#window winged moth

[onenicebugperday]

@panaceaphantastica submitted: They were pretty chill so I managed to capture their little face!! But I think I might have disturbed them because they started doing the shakey shake (as shown in video). They have since settled back to their regular still completely non-suspicious just-a-leaf-on-the-wall-nothing-to-see-here self. From the intersection between Itatiaia National Park and Serra do Papagaio National Park. Minas Gerais, Brazil.

Looks like a window-winged moth in the genus Belonoptera! The fluttering could just be warming up their flight muscles before taking off, possibly to flee the big predator taking photos of them lol. OR maybe they were dancing for fun and pleasure. We just can't know. Anyhoo this friend is a BEAUTY. Lovelovelove their colors and patterns. And cute yellow eyeballs. And the fancy wing shape! 10/10 bug design.

[stupid-for-simping]

Moths might be my new favorite animal

7 Spectacular Moths in Slow Motion! - YouTube

'Moth Man' Warren Krupsaw's Insect Portraits Scare Us To Death | HuffPost UK News (huffingtonpost.co.uk)

[starshideurfics]

Little Steve who gets lost on a shopping trip in Chicago once. He’s bored and wanders towards a window display while his mommy is at the perfume counter, everything is so neat and perfectly in place. By the time he turns around, he can’t see his mommy anywhere.

Steve takes a deep breath and starts walking, ready to go looking for her, only to realize just how big the department store is. He’s overwhelmed and ducks into the middle of a clothing rack, curling up into a little ball, his lip wobbling as he makes peace with the fact he will have to live at the department store. He knows there’s food there because they already had lunch, and they walked past a whole department full of candy. There are little beds in the home department that will be just the right size for him, even if Mommy always says he shouldn’t climb on them and not to embarrass her. There’s even a giant teddy bear in the toy department, so really, living here won’t be so bad!

“Steve! Stevie! Oh my god! Steven!”

Steve perks up. That’s his mommy. He crawls out from under the rack, through a curtain of suit coats.

“Mommy!” He runs to her and she crouches down to pull him into her arms.

She cries as she holds him and apologizes, words more for herself than for Steve. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I thought you were right next to me. Oh god! What if something had happened to you?”

He gets a new toy truck, a nice one with working doors, and Mommy holds his hand the rest of the trip. They get ice cream. It’s the best day ever, and Steve was only scared for a minute.

A month later, Steve is bored at home. Daddy is in his office and Mommy is on the phone.

Every time he tries to talk to Mommy she says, “Not now, Steve. Mommy’s busy.” Daddy’s office door is locked.

So, Steve decides to run away. If he’s missing, Mommy will want to find him and hold him close. He puts on his shoes, carefully tying the bows on his laces, and leaves.

The sliding door into the backyard is quiet as he closes it behind himself, and he sets off with a determined gait.

Steve makes it far enough into the woods that he can’t see his house anymore. Then far enough that he comes out on a field that he doesn’t recognize. Another little boy is in the field, very focused as he stares at a patch of clover. “What are you doing?” Steve asks as he approaches.

“Catching moths!” The boy points to an open mason jar with leaves and twigs inside, then to the clover, a handful of white and yellow moths among the plants. He smiles at Steve, a gap where one of his baby teeth has already fallen out, then turns back to the clover, taking slow steps and crouching, trapping a moth between his cupped hands. “Can you grab the jar?”

Steve does, holding it carefully as the older boy places the moth inside, holding a hand over the jar’s mouth. “Thanks! My name’s Eddie, what’s yours?”

“Steve.”

“Wanna help me catch some more?”

“Yeah!”

Together, the boys catch a few more moths (Eddie catches all of them, Steve keeps scaring them by moving too fast). Eddie puts them in the jar, closing the lid, holes already punched in the metal, and they watch the little insects walk along the twigs and languidly flap their wings. Then Eddie unscrews the lid, giggling as the moths fly away.

“Why’d you do that? We worked so hard!”

“Moths can’t live in jars. Mama always says I can look but I can’t keep ‘em,” Eddie answers with a smile. Then Steve’s stomach growls loudly, and Eddie looks up to see how low the sun already is in the sky. “I’m hungry too. It’s almost dinner time, so we should head home.”

“I don’t know how to get home,” Steve says softly, suddenly realizing he got pretty turned around in the woods and home could be anywhere.

Eddie takes Steve’s hand. “That’s okay, you can come with me!” Eddie knows exactly what to do, leading Steve with all the confidence of a six-year-old, ready to start 1st grade next month. They quickly arrive at the trailer park, Eddie knocking at a door before walking straight inside, tugging Steve after him. “Uncle Wayne!”

“Hey there, Bug, who’s your friend?” Eddie’s uncle is tall, with kind eyes. Even if Eddie hadn’t brought him there, Steve’s pretty sure he would like Uncle Wayne.

“This is Steve.”

“Steve’s folks know where he is?”

“He doesn’t know how to get home.”

“Ah, shhh—” Wayne winces, cuts himself short, and Steve’s pretty sure he was gonna say a bad word. “Steve, do ya know your phone number?” Wayne asks, crouching down to be eye-level with the boys.

“No…” That’s a lie. But he needs to make sure Mommy and Daddy are worried about him. If he gets sent home too soon, they’ll just be mad.

“Your address?”

“No.”

“How about your last name?”

Steve just shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. He had so much fun with Eddie, and now everything is falling apart. He should have stayed home…

Wayne ruffles his hair. “It’ll be okay, kiddo. We’ll get you home.” Steve’s stomach growls again. “How about we have a snack? Everything looks better on a full stomach.”

Eddie is still holding Steve’s hand, and brings him over to the little table, letting go so they can climb onto chairs. Wayne gives them chocolate-covered mini donuts and orange soda, asking them about their afternoon, Eddie doing most of the talking.

Then the phone rings, and Wayne answers. “No, he’s here, Bets, Eddie’s with me. — What?” He turns to look at the boys, staring at Steve, before continuing, “Nope, you saved me some trouble. You know Eddie, he picked up a stray. — Pretty sure it is. Yep, I’ll drop Eddie off after.” He hangs up, smiling again. “Hey, Steve, I think I know how to get you home now, so don’t you worry.”

Wayne loads the boys into his truck. He drives the backroads, quickly arriving outside Steve’s house, his mommy throwing open the door when she notices their arrival. “Thank you,” Steve says quickly, scrambling out of the truck and running to his mother.

She holds him close and cries, yells her thanks. Steve waves goodbye to Eddie as he is carried inside. Mommy kisses his hair and tells him he isn’t allowed to go outside without telling her, that he scared her half to death.

Steve just hides his face against her shoulder, snuggling close.

When Daddy gets home he yells, scolds Steve for causing so much trouble, for scaring Mommy and making them call the police. He gets a spanking before be sent to his room for the night.

Steve never runs away again.

[prythianpages]

Dandelions | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch Reader | The moment in which you realize you're in love.

word count: 1,713

warnings: fluff, kissing

a/n: Surprise Surprise! This is my 1,000th post on this blog and I wanted to dedicate it to Green Witch reader <3 This can be read as a stand alone. I was on reddit when I saw a comment that reminded me of these two and I just had to write it out before I lost inspiration, even though it was midnight when I saw it.

Walking through the cobblestone streets of Velaris, your heart feels light and content, further lifted by the enchantment that seems to weave through every building and tree. The rain from the afternoon had left behind shimmering puddles and brought upon a misty evening. Warm and humid, the air was alive with the croak of contented toads and the delicate flutter of moths.

As a green witch, your connection to nature runs deep. You cherish all living things, from the majestic trees lining the streets to the smallest insects that flit about underfoot. Many might find them insignificant, even terrifying. But to you, they’re lovely.

Yet, among all the wonders of Velaris, it's the shadowsinger walking slightly ahead of you who captivates your heart the most. 

His dark hair, damp from the mist, clings to the back of his neck. It curls at the ends and you’re sure there’s a matching, distinctive curl of hair or two that falls down over his forehead that you would love to run your fingers through. His wings are tucked into him and though his back is turned toward you, you notice the slight tilt of his head downwards. 

You also can’t help but notice the way his shadows slither along the ground in front of you both. Almost as if they’re clearing a path for the both of you. You don’t think much of it, even though you’re usually the one walking slightly ahead. Azriel is always attentive to your surroundings.

Your lips curve into a tender smile as you continue to admire him from behind. The mating bond hums softly between you. You give a tug and it’s instant, the way your chest swells with warmth as he responds. He doesn’t turn around but you catch the subtle twitch of his right wing. Something you notice he does when flustered or blushing.

Though you both are now aware of the mating bond or at least now aware that you both are aware, you came to a mutual agreement to take things slow.  So Azriel courted you, determined to right the wrongs of his initial coldness. His efforts to show you his true self, the side he's always wanted you to see, have been nothing short of enchanting.

You always suspected there was more to Azriel than the stoic warrior facade he presented to you. And as the days turned into weeks, he revealed layers of his personality that left you breathless.

You discovered his love for reading, the way his eyes softened when he spoke about his favorite books. He took you to his favorite hidden spots in Velaris that he wanted to share only with you. 

One evening, he surprised you with a picnic by the Sidra River. Since you could not prepare him food due to the bond, he had taken it upon himself to prepare all your favorite foods. 

His gestures were not always grand, but they were always meaningful. Like the time he spent hours helping you gather rare herbs for your potions. Or the quiet evenings you spent in his arms, where words were unnecessary.  Yet, he never stayed the night, always leaving before it got too late.

“y/n?”

“Yes?” 

You hadn’t realized he’d been talking to you, too lost in your thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say again, seeing that you have reached your small townhome. Your apothecary is located right next door, the sign swaying slightly despite the lack of wind.

The fae lights hanging from your door’s overhang flicker on as the sun begins to set, casting a warm glow over the entrance. From the window, you spot a set of two glowing eyes watching you, bringing forth a smile. It’s your cat, Binx. He blinks at you in greeting.

Azriel draws your attention back to him as he carefully makes his way up the three steps that lead to your door. He offers you his hand, not wanting you to slip on the wet cobblestone. You take his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. His fingers intertwine with yours, strong yet gentle.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Azriel’s gaze locks onto yours, his hazel eyes warm with emotion. “I’d do anything for you,” he replies softly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. There’s a vulnerability in his voice, a raw honesty that makes your heart ache. 

He steps closer and the space between you seems to hum with the energy of the bond you share. You find yourself giving in to the irresistible pull of that bond, wrapping your arms around his neck, and bringing his head down toward yours. Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a soft and delicate exchange but as the hands at your waist travel upwards, it morphs into something more heated. A kiss that speaks volumes about the growing connection between you two. 

His hands cradle your face, one moving to the back of your head as he gently pushes you against your door. It’s when your tongue traces along his bottom lip that he pulls away. “You should go inside before the rain comes down again,” he breathes but you catch the way his pupils flare as he gazes down at your swollen lips. Droplets begin to fall from the sky yet neither of you move.

“I should,” you reply, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you pull him back in for another kiss.

**

You linger by the window, fingers pressed against your lips, drawn to the sight of Azriel walking away in the gentle drizzle. It wasn’t your first kiss and certainly not the last. Each kiss only further fueled the desire between you both but you two had agreed to wait to be intimate with one another until you’re ready to accept the bond. Something that was becoming a struggle with every passing day.

As you watched Azriel go, you saw something that made your heart skip a beat. He was pausing every few steps, his fingers gently lifting what appeared to be small worms off the wet pavement and guiding them to safety in the lush greenery that bordered the streets. His shadows danced around his feet, helping him.

And then it hit you—why Azriel’s attention had been on the ground as he walked you home earlier, why his shadows had been forming a pathway. He was saving the worms from being stepped on. Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you knew it, you were slipping out your door and running toward him.

“Azriel!”

Azriel turns, his brows furrowing in concern as soon as he sees you. He raises one hand—the one that hadn’t been picking up the worms—to caress your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a rogue tear. “Why are you crying?” he asks, frowning.

“Because you’re so sweet and thoughtful and kind and I love you and—”

“You love me?” he interrupts softly, his right wing twitching as a blush creeps onto his cheeks.

“Yes, you. I love you and only you,” you repeat, voice trembling with the weight of your feelings.

And then he’s kissing you again, letting his lips convey those three words for him.

**

You glance over at Azriel, his focused expression making your heart swell with what you’re now certain is love. Every time he looks your way, his gaze softens and you feel like you’re about to burst.

His eyes had widened slightly when you had offered to help, not realizing he’d been caught. He had protested, claiming you’d only get sick if you stayed out in the rain with him. But you had ignored him, kneeling down on the damp ground.

So now you both were kneeling on the ground, the cool rain soaking through your clothes as you helped the small bugs to a safer path. Azriel’s shadows were eager to help as well, nudging worms and beetles your way. A bit too eager, as they sometimes sent the bugs skittering away toward the grass, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the playful chaos.

Just as you’re about to pick up another worm, a small movement catches your eye. A toad hops out from under a bush. Azriel startles but you grin, scooping it up into your hands. When he inches away from you, your eyes light up in mischief.

Before he knows it, you’re chasing him around, the toad held out in front of you. Azriel dodges and weaves, his laughter mingling with yours in the rain. His shadows seem to be on your side as one sneaky tendril crosses over his leg and he trips. You fall over him, the both of you collapsing in a heap on the wet grass. The toad hops out of your hold, much to Azriel’s relief. You’re both breathless and grinning.

"Do you still love me now?" You tease.

“More than anything,” he replies immediately, his wings stretching out under him to fold over you and shield you from the rain.

“Would you still love me if I were a toad?” You challenge.

Azriel laughs, his hazel eyes twinkling as he pulls you closer. Your head rests on his chest. “Even if you were a toad. I’d find a way to become one with you,” he says, the sincerity in his tone nearly bringing you to tears again, as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

The rain grows heavier, and the two of you finally decide to seek shelter, running back into your home. When you ask him to stay the night, he doesn’t hesitate to say yes. After washing up and changing into comfortable clothes—Feyre had magically sent Azriel fresh garments at his request—the two of you nestle into the comforting warmth of your bed.

It’s not big enough to accommodate his wings. Something you're already working on replacing. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it only gives him more reason to hold you closer.

Your back is flush against his chest, one of his strong arms draped protectively over your waist as you both watch the rain patter against the bedroom window. His chin rests gently atop your head and you close your eyes, feeling utterly safe and cherished. 

The bond between you sings with contentment, but it’s the love dwelling within that bond that makes your heart overflow with joy.

a/n: This takes place after the first imagine but before you accept the bond with a witchy ritual as mentioned in these HCs, which I may or may not write. In my mind, Azriel fell first but you fell harder. Not only is this the first time you say I love you but also the first time he stays the night.

series tag list:@fxckmiup, @aria-chikage

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming

[series masterlist]

[mandalhoerian]

moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.” 

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.  

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.  

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this. 

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.  

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap. 

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go. 

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance. 

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place. 

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded. 

You accept him as such, love him all the same.  

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much. 

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest. 

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list? 

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his. 

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all. 

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.   

You take pity on him. 

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?” 

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.” 

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me. 

You don’t. 

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.  

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?” 

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.” 

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.” 

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?” 

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face. 

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well. 

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end. 

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second. 

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it. 

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching. 

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain. 

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers. 

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing. 

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking. 

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this. 

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. “So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—” 

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…” 

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting? 

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body. 

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression  —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.  

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.” 

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway. 

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust. 

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless. 

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.  

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.” 

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and  looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex. 

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”  

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him. 

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation. 

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly. 

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission. 

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.” 

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”  

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth. 

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.” 

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat. 

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.  

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after. 

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next. 

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked  knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already. 

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.” 

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?” 

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor. 

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder. 

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?” 

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin. 

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?” 

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going. 

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue. 

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening? 

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants. 

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again. 

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least. 

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”   

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…   

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god. 

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him. 

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general. 

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will. 

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more. 

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.  

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence. 

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.” 

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all. 

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…” 

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it. 

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?” 

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.  

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.  

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight. 

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.” 

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you. 

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously. 

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you. 

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this. 

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace. 

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!” 

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”   

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating. 

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark. 

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away. 

And with that, you’re out like a light. 

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it. 

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming. 

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life. 

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place. 

[apoemaday]

To Drink

by Jane Hirshfield

I want to gather your darkness in my hands, to cup it like water and drink. I want this in the same way as I want to touch your cheek — it is the same — the way a moth will come to the bedroom window in late September, beating and beating its wings against cold glass, the way a horse will lower his long head to water, and drink, and pause to lift his head and look, and drink again, taking everything in with the water, everything.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

had a window seat on the plane so every time I looked outside I got a face full of that blinking red light on the wing and I tried to sync up the way I blinked so that every time I opened my eyes I would be catching the very last of the burst of red because I thought that would be more beautiful or something but it turns out that angels are drawn to lights on planes like moths to flames and one of them saw me blinking funny and mistook it for some kind of celestial morse code spelling out an EXTREMELY specific message and uuuuh long story short I'm the earthly bride of the entire heavenly host now. yeah it's a whole thing.

[aphrogeneias]

37 w Eddie 🫡

roommate!eddie munson x fem!reader + we always snuggle, and this shouldn’t be any different, but i’m trying not to press my lips to yours because they’re right there and i don’t want to pass up another chance, but you take initiative and do it yourself. oh.

warnings: fluff, a little suggestiveness, kissing. eddie being a soft boy.

There is no excuse, at this point.

The only excuse he could give himself, at first, was that he's a tactile person. His uncle used to tell him he had eyes in his hands, always picking things up in order to look at them. His hands are always fidgeting, reaching, touching.

Eddie’s friends are all used to it. He hugs, holds, and squeezes. Hands on their backs and arms, guiding, reassuring. Excitedly pulling and slapping when he's telling a story, or laughing.

This only grew tenfold when it came to you.

At first, he kept a safe distance. You weren't his friend, after all. Just Nancy’s friend from college, someone who needed a place to stay after your last roommate bailed on you. Coincidentally, Gareth had left their apartment to move in with his girlfriend not too long before.

Fate, it seemed — or just two broke young adults trying to make ends meet, which was, in a way, fateful too.

His caution was thrown out the window when he realized you were just like him in that aspect. It all started with small, delicate touches.

A hand on his back while you were sharing the kitchen space in the morning, too tired to get off each other's way. Messing his hair to tease him, kissing his cheek as a greeting anytime you got home. You'd put your feet on his lap during your self-appointed movie nights, and his hands would carefully land on your calves, rubbing your legs under his rough palms, and you wouldn't pull away.

The blue light of the television, the only source of light in the room, had him feeling light. Your soft skin on his hands, and the warmth under it, the fuzzy feeling of the hair there. He let them wander, squeezing your knee, massaging your feet, always keeping an eye for your reactions. It seemed as if you preened under his touch, leaning into it. As if, if he'd pull away, you'd ask for more.

After that, he grew bolder. Hungrier. It didn't help that you were always within his reach.

An arm around your waist while you bumped into each other in the hallway. Hovering over your back when you both had to use the bathroom in the morning, letting his chest graze your back. Pulling you closer on the couch, his arm over your shoulders, your head on his chest. Hands eagerly looking for your warmth, for your skin.

Hugs from behind in the kitchen, climbing into each other's beds at night. A habit that started because you simply didn't want to stop your late night conversations, so you'd drag yourselves from the dining table with mismatching chairs, or from the couch, and into each other's rooms.

Talking about the latest book you finished reading, the last band he got obsessed with, your hopes, your fears, whatever silly conspiracy theory he read about and couldn't stop thinking of. Sharing the same blanket, hands touching, legs too.

It doesn't take long until you're in each other's arms more often than not. There is no excuse. Eddie is a tactile person, and he longs for your touch. He'll seek it until you turn him away, but that doesn't seem like it's something you'd want either.

Tonight, your faces are almost touching. You're sharing the same pillow, the one that smells just like your hair. Vanilla and coconut, sweet like you. He chases the shadows on your face, dancing with the lamp light that comes from the opened window. You're speaking, but he's not entirely listening — until you stop.

“What is it?” He whispers. The silence feels sacred.

“Nothing.”

It's not nothing, not when you lean in, neither when your lips touch his. Softly, and slowly, testing the waters. You catch his upper lip between yours, and kiss it. It makes his stomach flutter, like the wings of a moth, searching for the light. It's over too soon, and he almost whimpers with the loss.

He's learning forward, trying to catch your lips again. You giggle, putting a finger to his aching lips.

“I'm sorry. Is that okay?” You're whispering too. Neither of you know why.

“Depends. Is it okay if I tell you that I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you?” Eddie is honest. There's no excuse not to be.

You kiss him again, firmer this time. Your mouth lingers on his, and it tastes like sunlight. “Me too.”

[sincerelymina]

shades of cool

content ꒰ 4.0k ꒱ damnation leon x female reader.  unrequited love.  slight age difference if ya nasty.  hard angst.  hurt/no comfort.  mild smut (p in v).  very very toxic behavior from leon.  you just want to be loved.  leon couldn't care less—but there's a catch. he says the thing !! could also be interchangeable with vendetta leon. not proofread. author's note shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet for the endless support & help !! be sure to check her stuff out as well, they're a godsend. i listened to a weird mix of lana del rey and jeff buckley while writing this, so do with that what you will. reblogs & comments are highly appreciated !! ꣑ৎ

moonlight pours in through the curtains, casting a soft glow in the embrace of your bedroom. every night slowly began to feel longer than the last, sleep eluding you despite the exhaustion that lingered in your bones. you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of leon's absence pressing heavily onto your chest. nine days of unrelenting radio silence. 

you missed the comfort of his presence, the rough kisses he'd leave on your soft lips, the sweet nothings he'd coo into your ears as he thrusted in & out of you like his life depended upon it. 

the darkness whispers into the tiny room, enticing your doubts and fears, weaving them into the delicate fabric of your thoughts. maybe he ran into ada. despite the sour taste the theory left behind, it made sense, much to your dismay. 

you had nothing on her. how could a tough agent, known to be quick on her feet, be so naïve to think that leon truly was over the woman in red—did you seriously think he was in love with you now? it was pitiful by all means. 

whatever you had going on with the man, it was anything but love. sure, you might've been so utterly transfixed by the man, enough to the point where you always at his beck and call. but he surely didn't feel as strongly towards you. you were just easy, so pliable in his calloused hands. leon was a cruel, broken man that simply took what he wanted and left you with nothing.

yet still, you'd be waiting for him with open arms—and legs.

you were like a moth, irresistibly drawn to a flame that would eventually burn you. a light that you'd always come crawling back to, even if it singed your wings.

rain pelted against your window, bathing the room in a comfortable silence, spare for the pitter-patter upon glass. it does little to quell the hollow beating of your heart, the racing thoughts in your restless mind. this week had been full of one too many sleepless nights. you just wanted to finally succumb to your exhaustion, pretend leon didn't exist just for a few hours.

but you were too damn weak. such a slave for his attention, for his "love." you'd do just about anything for the older man's approval. everything about your self-worth was based upon those icy blues. not even the desire to sleep could surpass the desperation for him. 

leon's shoulders sagged as fatigue coursed through his blood, hot and heavy. rain splatters against the bottoms of his dark blue jeans, his motorcycle coming to a halt in front of your apartment complex. with a smooth twist of the throttle and a gentle squeeze of the brakes, the tires skid against the gravel, followed by the rumble of the engine fading into a soft purr. 

his brown hair was sodden with water droplets, the strands sticking to his forehead. a sharp sigh left the expanse of his lungs as he swung his leg over the seat and dismounted from his bike. just his luck, leon thought with a grimace, that a storm hit mid-ride.

as he walked through the lobby, heading straight for the elevator, leon silently wondered what the hell he was doing. a part of him felt unbelievably guilty for taking advantage of your feelings like this, always expecting you to allow him into your place, even on a whim like this. especially after not bothering to send a single text to you for well over a week.

the pad of his thumb pushes the button, the elevator doors splitting open. leon pushes any feelings of shame to the far back of his mind, focusing on the main task at hand—sex. that's all this was to him after all. he couldn't be bothered with commitment. 

years of slaving away for the government had etched a weariness into his bones, leaving him a hollow shell of who he once was. one whose heart, that once yearned for love—similar, if not identical, to the kind you felt for him—now laid dormant beneath a shroud of emotional detachment. 

that kept the guilt that wrapped around his heart at bay, a poor excuse for how he treated you.

a few moments pass before the elevator's doors slide open with a soft hum. leon steps out, finding his way to your place as if it were second nature, which at this point, it was safe to say it was. his muscles memorized the entire way, every twist and turn. soon enough, he was right at your doorstep, anticipation thrumming in his veins.

a knock against the front door shattered the silence that encased your apartment, the sound of someone's fist rapping against the wood rippling through the quiet atmosphere. it causes you to jerk upwards, afraid of who might be waiting at the door at two in the fucking morning. it couldn't be leon, he was the last person you expected—then again, him showing up on a whim wasn't a foreign notion between the two of you. 

expecting the worst, you kick the comforter off your body, allowing it to cascade to the ground as you carefully step outside your bedroom. swiping your handgun off the kitchen counter—because of course, you'd carelessly left it there—you then pad down the threshold, one foot in front of the other.

the sound of shuffling on the other side of the door isn't lost on leon, to which he furrowed his brows, wondering why you were taking your sweet time heading towards it. "it's me," he says gruffly, the deep baritone reverberating off of the hallway's walls. 

you could recognize that voice from a mile away, unfortunately. your heart thumped in the confines of your chest, beating erratically at the knowledge of who was behind that door. you swallow hard, hand hovering over the cool metal of the knob before turning it slowly, revealing the man you had been longing to see.

remnants of the pouring rain outside glistened on his worn leather jacket as leon stood stiffly in the doorway, with a sullen yet exhausted expression sewn between his features. droplets clung to his hair, tracing rivulets down his face like tears mingling with the dark circles beneath his eyes. icy blues pierce through your own. he was so gorgeous, it physically pained you.

he was actually here, at your doorstep, in the flesh.

a puzzled look finds its way onto your face, mingling with the tiredness in your eyes. in disbelief, you mutter, "leon?"

"can i come in?" leon asks, not giving you any context as to why he just showed up after days of no communication. his eyes rake over you, taking in your appearance—tousled hair, thin tank top and shorts, sluggish demeanor. you looked so pretty in the dim light.

"it's two am." you say matter-of-factly, eyes now glued to the floor. 

his jaw clenches, biting his tongue to hold back a snarky remark you didn't deserve. hell, you should've just slammed the door on his face, without a single word, and he would have no right to be angry at you about it.

so, leon resorts to simply inquiring, "is that a no?"

"not exactly," your voice was subdued, weak. should you let him inside? you mull over the thought, letting it ripple through your mind, like a pebble dropped in a pond. despite your better judgment, you step aside, letting him walk past you and into your humble abode. he mutters a quiet thanks as he shrugs his jacket off.

the living room held its breath along with the two of you, the air thick with unspoken words. the silence stretched like a taut wire, vibrating with the weight of your incessant thoughts. with a heavy sigh, leon collapsed onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. you hate how he's acting as if everything between the two of you was normal, like he hadn't been deliberately ignoring you for days.

"so…" you break the stillness, unable to take it anymore. "are you just going to pretend everything is okay, like you haven't been ignoring every single one of my calls?" despite how fragile you sounded, your misery was clear as day. 

"here we go," leon grumbles to himself, still audible enough for you to hear. "listen, i was busy, okay?" his tone goes shifted from quiet to frustrated, refusing to look you in the eyes as you tentatively stood a few feet away from him.

bitterly, he adds, "and i'm not obligated to. i'm not your little boyfriend. how many times do i have to remind you?" sure, it might've been common courtesy, but leon was stretched thin tonight, leaving you demurred and him unbothered. 

"i'm sorry," you sigh pathetically, feeling helpless. 

but instead of easing his nerves, your apology only further agitates him, "oh, now you're gonna go all pouty baby on me? give me a break." leon hisses, each word a stab to the heart. "jesus, you're hopeless." his eyes meet yours again, only this time with displeasure glimmering solemnly.

desperate for a shred of salvation, you clung to what little self respect you had left in your bones, determined to salvage any dignity you still possessed after all this. 

your brows knit in frustration, retorting back just as harshly, "you're the one who keeps showing up at ungodly hours, always expecting me to bend to your fucking will. you never call, never text, unless i do first, yet always expect me to welcome you in." 

your fists clench, fingernails digging crescents into your palms. you couldn't stand it anymore, being his bitch, always so compliant, so understanding of his random bursts of insensitivity. you could just tell that deep down, he knew this meant more to you, giving him all the more reason to keep coming back—it didn't help that you were really pretty too. he was blatantly taking advantage of your love, and with zero remorse at that, as the cherry on top.

leon groans in pure frustration, eyes fluttering shut, as his head tilted backwards, "i'm too fucking tired for this shit." brown locks of hair partially obscure the side of his face, a perfect silhouette of his side profile on display—he was infuriatingly handsome. he stood up, fixing you a look that could slice through stone. 

"i don't ever see you slamming the door in my face. you let me in like it's the one thing you're good at. always so fucking desperate to please someone who couldn't care less about you." 

the words are crueler than he wished they'd be, regret instantly hitting him like a pile of bricks. he could say he didn't mean that all he wants, but the words flowed so seamlessly, without a single stutter or falter. it was plain as day that this was how he truly felt—the raw, unequivocal truth. once spoken, undeniably irrevocable. and you both knew this.

and it stung, like a hard slap across the face. you would've preferred for him to do that; at least the pain would've withered away far quicker than the mental anguish you were left with now. even in his fit of rage, the defeated, wide-eyed expression you donned tugged at leon's heartstrings. 

uncomfortable silence lingers in the air like bad perfume. "don't look at me like that," leon mumbles softly. this wasn't how the script was supposed to unfold. you finally proved that you had some pride left in you, but he was so quick to shoot you down. everything had unraveled in the worst way possible.

his voice soft and gentle now, abandoning its previous ire. leon's mood always flipped like a light switch, annoyingly so. 

"i'm sorry, doll." apologizing felt like pulling teeth, and to his dismay, it was falling upon deaf ears. leon wasn't cruel, just unbelievably damaged. and unfortunately, you happened to be the best outlet to release that misery onto. it wasn't an excuse for how awfully he treated you, but rather an explanation. 

if you had half a mind you would've ended this charade long before it got to this level—for you, at least. things only seemed to be getting worse, and it was becoming more obvious that this was just a game to leon, while you were smitten. 

"forget it, leon, you should just go." you say lowly. 

"don't be like that." leon didn't want this trip to be a waste. "it's not my fault you're emotionally invested. i thought we made it crystal clear from the start that this wouldn't mean anything. zero commitment, zero obligations." a beat of silence passes, before he adds, "listen, if this is going to be a problem, we should stop this. now." 

he could always find another girl to suit his needs. one that wouldn't cling to his leg like a lonesome child.

"i don't get it," you mumble, eyes finally meeting his. tears dew your lashline, but you wouldn't dare cry in front of him. "it's obvious that you've known for a while that i have feelings for you…" the realization finally creeps in like a cold draft through a cracked window. "you're using me?"

"using you?' he muses, cocking an eyebrow in confusion. leon has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "you women and your emotions." he chides. "how many times is it gonna take for you to get it through that pretty little head of yours? this never meant anything to me. it never will." 

you bite the corner of your lip, pressing down hard, but not enough to bleed. you stood there, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, the cruel words washing over you like vehement waves, trembling hands fumbling with the hem of your shorts, as if seeking refuge from the storm of anger. no had ever made you feel this insignificant before.

leon's lips part slightly, suddenly becoming acutely aware of something you'd rather he didn't figure out. "...you thought i was going to eventually fall for you, didn't you? jesus, i didn't think you were that naïve." he laughs—the first smile he cracked tonight was at your misery. "i almost feel bad."

mr. i'm sorry. mr. i didn't mean that. mr. i'm just tired.

fighting back tears, you hiss, "just leave."

you could slap the smug look right off his face, the air of superiority that clung to him like heavy cologne being enough to piss you off. leon was well aware of the chokehold he held you in—he reaped the benefits of your feelings at every given chance. it felt good having a girl like you always at an arm's reach, spare for the times you'd get all "emotional" and "clingy" on him. 

leon thinks about leaving, the mere idea pissing him off beyond belief—he rode all this way, in the pouring rain no less, just to make you feel like a piece of shit. no kisses, no sex, not even a single touch. deep down, he hated the reflection of his own bitterness that he spewed towards you. he hated how easily his words hurt you, how easily they spilled out of his mouth. this wasn't who he was, or at least, who he once was. after all, you were just a sweet girl who was irrevocably in love with him. 

"fine," he ceases, concealing the anger he felt at his core—you didn't deserve anymore than what you'd already been cursed with tonight. 

pathetically, you watch as he tugs his leather jacket back on, sliding his arms through the sleeves quickly. you feel the urge to apologize bubbling up to the surface, but for what? you hadn't done anything wrong, simply stood your ground, defended what dignity you had left. he doesn't mean any of it, your mind feeds you lies, he's just hurt cut him some slack. 

leon's hand lingers on the doorknob for a second too long, hesitating his next move. your eyes narrow in confusion. cautiously, you take a few steps towards him, each one feeling like a march to the executioner's chopping block. 

"fuck it," leon huffs, hand abandoning the cool metal, and now seeking refuge on your hips, pulling you flush against him as his lips meet yours. this wasn't right, he wasn't thinking straight, clearly lost in a haze of frustration. but he couldn't help himself. you reciprocating the kiss didn't help his case either. 

a soft, content hum left your lips as his mesh onto yours so seamlessly. it's anything but sweet and delicate, rather laced with hunger and raw unadulterated lust. his rough hands smooth up your stomach, your thin tank top riding up in their wake. you can feel the desperation oozing off of his lips, from the way his tongue pushes past the crack of your own lips.

you're like putty in his hands, forgetting all the spiteful things he'd just said to you, only focusing on how good this felt. he inadvertently called you his bitch—any sane person would've happily shoved him out the door, but here you were, melting into his unprompted kiss. the things you do for love.

lips still smothering yours, he mumbles, "this a good enough apology for you, doll?" his breath fans against your skin, mingling with yours as he shoves you up against the nearest wall. 

"mhm," you're thinking with everything but your head, succumbing to the rush that coursed hotly through your veins. "i'm sorry," but leon shuts you up by plunging right back in. he knows you shouldn't have to apologize, but he doesn't care enough to tell you to give it a rest.

"such a sweet girl, always so understanding," he chuckles breathily. your lips were enough to calm his nerves. "i hate hurting you like this, but you just…" his tone grows solemn, but he pushes such thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing solely on making both of you feel good.

his words struck a chord in you. but you just… just what? you don't want to think too hard about it, that could be done in the morning, once your left all alone in a sea of white bedsheets. when the regret of surrendering to your self-indulgence had fully settled in.

sooner rather than later, you're sprawled out beneath leon, stripped down to nothing. a mix of both of your clothing are scattered across your bedroom floor, joining the rest of the pre-existing mess. your skin is slick with a thin layer of sweat, a testament to just how badly leon had you worked up. it's hard to muffle your breathy moans, to which he can only say:

"ah, come on. don't be shy." he teases, tilting his head while placing a sloppy kiss on your rosy lips. a sharp thrust is what finally draws out a loud moan from your lips, his cock buried deep inside your sopping cunt, "that's my girl."

calloused hands roam all over your soft skin, tracing your every curve, every dip, feeling you in your entirety. you hate how effortlessly he brought you to heaven, how you could feel every inch of him pumping in and out of you. seeing you like this, eyes fluttered shut and lips parted, reminded leon why he hadn't stopped seeing you yet. 

the room is bathed with the sounds of your choked moans and his grunts. his name falls off your lips like its your only prayer, coupled with a slew of desperate pleas. your hands grasp onto his back for support, nails digging crescents into the skin as they drag down, leaving scratches in their wake. 

his hips rolled against yours as his thrusts got messier and rougher, practically slamming in and out of you. your back arches against the memory foam of your mattress, an embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips as you feel his tip kiss against your cervix. 

"fuck, leon, don't stop," your nails dig even deeper into his skin. 

"wasn't planning on it," leon groans, feeling your velvety walls clamp around his cock. "god, you're so perfect," another wet kiss planted upon your open lips. it's a blessing the bed hadn't given in and snapped yet. 

you're seeing stars at this point, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust, pulled taut like violin strings. it's not until leon hits right there that your eyes snap open, glimmering with pleasure, earning a desperate mewl. a smirk plays on his lips. it was ironic how he could make you feel so awful, so miserable, but simultaneously brought you this. 

"oh, you like that, don't you?" he grunts, hitting that same spot repeatedly, determined to make you cum all over his cock. "yeah, i bet you do. pretty thing like you doesn't deserve any less," sweat drips down his forehead, his hair sticking to it. 

"i'm so close," you whimper, the mattress creaking beneath you. 

"i know you are," leon takes pride in the scrunched up look of pure ecstacy on your face, white hot pleasure shooting through his own veins. 

it only takes a few more thrusts before you cry out his name, mumbling a cluster of curses and pleas as you rode out your high. heaven was always a place on earth with leon—spare for the times the two of you weren't in bed. 

it doesn't take long for leon to finish as well, shooting his load on your stomach, not particularly in the mood for an unwanted pregnancy from a girl he barely cared about. completely out of breath, leon sighs, rolling over to the empty spot next to you on your bed. his back falls against the mattress, a million thoughts racing through his mind, all a vehement maelstrom of regret.

i should've left he thought, eyes flitting over to you, who seemed like she was still on cloud nine. guilt pangs in his heart, no longer left in a lust-filled haze. he can only stare up at the ceiling, almost in a similar manner to the way you did only an hour earlier. 

no one felt post-nut clarity like leon did.

you, on the other hand, felt like a million bucks. your chest rose and fell slowly, reeling back in after your orgasm. but nonetheless, leon's cruel words hit you like a freight train, coming back to you all at once in your state of bliss. the reality of your situation creeps in like a thief in the night. 

all you are is—for lack of better words—his bitch.

as the first light of dawn kisses the horizon, the sun rises gently, painting the sky with hues of gold and rose, awakening the world in a tender embrace. left in nothing but a flimsy pair of lacy panties, you stir around in bed, eyes fluttering open as you take in your surroundings. despite the lack of sleep you got the night prior, the mere sunlight still roused you awake.

and of course, just as you anticipated, there's an empty spot right next to you. just one morning you wished to have strong arms caging you in their embrace. but no.

as long as you kept this charade up with leon, this was all you'd get.

frantically, you swipe your phone off of your nightstand—maybe he sent you a text? disappointment etches onto your face as the pad of your thumb presses the power button, only to be met with a handful of notifications, not a single one from leon.

jesus, you were hopeless.

[and-the-stars-collided]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[leezlelatch]

On a Moth’s Delicate Wing

Secondo x F!Reader - Yearning, unrequited to requited love, mild Catholic Church bashing, insecurity, comfort, fluff. Written for and inspired by @writingjourney. Secondo enjoys a quiet session of study with the woman he has fallen so rapidly for.

The clock struck the hour. Grey clouds danced in the sky, thunder rumbling in the distance as they opened, cascading rain tumbling to the ground in skipping droplets which created a pleasant thrum of white noise on the roof. Secondo closes his eyes, drawing breath through his nostrils, taking in the smell from the open window. He stands, his dark slacks shifts against his thighs as he approaches the window, opening it wider. He leans his hands on the sill, watching the raindrops patter against his skin, soothing against his arthritic joints.

A book sat open on his desk next to steaming cup of tea, and he turns from the storm to pick it up, blowing a little on the dark liquid before taking a sip. “And what have we learned, falenina?” He murmurs, his eyes finding you, perched on his couch with the same book in your lap. He smiles as your hair catches the breeze from outside, a few errant strays curling around your neck and cheek. He so longed to reach out and brush them back, to glide his fingers through hair you never let air dry. Perhaps the rain on his fingers would wetten the strands, and he would watch in delight as they would curl and spread out in the humidity of the room. Only then may he gain an idea of what you look like when you first wake up, or after you’ve shared your body with someone who loves you just right.

It should be him.

“After the Catholic Church began to sell indulgences, the Satanic Church saw an increase in worshippers,” you murmur, your eyes scanning the page of the book you have both been studying.

“And why is that?” He pushes, leaning against his desk, one arm crossed over his stomach as the other is preoccupied with holding his mug. He takes another drink, his mustache twitching from the heat of the beverage.

“Because selling tickets into heaven revealed to a people already ravaged by plague that the church was corrupt. Is corrupt. And they sought a faith that wouldn’t lie to them,” you conclude, placing your bookmark between the pages. “They still practice something of that today, yeah?”

Secondo tilts his head in consideration, placing his mug down. He makes a turn about the room, his eyes scanning the various paintings on his walls depicting the duality of man, the masculine and the feminine, the Morningstar in his glory. He stops at one. De Goya, Saturn Devouring his Son, and he stands in contemplation. “The Catholic Church regularly consumes those who seek guidance,” he murmurs. “It is their unending covenant. To draw in lost souls and spit them out changed. And sometimes, changed for the worst.” He turns to look at her. “We seek to show them the truth. That paradise is not so easily earned with a tithe.”

“Our Siblings contribute to the Church,” you point out, watching him closely. He likes the way you look at him. Your gaze is searching, and as your pretty eyes pass over his face, your lips curve at the corners. Even now, paint-less and in his slacks and vest, you find him attractive. There are no barriers between the two of you, you see him as the man he is. Long-lived and jaded, you see his flaws and you smile. How could a man such as he be worthy of the little moth’s attention?

“They do. But we are plain in our words, falenina. In our actions. Our Siblings know that any contribution they seek to give will be given back to them. Through renovation and upkeep of the residency, the chapel, the grounds.” He moves to the couch, sitting down beside her, one leg crossing over the other. “The meals we take together.”

Your smile grows, and you close the book, sitting it aside in favor of turning toward him, sitting cross legged on the couch. “You don’t often eat with us, Papa.”

He makes a gruff noise, turning equally in your direction, one arm slung over the back of the couch. His eyes are dark as he watches you, perhaps strange for a man with one green eye and one white, but they were dark nevertheless. Assessing in his stare which held a thousand secrets, and a weary yearning. “I prefer to cook for myself. Which you would know if you accepted my invitation.”

Your cheeks bloom a lovely shade of pink. Secondo wants to run his tongue across your heated skin, tasting your blush. His eyes linger on the apples of your cheeks, a sense of pride filling his chest. He makes you blush. Him. This old, bitter man full of too much loneliness flusters the most beautiful woman in the Ministry. It feels good, to be desirable. Unless…

“You do not wish to,” he concludes, his voice almost strained. He clears his throat to hide how the mere thought of your rejection affects him. The brief flare of agony which makes him want to sweep a hand across his desk, clearing it of everything to silence the cacophony in his mind with the crash.

“I want to,” you say, your voice soft. It captures his attention immediately, his hand dropping from the couch to linger near your crossed legs. Aching to touch you. “But I would want to keep coming back. And then I wouldn’t want to leave.” Your eyes fall to the surface of the couch and Secondo wants to cry out, to scream at you to keep looking at him.

He couldn’t believe his ears, and then he does touch you, his hand brushing against your leg. The small intake of breath, the flush on your cheeks, it would drive any man to insanity. And Secondo was the least sane of them all. “Do you not understand, amore mio?” He murmurs, a sort of laugh to his voice. It wasn’t at you, but at the incredulity of the situation. That you could possibly feel the same as him. “I do not want you to leave. You cannot leave.”

When next your eyes meet his, Secondo suddenly understands everything. The moth, a nocturnal creature, flies toward the light. And this moth, Secondo’s falenina, is leading him from the darkness toward the brightest future. One he never fathomed for himself, but is grateful for all the same. “You are intertwined in my soul like a witch’s knot. Unbreakable,” he whispers. “A gift from Lucifer himself.”

You stand from the couch in a rush, your steps quick across the office floor. He nearly lunges after you, panic entering his heart as you whip around, your eyes wild with bewilderment. And fear. “I can’t be,” you say, your voice breathless. “I’m not…” The words don’t seem to come to you for a moment, and you grapple for a thought, your eyes darting around the room. “I’m me.”

The conclusion and finality in your voice springs him from the couch and his arms are encircling you. One hand is at your waist, squeezing fast, pressing you to him while the other cradles the back of your head, sliding his fingers in your hair in just the way he has dreamed. “Sì, you are you,” he says passionately, pressing his burning cheek against your own. “And I dream of you. I ache for you in the night and my very being writhes in agony when you are not there. I sit here each day, and I gaze you at you, amore mio, I look at you so deeply and I see the most adoring soul. A woman with the cleverest eyes, thoughtful and careful with her words. A woman who has the silliest jokes and makes an old man laugh more than he has in decades. I see you. And I need you.” Those last words are said with awe. He is in awe over you.

You say nothing in response, and he pulls back to look down at you, his eyes frantically searching your face. “I am a fool, sì?” He whispers. “An old fool.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes wide and glassy with tears. “You are my love.”

Secondo could collapse if he wasn’t holding you in his arms in that very moment. He presses his forehead against yours, a strangled gasp leaving him as his mind and heart absorb those precious words spoken to him. “I suddenly forget what we were doing before this,” he says with a small laugh, voice thick with emotion.

You smile, your arms looping around his neck. A tear falls down your cheek and he kisses it away with a brush of his lips. “We were talking about the Catholic Church.”

Secondo snorts, pulling you backward until he falls to the couch, his grip firm as you land in his lap, straddling him. His fingers capture your chin in a tight grip, and he smiles at you. His eyes are dark again. “Hail Satan.” His lips find yours.

[tasteofthedivine93]

The Beauty of the Beast - Messmer x F!Reader - Elden Ring Fic - Part 1

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57094387/chapters/145208599 Fic Rating: Explicit🌶️🌶️ (Chapter: Teen) Category: F/M Fandom: Elden Ring // Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erd Tree Relationships: Messmer x F!Reader // Messmer the Impaler x F!Reader Warnings: None Words: 952

MASTERLIST // -> Part 2

You're lost on your travels in the Shadow Realm. Rain causes your cart to get stuck in the mud, wheels not moving an inch. Your Torrent Steed is tired from the journey.

You untie him from the cart, abandoning your only possessions, you whistle your steed away for rest and head into the forest for shelter. You walk as much as your legs can carry you. Till the forest edge unveils a large castle in the distance. The blackened stone looking like charcoal, a large staircase darkens from greystone to black towards the front doors.

You walk warily up the stairs and knock on the door to no answer, instead you push your way inside without invitation or greeting. The night's cold air was making your bones shiver, you needed shelter.

The walls inside are lined with candles and paintings, before you a grand staircase. You call out hello, but to no reply, but you shiver - unsure from the cold or from another presence watching you.

You look around the foyer, till a shadow at the top of the stairs catches your attention. You swear you hear a hiss echo through the empty chambers. You call out 'wait' after the suspicious shadow.

You head upstairs, down a corridor, large wooden doors carved with snakes line the walls, sconces with red candles drip to the floor, windows covered by thick red velvet drapes.

You call out again, no reply.

Another shadow catches your attention down what you assume is the Western Wing. You walk down the hall to the end where a large door opens a crack, light glistening out of the door.

You pause for a moment, holding your breath, but as if in a serpent's trance you pull open the large door with a grunt, hinges creak and groan.

Inside, you see a bedroom, however destroyed, scorch marks line the walls, cracked and broken mirror shards glimmer like water, bed linen covered in burn holes, rugs frayed and black. You gasp at the sight.

You tenderly step into the room as if it was still aflame, looking around for any sign of life. Instead you catch a portrait on the wall, half burnt away, but you see a young man with vibrant red hair and a piercing golden eye. Behind the man a red snake fills the frame. The lower section of the portrait is charred and torn as if struck by the lightning.

You step closer, mesmerised by the painting, trying to look closer at the face shredded by burns.

Then out of the corner of your eye, you spot a small table near an open window, the curtains dancing gently in the breeze. On the table floats a crimson flame, flickering gently. As if it was beckoning you, your feet involuntarily begin to walk towards the blaze.

As if possessed, you feel your hand rise from your side and out of your moth eaten cloak. You slowly reach towards the flame, a sinister call hissing in your mind to touch.

You feel no heat but instead you feel cold as a shadow engulfs you, your eyes snap away from the flame to see a monster in the shape of man, skin greying, wrapped in a red cloak, thin long hair flowing down to his shoulders and surrounded by 2 large snakes who hiss at you.

You step back in horror, falling onto your backside as you try and crawl away. Letting out a gasp of fear.

"Mongrel, intruder." A bellowing voice vibrates in your chest. "Wherefore has't thee cometh here?"

You open your mouth, dry as stone and attempt to shutter out your apologies. You continue to crawl backwards on your hands and feet, instead the man, monster, steps around the table and follows you, keeping you in shadow.

"Doth thee not realise what thee couldst has't done?!" He growls at you. The snakes around him grow and slither in the air towards you. Their green eyes never leaving yours.

You again apologise and ask "Who are you?" The snakes stop mere inches from you.

"The master of thine castle." He replies, still deep. "Where thee has't in mine own domain trespassed"

You turn your head away from the monster and begin to sob. You tell him you got lost in the woods and needed shelter, you didn't mean to trespass. You plead with him to spare you.

The snakes hiss at the man as if communicating with him, who responds with hums of agreement. (The snake simply informs that this person could be the one to break the curse, maybe they should stay.)

The monsters shoulders sink at your tears and plea. The snakes retract back behind him and he knees down in front of you. His face comes more into view and you look up at him threw wet lashes. You notice the same golden eye at the painting, glowing like a star against the velvet night sky.

He was no monster at all, but the same man from the portrait, just older. You study him as you wipe away your tears.

"Art thee lone?" He asks, but this time is voice was softer. You nod.

"Thee can stayeth here if thou desires, take shelter for as longeth as thee need" He holds out his hand to you, fingers decorated with golden rings.

You hesitate at first, eyes flickering between his stretched out hand and his newly illuminated soft features. You nod and reach out, his long fingers wrap delicately around your shivering hand. He helps you to stand. You stare up at him, who looks down at you smiling, still holding your hand. You feel a small bloom of warmth in your chest. 

(credits of gifs in description)

[naffeclipse]

Talk about your monster husband ocs coward (affectionate❤️)

Everyone, the tumblr user themeeplord is bullying me (affectionate <3)!!

You have no idea how normal I am about my monster OCs. They're so lovely just let me—ahhh!

Hawthorn is a Mothman monster. His wings are based on the garden tiger moth and he is so fluffy! He has a thick fuzz on his neck and chest and is a warm, cuddlebug. He also possesses bright orange eyes that pierce the darkness and startle the unfortunate late-night hikers or anyone piercing into the woods after midnight.

He has a thing for hanging out in the thick woods near where the MC lives. Wherever he goes, bad omens follow. He really shouldn't be near MC—he knows he'll be the death of his precious little human, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the MC like a moth to a flame (heheh). He's delightful and gentlemanly, but don't let that fool you. He's got a possessive stretch a mile wide and does not take kindly to anyone giving the MC looks or reaching out for a too-familiar touch. He will bristle and buzz, and fly swift and silent through the darkness to chase after anyone to ensure the MC stays all to himself. He is a bad omen, after all.

Grease is an oil demon! He feeds off of fear, literally, and delights in terrifying people in the night. His body is slick and iridescent, and he is constantly dripping black goo from his person. He is capable of shifting his form to hide in a puddle, slink underneath doors, or bubble through a crack in a broken window. He's got wicked sharp teeth, and eyes like a tiger but with a pale, unsettling blue color. He possesses tendrils on his head that constantly drip and a long, slick tail that he can use to grab MC by the ankle. He's terribly seductive and charming, terrifying but mischievous. He likes to say 'boo' just to watch MC jump. Of course, he's not all tang and salt. He's got a sweet side that rouses in a protectiveness over MC. He's possessive, sure, and he's marked his claim with the oil stains on MC's work apron, but he's got an ooey-gooey center of sweetness that MC occasionally finds when he blushes at a stray touch or a nice comment about him.

Calmo 91, otherwise just called Calmo, is a robot. Constructed in the 90s with a box TV screen head to match, he has bright yellow optics in the screen face along with thick wires falling behind his head in a ponytail-like fashion. He is cool and difficult to read but wickedly intelligent and learning much about humans and affections. His body is a thin endoskeleton with plastic matt gray coverings that give peeks of blue, red, and yellow wires at his metallic joints. He's got a mysterious past the MC is attempting to unravel that he truly wishes the MC would leave be. He's got much to learn about technology but he quickly figures out how to connect to the MC's phone for texting, phone calls, and other useful things of course, like keeping tags on where MC is and monitoring MC's heart rate. Useful tools. Modern technology. Living in the MC's house, he gets to spend more domestic time with the human he decided is kind and generous, but the MC occasionally finds him at the foot of the bed in the darkness, his yellow optics strangely switched to red until the MC says his name and his optics revert back to yellow again.

[vanity-bonbons]

YANDERE VOX X MOTH! READER [Taster to see if it's worth it]

Chapter 0: The beginning

Note: You're comedic if you think I'm going through this to make sure everything is spelt right lol

How did you end up in this state? Here, you are locked in the most luxurious penthouse you have ever seen in both your life and after life. The glass windows locked shut with the walls lined with huge tvs that look to cost grands.

You were just an ordinary sinner like no other. You lived an ok life for the most part, despite being ended so short. The only thing you really did "wrong" is not believe in a higher being. God.

You were a silk moth demon with big fluffy antennas, thin fragile wings, and a huge fluff or fur around your neck. You remember a huge fall, hitting the ground and a chuckle. Vox. That was his name. You landed in front of another sinner with the peculiar shaped head of a TV.

He was quick to introduce himself as Vox, the tech overlord and owner, to the largest tech company in all of the pride rings.

"I see you're new.." he chuckled, "as it seems you can't use your wings...also the fall. "

It took you a while to come to terms with the whole hell thing a long with the fact you're talking to a sentient TV.

"What is your name? Do you have anywhere to go?" He asked, not really giving you any chance to respond before moving questions.

All this was very overwhelming to you. Your wings begin to flutter nervous before tears start to brim your eyes.

"Hey..hey..calm down," he says in his classic businessman persona voice, "come on darlin'." He slowly leads a weeping you into the V tower he was standing in front of.

It had been an hour since you had met him, and you were already in his tower, hugging him as he comforted you softly. You can't help him he just smells so nice.. and he looks so nice..his eyes... look so...entrancing...

He softly rubs your head as you sniffle into his chest. Then he pulls out his classic line.

"You could always work for my company," He says with a huge toothy smile, " I mean...I would pay you handsomely, and you need a place to stay...."

A contract appears in front of you. He tells you not to worry, and this is just for legal purposes to make sure you're as happy as possible. And stupidly, you agree without reading through the contract. Being new to hell, you didn't even know you had a soul anymore or that people use them to deal. You sign the contract with a small smile. This man seems so nice. You were confused whether this was really hell.

You belong to him now and you still had no idea. Vox told you to follow him into your very own room. But it wasn't your room. It was his.

"Get a good night's rest darlin' you have a long day tomorrow, and don't worry... you'll fit right in here at VoxTech!"

You sit down on the bed and doze off for half an hour before waking up, needing the bathroom desperately. Not seeing the walk-in bathroom, you run to the door trying to open it to find a toilet. But the door was locked. You rattled the door more and more, but no... it wasn't just stuck... it was locked. You were stuck.

A huge zapping noise can be heard before a cough as you quickly turn around to Vox, who grabbed your wrist harshly. He pulled you into his chest and stroked one of your antennas, curling it around with his finger before whispering. "Yeah.. I think you're gonna fit right in..." he sniffs your hair as he continues to play with your antenna.

All you could do was stand there. What was happening. What did you do?

[owliellder]

This has been in my head for DAYS bc I thought it was too silly to share, but imagine a silly Moth!Hybrid!Reader x Leon, and they obviously get distracted by lights easily...But imagine them getting distracted by all the pretty city lights at night (staring out a window) so Leon has to use his phone (either a bright video/photo or the flashlight) to guide them to bed-

it's silly in a good way i love this idea so much!! reader has wings so a harness and leash is required every time they go outside cause Leon cannot get them down from the street lamp 😭

and he basically turns into one of those airplane runway instructors with the lights when he's trying to direct the reader a specific way.

actually i like this idea so much that i put together a shitty picture

[citrlet]

i have a slight mods addiction so here's part 2! part 1 linked here

~under the cut as usual because there's just too dang much

visual aesthetics

medieval sheds (to go with medieval buildings / medieval sdve / way back pelican town)

secret garden terrarium

starkissed skintones

rosedryads fairy wings & accessories

dynamic reflections

chest deco

hummingbirds

moths

bees

ladybugs

too many swatches furniture recolor

fancy trash and resources retexture

fancy vanilla and sve elixirs retexture

fancy qi items and misc stuff retexture

fancy fishing and tackles retexture

fancy crops and forage retexture

fancy artisan goods icons retexture

fancy rings and shoes retexture

fancy artifacts retexture

fishing rod bobbler retexture

warp totems to magic books

more elegant farmer body

gameplay

aimons more lively quarry

aimons lively sewer

distant lands witch swamp expansion

the farmers children

mr. ginger cat npc

jorts and jeans cat npcs

amanita lover

lnh fantasy farm cave

downtown zuzu

strange machines revisited

fieval goes east scarp

rodney o'brien

juliet and jesse

professor jasper thomas

alecto the witch

mechanics

better shipping bin

smart building

furniture placement tweaks

furniture adjustment

misc

buildable large tree pack

mystical buildings

shyzies string lights

divine decor

guxelbits furniture

lunes offerings

aimons fancy farmhouse

aimons tidy cozy cellar

aimons fancy greenhouse

redesigned shed layout

tidy cozy ginger island farmhouse

additional bus interior map

greenhouse furniture set

sailor moon hairstyles and clothing (fashion sense version in the comments section)

shyzies seasonal rugs

seasonal open windows

futan bears

romantic fountains and arches

romantic furniture

bathroom furniture