#but hey! This is Forsaken. that's to be expected

[withahappyrefrain]

FRAT TASM!PETER WITH

“I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard/wet. Wanna hear about it?”

THIS IS SOMETHING THAT COCKY ASSHOLE WOULD SAYYY OH MY GOD

This is how blonde frat Peter returns bless you

Warning: language, frat Peter being a cocky little shit, female reader, I think that's it!

"Hey, you made it after all."

You audbily breathe in through your nose, trying to ignore the fumes of vodka and who knows what else was in this God forsaken jungle juice.

Anything to give you the strength to face Peter Parker.

You turn around to find him leaning against the door, a joint tucked behind his ear, hands in the pocket of his black hoodie, bleached blonde hair somehow perfectly messy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself Parker. I'm only here to support my roommate," you scoff, turning your attention back to the game of beer pong. Not that you were truly interested.

But you couldn't let him know that.

You regret being late to the first day of your Science Diplomacy & World Health class. Had you known it would have left you no choice but to sit next to Peter Parker, you wouldn't have hit the snooze button for your alarm five times.

It wasn't even like you had asked to borrow a pencil from him. He seemed drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

"Y'know, I feel like I would have remembered a face like yours. You a transfer?" He asked, as if you two weren't in the middle of a lecture.

Thanks to your roommate being in the sorority that paired up with his frat, you had heard all about Peter Parker. The infamous parties. How he dyed his hair blonde at the beginning of sophomore. How he's the biggest flirt that Delta Lambda Phi had.

You didn't even look at him when you responded, "We've been in the same class since freshman year. But I came here to get a degree, not to party."

Ever since that day, he wouldn't leave you alone. At first it started with ridiculously over the top pick up lines.

"Are you made up of copper and tellurium? Because you're cute."

All you could do was roll your eyes at every line, mustering all the strength you had to not smile. You had eyes, the guy was cute. But you also knew his type.

So when he extended a personal invite to the latest frat party, you simply turned him down, like you had for countless of other parties.

Of course, as luck would have it, it was exactly the party your roommate wanted to go to.

You hoped to avoid him, hoped that your roommate would find whoever she was looking for so you could leave.

But it was as if Peter Parker had a sixth sense for you specifically. His inability to find you in libraries, dinning halls, and the university's coffee shop (bc fuck Starbucks) had now extended to frat parties.

"You know Parker, stalking is a serious crime," you scoff, refusing to look at him. The ever present scent of cinnamon alerted you that he was now standing next to you.

"It's not my fault you have a beautiful face that I could pick out from a crowd," He mumbles, a stark contrast to the usual cocky bravada you're used to.

"Excuse me?" Without thinking, you turn to face him, making contact with those big brown eyes.

The corner of his pink lips jerk upwards as he leans in, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. His touch is gentle, something you weren't expecting at all.

"You heard me." The cocky smile had returned, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Hey, don't gimme that. I know you love how cheesy I am."

Unfortunately, it was true. He was never crude and it somehow sounded genuine, despite being accompanied by a worn snapback.

"It's not crass, unlike your fellow brotherin. I'll give you that Parker." You would have taken a step back if you could, but you were now up against the wall. But he still had space to close in on you, not that he did. He always kept enough distance that you could walk away.

Come to think of it, you hadn't seen or heard him flirt with anyone since the first day of classes.

"Y'know, I got an offer from Delta Chi. It could be way worse." His comment earned a laugh from you, a feat Peter was quite proud of.

"You're right, I guess I should give you that."

"I think you can give me a lot more," He leaned in, closing some of the distance between you two but not all the way, "If you want."

The ball was in your court. His lips looked so soft, no doubt from the vanilla chapstick he used. God, why did you know that about him? And why did he always smell like cinnamon instead of Axe body spray? That's what he should be using, it would certainly make it easier for you to discourage your own feelings about the guy.

Tired of denying, tired of putting up a wall, and not kissing anyone in the last four months caused you to grab at his hoodie, your lips crashing onto his.

You vaguely register the sound of the dropped plastic cup, as your fingers thread through his hair to find it soft, despite all the hair dye and bleach.

Peter's hands feel large as they skim your sides, landing at your hips. When his tongue slid across your bottom lip, you could feel your knees begin to go weak. As if he could sense it, he pushed your back firmly against the wall, one of his large hands going down to your thigh to help steady you.

Fuck, his lips were soft. There was muscle underneath that hoodie, you could feel it.

His lips trailed down to your jaw before settling on your ear.

"I had a dream about you last night. Woke up hard. Wanna hear about it?"

Desire burned at the pit of your stomach, your fingers gripping the strands of his hair.

"Where the fuck is your bedroom Parker?"

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ "𝐰-𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭!? " | childe, kaeya, heizou, lyney x gn!reader

ㅤ⤷ art cr

— it's time for revenge : teasing the teasing boys back.

󠀠󠀠ㅤ⤷ DARLINNGGG, GUESS WHOS BACK FROM JAILLLLL ... gn reader, but use of adj "pretty", est. relationship childe + heizou , alcohol 󠀠󠀠and suggestive mentions in kaeya's, fluff

— ...aka , flirting back makes them malfunction. ♥

"Darling, you're so pretty today~!"

There he is — that sly little shit you call so fondly by name. Childe snakes his arms firmly around your torso, snuggling into you from behind.

It doesn't take a genius to guess he's grinning like an idiot.

(Your idiot.)

"Hm? I don't think I heard you right, say it one more time?" Glancing back at him with a cheeky smile, you hear the rumble of his laughter.

The harbinger presses a sneaky, little sideways kiss against the base of your neck, tufts of his hair tickling your jaw. "You're seriously too kissable today. Totally unfair."

He's so stupidly in love that you can't help but tease him, just a little. Changing positions, you turn around to cup the man's face. "Well, if I'm that kissable today, I guess I'll just have to keep that look going, won't I? Shall we test how fair it really is?"

There's a beat of silence. You count six seconds before he even begins to utter a choked little: "...H-huh...?"

He's so red-faced you almost feel bad. His skin is growing warmer to the touch, and he shifts his eyes, suddenly becoming a whole lot less bold than usual. Trembling slightly, he brings up a hand to hide behind, his now-meek voice reaching you.

"H-hey, who taught you that...?"

"Ah? Speak up, I can't hear you~"

"...You- You know exactly what you're doing to my heart, don't you?" He looks at you accusingly, guiding one of your hands to his chest, burying it in the fabric of his clothes. "Archons, it's beating so fast-"

"This can't be healthy, so hurry up and cure me."

"Cure?"

"..1000 kisses should fix me right up."

"To meet you once more, isn't this fate?"

Eyes that contain galaxies — and you, raise to meet yours. Kaeya smiles in a smile that's all mirth, raising a glass to let it briefly shine in the light. He stands as you enter Angel's Share, pulling back a stool at the counter.

...He wasn't a stalker, was he? This hadn't been the first time you'd met, nor the second, nor third — you'd seen this archon-forsaken man a total of seven times. Each time, the two of you had shared a drink, which always started with "ah, just one today" to you, face flushed, leaning onto the counter and spilling whatever was on your mind that day in its entirety to the man who sat beside you, listening with the occasional chuckle.

Well, it wasn't as if you found the idea of "fate" and "Kaeya" unappealing.

"I suppose that wouldn't be unbelievable." You shrug as you take your seat. "Since I've been fortunate enough to encounter you again, drinks are on me."

"My, how generous." Kaeya gestures toward his empty glass shamelessly, resting his chin on his hand leisurely. "I think I'll take you up on that offer."

You beckon Charles closer, briefly whispering something in the man's ear. The bartender nods, walking off.

"How interesting, Charles seems to be mixing two drinks. A classic choice of wine, and your favorite..." A foxy grin stretches across the man's lips. "To think you've memorized my order. Should I write you off as someone staring at me nonstop or merely attentive?"

That smooth talker, with that insufferably charming smile — surely it was time for a little revenge?

"I'd prefer the former, but think what you want."

"Oh? I'm that handsome?" (Is it the dim lighting that makes Kaeya's face seem a little more red than usual? )

"You are."

You state it blatantly, as it is. As if Kaeya weren't expecting such a blunt answer, he suddenly clams up, coughing into his fist in a terribly not nonchalant manner. "You... don't tell me, have you already been drinking? What's with you today?"

"What, is speaking the truth suddenly such a surprise?"

"...You said all drinks were on you, yeah?"

Changing the topic? "Mhm, whatever you want."

It's hard to miss the way Kaeya's gaze burns.

"Then, round two at my place?"

"You're way too distracting, how am I supposed to get any work done when all I want to do is kiss you?"

And there it is, Heizou's twenty-second kiss of the day, this time pressed lightly on the bridge of your nose. Here you were, expecting the cool-headed man to be able to hold himself back during detective work.

You'd expected far too much.

"Heizou, you're the one who agreed to me accompanying you. No use in complaining now."

"Ah, that's where you're mistaken, love! Complaints are perfect excuses for kisses, you know." The twenty-third, on your left cheek, and the twenty-fourth, on the other.

"Heizou."

He tilts his head upwards, staring at you cheekily. "Hm?"

"Revenge." You cup his face. His pink cheeks are squishy, and you resist the urge to pinch them.

"...Pardo-"

You kiss him on the lips.

Heizou makes a noise of surprise, slightly jumping under your touch. He quivers for a moment, then goes stock still.

Seems like you've stumped the detective.

One kiss is all it took.

As you pull away, you're able to witness the absolute mess you've created. The Shikanoin Heizou's at an utter loss for words, his lips parted but words long gone. His cheeks, the tips of his ears, the back of his neck; he's so red-faced you can't help but laugh.

"My, that's all it took to render you speechless?"

There's a twinkle in his spring-green eyes as he gazes at you, shaking his head slyly. "Nope-! Not rendered speechless just yet- although..."

"...One hundred more kisses might do the trick?"

"A pretty flower for the prettiest of them all, mon chéri~"

A rainbow rose drawn from a sleeve, a pair of sly amethyst eyes, a cattish smile, and a smooth voice: Lyney greets you — or more so catches and stops you on the road. Something of a highway robbery, except this "thief" is more skilled in capturing hearts than valuables.

His hand snags onto your forearm, making no move to let go. "You player, don't tell me you say this to any pretty face that passes by?"

At the raise of your brow, Lyney feigns hurt. "You wound me, to assume such a thing... just how little trust you have for me?"

"Admittedly not a lot, Sir..." You scan him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze; You were sure you had seen the guy somewhere before. "...Magician?"

"Lyney."

"...Lyney, considering you've stopped me on the side of the road, it'd be daring to even call us acquaintances, no?"

"Acquaintances..." Lyney ponders the thought like it's enjoyable. "I can work with that~ Since we've been acquainted, won't you take the rose already?"

Partly due to his insistence, and partly due to pity, you accept the flower from his hold, not failing to notice the way his eyes twinkle. "Say," he begins, moving his hands back to his sides. "Do you happen to know what roses mean in the language of the flowers?"

You blink at him, rather unamused. "Sorry to disappoint, but I can't speak to plants."

Lyney, unexpectedly, grows silent. You see his cheeks puff outward, attempting to suppress a laugh. "I see," he speaks, breathily, like he is midway between a laugh and a word. "Love, beauty, perfection, wouldn't you say it fits you wonderfully?"

"...You have my thanks?"

Lyney's eyes are the shape of almonds, and when he smiles, the edges of them crinkle. "Not much of a charmer, are you?"

Is that a challenge?

"Then," you drop your voice a pitch lower, straightening your shoulders. "You have my thanks, mon beau." Combo attack: winking and blowing a kiss, you depart the scene as soon as possible for added mystery.

(You had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time you saw him.)

Now standing alone on the side of the street, eyes wide, finger playing with his side-swept bangs, utterly speechless and red-faced, Lyney's heart raced like it was to leap out of his chest.

"...Haha, what sort of magic is this?"

(a/n) this has been in drafts since like,, janurary. SOBBING.

look out for an announcement in a lil bit ^^

tags :

@manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @ceneid, @avensuersa, @solxima

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 15] His Baby Girl Pt. 1

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji tries to get adjusted to the fact that you’re seeing Shiu. It isn’t just a plot to get back at him but no, you’re actually seeing Shiu. You’ve started to see the man romantically, and Toji can’t do anything else but sit back and watch it happen. He’s more focused on something else, his daughter.

The daughter that he told you to abort when he found out that you weren’t getting back together. He’s not sure if this was the right decision, but what he knows is that he’s excited about her presence. Nesting isn’t something that only pregnant women do, or at least Toji is getting everything set up for his baby girl.

“Megumi, did I not tell you to start using a coaster?” Toji nearly yells. Stuff he’s never worried about, and he’s sure he won’t care in a few weeks. He needs the place to be pristine, even though his daughter isn’t going to stay in the apartment. 

“You know that she’s not here?” Megumi responds, taking his glass from the table and finishing the drink in one swift gulp. Megumi won’t bring up that the baby isn’t going to be staying here yet… He doesn’t want to add salt to the wound.

“She’ll be here at any moment.” Toji says, a phrase that makes his stomach churn. Any day now he expects the call from you that you’ve gone into labor, and he knows he will start freaking out as if he hasn’t gone through this before. It’s almost been fifteen years– No, Megumi’s birthday just passed, it’s been fifteen years. 

“You do know she’s not going to stay with us?” Megumi replies, and Toji chuckles. He forgot to break the news to the teenager.

“She’s staying for the first two or three months.” Toji announces, which takes Megumi by surprise. He wasn’t informed of that detail. “Just while handling motherhood and whatnot… Newborns aren’t easy.”

“Uncle Shiu wasn’t available?” Megumi asks, which earns a glare from Toji. Uncle Shiu, a name that Megumi has never used up until he found out that you were seeing the man. “I mean… I’m sure he has more space and since they’re–”

“Shiu is not your uncle, don’t call him that.” Toji scolds his son, though he knows it goes in one ear and out the other. It’s Megumi’s way of getting back at his father for… Everything. “I convinced her to stay with us since I want to spend time with my daughter. They’re staying in my bedroom.”

“What about Kali’s nursery?” Megumi questions, considering that there’s a whole room for the baby. It does make sense that you’d stay with the baby, it’s just surprising that Toji is willing to give up his room.

“I’m sleeping on the floor of the nursery.” Toji answers, and Megumi can’t help but laugh. It feels so unlike his father, but he has to give the man some credit. Toji’s changed for the better

“Can your body handle that?” Megumi is fighting back a smirk, and Toji really shouldn’t, he’s the adult in the room, but he sticks out his middle finger at his son. Megumi chuckles before putting his hands up defensively, “Hey, I’m just saying, you’re forty in a couple of days.”

“I will teach the new kid respect, since you clearly don’t know what that means.” Toji rolls his eyes, and Megumi copies the action. 

“Okay, old man. Whatever you say.”

Toji’s phone begins to ring a little past midnight, and he groggily picks it up. Who in the world would call at this forsaken hour? He doesn’t check who it is, he’s about to curse out whoever it is, but then he hears you in pain. His eyes shoot wide, and he tries to kick off the blanket off him.

“It’s time?” He asks, knowing damn well that it is. You’re not calling him this late for no reason. Toji is waiting for an actual response that isn’t you moaning in pain, and while he waits, he begins to get dressed.

“Come pick me up.” Is all you say, and he won’t question you further right now. He thought that the agreement was that you'd meet up at the hospital since you were staying with Shiu for a while; Shiu would be the one to drive you, but something happened.

“Your place of Shiu’s?” Toji makes sure to get the place right before heading over there. He furrows his brows when he hears your place, but he won’t question it either. Right now it’s not the time to start an interrogation. You might curse him to death if he takes one minute longer. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Ten?!” You sound absolutely mortified. Toji bites down his tongue before deciding.

“Five. I’ll make it five minutes.”

Toji picks you up, and all the questions that he had in mind are gone. You’re cursing him out for even breathing, he can’t even think of questioning you. With every contraction you throw in a new insult, something that he didn’t know you had in your body.

“Stupid motherfucker, stop breathing.” “You are literally so pathetic, how did I get pregnant by you?” “Just drop me off here, I’m so embarrassed to be seen near you.” And what did he do? Just breathe a little weird while you were having a contraction– Well, and knock you up but that’s besides the point.

You’re more calm once you’re in the hospital though, and you’re a total angel after you get the epidural. Toji chuckles at the sight of you scrolling through your phone, a completely different person compared to the woman that he picked up just a few hours ago.

“You can go back home and sleep, I’ll call you when it’s officially time.” You tell Toji, who’s mindlessly staring at you. You don’t care to look away from your phone, guessing Toji is indifferent to this whole situation. Toji never really cared to keep by your side when you were sick as his wife, you doubt he’d want to stay here for hours on end in this situation.

“Where’s Shiu?” Toji asks, ignoring your statement. You’re definitely more calm now, if you start an argument Toji knows that you won’t start hitting him. You stare at Toji, wondering if he’s up to something… He gave up after he found out that you and Shiu had a thing, so you doubt he has something up his sleeve. “I just thought you were staying with him–”

“Business trip. He wanted to stay because he knew I was due soon but I convinced him to go, it was only going to be the weekend.” You sigh, putting your hand over your bump. “Kali was just too excited.”

“Hell, I’d be excited too if Shiu left me the fuck alone.” Toji responds, rolling his eyes at the thought of Shiu. His best friend. “Did he come up with that name too? Kali?”

“He– Well, he brought it up and it stuck around. It’s cute.” You admit, and Toji sighs. Yeah, that man has named his daughter as well. It’s a cute name, and he doubts he really has a say anymore. “I mean, if you don’t like it you can still change it.”

“Do I really have a say in this?” Toji asks, and you nod your head, an inquisitive look coming to your face.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re her father.” You respond, and Toji bites down his lip. It’s hard to remember when there’s the perfect man right next to you, about to become his daughter’s stepfather. Maybe he shouldn’t compare himself to Shiu so much, like that he’d be more at peace.

“With Shiu becoming your boyfriend and all.” He says, and you roll your eyes. He’s given up but he’s still jealous of Shiu. Who could blame him? “I like the name Kali. It’s cute. I already got some clothes with her name.”

“If this is about the clothes you can always buy new ones.” You remind him, though he shakes his head. He likes the name. “Alright, you can go home now.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Toji answers, pulling out his phone to send a message to his old friend. As much as Toji doesn’t like the man anymore, he knows you want Shiu to be here. “Did you call him?”

“I don’t want to bother him.” You shake your head, putting all your attention on your phone again. You don’t want to have this conversation with Toji of all people.

“I don’t think it’ll bother him.” He’s looking through his contacts to find Shiu. Just a quick message, and Shiu will be on his way over.

“Just leave it alone, Toji.” You sigh. You see that he’s typing something in his phone, and you can see right through him, “Toji! Leave it alone.”

“He’s going to want to be here. Or at the very least know.” Toji argues, and you furrow your brows. “I’m trying to help you–”

“What do you know about relationships, Toji? Do I need to remind you that we got divorced because you were such a shitty husband?” You slightly raise your voice, and Toji bites his tongue. “You need to stay out of this, leave Shiu alone on his business trip. I don’t want to worry him.”

“I thought the epidural was supposed to help.” He mutters, and you glare at him. 

“Aren’t you going to leave?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. Toji gets comfortable on his seat before saying,

“I’m going to wait for my daughter right here.”

[mockerycrow]

HELLO the biggest congrats on 4k, you absolutely deserve that and so many more!!!

Could I see a female!reader x Ghost with the prompt:“I had a nightmare . . . can I stay with you tonight?”

TY and yet again, congratulations 🤍🤍🤍

REASSURANCE (Ghost x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note; thank you so much anon <3 i hope you enjoy!

[WARNINGS; not proofread (like most of my fics), silent panic attack + light dissociation, implied you’ve never seen his face, hurt/comfort.]

You know Ghost has nightmares—everyone knows Ghost has nightmares. No one really wants to talk about it because he doesn’t, but everyone has seen the man up at ungodly hours of the night, or perhaps beating the absolute shit out of a punching bag at the on-base gym.

No one except for Price knows what Ghost’s been through, but no one really questions him. It’s unrealistic to think Ghost is the only one waking up due to their dreams—even Price does on the occasion. What Ghost doesn’t do is ask for help.

You had a weird gut feeling about tonight; you weren’t really restless, but you weren’t tired. Every time you laid down to try to get some sleep, your eyelids would slowly open back up. You tried multiple methods; white noise, thinking about nothing, thinking about a story, taking a sleep remedy—nothing.

You had a weird tightness in your stomach that you couldn’t shake. It’s no big deal, you’ve had several nights like this. Nights where you stay up, half expecting something to happen. You aren’t sure if its the military-esque anxiety flaring up, expecting an attack of some sort or if it’s just one of those nights.

You’re laying in bed, trying to think of what you have to do tomorrow. Might as well try to think of something useful, right? Let’s see, you have to do morning training and then you have to eat, brief with price, it’s your turn to help the armourer—the weapons master, you like to say to piss them off—and you also have to do paperwork.

A very tame evening, you think, avoiding the Q word everyone oh so desperately hates; including yourself. Because the second you say it, you’re going to be called by Laswell, or General Shepherd, or some other CIA federal agent bureaucrat about some fucking thing that’s happening in the god forsaken world that only, and only task force 141 can handle—

—Someone knocks on your door, breaking your disorganized thoughts. Your eyebrows furrow; no one should be up, maybe Price is, or Ghost. Did you forget some paperwork? You sit up, slip your slides on your feet, and you walk to the door. You unlock the door and open it, wincing from the bright light of the hallway pouring in, and you’re met with the large figure of Ghost.

You blink, unsurprised. “Hey.” You utter. “Did I wake you?” God, Ghost sounds rough. It sounds like he garbled glass—er, maybe that isn’t the nicest way to describe one of your superiors voices right now. It’s clear he just woke up. You shake your head in response, stepping aside. “Here, come in. It’s bright.”

Ghost silently obeys, stepping inside of your room. You close the door and head over to your desk. You feel around in the darkness until you feel your lamp and you click a button, turning it on, illuminating the room just enough for you to see Ghost. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants with one of his black, long-sleeve compression tops to go with it.

He’s wearing a basic black balaclava without the iconic skull, but.. His eyes are different. Distant and weary, cautious—panicked almost. Your eyebrows furrow together as his broad shoulders are tense, fists clenched.

“Ghost..” You call softly. He seems far away—he needs your help. “Ghost.” You say more insistently and louder, noticing the way his chest is barely moving. “Ghost, hey, can y’hear me? You need to take a breath..” You murmur, slowly approaching him.

He’s frozen but you see how his eyes flicker towards you, taking a moment realize where he is. You offer a soft smile you always show him and you nod. “There you are, big guy. Can I touch you?” You make sure to ask because you never know; a soldier during a flashback, touching them? That can be fatal—you trust Ghost as you don’t think he would ever hurt you, but you never know a person.

It takes him a moment to nod, which makes you promptly and gently grab his wrists. You gently guide him to your bed, and you sit him down. You’re nervous—you’re about to calm him down in one of the only ways you know how to, but you’re worried about the consequences you’ll receive afterwards. Oh well, you don’t care, not when Ghost’s eyes are as unfocused as they are.

The bed dips under his weight and you gently spread his legs, standing between them. You grab his arms; they’re deadweight, but his eyes flicker some recognition, allowing you to guide his arms around your waist. You guide his head to lay against your stomach, your hands cradling his masked jaw and the back of his neck.

Ghost takes in a harsh, shuddery breath which makes you hum in approval. “There you go, Ghost. Breathe, you’re alright.” You say in a mellow manner, your thumb brushing over his masked cheek. Ghost takes in another harsh breath as his arms tighten around you. You continue to try to ground him, talking and praising him for his efforts to stay calm. You know he isn’t in the right mind, but you’re still shocked he’s allowed you to touch him for as long as you have.

Something in your gut unravels as Ghost pulls his head away ever so slightly, ripping his mask off and throws it away like it was constricting his breathing. He buries the side of his face back into your stomach, taking you by surprise. Your met with his blonde hair in the low light, your heart stuttering.

You hesitate only for a moment before you bury a hand in his hair on the back of his head, your other hand returning to his jaw, your heart hammering as you note he has stubble as well as something on his skin, like deep scar tissue.

Ghost lets out a noise which you quickly hum in response. “It’s okay, let it out.. Won’t tell anyone about this, okay?” You assure him, causing another noise to escape him, almost like a laugh. “Kinda hard t’do that when a pretty girl is comfortin’ you.” He croaks, his voice broken—both his voice and sentence making your brain short circuit. You laugh in return, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Shush,” You murmur. “Just relax.”

Ghost nods against your stomach, shakily exhaling. You stay like that for a while; neither of you are sure for how long, and neither of you care. You’re enjoying the rare vulnerability Ghost is displaying, and he’s enjoying the grounding touch you’re currently providing him. The silence is comforting as you comb your fingers through his hair, and you enjoy the weight of his head and his arms.

“I had a nightmare…” Ghost utters. You hold your breath as he looks up at you, and oh god, he’s hot. “..Can I stay with you tonight?” You’re mesmerized by the way his nose is curved—clearly has been broken a couple of times and wasn’t reset right—by the way his eyebrows are furrowed, his big, beautiful brown eyes.. You nearly forget to respond. “Yes,” You push out, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the tension between his brows. “Always.”

[lavenderfilledcoffin]

Requesting a fluffy seb fic where we just doodle on his skin with a sharpie. Seb would definitely like the feeling of that and melts in an instant!

Also love your fics 🤌💕 You don't have to write my request if you don't want to!

stains of love

☆ lord have mercy i was extremely nervous when i was writing this because i admire your writing :sob:

•*¨*•.¸¸♪✧•*¨*•.¸¸

Recently, you had taken a liking to drawing.

If you were stuck in Hadal Blacksite, you might as well make the most of it.

As of right now, you were drawing Sebastian.

His hair was easy to draw, reminiscent of a typical 2000's anime protagonist. It was almost uncanny, but at least it looked good on him.

Well, kind of, but that was a discussion for another day.

Sebastian wouldn't mind if you gave him a little tiara, right?

You quickly looked around the room, then back to your forsaken paper.

It felt like this was a dirty secret, as if this small paper alone could cause a worldwide war.

You set the pencil down, picking up the sharpie.

Time for line art.

The more you concentrated on the paper, the more you got lost in it.

The marker glided across the paper, leaving a faint alcohol scent that you thought was nice.

It was refreshing, in a way. Even if you were used to the constant horrific smell of fish and salt.

While you finished up the drawing, Sebastian had somehow slipped right behind you without you noticing.

He peered over your shoulder to see him. With a stupid tiara.

Something clicked in your head, and you drew small cat ears and whiskers on his head.

He flicked his lure down, and the sudden light disturbed you.

All you could do was freeze up. "Hi... Sebastian...!"

His right hand wrapped around your head easily, and he applied some pressure.

"Turn around, and hand me that paper."

"Don't rip it..." You swat his hand away, shamefully picking up the paper.

With a groan, you turned around to face him, sort of.

You held up the paper, and he snatched it from your grip.

For a brief few seconds, his eyes glossed over the idiotic drawing you made of him.

You were expecting a torrent of insults, but that didn't come.

"Can you er... Do it on my tail?"

"What..."

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek, "draw on my tail. Yes or no."

"I... Okay...? Go to your corner." He obliged, slithering to his usual corner while you picked up the marker and followed him.

While you twirled the sharpie around in your fingers, he undid the straps that were on his tail, letting them fall to the floor with a satisfying thud.

"Alright. Go on." He held his hands together, placing them neatly near the hem of his blouse.

You opened the marker, placing the cap on the end. Then, you kneeled down, letting the marker trace all sorts of shapes along his tail.

"Ah... That feels nice." His voice was slightly raspy, and he could feel himself turning into jelly beneath your touch and marker.

Sebastian allowed himself to be turned into your canvas, not just because he enjoyed the feeling, but because he wanted you to be happy.

That's contradicting, but he didn't care.

Suddenly, you stood up. "I wanna draw on your arm now." You innocently smiled up at him, and he just couldn't say no to that cute little face.

Sebastian held out his third arm, in which you looked at the clean gauze. "You finally changed the bandages, huh?"

"Kinda had to." You shrugged it off, taking a seat on his tail.

You took his arm into your hand, beginning to draw on his skin once more.

You happily hummed while drawing the minutes away.

Sebastian intently watched, absolutely melting on the inside.

“Okay, I’ve run out of room!” You looked up at him with a toothy grin, and he lifted his third arm up as best as he could.

Plenty of cats, hearts, and stars were scattered across where skin was exposed. “These actually aren’t horrible.”

“Tha—Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked away from his arm to look back at you, “oh, nothing at all.” He grinned widely, it would be unsettling if the atmosphere wasn’t so comfortable right now.

[stereotypicalsanriofemme]

Staggered moans draw from your butch’s chest as you watch her heave, drunk on the air that was your scent. It was that god forsaken time of year— mating season. The time of year where you got wet from the slightest motion from your alpha, and the time of year where it was impossible to not have her hands all over you. It always culminates at one point or another; a pot boiling over, a tea kettle finally screaming. A rut or a heat: whichever was drawn out first of the other.

“Hey, darling,” you said, taking a gentle step forward. Her teeth bare a little more at the small advance and she takes one step back, as if it was a practiced dance. “Are…you okay?”

“Baby,” she whined between slightly-elongated canines. “I…fuck, I didn’t expect it to hit so soon…”

“It’s okay,” you encouraged, giving her a soft smile, hand reaching out. “Is it your rut?”

What a diminutive question. Of course it was— the fucking smell of her arousal, strong like musk with cedarwood and citrus, permeated the whole damn room. No shit that she was in rut.

She gave a pained nod. “You…should probably go,” she said, pausing irregularly as if it hurt to just be in your presence. “I don’t…want to hurt you.”

She was always like this. Too kind, too caring, too perfect. She was the dream alpha for any yearning omega and you somehow lucked out with her, having her in your hands for six months now and going. You knew heats were inevitable, no different than the seasons changing. You just wanted to give her back the love and care she’s given you.

“Baby,” you said, voice quiet. “I want to help you out, please—“

“Absolutely not.” She snarled, and okay, that made some slick leak out of your sensitive cunt. Filing that away in a box for a later moment, you listen to her: “I could hurt you— fuck, I could bite you and force you to me for years, baby. I could make you bleed, I could force you through pain and I’d be too far gone to realize what I’ve done. You’re so perfect, I just don’t want to hurt you—“

“Why do you think as if I’m made of glass?!” You interject. “Please, I just want to help you this cycle. I don’t want to see you suffer, baby, please…”

Her expression is pained. “I… are you sure?” She asked, wavering. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, Angel…”

“Alpha,” you cried, and holy shit; the wood doorframe your butch used to hold herself up fucking splintered and cracked under her grasp.

“Bedroom,” she growled, and in a trance from those words alone, you scurry to the bedroom with her close behind you.

The door slammed in time with her crashing her mouth against yours, grasping and squeezing your jaw open. The pressure on your face forced a high-pitched whine out of your throat as her tongue forced into your mouth, licking over every ounce of your being. She’s pressed so fucking close to you, and oh, fuck, is that her cock pressed against your leg because that feels way bigger than usual—

“God, I love you so much,” she moaned while kissing you, biting down your neck while you fumbled with the buttons on your shirt. Your hands were quickly shoved out of the way the second she tore open your blouse, buttons popping to the ground.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, looking tragically at the buttons on the floor. “I really liked that shirt—“

“I’ll buy you a new one for every time you make me come with that pretty little cunt of yours,” she gritted out, and a whimper escaped your throat as she grabbed you from the thighs and hoisted you up against the wall. Another kiss is ripped from you with her hand against your throat, making you go just a bit limp from how damn good it feels, and all of a sudden you’re being tossed onto the bed like a doll. You look up after the impact of the fall with eager eyes, and see the normal rut glow in her eyes dissipate for just a second.

“Fuck, are you okay?!” She exclaimed, rushing over to you.

“Yes, more than okay,” you encouraged, rubbing her arm. “It’s all okay, baby, don’t force yourself out of a rut for me. I can take it.”

She’s shaking from anxiety, you realize. “Are you sure?” She murmured. “I‘ll…probably be really rough…”

“And that’s a problem how?” You teased. Spreading your legs to show off the panties between your legs wet with slick, you grinned. “C’mon, pretty boy. Show me what a big bad alpha can do, yeah?”

She puffed out air as she moved towards the dresser instead of you, yanking out a clanking, metal contraption.

“Handcuffs? Ooh, kinky,” you teased.

“They’re for me,” she said, and your eyebrows rose a little. “I just…can’t risk hurting you, so please. Handcuff me to the bed. Please,” she begged.

Wordlessly, you nodded, and she moved slowly to the bed and laid down, hands above her head. You affixed the handcuffs above her head, watching her clench them into fists over and over.

“You…want me to ride you?” You murmured, and she nodded desperately.

“Please,” she groaned, grinding into the air, eyes getting that typical alpha glow in them again. “I need some fucking relief from it all, so please baby…”

Thank god for the fact you self lubricated, because the moment you took her pants off you noticed her cock was at least an inch longer than usual and much thicker. You slid the head of her cock between your folds and you moaned together, her at the slick warmth of your cunt and you at the thickness prodding at your entrance. With a deep breaths you pressed the thickness into the entrance and whined upon feeling yourself get stretched open, the utter girth of her cock pressing against every sensitive spot in your pussy. The friction of her cock inside and rubbing your walls was quickly interrupted once you bottomed out, entrance pressing against the extra bulge at the bottom of her cock. Oh fuck, that was her knot.

It was your turn to be breathing heavy, eyes watering from the length inside of you and the way you could feel her pulse and throb inside your tight cunt. “Alpha,” you whined, twitching from the feeling inside. “You’re so big…”

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby, your pussy feels so damn good,” she heaved, hips bucking up ever so slightly into the warm hole. You made a pathetic little chirp at every upward thrust into your cunt, biting onto your lip like a lifeline. The cock was still so overwhelming but you hesitantly lifted up yourself on your legs, trembling with all of your strength before dropping down again with a wet smack.

The noise ripped out of your alpha’s chest was feral, a moan combined with a half-roar, grinding into the perfect, needy hole wrapping around it. You could smell it in the air with how her scent got more intense by the second— she was losing her mind to her rut. Her hands were struggling more against the handcuffs as her hips rut up and up again in your hole. You knew damn well that just rutting wouldn’t be enough for the relief she needed…

And you know what, maybe the idea that popped into your mind wasn’t your best one yet, but my god, did it sound so good. You had only heard the filthy line in your brain spewed in pornos, moaned by needy omegas getting their cunts pumped till they cried. Yet…

“Alpha,” you sobbed out, “breed me, please!”

Her eyes shot open wide with a loud crack in the background. The sound of metal breaking into two clean pieces. You were instantly flipped on your back, legs shoved next to your ears, and shit, talk about something from porn because you were in a fucking mating press. In a mating press, like the good little omega bitch you were, with an alpha’s cock pressed into your cunt, the head kissing your cervix.

The pace she started immediately was relentless, depraved. She fucked you with the hunger of a man starved, your lower back no longer on the bed as she drilled into your pussy over and over.

“Slutty fucking omega,” she growled, letting her knot slap against your rim and balls smack against you over and over again. “You probably wanted this the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yes!! Fuck, yes, yes, yes, alpha! Please—!” You exclaimed in ecstasy, nails dragging down her back, leaving reddened trails as a trophy for the next morning. “Wan’ your cock, alpha, pleaaaase!”

“‘Course you did, you fucking slut,” she groaned into your ears, thrusting into you with your sweet slick coating her cock, leaning everywhere. “You want my cum? Yeah?”

“Yes!” You shrieked, clinging closer. “Please, alpha, give me your cum!”

“Yeah? Wanna be a good little breeding bitch for me?” She moaned, thrusting into your pussy with a newfound aggression. “Carry my fucking litter? Huh? Wanna take my litter and give alpha some pups?”

You can only moan brokenly in response as her cock continued to batter your cervix, your legs still pressed next to your ears. Maybe this was your place. Maybe you were meant to be a good, warm hole for a big, strong alpha; a dripping bitch in heat to be taken care of and always pumped full of cum.

“C’mon, omega, take my fucking knot,” she growled, and only then do you feel the bulging in her cock grow larger and larger, smacking against your entrance and bullying its way into your pussy. An unfamiliar sensation creeped up into your body— a tightness in your cunt, a burning sensation.

“Alpha, wait, wait, wait, alpha,” you cry brokenly, clutching against her back and holding right as the knot grew bigger and bigger, entering your cunt with every thrust, “Somethin’s coming out, alpha—!”

She was so out of it, teeth bared and staring at you like you were prey. And all of a sudden, that burning feeling snapped, and you squirted. The fluid splattered as your ears rang the moment hee knot popped inside, your cunt finally stretched open and plugged with her fat knot locking her cum inside of your pussy. Everything was hazy; your orgasm milking more and more cum out of her cock that shot inside of you. It was a pleasant warmth inside of you. You felt satisfied, as if you had a purpose. You felt full.

Your panting breaths slow down over time with hers, clutching each other post-orgasm. She nuzzled your neck with the comedown, knot shoved inside of you, keeping the cum where it’s supposed to be. Just the thought made you a little more horny— the knot was there to make sure you got knocked up with your alpha’s litter. It didn’t sound like a bad idea at this point, spending some much time with your alpha, forever…the idea makes another wet gush of slick come out around her cock. However, this time it felt like a lot more, like your body was preparing itself for—

Your alpha suddenly goes still from scenting you.

“Omega…did you just start your heat?”

…it was going to be a long week.

[made 4 lesbians, lesbians interact :3 straight people this fantasy was not made for you please DNI]

[unfortunatebrainfarts]

Cussing out anyone and everyone is fun until you get lasso'd out of bed to do it on behalf of your casual space cowboy co-worker who for some reason knows where you live

Boothill x f!reader

A/n: soort of part 2 to my previous work but can be read seperately‼️

"For the last time — let me go before I literally unscrew your dick off."

"Psh, as if ya got the balls for that lil' missy."

You don't even have to look at Boothill to know he was immensely enjoying himself right now — hell you couldn't even if you wanted to since you were currently getting dragged through the ice cold floors of wherever the hell you were, with a fucking lasso firmly binding your legs and arms.

"It's like 5 a.m. in the morning, what the hell could you even want at this god forsaken hour?!" You righteously grumble, but alas, you were met with nothing more than silence probably because you've asked similar questions before. Yes. This has happened before. Many times before.

For Boothill, tracking down enemies and pinning them down was great. Not being able to curse them out and instead calling them a 'cutie' and blessing their soul? Not so great. But that's where you come in! His lovely fellow galaxy ranger who's been with him long enough to know what he wants to say, and is far too weak(compared to this baby shark looking freak of a cyborg) to refute him. Physically that is — you always make sure that you complain his ear off to at least ensure some sort of mental damage.

"Hey! If you're going to take me somewhere could you at least not drag me all the way there? Ugh these floors are so cold I feel like I'm gonna get hypothermia. If I do and I sue you, don't you have to pay me compensation for that? I'm expecting at least a million credits or so cause I don't think Lan provides health insurance for the galaxy rangers—"

Your pitiable monologue was abrubtly cut short by Boothill firmly gripping the rope which binded you and roughly jerking it upwards so that your body would fall limp directly on his shoulder like a giant worm, your head just centimeters away from his.

Of course to which you responded with automatic aggressive squirming and wiggling only making you look more and more like a worm. But honestly who could blame you? I mean, who just DOES THAT and expects the other party to be calmly subdued?!

"Oh sugar honey iced tea, could ya quit strugglin' for just one moment—" A large, metalic hand was promptly placed around your waist and no amount of wiggling could even get it to so much as budge. "Now that y'r off the darn floor ain'it 'bout time ya shut yer trap? Heh... we're almost there."

Now that you were head to head with Boothill, although not in the most favorable position, you could see his face now — his face with probably the most shit eating grin you have ever seen on it. His sharp teeth making themselves apparent, and unwavering eyes focused on just whatever lied ahead.

And then his feet stood still.

"THERE," he shouted unrestraintedly like a madman, while pointing his free hand at... a random lady in purple?

Without warning, Boothill launched himself forward stopping only inches away from the woman who looked just as confused as you.

"Now, go tell 'er that she's a wonderful ray of sunshine that deserves absoloutely nothin' but the best. Oh Acheron, bless your soul ya lovely imposter, be prepared to go on a playdate and have some teatime with me soon! Until then, you should keep yourself safe."

The sheer passion that Boothill had in his tone made it clear that he had a message to get across. Though you don't think the other woman, or supposedly Acheron, understood a word he said. You exasperatedly sigh, you felt just as bad for this lady as you did for you yourself.

"Well?! What'cha waitin' for," the arm around you tightened just enough for a squeak to involuntarily come out of you and you knew you weren't getting out of this.

You mentally apologise for this poor lady before translating his thoughts into words, "Er... what he means to say is uhm, 'you're a disgusting piece of shit who deserves to die seven times over by my hand. Oh Acheron, you absoloute dumbass fucking imposter, be prepared to meet me and face me off in a showdown soon, but you might as well just kill yourself before that."

"...," Acheron's face remained unchanging and blank throughout the whole spiel, Boothill's however, was characteristicly smug and maniacal.

To others, the three of you looked as if you were frozen in time for at least a minute or so, until Acheron simply tilted her head and monotonously responded,

"Sorry, who are you?"

[transmascsteveharrington]

Sometimes Eddie can't believe that they've made it. He'll look at Steve, like right now across the lawn, watches him teaching little Emma how to put sausages and burgers on the grill, and Eddie still can't believe it.

For the longest time as a teen Eddie was convinced he would end up in the 27 Club. Trying to escape the reality of his meager life expectancy as a queer freak trailer trash kid in a small town in bumfuck Indiana by glamorizing going out with a sex, rock'n'roll, and drugs fuelled bang before the age of 30. He never thought it would be an angry mob of jocks and a thunderstorm of bloodhungry demobats that would almost take him out before the age of 20.

Eddie only managed to step away from death's door thanks to the miracle that is Steve Harrington. And he truly is a miracle. Not just because he carried Eddie's half-dead body out of the upside down and nursed him back to health. Not just because he helped get Eddie's name cleared and his charges dropped. No, everything about Steve felt like a goddamn miracle. The way he smiled, his bitchy but entertaining little jabs, the taste of his chicken noodle soup, the way he would comfort everyone who needed it. But the most miraculous thing to Eddie had been that Steve had chosen him. Had fallen in love with him. Had stayed with him.

Still feels like a miracle every morning when Eddie wakes up in Steve's arms both of their bodies aching. As if he could tell what Eddie is thinking Steve looks up from the grill and finds Eddie's eyes. He gives Eddie that private little smile, the smile that means, "you too are my miracle." Because Steve feels the exact same.

It took a couple more months and for Eddie and Steve to leave the god-forsaken small town of Hawkins behind for Eddie to believe that he might make it past 27. They moved to Indy first and then later to Chicago. Shabby apartments became home and strangers became friends, confidants, people that turned out to be just like Steve and Eddie and Robin. And then some of those friends started dying. Eddie kinda lost count of how many funerals they went to during those years. Is thankful every day that they made it, is thankful for all the friends that did make it.

He watches some of them across the lawn or on the porch, chatting, carrying potato salad, laughing and lifting up their kids or even grandkids. Eddie watches them all and takes in the miracle that is grey hair and wrinkles, looks at Steve and loves how the nickname "The Hair" doesn't quite apply anymore, curses the pain in his own back and kinda sees it a little bit as a blessing at the same time. As a reminder that they have made it. As a reminder that they get to have this, that despite supernatural powers and bigoted people they got to have this.

They got to grow older and will continue to grow older. They got to get married (three times: once in Amsterdam, once in Massachusetts and once last year in their backyard renewing their vows, celebrating gay marriage being legalized). Two arms warp around Eddie from behind and a soft kiss is pressed into his cheek.

"Hi dad," Allison, their eldest, says and let's go of him.

"Hey honey," Eddie says and pulls her into a proper hug, holding her tight.

She moved to West Coast for college, near where Will and Mike are located now, so Eddie and Steve don't get to see her all that much, as opposed to George who just moved to Detroit. It's nice, means Eddie and Steve get to see little Emma relatively often. As if on cue Emma turns around and looks from Steve to Eddie and Allison.

"Aunt Allie," she yells and runs across the yard to hug her aunt, leaving Steve all alone at the grill.

While Emma and Allison hug, Eddie makes his way over to Steve. Thinks once more how lucky they are that they got to adopt two beautiful kids, now have a grandkid too. Fucking miracle. Eddie reaches Steve and sneaks his arms around him, chin hooked over his shoulder.

"Oh hello," Steve says and turns his head enough to steal a quick peck. "What are you doing here?"

"Missed you," Eddie mumbles and buries his face in Steve's neck, nose brushing against Steve's scar.

"Sap," Steve says, but then adds, "Missed you too, baby."

Eddie closes his eyes and just drifts. Takes in the smell of Steve and bbq, hears children laughing and friends talking, feels Steve's warm body pressed against his. With the lives they have led, the places they came from the odds have never been in their favor. But somehow, by pure luck, miracle, determination and stubbornness they made it. And Eddie is thankful for it every day. Thankful for Steve, and Allision and George, and little Emma and everyone else part of their little miracle.

They've made it. Eddie still sometimes can't believe it.

[harrywavycurly]

Southern Comfort Part 25: Mouse in Your Pocket

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language

Tag List: @wedontknowherorhimorthem @blckburd @daphnesutton @fangirl509east @styleswithaseaview @stylesfever

A/N: So sorry it took me so long to get this up! But here it is, you finally meet Niall who’s early while Harry is on time therefore making him late. Enjoy✨

“Hey baby do you-” Harry stops in his tracks when he turns the corner after slipping off his shoes and placing his keys in the little bowl by your front door, he gets a strange feeling in his chest when instead of you standing in the kitchen finishing dinner like he expected he’s met with you and Niall sitting in your living room laughing like old friends.

“S’bout time you showed up Harry.” Harry has to actually stop himself from rolling his eyes as Niall stands up from the couch allowing him to get a full view of his outfit of choice. Having opted for black tight fitting jeans fit with a belt with a silver oval shaped buckle with a giant ‘NH’ on it with a light denim pearl snap shirt tucked in and that god forsaken cowboy hat Harry knows he got just for his shows in Texas.

“You say that as if I’m late Niall.” He responds with a bit of an annoyed tone that just makes Niall laugh as he walks over to him with his arms open for a hug.

“If you’re not early you’re late mate.” He explains making Harry roll his eyes as he gives his bestfriend a hug. “She’s bloody brilliant.” Harry feels a sense of pride hit him as Niall whispers in his ear before pulling away from him after giving his back a few pats.

“Hi honey.” Your soft voice makes Harry instantly turn his head in the direction where you’re still sitting on the couch and he can’t fight the grin that takes over his face when he sees you. You’re in one of your floral skirts and a simple white t shirt tucked into it under a light washed denim vest and Harry swears you’ve never looked so cute.

“Hi my darling.” You smile as you watch him make his way over to you, but before you can stand up to give him a hug and a proper greeting Harry is already walking around your coffee table and bending down and placing a hand on your cheek as his lips meet yours in a quick kiss that leaves you with a smile on your face. “How was your day?” He asks as his thumb runs over your cheekbone making you lean into his touch and for a moment both of you forget about the Irishman standing off to the side of your living room busying himself with looking at the photos on your bookshelf while the two of you greet each other.

“Is this you?” Niall’s voice breaks both of you out of your little bubble as your cheeks get pink while Harry drops his hand from your face so he can offer it to you to help you get up from the couch. You give him a smile as he walks off towards the kitchen while you walk over to where Niall’s standing in front of a photo of you on a horse holding a rope in your hand.

“Oh yeah that’s me on my horse Franklin.” You explain and Niall can’t help but chuckle at the name of your horse. “I used to practice calf roping-”

“Calf roping?” You look over your shoulder at Harry who is standing in the kitchen with a hand on his hip and a raised eyebrow making you just laugh.

“Well yeah sugar where did you think I learned how to tie them knots you can’t-”

“Sweetheart I don’t think Niall needs to hear about how well you can tie knots.” You look away from Harry so you can look at Niall who is fighting back a laugh making you roll your eyes before you turn to look back at Harry with a glare.

“Niall doesn’t care sugar plum besides he might need a tip or two if he’s gonna walk around dressed like a cowboy he better know how to act accordingly.” You hear Niall laugh making you smile as you look back at the photo he was asking you about while Harry just runs a hand through his hair and chuckles to himself at the thought of Niall needing to act like an actual cowboy.

“Really puddin you look just precious in this outfit but I hope you know what you’re doing walking around like you just got done buying a prized heifer at a rodeo auction.” Harry feels the corners of his mouth twitch as he hears you call Niall puddin, he hasn’t ever heard you call anyone a food related pet name besides him and he’s not sure he likes it if he’s being honest with himself.

“Buying a prized heifer is a good thing right?” Harry crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the counter so he can watch the two of you interact. He watches you just reach over and place your hand on Niall’s arm and Harry knows what’s coming next by the way you tilt your head and give Niall a reassuring grin.

“Oh bless your heart.” Your accent is thick and extra sweet sounding making Harry glad he’s not on the receiving end of this statement because it always makes him start to question himself and that’s a spiral he’s not in the mood to go down today.

“Oh god you just bless your heart-ed me.” Niall drops his head so you can’t see his face thanks to his cowboy hat and you just laugh and give his arm a little squeeze. “It was a valid question love no need to toss around insults like that okay?” Harry just watches from the kitchen as his bestfriend teases his girlfriend with a playful glare as he lifts his head and brings a hand up and places it over his chest. “You’ll break my little Irish heart if you keep it up.”

“If it’s that easy to break puddin then maybe the cowboy life isn’t for you.” Niall can’t help but laugh as you give his arm another squeeze before you turn your attention to another photo on the bookshelf.

You just smile as you look at the photo of you with your older brother Grant sitting in a field of bluebonnets that was taken the year before you moved. You remember begging him to take them with you because it was something the two of you used to do every year for your mom when you were little but once the two of you graduated high school she didn’t force it on you anymore but you wanted some for yourself. Grant moaned and groaned the whole time he drove down the dirt roads that surrounded your childhood home, on the search for the perfect bunch of flowers for the two of you to sit in. You remember how once you found the perfect patch in the middle of a field he didn’t fuss at how far you made him drag your camera and the blanket you wanted to sit on so your white dress didn’t get dirty. He was all smiles because he knew why you wanted these, knew you wanted to take a little part of your childhood with you to wherever it was you were going off too and honestly as your older brother he’d do just about anything you asked him to do if you pouted and whined about it long enough.

“You miss it?” Niall’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, Harry uncrosses his arms and makes his way around your kitchen island as he notices the way your shoulders slightly slump and how your smile isn’t as big as it was a few moments ago letting him know you were briefly somewhere else in that head of yours.

“Texas?” You ask making Niall just nod and you just give him a little shrug as you turn around and look at your feet trying to think of the best way to answer him. “I miss my family of course and there’s some things that I miss like my horses and the sound of cows outside my window at night and god do I miss the food but I don’t get homesick for Texas like I used to.” You look up and you can tell Harry is a little shocked by your answer because his brows are slightly raised.

“I get that. I miss my family and my friends and I think I’ll always consider Ireland home but I don’t get as sad when I’m gone anymore.” You just nod at Niall’s words and smile when you feel him loosely drape his arm over your shoulders.

“Home is more of a feeling than it is an actual physical place so I just try to make anywhere I’m at feel like home.” Harry feels as if his heart could actually burst as you speak and when you look at him and shoot him a playful wink it all clicks. “I think I read that somewhere in a magazine or something and it just stuck.” You add with a grin because Harry knows exactly where you read that and it now makes sense why his face was on your coffee table.

“You think you’ll stick around here for a bit?” Niall looks over at Harry as he asks the question and he watches a small smile work its way on his face as he stares at you with a knowing look letting Niall know this isn’t the first time you’ve been asked this.

“Eh I’m not sure.” Your voice is teasing as you wrap an arm around Niall’s middle making him laugh as he watches Harry roll his eyes. “I do have a job and friends here that I’d miss a lot.” You add as Niall looks down at you with a playful grin at your noticeable lack of mention of your boyfriend that’s in the kitchen with a pout on his face. “Speaking of friends.” Harry looks at you with a quirked brow as you look up at Niall with a smile. “Are you single?” Niall lets out a chuckle as he nods his head while looking over at Harry who is running a hand over his face and letting out a faint groan.

“Who ya got in mind for me love?” He asks as he removes his arm from your shoulder as you slip yours from around his middle so you can head over to the kitchen where your phone is.

“Her name is-”

“Kathryn and she’s a very dear friend of ours with a lovely little boy named Theodore and I swear to god Niall if you fuck around with her-”

“Harry Edward Styles.” Harry feels his eyes go wide at your voice and he knows exactly what he did so he just slowly turns his body so he’s facing you. “You watch that mouth of yours.” You point a finger at him making him just nod while Niall is in the living room fighting back a laugh.

“Yeah H watch your mouth.” Niall teases from his spot in the living room and Harry just shakes his head trying to warn his bestfriend not to say anything else but Niall is too busy looking at other little knickknacks on your bookshelf to see him. “You’re gonna get that thing washed out with soap or something.”

“Niall James don’t you get sassy over there or I’ll have you sitting at this table writing me an essay on why manners are important you understand?” Niall feels his cheeks get hot as he turns and looks at you and when he sees you standing with a hand on your hip and a glare in your eye he has enough sense to know you’re serious even though he may have only met you a little under an hour ago.

“Yes ma’am.” Harry bites back a smirk at Niall’s response, you just give him a smile and turn your attention back to Harry.

“Honey can you do me a favor?” Harry is quick to just nod making you grin as you reach up and place both hands on his face. “Please get out of my kitchen so I can finish dinner.” Niall chuckles as you get on your tiptoes while Harry leans down a bit so you can place a kiss to his lips before dropping your hands from his face.

Harry isn’t bothered by you kicking him out of the kitchen, he’s used to it by now and he knows you enjoy your time cooking especially when it’s for others so he just smiles and nods at your request. Before he can stop himself he reaches over and gives your backside a little pinch as he walks by making you giggle and playfully swat his hands away when he acts like he’s going to do it again when he reaches to grab his phone off the counter. Niall can’t even roll his eyes as he watches the two of you, he likes seeing his bestfriend happy and honestly he isn’t sure he’s ever seen Harry this way before. But after having spent some time with you himself Niall now understands why Harry was calling him in a panic every other day worried he was messing things up, the two of you have something special.

“What the bloody hell did you do to deserve a woman like that?” Niall whispers to Harry as the two of them move to take a seat on the couch. Harry just shrugs as Niall takes off his cowboy hat and places it on his knee as he runs a hand through his hair.

“No clue but I’m not questioning it.” Harry answers as he takes a glance over his shoulder and sees you putting a pan into the oven with a smile on your face and he knows at any moment now you’re going to do a little dance as you move over to the sink to begin cleaning the dishes you used to make whatever it is you just put in the oven, something he’s noticed you always do while doing dishes.

“If you don’t marry her then I’ll do it.” Niall states as if it’s the most casual thing in the world and if Harry was in his normal state of mind and not watching you with hearts in his eyes as you shake your hips to a song he knows you’re singing in your head as you scrub a pot he would’ve probably smacked his bestfriend upside the head.

“Please you couldn’t handle her mate.” Is all he says in response as he finally looks away from you making Niall laugh. “What’s with the outfit? You trying to get bonus points for dressing up like a cowboy or something?” Harry asks as he gestures to the hat still sitting on Niall’s knee.

“When the hell else do I get to dress like this? I quite like how I look in this getup so figured dinner at a proper Texas woman’s house would be a great time to wear it.” Harry hates how much his reasoning makes sense so he just nods. “So uh tell me more about this Kathryn.” Niall’s voice comes out as if he’s nervous and Harry looks over at him and sees him biting on his bottom lip as his left foot starts bouncing up and down, all clear signs he’s a little anxious.

“You don’t have to meet her Niall it’s-”

“It’s not that it’s just uh.” Harry watches Niall tilt his head in the direction of where you’re at in the kitchen. “I don’t want her to kick my ass if I hurt her friend.” He adds and Harry just nods because he gets it, being set up with someone’s friend is a lot of pressure but then adding the fact that both men know you wouldn’t hesitate to make Niall’s life miserable if he broke Kathryn’s heart doesn’t help the situation.

“Honestly Kathy is more than capable of kicking your ass herself.” Niall chuckles at that and while Harry wasn’t onboard with the idea of setting the two of them up he can’t help but admit that he does think Niall and Kathryn would get along really well. “She’s really nice but also not afraid to tell you when you’re being an idiot. She’s the manager of the grocery store we actually met in and her son Teddy was in her pre-k class last year and he just turned five so he’s going to kindergarten when school starts.” Niall just nods and takes in all the information that Harry is sharing with him, having never dated someone with a child before and he knows that would be a whole new challenge but for the right person he could make anything work.

“She’s funny and I think you two would get on really well but really Niall if it doesn’t work out it’s okay. You don’t have to go and marry the girl just because we-”

“Who’s we sugar? You got a mouse in your pocket or something?” Both men sit up and turn their heads to look at you with raised eyebrows as you stand behind the couch with an amused expression on your face.

“A mouse in my pocket?” Harry asks as Niall looks from Harry to you with a confused but also curious look in his eyes. “That’s a new one baby.”

“Just means there’s no we honey because I’m the one who wants to set them up remember? You didn’t want anything to do with it.” You explain and Niall just looks at Harry with a raised brow. “Now go make yourself useful and set the table for me please sugar plum.” Niall can’t help but watch in a sort of amazement as Harry doesn’t even hesitate to get up and head over to the small kitchen table that has a stack of plates and napkins sitting on it ready to be put in their proper place. He’s never seen him so willing to do whatever someone asks of him even though Harry’s always been a sort of a pushover this is different and it’s as if Niall is watching a couple that’s been together for years instead of a few months.

“I hope you brought your appetite.” You tell Niall as you round the back of the couch so you can take Harry’s spot next to him. “I made you all the comfort foods that I thought you’d like so Mac and cheese with baked chicken and mashed potatoes and for some color I also added in some green beans.” Niall feels his mouth begin to water as you list off the menu, he quickly glances over to see if Harry’s almost done setting the table and when he sees him debating on witch side the fork goes on he knows he has a few minutes to talk to you about something he’s been trying to find a good time to bring up.

“I’ve heard rumors of how good your cooking is so I’m excited to try it.” You smile and give Niall’s knee a little pat. “I also want to say thank you for even agreeing to meet me after how it went with Jeff.” You try to just shrug Niall’s comment off but he places a hand on your knee and gives it a comforting squeeze making you turn your head and look him in the eyes and you immediately feel your eyes start to get glassy. “Pardon my language but he can be a proper twat and ya know I don’t work for him nor does he work for me so if you want me to I can rough him up a bit? It would actually be my pleasure honestly.” You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as you laugh making Niall smile as he gives your knee another squeeze. “But really you two have something special and I hope you know I’m here if you ever need anything. I may be Harry’s friend but that doesn’t mean I can’t also be yours.” You just nod as you try to blink back the few tears that want to spill over and roll down your cheeks, Niall just removes his hand from your knee so he can pull you into a little hug and that’s when he hears you sniffle.

“Smooth Horan making my girlfriend cry in her own house after she just spent all evening cooking your arse dinner.” Harry’s voice is full of annoyance as he stands behind the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. Niall rolls his eyes as you pull away from the hug so you can wipe at your eyes with your fingers before turning to look at Harry.

“Oh hush your mouth and go wash up for dinner.” Harry knows by your tone that you’re not upset at his use of foul language. You turn your attention back to Niall and point a finger at him “You too cowboy.” Niall laughs as he grabs his hat before standing up and heading towards the half bathroom you point him in the direction of. Harry grips the couch as he bends over the back of it so his lips are right next to your ear.

“I think this is going well.” He says before placing a kiss to the side of your neck making you smile as you turn your head so you can look up at him. “You look beautiful by the way.” He adds as he leans down so he can place a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you honey.” You reply making Harry smile as he stands up and makes his way towards your room so he can change into something more comfortable and wash his hands per your request before dinner. You just sit there for a moment on your couch as you wait for both of them to finish getting ready for dinner, you smile when you hear Harry singing a Shania Twain song to himself as he walks around your bedroom and it doesn’t take long before Niall is joining in as he leans against the doorframe of your room once Harry is dressed. You cover your mouth with both hands to muffle your giggles as you watch the two of them walk into the living room still singing the Shania song and when Niall makes a show of putting his cowboy hat back on that’s when you realize he is going to fit into your life just fine.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

What Was I Made For? - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 1251>

Another day: done. Another day that had felt like it had been wasted doing your ever so boring job while you watched pedestrians walk in and out, smiling as their carefree hours whizzed by. 

You served coffee after coffee, frappe after frappe, and each one took you an inch closer to insanity. As soon as the clock struck five, you threw your apron into your locker and traded it for your jacket. 

Just as you were about to slip out of the employees only back exit, you heard your boss collaring your name. You were just going to pretend you couldn't hear and leave anyway, but there was no ignoring her when she tapped you on the shoulder.

"Y/N, I'm going to need you to put in a few extra hours next week since we're pretty short on staff and we've been really busy lately," she smiled, and the urge to punch her in the face had never been stronger. The last thing you wanted was to put in more hours of your life doing the least rewarding job you had ever had. 

"Do I get paid any extra or anything?" you asked. You only did the job for the money, since you liked to have some independence from Charles. As expected, he had offered to support your life since he made more than enough, but you wanted to do something with your life. But this wasn't it.

"Sorry honey, the best I can do is more coffee coupons," she chirped, and you wondered how she was always so cheerful and happy. It was almost envious. Well, it would be if it wasn't so damn infuriating and irritating. 

"Just send me through the hours," you tutted, not wasting anymore time in that god forsaken coffee shop than you had to. Walking back home, you couldn't help but frown at all of the people around you, enjoying what they did for a living. 

They were all making names for themselves, leading fulfilling lives and living their dreams. And then there was you, serving coffees just finding a way to spend time. 

What were you doing with your life? Who were you supposed to be? Why did you have to live through groundhog day every day?

As per usual, you walked past the art gallery, boasting creativity and colour, and the jewellery stores with glittering pieces that you wished you had made. Just so someone would recognize something you had done. 

Finally, you arrived at the safe haven that was the apartment you shared with Charles. He wasn't back yet, since he had gone for dinner with some friends for the evening.

You got yourself comfortable, taking a shower and snuggling up on the couch. As you watched a movie, you couldn't help but feel saddened by the actor's success.

They were household names, doing what they loved for a living. And there you were. Sat on your couch counting the hours away.

You just wished you could have been like them - even if just a little bit. Hell, you just wanted to be someone. You just wanted be something.

These thoughts rushed through your head for a while, so much to the point where you failed to notice the movie had ended and you were staring at a blank screen with watery eyes.

You also failed to notice the front door opening and closing as a tear of disdain and jealousy rolled down your cheek. "Hey, amor. How are you?" Charles asked, but you couldn't snap out of your darkened haze.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" He asked again, placing a hand on your shoulder and shaking you slightly.

"What am I doing with my life?" You asked, your eyes still glued to the black screen. You didn't hesitate to ask, there was no point. "What?" he asked, clearly not understanding the question.

"Who am I?" you asked, and Charles just looked at you, trying to figure out what you were asking. This was so out of the blue since you were normally a happy, cheerful kind of person.  "Exactly, I'm no one," you said, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees after he didn't respond.

"I just serve shitty coffee to shitty people and that is my life," you continued, the frustration building as you spoke. "Nobody knows who I am and nobody cares," you rambled, shrugging his hand away.

"Baby, you know that's not true," he said, struggling to come up with something to help you snap out of the stupor. He wondered how long you had felt like this for it to all come out so suddenly and strongly. "There's no point in trying that, Charles. I know it is,"

"I used to be untouchable," you sighed, thinking back to when you met Charles and what had lead up to it. You had worked your ass off like you had through your whole life. You tried hard in school and did everything you could to contribute to your community and others around you. 

"I used to be amazing, and now look at me," you babbled. You were living your dream, but you left your job to move to Monaco with Charles. "I threw it all away," you whispered, not wanting Charles to think it was his fault in the slightest. 

"But you are amazing," he tried to console, his heart breaking to hear you talk about yourself like this. "Not anymore," you said, thinking about what you could have been. Long distance could have worked and maybe you'd be happy right now.

"You can be whatever you want to be, you know that right?" he asked, not realising what he had set himself up for. "I'm not talented enough to be a singer, I'm not pretty enough to be a model, I'm not charismatic enough to be a talk show host, I'm not driven enough to have my dream be my job like you,"

"Everyone already has their lives planned out and are making leaps and bounds towards their end goal, and then there's me. Wasting my time and wallowing in my own self pity," you sighed, and Charles was wracking his brains for something that might help.

"You're still young, baby, you have loads of time to figure it out. And once you do, you have more than enough to get yourself there because you can do anything you put your mind to," he tried to reassure, mentally cursing at himself for how cheesy that sounded.

He hated that you had this opinion of yourself. To him, it didn't matter if you were the most talented, the prettiest, the most charismatic. It just mattered that you were you and he loved you for that. 

"But everyone else has it figured out. Everyone is already someone. You're Charles Leclerc, the face of Ferrari, the man from Monaco, hero to children across the globe. You have a purpose.  And what about me? Well that's exactly it, I'm just me," 

"There's no such thing as 'just me'. You are hard-working beyond belief, you take pride in your job, you care about other people, you're the love of my life. Surely that's enough?" he desperately tried to claw you back out of the slump, but his sweet words couldn't shield the darkness this time.

"Maybe it isn't, not anymore," you mumbled, standing from the couch and shutting yourself in the bedroom, leaving Charles sat on the couch by himself, gobsmacked. He didn't know how to help you realise how brilliant you really were, but you didn't really know either.  

A/N - I went to see Barbie the other night, and this song just destroyed me. I guess it just made me think about things, y'know? If anyone has any requests, feel free to submit them, I adore writing them!

|masterlist|

[chaoticklesblog]

Molting

Hazbin Hotel tickle fic incoming!

Ler!Lucifer x Lee!Adam

Adam's wings molt due to him respawning in hell as he loses his angelic attributes. Lucifer assists in this process and Adam learns just what a ticklish process that molting really is.

●●●●●

When Adam slowly began to rouse from what felt like a very long slumber, he realized that something was very, very different.

He had vague memories of his angelic death. He knew that the Hazbin miscreants must have been behind it all, somehow or another. He registered that he wasn't in pain almost immediately, which was odd considering that he still felt... off...

As he sat up, he realized he's in some filthy alleyway surrounded by derelict buildings and vehicles. There was garbage aplenty with oozing splotches of oil and blood pooling in potholes in what used to be a very old street. He peeked at the glimmery oil seeing almost an outline of himself, one that he could hardly recognize. Rather than his golden wings, he realized they were now scruffy and gray mixed with oily black feathers. He was molting.

Oh.

That made sense. Beings that were killed in previously "holy" forms would morph into more demonic like beings with... Less desirable attributes... Only if those beings were killed within the realm of hell. Adam cringed at the thought. How could he have been so careless? And had Lute and the rest of the angels abandoned him since he was no longer a holy figure?

He was still in disbelief at his smeared reflection in the oil. It was like him but it wasn't. He wasn't used to seeing himself this way. The sight of himself made him choke back a sob. The sound of an oddly familiar voice pulled him from his shaken state.

"Hey there, are you okay?" a soft voice asks.

Adam turned and was taken aback by the figure. Lucifer, the king of hell himself was looking down at him but once Adam had turned to face him, he appeared just as shocked as Adam felt.

"You?!" They spat in unison, disgust permeating the once gentle atmosphere.

"What the fuck happened to me?" Adam looked pitifully into the king of hell's eyes, his voice breaking.

And Lucifer stopped for a moment remembering when he had fallen, and how he felt the same way. He was still angry with Adam, but couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the guy.

Lucifer looked at Adam and sighed.

"It's not as bad as you think, I promise. It's usually the shock that's the worst part," Lucifer murmered.

"You mean I'm... damned here?" Adam whispered, anger seeping into his words.

Lucifer only nodded slightly taking in the sight of Adam's sorry state. Adam's usual golden wings were now a much darker hue.

Adam had noticed as well as he looked at them in the oil pool and started weeping.

Damn Lucifer and his empathy.

"Hey, it's not so bad! Black looks sharp on you, kid," Lucifer moved to place a comforting hand on Adam's shoulder that he nearly expected the other man to jerk away from the unwelcome affection. Adam remained still.

"I wasn't supposed to die. I don't want to be stuck in this God forsaken cesspool!" Adam shouted between sobs.

"I know the feeling," Lucifer replied sarcastically, "But I make it work. Besides, be careful how you speak about my kingdom, this is my turf," Lucifer grinned darkly, still feeling a soft spot for Adam as much as he loathed to admit it to himself.

"My poor wings! They look awful!" Adam replied again, sobs lessened now, but he still was crouched in the alley, hugging his legs to his chest.

"Ah yes, you are molting!" Lucifer stated, looking at the loose feathers surrounding Adam's once glorious wings. They were shabby, greasy and in much need of being groomed.

"Molting happens after you fall, as your wing color naturally changes. The black really does look sharp, er will look sharp, once we get you cleaned up, that is!" Lucifer continued, reaching over to adjust the feathers on Adam's left wing.

What happened next shocked the both of them, as Lucifer's fingers grazed over the soft down feathers, Adam jerked away quickly.

"S-sorry," Adam mumbled shyly.

Adam was quite familiar with the sensation. It tickled like hell. His wings had always been ridiculously sensitive, something Lute discovered and constantly took advantage of whenever Adam was in a pissy mood or being so much as mildly irritating. He couldn't bear it if the king of hell discovered his weakness too.

"Did I hurt you?" Lucifer asked, genuinely concerned for a moment, but figured his touch was delicate enough not to pull the feathers or hurt the skin beneath.

Suddenly his face broke into a wide shit-eating grin.

"You know I also molted right? And while it was definitely necessary, it really fucking tickled. I should've warned you ahead of time," Lucifer had to bite back an evil chuckle.

"Fuck, no, Lucifer, please," Adam tensed as he felt Lucifers hands resume the preening of his feathers.

The way his fingers moved between the bones, tracing the skin beneath with his claws gently, searching out every sensitive spot his wings offered, Adam couldn't help but screech and giggle an absolutely adorable high pitch giggle. A giggle that wouldn't stop. The feeling of Lucifer's hands in his wings (and that they were now definitely doing much more than just preening) was unbearable. The way his hands manipulated the molted feathers to brush the skin of his wings was downright evil.

"YOUHOHOHOU FUHUHUHUCKING BAHAHAHASTARD!" Adam squealed as Lucifer found a sweet spot beneath the curve of his wing. He allowed his other hand to scritch at Adam's shoulder blade for a moment as he relished his squeals.

Adam tried to flap his wings with no avail just to try to escape the maddening sensations.

"Ah ah ah," Lucifer tutted playfully. "Remember, you're on my turf! And kings don't take too kindly to namecalling!"

Lucifer really picked up the pace, the preening nearly forgotten as he focused on tickling Adam senseless. And all poor Adam could do was lie there and take it.

Lucifer used his power to create sensations within Adam that made him shriek and fall back into hysterical laughter.

If Adam could speak, he would say that it felt as if there were a feather on the inside of his ribs, tormenting each bone, laced between each bone, sawing gently, creating the absolute (best?) worst kind of tickling sensations Adam had ever felt. Especially since Lucifer was still paying close attention to his ultra ticklish wings.

"YoHOUHOUHOU MOTHERFUHUHUHUHUHUCKER!"

Adam was grateful, at the very least, that the alley was long deserted and hoped his loud bolsterious laughter wouldn't attract any unwelcome onlookers.

The tickling didn't let up, as Lucifer had quite the vengeful and merciless streak.

After a few minutes, Adam couldn't form coherent words much less thoughts as he was tickled into oblivion by the king of hell himself.

"Say uncle and maybe I'll show you mercy!" Lucifer taunted.

He couldn't let the guy off easy, what kind of message would that send to his loyal subjects?

"UHUHUHUHUNCLHEHEHE!" Adam wheezed, struggling from in Lucifers grasp, the tickling was unbearable.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," Lucifer chuckled, ceasing the ticklish assault.

Adam was left a giggly puddle, trying to rub away the residual tickling sensations from his ribs and wings, blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact with the king.

"Besides... I still have to help you molt!" Lucifer grinned as he continued preening Adam's feathers, the tickling much lighter and less intense. Adam still giggled a bit as the king helped him manage his new wings.

Maybe things weren't as bleak as they seemed. And not that Adam would ever admit this to anyone, but maybe he could get used to his new wings.

Lucifer was right. The black wings really did suit him.

[greenbloodvulcan]

Logan runs into a certain passenger more than once. She gets under his skin.

A/N: I change POV’s based on vibes only so sorry if this is hard to read :( 

Word count: 3,427

It wouldn’t have changed a damn thing for him, had it just been that once. He’d have forgotten about her the very next day; his appreciation of both her silence and her relative sobriety level would have been no more than a fleeting observation. It would have continued on just the same. Dry heat, dust, drink, and a deep nothingness that blankets every second of every day. His life was never going to be fucking sunshine and rainbows; his DNA made damn sure of that. He bears it all for Charles- the monotony. The obnoxious passengers who reeked of drink more than he did; who slurred professions of love and insisted that, no, they did not need him to pull over, they hadn’t even had that much. He wasn’t sure who he found worse- the drunks or the socially inept who talked his ear off like he looked like someone who gave a shit. 

So it’s a relief when she slides into the backseat with mostly clear eyes and a small smile, meeting his gaze in the rearview. The smell of alcohol is faint, and though he’s parked outside a strip of bars at 11 at night, he notices the scrubs and the bag she tosses in beside her. He confirms her name and she nods with a soft “yes”. He waits until he hears the click of the seatbelt before pulling away from the curb, nothing but the radio and the hum of the engine surrounding them. She doesn’t tap away at her phone incessantly, feeling the need to feign busyness to fill the silence that is to be expected between two complete strangers. She just leans her head on the window, the bright lights of the nighttime landscape flashing across her face. He doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t ask him about his day or talk about how the weather is finally cooling down or something else equally as meaningless. He keeps his eyes on the road the rest of the drive, the same highway signs and landmarks he’s memorized fading in his periphery. 

It takes maybe 15 minutes to pull off the road into a small apartment complex. It’s dead silent at this hour, and she directs him to the left and points at a set of stairs beneath one of the light posts that actually works. “Right here is fine. Thank you-” she pauses and looks down at her phone, “Logan. I appreciate it.” He grumbles out a “sure” but her smile only widens before she pushes the door open and slides out. “Have a good night.” He nods at her and waits until she disappears up the landing and he hears a door close. It’s late, and he plans to drive another hour or two to avoid Caliban’s very personal questions and the concern in his voice for Charles that has Logan thinking back to a mansion filled with limp bodies and broken screams. He keeps driving. 

She sees him again two weeks later, by pure chance. The car she can’t afford to fix means it was bound to happen sooner or later. She’d gotten by the last month with bus rides at god forsaken hours of the morning and rideshares when she’d had her fill of sticky plastic seats, the smell of urine, and people who didn’t see anything wrong with having conversations on speaker in public. She can spare the few bucks most of the time- twice a week, sometimes three. Tonight is one of those nights. She didn’t think much of it when she ordered the ride, only putting the name to the face when she opens the door and sees the man with tired eyes, a rumpled shirt, and a rugged handsomeness she admonishes herself for noticing. “Oh hey. Again,” she greets, pulling her backpack onto her lap and hugging it to her chest. He raises his eyebrows at her and turns around in this seat again with a grunted hey. 

It’s much the same as the last time and the silence that settles is so blissful she’s surprised she doesn’t fall asleep. As she’s leaving she feels possessed to tell the man- Logan, that she hopes she gets him next time too. She doesn’t expect anything other than a one word response but he turns to look at her and a disbelieving chuckle escapes him. He runs a hand through his hair and eyes her with a scrutiny she’s not used to. They’re not quite green and not quite brown and it’s stupid to think because she doesn’t know him but she wonders what they’d look like without all that hurt. “And why is that?” he questions gruffly.  Ignoring the flush that she’s certain has risen to her face she speaks truthfully, “The quiet. It’s nice. Don’t get too much of that most days,” she replies, motioning to her scrub clad body. She sees his eyes focus on the badge clipped to her collar and he nods, “I fucking believe it.” He nods at her as he unlocks the door. “See you later,” she calls. “Maybe,” he replies. 

                                                            ---

“What, are you requesting me or something?” he asks incredulously. That earns him a laugh- a light and airy sound that he would have found strange, because it wasn’t that funny, but he’s picked her up outside a bar, and her eyes are glazed over and the smell is so much stronger than the first time. She must notice his weariness, because she’s leaning back in her seat with her hands up in surrender. “I’ll be good I promise,” she smiles at him then, and it’s so genuine he allows himself to believe her.  He tells her that she better not throw up with a grumble and she’s nodding, “Yes, Mr. Logan.” He sends her a look and pulls the car out of park. She keeps her promise the first 5 minutes. It’s so quiet and the road so familiar, he almost forgets about the stranger in his backseat. But then she’s breaking the silence, and her voice is no longer cheery and playful; she’s nearly whispering and her voice is cracking as she makes her inquiry, “Can I tell you something?” 

He wants to be rude and tell her he’s not a fucking psychiatrist and he’s honestly the last person anyone should want to have a heart to heart with but he doesn’t. She’s been perfectly nice to him and even if he had a habit of being an asshole more often than not nowadays, he knew she didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t meet her eyes in the rearview. “Go ahead, kid.”

“We lost someone today. And I just- I couldn’t stand the thought of just going home and being alone with it, you know? And it wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last and maybe I should just be used to it by now but, I just can’t. And next year, I won’t be under someone, it’ll be my responsibility and only mine and I-” she’s crying now and he hears her trying hard to stifle the tears. “Anyway, that’s why I drank so fucking much. Sorry. God, I’m-” she falters and quiets lamely. 

His knuckles are turning white against the steering wheel and he’s thinking of a streak of white hair, and blue skin that’s turning a sickly gray and the woman he couldn’t have at the foot of the stairs and he knows that no amount of liquor can make you forget. “You don’t,” he says. “You don’t get used to it. Just get better at hiding it.”

She’s wiping at her eyes and she’s leaning forward now, her chin resting on the slope of the passenger seat. “I’ll just always feel responsible. Like I didn’t do enough.” 

He’s pulled into her lot when he finally turns and meets her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

                                                        ---

She’s too fucking embarrassed to risk seeing him again for several weeks. She knows very well how irrational she’s being, and she knows he must have dealt with far worse but she’s never been one to share the details of her life with near strangers. So she braves the bus and the noise and the smell and the headaches that plague her as a result. 

The next time she sees him, it isn’t in his car. She’s leaving the hospital, and like many third year residents, had survived on nothing but a granola bar and coffee. Her feet are aching and she briefly considers just going home but she’s got the appetite of a hungover undergrad so she stops in at the nearby diner. She’s greeted by the smell of pancake batter and bacon grease and for that she ignores the sticky table and water spotted silverware. She’s about to look around for a waitress when she sees him two booths away, staring very intensely at the coffee mug before him. His eyes suddenly meet hers and she raises her hand in a hesitant wave before looking away and flagging down the waitress. She’s a customer–an acquaintance really, so she’s surprised when she hears the shuffling of footsteps and he drops into the seat across from her. She meets his eyes and leans forward slightly, “I’m not following you I promise,” she tells him and that earns her a gruff laugh, “I’d hope you’d have better things to do. Doctor.” 

He’s different from every time before. Looser. His white collared shirt is unbuttoned and rolled at the sleeves, suit jacket abandoned. She notices for the first time just how imposing he is, all hard muscle and tan skin and eyes that seem to burn right through her. But they’re the slightest bit unfocused, and then his demeanor makes sense. “Yeah, just a thing or two,” she tells him with a smile. He surprises her again by asking if her day was better than the last time he saw her. She skips over more apologies, since he clearly isn’t bothered and she nods at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, actually. Thanks. It’s hard, you know. The ER. It’s people at their most vulnerable and someone’s life is literally in your hands and yes, it’s fast and it’s exhausting but, I love it. I really do,” she finishes, unable to help herself from smiling at the admission. Her plate is delivered then, and it takes everything in her to not inhale the pancake stack. Rather, she stabs at the eggs first and looks expectantly at the man before her, “What about you?”  

“Oh yeah, always wanted to be a driver. Nothing like it,” he answers. She rolls her eyes at his tone, “You’re just full of surprises tonight aren’t you. Who would’ve thought you were capable of making a joke.” 

He brings the mug to his lips, downing the remainder of the black coffee and leaning back into the red vinyl. He shrugs, “Shit happened and a move across the country made sense.” He’s looking down at the table, fingers tapping against the sticky laminate and she doesn’t miss the scars between his knuckles. They’re fresh, the skin still puckered and pink and it only adds to the mystery of the man before her. The one so dead set on hiding. She nods, but they both know she doesn’t buy it. “I’ll get it out of you, one day,” she replies, “I’m not known for quitting.” 

He huffs out a laugh, “It’s your mistake,” he responds, but those hazel eyes meet hers with a look she can’t quite place. She responds in kind, mimicking his shrug before cutting up the pancake stack before her. They sit in silence for a while and he looks incredibly amused at the enthusiasm with which she eats. She slouches down in her seat with a sigh when she finishes, “Wow I really fucking needed that.” 

He nods at her, “Gotta take care of yourself kid.” She raises her eyebrow at him indicating she could say the same thing about him and he shrugs again, “Yeah, fine. You win.” He gestures towards the window, “Going to head out.”

She smiles at him lightly, “You’ll likely see me again really soon,” she admits. “Car’s still busted.”

It’s when he stands up to go that she notices. He tries to keep his arm by his side, but it comes up to his torso just as he grits his teeth and winces. He brings his hand up to signal that he’s fine and she can stay seated but she’s standing in front of him and giving him a look that says that she knows better. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head and makes to move past her, “Nothing it’s fine.” She looks down at his shirt and then back up at him with a fierceness in her eyes, “The blood seeping through your shirt would suggest otherwise, Logan.” He’s about to open his mouth to protest but she grabs his calloused hand and pushes against his chest with her free hand,  keeping him in place. “You’re going to let me help because I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t. I don’t care what happened, just let me.” He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh knowing it’s a losing battle. The woman who barely cleared his shoulders wasn’t going to let it go. 

She leans down and slings her bag over her shoulder and motions toward the bathroom. There’s barely enough space in the dingy men’s room and it smells strongly of cheap air freshener and bleach. She pushes the toilet lid down with her foot and motions for him to sit before digging out the first aid kit from her bag and handing it to him while she scrubs her hands with several pumps of soap. “Of course you have one of these.”

She gives him a pointed look, “Never know when the mysterious chauffeur with a secret past is going to be bleeding out in the 24/7 diner.”

He’s taken his shirt off and suddenly she’s crouched between his knees, her brows furrowed. There’s a wound along his abdomen, maybe four inches long. The stitches he’d clearly done himself had split. But it’s not just that. His torso is a mirage of scars, both old and new–shiny pink strips that stand out from the rest of his tanned surface, the jagged edges pulling at his taught skin. Then she sees the rounded indentations and she’s been in the ER enough to know that they’re bullet holes and she pushes down the worry that is suddenly taking root in her chest. She can feel his eyes studying her, waiting for a reaction–for an explanation. She doesn’t give him one. 

He towers above her and is easily twice as wide, and for all his roughness, she can’t help but find him beautiful. She stands to get a stack of paper towels that she presses to his skin as gently as she can. “Sorry,” she murmurs when she feels him tense beneath her fingers. He feels like a furnace. “Hold that a sec.” She’s pulling out gloves, then scissors and tweezers. She pulls his hand away when the towels are soaked through. He closes his eyes as she starts to remove the old thread, and she somehow stays focused on the split skin and not the fact that she’s close enough to hear every change in his breathing and smell traces of cologne and whiskey. 

She doesn’t question him while she works and he’s grateful for it. She gives him a smile when she says, “The stitches weren’t even that bad, so good job.” He tries to relax, but he finds himself tensing at the feel of her fingers on his skin, the intimacy of it, however necessary it was, an almost foreign concept to him as of late. She keeps mumbling apologies anytime he does, like she’s the reason he’s got a knife wound. A few years ago, he might have said something crass about her position between his legs but now? Right now, he can’t fathom why she cares so much to begin with.

He lets his eyes fall to her face as she concentrates on threading the hooked needle. Some of her dark hair has escaped the knot at the nape of her neck and her tongue pokes out from between her lips as she works, her brows furrowed in concentration. She holds the suture in one hand while the other grabs hold of a small brown bottle. She meets his eyes apologetically. “This is going to sting.” He only nods as she pours it over the wound, clenching his teeth as he inhales. “Ok, this is going to feel worse but I’ll be as quick as I can,” she assures him. 

The dim yellow light from the flickering fixture above them has her squinting as she leans forward and braces her forearms above his knees. “I’ll be fine,” he tells her when she glances up at him with another apology. He closes his eyes as he feels the tugging on his skin, his fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs. A few moments pass before she leans back and reaches for the dressing. “All done,” she announces, pressing the bandage down and removing her gloves. 

He stands and moves to re-button his shirt but she reaches down and pushes his bloody hands away. “Let me.” There’s barely three inches between them and he’s suddenly very aware of the heat from her skin and the way her nimble fingers seem to take longer than necessary working the buttons through. Then, her palms linger on his chest when she’s done and all he can smell is her perfume and all he can hear is his pulse between his ears. She’s peering up at him with those deep, dark eyes and she looks so innocent and kind and young–everything he is not. 

But she’s more than that; she’s fucking brilliant and dedicated and she spends her days pulling people from the brink of death so he doesn’t get why she’s looking at him that way. Why she’d seen all that she had in the last 20 minutes and still wants anything to do with him at all. He’s vague and defensive and she can’t have much of an idea of who he is at all and yet she’s still there, looking at him like that. 

It’s worse when she runs her thumb across the raised scar on his cheek and his eyes fall closed immediately and he almost forgets to breathe. His hand comes up to catch her wrist between calloused fingers and he wants to keep her from wasting any more time on him and his brain is screaming at him to just tell her no but he doesn’t. And it’s incredibly stupid because he knows how fucking terribly it always ends. Always. He drops her wrist and she catches his right hand, her thumb passing gently along the scars between his knuckles. It’s intoxicating- the feel of her skin on his and god its been so long. Her head is bowed as she maps out the scar tissue on the back of his hand and she’s so incredibly gentle and seemingly awestruck when her eyes meet his again that he feels his stomach drop because he wishes so badly that she didn’t care. That he didn’t. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. She smiles at him lightly, and he’s confused by the sadness that seems to overtake her features. “You’re so much more than I ever could have hoped, Logan. Please know that.” He decides then that his name on her lips is his new favorite sound. He almost opens his mouth to protest but he knows it will only upset her so he stays quiet. She drops his hand and then she has both palms on his chest again and soft lips against his cheek and he lets himself savor the proximity and the warmth and the scent of vanilla that surrounds her. He catches her waist before she can step away and her hands slide upwards to meet behind his neck. He bows his head to rest against her forehead and it takes all his restraint to not kiss her until she’s breathless. That soft, sweet smile has returned to her face and her dark eyes are shining. It’s almost enough to make him forget the grimy bathroom they’re standing in. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” she whispers and he feels his lips pull up at the corners before he can stop it. 

He drives her home in his passenger seat. 

[igotanidea]

Crawl back to you: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Mexican!reader celebrating dia de los muertos, going throught the process of grieving after Jason's dead and her process of getting better through the years with a little plot twist at the end.

Thank you @thefandomdiaries07 - I played with the idea somewhat, hope you'll like it.

Disclaimer: this is not, in any way, a hate on religious belief, the reader's attitude just fit in the plot. (no offence to anyone meant here, truly)

***

Dia de los muertos.

Day of the Dead.

Despite her origin and upbringing Y/N never really felt connected to this celebration.

Remembering people who died and who she was too young to remember in the first place felt just … weird.

Of course, her mother, aunts and grandmothers got her involved in preparing the ofrenda and preached her about the importance of preparation for the souls’ arrivals but she always did it only half-heartedly, putting on a fake smile and pretending to enjoy the festivities.

But deep down she felt like a freaking hypocrite, while in fact not feeling anything.

And when her family moved to Gotham, out of all places, it got even worse. Poor girl felt conflicted, unaccepted, unsure of who she was and dealing with identity crisis, going as far as renouncing her ancestry to fit in the crowd. She was a teenager what else could you have expected.

Anyhow.

A few months passed and she got used to that god forsaken, lawless hole, keeping herself a bit away from her family, even if technically she was still living the same house. But with her struggles with ethnicity and traditions, she was a bit of a black sheep of the family, having not many true friends and spending most of the time alone,

recklessly wondering alongside the streets, pretending to be a freaking globetrotter. 

 And that was how one day she got involved with the batfamily, starting from being saved from an assault, by the Batman sidekick, Robin.

Jason Todd.

Whose name she learnt a few weeks later, having lost all the hope to see that red, green and yellow bird boy ever again.

However, surprisingly, those two clicked fast enough and even though they were technically still young  teenagers something bigger than friendship started creeping in.

He kissed her for the first time when they were 15.

And it was magical, romantic and send her into a spiral of love and dreams and worries and thoughts about future.

It was pretty much prefect for a whole year, as they somehow managed to make it work despite being forced to keep their relationship a secret from both families.

Imagine the panic that would spread in her family if they knew she was in love with a vigilante.

Imagine the panic that would spread in his family if they knew he told his identity to a girl he fell for.

That was obviously a no go.

So they kept on meeting in secret.

Almost every night she sneaked out of the house to check out on him after patrol and he was escaping Batman’s watchful gaze to have at least a few hours together alone with .

But one night changed everything.

He went to search for his biological mother.

And she should have stopped him or tell him how reckless he was being or do anything to dissuade him from this idea. Instead she laid her head on his shoulder, holding onto him tighter, kissing his lips briefly and making him promise he’d report to her the second he gets back.

A promise he never kept.

***

 “Hello? Who’s this?” she picked up her phone, blissfully unaware of the news that was about to fall upon her.

“Hey… um… is this Y/N?” an unrecognisable male voice reverberated on the other side

“Yes” she frowned “Who is this?” the girl asked again.

“My name’s Dick Grayson. I’m Jason’s older adoptive brother. We’ve never met but… I know you two were close…”

Wait. Did he just say were close?

“What – what happened…?”

The receiver fell from her hand, tears flooded her face and her heart broke in half.

***

His funeral was probably the worst day of her life, even though she couldn’t remember much more than the see of blackness, plenty of people she knew from Jason’s stories but saw for the first time and some meaningless words of consolations.

***

YEAR ONE

It had been eight months since his death and she was still grieving, unsure if the pain in her chest would ever subside or the tears would ever dry.

In that short time, she had become very close to Jason's brother, Dick, who was the perfect definition of an eldest child and had sort of taken her under his wing (pun intended). After everything with Jason and everything in between, she couldn't and didn't want to stay in Gotham, a place that was a painful reminder of the past.

Y/N took a different route every time she came across the places where they hung out or where they first kissed and where they secretly met at night and considering the fact that Gotham wasn't that big, it was slowly becoming impossible to move. And going to school and seeing couples and happy people was like a shot to the heart, making her a walking fountain almost every school break.

She felt a sudden need to get away from everything and moved to Bludhaven, where she started a new school and where Dick made sure she was safe and (as much as possible, meaning not much at all) happy.

It was October and dia de los muertos was right around the corner, of which her family was kind enough to inform her, inviting the girl to the family celebrations, and mentioning the resulting obligations of the living.

Making her angry at first.

Angry and with the sense of unfairness and stupidity of life. You’re there one second, enjoying the presence of the loved ones, and then, in another second you are just gone and it’s like you never really existed.

What was the point of life, apart from constant suffering and uncertainty of tomorrow?

 This whole celebration freaking sucked, and she was not going to celebrate the death, having loved and lost the most important person in her young life!

But…

Once she got herself into that spiral of thinking, Y/N slowly started feeling something more than annoyance at her nation’s cultural habits, overwhelming depression and lack of any motivation to move on. Maybe…

It was the first time she had someone she knew to remember. And to hope that maybe, on this special day, his soul  were walking amongst the living and watching her from the other side even if she could not do the same.

Maybe…

And if he was, maybe it was her only chance to somehow communicate with him, tell him all the words she kept hidden in her soul, that never found a way out. Perhaps from the silent beating of her heart he would feel the love that was still there, the longing, the needing and the fact that despite being gone, he wasn’t and would never be forgotten by her.

Her eyes grew wide and she jumped off the bed, gathering all the necessities and beginning her work.

***

“Y/N?” Punctual as always Dick entered the apartment, carrying the box with her favourite takeout. It was their Thursday tradition to have some good food and hang out together and he was not going to be a breaker. But he definitely did not expect to see his friend kneeling on the floor in front of something that looked like a tiny stairs, painted in red, green and yellow ending with an arch. It was decorated with something he recognised as salt, candles, water and marigold flowers. And the whole apartment smelled like lavender for some reason. “Y/N? What are you doing?” he put the food on the table, seriously concerned by her mental state.

“Oh!” she almost jumped at the sound of his voice, turning around to face him. “Hey, Dick. It’s just a little celebration.”

“Of what?” he frowned, not understanding a thing. “What is this?”

“ofrenda” she explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but his confused gaze made her realise that maybe not everyone were familiar with the festivity. “an offering.”

“An offering? Of what? To who? And why?”

Y/N almost rolled her eyes.

“I thought Bruce made you go the private school. Don’t you know anything about dia de los muertos?”

“I thought you were done with your national customs?”

“I was…” she sighed deeply reaching for the picture she was about to hang in her little altar. Jason, smiling, happy at some point back in time, that was never supposed to go back. She took the photo at one of their walks in the park in the autumn, with the sun shining and colourful leaves falling down from the trees. “but things have changed…” Y/N whispered, caressing Jason’s cheek on the photo, her eyes still shining with love and affection, but also tinged with sadness. “I miss him…”

“I know, Y/N. I miss that little prick too.”

“Yeah, he was a prick, wasn’t he? And an asshole, sometimes.” She chuckles as Dick sat on the floor next to her. “I bet if he’s around he’s annoyed at us bad-mouthing him.”

“If he’s around?”

“Yeah, the whole point of this day is that the souls come back to earth to visit us.”

“so it’s basically something like Halloween.”

“ more or less so. But cut the haunting part.” She smiled a little “We can’t see the deceased but we can feel them…”

“do you?”

“do I what?” Y/N frowned at his question. “Do I feel him?”

“Yeah. Sorry if it’s too soon or too bold thing to say, Y/N…”

“It’s not. It’s okay. I can’t exactly feel him, but it doesn’t mean he’s not here. We both agreed he was a prick sometimes, maybe he’s just hiding from me. Just to tease me. But that won’t stop me from calling upon him even from beyond the grave.”

She stood up and put the picture at the top stairs.

“Hey Todd, if you’re somewhere there, I’m not gonna go easy on you. See you next year, you little asshole.”

YEAR TWO

“Hey, Y/N, I dropped by decorating store and bought some things for your ofrenda this year, wanna take a look at them?”

YEAR THREE

You know, Dick, I’m not sure if Jason would appreciate us using the cape here….

“Your limiting my imagination….”

“I don’t care. I’m in charge. Remove it, now”

YEAR FOUR

 Did you make the ofrenda without me, Grayson!?

YEAR FIVE

No way in hell she was going to let Dick take charge this year. For the past four of them he was growing more and more fond of the day of the dead, starting from assisting and doing shopping ending on going behind her back in finalising his own crazy concept. And finally, the tide had changed and Y/N had to put her foot down.

“What do you mean  you want me to leave?!” Dick cried out the second she told him what punishment she chose for him “Y/N! Why?! It’s so unfair, I – “

“You hijacked my preparations last year. And two years ago. And to tell the truth, three years ago as well!”

“I didn’t – ok, fine…” he raised his hands in surrender “but you can’t blame me for that! It’s really fu-“ he stopped in the middle of the sentence.

“You wanted to say funny, didn’t you?” Y/N raised an eyebrow and Dick blushed a little. Maybe it was a bit inappropriate and unfortunate word to use.

“NO! No I wanted to say… um…” Dick was desperately searching for more accurate wording, also starting with fu, but obviously the alternatives were even worse.

“See that’s the whole point. You kind of missing the message of the day. Yes, sure, it’s supposed to be fun way to honour the dead and tame death in some way, but still it’s also supposed to be at least a little bit of an opportunity to stop for a second and think about things and people.  I really appreciate your positive attitude and it’s not like I’m kicking you out, but...”

“but you do.” Dick smirked and nodded with understanding.

“I just feel like I need to be alone for a while, ok? It’s been five years and at his point I feel like I sometimes need to focus to even remember his face without a photo. It’s all becoming a blur, lost in the joy and amusement. And I don’t want that. I want to remember.”

“Is that why you never gave any boy any chance to –“ he cut out again without really thinking what he was saying.

“Grayson… “ she trailed warningly.

“I’m out! I’m out! Don’t hit me!” he rushed towards the exit. “Just call me when it will be safe to come back, ok?”

“Got it. Now get out!” she chuckled, closing and locking the door behind her friend.

Every little word she said was true.

She wanted to remember.

She had to remember.

It was the only way to fill that little dent in her heart, that Jason left when he died. She couldn’t just let go of him, even though Dick was probably right, and after so many years she should have moved on.  But both her heart and her soul refused to do so.

Maybe you only get one chance to meet your soulmate and Y/N was close to sure that  Jason has been hers.

”It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" she whispered the quote to herself while reaching for Jason’s photo she chose for this year’s decoration, turning them over in her hands for a while, looking at the face of a 15 year old she used to know “I wonder what you would look like now. Bet you’d be even more handsome and all the girls would be jealous I got such a catch.” She laughed a little “Hope you don’t hear me now, cause god damn, that would be such an ego booster for you.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” The sudden male voice coming from behind her made her jump (almost the mirror situation to the one that occurred five years ago when Dick found her preparing the ofrenda). But this time it was not Dick standing in her apartment.

“What the actual fuck!?” she yelled taking a fighting stance she learned from Grayson, knowing it would not help her at all due to the shaking of her body at the view in front of her.

“Handsome, huh?” Jason Todd in the flesh, absolutely not dead, brushed some unruly hair from his forehead, looking at her with a playful expression

“¡Estas muerto! ¡Eres un fantasma! ¡¿Qué está pasando?! Cómo –?“ as usual when she got nervous she started using Spanish. (you’re dead! You’re a ghost! What’s going on?! How-?)

“Baby…” Jason took a step forward, hesitantly. “Baby…” he opened his arms “I;m not dead, I swear to you. I-“

She cut him off by diving into his embrace, holding him tightly, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t just a friction of her imagination and needing to feel his warmth, the beating of his heart and his breathing.

“You’re really here!” she cried out, tears falling down her cheeks like a waterfall when she nuzzled into his chest. Honestly, she didn’t need any explanation, at least not at this point. She only wanted him close, afraid that if she let go for as much as a second he would disappear again. “Swear to me this is not a dream…” she muttered, against his shirt. “Swear to me.” Her entire body shook from the shock, she felt so small in his arms, but also safe as never before. It was like after five long years she got home again, that this missing part of her heart was found, and immediately jumped into the place reserved solely for him, unrepleacable. She was whole again and that was what count.

“Baby…. Oh, my sweet girl…” Jason wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back and hair, pulling her even closer, wanting to comfort her, to give her all that love and peace she was deprived of for what felt like ages. “I’m really here. I’m here. My baby… I’m back to you.” He whispered, closing his eyes, feeling equally, if not more emotional than her. He’s been through hell but the only though that made him keep on going was her. His angel. His joy. His only source of light in the eternal darkness that seemed to surround and swallow him. His grip on her tightened and he hoped to convey all these unspoken words to her through hugs and caresses and the gentle brushing of his lips against her temples.

“I love you…” she sobbed desperately, blurting out the only thing that was on her mind at the moment. “I missed you and I love you and –“

“I know baby. I love you too. And I promise you, you’ll never have to worry about hanging my picture in your altar ever again. Ever. I’ll crawl back to you every time and not even death can stop me from being with you. ”

And they just stood there, next to something that was supposed be an tribute to not-so-dead Jason Todd, holding and hugging each other tightly, creating the little bubble only for them two and being so very happy cutting out the entire world and reality, lost in daydream that happened to be the upcoming future for two people that have loved, have lost, and luckily, have found a way back to each other.

Talking could wait.

Silence, in the company of the only person that mattered, came first.

[sunboki]

002. THE MOVING IN DIARIES — ANTHOLOGY

PAIRING. Lee Minho x gn. reader | WORD COUNT. 2.3k & 12 minute read | SERIES PLAYLIST. | WARNINGS. cursing, anxiety, metaphor referring to getting high, talk of sex & implied smut | TROPE. friends to lovers, angst, fluff, suggestive, comfort, basically moving in together au!

( ✉️ ) — although this fic turned out shorter than expected, i have to remind myself this is a “mini”series 😭😭 please leave a reblog or comment if you enjoyed it! love you guys!!

Playful banter while driving to your new home is a must, but upon opening the door to your first home together, the big moment truly sinks in — especially when he wakes up beside you the next morning. Wow.

Heaving the massive brown boxes through the door with your boyfriend right on your heels, you practically slam the box labeled “Kitchen” in neon tape down, wiping the sweat off your brow before looking up.

It’s one thing to sign the papers to a new home, but another when you actually realize the reality of it all.

Minho seems to be in the same state of awe as well.

New. Everything is new. Your new home, a new chapter in either of your lives.

Together.

. ..

People genuinely underestimate the entire process of buying a house.

In other words, the entire daydreaming phase disappears instantly once finances, planning, and packing are introduced.

And it’s a fucking nightmare.

From initially digesting the prices to agreeing on a house in general, you’re certain gray hairs are mere days from appearing atop your head. Although, your boyfriend was here too, every step of the way.

My god were you grateful for that.

He handled the stress like a pro, picking out certain flaws in layouts you’d been completely oblivious to and always leveling you out when you got overwhelmed with things. Plus, you got to witness him looking illegally attractive in his glasses more than ever over the four-month long house-buying hell.

.

.

.

“And what about option two?” You ask, referring to your boyfriend currently calling about some new places he’d scoped out.

You swear this same conversation has popped up almost every day over the past month and a half. At this point it’s instinct going through the bottomless list, crossing off place after place, neverending.

Like you said, house-buying hell.

“Pretty spacious except the kitchen takes up half of the house,” Minho grunts, and you envision his glasses-clad self hunched at his desk with Dori on his lap, likely dozing off.

Before you can reject though, he huffs a chuckle, one filled with nothing but mischief.

“Hey, kitchen sex would be great.”

Thank god you weren’t drinking something or it definitely would’ve come out of your nose.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Awe, you love me sweetheart. And you know it's true.”

As much as you’d like to deny it, he’s no fool. Because kitchen sex with Minho is heavenly, and you’d be a liar to say otherwise. Unfortunately, your lack of reply evidently stroked his ego to no end, cocky giggle rumbling through the call.

Asshole.

You love him.

Reminding him you’d send a text while on your way home, you, as per usual, clock in for your shift after his whining and many repeated goodbyes. Yet you can’t seem to let go of the thought, plaguing your mind like an infectious virus.

Doubts.

Doubts about things working out, about your relationship working out, about your love working out. Especially once you move in, if you move in, no, of course you’ll move in, right? Where it came from you’re not sure, only aware of the tightness of your chest when you step outside for a breath of fresh air.

Suffocating. You feel suffocated.

Reaching into your pocket, moments of hesitation keep your thumb lingering longer over his number, regrettably stuffing the forsaken device in your pocket.

Not now, maybe later. It’s just a thought. Nothing serious.

Except you were a hypocrite, and it was serious, because by the time you stepped from the building you practically cried in the middle of the road, barely able to contain the frothing wail that left a nasty aftertaste burning your tongue.

Fuck it. You’re calling him.

Not until he attempts at getting out a full sentence without you dissolving into sobs does an audible phrase leave your mouth, pitifully curled up atop your bed after charting the messiest walk home in history.

“But– But what if the something happens and the agent messes up and–”

“Baby.”

The voice, the subtly stern tone immediately stops your fervent ranting. Your chest feels seconds from exploding, stifling every pained sound clambering to escape.

“This is our journey, our struggles. Don’t put so much stress on your shoulders when I’m here to help you carry it, okay? I love you, and I need you to know you’re not handling this by yourself.”

He’s speaking so quietly, so kindly, and you can only hum to keep from breaking into tears again while leant against the wall, phone pressed against your ear.

He’s said those three words more than ever in these past few weeks—knowing that he needs to hear it, that you both need to hear it. “I love you”.

It never gets old.

Also, once you're officially homeowners, you won’t have to constantly call each other anymore. It brings a watery smile to the corner of your lips.

“Hey Min?”

“Yes?” He hummed, mirroring the same sound made when he ate a good bite of food. It’s the cutest thing in the world.

“Yes?”

“Can we.. stay like this? I just want to know you’re there.”

A breathless laugh utters through the line.

“I’m right here all night sweetness.”

And like he promised, he stayed, the call ending almost seven hours later. Having fallen asleep a mere two hours in, Minho spoke all the while, mumbling to both himself and you. Plans for the future, his current grocery list, and, while deep in thought, how he so badly wanted to marry you.

He wouldn’t mention the last one when you woke up.

Eventually, he too began drifting off, and it wasn’t without telling you good night that he let himself fully travel to dreamland, whispering: “Good night baby, ‘sleep well.” Before clicking the red icon, signaling the end of the call.

Call Ended: 6:43:17.

. ..

The clock hung on his wall reads 2AM and his hand ferociously maneuvers the mouse, eyes practically bloodshot. You’re behind him on his bed, immersed just as intensely on the blinding screen.

Yesterday you’d received the best kind of news, but the trial was far from over, and you couldn’t quite celebrate till the keys came in—the exact thing you were religiously looking into right now.

He’s relentlessly scrolling through emails, running a hand through dark brown hair with prominent dark circles shadowing beaneath his lower lashes.

Having met with your agent that afternoon, you were nearly finished with the entire closing process when ding! A notification buzzes.

Scrambling, you jump off his mattress, both blinking dumbly, mouths agape.

Hello, I am pleased to inform the Minho family (you laughed at the name) your keys will be available at 8am tomorrow morning. Thank you for your cooperation, I was delighted to be the agent you chose for your first home purchase!

Oh my god.

Slowly turning to face one another, huge smiles grow at your cheeks while the boy’s apartment erupts in loud, victorious screams. He pulls you into a big hug and you do the same, mimicking his bouncing excitement.

He can’t even describe how happy he is.

This is really happening.

Your boyfriend hides himself in your chest and you gently pat his head, allowing the thundering of his heartbeat to calm.

Surreal.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you. Perhaps it was the aftermath’s effect, too intoxicated by happiness to think sensibly. Not that he didn’t constantly kiss you normally, but this time it was different.

Plus, how could he stop when after the third kiss your lips were all puffy and glossy, begging to be kissed.

Holding your wrists, he tips his head to an angle, nipping the swollen skin of your bottom lip and ushering a deep sigh from you.

So when he does let go, you effortlessly hold his face, falling back onto the bed without a second thought other than having Minho as close to you as possible.

To say the least, fucking at almost 3AM was criminally underrated.

Towel hanging around his neck after his shower (and the euphoric afterglow), he took on the job of coordinating how each item was organized, deciding to worry about packing up your flat after coming to the conclusion trying to sleep at this point was futile.

“We’re such good adults.” You satisfy, popping the cap off the Sharpie and being sure to label the box in front of you as “Cat toys'' (Minho’s instructions).

”Please don’t ever say that again.” He leans down, stealing a peck for the nth time off your pout. You don’t complain.

You groan. “What? We just bought a house all by ourselves y’know.”

He busies himself in the bathroom, fetching additional toiletries while wearing the horrifically ugly slippers Changbin gifted him last year.

“After four months,” He says, tone laced with bemusement.

“Hey! It’s about the journey, not the reward,” You point an accusing finger his way, him responding with a rather unimpressed expression.

“You’re a loser.”

“Your loser.”

He wrinkles his nose, appearing disgusted.

Typical Minho reaction.

To no one’s surprise, you spend the remainder of the night scurrying around the place, too high on anticipation. Although, even after countless nights of no sleep, you don’t feel exhausted. You feel alive, relieved.

And it’s when he rolls over to face you, smiling so faintly you can barely make out the shadow lining his usually furrowed exterior that you realize he’s just as ecstatic as you are.

. ..

“Oh please, Lee Minho, you’re already hot, and we’re gonna be late!” You holler from his complex's parking lot, shutting the trunk filled to the brim with luggage. Of course, your boyfriend takes his sweet time sauntering over, placing the keys in your open palm and sending you a sarcastic grin.

“Never knew we booked an appointment with the house,” He scoffs, and you slip your index into his belt loop, tugging him closer with a shared sneer.

“Well now you know,” You cockily tilt your head, a sudden tension overwhelming the minimal space between you two, testing each other's teetering resolve using a mere stare and your finger still wedged in his belt.

He steps closer, you hold your breath.

So it takes you a moment to realize he said “I’m driving” till the keys were snatched from your grasp, leaving you to scoot your legs away and side-eye him the entire ride. Worst part? By the look of his stupidly-handsome-no-good-please-stop-so-I-can-despise-you smile, he enjoyed every second.

Yet, opposed to the cold-shoulder attitude on the drive there, you’re giggling like idiots upon pulling in the driveway. Your poor neighbors have to be terrified at this rate, worried their new next-door acquaintances are some deranged circus clowns or something.

They’re not half wrong.

After your starstruck admiration opening the door though, you get to work arranging things. Assembling shelves, cleaning floors, washing windows, you name it, the first half of the house was spotless.

First half.

As for now, you sprawl in Minho’s lap, a fan replacing the lack of air conditioning and a mandatorily delivered magazine fanning your sweaty faces. Any other situation you would’ve been miserable, but there’s no other contentment better than this.

Because it’s not much, but it's yours.

And that’s enough.

Despite the blinds pulled tightly closed, peach rays of light strayed through the crevices, painting the room a warm glow. You stirred awake, genuinely shocked with, one, this bedroom not being your own, two, the subtle wondering of how you ended up here from the living room, and three, a presence pressed against your back, hand slipped between your legs to hold the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Minho. Minho!” You poke, jabbing an accusing finger against his jaw. His brow twitches, slowly blinking up at you. He grumbles, squeezing the supple skin there as if you weren’t staring at him incredulously.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Glaring into his genuinely innocent eyes, he purses his lips with a very kissable pout, appearing completely confused before noticing where his hand lay.

Compromising. Quite compromising.

“It’s warm and soft, why not? Or is it that I’m turning you o—“ Words cut short from you muffling him with a pillow, he squirms, infectious laughter radiating through the silk fabric.

Clad in basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt that rose up just enough to grant a peek of his soft tummy when he stretched, your boyfriend padded through the hallway, approaching you only to scoop you up into his arms from behind—hand slipping beneath your top.

Before you can interfere though, he mumbles beneath his breath, voice hardly audible after just waking up.

“Don’t move, ‘wanna stay like this.”

Ah.

Morning Minho. You love morning Minho, especially now that you’re living together.

Before now, the only time you’d ever get to wake up beside each other was after, well, that. So to think about tomorrow where you'd get to do this again and again and again felt like a daydream.

Relaxing into his touch, he presses his nose into your neck, eyelids fluttering shut to simply bask in the atmosphere, the quietness occupying the home, your home.

Standing there motionless for a few moments, he takes you in, the softness of your skin dappled in sunlight filtering past the window, the rise and fall of your chest. Beautiful.

“So what’re we supposed to do now?” You aimlessly ask aloud, avoiding eye-contact with the massive amount of boxes stuffed in the corner—too exhausted to continue unpacking the night earlier. Save for another time.

“Fuck?” He mutters, but it comes out more muffled, more gravelly. Ungodly attractive.

“I…” Sentence getting caught up in your throat, you move equally as fast toward the bedroom, his nimble fingers pulling the straps of your top down your shoulders, chasing after you.

“—Hate you.” You finish, simultaneously trapped between him and the door.

Nevertheless, you give in. With Minho, you always give in.

You love him.

He knows.

> SERIES TAGLIST. @phtogravi @liknws @luckieleaf @jhstayy @meloncremesoda @chans1aptop @eternitywaveshello @meanergreener @ladylexis @love-gy-u @hanjingin @idkluvutellme @dark-anxel @yubinism @rachabreathing @seung-scrittore @fylithia @skzsupremacy @alrm02 @ener-energy @koliki @anskiiz @dprkbyn @bellamuerte1987 @ylixbok @hanjisung-enjoyer @youngunknownwitch @hwangflora @starlost-andfound @taeriffic @flwerfield

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[ersatz-ostrich]

On the Scene

RK900 x gn!Detective!Reader

Lt. Hank Anderson and Det. Connor Anderson are on the scene of a grisly murder. They have some investigating to do, and not just into the scene of the homicide that you and Richard were first called to inspect.

A/N: phew! first real post in a while. DBH has a chokehold on me and I have no idea how it happened (I haven't even gotten the game yet—I'm waiting for it to go on sale). That being said, hope this isn't too OOC! I was inspired to write this by the one scene in A Study in Pink from BBC's Sherlock. I messed around with the scene so the dialogue isn't a carbon copy, though.

Yes, I settled on calling Nines Richard (I'm indecisive). Hank calls him Nines as a nickname of sorts.

warnings: implied sexual references, sorely lacking in beta reading

read here on ao3

Cold, damp nights like these were not entirely uncommon in Detroit. If anything, they were a part of the city’s branding. 

After all of his years in the God-forsaken city, Lieutenant Hank Anderson knew at least that much. 

His CD player blasting heavy metal, he slowed his aging car to a stop on the side of a residential street in a more tasteful stretch of Detroit. Police cruisers and personnel crowded the street already narrowed with cars parked beside the curb on each side. The house in question was cast in the blue and red light of the cruisers’ beacons, an adequate welcome for those who chose to step inside. 

Hank eased himself out of the driver’s seat and into the chilly air, groaning as his joints protested. His partner Connor, ever so enthusiastic when it came to work, exited from the other side and followed Hank with quick, precise strides until they reached the yellow holographic police tape set up around the crime scene. 

“Hello, Lieutenant, Detective.” The duo was greeted by the stoic face of Richard, the DPD’s RK900 investigator android, who was just about as close to a brother that Connor, the RK800, had. His fair complexion was bathed in the flashing lights of the squad cars and spotlights that had been set up around the scene, but he seemed to pay no mind to the glare.

“Nines.” Hank grunted. “We’re here to see Detective L/N.” Richard raised a perfect brow, his expression set with feigned intrigue. 

“Why?” Hank chuckled.

“We were invited, why else?”

“Is that so?” A grin inched its way onto Hank’s grizzled face.

“I think they want us to take a look at some evidence. Think it might be related to our red ice case. That’s why you made the call, didn’t ya?” Richard cracked a small half-smile. 

“Right as always, Lieutenant. It seems like your investigative skills have stayed sharp after all these years.” Hank barked out a laugh as he and Connor crossed through the holographic boundary. Just as they passed by the RK900, Hank stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose. 

“Lieutenant?” Connor inquired from beside him. 

“It’s nothin’, son.” It didn’t sound like nothing to Connor—not that he voiced that notion, anyways. From behind their turned backs, Richard’s LED flashed red momentarily. 

They were making their way up the front porch steps when you appeared in the doorway in your CSI jumpsuit and PPE, fiddling with your gloves. 

“Hey, Anderson, so nice of you to finally come.” You greeted the pair with a smile. “Careful with the evidence back there, don’t want to get it contaminated with Sumo’s fur or something. Richard thinks it might be of some help with your red ice case.” 

“You didn’t make it home last night, did ‘ya?” The smile disappeared from your face. That wasn’t the response you had been expecting.

“I’m sorry?”

“Tell me, L/N, did ‘ya at least get someone to feed your cats?” He watched your expression, brows raised with skepticism. “C’mon. You can do a little better than hiding that hickey under your PPE.” He gestured loosely at the collar of your jumpsuit. Your hand instinctively went to the bruise that you knew was blooming underneath the fabric. 

“What—”

“And you, Nines!” Hank called out to Richard, who was just crossing the front yard to join the conversation.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me, Lieutenant?” Richard’s expression and composure were practically free of tics and tells—one of the benefits of being an android, deviant or not, Hank supposed. Richard tilted his head with bemusement.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. Say, are ‘ya trying out some new scent for androids? Smells a lot like L/N’s deodorant if you ask me.”

“Y/N and I spent the night at the precinct,” Richard answered quickly. “We were looking over evidence early this morning when the homicide was called in. They offered me their coat when it began to rain because—”

“Yeah, ‘cause androids don’t like getting their clothes wet after just getting ‘em from the Cyberlife dry cleaners,” he drawled. “Funny that the knees of your slacks are so banged up, Nines. Maybe you should bring ‘em back.”

“Hank, whatever you’re trying to imply—”

“I know, kid, I know. Also, you two are on a first name basis now? Geez, did I miss something while I was on holiday?”

“Hank...” Your voice dripped with exasperation. “Just inspect the damn crime scene, will you?”

“Alright, alright,” Hank waved you off and stepped into the house. “But I’m expecting a wedding invitation by next spring, y’hear?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[A/N]: So, yeah, I don't know jack about DBH or BBC's Sherlock...well, reading the BBC's Sherlock manga counts as interacting with the source material, right?

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading x

[nvoirs]

I fricken love how you write!! I don’t read normally but been getting into these Leon x f!reader fics because.. well… I am more into the angst as in injured and bleeding. I was wondering if you were willing to write one?? I have been drawing scenes from fics I have asked for as practice to drawing Leon💖💖💖💖

Thank you so much for liking the way I write hehe I do appreciate It a lot! Has not been proofread I'll do that when I get home x

There was to much blood, It covered your hands, your torso and Leon's hands. Being shot in the stomach was unexpected knowing the fact you had a bulletproof vest on. But to your guessing, the one you were wearing was slightly faulty.

The pain was excruciating and you were becoming light headed by the second. Leon's voice just a mere whisper like that of an angel. You just admired his pretty face. The way his dark hair shone in the bedazzling light, and his sapphire orbs were just to die for. Realisation hit you that you were not going to make it. You wouldn't be able to live a life with Leon, marry Leon, start a family with Leon. You internally cried when you thought about Leon sitting by your grave everyday, but one day he'd leave forever, leave you behind and never look back. He'd probably find another beautiful woman to settle down with. Marry her and have his children with her. It was a selfish thought but you couldn't help it.

Salty tears pricked at your lash line as you quietly sobbed. "Hey! Don't cry baby your going to be fine, listen to me."

Leon cupped your frail face in his rough hands, years of practice with an assort of weapons but they felt at home to you. He teared of a piece of his t-shirt he was wearing underneath and began pressing on your bullet wound. You wailed in pain, and gripped his arm tightly.

Whispering under your breath, Leon couldn't hear so he leaned in closer to hear your beloved request. "Leon forget It, you can't save me I'm losing to much blood."

Leon looked at you shocked, one hand still pressing against your gaping wound the other clasping your sweaty, clammy one.

"Are you crazy?" His voice was surprisingly quiet, he sounded scared. Leon S. Kennedy never sounded scared, he was the bravest person you knew, fighting bioweapon after bioweapon the DSO's golden boy that everyone looked up to. That's why you fell for him, the love of your life you loved him to bits and you didn't want to leave him alone in this cruel, god forsaken world.

"Leon please." You pleaded. Your warm blood trickled down Leon's trembling hands the rag he made fully soaked in your crimson blood.

"Please kiss me one last time." Leon stared at you tears silently falling down his cheeks but he complied. Leaning down to your collapsed body and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. You could feel the scratch of his stubble, and you couldn't help but smile within the kiss. Even through all the pain, Leon was still a remedy to you. You felt the pain ease when he kissed you.

"I fucking love you, you aren't dying." His gruff voice was one of sorrow. He already knew he couldn't save you. Medics were arriving on the scene soon, but they were to late. By the time they had arrived Leon held your body in silence, dried blood covering his hands his eyes puffy and raw from crying so much.

"You're to late."

Leon did attend your funeral but he was an absolute mess. A flask of alcohol clutched in his hand, you hated when he drank telling him of saying he'd hurt his liver. But you, you'd hurt his heart the vital organ that beated just for you. His face red and raw from crying privately, but no one said anything. Leon was mourning you, his tousled, unkempt hair a mess on his head and he had gone days without shaving.

After everyone had left the service Leon sat in front of your grave and just spoke. "I bought the house we were going to live in." He swallowed thickly as if he was expecting an answer. He imagined what you would have said, "I'm so happy for you Leon." He blinked twice when he imagined your voice in his ears. It was like you were really here sat beside him head on his shoulder.

Leon didn't really believe in God, he was never the religious type. But now that you were gone he just knew a place called heaven is where you live now. You would have sought it out like the angel you were, and he closed his eyes as he imagined you living peacefully up there. You adorned a long white dress, and you smiled and waved at him when you caught each others eyes.

"Yeah thanks." His small smile would be a start to his journey to heal.