#onto whatever milestone's next :))

[jolapeno]

fifteen hundred and one

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie masterlist

summary: he's your best friend. nothing would ever change that. except maybe a goodnight kiss.

warnings: just fluff. best friends who flirt to something. kissing. flirting. she calls frankie nemo. an: this is my submission for @janaispunk’s milestone celebration based on this moodboard and the prompt "goodnight kiss"! hugest and biggest congrats to you jana, my babe. you deserve all of this and more!

Laughing, hard. It’s all instinctive as one palm stretches out across his stomach, and the other arm hooks around you, tugging you close.

He tenses when your fingers brush over his threadbare tee, your head turning into him as you mirror him, giggling. Burying deep into the fabric, it seeps into his skin.

And all Frankie thinks is—

It’s easy with you.

Has been for years. Since you’d stumbled in as the friend of one of his friends girl-not-girl, sticking around longer than they did.

You'd glued to him, happily. Never minding, or caring. Somehow surprised at how simple it was going from ‘do you want a drink’ to resting your head on his shoulder, while the two of you absently listened to whatever bullshit Benny was saying.

Now, he looks forward to seeing you.

To late-night burger runs and early-morning coffee meets, quiz nights with the others and just the two of you movie trips.

At some point, between his tongue doubling in his head at the sight of you that night to now, he’s been resisting kissing you. Sometimes easy, sometimes it’s harder.

Tonight it’s the latter.

A hand clenched around his heart, squeezing. Beneath the moon's gentle gaze, the world slows, each laugh and comment infused with the spell of the silvery glow. It's intimate, almost sacred.

And it forces him to remind himself of the usual array of things that stop him from kissing the wit-induced smile right from your lips. The list he runs through to ensure he doesn't ruin you, in the same way, he'd almost destroyed his license, his job. Stopping himself from tasting the gloss you’ve smeared there, the one which makes street lamps reflect as the two of you walk back to his truck.

“—so even if I scratched your favourite vinyl, you’d still be friends with me?”

Opening the passenger side door, he smiles, gleams, fucking beams. “Yeah!”

He hears you mutter bullshit when he shuts it, fighting a laugh as he comes around the back before sliding in.

It’s not a far drive to yours. One he’s memorised, etched into him. Not just from tonight’s location, but all over town. From his to work, and your favourite spot to his. Able to drive, mainly on auto-pilot, not needing to concentrate too much, able to answer your wild, and ridiculous, array of “even if” questions. Each ranged from ‘if I burnt all your grass’ to, ‘hypothetically if you had a dog and I kicked it’. Each is smudged with the sound of the radio you've tuned, a station he won't admit he listens to when you're not even with him.

You don’t stop your questioning when he pulls onto your drive, parking side by side next to your car. The one he helped you haggle for three months ago now—if he thinks hard, he can still hear the sound of your squeal in gratitude in the furthest part of his ear.

“—what if I stole your last coffee filter?”

“I’m guessing I’m desperate for it too?”

“Yes,” you say, defiant but playfully. “Of course.”

“You’re telling me that if I stole your last coffee filter, you’d still be my friend?”

Killing the engine, he sighs. Shrugging. “Yeah.”

Unbuckling your belt, you throw a glare. “I don’t believe you. You’re more coffee than blood.”

Shaking his head, he rests against the headrest, the corner of his lips growing into his cheek. “Not a thing you could do that would make me ever want to not be your friend.”

Rolling your eyes, you hover your hand over the doorhandle. A part of him wants to ask you to wait, to not go just yet. A routine he thinks through at least three times a month when he sees you. Each time ending in the same cowardly way.

“Goodnight, Frank,” you say, in that same tone—one hard to read, forged in sadness but dressed up in joy—as you press your lips to his cheek.

He resists touching it like he always does. Mumbling the same scripted, “Night” he always does.

Not jolting when the door meets the frame, eyes pinned on you as you walk down your path—waiting for you to step on your porch, turn back and wave, fidget for your keys before unlocking the door and giving him another wave. Another pattern, another repetition.

Except tonight you stop.

You don’t even make it halfway down your path.

Blood pounds in his ears, something knotting inside of him. An urge, a fire lighting in his stomach. One he listens to. His hand shoves the door open, as the other undoes his belt, forcing himself to exit.

Frankie spots the glance in surprise at finding him coming around the front to join you. As though the idea he would is a shock, a surprise as he calls your name.

It’s slow, the way you spin on your heels. You pause, eyes narrowing, before widening, fighting a smile. A thing he can tell, can read. Even if you try to hide it in the night, shield it from the almost full moon and the stars which twinkle above.

“You think you’d be able to be my friend if I kissed you, Nemo?”

Leaning against the brick of your house, watching your eyes flick from his shoes back to his face.

“Finally ran out of cat names?”

“I’m branching out. I could go back to calling you Salem.”

Smirking, rolling his lips. “Still not a fish.”

Sighing, shifting your weight. “Didn’t answer my question.”

Wiping his hand with his face, hurrying his brain to think of something, anything, because he’s not sure if this is a joke. If you’re pushing him.

But the longer the silence thickens, the more time you stare at him, eyes growing wider and wider, he thinks that it might not be his heart that is the only one pounding. The only one beating in his ears, the pulse throbbing in his neck.

“Fran—”

“No,” he stammers, clearing his throat. “I–I’d be too busy.”

Lips sliding into your cheek, nervousness fading, fingers scratching the tip of your nose as he swears a shooting star soars in your eyes. “Doing what?”

“Kissing you fifteen hundred times.”

“Just fifteen hundred?”

Shrugging, chewing his tongue, he exhales—loud, nostrils flaring. “To start.”

Taking a step closer, a timid one. Enough to make a point, but not enough to close the gap entirely. Your knuckles brush his stomach, a blend between a stroke and a nudge.

“You’ve thought about this.”

A small part—one wrapped in vines of doubt, encased in pretending—warns him to clamp his mouth shut. To swallow the syllables and forms letters that make the sentence buzz in his mouth, along his teeth, and jaw.

Flicking his eyes from the floor to your face. “All the time, baby.”

He hears it, but he enjoys watching it more, the way you gasp. Low, airy, trying to bury it.

“Give me a goodnight kiss, Morales.”

He doesn’t think twice.

Brushing his lips against yours, soft, cautious, and tender, before it deepens. It makes his heart throb, double; it almost somersaults in his chest as your palm presses to his cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as one of his hands finds a home on your waist.

Then you’re smiling, almost laughing, right up against his mouth as he tastes the sugar on your lips. He feels the joy brushing against his mouth as your fingers knot into his hair.

And it unlocks him, allows you to consume him, to find himself free falling knowing he'll never land, fall or be hurt—just floating, as you tug him flush to you, a feeling so heavenly he almost wishes to pinch himself—

“Of course, you’re a good kisser,” you whisper, ghosting the words over his lips.

“Been thinking about it, have you?”

Snorting, nose nudging his, you press your mouth back to his, more searing, open-mouthed. “When I drive. At work. In the morning. At night.”

Each is punctuated with a kiss. The latter flows around his head, swirling in different shades and fonts as he groans, fingers sliding around the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. Making it a little rougher, more committed, feeling you cling to him, tugging him closer as he manoeuvres the two of you—flushing your back to the brick, his chest to yours.

A moan escapes you, tickling his lower lip as your thumb brushes along the back of his neck. Mouths parting, for a moment breathing the other, simply staring, gazing, ogling.

“Fourteen hundred and ninety-nine to go?”

Shaking his head, nose brushing yours, thumb stroking against your cheek. “This is a goodnight kiss—a necessity to begin the counter.”

“Oh,” you whisper, elongating it, adding a smirk to the end. “So, we have another fifteen hundred and then, we stop?”

Taking a deep breath, the scent of your perfume weaving into his soul. The sound of a car streets away travelling in the quiet of the night.

“Depends.” Tilting your head, waiting, confusion there. “You might unlock the next stage.”

Grinning against him, able to feel it as he runs his knuckles along your jaw.

“Or my lips fall off?”

Laughing, just like he did earlier. He smiles. “Or your lips fall off.”

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello again everyone! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support for the last part of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! I've had so much fun writing this au, and I'm so glad that you've all enjoyed it too! This will probably be the final part of this au (for now), since I have more au ideas to share with you all, but I'll probably revisit this au some day! For now, I'm approaching two pretty big tumblr milestones, so I'm working on an extra-special au to post in celebration of those (and I won't give anything away, but I think that this new au may be my best one yet, so stay tuned)!

Also, warning, this one is a long post! Be prepared!

Now, onto part four of this au! You can find part one here, part two here, and part three here!

As it turned out, planning a royal wedding was no easy feat.

Merlin had thought that simply adding a quick and (hopefully) painless wedding ceremony at the end of his coronation would make everything go smoothly. After all, the castle would already be decorated, they'd already have all of the important lords in attendance, and everything needed for a consort's coronation ceremony would already be there.

However, when Merlin announced to the lords and the steward in charge of preparing his coronation ceremony that he'd also need a quick wedding and coronation to take Arthur as his consort, they reacted with so much shock and horror that Merlin thought for a second that he'd accidentally announced that he was ordering their executions instead. The only person in the council room who didn't look like death itself had just appeared before him was Gwaine, who took advantage of he shocked silence following Merlin's proclamation to start laughing so uncontrollably that he doubled over and had to grab the wall for support.

Merlin had expected some shock and pushback from the council at his decision, not... this. All of the lords on the council had gone as pale as parchment, some trembling in their seats with fear. What on earth...

"Sire," the ever-unflappable Geoffrey called out, jolting Merlin from his confusion at the state of terror that had gripped the other council members, "while such a marriage would not be unlawful, it would certainly be unprecedented. I'm not questioning your judgement, I know that establishing yourself as a strong ruler this early in your reign is paramount, but are you sure that this is the best way to go about it? I'm certain that the citizens of Camelot will accept you as their rightful ruler as soon as they witness their true power for themselves, so taking the former king as your war prize isn't entirely necessary to show your dominance over the land."

The lords grew several shades paler at Geoffrey's words, and the trembling councilman sitting next to Geoffrey leaned in to fearfully hiss something into the librarian's ear. Merlin watched with growing confusion as Geoffrey's eyes went wide at whatever had just been whispered to him, and he rushed to speak once more.

"Of course, if this decision was made as some form of revenge or humiliation towards the Pendragon line, that is well within your right as a conqueror, Your Majesty. We would simply advise you to take the disgraced king as a concubine, perhaps, instead of your official consort. As a ruler, you must now also consider the issue of one day producing legitimate heirs, which can only be borne to you through your consort."

Merlin blinked, desperately trying to follow whatever logic Geoffrey was using. Take Arthur as a concubine?! Had the old man gone insane?! And Merlin certainly wasn't concerned about heirs, since if he got his way, then his reign wouldn't last longer than this week!

Still, with most of the council looking like they were being plagued by waking nightmares, they weren't likely to listen to Merlin's very reasonable objections to being king in the first place, so Merlin just had to get them off his back until the wedding.

After a deep sigh, which made most of the council members flinch back with a still confusing amount of fear, Merlin addressed Geoffrey's concerns.

"Thank you for your input, but I'm afraid that my decision has already been made on this... issue. I will be taking Arthur as my consort at my coronation, and my decision is final. And don't concern yourself with the topic of heirs, that will be sorted out shortly."

Several lords choked on the air at Merlin's last comment, with a couple outright fainting at his words. Merlin's brows furrowed even more with befuddlement. What... what had he said that garnered such a reaction?! He was just telling them not to worry about it!

(Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Merlin, the lords had a very different idea of what their new king- a powerful, brutal warlord and sorcerer- had planned. They interpreted Merlin's intent to marry Arthur as an act of revenge against the son of the man who killed off so many of his people during the purge. It apparently wasn't enough for the mighty Emrys to defeat his enemy and leave him with nothing to his name. No, this ruthless new king of theirs planned on forcing the former king into a life of humiliation and servitude in the court that was once his own. To a king, that must be a fate worse than death.

These lords, who were some of the most active and complicit members of Uther's purge, looked at the punishment that Emrys had planned for Arthur and thought if that's what happened to the king, what's he going to do to us?!)

The days went by quickly after that meeting, with Merlin's time being filled with a never-ending list of his new duties and things that needed to be done before his coronation, not to mention organizing the coronation itself and the subsequent wedding (which Arthur didn't know about yet, as Merlin had been deliberately avoiding the dungeons after his last conversation with Arthur).

It took the better part of a week for everything to finally be prepared for the official coronation ceremony. The ceremony itself would consist of Merlin being crowned in front of the court (a nauseating thought for Merlin himself), the vassal lords and knights willing to swear fealty to him taking the oath of loyalty, and finally Arthur being handfasted to Merlin and crowned consort.

Merlin was, for once, thankful for the amount of work that he had to do over the days leading up to the ceremony, as it kept his mind busy and his thoughts away from the pit of self-loathing that had taken up permanent residence in his head. After all, what kind of friend stole everything from the person they love the most in the world and then turns around and forces that same friend (and unrequited crush) to marry them?!

Merlin had attempted to rationalize his selfish decision to keep Arthur in the dark regarding his plan to reinstate him as king by telling himself that if Arthur didn't know about the wedding until the last minute, then he would spend less time worrying about it in the long run after he was king again! Besides, if Merlin's plan worked, they would only be married for a day or two, so there was no reason to get Arthur worked up over that by telling him earlier!

Truly, Merlin was not being a complete scumbag by doing this, he was just looking out for his friend's best interests and mental wellbeing! This would all blow over in a a matter of days anyways, Merlin was certain of it.

Still, Merlin found himself anxious and pacing the floor of his room on the morning of the ceremony. He had sent a team of servants and guards to retrieve Arthur from his cell and prepare him for the ceremony, so he likely wouldn't see Arthur until he was brought into the great hall for the handfasting ceremony. However, he still worried over Arthur's reaction when he learned what exactly when was being prepared for.

This worry lingered in Merlin's mind and consumed his thoughts throughout the entire day and into the coronation ceremony, so much so that his own coronation seemed like a blur to him. One moment he was standing in the great hall in front of the assembled crowd of lords and knights, and in the next, he was sitting on Arthur's throne with Arthur's crown on his head, with the crowd shouting "long live the king".

The sound of it almost made Merlin sick. Those words should never be directed at him, but he'd make this right soon enough. He just had to suffer through this ceremony to appease those disloyal lords who had turned their backs on their true king.

Perhaps the worst part of the coronation itself was the ceremony in which the lords and knights willing to pledge their fealty to him took an oath declaring such. It was no surprise to Merlin to see those weasels on the council of lords pledging themselves to save their own skin, but the knights who showed up to pledge their fealty were... very unexpected.

Look, Merlin had assumed that it would just be Gwaine and a small handful of guards and younger knights that he had roped into his mischievous scheme swearing loyalty so him. All of the other knights with their wits intact would surely still be down in the cells of the dungeon, holding true to their prior oaths of loyalty and keeping their true king company.

What Merlin did not expect, however, was for nearly a quarter of all of Camelot's knights to take a knee before him and pledge their loyalty, led by a highly amused Gwaine, who was no doubt enjoying every minute of this. Merlin quickly scanned the crowd of knights, trying to take count of who all had turned their backs on Arthur and could no longer be trusted.

Gwaine, of course, came at no surprise. Many of those assembled were commoner knights whom Arthur had taken in, including Percival, but the giant regularly got pulled into Gwaine's nonsense, so this wasn't truly that much of a shock if Merlin thought about it. There were a fair number of noble-born knights in the crowd, including all of those whom Merlin had noted had a softer outlook on magic. And then, of course, there were a decent number of pompous, high-born knights who had never given a lick about magic or loyalty, they just wanted to preserve their own wealth and power no matter the cost.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the cluster of those knights. All the rest had logical reasons to side with Merlin, between Gwaine's persuasiveness, solidarity between the lower class, or a connection or sympathy towards magic, so they would be allowed to stay in court after Arthur had retaken his rightful throne. But these knights? These cowardly snakes had to be dealt with at the first opportunity. But how could he get rid of them without people becoming suspicious?

... Wait a minute, Merlin was king now! He might only have that title for a day or so, but in that time, he could certainly use it! (And he absolutely was not using this as a tactic to prolong this part of the ceremony so that he had a few more minutes of peace before the wedding began.)

Right, but how was he going to play this? He couldn't exactly just announce that he wanted those knights to leave because he wanted them gone before Arthur took over again.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the group of treacherous knights and noted how they squirmed a bit under his gaze, with even some of the people around them shuddering. Right, he looked like a ruthless and powerful sorcerer to them now. He could use that to his advantage.

As the knights finished reciting their oaths, Merlin held up his hand, signaling for them to stay in place. The knights did so, but a confused and concerned murmuring started buzzing around at this strange departure from the normal ceremony. Slowly, Merlin lifted his hand and pointed at the assembled group of knights in the back.

"You lot. In the back."

The murmuring died down the instant Merlin opened his mouth and was instead replaced by an oppressive dread weighing down the ornately decorated hall. If Merlin wasn't trying so hard to keep a straight, intimidating face, he would have winced at causing such a wave of fear with nothing more than a few words.

Hesitantly, one of the called out knights stepped forward, addressing their new king.

"Yes, your majesty? Is there something you require of us?"

Merlin held back the urge to smirk as an idea, and a very satisfying one at that, formed in his head. He quietly cleared his throat and put on his most imperious "Emrys" voice that he could muster.

"I can sense insincerity in your hearts with my magic. Just as you abandoned the previous king, you would also turn your backs on me at the first opportunity to do so. Do not even attempt to deny it, you know just as well as I do that this true. I cannot trust any such men as knights of mine."

The group of knights went pale as Merlin called them out for their flimsy loyalty, and at once whispers began fly in the crowd. Perhaps they were intrigued by this show of his "powers"? Were they scandalized by this public shaming of a group of high-ranking knights?

Either way, the knights immediately began groveling, begging Merlin to let them keep their positions, their wealth, their power, but Merlin dismissed them with a wave of a hand and publicly revoked their knighthoods. The murmuring of the remaining people in the great hall grew louder as the disgraced former knights made their way out of the hall, no doubt intimidated and scandalized by how quickly their new ruler was purging his court of the disloyal.

However, with the loyal knights having taken their oaths and the untrustworthy ones having been cast out, the coronation ceremony was now officially complete, meaning that Merlin could no longer stall what would come next.

Merlin sat still on his stolen throne, trying his best not to fidget with nervousness as Geoffrey gave some traditional speech that had to be done before the doors of the great hall opened to let consort walk down the aisle to the throne.

After a couple minutes, Geoffrey's monotonous voice became nothing but a buzzing in Merlin's ears as he stared at the doors of the hall, desperately trying to imagine any scenario where those doors wouldn't open to an Arthur who was filled with nothing but rage and betrayal.

All too soon, Geoffrey's droning speech ended, and the trumpets in the hall announced the arrival of the soon-to-be-consort and signaled for everyone of lower rank to stand. Merlin's heart leapt to his throat as he jumped to his feet, even though he was the only person in the room who didn't need to. Ever so slowly, the doors to the hall swung open, revealing... Arthur.

Merlin damn near choked on his own saliva at the sight of him. He had seen Arthur in a wide range of states over the years as his manservant, ranging anywhere from sleep-rumbled to solemnly prepared for battle. But this... he had never seen anything like it.

Merlin couldn't decide if whoever had been in charge of dressing Arthur and preparing him for the ceremony ought to either be promoted to Arthur's personal tailor or immediately banished. In place of Arthur's usual surcoat and chainmail for official ceremonies, which was what Merlin had foolishly assumed the servants would dress Arthur in, there was... a monstrosity that would haunt Merlin's dreams for the rest of his life.

Merlin didn't even know how to begin to describe it. The garment that the servants had no doubt forced Arthur into, as Merlin knew that he would never wear such a thing of his own accord, was somewhere between a set of intricately intertwined robes and a dress, which hugged Arthur's shoulders, upper arms, and thighs, highlighting the muscles there. Most of the outfit appeared to be made out of a rich velvet, dyed in a majestic royal blue that both looked entirely out of place on Arthur and brought out his eyes like nothing Merlin had ever seen before. And dear gods, was that lace on there?! And why the hell did the outfit need elbow-length lace gloves?!

(The servants who had been in charge of dressing Arthur for the ceremony had assumed that their brutal new warlord would probably want his war prize to look as far from a warrior as possible, in order to further prove that he had beaten the previous rulers. So, they selected a delicate and elegant outfit for Arthur in the hopes of appeasing their new king.)

Merlin swallowed dryly as Arthur slowly began making his way down the aisle with measured footsteps. The movement snapped Merlin out of whatever temporary madness the outfit had sent him spiraling into, and Merlin finally locked eyes with Arthur.

Merlin winced at the sheer amount of rage that Arthur managed to fit into one glare as he took another step towards the throne that was rightfully his. Merlin tried to give Arthur his most reassuring smile, but he was almost certain it only came across as a nervous grimace.

Just go along with this, Merlin tried to beg of Arthur with only his eyes. Their bond had always been one that allowed them to communicate without words, and Merlin prayed that their connection would hold strong once more and get his message across to Arthur.

Neither Arthur's impressive glare nor his furious scowl let up though, but he kept his pace towards the throne steady, which Merlin decided to take as a good sign. After all, if Arthur truly did not any merit to this impromptu plan, why would he still be walking of his own accord towards the altar?

Still, as Arthur grew closer and closer to the altar prepared for the handfasting, his eyes became darker with rage as Merlin winced. Yes, this would certainly be harder than it needed to be, but this had to be done to get Arthur back on the throne! Surely Arthur would understand that!

After what must have been an eternity, Arthur finally reached the altar and, ever so slowly, walked around to stand at a fidgeting Merlin's side.

As Geoffrey began yet another speech that had to be done before the handfasting took place, Merlin quietly turned to Arthur and gave him a small smile, trying to a least let Arthur know that everything was alright, that everything would turn out fine.

That little smile, it seemed, turned out to be the final straw for Arthur. Merlin wasn't even entirely sure how it happened.

One moment, he was standing next to Arthur in front of the altar, with the only sound in the room being Geoffrey's boring voice. And in the next, there was a savage war cry coming from Arthur, who was now armed with a sword, and a decent amount of screaming coming from the crowd.

It spoke volumes about Merlin's state of mind that his first thought upon seeing Arthur run at him with a blade in hand wasn't get back, dodge! but was rather that dress is tight, where on earth did he hide that sword?

However, Merlin's sense of self-preservation wasn't nearly as terrible as Gaius accused it of being, as his second thought was I should probably try to avoid getting stabbed at my own wedding.

Reluctantly, Merlin gathered his magic, ready to disarm Arthur and hold him still if need be. Arthur could stab Merlin later if he really felt like it, but Merlin needed to at least officially make Arthur his consort and heir before Arthur did that!

However, to Merlin's surprise, rather than trying to run Merlin through, Arthur instead stabbed at the wooden handfasting altar, sinking his blade deep into it. Merlin carefully kept his eyes on Arthur as the other man viciously pulled off one of the dainty lace gloves and threw it on the ground at Merlin's feet.

Dumbfounded, Merlin stared at the thrown glove on the floor and then looked back up to stare at Arthur, not quite getting what Arthur was trying to tell him here. Did he just really hate the outfit? Or was it this whole marriage plan that he objected to?

"Pick it up."

"Huh?"

Arthur nearly started growling, his rage apparently rising with Merlin's confusion.

"It may not be a proper gauntlet, since you have denied me such a dignity, but it will suffice for this. Pick it up, King Emrys. I challenge you to a duel in single combat for the throne of Camelot. You may have defeated my sister, but you did not defeat me! I am no prize for you to claim!"

Merlin simply blinked, completely thrown off by this turn of events, while loud shouts started erupting from the crowd. By the time his mind caught up to what Arthur had said, Arthur had taken up his sword from where he had struck it into the altar and was pointing it threateningly at Merlin again.

As Merlin's shock wore off and he finally understood what exactly Arthur had just done, he had to fight back the urge to scream into the sky with frustration as yet another one of his plans to reinstate Arthur as king had just been ruined by the obstinate clotpole himself. Couldn't the prat just let Merlin help?!

With his frustration rising, Merlin glared down at the thrown glove. While a duel would certainly allow Arthur to retake the throne, Merlin wasn't entirely sure how his magic would react to such a fight. Merlin would never consciously hurt Arthur of course, but who knows if his magic would strike out in self-defense?!

And, besides, formally accepting and preparing the duel would take days. And, in Merlin's opinion, this whole farce has gone on for long enough.

"No. I will not accept your challenge."

Arthur's face went red with anger at Merlin's refusal.

"You are just as much of a coward as the rest of your kind, sorcerer! You would not even grant me the opportunity to take back what's mine!"

Merlin bit back a frustrated scream at that. Arthur would be getting his throne back if he just followed through with any of Merlin's plans instead of ruining threm!

Merlin took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale, trying the rein in his own anger. He just needed to go through with this ceremony, and then everything would be fine.

With a quick flash of gold in his eyes, which had Arthur flinching back (and didn't that just sting?), Merlin turned Arthur's blade into dust had Arthur's glove fly back onto his hand, setting everything right as it had been before Arthur had pulled out a sword and all hell had broken loose.

"That's enough! I've been trying to restore you to your rightful position as king this entire time, and yet you push back at every opportunity! I am not about to let you sabotage your own destiny! So, here's what's going to happen!"

Distantly, Merlin heard the wind outside whipping around, like his own frustration and stirred nature itself into a frenzy.

"You are going to stand here, complete this ceremony, be named my heir, and then retake your throne when I abdicate! Are we clear?"

Arthur, who still looked rather shaken at Merlin's display of magic, scowled, but still nodded his head. Merlin, satisfied by this, turned back around to face the shocked crowd.

"And do I make myself clear to all of you?! There will be no more interruptions of this ceremony, and Arthur will take back his throne!"

The frightened crowd went silent at Merlin's outburst, seemingly relenting to Merlin's demands.

Merlin then turned to Geoffrey, who was still standing in front of the handfasting altar with the rope in his hands.

"Now, Geoffrey, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get a move on here. I don't want to wear this stupid crown for any longer than I have to."

The only indication that Geoffrey gave that he was surprised by Merlin's outburst was a mere uptake of his eyebrows, rather reminiscent of Gaius's signature look. Without further ado, Geoffrey tied Merlin and Arthur's hands together, declaring them to be now married in the eyes of the gods of the Old Religion.

(Merlin tried to ignore the hurt and longing that built up in his heart in that moment. How many times had he dreamed of something like this? But he never wanted it to happen like this. This was Merlin's dream come true, but it was all wrong. In that moment, Merlin didn't dare look at Arthur, too afraid of what his dearest friend thought about this grievous overstep of boundaries.)

Immediately after Geoffrey untied the handfasting knot, Arthur's coronation as consort began. The ceremony itself went smoothly, but Merlin's heart broke both at the sight of Arthur kneeling before him, waiting to be crowned, and at the furious glare Arthur gave him as he gently put the consort's crown upon Arthur's head, officially naming Arthur as his heir.

As soon as Arthur stood from where he was kneeling, applause broke out from the crowd. Someone (Merlin heavily suspected Gwaine) started a chant of "long live the kings!", which caught on quickly. Merlin winced again at the chant, not daring to turn and look at Arthur's face.

Still, Merlin reminded himself as he took a deep, calming breath, everything was coming along. Arthur was now officially his consort and heir, and all that was left to do... was the copious amounts of paperwork finalizing his abdication.

Yeah, no. Merlin wasn't going through that process when he could just take care of it here and now.

"Citizens of Camelot, on this most joyous day, I, King Emrys, abdicate the throne!"

Even though he had made his intentions clear only a few minutes earlier, shocked whispers flew around the crowd, like they hadn't truly believed that he would go through with it.

Merlin couldn't help the grin that was forming on his face. Finally, everything would be set right again!

"I am no longer your king, and as per the laws of the kingdom, the throne now rightfully belongs to your true king, Arthur Pendragon!"

With that, Merlin reached up and yanked the crown off of his own head, marched over to a dumbfounded Arthur and, without any hesitation, replaced the consort's crown on Arthur's head with the true crown.

"There, that's much better," Merlin whispered to himself as he gazed upon Arthur, finally looking like himself again, but he was certain that Arthur must have heard it too, as Arthur's eyes went wide at his words.

But that was a conversation for another day, as Merlin was now done here. This entire calamity was over, and now Merlin was going to savor its end.

Merlin turned back to face the crowd once more with an undoubtedly crazed grin.

"Goodnight everyone! Be sure to obey your true king! In the meanwhile, I'm off to bed for my first full night's rest since this nightmare started!"

And with that, Merlin merrily skipped out of the great hall, made his way to his cramped room in Gaius's chambers, and slept soundly.

Bonus Scene!

THE NEXT DAY:

Arthur: Busts into Merlin's room

Merlin, unwillingly woken up from the best sleep he's gotten in years: Ugh, what do you want you prat?! You're king again, aren't you?! Don't you have kingly duty to be attending to?

Arthur: Merlin you idiot, you abdicated the throne.

Merlin: Yes, and now you're king again. You're welcome!

Arthur: But you never dissolved our union!

Merlin: Huh?

Arthur: A divorce can only be granted by the same ruler who authorized the marriage! You know what this means, right?!

Merlin: Yeah, that you can just declare us to be not married anymore and we can all be on our way.

Arthur: No, YOU were the ruler who authorized the marriage, and now that you've abdicated, you can't dissolve the marriage! Legally, no one can!

Merlin, turning pale: What?

Arthur, looking weary: Yes, apparently it's some legal technicality that Geoffrey cited from Bruta's code. I've spent all morning arguing with him, but there seems to be no way around it.

Merlin: So... what you're saying is that we're stuck being married to each other.

Arthur: Yes, you buffoon, that's exactly what I'm saying! Now, get up!

Merlin, feeling incredibly guilty over this entire situation: Arthur, I'm so sorry, I take full responsibility for this, I never should have forced you into-

Arthur, cutting him off: Let's go. We don't have much time before the rest of the castle is up and about, and I'd rather us not be seen here.

Merlin, confused but complying: Arthur, where are we going? Why don't you want us to be seen here?

Arthur, blushing: It would reflect poorly on the king if word got out that he let his consort sleep in this dirty broom closet on their wedding night, wouldn't it?

Merlin, blushing: Ah, I suppose it would.

And that's a wrap for this au for now! I hope you've all enjoyed this story!

A huge thank you for everyone who asked for this continuation! (and holy cow there were a lot of you!! Thank you all so much!)

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu @247merthur @veryroadpartystatesman-blog @verxen

@lascienzadellafantasia @jareicanon @arrowlovesdragons @juliairian @thesuperstitiousoldelf

@lovermyme @bootprivileges @rem-the-moth @hippielittlemetalhead @ole-to-you-nonetheless

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@elementalpirate4 @bertolio @vadis-protenus @chaosofbelievers @floating-on-avalon

@merthurogies @justaz

And, as always, thank you all for reading through my ramblings! :D

I'll see you all next time!

[lyneira]

♡ daydreamin' ♡

-> Their mind wanders off to you, what are they thinking about?

lyneira's 1.2k milestone event

They're thinking about...

...coming home to you

Alhaitham, Kazuha, Kaveh, Baizhu, Tighnari

He thinks of how fortunate he is as he's able to come home after a long day to finally see you. You lift his spirits. He could be having a horrible day, but knowing how you'd always be there to comfort him is motivation enough. He'd walk through the door and you'd be there, welcoming him with open arms like you always do. Those hugs were the best. The warmth and tenderness given in them told him that he was safe and cared for, that he was home. Because to him, you're his home.

...a future with you

Childe, Ayato, Zhongli, Diluc, Thoma, Dainsleif

He's imagining how it would be like waking up by your side everyday, seeing you in numerous ways, going through the good times and bad times together, maybe having little ones of your own, growing old with you, and going through whatever life has to offer. He can't wait for it.

For guys like Zhongli and Dainsleif, the future is actually a bittersweet thing to think about. Sometimes, it scares him thinking how you might not be there with him for the remainder of his life. But he relishes in the fact that he was able to spend whatever time he has with you now, for it's much better than having not known you at all. And he'll protect and cherish both you and the lives you two create for as long as he can.

...how much they've fallen for you

Scaramouche, Kaeya, Xiao, Albedo, Cyno

He thinks of your smile, your laugh, your voice, your touch, and it has him smiling to himself subconsciously.

They've never felt this way for anyone before, and when he thinks of you, he feels funny. Not a bad type of 'funny'. He feels vulnerable. Warm. Tingly all over. Heck, he's feeling this way just thinking about you right now. They're all feelings he isn't used to, but he's hooked on it like a drug.

When he's around you, he might try to hide this effect you had on him, out of fear that he might just crumble in front of you. He was just truly down bad for you.

If only you knew how much you made this guy weak in the knees for ya 😤

...surprising you

Venti, Heizou, Itto, Gorou

They want to do something special for you, so they're thinking of ways to surprise you the next time they see you.

Should they buy you your favorite flowers? Cook your favorite dish? Tell you a clever joke? Sing you your favorite song? Maybe take you to a secret place with the most magnificent view? They're exciting themselves with these great ideas that they think, 'heck why not do them all?'

What else could he do to see that beautiful smile he loves so much? Because that's all he really wanted. To see you happy. Your smile brings him the most joy, and he'll do anything to make it happen and protect it.

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[megalony]

My Little Man

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, based on a lovely anon request which I thought was very sweet. I hope you all like it, feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: Chris finds a memento that brings back a lot of memories for (Y/n) and Eddie from when he was born.

Enjoy.

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

"What have you got there, baby?" (Y/n) looked over her shoulder and smiled when Chris toddled into her and Eddie's room.

He had a familiar smile on his face as he made a beeline for the bed and flopped down on (Y/n)'s vacant side of the bed on his stomach. His legs kicked happily against the duvet and he started tapping whatever he had in his hands that he had brought through to show them.

Finishing typing up her hair, (Y/n) looked away from the mirror and walked across to the bed. She slowly crawled over the end of the bed and worked her way up towards Eddie. He was laid on his left side, one arm propping his head up against the pillow and his right arm moved out to let (Y/n) worm her way against him.

She sat down and crossed her legs beneath her as she leaned her back into Eddie's torso, feeling his arm curve around her waist so his hand could splay out on her front. He leaned across to press a chaste kiss to her arm and diverted his attention from the tv over to Chris to see what he was up to.

It would be his bath time soon and then they would watch a movie before bed, but Chris had been doing some crafts and colouring in the dining room for the last half an hour. Clearly he had found something of interest that he wanted to show them.

(Y/n) leaned further back into Eddie and reached her hand down to hold his wrist when she realised what the small red book was that Chris had found.

"My book."

"Your book- oh, your record book… God I haven't seen that in a while." Eddie skimmed his fingers across the leather cover and found himself smiling.

It was the health record book they got when Chris was born. It contained all his information from when he was born up until he was three years old. Of course, all of Chris's records were on file at the hospital and had been transferred here when they moved up from Texas. But this was the book they had to take with them to each appointment when Chris was little, showing his progress and achievements and any changes.

When Chris opened the first page of the book, he skimmed his finger across his name and started to laugh. It always tickled him to see his middle name. Edmundo. He thought it was so funny to know Eddie's full name and know that it was his middle name, after his dad.

A smile danced across (Y/n)'s lips as she held Eddie's hand tighter and nuzzled her face against his shoulder to try and get a better look at the book. Chris must have been snooping through the box in the dining room where (Y/n) kept all their scrapbooks over the years. When she didn't need the baby book anymore, she kept it safe with all their family pictures and albums.

Chris dragged his finger over the chart on the left page which showed milestones and his age progression. He didn't quite understand the chart but he traced it anyway before looking onto the next page.

"What's that mean?" He slid the book to the left so it was level with Eddie's arm, allowing both parents to look over the next page.

"That's how big you were when you were born. Four pounds, see." It made Eddie's chest tighten to think that Chris was that small when he was born. It brought back memories that plagued Eddie in the dead of night. And it hurt knowing his son was that small when he was born, knowing he would of barely fit in Eddie's hands when he was a newborn.

Chris flicked across a few pages to the developmental pages but he didn't understand what they meant. There were doctors notes, saying his speech was delayed, he could hold himself up but couldn't walk yet. But he was engaged in conversation and seemed to understand everything around him.

"What about that?" He tapped his finger against the two words that stuck out to him which appeared on the page before and the next few pages in the book.

Correct age.

"That means your development age… you were doing good for your proper age." Eddie ran his hand across his chin and scratched up the side of his jaw. He couldn't think how to word it in a way that Chris would understand.

"Proper?"

"Your birthday's in November, yeah?" (Y/n) waited until Chris nodded, suddenly alert at the mention of his birthday. "Well, you should have been born in February, baby. So every February, that's when you hit your correct age… it's just something the doctor uses to make sure you progress properly, that's all."

It always irritated (Y/n) that Chris was three months ahead of where he should be. When he had his first birthday, it was clear he technically looked like a nine-month old and then he didn't look two, or three. He never looked his age because he had been born far too early.

And in terms of progression, the doctors used his due date to give his correct age. So it didn't matter if Chris didn't hit his milestones on or around his birthday, they used his correct age to guess where he was at and track how he was getting along. His speech was behind but he had done so well in getting back on track. His walking was different and couldn't be judged because of his Cerebral Palsy.

But things like sitting up and following conversations and interacting and playing and socialising, they could all be tracked. And Chris hit every milestone in those areas as he should have near his correct age.

"I was small?"

"You were tiny,"

Chris made a small whine like he was disagreeing and before Eddie could move, Chris leaned over him. Eddie gruffed and rolled onto his back so it was easier for Chris to lay on his chest and reach across for his chest of drawers beside the bed.

His nimble fingers moved into the top drawer and he scoured around until he found the silver photo frame he knew was tucked away in there.

"I wasn't tiny, see." Chris put the photo frame down on the bed next to the book and pointed.

(Y/n) felt the way Eddie tensed behind her and he leaned back up and smothered his lips against her bare arm. She felt his hand tighten over her stomach and his arm tensed and bulged at her side when he looked down at the picture.

It was the first time Eddie held Chris.

The photo stayed on Eddie's bedside table since the moment it was taken and now Chris was a bit older, Eddie swapped the picture for an updated photo. But he kept this first memory in his drawer, close by for whenever he felt the urge to look at it.

Eddie was still in his uniform in the photo, he had raced down to the hospital from the moment his feet hit solid ground back in Texas. It hurt Eddie more than anyone could ever comprehend to not have been there when Chris was born.

They had it planned out, he would finish his tour in the army two weeks before Chris's due date and be home in time to be there with his wife when she gave birth. Eddie hadn't expected to be told while he was out in the army that his wife had already given birth prematurely, without him there beside her.

He had to deal with pictures and video calls of his son, seeing him progress over a dodgy internet connection for the first three months of his life. Eddie never got to hold his son when he weighed four pounds. By the time he came home, Chris had bulked up to seven pounds and was finally able to leave the hospital and go home.

Eddie had lost even more sleep in the army, fretting that he wouldn't be there if something happened to his baby and he lost his son. He couldn't stand the thought of losing Chris without ever seeing or holding him first.

"No, bud… I wasn't here when you were born. I was away in the army." Eddie perched his chin on (Y/n)'s shoulder and managed a smile when she brushed her hand across his cheek to wipe away a tear.

"You were being brave."

"No, not as brave as you and mum."

***

"There's my girl- you're gonna have to speak up mi amor, it's fucking loud over here."

Eddie held the Ipad in both hands and grinned when the screen finally lit up and he was faced with a blurred pixelated image of his wife. Three months out here was starting to feel like three years with how long Eddie had been separated from her.

He knew it would be hard when he signed up. Being away from his family wasn't as much of a burden as being kept away from his wife. Letters were good, they were a physical keepsake he could hold close to his heart when he thought of (Y/n). Pictures were even better, they reminded him that he was never going to forget what she looked like and that he would be home soon to hold her in his arms.

Talking to her like this was the best out of everything. Seeing her on the screen and hearing her voice kept Eddie going and gave him something he could think back on and listen to in the dead of night.

He hadn't been excited to leave for the army while (Y/n) was pregnant, though. He was missing everything. The appointments, the sonograms, the pictures. And worst of all, he was missing out on watching the way (Y/n)'s body was growing and changing while he wasn't there. But he would be home soon. Just less than three months and Eddie would be home to hold his wife in his arms and see how much she had changed and hold her stomach before she gave birth.

"How are you, mi amor?" Eddie tangled a hand in his hair and ruffled it further back and away from his eyes. He didn't want anything to obscure the vision he now had in front of him.

He was glad the tent was empty. There was nothing Eddie hated more than having to talk to (Y/n) with people watching and listening. He couldn't ask her to stand up and strip for him or let him see how much her stomach had changed if he had others in the room.

Panic struck Eddie in the heart and wiped the smile from his face when the image on his screen cleared and started to move.

Within seconds, the signal improved enough for Eddie to see his wife. Tears stained her face, her eyes were red and puffy and her hair was falling out of a loose bun at the back of her head. Her body looked to be trembling and Eddie could see her chest quaking as she struggled to take proper breaths.

"Baby what's the matter?" Eddie squinted at the screen before another realisation hit him like a truck and sent his heart reeling in his chest. "Where are you?"

"The hospital," (Y/n) finally dragged her eyes up from her hands to stare at the screen and the moment she saw Eddie, a floodwave of tears drenched her face and a horrible sob bubbled past her lips.

For the last two days she had been crying and screaming his name like it was the only thing she could understand. To finally have him on screen in front of her, able to talk to her was too much to handle. She just wanted him home, and there was no way to get that wish and have her husband's arms wrapped around her or his voice in her ear or his lips on her burning skin.

She couldn't have any of it.

"Why, what's happened?" Eddie had spoken to her only a few days ago and she had been fine. A little under the weather, but nothing to warrant going to the hospital. They had moved location and now they were set up here, Eddie had been able to schedule another video call today. "Is it the baby?"

He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to ask that question in case the answer was yes and he wasn't mentally prepared for the outcome.

"I… oh Eddie… I've had the baby." (Y/n) swiped her sleeve along her eyes and beneath her nose, but it didn't help the sob she let out.

She hated the way Eddie paled like all the colour was being drained from him and he started to shake his head in denial.

She couldn't have.

How could she of had their baby now- already? She was twenty-eight weeks pregnant. Not thirty-eight or forty. She was six months along, nowhere near ready to give birth or be at risk of labour. Eddie had told her he would be home before she went into labour. He promised to be there to hold her hand and coax her through it and hold their baby when they were born.

"You, no. No- how? What happened?!"

"My water broke w-when I was with your mum… they tried to stop it, but… but, I had him last night."

(Y/n) didn't have all the answers Eddie wanted. She didn't know why it happened or exactly how it happened. One moment she was feeling sick while at his parent's house, then the next, her stomach clenched and she realised she was sat in a pool of water.

She was given medication and put on observation to see if labour would stop, but it only held off for one day. She went back into labour yesterday afternoon and by eight o'clock in the evening, she had a baby boy snatched from her arms and taken away from her. And all (Y/n) could do was scream out for Eddie throughout it all until she passed out.

It would have been some sort of comfort to have Eddie on the laptop like this, just to have him aware and somewhat present was all (Y/n) wanted. But she couldn't have him in any sense of the word.

"Him? It's a boy?" Tears pooled in Eddie's eyes and began to fall down his face as he held the Ipad closer as if it would help him inspect his wife. "Is… is he okay?"

A quiet noise vibrated at the back of Eddie's throat when (Y/n) moved the laptop further back so she wasn't as close to the screen. She could see Eddie's eyes zoom in on her stomach and his lips curled down at the corners like he was going to howl when he saw the change in shape. She still has something of a bump, but it was different now. And with (Y/n)'s arms wrapped around her waist, it cemented the fact that Eddie had missed it.

He missed the birth of his son. He missed being there for his wife when she was in agony and needed comfort and reassurance. Eddie missed everything.

"We have a boy. He's in the neonatal ward… but I can't hold him. H-he's only four pounds." She could see the relief in Eddie's eyes and it made her cry harder.

He dreaded the thought that their baby didn't make it.

"Oh God. Mi amor, I'm so sorry… I- fuck I can't even come home and hold you. I'll try and video every day I swear. Will they let you stay with him? Is someone there with you, has ma stayed with you?" The thought of (Y/n) being there on her own sent Eddie reeling.

If she was alone he would go mad. He would message both his sisters and his mum and demand someone go down and stay with his wife. He wouldn't have her being on her own for a minute when she's just had the most stressful event of her life.

"Your mum's sitting with him, she won't leave me." (Y/n) was relieved to have Eddie's family right around the corner. She was grateful to have been with his parents when this happened and for his mum never leaving her side.

She took (Y/n)'s hand, she let her scream and cry and say Eddie's name until she was blue in the face. She had done everything she could, and now she was watching over her grandson while (Y/n) had a moment alone to explain everything to Eddie.

"Good."

"Eddie, t-they couldn't find a vein, God his skin… skin is like paper. The canula is, is in his head."

(Y/n) watched the way Eddie grimaced and almost gagged at the thought.

Their boy was so small that they couldn't find a vein anywhere to give him his fluids and medication. His skin was as thin and fragile as paper and they couldn't put the canula in his hand, his arm, his leg or even his foot. They had managed to find a vein on the top of his head that was prominent enough to push the needle into and it made (Y/n) want to scream.

She had never seen one in a newborn's head before.

"Ooh, baby." Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose but it didn't stop the tears from falling. "I'll be home with you soon, you'll see. I swear, I'm never leaving either of you again."

***

Eddie tipped his head forward and let the water trickle through his hair and hit the back of his neck. He could feel his skin shivering and prickling at the lukewarm water draining down over his back and pooling around his feet.

He leaned his head down a little further until his lips were smothering the top of Chris's head.

He had his son curled up against his chest, his small head resting just below Eddie's neck against his collar bone. He had one arm across Chris's legs and the other curled around the back of his neck with his fingers spread across Chris's back to keep his son steady and stable on his chest.

Droplets splashed up against Eddie's shoulder and the bottom of his chin when Chris began bashing his fist down against Eddie's chest and making little gurgling sounds.

"Is that better?" He murmured quietly against the top of Chris's head while he began swaying from left to right. Moving the stream of water over each shoulder while he kept his head leant forward so the water didn't pelt down on Chris too much and overpower him.

It was strange to think that Chris was three months old when he was the exact look, size and weight of a baby that could have been born yesterday.

Eddie didn't like it.

He didn't like looking down at his son and knowing that he had missed the first three months of his life. Eddie didn't like the thought of people coming up to him, asking how old his son was and having to explain he was already three months old. It wasn't right. Chris shouldn't have been born so soon.

He shouldn't still be struggling to breathe and coughing into Eddie's neck like this after recovering from an infection. He was too small and fragile for any of this.

"Come on then little man, back to bed." Eddie turned off the shower and shook the water free from his hair before he stepped out the shower.

He hadn't planned on getting a wash this late into the night, but when he went to settle Chris and found him coughing, Eddie figured it might help. The warm water and condensed steam might help settle Chris and make him breathe easier and it seemed to have worked.

It had tired Eddie out too and he felt like he might be able to get a proper night's sleep now.

Eddie had been home three days before the hospital said Chris could come home. Part of him was pleased he was home before Chris was discharged from the hospital, it meant the first night having him home, Eddie was here. He could help (Y/n) waking up in the night with Chris and seeing him in his cot and giving him his bottles.

But he knew it had been a struggle for (Y/n), she had been living down at the hospital while Eddie had been praying for time to speed up so his tour could end and he could go home.

"Let's find mummy."

He began to hum quietly as he tilted Chris down so he could wrap a towel around him and settle him in the crook of his left arm. He kept his arm moving up and down to rock Chris while he quickly dried his hair and ran the towel briefly over his frame. It took some effort to wiggle his way into his boxers with one hand and drag them up over his hips, but he managed it.

A soft smile pulled at Eddie's lips when he headed into his and (Y/n)'s room and his eyes found his wife. She was asleep. Just where Eddie had left her when he went to settle Chris and subsequently get a shower with him.

He eased Chris down on the bed and moved to find a nappy and onesie. His tongue poked between his teeth as he carefully wiggled Chris's legs and arms into the onesie and buttoned it up the middle. Eddie wasn't the best at getting him dressed, but he was certainly starting to get better.

He was happy to be doing this now, with Chris grown to be the normal, perfect size for a newborn. Eddie wouldn't want to of been a nurse changing the tinny, obscure size nappies when Chris had been born. He had seen Chris plenty of times over zoom calls with (Y/n) and the photos she had taken for him. It was strange to think such a small, fragile, wrinkled infant was the boy who was now in his arms.

"Okay, there we go." Eddie loved the tired yawn Chris made and the way it crinkled his button nose.

When he carefully picked Chris up, Eddie held him close and looked over to (Y/n)'s side of the bed.

Suddenly, he didn't want to put Chris down in the cot near (Y/n).

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to. Eddie shook his head and carefully sat down in bed. He shuffled the pillow higher behind him and reclined down until he was slanted at an angle and drew the cover over his lower half.

He eased Chris up and snuggled him onto his chest, watching the way Chris coiled his arms up to his chest and his knees pulled up near his tummy as he laid on his front on Eddie's chest. The weight was comforting. The slight compression down on his ribs and the strain it put on his lungs to try and take deeper breaths. It made Eddie's mind settle and did something to relax him.

He wound his arms over his chest, resting one hand on the back of Chris's head and the other hand on his lower back, snuggling close. He kissed the top of his head before he leaned back into his pillow and started to glide his thumb up and down the back of Chris's head.

Eddie couldn't find the will to turn the lamp off or close his eyes yet, so he focused on trailing his thumb up and down the back of Chris's head and watching his boy take big, snuffly breaths.

Something shuddered down Eddie's spine and made his chest quiver when he glided his thumb across the left side of Chris's temple.

His scar.

By the time Eddie came home, the canula had been removed from Chris's head, much to (Y/n)'s relief. But Eddie had seen it on video calls and in pictures. It had been a horrid sight. A needle right into his skin, kept in place with tape and pinned to the side of his temple so he couldn't scratch it or pull it out.

"I'm here now. I've got you."

Eddie groggily opened his eyes when he felt something tickle across his chin and glide up the side of his jaw. His eyes couldn't focus for a second or two when they opened, but when his vision focused, his sights set on (Y/n).

Her lips pressed against his bare shoulder and her fingers dragged along his jaw before she laid her arm over his collar bone. He could feel her shuffling up and gluing her front against his left side.

(Y/n) winced when Eddie lifted his upper chest and shoulders up from the bed and his spine made a loud crack as it slotted back into place.

"How long have you held him?" Her voice was quiet against his shoulder and her hand reached to cup the side of his neck.

She could see Chris settled comfortably in the middle of Eddie's chest and both his hands tightened around Chris as if to make sure he was still safe and settled.

"A while."

All night.

He had been laid on his back, slightly propped up against the pillows, all night. With his baby boy right on his chest where he should be.

***

A smile graced (Y/n)'s lips when she walked into the living room and looked over at the sofa. Placing her drink down on the side table, she tiptoed to the sofa and slowly perched down beside Eddie.

He was slouched in the corner, both knees bent out to the sides with his legs spread wide. His right elbow was propped up on the armrest with his hand curled into a fist and his cheek smushed up against his fist, stopping his head from flopping down and hurting his neck. His shoulders were slumped down, his left arm was laid on his thigh and his eyes were closed.

He hadn't been asleep for long, but he had managed to nod off despite the noise circulating through his parent's house.

His parents were making a ruckus in the kitchen trying to prepare dinner, both his sisters and their partners were moving inside and out into the garden and music was playing in the background. And yet, Eddie still managed to fall asleep.

(Y/n) slowly curled her hands around Eddie's bicep and leaned her head against his shoulder while she looked to see what was on tv. She heard Eddie mumble something and groan, but he didn't move.

She leaned her chest up against his arm and slung her left leg over Eddie's thigh until she was practically lying on top of him.

A round of coughing caught (Y/n)'s attention and her eyes darted to the right and locked on Chris.

He had been suffering with a chest infection for over two weeks now, and he was still croaky. Antibiotics took the edge off and an inhaler helped to get him breathing properly for a while, but then the coughing came back. (Y/n) had been giving him two baths a day with salts and vapour drops in the water to try and get the steam into his lungs to clear them.

Her eyes followed Chris as he toddled over, his glasses almost falling off the edge of his nose. His arms were stretched out in front of him and he planted his hands down on Eddie's thighs the moment he reached him.

The four-year-old whacked his hands against Eddie's inner thighs enough to make him groan and stir him awake.

Eddie blinked slowly and huffed, lifting his head off his hand just as Chris used his upper strength to pull himself up onto his dad's lap. Once he was up, Chris scraped his hands against Eddie's arms and flopped forward onto Eddie's chest causing him to grunt.

"Hi buddy." Leaning his head back on the sofa, Eddie closed his eyes again while he moved his hands under Chris's arms and pulled him up higher. He settled Chris down on his chest, with his head on Eddie's shoulder and his arms loosely draped around his neck.

When Chris started to cough, he pressed his lips into Eddie's shirt, over his chest and closed his eyes tight. He felt Eddie's hand rub up and down his back and his lips pressing to the top of his head.

"Deep breaths, that's it." Eddie opened his eyes and glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "Let's get you some medicine… do you want a drink?" His head turned towards (Y/n) and he pecked her lips when she nodded. It was about time for Chris to have some more medicine and Eddie knew his parents would be done with dinner soon.

His hand cradled the back of Chris's neck, and his other arm curved around the back of his legs to keep him in place before he slowly stood to his feet.

He felt Chris nuzzle into his neck and begin taking deeper breaths while he tried to hum into his dad's neck. Eddie kept his lips pressed into Chris's temple, nudging his nose into his boy's curls as he trailed through the living room and made his way into the kitchen.

"Okay, here we go." Lifting his arms, Eddie tried to shift Chris onto his hip but the toddler wouldn't have it. His arms deadlocked around Eddie's neck and his chest glued down against Eddie's with his knees jabbed into his lower abdomen. Chris didn't want to sit on his hip, he wanted to stay curled up against Eddie's chest.

This was how his dad always held him and he wanted to stay like this. Eddie held Chris with one arm and reached out to grab the Calpol, struggling to get the medicine in the syringe with one hand so he didn't have to put Chris down.

"Take this, buddy."

Chris didn't object and took the medicine gladly before Eddie started to pour two glasses of wine.

He felt his mother's hand on his back and Eddie smiled, trying to liven himself up a bit more. His head turned to the right to watch his mother move round and stand beside him, but he watched her narrow her eyes when she noticed Chris curled up in his arms.

"He can walk on his own, Eddie." Her voice was soft but her words and her tone was chiding. It was as if she thought Eddie was doing something wrong by carrying Chris like this.

"I know."

Eddie nodded nonchalantly and took a large swig of wine before he curled his fingers around the stems of both glasses. He turned to face his mother, his son in one arm and the glasses in his other hand. He wasn't stopping Chris from walking. He and (Y/n) had been trying hard to get Chris walking on his own, especially when it was such a struggle to get him standing on his own two feet and able to shuffle around.

Since he was two, Chris had mostly been crawling and shuffling on his bum rather than walking. His cerebral palsy made it harder for him to hold his balance and standing was a struggle.

Eddie didn't want to stop his progress or carry him everywhere, but he was sick. And if Chris wanted to be carried or cuddled or lay on Eddie's chest, then Eddie certainly wasn't going to object.

"He's a bit big to be carrying around." She rested her hand on Eddie's arm but he shook his head and pulled away.

"No he's not." His shoulders shrugged and he pursed his lips as he looked down from his mother to his son. "He's my little man, I can carry him anywhere if he wants me to."

Spinning on his heels, Eddie passed back down through the hall and back into the living room where (Y/n) was sat just as he'd left her. He let her take both glasses from his hand before he turned and slowly eased back down beside her, trying not to jostle Chris too much on his chest.

He felt Chris shimmy on his chest again, curling up with his knees into his chest and his arms left Eddie's neck to wrap around his chest instead. Eddie pressed his hand down on Chris's back before he curled his left arm out and wrapped it around (Y/n). He reeled her into his side with her head on his shoulder so his lips could attach to the top of her head.

His son would never be too old to be carried or to lay on Eddie's chest.

[gococogo]

Could i have a demon dean fic with the prompts "Are you afraid of me?" And "Take it off" with a male reader please

Prompt 6 | Crossroads Demon!Dean x Male! Reader

Synopsis: You finally bring yourself to summon a crossroads demon to strike a deal. But you quickly find out that this crossroads demon does things a lil differently to seal a deal.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Smut. Tongue fucking. Size kink. Dean's a big boy. Reader's short. Praise. If i miss anything, please tell me. It's late at night.

Notes: I am so sorry that this took forever to post. This is probably the longest fic for the Milestone. I wanted to get it right since these types of prompts take me forever to write. But, I hope your enjoy hehe

You can’t get your breathing under control. It comes short and shallow that it makes your head dizzy and light. It actually worked. The ritual actually worked. You stumble backwards, your feet catching against each other on the loose gravel as you fall on your ass. So much for first impressions.

The demon stands tall in the middle of the crossroads clad in a pitch black suit. He sweeps a hand through his blonde hair, trying to tame it but some strands still fall over his freckled face. His black eyes scan over his surroundings before they flicker to an intoxicating green. They set upon you, a frown forming deep upon his features.

“You’re a little pipsqueak now aren’t you,” the crossroad’s demon comments.

At that, you’re quick to your feet, dusting yourself off as thoroughly as you can. You puff out your chest and square your shoulders, because you’re in charge. You’re the one that summoned this demon. You’re the one making the deal. How dare he call you that when you’re the only offering him something in return.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap at him, but your voice comes out cracked.

The demon chuckles, a set of fangs showing from behind his lips. He walks towards you, and you quickly realize just how much taller he is than you. You’re short for a man, only coming up to a 5’5. And standing next to someone over 6 feet is always something.

“I can call you whatever I damn well please,” the demon snaps.

You flinch slightly, brows furrowing in anger at the mouth on this hellish creature. He may not have any horns. Or no tail. Or any hooves in those dress shoes he wears. But he sure as hell smells like a demon. Sulphur at its finest.

“I’m here to make a deal,” you get back onto topic, the reason why you even summoned him here in the first place.

The demon rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know why you’re here. Didn’t summon me for a chit chat now did you?”

He pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer, inspecting you. He moves your head back and forth, looking over every inch of you. You swat his hand away at the feeling of your cheeks flushing something hot.

“Is it money you want? You want your girlfriend to love you? Want a promotion at your job you’ve been stuck in for eight years? Or want your boss dead?” The demon lists off on his clawed fingers.

“What!? No!” You bark out.

“A new car? Your partner to be pregnant?” The demon asks a few more things. “I can do that myself if you want. If you’re the one shooting blanks then you’ve come to the right person. Probably the straightest and strongest shooter you’ve met!” He chuckles loudly.

“No! What are you going on about?”

The demon laughs harder, the noise seeming loud out in the open, deserted road. “Then what is it you want, pipsqueak?”

You ignore the comment. “I want to be six foot tall,” you answer with as much confidence as you can muster.

The demon goes silent. He stares at you with wide eyes, as if you’re pulling his demonic leg. But when you stand there in silence, not speaking a punch line, it settles into the demon that you aren’t joking.

As much as you’d like to be joking, you’re not. You’re sick and tired of people belittling you because of how short you are. Treating you like a child even though you’re a grown ass man. It’s humiliating at some points. And this demon is just showing you that it’s all true.

How will you explain it when you come back to your boring office job six feet tall? You’ll get to that afterwards.

“So,” the demon clears his throat. “You want to sell you soul to be six feet tall? Am I correct?” He asks bluntly, gesturing his hands around as he speaks.

You nod with a, “Yes.”

The demon pops a hip out with a hand placed over it. You watch the motion before dragging your eyes back up. You’d be a fool to admit the demon before you isn’t hot. You wonder if this is what he looked like before he became a demon. How does becoming a demon even work?

The demon shrugs. “Well I guess I know people that have done worse.” He sighs. “Do you know how a crossroads deal is made?” The demon asks with a cocked eyebrow. He makes his way towards you again, reaching out and patting down your tie.

“Yes. A kiss to seal to deal,” you say with confidence.

Just a simple kiss.

“I do things differently,” he says as he hooks a finger into the tie.  

“What?” You utter out weakly before you can control yourself.

With the smell of burning fabric, the fabric touching the demon’s finger burns a neat line. It falls off, flopping to the ground. His green eyes land on you and you find yourself unable to speak. A hand hooks into your belt and you stiffen up greatly, your face burning a bright red once again.

“My deals are struck a lil’ more intimately. A little more hands on,” the demon grins, his lips only mere inches away from yours.

You can smell the demon better than before now. The smell of sulphur still lingers, but there’s something else that lingers. Something much sweeter. It’s not a pleasant combination of smells though. But what else did you expect a demon to smell like. Rainbows and unicorns?

But you know what the demon is talking about. You summoned a cross roads demon. Not a fucking succubus.

Yet at the same time, you don’t want to have to do the entire ritual again just to get an ugly demon. It would be a shame to pass up on an opportunity like this. Yes? Maybe you are a little messed up in the head. But those green, green eyes. You can’t seem to look away from them.

“Do you still want to be six foot tall?” The demon all but growls out right in your ear.

You swallow thickly. What harm could getting fucked by a demon to be a little bit taller do? You’re just selling your soul.

“Y-yes,” you utter out.

The grin that spreads across the demon’s face is devious. “Are you afraid of me?” He asks, his voice low and even.

It goes straight to your crotch though. You’ve never had anyone come onto you like this but you’re quickly realizing you might be more into it than you may have first realized. You swallow thickly, not being able to look away from the demon’s piercing gaze.

“No,” you squeak out.

The crossroads demon takes a large step away from you with a hearty laugh spilling from his lips. You’re confused. You can’t help but stand there dumbstruck at the sudden change. With the demon’s back turned, you quickly adjust yourself in your suit pants. Don’t tell yourself that he was joking?

The demon turns back around to you, his eyes looking you up and down as if you’re a piece of meat. You can’t help but step from one foot to the other under the watchful, dark gaze.

“Take it off,” the demon suddenly says.

“W-what?” You utter.

“I said,” the demon makes his way back towards you, placing a finger on your chest. “Take this fucking suit off or otherwise you’ll be walking home in nothing but your birthday suit.”

Oh. Oh. Oh my lord. You can feel yourself become as bright as a tomato and yet, you follow the command instantly. You begin stripping, starting with your coat and button up, then to kicking off your shoes. With only a split second of hesitant, you take off your suit pants and hesitate at your underwear. You look to the demon before you who only cocks an eyebrow your way. You swallow thickly again, butterflies coming to your chest as you strip everything. You cover yourself subconsciously with your hands in front of yourself, trying to hide your bulge.

You flinch at the warm hand splayed across your chest suddenly. You can’t drag your eyes away from the crossroads demon. He licks his lips in anticipation, liking what he sees before him.

His hand glides up your neck to the back of your hair, gripping in to tug your face upwards to him. He’s so much taller than you it’s almost intoxicating. You’re almost standing on your toes as he comes down for a kiss, capturing your lips with teeth and tongue. You can’t help but moan into the kiss as the demon grabs onto your sides tightly. His sharp nails dig into your soft skin causing a harsh shiver to run down your naked back.

The demon pulls away, looking down at you with devious green eyes. A string of saliva connects your flush lips to his and all you find yourself doing is staring.

“Now,” the demon purrs, “Did you want to take this on the hard gravel or do you want to try and stand and take it?” He asks lowly.

You swallow thickly, thinking it over. The thought of your back or stomach getting scuffed up doesn’t sound all that pleasant in your eyes.

“I’ll be alright standing,” you say, a slight shake in your voice.

The demon shrugs with a cocky expression on his face. “Alright,” he mumbles, “It’s your deal.”

He then drop to his knees in the loose gravel, his eyes never leaving yours. He grabs onto your thighs and spins you around. Definitely not the direction you thought this was heading, but you don’t complain otherwise. You can’t help the shaky exhale that leaves your lips at the sudden direction this is turning. This is not what you thought would be happening tonight, but you can’t remember the last time you were properly laid. So may as well take this as it is.

Large hands spread your cheeks open and you suddenly feel very, very exposed. You try and hold back the whimper that tries to escapes your throat as hot breath touches your skin. You bite down on your knuckles as you bend over just a little, giving the demon a better look.

“I’m gonna loosen you up a bit,” you hear the grin on the demon’s voice, his face buried under you. “Don’t want this to be unpleasant is all. May be a demon but I’m not a monster.”

“Who would hav- AH!”

You don’t get much warming than that before a hot tongue licks from the base of your balls all the way to your hole. You shiver violently at the feeling. Does his tongue feel much stickier and thicker than a normal humans or is that just your imagination? He licks a long strip from your balls to your ass again, this time slower than the last. And this time you can’t help the sound that comes from your mouth. You place both of your hands on your knees with your head bowed between your shoulders. This might be a little harder than you thought.

“Don’t hold back, pipsqueak. I love hearing those beautiful noises,” the demon says huskily. “It’s like a reward.”

You go to say something, but everything and anything you were going to do is thrown away as a thick tongue is pushed past the tight rim of your ass. You let out a startled cry at the odd sensation of the hot, sticky tongue within you. It’s as thick as at least three fingers and feels longer than such. It prods and seeps deeper within you, as if searching for something. It stretches you oddly, the strange feeling earning a whimpered moan from your lips.

You bend over a little more, fisting your hands on your knees as they begin to shake. You shudder an exhale as the demon’s tongue curls within you, folding on top of itself to make itself thicker before coiling back out. This is not what you had in mind, but you must admit it does feel amazing. If he keeps this up, you might have to take it to the gravel because your legs might just give way.

You can’t help but keen and gasp at the warm tongue prodding and pushing against your prostate. Your legs shake as it only feels like he goes deeper, and deeper. A sheen of sweat starts to cover your skin that’s quickly cooled in the cold night air.

Your cock sits half hard between your legs, but it wouldn’t take much more to get yourself to full length. You wrap a hand around your cock, giving yourself a few dry strokes. You can’t help the groans and whines that slip through your parted lips as the demon seems content in eating you out for the time being.

After another minute of prodding and twisting, you feel yourself already coming close. This is all so new and blissful that you can’t help yourself. You’re coming in your hand before you even know it. You gasp and groan, clenching your jaw as the tongue retracts from within you. A little shame rids into your gut, but the satisfaction out weights it for now.

A dark chuckle comes from behind you, “You lasted a little longer than some of the other fellas that come to me.”

“Nice to know,” you pant out.

You don’t think you can stand much longer. You return your hands to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

“But we ain’t done, pipsqueak,” the demon rumbles as he stands to his feet.

You peer over your shoulder with wide eyes to catch the demon wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His blonde hair is ruffled, and those green eyes only watch you with a hunger that’s on the verge of starving.

“Deal isn’t struck until I come in you,” he says bluntly.

“W-what?” You stutter.

The demon leans into your back, wrapping his arms around your middle and hooking his chin on top of your head. He engulfs you fully, holding on tight so that you can’t leave. He leans down and breathes into your ear, and you can’t help but freeze up and become ridged.

He speaks slower and gruffer this time, his voice rough in your ear, “I’m going to fuck you until you come again from just my cock. And nothing else. And then I’m going to fill you up so that you, a little pipsqueak like yourself can become nice and tall to impress everyone around you.”

Goosebumps run across your cool skin at the thought of such. You’ve never had anyone talk to you like this. You’ve never let anyone talk to you like this, but oh my do you like it a little bit too much. The rough words go straight to your soft cock, making it twitch.

“Do you want me to do that?” The demon asks as one of his hands slides back around to your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze. “Can you do that for me? Hmm?”

You breath out shakily, “Y-yes, please.”

You can feel him grin again against your neck before giving your flushed skin a kiss. He moves away but just enough so that he can undo his belt. The clinking of the buckle is loud on the open road, and you suddenly become very aware of where you are. You glance around at the empty fields that surround the gravel crossroads. No one comes down here and you bloody hope that no one decides to spontaneously come down a deserted road. But all of that is quickly washed away as a thumb prods into your saliva slicked ass. You grit your teeth at the wet sound and the feel of the cool saliva running down your legs.

The demon hums behind you, almost satisfied with what he’s inspecting. “I think I over did it a little, but you’ll be perfect all the same.”

The thumb disappears to only be replaced by the warmth of the demon’s cock. From what you can feel, he’s big. You can’t help but tense up as you suddenly over think everything. But a hand comes around your front, resting over your heart.

“Oh my,” the demon hums. “Now now, that won’t do. Relaaax, pipsqueak. I ain’t going to do this if you don’t want to. It’s your deal after all.”

The statement does in fact calm you down. You’re here to make a deal. He may be a demon, but he hasn’t hurt you as of yet. Which is reassuring to you right now.

“L-Let’s seal the deal,” you shakily utter out. Not out of fear, but more anticipation and need.

A low chuckle in your ear has your soft dick twitching. The demon pushes past the rim of your ass, the head of his girthy cock slipping in easily. You gasp loudly as he pushes in a little further before pulling out and slamming his hips flush against your ass. He bottom’s out quickly, the entire length of his dick sitting snuggling inside of you. He worked you open well enough to do so, a deep chuckle emitting from his flushed lips. He curves in just the right way that hits against your prostate almost perfectly. The way that has your knees becoming weak and leaves you breathless. He stretches you a little painfully, more so than his tongue but you find yourself only wanting more. The pleasure that courses through your gut fizzles your head and you find yourself not thinking straight.

The demon begins a quick pace, using the hand on your chest to keep you in position as he thrusts into you. He more or less towers over you, being able to hold you up if your legs decided they didn’t want to support you any longer.

The noises that comes from your mouth are ones of pure bliss. You don’t know where to put your hands and after a while you end up placing a one on top of the demon’s on your chest. He chuckles at that, low and deep into the nape of your neck before grabbing a hold of both of your wrists. He crosses your arms in front of your chest, holding onto you tightly as he pounds his hips into your ass. The wet plap of the demon’s hips is numbed out by just how loud you are. You whine and keen and moan with every thrust and every inch he gives you.

You try to catch your breath but every time it’s knocked out of you with each thrust. You’re unable to keep yourself quiet at the closeness and the fulfilment of the demon. He breathes into your neck, mouthing words and kisses into your sweaty skin. Your once soft dick now bounces between your legs half hard. You don’t think you could handle anything touching your dick at the moment. Everything buzzes and trembles in all the right ways.

“You’re probably the best one yet,” the demon grins in your ear. “Taking my cock like a good lil’ boy.”

The praise makes you feel high. You get lost in everything, the constant stretch and pull of the demon pounding without tiredness into your ass. You hunch over, allowing better access for the demon and he follows you. Towering over you, holding you close to his chest. Engulfed in his arms that could wrap around your entirely.

You come a second time, this time being much harsher than the first. You forget how to breath and forget where you are for a second. The demon lets up. Even when you’ve tightened around him, it only makes his movements even more driven. He pumps once, twice before driving his cock deep within you. The warm sensation of him filling you makes your entire body shudder. Makes your dick twitch, expelling a little more cum before once again softening between your legs.

Your legs tremble and shake and if it weren’t for the demon holding onto you, you would have fallen on your face by now in the gravel. You breath heavily, trying to catch your breath as the demon makes sure every last drop of him is expelled inside of you. Sealing the deal.

He pulls out and you whine at the sudden loss. It’s a pathetic noise that you can’t stop. You never knew you could make so many noises until tonight. Nothing that has ever been drawn from you before. And find yourself having loved every moment.

“Can you stand?” The demon chuckles.

You lick your lips and swallow thickly. After a while, you nod sharply as you drag your feet under you. The demon lets you go but keeps his hands on you, afraid you may fall to your knees. But you don’t, you shake a little, but you stand all the same.

You can feel the demon’s cum drippling down your leg and you already know it’s going to be a fun five hour drive home. You might have to grab a motel because five hours sounds like five days right now.

When you turn to face the demon, you now stand eye to eye with his green gaze. He grins from ear to ear with a cocked eyebrow. The deal has been struck.

You don’t feel any different, but the ground does now look as if it’s further away. You’ve gotten your extra inches. Just like that.

“Th-thank you,” you manage to get out.

This makes the crossroads demon laugh, covering his mouth with a hand. Crow’s feet scratch at the corner of his eyes. He points to you with a toothy smile.

“You know, if you ever want to make another deal, call on me personally,” the demon chuckles deeply, “This was fun.”

That, actually sounds like a good idea. You work in an office. You’re digging yourself an early grave anyways.

“And how should I-“ you have to lick your lips, your entire mouth dry. “How should I do that?” You ask.

“Dean,” the demon finally greets himself. “The name’s Dean.”

-

:)

[makkir0ll]

hey hey hey! I was really inspired with the prompts for your event but no pressure, just take the ones that inspire you!

4 + futakuchi

7 + shirabu

15 + daichi

14 + tsukishima

22 + akaashi

24 + oikawa

33 + suna

46 + kuroo

48 + kita

51 + atsumu!

again congrats for the 200 followers!!

love all these prompts and it was hard to pick just one, hope you like it!

200 milestone event!

atsumu + 51 ("i could lift you up off the floor while kissing you"/ "excu- what are you doing?! put me down!")

warnings: slightly suggestive towards the end.

away games were the hardest for atsumu. the flights were long and tiring, the food wasn't the best, the hotel room mattress weren't as good as the one at his house. but most of all, he had to be away from you.

call it cheesy or whatever but atsumu hated being away from you, especially now that the two of you had just got married it was even worse. he hated that the food he ate wasn't cooked by you, the mattress didn't have your body laying next to his. but, it did make coming home so much sweeter.

when he walked through the door, yelling "honey! i'm home" a joke the two of you started to do after seeing it on a movie. he kicks off his shoes when he see's you run to him, jumping up and wrapping your arms around his waist in a hug as you pepper kisses down his neck and he takes in a deep breath, smelling the floral shampoo on your hair.

while he began to unwind form the long trip by taking a shower and using the same floral shampoo that you used on yourself, you started to make him a good dinner because after every away game he always complained how the food never tasted as good as yours.

as you're chopping up some vegetables you feel his arms wrap around your waist, water droplets from his damp hair falling down to your neck as he whispers how much he misses you in your ear.

" 'tsumu, i'm cooking right now please get off." you joke, trying to kick your husband away but he seems to hold onto you tighter, pulling you closer to his chest and with an exasperated sigh you drop the knife and turn off the stove so you can turn around to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and all attempts to act annoyed fly out the door when you see his lovesick amber eyes looking down at you.

"i missed you," he whispers, leaning down to press a small peck to your lips, "so much." he presses another. this time you hold him there, kissing him slowly taking your time to explore each other as if it's your first time. the position is uncomfortable though, you standing on your tippy toes, the only balance you have being holding onto his neck which is craned down somewhat awkwardly but he doesn't mind as long as his lips are on yours.

in the middle of the kiss you begin to lose your balance, toes aching from holding their position for so long and you stumble into him, leading to him breaking the kiss with a soft chuckle.

"don't laugh." you say smacking his chest.

"what, i ain't laughing love." he's biting his lip to contain himself. "can't help if yer falling for me, hm?" he teases.

"you're cheesy." you retort, cheeks turning bright red at your husband's stupid comment. even after years of the two of you being together he still manages to get reactions out of you.

"ya love it though," he whispers, leaning in for another kiss but you lose your balance, yet again. but he holds onto you, stabilizing you. but a light bulb goes off in his head.

pulling away from the kiss, a whine leaving your throat as you try and chase his lips he says with pride, "i could lift ya up off the floor while kissin' ya."

your eyebrowns quirk up, the random fact that he stated confusing you. "excu- hey!" your thoughts get cut off when you feel his arms wrap around under your butt to lift you up and it takes you by surprise. "what are you doing?! 'tsumu put me down!" you yell through fits of laughter as he picked you up with ease. it wasn't like atsumu never picked you up but normally you would atleast jump for him, so him picking you up with pure strength was something that (quite frankly) kind of made your husband ten times hotter to you.

with your legs dangling above the floor, swinging back and forth as he spun you around, causing more fits of laughter that erupted from your throat, making his heart swell. he slowly comes to a stop as your faces are mere centimeters away from each other, and being at eye level you take note of how his brown irises were almost barely visible with how dilated his pupils were as he looked at your flushed cheeks, messy hair, and bitten lips that were turning a bit redder. he leans in to kiss you yet again, this time it's deeper. the hands that were on your ass gave it a tight squeeze which elicits a moan from your mouth, allowing his tongue to go in to explore your mouth as he had done countless times before. without stopping his actions he begins to move, to what you assume is the direction of your bedroom, not for a second even thinking about putting you down. once he enters the space he kicks the door shut behind him with ease.

dinner could wait a bit, he wanted to get a head start on dessert first.

[vagabond-umlaut]

cauterize; cicatrize

Wounds left by love are funny little things. Sometimes, they close by themselves. Sometimes, they close when singed by rejection. Other times, they heal when you scar once again, falling in love once again.

▸ ryomen sukuna x fem!reader; reincarnation au; sukuna has been reawakened in the modern era but he does not have any vessel; reader was sukuna's wife in her previous life; FLUFF, ANGST & HUMOR; grumpy!sukuna; flirty!reader; SO MUCH OF PINING & UNRESOLVED TENSION BETWEEN THESE TWO, I SWEAR!!!; brief mentions of food

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna! [note: each and every character is 18+ in this story :)]

▸ based on the ask sent by @yuujispinkhair for my milestone event. TYSM WINTER!! 🫶🫶🫶 i don't own the characters, image or divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"It's so difficult to know when the gentle flame of love becomes the harsh flame of ruin– isn't it, baby?"

Furious eyes gleam back in the shitty ceiling lights of the restaurant, the very second the waitress who served you the food earlier, lifts an eyebrow in obvious interest before looking away when you shoot her a mirror image of her expression– A very irked call of your name pulls your gaze back to your husband—

No! No! No!!

Ex-husband.

Married to you, over one thousand years back.

No longer is he your terrifying darling husband.

Sukuna stabs his food with a tad too much force than what's needed, growling, "I may not be who I was before, but, don't forget your place, calling me whatever you want, you pathetic—"

"Did I ever tell you how much of a snack you look with your two arms, baby?" you cut him off, carving a small piece of the fish and placing it in your mouth. Your eyes shut momentarily from the rich taste before opening wide again, only to find confusion etched onto your husband companion's face. You continue, ""Cause you really do look so— very, very much similar to how you were in the Heian Era. A damn delicious snack. Or, a scrumptious five course meal— depending on how much you want to indulge silly me, I guess."

Silence greets your comment— the first time in the two hours it took you to convince Sukuna, then drive him to this Thai restaurant– good heavens above, his grumbling's still The Same even after he has been reawakened a millenium later– only to be broken by a too hushed ask within the next moment.

"And what do you think of my two eyes? Are they still as lovely as my four eyes were to you?"

Fondness tugs at your heartstrings, making you want to lean over the table and claim his lips in the neediest kiss ever seen in history— your brain quickly shoves such wishes away, making you return him a fond smile instead. And murmur, "Of course, they are...— Your two big eyes and the two not-really-eyes beneath them... As lovely as red rubies."

Sukuna's look shifts into one of joy, if only for a moment, before being back to scowling once more, the same way you return to your cheeky grin as you inquire, "And what do you think, hm, of the food here? It's just the best– ain't it? Yuuji, Nobara and I discovered this hidden gem on our last mission— and when I tasted the green curry they made– I realized I absolutely had to bring you here, by hook or by crook."

"And which one was it? By hook or by crook?" the curse questions, an extremely rare smirk peeking from the corners of his frown; you don't really grasp how much you missed this sight until now– especially, in the present days, when the only emotion your past lover [and forever beloved] shows you is frustration paired with weary distaste—

You shovel some rice into your mouth to stop the far too familiar train of thoughts– you know where it'll be ending; you know it won't be. An agonizingly slow minute passes, wherein you chew the food so slowly then swallow it down, then stare at your empty bowl of rice for a nice ten seconds before mustering a chuckle.

"Of course, by crook," you reply, ignoring the way Sukuna's gaze roves over your face, then your body dressed in your oldest pair of pajamas; staring not in lust, but with something eerily similar to worry, "No one would've ever allowed me to take you out in their right minds. It's way too risky is what it is. They might even execute me if they find us out."

A beat passes in quiet with you feeling the weight of your words and the implications your actions will bear, slowly sinking into the two of you— before the hush is broken yet again. By your companion again.

Though not with a muted question, but with noisy cackles– the most melodious music you've heard in a duration far too long to your liking.

Sukuna grins, pearly white teeth with those sharp canines on display. Barking a guffaw, he asks, "You're one weak fool, letting love ruin you – aren't you, pet?"

You outstretch a hand over to the other side, dainty fingers brushing away the few grains of rice stuck to his face, then smile– mind going back to the innumerable bloodbaths, the figure before you drenched the country in— them growing in intensity after the winter, you know was your last as the Queen of Curses– given, the dates written in the scrolls on his conquests are accurate... Somehow, you know they are—

Your smile widens, digging pleasantly painful indents in your cheeks, as you retract your hand, shrugging at the stock-still image of shock across.

"What can I say, baby? Learnt to do so, from my king himself."

▸ masterlist

[seresinhangmanjake]

Not Your Type: Part 2

Jake Seresin x goth girl!reader

Summary: Jake Seresin doesn’t usually have to try hard to get women, but the only woman to catch his attention in a long time doesn’t want anything to do with him.

Written in the form of sharing milestones of their relationship as it develops. For example - Day 1: the day they meet; Day 3x: the day they (...); Day 5xx: the day they (...); and so on.

Notes/Warnings: Jake being annoying but also desperate. Cursing.

Words: 2990

Full Masterlist

Day 14:

“What do we want for this round, girls?” Gemma asks. She stands, albeit a tad unsteadily, at the edge of your booth with her hands on her hips, ready to take your order as if the Hard Deck provides her with biweekly paychecks. 

She’s been in California all of three days; she and Lola—friends from your hometown who were in desperate need of a change of scenery and accepted the offer of your extra bedrooms. And as usual, Gemma effortlessly embraced her new environment within the first twenty-four hours of her arrival. To onlookers, you imagine that of the three of you, she would be the assumed local.

“More of this fruity stuff, whatever it is,” Lola says around the thin straw clenched between her teeth as she nurses the current ‘fruity stuff’ in her glass.

Gemma looks to you with a raised brow, but you shake your head, tapping your nail against your soda cup. “I’m good.”

“Party pooper,” she playfully sighs, flipping a section of deep purple hair over her shoulder and turning in the direction of the bar.

Getting the drinks was meant to be your job—a welcoming treat after their exhausting move—but Gemma got a peek at the bartender, and by exercising the magical abilities that come with her smile, has spent half the night providing the three of you with free alcohol and fountain sodas.

“I’m the DD!” you call after her, but as is the case on most Friday nights at the Hard Deck, the volume of the room devours your voice before it can reach her.

“She’s gonna go after that bartender the second his shift is over,” Lola tells you. “Poor guy has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

“No,” you agree, chuckling and rapidly recalling the string of heartbroken men who would reach out to you or Lola in the hopes of getting ahold of Gemma after she’d ghosted them. “But they never do, and unfortunately, they never learn.” 

“You know, I’ve been told I’m a phenomenal learner,” you hear, but it’s a much deeper sound than the curly-haired woman at your side is able to produce. The unexpected addition makes the sip of soda in your mouth travel down the wrong pipe, throwing you into a coughing fit. 

“Oh, shit,” the voice rushes out, snatching a napkin from the next booth and thrusting it in your face. You take it to muffle the sharp choking noises fighting their way out of your windpipe. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You scold yourself for not realizing he was here before he made himself known. It was almost two hours ago that you began feeling that same burning sensation from a couple of weeks ago, but you thought little of it, having scanned the room for him when you first arrived at the bar. You even opted to sit facing the front door, figuring you wouldn’t miss it if he entered, but he still managed to sneak in. He still found you. He still affects you.

As you recover your breathing, he extends his hand past you toward Lola. “I’m Jake.”

“Lola,” she replies, shaking his hand as she glances at you.

You let out a final cough, dabbing a napkin at the corner of your mouth then wiping it just under your waterline to pick up your tears. “Fuck,” you mumble.

“Name a time and a place, sweetheart, and I’m all yours.”

Lola snorts with her lips around her straw. Her following giggle makes air bubbles burst from her shallow glass. Stray droplets splash onto the table, a few soaking into the sleeve of your top.

You have no time to decide who is more deserving of your glare—Traitor Friend or Ken Doll—before Gemma’s return. As she slides into the seat opposite yours, she’s so focused on keeping liquids from sloshing over rims that she doesn’t notice the intruder. 

“Fruity thing for Lo,” she pushes the glass to Lola who eagerly accepts a fresh drink, “spicy thing for me, and, tragically, nothing for the DD.” 

When she finally senses the vibe at the table—greatly altered from what she left behind a few minutes prior—she turns her head. The surprise in her expression settles into subtle excitement as she rakes her eyes up Jake’s body to his face. With that wicked smile of hers, she plants her elbow on the wooden surface and rests her chin atop the back of her hand. 

“And what would you like?” she teases in a low, seductive tone.

“Just a chance to talk with your verbally vicious friend,” he says, jutting his chin in your direction. 

“This is Jake,” Lola informs her. 

“Jake?” Gemma questions you, cocking her head in genuine curiosity. “You’ve never mentioned a Jake.”

“He isn’t worth mentioning.”

Jake smirks through the jab. “You know, you don’t have to repeatedly stab me in the chest.”

“You’re the one who keeps standing in front of my knife,” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

There’s not a single uttering from the group of four as Lola and Gemma stare at you and Jake staring at each other. Neither of you is willing to break eye contact, and the tension becomes heavy, like rich honey—thick enough to drag your finger through. 

“Can we talk privately?” Jake then asks, that smirk still in place. He looks away from you only to address your friends. “You ladies don’t mind if I borrow her, do you?”

“Not at all,” Gemma answers, each word out of her mouth a little less crisp than the last. “As long as you borrow me next.”

“Gemma!” you snap. “Not this one.”

“But he’s so hot,” she whines.

“I’ll cut you off.”

She gasps. Then her bottom lip protrudes in a pout, and her hands cradle her glass as she pulls it closer to her chest protectively.

“That’s a very flattering offer, if we can call it that,” Jake says. “However, that guy over there, the one with the outdated mustache,” he steps aside and points to the friend you recognize from the other night. The brunet’s cheeks redden and he quickly jerks his head in the opposite direction of Gemma’s prying gaze. “He’s been having a hell of a time trying to keep his eyes off you tonight. Just can’t help himself.” 

Jake shakes his head, clicks his tongue, and faces your table again. “Honestly, I know the feeling,” he says. His eyes connect with yours, puzzle pieces locking together until the burn starts to sear too deep and you have to look away. “It’s a tough spot to be in,” he continues. “And I can’t in good conscience move in on the girl whose laugh has made another man blush three times within the last hour.”

Just like that, Gemma is over Jake. Other than the pang of relief you feel, you don’t think anything of her swift attention shift until five seconds, then ten, then fifteen pass without her ceasing her careful examination of Jake’s friend. 

“Will you come with me?” Jake asks you. “I promise I won’t keep you long.” 

You chew on your lip, trying to ignore his pull.

“Lola, you think she should come with me, right?” he says.

Lola doesn’t glance his way as she runs her finger along the rim of her glass to collect the leftover grains of sugar. “Secondary locations are very suspicious, Jake,” she says before pressing her fingertip onto her tongue. 

“We won't go far.”

Lola raises a brow at you and you sigh. “He's annoying but I'm pretty sure he's safe,” you tell her.

Jake smiles; another thing you don’t have to see to know it’s there. You feel that grin just from its power alone.

Standing, you straighten out your skirt, your fingers running down the dark material that flares from mid-waist to mid-thighs. Your belt is purely decorative, with consecutive overlapping chains that wrap around the band of your skirt and a tiny, crescent moon charm that dangles a bit lower than the rest. As you adjust the belt so the charm rests where it is supposed to at your hip, you catch Jake’s fixed stare on your movements. 

You don’t know what he’s thinking. You remind yourself that you don’t care.

“I'll be back in a minute, Lo,” you promise. “Gem, do you intend to blink any time soon?”

Gemma doesn’t turn. Jake’s friend has found a bit of boldness and no longer avoids her eyes. “No,” she says, waving you off. “Have fun.”

Jake tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was thinking the deck since it's on the beach.”

Ignoring his suggestion, you begin to walk in the direction of the front door. He follows into the chill of Evening’s breeze and you suck in a refreshing breath. Was it always so suffocating in there? 

“Ok, what do you want?” you ask once you’ve walked far enough to avoid blocking the entrance.

Jake remains a good six feet from you. His hands haven’t left his pockets. “To apologize, for starters,” he says.

“For?”

“Bothering you the other night.”

“So you decided to bother me again tonight?”

Jake’s lips part to respond, but he pauses, mouth snapping shut. Glancing down at the gravel by your boots, his brow pinches as his actions sink in. “Ok, ‘bother’ wasn't really what I was going for a second time around, but in hindsight–”

“If that was just your starter, what’s the rest?”

He looks at you with a tick of false innocence that rapidly dies under the weight of mischievousness, and you prepare yourself for what he’s about to deliver. “Maybe I shouldn’t say,” he teases, smile budding, teeth showing. “Maybe I should prolong the suspense.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “Do you remember what I said about wasting my time?”

“Something about my ego suffering the consequences,” he replies. “Even though you’ve had my ego in a choke-hold since you threw around that whole ‘I’ve noticed you but you’ve never noticed me’ thing.”

That, you didn’t expect. You didn’t expect him to remember everything you’d said, or care. But neither did you expect him to approach you after that night, so you suppose he’s full of surprises. You're just not sure if you like them. 

“Oh?”

He nods. “Yea, that one…that one was a thinker, for sure. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, actually.”

“Why?”

He sighs and drops eye contact. Like it’s too hard to maintain. Like he’s ashamed or confused or contemplating, or all three. Then he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue; he draws that lip between his teeth, biting down; he barely shakes his head before he rejoins your gazes.

“Because I look at you now, and I don’t understand how it was possible,” he admits.

Your breath hitches. Your heartbeat trips, tumbling over itself, and you will it to find its proper pace before you dare open your mouth.

“Anyway,” Jake says to fill the gap that was meant for your response, “I also wanted to ask you out. On a date.”

You blink hard. Long beats snail along as you process the lunacy of that statement. “Has anything I've said to you indicated that I would ever agree to a date?”

He shrugs. “No, but it was either try once more and see if I have a chance with you, or don't try at all.”

For a man you’ve witnessed succeed in his every attempt at wooing women until you, you won’t deny that what he’s doing is gutsy and, you suppose, unworthy of being shamed. He’s resilient, determined, and you have great respect for perseverance, but in this case, it's not sufficient to rearrange your perception of him. 

“Do you even know my name?” you ask. “I never told you.”

He smiles; not broadly, not boastfully, but gently, sweetly, as if reliving a memory. “I asked Penny after you left that night,” he tells you. “It’s beautiful. Suits you.”

Your woven arms tighten, pointed nails digging into your bicep. Don’t shiver, you command your body. Don’t show the tingling chill he just shot up your spine and through your limbs. You try swallowing through the ghost-like grip he suddenly has on your throat. The light grasp of wispy fingers that don’t aim to choke, but simply rest around the column. Possessive but not controlling. Also not really there. And you don’t appreciate the growing strength of his power to touch you without you being within reaching distance.

The problem is, men don’t compliment you. Well, they do, but not like this. They compliment tits and ass and legs and face. They compliment clothes that they imagine ripping off, and makeup they hope they can ruin by the end of the night. Your name doesn’t often come to mind, and the ones who do ask for it, don’t ever use it again. That’s part of why you didn’t give it to Jake when he had asked. 

And then he went over your head. Fuck this guy.

“Before you say anything else—I’m willing to earn it.”

Your brows raise halfway up your forehead. “You're willing to earn it,” you repeat. “Why? You don't know me, and I have a feeling you understand that using me to prove some kind of point to yourself or your friends will only get you castrated.”

“I wouldn't have guessed castration, specifically, but that does seem in character,” he says.

He steps closer. His arm moves toward you, hand prepared to plant itself on your forearm, but at the last second, he thinks better of it and drops that limb back to his side. His fingers ball into a fist that tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He doesn’t know that you see him doing it, and then it stops. “Look, when you said that you're not my type, you were right. You were right. You're not right anymore. You only weren't my type because I'd never seen you before.” He takes a breath. “But I know I could swear that up and down, right here, right now, and you wouldn't believe me; not really; maybe not at all. So I have to prove it, don't I? I have to earn it.”

He seems to have forgotten that you know, and have known, who he is for months. Observation reveals more about a person than getting to know them firsthand. The Observed can’t pick and choose what they share with you to aid their desires and goals. In their cluelessness, they lose all defenses, all illusions, and Jake is no exception.

You’ve watched him pursue and flirt and conquer. You’ve watched him in the aftermath of the pursuing and flirting and conquering. You’ve watched his strategy of radiating cockiness to draw them in. There are the laughs, the winks, the tamed touches that bring out blushes, all of which join together until it’s the woman—and all of the near carbon copies of that woman—who takes the lead, pulling him into the bathroom or onto the back deck or out the front door. He’s tricky like that, but you’re not easily tricked.

“Have you considered that maybe you are not my type?” you ask. 

“I have, actually. It was a very troubling thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds of consideration?” Your head tilts. “Is that all?”

Jake acknowledges the offense you’ve taken. He doesn’t apologize but the disappointment in himself is palpable enough to satisfy you. But then he says, “Would you have come out here if you weren't attracted to me?”

And now you’re disappointed in yourself, because, no, you wouldn’t have come with him if you weren’t attracted to him. Attraction and curiosity convinced you more than his words, and therein lies the problem. One problem. One of many. 

“I shouldn't have.”

“But you did,” he says. His tone is low but it packs the punch of an exclamation point. You’re going to be hearing it for days. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

You sigh and let your arms unweave, falling at your sides. “I…” you begin, but you shake your head. You need to say this right. “Attraction is basic. It’s human. It’s all up in our personal space at all times. If that counted for anything, I’d be dating half of the usuals in the bar.”

You know the same goes for him. He finds a new woman to be attracted to whenever he walks into the Hard Deck and you’d be hard-pressed to believe that doesn’t extend to every room he enters. So you leave it at that and twist on your heel to head back inside. 

You hear a crunch of gravel as he takes a step after you. “Will you at least think about it? Please.”

Not stopping to answer, you reach for the handle of the door. “Have a good night, Jake,” you toss over your shoulder.

Being inside the bar does not stop your heart from thumping or your mind from racing through a jumble of thoughts that are no easier untangled than the voices around you, and it’s too much. So to avoid exhausting yourself, you shove those thoughts aside in favor of directing your attention to more important things, like one-third of your trio missing from the booth. 

“Where’s Gem?”

Lola nods her head and you follow. 

Across the bar, Gemma has Jake’s dark-haired friend leaning against the wall, her palms braced on his chest. One of his hands rests at her waist and the other is at the side of her neck just under her jaw, his fingers hidden by the curtain of her hair. There’s an oddness to their kissing. It is very non-Gemma kissing. They kiss freely like no one is around, but it’s not an attack of teeth and lip tugging or sloppy tongues; it’s slow, sensual. It clashes with the room. 

“I was gone for five minutes,” you say.

Lola shrugs. “She only needed four.”

---

tags: @kmc1989 @wkndwlff @dempy @sagittarius-flowerchild @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @averyhotchner @rosedurin @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @ssa-sadboi @buckysteveloki-me @whatislovevavy @dreamlandcreations @memoriesat30 @harrysgothicbitch @yvonneeeee @gg-trini

[angelfic]

Hi babes!, I was wondering if I could request a Lorenzo Berkshire fic from the event?, here’s the thingy!, forbidden love + prompt 18!, sorry if this was a little confusing I have never requested something from a event 😭, but please and thank you!!,

- oh and!, if it’s okay could you pick out an emoji for me ?, to be like an emoji anon!!, that’s it!! <333

hi, angel!! thank you sm for the request, not confusing at all, my love! writing this has made me realise there’s a criminally small number of lorenzo fics :( am very happy to oblige haha how’s the 🍓 emoji?

lorenzo berkshire x reader + forbidden romance + “yeah, I love you. so what?”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

You’re struggling with keeping all of your limbs inside the invisibility cloak you borrowed from Harry when Peeves glides into the empty classroom. You freeze in place until he floats his way back out, all the while singing what you’re sure is some kind of stupid limerick.

Okay, so you stole the cloak and it’s after curfew and if Peeves catches you, you’re in a million different kinds of trouble. Nevertheless, you relax slightly when you’re alone again, remaining under the cloak to consult the Marauder’s Map that you also may have taken without express permission. Okay, any permission at all.

Scanning the unfolded piece of parchment, your eyes land on Lorenzo’s name which seems to have stopped in place at… the classroom that you’re in.

You look up to find the classroom still empty, but before you can get up to investigate, a set of arms wraps around you from behind and you gasp, barely able to contain a shriek of fright.

You wriggle out from under the invisibility cloak, turning around on the table you’re perched on to find Lorenzo grinning at you, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What the fuck, Enzo?!” you whisper-scream, smacking his arm. He merely giggles and brings your legs around on the table so you’re facing him, hands remaining on your thighs. He leans in to press a chaste kiss against your lips and you quickly kiss him back before pulling away to look at him, confused. “How the hell did you see me under the cloak?”

“Your shoe laces were hanging out the bottom, love,” he explains, smirking as he looks down at the untied pair of converse you quickly pulled on when you snuck out of your dorm in pyjamas.

You frown at the offending laces, swinging ur legs back and forth between where Lorenzo stands. “Have to remember that for next time.”

“Why does there have to be a next time?” Lorenzo groans, voicing his frustrations about your very secret relationship yet again. “I don’t want to have to see you in dark classrooms or broom cupboards or anywhere secret. I still don’t understand why we can’t just tell people.”

“You know why, Enzo,” you say gently, tracing circles on the back of his hand with your finger. “My friends would freak out, your friends would freak out…”

“Okay, well, my friends can sod off,” Lorenzo says, matter-of-fact as he holds up two fingers and starts checking them off. “And your friends love me. There we are. Easily solved.”

You can’t help letting out a laugh at that and you drop your head onto Lorenzo’s shoulder to stifle your snorting. “My friends don’t love you, they just hate you the least.”

“What I’m hearing is that they don’t hate me the most,” he murmurs, peppering kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. “I’m taking that as a win.”

“You just don’t give up, do you?” you sigh, shivering from the brushing of his lips against your collarbone. “They’re just- Shit! Peeves!”

You push Lorenzo off you, startling him when you point to the giggling poltergeist who floats above the two of you. Before he can begin shrieking about the two of you and wake up the entire castle, Lorenzo whips out his wand and casts ‘Langlock’, causing whatever Peeves was about to say to turn into choking gurgles.

“You better keep quiet, you meddling little-” Lorenzo cuts himself off when Peeves zooms out of the classroom, clearly having lost interest in the situation at hand since he can’t weigh in on it. “Well, it was a good effort.”

“We had a good run,” you agree, frowning at the wall that Peeves just passed through. “And by tomorrow the entire school is going to know I love a Slytherin boy. Merlin, I’ll be the laughing stock of Gryffindor. Not as bad as the exile sentence into the mountains you’ll be getting though.”

“I can hardly breathe for laughing,” Lorenzo says drily, although his lips turn up into a reluctant smile. “There’ll be no exile, because they’re going to have to deal with it. Yeah, I love you. So what? Like I said, they can sod off.”

Knowing full well that Peeves is going to be making his rounds at every table in the Great Hall during breakfast, you have no doubt Lorenzo will be having to endure a similar conversation to you with his own friends. “I’d love to see you tell them exactly that,” you grin.

“Sit at the Slytherin table with me tomorrow and you will,” Lorenzo says cheekily, shifting you closer by your hips. You loop your arms around his neck and drop a kiss onto the tip of his nose.

“Not even if Godric Gryffindor himself came and kicked me off my table.”

[live-laugh-lenney]

Omg! I need your take on Arthur and y/n trying for a baby and y/n finally gets pregnant!!! This would be so cute!

oh my god, this is so cute :(((

"i really think it's happened this time."

arthur rolls onto his side to look at yn, propping his had up with his elbow and ruffling the sheets beneath him whilst giving the duvet a slight pull as he tried to keep himself covered up, their bodies naked and slightly sticky with sweat. his hair clung to his forehead, his eyes were full of love and hope as they had tried, yet again, to fall pregnant with a baby.

"arthur-"

"i just have that gut feeling. we've been trying to months and i just-"

"exactly, arthur. we've been trying for months. we've been on a tight schedule, for god sake, and nothing has happened. i thought i'd, at least, have had a scare," she sighs heavily and stares at the ceiling, "i don't want to keep getting my hopes up."

"it sounds like you want to give up," he admits and she turns her head to look at him, sadness in her eyes and she chews on her bottom lip to keep it from wobbling and giving away the emotions running wild in her mind, "lovie-"

"i don't want to give up. arthur, i want kids so badly. i want them with you but," she gulps back the thick lump in her throat that seemed to ache and make swallowing difficult, "i don't know. i feel like there may be something wrong. i should be pregnant right now."

he adjusts his weight on the bed and sits himself up, back leaning against the headboard and the pillows squashing in the space behind him, and the duvet falls from his chest and covers him from his hips down and yn can see the upset beginning to pinch at his features. his eyebrows were furrowed on his browline, his eyes were sunken and his lips no longer held that hopeful smile that he once had turning his mouth into a curve.

and she felt guilty.

she knew he was excited - from the moment they'd spoken about it, having seen all their friends going through major milestones and life changes, he was totally and 100% on board with taking the next step in their lives. and she was, too. feeling comfortable and happy with the knowledge that she had someone supportive and caring and so understanding of her that anything that scared her, he would be by her side.

"babe-"

"maybe we're just not doing it at the right time," he wonders softly, "i mean, we're both busy with work right now. we're stressing about so much. it can't be helping."

"i'm just- i honestly thought it was going to be so much easier than how it's actually been for us. people fall pregnant unexpectedly all the time," she follows in his motions and sits up on the bed, except she hugs the duvet to her chest to keep herself covered, "why is it, when we plan for this because we're ready, we get nothing yet other people fall pregnant with no preparation at all?"

"are we thinking too much into it?"

"i just don't want to follow a silly schedule anymore, arthur. i want to have sex with you whenever i want to," she frowns and he feels the tickle in his stomach because, of course, he'd love that too, "i don't want to wait till a certain day of the month or ovulation week."

"then we bin the schedule."

"but-"

"we just need to be patient, don't we? we want it so badly that we just get knocked back when we see a negative test. maybe, we just need to let life take over and stop hoping every time," he suggests and she frowns, her eyes stinging, "we know that we're ready, that we want it to happen, so we get on with life with no schedules and if it happens then it happens."

he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side, her head resting perfectly in the curve where his neck met his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. her arms wrap around his waist and he pulls her close, a leg being placed over his as she just wanted to be held.

"i love you, yeah? whatever happens," he whispers, "so much."

"i love you too."

--

two lines.

bold and clear as day, bright red and hard to miss, in the tiny screen of the pregnancy test.

she couldn't stop her hands from shaking and she couldn't stop the nerves that bubbled in her gut, she couldn't wipe the shock written across her face as she remembered the night that it had happened, the smile on her lips almost face-splitting.

"so? can i come in?"

arthur's voice comes muffled from the other side of the bathroom door and her hand wraps around the handle, pulling the door open in a haste manner, with the test still gripped in her free hand.

"pregnant."

"no way?"

"two lines," she turns the test to face him and he stands from the bed and walks towards her, his eyes set on the tiny oval screen that gave them the news they'd been hoping and praying for for months, "i'm pregnant, arthur. pregnant."

"from that night?"

"that exact night," she cackles loudly and his cheeks blush a bright pink, "who knew kitchen sex would be the perfect way to become pregnant?"

it was a few nights after they'd decided to scrap their schedule.

a few nights after they came to the conclusion that if it happened, it happened.

he'd put together a small and rather romantic night at home, a little surprise for her to walk through the door and see after she finished work so they could spend some time together without their minds instantly going to how and when they were going to try for a baby, because that was all that occupied their minds.

he had her favourite dinner cooking in the oven, and accompanying veggies cooking on the hob, by the time she walked through the front door. candles lit around the living space, giving off a sunset hue with the additional sunset happening outside and filtering through the window, the dining table set for a dinner for two with the best plates and cutlery lied out. a bottle of her favourite rosé wine chilling in an ice bucket with the fancy wine glasses standing tall beside it.

it was perfect.

neither of them brought up the topic of having a family.

it never even crossed their minds.

they spoke about work; she spoke about the tea and the gossip from her workplace involving the girls she worked alongside, which she knew he would struggle to understand, and he listened to every word she spoke with no interruptions. he spoke about how he and george had been asked to be guest appearances on another sidemen sunday video shoot that he was super excited to be a part of and she couldn't hold back on how proud she was feeling for him.

they spoke about going on a holiday; simply taking a break from the real world and from their busy work schedules and disappearing onto an island off of the coast of mainland greece where they'd be alone, with nothing to distract them, where they had no interruptions and no fans to post their sightings and whereabouts.

she praised him for cooking such a delicious dinner and how she'd enjoyed every bite, for putting such a beautiful night together, for taking her mind off of everything and enjoying the time as just the two of them. because she'd missed him immensely, even though they lived together, and it was nice to be back down to earth.

it was her suggestive comments on her recommendations for what she wanted for dessert - him - that got the ball rolling.

washing up the dishes from dinner together once they'd finished, as he washed all the plates and the knives and the forks whilst she dried and put everything away in the cupboards and drawers, insisting that he was delightful and delicious... he was certain it was the wine that had gone straight to her head but he wasn't turning away from her advances.

"so, you're telling me that we made a baby... on the kitchen counter?"

she feels her cheeks pink up and her face feels hot and he can't help but laugh out loud at the events that had happened to get them to where they were now.

"yes," she murmurs and shakes her head in disbelief, "all it took was a spontaneous night that wasn't planned solely to make babies."

he wraps her up in his arms and she clings to him tightly, hiding her face in the t-shirt hanging down his body, gym shorts showing off his legs and he smelt like sweat from his session with george in the local gym, but she couldn't tear herself away from him once she felt a little nauseated at the scent.

"i'm genuinely in shock," he laughs, pressing a kiss to her head and squeezing her close, "kitchen sex equates to baby. we'll have to remember that for next time."

"shut up," she grumbles and rolls her eyes, "can we just enjoy this news without remembering how it happened?"

"it was great though, wasn't it?" he questions and she pulls away from his body so she could look at him with a frown, "sorry, i'm sorry. i'll just think about it silently."

the silence in the room swallowed them before she looked back up at him, "it was brilliant sex. definitely my favourite to remember."

"just don't mention it to anyone when we have them over for dinner, yeah?" arthur smirks cheekily, "don't need your mum to know i was balls deep in you where she prepares the salads."

"arthur!" xx

[chronically-ghosted]

i breathe you in (and it changes me)

rating: teen pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader word count: 2K summary: you've been here with him before - rock bottom. But this time, he gives you reason to hope for something new. warnings: alcohol use, mentions of drug use, physical fighting, blood, wounds, bruises, mentions of past toxic behavior a/n: your original ask @bitchwitch1981 got swallowed up by tumblr, so i had to create a new post :( but I wanted to say thank you so much for requesting this - it was more therapeutic to write than i initially thought!

1K ask:

Sweet Taylor, Congratulations on the amazing milestone! 💜 I have decided to go for astrology for The Midnight Seance. I have chosen the prompt “Hold my hand please?” “When you ask so nicely.” and my own darling Dieter Bravo.

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Dieter Bravo Masterlist

The damp heat of the night is made worse by the thick knot of chittering spectators by the back alley of the club. You can hear the fleshy blows, hear the flesh rip and tear the veins, the delighted groan of the crowd after a particularly sickening crunch. White lights of camera flashes flicker, the smell of blood acidic on your tongue, the metallic taste getting stronger the closer you get to the front of the crowd. You see the blur of an arm just as you shove aside a man recording the whole scene with his phone; how much will TMZ pay for even seven seconds of that video?

Across from you, a thick shadow with bloody knuckles paces like a caged tiger, snorting with rage, the spectators jeering and howling their approval. The man, twice as thick as you are, waits at the edge of the fight, his vision locked forward, massive hands itching to rip apart something alive. 

Whatever is left alive of the heap of clothes in front of you.

It shudders, arms and legs curling beneath it, and rolls backwards. The crowd lets out a disgusted groan at the sight of the bloody face. Your heart sinks to the sticky concrete.

Oh, Dieter.

Asphalt digs into your knees as you kneel down next to him, the sounds of the crowd fading as panic swells within you. He doesn’t even register that you’re there until you touch his cheek. One eye completely swollen shut, blood running down from his nose over his upper lip, he meets your gaze and flinches. 

“Sorry,” he slurs – either from his split lip or being drunk out of his mind, you can’t tell, “you look like my ex.” 

“Dieter, it’s me.” 

His collar is torn, blood speckles cover the front of his shirt, and his jeans are filthy. Judging by his own shredded knuckles, he might have actually gotten a few good hits in. Gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning. You put a hand on his shoulder, looking for any other open wounds, for more blood – and he shoves you off.

“Go away. I’m kicking this guy’s ass.” 

Groaning, Dieter staggers to his feet, the blood freely flowing from his nose now. He gets upright and immediately stumbles, hands going to his knees, much to the deformed glee of the crowd. They whoop and laugh and hold their phones higher. 

Even in heels, you’re several inches shorter than him and you intentionally didn’t wear that much clothing – you were going to club with your friends to forget – but you try to shield him from the camera lenses anyway. 

From the back of his throat, Dieter spits out a wad of blood. “Fuck, my head hurts.” The drool that slips from his mouth is pink and frothy.

“Dieter, c’mon, we’re going.” 

You drag his arm over your shoulder, shifting as much of his weight onto you as you can. His entire back and underneath his arm is drenched in what you pray is sweat. Behind you, you know the other man is yelling, shouting, something about teaching that fat mouth a lesson, but you do what you’ve alway done when it comes to Dieter: you put yourself between him and an oncoming car crash. 

Hoping a grown man won’t take a full swing with a woman in kitten heels and a slinky dress nearby, you half-push, half-carry Dieter back towards the way you came in, but you make it two more steps before he pushes you away again, his fingertips drifting down your shoulder. His face is twisted up in agony.

“Fuckin’ stop. I don’t need your help.”

You grab him by the bicep, twisting him to you again, and he stumbles, muttering a gruff sorry. Blood from his nose drips down onto your bare chest. He watches it, transfixed, his emotions crackling from one high to the next low. 

You cup his bruised, swollen jaw and his wet eyes meet yours and for an instant, no one else exists. His bottom lip trembles. 

“Dieter” you murmur, low enough for just him to hear, just enough for him to lean forward, to let himself be captured by you – briefly – just as he always had been. “We’re going home, okay?”

He nods, eyes shut, swaying, and lets himself be dragged away. 

Beyond the black partition, you hear music. Too soft to be distinct, too faint. Yet it sits between your teeth all the same, hums in the back of your jaw. Static noise. 

In your lap, lays Dieter’s head. Your skirt feels damp from where the blood from his nose gathers. It stopped dripping minutes ago but the spot still feels cold, still thick with it. Your hand curls in his hair, loose but weighted. Grounding. He always said this was his favorite spot in the entire world. 

You didn’t tell the driver to go east, towards Sherman Oaks, but the opposite direction, towards the rental property you kept by the beach. Before that, home had always been Sherman Oaks, but . . . in the after, you couldn’t even bear to see the name on the sign. 

Partially it’s practical. Given the swarmed mob, there most likely was another one waiting for him at the gates to his mansion. He doesn’t have his phone, you know, which is most likely a curse and a blessing. When it comes to moments like these, you’ve learned to deal with the problem right in front of you, one at a time. Or rather, the one in your lap. 

You swore you’d never be here again, you swore that you’d learn to unremember what here even feels like, and yet you ran to him all the same. This is not the first time you wonder if leaving him bleeding and drooling into the concrete would have been the right thing to do. 

The car drives you both towards the rental because you want him there. You want him to fill up that empty space in your bed, smear the too messy sink in the bathroom with uncharged electric toothbrushes and toothpaste that tastes like cotton candy, and bring a sense of wonder back into your increasingly dark days. But with all that, comes this. The black partition ahead of you blurs, your eyes grow hot and tight, submissive to the beaks of birds, and the back of your fingers not caught in his hair press harshly to the back of your mouth. You fight a shudder because you know he can’t bear to see you cry. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

His apologies always start like this, a little broken, a little roundabout way of getting to the heart of things. You sniff, your hand slipping to his shoulder and grasping it tight. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay, baby?”

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

Your head bumps the back of the seat, as you swallow a sob and a laugh all at once. You squeeze him – no, no, of course not, you never mean it, you never mean any of it — 

“My therapist said they would help. And then they did. But I couldn’t get you back.”

He mutters something, rubbing his face slowly in your lap, like a blind kitten, his big hand over your knees, but you’re too stunned to parse out his babbling. 

“You went to therapy?” 

“Still in it.” He wheezes through a bruised rib. “She’s gonna be so pissed about this.” 

“You’re not high?” 

He shake-rubs his head again, the curls at his forehead catching against the sequins of your top. “Just drunk. I fucking hate being drunk.” 

He babbles some more, the words looped on tangled string, but you sit up, and gently turn his face towards you. The bleeding has stopped, but the swelling has set in. His right eye is black and blue, the skin puffy and tender. There’s a cut across his left cheek and his lip is split down the middle. Fuck, if these don’t heal right, that could be the end of his career. 

Goddamn it – and why would you care about that? It’s not your job to care anymore. 

You reverently trace a finger over his black eye, his cheek, his lips, to the blood on his temple. Tragedy always looked so good on him. 

His hand catches yours. You think his good eye might be filled with tears.

“I tried to get better . . . for you. For us. I took all the right pills, instead of the wrong ones this time, and I thought I was better.” Dieter shifts, so his back is against the seat and he’s looking straight up at you. He holds your hand to his chest, his other rising up to cup your cheek. That single touch cracks your resolve, your rule against letting him affect you, and you cry. He watches the silent tears roll down your cheeks, over his thumb. You think he looks remorseful. “I tried to get better and you moved on without me.”

It only just now occurs to you that he had most likely been inside the club when you had, had probably seen you and never said anything. He watched you dance and drink and try to forget him with other sweaty bodies and he never said a thing.

Bruised anger, the kind that melts off your ribs, flares bright within you and you jerk your face away from his touch.

“You don’t get to blame me for your shit anymore, Dieter.” 

His fingers curl and he swallows, the dried blood around his mouth cracking. “No, baby, I’m not. I’m not. I’m sorry I ever did. I didn’t mean it, I never mean it – never meant to hurt you. But I do, don’t I? I hurt you all the time.” 

Your anger throbs. “Then why? Why, Dieter, would you wait to get help until after I was gone? Didn’t you want to try . . . to salvage something, anything between us?”

His hand drops to his chest. 

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

You suddenly recognize the weight of his head on your lap, the density of his shoulders against your lap, and you, in a cycle of regret and love, want to scream at him. Want to shake him. Instead you brush his sticky curls off his forehead and a single tear escapes the corner of his eye, down his temple. 

“You silly, silly boy.” You sniff, tears freely flowing, and curl a strand of his beautiful hair in your fingers. “I would have been there for you. I’m glad you got help, and I hate that this was a relapse, but I would never have judged you for trying to get better, even if you failed. You were the one who didn't want me to see that side of you, Dieter. I never stopped loving you.”

For a moment, he goes still, the darkness of the night street obscuring his face, blurring him into one dark shadow that wheezed and sighed. You’re about to seek out his hand in the dark, if not his face, not his wounds, when he lets out the most broken noise you’d ever heard come from anyone. 

It’s a noise that will haunt you in nightmares for years to come.

“Oh,” he says. 

The car rolls to a stop, the faint music barely heard over the rush and crash of the waves on the other side of your rental. The radio goes silent and the partition rolls down. 

“We’re here, miss.” 

You wipe your eyes, mascara streaks turning your finger tips black, and cough to clear the knot in your throat that beats in time with your heart. Hands curling under his shoulders, you move to lift him up off your lap.

“C’mon, Dieter, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up–,”

“Wait.” He visibly swallows, nothing else on his face so clear in the dark. You feel a faint drop on your skirt. “I mean, I’ll go but . . . hold my hand – please?” 

Despite yourself, despite him, despite your tear-drenched lips, you lean down and kiss his forehead. Your shared shaky breaths are trapped between your chest and his.  “Only when you ask so nicely.”

+

[crystalrabbit246912]

Bookbinder Yuu

So I should probably be focusing on my thank you fic for 1000 likes and 25 reblogs (there's probably more than that, but Tumblr only tells me about milestones, so thank you all so much for all of the likes, reblogs, and comments), but I had a thought and it's not leaving my mind, so I figured I might as well make this.

I've been getting into bookbinding lately (the process of making books) and I started imagining if Yuu was a bookbinder and their bookbinding tools got transported Twisted Wonderland along with them.

Imagine Yuu threatening people with an awl when they get upset, which happens a lot. (If you don't know what an awl is, either look it up or just know that it's a sharp tool) Ace, Grim, and Deuce to a lesser extent get threatened a lot, and Ace and Grim get stabbed a little so they know it's not an empty threat.

The carbonara guys in the cafeteria and Cater after he tricks them into painting the roses also get stabbed in Book 1, as well a lot of Savanaclaw guys in Books 2 and 3.

Basically all of the Overblot guys get stabbed at some point during their Overblot, and the few people that haven't been stabbed are Trey (although he got threatened in the library), Kalim (he's the only guy that's never been threatened), Epel (I don't know when, but he got threatened at some point), Lilia (though Yuu's definitely tried), and Silver (Yuu's considered pricking him to wake him up, but he's too nice for them to do that).

Moving onto something more wholesome, Yuu makes books as gifts for the squad. They made the Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle guys fun, personalized books for Christmas, and some for Scarabia over break, and they always have a project going.

The first-years in particular are the ones that have gotten stabbed the least (minus Ace and Grim), so they get a bunch of random, really beautiful notebooks (mainly Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Sebek, since they'd actually use them), sketchbooks, and photo albums for Ortho, since he can actually use them.

The upperclassmen get less, but Yuu gives all of them at least two books at random points throughout the school year. Trey gets blank cookbook style books that he can write his recipes down in, Cater gets photo albums with covers that he can photograph for Magicam, Riddle gets actual notebooks, just with fun designs on the covers, because that's what he'd actually use.

Yuu tends to write down puzzles from their world in books for Leona, because that's something that he'd actually use, while I'm blanking on ideas for Ruggie.

Azul, Jade, and Floyd tend to get books at the same time, because Yuu doesn't want to risk upsetting one of them. The covers usually match for the Tweels and correlate with Azul's, or the Tweels get inverted designs while Azul's is similar. Inside, Azul and Jade get notebooks since they go to class and pay attention, though there's compliments and small mushroom doodles on the margins. Floyd would get sketchbooks, since he does have drawing moods occasionally.

Kalim and Jamil would usually get books at the same time as well because Yuu doesn't want Jamil to feel inferior to Kalim or something like that. Kalim usually gets sketchbooks because drawing is something fun for Kalim to do and Jamil gets either notebooks or empty cookbooks for him to fill.

Vil gets notebooks because Yuu doesn't know what else to give him, considering he's a celebrity, he can practically buy whatever he wants, so they don't expect him to really use them. (At the next joint class, they're really surprised to see him using a notebook they gave him.) Rook gets scrapbooks that he can fill with his Vil and Neige photos that he gets... somehow. Because he's Rook.

Idia either gets manga-style books that he can draw his own manga in or notebooks in which he can lore-dump for games, anime, or manga, or make theories about what happens next.

Malleus gets notebooks and he's really happy about them because they're gifts from his first friend, so he cherishes them. I have no ideas for either Lilia or Silver.

Crowley would ask Yuu why he never gets books despite the fact that he's so 'kind' to them, and they smack him in the face with a book to shut him up.

[honeytama]

Across the Fence

Neighbor!Matt Dierkes x Fem!Reader

A/N: I might pass out because of this. Need Matt’s drummer arms to save me. Ty to @areuirish for the pics! Extra tags: @abiomens @exitwoundsx

Summary: Matt and you have been house neighbors for two years and have never got along. Recently, the wooden fence that you two share is damaged in a storm. This dilemma finally makes you both face your hatred head on.

Content and Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Matt’s POV included, smut 18+, arguing/yelling/name calling, hate!sex (they’re in love idc), light degradation, throat fucking, choking/asphyxiation, raw p in v

Word Count: 3k

The day you met Matt was the day you moved into your new house. It was two years ago.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have anyone to help you that day; it was just you, your two dogs, and your packed, rented U-Haul. That Saturday morning also presented a storm, one that didn’t show up in the forecast, and you were soaked, frustrated, and just pissed off. It was supposed to be an exciting milestone and it wasn’t going as planned.

What upset you also, was that your two pit bulls, Daisy and Coco, had to stay in your new bedroom all day while you moved in.

At one point, you saw your neighbor just watching your demise through his front window. His arms were crossed over his chest and he gave you furrowed brows. You resented his nasty, judgmental glare.

You remember carrying one of your nightstands. Even that was heavy, and you couldn’t keep it from continuously bumping into your shins as you walked from the back of the truck to your front door.

He left the window and stepped out onto his front porch.

“You know if you carry it more like this—,” Matt started.

You stopped in your tracks and interrupted him, loudly, “Did I ask for your opinion?”

“I’m just trying to help!” He yelled at you through the sound of rain falling.

“If you want to help, come out into the rain or shut your mouth, you asshole!” You snarl. You remember your cheeks burned afterward.

You didn’t mean to call him names or scream, it was just the nature of that day and all of the obstacles you faced. A part of you wanted to apologize, but you watched as he threw his hand up to dismiss you, went inside, and slammed the door.

—

PRESENT DAY

Matt and you had a mutual hatred.

You two had not got into an argument like that since the day you met, but he’s found many other ways to get under your skin since then.

He plays loud music in his backyard while he grills or gardens. His friends take up parking space in front of your house without him asking.

The way he talks makes you so angry. He can be cocky and arrogant.

He hates that your dogs bark at squirrels that run along the top of the fence in the mornings. He hates that you like to stay up late and watch movies, so he complains that your TV light comes into his bedroom through your windows. Ugh.

This is why you two will never get along amongst a long list of other examples.

His tour dates are times you constantly look forward to and you would not be surprised if he became a tour manager just to be in a different city than you.

Last night, there was a storm just like the one you moved in with. It was loud and your pups were anxious, but it passed and this morning you relaxed with them on the couch.

“What the fuck?” You hear a male voice groan from your backyard.

You hop up and quickly go to your back window.

Matt’s there with his head in his hands standing next to a section of your shared fencing lying flat on the grass.

You leave out the back door and meet him.

“Our fence is so fucked,” he kicks the wood and reels back, “Ah, shit!”

“Are you okay?” You ask, truthfully.

“Don’t act like you care,” he grunts.

“Fine, then kick it again. That will fix it,” you taunt.

“Whatever. Just, help me move it out of the way,” he requests under his breath.

You two begin to lift both sides of the section to lean it against the standing fence.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he groans.

“If you try to tell me what to do again, then you can do it yourself,” you spat. 

Matt rolls his eyes. “Why do you have to be so annoying?”

“I’m annoying?” You reel. “Look in a mirror, Matt.”

You two manage to move the section safely. You begin to walk away from him to head inside.

“You’re always coming to my door to complain about shit,” he says from behind you.

“Don’t forget that you do, too,” you turn halfway to face him. “It makes me wonder if you just want an excuse to see my pretty face,” you raise your brows teasingly.

He looks at you in disgust. “Not in a million years would I think you’re pretty, Y/N,” he retorts. 

“Mhm,” you hum before turning away to return to your couch.

—

The same day, it’s dinner time and Daisy and Coco need to use the restroom and take some time to play outside. You think that as long as you keep an eye on them, then they won’t go on to Matt’s side of the backyard.

Trusting them as they’re always well-behaved, you look away for five minutes to gather things from your pantry and refrigerator to begin preparing your meal.

You’re evening is so serene until you hear the voice of your neighbor, again.

“Y/N!” Matt angrily calls to you from your backyard.

Ugh. You toss everything in your hands onto the counter and rush outside.

“What?” You raise your voice before noticing him standing on his side of the fence, his fists holding your dogs’ collars. “Matt, what happened?”

“Your dogs got into my garden and ruined my plants! Why aren’t you watching them?”

“I was watching them, you dick.” You walk over to take your girls’ collars into your hands before ushering them back into your side of the yard. “I looked away for five minutes!”

“You’re not watching them well enough, then!” He argues.

With your hands on your hips, “How do you even know they ruined your garden, huh? Did you forget the storm that took down our fence?” 

“I saw them—,” he starts.

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re going to be so anal about my dogs coming into your yard while our fence gets fixed, then I better not see your dogs in mine,” you begin to lead your dogs back into the house.

“Fine!” He yells behind you.

“Fine,” you say under your breath.

—

MATT’S POV

Boo and Zeus are in Y/N’s yard. Fuck.

The sun has fully set, maybe two hours after Y/N and I had our argument over her dogs finding their way into my backyard. 

I was sneakily making my way off of my patio onto her side of the yard to go search for them while thinking about how I talked to her earlier this evening.

I didn’t actually see Daisy or Coco near my garden. I think I just wanted an excuse to be angry over it being destroyed by the storm. Her dogs can be loud, but those girls are precious and I admit that Y/N is a great dog parent.

Also, I think I just wanted to see Y/N’s face again. That pretty, fucking beautiful face. I have to admit to myself that I tease her and complain to her so that I can get her reaction. I hate that I love hearing her voice.

“Boo! Zeus, back in the house!” I whisper to them once I find them. I follow them back to my patio, let them inside, and close the door behind them.

From behind me, Y/N’s living room lamp light softly illuminates her yard. My feet take me back there, involuntarily.

Looking into her home, she walks through her kitchen and living room in her underwear and bralette, shamelessly. 

God, she looked good. Also, I should not be doing this.

When I finally look up from boring my eyes into the curve of her ass, our eyes meet.

I’m fucked.

“Matt, what are you doing?” Her voice is muffled but she walks over to her patio door in strides. “Come inside, now.”

—

READER’S POV

Matt kicks off his shoes once he’s inside. You want everything to scream his head off for violating your privacy, but all you can do is glare at him in silence.  

“What are you staring at?” He questions you.

“Excuse me? Matt. I’m not the one peeping through your window, while you try to have a relaxing night,” you jab.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to get my dogs back into the house and then I saw you—,” he explains and trails off with his eyes glued to your chest.

“I knew you had a crush on me,” you tease.

“What?” He raises his voice. “No!”

“So, you wouldn’t like it if I kissed you right now?” You step forward into his space.

“Not at all,” he chokes out.

“Or, touched you here,” you reach under his shirt and your fingertips graze his lower stomach, just above his waistband.

Matt’s breath catches, “No, because—.”

“Because why?” You whisper against his cheek.

“I hate you,” he says assertively before crashing his lips into yours. 

“Mmm,” you let out a surprised moan into his mouth. 

Your hand finds its way to the back of Matt’s neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him in closer.

He responds with a hunger that surprises you both, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you tightly against him.

Matt’s tongue fights yours for dominance and his teeth nibble your lip every so often. You yelp when his hand slaps your ass with a stinging pain. “Take me to your bedroom,” he says gruffly when you finally break apart.

“Matt,” you whine his name as pain turns to lust. You grab his hand and lead him into your bedroom where he pushes you against the closed door once you’re inside.

His lips attach to your neck and he marks you with bites and sucks on your delicate skin. You moan into his ear as he brings his hands to fondle your chest. Matt pulls the front of your bralette down to expose them to the chilled air. His fingertips roll and tug at your nipples, leaving them sensitive to the touch. You gasp as you feel his hard-on pressing into your upper thigh.

“Get on your knees, Y/N,” he commands.

You follow his order and you drop to your knees on the plush carpet. Without hesitation, you tug his joggers down his thighs and he pulls his shirt off to expose his chest. His hat falls to the floor in the process and it’s the first time you see his full head of light brown tresses.

Matt strokes himself and you look up at him in awe. His brows are furrowed again and small moans escape his lips when his thumb passes over a sweet spot under his cockhead. Your favorite part; he’s big. You’re eager to test if you can wrap your fingers fully around him.

“Open,” he tells you. You replace his hand with yours and wrap it around his shaft. Quickly looking, your fingers are a centimeter away from your thumb. Fuck. Your mouth opens up happily; you languidly stroke him while giving teasing licks to his tip. “If you make me cum, then maybe I’ll consider liking you after tonight,” Matt taunts.

You roll your eyes. “Mhm,” you moan as you wrap your lips around his tip.

You take him into your mouth as much as you can and use your hand to stroke his base. You watch his eyes as you bob on dick; his lips are slightly open and let out soft whines when you run your tongue over the spot you noticed earlier.

“God, you look so much better with your lips around my cock,” he hisses.

“Hm?” You make eye contact with him and smirk.

“I didn’t say you were pretty,” he corrects you. His dominant hand makes its way to the back of your head. “Can I?”

You nod and let your hand fall to the back of his thigh to brace yourself. You couldn’t deny an angry, sexy man from fucking your throat.

You groan on his cock once he begins thrusting his hips. Both of his large hands grasp the back of your head and he smiles down at the tears forming in your eyes. 

“Never would I think your hard ass would let me make you drool like this,” he grunts with each thrust.

You clench your thighs hard at his words trying to feel some sense of relief. You envied any other woman that got to hear him talk to them like this. If your panties were off, then you wouldn’t be surprised if your juices dripped onto your carpet.

Matt slows when he feels your fingernails dig into the skin of his thigh, “Get on the bed, on your back.”

You stand, take a deep breath, and wipe your mouth as you enter your bed. “What? You’re not going to fuck me from behind? I thought you didn’t like looking at my face,” you taunt him while lying on your back.

Matt shucks his joggers off his feet and crawls to you on all fours until his face is above yours. His right hand comes to grip your chin, “I want to see what it looks like when a girl like you cums so many times she can’t run her mouth anymore.”

Oh. 

He kisses your forehead quickly before he pulls your panties down your legs. You sit up a bit for him to tug your bralette off. 

Matt raises your legs until they’re spread and fully expose your wet cunt. He nestles between his hips between yours and pushes the length of his cock through the slit of your lips. His cockhead grazes over your clit and you whine.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groans. “You like to be degraded, huh? Who knew I’ve been turning you on these past two years by being an asshole?”

“I’ve touched myself to the thought of you,” you admit, reaching down to rub over your clit with your fingertips.

His hands squeeze your ankles. “I don’t believe you.”

“You can admit that you have, too,” you moan as he watches you circle your clit. “I’ve seen the tent I make in your pants when I groan your name, or call you a dick.”

“I hate you so fucking much,” he presses himself to the hilt into your pussy with one thrust. 

“Ah, Matt, fuck you— you’re so big,” you gasp and furrow your brow.

He smirks and you know his ego has been stroked. Matt’s hands maintain the grip on your ankles to spread you open to use you. He begins to thrust into you at a quick pace and murmurs ‘I hate you’ when his tip taps the back of your cunt. 

Tears form in the corners of your eyes from how full you feel. You've never been with a man that has made you feel like this before. You do your best to do anything to show him how good you feel, but at some point, you have no choice but to look up at him with an “o” on your lips and your eyes glossed over.

“Ok, now I’ll admit it,” he slows his thrusts for a second so you can hear him without the sound of your pussy squelching ruining his compliment. “You’re cute. Pretty, even.”

Your eyes roll back at his words and you moan even though your mouth is dry.

“What? Can’t talk back? I’ve always wanted to fuck you until you couldn’t speak,” he teases. In retaliation, you bring your hand to the back of his head, gather his hair, and pull it. “Shit,” he moans.

Matt reaches to place his hand on your chest above your breasts. You smile up at him with a glint in your eye hoping he wants to do what you think he does. You let go of his hair which captures his attention and you nod enthusiastically before looking at his hand.

With your luck, he understands and pushes his hand into the base of your neck and grips the sides. “What a good girl you are letting me choke you out,” Matt grunts.

His weight presses you into the mattress as he fucks your cunt mercilessly. His words and the feeling of the ridge under his tip caressing your sweet spot make your head feel light. You grasp Matt’s fingers around your neck to let him know to ease off.

He lets go and returns both his hands to your ankles, pushing your thighs further into your chest. It’s the first time you can see downwards; you watch the full length of his messy cock enter and exit you with the slapping sound of his hips on your ass. This just about tips you over the edge.

“Matt, make me cum, please,” you whine and look up to match his gaze.

He bites his lip and nods. “Touch yourself,” he demands breathlessly.

Your fingers return to your clit and you pass over it at a quick pace, eager to give him your first orgasm. You gasp as you feel your insides become more wet, like a pipe bursting. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan and shut your eyes.

All he says is “Eyes.” and you shoot them open to maintain his eye contact. Matt furrows his eyebrows in concentration as he brings you to completion. The rush flows over your body and causes you to shake. All you can do is whine his name. It was more intense than any of the times you masturbated to the sound of his voice in your head.

You relax your head on the mattress and attempt to bring your heart rate down. “Thank you, Matt,” you breathe out. “I never thought I would say that to you.”

Matt strokes his still-hard dick while watching the quick rise and fall of your chest. “Y/N, we’re not done,” he reminds you. “You’re going to cum as many times as you can on my cock, my fingers, my tongue… until you can’t take it anymore.”

[graciegoeskrazy]

mine

matty healy + teen!daughter!reader

cw: mommy issues, lil yelling, crying, cursing, family secrets

an: i’m back. my b. the beginning is mid but the rest is not bad it gets better basically lol. ty to the anon who requested this. hope u enjoy :)))))

“Can I ask you something?” You asked George in the car.

“Anything.” He said.

You turned down the music and faced George over the armrest. “Who is my mother?”

“Anything but that,” he said, turning the music back up.

“George!” You said, stopping his hand. “C’mon. Just a name?”

“I should not be the one telling you who she is.”

“So you do know who she is…”

He looked at you for a second, knowing you caught him. He sighed and replied. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Ask your father.”

You sighed. “I’ve done that my whole life! He’s never given me anything. Not even a name.”

“Then what makes you think I would.”

He thought then turned to him. “Because you love me and I’m your favorite?”

“No.” He said too quickly.

He reached a red light and you reached over the armrests closer to him, trying to get him to answer and to annoy him.

“George, I’m turning 16 next week. I'm going to have a big party with all my friends over and have the time of my life, and I’m going to plan it all without my mom there.”

“Not the sob story.” He said, hands over his eyes.

“Yes, the sob story! Next year I’m gonna go to prom, and she's not gonna be there to help pick out my dress. Same for when I get married. She’s not gonna be there. I’m going to go through all of these milestones and she's not gonna be there and I will never know why. I don’t even know if she’s alive! I’ve spent the past nearly 16 years of my life wondering what she's like. Is she alive? Is she dead? Did she die during childbirth? Did she kill herself? Does she live back home? Have I met her? Is it someone that I know? I don’t fucking know because my overprotective father won't tell me shit!”

He looked at you for a minute then back at the road. You could tell you were about to break him.

“If she's alive and she doesn’t want to be a part of all those things, then at least I know that she's a bitch who didn't want to be there, instead of lying awake at night wondering.”

He sighed, and you grew hopeful.

“I don’t know much about her-”

“But you know some things…”

He looked at you, “Yeah.”

“Well?”

He pulled over. “You, my dear sweet girl, were unexpected.”

“I figured.”

“Your father had been dating someone during the end of school. We had met her a couple of times, he brought her around. It was whatever. One night, he showed up at my house, it was late. He was a sobbing mess. He told me she was pregnant and he was the father. No one knew except me and the boys. He eventually told your grandparents but they didn’t even know he had a girlfriend so that was a funny conversation.”

You held onto every word.

“She wanted to get rid of the pregnancy but she was already nearly halfway through the whole term before she found out so it was already too late. She said she wanted nothing to do with the baby so it was up to your dad to make a decision.”

“Was he gonna get rid of me?”

“He was torn. He wanted to keep going and do what he could but he also didn’t know if he could give you what you truly deserved then.”

He sighed.

“Your mother left right after she gave birth.”

Tears started forming in your eyes as you looked at George.

“Oh, bubs-”

“I’m fine- keep going.”

He sighed again. “Meanwhile, your dad took one look at his girl and fell in love. He vowed to give you everything he had and more.”

You gave him a suggesting look. He looked outside the window and the roof of the car. Anywhere but at you.

“Her name is Ayla. That’s all I know about her I swear. She never mentioned a job or a family or anything.”

You did it…

He turned to you with a serious look. “Promise me - you won’t go and look her up or cause any trouble.”

You held out your pinky.

“I promise.”

…

It’s crazy what a teenager can do with a name, the internet, and some time. It only took 15 minutes before you found her. Ayla Anderson. Age 33. Born in Manchester, lives in New York City. You were fully aware that George told you to do the exact opposite of what you were currently doing. You were also fully aware that your dad was playing Madison Square Garden in a couple of weeks and you would be in NYC along with him for 2 weeks. It was too perfect. You kept the info in tabs on your computer, occasionally looking over at it whenever you were bored. When the day came a mixture of adrenaline and anxiety took over you, not sure how to feel. Your breathing became incredibly shaky. The freezing New York City air combined with your uncontrollable anxiety became a recipe for unease once you got off the subway in Brooklyn. The 10-minute walk to the unfamiliar address was filled with emotions and questions. What if I got the person and place wrong? What if she recognizes my face instantly? What if she has kids? What if she pulls a gun on me before I speak? What if she just slams the door in my face? In a way, it made the walk seem to go by faster, but you couldn't tell if it was a good or bad thing.

The entire apartment building was filthy. Nasty floors that were covered with dirt that hadn’t been cleaned in years, walls that were filled head to toe with writings, graffiti, dirt, and even some spots of blood. The lights that were supposed to fill the hallway either had burnt-out bulbs or had broken pieces on the floor. When you arrived at the door and prepared to knock you heard the sound of cries that only could’ve been coming from a young child. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and knocked on the door, hoping that whatever came next would give you some answers.

“Coming.” A man’s voice answered. The door swung open and revealed a man who appeared to be in his forties wearing khakis, some band tee shirt, with a flask in hand.

You stood in shock. You had no idea who this man was. After a moment of not answering and just staring at his face, he spoke. “Can I help you?” He asked harshly.

“Um- yeah. Hi. I’m looking for Ayla Anderson.”

He nodded and walked back inside, slightly closing the door while doing so. “BABE! DOOR!”

As he disappeared from your eyesight, a woman came into view. You knew instantly. It was her.

You and your dad always looked like twins so to speak. You were the epitome of a mini Matty, but there were always some things that never made sense in terms of you inheriting them from your dad. For instance, your face shape and bone structure were completely different, your nose had a slightly different shape, and your skin tone was completely different than Matty’s. Those 3 things imparticular were staring right back at you when she opened the door.

She looked at you and spoke, obviously not recognizing who you were.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

You swallowed. “Um. Yes- are you Ayla Anderson?”

She tilted her head. “Depends.”

You smiled. Hopeful. Then spoke. “My name is y/n Healy.”

Her eyes widened when she realized your last name. You noticed the change on her face then hesitantly continued.

“Are you-“

“Please go away.” She said cutting you off.

“Are you my mom?” You said it quite loudly but you didn’t think anything of it until she shushed you and spoke in a hushed tone.

“My husband doesn’t know-“ She said, closing the door a little more as she stepped outside, hoping the man in the other room wouldn’t hear anything.

“Are you?” You asked again. Your eyes were glued to her.

“Listen, kid, you need to leave.” She went to reach for the door but you helped it open with a firm grasp.

“Are you my mother?” Your eyes and voice were full of tension.

She sighed, “Biologically…yes.” You softened just a bit. It was her. No more daydreams or fantasies of what she is or could be. It was her.

“But, in every other way shape, or form, I am nothing to you.” Her tone grew serious as she caught you off guard.

Before you could even think of how to respond, a cry coming from inside the apartment cut you off. She sighed and turned back to you. “That’s my kid, listen I-“

“You have a kid?” You asked, cutting her off.

She gave a very sad smile. She felt a wave of sadness when she realized she was handing you life-changing news. “I have 2. Yeah.” She gave a weak smile. “2 Boys.”

You slowly nodded while trying to peek inside the door. “So they’re-“

“And they don’t know you exist.” She said, cutting you off. She got serious again. “And as far as I’m concerned, they never will.”

She crossed her arms and whispered. “I’ve done so good at reshaping my past, the last thing I need is some kid coming and fucking it up.”

You stood in disbelief. How could she be this cruel?

“Why are you even here anyway? Money? You think I got money?”

“I’m not here for money.” Your voice was hoarse with tears.

“Then why are you here?”

You shrugged while continuing to cry. “To see you.” You whipped the tears and straightened up. “I wanted to see you.”

She sighed. “Yeah, well, that makes one of us.”

You were heartbroken.

She looked back into the apartment and then back to you, sighing. “Listen, kid, uh…what was your name?”

She doesn’t even know my name.

“Y/n.” You said, sadly.

“Y/n! Right. Listen, y/n. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. I’m sorry I can’t be the mother of your dreams or whatever the fuck you had planned in the little head of yours. Whatever you want, I can’t be that for you. Frankly, I don’t want to be.” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m being honest when I say I wish you the best of luck in life. But I truly don’t want any part in that.”

You swallowed and nodded, not having the courage to look up at her.

“Get home safely.” She said, slamming the door.

…

In the thousands of ways you pictured your mom since you were little, it sure wasn’t like this. The ride back to your and your dad’s Airbnb was faster than the ride over there. Time seems to always go faster when you are in your head. Some gave you looks as you sat quietly on the subway back, either of concern or confusion. It was New York City after all so seeing a young woman like you in your state is nothing new for some of these people. You got to your place sooner than expected and quickly wiped your tears before stepping inside. You were hopping to walk in quietly so no one would notice you but that goal was shot down when Mayhem loudly greeted you at the door. Like always, your father and George were sat at the kitchen table doing work. They said hi, not noticing your fragile state at first,

“Hey, bubs!” George said.

You mumbled a weak “Hey.” after getting up from petting the pup.

Your father took notice of your tone, as well as the dried tear stains of your cheeks. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine. I’m gonna go take a nap.” You said, as nonchalantly as possible. It didn't fool your dad and uncle though.

“What’s up with her?” George asked.

“I don’t know?” he furrowed his brows before adding, “I’ll go talk to her.”

…

As soon as you got upstairs you put your backpack down and jumped on your bed, letting out a plethora of tears you didn't know were there. You couldn't get her words out of your head, they just kept repeating in your mind. So much so that you never hear the footsteps your dad made while walking up the stairs and to your room. His knocking on the door took you out of your trance.

“Darling?” he asked.

“One sec.” You grabbed a tissue and wiped your tears quickly before going to the door and unlocking it.

He smiled at you, not saying a word.

You let out a small confused smirk. “What’s up?”

He sighed and leaned against the door frame. “How was your adventure?”

“Fine.” You replied. You held the door slightly closed, not wanting to let him in, Also giving short answers in the hope of this conversation ending quickly. You couldn't hold your emotions sin for that long.

“Fine?” He asked.

You swallowed “Yeah. Fine.”

He hummed before asking, “Where’d you go?”

“Brooklyn.” You said.

“Hm. What’s there?”

“Boring stuff. I just walked around, you know?”

He knew you were full of shit, but this felt different. He could push you the same way he was used to. This felt different. You felt…fragile. “Hm. You okay?”

“Yeah. Peachy,” you said, with a small, obviously fake, smile.

He straightened up and asked again. “You sure?”

You swallowed and slammed the door.

Matty’s suspensions were correct. “Darling, open the door.”

You were already sobbing. You locked the door and slid down it, sitting on the other side. “I can’t.”

His voice got sweet, laced with concern. “Why, love? What happened?”

At this point, George started heading up the stairs. They just heard your weeping and grew even more worried. “Please tell me, love.”

No answer.

“Darling, whatever it is, we'll figure it out. I won’t be mad I promise.”

Still, no answer.

“Are you safe? Are you hurt?”

Matty was now fearing every terrible scenario. “Y/n, please just-“

“I found her.”

He took a breath and thought before speaking, already connecting some dots.

He sighed, “Found who?” He asked, pretty confident he already knew the answer.

“Ayla.” You said, through tears,

“Y/n Healy-“

“I’m sorry! George told me her name-”

“George Daniel!”

George started to turn away but Matty grabbed him by the collar.

You spoke before he had a chance to get mad at your uncle. “She’s 33. Moved to the U.S. right after she gave birth. She lives on 1924 Larklin Street Apartment 4C in Brooklyn, New York where she lives with her two sons and husband.”

He sighed. “Oh my god-“

“George only told me her name. Don't get mad at him. I’m the one who did the research.”

He glared at George as he dropped his grip. “Did you visit her?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You hesitantly said.

“And what happened?”

The tears you thought were starting to disappear came back again at the thought of her words. “She told me to leave. Told me she doesn’t want any part in my life.”

“Fuck.” He knocked his head on the door, sighing.”

Your tears were now at a full 10 and you were slightly struggling to catch your breath. “Why was I not good enough, Dad?”

“Baby-”

“Why does she hate me?”

He sighed.

“What did I do?”

“You did nothing wrong, y/n-”

“Then why don't I have a mom?”

Matty thought then continued. “Because you don’t need her. The universe or whoever is up there knew that I and your entire family were more than capable of raising the best girl known to mankind. They knew that you were exactly what I needed, so they sent you my way with the help of some bitch named Ayla.”

“You don’t believe that do you?”

“The point is, you were sent my way for a reason, and that reason never involved Ayla.”

“You were meant for me. No one else.”

“You thought about those words for a bit and eventually your cries turned into sniffles.

“Can you open the door now?” He asked hesitantly.

You moved next to the door reached up and turned the handle, opening and unlocking it.

His heart winced when he saw you in your crying state. “Oh, my baby.”

He reached his arms out and you fell into his embrace immediately. Your head falls onto his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise you.”

He pressed a kiss on your forehead.

You sat up after catching your breath. “Thank you for being mom and dad.”

He smiled and took you into another tight hug.

George appeared from around the corner and your dad playfully frowned at him.

“Never trusting your ass with family secrets again.”

You and George smiled. “Sorry mate.”

[mikareo]

⌗ SNOWDROP ₊ ˖ ་. nagi seishiro x fem reader (5.4k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ it's the end of the world and he's possibly the most unprepared person alive…perhaps he can rely on the pretty girl with perfect aim who just so happened to save his life at the very last second. he’s never been in love but maybe this love could last…so long as the both of you stay alive.

contains; resident evil inspired, badass agent!reader, helpless civilian!nagi, zombie apocalypse, guns, knives, blood, gore, swearing, angst, fluffy flirting, love at first sight, major character death, reo cameo!!!!, cannibalism (zombies) author's note; this fic destroyed my sanity, but i hope u like it! there are parts that are so unserious asjkl just trust me that it's a good read and pt2 is gonna be fucking crazy

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀ videogame au milestone collab masterlist !

This can’t be happening. There’s no way this is actually fucking happening right now. 

He’s sprinting at full speed, his laces are barely tied, and the smoke in the air is surely clogging his lungs into a blackened pulp of nothingness. To be quite frank, Nagi would rather have those poisoned lungs than discover whatever the hell happened to his neighbors down the hall…because damn they look like they’re in some rough shape. With their sunken eyes, flaking skin, and very obvious urge to suddenly turn to cannibalism, that’s not really his vibe…but that’s a falling telephone pole! Holy shit that’s a falling telephone pole coming straight his way in 3…2…1. JUMP!

Whew, that was a close one. Good thing he’s tall!

The shift in humanity didn’t exactly happen overnight. It was actually just twenty minutes ago when his peace was so rudely interrupted. There he was, snuggled up in his gaming chair with a fresh bag of Cool Ranch Doritos opened and ready to meet his belly, when he finally beat the last level of his new favorite game; only to discover that those screams of terror and fear…yea those weren’t coming from his PC and his living room window is now a pile of ash. Nagi doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much red and yellow in his life, all of it becoming one big blur of flames that he somehow jumped through and landed on the street below— thankfully he lives on the ground floor, otherwise his body would join his couch in a pile of broken limbs. Damn, this is all such a hassle.

No one would be able to guess what it was that caused this chaos…okay, actually it’s not too out of this world; just a commercial jet falling from the sky with a monstrous thing (??) crawling out of the window onto the streets of Tokyo, whilst an oddly green gas dilutes the air.

Yeah, not too crazy— but just crazy enough to make even Nagi Seishiro, laziest man on earth, leave the comfort of his homely apartment to find his neighborhood in complete and utter chaos. He even saw his delivery man devouring the convenience store owner that always gives him an extra bonus off his nightly midnight snack. Man, he loved that guy. That’s a sight that’ll make him shudder for years to come; assuming he can stay alive for the next however many hours and days this newfound apocalypse is going to take.

Nagi thinks it’s been nearly an hour since he started running and he didn’t even know he had this much stamina in him. Maybe he’s secretly a superhuman or another one of the monsters the city has been consumed by— or perhaps his adrenaline rush is nearly infinite since he’s never utilized it in his entire life. He’s not sure of the logistics. He failed high school biology…and chemistry…and physics. There’s a reason why he turned to gaming and shied away from college. This thrill and rush isn’t meant for him. He’s a couch potato that wants to do nothing but rot and enjoy the satisfying ding Twitch gives him whenever he receives a new sub. His generation needs instant gratification…and right now? Well, he’s in desperate need of some water. 

Hesitantly, Nagi rounds into the glass doors of the nearest and safest looking building he happens to see— which is luckily a convenience store similar to the one near his apartment. He’s more than surprised when the automatic doors open in a pinch and he’s able to enter with no difficulty. The store is somehow in little disarray, with its grocery items on the shelves in their rightful spots and few sparse bags of chips laying on the tile floor. However, what is in disarray is the pharmacy section. There are drugstore pills scattered everywhere. He can’t even tell what kind of medications were being scavenged in a clear panic for medical amenities, and highly doubts that whoever was searching for supplies was able to get any with the state the back of the store is in. The font on the labels is so small that Nagi, the man who stares at a screen all day, can’t decipher what they say; and he’s assuming that whoever was in here is long dead and gone. But then again…

…he’s never been the kind of guy who’s always right.

“I come in peace!” His voice is two octaves higher than it normally is. If this were a choir audition, he’d absolutely ace it. “I swear I just came for some water! Please don’t kill me, zombie, please!”

Both of his eyes are shut whilst he awaits his inevitable demise, assuming that the unknown presence in the room likely has an appetite for human organs. There were so many things he wanted to do with his life…like ride a hot air balloon? Actually, that would be really hot if he were that close to the sun. Surf in the Caribbean? Ew, he could get bit by a crab. Get a girlfriend? He can’t complain about that one, that would be very very nice. 

Oh no, he’s already getting eaten…he can practically hear her imaginary laughter already.

“Really? Those are your last words?”

Zombies can talk?

Nagi fearfully inches one eye open to see the most gorgeous person he thinks he’s seen in his entire life. Sure, you look a little disheveled— with your soaked hair and dirt-crusted skin— but to him, you look like something out of his imagination. The female protagonist that he could only dream about campaigning with in a first-person-shooter game, and would later search for a worthy poster to stick on his wall. If love at first sight is real, then this is definitely it. The only issue? Your barrel is pointing straight at his face.

“You’re going to shoot me?” He exclaims, scrambling to back up but ultimately tripping on his own laces and landing on his ass. “Ah shit, that hurts.”

Elegantly, you rush to his side. “You have injuries?” With eyes scanning over every inch of his body, there’s genuine concern dripping from your tongue like honey. Your voice is like a melody, oh man. Nagi thinks he’s a goner— not because he could be eaten by zombies, but because he feels like he’d jump in front of a moving bus to protect you. Pfft, and some protection he’s doing, embarrassing himself like this…

“Nope, nothing’s hurt…” he mumbles, sitting up with an attempted nonchalant look on his face. “...only my ego.”

A small smile reveals itself before him and your eyes crinkle as you let out a little laugh, and instantly he’s almost more obsessed with you. It’s as if you’re some higher being that he was blessed to see on his final day on earth, with golden rays radiating from your skin and big irises that he could drown in. Perhaps if it weren’t the end of the world, the two of you could’ve walked to this store together— holding hands and speaking softly about your shared interests and passions— and he could make you laugh a million times and more…now that he’s really thinking about it, you’re the first girl he’s made laugh probably ever and he really wishes there wasn’t a menacing zombie apocalypse getting in the way of his beautiful fantasy. 

“I’m assuming you’re alone?” You stand up, looking down at him. 

Alone as in single or…

“You don’t have any family that you escaped with?”

…okay not alone as in single. Got it.

“It’s just me,” Nagi stands to his feet and is loving your shocked reaction to his towering height. “My family’s overseas right now, so I think they’re alright. I mean, I hope they’re alright. I don’t have any service to reach them, right now. My phone is down.”

You nod, reaching in your bag for something he can’t quite see. What he can see, though, is the massive shotgun strapped to your back and three large cartridges hanging from your belt— somehow you’re able to carry all that and four grenades, two handguns, and six rolls of bandages in that pack of yours, which you lay out for him so lovingly on the floor. 

“Take what you need.” Oh hell, what has he gotten himself into?

As he backs up cautiously, realization dawns upon your face. “You’ve never done this before have you?” 

“Is living through a zombie apocalypse a common experience?” His mouth is agape. “Yeah, sorry…can’t say this isn’t the first time for me.”

A sigh slips from your lips and you gather your things, packing everything into your bag except for a standard handgun. Nagi can feel his heartbeat picking up as you take three steps closer to him. One. Two. Three. He wishes you’d chosen to take a fourth— that way you’d be nose to nose, he’d get to see your beauty up close, and then memorize the curves and features of your face— which he’d surely never forget as he’d think about them morning, night, and day. He’d love to fantasize about you for hours but you have other plans, dropping said standard handgun into his palms. 

“Just aim for the head, okay?” 

Um. No. Not okay. 

“I don’t really shoot real guns…” he rambles, attempting to get rid of the deadly weapon you’ve so casually given him. “I’m more of a lover, y’know? Talk things out instead of shooting things in between their eyes? I like digital zombies! Yeah, those guys are chill…love ‘em so much…please take this away from me.”

You shake your head, already on your way out of the door. “Nope, you’re coming with me.”

“Why?” If this were a video game, there’d be a massive exclamation point flashing above his head, along with a grave that he could crawl into instead of joining you on this suicide mission. Being six feet under sounds pretty nice right about now…but he’s sure that the look you’re giving him is more deadly than any threat outside. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help to you.”

“Nagi, is it?” You clarify, to which he nods. “There are only two choices right now, and I know we just met but I’d rather you live than die. You’re tall. Your height is going to give you a range advantage when we’re out there, and I can already tell that you have great spatial awareness…not many people would’ve noticed me in the shadows. You know this area far better than I do, and sure, you’ve never held a gun before, but you’ve got to fight to live.”

As your voice continues in a soft-spoken tone, he’s mesmerized. “I want you to live, and I’m going to make sure you do.”

He can feel himself nodding along to your words— his heart getting lighter by the second, perhaps out of adrenaline but he’s going to believe it’s love. He needs something to look forward to when this is all over, if this is ever over, and that something is the image of you and him on a date. With you looking stunning in your favorite outfit and him hopefully looking better than he does right now…clear skies with the cicadas shushing themselves so he doesn’t miss a single thing you say…enough money in his bank account to cover anything and everything you wish for…and the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers that he can find. What are your favorite flowers?

“Can I ask you something before I say yes?” Nagi’s voice is sweet, seemingly comforting you as your shoulders drop from their automated offensive stance. You look a little curious, likely assuming that he’s going to ask you some tips on how to shoot a gun— which he probably should if he’s being honest with himself, but that’s an issue that isn’t as important as his current curiosity. “Do you have a favorite flower?” 

With teeth shining at him, he’s blinded by the overwhelming beauty you send his way and for the second time, he makes you laugh. 

“My favorite flower? You’re so strange.” Overcome with a fit of giggles, he thinks that this is your first time laughing at something a man said as well. “Why do you need to know that? Are you asking me out or something?”

“I am.” He states bluntly and your cheeks flush red. 

There’s a minute of silence between the two of you and each second is more excruciating than the last. With a heavy clock ticking in his ear, telling him that he’s made a fool of himself as the hand inches more and more to the left; he’s counting down his probable rejection as he’s just shot his shot in the middle of the end of the world. What a stupid decision. He knows his timing could be better— could be a lot better actually— and there’s a part of him that regrets even attempting…but none of that matters, because you’re smiling.

Maybe he makes you just as nervous as you make him…

“Okay Nagi,” you grin and adjust the shotgun strap across your chest. “If we both survive this, I promise I’ll go out with you…but I have some high expectations. I want the most expensive flower arrangement money can buy.” 

“And what kind of flowers are you wishing for, gorgeous?” His voice is a sexy whisper, and Nagi didn’t even know he could be so seductive.

You jokingly roll your eyes at the pet name and toss him one of your inactive grenades, which he catches with ease, urging him to follow you into the chaos— but not before you give him the answer he so desperately desires.

“Snowdrops.”

There are two things that Nagi has realized in the past thirty minutes. 

1.) He’s a lot more athletic than he thought he was. 

Running for a half an hour straight is something that he never imagined himself doing— especially considering that he’s never stepped one foot into a gym in his entire life. What he originally thought to be clumsiness, turns out to be raw strength untouched. You were right to assume that his lengthy limbs would do him some justice in the fight for his life, and he’s thankful for his towering height as he’s blocked falling debris from smacking you atop the head nearly five times now; though, he did miss a flying sneaker that happened to nail you straight in the nose. He’s trying his best, give him a break. 

2.) You might be a figment of his imagination. 

Sure, this idea is likely false as he definitely felt your weight when you were sent flying from a stray hand grenade and landed on top of him, but you just seem so perfect. Getting to know you has been a dream come to life— though making conversation while running for his life isn’t the easiest feat, he’s managing. Some of the things you’ve told him do seem to be made up, though. For instance, you were the culprit behind the plane crash and while he’d love to picture a sunsetting sky with the two of you floating in the breeze, you’re not going to be piloting that jet. However, he has to give you a break because he’s never flown anything other than pixelated aircrafts, especially aircrafts that contain a deadly monster oozing toxic gas that turns people into zombies. Yeah, he couldn’t quite believe that either.

“On your left!” The sound of your voice snaps him back into focus and he realizes there are four zombified citizens barreling your way. “I could use some help here!”

You definitely don’t need his help. For God’s sake you have a shotgun the size of your leg that’s already mowed down three of them and Nagi’s just barely getting used to the sound of the bang. So far he’s pretty much been useless if not for letting you know what’s coming up in the distance, and also being the absolute last resort solution— which is rare, but oh shit it’s happening right now! You’re out of shells! How exactly does he fire this thing again?

Shakily, he attempts to point his handgun in the direction of the lone zombie bounding towards you. “Deep breaths, Nagi! Focus and aim!” Your words of encouragement are appreciated, but ultimately useless as he desperately starts stray shooting. 

“Fucking aim!” You’re losing your patience for him so fast, to which he tries his best to calm down and breathe.

In and out.

His heart rate begins to slow.

Breathe and concentrate. 

His eyes become unclouded by his anxiety, and his vision clears. 

Lock on.

He has a mark on the target. 

With his pistol’s aim assist shining against the zombie’s forehead, he confidently fires a single bullet. It soars through the air, squealing in its flight, and he lets out a sigh of relief…a sigh that he exhaled far too early.

Aw shit, he missed. 

You grunt, bracing yourself against his bullet that ricochets off of the nearby telephone pole and grazes your right arm. He has a clear view of the scarlet blood dripping down your elbow and onto the pavement, and his heart feels heavy. He’s so fucking useless that he’s injuring you. Nagi doesn’t think it’s even possible to be worse at flirting than him; he can’t imagine that there are many guys who are accidentally shooting the girl they like, yet here he is. 

Thankfully, you being the badass agent you are, you’ve managed to reload your eleven shells of ammo in the time it took for him to fire one bullet— and you easily dissolve the zombie to bits and pieces. 

“Your aim can use a little work.” You snort, brushing your fingers against the small wound.

He rips the sleeve of his t-shirt off and attempts to wrap it around your arm. This is what you’re supposed to do, right? The only training he’s had in the medical field is from that one surgeon simulator game he played in middle school, and to be completely honest, it was a pretty good game! However, he’s definitely doing something wrong because you place your hand over his and show him how to properly treat an open wound. Normally, Nagi would be embarrassed that he’s failing so miserably right now— but honestly, the only thing on his mind is how this is the first time you’ve held his hand. He can’t tell if there are butterflies in his stomach or if the smell of blood is triggering vomit. Hopefully the former.

It’s no surprise that your perceptive self notices his focus on your intertwined hands, to which you take the lead and insist on pushing forward. “As romantic as this is, we should find some shelter before we get eaten in the midst of making out.” 

Oh?

“You want to make out with me?” 

Oof that slap hurt. His priorities clearly don’t align with yours.

“Okay, okay.” Nagi holds his hands up in surrender before you can smack his chest for a second time, and he’s finally able to notice your surroundings. Since when was the Mikage Buildingright behind you? Hm…the imminent fear of death must have distracted him. “My best friend’s family owns this tower here. I promise it’s safe.”

Your gaze narrows at the wall of glass windows that are seemingly spotless. There isn’t a single crack, faulty line, or zombie-sized hole that’s visible to the naked eye and he feels a little swell of pride for Reo’s family. Yeah, that’s right! My best friend’s parent’s architects are great at making buildings! It finally seems like he’s had his first good idea of the night, and Nagi couldn’t be more proud. Progress is progress (even if he shot you in the process)! 

“It looks good.” You nod in approval and begin cautiously making your way towards the doors.

While following closely behind, he watches your back and ensures that there’s no one on your trail; which isn’t difficult in the slightest. Most of the civilians have died by now and you’ve already cleared every undead in the area…without his help. He doesn’t know how he managed to be so lucky that he ended up with you, but he’s grateful for every second— and now that you’re finally in his familiar territory, he can finally show you what he’s worth. 

“There’s an elevator up these steps.” Nagi leads you up the grand staircase, remembering how he lazily trotted down it yesterday after Reo tried, once again, to convince him to join his football club. “I think it’ll work, I know they have emergency systems and everything.”

“I don’t know, Nagi…” your voice trails off, something amiss about it. “I just have a weird feeling about this place.”

“I promise Reo’s family’s going to take care of us, they’re the best.” He deflects your concerns, trusting that his friend will pull through and have some crazy solution to save the world. There’s never been a time where he couldn't count on Reo and as soon as you reach the top of these steps, you’ll agree. The text he sent out asking for help is almost delivered, just a few more seconds and that blue line will slide all the way to the right and Reo will be right down the elevator as soon as possible. 3…2…1…sent! There! You’ll both be saved!

But if Reo’s on the top floor in his room…why did his ringtone ding just meters away?

There’s a corpse laying in front of the elevator doors, mangled and bruised. How did Nagi not notice it before? Was he too distracted thinking of his closest and only friend he’s ever had? No way. The security team must have destroyed all of the zombies in the building already, he’s sure Reo and the others are fine— but why does that body look so familiar?

No.

It can’t be him. 

Three steps away. 

There’s got to be some kind of mistake here. A prank right?

Two steps away. 

He can’t be dead. His best friend can’t be dead!

One. 

“No…” With his voice trembling, he stands over his best friend’s body. Reo’s violet hair is drenched in blood, seemingly resembling the color of a plum rather than the typical lavender hue. If it were a normal day, Nagi would laugh at the awful color— telling his partner in crime that the shade didn’t suit him in the slightest and Reo would laugh in annoyance, aiming a ball straight for the taller boy’s head…but this isn’t a normal day. This is the end of the world; and that beautiful lavender flower that Nagi associated with his teammate is wilting. It’s dying. It’s dead along with the heartbeat within it. Reo is dead. 

“Nagi. I need you to step back slowly.” He spins to see you with your barrel aimed at Reo’s corpse, but he can’t seem to move. It’s almost as if he’s been stunned, frozen in place with frostbite cementing his legs to the granite floors, and mouth encased in ice. He’s so overwhelmed that he can’t even open his mouth to give you a warning that there’s something moving behind you. Why can’t he speak? He needs to tell you! However, right when his teeth quiet their jitter, you’re tackled to the ground with a loud pummel. 

Immediately, gunshots ring out in the grand hall. You’re firing in every direction in an attempt to blast off your opponent, but this zombie is particularly agile and you don’t have much room to move with your large shotgun…looking back in retrospect, giving Nagi your only handgun wasn’t the greatest idea.

“C’mon!” Repeatedly, you call out to him, but he remains paralyzed in fear. “Stop being useless!”

He watches as you struggle to wrestle off the infected woman, grunting and groaning with every punch you deal to its face. The skin on her cheeks is almost a greyish shade, discolored and decaying with a potent smell that burns his nostrils. It’s hard to tell who’s who under the blanket of shadows she’s trapped you under, but occasionally he catches a glimpse of golden eyes that tell him the zombie is still alive. 

Somehow, with your almost supernatural raw strength, you’re able to hook your thighs around the zombie’s neck— pinning it down to the pearly floors and trapping it beneath your weight. It claws and cries out, desperately trying to escape your grasp, and Nagi almost feels bad for it. Just a few hours ago, this woman had a life. A real life that she likely looked forward to living every day; and now she’s nothing but a brainless carnivore with cannibalistic intentions. She could’ve been a mother. There could be a little boy out there missing her and waiting for her to come home, tell him that he’s safe, and that everything is going to be alright. When was the last time Nagi talked to his own mother? Why does he deserve to live and this woman doesn’t? Why is he so special that he was saved, while the rest of Tokyo was left to rot? 

It isn’t fair. 

None of it is fair.

He doesn’t deserve to live. He doesn’t deserve to be here. 

He’s taken his life for granted from the moment he learned to walk. Why should you be wasting your time trying to get him to safety when he’s nothing more than absolutely useless? He needs to help.

He needs to be brave…

…but he misses his chance once more. 

Letting out a wailing scream, you muster up enough energy to crush the woman’s head between your thighs, and Nagi is splattered with blood and guts. He doesn’t know how you’re so strong— it’s almost eerie in a way— but he’s more concerned with the state of your well-being. The look of exhaustion in your eyes acts as a glaring sun against his icy posture, and his feet are thawed from the floor, rushing towards you in mere seconds. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kneels on the ground before you and cups your face closely, “Hey— hey, don’t close your eyes. I’m right here. Please stay awake.” Nagi doesn’t think his voice has ever been so gentle nor has he ever felt this kind of worry for a girl before. Sure, he hasn’t known you for long, but he knows he can’t go on without you. You’re a team and a team sticks together. You can’t die right here! He’s not going to allow that!— but before he can lift you up like the knight in shining armour he wishes he could be, there’s a faint rustling behind him…a familiar rustling. Nagi knows that sound. He knows those movements. He’s heard them a million times and he’d be able to recognize them even in the midst of Shibuya Crossing in the busy hours. 

Where did Reo’s body go?

Perhaps it dissolved or maybe it was kicked aside in the midst of your fight. 

That has to be it, right? Where else could he be?

Nagi’s confusion is understandable. He’s thinking rationally given the circumstances and his heartbeat is somewhat steady. The mass of his body hovers over yours in a protective stance, like a dragon guarding a princess, and for once he appears to be confident. However, that confidence has been set aflame. He can feel his blood racing, burning through his veins in fear and distress, and he wishes he could simply rip his vitals from his skin to destroy the wretched emotions. The sight before him is something out of a horror movie…a horror movie where Nagi is the main character. 

“Oh fuck.” 

Reo leaps out of the shadows before Nagi can even react. 

There’s a blur of hands and feet, hitting and kicking at each other, and the snow haired boy never knew he was this agile. Reo is clearly doing his best to hit Nagi’s vital arteries; to which he’s blocking each attack with his forearms. This is chaos. He doesn't even have a second to think for himself and consider the possibility of blasting Reo’s head off with his handgun. He can’t do that…this is his best friend! 

As Nagi’s leg lines up to knock him off his feet, Reo lunges down and grabs a hold of it. In a panic, he attempts to shake his friend off— wiggling his leg up and down whilst reaching for his combat knife in his back pocket— and slices the skin in between Reo’s forearm and bicep…which is ultimately ineffective. Oh, shit he just got angrier! Growling, zombie-fied Reo clasps his hands around Nagi’s waist, lifting him off the ground with ease and throwing him into the elevator doors. The sound of his body slamming against the metal slab rings out, echoing in the grand foyer and deafening Nagi’s left ear. His breathing is heavy and he feels like he can’t get a single ounce of air in his lungs. Everything seems to be blurry, foggy with mist covering his irises as he attempts to see what’s right in front of him. 

A carnivorous Reo…

…and an unconscious you.

It’s clear to him what’s going on. There are two outcomes to this horrific situation and whatever decision Nagi makes is going to impact the rest of his life. 

1.) Let you go and join the afterlife with his best friend. 

2.) Save you and never see his best friend again. 

His heart is at war within himself. One side fighting for Reo, the boy he’s known for so long. The boy he’s laughed and cried with. The boy who knows everything about him. The boy who believed in him when no one else did…until you came along. 

Just the thought of seeing your lifeless eyes, bloodied body, and severed limbs flips a switch inside him— and Nagi finally comes to realize what’s happening. This isn’t Reo. This shell of a man with a monstrous hunger isn’t his best friend. Reo is a ghost now. He doesn’t exist anymore and now his body is being possessed by the undead, or whatever zombies are. He can miss his friend all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that the thing creeping towards you is nothing but a stranger who knows all of Nagi’s secrets. 

It’s time for him to fight to live. 

As he swiftly stands and tackles Reo to the floor, a wave of memories flash before Nagi’s eyes. 

The moment he first heard Reo’s voice. It was light and friendly. He had used a tone that Nagi hadn’t ever heard before, and although he had no interest in playing soccer, he still wanted to impress the popular boy— not because he wanted a higher status or a girlfriend, but because he knew this stranger needed a friend…and he really needed a friend, too. 

His palms grip Reo’s throat, ripping him off of your body.

The first time Reo laughed at something he said. It wasn’t intended to be funny, but the plum-haired boy couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles and Nagi found himself laughing as well. Sitting in the school courtyard, side-by-side with crumbling onigiri falling from their mouths, there’s no doubt that they looked like two elementary schoolers finding humor in something obscurely immature— but despite that, it’s one of his fondest memories. 

Reo struggles against Nagi’s weight, pinned to the floor with nowhere to run.

When he’d first shown him his concerningly large collection of video games, Reo hadn’t batted an eye. In fact, the very next day, Nagi received a friend request from him. Which seemed like a small act at the time, until he found out that Reo had gone to the tech store and purchased an entire PC set up just so he could be the Player 2 to Nagi’s Player 1. They were partners in both the real and virtual world— an unstoppable pair that won more tournaments as time went on— and Nagi will never clean out his xbox inventory filled with their trophies. 

His finger grazes the trigger.

This is it. 

No more memories.

It’s time to say goodbye.

In movies, when the protagonist has to kill their loved one, a single tear rolls down their cheek. 

For Nagi, his face drowns in his cries. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He’s gone.

“I love you.”

Reo’s body dissolves into ash…

…then dust…

…then nothing. 

“I’m so sorry.”

PART TWO COMING IN THE NEAR FUTURE (i’m a slow writer pls forgive me)

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[armeenix]

Distracting thoughts♡Bakugo x reader

I've been really sad recently so I thought why not write some fluff

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Ever since the very beginning of his freshman year bakugo has always been enthralled with you. There was just something about you that drew him to you as if he was a moth, and you were a beautiful dancing flame. His interest started out small. Sometimes he would glance over at you in class, or catch himself thinking about you instead of focusing on his tasks at hand.

Who are you really?

Why do you cause his thoughts to gravitate towards you?

Is it your stupid fucking quirk?

Maybe it's your stupid fucking face. With your pretty eyes, and your kissable lips, and your cute smile..

Fuck why are you so God damn pretty...?

This was when his thoughts started to get a little to...romantic. He had to snap himself out of this. He barely had time for friends, let alone a pretty little extra like you. He ever so desperately tried to get you off of his mind but nothing would get rid of his distracting thoughts. There was really only one option left and he eagerly took it. The last option he had was to just ignore you all together, and that's exactly what he did. He didn't want to admit it but it was a little harder to avoid you than he expected. Ever since the first day of school you have very persistently tried talking to bakugo. It's not like you did it in an annoying way, like kirishima and denki did. Instead, you were pretty chill about it.

You would casually sit by him and strike up little conversation and when the conversation stopped, it's stopped that was the end of it. You had a tactic of getting closer to him little by little at HIS pace and holy shit it was working. Bakugo started continuing the conversations for longer, and sometimes he would even be the first to start the conversations but, unfortunately for him, he couldn't open up to you anymore

Bakugo would go out of his way to sit far away from you, he would keep the conversations dry and short, and sometimes he just didn't pay any attention to you at all. He really thought this was gonna work but you just didn't know when to fucking give up. Even after how dry and mean he's been you still keep coming back to sit next to him and try to talk to him. Your subtle determination did not help bakugo keep you out of his thoughts, instead it made him think of you even more..you were always in his thoughts everyday of the week, he never could get a break from thinking about you. To be honest, you were the first person to ever be so persistent while keeping a respectful distance and not pushing your friendship onto him, and for some reason that made him feel all hot and bothered around you.

"Fuck..is a respect kink even a thing..?"

"What the hell are you talking about kacchan?"

"ITS NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUISNESS DUNCE FACE"

"Woah, calm down bakugo"

"Whatever..."

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7 YEARS LATER

Its been a few years since you graduated from u.a. Both you and bakugo were successful I'm becoming proheroes. Recently you have been trending all over social media because you reached the huge milestone of finally becoming number three In the hero ranks. Your popularity skyrocketed whenyou stopped a building from crashing down onto hundreds of citizens in Tokyo earlier this month. All over Twitter people have been congratulating you, especially the girls from class 1.A. The posts consist of pictures, fan edits, fan art, and videos from most, if not all of your recent interviews.

Bakugo was scrolling through one of your twitter tags, when his phone buzzed. He swiped the notification bar at the top of his screen down to see that izuku had sent him a message.

"What does he want..?" He clicked on the message to see an image of most of class 1.A sitting at a resturant table with you directly in the middle. You were sitting backwards on a turned around chair with a cake in your hands. The cake was decorated to look like your hero suit and it had a cake topper with a hash tag and a number three on it. Right below the photo was a small paragraph.

"Hey kaachan! I know you've been really busy with everything going on lately, but I couldn't help but noticr how dissapointed y/n seemed when kirishima told her that you couldn't make it to the lunch earlier today. Maybe it's time you finally stopped avoiding her? Don't try to say you havent been, because everyone knows that you have."

"Tch as if. Who does he think he is bossing me around." There was no way in hell he would be able to "pay you a visit". He was way too busy with work just like everyone else. Plus, you probably wouldn't even want to see his face after how he brushed your civil attempts at trying to become his friend off during highschool. Deku probably just read your expressionswrong, thats all.

Right?

Right....??

"Ugh! Stupid fucking deku with his smart-ass ideas. Why does he always have to be fucking right?"

Bakugo continued to mumble as he quickly stood up and grabbed a few of his things. Just as he was about to walk out of his office door, an annoying (as bakugo liked to put it) rhythmic knock was heard from it. "Hey bakugo, you in there? I wanna show you something!"

"Fucking hell"

Bakugo quietly sighed before walking towards the door. "Come on man it's really cool! It's this cat that's wearing a small costume that looks exactly like mine. You've gotta look!" Oh hell no. There was no way he was gonna let kiri in just for that, but how was he gonna get out of his office if kirishima was blocking his only exit? Well, his only reasonable exit. Bakugo never really liked his second option because of how dangerous it was but in this moment he had no choice. It was either open that door and get bombarded with dumb questions from his loud friend, or hop out of his window and use his quirk to stop himself from getting hurt.

"Bakugo if you don't open the door imma pick the lock!"

Once again there was no response from bakugos end of the door. "Alright man, you leave me no choice!" It took a few moments but eventually kirishima finally managed to unlock the door. He turned the knob and walked into the room to see no bakugo, and one of his office windows left wide open, letting the winter night air in. He quickly walked towards the window and looked down to see a figure with explosive hands floating (or more like sloppily falling) down towards the sidewalk.

"COME ON MAN IM NOT THAT BAD"

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AT Y/N'S HERO AGENCY

you had been at your agency building for hours working on an idea for your new merch realise. You were one of the very few heroes who worked on official merchandise themselves. Sure you were able to create what you wanted and people loved it, but this also added so much more work to your already heavy load. To you it was worth it though, because your fans always loved the things that you and your team produced and it made you happy to see that your teams hard work to make the best quality products actually payed off.

You picked up your mug to take a sip of your tea when you realise that all of it is gone. Letting out and exhausted sight you get up from your seat, with your mug in hand, and walk out of your office to go boil some more water. A few minutes later the water was finally hot enough so you quickly made your tea to your liking and walked back into your office. As soon as you walked in you were met with your patio doors wide open and Bakugo leaning against your desk with a greasy brown bag resting right next to him.

"Hey...."

"I....hi?"

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To be continued

Comments, and reblogs always help!<3