials, he may know something about the unsub. It’s worth a shot.” They were suspicious, the room practically reeked of it, but you had to put aside the unease it caused you in favor of finding your brother. 

“Alright.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll go talk to Garcia. We’ll get a start on it.” He gave you one last inquisitive look before heading down the hall, the others filing out of the room to start on their routine tasks when a new theory was proposed.

Hotch looked over once the two of you were all that remained. “Do you think we can do this?”

You thought about it, truly thought of him and all his fucked up habits from your adolescence. “Daniel’s here, which means my father has to be.” You thought of the high chance this doesn’t work out in your favor. “If Garcia can’t find him then nobody can.”

He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” He looked at the board in front of you two, covered with pictures of drained bodies and bloodshot eyes. He flipped it, revealing a vacant side ready to be utilized for the task of locating your father. He returned his gaze to you, and understanding what he was implying, you grabbed a marker. “Let’s get to work.”

–

The boy - if he had ever truly been slowing down like the media claimed - relinquished that pattern almost as quickly as he’d adopted it. He hit the streets after a two day refractory period with a vigor unlike any previous attacks. You’d found four bodies in one night, and you had to force yourself not to picture him being locked away in one of your father’s cages, being starved just to be let out in hopes of wreaking havoc. Now, the night after the discoveries, cops were back on the streets in record-breaking numbers. You thanked your lucky stars you’d stocked up this time and wouldn’t have to duck and weave through all of them just to feed yourself. You were, however, scared for Daniel. Even your team started to notice his increasing sloppiness. There was a full sketch that had been made, the accounts of numerous officers making up the image. You knew well that he was smart enough to evade them, making you nervous he was trying to get caught - or worse, he was simply too exhausted to be speedy. You wouldn’t blame him for being fed up, but you feared the day his legs were gripped by it and he simply ran out of time. He hadn’t come back to your house, but you found a letter in your mailbox with no return address, simply stating your name in a handwriting that your father would have dubbed ‘chicken scratch.’ It was beautifully his, though, and you could practically feel the youth emanate from the words as you read them. He said that he’d hadn’t told you about himself, and that if you were going to be friends, that was a good start. You finished reading the letter a little teary-eyed with a cemented fondness for him - that whisper of maternal protection you’d felt at first now fully sprouting roots within you. 

It was him you thought of when you were called to fifth and main, listening to a panting policeman report that his luck, indeed, had run out. Your legs carried you out of the building without your vest, your cuffs, everything that was meant to be required sat unthought of in another room. Your team, of course, had gotten the same call that the wretched Virginia vampire was finally against the wall, and were rushing out of the building with equal energy but far less desperation. You headed immediately for the driver side, allowing Hotch to take the passenger and forcing every remaining member into the other car. He knew things they didn’t, you could talk to him about this in a way nobody else could hear. That was your intention, at least; let him calm you down before you made a mess of the scene with your unprofessional personal ties. You ended up completely ignoring his attempts to talk you back into sanity, focusing on dodging cars and clearing a path that would get you there the quickest. You don’t remember shifting the gear to park, simply slamming the brakes and falling out the door once you got there. Guns were drawn - a herd of police with sight trained on him - and you were standing in nothing but jeans and a long sleeve. You certainly felt the absence of your protection, but equipping them would have cost you far too much of the one thing you didn’t have: time. His hands were up, the typical sign of a peaceful surrender, but the knots currently pulling taught within your gut sent waves of nausea through you that you took as a bad sign. He wouldn’t surrender, your father would never let that happen. You lost track of the people following you closer as you rushed towards it all. You only knew Aaron was beside you because of his hand gently halting you from going further. Just a slight grip of your forearm and you stilled, waiting in the wings for that approaching storm to fling you asunder. You felt your tongue expel the word ‘please’ multiple times under your breath as you begged him not to do anything, begged God to listen to you, just begged for the sake of begging. Maybe, you bargained, showing a bit of gratitude to any higher power would let everyone walk away from this. You picked up on the twitch of his legs as he hesitated the run he was about to make. You felt yourself lurch forward slightly in response, as though somehow you could catch the bullets before they met his body should he try to flee. Soon, it wasn’t a speculatory thought - he did try. He ran straight at one of the officers, your eyes taking in every brutal detail of every bullet flying close-range right into him. You doubt a single officer held their finger off the trigger, estimating at least three bullets hitting him in rapid succession, every impact searing into your memory to forever loop in your nightmares. You felt Hotch’s arms in your clawing hands before you realized you’d fallen into him, the hoarse denials of the situation exiled from your throat with raspy wails. He let himself absorb them all, holding your head to his chest as you squirmed to look back at your brother's corpse. His fucking corpse. You would have charged at his executioners if not for his grip on you, and though you couldn’t feel it now, you’re sure you’d be grateful for the restriction when you inevitably exited your hysteria and still had your job. You felt the wet patches you were making on Aaron’s blazer rub against your cheeks but you could barely tell where you were, you had no energy to be bothered by the sensation. 

You heard him whisper, barely audible over your own heartbeat pounding against your skull. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You sat like that, him waving away any approaching team member or officer. Anyone who wasn’t the man holding you was instantly ushered away, insanely confused and slightly offended. His body was bagged up, journalists and news casters were scratching at the barricades like vultures, circling until they could get the scoop. You’d listened to one woman describe his death as “the short reign of terror done by the Quantico bloodsucker finally being cut off” and thought about how he looked when he smiled. He’d liked white chocolate and baby birds, all the malice had been your father living vicariously through the boy. Daniel, well, he was just a kid. Sweeter than taffy and radiant. Simply bred to be a killer - a condition fully out of his control. He was just a dead vampire now, and you felt an emptiness like never before. 

Aaron offered, “let me drive you home” and so you nodded, preparing to go back to a cold house. He’d been there before, you should have insisted. You let him walk away and go back to your father, so sure you’d be able to obtain him again. You’d almost caught the firefly and now you weren’t sure you’d see light anywhere but the sterile reminders of the boy you almost knew. The car stopped, your whole neighborhood felt alien - unrecognizable. 

“Will you spend the night?”

“Of course.” 

So you went in. He hadn’t been in your house before. It was well lived, slightly aged and a little cluttered, but it smelled like you. He was happy to be there. He looked around the areas he could see. Kitchen, living room, typical entry-level stuff. He put his minimal things on the couch and went to situate himself there. It was comfortable, certainly not the worst couch he’d slept on. You looked at him, not bothering to suppress the obvious accusation of his stupidity in your eyes. 

“Spend the night with me, Aaron. Not on the couch.” This day single-handedly outweighed the world as it sat on your shoulders, making you question how you ever thought you’d known grief before tonight. “I probably wasn’t gonna sleep anyways, but I’m definitely not gonna sleep if you’re out here and I’m alone in a cold bed.”

He sighed, clearly wanting to comfort you. “Y/n-”

“Please just get in the bed.” You felt your eyes slip shut as you breathed out your answer, pointing vaguely in the direction of your bedroom as you referenced the item within it. “We can talk in the morning.”

He stood up, nodding slightly. “Ok.” He was so quiet, so domestic in his delivery that you almost let some of the tension slip off you. He’d always had an effect like that, and right now it was all you could ask for. He let you take his arm and pull him towards your personal abyss. You two could exist there, no bounds or expectation, just peace and quiet. You shoved him down, not bothering to change or even do your typical night routine. You just curled up to him, and tried to lose yourself in the feeling of his hands running up and down your back. You fought - hard - to surrender your racing mind into his open palms. He was here, like always, as a refuge - and for once in your life, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the safety he offered. 

–

You’d partially expected to wake up to an empty bed the next morning. You’d put Hotch in a really compromised position, and though he was eager to support you, it would still be him that would take the blame as your superior. You’d compromised both your positions by bringing him into your mess at all. As guilty as you felt for the possible repercussions, you didn’t regret your choices. Especially as you scanned over the sleeping man, still donning his full suit - only kicking off his shoes the previous night in respect of your sheets. Always the gentleman. His arm was snug around you, but you wormed your way out after a few minutes, keeping his slumber intact while you made your way outside. Your throat felt smaller, in a way. As if the edges had shrunk overnight and now were incapable of taking in as much oxygen as they had the day before. Your eyes were swollen and slightly sore, and you were nearly begging for fresh air by the time you reached the door. You found the strangest thing when you opened it - a book. Pages bound in brown leather sat neatly to the right of the walkway. You weren’t exactly surprised you missed it last night, you weren’t in a particularly analytical state, but seeing it in the daylight was like seeing an angel ringing your doorbell. Mystical and dreadful - full of questions you didn’t want the answer to. What was it? Why is it here? Opening the cover, you found that loveable chicken scratch filling the first page, and raced inside your house with the book tucked under your arm. You protected it as if it were his lifeforce - at this point, it might as well have been. It was all you had left of him. You placed your shaking legs in a chair and settled in to read all of it. Whether he’d dropped it or left it intentionally didn’t matter to you. It was here, you were eager to merge his thoughts with yours. You knew it would be a mistake, and just like you predicted, you were weeping ten pages in. But you sat there, letting a jagged hour and a half pass before pausing when you found the last entry - your name was there. You’d learned about his desires, his fears, his ambitions, his shared hatred for your father. You acquainted yourself thoroughly with him throughout his own narration of his life, and now, he had something to say to you.

Y/n,

Surely I’m gone by now. I’m leaving you my journal so hopefully you know more about me than just the stuff at the end. You seemed nice, I’m sorry we couldn’t get to know each other. Just know I’m not doing this because I don’t believe in you, I fully think you could have done it. I’m just sick of this. I’m sick of him. I’d rather be dead, at least then it won’t be something he wanted me to do. Please go after him still, he talked about making more, and nobody deserves to live the life he creates. I’m rooting for you.

-Daniel

He’d gotten caught on purpose, then. You’d pondered on the full lead up to the shooting, gone over all the possibilities in your head the whole night. That was a primary option - hell, you’d thought about meeting the same fate more than once. You lost count of how many times you re-read the note before placing the book under a coat near the door. You didn’t want someone to find it, feeling overly protective of the thing. He’d wanted you to have it, nobody else. A plan was sorting itself out in the confines of your working brain. You knew it was late, the rest of your team surely having clocked in hours ago. You thought about the likelihood of you being able to get your gear and talk to Garcia without alerting the others. The verdict chalked up to a lukewarm worth a try, so you set off. You left Aaron sleeping in your bed, driving to your place of employment in yesterday’s clothes, still wallowing in yesterday’s grief. Your reaction to Daniel’s death had been very public and was definitely noted down by all of your coworkers, but you couldn’t find any care for that in your head. You would wing it, come up with something on the spot, all that mattered was getting to Garcia and your bulletproof vest.

You pulled up to the building, fate winking down at you as you retrieved your protective gear and added it to your attire. They must be at the table, you thought. That left Garcia alone and available in her office. You didn’t bother knocking, calling her name as you walked in and nearly scaring the skin off her bones. 

“I need you to look for something.”

She stared, unblinking at you, turning fully away from her computers to face you. “Well, hello to you too.” It was weirdly calming to see someone in such a normal mood. “Where the hell did you and Hotch go last night? Everyone’s been worried sick.” She was speaking in rushed whispers even though her door was closed, trying to maintain privacy while simultaneously being away from any onlookers.

“Look, I know it’s weird. I’ll explain everything, but I need a favor first.”

“They always do.” She sighed, pursing her lips and spinning her chair to face the devices. “Shoot.” 

Fate was really on your side today. “I need you to look at buildings owned by McCaslister corp. Anything with a yellow roof.” In your obsessive readings of his journal, you’d swiftly taken note of the multiple mentions of the “yellow roof” building. Your father used to be a suck up to the CEO of McCaslister, and it would hardly surprise you if the company let him operate in a facility of theirs. They had thousands across the country, and you’d never had any semblance of guideline to narrow it down, so you figured mentioning the connection wouldn’t be helpful. All of that changed now, though, and you were cautiously hopeful. 

“I got nothing, girlie.” She delivered the news quickly, hands working vigorously as she typed. “Anything else I can look at?”

“Look for any building the company sold with a yellow roof.” Your father may have been too distrusting to take a favor. He was wealthy enough to buy something from them. The seconds passing felt stuck in your throat as you watched her work, scouring every database she both did and did not legally have access to in honor of fulfilling your request. 

Finally, she pulled up records of a contract signed the year you’d run away. It was signed by a “Humbert Haze” and you felt your stomach leap at the name. You always knew briefly of your father’s many aliases, guessing this one was a nod towards the Lolita obsession he’d held when you were younger. It had to be him. A lab with a yellow roof, big and desolate. It was in the middle of nowhere, perfect breeding grounds for an experiment such as this. You took a look at the address, burning it into your retinas to ensure you’d see it wherever you looked, and casted your sincerest possible gaze at Penelope. You remember her giving the team a combination of keys that would temporarily shut down her system lest there ever be another hacker that infiltrated the BAU. Using the dreaded fisher king scapegoat against her in a time like this was cruel, but cruelty was all you had right now.

“Please don’t hate me for this.” And then you hit it. You watched her screens go black instantaneously and her eyes spark with baffled suspension. You began your trip to hell quickly, Garcia stumbling up, her heels clicking from behind you.

“Wha - Y/n!” She was speaking as she walked. You hadn’t deserted her room yet, but as you reached the door she uttered one last plea. “What are you gonna do? You can’t do whatever it is you’re thinking on your own.”

You honestly didn’t know if you planned on coming back from this. You figured you might as well air some dirty laundry. “He was my brother, Pen.” You opened the door, turning back to add one thing before you left. “Tell them I’m sorry.” You heard her call out from her doorway one last time as you stalked away. Upon entering your car, you put the address into your GPS before you could forget it. Twenty minutes. It was odd to think about. Twenty minutes and you could end this. 

Penelope, in the meantime, was busy rushing to interrupt the team as they attempted a timeline of a new case. They’d moved on, not finding you or Hotch but knowing damn well there were always more cases to be solved. They’d all jumped in their seats as she burst in, detailing your interaction and getting increasingly panicked as she explained. She gave her theory of the motivations and possible family ties of everything, and no matter how far off it could have been, it was enough to earn the team’s immediate priority. When asked where it is you went, Garcia was faced with the steel-cold unknown. She hadn’t personally paid attention to the address, never predicting in a million years you’d fisher-king her system and render her technologically helpless. Everyone congregated in her office as she attempted to hack around her own barricades, watching as she essentially battled against herself. You’d known it would work out that way, only crashing her systems to buy yourself the needed confrontation time. They would find you, you were sure, but first you had to kill your father.

You pulled up, nearly a half hour later, to a little patch of woods giving way to a huge plot of land. A stark, sterile white building with a hunk of yellow adorning the top of it. It was hideous, perfectly fitting for a man like your dad. Your stomach bottomed out, the feeling you lived within for your first seventeen years burrowing back home inside you after being gone so long. He was definitely here. You could throw yourself to the opposite side of the Earth and you’d still possess that sixth sense you’d gained for his presence. The door was locked, but you couldn’t kick it in. You didn’t want to alert anyone - especially him - of your arrival. A sneak attack was the best shot you had at success. Plus, he could have more subjects or guards willing to protect him. You wouldn’t kill any more innocent lives he’d doomed to a fate of his choosing. You wouldn’t put down any more of his victims. You decided to pick the lock, a trick you’d picked up from one of your city friends, and slowly inched the door open just enough to slip through. It was sickeningly bright, fluorescent lighting giving the room a slight green hue that made your eyes ache in their sockets. You couldn’t imagine growing up here; at least you’d gotten a house. Hallways decorated with doors that were chained closed and name tags to match each door was the immediate sight. They were too far away to read, and they weren’t what you were here for anyway. You ventured past the entrance, reeled deeper into the belly of the beast, finding a common area with tables and a tv propped on a wooden stand. How many fucking people did he have here? You’d been careful, ducking behind corners, peeking around them before rushing to the next. You maneuvered your way through most of the building like this, finally coming up on the back of a madman. He was sat at a desk - presumably his workspace from the clutter of papers and tools - tinkering with some either useless or catastrophically destructive gadget. Your lips trembled, your tongue almost forbidding you to use your voice. A voice that was half his genes. You were half of this man. You were in so far over your head. 

You inhaled, silent and sharp, mustering all your strength to spout his full government name followed by you informing him of his arrest. You held him at gunpoint, your trigger finger begging you to press the texture of that angelic button. Put a formal and undeniable end to his reign of terror. “Stand up and look at me.” He stood up, turned and looked at you.

He scanned you up and down, scoffing at your attire. “How does someone with a kill count as high as yours end up an FBI agent?” His hands were up, per your command, but he stood as though he was in control. “Remind me not to trust our justice system.”

Your eyes practically receded into your skull with how far they rolled back. “Like you’d trust anyone. Agent or not. How much you shell out for this building, huh?”

“What exactly am I being charged for?” He held so still, but you were sure he’d start walking anytime. He liked to circle people, like a lion encroaching his target.

“Daniel. I want to know what happened.” He smiled, a grin like the Cheshire cat. Although looking at him now, he just looked demonic. “What did you do to him?”

He laughed at the audible ball in your throat. “It’s not as bad as you’re picturing, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “The kid even enjoyed the hunt sometimes.”

You don’t think you’d blinked the entire time you’d been aiming at him. “What’s behind the doors?” You jerked your head towards the entrance, referencing the hallway full of possible containment units. “You putting more of that DNA into innocent women? Make some more monster babies?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Unicorns, actually.” Fucking bastard. “Got bored of you bloodsuckers.”

You chuckled, sarcasm spewing from your mouth as your tongue met your cheek. “He died, you know?” You could still hear the gunfire from last night. “That’s all on you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, saw that on the news. Your boys did me a favor, honestly. Kid was drying up.”

“You’re heartless.”

“I’m a scientist.”

“We’re not some variables in a fucking equation, dad. You brought real people into this world and real people died because of it. You knew that would happen. You knew and you did it anyway.”

“You devastated my work, you know that?” He started walking, keeping his hands elevated but circling nonetheless. “You were my most impressive - credit where credit is due - but lord you made things difficult.” As he got closer, you got more on edge. You couldn’t predict him, you never could. “Had to start from scratch all over again. More women, more failures. How many do you think died because you ran away? That’s blood on your hands, Y/n.” Hands still up, he got maybe four feet away from you. You almost wanted him to charge, to give you justification to pull the trigger. “Daniel - well…he never quite lived up to you. I changed up my method, let him out of the house instead of giving him food and he just came crawling back. I almost wanted to let him go.” Two more steps, he just needed to try something. “Are you really gonna shoot me?”

You inhaled, tired and annoyed. “I’m just begging you to come and find out.” You cocked your head at him, ready to be done with this. “You were scary cause I was young, dad. Now you’re just a psychopath. I deal with you everyday.” 

He sharply exhaled, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff and looked down. He had his tongue to his cheek -a habit of yours that you only now realized came from him -  and his hand to his heart, feigning an injury like your words struck him deep. He charged a moment later, looking up swiftly and making a go at you. You gave in to the wail of your finger and fired two shots - straight to his heart. You were saddened, he was nearly submerged in his own blood within a minute, most likely dying quick. You’d wanted him to suffer more than that, but you supposed you couldn’t get everything you wanted. It was then, when you truly looked at the blood, you noted for the first time in your life how unappealing the substance was. Rather, the substance that leaked from his veins. You’d lived under the impression your whole life that just the sight of it would stimulate your appetite beyond belief, but looking at the near endless food supply spilling from him in buckets, you felt above it - above him. He was a tainted man, sick and soulless. His blood would be as foul as his actions had been, you wanted no part of it. He was dead, that was the only thing that mattered. An eye for an eye. 

You realized it had been over an hour since you left only when your team came barreling in. It had taken them longer than you expected to find you. They’d clearly woken Aaron up on their journey here, as he was newly dressed and suited up in his FBI vest. None of them were needed, not anymore, but their company was nice to have. You weren’t worried about losing your job - in fact, your body was more weightless than it’d been your whole life. Even with multiple decades free from your father, his eyes sat heavy on you always. The weight of his approval, of his words, actions - all of it was ingrained in you, was part of you. That feeling was finally gone. He had, more or less, confirmed he was housing experiments in those rooms. You could justify it all, they’d understand. You would plead your case, testify if you had to. You were in the right here, you would prove it if they wanted it. More people were called to the scene, you were questioned and asked to temporarily part with your badge until they processed your statement. You gladly gave it over, needing a break from your professional title. They bagged and removed his body while tears of pure ecstasy fell from your eyes. Without Frankenstein, were you truly bound to the identity of his monster? Who were you without your Achilles heel? As you stared forward, Aaron approached you, greeting you with a gentle disposition and a loving stroke of your arm. He’d asked to drive you home, you replied with a ‘please.’ 

Your home was how you left it, the only deviant being the sign of a rushed man that was painted on your sheets. They were tangled and distressed, evidently reflecting how Aaron was feeling as he’d toppled out of your house that morning.  “You scared us. We were all worried about you.”

You looked at him, dazed and affectionate. The day so draining that there was no longer a filter between your perception of him and what you allowed yourself to express. There was just you, very much in love with him and very obvious about it. “I’m sorry.” You were sorry for scaring them, not at all remorseful for the outcome, though. “Does Garcia want my head on a stick?”

He chuckled, sitting down on your bed. You were still stood in front of him, and he put his hands on your hips to inch you closer as he stared slightly up at you. His hands were warm, and you were nervous. “I think your next four paychecks are gonna need to go strictly to make up gifts if you ever want her to speak to you again.”

You sucked air between your teeth, grimacing at the thought. “I deserve that.” The heat of his hands was seeping into you, weaving into your skin. He seemed to be healing your internal tension from just his physical grip on your torso. “Guess I’ll start planning.” You looked down at him, the pure fondness that filled your eyes when directed at him seemingly mirrored in his own as he held the contact.

“I think that can wait till’ tomorrow.” He was nervous too, you realized. His hands were shaky through the firm grasp he had on you. “Do you want to talk?” You couldn’t decipher if he was referring to the situation that you were returning from, or the situation you both were currently in. Talking about either at the moment seemed much too taxing. You were pure instinct right now, leaning into his hands because of how good they felt, not because you could consciously recognize the meaning. 

You nodded. “In the morning.” You ran your hands along his shoulder, clasping your fingers around the back of his neck. You leaned down a little, resting your forehead against his. “I’m tired right now." If you thought you could beat sleep, you would have put it off forever to be awake with him. "Can you kiss me so I can go to bed?” Your eyes were closed, you assumed his were too, and you felt his slight laugh smudge his lips against yours. He followed the action with the pressure you’d been craving for years. Entirely consuming as he lead you, even from the physically submissive position, through the most anticipated kiss of your life. You could have stayed like that forever, feeling his grip get the slightest bit tighter on your hips to support some of your weight as you leaned down. Eventually, you both caved, him falling flat against the bed and you hovering above his waist before he pulled you down onto him in an action that seemed subconscious. He’d separated from you after a few minutes; snuffed it out before those tiny embers could fully ignite. He reminded you ‘in the morning,’ making you once again realize how much sleep beckoned to you. You agreed, ‘in the morning,’ and turned over to slot yourself against him. It was the best you’d slept in years - possibly ever - and you didn’t know if you could even rationalize how good life would be with Aaron in this aspect of it. He’d be in your home, perhaps even become it, and that thought struck you like the bullets struck the men of your family. You supposed now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Sleep tugged your eyelids down, and his hold on you only amplified the sedation that was sweeping your system.

You would think about it in the morning.

[crazylittlejester]

Ngl I want Wars to fight the Venturi so bad just bc I think after all the stress building from being in Forks and around Edward specifically and from all the research and precautions he takes against vampires like

That's a lot to feel for a long time and I think he deserves the emotional release of finally having a sword shield and stake in hand and just killing a motherfucker

Or maybe Edward crosses a line and Wars just murders him. I think that would also bring catharsis from not only the stress Edward put him under but the stress and helplessness he felt when Cia did the exact same entitled/possessive shit as Edward.

Ward deserves a lil murder.

I’m actually not sure exactly HOW far into the Twilight story I’m gonna go with this. The first book/movie for SURE, and most likely some of the second. There are a few elements I HAVE to include: Jacob also being an ass (and a wolf which is revealed in the second one), Bella breaking her hand on Jacob’s face, Bella going fucking NUTS and recreationally cliff diving, etc.

SO: including the Volturi is NOT ruled out. I just don’t want this fic to be too long or feel like it’s dragging but I’d love to include them, and if I can find a reasonable way, I will

AND DON’T YOU EVEN WORRY I’M GONNA ALLOW WARS AT LEAST ONE MURDER (which will most likely be at least one of those vampire guys who kidnap Bella in the first movie). After fuckin’ everything he deserves it /j. Plus I wanna be able to explore his whole mentality/thinking process around killing things/monsters/people(?) since he’s a trained soldier and a vampire is the most human/hylian looking thing he’d have killed since having to fight for his life against traitors in the war. Like how does that affect him? How does that affect him HERE in THIS scenario, in FORKS, a world where having to kill to survive is NOT normalized? How does the knowledge that he was put in a “I don’t want to die and to not die I have to kill” situation affect him in this entirely different place where Charlie is able to sit him down and try to work through that trauma with him?

Wars has a lot of issues going INTO all this, and he’s suddenly 16 again in a world that’s unfamiliar to him. Edward and Jacob both fucking suck, Wars’s high school friends fucking suck, he’s absolutely miserable and Edward makes his skin crawl. The only person he feels he’s really got on his team is Charlie, but even Charlie doesn’t understand everything. And not just the vampires and werewolves, no one in this universe understands Cia or the War of Eras or any of it. He’s got at least one person who has his back, but he feels so alone because he feels so DIFFERENT. So yeah Wars definitely gets to go off the rails a few times, as a little treat 😭 He earned it, he gets to cause problems and witness the american mall for his mental health. He gets a cat too, also for his mental health

Genuinely I’m so excited to start sharing this fic. It’s gonna be crack, a LOT of fucking crack, but it’ll also have more interesting elements to it and I cannot WAIT to share. I’ve decided to finish writing the entire thing before I post any of it, that way I can have a predictable and reliable update schedule for it, but really I can’t wait to drop this shit out there aksnddkd

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

when i think about the 13 year old girls across america who didn't know until they saw it how badly they needed to see billie eilish wandering around everywhere dressed like a college sophomore six months fresh from his mom buying all his clothes who got dressed in a hurry because he's hungover and has a 9 a.m. lecture for one of his gen ed requirements (COMPLIMENTARY) i get a lil emotional ngl. what a time to be alive

[riotlain]

TWD crushing on (an Oblivious) Reader

YOOO WE KINDA DUMB

upset there isnt alot of twd x male reader fics that arent smut but anyways

my very select few men💀💀 i might do a part 2 i just wanted to post

THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG!! WOMEN DNI

Daryl Dixon

Our man Mr. Daryl Hiding His Emotions Dixon 🫶🫶

Its fine you didn't notice at first

He seems like he kinda hates you from how quiet he is. Quite the opposite

Being quite in love with someone who isnt a woman is kinda just like. Not processed in his mind??

He didn't know how to feel at first

But eventually he confessed to Carol about how he feels (she suspected something but anyways)

To be honest he had a plan to ask you out

But was extremely extremely hesitant

"They prolly don' even like guys" He'd say

I think both of yall are oblivious

It was a group effort to get yall together

Like all these long ass runs, leaving gifts saying it was from the other

You probably had to be the one to confess ngl

Glenn Rhee

Glenn aint too obvious. Thats what he tells himself atleast

Hes very obviously crushing on you. The only one who cant see it is you

He'd pull harmless pranks, compliment you, help you around, usually adding on a lil wink for lil extra

Yet you still didn't get it. You just thought he was being a goody good friend

Especially since its a bit hard to find any queer folk that like you around here IN FUCKING VIRGINIA/GEORGIA

"You look nice today, Y/n." *Shitty Glenn wink* "Oh thanks man!"

Your obviousness is apart of what Glenn absolutely loved about you though

It gives him time to really think out his lil confession

Which took a while but he had it down! Flowers!!

Who doesnt like flowers??

Well Glenn originally planned to give you flowers. That was until Eugene let it slip that he likes you one time💀💀

You ended up interrupting Glenn like mid confession just because you knew

Simon

Negan teases him for his obviousness

Simon would yell it to the top of his lungs if he must (he probably has to)

Always gives you any ice cream or first shot of a drink

He also always has his arm around you or is LITERALLY FLIRTING WITH YOU

You couldnt tell tho. he looked gay and homophobic to be honest.

So you just didnt say anything

Simon, running out of ideas, asked Negan for any ideas

Since its, Negan what do you expect? Something cute and romantic?? No

SHOW OFF YOUR SEXUAL PROWESS OF COURSE‼️

So with this in mind Simon approached your room with some drinks and did what he does best!

Sexual jokes about his dick and such seeing if you'd take the bait

You didn't you just got a bit flustered and laughed along

Until yknow he actually just went with the impulse and kissed you

FINALLY YOU GET THAT HES LIKE IN LOVE WITH YOU

Owen (Wolf)

The king of being either really obvious or the complete opposite

Depending on your guy's situation then heres the various ways itll go down

Owens a prisoner in Alexandria? He'll tell you nearly everything about him. Along with the fact if he gets out of there hes taking you with him!

How romantic!!

If youre apart of the Wolves then you have for sure caught his eye!

He'd do anything for you and I mean anything! Well as long as he's yknow still in control of the situation.

You cant ignore him either. He'll make as much noise as possible for you to go back to talking to him.

Owen will try to stalk you to see what you like

Or try to get that info out of you through a weird interrogation

You dont notice though. If anything youre a bit weirded out that this kinda crazy cult guy is like asking you your favorite color but anyways

Eventually in the middle of one of these investigations hes just gonna kiss you (probably quite roughly too)

"I like you. So youre mine now." "I- Ok sure??"

[darkstar225]

Twice’s 10th member has a solo debut

A/N: I actually got another ask on Tumblr, yaaaaay! :)

The request: Can you do something like the 10th member getting a solo and twice's reaction to her being all grown up? I imagine they'd be the type to be so motherly and shocked to see a different side of her.😂 but at the end of the day she's still their lil baby!

PS: Tysm for everyone that reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3 

__________________________________________________________

It's been a long time since TWICE debuted and they couldn't be happier, after many requests their dear maknae got a chance to become a soloist. What they never expected was that she would be doing such a different concept from the one the group had. 

As Y/N walked past the trainees, she finally understood how her unnies felt when they knew they'd perform alone. It was a mix of emotions she couldn't grasp how to deal with, after running along the corridors she finally found the waiting room where the staff and managers were all at. 

Y/N: I'm sorry, I got lost *bowing*

Manager oppa: Hahahah, it's okay kid. Did you forget the way here?

Y/N: Yes... Jihyo unnie always guides me here and Sana unnie is always holding my hand so *shrugs*

Manager oppa: At least you got here safe and sound!

Y/N: Thank you for waiting and my apologies again. *bowing*

Meanwhile... her sisters were at the dorm preparing for the surprise they didn't tell their youngest. Even if they had a whole day of schedules they'd cancel it to support their maknae altogether. Also, they're incredibly curious about the title of the album, regardless of the days they spend begging for a sneak peek, Y/N stood her ground and denied showing anything till the day she'd be debuting, which is today!

Sana: I can't wait to see what our baby is gonna sing!!

Nayeon: She's amazing, look at this young pic of her. I can't believe she grew up so much!

Jihyo: She will always be our maknae, even when she's 60.

Jeongyeon: That's true, I can only imagine how much more endearing she can get!

Mina: Let's hurry, Manager oppa already send the signal (찌릿 찌릿 찌릿 찌릿)

Dahyun: It's not gonna be long till she gets on stage, we need to get there asap

Tzuyu: It's not her wedding unnies, we must leave now

Momo: Fineee, come on girls!

Chaeyoung: Finally!

Momo: I heard that -_-

Jihyo: Me too, Son Chaeyoung.

Chaeyoung: Sorry unnie.

Jihyo: That's more like it...

After some -years- minutes, they're finally heading to the venue. The traffic was horrible but they got there on time (How? I guess we'll never know)

Sprinting through the halls they noticed their maknae a mile away, she was already on stage getting ready to record, not a single thought on her mind besides "You can do it, if the unnies did it, you can too" and because of that she failed to take note of her unnies eyeing her outfit and the concept of the stage (let's imagine she's the singer of Gotta Go by Chungha) and talking quietly with each other.

Mina: I mean- look at the aesthetic, it seems like she's gonna do something less cute than our songs.

Chaeyoung: Yeahhh, she's gonna rock the stage anyway ✨

Nayeon: There wasn't another option hon, she's our child.

At this moment, Y/N starts walking around the stage to check all aspects of the performance before she begins. Her members can see the change in her eyes and the confidence she carries. Her outfit is way more revealing than anything they've ever seen her use and the most surprising is how different she looks with makeup on, normally she goes for a natural look so spotting something like that makes them realize how grown up their maknae is, even if they refuse to believe it every single day. Sana: Wow, look! It's like a catwalk!

Momo: Ngl, she's looking hot.

Jihyo: HEY. I wanna oppose 'cause it's my kid we're talking about but yeah... I agree.

The youngest goes to her place and starts singing like there's no tomorrow, her members can only stare without saying a word, baffled doesn't even cover how they feel. When it gets to the chorus, her dance makes Momo think back to all the personal classes she gave the maknae when they were only a year after debuting. Jihyo starts to reflect on how much the girl has grown, from a child that followed her around to the woman that's on the stage belting and grooving to the rhythm of the song they could never see their kid doing. With tears in her eyes, Nayeon just seems to be perplexed by the changes between on-stage and off-stage Y/N, the innocent doe eyes she does when she wants some candy, the stumps when she gets frustrated about something she didn't get, the completely full of blush face she gets when her unnies annoy and fool around with her and everything else, disappeared, and TWICE didn't see it coming, they knew Y/N had already ended her teenage years however, seeing up close how adult, like she's by herself, is a shock.

Chaeyoung: Bro... Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

Dahyun: Yeah bro, she doesn't even seem like our maknae.

Sana: Where did my baby go??

Mina: Our honey seems so professional up there, I can't even explain how proud I feel.

Jeongyeon: Who let her do that? JYP didn't give us a warning!

Jihyo: A warning would be good... 

Chaeyoung: Hell yeah.

Nayeon: Language.

Dahyun: Did you actually say that? I'm the only one who heard it??

Tzuyu: I did too, made her more of a grandma than we thought. 

Nayeon: WHAT?

Sana: Shhhh, we're trying to listen to our baby singing. 

Momo: Yeah grandma, let us appreciate our maknae.

Nayeon: Fine. I'm gonna let it slide just for our maknae. 

When Y/N did some waves they couldn't help but want to close their eyes and think "This is a child, our child" but at the end of the day they understood how they should never judge the youngest for her solo, she wasn't that kid that entered the group and made their hearts melt from how much of a child she was, playing with her dolls from time to time, wanting to go to the park with her sisters, dancing to stupid songs just because. She still made them swoon in a blink of an eye but she grew up and they had to recognize that they did help on providing to create an incredible human being, their Y/N, their inspiration to be better every day.

After her stage, Y/N brighten up immediately when she saw her unnies. Running like the kid they remember each second they breathe, and that's when they started thinking the same thing: 

We love our dear maknae.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

[mmoodd-jobutupaki]

*takes a deep breath* AHHHHHDKAJFKSJA

I JUST WATCHED BOY AND THE HERON AND I LOVE IT SM AND IT'S SO GOOD.

So obvs, it's studio ghibli, it's gna be some of the prettiest stuff you've ever seen. So many scenery frames made me think "I'm gna scour the internet for them and repaint them as art practice. It resembles smudgy oil paintings rather than studio ghibli's gouache style (see spirited away, Totoro) but it's honestly beautiful nonetheless, and seeing it on the big screen made me feel like I was in the movie. There's even a stone passage that looks like the one from Coraline. The animation works so smoothly to make the film an overall wonderful immersive experience.

The character design was so good. You have your classic ghibli, countryside, apron wearing girl. Your boy with spiky hair. And probably the best addition of a butch seafarer, Kiriko, dubbed by Florence Pugh (oh my goodness I am too gay for this). The grannies were so inexplicably lovely and visually distinct I just want a hug from them. The wizard (Mark Hamill having this otherworldly yet grounded design and amazing hair. The heron was oddly grotesque without being scary (this is such a gift only japanese have.) and his various designs fluctuate along with the story. I was surprisingly intrigued by the fact that even in crane form, he had human teeth. And ofc THE WARAWARA.

GOSH THEY ARE ADORABLE I LOVE THESE DAMN TAPIOCA PEARL LOOKING THINGS THEY HAD ME SQUEALING IN THE THEATRE EITH HOW CUTE THEY ARE.

The score is beautiful and I dare say that it's on par, maybe even better than the Spiderverse score (and that's REALLY HIGH praise coming from me, I love the Spiderverse score to the point where it's on my Spotify wrapped.) I loved how the use of motifs, especially in relation to magic in the film. And definitely need to go give it more listens. 11/10 would recommend listening to it even outside of the film, it's just that great, give it a Grammy or smth.

Humor in this film is hilarious without being corny. It's very on the nose, what's currently happening in the scene humor. Characters (won't say who) also have amazing dynamics that supply a lot of humor for the film. Obviously we have that last snippet from the trailer and I'll give you this out of context "Mahito's turned into a parakeet"

The story is very easy to follow. The first half of the story is very grounded. And even in the second fantastical half, the visuals and little sprinkles of just the right amount of information help to guide us through the amazing fantastical world. Nothing ever feels too spoonfed to the audience or too overwhelming.

Spoilers below the cut

Character was great too. The main cast each have a very touching emotional aspect and nothing is what it seems, not from the trailers and not even within the show. Characters go on journeys you never could've expected from the beginning of the show. Such as the heron, who I genuinely thought from trailers was gna be the bad guy but turned into a genuine, squat goblin companion. And the parakeet king goddamn I thought he was gna be a good guy with his "we must protect this world" gig, not some giant cannibalistic parakeet with a surprising penchant for sneaking. Anyway, I especially loved how we meet characters almost multiple times with how we're introduced to different versions of them. Kiriko>>>

The moral of this story had me confused ngl, but I'm fcking dumb and need to go read some analysis so ignore this. The main message I got was that "Life is shit. But it's worth living and I can make it better for myself. Through friends, I don't have to be alone through it all" which made me tear up ngl since I've been struggling with life this year and seeing how our boy Mahito went from being a closed off lil squat to that *cries*. Personally I interpreted the great granduncle and his blocks as seeing what's wrong with the system the older generation has built, and demanding more from it/straight up turning away from it. Also Mahito learning to let go of his mom. The pelicans wanting the best for their children and not always liking what they have to do for survival as a link to war soldiers @hamable . I also read from @simplysparrow14 and @rockpaperimpala the film is also Miyazaki coming to the realisation that 'studio ghibli will be his legacy and it will be put to rest, it won't be the same if continued without him and that's okay' and ow I just got hit in the feels.

To summarize the boy and the heron excelled, slaps, is show stopping, brilliant, awesome, a true work of art and soul and 11000/10 go watch it ON THE BIG SCREEN I am not joking.

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

This is for the matchmaking, I'm a non-binary person in my early 20 who is extremely introverted, i struggle with social situations when I'm alone, i also struggle with depression and anxiety which makes life rather hard, i have been diagnosed with autism so when i get interested in something that tends to be my main interest for months if not a year or more. I am a very emotional person i cry at everything and anything honestly, due to being diagnosed with Autism very late in my life i have spent a lot of time masking, to make myself appear as normal as possible, so much so that i don't even know what I'm actually like normally. Even though i am a very anxious person i have a major case of Resting Bitch face, so much so that some of my friends told me they were scared of talking to me at first because they thought i look mean.

I'm a very creative person, i love expressing myself in ways that don't have anything to do with talking, i also love fashion and i usually dress in a mix of goth and comfy clothes, though comfy clothes usually overtake my need to look fancy due to major dysphoria so i usually opt for large hoodies. My hair is currently in a chin long undercut which is a kind of very light pink/purple due to the colour fading over time, i have green eyes, wear glasses and have a septum as well as tattoos. I'm also currently a major in art and Theatre, mostly focused on painting. I am a theater kid at heart, i love musicals and have acted in a few myself. I'm also Pansexual so i will literally just go for anyone I'm interested in no matter the gender.

Hi pookie! I apologize for the wait cause finals were a bitch but they’re finally DONE

Aight now lets get into this

Due to the information provided you will be matched up with…🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

My lovely chosito osito!!(ignore everything that’s happened in 259😀)

Okay now walk with me🚶🏾‍♀️

I feel like you and Choso would really vibe together for numerous reasons. Choso is an eldest sibling so he’s incredibly patient and he’s proven to be very nurturing so I feel as though it would be second nature for him to always be thinking about you and how things might affect you. I think lil homie also has anxiety so he would be able to relate to you on that level, and since so much of this world is completely new to him you guys would be able to bond over the lovely overstimulation of day to day life.

From one autistic person to another I really feel like Choso would understand a lot more than some of the other characters? Idk I just get that vibe from him. He’s very blunt and straightforward, doesn’t cut corners in his explanations and he’s also got one hell of a resting face so I feel like he wouldn’t take lack of expression personally if you’re ever feeling burnt out.

Like I mentioned prior this boy is 🗣️NURTURING

He basically had to sub in as mom,dad,brother for all of those siblings so he’s got you bby don’t worry. I feel like he can be really protective and overbearing at times though but if that crosses a like for you then you just need to let him know. He’s no stranger to tears and he has no problem scooping you up in his arms and letting you cry it out.

If you wanna yap about a new hyper fixation you better believe Choso will listen!! The world is new and exciting and even though the bright lights and media tend to give him headaches, he can’t get enough of you relaying him the information because he’s kinda obsessed with you ngl.

Y’all with be THAT alt introverted couple who everybody is kind of scared of but are actually sweethearts. Once Choso figured out about department stores and piercing parlors it’s over for you bitches.

He thinks your tattoos are so cool and he’s kinda just like fascinated by the entire process. If you ever choose to get more he would wanna go with you but he’d be holding your hand and staring at the tattoo artist like this 😠

I also feel like he would definitely respect your pronouns once he wrapped his head around them because he is just not from this era so it’ll take him a bit😭 it’s genuinely just pure ignorance and not disrespect but he WILL get the hang of it.

Activities you do together include….

•going to see musicals and live theatre(he will be enchanted or overstimulated, it’s a 50/50 on this one)

•staying inside✨(a fan favorite)

•p i e r c i n g d a t e s

•painting!! More or less so him watching you paint but it’s the thought that counts🥰

[adaptacy]

It’s the anon with the Yearbook!Reader. Honestly surprised that was pumped out so fast with such quality, I was giggling when I read it ngl. Anyways, I am here to put forth another request for you to choose to do.

Got pretty boy Leland first.

Thinking about Leland and his S/O just relaxing in bed. Soft kisses, nice lil cuddles, some of that fluffy shi. My main point to this was called Leland pretty boy and just like, praising him. Give him all that TLC, babes deserves it.

(Could make it angst/comfort with Leland being insecure about scars he has after the Sawyer family incident, but just praising him for no reason is valid as hell)

It’d be chill if I sent several requests at the same time, yeah? I dont wanna fill up your request box, but I love your writing (Leland especially) and just have so many ideas at times. I also didn’t expect my request to be answered same day, usually takes a while, I’m willing to wait a week or two yknow.

-Kuhuahua

im- i- ik i havent been active on tumblr (ive been rping tcsm on discord <3) but i heard 1 song and it made me think of this request and then i rly wanted to write it SO here we go!

TW: aaaaaaangst with extra angst on the side.

Song recs: When You Gonna Run - Alpha Rev

He never talked about them. You understood why. Honestly, you doubted that he even spoke to his therapist about them. It's been four years. Even now, he still flinches when they're grazed, he whispers out quiet, "Not there, sweetheart," his voice tainted with a somber desperation, genuine hurt. You weren't sure if the pain was physical or emotional. Maybe both.

Four years and he still got teary-eyed if you asked about them, or referenced the incident at all. You'd learned not to, even if you did wish he would open up to you. For the first year that you were dating him you'd just assumed that he would talk about them when he was ready. But then the year came to an end. And so did the second one. And now, at 29 months with him, you'd stopped wishing. Gotten used to the shrugs and the soft sighs, the disdain in his gaze when you inquired about it.

So you didn't bring it up. But you knew he thought about it. Knew he felt it. Not talking about it was easy enough, after a while. But being close with him was hard. Physically close, that is. Every brush of your hand in the wrong spot, or a kiss on the wrong hand, touching your forehead a little to hard against the slit in his eyebrow-

29 months, and you still felt like shit for being unable to remember every single one of his scars. Every single placement- the big ones you could remember. But the small ones spanning the rest of his body, snips of horrors on his arms and the dots of regret on his torso, were impossible to map out.

He sat, watching the movie, next to you, one of his knees bent up to his chest while the other leg hung off of the couch, his chin propped up with one hand, his elbow resting on the cushioned arm of the loveseat, his other arm outstretched next to him, where his hand intertwined with yours.

The ones on his hands weren't bad. There were three on this one, tiny marks that you were surprised hadn't healed. You'd overheard the reason why; the second time you'd joined him at one of his doctor's appointments they'd mentioned him overworking himself, reopening the wounds. You wondered if they still hurt when he worked out.

Without thinking much of it, you scooted closer to him, only a few inches, and you snuck under his arm so that it hung off of your shoulder, though you refrained from leaning against him. He didn't react aside from a small squeeze of your hand. You lifted that hand and pushed a kiss to the back of it, earning his attention.

You didn't meet his eye. You didn't want to see the distant, aching hazel behind the kindness he usually showed. Didn't want to see the microscopic frown that tugged at his lips, you didn't want to see his chest rise and fall with another one of his dejected sighs. You just wanted to kiss him.

So you did, starting at the back of his hand and moving up, your mouth brushing against his arm just under another scar, your eyes closing. This time, it was you who sighed, and you took a gamble, moving your lips up and kissing the coarse patch of skin you'd avoided.

"Baby," he muttered, his voice tainted with the same sadness it held any time he was forced upon a reminder of his past. You didn't reply, nor did you stop, moving up to a different scar, this one closer to his shoulder, repeating the same for this one. A kiss, soft and lingering, before you pulled your head up and finally leaned it against his side.

"I think they're pretty."

There wasn't any reason you'd said it. Just that you'd felt it. And the words came to you, so you gifted them. Leland was quiet for a few minutes. His jaw rested against your temple, both of your heads turned towards the tv, though neither of you were really watching.

Whether he was insecure of them, or if they were still tender, or if they reminded him of the past, or, hell, all of it- they didn't change the way you saw him. Didn't change the way you loved him. You were with him to be with him, every part of him that you could manage to get a hold of. It was okay that he kept some things locked away.

You didn't understand, but you knew why. It was hard. Too difficult for him to remain cheerful when he thought about it. Too difficult to be perfect. Too difficult to feel like he was doing the right thing.

"I know you're hurt."

You couldn't stop yourself.

"I know I'm not ever gonna understand like you do. I know we're always gonna be distant. I know you don't like thinking about it."

But...

"I still love you. It was in the past. And I love you for your past, Lee. And I love you for our future, too. And- I love you right now, in the present."

He stayed quiet, though he leaned against your head a little more, his arm bringing you a bit closer.

"I think they're handsome. And... they're you, so I love them. I love every part of you. Even the scary parts, or the sad parts, or the parts you think are ugly. I love all of you."

At last, you looked up at him, just as he brought a hand to his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. His lip trembled as he looked down at you, but they trembled into a smile, a sad one, like a kicked puppy, but a smile nonetheless. You raised a hand too, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb under his eye, which pulled a broken chuckle from him, and he sniffled, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Please, don't be," he replied, his voice cracking as he leaned into your palm, fighting to hold back. You scooted back, and he followed you, laying his head against your shoulder, a soft whine escaping him as he cried.

"I'm always gonna be here. I'm not gonna run. Not gonna leave you for your past. I- I just love you, Leland." Your arms wrapped around his neck as you held him close, resting your chin on his head as he cried, and you gently hushed him, doing your best to reassure.

He didn't often cry. Not to you. Sometimes, on his own time, or when you were pretending to be asleep, you could hear him. But he didn't want to push any of his weight onto you. Didn't want to burden you.

"I can shoulder some of it, y'know. Just cause you can lift a lot of weight doesn't mean you need to do it alone," you hummed, your words lighthearted despite being completely genuine. "I'm right here. I'm here to do it together. Here to be here- here to be yours."

You didn't expect a reply, but he gave one, weak and pained, snagging on his tears, an "I love you," short but sweet. You hugged him closer, leaning down to kiss another scar on the top of his back, and he didn't ask you not to, he didn't flinch, he just let it happen.

"You're perfect, Lee. Scars and all."

[soleilnomoon]

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜💜

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.