#Fourth Wall Broke;Crack

[abyssonance]

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[dreamsofalife]

"You may be asking me, Shy, where did you get the money for a trip to LA? The answer is, I function on sitcom logic and can simultaneously afford everything and nothing, and I've made it very clear to my writer that if she doesn't let me take a vacation with whomever also wants to be involved in this storyline, I will burn my house down and everyone in it. So yeah, all aboard who's coming aboard! You're coming to LA with me because I said so!"

[worldofstoriesanddreams]

Is there an age limit? Part 2

“For me?” The annoying red-clad giant of a man who was all sunshine and diabetes-inducing puppies bounced around. He played with the communicator Batman handed to him as if it were a shiny new toy.

“I can’t believe I’m in the Justice League!” The Herculean man-child squealed, grinning like an imbecile. “Somebody, kick me. Show me I’m not dreaming!” 

Guy Gardner was too happy to oblige. 

“My pleasure.”

His signature kick - a brutal, no-holds-barred move - would send a seasoned fighter flying across the floor. Guy delivered one of his specialties to Captain Whitebread.

Crack!

“My leg!” 

Agony ripped from his foot, up his leg, as he felt his bones shatter upon impact with that brick wall of a man.

“I broke my leg!” He hopped to the nearest seat, clutching his foot, hoping to earn sympathy points with Ice. 

The cold beauty looked away.

Instead, the Big Red Cheese hovered towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” The overgrown baby - who was made of concrete - had the audacity to offer him a hand. 

“Can I help you?”

“Nah, Guy’s just being Guy,” Hal pulled Justice League’s newest recruit away. “You must see our recreation rooms!”

Superman, one of the Big Three, intercepted them. 

“Wait, Cap,” he dangled a set of keys in front of Captain Whitebread. 

“You get the room beside mine,” Superman grinned as the big blue boy scout wrapped his arm around the cheesy red boy scout. 

He behaved as if Cap was his twin brother. “I’ll show you your private quarters!”

Guy’s jaw dropped as he turned as green as his ring.

While every member of the Justice League had a private room in the Watchtower, a cluster of four rooms were considered prime estate. Three of the four prestigious rooms were taken by the Big Three - Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. 

Captain Whitebread gets the fourth? 

It is as good as telling the hero community that the dolt is one of the Big Four.

Guy knew he deserved that honour far more than that joke of a hero.

 *

“Holy Moley!” Captain Marvel’s gawked at his private quarters. “Is this for me?”

“All yours,” Superman grinned, spreading out his arms. 

His fellow Kryptonian’s childlike wonder was a welcome change from the jaded cynicism, or even worse, the self-important grandeur of some heroes.

“Can this room handle lightning strikes?” Captain Marvel ran his hand over a wall.

“Well,” Superman rock on the back of his heels. 

“We are in space, so there is no lightning out here. But it can withstand intense heat, radiation, corrosive environments and physical stress, so I’d imagine it can handle a regular thunderstorm.”

Marvel frowned, in thought. “Can it handle over a billion volts at more than 30,000 degrees Celsius?”

“I’m not sure if anything can handle that,” Superman replied.

“May not be an issue if….” Captain Marvel’s face lit up with a dazzling grin. 

“Never mind. I know what to do.” He chuckled. 

“Wisdom of Solomon,” he tapped his head.

Cap’s eyes bugged out at the fully stocked mini-fridge and pantry. He picked up a can of beer. “I’m sure you must be a certain age to drink these,” he frowned.

Superman wasn’t a fan of alcohol either. It had no effect on his Kryptonian physiology. He didn’t fancy the taste. 

“I don’t like beer or alcohol either. It might be a Kryptonian thing,” he beamed, more certain than ever that he was no longer the last of his kind. “I had mine swapped for milk,” he grinned. “I can arrange that for you too.”

“That would be cool!” Cap looked delighted. “Can I have chocolate milk?”

Cap behaved like a kid let loose in a toy shop as Superman showed him the room’s features.

“The bed and walls are reinforced, but cannot withstand our strength, if you toss and turn in your sleep,” Superman warned. “Do you sleepwalk?”

“No,” Cap pursed his lips. “I’ll power down before bed so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Power down? Does Marvel have portable red sun lamps? 

That’s a brilliant idea he could adopt.”

For the rest of the morning, Superman had the pleasure of showing his new brother the rest of the Watchtower.

“Superman, this place is awesome!” Cap remarked

“Call me Kal,” Superman replied. 

“Okay Kal. You were saying you have Polar Bears in your Fortress of Solitude. Can I play with them?” Marvel pleaded with large, puppy eyes.

“Sure, Will-em,” Kal replied. 

Cap cringed. “I rather you call me Billy. William sounds so… old.”

“Bill, then?” Kal asked.

“Bill is good,” Billy replied.

Marvel prefers his civilian Earth name. 

He probably was raised on Earth too.

So civilian Earth name it is.

“Then call me Clark.”

Bill preferred flying to using the zeta tubes. He had a point. One can never tire of the magnificent view, flying on your power from the space station to earth.

“You keep your key where everyone can see?” Bill’s eyes widened at the large golden key outside Superman’s ice fortress.

“It’s made of dwarf star material and weighs millions of tons,” Clark smirked. “It’s not like anyone can pick it up and let themselves in.” He fitted the massive key into the keyhole.

“I bet I can,” Bill smirked. 

“Kryptonians can,” Clark replied. “But we’re almost extinct.” He handed the key to Marvel, who returned it to its place where it doubled up as an aircraft navigation marker.

“Holy Moley!” Bill’s jaw dropped lower as they walked into the fortress. “Are those your parents?” He pointed up at the statues Kal had created in memory of his birth parents.

“Yes. Jor-el and Lara Lor-Van,” Clark replied. “I was a baby when they sent me away. I don’t remember anything about them.”

“Oh,” Bill squeezed Clark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Clark assured him. “Ma and Pa Kent took me in when I landed on earth as a baby. They raised me as their own son.”

“That’s cool. I don’t have parents. I lost mine when I was five,” Bill’s eyes glistened with tears. 

“I can still remember them, though the memories are getting fuzzy.”He dropped his smile.

“You can always visit me and my family at the farm,” Superman patted his back.

“Farm?” Cap’s eyes widened. “You grew up in a farm?”

“Raised there. My folks live there,” he chuckled as he led Bill through the fortress' many chambers. “Talking about families, there’s a polar bear family I want you to meet.”

He opened a door that led into a natural cave just outside the Fortress of Solitude.

“My neighbours,” Clark gestured at a family of polar bears. 

The father and mother bears nodded at the men and chuffed their greeting.

Bill chuffed back. 

Then he whimpered like a playful bear cub.

Curious cubs approached Cap with their heads up and ears forward.

The biggest baby bear swatted the air in a playful mock attack. 

Captain Marvel pawed back as younger cubs rolled around. 

Their mother walked slowly towards Cap, and sniffed at him. 

The babies followed suit. 

Between the cuffs, whines and whimpers, the bears seemed to be having some sort of conversation with the man.

“Do you understand what they are saying?” Clark walked up to them, getting a growl in response.

“Oh sorry,” Bill replied. “I keep forgetting we aren’t speaking English.”

“Huh?” Clark frowned. Confused.

“Sasha here was telling me about your noisy machines driving their fish away,” Bill added. “She asks you to be a good neighbour and keep the noise down.”

Apparently, the mother bear was Sasha, the father bear was Phil.

“I’m hardly here,” Clark replied.

Bill chuffed at the mother bear, getting a series of growls in return.

“She says, you may not be here, but your machines still make too much noise. These two days, the sounds are more frequent and worse,” Bill explained.

Sasha chuffed some more.

“Then there are the newcomers in shiny suits that came through this week,” translated Bill.

“That’s not possible,” Clark had a nagging feeling something was wrong.

Phil roared. 

Sasha herded the cubs away.

“They are coming again. The bears smell them,” Clark translated for Bill. 

“Sasha is asking you to tell your guests to be more considerate.”

“What guests?” 

A sudden pain stabbed through Clark’s entire body. 

Kryptonite.

He searched for the source, but his super-vision failed him. A wave of dizziness hit him. Hard.

“Are you okay, Clark,” Bill caught him before he hit the ground.

“Kryptonite,” his vision turned blurry as an armoured figure bearing a large chunk of Kryptonite stalked past the bears, towards him.

“I got this.” 

Bill’s voice was the last thing Clark heard before he blacked out.

*

“Batman! Superman’s poisoned!” Captain Marvel strode into the Watchtower carrying a limp, green-faced Superman.

“What happened?” Batman led Marvel to The Infirmary.

“Kryptonite bomb exploded in our faces,” Marvel grimaced. “Shards of Green K pierced his skin. I removed as much as I could but I don’t have X-ray vision, but I think he breathed particles of Kryptonite, so can you check his lungs?”

“Hmmph,” Batman scrutinised Marvel. “Why aren’t you affected?”

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me,” Marvel replied. “We were attacked in the Arctic. Who do I hand the culprits over to?”

“Bring them here for interrogation,” Batman replied. If these guys infiltrated Superman’s fortress, he wanted to find out more. “Local authorities don’t have the facilities or security to store technology that is advanced enough to take down Superman. Bring everything here for safekeeping.”

“Yes, sir!” Marvel did a chipper salute and disappeared in a red blur.

So, Captain Marvel is immune to Kryptonite. He doesn’t have X-ray vision either. The man is clearly not a Kryptonian.

As he applied the ultrasonic vibratory device to Superman’s chest to loosen the kryptonite particles in his lungs, Batman pondered on the new information that Marvel had revealed about himself.  

Marvel may not be a Kryptonian, but he could be a Daxamite. 

These are descendants of Kryptonians who left Krypton to explore space. They have the same powers as Kryptonians but do not have x-ray vision. 

Although they are not affected by Kryptonite, Daxamites have a fatal sensitivity to lead.

Batman set up the portable lung lavage system to wash out Superman’s lungs. 

Then he headed to his private quarters where he kept his contingencies against every member of the Justice League.

He removed the Kryptonite from Marvel’s box and replaced it with lead bullets. 

[dollfacefantasy]

I love your writing sm, it's just what I needed μ_μ Do you think you could write Leon being the father of reader's idiot ex who just broke up with her? Leon just wants to console her and the reader only thinks about all the sexual tension they had for a while and now they have nothing to stop them.

(sorry if my english is bad, luv ya)

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your ex boyfriend's dad comforts you after you and his son breakup

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, age gap

word count: 5.3k

a/n: dilf leon you KNOW i love that. thank you so much for your request. i hope you like it! i used death island for the picture, but imagine leon in his late forties for this. as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

Leon lets out a deep sigh as he yanks the keys out of the ignition and his car's engine fizzles out. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks down at his lap. He takes another deep breath and shakes his head before looking out the window at your apartment building. He’d been told you lived on the fourth floor.

He opens the door next, stepping out into the cold air. The sun was nowhere to be found today, the sky completely masked by a collection of gray clouds. He walks around to the back of the car and pops the trunk open to collect the box of memories he’d been tasked with returning to you.

He didn’t understand how he’d ended up with this job. Despite his numerous daydreams he wished he could forget, you weren’t ever his girlfriend. He hadn’t been the one you’d come over to visit. You didn’t fall asleep in his room or wear his t-shirts or kiss him goodbye when you left. He hadn’t been the one to cheat on you or make you cry for days on end either. No. That’d been his son.

So why was he the one going out of his way to bring you this stuff? That was what he couldn’t comprehend.

Well that’s not exactly true. He comprehended just fine. His son planned on throwing out your stuff that’d been left at his house, remnants of your eight months together. Leon didn’t want that. He’d told his son to pack it up and take it to you like a man should. He had been the one in the wrong after all. But no, his son argued up and down, coming up with every reason under the sun as to why it was better to just throw it away. So Leon just gave up. He knew if he commanded it, his son would just shove your shit in a box and drive down the street to throw it from the window of his moving car. The car Leon paid for.

Truth be told, he always had a soft spot for you. A chamber of his heart that was coated in guilt, surrounded by denial, but internally the sweetest part of him. The one piece of his soul that saw some light in the world that had gone dark for him years ago. So just for you, Leon drove the thirty minutes to your complex to deliver your belongings.

He picks up the cardboard box and tucks it under his arm. The trunk slams with a loud thump, and he’s thinking of what he’s even going to say to you when you open the door. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know if you were home. He had a pretty good idea of your schedule from the time you’d spend on the phone with his son or at his house, but he didn’t even check to be sure.

In the midst of mentally scolding himself, the bottom of the box bursts, and your items go tumbling out onto the pavement. He tries to catch them, but his fingers just miss. Another sigh seeps from his lungs as he crouches down to scoop them up. He picks up a pink hoodie that’d been crumpled up at the foot of his son’s bed, a stuffed bear he saw him pull from the crack between the mattress and the wall, and a bracelet that laid abandoned on the nightstand. He collects other little pieces of you scattered across the damp concrete before managing to situate them in his arms and resume walking to you.

He tosses the broken box into the nearby trash before entering the building and going down the hall and to the elevator. From what he saw, the place was alright. You didn’t live in luxury, but he was relieved he wouldn’t be left worrying about your safety after he left.

The elevator glides up to your floor in total silence with him being the only one in the small space. The little ding that marks his arrival releases a burst of anxiety within him. He felt so dumb. He was nervous like he was your and his son’s age. He pushes those feelings away and gets himself to be normal, to act his age. All he had to do was knock, shove this shit in your arms, and leave.

On the way down the hall to your unit, he realizes this plan means this will probably be the last time he ever sees you. Spare some chance encounter at the grocery store, this would be the final time he’d feel your sweet eyes on him or see that timid smile when he complimented you. That made him sad to think about. He never thought you’d be a permanent fixture in his life. You and his son were young, and being the type of guy his son was, he doubted your relationship was destined to succeed. In honesty, he was shocked it lasted as long as it did. But now, the ending was real. Knowing the time with you in his life was coming to a close felt how the sky outside looked.

Once he reaches the door with your number on it, his fist taps the wood twice. He hears soft shuffling inside, followed by the sound of locks being undone a couple moments later. You crack the door open, standing there in your pajamas. Both your top and bottoms were plain gray. You looked worn down. He could tell you’d been crying. Poor baby.

Your tired eyes flicker with curiosity when they glance up at his face. 

“Mr. Kennedy?” you ask with confusion.

His mouth breaks into a charming grin upon hearing that. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Leon before it sticks?” he teases.

“Sorry…” you say. You didn’t smile at his teasing like normal. Given the circumstances, he supposed that made sense. “What are you doing here?”

“I have some of your stuff you left at my house. Can I come in?” he asks.

Now your eyes flash with a brief spout of anger, but you still open the door wider for him to enter.

“He couldn’t bring it to me?” you ask with clear bitterness in your tone.

He cringes at the sound. What was he supposed to say? In reality, he was on your side, but wouldn’t it be wrong to tell you that? He loved his son. He really did. Even with all the mistakes he made and the flaws he’d caused the boy, he loved him. He probably shouldn’t talk shit about him with his ex-girlfriend.

But at the same time, it was you. You weren’t just some random ex-girlfriend. He’d known you for the better half of a year. You were sweet, actually polite enough to say hello when you came over. You could hold a conversation. And sure, it didn’t hurt any that you were cute too. He felt something strong for you. He just struggled to articulate exactly what that something was. He was tempted to say you’d become part of the family. That’s probably what plenty of others in his situation would say. But the shameful thoughts that plagued his mind when he was alone late at night begged to differ with that assessment

Right now, it didn’t look like you were doing well. He sees the setup you have for yourself on the couch. A heap of blankets, pushed and twisted up around the spot you’d clearly been laying before he interrupted. The curtains were drawn, it was dark in here. You didn’t need him to run defense for the guy who cheated on you, relations aside.

“Guess not,” is how he finally answers your question to which he’s met with a roll of your eyes.

“Of course,” you mutter while walking over to meet him at the counter so you can inspect your items after he puts them down.

You rifle through the different things, scanning them haphazardly before returning your disinterested gaze to him. Your arms cross over your chest, and you shrug.

“Thanks, I guess.”

You’re clearly expecting him to leave now. And he knows that’s what he should do. Awkwardly shuffle out the door with a small wave goodbye. He can’t though. Something inside him won’t let him pull away just yet.

“How have you been?” he starts tentatively, “Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.” 

“Fine… I guess,” you answer.

You guess. Again. A nervous tick. An indicator of deflection. You clearly didn’t want to delve into the inner workings of your broken heart with the father of the man responsible. He should back off. But he doesn’t.

“Are you sure? I know you two are broken up now or whatever you want to call it, but I still care about you, you know? You’re a sweet girl,” he starts, hating how this was coming out, “I just… I know how it is to feel alone. I don’t want that for you. If you need someone to talk to…”

“I should come to you? Is that it?” you say, a bit harsher than he would like.

“Well… yeah?” he responds.

You turn away, cutting him off from seeing your reactions. “That’s nice, Leon. But… I don’t think you’re the one I should talk to about any of this,” you say.

He takes a step closer, laying a cautious hand on your shoulder. “I think I’m the perfect one for you to talk to about this,” he says.

His reasoning is brief, but he doesn’t feel the need for more. Despite your resistance, the gears in your head are turning, deciding whether or not to take the offer. “There’s nothing to even talk about. It is what it is,” you reply. He can hear that characteristic softness returning to your voice.

“I don’t think that’s true. You don’t have to lie to me,” he says, getting even closer. He gently guides you back to the couch and clears some space for the two of you to sit. He directs your eyes back to him before he finishes speaking. “It’ll stay between us.”

You look up at him, sweet glossy eyes threatening to spill your emotions down your cheeks. He can see your apprehension, but in the end, you still decide to go for it.

“I just… I feel so dumb,” you start, biting your lip.

“You shouldn’t,” he tells you.

“But I do,” you say, voice becoming strained, “People told me he would do something like this, and I actually defended him. I’m so stupid, and everyone knows it now.”

While he wasn’t too pleased to learn of his son’s reputation, his sympathy for you overwhelms that. His hand rubs up and down your back as your head falls to your hands.

“Sweetheart…” he sighs, the term rolling out before he can stop himself, “It’s not your fault. It’s not a bad thing to be trusting.”

He sees your face tense as you lose the battle to hold your tears in. His heart aches seeing you look so defeated.

“Yes it is,” you cry, “I hate it.”

“Hey, c’mere,” he says and pulls you closer. He drapes his arm over your shoulder and holds you to his side. “Don’t talk like that about yourself, ok? Being cheated on doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”

He felt slightly awkward considering the cheater in question is his own flesh and blood. The feeling of your soft body against him overrides that thought though. You’re still weeping into his chest, so he continues.

“Look, baby,” he says. Another pet name. His mind screams for him to get a grip. “I love my son, but… I know him too. He can be insensitive, and that’s not what a girl like you needs.”

You look up at him, interested in his potential point. In your eyes, he feels he can see his reflection glaring back at him with disapproval.

“You’re such a precious thing. Someone to be handled with care,” he whispers, stroking your jaw, “I don’t want this to take that from you.”

More tears roll down your cheeks while you take in his words. He swipes a couple away with his thumb as he talks to you.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. With my ex-wife, with my son, with my work. Christ, just with my life in general.” Why was he telling you this? “I look at you, and you remind me of who I was before those mistakes. I know stuff like this can make you bitter, and I just don’t want that to happen to you. You don’t need to blame yourself for what he did or try to keep how you feel inside. Once you get past this, you’re gonna move onto something better for you. I just don’t want you to forget that.”

He watches your lip quiver harder before the floodgates finally burst. Now that he’d given you permission, you don’t hold back. A sob tumbles from your lips. He immediately goes to pull you closer again, but this time you take it upon yourself. His eyes widen as you scoot into his lap.

It’s as if he acts on instinct though. As soon as you have your face buried against his throat, his arms loop around you in return. One hand rubs the expanse between your shoulder blades while the other simply supports the small of your back.

“Sweet baby…” he whispers.

“He told me he loved me,” you weep. He can feel your warm tears dripping down his skin now.

“I’m sure he did, honey,” he says and rocks back and forth with you a bit.

Now you really unload. You cry against him about basically every wrongdoing his son had committed in your time together. He compared you to other girls, told you that you were too needy, forgot your birthday. And Leon listens to it all, not playing devil’s advocate even once.

Guilt burns hot in his chest though. Nevertheless, he tries to convince himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just helping a poor, hurting girl in need. But that excuse crumbles when he simply thinks about what his son would say to the sight of his ex-girlfriend curled up on his father’s lap, clinging to him like he was her new man.

His mind continued trying to justify this anyways, putting forth the idea that this was out of his control. He was powerless when it came to situations like this. The life he led so far had wired a savior complex into his brain. He couldn’t resist you, another princess he could restore to her pedestal.

That was definitely part of why he didn’t put you back on the couch and slowly begin to make an exit. The other part was less honorable. Despite his mind’s ideas of noble motivations, deep down he knew part of this was selfishness. Being human, he wasn’t gonna complain about a pretty young girl warming his lap. And being himself, he certainly wasn’t going to complain because that girl happened to be you. The guilt he felt faded instantly with one look at your doe face or one word from your tender voice.

“None of that is your fault,” he comforts you once you finish your list and breaks away from his thoughts, “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I know…” you whimper before another sob comes from you, “I hate him so much. But it’s even worse cause I still miss him.”

That shoots a sharp pang of jealousy through his heart to which he mentally slaps himself. God, you made him feel pathetic, but in a way he didn’t want to admit, that was part of the appeal. He holds you tighter and nuzzles the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“That’s ok. It’s only natural,” he coos and continues soothing you.

“Why do I miss him? How do I make it stop?” you cry, your voice cracking.

Fuck. You really did remind him of himself which only made this more twisted. He knew what you were feeling so well. That longing ache that festers inside until you feel like clawing your skin off and prying your ribs apart to purge yourself of the infection. He sighs and shifts you on his thigh, pulling you closer to him.

“You can’t make it go away. You know that. It’s a time-heals-all-wounds situation, sweetheart. Just gotta wait it out, but it’ll get better,” he says.

Then he must have truly gone over the edge because he leans in and presses a faint kiss to your hairline. Luckily for him, you don’t protest. Instead, it draws more tears from you. Your arms lock around him and pull the rest of your body closer

“I just feel empty, and I don’t know why. He wasn’t that great… no offense,” you sniffle.

“None taken,” he says softly, a small smile rising on his lips. He keeps rubbing your back, resting his head on top of yours. “Most breakups hurt, even when you’ve run the course of the relationship. It’s not fun losing someone.”

It wouldn’t be fun losing you. That was for fucking sure. He was only making it worse for himself by doing all this. At this point, he wasn’t sure how he’d manage to tear himself away once you stopped crying.

“I guess,” you whimper, lip puffing out into a sweet pout he’d only ever seen as a joke before.

“You’re such a sensitive girl, honey. So delicate,” he murmurs against your hair. He knows he should stop. He’s toeing the borderline, but it’s all he can do to keep himself from hurdling over it at full force.

“I’m overdramatic,” you correct.

He scoffs, dismissing your claim. “Did someone tell you that? Because they don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re precious,” he whispers with another kiss to your head.

That word seems to strike something in you. Your crying that had been dwindling seems to soften down to an occasional ragged breath. You look up at him with your watery eyes. He continues to push away remaining tears on your cheeks before running his knuckles down your jaw.

As he looks into your eyes, the temptation becomes irresistible. He needs you.

“Sweet thing like you… you need someone who can understand you, protect those feelings of yours, not make you feel bad about ‘em,” he says, his thumb dragging over your chin.

“You think so?” you ask.

“Oh yeah. There’s nothing wrong with wearing your heart on your sleeve,” he says teasingly, “All it means is that you care. Plus, this may be just me, but I think it’s pretty cute.”

Your teary eyes widen just the slightest amount, and your hips squirm a bit on his lap. You look down at your fingers fidgeting with one another.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly.

“I do. You’re so pretty when you cry, baby,” he mutters and lifts your chin to get you to look at him again, “You have puppy eyes, just begging for some love.”

A shy smile starts spreading on your face. Your eyes cast down, and he knows he’s got you hooked. Now he just has to reel you in.

“Yeah, you know it’s true,” he whispers and leans in to kiss your cheeks, “Bet you have a lot of fun using ‘em on people.”

“No,” you say timidly, eyes glancing back up at him.

“Oh, of course not. A little angel like you would never take advantage,” he teases. He kisses across your cheek bone to your temple, and then moves his lips down to where your jaw meets your neck. He can hear your breath hitching. His hands pull you closer to his body, feeling your warmth up against him. One slides to your side, rubbing up and down slowly.

“That’s why you need to be taken care of,” he breathes against your skin, “Let me take care of you, baby.”

You nod with no hesitation on your part. He can tell from the breath you let out that you're giving into some temptations of your own. Your head leans in and he ducks down to connect your lips, nearly groaning as he feels the plush flesh press against him. The kisses start off tender, just little pecks as you explore the feeling of each other. But they soon grow in passion. Your mouths open against each other. Your tongues meet, and spit coats one another's lips. You’re both breathing heavier.

He pulls back to look at you, those eyes he had been going on about now clouded with lust. Moving in for a few more, he cups your face. “You like that?” he murmurs.

“Mhm,” you hum, reciprocating the affection. 

He chuckles as you move in even closer, the swell of your breasts pushing up against his chest. His hands squeeze your waist and turn you around so your back is to his front, your head tilted on his shoulder.

“Pretty baby, so eager for me,” he coos as his hands smooth up your stomach to your chest. He fondles your tits through your top, feeling their entirety since you weren’t wearing a bra.

The softest noise of satisfaction leaves you, and you nip at his lips. He deepens the kiss in response, groping you a bit harder. Your hands travel South to his belt, attempting to undo behind your back, but his hand drops and grabs your wrists.

“Not yet,” he corrects with a kiss to your temple, “There’s no rush. I want to take my time with you. Warm you up like you deserve.”

His mouth envelopes yours again while his hand releases your wrists and returns to your breast. He can feel your nipples perking up in anticipation. His cock starts to do the same beneath you. As you feel it, you roll your ass back against him, providing some friction. He smiles against your lips, the prior reservations he had about this leaving his mind one by one.

Maneuvering his palms between your thighs, his fingers coast up and down the sensitive skin. His mouth trails down to your neck to kiss you there, sucking soft love bites onto your throat. You’re single now. It’s not like you’d have to hide them.

He parts your legs a bit more before cupping them underneath and pulling you down so that you’re at an angle where he can remove the fluffy pajama pants that kept him from his target. You watch the soft fabric fall away and crumple up on the floor. You’re a little jittery as he exposes your skin now. This is real, no longer a far-fetched fantasy.

His hand is on your pussy in seconds, stroking you through the thin cotton that covers it. The kisses to your throat don’t stop, and his free hand keeps you in place on his lap.

“Those college boys you’ve been running around with are too busy thinking with their dicks. They don’t know what to do with a prize like you,” he murmurs and drags his nose up the curve of your face.

He chooses to forget the fact that the boy you had been running around with was his son. That didn’t need to matter right now. All that mattered was the whimper that fell from you, the way your hair felt against the crook of his neck. His fingers play with you a little more before sliding into your panties.

“Aw, you’re already getting wet, hm?” he purrs, “Precious girl. Probably so pent up. Never been properly fucked the way you shoulda been.”

You nod and turn your head to look into his eyes. He takes the chance to kiss you again, working his mouth with yours while his fingers coasted through your folds.

“Need you to make it better,” you mumble against his lips.

You feel his smirk and how he kisses with increased fervor. The pads of his fingers swirl around your clit, eliciting a tiny gasp from you.

“Not a problem, baby. You’re not leaving my lap till you can’t remember why you were crying in the first place,” he whispers.

You sigh with content and resume languidly making out. His fingertips are rough on the smooth skin of your center, dragging over your sweet spots with the best friction you’d ever felt. Your body arches into his touch. You actually want more. A refreshing feeling for you.

He continues focusing on your sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking over it, pressing small circles into it, swiping down across it. Occasionally, he’d massage lower, teasing your entrance and feeling the arousal pooling from his actions.

“You like how I’m playing with you? Feel good having that clit touched? It’s so sensitive, just like the rest of you,” he breathes.

You nod again,  a desperate whine unraveling out of you. He chuckles and speeds up his fingers.

“I knew you would. You’re beyond the little boys who thrust a few times and leave you wanting for more. Think it’s pretty obvious you need a real man,” he says.

He didn’t even know where half this stuff was coming from, but he wasn’t gonna launch an investigation into it. It worked for you, so it was working for him.

Your hips buck as he maintains a steady pace and even amount of pressure. He rubbed you just the way you liked, as if he knew your body on an instinctual level.

“You’re gonna cum just from my fingers. You can do it. Have you gushing already before I slip my cock in you,” he murmurs against your skin.

His fingers have started making wet noises as they slide up and down on your cunt. You mewl and tense up, relishing the pleasure he brought you. You whimper out his name quietly, over and over. Leon. Specifically him.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s the one making you feel so good? Who’s the one you’ve needed all along?”

You gasp it again for him. Leon.

“Good girl,” he growls.

He moves his fingers with more precision and dedication, taking you right to the blissful edge and letting you crash over it. Watching how your body writhes on his lap, he holds you through it. He makes sure to keep you up right.

You feel lightning strike within you, the storm of euphoria swirling in the pit of your stomach. You let go all over his fingers, and thoroughly coat his hand with your release. He goes in for more, sliding his fingers down as if they’re going to dip inside you, but you whine in protest.

“Leon… don’t wanna wait anymore,” you whimper.

He chuckles at your impatience and shakes his head.

“You talk about it like you’ve been waiting forever when it’s only been a couple minutes,” he teases.

“Feels like forever,” you pout.

He kisses your frown and pulls your underwear off completely. He then turns you around on his lap to face him.

“You ready for the real thing then?” he breathes, smirking at your quick confirmation.

He boosts his hips off the couch and shoves his pants down enough so that his cock can spring free. It bobs up in anticipation. His hand grasps it, sliding it against your entrance. 

After a few teasing swipes, he sinks you down on it, savoring every small change in your expression. Your eyes flutter, your mouth lolls open slightly, your brows furrow.

“Oh, I can tell that’s what you’ve been needing,” he whispers, guiding your hips into a rhythm.

You bounce up and down on him, breathy moans escaping you with each rise and fall.

“Mhm, wanted it for so long,” you whine.

His eyebrow raises at that. “Yeah?” he grunts, sharply inhaling as you squeeze around him, “How long? How bad did you want it?”

“So bad. Wanted it for months,” you confess as your head falls back, “Wanted to be yours instead.”

He knows he’s going to hell for the rush of satisfaction that floods his veins. He doesn’t falter though, just pulls you closer and starts thrusting up into you.

“Oh, did you? Dirty secret, baby, but I can’t say I didn’t feel the same way,” he moans before reconnecting his mouth with yours, “Sweet baby like you, wanted you to be all mine.”

A quick moan leaves you, and you keep riding. Your hips roll up and down, working him as deep into you as he can go. Your arousal drips down his heavy balls, making a mess where the two of you connect.

“Dreamed about you sometimes,” you gasp, letting it all out.

His eyes droop with more desire. They shouldn’t, but your revelations only spurred him on. He thrusts up harder and digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips.

“Yeah? Bet you felt so guilty waking up soaked between your legs for someone you couldn’t have,” he says, vision trained on you, “I felt the same way. Hard as a rock for you and no relief.”

“Now there is,” you whimper as you lean down and nuzzle your face against his.

With hot breaths in each other's face, you both feel the cords of release being pulled taut. You bite your lip, and he cages you in against his body, keeping you flush against him.

“Even with that dirty little secret, you’re still such a good girl. Need you to be my good girl,” he mumbles in your ear before moaning, hips tensing as he feels the sweeping sense of euphoria.

You nod dumbly as your own high creeps up on you. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whine before burying your face into his shoulder. Your hands clutch at his biceps, digging little crescents into the muscle.

He fucks you through it, making you see stars and keeping them suspended in your sights. You cling to him and clamp around him. His thrusts get sloppy, but he won’t stop until you’re coming down. That’s when he finally pulls out and gives himself a few strokes to completion, finishing on your ass. He figured you were on the pill, but he wasn’t going to make a riskier chance an even bigger risk.

You feel the warm liquid dripping down the curve of your ass. You’re too fucked out to be concerned with clean up right now though. He smiles down at you and gives you some kisses as a way to cool you off.

Reaching over to the end table, he grabs a few tissues and swipes away the small mess on your backside. After some more soothing affection, the two of you briefly readjust your clothing and get comfy with each other again. He figured this probably wasn’t the best thing he could be doing in this situation. He just fucked his son’s ex and now he was going to cuddle her too? But he does it anyway because it was what you needed, and that was his mind’s priority at the moment.

He thinks about leaving though, reverting to the original plan. He could let you doze off and just slip away. But he doesn’t. You’re too sweet, and you’re hurting. He didn’t want to pile on, but the idea that this shouldn’t develop into more than a passionate fuck still lingers in his mind..

That is until he hears your voice.

“Are you gonna leave?” you ask softly.

He looks down, heart aching at the sight of you.

“Not yet,” he answers.

“Ok good,” you say and sink into him again, “I might need you again later. In case I get sad again.”

He rolls his eyes at your attempt to play innocent. “Guess I’m stuck here then. Can’t have you crying all alone,” he says.

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning up to give him a kiss. One of the sweetest kisses he’d ever had. And just like that, you’re luring him back in.

“You know… maybe I should be proactive, make sure you don’t get the chance to be sad again today…” he murmurs, shifting to lay down on the couch and give you some kisses of his own. “Think you need some more distracting.”

He was done for.

[s7-evermore]

My Heart Stays With You | Leona Kingscholar x Mistress! Yuu/Reader

NOTE: Hey, so I can’t find the FUCKING fic I was talking about in this post and despite all my desperate searching I STILL can’t find it so I’m WRITING MY OWN VERSION OF IT until the author of that fic MESSAGES ME AND GOES “EYO DUDE WTF THAT IDEA WAS MINE” so I can search their blog and finally read the fucking story cuz istg I can’t focus on my schoolwork with that fic weighing on my mind like a curse that’s been placed on my family for 40 generations.

EDIT: someone in the comments lovingly told me who the author of the original one was and it was @/kiwibirdmother but all their posts disappeared so 🤡 fuck. LUCKILY tho I used the wayback internet thing and I managed to read them again :D if you guys want a link to it I’ll share thru dm cuz I’m too lazy to post something about it rn ejdkskxkskx

SYNOPSIS: Leona had been forced into an arranged marriage with a noblewoman, but he had already been in a relationship with Yuu. They loved each other too much, and both of them weren’t willing to let each other go. So in their own selfish ways, they stayed together despite the ring shining on his finger.

The two of them never thought it would get to this.

Leona had hoped that he would at least be able to make her his officially. All he needed to do was graduate and introduce her to his family, as reluctant as he was to let her into the royal life for the fear that she would have to carry the weight of it, he was far too selfish to let her go.

But Yuu didn’t mind at all. Just like him, she was far too selfish to let him go.

. . .

. . . .

. . .

When the news came to her that Leona had no choice but to push through with the arranged marriage, he rushed to her room in Ramshackle Dorm to hold her in his arms.

“Stay with me,” He begged that night, holding her in his arms with all the strength he could muster. “Please stay with me.”

It felt out of character for him to say those words with such strong emotion, but in the years they’ve been together, as she approached her fourth year in NRC, Leona slowly learned to lower his walls around her.

Only around her. Just her.

“Stay with me. I won’t do anything with her. I promise.”

“But…”

Hearing her strained voice and her choked sobs as she cried on his shoulder broke his heart. His heart… that he had given to her all those years ago when she accepted him with all of her being…

How unfair could the world get?

“I won’t. You’re the only one in my heart,” he stated firmly, a promise that he would hold himself to for the rest of his life.

“That stupid marriage is only for formalities. A political convenience. That woman and I don’t even have to do anything, and I don’t intend on giving myself to her. Not my love, not my mind, not my body.”

He looked into her eyes, furrowing his brows with intensity. When Yuu looked at them, she could feel the fierce heat of his love for her and his unyielding devotion.

She understood his place. He really had no say in the marriage, it had already been set in stone. Leona knew this well, and yet he couldn’t help but feel guilty… she had been so kind to him, so understanding…

“Yuu…” his voice was molten gold, and it seeped through the cracks of her heart.

“I love you. Only you. Please stay with me.”

“I will,” she said without hesitation.

He kissed her the moment she said those words, and a night of passion between them followed.

That wouldn’t be their last.

The night before his wedding, Leona drove to a villa some distance away from the palace.

It was distant from other residences and a little more solitary. Leona knew it would be perfect for Yuu, so he bought it immediately before anyone else could so she could live there with Grim after their graduation.

He knocked on the door, and it opened within a few seconds.

He felt his heart beating rapidly when he saw her face. For a moment, Leona felt at peace.

Yuu smiled, looking just as relieved, “You’re here…”

He moved to embrace her.

Ever since the arranged marriage, it was the first thing he would do whenever he visited her. An act of reassurance that he would forever be hers.

“I came just as I said I would,” He said.

“It’s tomorrow,” she quietly muttered.

“Will you go?”

“I promised I would.”

“It would hurt you…”

“It would hurt you just as much…” she said, her voice breaking, “I…I promised you that I would…always be there to comfort you…”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable any more than I already have,” he sighed. His woman was far too kind to him. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she tried to be a little petty.

“I think… I think it would make me more uncomfortable not seeing you, knowing that you would be with her…”

Leona knew that his brother was aware of his distaste for the marriage, but the will of their father, even as he lay sickly on his bed, had to be followed.

“Leona…”

He knew what that tone in her voice meant.

He looked down at her slightly, immediately noticing her half-lidded eyes and her sudden shy but sensual smile.

“Will you stay with me a little longer…?”

She didn’t even have to ask.

He pulled her to her bedroom. And there, they lost themselves into each other’s arms, wrapped up in the heat of their love.

. . .

. . . .

. . .

“Did you meet up with your friends?”

The question came to him as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She had her head against his chest, his arm around her as he slowly traced shapes on her skin.

“Jack said that you asked him and Ruggie to escort me…” she said, recalling her meeting with her friends from NRC the past week.

Leona had taken it upon himself to invite some notable people from NRC, especially those he knew she would be close with. Most of them also knew of the relationship they kept going through with, as dangerous as it was.

Vil Schönheit had actually been the one to visit her first. He was invited as Leona’s acquaintance and former school “friend”, according to Leona himself. Vil was one of the few people who knew about their continuing relationship despite Leona’s arranged marriage, and out of respect for Yuu (who Vil was clearly fond of) agreed to keep it a secret.

Kalim and Jamil were invited as well, under the pretext of Kalim being the first son of House Asim and Jamil as his servant. When they came to her home, they reminisced on old times and agreed to keep in touch.

As she told him about their visits, she remembered another thing.

“I didn’t expect you to invite Malleus to the wedding…” she said.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“Yes but…”

Although she continued writing to malleus, as he was her cherished friend, she knew that the two of them hardly got along.

“A lotta random royals, nobles and celebrities are invited out of formality, so I thought that I might as well invite someone you’re familiar with. Kalim, Vil, Idia, and Malleus came to mind at first.”

He looked down at her as he stroked her hair, “I’m sure you’ll be fine with their company. If you’re around people like them then no one should be able to bother you. I made sure to tell them all to visit you before the wedding.”

Malleus didn’t come alone, of course. Lilia, Silver, and Sebek came there as the Briar Valley prince’s attendants.

Those four weren’t daft by any means. She knew that they had probably already figured out that they were keeping their relationship a secret from the public.

“Are you alright with this?” Sebek had asked her, his voice strangely reluctant and…soft.

“We both aren’t,” she admitted to him, “But this is… the only way we could live right now.”

Malleus sighed, lamenting how unfortunate your circumstances are.

“If you need a place to belong, let us know,” He told her. “Briar Valley will welcome you with open arms.”

“Thank you…” she smiled kindly at her friends, “But I belong with Leona.”

“Leona, congratulations on your wedding.”

Leona watched as Vil approached him with Yuu around his arm.

Vil turned to the bride with a practiced smile, “and to you as well, my lady.”

“Congratulations, both of you,” Yuu said with a smile that made Leona uncomfortable. He hated her fake smiles.

He hated this. He hated all of this.

“You truly are fortunate, Lady Aisha,” her words pierced his heart like a bullet. His hands were itching to hold her in his arms. “To be wed to Leona… well, it might not be easy but…”

Yuu met his eyes, something profound shining within them, mixed with hopelessness and pain.

“I’m sure…he’ll be a very wonderful lover.”

The bride noticed the look Leona was giving the human girl while pondering the meaning of her words. With a strained smile, clearly masking her irritation, Aisha intertwined her arms around Leona’s and smiled at her.

“Oh I am well aware of that,” she says with a sickeningly sweet smile, “he is always so good to me.”

Yuu didn’t mean to take her words too far, but despite the bitterness in Aisha’s words, she smiled like a flower in bloom, masking her pain like it was nothing.

“I wish you both happiness.”

. . . .

. . . . .

. . . .

“Kifaji.”

The royal family’s long-time aid turned around at the sharp call of Leona’s new bride. Her features were marred with irritation, unbefitting of the occasion.

“Yes, my lady?” He acknowledged her calmly, ready to take every complain she has.

“Who is that woman?”

Kifaji looked at where she was pointing only to see Leona chatting with Yuu.

The aid’s expression softened at the sight of them. Leona’s eyes were unguarded as he spoke to the young woman, seemingly taking in every word she was saying. Yuu, on the other hand, despite the occasion simply seemed happy to be in the presence of the second prince.

It was the same scene he had seen quite a few years ago, when Leona brought her along with some other schoolmates for Tamashina-Mina. She was a darling little thing— she was beautiful. She got along well with their friends and Leona cared about her more than he liked to admit. But it didn’t escape Kifaji’s eyes when he saw Leona buy her a gift. A necklace the same color as his eyes, just as she requested.

“You should have chosen one with your eye color instead.” He heard Leona say to her.

“No,” Yuu shakes her head, “I like the color of your eyes better.”

She was sweet and by no means a push-over. She knew how to keep Leona in place without being pushy, and it was clear to anyone that Leona favored her greatly.

Kifaji had…hoped that he got to see Leona happy with her.

If it hadn’t been for the arranged marriage that the two princes’ father wanted… then maybe… maybe then the second prince would finally smile for the rest of his days…

“That is Miss Yuu, a long-time friend of his Highness,” he told Aisha calmly. “Prince Leona is quite fond of her, as is Prince Cheka, please do get along with her.”

“They look too close to be friends,” she quipped.

Kifaji could only do what he could for the Prince he had taken care of…

“I would not worry about that,” he said, expression unchanging, “I am certain that they are only friends.”

The lady huffed before fixing her wedding garments and going back to the party, Kifaji could finally breathe.

It was 12 AM at midnight, just two hours after the wedding and the reception ended when she heard something park itself on her driveway.

Before she could get the chance to look out the window, someone immediately knocks on the door.

In a rush, she opens the door only to see the lion that had been plaguing her thoughts, feeding the shadows whispering in her mind.

Large arms wrapped themselves around her in a warm embrace.

“I drove here as soon as everyone was asleep.”

She returned his embrace, feeling the beat of his heart against hers.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I can’t stand it. She was so annoying…” he buried his nose against her hair. “All she did was complain when all I did was nap on the bed.”

Lady Aisha must have gotten angry that Leona wouldn't touch her on their wedding night... She thought to herself. The thought of Leona sharing a bed with another woman made her heartache. She wanted to erase the image in her mind..

But she couldn’t do much now, can she? He was a married man now, but it wasn’t to her… no, it was to someone else.

However…

“Aren’t you gonna welcome me home?”

He will always return to her. Never touched and never kissed by anyone else but her.

She chuckles, looking up at him with pained eyes.

“It’s your wedding night, you know…? You could at least…”

“I told you, I ain’t touchin’ her.”

“You…you don’t have to… but it might make your family mad if you suddenly—“

He places a hand under her chin and forces her to look at him before stroking her cheek.

“I don’t care,” he says with finality. “I don’t care about that stupid wedding. I don’t care about her. I don’t care about any of them.”

His forehead touches hers, a tear escapes her eye.

“I care about us.”

And he kisses her with more love than he could ever give.

Another night passes, and Leona is once more entangled in Yuu’s arms.

[shellsarepretty]

b-day boy

Walker Scobell x fem!Reader

warnings: some cursing

summary: it's walkers birthday, and you made sure it was a great sweet sixteen.

It was well into January fourth.

The time was almost midnight, and you were stuck on your phone. Awkwardly lying down to get used to the long white chord, you were left to your thoughts. You tried your best to keep the cord charging your device in the wall.

At eleven-thirty, you opened up another can of Diet Coke. Sipping steadily at it, you walked to the bathroom and splashed a bit of cold water on your face. You sighed and walked back to your bed, where another was sleeping steadily.

The tall boy (who was sprawled like a starfish across his bed) was none other than Walker Scobell. Walker was a child actor (and a successful one at that.) He starred in all the movies (or TV shows) he was in. When directors heard his name, their faces would lift in smiles.

Walker is the absolute best. His work ethic and drive keep this film going. There isn't one person in this room that doesn't adore him.

You climbed back in bed, trying to carefully move Walker's hand from your half of the bed to his.

You then picked up your phone again. 11:40

sighing, you picked up your Diet Coke, gulping down a long draft of soda. You decided to go onto TikTok and keep your mind and eyes awake by scrolling aimlessly.

You felt an arm snake around your waist. Turning your head to glance at the boy behind you, you felt a warm surge of affection. The feeling flowered and blossomed until a soft smile broke out on your face.  

You shifted slightly, turning around to face Walker. Reaching out a soft hand, you carefully smoothed away a messy curl.

You continued to scroll on TikTok, checking the time every thirty seconds.

You finished your can of Diet Coke around 11:55. You carefully placed the can down on Walker's bedside table. You took the charging cord out of your phone. Resuming your position facing Walker, you snuggled closer to the boy.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly.

You glanced at the clock again. 11:57

You sang yourself Happy Birthday. 11:59

You counted to sixty. 12:00, Midnight.

Walker's Birthday.

Your hands found his hair, twisting a curl around your finger. Gently tapping his shoulder, you tried to wake him up.

"Walker, Walker. Wake up." You whispered. The boy next to you stirred a bit but didn't gain consciousness.

"Walker.." You tried again. You combed your free hand through his hair. The soft golden curls bounced back immediately. "Walker, c'mon, wake up."

You kissed the top of his head. "C'mon fish-face, wake up."

Walker slowly blinked open his eyes. Groggy blue irises met yours, and a soft smile graced his features.

"What is it?" Walker asked, his voice thick with sleep. You smiled and kissed him.

"Happy Birthday, Walk," you said after the quick peck.

"Birthday?" Walker looked slightly confused. "What time is it?"

You laughed, smiling sheepishly. "Twelve in the morning?" you said, giggling more when you saw Walker give you a look.

"You just couldn't wait 'till morning," Walker mumbled, his eyes already closing. You smiled, and the boy cuddled into you. His arm resumed the place it was, and his eyes closed with a smile on his face.

"See you in the morning, Walk. Happy Birthday." You whispered.

--

Walker woke up before you did. After all, he didn't stay up 'till Midnight like you did.

It was maybe 8:30 when you finally opened your eyes. The morning light streamed through the crack in the window shades, warming the spot of the hardwood floor in its path.

You honestly thought that you woke up before Walker because you sensed the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Looking down, you were met with soft blue eyes. You gasped and pressed Walker's head into your chest. Sort of like a hug.

"Jeez Walker. That scared me so badly." You said, laughing. Walker sheepishly pulled away from you.

"Sorry. I didn't want to wake you up. You just looked so," He paused, searching for a word. "Peaceful." Walker smiled up at you. You returned his grin and sighed.

"You're gonna have the best birthday. I'm making sure of it." You promised him.

--

You walked in, candles lit, as everyone around you started singing.

"Happy Birthday to you," You reached the table where Walker sat.

"Happy Birthday to you," You placed the cake before Walker.

"Happy Birthday to Walker," You smiled. You joined in the wall of people that were crowding around him.

"Happy Birthday to you..." Everyone finished singing. The Percy Jackson cast erupted into cheers with Walker's family. Walker drew in a large breath and let it out, successfully blowing out his candles. You clapped along with them, hugging Walker from behind.

Your arms fell over his shoulders, wrapping around his sitting frame. You laughed from next to him, and he placed his hands on yours. He leaned his head onto yours.

His mom walked up to him. "Walker, do you want to cut the cake?" She asked. Walker broke out into a grin and nodded excitedly.

"Yes, please!"

Mrs. Scobell handed Walker the cake knife, and you stepped back. Walker stood from his chair, showing off his crazy growth spurt.

To think that we were once the same height.

You laughed at the thought.

Walker sunk the knife into the blue frosting and cut out a piece of cake. He picked up the rectangle with his knife and carefully put it on the paper plate.

"Does anyone want cake?" he asked, grinning.

--

You didn't notice that Dior was filming when all of you sang Happy Birthday to Walker. She showed the video to Tamara, giggling to herself.

Tamara looked at the video, noting how it started and how she remembered.

Video-you walked through the doorway with the cake in your hands. Your face was concentrated, eyes staring at the cake and the floor, making sure that you wouldn't trip over anything.

The thing that you didn't know was that Walker was staring at you. His eyes traced across your face and followed your every move. He had this little goofy smile on his face the entire time.

Tamara and Dior practically died when they watched it.

You died when they showed it to you. At first, you didn't get what they were looking at, but when they pointed Walker's face out, you immediately blushed.

You thought they would keep it on their phones, but it somehow ended up on social media.

The video went viral, and several fans coo-ed in the comments. While most of the reactions were great, some were just saying that Walker was way out of your league.

Did you give a fuck? No, you did not. Walker was your boyfriend, not the fans.

And besides, it was Walker's birthday, and he needed to be at his happiest.

--

After cake, Walker (plus the Percy Jackson cast and Secret Headquarters.) all went to Leah's gigantic house to watch Deadpool 2,

much to the delight of Walker.

The boy was bouncing off the walls the entire time. He was whispering whole scenes to himself, and he acted it out with his and your hands.

All of the friends laughed at him and gave him a good tease, but Walker didn't care.

He used to watch this movie all the time when he was thirteen.

He diffidently didn't mind watching it again with his friends surrounding him.

--

"Y/n!" Your favorite voice called out. You turned around to see Walker come jogging up to you.

"How's my favorite b-day boy doing?" You greeted him. Walker broke into a grin and wrapped you up in a tight hug. It was unexpected but welcomed.

You snaked your arms around his neck, standing on your tip-toes as Walker picked you up slightly off the ground.

"Great. You're here, so everything is amazing." Walker mumbled against your shoulder.

You both pulled away slowly, the hug lingering in the space between you.

Walker shot you a boyish grin and kissed you softly. He then pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

"My mom said that you planned all of this for me." He opened his eyes to glance at yours.

"It was nothing, really." You smiled. You felt a little bit of heat go around your cheeks.

Walker shoots you another shit-eating grin, and he pecks your lips again.

"You're the best," Walker said warmly. "The whole day with all of the cast has been amazing, and the cake was my favorite flavor, and Momo and Kenna were here. I'm so, so lucky."

"No, Walk. I am." You grinned at him.

i set this up to post at 12:00 am on jan. 5, hehe <3

@urfriendlywriter

^tysm for the b-day prompts <3

[theplottdump]

Poppy: Thanks for saving my ass back there. Orange: It'd be a shame to waste such good ass on such a dumb arc. Poppy: Did you just break the fourth wall? Orange: I know I broke that douchebag's nose. I've been wanting to do that all week.

Poppy: I had it handled. Orange: A pistol barrel to your throat is it handled? Poppy: (𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦) I needed answers.

Poppy: I've been seeing this man all week. Orange: Should I be jealous? Poppy: 𝘐 𝘥𝘰��'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭. And when I do see him I never know if I'm dreaming or awake. Orange: Yeah, maybe lay off whatever your mom is on. The whole Hallucinogenic thing isn't for me. I have really bad trips.

Poppy: What do you mean? Orange: I tried it once with the guys at a party. They were fine and all but I guess me and Kyle were like - completely gone.

Brycen said we didn't move from the couch all night, and they had to make sure we were still breathing and shit.

Poppy: Just you two? Orange: Yeah it was like - I could see like all these different versions of myself right? But there was like- millions of them.

It was like staring into a million car crashes in a black hole but the noise never stopped.

Orange: Eventually it passed through my system and when I woke up the next morning I had like 12 dicks drawn on my face. Poppy: Yeah sorry. Orange: Wait 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺? Poppy: You were just such an easy target! Orange: You're really something else you know that?

Poppy: So do you still want to fuck me? Orange: Poppy what I want is for you to let me in. Poppy: You don't want that.

Orange: Poppy I really like you. I want to be serious- with you. Poppy: Like taxes? Orange: Like sushi dates downtown, like checking on you when you're sick, like shopping carts full of real groceries.

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲, 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘆?

Poppy was hesitant. It would never work out. She wasn't sure at this point if it was her negativity or pragmatism that was telling her so. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗢𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲 𝗕𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘆 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗻𝗼.

And it wasn't because he just punched an old creep so hard he cracked the mirror, or because he looked incredibly hot doing it. It was because when he smiled at you, played softly with the curl of your hair- when he fell into step with you so easily, so naturally- 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.

But with the men in Poppy's life, 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁.

[derelictlovefool]

❝​🇴​​🇺​​🇷​​🇴​​🇧​​🇴​​🇷​​🇴​​🇸​🇪​​🇩​​🇺​​🇷​​🇴​—⨾❝

— 𝐚 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 ����𝐲𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥, 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐬.

Notes: As per part one, my depiction of Wade here aligns with comic Wades personality, this is still angst central and reader still likes saying fuck. Wade finally breaks the fourth wall a crack (Playlist in part one's notes <3)

Warning/s: Canon Typical behaviour, unhealthy relationships, toxic behaviour, angst, references to alcohol consumption & sexually explicit activities, explicit language

Words: 3k

For once Wade was true to his word and you had found a duffel bag of cash on your bed not a week later, the blood and bullet holes in the fabric made you wince and while you questioned if the money was even safe to spend you weren't really in a place to turn it down. Hell knows you didn't have enough money for the repairs, so you sucked it up and called some guys to attend to your sink and your window. You gave vague answers when asked about what happened and avoided eye contact when you produced the wads of cash to cover the bill; considering the humble state of your apartment you knew they left with more than a little suspicion about where you had managed to scrounge up the cash.

You didn't really care what a couple of repair guys thought of you and whatever types of wild fantasies they conjured in their heads though, you were never going to see them again.

The real question was whether or not you'd be seeing the merc that provided said financials again. Your parting had led you to believe you would, eventually. You got a stray text here and there and even a phone call that had barely gotten past you saying hello. You wanted to be cordial, feeling kinda guilty at how you'd acted during your fight; you were better than that. At least you hoped you were. Your therapist said you were. You just knew you didn't want every conversation with Wade from here on out to be both of you trying to dig deeper holes for each other and twisting daggers into each other's side with underhanded attacks and defensive comebacks.

You weren't the picturesque model of a happy, healthy relationship before but you'd never hurt each other on purpose; not with the kinds of venom you shared that night.

You were a two-person army against the world, both a little fucked up and broken and slotting against each other's puzzle pieces with some grit and grime holding you together. There had been love there, a lot of it. Even if Wade's main ways of showing it were through spam texts, wierd expensive gifts and sex. You could always feel it, in the way he held you; stood in front of you when there was danger. In the way he looked at you, even with his eyes hidden you could feel how he felt about you.

But that was gone now and you hated not knowing if it would ever come back.

You were back to being a stray dog baring your teeth with no one to watch your back; sort of. In typical Wade fashion you'd caught him several times, across streets, in the corner of cafe's; he always popped up. Keeping tabs on you, making sure you weren't being bothered. Before he'd just act like your shadow and distract you to the point you forgot what you were doing or where you were going. And you didn't care because you were happy to see him. Part of you was still happy to see him, see that he still cared and wanted you safe. Another part of you was upset that while it seemed half of his world still revolved around you he couldn't be bothered to try being a grown up and actually fixing what he broke.

Because it was on him. No matter what you said to yourself when your bed got too cold or the doubts that crept in when you showered alone got a bit too loud—Wade broke up with you. Made a big spectacle of it, made sure it hurt and that everyone heard it. He didn't run after you after you tossed his gun in his face and stormed off, he didn't crawl into the apartment that night apologising and explaining why he did what he did. So if he wanted back in he had to make the effort and you would…

Well, you were still making your mind up on that one.

If he put the time in your heart obviously wanted to let him back in, just the tiniest gesture and it would be skipping with joy. But your brain told you that you had to have some kind of self-respect and make it harder than that, something had to happen that would mark a new beginning for you both and prove you could have him in your life again. Prove that you could trust him not to hurt you amidst his self-sabotage.

But the more you thought on it the less likely that seemed. Wade never did much in the way of self improvement, sometimes it seemed like he needed to upend his whole life in order to take a few steps forward. But it was always a one step forward, three steps back situation. You could never figure out how to help him out of that loop and you could never agree it wasn't your job to do so.

Partners helped each other. When they're at their lowest or their highest, with little and big things. Two-person army and all that jazz.

You soon realised you'd been staring at the bathroom sink for ten minutes or so, mulling over Wade and your catastrophic relationship for the hundredth time and decided it was time for a walk. You tossed on a jacket and grabbed your wallet and keys, stuffing your phone in your pocket as you made you way out of your apartment. Part of you expected to see Wade waiting for you on the street but only strangers were there to greet you.

You shoved your hands into your pockets as you walked, trying to think about anything but Wade and quite frankly—failing miserably. He'd been your everything for two damn years you could hardly be blamed for thinking about him. You still hadn't wrapped your head around where he could have possibly gone to that made him think he wasn't coming back. Wade always came back, he was like a cockroach. Or… You really couldn't think of a positive example at the moment.

You had tried to ask once you'd calmed down, a few days after your heated encounter; you'd sent a few texts and he'd dodged the question. Like usual.

You swore he had less trouble getting his limbs crushed than he did being straightforward. But when you first met that had been something you both had in common, the difference was you'd worked on it some since then.

"Fucking hell…" You muttered under your breath, running your hands down your face as a familiar antsy feeling tingled through all of your limbs. You wanted to run, wanted to punch a wall into pieces of rubble and dust; you needed to do something to keep your mind occupied and body steady. Anything at all.

"Talking to yourself is my thing sugar buns, don't start copying me just because you miss me."

Your feet froze on the concrete and a firm chest collided with your back, a surprised intake of breath and large hands grasping your shoulders to steady both of you building up the waves of shock in your system. The shock soon faded and you jerked away from Wade's hands, afraid of the warmth and the way your body wanted to melt against him. You had to stay firm.

"I wasn't copying you, I was feeling sorry for myself," you turned to face him, "but I guess that's still copying you, huh?" you took him in; full suit on under a hoodie and jeans; like that was inconspicuous in any fucking way. You'd always thought it was cute in a wierd way, knowing it was from his insecurity however had always kept a slight pang of sympathy clouding everything else. Even now you thought back to last week when his face was on full display and you could follow valleys of pale scars and rivers and lakes of warped skin and red muscle. He was beautiful to you, even when you were angry at him you couldn't deny that.

But you knew the world saw him at face value, and he knew it too. His imperfections and more noticeable blemishes compared to a majority of the populous did not give him a high chance of landing on the cover of sexiest man alive.

You saw Wade's mouth shift under the red fabric, like he was about to say something but instead he ducked his head down and scoffed, thinking better of his first thought.

"It sure is, I expect nothing less from my ex-biggest fan." He churned the word 'ex' out like it was fire on his tongue, letting it land between the both of you and burn into the dirt. You wanted to correct him, as part of you hadn't given up on him and part of you hated the idea of ex being shoved in front of anything to do with you now. He also had no right to be so upset about it since, again, this was his fault. But then again, he was his biggest enemy and maybe the chipped tone was for himself and not you.

"Is this gonna turn into another thing or do you want to come get a drink with me and not act like dramatic teenagers during their first breakup?" You sighed, stepping back and gesturing to a café across the street from the park you'd been walking through. Wade paused, considering your proposal before shrugging.

"Fanfic authors sure do love their café scenes." He mused and had it been two years earlier you'd have scrunched your face up in confusion at the strange, out-of-nowhere sentence. But by now you were used to it, Wade was just like that—and possibly hooked into a part of the world you didn't have access to. You wouldn't be surprised considering the crazy shit that went on in his life and in tandem your own. Most of it was because of him and most of the time you didn't mind it.

Until you got shot or kidnapped, that was never fun—and absolutely not something either of you talked about after.

So communication had never been either of your strong suits, obviously, maybe that's why this whole shit show had gone so badly. Maybe when Wade plotted it out in his head it was with versions of the both of you that had figured out all the intricacies of civil and logical discussions. And maybe you were making up scenarios to make yourself feel better and give Wade an out again, like you always did.

You both sat down in the back, Wade dwarfing the café chair and you slipping into the booth with much more care. You looked through the menu, painfully aware of Wade's stare and not planning on ordering anything other than your comfort beverage.

"How's the sink?" Wade sounded nervous, or maybe just uncomfortable. Gloved hands toying the the salt and pepper shakers on the table as you flipped through the menu.

"Fixed. Don't know what it ever did to you by the way." You glanced up at him and his head rolled to the side, eyes no doubt fixed past you or up at the ceiling.

"It hit me first."

"Sure it did."

More silence. Only broken by a waiter coming up to your table with a bottle of water and two glasses, he poured your drinks and took your order. Wade was halfway through ordering an alcoholic beverage with too many steps when he realised this wasn't a bar, then he settled for a hot chocolate. You rolled your eyes, sipping your water to stop yourself from smiling.

"So… How have you been? Any good fucking riddance parties with the besties?"

"Wade." You snapped sharply and he held his hands up in immediate surrender.

"Okay, too soon. What have you been up to?" He lowered his hands back to the table and you could picture the almost bashful smile on his face, a mix of apologetic, amused and strained. You leaned back into the booth, he was trying. In his own way.

"You want the truth or the comfortable?" You asked and Wade's head bowed slightly; this was the question you both asked when everything was shit but you didn't want it to rub it off on the other. Oftentimes you chose comfortable, it was just easier to give the most vague answer and cuddle or fuck the problems away from your mind. Or go on a midnight binge at the local gas station, raiding it of its most treasured comfort snacks.

"Truth."

That, was surprising. Wade had never been a great listener, an excellent talker but that was common knowledge. You pulled your lips into a tight line before shrugging.

"Fuck all, waking up," Crying in the shower, " going to work, dealing with assholes, going home," crying while eating a shitty dinner, "going to bed feeling like shit—Rinse and repeat." You throw your hands out in a lazy jazz-hands motion before dropping them into your lap.

"I said truth." Wade's ever scratchy and course voice was soft in that moment and you paused. You couldn't tell him you'd been crying over him, your pride didn't want you to. You didn't want to. But you had a feeling he knew, somehow he always knew. Even if he never said anything, the spontaneous trips and gifts weren't always that spontaneous and you weren't an idiot.

"You stalk me half the fucking time I think you know the truth." You threw back, harsher than you'd meant to and Wade noded, not making any move to deny your claim. You wouldn't have believed him if he did anyway, he was purposefully letting you catch him. He wanted you to know when he was there, and you did. He was the only thing you saw when you did.

"I haven't left Al's apartment, besides when I… Need a walk." Need to see you, follow you from the shadows and refuse to even say hi, creep on you from the tree outside your apartment. All the things you heard and knew but he didn't say.

"So we're both being pathetic, good to know." You smiled, a stiff and unconvincing one as you glanced over at the barista working on your drinks.

Silence hung over you both again and it felt different to what you were used to. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't tense but it certainly wasn't pleasant. It was something new, something you really didn't like.

"I got shot into a black hole."

You blinked.

Wade stared.

"Uhm. You what now?" You leaned forward, brows furrowing as you shot him an incredulous glare. He held his hands out like he didn't know how to expand further than that before they dropped to the table in defeat. He knew you wouldn't accept those words alone, you needed it to make sense.

"The short condensed version is that I got offered a fuck ton of moolah to do a gig that led me to being up in the stars and getting bitch slapped into a swirly void of nothingness," Wade twirled his fingers in circles for empahsis, "No one promised they could get me out if that happened but they did." He shrugged and you watched him with a steely squint. He wasn't lying, you always knew when he was. He'd come back from worse but you supposed if his teleporter broke and whoever he was working with was as shady as the usual suspects—

"So that's why you broke up with me? Because you got a gig that sent you into a black hole?" You leaned back in your chair and Wade seemed to deflate minutely, as if he'd been expecting his brief explanation to fix everything.

His head drooped forward and he ran a hand over his masked face, the waiter dropped off your drinks and you barely bit out a thank you; not taking your eyes off of Wade. You realised, sitting here, you needed far more than an explanation and an apology. You needed action, you just weren't sure what kind and it didn't feel fair giving him a task you couldn't even think of. So you stayed quiet and let him think, because frankly you didn't know what else you could say that wouldn't derail into another hurtful fight.

"I thought I was gonna be floating up in a million itty bitty atom sized pieces, I didn't want you waiting around for me when you could be… Living. Happy." Wade spread his fingers out, before grabbing his hot cocoa and tugging his mask up just above his mouth so he could sip at it. He cursed when the hot liquid met his tongue and you didn't even have the energy to find it funny.

"How much?"

"Huh?" His tongue hung out of his mouth, adding to the dumb, questioning noise as he looked back at you.

"How much was breaking up with me worth? A million? Five? What's the price tag on our relationship Wade I'm real curious."

"That's not—Can we not—"

"You—" You half stand in frustration before sitting down quickly and glancing around the café, covering your mouth as you feel those stupid tears biting at your tear ducts again.

"You've gone on so many gigs and died I don't know how many fucking times, in ways no one thought you could come back from and none of those times did you feel like ditching me so I could have whatever your version of a happily ever fuckin' after is." You snapped, voice hushed as you leer over the table at him. He flinched back, obviously off-put by the water building in your eyes but he recovered after a moment; meeting you in the middle, torso half over the table.

"This was different." He hissed and being able to see his bared teeth only served to ignite that deep irritation within your chest.

"How?" You exaggerated the 'o', holding the vowel as you waited for him to finally give you the answer you needed to hear.

But Wade never made it that easy.

"It just was!"

"That's not good enough." You fell back into the booth and glared into your drink, you wouldn't storm out and cause another scene. If anyone was getting embarrassed it would be him, he could be a diva and run away from you if he wanted but you weren't going to budge. But of course his stubbornness mirrored your own and you both remained in your seats, whispers and glances being thrown at your table as everyone got a kick out of your spiralling relationship.

You should have just just kept fucking walking.

End notes: Forgot to mention this'll be updating every Saturday AEST! Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you think of this part! I really love writing Wade in conflict, just continuously going down a hill in every way possible. <3

[undermine-the-instinct]

Flies in Honey

Mahito/Reader/Yuji Word count 3K

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, EXTREME NONCON, mIndbreak, character death (reader insert)/ You’re already dead prior to this fic, Mahito uses your body, Mahito is his own warning, humiliation, victim blaming, profanity.

Aged up characters. Spoilers for jjk S2. Consider this an Au where Todo dies and Yuji loses against Mahito.

Yuji doesn’t know how he got here.

It's dark, and damp, wherever he is. It soaks into the rags of his clothes and his exposed skin, gravel tearing at his back. He hardly feels it.

The cracks on the ceiling fissure and twist together, but he’d rather look at them. It's better to look above him than what lies before him.

He’s wearing your face. 

Above him, you sigh, breathy and high pitched, Your hips roll into his, and Yuji bites back a hiss. His hands lay limp at his sides.

“Why aren't you saying anything? I thought you would like this.” Your voice is wrong, you’re talking with his voice and Yuji feels the bile rise in his throat.

You switch rhythm, and Yuji chokes on his spit as you bounce up and down his cock. His hands spasm into claws, but no, he doesn't touch you. He won't, he won't.

You laugh. It's so fucked up but he sounds like you.

“You like this better, right?“

“Fuck you–” It was a bad idea to talk. Your– Mahito's hand shoots out and he sticks three fingers into his open mouth to gag him. Two on his tongue, the other on the roof of his mouth, keeping his mouth open. He chokes, but Mahito presses down on his tongue.

He’s going to come again. What number was this? He lost count around the fourth. All he could focus on was the hot coil in his belly, the tightening of his balls and that horrible fucking sound of your warped laughter when he spills, again.

It shouldn’t feel this good. He wants to tear his fucking skin off. He wants to bite down on the fingers in his mouth, he wants to curl into a ball and never wake up.

He's not going to admit to himself he's enjoying this, that he's missed this. It's not you. You're dead. You died, and it's Yuji's fault. All of it is. He got to you, and now he's wearing your likeness like it's a new coat, the bitch.

But damn, it really looks like you.

“I memorized everything about her, you know.” Your fingers leave his mouth, punched out gasps leave his chest while hands drag down his skin, drawing red lines. 

“She was fun to play with. Stubborn too. Kept fighting even when I made her unable to,” he giggles.

“But she made the prettiest sounds when she finally broke. Prettier when we slept together too. She was just like you–Human. Always trying to deny yourselves at your most desperate, out of some half formed sense of dignity. See?” He presses down with your body, chest to chest while your walls flutter around him. Yuji’s eyes roll back, his hands leave bloody gorges  in the ground.

“But human dignity is just the same as human depravity; you can't hide your baser instincts even in the worst circumstances, huh?”

Yuji would fight back, but his head is swimming, and his bones feel like they’re replaced with jello. There is a rage that simmers as he talks though, and Yuji bites his tongue until he tastes iron. It drips through the hole in his cheek. Mahito sees this and sighs.

"Your base instinct is to kill me. My base instinct is to murder your soul. That's what this is." He gestures between the two of them, not breaking pace. His hand drifts down, and he wipes away at the blood on his face, though he only succeeds in smudging it more.

“I did the same thing to her. Took your face and made her tell me how to do it right.”

“You’re sick–”

“I consider myself considerate. It's why you’re here and not dead.” He stops moving, tilts his head and meets Yuji's eyes in an eerie stare you've never given him. “Did you know that was my first time? I liked it.” You, fuck, he tilts your head, eyes pointed up in thought.

“Well, I'm a ‘human curse’ so I guess of course I would.”

“You fucking–” This time Yuji tries to buck him off, get some room in between them to get a hit in, but all he accomplishes is Mahito pushing him down and pinning his hands, going back to his earlier motions. Yuji's weaker now. Maybe its because its your face. He could never fight against you, even while sparring.

“That's how–I was able to memorize it too. All her faces, her sounds, what she likes. I wanted to understand you, through her. And now," a sound, high pitched and miserable leaves Yuji's throat.

"You like it too, right? A perfect replica, right? Wanna keep going?” Yuji just shakes his head, and tries to fight off his grip. But Mahito has more hands, and he remains pinned. He can't help the slight bucking of his hips, and when he notices, Mahito grins, a ruddy flush spreading across your face in a bald faced insult.

He can't breathe. He needs to vomit.

You had gone missing weeks ago, called on a mission to deal with a second grade level curse. Nothing too hard for you, it was a quick job and everyone had thought that you’d be in and out.

But cursed spirits have been acting strange lately, and everyone simply thought that it was due to the encroaching Halloween date. Due to various thoughts and practices towards the day, this was normal. But you had gone missing and the only sign of your whereabouts came from another encounter with the patchwork curse.

He went down to the sewers with Mr.Nanami, following the smallest clues they had towards your disappearance, where they met Patchwork. He had been vague and leering and lewd, and it was the first time Yuji saw Mr. Nanami’s face twist into such visceral rage. He mirrored the feeling, but Mahito had escaped, along with any other clues to where you were.

He had tossed a lump of...something to Yuji with a mocking grin, spongy and pale. They took it back to Miss Shoko, and it was confirmed to be a piece of your brain matter. Your death was confirmed.

Hope had dragged him along, weary and spitting blood, but losing you…was too much. Shibuya. Nanami, Kugisaki, Todo, you… His mind broke. He could feel the cracks. They fought, Mahito had knocked him unconscious, and dragged him to god knows where, and now he’s here.

And now he was faced with this horrible caricature of you, with too wide eyes and a leering grin that reminded him exactly of who was wearing your face.

Mahito didn't even seem that interested in the sex, too busy staring at the way Yuji reacted. His muscle spasms, the way he would jerk away from his touch or forward when he couldn't help it, the blank look on his face that sometimes twisted into an expression of such utter loathing– Or lust, and then his face would twist with such despair, a broken sob dragged from behind his clenched teeth, wrangled and bloody. Mahito felt the dark glee drip honey sweet through his soul, like the slick that ran down his thighs.

You really were a fun experiment. He knew how much you meant to Yuji, and initially just wanted to use you to damage his soul further. But where was the fun with that? You were something special. Yuji Itadori had plenty of friends and mentors, and killing any random person in front of him would always garner the same effect. But there was only one you. He wanted to understand you, and the exact place you held in Itadori’s life.

What made you special? What made you stand out to the one person, his natural enemy? Humans and their romantic relationships always seemed like a Greek tragedy to Mahito; Of course the person you let know all your weaknesses would be the one to destroy you in the end. Love always gave rise to hatred. It gave rise to a particular brand of hatred that made up Mahito, and if he was anything, he was always curious to know the full substance of his soul. That's where you came in.

“We would talk, and I'd have her tell me all about you–” Mahito drawled. “I had to pry out all the other stuff but she eventually spilled. I wanted to know everything you see,” he punctuates his words by slowly pulling himself off of Yuji's cock, before dropping down with a slap of flesh. He watches in fascination as Yuji’s lower belly flutters.

“We made deals the other half of the time. A few less experiments if she talked, or let me touch her.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you–”

“I got bored eventually, after she told me everything, and I took everything I could... I don't even remember what I did to her in the end."

Mahito wondered, if love gave rise to hatred, would you hate your lover for not rescuing you? Or for being the true target of Mahito's morbid intrigue? He never got his answer, you never voiced any thoughts like that, and strangely, he sensed no hatred at all when you died. Not for Yuji, or even for himself. You were probably too broken.

Mahito shrugged. “Oh well. She’s dead now anyways.” An ugly, violent sound tears through Yuji’s throat, and finally his hands reach out to grab at his–your waist with a bruising grip. He shoots up and doesn't let Mahito move, and Mahito is curious about this reaction, so he waits while Yuji catches his breath.

“You…how can you…just do that to people? She never did–she never did anything wrong–” His head comes to rest on your collarbone, and Mahito watches this all play out with an intense curiosity, and a growing glee.

Yuji continues to break down, tears slipping from his eyes down to the soft flesh of your breast.

“What the fuck did you do to her…why the fuck did you take her…" Mahito sighs, lets the familiar timber of your voice take over, and drags a hand through Yuji’s hair. Not as gentle a touch as he made you demonstrate on him, but Yuji shudders, and burrows further into the mimicry.

“Yuji.” At the sound of our voice, your true voice, Yuji's shoulders shake horribly.

So this is grief? Or despair? Mahito remarks. What's the difference? He watches Yuji as he shatters. Yuji sobs, ugly and loud off the sewer walls when Mahito starts moving again, but his hips thrust shallowly into your slick cunt.

Mahito wondered, had wondered, if love gave rise to hatred, then you just needed to love him, right? If he wanted to understand your place in his enemy's life, your place as his 'lover', than you just had to love him, right?  And lovers do things together, they talk about their vulnerabilities, they watch and learn their tics and preferences and dislikes and habits. They stick through the good and bad. And Mahito was….bad.

Yuji continues to sob, but he tilts his head back and starts fucking him back, soft whimpers slipping past his bitten lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry, ah–! Fuck, I'm sorry, I wasn't there, I let him get to you, fuck I’m sorry I let him hurt you–”

This isn’t even about the sex. But Mahito is a disaster curse–he was born from hate. And hate has flavors. Rage, vindictiveness, envy, glee; he’s all of them. And the hatred rising from Yuji Itadori is so potent and despair riddled that Mahito sighs, and in an act unbidden comes with a choked out gasp.

Its sudden. Mahito hasn't orgasmed once this entire ordeal before, but as soon as he does, Yuji groans, deep and guttural. His head flops back to the hard ground, and immediately his gasps turn shallow and fast before he pulls your hips down and comes in thick, hot ropes.

Is it because Mahito is wearing your face, or did he always hold on this tightly to you? Mahito is sure he’ll see dark purple bruises on your skin when he lets go, and Mahito decides he’ll keep them. He’s never fixed you, after all, so bruises were a common sight. He just wonders how it’ll look as it ‘heals’. Maybe Yuji could give him some pointers on the visual front.

Yuji lays there, and cries. The tears cut clean streaks through the blood and dirt and grime, and Mahito stares, and he stares. His pink hair is flat, and stringy with dried blood.

"Why are you pretending you don't like this?"

"What...?"

he tilts your head. "Its sex. Even if you're not one for carnal pleasure I still look like her. I still feel like her. Don't you love her?"

"No...I--"

"You dont?"

"I do, you're just--! Fuck, get off of me--" Mahito swats his hands away, almost halfheartedly, clicks his tongue.

"If you did 'love her' than wouldn't you stop me already? I read a plot like this in a book once... Shouldn't you kill me for 'defiling her memory' or something? You're enjoying this."

"I'm not--"

"You are."

"I'm--"

"You are. Stop denying it. I'm not going to stop if that's what you're scared of." Mahito chuckles.

“What the fuck…is your problem, what do you want?” Yuji gasps out. His breaths are shallow and his voice is high patched, chest rising up and down, up and down, too fast. He runs his thumb over his collarbone if only to feel the rabbit-fast pulse.

“What do I want...?” 

“Why me? Why do you want to break me? ‘Natural enemy?' I don't even know what that means...” Mahito is silent for a moment longer, enjoying the moment, before he leans over. With the use of Idle transfiguration, your mangled face takes up Yuji’s vision, and he feels the breath die in his throat.

“You are my natural enemy Yuji Itadori. But I can't kill you. Physically, that is. So this is the next best thing.”

“You, I–”

“Don't take my words too seriously, I am a curse after all,” Mahito brushes your hair out his face and leers.

“But you seem to think that this is a punishment. This is a reward, Itadori.”

“‘Reward’?” He hiccups.

Mahito nods.

“Without you, I would have never gotten to understand my soul on such an intimate level. I know the essence of my soul because of you.” He leans closer, breath full of mirth and rot.

“And I thought, surely you missed your little girlfriend. And isn't intercourse the most sacred act between two lovers?” Mahito shrugs.

“An experiment for me on whether this would fully break you or not. You can consider it a gift though.”

“You think…you think I want to see her like this?”

“Yes?”

“No!”

“Then would you like to see what's left of her?” Mahito points back to the mouth of the sewer. Tortured, anguish moans rise from there, and Yuji can already guess what was there. Despair grips his heart and rips it out.

“Don't worry, I didn't tranfigure her, actually. I bet I can find the parts of her around somewhere …but only if you ask nicely.” Again, he thrashes, but from battle, or loss, he’s weak.

No, Yuji knows why. He could never raise a hand against that face. Even now, seeing dark purple bruises on a body that even resembles yours makes guilt curl in his chest.

“Get off of me."

“What was that? You're talking so low I can't hear you.”

“Get off of me!” Mahito drawls out a low note, but surprisingly, he does as he’s told. Yuji hisses as he slides off his dick, letting him feel the drag of your walls and how they flutter. It's familiar, and Yuji wants to kill something when he thinks of how this curse must have learnt that from you.

He wants to kill himself when his breath hitches at the feeling.

Mahito gets off, but does not release his hands. The image of an extra pair of hands holding him down creates enough clarity for him to differentiate between the two of you, and Itadori growls under his breath.

Your face smiles down at him, and Itadori tries not to stare back. Just like that, the anger is gone. He’s missed you, after all.

“...You know I'm getting out of here, right?”

“And you’ll try killing me. I know. That's if you don't come back for this, though.” He gestures with a stitched hand the bare curves of your body.

“You’ve killed my puppets, transfigured humans, even the kid ones! Shibuya didn't break you, killing Mister 7:3 didn't break you, or that Gorilla, that hammer woman’s death almost did… but something tells me…”

He slithers up and slots himself against Yuji’s side, and it's an ingrained habit to hold you. He jolts back quickly enough in horror, but Mahito grabs his arms, and keeps them on him.

“Killing me while wearing this face would really shatter you, hm? it's why you didn't stop me when I dragged you here and did what I did. You let me. You let this happen." He shakes his head even before you, fuck, it's done. He denies it, because what else could he do?

Mahito moves to hiss in his ear. 

"Is it because of guilt? You're so human, Itadori Yuji.” And his eyes switch to that familiar silver and blue.

“Even if it's self loathing, I can still sense it. That hatred. You’ll come back, and I'll break your soul down some more each time. Little by little…until eventually, one of us kills the other. That's how this is going to go.” He rests your head on his shoulder, listening to the dull drag of his heart. The movement is so familiar that Yuji could cry again, but he holds it back.

“....So that's how it is.”

“Yup. Oh, and I'm still waiting for my thank you.”

“....” 

He sits up, and laughs at the way Yuji’s eyes go pinprick small, copying your laughter down to a terrifying degree. Yuji doesn't know how, he’s sure you never laughed in a place like this.

“Hate me all you want, it only makes me stronger. But, even if it's unconventional, I still let you see her, feel her. I want a thank you for that.”

And Yuji must truly be broken because what if I really never see her again? What if I never hear her voice or touch her? This here, horrible as it was, was both knife and balm, like peroxide on an open wound. Cleansing and burning.

“....”

“Well?”

If…he just pretends it was you, if he just watches your mouth and imagines….

He used to thank you after sex in the beginning, before you told him to stop thanking you like you were being paid to sleep with him. Of course, this led to the private joke, where you would demand your payment–anytime, anywhere, and he would smother you in kisses. Fushiguro, Kugisaki and even Gojo-san would roll their eyes or tease or gag, but he loved it. He knew you did too, with how often you used the joke.

“...Thank you.”

Fuck, he misses you.

“Nuh uh uh! Not like that!” Mahito shoots up, hovering your face over his again, noses touching. He switches his eyes back for yours, extra arms gone.

“Thank her. Like you used to. Go on.” He's broken. Yuji is broken.

He reaches a hand and cups the side of your face like he used to. You cant into it like a cat, and a fondness rises in his chest, just to be awashed by despair. He has to clear his throat, and still his voice breaks.

“Th-Thank you...” And because he can't help the fact that it's you, it looks just like you, he pulls you down for a kiss. It's so familiar, down to the way you would tilt your head to the side, and your tongue would swipe over the bottom of his lip. But Mahito bites down, reopening a wound from when he bit his tongue earlier. Blood fills his mouth, but Mahito laps it up. His tongue pokes at the hole in his cheek.

He pulls away, and his eyes are still yours, warm and loving, red smeared at the corner of your mouth. He smiles your smile. He speaks in your voice. Soft, so soft it kills him.

“You’re welcome, Yuji.”

[muiitoloko]

Please say you’ll be doing another part of the mad Harry series! The first two have been brilliant. All your writing is great but psycho Harry is very different and how bear wrenching it must be when she loves him so much.

Regardless if there’s a third part- it was bloody great and I can’t wait to read what you do next.

Title: The Fragile Anchor

Summary: Harry clings to the memory of his wife as his lifeline, spinning a web of manipulation that tests the loyalty of his protege and the limits of redemption.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Manipulation.

Author's Notes: Question: Do you want Harry to recover his memories and be good again? Or would you rather I continue with dark Harry?

First, Second, Third and Fourth part here.

Also read on Ao3

Two weeks.

Two long, agonizing weeks without seeing you, without knowing where you were or if you were safe. The sterile walls of the padded room were suffocating, the silence punctuated only by Harry’s enraged outbursts that gradually gave way to a simmering madness. No matter how much he shouted, broke, or fought, they didn’t bring you to him. Not even the fury that had once struck fear into his enemies could crack the unyielding resolve of those keeping you apart.

That day, Harry sat in the corner of the room, his knees drawn up, his head resting against the padded wall. His voice was low, barely audible, as he muttered to himself—a fragmented mantra that kept him tethered to reality. Your name was the constant thread, whispered like a prayer, a vow, a curse.

The door creaked open. Harry’s head snapped up, his single eye narrowing like a predator scenting prey. It wasn’t you. Of course, it wasn’t you.

It was the boy.

Eggsy entered cautiously, a tray of food in his hands. His movements were hesitant, as though he were approaching a wild animal. He crouched down and placed the tray on the floor next to Harry, then straightened, watching him carefully.

“You’ve got to eat, mate,” Eggsy said softly, his tone lacking the cocky edge Harry vaguely remembered from fragments of his fractured mind.

Harry didn’t move. His piercing gaze stayed fixed on Eggsy, his body coiled with tension.

Eggsy sighed, running a hand through his hair before sitting on the edge of the cot. “Look, I know you hate this, and I know you hate me right now,” he began, his voice carrying a trace of uncertainty. “But this ain’t about me, or Merlin, or anyone else. It’s about you. And her.”

At the mention of you, Harry’s jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

Eggsy gestured to his own hand, the bandages gone, though faint bruising still lingered. “Hand’s better, by the way. Not that you care, I s’pose.”

Still, Harry remained silent, his glare unrelenting.

Eggsy let out another sigh, the weight of the tension heavy in the room. “You know,” he started, his voice softer now, “before all this, you were like a father to me. I mean, you saved my arse more times than I can count. And her…” He hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to Harry’s unmoving form. “She was like a mum, you know? After I joined Kingsman, I practically lived at your house. She’d fuss over me, make sure I was eating, ask about my training. She cared about me.”

Harry sat silently, his head slightly tilted, watching Eggsy intently. The boy’s words were raw, unpolished, but laced with genuine care. He was rambling, nervously trying to bridge the chasm between them, and Harry could see the sincerity in his eyes. It was almost laughable how easy it would be to manipulate that sincerity.

The thought sparked something in him—a memory, perhaps. Or maybe just instinct. It didn’t matter. Harry knew how to use people. He’d been trained to do so, and even without his full memories, the skill came as naturally as breathing.

“Eggsy,” Harry finally murmured, his voice low and trembling just enough to sound vulnerable. He shifted slightly, letting his body sag against the padded wall as if the weight of the world was pressing him down. His gaze softened, his single eye glimmering with unshed tears. “I… I didn’t know.”

Eggsy froze, startled by the sudden shift in Harry’s demeanor. “Didn’t know what, mate?” he asked cautiously, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“That you thought of me like that,” Harry continued, his voice cracking just enough to tug at the boy’s heartstrings. He let his gaze drop to the floor, his hand running over his face as if trying to hide his emotion. “I don’t remember much, Eggsy. Everything’s… fragments, pieces that don’t fit. But hearing you say that—it means something. More than you know.”

Eggsy’s brow furrowed, his expression softening. “’Course it does,” he said gently, his voice tinged with hope. “You were the best man I ever knew, Harry. Still are, even if you’re not yourself right now. We’ll get you back, mate.”

Harry let out a shaky breath, as if holding back a sob. “I want that,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “More than anything, I want to be the man I was. For you. For her.” His voice caught on the last word, and he let his hand drop, meeting Eggsy’s gaze with a pleading look. “But I can’t do it alone. I need to see her, Eggsy. I need her to remind me who I was—who I am.”

Eggsy hesitated, the conflict evident on his face. “Harry, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said carefully. “Merlin reckons it might make things worse, you know? Like, you might get too attached or somethin’.”

Harry shook his head quickly, leaning forward as he clasped his hands together, the picture of desperation. “No, Eggsy, you don’t understand. She’s the only thing keeping me tethered. The only thing that feels real in all this madness.” His voice dropped, trembling with emotion. “If I lose her—if I don’t see her—I’m afraid I’ll lose myself entirely.”

Eggsy’s expression wavered, the flicker of doubt slowly giving way to sympathy. “Harry, I get it, I do. But Merlin—”

“Merlin doesn’t know what it’s like!” Harry interrupted, his voice cracking as he leaned closer, his eye wide and earnest. “To feel like a ghost, trapped in your own mind. To have nothing but shadows and whispers where there should be memories. But her—she’s light, Eggsy. She’s the only thing that makes the darkness bearable.”

Eggsy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, visibly moved by Harry’s words. “I want to help you, mate, I really do. But Merlin…”

Harry reached out, grasping Eggsy’s hand—not the injured one—with a firm yet trembling grip. “Please,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I’ll behave. I swear it. No more outbursts, no more fights. Just… let me see her. Let me tell her I love her. That I’ll do whatever it takes to get better for her.”

Eggsy looked down at Harry’s hand, his lips pressing into a thin line. He seemed torn, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on him. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll talk to Merlin. No promises, but I’ll try.”

Harry let out a shaky sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if the weight had been lifted. “Thank you,” he murmured, squeezing Eggsy’s hand before letting go. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

Eggsy offered a small, hesitant smile. “Don’t make me regret it, yeah?”

Harry nodded solemnly, his expression a mask of gratitude and humility. But as Eggsy turned and walked toward the door, Harry’s gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He’d planted the seed, and now all he had to do was wait. Soon, you would be back where you belonged—with him. And this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Eggsy stormed into Merlin's office, his usual swagger replaced by a mixture of frustration and determination. Merlin was seated behind his desk, his sharp eyes already narrowing at the sight of the young Kingsman. “Eggsy,” Merlin greeted tersely, barely glancing up from the paperwork in front of him. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eggsy slammed the door shut behind him, pacing the small office as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It’s about Harry,” he blurted, his tone sharp. “We need to let him see her.”

Merlin’s pen froze mid-signature, his gaze lifting slowly to meet Eggsy’s. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Harry is unstable, volatile, and potentially dangerous. Letting him see her now would be a disaster.”

Eggsy frowned, leaning on the edge of Merlin’s desk, his hands gripping the wood tightly. “Merlin, he’s trying. I’ve been in there with him. He’s different now—calmer. He just wants to see her. Maybe it’ll help him get better.”

Merlin set his pen down deliberately, folding his hands as he fixed Eggsy with a pointed glare. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment,” he said coldly. “Harry is playing you, Eggsy. He’s always been a master manipulator—one of the best we’ve ever trained. You think this sudden shift is genuine? Think again.”

Eggsy’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with defiance. “He’s not playing me,” he argued. “I know him. I feel it. He just needs a chance.”

Merlin rose from his chair, his imposing presence filling the room. “You feel it?” he repeated, his voice tinged with disdain. “This isn’t about feelings, Eggsy. It’s about facts. And the fact is, Harry nearly killed you not long ago. Or have you conveniently forgotten that?”

Eggsy recoiled slightly, the memory of Harry’s unrelenting grip on his wrist flashing in his mind. But he shook his head, refusing to back down. “That wasn’t him,” he said stubbornly. “That was the part of him that’s broken. The part that she can help fix.”

Merlin exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what happens when he snaps again? When his possessiveness turns violent? You think she’ll be safe then? Do you even care about what’s best for her, or are you too busy trying to be Harry’s bloody savior?”

Eggsy glared at him, his fists clenching at his sides. “I care about both of them,” he shot back. “And keeping them apart is only making things worse.”

Merlin studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world rested on them. “Fine,” he said quietly, his tone reluctant. “If Harry shows consistent improvement over the next few weeks—no outbursts, no manipulation, genuine progress—then I’ll consider letting him see her. Consider it, Eggsy. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

Relief washed over Eggsy’s face, though he knew better than to celebrate just yet. “Thank you, Merlin,” he said earnestly. “I won’t let you down.”

Merlin’s gaze hardened. “You already have by entertaining this idea,” he muttered. “And don’t you dare tell Harry about this. The last thing we need is him pretending to behave just to get what he wants.”

Eggsy nodded quickly, his expression serious. “I won’t say a word.”

Harry sat cross-legged on the cold, padded floor of his room, the tray Eggsy had brought him resting on his lap. He ate slowly, deliberately, savoring each bite as though it were a luxury. Every movement was measured, calculated to appear subdued and cooperative. His eye flicked occasionally to the corners of the room where he knew the cameras were mounted. Always watching. Always waiting for him to slip.

The rules were clear: one wrong move, one hint of his true intentions, and everything would fall apart. So he chewed quietly, his expression calm, his body language relaxed. But in his mind, a storm raged.

Eggsy is the key. The boy’s naive loyalty was his greatest asset. Harry knew he could exploit that, twist it just enough to get what he needed without tipping his hand. It would take finesse, of course. Eggsy wasn’t entirely stupid—his heart might be an open book, but his mind had been trained. Harry would have to play the long game, plant seeds of trust and cooperation while masking his true intentions.

He rehearsed his plan in his head, careful to keep his face neutral. No smirks, no glances at the cameras, he reminded himself. You’re being watched. Always watched. He leaned back against the padded wall, letting his body appear relaxed, his mind running through the steps.

First, he needed Eggsy on his side. Not just as a reluctant messenger, but as an active ally. To do that, Harry had to convince him that he was changing, that he was regaining control. He would start small: a few vulnerable confessions, a display of gratitude, and perhaps a moment of shared reflection. Eggsy wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of “saving” his old mentor.

Harry smirked inwardly, though he kept his expression neutral. The boy wants his hero back. I’ll give him just enough to believe he’s getting what he wants.

Later that day, when Eggsy entered the room with another tray of food, Harry made his move.

“Eggsy,” Harry greeted, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “I… I wanted to thank you. For the food. For everything, really. I know I haven’t been easy to deal with.”

Eggsy blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected gratitude. “Uh… no worries, mate,” he said awkwardly, setting the tray down. “Just doing what I can.”

Harry nodded, lowering his gaze to his hands, which rested loosely on his knees. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone contemplative. “About what you said earlier. About who I used to be.”

Eggsy sat on the edge of the cot, watching him closely. “Yeah? What about it?”

Harry took a deep breath, letting his shoulders sag as if under the weight of his thoughts. “I don’t remember much, but the fragments I do have… they’re not good, Eggsy. They’re violent, angry. I don’t want to be that man anymore.”

Eggsy’s expression softened, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes. “You weren’t just that, Harry,” he said earnestly. “You were more than that. You were a bloody legend.”

Harry chuckled softly, the sound self-deprecating. “A legend, was I? Seems like a high bar to reach.”

“You can do it,” Eggsy said firmly, leaning forward. “You just gotta trust us. Trust me.”

Harry met his gaze, letting his expression shift into something vulnerable, almost pleading. “I want to, Eggsy. I really do. But it’s hard, being locked in here. It’s hard to feel… human.”

Eggsy hesitated, the conflict evident on his face. “I get it,” he said after a moment. “I’ll talk to Merlin, see if we can get you some fresh air or somethin’. A little walk, maybe?”

Harry’s heart leapt, but he kept his reaction carefully measured. Instead, he offered a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Eggsy. That means more than you know.”

As Eggsy stood to leave, Harry added, “And Eggsy… if you see her… tell her I’m trying. Tell her I’m doing this for her.”

The younger man nodded, his determination evident. “I will, Harry. I promise.”

After Eggsy left, Harry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The boy was playing right into his hands. A little walk, a little sunlight—those were all he needed to set the next phase of his plan in motion.

Harry’s lips curled into a subtle smirk as he leaned back against the wall, his mind racing with possibilities. Soon, he thought. Soon, I’ll have her back where she belongs. And when I do…

He closed his eye, letting the darkness of his thoughts consume him. His voice was barely a whisper, but the words carried the weight of his obsession. “When I have you again, darling, there won’t be a single inch of you I don’t claim. You’ll know exactly who you belong to, mind, body, and soul.”

Harry’s smirk widened, his voice dark and low as he added, “And if anyone tries to take you from me again… I’ll make sure they regret it. Slowly.”

The cameras recorded every moment, but Harry’s mask remained firmly in place. To the outside world, he was just a man trying to find his way back. But in his mind, the storm raged on, his obsession burning brighter with every passing day.

The fork twirled the spaghetti absentmindedly, sauce clinging to the strands like memories you couldn’t shake. You stared down at your plate, your appetite long gone, though you forced yourself to take another bite. The silence in the house was almost suffocating, thick and heavy like a blanket you couldn’t cast off. It wasn’t unusual. You’d spent a lot of time alone even before Harry’s “death.” He was always on missions, always away, yet somehow never far.

But this… this was worse.

When you thought Harry had died, the grief was unbearable, yes, but it was final. It was a hollow ache you could live with because there was nothing you could do to change it. Now, he was back—alive, breathing, close enough to touch—but impossibly far away. He was a man you barely recognized, a fractured reflection of the Harry you knew and loved. And the distance between you wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, spiritual, a chasm neither of you seemed able to cross.

You set your fork down, the spaghetti—Harry’s favorite meal—untouched. Well, at least it had been his favorite. You didn’t know if this Harry liked spaghetti. Maybe that had changed too. Everything else about him seemed different. You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the empty room. “God, I miss you,” you whispered to no one.

The words felt heavier than you expected. Your throat tightened, and you blinked rapidly, willing away the tears that threatened to spill. You couldn’t cry. Not now. Not when you were supposed to be strong, for him and for yourself. Staying away was for his own good, you reminded yourself. Merlin had been clear: Harry needed space to recover, to let go of the obsessive, possessive grip he had on you.

But the truth was, you needed him too.

Your gaze flicked to the empty chair across from you, the one Harry used to occupy during the rare dinners you managed to share. You could almost see him there, his sharp suit unbuttoned just slightly, his hair neatly combed but always slightly mussed by the end of the day. He’d swirl his spaghetti with meticulous precision, a small, amused smile on his lips as he teased you for your haphazard technique.

The image was so vivid that it hurt, and before you could stop yourself, a tear slid down your cheek, followed by another. You wiped them away angrily, frustrated by your weakness. You were supposed to be stronger than this, weren’t you? Harry always said you were the strongest person he knew, his anchor in the storm. But now that the storm was raging inside him, you felt adrift, powerless to pull him back to shore.

The house was too quiet. You thought about calling Eggsy, but the thought of hearing him talk about Harry—how he was doing, whether he was making progress—made your chest tighten. No, you couldn’t bear it tonight. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as the memories came flooding in.

The first time Harry had made you spaghetti. He’d been uncharacteristically clumsy in the kitchen, cursing under his breath as he overcooked the noodles. You’d teased him mercilessly, and he’d responded by flicking sauce at you, sparking a playful food fight that ended with both of you laughing, breathless, and covered in marinara. That night, you’d fallen asleep in his arms, your heart full and your cheeks sore from smiling.

What would this Harry do in that situation? Would he laugh? Scowl? Would he even care?

You hated yourself for doubting him, but you couldn’t help it. The man in that padded room wasn’t your Harry. Not yet, anyway. And every day that passed without seeing him, without touching him, felt like torture. But you had to stay away. You had to trust that Merlin and Eggsy knew what they were doing, that this distance would help him heal.

Still, the ache in your chest refused to subside. You reached for your wine glass, taking a sip as your thoughts spiraled further. How long would it take? Weeks? Months? What if he never remembered? What if the Harry you loved was gone forever, replaced by this darker, possessive version of himself?

You shook your head, willing the doubts away. You couldn’t think like that. Harry was strong, resilient. He’d come back to you. He had to. And when he did, you’d be here, waiting, ready to remind him of the life you’d built together.

But until then, you were alone. Again. And the silence of the house was your only companion.

The days that followed brought a peculiar change to Harry’s routine. He played the part Merlin wanted—calm, cooperative, and composed. His every move was calculated, a delicate balance between vulnerability and effort. He even smiled faintly when Eggsy walked in, offering a small nod of greeting as the boy brought their usual tray of food or set up the chessboard.

Eggsy seemed less wary now, cautiously optimistic that Harry’s demeanor was genuine. And in a way, it was. Harry had mastered the art of manipulation long before his memories were fractured, and he knew exactly how to play the role of a man trying to recover.

“Checkmate,” Harry murmured, his voice soft yet laced with a subtle challenge.

Eggsy frowned at the board, his brows furrowed in frustration. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “That’s the third game in a row. You sure you don’t remember playin’ chess before?”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps some things come naturally,” he said smoothly, gesturing for Eggsy to reset the board. “Or perhaps I’ve always been good at reading my opponent.”

Eggsy smirked, beginning to rearrange the pieces. “Yeah, well, don’t get cocky, old man. I’ll beat you eventually.”

Harry tilted his head, feigning a thoughtful expression. “Old man, am I? You must have quite the nerve to address me that way.”

Eggsy laughed, clearly relaxed. “C’mon, mate, you know I’m just messin’ with ya.”

The boy’s guard was lowering more each day, and Harry noted every detail—every slip of information, every piece of the puzzle he could use.

One afternoon, Eggsy shared another story from the past, his voice animated as he recounted a particularly dangerous mission in Berlin. Harry listened intently, his expression one of fascination and longing.

“You were bloody brilliant,” Eggsy said, leaning forward with a grin. “Took out five blokes in under a minute. I swear, you made it look like a dance. I remember thinking, ‘That’s the kind of Kingsman I wanna be.’”

Harry leaned closer, his tone low and warm. “And did I tell you that you could be?”

Eggsy nodded, his grin fading slightly. “Yeah. You said… you said I had potential. That you saw somethin’ in me no one else did.”

Harry reached across the table, placing a hand on Eggsy’s arm. “And I meant it, lad. You’ve done me proud.”

Eggsy blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Thanks, Harry,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

Harry allowed a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eye but was convincing enough. “You’re like a son to me, Eggsy. I hope you know that.”

Eggsy’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the chessboard. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I feel the same way.”

Harry filed that away, the admission another thread he could pull when the time came.

Over time, Harry reduced his requests to see you. He pretended to accept your absence, though he continued to drop subtle hints whenever Eggsy let his guard down.

“You mentioned her favorite flower once,” Harry said one evening, his tone casual. “Roses, wasn’t it? I’d like to send her some. As an apology.”

Eggsy hesitated, glancing at Harry with a wary expression. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, mate.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Why not? Surely she deserves to know I’m trying.”

“It’s just… Merlin reckons she needs space,” Eggsy said carefully. “To, y’know, figure stuff out.”

Harry nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Of course,” he said, his voice tinged with sorrow. “I suppose I can’t blame her for needing distance from a broken man.”

Eggsy shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn. “She misses you too, you know,” he said quietly, then quickly looked away as if realizing he’d said too much.

Harry’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk before he masked it with a somber expression. “That’s… comforting to hear,” he murmured. “Thank you, Eggsy.”

As the days turned into weeks, Harry deepened his grip on Eggsy’s trust, playing the role of mentor and father figure with meticulous care. He encouraged the boy, praised him, and subtly planted the seeds of doubt about Merlin’s methods.

“Merlin’s a good man,” Harry said one day, his tone measured. “But he’s not infallible. Sometimes, the heart knows better than logic.”

Eggsy frowned slightly, his gaze thoughtful. “You really think that?”

Harry nodded, his eye glinting with feigned sincerity. “I know it. If I’d listened to logic, I’d never have taken you under my wing. But I saw your heart, Eggsy. That’s what matters most.”

Eggsy smiled faintly, his shoulders relaxing. “Thanks, Harry. Means a lot, comin’ from you.”

Harry’s smirk returned, hidden behind a mask of fatherly pride. “I only speak the truth, lad. And one day, you’ll understand what it means to protect what you love at all costs.”

Eggsy’s gaze dropped, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I s’pose I will.”

Harry leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But remember this, Eggsy: loyalty is everything. To her, to me, to the family we’ve built. Never forget that.”

Eggsy nodded, his expression resolute. “I won’t, Harry. I swear.”

Harry sat back, satisfaction coursing through him. The boy was in his grasp now, a pawn in his larger game. And as long as Eggsy believed in him, the path to you was as good as paved.

But Harry’s mind never stopped working, never stopped scheming. He was biding his time, playing the long game. Because when he finally had you back, he would ensure that no one—Eggsy, Merlin, or anyone else—would ever come between you again.

[abyssonance]

Try mind controlling Arceus' shadow and see what happens, weather boy-

[hectorfrombritain]

This is the fourth woman, she seems to be walking back home without a care. Yet I'm following her, making sure to stay hidden in the dark and keeping my distance.

I cursed under my breath, I tripped onto this random soda can and now she seems to have noticed me. I could feel my heart race and my stomach swell up with this sick feeling. I can see her nervousness in the way she's walking now.

She took out her phone, calling someone, hoping it's not the cops about some stalker behind her back.

I pretend to walk the other way and leave her be for a while, as I just keep an eye, as she breathes a sigh of relief and goes back to her neighbourhood, without suspecting a thing.

I follow her with great care this time, trying not to get caught despite having low faith in my inexperience.

Climbing the tree near her backyard which goes up to her room, I hurl a rock I picked up earlier to her window, the sharp sound echoed through the calm night. Until I realised that it's not going as planned, she was awake, I've been seen by her now. I have to make a run for it. I could feel the sensation of the noose during the death penalty around my neck. I decided to ignore that feeling. However, I'm sure that eventually they, the cops will make a connection regarding the previous cases and this case, with them having a face to go by for their investigation now. This isn't going as planned. Although I'd be lying if I said I don't like the odds, being unfamiliar with the things I do, but very familiar with the feeling of being hunted, gives me a strange sense of pleasure, almost like a lover’s hands around my neck, probably the reason why I always keep coming back to it.

Still, I'll do what I came here for, to complete my goal. I waited a few hours until the cops decided to go back, claiming what she saw could've been an early dream since she was asleep. I've never been so glad about the incompetence of the police up until now.

I went back into her house, through the window I broke and hid in her closet as I watched her through the keyhole, with her clothes all over me, holding the cold blade of the knife in my hand, sliding the edge over my fingers to confirm the sharpness. I feel the sweat drip down from my forehead, down to my wrists, the feelings are unsettling, I'm questioning myself about whether or not what I'm doing is right, but from what I know, I'm too far out to back off now.

I stood there, waiting for the time, listening to the wind rustle in through the crack in the window I made. The creeks of the floor, the sound of the wall clock ticking, and the prolonged tension running through my veins.

Until, I see a hand, making its way in, it was the man indeed. Her crazy ex who has been after her, getting in through the hole I made in the window so he wouldn't go through the process of picking the lock. The footsteps are deafeningly loud for some reason, with my stomach tightening up as he comes closer, until he stands directly in front of her, then I bash open the door, stab him, paying attention to getting a clean cut and completing the job in the first attempt.

Unfortunately, I could hear his scream break through the air, it's too late now, she's awake. I'm not allowed to be seen, not by the people I'm supposed to protect, protecting them is all that's necessary even if I lose myself in the process. Except this time perhaps. My work now is done here, she will remain safe. I'm still unsure about why I do this, or if this is the right way, considering the police and their incompetence, however I see her eyes, wide with a look of horror in them, yet I know it doesn't matter, it never does, I mustn't be seen, neither by the ones I protect, I must move on, to the next, for I'm not their saviour, just the shadow beside them, except shadows get tired too.

[caramel-covered-apples]

sirius black headcanon

one of my greatest headcanons is that when sirius fell through the veil he just broke the fourth wall. he still went to the afterlife or whatever from the insane strain the veil had on his magic, but he knows about jkr (fuck her) and all that shit, like deadpool.

and he has a whole mental breakdown, because, y’know, finding that your whole life is a lie isn’t the best thing ever, but then he eventually comes to terms with it

and when the rest of the marauders die or whatever and unintentionally make a reference to something sirius just stares at the fuckin camera like it’s the office

like when harry eventually names his kid albus severus sirius is like “what the fuck, jkr? what kind of crack fic is this?” and the rest of the marauders are like “sirius, are you alright-”

he also finds fanfics immensely entertaining. idk how he gets his hands on them but he does anyways because it’s the marauders thing to do

(his search history is filled with wolfstar)

[bubuslutty]

Day 5: progress report

this is part 5, all parts

pairing: angel/demon!fem reader x 141

word count: 2.4k

tags: supernatural elements, no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warnings: body horror (no gore or overly graphic descriptions)

summary: Angel has to give a report of her progress, we finally meet 2 more characters + a bit of Wish Angels lore

a/n: sometimes im sooo shit at naming chapters 😭 but anyway, do you guys have any name ideas for the office man cuz at the moment he's nameless, like does it bother you he's nameless? or should I give him a name? eh idk. Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed this chapter/serie, means lots 💖

⚠️ I can't seem to be able to tag some of you, please scroll down and check the spelling of your username if I accidentally misspelled it, if I didn't, have a look at your settings or let me know if you changed your username.

At first, it was Angel standing in the middle of her room, the blinds drawn shut, the windows closed and the door locked. Then there was burning wind, unbearable heat and swirling lights coming out of nowhere. She parted her lips, her canines growing sharp and two sharp horns growing out of her skull, ripping her scalp like wet paper and immediately sewing itself like nothing happened.

Her furniture was shaking, the ground vibrating and her walls cracked open. Angel didn’t seem phased, nor was Kuromi, who was curled up on the bed, lazily blinking and watching her owner change form in real-time.

Then it was a long black and sharp tail that grew, making her gasp and arch her back. Angel blinked, her eyes getting wet in corners and then after a while, her black pupils spilt over her irises and her eyes turned violet over white. Smoke spilled over her pink lips, escaping her throat and clouding her sight. Then with a thundering crack, she hunched over and pitch black wings broke out of her back, taller and wider than her body.

Her ceiling broke in the middle, her roof collapsing on itself and making a hole above her, where she could see swirling dark colours and flickering lights.

“I’ll be back by dinner.” Angel said over her shoulder, looking at her cat before she spread her wings and jumped, leaving through the giant hole in her ceiling, and as soon as left, it closed up in a blink and the room was washed by natural darkness again, no shaking, no weird lights, no wind or heat, just her room with her cat napping on her bed.

.

.

.

When Angel reappeared again, she found herself in a dark alleyway, in front of a closed door with a single man standing in front of it, arms crossed and sporting a poker face. Angel pulled her short dress down and walked towards the man.

“Wish division number?” He asked.

“5852.” Angel answered and he gave her a nod, stepping to the side as the door opened by itself, letting the demon in.

Angel entered what seemed to be a club in a basement, it was dark and hard to see beyond what the colourful flickering lights allowed you to see. It looked like just any other club, booming music, drunk and dancing bodies. But the closer you looked, the longer you looked, you start to notice that a woman is staring straight at you from the end of the room. There was a man that no matter which angle he turned, it was impossible to see his face, and he wasn’t even wearing a hat. Some people seemed to be taller, bigger, than an average human, some limbs seemed to be longer, other shorter, some looked like they had a third, fourth, sixth eye and some didn’t look like average humans but unrecognisable creatures.

The sight didn’t phase Angel at all and she walked straight to the bar, ignoring someone who flew past her. Angel settled herself on a stool, her tail wrapping itself around a leg, the bartender immediately noticed her presence and walked over, a grin on his lips.

“Well, look who decided to show up after what? Three months?” The man said, and so far, he was the only one who looked the most human out of everyone.

“I missed you too.” Angel grinned, resting her chin on her palm.

“The usual?” He said, already taking out a new glass.

“The usual.” Angel confirmed with a smile, looking around the place.

“So… Why’re you here?” He asked, mixing her drink.

“For work, I have to give an in-person report of my progress.” Angel said, watching the man work.

“I heard that your assignment has 8 humans on it, what’s that all about?” He asked, glancing up at her with a small smirk.

Angel rolled her eyes, “Who told you about that?”

“News travels fast around here.” He hummed, handing her the drink with a wink.

“Yeah, I have to earn the favour of 8 humans.” She said before taking a sip of her dark glowing drink, humming at the taste.

“You have to fuck 8 humans, is what you mean.” He corrected her, aggressively wiping the counter.

“Whatever, same thing.” Angel shrugged, unbothered.

“You always get these types of Wish Assignments, it’s always you.” He pointed out, pursing his lips and frowning.

“You’re jealous?” Angel raised a brow, lips on her glass and took a sip, without breaking eye contact with the man.

“Me? No way. I don’t want to be the victim of your powers, that shit’s freaky, and not in the good way.” He said, shuddering.

Angel frowned, “You believe I use my powers to directly seduce humans?”

“Obviously, that’s how it works.” The man laughed.

“I don’t directly use my powers on humans. Never did and never will.” She said and the man snapped his mouth shut.

“I thought it was just rumours, but you really don’t- Angel, what the fuck.” The man said, trying to grasp how she manages to fulfil so many wishes without using her powers to seduce men and women to do whatever she needs them to do.

“Not all Wish Angels are obligated to use their powers to directly influence humans, it’s not in the rules, even though most Wish Angels prefer to use their powers, but I don’t, it’s a matter of personal choice.” Angel explained, her voice cool.

The man gaped at her, not believing what he just heard. Angel silently watched him and sipped at her drink.

“So, they really just…You always complete your assignments without using your powers on them?...” He mumbled.

Angel grinned, her sharp canines glinting under the lights, “Yeah, remember when I told you I was really good at my job?”

The bartender almost swallowed his tongue and started coughing, his face burning in embarrassment and arousal.

Angel noticed someone familiar in the corner of her eye and turned her stool around, waving a man over, "Hey! Over here!"

It was the same man that Angel went to when she first received her assignment, his hair sticking in all directions and an irritated look on his face before settling down on a stool next to her.

“Give me whatever’s strongest, please.” He told the bartender, and ran his hand through his hair, sighing.

“Why don’t you act normal for once and email me instead of summoning me in this…this place?” He glared at Angel, turning his body around in his stool to face her.

Angel grinned, "I just wanted to take you out from that shitty office you spend weeks in."

The man stared at Angel and sighed, turning his body away from her and instead staring forward, at the bartender working on his drink.

"How's that assignment going so far?" He asked Angel.

"In general or should I go through each human I've interacted with?" Angel asked, mirth swimming behind her haunting violet eyes.

The man hissed, "You've been a Wish Angel for 200 years, what do you think?"

Angel giggled, "I was just teasing you, relax." She nudged him in the shoulder with one of her wings, making him grab his head in both hands.

"I'll start with John Price. So far, he's been pretty respectful and polite, nothing much has happened between us, give it time and he'll open up." Angel started.

"So he hasn't shown any signs of attraction?" The man asked, raising a brow.

"He did, very subtle and small signs though, but he's still reserved, unlike his boys." Angel added.

"Who broke first?" He asked after thanking the bartender and taking a sip of his clear blue drink.

"Johnny MacTavish." Angel smiled.

"What happened?" The man hummed.

"Flirting, he's obviously interested. I can sense wariness from him, though."

"He doesn't trust you?"

"Maybe, I have a feeling he's trying to see me, and what kind of… person I am, he doesn't want to be taken advantage of, either."

The man sighed when he gulped all of the drink down and raised a finger to get a refill, "He'll crack soon enough."

Angel hummed, "Gaz is also interested, he'll crack soon enough, I imagine he would wait and see if anyone would make a move on me and figure out what type of situation they're in."

The man glanced at Angel, "And what then? What would you do if they pull away because you've already got one of them?"

"Don't worry about that, I know exactly what to do." Angel smirked and the man blinked at her, his eyes falling on her lips and quickly looking away from her face.

"Ghost is also pretty closed off at the moment, nothing has happened yet but he'll get there. He's okay with having me around so that's a win." Angel said.

"That makes four of them, what about the other four?" He asked, intrigued to know if she had a plan for when the other four would join the picture.

"Well, I already know that two out of the four humans I haven’t met yet know that I exist, so there’s that.” Angel revealed with a grin, and lifted her empty glass to request a refill.

The man raised his brows in interest, “Really?”

“Yeah, things are starting to get more and more interesting.” Angel said, feeling excitement pulse under her skin, and her tail started swinging from side to side.

The man didn’t miss the movement of her tail and sighed, “Is that all you have for me today?”

“Yep.” Angel nodded, popping the P.

The man gulped the rest of his drink and stood up, “If that’s all, I’m going back to the office.”

“The office? Really? Why don’t you hang back and have some fun, hm? Loosen up? Dance a bit?” She suggested, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing, tilting her head to the side.

“No, thanks. I’ve got work to do, and so do you.” He shook his head and pulled his jacket down to smooth out any wrinkles.

“Alright, I’m going back.” Angel said, standing up and stretching her wings with a groan, eyes clenched shut.

“And Angel?” The man said, making her eyes snap open.

“Yes?”

“Take care.”

“I will.”

.

.

.

Earlier, during the barbeque

The potato salad was delicious, Angel realised as she ate more and more spoonfuls. It wasn’t anything special, but it was delicious. Johnny knows how to cook, that man knows how to use his spices and herbs very well.

“Angel, don’t just eat vegetables, have some meat.” Price laughed when he noticed her standing by the table, a spoon in hand and eating away at the potato salad like a raccoon. She was still wearing her bikini and a pair of slippers, her green bucket hat still on her head, keeping her hair away from her eyes and mouth.

Angel was snapped out of her trance by John’s deep laugh and blushed in embarrassment, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise for enjoying food, come here and bring your plate.” Price said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her.

Angel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grabbed her plate, walking over to the grill and hummed when she could smell the scent of well seasoned meat. “What do you want?”

“Uhm, I think I want the chicken skewers, please?” She asked, eyes glued to the grill. Price watched the woman with a small smile, amusement swimming in his eyes and placed two chicken skewers in her plate, “Enjoy, and don’t hesitate to come over and ask for more, alright?”

“Thank you, John.” Angel smiled up at the man and went to sit at the table in the middle of the garden, filled with drinks, cups, sauces and other salty snacks.

“Can I sit here?” Angel stood next to Ghost, pointing at the empty seat next to him. The man nodded, mouth busy chewing away at a chicken thigh, mask hunched up on the bridge of his nose.

Angel happily sat down and ignored the nasty scar at the corner of Ghost’s mouth and the scars on the skin of his neck and the others high on his arms, and how he was the only one wearing a t-shirt, well Price was wearing an apron because there’s no way he will be standing in front of the grill shirtless, but Soap and Gaz were shirtless, only wearing shorts with slippers and a hat for the sun.

The woman was happily chewing when Soap came back from the toilet, happily making his way to Price and getting his plate filled, “How’s the potato salad?”

“Soooo gooooooddd!” Angel said, giving him a thumbs up and he grinned, his grin brighter than the fucking sun blazing in the sky.

“Gaz did you season the chicken skewers?” Angel asked the man sitting in front of her.

“Yeah, is it good? Do you like it?” He asked, biting his lower lip and looking up at her through his eyelashes.

“Absolutey divine.” Angel said, placing a hand on her chest and fake fainting on her chair, moaning at the taste.

“Cap, leave that grill alone and come sit down with us.” Gaz said, waving the man over.

“I’m calling Ale and Rudy.” Soap suddenly said, grabbing his phone.

“Don’t bother them now when they’re working.” Price scolded the man, as Angel watched them with interest.

Soap kept staring at his phone until he started grinning, “ALEJANDRO!”

“It’s 7.30 in the morning, pendejo.” A deep voice came out of the phone, making everyone laugh around the table.

“Alejandro…” Another deeper voice, softer, said making the first voice cough.

“How’s England treating you? It looks like you’ve been graced with some sun today!” Alejandro said, and Johnny flipped the camera, pointing it towards the grill.

“We’re having a barbeque, today!” Soap said.

“Enjoy it, you deserve it, hermano.” The other voice said.

“Thank you, Rudy!” Gaz said.

“Come visit us someday when you get the chance, okay?” Soap told the man.

“We’ll try, Johnny.” Alejandro said, making Soap nod, “We’ll let you go now, guys say bye.”

Soap pointed the camera towards all of the men as they all waved at the camera and wished the men a great day.

“Wait, is that the one you were telling us about?” Alejandro said, making everyone freeze, including Angel, her mouth open and a chip between her fingers.

“She’s very pretty...” Rodolfo added.

“Shut up, she can hear you!” Soap hissed, almost dropping his phone.

“Bye, Soap’s neighbour!” Alejandro said loudly and laughed before Soap hung up, turning 3 different shades of red.

Angel laughed, “Bye!”

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay @4ndjelij4 @multitargaryen @lilpothoscuttings @mysticalpandabear @silviafantin15 @marvel-ness @bobastayhigh

[gigicreates562]

Surprise Attack- Fred Weasley x Reader

When death eaters show up at the shop, Fred shows some serious heroism.

TW: Blood, Injury

1540 words

------------------------

It was a normal day at the shop: George stocking the shelves, Fred talking to some kids about the newest products, and y/n at the till busy being hopelessly in love with her best friend.

The trio had been friends since before they could remember, but around their fourth year y/n realised her feelings for Fred were more than just friendly. However at the time, Fred was with Angelina, so she kept it quiet, and even though they'd been broken up for a year now, it just never felt like the right time to tell him. The wizarding war was approaching and there just seemed to be more important things.

So there they sat, working as usual.

CRASH. SCREAM.

All at once cries for help broke out. The black smoke whizzing past the window was unmistakable: Death Eaters.

The shop cleared out quickly, leaving only Fred, George, Y/n, and three Death Eaters.

She knew why they were there, a Malfoy abandoning her blood family to fight for the order wasn't exactly taken lightly. She just was hoping they wouldn't find her so easily. How naive she'd been. She ducked behind the counter in a feeble attempt to hide.

"She's not here," Fred said defiantly.

"Bullshit. Don't make this difficult Weasley." A rough voice said

She heard noises of struggle, and then "Search the place."

Luckily, although naive, she hadn't been stupid. There was a portkey hidden on one of the top shelves that would easily whisk them all to safety. One simple summoning curse and it would be in her hands, but how to get all three of them to touch it?

"Stupefy!" George cried out, and she knew that was her cue.

Popping up, she quickly assessed the situation, Fred was holding two of them off, while George handled the last one. She began firing curses while inching her way toward the boys.

"George! Take Y/n!" Fred shouted, firing curses left and right. They were making a valiant attempt, but the death eaters were gaining ground.

"We're not leaving you!" Y/n detested, but just as she had spoken up, more black smoke was beginning to fly by outside.

"Time to go," George said running to her, "Accio"

"Fred!"

But her cry was too late. By the time she had blinked, the small walls of the cabin had materialized around her.

"Stay here," George stated firmly, and before she could protest he grabbed the portkey again and was whisked away.

She was alone and safe.

And it was awful.

Waiting was the worst thing in the world. She paced, feeling sick that her best friends were fighting for her, while she sat so far away in safety. The minutes ticked by, but no twins. It felt like hours to her, for all she knew they were dead.

After about two hours she finally heard the crack of the portkey.

But something was wrong. Fred was holding on to George, who was supporting almost all of his weight. Fred looked pale, exhausted, and worst of all: there was a pool of red actively growing larger on his button-up.

"Bathroom." She told George and he nodded. She rushed to retrieve the first aid kit as George sat his weary twin on the edge of the sink.

"Hello love" Fred began, always the jokester.

"What happened?" Y/n asked

"Particularly nasty diffindo charm," George answered for him.

"You should see the other guy" Fred added, trying to cover up his wincing.

"Go tell the order, I'll take care of him," y/n said kneeling in front of her bleeding best friend. She began cutting off his shirt with the scissors from the first aid kit.

"Woah," Fred started, "at least take me to dinner first" He was met with a glare from her, as she finished removing his top.

"Tough crowd." He said through clenched teeth.

"I've been worried sick about you for the last couple of hours, and you've shown up with a six-inch gash in your side. Excuse me if I'm not exactly cheery."

"I'm the one bleeding so-"

"This is going to hurt" She cut him off as she began applying antiseptic.

"Fuck!"

She applied the liquid as quickly as she could, but she knew it was hurting. She internally winced every time he hissed. Taking note of how hard he clenched his jaw, and how he gripped the counter so hard his knuckles were white. It was all too much for her. The man she was hopelessly in love with was in so much pain because of her. She shouldn't have come to work for the twins. She should have just stayed in hiding. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she worked, and Fred noticed. Because he always notices. Because he's Fred. And she's his y/n.

"Y/n-" Fred said softly as she finished with the antiseptic. "What's wrong?"

She sniffled and wiped her eyes quickly with her arm.

"Lean back," she told him, actively avoiding the question. She reached for his chest to apply the drops of dittany but he grabbed her wrist just before she could get there.

"Look at me," Fred told her, and the tears began to well up harder in her eyes.

Even now he was more worried about her than himself. She was truly the worst friend in the world.

"Y/n please"

She finally met his eyes. He stared at her so gently, like she was about to float away from him entirely and he was desperately trying to hold on. She took in a breath, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of how close they were.

"Fred- I..." She looked back down at his wound, which was beginning to drip blood again.

"Shit!" She exclaimed frantically trying to dab up the excess. She was not going to let him stay in pain any longer. It was her fault he was like this in the first place.

"Look, I'll tell you what's wrong, just let me finish this first."

Fred looked at her with worry, but he let it go for the moment.

She was almost done, but she knew these dittany drops weren't going to be fun.

"I have to apply the dittany, just take my hand and squeeze it if you need to okay?"

She offered up her left hand, while she applied the dittany with her right. She worked quickly, and the wound closed up, but not before she thought Fred might break her hand. Still, he was going to be fine.

They sat in silence for a bit as the pain began to fade away.

"How do you feel?" She asked tenderly.

He laughed, "This better leave a pretty wicked scar, or else I'll be seriously pissed off".

They both laughed at that and for a moment the tension left the room.

But it wasn't long before the weight of what just happened settled in again. She knew he was going to ask about it, so she might as well tell him. Unfortunately in their normal Fred and Y/n fashion, they both tried to talk at once.

"What was-"

"Why did you do that for me?" With these words, he stopped. Not quite understanding what she meant.

"What?"

"This whole situation is my fault. I should've just gone into hiding like Remus said. It was stupid of me to come to work for you. I put you in danger, and then when the time came I let you fight for me. I should be the one bleeding, but instead, the man I love comes back wounded. On top of that, even when I am actively hurting you with that stupid antiseptic, you are still more worried about why I am upset than your own wound. I don't deserve that! It's all my fault, but you're the one who got hurt."

"You love me?" He whispered. Desperately searching her eyes for some sign of confirmation.

She gaped at him. She couldn't believe she just said that. Shit, shit, shit. How does she come back from this?

She doesn't. There's no way to talk herself out of this one. So she just stares at him.

"Y/n?"

She can feel the tears welling up again, but she can't help but do anything but look into his eyes. They're so kind, so loving. He's looking at her like she might break, might fade away if he says the wrong thing. So he doesn't say anything either. He just slowly takes his hand and brings it to her cheek. Gently, he wipes her tears away with his thumb. He is searching her face, for what? She isn't sure.

"I never noticed that you have a little bit of gold in your eyes," He said softly smiling at her, "It's cute."

She smiled at him. He beamed back at her.

Slowly, he snaked his other hand around her waist and pulled her closer, and ever so delicately he brought their lips together. It was a soft gesture, his lips were slightly chapped and he tasted of salted caramel. It was slow, and as their lips parted, he watched as her eyes took a second to flutter open.

"We should definitely never do that again unless you want me to fall hopelessly in love with you," Fred said airily.

She cracked a smile, and promptly pulled him back down for another. 

[pbaz7]

welcome to part 2 cuz my thing sent accidentally again ugh

months.

MONTHS? MONTHS! MONTHS. months.

When Azzi’s hands tugged slightly at Paige’s hoodie, Paige took the cue immediately.

they are wasting NO time

Paige’s lips pressed against Azzi’s neck with a renewed intensity,

neck kisses🫠

“Fuck, you’re good at this,”

once again i say good god azzi.

Paige, barely taking a moment to breathe, flashed a smile. “The walls are thick.”

for some reason i don't believe you

“Fuck, okay,”

she needed NO convincing

She was about to lower herself again when—knock knock.

GET OUT.

"Oh shit, sorry," Ayanna blurted out laughing a little. "I didn’t know you were... busy."

poor yanna is gonna have this engrained in her brain

"I just wanted to borrow one of your chains... the long silver one?"

yanna borrow someone else's chain!!

"Seems like you two were having a good time," she said, a knowing glint in her eyes.

YANNA.

"Now," Paige murmured, leaning down to capture Azzi's lips in a slow kiss, "where were we?"

no way yall are about to resume as if nothing happened😭 i js know yanna is telling everyone in the dorm about what she saw

Paige smiled, her body relaxing as she shifted closer to Azzi, the moment between them now filled with a comforting ease.

cute but like also i feel robbed.

she had a feeling Paige would be at the bar

she knows her so fucking well.

"My mom… she won’t even look at me if I’m not perfect."

amy when i catch you

"You wouldn’t even entertain me if I wasn’t who I am,"

paige. don't say that.

With someone that wasn’t…

paige babe you would never

You didn’t want to drag me into it?” she repeated, her tone hinting at some disbelief.

what if she wants to be dragged.

“I’ve dealt with it alone for so long because… it’s messy. I’m messy. And I didn’t want to put that on you.”

god i want nothing but the best for her

Azzi could see every crack and flaw she had tried so hard to hide.

cuz she can see through the facade.

“I’m proud of you.”

someone is DEF filming them and posting it on tumblr

“You know..you’re lucky because I think I’m falling for you Paige Bueckers,”

i could've told you that around a few thousand words ago

But just as they were about to close the distance between them, a voice broke through the quiet.

i was boutta say... is the crowd not suspicious

“Wowww, my own girl isn’t my fan?”

they're😊 so😊 cute😊

“I wish I could kiss you right now.”

do it. mwah, no balls.

Her hands found Azzi’s face as she leaned in, pulling her into a deep kiss.

paige is such a hand on the face girl with az

In one smooth motion, she tugged it off, revealing her bra beneath it, and turned on her heel, heading toward Paige’s room without a word.

finally.

“I love you so much,” she said, her blue eyes searching Azzi’s as though trying to convey everything words couldn’t.

i hate this. i hate them. i can't anymore. UGH

“I love you more, superstar,”

still kept the nickname.

Paige allowed herself to fully let go. No pressure, no cameras, no expectations—just the steady rhythm of Azzi’s heartbeat

im sobbing.

Settling deeper into Azzi’s embrace kissing her deeply, Paige realized she was finally with the woman who had changed her life in less than a year.

oh my god. and that's the ending.

author this was incredible. i love your writing more everytime i read it.

you write p and az so different every time i never know what i'm getting into.

like they have such different demeanors but still work so well together.

you're so talented, loved this and love you <3

-🍉

you going from “is the crowd not suspicious” to “mwah, no balls.” is sending me

“what if she wants to be dragged” wym by that 🤨

lol you broke the fourth wall with the tumblr reference

your reactions really maybe me love writing so much more 🥹 i’m so happy you actually enjoy what i put out and thank you so much for always reacting ilysm 🍉