#800+ but I'm sure the list isn't exhaustive

[sanhatis-abyss]

Could this be it? Rock n' Roll?

Does anyone know what rose this is?

[lowkeychenle]

In Your Dreams [ZCL] (M)

Description: What started as innocent phone sex hotline stuff (if that can ever really be innocent?), you get an offer you just can't refuse...you just have to be a little sleep deprived ;) | Part of @jenoslutie's 1-800-SLASHERS collab project!!

Genre: smut

Content Warnings: what isn't in here no but really, explicit unprotected sex, mentions of phone sex, this sex literally takes place in a dream i mean he's freddy c'mon, KNIFE PLAY!!!, blood play?? I mean not really PLAY but a bitch gets cut and we like it, use of names pretty, slut, (not sure if there's anything else lol), somnophilia this is just as much of a mind fuck as it is a physical fuck

Word Count: 1,625 (I got a little carried away...okay?)

Pairing: Zhong Chenle (pretending to be Freddy Kruger LOL) x Reader

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

(A/N: I'm sooo sorry this is just not my best :'( but long live the Chenle stans and happy (late) Halloween)

Everything started out the way it was meant to. What else happens when your friend introduces you to an (admittedly odd) phone sex service with your favorite slashers? Of course, you follow through with it. Only…you might have followed through with it a little too much.

Obsession took over, and before you knew it, you’ve been calling Freddy every Saturday night for the past two months. His requirements are quite simple: show up to the call after staying up for at least twenty-four hours straight, and be ready for your mind to be just as fucked out as your body.

There’s…something about pleasure when you’re tired that heightens it to a whole new level.

This weekend, you’re doing things a bit differently. As one of his most ‘loyal’ customers (his words, not yours), he offered you an opportunity that isn’t typically part of the list of options.

The most you’ve been able to do prior to this is a video call, which always leaves you craving more. You have no idea who the man behind the metaphorical mask and voice modulator is, but you sure as hell wish you could find out.

So, today, you’re going to some sort of facility. He told you to show up after 48 hours of no sleep, and the employees would hook you up to a machine that would give him access to your dreams, even though he’s far away. Nothing that happens in the dream is supposed to happen in real life, so you saw no harm in it.

One of the guys keeps a keen eye on you, the deep brown of his gaze drinking you in. Something about him feels familiar, but you ignore it. His jaw is strong and firm, and his hair is parted down the middle to expose his forehead.

Exhausted, you find it easy to fall into slumber as soon as you’re hooked up to the machines. When you wake in darkness, you think someone’s just turned the lights off. But the more you move around, you realize how vastly empty the room you’re in is. You’ve successfully been brought into a dream—one that Freddy controls.

Creepy music starts flooding around you, almost engulfing you completely in invisible waves.

One, two, Freddy's coming for you.

You hear footsteps, but you don’t feel afraid. The idea of him doing whatever he wants to you in a dream is as close to you getting it in real life, and you’re dying for him to show you what he’s really made of.

The lyrics continue, and eventually he comes into your view. His face is obscured by shadows, so all you can see is the sharp outline of his face, the prominence of his features, but no real details.

“You’re not scared.” His voice is warbled, but you’re unsure if that’s from a modulator or from the lack of sleep making you dizzy.

“Too tired,” you mutter, stumbling on your feet as you move a few steps back.

When he lifts his hands, you see the blades on them and your throat goes dry. You’ve seen them on video before. He’s given explicit detail on what he’d do to you if he had access. And here you are, dumb enough to give him just that.

When he moves toward you, he’s a blur, and soon enough, his hand cradles the back of your neck. The cold metal rests against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. He could shred you to pieces with the slightest movement.

“You should’ve run while you still could.” He clicks his tongue, humming quietly. “You’re mine now. You won’t be waking up, pretty.” Heat spreads between your legs without any real reason. Anyone in their right minds would be terrified of a stranger in front of them, but your exhaustion has you compliant.

While you feel him everywhere, the sensation is numbed by the dreamscape. It’s not enough and you want to be closer.

“Whatever I want to happen here does, you know that, right?” he whispers, dragging the tip of his blade across your pulse.

“Freddy.” It comes out as a sigh, and you roll your hips forward.

The sharp edge presses just a bit harder, enough to create the tiniest nick in your flesh. “Here, you call me Chenle.”

“What are you waiting for, Chenle?” Your eyes are barely able to stay open, but the world around you begins to morph as soon as the words leave your mouth.

When the interior of your house forms around you, your jaw drops. Fear finally begins to set in, and as much as you hate it, it makes your cunt throb with need, too. How does he know all of this about you?

You gasp in surprise when one swift slide of his hand has your clothes falling from your body in shambles. He cuts through them like butter, leaving you vulnerable and defenseless to the man in front of you.

You begin to shake, but his lips are on yours within seconds. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you take it with a quiet moan. Cold air swarms you, and next thing you know, your back is slammed against the kitchen island.

Something cold stings across your hips as he lifts you up onto the faux granite like his own personal ragdoll. The brain fog of being so exhausted has you comprehending things happening to you almost minutes later, but one thing that’s been clear to you from the start is the way you crave him. Your previous phone calls have left you obsessed, pining after a man whose face you still can’t see.

You press your thighs together to try and get friction, but he wrenches them apart. You hiss at the pain of the knives skimming your skin, and when you look down, crimson swells beneath his touch.

“Listen to me, pretty girl, or I’ll do more than cut up your legs.”

He takes a step back and, through your daze, you watch him rid himself of his clothes. Your eyes threaten to flutter shut, but you don’t want to look away from him. Everything sways in your dream, the edges of the world around you blurring as he finds his way back to you.

Without warning, he pushes his hard cock inside you, and with a loud moan, you crumble into his chest. You have little control over the way you move, but God, does this feel real. Everything else in your dream feels muted, but you notice the way he fills you.

He stretches you out more than you’ve ever been, and if you hadn’t been dripping for him, you know it would’ve hurt. When he bottoms out, his breathing shudders, and his hand slides down your body. One of his blades taps against your clit, making you jolt at the cold sensation.

“Look at you,” he says in a condescending tone. “You shouldn’t have fallen asleep, slut. I have the advantage here.”

He throbs buried deep, the rub against your walls sending you even further into delirium. Whatever the hell this is, you’d do it over and over again. You truly are helpless. You’re at his disposal, but you don’t care about any of that as long as he’s reaching all the spots you never even imagined could be found.

Pleasure engulfs you, and between exhaustion and his lips pressed to your neck, you’re floating on a cloud. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to pull him closer to you.

His lips move like he’s talking to you, but lightheadedness takes over. You can’t hear him. All you can do is feel. The subtle dig of the sharp metal on your thigh, his teeth bruising all over your neck and hips smacking into yours.

You don’t want to wake up.

Finally, his voice breaks through your trance. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” His free hand slips between you two, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

A weak, broken moan leaves your mouth, filling the area and echoing around the dreamscape. Your body is seven steps ahead of you, meaning you barely recognize how hard your orgasm wracks you until your vision sways further. Knots tighten in your stomach, stretching like a rubber band until the tension snaps.

The blades score up your thigh, as his hips buck until his tip kisses your cervix. Euphoria mixes with pain, and you swear you’re locked in your high for minutes as you convulse below him.

His jaw falls open as he fills you in spurts. The shadows covering his face fail only briefly, showing you the perfection of the man behind the darkness.

It’s the man you saw earlier.

Maybe you imagined it, because before you can reach out and touch him, you’re slammed back into your waking world.

Panting, you sit up and clutch a hand over your chest. You look around hesitantly, as if you’re expecting him to be in the room with you.

Your heart races in your chest. Somehow, you’re wide awake now, as if you’ve made up for all 48 hours you’ve missed in sleep.

Until you look down at your lap.

Your jeans are soaked with red.

You slide out of the seat you're rested in, and cry out in surprise when you realize how shaky your legs are.

What the fuck?

Everything was supposed to be fake. You feel a distant throbbing between your legs, and discomfort follows as you make your way to the bathroom. As soon as you close and lock the door behind you, you unbutton your jeans and pull them down to your knees.

The scratches from the blades on his fingers are fresh on your skin.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 10

BLOW TO THE HEAD | Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

Prompts List | Masterpost

<- Previous Part

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 800

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: fighting, sensory overload, running, screaming, collapsing

A/N: I am well aware that I said the next part would probably be in July. I am well aware that it is now October. Part 5 of the Gunblade Duo net-prison whump, rescue edition

-----------

Octavian should have anticipated the screaming.

Really, what else did he expect? Sure, he was on a planet that had some understanding of the supernatural, still unfamiliar with devar, but the sheer terror in which the castle guard reacted upon seeing the strange not-quite-human man who climbed the keep and held the crown prince---of course, the random young man was the crown prince---hostage transform into a wolf still caught him off guard.

He almost didn't dodge the frantic, fear-fueled attack from the nearest guard. Almost.

Octavian lunged forward, snarling, senses very much overwhelmed by the shouting and screaming and cursing, not to mention his newly-increased sensitivity to smell meant he was aware not only of everyone in the room but also immediately outside the room. As he tackled the nearest guard to the ground, using his body as a springboard to leap over the next guard, he caught the barest hint of a familiar scent.

Draven.

Or something that belonged to him, at least.

Octavian snapped at the guard captain, getting the same message as saying this isn't over in one wordless demonstration. The door had been left open. And wolves were so much faster than humans. In moments he'd left the group of angry, confused guardsmen behind, barreling through the maze-like corridors of the keep, his mind whirling with possibilities and intense sensory input.

It had been so, so long since he'd transformed. An elf-devar's senses were exemplary, yes, but nowhere near the same level as a Fells wolf. It was as if he'd been half-blind, deaf, and unable to smell and touch before, and now the veil had been lifted.

A woman screamed and dove for cover inside the room she'd emerged from the moment she caught sight of Octavian. He barely slowed to check if the scent led inside, but it did not, instead leading him on a merry chase deeper and deeper into the keep. Fear was stronger, here, as well as Draven's scent. He was on the right track. But where the right track was, he didn't know.

He rounded a corner and nearly ran over a group of bedraggled people, smelling of grime and fear and anger and---

And Draven!

Draven headed the group, holding one of his small knives. He stumbled back in shock, eyes fixed upon Octavian. Dried blood ran down the side of his face where the people who'd abducted him had struck, and his expression was a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and relief.

"About fucking time," he muttered, words slightly slurred, as the people clogging the corridor behind him screamed at the sight of a massive silver wolf. His knife slipped out of slack fingers and clattered to the floor as his eyes rolled up in his head. Octavian lunged forward as Draven fell to his knees, transforming and catching him moments before the hunter hit the ground.

The people screamed again, backing away in terror. The scent wasn't as acute now that Octavian was no longer in his other form, but it was obvious enough. Octavian carefully lay Draven on the ground and rose to his feet, hands raised in peace. "My name is Octavian de Silv," he said softly but with urgency. "I'm a close friend of Draven's. I was with him before he was taken, and I presume you were also held prisoner. I do not know the quickest way out of this keep, but I entered far from here. I understand you are frightened, but I am not here to harm you."

The former prisoners exchanged glances before a woman stepped forward. She held one of Draven's knives. "I'm Gratia," she introduced, "Draven mentioned you. Reprobus---" she gestured at an older man behind her "---used to work here. He knows the quickest way out."

"Perfect," Octavian said, crouching and draping Draven across his shoulders. He stood, grunting at the hunter's weight. "Please lead the way. I know where to go when we get out of here."

Gratia grinned and ordered everyone to get moving again. To their credit, everyone did so without hesitation, the stronger aiding the weaker. Octavian frowned, noting how they all appeared to be in various stages of starvation. How long have they been held here? And without food? What kind of people would do something like this? And why?

The guard captain knew something, the way he'd reacted during the hostage situation. Likely some of the guards as well, in that case. Reprobus worked in the keep before, so whatever reason for arresting and holding these people applied to the staff as well. So many possibilities. Octavian would have to investigate some leads. He certainly had no shortage of time, given Draven's condition.

If it was only a concussion, and if Draven actually rested and allowed himself to heal.

Both very big ifs.

Octavian would just have to tie him down.

[messinwitheddie]

I really like the idea of Cini and Spinch being together in the afterlife. They couldn’t do that while living in such a restricted society.

Move read that these irkens paks have their own expiration date of their own. So how long can they live up to be? Was there any rare of them living to be a thousand? How would they know their lifespan is coming to an end? My only guess is their age is starting to show on them.

Me too; giving them the chance to be together after death is the least I can do for Cini and Spinch, considering what I put them through during their lives.

I miss these two. Thanks for giving me and excuse to draw them

As for the PAK questions, I'll let imperial medic, Hoola answer.

Hoola "The expiration date is really just the length of time a PAK can maintain its charge; which is roughly 1200 to 1400 years, depending on how well the drone it's attatched to maintains the health of their flesh vessel and keeps up on PAK tune ups and the like. PAKs don't have a set time for when the countdown on the expiration clock is triggered. If a drone's PAK is forcibly or improperly severed from the spine or the drone or PAK sufferes an injury too severe for the PAK to repair the damage itself or medical help isn't sought after in time, the expiration clock automatically sets for ten minutes.

It's recommended to schedule a recalibration, cleaning and tune up every twenty years or so BY A TRAINED, ENCODED MEDIC. Many drones simply neglect their PAK maintenance or attempt to make their own repairs. Not smart.

Those statistics are based on "ideal conditions" to be clear; something almost no living organism gets to live in. How long a PAK functions at optimum efficiency depends on all kinds of things; occupation, genetics, nutrition, whether or not a drone regularly ingestes intoxicating substances and plain luck. Shorter drones on average live longer. The taller the Irken, the more likely they will experience health complications as they age. Tallest rarely survive more than a few centuries after measured and encoded as the Tallest. Stress and decline in health claims them young usually.

MOST soldiers and service drones are killed in combat, fall victim to workplace hazards or just drop dead from exhaustion before the age of 700. Very VERY rarely do Irkens live past 900. Luckily, the smeetery is constantly supplying the empire with new Irkens.

I'm well over 800 myself, not to brag. Believe me, every century I lived past 500 feels like a punishment, but I think I look well for my age, all factors considered.

Senior Irkens exist throughout the empire. Pielord Emis Gee is right around my age. The only drone I know personally who has lived to be over 1000 and still serves the empire is Brewmaster Shakkin. He has served 7 tallests, including late Cini, who knighted him a frylord.

Many old drones choose to work as care drones in the smeeteries

Any Irken who manages to serve the empire for over 800 years may request to retire, but most Irkens choose to work until death unless their flesh vessel can no longer perform any kind of duty.

Once the red control brain approves my retirement, my expiration clock will be set exactly ten years from when the timer activated. I'm sure my last ten years alive will go by quickly, but at least I will get to enjoy some leisure time before the purple brain collects my PAK. I have a list of bars I would like to visit; maybe watch a few shows at the civilian theater on Conventia.

[marisdisry]

Entry X: 10.01.2024

I'm slowly realizing how painfully unsatisfying it is to be mediocre. Like everything good needs to be balanced by a terrible cause simply for the reason I don't deserve pure happiness. Good grades, terrible body. Good grades, terrible fucking face. I only have so much to make up for and I fear that listing them would make it feel worse.

Why is my life this way? It's exhausting. I was informed I aced 3 subjects out of 9, but the 1 subject i actually loved was taken from me by a bitch that could barely write a good paper. Creative writing is all I have, the one thing I could confidently handle and say "I got this". So why am I being outdone by somebody that is not even my level? Am I being bitter? Egotistical? A fucking moron? If it was that easy for a nobody, was I even special? Was I ever skilled?

Obviously, I have no respect for this girl. I don't even consider her grade to be a mirror of effort but of fucking luck. I cannot accept the fact I was outdone in the one field I liked.

And say, okay, at least the general average is still higher than most. What does that matter? I'm not satisfied. The realization that this future-forming aspect in my life is less validating than the 800 calorie count I managed hit me in a wave of feelings. Anger. Disappointment. Depression.

My friends are all so much prettier, sociable, skinnier, and naturally likable. The only thing I have is my brain and even that is gone. I cannot best anyone. I'm a fucking average joe. I don't matter.

On my way home, I saw a couple my age. Touchy, new, and very excited. Why can't I have that? What's so lacking in me that a male who can, won't have me? I found myself envious of them, "she's not even pretty" "i bet he's fucking retarded" "what's a boyfriend skinnier than you, a walking thinspo?".

Love is something I crave like a camel does water. A pinch lasts me a mile and a bucket renders me useless and aggravated for more. Although I'm not sure if that's how camels actually like water. This is why creative writing failed me.

But as the thought stands, I crave love. I ache for the times nobody holds me when I cry, whisper sweet nothings in my ear and be considerate of the feelings I hide, unlike everyone. I once told my friend I was sad, and she seemed uncomfortable. So I don't really bother doing that crap anymore. I was right when I thought nothing would change, no one would care. The cuts were fresh and the bandages were wet yet nobody reached in to ask how I was or offered an ear.

I only need to last with them until graduation.

Even my family isn't the loving type. Makes sense, they're not my parents. Everything good I do is some how always balanced into a clumsy mistake, so it's better not to expect anything anymore.

I just want this gone.

This is tiring.

I'm exhausted.

Why did God make me this way? It hurts. All the time, every day — when I eat, study, pass, fail, and continuously live as a disappointment. I just wanna die. Someday I'll be brave enough. But like I am in everything I do, I'll be mediocre and wait till the last minute.

[astromaki]

part 3 of second choice ; ceo!shoto todoroki x gn!reader (x ceo!katsuki bakugo) (1617 words)

part 1. part 2. (previous) part 4.

tw ; angst, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, degradation, divorce, mention of alcohol, bad language, slightly suggestive ?

EXTRA INFOS ;; all the characters are aged up obviously (they are 30 here), the point of view of this third part is from shoto todoroki !

confrontation. [7 : 16 pm]

a week has passed since he came home that night drunk. that he had begged momo to stay with him. that he had accidentally seen those divorce papers crumpled by your hands.

momo had seen them too that night, and yet she and shoto had not commented on them. good, he wasn't in the mood anyway.

it had become almost official, even the media had it on their front pages. "one of japan's richest couples on the verge of divorce?", "billionaire todoroki single again?" "y/n, will the heir.ess of their father's company return to being a lawyer?"

he would have liked to say that he cared what you thought about it. if you cried, screamed, were you hurt ? but that would be lying, you were the least of his worries.

and then, wasn't it what he wanted from the beginning ?

that you would end up hating him so much that you would leave him. that he could finally be free of the weight that you represented every day.

and yet his signature was still missing.

"you can't even love your partner properly, and now i hear through the media that a divorce is on the way ? you're pathetic son. i knew i should have married them to touya. " enji's heart-attack voice echoed terribly through the phone, which made shoto sigh. he was even pretty sure he could hear it from across town.

"calm down." shoto said in an annoyed tone. "your marriage isn't a success either, so keep your remarks to yourself. bye. "

"you idiot, don't you dare hanging up on me. i don't care if you can't satisfy your s/o, i don't care if they feel bad about this arranged marriage either. but y/n y/l/n comes from a very famous lawyer's family, so get a divorce and the amount of money you have to give will be huge. "

"i manage them, it will not be a problem. i have to go now. "

the young man finally returned to your room, looking exhausted, his tie loosened and ready to down a few glasses of whiskey.

however, he was surprised to see you. dressed in a beautiful versace dress/suit, you were glowing. well no, he meant that you looked... good.

though, it was the first time he took the time to look at you. to admire you.

the young man finally met your indifferent gaze through the mirror you were standing in front of. that gaze that was so joyful and sparkling at the beginning of your marriage, full of hope to transform this purely financial union into a love marriage.

but that look, devoid of emotion, almost made shoto, Japan's most ambitious ceo, doubt himself. almost.

"i'm surprised you're still using my card to splurge. how much is this one? $1000 ? $2000 ?"

he was tired, exhausted. nut the truth is he was in the mood to be a pain in the ass tonight.

"$ 8,330. plus the $800 pair. " you replied coldly.

your answer was like a slap in the face to your husband. not because of the price, he didn't give a fuck about this.

but this tone right there. it wasn't like you. you were normally so gentle, patient even with the worst of the crap he put you through. that naive kindness that made him want to vomit was completely gone. he didn't expect such a turn of events.

"so you decide to divorce me, but first you want to empty my bank account? you're exactly as I imagined." his look that used to reflect nothing but fatigue was now full of contempt for you.

you finally faced him. shit, he couldn't help but find you beautiful.

"here todoroki, let's talk about the divorce. " you began, quietly walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a stack of documents. "i've signed it, sign it, and i'll take it to my lawyers first thing in the morning.

he snatched them out of your hand and threw them across the room. you didn't even flinch, you even held his gaze. poker face.

a loud silence fell between you. a long silence, uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. heavy and light. sensible and meaningless.

"what's all this about ? who put you up to this ?"

a wry laugh escaped your lips. your new behavior puzzled shoto. he loved and hated what he had in front of him. a challenge.

"you think i need someone to make me realize that i deserve better than an asshole like you ? fuck, let me laugh. "

your hand went to retrieve a piece of paper from your purse. and it was slammed hard against his chest. bakugou’s business card.

he found your face inches from his, your warm breath gently caressing his cheeks. a scent of whiskey filled his nostrils. you were not sober.

"how many drinks are you on? " he asked quietly.

"so now do you care if i downed a whole bottle or not ? oh please shut up. because now that you mention it, your friend bakugou katsuki may have hired me. to be his company's business lawyer. isn't that funny? "

you turned your back on him, unaware of the state you'd put him in. but damn, it was like he'd just been slapped in the face. nausea took over his whole body, his legs became heavy and weak in few seconds only. and he knew damn well it wasn't fatigue.

so you were leaving him, but on top of that you were going to work for his number one competitor ?

he didn't know what hurt more, the knowledge that bakugo had won one of the most competent lawyers in the field or that you were leaving him for him ? was he jealous ? surely not, it was another feeling that repulsed him. he didn't even know.

"have you lost your tongue todoroki ?"

todoroki ? since when did you call him by his last name ? where are the darlings or my heart that used to annoy him so much ?

you finish getting ready, now wearing your long jacket. he had lost his tongue indeed, he didn't know what to say to you. what to do.

y/n y/l/n, you had succeeded in putting your husband to the wall.

but it was only for a moment. he quickly, too quickly, pulled himself together. his usual irritated expression returned.

"you don't see that he's using you to get ahead of me ? i thought you were smarter than that. "

he took a step forward, slowly but surely. like a predator approaching its prey.

"he doesn't care about you. just like no one has ever cared about you, not me, not him and not your bourgeois family. that's why they put you in a loveless marriage so easily. "

a mirthless laugh escaped from his lips.

"y/n, this bastard doesn't give a damn about you. "

you tried to move towards him, ready to slap him, but the alcohol made you capsize and stumble on your carpet. he arrived just in time to support you with his muscular arms. an annoyed sigh resounded in the large room when your sob reached his ears.

nevertheless, a petty smile stretched his lips. there you were again, the fragile and unassertive y/n finally in his arms.

that bakugo had managed to turn your brain inside out. yet shoto knew you better than anyone else. he knew you. better than you knew yourself. you were that puzzle he had managed to decipher long ago.

"that's not true. kacchan wouldn't do that...", you whisper.

"you know i'm right, sweetheart. you know i'm the only one who's honest with you. my love for you is all you need. "

his muscular hand gradually, peacefully, came to caress your back to take off the buttons of your dress. his lips came to meet yours, to draw you into a long, languid, unsentimental kiss. your lips asked for more, your whole soul asked for more of shoto. more of this man for whom your heart never stopped beating. even if his was vibrating for another woman.

you wanted to feel his lips making love to you sensually, sincerely.

you just wanted him to love you for one night. one fucking night.

shoto was ecstatic. he could already see himself opening a bottle of champagne with his father, to celebrate the divorce that would never happen. tonight, shoto had brought out his best acting skills. millions were at stake. he had brought out his best kiss. he had never touched you like that. so gently, so carefully.

he had never called you by any affectionate nickname.

he has done too much to keep you around.

and you were drunk, not stupid.

you finally stood up, moving away from him, reluctantly. nothing he said was true. from his love for you, to his accusations against katsuki.

awkwardly, you put your dress/suit back on properly.

"i have a meeting with my future employer mr. bakugou tonight. i'll be late. don't wait for me, i'll sleep at the hotel tonight, with your card. "

a red color came to his cheeks. anger ? sadness ? jealousy ?

he had never seen you so determined, so proud. and that attracted him. he was going to lose millions, no matter what. but it was you who was going to escape him. for that bastard bakugou katsuki.

the nice little y/n was no longer shoto todoroki's.

AHHH omg sorry sorry i told you i can't do a fluffy end!! >< (comments and reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 tag list ; @nveusii @angelofthorr @missmolliemoo @jazzylove @loki-an-idiot @deepestranchgoopdeputy @mhasimp666 @shotorozu @chscklvr @devilsbooksworld @marshmallow12345 (ones in bold cannot be tagged)

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ WELCOME HOME ❜

with Michael ‘Riz’ Ariza.

Request: Only requesting because I know he is your husband 😂 here we go, so reader has just given birth but it was a long labour and is just so exhausted and it’s the first night home with their daughter and Riz basically tells her to rest as he got it but she can’t settle so he puts a Disney film on and snuggles in bed with the reader with his daughter in his arms paying more attention to the tiny human than the film 🥰 just something really fluffy and I might have a bit of baby fever 🙈😂😂

BY @rebel-without-cause-x

Warnings: none, my husband in fluffy mood.

Word count: about 650.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @xxrouxx

Masterlist.

After discharging you, the whole crew is waiting in front of the main door. Bishop has decided to drive your car back to your house, while you and Riz are paying attention to your daughter on the back seat. Following you, three bikes before and four after, taking care of the road and escorting the car. And you can't believe that you're finally at home, after some weeks in the hospital. Everything is ordered and clean, and the dinner settled up on the table, although you're not hungry. You're too focused on your daughter against your chest, that you can't focus on anything else.

“Come with daddy, Lucía, while mami is having a bath”.

“Are you sure?” You ask a little worried, taking her off from your arms.

“Baby, everything is going to be okay”.

“Yeah, but, what if she cries?”

“I will sing to her, like I have been doing in the hospital, okay? Relax”.

You can't simply relax, leaving them in your daughter's room, to have a quick shower and put on one of Riz's shirts. Sitting some minutes on the edge of your bed, feeling guilty for not being with your daughter, you take a deep breath before looking for them. Your husband is almost dancing all over the run, singing her an spanish song in a low tone, so bewitched by Lucía that he hasn't noticed you yet. Until he turns and you scare him, making you laugh. Stretching your arms towards him, Riz shakes his head.

“You have to take dinner”. He says raising both eyebrows, passing you away like a child would do.

“C'mon, idiot! Give me my baby”. You frown pretending to be offended.

“No”.

“I will take dinner, but with her”.

“No”.

“Riz, I can't do anything without her being close. It's called maternal instinct”.

“It's called paranoia”.

“I'm gonna fuck you up”. You whisper wrinkling your nose.

“Okay, what about this? We have dinner at bed, with Lucía between both, watching a movie? A Disney movie”.

“See? That's the man I married to, not the childish one…”

“Actually, mi reina, that plan isn't very mature, but however”.

After picking up dinner things, you get somewhat comfy on the bed with Lucia over your chest, snuggled and peacefully sleeping. Riz lies down by your side, leaning to kiss your forehead, and his daughter's head before taking her onto his arms. Cuddling against his body and surrounding his neck, you rest your cheek on his shoulder. You're tired, just like the last weeks after giving birth, and sleep with your husband is all you need. So putting the movie in the background, you close your eyes letting yourself go feeling one of Riz's hands caressing your hair gently.

When he's sure that you are already sleeping, he focuses his caresses and his attention on your tiny daughter over his bare chest, almost covering the cross tattooed on it. Your husband is proud of all the work you have done the last months, carrying his baby without complaining and with a big smile on your face the whole time. Also hearing the proud-hearted tone you used to use to speak whenever someone asked you about ‘the father’. Touring his left cheek with his fingertips, he can't help but fall more for her.

“You know, Lucía? I told your mami that I would never love anyone more than I loved her, but I think I lied, 'cause you're the love of my life”. He whispers with a honeyed voice, dearly hugging her and seeing how his daughter snuggles against him, grabbing the ringed finger.

Riz could have cried like a child, if you weren't sleeping, so tired of life right now. But that's, without any doubt, the best moment of his life. He is at home, with his two girls resting and clingged to him, with no one bothering your pace.

“I hope mami doesn' feel jealous”. He just chuckles, twisting his neck to leave a kiss on your head. “I love you too, mi amor”.

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