#and he will always love himself first and foremost

[snowalwayslandsontop]

Like for a Starter.

[mihrunnisasultans]

Have you ever thought what he felt that night when executioners woke him up and wrapped a rope around his neck? And you, what did you feel, brother? What did you feel, sleeping next to his room? (...)  Do you remember what you told me? Your pain will pass, you will forget. You will feel better. A lot of time passed, brother. But I couldn’t recover. And trust me you won’t either; you will slowly burn away just as I did. Hürrem won’t even have a grave. Just like Ibrahim.

Hatice + roasting Suleiman to his face (and to others)

Happy Birthday Plami! @mc-critical

[deadboyswalking]

Re-establishing myself as an angst writer, I guess. Upcoming and currently untitled Pro Hero future fic centered around Katsuki and Izuku’s friendship and reflections on how love of all forms manifests, especially in the wake of a devastating loss. 

[thesummerestsolstice]

I love it when Elrond is portrayed as someone who is a little bit incomprehensible to most of the elves at first. Not even just because he's a half-elf, but because he reminds them all of so many other people, and that layering can be kind of jarring.

He sings beautifully, with a voice that sounds like no elf or man, and it reminds many of the Sindar of Luthien. It reminds some of the Noldor of someone else, another singer with raven-dark hair and starry gray eyes.

The braids he does his hair in– and he always keeps it braided at first, because letting it run loose is another thing that makes people whisper of Luthien– are in the traditional Noldor style. The survivors of Gondolin love that; Turgon always wore his hair in classical styles too. The other part of the House of Finwe that clung to traditional braids goes unmentioned. But everyone knows.

And he was clearly taught about court manners; taught to be gracious and charming, and a very good listener. The elf who could have taught Elrond those things is usually skipped over entirely, in favor of those reminiscing about Idril's graceful poise or Melian's endless patience.

He looks very much like Luthien, but there is a particular Finwean sharpness in his facial structure; something that makes him look a lot like Fingolfin, as well. Fingolfin looked very much like his father. And his older brother.

His smile is just like Earendil's (whose smile is just like Tuor's), and his strange, birdlike laugh is from Elwing. He fights and writes with his left hand– but then, so did Earendil, because while all elves are right-handed, not all humans or half-elves are. He eats no meat– just like Beren, they say, but the way Elrond tells it the choice had nothing to do with that history. There is ainuric power in him and something very human in the set of his shoulders. The flowers grow around any place he stays long enough. He gets sick in a way no elf, and certainly no maia, ever would. His accent is odd, and archaic, and changes noticeably when he's too tired to obscure it. His mannerisms are a mixture of about twelve people, almost all of whom are dead, and several of whom are not spoken of by the time he shows up in Gil-Galad's camp.

And the reflections of Elrond unsettle a lot of people; because one moment they see a fallen hero or loved one, and the next they see the person that took them. Or perhaps someone else, that they never knew at all. There is reverence and fear and uncertainty. It's messy.

Elrond himself is coming to peace with this by the War of Wrath. There is love in carrying the parts of your ancestors with you, even when they aren't around any more. And he knows better than anyone that he is always himself, first and foremost. Still, it takes everyone else a while to stop seeing a ghost and start seeing Elrond.

[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer x fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fanfiction

notes: Imaoo sorry it took awhileee I'm actually a very busy college student while simultaneously having so much brainrot for this man so... Be patient omfg, I just posted part one a two days ago also, don't mind the warnings too much as it doesn't specifically for this specific chapter but it can be future parts of the story. So yes, hand holding before marriage will happen between Lucifer and [y/n]

warnings: none except hand holding before marriage Imao.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Lucifer paced back and forth in his room, worried. Walking around the large master's bedroom, passing by many piles of rubber ducks he made.

“She should be back by now.” Lucifer murmured to himself, sighing.

His eyes landed on to the framed pictures decorating his walls.

He prayed that Charlie met [y/n] up there, the one angel he trusts. Though, it has been eons since he's last seen her, he wonders if [y/n] changed after all these years, especially after he had fallen from grace.

Did she hate him? Did she miss him like how he misses her?

As he sat on his arm chair, a gold sealed white envelope manifested on top of the coffee table in front of him, pink glittery smoke surrounding the letter.

“...What the...?” Lucifer murmurs, hesitant and cautious, eyeing the envelope. What if it's a trap?

Suddenly his phone buzzed, he immediately checked it to see it was a text message from Charlie.

“I just left a letter on your table, it's from someone you know. I'll tell you everything that happened in heaven but I'll rest for a bit. Love you dad!”

Lucifer smiled though a tad bit worried, he can tell that the meeting didn't go as his daughter hoped. He can only give her time.

Lucifer then now turned his eyes back on the neat envelope, sparkling a little. He turned the letter around to see it was specifically addressed to him, written in an oh so familiar handwriting to him. Unknowingly, just by seeing the handwriting was enough for his eyes to tear up a little.

“[y/n]....” He murmurs, finally opening the letter. Using his sharp nails to scrape off the wax without breaking it or tearing the envelope. Taking out the carefully folded light yellow paper, unfolding it to reveal her letter to him.

My Dearest Lucifer

His cheeks flushed slightly, with a comma after dearest. My Dearest, Lucifer

“Oh [y/n], this will keep me up at night.” Lucifer murmurs with a small dorky smile on his face, his sharp teeth shining against the light, eyes watering.

My Dearest, Lucifer

       It has been awhile hasn't it? A couple of eons since we've last seen each other. You have no idea how excited I was when I heard your daughter would be coming here in hell. I made sure to write a letter in advance a day before her arrival. I have a lot to tell you, first and foremost, I truly missed you. You sly man, you really got married without inviting me. How's your time down there? I hope hell is treating you right, I really hope I'll get a chance to see you again. I hope we'll get a proper chance to talk, I want to personally hear you how you've been doing. I hope you'll get the chance to see the good of humans after giving them free will, I promise to find a way for you to leave and visit earth. I am running out of paper to right on but I promise to help your daughter up here and lastly, I want you to remember that I adore you always.

“Sincerely yours, [y/n] [l/n]” Lucifer softly reads out, voice shaking. It felt like he could hear her as he read the letter. The same kind [y/n] who always believed in him. His heart swells knowing that she's still trying to help in any way she can despite their distance. She never stopped believing in him despite him leaving without notice (not that he had the chance to).

“If only you knew how much I adore you too, [y/n]...” Lucifer murmurs softly, his finger tracing the outline of the paper ever so gently.

“I want to see you again, I have so many things to say to you... So many unsaid words I wanted to say... I wanted to tell you that I love...” Lucifer's eyes widened ever so slightly, cheeks turning red. He knows he loves her and he still does but he also loves his ex-wife, Lilith. Does he? Or is he just holding into something that no longer exists as it was something he had for a long time and now it's gone?

Everything in his life changed, Lilith's love for him changed, he changed.

Despite all of this, [y/n] remained unchanging inside his heart. Sure, Lilith held the majority of his heart but now? He is not sure but he is 100% sure [y/n] never left, he still has affections for the angel.

How can he not? She's the only one who believed in him when he was up in heaven? She comforted him whenever the elders said hurtful things to his ideas.

But now...

Her letter gave him a sense of hope that his decision of giving mankind free will might not be useless after all.

Lucifer closes the letter, gently folding it back on how it was folded before he opened it. Bringing the piece of paper to his nose, smelling the faint scent of her perfume. It brought back memories of his time with her in heaven.

“I'll ask Charlie about what happened up there later but for now, I'll take a moment to process this.” He says with a small sigh. Slipping the folded paper back into the envelope.

Lucifer sighs as he gently places the envelope back on his table, walking to his balcony. Eyes staring up into the smoky red skies of hell, devoid of any moon and stars.

He used to stargaze with her when he was still in heaven.

[y/n] was his moon, who shines during his darkest days.

Waving his finger in the air, specks of golden dust flickers out of his fingers. Forming a crescent moon.

Lucifer leans into the railings, eyes staring at the faux moon he created.

“Moon, tell me if I could...” Lucifer softly sang, eyes tired but hopeful. “Send up my heart to you...?” he asked softly, unfortunately no one answered.

A bit of a timeskip....

It has been a few months since Charlie's visit here in heaven and the next extermination is getting closer by the day. Emily and I are still trying to look for ways to help Charlie.

Sera adores Emily, I am sure that she wouldn't get punished. I on the other hand, Sera has been keeping a close eye on me. Criticizing me. Lute being tasked to watch my every move.

“Sera, this is utterly ridiculous! We should give those poor souls a second chance.” [Y/n] says, clenching her fists as she looked at Sera who was sitting on her chair inside the Seraphim office.

“That is enough, [y/n]. You keep this up and you'll end up fallen like Lucifer.” Sera said sternly, eyes glaring at the [y/n]. “You barely managed to escape that fate before, you could've fallen the same time as Lucifer but thankfully your actions weren't as severe as his.”

[y/n] slammed her fists against the table, angel eyes appearing on her wings with fury, “We aren't God, Sera! Who gave you the right to judge those sinners and claim they don't deserve a second chance?” she exclaimed.

Sera stood up from her seat, anger evident on her face. “Don't you dare raise your voice at me! You're on thin ice, [y/n]!”

[y/n] rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over chest, “What are you going to do? Huh? Kick me out of heaven?”

Sera's glare sharpened, patience running thin. “Keep that attitude up and you just might.”

“Lucifer doesn't deserve this treatment! You cursed him to not see the good of people! You cursed the people who have a chance to redeem themselves by taking their life! How does it feel that so much blood is spilled because of your decision?!” [y/n] asked angrily, tears running down her cheeks.

“We have our own souls to protect! This decision wasn't easy to make!” Sera remarked angrily, her wings spread out intimidatingly.

“Protect them from what?! As far as I know, it's only us angels who are a threat to them? If they do something that doesn't fit your standards or the elder's standards they are bound to fall from grace!” [y/n] says mockingly, rage and annoyance evident on both women's eyes.

“That's it, you've crossed the line!”

“You don't want to admit that I am right, angels are such selfish, greedy, and filthy creatures. I cannot believe I am associated with beings whose hands are stained with blood.”

You know, falling doesn't seem so bad.

Strong and harsh winds are blowing against my back, thankfully I still have my wings. It is currently useless, unfortunately. I don't have the energy to flap them to save myself from the approaching pain.

After that argument with Sera, the higher seraphim thought I was already way out of line and disrespectful. I was placed on trial, handcuffed with the type of handcuffs that prevents me from using my angelic powers while it simultaneously sucked the energy out of me.

I was deemed guilty, shameful, and ungrateful and a threat to the order of heaven.

Tossed out of the pearly gates of heaven by none other than Adam, that asshole really grabbed me by the hair.

[y/n] sighs softly, vision blurring. Trying to focus it as she falls from grace. The skies looked so beautiful.

Lucifer would've loved these skies, we've stargazed during the night before. When he was still in heaven with me.

Lucifer, I can see Ursa Major tonight. Someday, I'll bring you back here on the surface and stargaze like we've always do. No matter how many stars are in the sky, you always take my attention. You're like my star, you shine so bright and so pure.

I'll join you in the pits of hell, I hope you didn't forget about me.

I should be happy that I'm finally leaving that god awful place.

Why am I so scared of falling to my demise?

For a moment, I can see a glimpse of how Lucifer felt when he fell from grace.

Terrifying.

[Y/n] closes her eyes as she finally goes past the Earth's crust. Ichor flowing out of her hands from the handcuffs she had to wear.

“I am not allowed to die, I still need to see him.” [y/n] murmurs before eventually crashing into the fiery grounds of hell, she fortunately crashed somewhere where there weren't any people, a wide space of nothing but dead trees, a hotel can be seen in the distance.

Pain, pain shot everywhere her body. She let out a sharp scream of pure pain. Blood spilled everywhere before she eventually passed out.

It didn't matter, the pain didn't matter. She's here now. She'll look for him or Charlie.

She doesn't know Charlie would find her first.

END NOTES: YUHHH THEY'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN IN THE NEXT UPDATEE

TAGLIST:

@n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @luleck @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya (I can't tag you </3) @many-fandoms-lover

[julsvu]

mornings with the seven

fluff, gn! reader, not proofread

jason will always find himself holding onto you tightly, before or after sleep. he makes sure you're completely warm in his arms, and indulges in the feeling of your warmth lingering on his muscles, that tense ever so slightly whenever you make the slightest movement that'd indicate you're moving away from him. cuddles with him feels like cuddling a huge plushie. he greets you with a soft good morning, kissing you on the forehead before asking how was your sleep, his morning voice deep.

with percy, you find yourself with dozens of kisses sprinkled all over your face before you both go to sleep. in the morning, he'd admire your resting face while his fingers string into your soft hair. he adores waking up with the smell of your shampoo lingering just beneath his nose. he wakes you up with a cheeky grin on his face, asking you if you'd like to watch the sunrise with him. but, before watching the sunrise, you'd have to help him cook blue pancakes. every month, sally gives him a new recipe, or rather, a new variant for blue pancakes, and this boy always insists to try them with you first and foremost.

frank has similar cuddling habits to jason. he'll wrap his limbs around you as long as you're comfortable with him doing it, almost suffocating you (in a good way, he swears). he isn't aware of it, but his hands shapeshift into a cat's paw and makes biscuits on you whenever he's too comfortable in his sleep. he invites you to have a small breakfast date once you wake up, greeting you with a warm squeeze of affection.

leo has his limbs entangled with yours, before and after sleeping. his face will always be buried into your shoulder or neck; your scent makes him relax far too much to the point of sleepiness, hence, he'd make excuses to cuddle with you no matter the place or time. he wakes you up with countless of kisses littered upon your face, and a grin paints over his lips once he sees you flutter awake, before he tells you what he had dreamt about. (his dreams somehow always involve you.)

annabeth is big on spooning. she wouldn't mind being a little spoon, but, she prefers to be the big spoon since it feels like she's protecting you, even at times of rest. she memorizes your sleep patterns; maybe she's been hanging out with you too much, and she ends up waking up at the same time as you. however, she never fails to remind you to take care of your sleeping schedule, as she brushed your morning bed hair with a small smile lingering on her lips.

hazel falls asleep holding your hand, most of the time. hazel, like annabeth, would subconsciously memorize your sleep patterns. but, unlike annabeth, she'd wake up before you. she swears that she's grown a sixth sense for her dear lover, as she greets you with breakfast in bed. she loves getting away from everything and staying with you; especially if she gets to play with your hair while you spoonfeed each other breakfast.

piper makes sure you've got everything out of your system before sleeping beside you. she never lets you fall asleep angry, or sad, no matter the reason. she holds you closely to her as you ramble to her. one half of her is listening, while the other half is admiring the way your lips seem so kissable. when you fall asleep from venting out your feelings, she kisses your forehead, already thinking of the things she can do tomorrow morning to cheer you up.

© 2024 JULSVU. all rights reserved. please don't plagiarize, translate, put in other websites or copy my work without permission. ty!

[lumi077]

X-Men HCs

A/N: my hyperfixations are not very hyperfixating rn. literally they’re changing so fast. But take some nice little relationship headcanons, and the next Chapter of Winters’ Servants is coming soon!!

Characters included: Logan (Wolverine), Scott (Cyclops), Kurt (NightCrawler), Jean

Warnings: potential OOC, nothing else really. kept it nice and light.

Logan (Wolverine):

Logan would absolutely, if you use them, stretch out your new hairbands for you. If you express that you dislike using them unless stretched, he’ll offer to wear them on his wrists for a day or two till they’re stretched to your liking. It could be the most girly hair ties and he’ll proudly wear three on each wrist. When asked, he’ll happily tell them “Just stretchin ‘em for my woman/man/partner”

Scary dog privileges? Scary dog privileges. He adores making you feel safe enough to wear the most skin revealing or feminine clothing. You want to wear something revealing/very feminine but tell him you're scared? He’ll instantly assure you and tell you to wear anything you want. If someone says something, he won’t hesitate to shut them up before you even hear.

There’s going to be a point in your relationship that you’ll realize he absolutely doesn’t care about any of the gross stuff you do. Burp, Fart, don’t shave? He really doesn’t care in the least bit. Definitely the boyfriend that will go, unphased, into the bathroom while you're on the toilet and brush his teeth or shower without a care in the world. If you are comfortable that is, and he secretly preens when he realizes that you're comfy enough to do that stuff around him lol.

I wholeheartedly believe that when he realizes he wants you to be his forever partner, he’ll gift you his dog tags. His past is very personal to him, because he could never remember it for a good part of it. His dog tags are only second to him getting down on one knee. 

Speaking of getting down on one knee, sorry for all the people who want it to be a surprise, but he won’t make a big deal and will tell you about his plans beforehand. No surprise engagement, and no public one. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he wants to make sure you’re ready and want it too. He doesn’t put much on marriage because it doesn’t change much, and doesn't want you to feel pressured to say yes because there are people there. He’ll love you the same married or not, but he does note how pretty you look with the ring he bought you on your finger.

I personally believe he would be more likely to get in a committed relationship with another mutant. I just think a lot of the X-Men would want to be able to relate to their partner and have their partner relate to them, and Logan is going to live a long life so…I can't truly see him with a normal person. 

If you are apart of the X-Men, while he won’t baby you or anything, he finds himself keeping an eye on you the most. There have been a fair amount of times that you find yourself having a Logan shield on the field, and even more often if you are susceptible to projectiles. 

Dates are a norm at this point, Fridays are always the day he takes you out. It’s usually the same place, but he thinks it’s nice. 

Flowers are also a norm, if you mention you like them. 

He doesn’t do much on Valentine’s day because he already does all the normal valentine’s day stuff it weekly or bi-weekly. Does get cheat food so you guys can eat it and watch stupid rom com movies though. 

Scott (Cyclops):

First and Foremost Scott is such a golden retriever. Anything you want, he obtains quickly and with 0 thoughts of you getting him something in return. He just wants to see his partner happy and healthy, with a smile on their face as often as possible.

He is very big on PDA, likes to hold your hand, or slip an arm around your waist, put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, etc. Overall he just likes touching you, and just because you're in public doesn’t mean anything.

Adding on to his liking of PDA, I feel like he’s possessive. Like in the one X-Men movie, when Logan goes into the past and stops bad shit from happening and goes to touch Jean and he blocks him? Yeah he does that with you but with everyone. He likes people knowing your his and what’s better than you two being attached at the hip in public?

He likes when you wear his things as well, not so much for people knowing you’re his like mentioned above but just because you're adorable in it. Want his sweatshirt? He’s giving it to you even though it's negative 5 out. His cologne? Just take the whole bottle, even though it’s brand new. He’ll get another one!!

When he’s on missions and away, he gives you so many shirts and even a pair of sweats. Sprays the stuffed animals he got you with his cologne, same with your pillows. He will expect the same if it’s you going away for a long time. Or you’ll come back to him sleeping on your side of the bed where it smells the most like you, his face stuffed in one of your pillows that has one of your shirts on it. 

He is very vocal about being your boyfriend, and you being his partner. Everyone in the world knows, yet no one asked. He’ll gush about you to whoever will listen, the rest of the team is so done but they do admit his devotion to you is adorable.

All the ladies and gents and nonbinary pals who want an over the top surprise proposal, this is your man. It’s super romantic, he pays for your nails if you wear them, getting your hair done, and a new outfit. And you can’t even tell it’s because he wants to propose because he does this all the time. Then he takes you to your fav restaurant and pops the question.

Make no mistake though, he has to be 100% sure that you want him to propose to do so. He’s so attuned to you and your likings he gets your dream ring without having to ask everyone close to you first. Which also assures him no one can spoil the surprise.

He is one of the few ones who probably doesn’t care if you're a mutant or not, because his love is 100% blind. He would probably want a mutant partner, but once he falls he falls hard.

He also won’t baby you if you’re in the X-Men, but if he happens to laser them first? Not his fault.

Kurt (NightCrawler):

He is a very shy partner at first. But once he falls for you, and you make it obvious you have fallen for him it all goes out the window. He is a completely different person around you, confident and flirty. He is just so in love. 

Teases you almost constantly, he’s a teaser with everyone but he loves to see you blush and squirm from his words. 

Loves if you run your fingers through his fur, and almost emits a low purr when you do. If you brush it for him, especially if he doesn’t ask you but you WANT to, he swears he is going to marry you one day. 

He takes you places you told him you wanted to go to when you guys were in the talking stage. Paris? Done, let’s get some baguettes for back home! The Bahamas? Pack a bathing suit, and make sure to bring the detangling brush.

He loves non sexual acts of intimacy, like taking baths together!! Your fingers feel like heaven on his scalp when you massage the shampoo and conditioner in his hair. He also loves touching your body, he’s always careful with the fact he has claws but he would never dream of hurting you.

Big on cuddling and all that stuff in private, but I feel like he would want to keep it behind closed doors. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands on you otherwise. 

Long missions with him are never a problem, he’ll just teleport to you wherever you may be and spend time with you before heading back. 

He’s your call bird, and the gossip you two are able to share with one another? It is divine. He seems to know everything, and you know the most obvious stuff but he always makes you feel like Sherlock Holmes when you tell him things he already heard and was going to tell you about. Which is why he always makes you spill the tea first lol.

For marriage and proposing, I can see him accidentally proposing on a mission. Tensions are high, and he’s worried that one of you won’t make it home to the other. The thought alone makes him dread the upcoming battle, but he grabs your hand and looks into your eyes and states with all the conviction in the world “We’ll get married after this.”

You brush it off, after you both survive the battle, that he didn’t mean it. He just wanted you to know how much he loved you. But oh how wrong you are when you walk into a room with all your close friends and family, Kurt in the middle down on one knee and asking you to marry him. Your face was priceless, and lucky for him everyone took pictures. 

He definitely carries around a photo with you wherever he goes, and when he prays he takes it out and not only asks that God protect him, but you as well because there is no life beyond you. Even if you’re not religious he’ll still do it, just for the peace of mind. 

Jean:

She’s the black cat of the relationship for sure. I mean, she has a lot of issues but she always makes you her first priority. 

She keeps tabs on you constantly. What’s your mood, why? She’ll talk to you in your mind when you’re anxious to calm you, and let you know that she’s there with you. She’s probably an anxious persons’ best friend. You don’t even have to talk, she knows what you mean and changes accordingly. 

She is big on communication for sure. If you do something that bothers or hurts her feelings she will sit you down and talk to you about it. And she has this certain way of doing that doesn’t make you feel guilty. She’s just letting you know what she does and doesn’t like and won’t tell anyone else. These things are very private to her. And she expects you to do the same, and her feelings are never hurt by it. 

Jean’s type of love is selfless. She would put herself in danger tenfold just to keep you safe. Mutant or not, she would be the one to baby you if you’re a part of the X-Men as well. There’s always a kind of bubble around you, that not many but you notice. Hence, people think you’re indestructible because you’re the only one who came back uninjured for the fourth time. 

She wants to be independent, but also loves when you do stuff for her. She will never ask, but her heart warms so much when she sees you did something for her because you wanted too and not because she asked. 

She plans your dream proposal. She is almost a roommate in your own mind, she knows what you like and don’t like. 

Small extra blurb: imagine giving telepathic hints that you want a proposal. She thinks “Why are they broadcasting their ring si-ooooh. I see.”

She is so gentle with you, almost afraid that you’ll break and it’ll be all her fault. The way her hands gently caress you or how she holds your hand is so incredibly gentle.

[kathaynesart]

The call has ended, but the final recording still has a bit further to go.  

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Sorry these past several updates have been such downers.  I promise the next one will have some fun banter.  Can’t wait to get back to the real world with less digital effects and data dump.  I don’t know how Donnie deals with all of it. 

Below the cut I’ve added a little talk about Donnie and the way he handled this heavy conversation, something I fear might come off a little harsh without the proper context clues.  Also, below is a fun little discovery I made about Omega! 

I’ve already had a few people express how Donnie seems mean to his family in this update, which I totally understand how it can come off like that.  A certain amount of nuance is lost in this sort of comic format with neither descriptors, actual voice acting, or even Donnie’s face to give context for the way he is saying certain lines.  It’s an artistic choice I made, but one I still wish to clarify.

I see the sudden hang up as less Donnie being a jerk and more him having to cut the conversation short because he has to keep focus and he’s scared of Leo talking him down from the ledge he’s standing on.  He’s sticking to his guns and it hurts him to see how much it’s hurting his family and so all he can do is distance himself before the strong emotions cause him to make a mistake in the middle of enemy territory (placing legitimate logical concerns over emotional ones).  At the same time he is attempting to remain calm if only to try and let some of that wash onto Leo and April, because he knows if Leo freaks out too much he could risk bleeding out faster, which is why he was pressing for April to care for him first and foremost.  Were he a better liar he might have done so just to keep Leo calm a little longer, but no such luck.   Donnie holds so much love for his family, and I don’t think an apocalypse has changed that, he just has difficulty at times knowing the hierarchy of emotions expected of such a rare and dire situation and instead chooses to focus on the logical issues because at least those are some things he has certain control over. He wants to keep his family safe at all costs and if he has to cut off the last conversation he initiated and desperately wanted with his family to do so then he will.  I hope that clears some things up.  I might make this paragraph into it’s own post tomorrow for those who might have missed this update. 

On another note, I discovered something fun while researching Donnie’s screen UI!  (Extra photos under the cut:) Omega is actually in the movie (kind of)!  Look at the lil’ guy!  All sorts of dead!

Thanks as always for your support and comments, it means a ton!

[shima-draws]

I’m still so mentally ill over the whole Luffy refusing to eat unless it’s Sanji’s food thing. Like. We KNOW how fucking feral over food Luffy is. He loves food and loves eating so much that he steals it off other people’s plates and out of their hands and is so impatient when it comes to meals that he’ll literally try and sneak into the kitchen to mooch before it’s ready. Or he’ll try to break into the refrigerator. I know Sanji mentioned putting a lock on it at some point bc Luffy literally wiped it clean. He will not hesitate to eat other people’s portions or literally an entire meal meant for a whole ship of people! He’s unbelievably selfish when it comes to food and that’s just SUCH a central part of his character that it’s become almost endearing. Even in Totto Land Luffy didn’t think for a second before devouring everything in sight, including an entire fucking HOUSE, regardless of the consequences or the people it might affect. Homie did not care!! He’s food driven first and foremost!!!

Until Sanji leaves him. Until he decides that eating—something that he loves and brings him comfort—isn’t WORTH it unless it’s Sanji’s food he’s eating. It’s been shown that Luffy has zero self restraint when it comes to food so the fact that he was SURROUNDED by food on all sides on a food themed island and utterly refused to partake in any of that? Even though he hates being hungry and will always make eating a priority over pretty much anything else?? The amount of willpower it must have taken for him to sit there and purposefully let himself starve, for SANJI. Even when food was offered to him conveniently (in the form of syrup rain) he stubbornly rejected that. Because it wasn’t Sanji’s food. Because it wasn’t Sanji who made it, who always puts so much thought and care into the food he makes, who always indulges Luffy and prepares extra because he knows how much Luffy eats and how much he loves to eat. Luffy literally took one of the most defining traits he has and tossed it out the window. For Sanji. I’m going to fucking blow up

[suugarbabe]

mattheo riddle | lore

first and foremost Mattheo is the heir to the Dark Lord

making his father the one and only Voldemort, Tom Riddle Jr., Voldy if you will

Mattheo's mother is Bellatrix Lestrange (which is what makes him the cousin of Draco Malfoy; Bellatrix and Narcissa being sisters)

unsurprisingly, growing up with the Dark Lord as your father doesn't make for the greatest of childhoods

Mattheo was tasked with challenges to prove his loyalty and worth to his father's cause at a young age

every failed task came with punishment, some mental some physical

often he was subjected to the cruciatus curse as punishment

other times were simple curses or jinxes to cause humiliation or pain

one of the most easy to see is the scar left over his eye and through his eyebrow

his home (if you could call it that) often felt cold and deserted despite the family living there

Mattheo would spend as much time as possible at the Malfoy's

while that doesn't seem like that better of an option, to Mattheo is was his saving grace

Narcissa showed Mattheo the love her sister seemed so void of

because of this Mattheo and Draco's bond and relationship became more like brothers

Mattheo became proficient in the majority of the dark arts before the age of 12, much to his father's delight and his despise

however, with subtle guidance from his Aunt Cissy, Mattheo formed his own thoughts and opinions about blood purity and 'how things should be in the wizarding world'

Mattheo was often feared by other children growing up

both because of his namesake and also his general demeanor

this caused him to find making friends extremely difficult

however the other Slytherin boys knew him growing up and therefore formed a bond with him early on

while he's not one to be sappy, Mattheo is grateful for their loyalty

Mattheo's childhood environment caused him to become incredibly observant

always able to keep a watchful eye of the entire room he's in

this comes from previously keeping an eye out for his father or his most loyal disciples.

while Mattheo often displays as closed off or cold, in reality he's only being protective of himself

because what else would you learn while growing up with the Dark Lord?

[joelscruff]

wait (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

first and foremost! this is part of my boyfriend's dad!joel series and takes place after "words". this won't really make sense if you haven't read that one! it's so crazy to me how this started out as a silly little smutty drabble and somehow became this. this one's kind of heavy (read the warnings!!) but i promise that things won't stay this angsty forever. at its root this story is supposed to be smutty and fun and i promise there will be more of that in the future. i hope you enjoy it and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 summary: it's been a month since your boyfriend discovered your relationship with his father and a month since you've seen joel. it's starting to take its toll. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, sexting, comeplay, angst, allusions to past trauma, shitty family dynamics (addiction & verbal abuse), panic attacks word count: 3.2k

i miss you

it's the only thing you've thought about texting him for about a month, a text you always type out and then erase a few moments later. it's something you swore to yourself that you wouldn't do no matter how lonely you got. he'd said he needed time, and you want to give it to him. and yet here you are, leaning against the window of your bus home from community college with tears in your eyes, phone in hand, wanting nothing more than to see him. selfish.

it's been one of the loneliest periods of your life. you've known loneliness, felt it throughout most of your childhood, through your adolescence, it's nothing new. but with joel you'd finally begun to feel whole again, like you actually mattered to someone. he looked forward to seeing you, to holding you, being with you. you'd never felt so desired and loved and protected in your whole life.

now you're back to having nothing, no one. it's a harsh reality you're forcing yourself to accept. you still haven't heard anything from your boyfriend - now ex, of course, though there was never any official breakup - and even that's a punch to the gut, an added depth to a loss that you caused.

he's hurting, i hurt him, joel's words repeat in your head. it breaks your heart that he's feeling so guilty, that he feels that he caused this entire thing when it's really your fault. if you weren't such a mess of a person, such a broken human being, the whole thing wouldn't have even happened to begin with. what kind of person sleeps with their boyfriend's father? starts a relationship with him? calls him daddy?

you know you caused this and yet you can't help but miss him so much. it's like he's ingrained himself into your bones somehow, his touch tattooed into your skin. he's all you think about, dream about. you miss being in his embrace, being held by him, whispering daddy in his ear and feeling understood, not judged. you miss his gentle kisses to your nose, the safety of his lap, his arms around your trembling form while he fucked you, took you, made you his.

you stare at the unsent text message and inevitably find yourself scrolling back up to a previous conversation from a few months back, short and simple. texting was never a frequent medium for the two of you, more-so used for you to send him dirty pictures every so often to tease him a bit. you briefly look at the picture, a close-up shot of your bare pussy with some of his come leaking out; absolutely filthy.

still have u inside me daddy

oh baby, so messy. what am I gonna do with you?

you smile at the silliness of it all, the filthiness, but it quickly fades when you remember the reality of the situation again, the fact that your boyfriend had read joel's messages, had definitely seen these texts in particular. he'd called joel a sick man. you don't agree, but you can understand why; if you'd seen a text interaction like this between your own father and a girl half his age... you'd probably have a similar reaction - though the concept of your father showing a woman any affection in the first place is alien in itself.

your bus pulls up to the stop near your house and you get off, slipping your phone back into your pocket and hiking your backpack over your shoulder as you go. it's only a short walk to your house, no more than three minutes, though you usually try to make it a bit longer to delay the inevitable disaster of your home life.

you take it one step at a time, slowly walking down the darkening street with fresh tears in your eyes. god, you're so lonely. you don't want to go home, don't want to be accosted by your alcoholic father and avoidant mother, your asshole brother who never gives you a break. it's so damn depressing in that house; when you'd first gotten together with your boyfriend you'd been so relieved to finally have somewhere else to go that wasn't school or home, another reason you'd stayed with him for so long despite the relationship being doomed. you should have known it couldn't last.

you'd told joel everything. it's hard to believe sometimes that the connection you shared was strong enough for you to trust him with some of your darkest secrets, the worst things from your past. he knows all about your family, all about what you've been through, had listened to you quietly and earnestly as you cried into his shoulder about the hand life had dealt you. he'd rubbed your back, kissed your forehead, whispered it's okay, and i'm here now, and i'm gonna take care of you, sweetheart. and he did. he did take care of you. he'd done everything right and somehow you still managed to fuck it up.

the lights are on in the house when you arrive at the front gate, though the car is missing from the driveway; this only means that your mother is out late tonight, probably staying with a friend or a lover or whoever she turns to when shit gets bad. you can't blame her - you'd done the exact same thing when you'd actually had somewhere to go - but part of you still aches for that little girl inside you that needs her, wishes she was inside waiting for you, though it's not like she'd do much to help.

your father is definitely home, probably your brother as well. you stand at the gate, gripping the strap of your backpack and deliberating even bothering to go inside. you know you'll be accosted at the front door by either a drunken tirade or bitter argument. it's a no-win situation no matter how you look at it. your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, grateful for one last brief distraction.

i miss you too, angel. so much.

your eyes go wide, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare at the words.

"fuck," you breathe, "fuck, fuck fuck," you quickly scroll up to confirm your fears - the i miss you text, the one you always erase, the one you make sure to never send - you'd somehow sent it this time, entirely by mistake.

tears are stinging your eyes as you turn on the spot and start walking back and forth in front of your house, running your hand through your hair in disbelief while you stare at joel's text. you fucking idiot. what the fuck have you done? what happened to giving him space? you stupid fucking bitch. you absolute loser. you're suddenly berating yourself the exact same way you know your father and brother will berate you if you go in the house now. you can already picture it - them seeing your tear stained cheeks, the puffiness of your eyes, the words they'll throw at you to hurt you even more, make you feel small.

fucking bitch. fucking loser. fucking idiot.

your breathing is becoming more and more erratic the longer you pace. you can't go in now, not after this, not after seeing that he misses you too and being so fucking close yet so far away. all you can suddenly think about is all those wasted moments at his house, spending so much time with your asshole boyfriend when you could have been with joel, been loved instead of tossed aside like garbage.

god, if you could only hear his voice. if you could just talk to him for one minute before you have to go into this godforsaken hellhole.

before you even fully understand what you're doing, you're hitting the call button and bringing the phone up to your ear.

he answers on the first ring.

"h-"

"i can't do this anymore," you gasp out through a sob, not even bothering to let him say anything, "joel, i can't do it, i miss you so fucking much it hurts."

"babygirl," he breathes, voice rough and deep and gorgeous and familiar, sweet like honey in your ear, "where are you? are you okay?"

and that's enough to break you.

you feel the tears begin to stream down your face, hot and unrelenting. you shake your head even though he can't see you, throat bobbing through repetitive gasps, "no, i'm not okay," you blubber, "da- fuck, joel, i- i can't do this, i can't be by myself anymore. i'm - " you don't even know where this is coming from, voice muddled, "i'm so lonely. i can't do it anymore, i can't. please, i can't."

he makes a devastating sound at your words, something between a sob and a gasp, "where are you?" he repeats, voice full of concern, "where are you, baby? i'm gonna come get you."

"the bus stop by my house," you manage to tell him through your tears, reaching the little bench and situating yourself on it without an ounce of hesitation, "i was- i was gonna go home but," another sob rips through your throat, "but they're home and i- i can't- i can't take it anymore, joel. i don't wanna be there anymore, i can't be there."

"you stay where you are, you hear me?" you can hear movement on the other line, the rattle of keys, footsteps, "don't go home, babygirl, i'm comin'. i'll be there in ten minutes."

"okay," you whisper, trying to catch your breath, "okay."

"deep breaths, baby, remember?" and you do remember; he'd taught you some exercises to help in situations like this, when you feel like the world is falling apart around you and you're just getting smaller and smaller, disappearing into nothingness. he'd held your hands while you'd sat in his lap, eyes closed as you both matched each other's breathing, melted into one another. "in and out, babygirl, that's it. real slow, count for me."

"i r-remember," you manage to hiccup, squeezing your chest with your other hand and trying to ground yourself.

the wait is excruciating, no matter how short, and no matter the fact that joel is on the other end trying to calm you. you sit on the bench with a hand on your heart and the other on your stomach, listening to joel count to five over and over, phone upturned on your thigh.

"big breath in. one...two...three...four...five," he says through the muffled sounds of traffic and wind, "big breath out. one...two...three...four...five." over and over and over again, "i'm turnin' the corner, baby, i'm almost there," he says after about ten minutes of this, "you see me, honey?"

you look up to find his headlights, getting brighter and brighter as they approach. you shakily sit up from the bench, breath coming out much less erratic now, "y-yes," you whisper.

seconds later the car is pulling up in front of you and he's jumping out, not even bothering to shut the door behind him as he dashes around it. it's been so long since you've seen him that it's jarring to suddenly have him in front of you, sprinting toward your small and shaking form with his jacket undone, shoes mismatched, glasses askew. you catch a glimpse of his expression, concerned and upset - are those tears? - before he scoops you up into his arms and pulls you in close to him.

"i'm here," he tells you, voice rumbling through his chest against your cheek, solid and warm, "i'm here now, babygirl, you're okay. you're okay."

and somehow you are.

--

"i'm sorry," is all you can say to him as he drives you to his house, hand holding yours tightly the whole way, "i'm such an idiot, i'm so sorry."

"stop saying that," he repeats for maybe the fourth time, shaking his head and squeezing your hand even more firmly, "you're not an idiot and you have nothing to be sorry about."

you really are okay now, breaths calm and tears not even flowing anymore. instead the guilt and shame and humiliation have taken over, sinking into your skin as you lean back in the passenger seat with your hood pulled up, hiding your face from him.

"i was giving you space," you mutter, "i didn't even mean to text you, it was an accident. i was being stupid, as usual."

"stop it," he says again, "stop being mean to yourself."

you close your eyes and face away from him, "easier said than done."

the two of you drive in silence for a few moments, that is until he asks, "have you eaten?" and you say, "no."

he buys you mcdonalds and doesn't let go of your hand.

--

the house hasn't changed. you hadn't really expected it to; it's not like it's been that long since you were last here. you don't bother even sneaking a peek at your ex boyfriend's bedroom as joel leads you upstairs, curiosity nonexistent.

you're not sure why you expect him to take you into his office, maybe sit on the couch with you and talk. to your surprise he leads you straight past the door, down the hallway to what you can only assume is his bedroom - a place you've never been in all your months of being with him.

"sit down," he tells you softly as he opens the door, pulling you slowly inside and nodding toward the queen sized bed, "i'll get you something to wear."

"okay," you breathe, barely looking at him as you examine the room in front of you, large but cozy, cool colors but a warm atmosphere, framed music posters and blueprints covering the walls - exactly what you'd expect from someone like joel. you shuffle forward and drop your bag at the end of his bed, sitting on the edge of it while he goes to his dresser.

you end up in one of his sleep shirts and a pair of his underwear, loving the feeling of being his again, even if neither of you have actually talked about what exactly this means for your relationship. he helps you change, tugging off your worn-out jeans and the same shirt you've worn for three days in a row, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls off your panties and replaces them with his boxers. it's not sexual, but part of you still longs to pull him on top of you, just feel his weight, smell his cologne.

he pulls back the duvet and helps you climb inside onto your stomach, rubbing your arms and shoulders and releasing some of the tension you've been feeling for the past month. you feel him press another kiss to the back of your neck, pushing your hair out of the way and stroking it gently, giving you all the care and attention you've been aching for. his hands are so big, so comforting and safe, touching you everywhere without any expectations or underlying motive.

"i missed you, daddy," you whisper against his pillow, not sure if he can even hear you, even more unsure whether it's okay to use that word anymore.

he doesn't reply right away, still kneading his thumbs into the base of your back and massaging you gently. you hear him inhale and exhale deeply a few times, like he's biding time while he figures out what to say.

"sorry," you wince, "joel."

he releases you then, helps you turn over so you're on your back and peering up at him with uncertainty. he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches down to thumb your cheek, eyes sad and tired.

"i wanna be that for you, sweetheart," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "i do. i want it more than you even realize," he takes a breath, biting down on his lip briefly, "i just... i need you to tell me somethin'. be honest with me now."

your heart skips a beat, "what?"

"when you said you loved me..." his voice breaks a bit and you ache to reach for him, cup his cheek and hold him close, "was it because of what we've been doin'?" he seems to reassess his words, shaking his head slightly, "i mean, did it...did you actually mean it? or was it... was it just part of the game?"

you stare at him for a few seconds, lips parting and eyes going slightly wide. without a second thought you do exactly what you'd just been thinking about, reaching up to place your hand against his face, feeling his scruff beneath your palm. he leans in and takes a breath, peering into your eyes with a yearning you can't describe, can only feel.

you shake your head slowly, "joel," you whisper, "it's never been a game."

his eyes close, stuttering out another breath when your thumb strokes his cheek soothingly. unable to hold back anymore, you lean up to capture his mouth in a soft kiss, sweet and tender and familiar. his hand finds the back of your head, pulls you closer, claims you again.

he fucks you slow.

it's never been like this, never has he fucked you the way he fucks you now. you barely speak, just moan and whimper and sigh and melt into each other the way you've never truly been able to, not without prying ears and a time limit hanging over your heads. your hands tangle in his hair while he hits that deep spot inside you, holds you close, buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, pounds into you relentlessly like you'll both come apart at the seams if he lets go.

you're biting it back, trying not to say it as much as you desperately want to, still unsure if this is really want he wants. just tell me what to do and i'll do it. i don't care, i'm yours. he looks into your eyes and you can't help but start crying again, overwhelmed by the warmth of him, the safety. he thumbs your tears and kisses them away.

"say it," he murmurs to you as you both near your inevitable release, the tension building and building as he grabs your face with both hands and fucks you with purpose, with passion, "say it, babygirl, tell me."

you shake your head, suddenly self conscious, suddenly afraid. the feelings from earlier tonight rise back in your chest, making a home in the back of your throat as a sob threatens to rip through it.

"it's okay," he whispers, voice trembling with the speed of his thrusts, "it's okay, honey, i wanna hear you say it," he furrows his brow and releases a groan, so close to the edge, "please, baby, say it. need you to say it."

you pull him close, grip his back, press your lips to his ear, "daddy."

he groans, dark and rough, "that's it," he murmurs, "that's it baby, i'm your daddy. that's right." he pulls back to look at you, eyes meeting yours in a passionate gaze that lasts forever, "say it again."

"daddy," you whine, unable to unlock your eyes from his, lip trembling as you submit entirely to him, "feels so good, daddy."

there's something in his expression you can't place, something in his words that reverberates in your brain like a pinball. say it again... you realize it means more than you'd initially thought. he's not just asking you to say one word - he's asking for three.

"i love you," you cry out just as he presses his thumb to your clit, pushes you over the edge, "i love you."

he comes just as you do, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as your fingers scramble for purchase at his back, holding him impossibly close to the point where his entire body weight is on top of you, but you don't care. all you can feel is the way his heart beats against your chest, the way his gasps match yours, finding the same rhythm.

you lay there still for what feels like eternity, joel laying on top of you with his cock still deep inside and his forehead pressed against your shoulder. your tears have stopped but you feel the dampness of his own on your skin, hear the gasp he lets out as he sets his emotions free.

"i love you too," he whispers in your ear, breath hot and quick, voice wrecked, "god, i love you so much."

for the first time, you stay the night.

[desert-fern]

The Walls Are Caving In - Jake Seresin X Reader

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin X Fem!Reader (Known as Honey Bee/Honey)

Summary: You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

Warnings: Jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho (lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: This one-shot is inspired a little by the song In my Blood by Shawn Mendes. That and I really wanted to explore what could be going on inside the cocky man we all know and some of us fell in love with, so please enjoy 5k words of me putting Jake under the microscope.

===

Jake Seresin was a mystery to you.

The blonde man had always been standoffish around you, almost like he couldn’t stomach the thought of being near you. Yet when the other pilots came together, it was like Jake couldn’t be close enough, knocking elbows with Bob as he tried to take a sip of his drink and chuckling when the WSO had to set his drink down to give him a bewildered look. Jake would start teasing shoving matches with Rooster out on the beach, laughing as he got absolutely rocked back into the sand.

But when you were in the group? He was as far away from you as was considered polite.

The unfortunate thing was that you thrived on physical contact. You loved hugs, both giving them and receiving them. Fanboy had figured it out early on and would now run up and pull you off your feet to spin you around. It was nothing but playful, yet why did Jake always look at you strangely?

You’d given up on finding out, choosing to focus on your career as a base medic. It had been a dream of yours to be a doctor while growing up, but as you got older, you had to face the fact that it wasn’t the most financially sound decision. So you joined the Navy and found your calling as a medic. Between treating a few base personnel for coffee burns, the occasional broken toe from jamming it against a bench in the locker room, and the pilots and crew members who would pass out when the weather got too hot, you were thriving on your ability to always try and bring a smile and a listening ear to whoever came through the door needing help.

It was why you had become known as Honey Bee by the base dwellers, as you had taken to calling them. You were sweet and were genuinely interested in getting to know people, but if someone fucked around, you always had a whole swarm of people willing to makes sure they found out.

What you weren’t expecting from the job was to catch the eye of several of the Navy pilots, not for a lack of trying to dissuade them. You knew better than to shit where you ate, knew better than to mess around with a Navy man who could very well have a girl at any and every port of call. You were here to do your job first and foremost.

But that started to change. Jake had caught your eye, not just because of the blonde hair that always seemed to glow in the late afternoon California sun, the green eyes that seemed to clock where you were in a crowd, or because he was magnetic in a room of people, but because you wanted to know more about him. He was an enigma to you aside from his medical record. You knew that he’d broken his elbow in high school playing football, that he’d sprained an ankle tripping over a step, hell you even knew his medication allergies. But anything personal, you could forget about.

So you stuck it out, keeping your distance and content to smother the other pilots in your affection.

===

It was late in the evening as you watched Rooster play yet another song that was older than he was, his squadron around him yelling along to the words. You and Bradley had been close since the mission he refused to talk about, only that he and his godfather had nearly died. You two had also engaged in a casual relationship, hooking up on the off chance neither of you had a partner, but other than the occasional romp in the sheets, you two were as close as best friends. It’s why you were here tonight.

Taking a sip from your drink, you turned to watch the crowd around you, scanning the room and enjoying your people watching. You didn’t know how long you’d been staring around the room, but it had been long enough that Bradley had stepped away from the piano to stand behind you. “Hey Honey.”

You spun around, hand pressed to your chest. “Jesus fuck Bradshaw! You better not give your favourite medic a heart attack. Who else would treat your ass after you fell off another ladder?”

“That’s just rude, Honey Bee,” he teased, winking at you over his sunglasses that had fallen down his nose. “You know no one else fixes me up like you do.”

“Damn right. So watch it,” you shot back, snatching his sunglasses off his face and putting them on your own face. “Also sunglasses at 10 pm? Who are you fooling?”

He snorted, rolling his eyes at your smirk. “Okay, okay. I came over here to give you a hug ‘cause you’ve been sitting over here by yourself. But since you decided to be rude, I’m just gonna walk away.” Bradley turned, moving through the crowd away from you and towards his team on the other side of the bar.

“Fuck you!” You yelled after him, downing your drink and chasing after him. You caught up to him, tapping him on the shoulder and when he turned, you wrapped your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly. “You’re a real jerk, Bradshaw. You know that?”

He laughed, hugging you back. “And you’re a real smart ass for being as sweet as you are, Honey.” Bradley grinned down at you, pulling his aviators off your face and tucked an arm in the collar of his shirt. “Sometimes it feels like I gotta wrangle you.”

You pulled back grinning at him. “You love me.” You felt energised, like that one simple hug had been injected with jet fuel. You were a social butterfly if you had enough hugs throughout the night and thankfully the Daggers had a number of people who loved your playful teasing and joyous affection. It was how you spread your love and you would be damned if Bradley or his friends felt like you weren’t appreciative of how they kept him and each other safe.

“Regretfully,” he quipped, slapping your shoulder and moving over to where Phoenix and Coyote were chatting.

“Dick!” You called after him, laughing when he flipped you off, his back still turned.

You fell into easy conversation with Bob and Fanboy, grinning when Bob pressed his side to you for a moment after a particularly funny joke. And you continued to bounce around the little groups, laughing loudly and uproariously even though you’d only had one drink hours earlier. “How do you do it, Honey?” Payback asked after you’d come back from dancing with his WSO.

“Do what?”

“Have so much energy. I’d be exhausted if I were you.”

You grinned at him, a wide one showing your teeth. “Well Reuben, I see so many people because of work, but I’ve always been like this.”

“Now that,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “That I can picture. Little baby Honey with two braids making friends with everyone on the playground.”

You laughed with him, feeling alive with the energy in the room. It was only when you glanced around at the other Daggers did you notice a storm cloud underneath the ray of sunshine you were casting over your friends.

“Why don’t you turn your charm on Bagman over there? Seems like his battery is wearing out.” You jumped nearly elbowing Phoenix in the face.

A shrug. “He’s not my biggest fan,” you said simply, missing how Reuben and Nat gave each other a look over your head. “Besides, I don’t want to ruin his night even more than it seems to be going.”

“Mmm,” Natasha hummed noncommittally. “Still, I think you should at least try.”

You turned around. “Why? You all see how he seems to always stand on the opposite side of the room from me, how he barely says two words to me.” There was a frown on your face, something so uncharacteristic that it nearly had Payback choking on his drink as he saw it cross your face.

Natasha just raised an eyebrow and you folded like cheap cardboard. “Fine, but he’s not going to like this.”

You wove through the crowd, making your way over to the jukebox where Jake stood contemplating a song choice. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He didn’t look up at you, choosing instead to stare at the song list you know he’d practically memorized.

A beat of awkward silence passed. “So…” you started again. “You have a song in mind or is it going to be a random choice?”

“Why? You have something you want to play instead?” His tone was sharp, like he was trying to brush you off and it startled you. You could feel Nat’s curious eyes on you and were half tempted to turn around and shout ‘See?!’ in her direction.

“N-no. I was just curious.” Now you were feeling unwelcome. Everything about his body language screamed ‘leave me alone’. He was tense, speaking through gritted teeth, hand white knuckling his beer bottle. “Especially since Rooster always seems to hijack the music whenever you pick a song.”

Jake didn’t say anything, going back to faking his pondering over song choices. You stayed for another moment, before nodding to yourself. “O-okay.” You gave him a hesitant smile before slipping away back towards Natasha. Seconds later, you heard Def Leppard begin to blare through the bar as Jake strolled through the crowd, using his size to gently pass a group of what looked like college girls, whose giggles seemed to carry over the music.

“See?!” You hissed at Natasha. “He would rather fake stare at a music selection he has memorized than talk to me. He clearly can’t stand me!”

Natasha just gave you a cryptic look before drawing you into a conversation about the strangest accident you had ever seen or had. It was enough to draw you focus away from the blonde pilot icing you out, but it also prevented you from catching Jake’s glances your way.

He’d managed to escape your notice for most of the night, choosing to keep to himself or chat with Coyote on the off chance you hadn’t barged into their little group. Contrary to what you thought, Jake didn’t hate you. In fact, he was almost envious of your ability to shine in a room this big. You bounced around like the light off a disco ball, your personality as vibrant as the colours that radiated off as it spun.

The biggest thing he was jealous of though, was the fact that you were free with your affection. You always had a hug and a smile for everyone and if anyone tried to dull your shine, it was like you couldn’t be touched. Jake was jealous of the easy way in which you could ask for a hug to satisfy you.

He couldn’t. Jake yearned for the freedom to be openly affectionate, craved the feeling of being held, but he had spent so long being told that men didn’t do that, that he had to suck it up and be a man. The few girls that had stuck around longer than just one night had never wanted to be close. Sure they had cuddled, but they had all drawn the line at him holding their hand, hugging them from behind. They had only seen him for the prowess and personality he exuded as Hangman, but he was tired of splitting himself down the middle. He wanted someone who wanted Jake too, not just the cocky persona he used to show off. The persona that had made his father spare half a glance his way. He wanted hugs. He just couldn’t ask for them, so he stayed away from you and your sunshine. Created distance between himself and your vibrancy, if only so you wouldn’t pick up on the fact that he desperately needed the affection you distributed in excess.

The half a day he’d spent under your care weeks ago stuck in his memory. Jake hadn’t managed to grab breakfast or lunch on a hot day, hadn’t had much sleep or water, and between the endless up and down, pulling G’s, and push-ups from losing an exercise, the heat became too much for him. He’d passed out halfway through his push-ups, falling face first to the tarmac and scaring the hell out of Hondo who was supervising.

He had been rushed immediately into the infirmary, falling into your capable hands. You had been incredibly gentle checking vital signs, your voice as soothing as a cool damp cloth pressed against feverish skin. You’d stolen his breath when you asked the questions you had memorized due to their frequency of use, and Jake felt like he’d been sucker punched. He didn’t remember much, having spent most of the experience sleeping, but he dreamt of you and every facet of you that had captured his heart and mind over the weeks you had gotten to know one another.

That experience was beside the point though. Instead of asking and being as open and carefree as you were with your love, Jake left himself to revel in the pats on the back, the handshakes, and bro hugs that were “appropriate for a man”. He let himself watch as you hugged Bradshaw, danced with Fanboy, and seemed closer to his squadron than he himself.

So he pushed you away and hoped you didn’t see through him.

===

Days later, you were bustling around the infirmary. You hadn’t seen the Daggers since the night at The Hard Deck and it was kind of taking a toll on your usual bubbly energy. You still had a smile for everyone, but it had started to become forced the longer your shift went on.

Earlier in the day, a pilot had passed out from the summer heat and hit his head hard enough that he bled. You had been filling out reports when the wall of noise hit you and you were on your feet in half a heart beat.

You hadn’t sat down since. That one accident had set off a never-ending queue of people walking through the doors and your feet hurt.

Sat at the desk at the front of the infirmary, you blew out a sigh. 10 more minutes. 10 minutes and then you could go home and relax.

“You good, Honey?” Bradley. You could recognize that smooth voice anywhere.

You nodded tiredly. “Yeah. Just really busy today.”

“I get that.”

“So.” You drew yourself up from your chair, stretching out your arms. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“I was hoping that you could check on Hangman.”

You blinked at him, thoroughly confused. “What?”

Bradley gave you a flat look. “You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because he's been reckless lately. He’s going to get himself or someone else killed if he keeps flying like he has.” There was nothing but seriousness in his amber eyes. Every micro expression that flickered over your friend’s face was one of deep concern.

You nodded. “Okay. It will have to be tomorrow though, Roo. I just finished my shift.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry Honey, but I’m worried about him. He won’t talk to anyone and Mav is at his wits’ end. Can you swing by today?”

Internally, you groaned. Jake hated you, you were convinced of that. Yet Bradley seemed genuinely concerned for his teammate and despite your best attempts, you hadn’t been able to put him from your mind. “Yeah, okay. But if he blows up at me, Roo, I swear to God I will hurt you.”

Rooster grinned. He knew your threat was an empty one, you both did. You cared about him too much to actually follow through with it. “Thank you, Honey. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you grumbled as you walked forward to hug him, burying your face in his flight suit. “You really do.”

You felt him scoff as he hugged you back, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. You stayed like that for a moment before pulling back. “Have a good night, Honey.”

“Thanks Roo. Drive safe.”

And then he was gone.

Fuck. What had you just agreed to do? You buried your face in your hands and blew out a long breath. This was going to be a long night.

===

Bradley had texted you Jake’s address as you finished changing out of your scrubs. You knew he was worried, but a part of you was anxious about what would happen should Jake open the door and see you. Would he slam the door in your face? Would he invite you in and then hit you with the cold-shoulder?

Jake Seresin made you nervous. Pretty people always did, and Jake was no exception. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about the two of you, but you never let your fantasies go too far. They were delusions. Jake avoided you at any chance he could, so you had one chance to make sure that he understood that you didn’t resent him even if he so clearly did.

Twenty minutes later, you pulled into his driveway behind the black truck that was so quintessentially Jake it hurt. You walked up to the front door, ringing the doorbell and trying not to look as awkward as you felt.

The blue door opened up and Jake stared at you with confusion written all over his face. “What are you doing here?”

You swallowed, mustering up some courage to say “Rooster sent me. Can I come in?”

“Sure?” Jake held the door open, stepping aside to let you pass by him. “You have strange timing. I just got Bradshit off my ass.”

“Heh yeah. It’s almost like an intervention or something.” Inwardly, you were cringing. Why had you said that? God, it was like any social skills you had vanished the minute you were around the blonde man. “Your house is nice. I love the colour of the hardwood.”

“Thanks.” Jake’s voice was back to short and clipped. It was clear that he was on edge now. Likely thanks to your stupid comment. Why couldn’t the floor just crack open beneath you right now and spare you the awkwardness? “So why are you here?”

You took a deep breath, letting your eyes meet his own. “Rooster is worried about you. He didn’t say why, just that I should check on you.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, averting his gaze. His arms were crossed over his chest, the black T-shirt clinging mouthwateringly to his arms and shoulders- you shook yourself mentally, cringing again at your thoughts. “You can go now.” Jake’s rushed voice cut through your self-judgement and brought you immediately back into his entryway where he stood not quite glaring at you.

Your interest was piqued by his rush of words. “That was awfully quick,” you remarked as casually as you could. “Jake, whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you. I only want to help.”

“Like I said, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” Deep down, a part of him was screaming at himself to let you in. To let you help. He would tell you everything if you only asked, if you stayed a little longer. Jake clenched his hand into a fist, restraining himself from capturing you in a hug and never letting go. He shouldn’t have these thoughts. You were just being nice. It didn’t mean anything. Right?

“But I am going to. And your team is worried too.” You tried to reason with him, as you watched him closely.

Jake shook his head. “How many times do I have to say this? I. Am. Fine. Okay?” His voice was raised and he seemed just as shocked as you by his outburst. “I’m sorry, but I am fine.” No. God no. Why had he shouted? Even he could see right through himself, couldn’t you? He really hoped you did.

You gave him a kind smile, before replying “It’s okay, Jake. I’d offer a hug, but I know how much you hate them. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” You turned back to the door, opening it up and slipping past Jake, your arm brushing his chest and his breath hitched.

Turning around, you faced him and watched his eyes land on everything but you. “Jake?” Your voice was quiet, like you were afraid to push him. “Are you really okay?”

He shook his head, still looking at the floor. “No,” he whispered. The fight had drained out of him, his resolve crashing down around him. When he did meet your eyes, you were astounded by the myriad of emotions you found swirling deep within the green irises.

“Where’s your living room?” You asked gently, hoping that you both could have this conversation in a more comfortable place. Especially since Jake looked like he would collapse at any moment.

“Down the hall,” he said hoarsely, pointing ahead of you both.

You offered your hand to him and could barely contain the shocked noise when he took it. You felt the calluses on his palms, the rough parts that scratched at your own hands, but there was also a softness in them. The parts he tried to keep out of the light. “Come, let’s go sit.”

You perched on the edge of the brown couch and patted the space next to you. When he sat, you noticed how it seemed like he had purposely left space between you both. “So,” you began cautiously. “What’s happened?”

There was silence for a moment, before Jake spoke. “Too much,” he mumbled so quietly that you barely heard him. “And I just… I don’t know how to fix it.” He was still lying to himself. He knew how to fix it, he was just scared of losing the persona he’d spent most of his life perfecting. He knew that he craved the closeness that you could give him, he just couldn’t ask for it.

“Hmmm…” your hum was soft. Everything about you was soft, Jake thought. It’s why you were so liberal with your love. “Well, can I help you?”

He nodded before he could stop himself. Jake risked it and finally glanced up at you. Where he was expecting judgement or pity, all he saw was empathy, kindness, and compassion. It nearly stole his breath at just how much you cared. You cared about him, even after everything. “Y-yeah. You can,” his voice cracked on the words, but he steeled himself and refused to look away.

You gave him a soft smile, watching his face carefully. Jake seemed to be at war with himself, torn between choosing what he always had or finally allowing himself what he needed. Swallowing, you spoke gently. “How can I help?”

Those four words were the breaking point for Jake who had been strong for too long. The bottle holding in all his yearning, his wishful thinking, all of it, exploded in his chest and he began to sob.

Your eyes flew wide and you immediately gathered him in your arms, turning him into your shoulder. A moment passed before you realized what you had done and you made to let go, but found that Jake had clung to your sweater as he cried.

Each tear set free something deep inside him and Jake knew that nothing would be the same after this. His grip on his feelings had slipped and here he was, sobbing into your shoulder like a child who’d lost their favourite toy. But despite the shame he felt, Jake couldn’t stop and a part of him didn’t want to. You were here, whispering soft words of comfort, your touch grounding him in a way that reminded him how long he’d been floating on his own.

His mind could only focus on the pain he was trying to purge from his body. With each sob, his resolve on his self-judgements snapped and they floated away on the river of tears he cried for the parts of him he had spent too long hiding for fear they would be stripped from him.

Then, with sudden clarity, Jake realized what he was doing. He was mourning everything he’d lost. Everything that had made little Jake Seresin who he was. The excitement of flying, loving his friends with everything he had, all of it gone to appease someone who had been gone from this world for years now. He only cried harder at the thought of his younger self watching who he was now and being disappointed, asking him why he’d stopped hugging people. Why he’d pushed away someone who loved hugs as much as he had.

His face was buried in your neck, the tears wetting your skin. He clung to you, so afraid that if he let go that you’d vanish. And when you vanished, you’d take with you your kindness, the love you spread around so easily, everything Jake knew he didn’t deserve. How could he? You were a sunbeam that had fallen from the heavens above, casting your warmth on everything and everyone you touched. You were magic to him.

Your heart broke for the man in your arms. You silently cursed the pressure he was under as a pilot and whatever rigidity in his upbringing had made it so he didn’t or couldn’t express his true feelings. It hurt to hear his sobs but you knew that this was years of pain, frustration, and anger pouring out of a narrow bottle he had tried so long to keep shut. “I’m here, Jake. Shhh, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry, Honey.”

He felt you stiffen and pull back just a little. “Look at me Jake.” He chanced it, looking up at your beautiful face, cataloguing the fierce look in your eyes that was offset by the gentleness of your touch. “Never, never apologize for your feelings. You hear me?” Jake nodded tearfully, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You can let go of your burden right now. I’m here for you, Jake.”

Your words only set him off again. They reminded him so much of his mother’s own and it cut him deep. She was the light in his life until somehow you’d eclipsed it. She had always given him the love he had craved and had been denied by his father, who had raised him never to express his emotions, yet he’d forgotten about anger. Mark Seresin was an angry man trapped inside the supposed standards of how a Texan man ought to be. He was needlessly hard on his boys, believing that it was his duty to ensure that every emotion had been beaten and worked out of them. He had raised his sons that crying was for babies and little girls. But he would never know how much damage had been done from his ‘tough love’. Mark Seresin would never see his sons snap under the pressure he had placed upon them and Jake was more than okay with that.

And so Jake poured that story out between tears, keeping his hands caught in the fabric of your hoodie, desperately trying to keep you close. He couldn’t have you slipping away from him, but even though he’d cried all over you, ripped open the deepest darkest parts of himself, you didn’t move except to slide backwards on the couch, settling yourself. You had cemented yourself in his life just by holding him close and Jake knew that you could never be aware of just how much that meant to him, how much he loved you for that.

You were going to stay. You held him as his sobs petered out. Held him close as he brought his breathing back to normal, and even as he tried apologizing. But you refused to hear it. “I said I wasn’t going anywhere and I meant it, Jake. Okay?” Your voice was still soft, your hand rubbing circles on his back as you both lay on his couch. He had his head pillowed on your chest, lying there despite the late hour. “You know you can talk to me, right? I meant it when I said I wouldn’t judge.”

“I know.” Jake hated how small his voice sounded, but he was so tired. Tired of the judgement he inflicted upon himself, the arbitrary scale he used to compare himself to others. He just wanted to rest and he was scared. His hard shell had been weakened under his breakdown and this was so new to him. Jake felt exposed, like he’d been stripped naked before you and left to face your judgement.

The only question was: would you still love him after this?

Jake was shaken from his thoughts when you said his name in that soft voice of yours. “What are you thinking about?”

He hummed. “How much I regret crying. I have a headache,” Jake let out a little chuckle at his words. “God, Honey, what do you think of me right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him. “I’m thinking about how strong you are, how much courage it took you to be so brave. You let your guard down and I am so proud of you for that, Jake.”

Jake’s cheeks pinked. “I might cry again if you keep that up,” he said thickly, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.

“I mean it. I am so proud of you, Jake Seresin, and I will say it as many times as I need to so it gets through your thick skull.” Your tone left no room for argument, but you were still smiling down at him, and the warmth of it washed over him like pulling a thick quilt over oneself during the deepest winter storm.

“I-I think I…” Jake trailed off, catching the end of his sentence before he could say it, before he could confess right then and there. “I have shit timing, holy fuck.”

You only raised a confused eyebrow at him. “Jake, what…?”

“I love you.”

He felt your giggle against his cheek, heard the peals of laughter go ringing through his ears. “I know, you sap. I love you too.”

“Wha- How did you know?”

“The infirmary. When you passed out a few weeks ago because you hadn’t had enough to eat, you were mumbling in your sleep. I just assumed you were calling your partner honey, but then you called me Honey Bee when you woke up and I just knew.” When Jake met your gaze, he saw your eyes full of what could only be described as the purest love. “I think I knew before you did.”

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “Well then,” he began. “Think I should make it official then?” He’d pushed himself up onto his elbows on either side of you and smiled down at you.

You looked adorably confused under his gaze, so he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You hadn’t expected it so you let out a muffled squeak that made Jake chuckle against your lips when he pulled away. “Honey…”

A wide grin nearly split your face in two as you looked up at Jake hovering over you. It took nothing for you to cup his face in your hands and pull him down into yet another kiss, this one more intense, intoxicating one another on the feeling of your lips slotting together.

Jake rested his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy and those green eyes, the ones that had enchanted you from the minute you met, fell shut. “Honey. My Honey Bee…” he whispered millimeters from your lips.

“Yours,” you whispered back, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek so lightly Jake thought he’d imagined it. “I’m yours, and you’re mine, because you know that I will not be an idle partner in this relationship, mister.”

He laughed and it had never sounded so carefree to his ears. You had broken through his walls, forcing your way in with a touch so gentle Jake hadn’t seen you coming until you held his heart at your mercy and by the grace of whatever God sat in the heavens, you had breathed joy and light back into his soul. Jake was utterly devoted to you and your light, wholly captivated by you. You had remade him with laughter in his heart, reshaped his broken heart in your capable, yet gentle hands.

“-ake? Jake? Where’d you go?” Worry had seeped into your tone, your brows furrowing under the concern you felt. He’d spaced out a few times now, and while you were worried, you knew that it was likely residual doubt and his own way of trying to process the events prior. “You should go to bed, Jakey. It’s late.” Your thumb traced the ridge of his jawline, bringing him back into himself.

“Stay.” The words were out before he could stop them. “Please.”

“Okay.”

One word, and Jake knew that he’d be alright, that he was safe.

You were here to stay, his Honey Bee.

===

A/N: big thanks to Star for proofreading and telling me that this wasn’t absolute hot garbage! And for the record, this isn’t Jake’s Dagger Comfort fic. That is still in the pipeline somewhere lol

Taglist: @sarahsmi13s @startrekfangirl2233 @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @dakotakazansky @thedroneranger @aviatorobsessed @csmt-m

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

this may be hard to answer because we don’t actually know the characters too well yet, but what do you think vox and val actually *love* about eachother? it seems like it’s more than just sex between them, and i’m curious to know what you think their relationship is like outside the toxic or sexual parts

Anon, to me it is not hard to answer at all, I think about it constantly 🩵❤️ of course all I write is based mostly on my headcanons and interpretations.

So... What Vox loves about Valentino? First and foremost, he makes him feel free. Vox is very self-conscious; he has a lot of internalized shame that he tries to cover with his grandiosity and fake smile. Valentino is unapologetically himself, and no matter how annoying it can be, Vox admires it. He's like the least judgmental person, and except for his temper tantrums, he's quite chill. Vox can't handle something? Val doesn't care; he still thinks his boyfriend is smart and will figure shit out eventually. Vox discovers he's into some weird, socially unacceptable kink? Great, they can try it. Vox rambles for hours about sharks? Good, he has a passion; Valentino likes people with passion, he will listen, he likes his voice anyway. Vox, who has spent his whole life crafting this perfect narrative about himself, cherishes the opportunity to feel comfortable enough with other people (a lot of these things apply also to his friendship with Velvette) to act like an absolute idiot around them.

Also, I think Valentino can be a really amazing boyfriend - he can be funny, charming, and mindful of the other person. That's his whole thing; he deals with desires, and that's why people get addicted to him so quickly. In most cases, it inevitably ends with him taking absolute control over the other person and becoming abusive. But Vox is his partner, so he gets just those nice bits because Valentino knows he wouldn't be able to put him down like he did with Angel. Not that he'd want to; he likes having a partner who's equal to him, whom he can break only if he allows him to do so (yes, my reading of them is very BDSM-ish, don't @ me). Valentino wants to be loved, he loves the idea of love, surrounds himself with hearts but at the same refuses to adjust to societal norms in the way that makes him unlovable; every person he ever loved (in his mind, his obsessive desire equals love) rejected him eventually after he revealed his true nature to them. But not Vox. Vox accepts him as broken as he is, and despite all his toxicity, Vox is reliable, he's the most stable part of Valentino's life. He has the patience to deal with his mood swings, he can always find the solution when Val messes something up, he's willing to accept all the attention Valentino wants to give him, and he supports his passions (ruining lives, making weird porn and abusing people).

Essentially, their love is largely about finally finding the other person who is as bad as you are, who accepts you no matter what and helps you grow (become an even worse person).

And some additional things:

Valentino really likes how smart Vox is. He himself is impulsive and acts instantly on his urges because violence is always an answer so he's kinda impressed when Vox presents him with some elaborate plots.

Vox loves Valentino's creativity, aesthetic, and attention to detail. He really likes nice things, but he lacks the ability to understand the nuance that is necessary for creating art.

They both enjoy each other's sense of humor.

Vox really likes that Valentino is kinda dumb? He can take care of him, and he likes taking care of people because it allows him to prove himself as The Best Boyfriend. He doesn't necessarily gets the idea of unconditional love, so the fact that he has an opportunity to earn it makes him feel more secure in their relationship. That's also why he loves spoling Valentino with gifts which is perfect because Valentino loves being spoiled.

Valentino likes being a little silly when he's with Vox. At work he can't manage people with his competence, so he does it with fear. But yelling and throwing people around is exhausting; he sometimes wants to bedazzle his gun while watching some trashy reality TV and bitching about his hard day at work. It's okay because Vox is also a little silly.

Valentino generally helps Vox live life more. He helped him come out of the closet (in my headcanon Vox for his whole life struggled with internalized biphobia); shows him that emotions other than anger are acceptable and don't mean weakness; even small things like always insisting on getting nice meals (while Vox could live his whole life on black coffee and rice) or decorating their apartment with fancy yet useless stuff.

They're both power-crazy maniacs, so the idea of being with someone who is widely desired by others and could destroy them if they wished is just so incredibly hot.

Vox | Valentino | What they hate about each other

If you liked these you should definitely check out my fic

[celtic-crossbow]

These will be updated here and there. It’s likely that there’s some I won’t stick to when it comes to requests and even story ideas where they won’t fit.

He hates pickles. Anything that is green and smells that bad does not belong in the food section.  But he loves pickled pigs feet.

He likes sex but can easily live without it. 

He hasn’t been a virgin since his early teens (thanks to Merle and a handful of drug money)

It would take some serious, repeated encouragement and assurance (and a lot of time) before he’s comfortable having sex.

He is the type of guy that goes one step at a time, testing the waters. Making out, touching you, letting you touch him (slowly because his brain has been conditioned to flinch away). Everything would be through the clothes and then progress. Slow and steady wins the race.

He’s a switch. Sometimes, he wants all the say (so to speak) in the bedroom, watching you whimper and beg. Sometimes he just physically needs to give up control to balance the chaos. 

Rarely, when he’s extremely needy, he wants you to tell him he’s a “good boy” and praise him for how incredible he makes you feel. He’d never ask for it but when you call him that on accident, his reaction was quite telling.

He can easily go from gentle to rough. He would never want to hurt you. Squeezing your throat, slapping your ass, teasing your breasts, or leaving love marks with his teeth absolutely do not count as hurting you.

Consent is a huge deal to him.

He’s always been quiet during anything sexual; On the rare occasions he talks, it’s reassurances and quiet, gentle praise. Otherwise, grunts and whimpers and low growls are what you get until he’s about to orgasm.

However, sometimes he’s just so wound up, so needy for you, that he can’t help but moan loudly or call your name.

He always tells you he’s close to or has already started cumming. No real rhyme or reason. Maybe just his way of letting you know that you took him there.

He has a genuine dislike of cats. He doesn’t hate them by any means but if he had to pick an animal that was secretly plotting world domination, it’d be cats. 

He prefers boxer briefs. 

The only name brand clothing he ever owned was underwear because his junk deserves only the best. 

He’s superstitious, even if he pretends not to be. 

He doesn’t like giving his significant other pet names beyond “sunshine,” “pipsqueak”, or “woman.” Things that you find endearing regardless. On rare occasions, he’ll use “doll” or “darlin’.”

He secretly adores when you call him “baby” or “sweetheart.” Pretty much any endearment that labels him as yours.

He rarely (but it does happen) says “I love you.” He’s more of an actions guy and if you say it first, he’ll usually only say “me too” or rub his knuckles over your jaw.

He can’t sleep if his feet are hot. 

Spiders freak him out. 

He hates showers, not because he just doesn’t like them. Being in a space with scars on display makes him feel vulnerable. The water touching the scars forces him to relive when he received them.

Contrary to popular belief, he does keep specific areas of his body acceptably clean, using the bathroom sink or river/lake/creek when he’s in the forest.

The dirt and grime that coat his skin is a grounding reminder of who he is, so he doesn’t completely lose himself in that dystopian world.

He has never hunted for sport, only for survival. He respects nature and what it provides.

He loves to read. His favorite book is The Outsiders.

He doesn't/wouldn't understand why his girl can't talk to him instead of a stranger. He would need some mental health education as the urging of Carol or Michonne before even remotely understanding. He wants to be supportive, first and foremost.

He fights tooth and nail to avoid getting "his head shrunk" but in the end, if it meant not losing his girl, he'd give in.

He is a horrible patient for physical ailments and even worse for mental ones.

[mandowifey]

What kind of father figure behaviours would Miguel have?? I’m thinking protective af

Oh boy oh boy oh boy BUCKLE UP.

Father!Miguel O'Hara Headcannons

Warnings: ANGST, SO MUCH ANGST, Mentions of child loss, death, violence, this is canon Miguel, reader can give birth but is not gendered. Mentions of trauma, depression, bad brain times. He's a broken man, yknow?

× × ×

First and foremost, Miguel is scared.

This is a man who had lost it all twice. He had watched his child die. He had lapsed so terribly into himself that he was able to rationalize stepping into another man's life and pretending to be him. He isn't right minded, he's broken and hurting.

All that self blame and doubt chokes him sometimes.

He hurts, constantly.

When you tell him you're pregnant, everything goes still. Fatherhood is something that had always been just outside of his grasp, and now it was here right in front of him. He doesn't fill with light, or smile and laugh, but he does look at you like he's seeing a ghost. There is fear in his eyes, not of you or the baby, but himself.

Because what if he fucks this up again?

Miguel can not stand the idea of opening himself to that pain. He already shoulders that guilt every day, rewatching videos of himself with his daughter. Can he even find room in his heart for another child? He almost feels like it is a betrayal, that he was never a good man to begin with if he were so willing to move on.

When your face drops and your eyes brim with tears, he pulls out of it.

One of Miguel's best abilities is being strong for others. He can be what you need right now, and he will.

Cue the absolute nightmare of expecting his child.

Aside from you being sick, Miguel worries, constantly.

The man can hardly focus on his work. He always asks one of the doctors to go check on you or have you in contact with him. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean the multiverse loses its importance. But god is he distracted.

"Have you been eating enough?"

"Taking your vitamins?"

"How much water have you had?"

It'd be cute if you didn't know better.

You know how much he has lost and you know that he is petrified of losing you both too. Not to mention you are certain he feels undeserving of another chance, especially after destroying an innocent alternate universe.

The way he looks at you tells you everything; he thinks you are made of glass. Something fragile that could break any moment. While you try to assure him that isn't the case, he still worries.

Once you start showing, it's over.

He is constantly caressing your stomach, holding you close, breathing you in. He thinks you smell so good pregnant. Miguel loves to feel your belly, cooing to you about how good you look carrying his child. You don't doubt for a second he loves you.

Miguel is protective, most assuredly. When you want to go walking around the base or go grab snacks he is on you like a shadow. Always watching, always protecting. He makes sure the other spider folk don't bump you, and offers to carry you when you mention your feet swelling.

God, he'd love to feed you. Checking on you constantly if you're hungry, offering to run and grab any cravings you ask for.

When you get further along, he likes to talk to the baby. Speaking in Spanish occasionally but mostly asking if they are giving you trouble.

"They are gonna have my attitude, I know it."

Oh boy, when the baby comes?

Ohhhh boy.

First off it is a way bigger deal than it has to be.

That man would be in the middle of a job and get a ring on his watch.

"JESS, I GOTTA GO."

And she looks at him in time to watch him clawing back into a portal.

Him running full speed, throwing himself against walls and scratching down them to get to your room faster.

His mask withdrawing to show messy hair and wide brown eyes, coming to your side and taking your hand.

"I'm here, Im here." As he kisses into your damp hair.

You get to surprise him, twice.

He didn't know the sex, and didn't know you were having two.

When he see's his daughters for the first time, his eyes leak. The smile on his face stretches miles, his arms open as he cradles them into him. Oh he'd be melting.

You'd never seen him cry, but that day he does.

He's so proud of you, telling you how well you did and how much he loves you.

"Okay Miguel, gotta let me hold one." You laugh.

He's inseparable from you. Looking at those babies with such love and surprise, unable to believe that he was a father, again.

When you fall asleep with the girls tucked in your arms, he stays up and pets your hair.

And he promises himself that this time it will be different.

Your babies would be HELLA protected.

Good god, he is like a hawk with those girls.

Always watching, always making sure they were safe. He'd have eyes on them constantly.

Miguel is a good man at heart, and now he wants to make things right. He'd dedicate as much time to your family as possible, asking Jessica to stand in for him as often as possible (until she herself has her child).

He'd want to teach them to be like him. One of your daughters can stick to walls, and the other has tiny claws like he does. You enjoy lounging on the couch while he climbs the walls with the girls giggling after him.

Your family is beautiful, blissful. He protects all three of you.

And while sometimes you have to hold him at night and assure him that its okay to move on, he knows he's doing his best. He wraps you in his arms and looks at the baby monitor screen, watching the girls sleep. He begins to doze as you pet his hair, assuring him they were just fine.

Miguel would fall asleep against you, head tucked in your neck and strong arms locked around you.

And he would believe it was okay to forgive himself.

[pseudowho]

Jus in Bello: A Judicious Domain

Hiromi Higuruma is thrown out by his wife, the reader, rejected and broken after developing his Cursed power. Can she bring him home when he becomes embroiled in the Culling Game?

Warnings: Very angsty smut, dubcon at points

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"I declare my intent to participate in the Culling Game."

Your words ring through the chamber, your eyes meeting with Yuuji and Megumi, and you swallow your terror with quiet determination. You would enter Tokyo Colony One together.

Their aim? To hunt Hiromi Higuruma, to strike a bargain, or to eradicate him.

Your aim? To find your husband...to warn him, or bring him home.

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Sorcerers with non-Sorcerer spouses were known to be notoriously secretive about their private lives. While most of these non-Sorcerer spouses knew about the unique profession of their husband or wife, it was an academic knowledge at best; without the possession of Cursed sight, or a Cursed technique, their ability to comprehend the job was as remote to them as Heaven from Earth.

This was how it always had been, between you and Hiromi, passing, often, like ships in the night, as you tried to balance your work and home lives. Your love was so often enacted in the dark warmth of the night, rolling slowly towards his cool body as his weight crept into bed, hands and mouths seeking each other for comfort; gentle touches between legs, desperate kisses on necks. The love between Hiromi and you ran deep like still waters; decisive, steadfast, white-hot adoration.

Until Hiromi began to crack under the weight of supporting justice in an unwinnable system. Until Kenjaku had crept through the cracks, rooting Hiromi with such fierce Cursed energy as you had ever beheld. Until Hiromi became gripped by violent righteousness, becoming a hungry monster, fervent and jaded.

You fought to save Hiromi from himself, trying to claw him back from his own transgressions, down a path so contrary to what he really believed in. His resentment of you grew; how had you held so much power for so long, and not used it to help him win fights? And why were you trying to keep him from his own power, now?

In bitter tears, and rejected protection, Hiromi's ship drifted from yours. You remained steadfast in deep waters as always, a lighthouse. Until, one night, in pure hot contention, you threw Hiromi away from you, out of your home, demanding that he never return; he left, black eyes flat and unreadable, and you stayed, feeling the world crumble beneath your feet, your love unwavering, unfulfilled.

In the rising of the sun, you had returned from Shibuya, broken and grieving, part of your soul left behind with the bodies of your friends, colleagues and students. You got home, numb. You showered, numb. You looked into the fridge, starving, with no appetite. You went to bed, and waited for the gentle weight of Hiromi...which never came. You went through the motions with the other Sorcerers, who had no knowledge of your husband or his name. You watched as Kenjaku enacted a sickening new 'game', to usher in a new Golden Era of Jujutsu Sorcery.

When you learned of Hiromi's involvement in The Culling Game, you remained outwardly unaffected to your colleagues and students. Swiftly excusing yourself at the first opportunity, you staggered outside, scattered and vomiting in the bushes as you shook and wept, initially resigned to the cruel fate your husband now had to face. Initially.

As talk of entering the Culling Game to recruit top-scoring players to the cause began, you began to formulate your own plan. Your loyalty was, first and foremost, to your husband. You would save Hiromi, or die trying. You knew you would have to convince him to surrender, run with him, or fight him yourself. You had grimly considered each option as likely. You had grimly considered that your husband had left you, incensed by your rejection, and may now very well exceed you in terms of strength.

You were prepared to find yourself at Hiromi Higuruma's mercy.

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He had found you so much faster than you thought he would.

Hiromi's power was overwhelming, and in Tokyo's first colony, you followed the trail of his murder and destruction, hunting him down in a way that only someone who knew him could do. Your stomach twisted at the thought of betraying Megumi and Yuuji, lying with a smile as you sent them off to the fight.

You were fresh from Shibuya, nerves raw and frayed, crackling with potential like split live cables. You found that the unavoidable murder of a few weak links who targeted you, was surprisingly easy. You were blinkered by your aim, heart pounding with excitement and dread in equal measures, desperate to hold Hiromi again.

As you stood alone in a darkened theatre, the lush red seats hauntingly empty as you tried to get your bearings, your stomach twisted to hear a familiar voice above you.

"Domain expansion-- deadly sentencing."

You felt a hook behind your navel, a swooping, dragging pull as you lost your Cursed energy and dropped into an empty courtroom all at once.

Almost empty.

"I didn't think our marriage was so dreadful that you'd hunt me down to murder me, darling." Your knees wobbled as you took to the stand, a familiar warm hand gripping your elbow to stabilise you, dropping you unceremoniously against the wooden podium. You looked up to those familiar unruly spikes of black hair walking away from you to his side of the court.

"Hiromi," you gasped, his touch still searing on your skin, "you need to listen to me--" You blinked, monologue interrupted as Hiromi stood before you, his face straining to remain impassive, flanked by a bizarre, black-winged, masked creature. Hiromi's thick eyebrows connected in a deep scowl, his lips drawn up in disgust as he surveyed you.

"You need to know your place," he snarled, "you're not in charge here." Hiromi flipped a brown paper envelope in his hands, tapping it against his palm. "You have some charges to answer to...my love." You gulped, Hiromi's voice softening for a moment, sounding almost sorry.

You trembled, fully aware that you were powerless in his domain, and tears stung in your nose. You moved to step down and walk towards Hiromi, but his scowl only deepened, chin dipped, as Hiromi radiated fury and a wicked Cursed energy. You released a dry sob and leaned forwards on the podium on your elbows, your head in your hands, gut-churningly overwhelmed by him; wanting him home, wanting him safe, wanting him back to the Hiromi you knew.

You couldn't deny what an intimidating figure he posed now; slim, suited, hook-nosed and wrathful, you felt a familiar want for him stir in your gut, certain that you could escape together even if you couldn't convince him to join the others. You even preferred the former, captivated by the power coiling off him.

You swallowed, speaking, shaking; "What are the charges against me?"

Something hot and vengeful burned in Hiromi's eyes; "Spousal abandonment." Another sob wracked from your chest, appalled by the accusation, deeply wounded.

"I never walked away from you, Hiromi," you cried, voice breaking as you impeached him, "I--"

"Our evidence," Hiromi continued, eyes scorching into you as you stared each other down in bitter contention, "items one to ten, prepared for the defendant's examination." Hiromi spun the brown envelope to you, and it scattered items to your podium as it burst its contents on impact.

You picked up the items with trembling hands, agonised by them all, your heart sinking into your stomach as you beheld the varied contents of your marriage to Hiromi; your marriage certificate. A photograph, of your first kiss as man and wife, youthful joy on both of your faces. Your wedding vows, two neatly written pieces of paper, feeling Hiromi's intense, determined commitment to you rise up from the paper as you had when he had first spoken his vows to you. A short love letter from him, to you. A short love letter from you, to him. A stack of post-it notes you had left on the fridge, and in each others' lunch boxes. A bloodied dishcloth, from where Hiromi had accidentally cut his hand on a kitchen knife during your first fight about his new powers. A frantically handwritten apology note from Hiromi, to you. And a single, solitary hotel-room receipt, from the night you had thrown him from your home.

You knelt behind the podium, crying your heart out as you gathered these treasures, putting them back in the envelope and clutching them to your chest. Hiromi's stomach roiled with the fury and agony of your rejection, torn between wanting you to feel his pain, and wanting to comfort you in yours. He felt nauseous, unable to stop this courtroom charade now he had started it. He gulped back his feelings for you, eyes flinty and dark once more.

"How does the defendant plead?"

"Hiromi, I--"

"How does the defendant plead?"

"Stop it, I would never--"

A voice rising, deep, commanding, "How does the defendant plead?"

"I will always want you."

Silence fell again in the courtroom, only punctuated by the quiet, heaving sobs coming from behind your podium. Hiromi stared at the floor, flat and disconnected, "The defendant pleads...not guilty."

You heard a soft sigh from Hiromi as he continued, "Our second piece of evidence--"

You hung on bated breath, listening, waiting...until nothing came. Still clutching the envelope to your chest, tear-stained and shaking, you stood. Hiromi stood directly in front of your podium now, looking up to you from the floor. He said nothing, and his eyes glistened with reproach, his arms slightly raised to his sides, palms facing you as if in crucifixion.

"Your...your second piece of evidence?" you asked, weary, drained.

"Me. Being here. Right now." You blinked, not understanding for a moment.

"I...Hiromi, I don't--"

"I'm here," he pressed, heated and furious as he climbed your steps towards you, "and why would I be here, in this godforsaken pit, if you hadn't forsaken me first?" An accusatory finger stabbed the air between you, Hiromi hissing in rage, tears brimming in his lovely dark eyes. You reached up to take his hand, silently pleading, and he let you for a moment, torn, before ripping his hand away from you, spinning on his heels to walk back down the steps.

You flung your arms round his neck from behind, "Hiromi, don't--" His strong hands grasped yours, peeling them from his body and fixing them behind your back, pinning your body against the podium with his own. You couldn't move as you gasped, weeping, and Hiromi gripped you in place, white-knuckled and trembling.

"Why don't you want me anymore?" He raged at you, his mouth hot against your ear, "After everything we've been through, and I needed you to help me, and instead I end up thrown out like a dog--"

"-- I've tried to help you, to keep you away from the Jujutsu world, this miserable life--"

"-- I had no choice, this was forced on me, there's no way out of this now--"

"-- you've killed people, Hiromi."

Silence again, Hiromi panting against you, body hot and thrumming. He sniffed, squeezing your wrists as he pressed his face into your shoulder.

"They were...ugly. Ruthless monsters. Not people." Hiromi was silent again. You were lost in the bliss of his wiry body and sharp strength against yours. The raw emotion of the fight burned in your belly, seeking release.

"You were...my one constant. Soft, and beautiful and strong, and I-- I could always come home to you, until you-- you--"

Your face crumpled again, overwhelmed all of a sudden as your righteousness left you and you were wracked with guilt at having given up on him. You turned your head, stroking his hair with your cheek, tears dampening the black strands, dishevelled now. Soft and vulnerable for a moment, you felt Hiromi's shoulders tense against you, set in a hard line, and he bit into your shoulder with barely restrained aggression.

"But you lied," he urged, voice low and hushed against your neck as you whimpered into the pain, pressing yourself back against him, "you do want me, don't you?" Hiromi's nose and lips brushed against your neck, one hand remaining cuffed around your wrists, and the other creeping up to grip your throat and jaw. You coughed, alarmed, quivering.

"I don't know what punishment my domain will condemn you to," Hiromi whispered, trailing a long, languid lick up the side of your neck, tasting your sweat, fear, and regret, "and I don't know how this will end for me."

Hiromi's whole body was pressed against you, and you could feel the outline of his cock, solid against your back, as his hand slipped down from your throat, slipping under your shirt and bra to idly roll your nipple between his fingers as you keened at him.

"And even though whatever we had is soiled now," he croaked, his lips and nose still buried deep in your hair, his grieving face twisted with despair, "we should enjoy each other one last time, as husband and wife."

You hiccuped, breath catching on the lump in your throat, swallowing painfully, "Come back home, Hiromi. Or let me come with you, anything, as long as we--"

"-- as long as we're...together?" Hiromi scoffed lightly, terse and bitter, still tenderly squeezing your breast as he kept you pinned, his ministrations belying the anger you still felt brimming below the surface. He was grimly satisfied to feel you tremble under his hands, punishing you before your judgement had been passed.

"See, I used to think that," his hand left your breast to your noises of protest, but you shivered as it slipped down across your belly, deftly undoing your trousers, "and then, well...you know the rest. It was up to you, after all." Your face burned with shame at having your rejection thrown back at you.

You cried out as Hiromi shoved his hand roughly down the front of your trousers, cupping your sex with a possessive squeeze. He swiped your underwear to the sides, pressing two fingers harshly against your clit, groaning at your wetness as you bucked, whimpering. Your hands twisted in anguish, seeking freedom, and Hiromi denied you, pressing your upper body flat on the podium, lifting you so your toes brushed against the floor.

You sobbed your pleasure as Hiromi worked practiced strokes between your puffy lips, softly pinching your clit and rolling it between his forefinger and thumb as you bucked, overstimulating without being allowed to cum, drawn to tears with sharp pangs of pleasure and pain.

Hiromi punctuated his words with barely-restrained pinches of your clit, leaving your toes curling as you twisted and writhed under him, crying out and begging him for release; "You always wanted me," pinch, "you still want me," pinch, "and you've broken it beyond repair," pinch, "but I'm fucking sure you're completely ruined for anyone other than me,"  he growled, rubbing tight circles on you now, his hand wet with your arousal settling in his palm, and you mewled, high-pitched and desperate, pinned and shaking under his hands.

As he leaned into you, bucking his clothed erection against the swell of your arse, he shuddered in satisfaction as your thighs clenched together, your struggling fading as he brought you to orgasm, softly whimpering through a haze of pleasure and regret. Hiromi continued to rub slow circles, hushing you gently, bringing you down from your orgasm as he undid his trousers, grasping his twitching cock and pulling it free.

As you came down from your high and your vision cleared, your eyes met the impassive blank gaze of Hiromi's bizarre Cursed creature, and you hid your face in the podium, flushing with shame, feeling Hiromi yank your trousers and underwear down behind you.

"Hiromi," you shook, breathless and weak for him, "let me kiss you, please--" Hiromi chuckled again, humourless and gravelly. You jumped as felt him stroke the hot, leaking head of his cock up and down between your folds, jolting with sensitivity every time it brushed over your clit.

"I don't think so. We shouldn't stay too attached, should we?" You cried out, aching pussy filled instantly as Hiromi rammed into it, squeaking and squirming with blinding pleasure as Hiromi grunted behind you, his spare hand shaking as it dug into the plush of your hips, holding you in place against the cool wood of the podium.

The blinding pleasure was overwhelming as Hiromi pounded into you, wet slaps and his groans of ecstasy echoing through the dull silence of the courtroom. Your knees buckled, the podium taking your full weight as you felt his swollen tip slam repeatedly into your cervix, feeling sharp pangs in your belly every time it struck. Hiromi's grip on your wrists was painfully tight, your breasts crushed to your chest, nipples rubbing hard against the podium with the force of Hiromi's thrusts, and you felt his rage with every snap of his hips, praying you would be forgiven for your crimes against him after he had finished.

Feeling your core, hot, wet and pulsing around him, Hiromi slammed into you, trying to dull the odd duality of wanting to pull you desperately into his arms, and wanting deeply to hurt you as you had hurt him with your betrayal. His nose and eyes stinging with tears, and blood roaring through his ears, Hiromi spat out his rage and heartbreak as he came with a shout, holding himself into you deeply, feeling himself empty, heart throbbing and numbed by his release.

Hiromi shook, still seething, blinking back tears of rage as he pulled harshly out of you, stepping back, leaving you cold and empty on the podium, your overstimulated pussy fluttering around nothing. Hiromi stared at you, shaking and tear-stained and still ready to take him back, but still wanting to tame him, watching his seed trickle, white and thick, down the lips of your pussy, dripping to the floor of his domain. Loosening his tie with one quick pull, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, overheating.

"Let's make sure we do this properly, hmm? For old time's sake," chimed Hiromi as he turned you around to face him, lifting you by the waist to sit on the edge of the podium. You raised your hands to his face, clasping his cheeks as you gazed into his eyes trying to find your Hiromi still in there. You saw him, lost behind a veil of someone darker, much more broken than he had been before you had thrown him out of your home, and your lips puckered, drawing together as you tried to hold back tears again.

Hiromi sighed as you held his cheeks, feeling the day-old stubble growing there. You leaned in to kiss him, and he ducked to avoid you, latching sharply onto one freed nipple as his hand squeezed the other breast, tearing your shirt open at the buttons. You gasped, sinking your hands into his hair and gripping your thighs around him to hold him close.

Hiromi reached up, firmly untangling your hands from his hair, his jaw clenched; "Hands to yourself. Or we'll have to tie them out of the way." You cringed, reluctantly putting your hands to your sides as Hiromi gradually nosed his way down your body, stopping to nip at the sensitive skin of your belly, not once kissing you.

You fell into the little touch Hiromi was giving you so easily, a part of you still cold and empty by his enforced penalty of withholding affection and intimacy. The longing made you all the more eager, grasping at whatever he would give you. You shivered as his mouth reached your thighs, nipping and sucking gently on the soft skin grazing the edge of your pussy. Lost in the delight of his mouth on you, a hand slipped down again to sink into Hiromi's hair.

He stopped immediately and you gasped, apologising in a babbling rush. Hiromi rose,  hooded eyes looking at you in disgust, lips curled and nose wrinkled.

"Please-- I'm sorry, Hiromi...please--" Hiromi hesitated briefly, before raising his hands to slowly grip yours together again, not breaking eye contact.

"Final warning," he snipped, brittle and threatening. You gulped, nodding quickly. Hiromi's mouth returned to your thighs. When his nose and tongue finally slipped between your folds, experienced in his role as the only man who pleasured you, he tasted you with the fervour of a man determined to commit you to memory.

Hiromi heard you crying out above him, your sweet sounds soaked up and stored away in his mind, and he ground his nose against your clit, dipping a tongue into you to taste how the two of you were together, groaning as he felt himself begin to harden again.

Hypersensitive from the rough treatment of Hiromi's hands, you begged and pleaded to Hiromi, fingers clawing at the wooden podium, your whole pussy aching with all it had received and all that was yet to come.

Something in your belly snapped as you came, hard, calling Hiromi's name as he continued to nuzzle into you, lost, desperate to soak up your affections one last time. Barely stopping to let you come down from your high, Hiromi rose up, lifting you to kick your trousers and underwear away, and wrap your legs around his waist.

Hiromi threw his suit jacket to the floor of the stand, laying you down on it with such warmth that you could have wept again, and Hiromi laid himself flat to you, raising your thighs to cradle his hips, encouraging you to squeeze him as he slipped his cock easily into you again, slippery from the cum he had already left behind. You mewled, full and ecstatic.

Nose to nose, Hiromi plaited his fingers with yours and gripped them, your forearm flush with his as he leaned over your head. Moving within you, slow and thorough, the head of his cock examining every inch of you, Hiromi sunk his face into your neck, kissing you, promising you.

"I never stopped loving you," he urged, panting softly as you raised your hips in tandem with his thrusts, "I never-- I never did-- never will..." You gasped, pressing your lips to his, as sweet and optimistic as your first kiss...but haunted now, by something dark and tainted.

You and Hiromi moved together, gentle and quiet, as if alone in your bedroom in the dead of night again, and you felt the familiar deep warmth spread through your belly and thighs as you approached your peak again. Hiromi knew, knowing your body by flesh-memory now, and he tilted your hips against him, hitting deeper now, barely pulling out.

"Together," he insisted, pink-cheeked and euphoric. He felt you clench around him, drinking down your moans as he kissed you, ecstasy bursting through him as he came again, knees to the floor, weakened, his anguish and turmoil released in solemn finality.

He stayed for just a few seconds. With a soft sigh, he pulled out of you with a groan, standing and tucking himself back into his trousers, adjusting his suit, pulling his tie back on with practiced hands. You dressed, quiet and full of dread, desperate for an answer- you knew Hiromi had already made up his mind.

"We're done." His voice, quiet and considered, the Hiromi you knew, pierced you like a knife. You shook, picking up the envelope with the remnants of your life together.

"Come with m--"

"I won't come with you. You made your decision. I...have had mine made for me. All that's left for us to do, is to stand by them." Hiromi turned his back on you, "The prosecution rests. All charges have been dropped."

You reeled at Hiromi's final rejection, cold and weeping. His domain collapsed around you, and you found yourself sat in the dusty chill of the old theatre. Hiromi stepped away from you, ignoring you as you called out to him.

As he reached the door, he stopped, gripping the doorframe with a shaking hand; "I'd like to say I'll come home, if I win this. But whatever we had...it's gone. I can't-- I can't trust you anymore." Hiromi left into the night, the door swinging shut behind him.

By the time you had reached the door, sprinting out into the night, Hiromi Higuruma was gone, and you were alone once more, his conviction of you passed and enacted with a final kiss goodbye

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This so nearly had a different ending, but I did what I felt was true to his character.