lia1512

[lia1512]

My Wife

Series masterlist

A Season 1! Daryl Dixon x wife!reader series

↝warning: angst, typical TWD stuff and lore, season 1, death, crying, blood, zombies, marriage

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (tba)

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[lia1512]

___Klaus Mikaelson___

DD/LG & MD/LG

So Far…

(DD/LG)

1)His little bunny

2)I understand what you need

3)DD/LG headcannons

4)Being Klaus’ mate head cannons

5)NSFW headcannons

6)His little princess

7)Forgive me little one

8)He’s no good to you

9)An oral fixation

10)Sweet little baby

11)Clingy and childish?

12)My Little Girl

14)His bad girl, Her good girl

15)Need (omega!reader)

16)Sweet little bunny

17)Light in the darkness

18)Too Perfect To Be Sorry

19) A Weekend Away

20)Little Y/n with Klaus’s siblings

21) Sweet Christmas

22)New Daddies

23)His Baby

24)NSFW DADDY Klaus Alphabet

So Far…

(MD/LB)

1)Little Nik

2)Please mommy

3)MD/LB head cannons

4)Greedy

5)Little Nik & Yandere!Reader

6)Don’t be sorry

7)Little behaviour

8)He’s a good boy really

[lia1512]

An Angel's Share

Part 2

The bookshop visit materialized the following weekend. A.Z. Fell & Co. was exactly as Crowley had described it—cluttered, dusty, and seemingly designed to discourage actual book purchases. But it was also magical in the most literal sense; you could feel something in the air, a gentle hum of protection and love that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

Aziraphale was a generous host, serving tea in delicate china cups and producing pastries from a nearby bakery that tasted like heaven itself. You wandered the stacks, occasionally pulling out volumes that caught your interest, only to have Aziraphale materialize at your elbow with historical context or literary critiques that no university professor could match.

Crowley sprawled across an ancient sofa, ostensibly napping behind his sunglasses, but you noticed how he tracked your movements through the shop, his head tilting slightly whenever you laughed at something Aziraphale said.

"He likes you, you know," Aziraphale said quietly, when you found yourself alone with him in a secluded corner of theological texts.

"We're friends," you acknowledged, uncertain where this was going.

Aziraphale's smile was gentle but knowing. "Crowley doesn't have friends. In six thousand years, I'm the only one he's kept."

"Until now," you realized aloud.

"Until you," the angel confirmed. "And I must say, it's quite refreshing to see. He's been... lighter since he met you. Less prone to his darker moods."

You glanced over at the demon lounging across the room, something warm and complicated unfurling in your chest. "I don't understand why. I'm just... human. Temporary, from your perspective."

Aziraphale's expression softened with ancient compassion. "My dear, that's precisely it. The temporary nature of humanity is what makes you so remarkable. Such brief lives, and yet you create art that moves even immortal beings to tears. You love fiercely despite knowing loss is inevitable. It's... well, it's rather brave."

The angel patted your hand. "And Crowley has always admired bravery."

Before you could process this, there was a crash from across the shop, followed by Crowley's voice raised in alarm.

"Angel! Company!"

The warm, comforting atmosphere of the bookshop vanished instantly, replaced by a crackling tension. Aziraphale's kindly demeanor shifted, something older and more powerful taking its place.

"Stay here," he instructed, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument.

Of course, you followed anyway, peering around a bookshelf to see Crowley now standing alert by the front door. His glasses were off, serpentine eyes fixed on something outside the window.

"How many?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"Just one. Hastur." Crowley's voice was tight. "Looking for me, not you."

"Well, he can't have you," Aziraphale said with surprising fierceness.

"It's fine." Crowley straightened his jacket. "I'll handle it. Just... keep her safe."

Their eyes met, some silent communication passing between them. Then Crowley was moving toward the door, reaching for the handle.

"Crowley," you called out, stepping from your hiding place.

He froze, turning back to you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "Go back with Aziraphale. This isn't for human eyes."

"But—"

"Please." The word seemed to surprise him as much as you. Demons didn't say please. "I'll come back."

It was a promise, you realized. And something in his eyes—a mixture of determination and something softer—made you believe him.

You nodded, stepping back. Crowley gave you one last look before slipping out the door to face whatever demonic problem had come calling.

"Not to worry," Aziraphale said, guiding you deeper into the shop. "He's rather good at getting out of trouble. Had lots of practice."

"What does this Hastur want with him?"

The angel sighed. "Nothing pleasant, I imagine. Hell hasn't forgiven either of us for the role we played in averting Armageddon."

"Wait—you actually stopped the apocalypse?"

"Well, not personally. That was mostly the Antichrist's decision. But we did try our best to influence things in the right direction."

Your head was spinning. "The Antichrist is real?"

"Oh yes. Lovely boy now. Quite normal, all things considered."

You sank into a nearby chair, trying to process this new information. All those stories Crowley had told—about Heaven and Hell, about the End Times that weren't—they were true. More than true; they were understated.

"Will he be okay?" you asked finally, your thoughts returning to Crowley.

Aziraphale's expression was sympathetic. "He's survived this long. But I understand your concern." He hesitated, then added, "He means something to you, doesn't he?"

The question caught you off guard, forcing you to confront feelings you'd been carefully not examining. The strange demon who had crashed into your life with a monstera plant and impossible stories had somehow become important to you. More than important.

"Yes," you admitted quietly. "He does."

Aziraphale smiled, but there was sadness in it. "It's complicated, caring for immortal beings when you're not one yourself."

"I imagine it's complicated for them too."

"Indeed." The angel studied you thoughtfully. "But perhaps worth it, nonetheless."

Before you could respond, the shop door banged open, and Crowley sauntered back in, looking rumpled but unharmed.

"Problem solved," he announced, straightening his jacket. "Hastur won't be bothering us again. At least not until he figures out how to get out of that reality TV show I trapped him in."

Relief washed over you, so intense it made your knees weak. Without thinking, you crossed the room and threw your arms around him.

Crowley went rigid with surprise, his body unnaturally still beneath your embrace. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd made a terrible mistake. Then, slowly, his arms came up to encircle you, holding you with careful gentleness, as if you were something precious and fragile.

"I'm fine," he murmured, his voice unusually soft. "Demons are hard to kill."

You pulled back just enough to look at his face. His sunglasses were gone, amber eyes watching you with an expression both wary and hopeful.

"Don't do that again," you said firmly.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "What, save the day? Bit of a habit now."

"Go off alone to face danger without explaining what's happening."

His expression softened fractionally. "Can't make that promise, love. Danger's part of the package."

"Then I want to understand the package. All of it." You held his gaze steadily. "No more half-truths or deflections. If we're friends—really friends—then I deserve to know what I'm getting into."

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, respect, and something else, something that made your heart race. For a long moment, he simply looked at you, as if seeing you properly for the first time.

"Alright," he said finally. "Full disclosure. Starting with dinner. Angel," he called over your shoulder without breaking eye contact, "we're borrowing your back room."

Aziraphale, who had been pretending not to watch your exchange with great interest, beamed. "Of course! I'll bring wine."

---

And so began the strangest dinner conversation of your life—a demon and an angel explaining the true nature of reality over excellent wine and miracled cuisine. They told you everything: the Great Plan, the failed Apocalypse, their respective former sides, and the tenuous freedom they now maintained.

"So you're both... what? Rogue agents?" you asked, trying to wrap your mind around the cosmic implications.

"Retired," Crowley corrected. "Mostly."

"Independent contractors," Aziraphale suggested simultaneously.

You shook your head in wonder. "And now you just... live on Earth. Among humans."

"We've always lived on Earth," Crowley pointed out. "Since the Beginning."

"Yes, but before you were working for Heaven and Hell. Now you're just... existing."

"It's rather lovely," Aziraphale said with a contented sigh. "All the time in the world to read books, try new restaurants..."

"Drive too fast, sleep for a decade if I feel like it," Crowley added.

"And what about... relationships?" you asked carefully. "With humans, I mean."

The atmosphere shifted subtly. Aziraphale suddenly became very interested in his wine glass, while Crowley went perfectly still in that inhuman way of his.

"Complicated," Crowley said finally. "Humans are... temporary."

The word echoed Aziraphale's earlier sentiment, but from Crowley's lips it carried a different weight—not an observation but a fear.

"Everything is temporary," you countered softly. "Even for immortal beings. You told me yourself the world nearly ended. Twice."

"Not the same," he muttered.

"Isn't it? None of us know how much time we have. Human or not."

Crowley removed his sunglasses completely, setting them aside to look at you directly. The vulnerability in his gaze was startling.

"I've watched humans I... cared about grow old and die," he said, his voice low. "Over and over. It doesn't get easier."

"I should give you two a moment," Aziraphale murmured, rising from his seat. With a gentle smile in your direction, he disappeared into the main part of the bookshop, closing the door behind him.

Alone with Crowley now, you felt the weight of six thousand years of history between you—his immortality, your humanity, and the unbridgeable gap it created.

"Why did you choose me?" you asked again, returning to the question he'd never fully answered. "For the plant, for your visits. Why me?"

He looked away, fingers tapping restlessly against the table. "I told you. You noticed things."

"That's not all, though, is it?"

A long silence stretched between you. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"I was curious," he admitted. "About you. The way you moved through the world—seeing it clearly but not becoming cynical. It's... rare."

He glanced up, meeting your eyes. "And then I got to know you, and..."

"And?"

"And I kept coming back." He shrugged, as if that explained everything. Perhaps it did.

You reached across the table, covering his restless hand with yours. His skin was surprisingly warm.

"I'm glad you did," you told him truthfully.

Something in his expression shifted—hope warring with ancient caution. "Even knowing what I am? What this is?"

"Especially knowing." You tightened your grip on his hand. "I'd rather have this—complicated and impossible as it is—than never have known you at all."

His fingers turned beneath yours, intertwining with them. "It won't be easy."

"The best things rarely are."

A smile touched his lips—not his usual sardonic smirk, but something genuine and a little uncertain. "When did you get so wise?"

"Must be all the time I spend with immoral beings," you teased.

"Immortal," he corrected automatically.

"That too," you agreed with a grin.

He laughed then, the sound transforming his face into something young and bright. Without his sunglasses, without his careful facade of cool indifference, Crowley was breathtaking—all sharp angles and ancient eyes that had seen the creation of stars.

And he was looking at you like you were just as miraculous.

"What happens now?" you asked softly.

"I don't know," he admitted. "This is... uncharted territory."

"For me too." You hesitated, then added, "But I'd like to explore it. With you."

The hope in his eyes was painful in its intensity. Slowly, as if giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned across the table toward you. You met him halfway, your lips finding his in a kiss that felt like falling and flying all at once.

When you parted, his eyes were glowing faintly in the dim light of the backroom.

"Well," he murmured, voice rough. "That was..."

"Ineffable?" you suggested with a small smile.

He groaned. "Don't you start with that too. One ethereal being spouting philosophy is enough in my life."

"Speaking of which," you nodded toward the door, "how long do you think he's been listening out there?"

"Since the moment he left," Crowley replied dryly. "Angel's many things, but subtle isn't one of them."

There was a small cough from beyond the door, followed by Aziraphale's voice. "I was merely checking if you needed more wine!"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly. "Come in, angel. We know you're eavesdropping."

The door opened to reveal a slightly flustered Aziraphale holding a fresh bottle of wine. "I wasn't eavesdropping. I was... hovering attentively."

"Same thing," Crowley said, but he was smiling.

Aziraphale bustled in, his eyes darting between you and Crowley with poorly concealed delight. "I take it you two have reached some sort of... understanding?"

You glanced at Crowley, who was still holding your hand across the table. "I think we're figuring it out."

"Splendid!" Aziraphale beamed, pouring fresh wine for everyone. "A toast, then. To new beginnings."

"To defying expectations," Crowley added, his eyes never leaving yours.

You raised your glass, feeling as though you stood at the edge of something vast and wonderful and terrifying. "To ineffable plans."

As your glasses clinked together, you knew that whatever came next—however complicated, however temporary by cosmic standards—it would be worth it. Because some things, even with all the time in the universe, came along only once.

And sometimes, even a demon deserved a chance at something like happiness.

---

The End

[lia1512]

An Angel's Share

Part 1

---

You had always believed in angels and demons. Not in the Sunday school way, with white wings and halos versus pitchforks and horns, but in the sense that there were forces in the world beyond human comprehension. Good and evil, perhaps, but more complex than that—beings with their own motivations, histories, and peculiar bureaucracies.

What you hadn't expected was to be sharing your flat with one.

It had started with a plant. A stunning monstera deliciosa with leaves so glossy they reflected light like polished jade. You'd found it outside your door one morning with a note that simply read: "It's not dying. Just dramatic." No signature, no explanation.

You'd taken it in, of course. Who wouldn't? The plant was magnificent.

Three days later, you caught someone breaking into your flat. Not through the door or windows, but seemingly materializing near your monstera, bending over it with a spray bottle and muttering what sounded suspiciously like threats.

That was how you met Anthony J. Crowley.

---

"I wasn't breaking in," he insisted for the third time, sprawled across your sofa like he owned it. His sunglasses remained firmly in place despite the dim evening light of your living room. "Can't break into a place when you've been invited."

You crossed your arms, still clutching the heavy vase you'd grabbed as a makeshift weapon. "I never invited you."

"The plant did." He gestured vaguely toward the monstera. "It's mine."

"The note said—"

"That it's dramatic, yes. They all are. Slightest change in humidity and they're drooping leaves like it's the apocalypse. Which, believe me, I know what that looks like."

You set the vase down carefully, studying the strange man. His suit was impeccably tailored, flame-red hair styled with precision that suggested both care and an attempt to appear careless. There was something both mesmerizing and unsettling about him—like watching a dangerous animal through safety glass.

"So you're... what? A plant enthusiast who breaks into people's homes to water your former plants?"

A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Something like that."

"I should call the police."

"You won't."

"And why's that?"

"Because," he said, removing his sunglasses and revealing eyes that sent a jolt of primal fear through your system, "we both know I'm not human. And humans do so love mysteries."

His pupils were vertical slits in pools of amber. Snake eyes.

That was the beginning.

---

The thing about living with a demon—even part-time—was that it upset all the natural rhythms of life.

Crowley didn't need to sleep, though he enjoyed it. He didn't need to eat, though occasionally he would join you for a meal, picking at whatever you'd prepared with curious detachment. He didn't seem to need anything humans required, yet he surrounded himself with human inventions, human comforts, human aesthetics.

"Why plants?" you asked him one evening, a month after his first appearance. He'd taken to visiting regularly, ostensibly to check on his monstera but increasingly to lounge around your flat, drinking your wine and telling outrageous stories about historical events that couldn't possibly be true. Except the way he told them, with such specific, bizarre details—they had to be.

"They're honest," he replied, misting the monstera with a practiced flick of his wrist. "No pretense. No free will to muck things up. They just try to survive and grow toward the light. Simple."

"And you threaten them."

"Motivation," he corrected. "Fear is a powerful motivator."

You studied him over the rim of your wineglass. "Is that a demon thing? Using fear?"

His serpentine eyes slid to you, unblinking. "It's an everyone thing. Humans, demons, angels—even the Almighty. Especially the Almighty."

There was something in his voice—a bitterness, ancient and unhealed. You had the sudden, foolish urge to reach out and touch his hand, to offer comfort to this being who had existed since before time was cataloged in human terms.

Instead, you asked, "How old are you, Crowley?"

His smile was thin. "Older than your language has words for."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed, "but it's what you get." He stood suddenly, prowling around your small living room. "I was there when the stars were hung. Helped with some of them, actually. Alpha Centauri—that was one of mine."

The way he said it—casual, dismissive almost—made you believe him completely.

"What's it like?" you asked softly. "Living so long?"

He stopped his pacing, staring out your window at the London skyline. "Lonely," he said finally. "Even with—" He cut himself off, shoulders tensing.

"Even with what?"

"Nothing." He turned, all sharp angles and sudden movement. "Fancy a drive? I've got the Bentley downstairs."

And just like that, the moment of vulnerability was gone, replaced by his usual chaotic energy. You knew better than to push.

"Let me get my coat."

---

The Bentley was a beautiful machine, maintained in pristine condition. It purred beneath you as Crowley weaved through London traffic at speeds that should have been impossible, yet somehow never quite colliding with anything.

"Is this demonic intervention?" you asked, gripping the door handle as he took a corner at what felt like ninety degrees.

"Nah," he grinned, the wind from the open window ruffling his hair. "Just excellent driving."

You didn't believe him, but the exhilaration of the speed was too intoxicating to care. The night air rushed past, carrying away the lingering questions and tensions from earlier. This was Crowley at his most elemental—movement, freedom, just enough danger to keep things interesting.

He drove without destination, until the city lights thinned and you found yourselves on country roads, beneath a canopy of stars. Finally, he pulled over at a viewpoint overlooking rolling hills, the distant glow of a small village nestled in the valley below.

"I come here sometimes," he said, turning off the engine. "When the world gets too loud."

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your skin. The stars here were brilliant, unobscured by London's light pollution. You wondered which ones he had helped create.

"It's beautiful," you murmured.

Crowley made a noncommittal sound, coming to stand beside you. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses now; in the darkness, his eyes gleamed like embers.

"Why me?" you asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Why my flat? Why leave your plant with me? Why... any of this?" You gestured between you.

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. When he did, his voice was unusually soft.

"You noticed things. Most humans don't. They see what they expect to see, believe what's comfortable. But you—" he turned to face you fully, "—you've always seen the world a bit sideways. It's interesting."

"So I'm what, an entertaining human pet project?"

His lips twitched. "Something like that."

But there was more to it than that, you sensed. Something he wasn't saying.

"You're lonely," you realized aloud. "Even amongst your own kind."

His face shuttered. "Demons don't get lonely."

"Liar."

The word hung between you, dangerous and true. For a moment, you thought you'd gone too far. His eyes narrowed, a flash of something ancient and not quite human crossing his features. Then he laughed—a sharp, surprised sound.

"You really aren't afraid of me, are you?"

You considered this. "Should I be?"

"Probably."

"But you won't hurt me."

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "I'm a demon, love. Hurting is what we do."

"And yet," you said, holding your ground, "here we are, stargazing. Very demonic."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant amusement. Whatever retort he'd been preparing died on his lips. Instead, he glanced upward, at the vast expanse above you.

"That one," he said, pointing to a particularly bright star. "That was one of mine."

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by stories of creation and the early days of the universe, told in Crowley's sardonic, irreverent way. You listened, enraptured, as he described nebulae swirling into existence and the first light breaking through the void.

It was nearly dawn when he finally drove you home.

---

Life developed a new rhythm after that night. Crowley came and went as he pleased, sometimes disappearing for days, sometimes sprawling on your sofa for hours on end, telling you about historical disasters he'd witnessed or ridiculous demonic assignments he'd been given over the centuries.

"Gluing coins to sidewalks," he explained once, "caused far more frustration than you'd expect. Pure evil, that is."

You learned he had a best friend—an angel named Aziraphale who owned a bookshop in Soho. The way Crowley spoke about him was different from how he spoke about anything else—fond exasperation mixed with something deeper, something that made you wonder about the nature of six-thousand-year friendships between hereditary enemies.

"You should meet him," Crowley said one rainy Tuesday afternoon, three months into your strange arrangement. "Angel's been asking about you."

You nearly dropped your tea. "You've told him about me?"

Crowley shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Mentioned you. In passing."

"The human whose flat you regularly break into?"

"I don't break in," he protested automatically. "You gave me a key."

"After I caught you materializing in my living room for the fifth time!"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Details."

But you were stuck on the first revelation. "Why would you tell an angel about me?"

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in adjusting his sunglasses. "Like I said, just came up in conversation."

You narrowed your eyes, sensing there was more to it. Before you could press further, however, the doorbell rang.

Crowley froze, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a language that had been dead for millennia.

"Expecting someone?" you asked.

"Not... exactly." He ran a hand through his hair, an unusually nervous gesture.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a polite knock.

With a puzzled frown, you went to answer it. On your doorstep stood a man who looked like a university professor from a bygone era—bow tie, waistcoat, and a coat that had probably been fashionable sometime during Queen Victoria's reign. He beamed at you with such genuine warmth that you felt instantly at ease.

"Hello! You must be the lovely human Crowley has been so secretive about. I'm Aziraphale." He extended his hand, and when you took it, you felt a curious sensation—like sunshine breaking through clouds.

An angel. An actual angel was standing on your doorstep.

"He's here, isn't he?" Aziraphale peered past you, into the flat. "Ah, Crowley! There you are, my dear. I thought we might all have lunch together."

Crowley appeared at your shoulder, radiating annoyance that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Angel, we talked about this. Boundaries."

"Did we? I don't recall agreeing to anything." Aziraphale smiled serenely, then turned his attention back to you. "I've heard so much about you. Well, not really, because he's been terribly tight-lipped, which is how I knew you must be special."

"Special?" you echoed, glancing between them.

"Ignore him," Crowley said quickly. "He's being ridiculous."

"I am doing no such thing," Aziraphale protested mildly. "I'm simply making conversation." He turned those kind eyes back to you. "Crowley doesn't usually take an interest in humans unless they're... extraordinary in some way."

There was something in his tone—a gentle prompting, as if he were trying to communicate more than his words conveyed. Before you could decipher it, Crowley made a strangled noise.

"Right! Lunch. Weren't we going to lunch, angel? The Ritz? Your favorite." He was practically pushing both of you out the door now, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

You caught Aziraphale's eye, and the angel gave you a knowing smile.

---

Lunch with an angel and a demon was an experience unlike any other. Aziraphale ate with such genuine pleasure that watching him was an entertainment in itself. Crowley, meanwhile, barely touched his food, preferring to nurse a series of expensive wines and watch Aziraphale with fond exasperation.

And they bickered. Oh, how they bickered—about everything from 14th-century fashion to whether ducks had ears. It was the comfortable argument of beings who had been having the same disagreements for thousands of years and enjoyed them too much to ever resolve them.

"So," Aziraphale said, delicately dabbing his lips with a napkin after demolishing a perfect crème brûlée, "how did you two meet?"

"Plant-sitting," you answered, just as Crowley said, "Coincidence."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Coincidence? You?"

"It happens," Crowley muttered defensively.

"Not to you, my dear. Not for the past six thousand years."

You leaned forward, intrigued. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Aziraphale said with the air of someone revealing a great truth, "that our friend here doesn't believe in coincidences. Everything is part of the 'Great Plan' or the 'Ineffable Plan' or some plan or other."

"That's rich, coming from you," Crowley retorted. "Mr. 'God-Works-In-Mysterious-Ways.'"

"Well, She does."

"That's just what you say when you can't explain something."

You watched them, fascinated by the layers of history evident in their interaction. "How long have you two known each other again?"

"Since the Beginning," Aziraphale answered, his eyes twinkling. "Garden of Eden. He was the serpent, you know."

"The serpent?" you repeated, looking at Crowley with new understanding. "As in, the apple and—"

"Knowledge of good and evil, yes," Crowley confirmed with a hint of pride. "First temptation. Bit of an overreaction from Upstairs, if you ask me."

"He's never forgiven God for the whole 'banishment from paradise' business," Aziraphale stage-whispered to you.

"Would you?" Crowley countered. "Created humans with curiosity, then put the one thing they shouldn't touch right in the middle of the garden with a big 'Don't Touch' sign? It was entrapment."

The conversation flowed from there to theology, philosophy, and the nature of free will. You found yourself engaged in the most stimulating discussion you'd had in years, offering perspectives that sometimes made both immortal beings pause and reconsider their ancient positions.

As the meal concluded, you realized something unexpected—both Crowley and Aziraphale had been watching you with growing approval throughout the conversation, exchanging glances laden with unspoken communication.

When Aziraphale excused himself to examine the restaurant's wine collection more closely, you turned to Crowley.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?" he replied, the picture of innocence—which, on a demon, looked highly suspicious.

"Those looks between you two. Like you were having a silent conversation about me."

Crowley hesitated, then sighed. "Angel wanted to meet you. To... approve."

"Approve?" You blinked. "Of what?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Of you. Us. This..." he gestured vaguely between you, "...arrangement."

"Our friendship needs angelic approval?"

"No," he said quickly. "But Aziraphale is... important to me. The only constant I've had for six millennia. His opinion matters."

The admission seemed to cost him something, vulnerability flashing briefly across his features before being masked by his usual sardonic expression.

"And?" you prompted softly. "Did I pass?"

A small, genuine smile curved his lips. "With flying colors, apparently. He hasn't stopped beaming since you started debating the ethics of the Flood."

Something warm unfurled in your chest—pride, perhaps, or simply happiness at having been accepted into this strange, celestial friendship. Before you could respond, Aziraphale returned, practically glowing with contentment.

"My dear," he said to you, "you simply must come to the bookshop sometime. I have several first editions I think would interest you, based on our conversation."

"I'd like that," you replied honestly.

Aziraphale beamed, then turned to Crowley. "You've found a clever one this time."

"Shut up," Crowley muttered, but there was no heat in it.

---

[lia1512]

500 likes!

[lia1512]

To paranoid

Reblog or your mom will die in 928 seconds.

I love my mom.

I am risking nothing

I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY

Will not risk.

sorry followers :(

[lia1512]

First kiss Bakugo x fem reader

https://pin.it/10GjqG24e photos link

Bakugo katsuki a hot head who as no idea how he got in a relationship in the first place was nervous... What was he nervous about you may ask well he had never kissed a girl.

He never thought he would have to think or worry about that for a long time, all Bakugo cared about was becoming the number one hero and showing the world that he was the best.

But now he has her. He didn't think anything of it when they actually started dating, he didn't think he would be thinking about her lips the way he was ether.

Oh her lips so small and pink. He wondered if they were as soft as they look and if they taste exactly like her strawberry lipgloss.

Maybe he would find out tonight. She was coming to his house to study for a upcoming test that Mr. Aizawa so eagerly announced witch resulted in his girlfriend freaking out. Bakugo suggested her coming to his place so he could help her study and prepare for this test.

----

~Small time skip~

*Reader POV*

I was sitting on Bakugos bed as I go through his notes I felt a intense feeling wash over me when I looked up I saw him glaring daggers at me. "Is there something on my face ?" I asked a little concerned. But instead of answering me he just seamed to get mad so I put the papers and books to the side and move closer to him.

As I put my hand softly on his leg I try and figure out why he is scowling more then usual, I see his eyes moving between my e/c eyes and my lips.

So I lean in a bit....

----

*Bakugo pov*

She was just sitting there looking concentrated as ever  but then she asked something... 'shit what did she ask?!' I thought a little panicked but she is moving closer, I can feel her hand on my leg as she looks in to my red eyes seemingly studying me, I look down for a moment at her lips the images of her applying that stupid strawberry lipgloss popped in to my head again and before I even register anything she seems to lean in...

She kissed me. Her lips are on mine but just as I gain some controll she pulled away. "I'm sorry I didn't ask first. You just kept staring." She said in a soft voice.

I think I'm going crazy cuz what I said next I would not have said a couple of months ago but I had to I had to taste it again, no not just taste i have to ravish that feeling as long as I can. That's why I said "do it again"

________________________________________

[lia1512]

Big grumpy bear masterlist

Summary: He’s grumpy. You are sweet. A match made in heaven.

Pairing: Alpha!Walter Marshall x OmegaReader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, grumpy alpha, scenting, fluff, more to be added

Main Story

Big grumpy bear (1)

Big grumpy bear (2)

Big grumpy bear (3)

Big grumpy bear (4)

Big grumpy bear (5)

Big grumpy bear (FIN)

_____

Snippets

Big grumpy bear - Christmas snippet

Big grumpy bear – Valentine’s Day snippet

[lia1512]

Forgiving love

A forgotten date night

As the afternoon sunlight begins to dim, you sit in bed waiting patiently for your husband, Elijah Mickelson, to walk through the door. You have been eagerly anticipating this date night for months and cannot wait to finally be together again. However, as the minutes pass by and he is still not home, you begin to worry. 'Isn't he coming home tonight?' you think to yourself. The thought of him forgetting your special night out together fills you with anxiety and you begin to pace back and forth in the room.

As the clock ticks by and still no sign of him, you begin to wonder if he's forgotten about date night. You consider calling him, but you're afraid to bother him in case he is working. Finally, after another 15 minutes, you decide to send him a text message. That's when you notice it. A notification flashes up on your phone: a text message from Elijah.

The text reads: "I'm so sorry honey busy day. I'm on my way home now."

Your heart skips a beat when you read his text. For a split second, you feel furious and betrayed. It's not the first time that he's forgotten about your special date nights together, and you're fed up with being let down constantly. You can't believe that he would forget such an important night out, and you're angry at yourself for being so naive as to think he'd remember this time.

As you wait anxiously for his return, you feel like you're about to explode with rage. You start pacing back and forth across the room, trying to calm down and contain your emotions. The anger within you grows stronger as every second passes and he is still not home. You start to think of all the time and energy you've put into planning this date night and how it all went to waste because of Elijah's forgetfulness.

Finally, after what feels like ages, you hear the front door open and close behind him. You stand there nervously as he enters the room. He immediately spots you, and you see the shock and guilt spread across his face when he realizes what he's done. "Honey, I'm so sorry," he says immediately, walking quickly towards you. "I completely forgot about our date night."

You can feel the anger rising within you again, but before you can say anything, he presses a finger against your lips and holds your gaze. "Please, let me explain," he says earnestly. "I know I messed up, but I promise I'll make it up to you." The way he looks at you, so vulnerable and apologetic, makes you want to forgive him already.

You stay silent for a moment, trying to suppress your anger. But then gradually, you begin to soften. "You'd better make it up to me," you finally say after a few seconds of silence. "I put in so much effort for this date night, and you just forgot about it so easily."

He knows he needs to make it up to you somehow, and that includes more than just words. You watch as his hands reaching for your hips. He pulls you close to him, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he whispers, "I know how to make this up to you..."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel the tension in the air between you two as he pulls you even closer. He slides his hands up and down your hips, leaving goosebumps everywhere they touch. You can feel the heat building up between you as his touches get more passionate. You lean into him, pressing yourself tight against him. He kisses your neck, and then slowly brings his mouth down to yours. It's one passionate kiss, and you can feel his love and affection for you.

As he pulls away, he whispers, "Let me show you..."

[lia1512]

[lia1512]

[lia1512]

tumblr is not for the weak. ya'll have to have at least two mental illnesses to survive here

[lia1512]

Stuffed toy approval 🧸

Elijah entered Y/n's room, expecting a cozy movie night, but his eyes widened as he took in the sight of her bed covered in a multitude of stuffed toys. Y/n, nervous about his reaction, bit her lip, awaiting his response.

"Elijah, I hope you don't mind," Y/n stammered, gesturing to the plush army that occupied her bed.

Elijah's eyebrows shot up, a mix of surprise and amusement playing on his face. "Well, this is unexpected," he chuckled. "Are they all joining us for the movie?"

Y/n sighed in relief, "I'm sorry. I know it's a bit much. I just find them comforting."

Elijah grinned, "No need to apologize. It's just a little unexpected. But hey, they can have the best seats in the house." He plopped down on the bed, making space among the stuffed companions.

As the movie started, Y/n couldn't help but steal glances at Elijah, wondering if he was genuinely okay with this quirky setup. To her delight, he seemed to embrace the unique movie night, occasionally grabbing one of the stuffed toys and playfully commenting on the film as if it were one of them.

"You know," Elijah teased, holding up a stuffed bunny, "I think Mr. Flopsy here has a better grasp of the plot than I do."

Y/n laughed, feeling the tension melt away. Soon, the room echoed with shared laughter and banter, the stuffed toys becoming unexpected participants in their movie night.

As the night progressed, Elijah even found himself naming some of the toys, creating a whole fictional world for them. Y/n watched in awe as he animatedly weaved stories about each plush companion, turning a seemingly odd situation into a memorable and entertaining night.

"Meet Sir Quackington, the adventurous duck, and Lady Fluffington, the wise rabbit," Elijah declared, holding up two particularly fluffy toys.

Y/n couldn't help but giggle at his creativity. "I never knew you had such a talent for storytelling, especially with stuffed animals."

Elijah smirked, "Well, you learn something new every day, don't you?"

They continued the movie night, with Elijah's storytelling evolving into an improvised comedy act. Y/n found herself appreciating the unexpected turn of events, realizing that Elijah's acceptance of her quirks made him even more endearing.

As the credits rolled, Elijah stretched out on the bed, surrounded by a plush audience. "That was certainly a unique experience," he admitted.

Y/n blushed, "I'm glad you didn't mind. I know it's a bit strange."

Elijah turned to her, his eyes softening, "Y/n, everyone has their quirks. Yours just happen to involve a lot of stuffed animals. But I like it. It makes you, well, you."

Her heart warmed at his words, and she couldn't help but lean in for a sweet kiss. Elijah responded with a smile, and for a moment, they just enjoyed the quiet intimacy.

The stuffed animals, once a potential source of anxiety for Y/n, now served as a symbol of acceptance and understanding. Elijah had effortlessly turned an unconventional situation into a night filled with laughter, bonding, and unexpected joy.

"I guess Mr. Flopsy and friends are officially part of the movie night crew," Elijah declared, playfully arranging the stuffed toys in a circle.

Y/n laughed, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

As they settled into the comfort of the plush-filled bed, Y/n couldn't help but reflect on the unpredictability of life and love. Sometimes, it took a room full of stuffed animals to reveal the depth of connection between two people.

In the end, Elijah embraced the quirks that made Y/n unique, turning an ordinary movie night into a memory they both cherished. And as they drifted off to sleep, surrounded by a fuzzy army of stuffed companions, they knew that their love could weather any unexpected turns.

[lia1512]

Strings of Destiny

Loki, Son of Odin, had always been a master of illusions and trickery. But little did he know that his most enchanting discovery would not be through magic, but through an invisible string that connected him to his soulmate.

In the realm where soulmates were destined to find each other, Loki wandered through the cosmic tapestry of fate, searching for the elusive thread that would lead him to the one meant for him. One day, as he strolled through the ethereal weave, he felt a gentle tug on his consciousness.

Curious and intrigued, Loki followed the invisible string that seemed to materialize before him. It twisted and turned, leading him through realms and dimensions, until he found himself in the midst of Midgard, the realm of mortals.

There, in the chaotic beauty of Earth, Loki's eyes met those of Y/N. The connection between them was undeniable, and the string that bound their souls shimmered with a radiant glow. Y/N, unaware of the mystical forces at play, felt an inexplicable pull towards the enigmatic Loki.

As they crossed paths in a crowded city square, the invisible string tightened, drawing them closer. Loki, captivated by the mortal before him, couldn't help but be amazed at the intricacies of fate that had brought them together.

"Y/N," Loki whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of surprise and delight. Y/N turned, meeting Loki's gaze with a mixture of curiosity and recognition.

It was in that moment that they both realized the true nature of their connection. The string, woven by the hands of destiny, had led them to each other. Loki, the god of mischief, had found his match in the most unexpected of places.

As they embraced their newfound bond, the cosmic tapestry of fate continued to weave, creating a story that transcended realms. Loki and Y/N, entwined by the strings of destiny, embarked on a journey that would defy expectations and challenge the very fabric of their existence.

And so, the god of mischief and his mortal soulmate embraced the enchanting dance of destiny, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in a world where magic and love were intertwined.

[lia1512]

The No-Kiss Challenge Showdown

Y/N had stumbled upon the latest TikTok trend, "The No-Kiss Challenge," and an idea formed in her mischievous mind. With a twinkle in her eye, she approached her boyfriend, Elijah Michaelson, eager to propose a bet that would put their self-control to the ultimate test.

"Babe," Y/N grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found this hilarious challenge on TikTok called 'The No-Kiss Challenge.' It's trending like crazy, and I was thinking, how about you and I give it a shot?"

Elijah raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "What's the catch?" he asked, already suspecting that Y/N had something up her sleeve.

"No catch, I promise!" Y/N insisted, trying to look innocent. "It's simple — we just sit in front of each other without kissing for a set amount of time. The first one to break loses the bet!"

Elijah chuckled, sensing the mischief in Y/N's proposal. "And what do the winners get?"

Y/N smirked, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Bragging rights, of course! Plus, the loser has to do something special for the winner. What do you say, Elijah? Are you up for the challenge?"

Elijah couldn't resist Y/N's playful enthusiasm. "Alright, you're on! But I have a feeling you're underestimating my self-control," he teased.

As they set up for the challenge, Y/N couldn't help but secretly hope that Elijah would crack first.

The atmosphere was charged with tension as Y/N and Elijah faced each other, sitting on the couch with determined expressions. Y/N had set a timer for ten minutes, and the room was filled with a mix of playful banter and the sound of their racing hearts.

A few minutes into the challenge, Elijah couldn't help but steal glances at Y/N. Her lips, usually adorned with a mischievous smile, now held a teasing smirk. He could sense her confidence growing with each passing second.

"You're not making this easy, you know," Elijah remarked, trying to distract himself.

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling. "That's the point, Elijah. It's a challenge, after all."

As the timer ticked down, Elijah felt the urge to break the silence. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to Y/N's ear. "You're going down," he whispered, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Y/N shivered at the proximity but remained resolute. "We'll see about that."

With only a minute left on the clock, Elijah's self-control wavered. He couldn't resist any longer. In a swift motion, he cupped Y/N's face and pressed his lips against hers. The room filled with the sound of their laughter as the timer on Y/N's phone beeped, signaling the end of the challenge.

Y/N pulled away, a triumphant grin on her face. "Looks like I win, Mr. Michaelson."

Elijah chuckled, conceding defeat. "You got me, but I have no regrets."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? No regrets at all?"

Elijah leaned in, planting a soft, lingering kiss on Y/N's lips. "Well, maybe one regret—I should have kissed you sooner."

And just like that, the No-Kiss Challenge ended in a sweet victory for both of them. As they shared more laughter and affection, it became clear that the real prize was the joy of being in each other's company. The playful challenge had only deepened their connection, leaving them with fond memories of a showdown that neither would ever forget.

[lia1512]

A Culinary Symphony

Elijah Mikaelson, a vampire of refined taste and aristocratic demeanor, found an unexpected source of joy in the heart of his relationship with his s/o — her culinary experiments. Though his undead state spared him from the need for sustenance, he discovered a peculiar delight in witnessing the chaos unfold when she took charge of the kitchen.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a rich tapestry of colors across the sky, Elijah found himself in their shared haven. His s/o, adorned in an apron and a determined gleam in her eye, embarked on another culinary adventure. Intrigued, Elijah leaned against the kitchen counter, observing with a mix of amusement and genuine interest.

Her enthusiasm was infectious as she blended flavors, tested spices, and danced around the kitchen like a conductor orchestrating a symphony. Elijah, normally composed and stoic, couldn't help but be captivated by the passion she poured into her creations.

As the aroma of her unconventional dishes filled the air, Elijah, against all expectations, volunteered to be the taste-tester. With a bemused smile, he took a seat at the table, ready to experience the culinary journey she had crafted.

The first bite of her experimental dish brought a subtle curve to Elijah's lips. Surprising even himself, he found pleasure in the burst of flavors that danced on his immortal tongue. Her eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and joy as Elijah offered his feedback with the grace of a seasoned critic, his charming smile never fading.

This ritual became a cherished routine, a unique bonding experience that transcended the supernatural complexities of their lives. In those moments, the kitchen became a sanctuary—a place where the immortal Elijah Mikaelson connected with the simple, earthly pleasures of life.

Their culinary adventures not only brought warmth to their relationship but also revealed a different facet of Elijah—one that relished the joy found in the unexpected and the beauty that emerged from embracing the chaos of life, even in the realm of cooking.

And so, in the heart of their shared haven, Elijah and his partner continued to weave their own culinary symphony, each dish a note in the melody of their immortal love.

[lia1512]

Unveiled Secrets:A Mikaelson Dilemma

(This is manly Rebecca's reaction to a secret relationship between y/n & Elijah)

Rebecca Mikaelson and Y/N had been the closest of friends for years, sharing their secrets and supporting each other through the trials of their immortal lives. However, one day, as Rebecca walked into Y/N's home unannounced, she was met with a surprising sight.

In the dimly lit room, she saw Y/N and Elijah, the noble and stoic Mikaelson brother, sharing an intimate and sweet moment. Their eyes met, and in that instant, they exchanged a few stolen kisses. Rebecca's heart sank as she realized that they had been keeping this secret from her.

Rebecca stood there, frozen, unable to comprehend what she had just witnessed. Her mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions – shock, confusion, and a sense of betrayal. Y/N had never mentioned any romantic involvement with Elijah, and Rebecca had no inkling of their hidden connection.

Torn between confronting her friend and keeping her feelings to herself, Rebecca retreated quietly, leaving the room unnoticed. She needed time to process the situation and decide how to handle the newfound knowledge.

__________________________

The days that followed were filled with a growing distance between Rebecca and Y/N. Y/N couldn't help but notice that Rebecca was acting strangely. They had always been open and honest with each other, and this sudden change in their dynamic was concerning.

One evening, Y/N couldn't take it anymore. She decided to confront Rebecca about her behavior. They sat down together, and Y/N asked, "Rebecca, something's been bothering you, hasn't it? You've been distant lately. Please, tell me what's wrong."

Rebecca hesitated, her emotions still in turmoil. But she realized that it was time to address the elephant in the room. With a heavy sigh, she looked into Y/N's eyes and said, "Y/N, I need to talk to you about something I saw a few days ago."

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion, "What did you see, Rebecca?"

Rebecca recounted the moment she had walked in on Y/N and Elijah sharing an intimate kiss. She explained how it had taken her by surprise, as she had no idea about their romantic involvement. Rebecca's voice quivered as she continued, "I felt hurt and betrayed because you never told me about your relationship with Elijah. I thought we shared everything."

Y/N listened attentively, her expression a mix of regret and understanding. "Rebecca, I'm so sorry. I should have told you, and I should have been more open about my feelings for Elijah. I didn't want to hurt you, and I thought you might react this way."

Tears welled up in Rebecca's eyes as she replied, "Y/N, it's not that I don't want you to be happy. It's just that the secrecy hurt. You mean so much to me, and I didn't want to lose our friendship."

Y/N reached out to hold Rebecca's hand, "I understand, Rebecca. I should have trusted our friendship more. I love you as a friend, and I hope you can accept Elijah and me being together."

Rebecca's expression softened, and she nodded, "I want to be happy for you, Y/N. I just need some time to adjust to this new reality. But I promise, our friendship means too much to me to let it crumble because of this."

The revelation of Y/N and Elijah's secret relationship had left Rebecca and Y/N in a delicate state of uncertainty. The days turned into weeks, and while their friendship remained strained, Rebecca couldn't bear to lose the connection they had shared for so long.

Rebecca and Y/N continued to interact, but there was an unspoken tension between them. They both yearned to return to the easy camaraderie they once had. Finally, one evening, as they sat in Y/N's garden under the starry night sky, Rebecca decided it was time to clear the air.

"Y/N," Rebecca began, "I've thought a lot about what happened, and I realize that I want to be a part of your happiness, even if it means accepting your relationship with Elijah."

Y/N's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "Rebecca, I'm so glad you're saying this. I've missed our close friendship, and I regret not being upfront with you about Elijah. I promise, I'll make an effort to include you in our lives more."

Rebecca managed a small smile, "Thank you, Y/N. It won't be easy, but I want to try and move past this. Our friendship means the world to me."

Their conversation marked the beginning of the healing process for their friendship. With time and effort, Rebecca and Y/N started to rebuild their trust, knowing that the bond they had shared was stronger than the secret that had temporarily come between them.

Meanwhile, Y/N and Elijah's relationship continued to blossom. They faced challenges and obstacles typical of immortal beings, but their love remained steadfast. As the months went by, Rebecca had the opportunity to see firsthand how happy her brother, Elijah, was in the company of her dearest friend, Y/N.

It was during a family gathering at the Mikaelson mansion that Rebecca witnessed the genuine joy on Elijah's face as he shared moments with Y/N. They laughed, danced, and stole loving glances at each other. For the first time, Rebecca truly understood the depth of their love and how it had transformed her stoic brother into a happier and more fulfilled person.

Rebecca couldn't help but smile, realizing that the happiness of her loved ones was what truly mattered. In the end, their unbreakable bond prevailed, proving that even the most complicated of relationships could find a way to coexist in harmony.