#fic: Hearts and Kisses

[the-red-butterfly]

Domesticity On The Run

Corazón, Baby 5 & Law (One Piece)

It came to his notice again only a day later, in their camp on the next island. Corazon was refreshing his paint after they’d escaped a bad rain, wiping the streaks- almost like tear stains- from his face. Baby 5 perked up when he’d pulled the little cases from his coat, “Can you show me how to do that?” “Hm? Oh, makeup? Sure, come on up, kiddo.” She clambered up onto his lap, watching diligently as he carefully painted his lips. The strokes were even and swooping, his hands steady and skilled from long routine. Law had found himself watching Corazon’s hands, ever since he learned about the nerve damage. The brush was accordingly held, not between the tips of the fingers, but between the second knuckles, and swept with movements of the entire hand. He finished with a flourish and a quiet ‘ta-da!’, and Baby 5 perked up, wiggling eagerly on his knee, “Now me!” “You want some, too?” She nodded fervently, “Yeah- it’s pretty.” He smiled, a tiny, genuine thing under the big fake one. “Alright, hold still.” Law was reminded, suddenly and painfully, of watching his mother do her makeup in the vanity, of his sister begging to partake in the daily ritual and ‘look pretty like mommy’. He pulled his hat down and turned away with a scowl, heart aching. Ch. 7 Names by Mallow_of_the_Marsh

Finally done with this ✨ I'm so happy with how it turned out!

GUYS, if you like Corazón and Law fics this one is SO GOOD. It's a AU about Corazón kidnaping Baby 5, it's called Hearts and Kisses I can't recommend it enough.

This was originally going to be one page but Cora was really so big that I had to move him to his own single page XD he just would NOT fit 😂

.

Shameless plug but I'm trying to buy some books for my french class in case you'd like to get a commission from me -> Open for Commissions

AND I haven't really updated the comic commission sheet in ages but the gist of it is mostly the same in case anyone's interested.

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[mochiobonio]

i wanted to draw the meme of the twice the size boyfriend cuddling but ended up drawing sidon n link being intimate behind the waterfall-

[ladyamortencia]

HOLD UP HOLD UP

This author was watching this for the bazillionth time for blocking notes and OMG

Colin's breath legitimately hitches after the first kiss (13 secs) AND THEN he's the one to initiate the next kiss (16 secs)!!

He is the one breathing her in like his life fucking depends on it (24 sec) and when they pull away THIS MAN TRIES TO GO IN FOR MORE (34 sec) BUT PEN PULLS AWAY

This man's whole worldview just shattered and this is the first time he has wanted to kiss someone like this and then SHE PULLS AWAY AND THANKS HIM. My poor boy had no choice but to be absolutely devastated. Sure he's kissed a lot of girls (or so he says) but NONE have ever left him reeling. NONE have ever made him wish there was more like this one.

I think this definitely goes with the theory that Colin is demisexual because my man has always loved Penelope. There is no doubt in that logic at all because it's evident how he cares for her. But the moment that man's lips touched hers, he knew he was IN love with her. Colin is extremely in touch with his feelings and the minute he felt that tug of his heart, he was destined to be down bad.

He already loved Pen's mind but society reinforced that she wasn't a prospect for him with every little comment. Every sense of social norm went out the fucking window after this kiss for Colin. All he knew is that he loved Penelope Featherington and fuck anyone who was going to get in the way of what he wants.

[halflifebutawesome]

movie night

[wildsaltair]

Sunrise Smiles

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (fluff, with a few tiny hints of spice)

Word Count: 2.5k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @yourloverslost, @russtybird, @saltwaterburns, @dovellici, @ay0nha, @bat-gwuck, @melintowriting, @nananyang, @enhydralutris-t, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with more obsessive tenderness and passion for my beloved husband Maximus :) I've been looking forward to sharing this one — it's short but really sweet. This one takes place sort of after "Tender Fires," in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where they fall in love and after much mutual pining finally become lovers. This is another favorite of mine, and I hope y'all enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You have been lovers for exactly one week now, and still you are shy waking up with him in the mornings.

The first rays of dawn wake you both at the same time, cascading over the bed and illuminating Maximus' fine features as if he were a god. You are still amazed at the feeling of waking to find this man beside you, his arms wrapped around you and his skin wonderfully warm against yours.

This morning, you wake with your back pressed against his front, one of his arms thrown across your waist and his face buried in your hair. You can tell he is awake by the way he shifts you to fit against him more easily, but he seems content to lie still for a few moments while you wake up.

This entire arrangement is so new, so foreign to you. During the day when you go about your chores, you can’t help blushing when your mind returns to the night before, remembering the passionate way he makes love to you. Even now, enveloped in the warmth of your bed, the idea that this is real life almost seems impossible.

Once he has shifted you where he wants you, he inclines his head to one side, just far enough that he can kiss the side of your neck tenderly. You can feel him smiling against your skin, pulling you infinitesimally closer to his body.

And this is the most unfamiliar aspect of it all: this next-morning affection. There is no embarrassed separation after you are finished, no leaving in the middle of the night to escape awkwardness. For this man, lovemaking is only one part of the way he demonstrates his affection for you.

Slowly, almost lazily, he continues to press soft kisses against the curve of your neck, following a trail down your shoulder. Your skin tingles at the sensation, and you can’t resist a smile that you try to hide in the pillow.

He must catch your amusement, because you can feel his own smile widening as he kisses the back of your shoulder. His short beard prickles against your bare skin, eliciting a giggle from you that prompts him to tighten his arms around you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, laughing with you.

Neither of you is laughing at anything in particular — just giddy at being able to demonstrate your love for each other — and he lifts his head enough so he can pull you onto your back. You link both arms around his neck, dragging him back down to your level, and he kisses your lips in a way that is somehow both stirring and soothing.

In the next few moments, he takes the time to kiss a trail down your neck, your collarbone, and lower. The same early-morning shyness strikes you, even in its irrationality. There is nothing he can see or do that he has not already seen or done in the last week, but the sheer intimacy of him seeing you this way, with the first rays of the sun dancing through your bedroom, makes you bashful.

Once he is satisfied that he has covered you in kisses, he props himself up on one arm to gaze into your eyes and stroke his fingertips through your hair. You can see nothing but absolute fondness in the way he looks at you.

“As lovely as you are at night,” he says in the deep, raspy morning voice that sends an instant shiver down your spine, “I think you are even lovelier in the morning.”

You can only smile at his words, still a bit overwhelmed by the entire situation. You would have thought that after a week of being lovers, you would be a bit more confident and articulate the morning after, but this man still knocks you speechless with the passion in his eyes. Especially when your body is remembering the way the night before was spent.

He tilts his head to one side as he looks at you curiously, eyes darting across your face. With a mischievous smile, he traces the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “Is that a blush?” he asks softly, fingertips trailing over your face.

You can only grin and look away in response, feeling your cheeks burning. You can’t explain why you are so overcome with shyness, but he just smiles wider at your reaction.

“Why do you blush?” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss you again between sentences. “What do you think I will see that I have not already admired?”

Your blush only deepens at his question, and both of you are smiling into the next kiss. You reach up both hands to cradle the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair and earning a soft sound from him in response. He lowers himself down onto his elbows over you and deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing past your lips.

This is yet another thing that thrills and dazes you: the way he pours every bit of his intense focus onto you, exploring your mouth as if he is kissing you for the last time and trying to commit each detail to memory.

In the brief moment when he pulls away to take a breath, you reply to the question that he has probably forgotten. “If I blush,” you tell him coyly, “it is only because the memory of last night is still so fresh.”

“Is it?” he asks, clearly pleased with that answer. “Would you be interested in refreshing that memory again?”

You shiver again at the delicious promise in his words, and he wraps you snugly in his arms again, his warmth washing over your skin. He tilts his head to resume his kissing on the side of your neck, right behind your ear in the spot that he knows makes you writhe.

A moment later, when you can form a coherent thought, both hands gripping his broad shoulders, you whisper in his ear, “The day will not wait for us to have our fill of each other, my love.” He smiles against your neck, and you add, “Though I will be counting the moments until night falls and we can refresh the memory more than once.”

Still cradling you in his arms, he lifts his head and gazes into your eyes tenderly. “Would that there were enough hours in the night that I could get my fill of you.”

“I would be heartbroken if I ever thought you had enough of me,” you reply softly, fingers threading through his hair.

He sighs, the heat and sincerity in his eyes transfixing you. “A thousand nights with you would never be enough,” he murmurs, fingers flexing against your waist. He kisses you again, more gently this time.

“Then I should have nothing to worry about tonight,” you tease him between kisses. “It is only the eighth night.”

Another sound from the back of his throat, one that almost sounds like a growl when paired with his intense gaze. “Worry only that I will not let you go in the morning,” he quips, eyes locked on your kiss-swollen lips.

The heat of his skin, the warmth of his embrace, and the growing knot of desire in your stomach combine to make you yearn to take him up on his offer of refreshing your memory right here and now. “This may be the first time I have ever loathed my farm,” you admit, arching your back in a stretch and tightening your hold around his neck.

He grins in response, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Do not loathe your farm,” he replies. “It needs you almost as much as I do.” One last kiss, one that conveys his deep affection for you, and he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, tugging you up with him by the hands.

“Come,” he instructs you softly, climbing off the bed and pulling you alongside him. Again, you feel the blush rising to your cheeks when you stand, the covers falling away to reveal your skin, but he just gives you a smile of reassurance.

At first, you aren’t sure what he plans to do, but he reaches for your tunic, which was folded on your corner chair, and lifts his eyebrows to indicate for you to hold out your arms. You do so, and he wraps the tunic around you as deftly as if he has done it a hundred times. He certainly has seen you do it enough times.

He fiddles with your belt for a moment, tying it backwards, then correctly while you watch. Occasionally, he lets his eyes flit up to yours, the corners of his lips turned up in a subtle smile.

The sheer tenderness of his action melts your heart, especially since you know he is not purposely seducing you in this moment. He is simply enjoying your presence, engaging in your normal morning routine of putting your clothes back on after a night spent otherwise.

When he finishes tugging the knot in your belt, you almost shiver remembering the way he untied it last night — carefully, methodically, but with the utmost intensity and purpose.

Now that he has finished with you, you decide to follow his lead, picking up his tunic from where he had draped it across the corner of your bedside table. He grins when he sees that you are reciprocating his actions, and he helps you shrug the tunic over his head, thoroughly tousling his hair in the process.

His tunic a simple one, the kind that is soft and comfortable and laces up at the neck. Naturally, the strings hang loose thanks to your quick untying work last night, leaving his neck exposed. With a short coy smile, one that belies the color in your cheeks, you lean forward and press a kiss to his collarbone, which is something you have quickly discovered that he likes.

Before you have even lifted your head, both his hands are on the sides of your waist, gripping you with the restrained strength that makes your blood race. You can see his chest rising and falling more rapidly, feel his fingers flexing into your ribs, but he doesn’t lose his self-control, just allows you to continue.

Carefully, you lace up the cross-ties on his tunic, your fingers brushing his chest occasionally. You are consistently amazed at how warm his skin always seems to be, no matter the temperature. And if his skin is not warm enough, then the heat in his gaze certainly is.

When you finish lacing his tunic, you again copy his actions and reach for his belt. His is more complicated than yours, with several sets of straps and buckles, but you make short work of it, standing closer than necessary just because you enjoy the way his breath catches each time you brush against him.

His hands are still pressing into your waist, and you slowly slide your own hands up his chest, eyes wandering over him ardently. He almost seems to be straining to keep from performing his usual activities in this room — sweeping you into his arms, undressing you, and setting your skin aflame with his mouth and hands — but as always, he masters his desire and lets you move your hands over him without resistance.

Sliding your hands over his skin, even through his tunic, is a continual reminder of the scars that cover his body, a constellation of marks that you have committed to memory by now.

Your hands continue their path upwards, smoothing across his broad shoulders, which tense under your touch. His dark eyes are locked on your lips now, his eyelashes a lovely contrast to the color of his skin. He swallows thickly, as if to suppress his thoughts, when your hands glide up to rest on both sides of his neck.

You can’t resist a giggle when your gaze falls on his hair, still thoroughly ruffled from the night before. He snaps out of his trance and smiles with you, not understanding what you are laughing at.

Without a word, you comb your right hand through his hair, marveling at how soft and silken it feels against your fingers. He actually closes his eyes at your touch, the softest breath escaping his lips. You can practically see the tension in his muscles relaxing, the hardened edges of his face softening.

How easy it is to forget that this man is still a stranger to a gentle touch, a tender embrace. His own touch is so light sometimes that you can almost forget his strength, that his hands are powerful enough to rip flesh from bone.

Seeing the look of utter calm on his face, you comb your fingers through his hair very slowly, dragging along his scalp in the way you know he enjoys. You thread your fingers over his temples, behind his ears, down the base of his neck, transfixed by the way he melts into your touch.

When you pause your stroking for a moment, he does not open his eyes, but rather leans forward a few inches, hands still gripping your waist. He touches his forehead softly against yours, as if he is simply breathing in your essence in this quiet moment.

“You are the first peace I have ever known,” he whispers to you in a voice that you know is reserved only for you.

And this, this, is what is most wonderful and unfamiliar of all — to have this man’s heart so completely surrendered to yours. He is not merely your lover or your bedfellow: he shares your heart, your home, your entire soul. Every night when he makes love to you, he whispers over and over that you are his saving grace, that he has waited his entire life to feel your heart beating in time with his.

This moment, feeling him quiet and still in your arms, his face touching yours, his soul laid bare before you, brings the familiar welling of tears to your eyes. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw him as close to you as you can and whisper the only words that come to your mind in this moment: “My love.”

His strong arms wrap around your waist a moment later, lifting you onto your toes and pressing you against his body. The morning sunlight filters through your window, sending soft beams of light to frame the two of you in your embrace. His lips touch your temple in the gentlest kiss, and you hear every unspoken word in the rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

The sun continues its usual climb into the sky, but neither of you takes a bit of notice. You are holding your entire world within the circle of your arms, and you are completely assured that the man you love is delighting in the same feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[ananxiousgenz]

I honestly do not think I've ever experienced as much agony over a fictional character as I have over oscar malevolent. he's just the winning combo of religious trauma, blood, devotion, queer pain, endless kindness and optimism, and vengeance yk?

[turtledotjpeg]

@hxhbigbang24 time!!

I drew for this fic which made me SAD and also made my HEART WARM!! I will not say too much to avoid spoiling future chapters, but I illustrated a few moments from this scene near the end of the story that I loved!

[nandermoenthusiast]

The coffin lands with a crash, Nandor already out of it gracefully as his vampiric nature grants him.

“Have you survived the fall Guillermo, are you allright?” he asks haughtily and with a barely concealed predatory grin at the yelping heap of limbs and clothes that is Guillermo right now. Of course he was never truly worried for his well being, Guillermo might be human, but he is no regular human, if his van Helsing blood has anything to say about that. Nandor just likes to tease.

“Yes master, im fine, i just wasnt prepa-“

Nandor offers him a hand out of the coffin, the way Guillermo has done so many times before for him. Nandor looks at him curiously, Guillermo looks all flustered right now, hes cute. Hes always cute of course, but damn. He hasn’t even realised the obvious parallel yet, just took his hand absent-mindedly as he was rambling about something. His hair is all mussed up too. Cute.

Probably the moment registers into Guillermo’s mind as Nandor hears his muttering protests suddenly cut short. He’s looking at their gingerly intertwined hands and kinda looks like hes about to swallow a frog, or maybe like he’s about to start crying again. This fucking guy. Always a theatrics with him. But Nandor has learned to lean into his little guy’s moods. He leaves him to his maybe horny maybe emotional thoughts and finishes helping him out of the coffin.

The air is thick between them now. He can sort of hear Guillermo’s heartbeat from this distance, the little guy probably has a concert thumping in his ears right now. Nandor enjoys playing with his food, always has, and today is no different. He takes a step closer. Guillermo takes an infinitesimal step back. There is a wall very close to his back. Right where Nandor wanted him.

“You know as i was saying about the cameras, Guillermo…” he starts feign-casual as he very not casually hovers over him, black eyes boring into him with the fire that only very rarely comes out in front of the crew. Guillermo looks like he’s a mixture between disbelieving and like he’s gonna pass out from hyperventilation at a moments notice. It’s an endearing mix.

“Y-yes, you -were saying something about your hair…” Guillermo couldn’t physically look away from Nandor if his life depended on it right now.

“And other reasons”, very seriously.

“- Yeah”, an exhale.

Just look at his eager little eyes. Should he put the guy out of his misery? Well come to think of it, should he put himself out of his own misery? He’s been in love with the guy for the better part of a decade now. Of course he’s not about to say that now. Let him play the part of suave vampire for his Guillermo, let him fullfill any fantasy he’s ever had, at the very least this very first time they do this dance. There will be time for the mushy stuff later. Come to think of it, what is Nandor doing?? Acting on years of pent up sexual and romantic tension, of course, but what is he setting himself up to? Heartbreak.

Violent, earth shattering heartbreak. Maybe not today, maybe not in 10 years, but soon. Soon to a vampire anyway. No- you don’t know that. If Guillermo loves me, he might find a way to not leave me like he always does. He always does leave. But then he also always comes back. Doesn’t he? Nandor loses himself in these thoughts for a moment, and Guillermo seems to notice his mind is suddenly somewhere else.

Oh, to be known so completely. Oh, to have a worthy partner, a partner who knows everything about you, a Lazlo to your Nadja, a Charmaine to your Sean, a Sire to your Baron. And to have to lose it in a matter of years. Just his luck. But also like Colin Robinson said, dont be sad cause its over, smile cause it happened.

Nandor’s eyes keep searching Guillermo’s as he draws closer and closer, eyes intensely registering every microexpression on his beloved’s face, the little crinkle between his brows and the small nervous smile that’s forming around his lips. His hands land seamlessly and delicately on either side of Guillermo’s face, and he feels his breath hitch. He really doesn’t give a flying fuck if he’s gonna suffer for a thousand years, Guillermo is here right now and he looks like he’s gonna break under his touch. One hand goes to cradle his head, thumb delicately swiping over Guillermo’s ear and pulse point, as Nandor brings their noses together and they breathe the same air for a moment. The other hand is held gently across his cheek, just there, a reassuring weight. “I’m going to kiss you now”.

And Nandor kisses him.

[allastoredeer]

Loving the Alastor torture thoughts, eh?

Well, if I wanted to elaborate I might imply that whichever side of the equation of Al and his Shadow gets harmed is entirely up to the captor.

Wanna make the crew squirm with knowing Alastor is in pain and can't be helped unless they comply with XYZ demand? Send home the Shadow and watch each physical wound be reflected in its Umbran form.

Wanna keep Alastor contained, but in unblemished condition? Harm his Shadow. There's not really a physical form to create marks onto the host, but imagine how soul-achingly deep that pain would radiate. With no outward wound to damage the merchandise or treat to make the pain stop. "Behave, Radio Demon or we won't give either of you time to recover."

Or imagine the poor dears separated, but in close confinement to each other. To feel the damage they are unwillingly ceding to their other half and being unable to touch, to hold, to console... Alastor barely able to move, Shadow desperately trying to phase to him.

But why would anyone want a story like that? It would be Heartbreaking. >:)

I want a story like that

I want a story like that so fucking bad

p-please

please give me a story like that

god please, I'll give you anything

[kissmypoets-hp]

Fanfic Classics (after zeziliazink and bubu0h)

🚣🏼🚣🏻 Our Objective Remains Unchanged by @citrusses

The Finish by J.C. Leyendecker (1908)

The Happy Rower by J.C. Leyendecker (1906)

Two versions because I couldn't choose! The first painting definitely feels like something I'd see on a paperback. Finding the second Leyendecker piece absolutely tickled me, though: a fair-haired rower wearing a kit with 'H' in Gryffindor red??? Come on...

[the-red-butterfly]

I'm so exited with how this is turning up!!

I was reading a great OP!AU about Corazón kidnaping Baby 5 along with Law and it has me in a GRIP. Though I'm taking a break from reading it because my heart was crushed 😂

It's called Hearts and Kisses you guys should really give it a go if you like these characters.

[secondarysefikura]

Back when he was still with Shinra Sephiroth used to secretly write fanfiction about himself. All of it was basically him having a normal life with his friends Angeal and Genesis, and of course his mother Jenova. It was pretty well received by those who read them, but even if they weren’t Sephiroth just enjoyed writing them. Years later after returning from the lifestream yet again Sephiroth decides for old time’s sake to write again. And while people are happy that NormalHuman7777 had returned they’re all also very confused because their stories have now drastically changed. Their new stories are no longer about the late general in a normal and domestic setting, but now their about him becoming a god? And Sephiroth’s mother is also now an alien? Where’s Angeal and Genesis, they used to have huge roles in the stories, but they’re not even so much as mentioned. Also who’s this Cloud person the author keeps shipping with Sephiroth? Every new story now has Cloud in it and the author spends paragraphs detailing everything involving Cloud, talking about how beautiful he is, and how much Sephiroth wants him, and they always get together at the end if not sooner. Is he a self insert? Also the author really hates their OCs Tifa and Aerith, always having the two die in the most horrific ways.

You know what would make this all so much funnier? If young Cloud was a fan of NormalHuman7777's works. Perhaps he even had a bit of a friendship with NormalHuman7777, with the two messaging from time to time and bouncing ideas off each other.

When Sephiroth starts writing again, Cloud gets a little notification about the new fic. He decides that even though he has no interest in reading Sephiroth fanfiction anymore, he may as well comment on the fic for old time's sake. Except when he goes to the comments, people are asking about this new Cloud character and this whole "God" plotline.

Sephiroth's fanfic: Cloud leaned his head back, exposing his neck to his god in a sign of submission. He looked even more beautiful than normal as his mouth parted just enough for his tongue to dart across his chapped lips. As Sephiroth reached out and touched Cloud's neck, the blonde's throat bobbed in nervous anticipation. A rather feminine looking man, it was nearly impossible to see or notice Cloud's adam's apple. Still, the faint bulge of Cloud's adam's apple felt devine under Sephiroth's thumb, and Sephiroth pushed harder to feel the cartilage better.

"Beautiful," Sephiroth praised.

Cloud's eyes fluttered shut with content pride as his god praised him. He felt stupid for ever opposing the great god and for trying to hide from Jenova's warm embrace.

"I know," Sephiroth said, sensing the distress that washed over precious doll as memories of those horrid women came back to him, "but now you are exactly where you belong, and you will never leave me again. We will be together forever--a god and his most cherished possession--and there is nothing those fools can ever do to change that."

"Sephiroth, please," Cloud begged, leaning further into Sephiroth's touch, "please fuck me. I want to be one with you in everyway. I need you inside of me!"

Cloud: What the actual fuck.

[prettymediocrewizard]

Finished some sketches of beloved winged Tenma + Grimmer from @good-wine-and-cheese's fic Fragile Bird. I really enjoyed this AU and wanted to draw some cute stuff for it~~

and one meme under the cut ↴

I did this redraw specifically for me... and maybe like, 2 other people if they find it amusing

[lavendertom]

The Neighbor Across the Street pt. 5

Mike Schmidt x Babysitter!f!Reader

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 6

wc: 3.6k

warnings: angst, little bit sad (if y’all can stick thru this ONE part 🫶), fluff sprinkled in some parts (as always, lmk if there’s anything i’ve missed)

summary: the neighbor across the street needs a babysitter, so you take the job, not knowing what’s in store for you as you grow closer to the siblings. AU where nothing bad ever happens at the pizzeria.

A/N: this is gonna be the “hard” chapter, but it’ll all be worth it for part 6, the official finale of the series 🥹 no worries tho, i still plan on expanding the story once it’s over!!!

——————————————————————————

You could barely focus in any of your classes today. Your mind was full of thoughts about one person and one person only: Mike. All of the things that happened in such a short amount of time were eating you alive. You couldn’t take any of it anymore. In a way, you wished Abby hadn’t told you about her secret. You didn’t want something as silly as a “crush” to get in the way of your goal of keeping Abby and Mike happy.

As you drove home from your classes, you didn’t know what to expect that evening. You knew he probably wanted to clear up whatever had happened the other evening. Maybe he just wanted to tell you he was sorry for not paying you again. But then why did he want you there an hour early? What on earth could he want to talk about for a whole hour with you?

You only ever had two serious conversations with him in the two months or so of knowing him, the one the first night shift of babysitting Abby and during your walk with him just a few days ago.

There was that voice, all the way at the back of your head, that was telling you something completely different. There was a voice that was saying this had to do with Abby’s secret. You attempted to quickly get it out of your head, your hands getting sweaty at the thought as you continued driving home. You hated to admit this was making you more nervous than it should’ve been.

The thought of him waiting at his door until you got home crept into your head once more. The way he saw how you looked back one last time like you’d done every time before. How often did he wait at the door like that? Did he genuinely care about you that much to wait?

When you got home you had an hour until you knew you’d have to be at Mike’s house. Of course today was one of those days where your professors just knew you were having an off day and assigned what felt like 10x more work than usual. You hesitantly took out all of your textbooks and notebooks in an attempt to knock out a few assignments before you left.

As you sat down, something hanging on the headboard of your bed caught your attention. The black hoodie Mike had lent you was there. You truly intended on giving it back to him yesterday since you’d accidentally wore it home the other night. Whether you forgot it by chance or on purpose you couldn’t even remember anymore.

It sat there like a painful reminder of not knowing what was to come later. He said it wasn’t anything bad, but maybe he just didn’t want to stress you out. What if he had to quit the night job, therefore leaving you jobless? You didn’t want to leave them hanging. You didn’t care if you were getting paid consistently or not. You just wanted to be there for them. That was all that mattered to you now.

You continued to sit there, looking at the hoodie, thoughts racing through your mind with no signs of stopping. The textbooks and notebooks all over your desk were never opened, you didn’t have the energy now at least. Not when your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing and stomach was twisted into knots. You kept telling yourself “It’s just your imagination, everything is fine. Everything will be okay.” It was already almost time for you to go, so you threw all the books back into your bag, grabbed the hoodie, and made your way over.

The feelings were mutual back at Mike’s house. Mike wasn’t sure why he felt so anxious about having to talk to you. It really wasn’t a big deal at all. He just wanted to clear up last night and, well, some other things too. He was just as scared of the unknown as you were. The kitchen smelled like pasta cooking as he tried his best to distract himself by making Abby’s dinner. Just incase the conversation went really bad and you didn’t want to stay. Not that he was anticipating that it would go badly.

He stirred the spaghetti as the water bubbled, focusing as best he could on everything but his thoughts.

“Mike why are you making dinner tonight?” Abby interrupted standing by the fridge.

“Thought I’d give Y/n a break for one night.” he said, still looking down at the pot of boiling water.

“She makes it so much better than you do though.” Abby started whining.

“Beggars can’t be choosers Abs.” he said with a sigh.

“What does that mean?” Abby said with a confused tone to her voice.

“Life’s not fair, that’s what it means. You either eat my pasta or nothing.”

He could practically hear the girl roll her eyes in response.

“Well, I’m not hungry right now.”

Now she’s just being a smart ass, Mike thought to himself.

“Good thing Y/n can warm it up for you later when I’m gone.”

“I don’t want to eat it later though. It’s gonna be gross later.” she crossed her arms now, she knew what she was doing.

“Well you’re either gonna eat it now, later, or never. This is what you’re getting for dinner.” Mike was getting more impatient with her sudden attitude.

“Your pasta is gross Mike I’m not eating it.”

“Whatever. I don’t care anymore, don’t eat it.” Way to ruin this evening Abby.

“Why do you have to be so-“

“Abby, just stop! I’m not having this today. Go to your room.” he didn’t realize how much he rose his voice at her. Arguing wasn’t uncommon for them, but he rarely, if ever, rose his voice this much at her. He looked back at her, the young girls eyes were welling with small tears. This evening already wasn’t going as planned and Y/n hadn’t even arrived yet.

“I hate you Mike!” Abby shouted before running to her room, slamming the door shut.

Mike took a deep breath, putting a hand over his face. Why did he always have to mess everything up? He should’ve never asked Y/n to come over early. If he hadn’t asked, then this situation would’ve never happened. He should’ve just let the situation go. He looked back at the pot of spaghetti, the water still bubbling, finally deciding to shut off the stove.

He looked at the landline phone hanging on the wall beside the fridge. It was almost calling his name to pick it up, dial your number, and tell you not to come by anymore. He stepped forward reaching out a hand to pick up the phone. Just before he could start dialing the numbers he heard a door slowly and quietly open.

He looked at the clock on the stove, quickly realizing what time it was. There was no escaping the situation now, for either of you. He walked out of the kitchen, now in the dining room as he watched you shut the door and set down your backpack.

“Hey.” you said in almost a whisper, your usual smile on your face to hide the nervousness that still lurked deep down.

Just like that, time felt slower than ever before for Mike. Honestly, every time he saw you it began feeling more and more like that. It wasn’t like you tried to dress to impress or anything like that. The only times you had a remotely “nice” outfit on were the first few days of babysitting and extremely occasionally after that. Even then, it was nothing more than a pair of jeans and a somewhat nicer t-shirt or sweater.

Your hair was in a low messy ponytail, loose strands of hair falling out of the scrunchie. You wore a t-shirt with your college’s name plastered across the front and extremely baggy black sweatpants. This was a look that was all too familiar to Mike. The days you wore outfits like this were days that school was beating your ass. Those were the days he’d come home and find you still finishing up work at the dinning room table far too late in the night.

The way that an outfit so simple and, for lack of better terms, lazy, could make Mike feel this way felt like a crime to him. He was convinced that any other outfit imaginable would not compare to this. There was no way to explain this, but this just felt different to him.

Maybe it was because of your determination and drive for success. It was something he didn’t see in himself. Maybe he envied that you had that in you and he didn’t. He saw how hard school was. He saw that no matter how hard it got, you were still there on time every time. He wished so much he had that level dedication in him.

That’s when his eyes turned to your hand. It was holding the black hoodie he let you borrow when you stayed for s’mores. He had honestly forgotten he even gave you it, but now he was wondering why you’d brought it back. He really didn’t mind if you’d kept it. Now thinking about it, he wanted you to keep it.

“You didn’t have to make dinner Mike, you know I’ve got it.” your voice, still quiet making sure Abby wouldn’t hear your presence, broke the thoughts in Mikes head and brought him back to reality.

“Yeah, um, about that…” he began, sighing heavily.

“We need to talk.” you immediately noticed the tension that was now forming.

“Yeah.” he pulled a chair out of the dining table for you, and you both quietly sat down.

You both sat in silence for a minute or so. You waited for him to start talking and you were going to give him as long as he needed to gather his thoughts. You focused on the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table.

“I’m sorry.” he finally spoke up.

“Why are you sor-“

“Let me explain before you try telling me I have nothing to be sorry about.” he interrupted, his volume significantly louder than before.

You didn’t say anything back, you were ready to let him say whatever he needed to say because clearly he needed it.

“It’s just-“ he paused again, putting his face into his hands. He took a deep breath attempting to gather his thoughts and emotions before he spoke again. He wasn’t going to let them ruin this conversation.

“I don’t deserve you, Y/n.” you finally looked up. Those incredible brown eyes met yours. They almost appeared to have tears forming in them.

“You do so much for us Y/n. You’re here on time every day, no matter how much you had going on during the day. You’re always willing to do literally anything with Abby. All of the dumb things I’ve said no to her about, you’ve said yes. You’re the mother figure she never had. She doesn’t act the same way around me as she does with you. She deserves this so much more than I do. She needs you, Y/n. I don’t deserve any of this. I can rarely pay you on time. I’m putting you in this horrendous situation where you go to class every day, then you come home for 2 hours max and babysit for the entire night. You’re working literally 2 jobs and you didn’t even want this. I accidentally threw you into it, you should’ve just not taken it. It’s not fair. And yesterday when I stormed out without explaining anything, that wasn’t fair either.”

“Mike-“

“You deserve more Y/n. You deserve the world. You have so much motivation and determination in you it’s actually insane. You’re always smiling, always trying to be kind and helpful. You put others before yourself. I just feel that someone like me, the complete opposite of you, doesn’t deserve to have you in my life. I have not even an ounce of dedication or care inside of me. You don’t deserve to have to put up with all my crap. You just don’t Y/n.” he stopped, still looking you in the eyes.

You really wanted to break down and sob. How could he think he’s worth nothing? How does he not see all the effort and care he puts into taking care of Abby? He’s trying a whole lot harder than other people who have half the worries in life that he has.

“How long have you felt this way?” you said quietly, you knew if you spoke any louder than a whisper you’d start crying.

“Since the moment you first came by to try out the job.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” small, but noticeable tears were now falling down your face. “You’ve felt this way for almost 2 months and you didn’t say a word?”

“Y/n, please don’t-“

“What do you mean ‘please don’t?’ How am I supposed to brush past this knowing you’ve felt like this for 2 months now?” You wiped the tears off of your face.

Mike was now looking down at the table, avoiding your face at all costs. He knew if he saw you that way, it would be over for him. It was never his intention to make you feel this way, he knew you would care, but he didn’t think you’d care this much.

“Mike, look at me right now.”

His eyes hesitantly met yours. Your heart was beating so fast you could hear it in your head.

“You are the most thoughtful, caring, most determined person I’ve ever met. You sacrifice so so much for Abby and you don’t even realize it. When I talk to Abby, I hear all about a big brother who pours his heart out just for her to be happy. She is so incredibly lucky to have someone who dedicates so much of his time and energy just to make her happy. You didn’t ask for this and I know you’ve been through hell and back, but you do everything for that girl. No matter how much you think she doesn’t see it, you are genuinely her whole world. I have never, ever, met someone so caring in my life. You don’t have to do any of it, yet you are so selfless that you do it.”

“Then why does she hate me? Why does she always say so much about how great you are and how much she loves your cooking more than mine? Why are we always arguing over the stupidest things?”

“That’s what siblings are for Mike.” you said with an airy laugh through your tears. “After I came over to hearing your argument I went to talk to Abby. She said how she thought you hated her, how you’re always working and never do stuff with her anymore. I told her to look at all of the amazing things you do for her, all of the toys and art supplies she is lucky enough to have. I asked her who gets her all of these things. Who works their ass off for her to have the greatest childhood ever? You do, Mike. She just doesn’t know how to put that into words or actions. We’re gonna work on that though, okay?” you reached across the table to grab his hands and held them in yours.

“You need to give yourself a whole lot more credit. All I want is for you guys to be okay.” you smiled, tears still running down your face. “I just want to help you guys in any way I can. I don’t care how much I get paid or how often I get paid, that doesn’t matter to me anymore Mike. I just want to be there for the two of you.”

After all he said, after his vulnerability showed the underlying jealousy he had for you and your kindness you did it once again. You put others before yourself. He didn’t realize you were not going to give up.

“This is exactly why I don’t deserve you.”

“Quit saying that, you deserve me just as much as Abby does.” you squeezed his hands, reassuringly smiling at him. “You’re not getting rid of me.”

All he really wanted to do in this moment was to get up and kiss you. You believed in Abby, and in him, when you didn’t have to. No one was forcing you to do any of this and to know you were taking it upon yourself from the kindness in your heart made Mike feel even crazier for you. You were one of the first people to show genuine care and love to him and Abby since their parents passed away.

“I love you Y/n.”

Those 4 words came out with no thought, no hesitation, no control. It just felt right.

You were both shocked, yet relieved to hear those words. Your next 4 words didn’t have much thought to them either

“I love you too Mike.” you said, not hesitating either. It didn’t feel forced in the slightest, it felt right for both of you. You honestly couldn’t believe what had just happened and neither could Mike. Neither of you would admit it, but you weren’t even sure what to do next.

“Well it took you guys long enough.” a small voice peeped from behind you.

You turned around to see Abby, standing with her arms crossed, a smug look on her face.

“Abby, how long have you been here?” Mike said, quickly letting go of your hand he still had in his.

“Long enough to hear you and Y/n say you love each other.” she said, smiling wide and giggling. “I am so happy you finally told Y/n you have a crush on her! Or did Y/n tell you she has a crush on you?” her eyes lit up with excitement.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say that’s what happened but-“

“Oh, he definitely was the one who told me first.” you smirked after interrupting.

“But who decided to hold hands first?” he quickly responded, returning you a small smirk.

Your face began burning up as you buried your face in your hands for a moment, but you also couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it up to Abby to be little miss matchmaker. Of course she’d sneak her way in to finally see her hard work come together. Once Mike realized there was no point in hiding anything anymore, he grabbed your left hand again and held it in his. It felt almost freeing, like a weight was lifted off of him in multiple ways, to be able to hold your hand.

“Also, I’m hungry.” she chimed in quickly, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

You and Mike both looked at each other, knowing that the pasta he attempted to cook was probably off the table now. It was also almost time for Mike to go to work now, which he really didn’t want to do anymore, but there was no other choice.

“I’ll just order you guys a pizza.” he said with a smile, a genuine smile. “Y/n doesn’t need to be cooking for you after this, and I know you won’t eat whatever I can make in 10 minutes Abs.”

Abby began jumping around with pure excitement. Probably a little too excited after just offending Mike’s cooking, but that didn’t matter anymore. As long as she was happy and you were happy, Mike was gonna be happy. He was going to start changing his attitude about everything and he wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else than you. It wasn’t going to be easy, but was gonna try his very best.

“You sure Mike? I don’t mind cooking.” you replied.

“Really Y/n?” he said, sarcastically rolling his eyes.

“Okayyy fineee.” you said holding out the endings extra long, just for dramatic effect.

“Thank you Mike!” the Abby shouted, running up to his chair to give him a hug. Mike smiled at you as the young girl clung onto him.

“Thank you.” he mouthed to you.

You gave him a soft smile in response. You looked down at the black hoodie still in your lap. You brought it in the case he wanted it back, but after the conversation you two just had, there’s a good chance he’d want you to have it. Whether that was his original intention for you to keep it or not, you decided you would keep it. A constant reminder of who you were doing this for. Taking this job, you didn’t know what you were getting yourself in to. You also didn’t know why you were so nervous for this conversation. It couldn’t have gone any better. You were ready to go through whatever hardships and challenges you had to for your two favorite neighbors.

——————————————————————————

A/N: get ready for part 6 hopefully before thanksgiving 🥳🫶 also trust i see all of ur comments and i wish i could reply to ALLL of them, but i don’t wanna flood the comments! sending each and every one of u and virtual hug rn and love! 🫂 if anyone wants a little preview of what’s to come, check out of my first work my favorite prize, those r the vibes i am going for in part 6 🤗

jules jewels (tag list! lmk if u want to be added or removed 🤗)

@balesita @universi8 @browneyedgirly93 @marsmallow433 @prongsprincessworld @ajlareads @k3nnlolz @louweasleymalfoy @chompwoman @wasabidottie @queenie-official @emmaishere432 @curasimp @nevvdrinksteaa @rcailleachcola @scribblesandsherlock @iheartyouyou @prosteticsynthesis @novausstuff @dessxoxsworld @1-akira-2 @starringo @planetevermore @cherriebat @mxrvelouss

[humlase]

Neil's mother may have been abusive, but that doesn't stop him from missing his mom and Abby is right there to pick up the pieces.

Or in other words, Abby gives great mom hugs.