#but as nail polish its just like AH! NO!

[lttleghost]

things that don't make me dysphoric:

- having boobs and wider hips and just my body in general

- wearing makeup

- wearing most dresses

- using she/her pronouns

things that do make me dysphoric:

- having long hair

- being called feminine terms (with a few exceptions)

- having non black nail polish apparently????

[boneblushed]

Ignorance by infatuation

synopsis A detective behaves lewdly with you. Aaron Hotchner gets uncharacteristically jealous.

wc 1.7k

a/n omg my first Hotch fic ever hehe 🤭 feedback and love always appreciated, still trying to find my Crim Minds voice!

It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, the air sultry and verdant, rain soaked leaves underfoot. 

Aaron Hotchner frowns. Petrichor and dew mean evidence awash. He pauses to squint up at the sky, muddy grey with isolated streaks of yellow dawn.

You’re acutely aware of Spencer’s eyes on you as you walk past Hotch, and give yourself a mild headache by focussing too hard on the commotion ahead. The rest of the team don’t seem to notice the tension between you and SSA Hotchner. Or perhaps they do, and the pair of you are just too stubborn to admit it.

It’s been lurking under the surface for a while now, this perplexing pull between you. Lingering glances, raised eyebrows, irises spooled with tendrils of static. A hand pressed against your back every time he scoots behind you, like an excuse. He doesn’t do that with Emily. None of the other agents. A frown that tends to yield when your gaze catches his.

Or hardens when someone acts a little lewder than is appropriate.

Like the other day, for example, when he’d overheard you on the phone with some deadbeat cop in the Dallas area. (He’s probably being unfair. He probably isn’t even a deadbeat. It’s just that anyone that flirts with the idea of your favour is going to be unworthy in comparison, even Agent Hotchner.)

The phone had rung in the middle of your exchange, and you’d answered it immediately, mouthing apologies in its place. Aaron Hotchner remembers the shine of gloss on your lips, the ways your fingers clasped the phone to your ear, gentle but firm. Remnants of peach coloured polish on your nails.

“Yes, this is she,” you’d answered, mouthing another apology to him. “How can I help you?”

You’d come into his office a few minutes prior to discuss something media strategy; Hotch didn’t have a mind for it, he much preferred giving you all the reins. He recognised how strange this was for a control freak as prolific as him. You were different though, he’d attest. It was a sentiment as dangerous, as non-platonic, as the feelings making home in his ribcage.

“Right,” you’d said, pulling your spiral-bound notebook out of your pocket. You’d wedged your phone between your ear and shoulder, slipping your pen out of your breast pocket and clicking it against it. Hotch felt unseasonably hot at such attention to your chest. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, trying to catch your gaze.

“Ah, I see, yes that does sound like our area of expertise,” you’d continued, and then a pause, an awkward, unwieldy laugh. Still beautiful. “No, yes, our is correct — I am in fact part of the team.” Another pause; this time, you’d rolled your eyes when your laugh spooled out of your pretty mouth. He didn’t recognise it. “I don’t know about that. Should we get back to the case at hand? Great.”

Hotchner’s eyebrows had lowered then, furrowing into an expression of concern, flailing interest. Not jealousy. He was pretty certain he knew all your laughs, the cadence of them, the syrupy timbre. This one was new. You sounded uncomfortable, as though something said over the phone had abraded you somehow. As his eyebrows had, his heart had sunk into his stomach. He remembers the strain of his forearm muscles against his clenched knuckles.

“Sure. Yes. As soon as I have all the details I’ll be able to distribute them. Great, yes, we’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Thank you. Goodbye.”

And that had been that. Hotch hadn’t had the stomach to ask after the details, especially not when you’d seemed so eager to put it behind you.

After ending the call, you’d shaken your head and proclaimed, “Don’t ask,” launching back into your spiel about media strategy like it hadn’t happened. Hotch wasn’t in the business of disagreeing with you; pressing things. Saying no. It wasn’t lost on him that he used the word liberally with everyone else he knew.

Back at the scene, Hotch stays a few steps behind the team. He knows that Spencer’s assessing eyes will see right through his faux contemplation; Hotchner knows, from the many frowns Spencer’s eidetic memory has learned, that the expression on his face will be recognised as distraction.

He needs to focus. He needs you near. He needs to keep his eye on the ball. He needs deadbeat detective far away from here.

As you and the BAU team near the crime scene, a rugged looking cop pulls away from his colleagues. He has eyes like treacle tart and a grin that borders on a smirk. A toothpick hangs from his mouth like something out of a Western.

“Detective Landon?” You say, extending a hand in acknowledgement. “Hello, we spoke on the phone yesterday morning.”

Detective Landon spits the toothpick out of his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he does so. But it isn’t the depth of his gaze that drops yours. You can feel someone else’s eyes searing holes through your skull.

“Well I’ll be,” he drawls, taking your hand and pressing it to his mouth. “Your voice doesn’t do you justice, darling.”

You resist the urge to make a face. It’s awful, unfortunate, but you’re far too used to this. Behind you, Derek raises his eyebrows, sharing an amused look with Emily beside him. Rossi looks exasperated. Spencer’s expression remains unchanged, though he does steal a glance at Hotchner. You smile, the way you always do, refusing to be thrown off by his candour.

“That’s a shame,” you reply breezily, turning to introduce your team. “Detective, this is SSA Morgan, SSA Prentiss, Dr Spencer Reid, and —”

“I’m the unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner,” Hotch interrupts, a menacing gravel to his timbre. He doesn’t shake the hand Detective Landon extends to him. The detective draws it back with a gauche bark of laughter, turning his attention to the rest of the BAU.

“My my,” he says, his drawl returning as his eyes meet Emily’s. “What do I gotta do to get in on this team of yours?”

“A formal education would be helpful,” Spencer supplies, squinting at him through his glasses.

Detective Landon turns to him then, raising his eyebrows. “Doctor Reid, was it?”

“It is, but no need to aim that high, buddy,” Morgan says then, stepping forward and patting him on the shoulder. Landon winces. “Now. You going to talk us through what you guys got so far or what?”

“Damn, y’all are a feisty bunch, huh?” He replies, pulling another toothpick out of his breast-pocket. He sends you a wink that makes Hotch’s insides turn, adding, “Don’t mind it on you, sweetheart, but maybe the rest of the BAU ‘oughta play nice.”

Aaron Hotchner would normally agree with his sentiment. He’s been a long time advocate of working alongside the local police in investigations; he recognises that collaboration is far more productive than condescension.

Unfortunately for him, this isn’t quite a normal situation.

Things to do with you and other men rarely are. An ugly green emotion eases his heart right into his throat.

“Or maybe,” Hotchner says crisply, his steely gaze pinning Landon to the spot, “I should have a chat with your Captain and take you off this case.”

Landon balks. “Sir —”

“You’re dismissed,” Hotchner interrupts, not wanting to hear it. He’s unaware of the amused look Emily and Morgan share behind him.

“You…” Landon trails off exasperatedly, shaking his head, “…you can’t dismiss me. This is my case.”

“Actually, it’s the BAU’s case now.” He turns to you expectantly. You think you catch his gaze soften as it falls over your face in paces. Trick of the light, you suppose. “Right?”

“Sure,” you say weakly.

“Right then. Rossi?” Hotch says then, turning to David Rossi autocratically. “Why don’t you and the team go ahead and assess the scene while I head to base and sort out a reassignment.”

“Not you, Reid,” he adds, keeping Spencer in place. “You can come to the station with me, get our replacement up to speed. Sound good?”

Morgan’s trying hard to hide his knowing grin, one side of his mouth upturned with mirth. Emily isn’t bothering to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on, her pretty features lit up with amusement. Detective Landon looks mortified. Your cheeks feel on fire.

“Alright,” Rossi says after pause, glancing between you and Hotchner. He’s been in the FBI for long enough now that he’s learnt to pick his battles.

He turns around and begins walking toward the crime scene, the three of you trailing behind him with less purposeful strides.

“Huh,” Derek says, faux-thoughtful. You’re wedged between him and Emily, much to your chagrin. “Wonder what that was about. Any ideas, SSA Prentiss?”

“Well, SSA Morgan,” Emily replies, her smile audible. “I’m afraid that our dear old unit chief has a bit of a soft spot.”

“A soft spot?” Derek echoes, letting out a dramatic gasp. “That’s dangerous in our line of work, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say,” Emily responds sagely.

“Oh shut up, you two,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t just about me. He made a pass on Emily too.”

Emily snorts, shaking her head exasperatedly. “Hey Rossi, you got a name for this phenomenon?”

“Oh yeah,” Rossi replies without hesitation, his gaze trained ahead of him. “Ignorance by infatuation.”

Out of earshot, Spencer and Hotchner are having a similarly painful conversation.

“Strange,” Spencer decides, breaking the silence with his candour.

Aaron knows what he’s insinuating. He resists the urge to turn around and steal another glance at your pretty silhouette. “He was behaving inappropriately. There’s nothing strange about it, Spencer. I was protecting my team.”

“The whole team?”

“Yes.”

“Including me?”

“Yes.”

“But I liked him.”

Hotchner sends him an incredulous look. “And what exactly was there to like?”

“He was entertaining, I think,” Spencer replies casually, shrugging. “In a cop way, you know? Plus, I love listening to Y/N reject men. It’s fascinating.”

Hotchner swallows. “Fascinating?”

“She always does it in this way where they don’t even realise what exactly’s happening,” Spencer explains matter-of-factly. He turns to Aaron Hotchner then. “Don’t worry, though, she’d never do that to you.”

Hotchner’s traitorous heart leaps, his mouth pulling into a paradoxical frown. “Spencer,” he warns.

“Just saying,” Spencer replies, raising his arms in surrender.

“Well,” Hotch says grumpily, “don’t.”

“Alright. Noted.”

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##01

James Potter x f!muggle!reader

word count: 1,023

warnings: fem pronouns, implications someone slept in readers bed?? idk girl...

a/n: <3 ive been obsessed w this concept for MONTHS i just hadn't actually written it lmk what yall think!!!

series masterlist

main masterlist

The phone rang, the violent sound dragging you out of your sleep like a bucket of cold water. It was like a shot of adrenaline, that made your heart beat faster and forced you to scramble out of bed, walking over to pick it up.

You briefly noted the absent person in your bed who had definitely been there the night before.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Hello- Oi, where are you?” It was a boy. Well... Man. You could hear a second voice in the back asking if a “Moony” had picked up. You were sure you had misheard the name.

“Who is this?” you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes

“Who is this?” The voice on the other side retorted suspiciously “It’s some bird-” the voice called out, away from the receiver.

“You called” you huffed

“Yeah, but who are you?” the voice said, you pulled the phone away to look at it briefly as if the machine’s receiver had just personally insulted you. Shaking off the annoyance that crawled through your chest, before you put it against your ear again.

“Are you daft? You are the one that called- you oughta pay attention to who the hell you’re calling this early-” You spit into the phone, and hung it up.

Any other day and maybe you would’ve felt a little bad for talking to someone that way. But not today, not when your still warm bed was calling your name. Not when sleep had evaded you for so long the previous night.

You started walking back into its confines when the phone rang again, just as loud as the first time. You couldn’t help the groan that left your lips.

“Hello?” 

“What's your name?” the familiar voice cracked through the static of the receiver. He didn’t seem mad, not even phased by your previous words.

“You got the wrong number-”

“I mean I assumed so- M’not daft contrary to your newfound belief” 

You rolled your eyes

“Why’d you call back then?” You picked at the thread that hung from the bottom of the large white shirt you wore to sleep. 

You tried not to think about where he was.

“ ‘cuz I wanted to know your name- is that a crime now?”

“How about you just call the number you were supposed to call?”

“Meh- he can wait” you couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips, the voice broke through the static again “ah we got a laugh- exciting”

“It was a chuckle at best phone boy- have a good day” You started moving the receiver away from your ear again, intending on hanging up before the voice broke out loudly

“Wait wait- come back!”

“What?” you didn’t know why you were indulging him- you didn’t know him after all you could’ve just hung up... you balanced the phone between your shoulder and ear, your now free hand picking at the already peeling nail polish on your nails. 

You really needed a refresh.

“You didn’t tell me your name- I’ll tell you mine, we can trade y’know?” you sighed, he was different to say the least.

“Tell me yours first,”

“I asked first though-”

“Okay then, good day!”

“Okay- okay- okay-” the words left his mouth quickly, basically screaming into the phone.

“My name’s James ‘kay? My name is James Potter”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Potter-”

“Just James is fine- your turn though” You laughed slightly, a smile pulling at your lips. His energy felt contagious. You gave in, announcing your name through the phone. He parroted the whole thing back like he was exploring the way it tasted in his mouth.

“Pretty-”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter”

“What did I just say? you are bad at following instructions doll, just call me James” the voice said, faux annoyance in his tone. You could practically hear the smirk on his lips. “Ask the lass if she’s pretty Prongs!” the second voice called out from afar. Did he call James ‘prongs’? you felt crazy.

“Well, James- it was nice to meet you, but I got things to get to yeah? Have a good day”

“I reckon she can hear you Pads- oi my mate wants to know if you’re pretty- I reckon I do too, you certainly sound it” You laughed at the boldness, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes either.

“Voices can be deceiving y’know?” You scratched your calf with a sock-clad foot, the plastic spiral cord of the phone extending as you balanced on one foot briefly. “Besides what is it to you?”

“ ‘M a curious person I guess,” 

“I’ve gathered that much James Potter” you retorted, 

“I do think you’re a pretty one though, you have that type of voice”

“What voice is that?” you answered, but before he could speak another voice cut through the static.

“What the hell are the two of you doing? We’re late, Marlene’s going to have our heads on a spike” a third voice rang out from the other side,

“Talking with some pretty lass on the phone- accidentally called her trying to call you- Moony these things are awful to use,” you tried suppressing the giggle that threatened to leave your lips. You wondered if he was talking about the telephone, who hadn’t used a telephone before? He was probably talking about something else. 

“I reckon you have to go,  James, your mate doesn’t sound very happy, and your head might end up on a spike-” 

He let out an over-exaggerated sigh, but you could still hear the smirk on his lips, seemingly satisfied that you were no longer angry, that you were teasing back.

“I reckon I do- great to meet you doll-” you could hear the phone start moving, scuffling on the other side slightly muffling his voice “Miss you already!” rang out before the phone was harshly hung up.

You stared at the phone, almost in disbelief.

It was the strangest call you had ever had in your life. Somehow stranger than the old lady that kept calling you about her car insurance every week last summer.

But it somehow made you giddy, it was silly. He sounded handsome too… You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought.

How can someone sound handsome? Or pretty?

You felt delusional, but that could wait- You crawled back into bed.

send me an ask if you wanna be added to a taglist!!

[mariasont]

The Receptionist - S.R

a/n: i need this man on an astronomical level actually

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x receptionist!bimbo!reader

summary: spencer meets the new receptionist for chief cruz

warnings: fluff

wc: 0.8k

The click-clack of your polished nails on the keys mingled with the sharp pops of bubblegum as you focused on lining up Chief Cruz's appointments in the system. Taking a pause, you pulled out your notebook encased in pink frills from your drawer, and delicately turned its pages to reveal the week's agenda.

With the appointment freshly noted, you let your pen waltz around the margins, leaving behind a trail of doodles. With a subtle shift, you crossed your legs, the shiny pink heels tapping together, their color complementing the delicate fabric of your skirt.

You traced another heart around the date, and just then, a soft voice hesitantly broke the silence, "Excuse me?"

You looked up to find a pair of curious hazel eyes framed by brown curls that almost seemed to be begging to be touched, and his lips, which held a shy smile made your heart do a summersault. I mean, come on, what are these FBI guys made lab-grown or something?

He was draped in a form-fitting vets over a neatly pressed shirt, his sleeves were rolled up just so, in a way that paused your movements freeze and coaxed a heat to spread across your cheeks. Well, hello there.

He seemed briefly caught off-guard, his eyes flickering over your pink-themed workspace, a distinct departure from the former receptionist's subdued setup. He was almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that now occupied the space.

With an enthusiastic bounce, you popped up from your seat, beaming brightly.

"Oh, hi there! How can I help you?" Gently straightening your skirt, you offered a hand, your name rolling off your tongue, "Are you here for Chief Cruz?"

The man's touch was soft against your palm, his attention caught by the soft clinking of your delicate bracelets, while your nails, painted a meticulous shade of pink that matched the color of your shirt, settled against the back of his hand.

"Spencer Reid," he introduced. "I have an appointment with Chief Cruz regarding a specialized training session for new recruits."

His gaze held yours a tad too long, cataloging the details of your appearance--the brightness of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips, the radiant glow of your skin.

A look of pleasant surprise crossed your face.

"You're the famous Dr. Reid! I've heard a lot about you," you remarked, a giggle accompanying your words as you eased back into your seat, giving a quick, knowing glance at your calendar. "Ah, here you are. I'll let Chief Cruz know you're here. He's currently in a meeting, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

As you pretended to focus on the screen, your mind raced. Dr. Reid--the genius with multiple PhDs, and now, the man who stood before you, unexpectedly  drop-dead handsome.

It was a challenge to maintain professionalism, especially when every fiber of your being yearned to do nothing but drink in his appearance. I mean, you were only human.

"Just Spencer is fine," he offered with an easy smile. "Where's Mrs. Henderson?"

You were beautiful to say the least, not at all what he was expecting to see when he walked in this morning, quite the difference from the former receptionist, whose age had been marked by the hard candies she offered.

"Oh, she retired last month!" you said with a bright smile. "So now, Chief Cruz is stuck with me!" Leaning in, chin cradled by your hands, you gaze at him incredulously. "Three PhDs, huh? That's, like, beyond Einstein-level smarts, isn't it?"

Spencer's cheeks tinged with a hint of color as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Well, not quite," he admitted with a modest shrug. He then glanced around the office before his eyes settled back on you. "How are you finding the job here so far?"

"Impressive, yet so modest," you commented. Standing up, you clicked print on the computer. "And it's great, I really love it here. I mean, it's not as thrilling as chasing down bad guys, I'm sure, but I think I'll stick to what I'm good at."

As you made your way to the printer, Spencer interjected. "No, I got it."

He returned with the papers, handing them to you with a gentle smile. 

"Thanks," you said, taking the papers. "So, you do that profiling thing right?" You tapped a finger against your lips, pretending to ponder. "Let's see... I'm guessing you're a Libra, aren't you? Probably born in early October, I'd say."

"What gave it away?"

You flashed a wink, the pop of your bubblegum punctuating the air. "I may have taken a sneak peek at your file."

With a light-hearted laugh, Spencer revealed a smile so grand it seemed to light up the entire space and you couldn't help but smile in response. You liked his smile, a lot. 

Spencer's response was cut short by the ring of the phone. You quickly answered as the great receptionist you are.

"Okie dokie, sir, I'll send him right back!" You listened for a second, then replied with a giggle. "No, thank you, sir!" You turned to Spencer, your smile wide, "He's ready for you!"

"Thanks," Spencer said with a nod, "It was great to meet you." He took a few steps towards Chief Cruz's office before pausing and turning back. "You know, maybe I should give you my number. For work purposes, in case you have questions or need help with anything."

You nodded eagerly, your smile reaching from ear to ear. "Absolutely, for work purposes."

[gelatonic]

fwb!Luke + f!reader ⭑. the pjo brainrot is real guys... smut!

laying soft against the pillows, hugging one up against your bare skin just so it covers the x-rated part of your chest fine, you look up at him with wide, wondrous eyes. nails curl into the feathered pillow at the thought of him leaving, only able to come out with a soft hum from her lips as a response while she watches how his fingers handle the re-buckling of his belt.

Luke notices how your eyes linger, watching as he tucks the toughed leather under the metal buckle after he zips up his jeans. his swirling, lovely blue eyes look at you lazily, and he can see the way you looked at him, which gives him enough reason to respond with a smirk.

"don't give me that look, dollface.." he whispered, as he leaned down towards you. after looking at you for a few seconds, he grabs your chin and gently tilted your head back.

"don't leave me," you beg with that pretty pouting voice, a little paw coming to pad at his belt eagerly, grabbing at it lightly as you attempt to tug him closer by it, fiddling with the strap absentmindedly.

Luke chuckles at that, his smirk growing even wider as he watches the pathetic display, looking down at your hand that was grabbing at his belt and tugging him closer. he loves the way you begged him not to leave far too much.

"yeah? and what if i do? what can you give me that'll make me want to stay here, and not go back to my room to sleep?" he mumbles, letting go of your chin and standing back up straight again. he knows fully well the last thing he wants to do is slip away just to go back to that idiotic roommate of his, too dumb and too boring to spend the night with.

that's why it didn't take him long to bend you in half in the sheets, hips snapping against your cunt with his belt dropped on the floor yet again.

even though he's bruising your insides at this rate, he's kissing and marking you all over to make up for it. "a-ah! Luke," your gasping and moaning as your polished nails bite into his back, mumbling something intelligible about him being to fast and hard on your already-used pussy :(

your complaints have only got him going on you more though, laughing shortly as he only seems to lay more of his weight on you, digging himself deeper in your cunt. "what's that, baby? thought you wanted me to be all up in you," he's groaning as he's fucking you into the mattress through those gummy walls that squeeze him so good.

he's gripping you by the jaw, holding you in place by its slender bone as he keeps at it, hands all muscled from years of experience in fighting monsters and demons and such - although you don't know that. you're his little boarding school secret, his favorite friend at this shitty place he'll go to to make himself feel better, just like how you were making him feel better right now.

and you're just always so sweet to him, even now as he abuses you with how his tip hits your cervix just right every time, probably bruising it with each smack of his hips that get him too deep in you each time. "c'mon, pretty girl, keep up," whispering those taunting words in your ear as the heat of his breathe hits your already-hot skin, making you shudder and clench around him harder.

but now there's a new thing to pout at, as he's laughing breathily as he watches how your basically drooling down your chin from how good he's dicking you, hand on your neck to keep you in place as he continues. "I-i am keeping up!" you whine through an influx of whimpers, very obviously not as your muscles start to clench more frequently, a tell-tale sign you were close.

he's grinning down at you as you lie prettily through your lips. "yeah, sure you are. don't worry babe, this won't be the last you cum tonight."

[lucysarah-c]

Levi's horrible flirting skills part 4

Masterlist link to all the previous parts.

The corner of his lips was wet as saliva slid down to his chin. There was a lack of oxygen in his actions as his head felt cornered. His tongue ran flat against her folds, burying his face deeper as his tongue sneaked in and his nose rubbed against her clit messily. 

Both arms held her legs open as his chin knocked against the corners of his desk. He opened his mouth to take even more of her. 

“Ah-! Cap-” She timidly moaned his name while twitching against his face, spasming over the surface as her body reacted on its own under his actions. Levi had never fetishized the nurse uniform, but being buried between her legs with her skirt raised enough for him to hide his head under it while he ate her out was certainly a bonus. 

“Mhh-” he groaned against her clit as he sucked it directly, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation. Vibrations of his voice mixed with the electricity that ran down her spine each time he played with her pussy. 

“Cap- AH!” her back arched against the cold surface as he hit a particularly good spot with his fingers as they sneaked in. Her nails sank into the wood, perhaps leaving scratches on Levi’s polished surface, but he didn’t care. “Captain, that’s enough-” 

‘Enough? I’ve been waiting for this for months,’ Levi wished he could remain buried between her legs for hours, days in a row. Suck her dry and drink it all as the thirsty man he was. He just couldn’t get enough; she tasted divine, and he was starving. 

He could almost sob at how good it felt, frowning deeply as he had to suppress a moan as he slipped in. Groans reverberated in his throat as he began to thrust. He could feel it all, how wet she was, her walls twitching against his cock as if they tried to milk him dry. Her pants of air each time he bottomed out fogging the desk surface, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the office, her soft skin under his grip as he held her hips in place, her pulse against his fingertips as he softly squeezed her throat. 

A part of him told him that he was enjoying it way too much to finally have her under him, pinned on his desk, hearing her whimpers each time he went balls deep and the head of his cock hit her cervix. It was sinful how badly he wanted her, how much he adored her well-fucked face with plump red parted lips, half-lidded teary eyes, and messy locks falling into her face and sticking to it. 

“Ah- NHg- Ah!” her moans mixed with the wet sounds of their fucking as he bent down to rest his chest against her back and suck her shoulder blades, “I’m close! Don’t stop, don’t-!” 

“Fuck- I’m close too,” he grunted out but didn’t stop, his attention divided between keep hitting that place that made her legs shake and her walls press against his dick and not cumming inside her. 

But between her heavy pants, she let slip, “Don’t pull out.” 

It made him freeze momentarily, “Don’t pull out. Ah- Fill me up, fill me up, Captain,” she repeated while arching her back, pushing back to meet his thrust. 

“Holy fuck-” Levi grunted out, gripping her hair and pulling her head upwards as he panted against her ear. Who was he to go against her wishes? It’s not like he hadn’t been dreaming of this—dreaming of filling her up, claiming her as his, breeding her each spare second he got. And it was finally his chance, his chance to fulfil the idea he had since the very first time he laid eyes on her. 

“Ah- Fuck, tell me. Tell me how much you fucking want it,” he demanded. 

But she didn’t reply. The only thing he could feel was the wet sensation dripping down his chin, the lack of air, and the cold surface. Cold surface? 

Levi’s upper body snapped upward, sitting straight as his eyes tried to accommodate to the darkness of the room. His right hand moved to clean the saliva dripping from his chin, and his whole body felt the chills of the dropping temperatures in those early hours. Grimacing in confusion, he looked down at the report he had probably been working on before he fell asleep, now stained with his own saliva. 

Disappointment, embarrassment, and confusion mixed together in a groan as he rubbed his hair, trying to knock some wakefulness into his brain. “This is so humiliating,” Levi muttered, feeling uncomfortable either because sleeping in the uniform wasn’t the best sensation or because it felt particularly uncomfortable. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” 

He rose from his place at the desk and walked to the bathroom, defeated. “This morning can’t start worse.” 

Three knocks at the door proved him wrong. ‘Maybe if I ignore it, they will go away.’ 

“Captain?” a young voice pierced the silence of the early morning. “There are two cadets fighting in the barracks.” 

“Fuck me,” Levi whispered as he closed his eyes in resignation. 

Maybe it was because winter had come and they had suspended the expeditions outside the walls until the weather improved. No expeditions meant no wounded soldiers, and don’t get Levi wrong, it’s not that he wished for that. But those were his only excuses to pass by the hospital and see if he could catch a glimpse of her. And the last time they interacted... well, let’s say he wasn’t the smoothest. 

“You look tired as shit,” the words left his mouth before he could think of something better. 

“Oh, yeah, there’s been a lot of work because many people are getting the flu since the government only sent enough vaccines for the kids,” she said with heavy dark circles and a pale complexion. “Maybe I should put some concealer on-” 

“Tch, I didn’t mean that,” Levi feared his words being mistaken once again. 

“Maybe you should go, Captain. It’s not a good time to leave the countryside. What will the scouts do if you catch the flu?” 

Levi looked at her dead in the eyes, waiting, HOPING, she didn’t mean it. “I can’t get it,” he said, mostly disappointed. “I got the shot.” 

“Oh, you did! Well, lucky you,” she said enthusiastically. 

“You gave it to me.” 

The smile on her face slowly withdrew as she tried to recall, and when the memory finally clicked, the grin returned, this time with nervousness. “You’re right!” 

Levi felt as if he was staring into the abyss, as if all his sacrifice was in vain because she didn’t even recall it. “How did that go?” Y/N asked, perhaps trying to keep the conversation going as the soldier fell silent. 

“... Like shit,” Levi muttered, recalling he was ill for easily two days. 

She giggled nervously. “Well... look at the bright side. At least you won’t get the flu now!” 

Levi, defeated, simply said, “I never get the flu, actually. Before that, I couldn’t recall the last time I had a fever.” 

Levi cursed himself, ‘I should have just fucking lied.’ But his mood worsened when he realized he did all that, and she couldn’t even recall it. ‘Between me and the stupid cadets fighting in the barracks, there’s no difference.’ 

That thought carried special weight after that morning event that Levi preferred to forget. Even if they had no expeditions, the work was never-ending. It felt like everyone in the scouts needed him everywhere, all the time. Piles and piles of paperwork were waiting for him back at the office, and training in the freezing training grounds when he could feel his hair freezing wasn’t helping either. 

The weight of his body fell on his desk chair with a loud sigh. He slacked against the red chenille, his fingertips pressing against the bridge of his nose. Just when he thought some calmness and a nice warm tea to accompany his paperwork was all he had left, someone knocked timidly at the door. 

Levi clicked his tongue, “What?!” his angry voice pierced the room as he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone else. 

The door creaked open, and any attitude in Levi’s body disappeared as Y/N’s face appeared through. 

“Hi? Sorry, a soldier let me in.” 

‘Did I fall asleep again? What is she doing here, in my office?’ 

She took a step in while carrying something in her hands. “I just have to give you something before I go to talk to Erwin. I won’t bother you long,” her voice seemed quieter and her attitude more defensive than usual. “I’m sorry for interrupting.” 

Levi felt his heart sink, ‘No, no, I’m not angry at you. Shit, don’t be scared of me... I’ll never hurt you.’ 

“You’re not interrupting me,” was all he said curtly as he rose from his seat. “What are you doing here?” 

‘Nicer, NICER! Say it fucking nicer!’ 

“Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t come to waste your time,” she replied. 

‘See? She feels threatened!’ 

“I wanted to give you this,” she said, pushing the package into his hands. “It’s a ‘I’m sorry I made you get a fever, please forgive me’ cake.” 

Her arms placed the bag with what Levi assumed was a cake. He felt speechless. Luckily for Levi, as the night they met, Y/N didn’t have an issue doing the talking. 

“I was thinking, ‘What could I give him that he’d enjoy?’” she began to ramble. 

‘What could you give me? I got plenty of options... no no, focus you idiot, focus.’ 

“And then I thought, who doesn’t like cake?” 

‘... me... I don’t like cake.’ 

“So I made you my specialty! Upside-down caramel apple cake, very sweet, very caramelly to fight the winter.” 

There was a brief silence that was filled with her smiling back at him. “So... am I forgiven?” she insisted, with a subtle cheekiness as if it never crossed her mind that her apology idea wasn’t good. 

“... Ehm,” 

‘Whatever you do, motherfucker, DON’T tell her you don’t like sweet shit.’ 

“Yeah, thank you.” 

“Great!” She clapped her hands with enthusiasm and a big bright smile. 

‘See... it wasn’t that hard. I’ll just give it to any of the shitty brats I have as cadets and end of the deal-’ 

“Erwin told me he will receive me in a minute because he’s having a meeting. He told me I could come over and have tea with you. I’ll cut the cake for us.” 

‘Fuck-’ 

Red lights turned on in his mind as soon as she mentioned that. 

“I mean... if you don’t mind,” Y/N’s enthusiasm dropped quickly as she noticed his deep frown and conflicted expression. 

“No-” 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble with your girlfriend or something.” 

‘SHIT, she truly thinks I’m fucking taken! Now, let's just turn down that idea smoothly.’ 

“I don’t know who told you that shit, but I’m not taken.” 

“Oh-” His voice had come out more severe than he anticipated, and perhaps the permanent frown on his face didn’t help him seem more approachable. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to overstep.” 

“I’ll just pay Hange a visit then and wait there. Sorry for the inconvenience-” 

“No,” he quickly added, cutting her mid-sentence and sounding more like an order than anything else. She froze midway with wide open eyes, one hand holding the wrapped cake and the other scratching the back of her head. “I mean, no... stay. I already have the tea.” 

‘Like that, you fucking asshole, quieter.’ 

“You’re not... bothering me,” 

Four words he had been trying to say in half of all their interactions. 

She hummed in understanding. “Alright then.” 

Levi quickly left the cake on his desk and began to make space for them to have a moment. The nervousness in his movements made him ashamed. ‘I’m a grown-ass man, man up!’ 

The scarf and hat came off as she took off some of her outside clothes once settled in. Her curious eyes roamed around the place, catching little details. “Did you move in recently?” she asked, making Levi freeze as he was putting aside piles of paperwork. 

Frowning heavily, “No,” he said, confused about what made her arrive at that conclusion. 

“Oh, you’re into minimalism then! I like it.” 

‘That’s what nice people with way better social skills than mine say when they’re not trying to say that your place feels like you’ve been evicted.’ 

He pressed his lips together. Once the desk had been cleared of work, he moved to the tea set he had originally made for himself and began to prepare a cup. 

“Could mine be with two sugar cubes or honey, please?” she said while taking a seat in front of his desk. “Cream too, please.” 

Levi stopped midway and looked down at what he was brewing. The idea of something more than strong black tea had never crossed his mind. That’s when he realized that when Erwin had people over for meetings, he always had options, something Levi probably hardly ever considered because he didn’t like people, so he hardly ever invited someone over. 

No panic, he was a soldier; soldiers act under pressure. “Sure,” he replied, and before she could add anything else, Levi walked to the door and did a fast-paced walk to the higher-ups' kitchen, opened a cabinet that obviously had “Erwin’s” tag on it, and took what he needed. If the blond had any particular issue with it, he could always blame Hange. It wouldn’t be the first time the brunette stole food from him, and it wouldn’t be the last. 

Back inside, two cups were between them, face to face, with one piece of cake for each. 

“The countryside is very nice, isn’t it,” she mentioned casually, making some small talk to which Levi only nodded in agreement before taking another sip of his tea. “Did you like the cake?” 

He almost choked, her dreamy eyes haunting him, expectant. His hand grabbed the fork and cut a small piece. 

‘We used to eat moldy bread in the underground, let’s not be a pussy and eat this. You bite, you swallow, and then you pretend you enjoy it.’ 

And he did exactly that, despite his dislike for the heavily sweet taste. “Not bad,” he muttered, hoping it was the end of it. 

“I’m so happy you like it.” 

Ah, her beautiful smile with the setting winter’s sun coming through the window and landing on her face. Absolutely worth it. 

Thankfully for him, she was cheerful and he didn’t have to do much. She began to tell him that she was doing some apprenticeships to be a midwife, so she volunteered to help with some births around the area. That’s why she traveled. She was studying heavily, and she had two roommates aside from her babies. Everything went smoothly until- 

“Your desk is very nice, Captain.” 

The tea almost made it to his nose as he choked on it. Bad... bad combination of words considering what he had just dreamed of her a couple of hours ago. 

“Very sturdy,” she mentioned as she ran one hand over the wood. “It’s very nice quality.” 

‘Holy shit...’ Levi’s rational side, and not the one who behaved like a horny teenage boy, insisted she was just trying to make him feel included in the conversation, giving him a chance to talk about himself more. 

“You polish it frequently, don’t you?” 

‘I’d gladly polish it with you on top- No, God... don’t give me such hard battles.’ 

“Yes,” was all he said as he put all his self-control into not recalling the mental images his own brain created about her spread out on top of it. 

Her rhythmic tapping against the surface made him even more nervous. He could perceive her uneasiness. ‘What are you thinking? Please be me...’ 

“So, um...” she cleared her throat and her cheeks tinted. Levi felt as if all the warning signs in his body turned on as if his Ackerman powers got ready for an attack. “I... I hope I’m not overstepping.” 

‘Oh no... oh no.’ 

“But since you mentioned you don’t have a special someone in your life right now...” 

‘Oh YES! Yes! That’s more like it.’ His stoic expression gave nothing away, but his back straightened up immediately, readying himself for what he felt was coming. 

“Mh, you see... I don’t know you that well.” Levi felt as if each word drew him closer to his goal but farther away at the same time, like an optical illusion in the desert. “But, I mean, I don’t lose anything by trying.” 

‘Just kiss me or kill me already, for fuck’s sake.’ 

“One of my friends would very much appreciate it if you gave her a chance.” 

‘... and she chose to kill me. Great. Next time, point to my head so it doesn’t hurt so fucking much.’ 

“I’m... not interested, nothing to do with your friend,” he muttered. The words left his lips with a resignation hard to explain but easy to feel. 

‘Come on... let’s fucking admit it, she’s asking me on behalf of a friend. Which, by the way, is something that Erwin couldn’t fucking do. She’s simply not into me, that’s all. Let’s buckle up, be a man, and understand when it’s time to take a step back.’ 

“So, that’s all?” Hange asked with their mouth full. “She came all the way here, gave you a cake, and you just let her go... like that?” 

“What the fuck did you expect me to do, kidnap her?” Levi answered as he admired his friend eating the entire cake that was meant for him. 

“No! But you could have said, ‘I’m not interested in your friend because I’m interested in you!’” 

“If she’s asking on behalf of a friend, it’s because she’s not interested,” Levi argued back as if his conclusion was obvious. 

“She’s not interested because you’ve been acting like a pussy!” Hange shouted back with their mouth still full. 

“Oi...” Levi complained as if the accusation had felt personal. 

“You know what you should do? Go there, wait outside Erwin’s office so when they are done, you can offer to walk her to take the ferry back to the Capital. Actively show her that you’re interested.” 

Levi grimaced uneasily. “Why would a girl want some random dude like me to walk her anywhere? I'm as much of a danger as any other fucker out there.” 

“’CAUSE, you’re Erwin’s friend. She already considers you a nice person by association. Walk her, spend time with her, FUCKING TALK TO HER.” 

For the first time in their friendship, it seemed like Hange was the one losing their patience and not him. Levi just clicked his tongue, but the brunette wasn’t done. “You better go and do it...” 

“Or else?” 

“Or else, I’m going to ask her on behalf of a friend. And I’m not Erwin... I won’t smoothly wonder if maybe she’s interested. No, no, I’ll show up there and say, ‘Hey, my friend is getting callouses on his hand from jerking off thinking of you. Would you consider getting your guts rearranged by humanity’s strongest soldier? Thank you.’” 

Levi felt the colour drain from his face and his soul. The death glare was quick to appear. “You wouldn't fucking dare.” 

Hange’s Cheshire smile crept onto their features. Was Levi considering that his day was going to end with him chasing Hange down the corridors and tackling them to the floor before they managed to open Erwin’s office? OBVIOUSLY not. 

“Stop resisting, four eyes!” Levi tried to keep them in place. One of his hands was covering their mouth as his body did everything he could to drag them back to their office. 

“Are you alright?” Her voice brought both back to reality as she looked at them extremely confused, one eyebrow raised and a deep frown. Erwin, who was behind her, covered his face in second-hand embarrassment. 

“No-” Once he dropped his guard, Hange licked Levi’s hand as a secret weapon that made the short man’s clean freak instincts kick in, withdrawing it in disgust. 

Shaking his hand in the air to get the saliva off, Hange took the moment he was busy to say, “Y/N, sweetie, I was wondering if I could ask you a question. You see-” 

“I’ll walk you!” 

There was dead silence reigning in the place, but with mixed reactions. Erwin tried to dissociate from the situation as it felt absurdly childish. Y/N was simply not getting whatever was going on. Hange couldn’t hold back a prideful, sassy smirk as they got what they wanted. And Levi? Levi felt he was boiling in his own embarrassment. 

“Tch, I mean. You capital people are so stupidly carefree, it’s too late. I’ll walk you to the station,” Levi smoothed the situation out. However, deep down he wanted to hide himself in a tiny, dark, humid place and never leave. 

“Aw, that’s so nice of you! If it’s not much of a bother, I’ll feel safer with you around. It gets darker earlier at this time of year. Thank you,” She smiled, she blushed, she thanked him, and more importantly, she ignored all his degradating assumptions. 

‘Wait... it was this easy all this time?’ 

Levi did turn around to give Hange a deadly stare and a silent warning of ‘you’ve no idea what I’ll do when I return,’ as he walked down the halls side by side with Y/N. However, they only smiled brightly while raising both thumbs up, cheering him on. 

“What the hell did you tell him?” Erwin asked. 

Hange scoffed proudly and declared, “You can question my methods but not my results.”

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthor @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @galactict3a @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 Wanna join my tag list? Here! You don't appear on this list? Do not worry! there's a limit of tags and I'll add you in the comments <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

interaction with mama or papa leech (or both) please!

yuu was walking down the hallway along with jade and floyd, exchanging stories of recent happenings before it was interrupted by the sound of someone calling out to them.

"jade! floyd!"

by the looks of the twins' excited expressions and the occasion of family day, they connected the dots that it must be their parents and swiftly hid behind one of the brothers before the person came into view, trying to remove their own presence. although jade had clarified that they had a normal family business, they can't help but get nervous and perhaps a bit frightened, especially with how the leech's definition of "normal" is quite... questionable. maybe if they're lucky, they can make a run for it before they start to take notice...

(i hope i did this right!)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

“Mother and father.”

“Mom!! Pops!!”

You hesitantly peered out from behind the twins. Two lanky figures towered over you, as imposing as skyscrapers.

Mr. Leech was stone-faced, skin slightly grooved like a rock carved by the crashing waves, teal hair streaked with black slicked back with gel. His eyes were like beacons of light searching in the night--sharp, discerning. He wore a smart pinstriped suit, polished shoes, and gloves, reminding you of an older Jade.

Mrs. Leech's lithe form was wrapped in an off-the-shoulder sun dress, the slit of it riding halfway up her thigh, skirt spilling into a waterfall of gathered tulle. A string of creamy pearls--simple, understated--drapes across her collar. Her wide brim hat shaded her face, but you could still admire how she had expertly painted her lips and eyes, how her hair fell in a loose wave over one shoulder. She was like Floyd, mixing an impeccable fashion sense with a slight hint of danger.

When Mrs. Leech spotted her sons, she charged at them at a speed that was shocking for a woman in high heels. She threw her arms around Jade and Floyd, pulling them in for a tight hug.

"My babies!! I've missed you so much, darlings," she gushed. "How are classes? How are clubs? You must tell me everything...!"

“It’s wonderful to see you as well. We have much to catch up on.”

“Ehehehe~ Mom? you’re squeezin’ me so hard! Watch out, cuz I’ll get’cha back!!”

Mr. Leech cleared his throat. "Pardon the interruption, but..." His eyes cut to you—no longer concealed by the twins—and you froze, pinned in place by his stern gaze. “It seems we have a stranger in our midst. Jade and Floyd's... friendly acquaintance, I presume."

Mrs. Leech released her children. “Just a moment, dear!!”

The giantess appeared before you, her shadow larger than life. You managed a single shaky step backwards before her claw-like nails dug into you.

“Ah, mom went right to work,” Floyd said in a singsong.

“Do stay still,” Jade advised you. “It will make the process go by much more quickly.”

J-Just what is going to happen to me?!

Mrs. Leech’s hands ran the length of your body and its crevices. She never lingered in one spot. Pat, pat, pat, then onto the next area.

A full body pat-down?!

“All clear,” Mrs. Leech called to her husband.

“Excellent. That is a relief." Mr. Leech adjusted his tie and offered a wane smile. "Excuse us. We're in the habit of running through a series of safety protocols before receiving guests. Unfortunately, it's terribly inefficient to carry out in a public setting." He paused. "... How do you feel about signing nondisclosure agreements?"

"N-Nondisclosure agreements?!"

"Honey, you're going to terrify the poor thing," Mrs. Leech tutted--but she was giggling faintly as though she had just heard a witty joke. "Don't worry. My husband can be a very gentle man."

D-Don't that imply he also has the capacity to be very ungentle?!

"E-Erm..." You worriedly glanced at the twins, who were smirking (but, you had noticed, not actually intervening).

"What does your family do, anyway?" you once asked Jade.

He had taped a finger to his lips and mysteriously answered, "They simply run an independent business that dabbles in a bit of everything. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you."

"Some help here, guys?" you whimpered.

"Sorry, not much we can do," Floyd responded with a (very unhelpful) shrug. "Dad's got his stuffy processes. No one can get in the way of those."

"I-I'm not going to be roped into making as blood pact, am I?!"

"Blood pact? My, what an active imagination you have." Jade chuckled. "I believe I have informed you before that our family business is nothing out of the ordinary."

"Frankly, I'm not sure I believe you anymore!"

"Oh my~ Did you hear that, dear?" Mrs. Leech grabbed her husband by the arm. "It sounds as though Jade and Floyd's friend doesn't trust us."

"Indeed." He was smiling, but it did not fully reach his eyes. "It would be a shame if we allowed them to walk away with the wrong impression of our happy little family."

"Fufufu... We'll have to correct that, won't we?"

[koiiiji]

part 2 for this

author’s note ; i like dynamics with Goo and his secret friends, so it’s gonna be few more parts!

tw ; none, maybe fluff

working for Goo Kim had its perks. money and old friendship were a major ones, but the real fun came from the influence you wielded over his friends. dangerous, powerful men and all were under strict orders to cater to your whims — Goo valued your intel too much to let anyone else mess with you.

Lee Taesung had learned this the hard way when he spent an entire afternoon trailing you around a mall, carrying your shopping bags like some kind of personal valet. his discomfort reached its peak when you dragged him into a lingerie store, enjoying every moment of his mortification as he stood there, visibly uncomfortable, holding up delicate lace with the expression of a man who would rather be anywhere else.

now, it was Cheon Taejin’s turn.

Taejin, unlike Taesung, had a proud, almost regal demeanor. where Taesung would grumble and sulk, Taejin held his tongue, though you could always see the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“where to, boss?” Taejin asked with just enough sarcasm to let you know he didn’t appreciate the nickname as he opened the door of the sleek black car.

“nail salon, Taejin,” you replied, sliding into the backseat with a smirk. “my appointment is in fifteen minutes, so let’s not waste any time.”

he said nothing, just slid into the driver’s seat and pulled into traffic. you watched the world blur by outside the window, your fingers drumming lightly on your thigh as you planned your next move.

while parking the car in the parking lot, Taejin got out of the car, holding the door for you, he casually asked if you would stay long there.

“oh, i might be a while — there’s a new color i want to try.”

“right,” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear. “wouldn’t want to ruin your day.”

you took your time in the salon, chatting with the manicurist as she worked, enjoying latest tea about that one girl drama, who also visits your manicurist. when you finally emerged, nails gleaming a perfect shade of crimson, Taejin was leaning against the car, clutching a cigarette between his teeth.

the nail salon visit was followed by a trip to the hair salon, a boutique, and finally, after you had squeezed every last drop of patience from Taejin, a drive to Goo Kim’s office.

Taejin’s knuckles were practically bone-white as he parked the car, clearly holding onto the last shreds of his composure. before he could say anything, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, casting a quick glance over your shoulder.

“you know, Taejin,” you mused, your voice laced with mock concern, “you’ve been awfully quiet today. i hope you’re not mad at me for taking you on this little adventure.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied through gritted teeth, his expression remaining stoic despite the irritation brewing beneath the surface.

“good to hear,” you said sweetly. “now, let’s not keep Goo waiting. i’ve got something new for him.”

you made your way into the building, Taejin trailing a few steps behind. as you entered the lobby of Goo’s expansive office, you spotted Samuel leaning casually against the wall, his gaze sliding to you the moment you walked in.

“Samuel!” you called out, rushing toward him with open arms. Samuel barely had time to react before you were embracing him. “oh, you’ve done something different,” he said, glancing at your freshly manicured nails, his voice smooth and practiced. “new color? it suits you.”

You pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “oh thank you, Samuel!! i knew someone would notice. i’ve been dragging poor Taejin around all day, but he didn’t say a word, can you imagine?!!!”

Samuel chuckled, casting a sidelong glance at Taejin, who had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. “ah, Taejin. so focused on the job, aren’t you?”

“i’m not paid to notice nail polish,” Taejin muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.

you turned to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “maybe you should be, Taejin. it’s the little things that make the difference. girls like a guy who pays attention to the details.”

Samuel smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange as much as you were. “she’s right, you know. attention to detail is key, even outside of work.”

Taejin sighed, rolling his eyes slightly but otherwise refusing to take the bait. “noted. i’ll make sure to compliment your next manicure. just give me a heads up beforehand so i can practice my delivery.”

you laughed, patting Taejin on the arm as you moved past him. “i knew there was a soft spot in there somewhere. you’re learning, Cheon. soon you’ll be a gentleman yet.”

Samuel followed behind you, still chuckling as you all made your way toward Goo’s office. as you approached the door, you threw one last glance over your shoulder at Taejin, who was still following dutifully behind.

“don’t worry, Taejin. i’ll make sure Goo knows just how valuable you’ve been today,” you said with a wink.

“i’m sure you will,” he replied, his voice resigned yet still carrying that ever-present edge of pride.

working for Goo Kim certainly had its perks. and as long as his friends were willing to play along, you intended to enjoy every single one of them. after all, it wasn’t every day you got to boss around some of the most feared men in the city.

and if they didn’t like it? well, that was just too bad.

[symbiomancy]

movie —getō suguru

—summary: You can't decide on an outfit to wear to the movies.

—cw: f!reader, brother x sister, p in v sex, creampie, foreplay // AO3 ver

—wc: 3,8k (send help)

Suguru leans against your doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He takes a moment to survey your room, the clothes strewn across the floor, even more clothes piled onto your computer chair, a mountain of makeup items on your desk. With any luck you’ll clean up before he plans to vacuum tomorrow afternoon but knowing you, he’ll end up sorting through everything and cleaning up for you.

Ah, the  things he does for the sake of your company.

His eyes snap up from the floor when you step out from behind the closet, pulling a shirt over your head, the zipper of your skirt fisted in your free hand to keep it from slipping off.

“We’re going to be late,” he says and you visibly jump, tug the shirt over your head, hair sticking out in every direction. You frown at him, grab the first shirt off the floor your hand finds and throw it at his head. He catches it with ease, stares at you with an unamused look.

“Pervert,” you say, turning to the full-length mirror resting against the wall. “I can’t get these stupid socks to stay up.” You lift a leg to show off your white over the knee sock; its’ top curls into itself with the movement, slides down your knee.

“C’mere.” Suguru pushes off the doorway, beckons you along with the sweep of his hand. He piles your array of decorative pillows and stuffed animals to one side of the bed, just enough to give himself room to sit, and pats his thigh. You pull the packet of double-sided tape from the nightstand next to your bed, press it into his waiting hand, and sit on his lap. Suguru raises a brow at the back of your neck but doesn’t say anything, busies himself with peeling the strips of tape from the glossy paper to not be distracted by the way you squirm in his lap, his cock pressing against your ass.

He presses the pieces of tape against your thigh, then tugs the over-the-knee sock up. “Press down,” he says, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. You clear your throat, let him adjust your fingers, and do as he says. Suguru places the tape onto your other thigh, pulls the sock over it and presses down, hands cupped around your thigh so everything adheres.

They’re warm, large. Sturdy. He cooks, he cleans — he folds your knees over your shoulders with them. Simple black rings adorn his fingers. His nail polish is chipping; you’re not sure if you have any black left. You make a mental note to grab a bottle from the store on your way home from the movie.

“There.” He tentatively releases his hold on your thigh. The ghost of his touch lingers, thrums beneath your skin. You peel yourself from his lap and skitter over to your mirror, do a twirl, lift one leg and then the other, drop into a crouch and stand again. The socks and their tape stay in place. You flash him a grin from the mirror, blow him a kiss that he catches, presses against his cheek. Warmth blooms in your chest.

Suguru lets himself flop onto his back, fishing his phone from his pocket to check the time. If you manage to get off your ass and get dressed in the next 15 minutes you might actually make it to the movie. 10 minutes, if you want to grab something from the concession stand. He navigates to the cinema’s homepage to check if and when there are any screenings for tomorrow. Then again, cleaning with you in the house is a day-long activity.

You frown at your reflection. Now that the socks stay up, you realize the pretty lace at the top doesn’t go with your skirt. It drops into an unceremonious pile on the floor as you unzip it and beeline over to your closet to flip through the skirts piled on their shelf. Maybe you should do a thorough try-on one day and get rid of everything you haven’t worn in a while or will never wear again. Bet your big brother would like that. You conjure an image of his heavy, heated gaze, staring at you through lidded eyes, a finger raised in a signal to give him a pretty twirl. The mere idea of it sends a jolt of excitement through your very being and you bury your face into the smooth fabric of a white skirt and squeal.

“You weren’t any more or less dressed when I got in the shower. Half an hour ago.” Suguru glances up from his phone just as you’ve stepped into the white skirt, tugging the zipper up.

“Yes, I was.” You stare at your reflection in the mirror. “Fuck, I need a new shirt.”

“What did I say about swearing?”

Heat erupts in your cheeks, in your ears, rolls into your torso and spreads into your extremities.

Suguru tucks away his phone, looks at you from his spot between the round migrating plushies, swats one away with his hand. It rolls off the bed. When you lean forward to grab a shirt from the ground, Suguru gets a full view of your ass, the curve of your cunt just barely peeking out. He places a hand over his half-hard cock, palms it through his pants. “The fuck are you wearing? That’s not underwear; that’s silly string between your ass.”

“Is so.” Your hand shoots to your behind, tucks the skirt hem against your cheeks. “You can see it through the fabric can’t you?”

“That too.” Even if there’s barely anything to see, he thinks, but doesn’t bother verbalizing it.

You frown, brows furrowed, and turn your lower body to check your reflection in the mirror. It’s not noticeable unless you know where to look, but if you lean forward… The skirt hikes up when you test it and you make an indignant noise in the back of your throat, stand up ramrod straight.

“Seriously?” You tug on the back of your skirt again, lean forward. It hikes up again, pussy on full display.

Suguru has tucked his phone back into his pocket, now upright again, sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on his knees. He eyes the flimsy fabric, the way you flash your pretty little cunt at him every time you try to bend over and the skirt hikes up. A warmth curls at the base of his spine and his cock jerks in his pants, tenting the material. He stands.

You don’t even notice he’s moved at all until he stops behind you, swings an arm around your front, pulls you flush against him. He rolls his hips against your ass, cock straining in his pants. You push back against his body, delight in the little gasp it elicits from him, so breathy. “See what you do to me?” He mutters, words muffled against the side of your neck. “Are you going to take responsibility for getting your big brother like this?”

You hum, a denial on the tip of your tongue as you lean forward to adjust your frilly socks, and Suguru’s body follows, arms still tightly wound around your waist. His cock presses against your barely-covered pussy, drags the fabric just enough to send a jolt to your core, heat pooling between your legs. You take an even breath in, ignore the heat of his breaths against your skin.

“That’s a you problem, pervert.”

Suguru releases his grip on you, tilts his head just enough to catch your eye in the mirror; one which you immediately turn your gaze away from to stare at your socked feet, hands working on smoothing down the wrinkles in your skirt. Maybe this one won’t do, either. You very pointedly don’t look up when his hands rest on your shoulders and he coaxes you to turn around to face him.

He leans forward, wraps his arms around your thighs and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal, hands finding purchase in the back of his black shirt, and his own hand smacks against your ass with a crisp smack and you nearly squeal again. Suguru turns, stalks across the room and drops you onto the spot he’d cleared on your bed, although it has once again been overtaken by your round forever migrating plushies. They bounce with you, several dropping to the ground and rolling away.

You barely have enough time to reorient yourself when his hands close around your ankles and tug you over to the edge of the bed. He leans in, one knee placed on the very edge of your bed, just shy of your cunt, hands on either side of your head. His hair is messy, strands falling out of the half-up style he’s sporting.

“Now is that any way to talk to your big brother?” He brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead with a hum. “I cook for you, clean, help you with your homework, let you climb into my bed because you’re so afraid of the dark—”

Your hand strikes out, aiming for his side but he catches it, fingers wrapping tightly around yours. He lifts it to his face and presses a kiss against the inside of your wrist. “S-Sorry,” you croak out with what must amount to a grimace, not an attempt at a smile.

“I take care of you… I spoil you rotten, and you call me a pervert.” He tuts. “I can look at you if I want to; you were made for me. These hands,” he spreads your fingers, laces them with his, “this face,” his eyes land on you, half-lidded and smoldering, and heat erupts under your skin, blooms in your face and you have the sudden desire to shy away from him, burrow between the blankets and never look at him again. “This body — this pussy.” He brings his knee forward, presses it against your cunt, smears your arousal against the jean fabric. Your mouth falls open, back arching, hips bucking into him. “Everything about you was made for me. Just me.”

The world swims. You breathe in, nearly choke on it when Suguru adjusts his knee, the coarse jean fabric dragging against your throbbing pussy. He’s so good, always knows how to take care of you, better than anyone.

“Say it.”

“What?” You blink, mind fuzzy, composure fraying at the edges.

“You were made for me.”

“I was made for you.”

“Good girl.” Suguru leans in, presses his face to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the sensitive skin. A shiver strikes down your spine, into your core, wetness pooling between your legs. His lips press down into a chaste kiss against your neck and u whimper. He gains courage from it, brings his lips flush against your skin in featherlight open-mouthed kisses. They trail up the column of your neck, over the curve of your jaw, to the corner of your mouth. He pulls back with a grin, pupils blown, eyes half-lidded.

You pout up at him, bring a hand to the back of his neck, the soft strands of hair splayed between your fingers, and pull his lips onto yours. His tongue surges forward, pries your lips apart and wraps around your own. There are large hands in your hair and on your throat and on your jaw, fingers pressing down against your cheeks, cupping your face. He tastes like mint, like that gum he likes, the one that’s so overwhelmingly minty it makes you sneeze every time you chew it. But on his tongue, it’s a pleasant aftertaste, something you could easily get addicted to. 

Suguru adjusts his stance, leans on one hand to bring the other one away from your face to explore your body, fingers ghosting over your skin. They graze the underwire of your bra and he pulls back abruptly, a string of spit connecting your lips, to frown at the offending garment.

You follow his gaze, prop yourself onto your elbows, fingers attempting to undo the hooks at your back. Suguru stares at your exposed throat and leans in to press a chaste kiss against it. Then another and another, trailing down as you frantically attempt to dislodge the bra hooks, heart thundering in your chest. He grazes his teeth over your skin, bites down and you mewl at the pain that erupts in your flesh. Suguru mutters an apology against your throat, presses his tongue flat against the bite. It soothes the pain, but does little to calm your pulse in your ears.

Your hands are shaking, a sob stuck in your throat. This stupid bra and those stupid hooks, bent out of shape and always getting stuck, ruining everything —

“Breathe,” Suguru mumbles as he resumes his movement, inching closer to your breasts. “You can do it. Take a breath.” His hands glide down the length of your torso, grab a handful of ass each, and squeeze. “You’re okay.”

You swallow around the panic clawing up your throat and run your fingers over the hooks behind your back. Two are loose, just the one remaining latched. Suguru’s lips return to you, bite down at the skin pulled taut over the collarbone. He suckles on the blooming bruise, runs his warm tongue over it to soothe the ache.

The bra finally — finally — releases and you claw the straps from your shoulders, discard the item onto the floor and tangle your fingers in his hair. Suguru snatches your free hand, pins it against the bed, continues his assault of open-mouthed kisses over the expanse of your skin. He nibbles on the plush of your breast.

His tongue circles your nipple, glides over it and you buck your hips voluntarily. His hot mouth closes around the stiff peak and he chuckles. It reverberates against your skin, in the very cavity of your chest. You shiver, too warm and too cold at once, and grind down on the knee between your legs.

Suguru releases your breast, huffs a cool breath against it and you inhale, sharp and high-pitched. He tuts. “So impatient.” His grip on your thighs slackens, moves across the skin, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. They stop at the hem of your skirt, lingering there for just a moment and you whine, tug on the fistful of hair in your vise grip. His mouth falls open in a barely audible gasp, eyes fluttering shut, a notch between his brows.

Fuck, you think, that had to have hurt. You untangle your shaking hand, wince when a few strands stick to your sweaty fingers and tug his head along. Sorry, sorry, sorry, you chant in your head, angling your hand between your bodies to tug at the skirt’s zipper. One of his hands swats yours away, then pushes under the white fabric. His fingers ghost over your underwear — fuck, there really is barely any fabric to it — over your clit and you buck against them.

“Keep it on,” he says, voice smooth and rich. His fingers burrow under your underwear — really, you’re never wearing anything like that out of the house, period, he’ll make sure of it if he has to — and slide through your folds, circle your clit. His thumb comes to rest against your entrance. He pulls your lips apart, gathers your essence onto the digit. 

“Suguru…” You whine. He hums, takes a breath to ease the horrible discomfort rearing it’s ugly head in his pants. “Stop teasing and put it in already; you’re gonna ruin it if you keep being mean.”

He laughs, low and honey-like as he withdraws slightly, places his hands onto your thighs to push them apart. He snatches a decorative pillow from the foot of your bed to prop under your hips. It leaves him nearly at eye-level with your weeping cunt. The non-existent underwear is drenched and he pushes the sopping fabric aside, stares at the threads of slick connecting it to your swollen pussy. He pauses, watches you clench around nothing and fuck, it sends a jolt straight to his dick. It presses against the crotch of his jeans, so hard it aches. At this pace, he might cum on the spot.

“You’re going to kill me like this, baby,” he says as he hooks his fingers over your ruined panties and tugs them down your thighs.

“You gotta make up your mind; do you want my legs open or closed?”

He sends you a playful glare and pulls his shirt over his head, drops it onto the pile on the floor. His belt buckle clangs against the wooden floor and he almost trips over his pants and boxers when you let your thighs fall open, a hand spreading your pussy. You clench around nothing, so desperate for your big brother’s cock.

Suguru spits into his hand, gives his cock three quick tugs because that’s all he can handle; he might really bust in his hand like a loser if he doesn’t get to be inside you right now. He lines himself up, drags the tip through your folds, gathering your arousal on his tip and you moan, low and just barely there but it sends a fire spreading under his skin and he can see his cock jump at the sound.

He presses the head of his cock against your dripping cunt and pauses just as he’s about to breach it. “Breathe,” he instructs, “relax. I take care of you, don’t I?” You nod frantically, take a deep breath in to quell your racing heart. Suguru nudges the tip of his cock inside and slides in slowly, inch-by-inch, breath by breath. When he bottoms out, pelvis flush against yours, he pauses and you both release a long breath. He’s so big, so thick, fills you up so perfectly — fuck, maybe you really were tailor-made for him — and you clench around him — fuck, you can barely clench those muscles with him inside — and he exhales, quick this time, nothing but a low hiss of pleasure. You’re so warm, so tight, he’s going to lose his mind, and he decides that yes, this is the only pussy he wants out of this life, yours, always yours because fuck, you take him so well.

You reach out, place your hands onto his shoulders, slide them across the skin until your fingers meet at the nape of his neck.

Suguru leans down, presses a kiss to your lips, tongue wrapped around yours. He swallows your wanton moan, sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. You clench around him involuntarily. “Shit — you’re gonna fuckin’ castrate me like this, baby. Are you that desperate for your big brother’s cock?” His hips twitch and he pulls back slightly, agonizingly slow but the drag of him is so sweet you see black spots in the edge of your vision. He fills you up so well when he bottoms out, tip nudging so deep you almost see stars.

He picks up the pace, hips jerking forward faster, harsher, and your eyes roll back and you’re merely working with Suguru’s motions now. He’s rutting into your poor pussy like an animal in heat, heavy breaths escaping him, caressing your sweat-slick skin. Heat coils in your stomach, you’re so close to the edge, ready to tip off and dissolve into a gooey, mindless, weightless bliss.

“Suguru, I’m—”

“Do it.” 

Heat flushes through you, pussy clenching around him as your orgasm crashes into you, knocks the breath from your lungs. The world becomes blurry, you can barely register your own ragged breaths as the warmth travels through you, and white sparks behind your eyelids if you try to close them. The euphoria of it races through your veins, sets every nerve ending alight, tapering at your fingertips. It laps at your thoughts, submerges every possible thought in a sea of Suguru, how good he is to you, how good he makes you feel, how well his cock fits into you, and how well you fit around his cock, like you’re made for each other.

Suguru’s hips speed up, it’s too much and you want to cry but it’s heavenly, too much and too little at the same time, you want to push him away and pull him in at the same time. He’s pistoning into you, rhythm almost sloppy, and then—

He stills abruptly, presses himself deep into your still-spasming cunt, so deep it draws another mewl from your lips, and spills inside. Warm, he’s so warm, he fills you up so well. You wrap your exhausted, shaking, legs around his waist, hook your heels together to keep him in place. Every muscle in your body is sore, screaming for rest as he drapes his torso on top of yours, forehead resting against your shoulder, chest heaving.

He becomes dead weight on top of you all at once. His skin is sticky with a sheen of sweat and you place a hand on the back of his neck, card your fingers through the sweat-slick strands of what has remained of his hairstyle. The world stands still for a few moments, the rev of an engine and bird chitter filtering in through the cracked window. This is nice, you decide, you could stay here, like this, with your big brother, the moment frozen in time forever for you to keep.

Then Suguru groans, braces his hands on either side of his hips and pushes himself up with shaking arms and pulls out. His cum dribbles out of you as he leaves and you almost sigh. This is a nice set of sheets. He stays as he is, hunched over, arms slowly regaining their strength, and stares, transfixed, as his cum oozes out of you. He eases himself onto his knees in front of the bed and scoops some of the escaping cum up with his fingers, pushes it back into your puffy cunt. You whine low in your throat and his gaze snaps up.

“I’m sticky ‘cause of you.”

He sighs and dissolves into a short, low laugh. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them against your thigh. “C’mon,” he wraps a hand around either ankle and pulls you closer, “bath time.” He unzips your skirt and tugs the socks free of the tape — hey, they survived you getting railed by your big brother — and discards them amidst the piles of clothes on the floor.

“But we’re missing the movie.”

“We can go tomorrow. Or…” He stands, slides one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifts you up. You cringe when your body is jostled with the movement and something slips out of you, glance over your shoulder at the glob of cum that’s splattered on the floor. “We could just make our own movie. When you’re older.”

note: iirc this is my first actual p in v smut, we can only go up from here, lads

divider/banner credit: @/cafekitsune

[starry-crossing-zone]

Nail Polish - Hunter (TBB)

Summary: After Omega shows an interest in some nail polish, you steal some for her. Hunter pretends to be annoyed. Length: 1816 words Warnings: Female Reader; Former Bounty Hunter Reader; No Physical Description of Reader; No Y/N Used; Pickpocketing; Mentions of Dark Pasts (Reader)

Walking through the busy streets of a Mid Rim planet, you kept a close eye on Omega as you made your way back to the Marauder. The Bad Batch had split up to gather supplies and you and Omega had been sent to get a new water purification filter, which was securely strapped to your chest.

“Come on, Meg, this way,” you directed, resting a hand on Omega’s shoulder.

“Wait, what’s that?” Omega asked, pointing at a stand to the side.

You glanced over before slowly leading Omega over to the small stand. A group of merchants greeted you as you approached, and you quickly sized them up. Glancing down at what Omega was curiously examining, you bent down to Omega’s height.

“That’s nail polish.”

“What’s its purpose?” Omega questioned, turning to you.

“You paint your fingernails or your toenails with it. It’s pretty to look at,” you explained to her.

“Is it permanent?”

“No, just temporary. It’ll last longer if you add more layers of it,” you continued, glancing over the various colors at the stall.

“And can you only pick one color?”

“No. You can pick as many as you want. In the Inner Rim, there’re artists that spend their whole day painting people’s nails.”

“Really?” Omega gasped, causing you to nod.

“Where are you two from?” the vender asked, eyeing the two of you.

“Outer Rim. Just passing through,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. You stared down at Omega, who was still curiously studying the vials of nail polish. You paused for a moment before nudging Omega in the side. “Come on, Meg. Let’s get going. The boys will worry if we’re late.”

“Alright,” Omega agreed, setting the vial of nail polish back.

Bidding the venders goodbye, Omega and you turned to head back to where the Marauder was docked. You waited until you were a few streets over before sliding two vials of nail polish out of the hidden compartment in your vambrace.

“I thought that you liked these colors the best,” you stated quietly.

Omega’s eyes widened in surprise when she spotted the two vials of nail polish in your hand. She quickly grabbed them, smiling giddily, before she quickly connected the dots. Turning back to you, Omega frowned.

“When did you pay for these?”

“That’s not for you to worry about, Meg,” you dismissed, pushing Omega forward to stay on schedule. Omega hissed your name, looking around nervously.

“We can’t do that," she insisted.

“Why not?”

“It’s illegal.”

“Well, I can think of quite a few other illegal things that we’ve done,” you replied evenly, leading Omega into the docking bay. “We’ll just add it to the list.”

“How did you do it?” Omega asked curiously.

“That’s far from the most impressive move that I can pull off,” you stated, shooting Omega a smirk. “Come on, Meg, give me more credit than that.”

“Can you show me?”

“I don’t think that Hunter would approve of that,” you mused. After a moment, you added, “We can start tomorrow.”

Omega grinned, but you shot her a look to keep a low profile. Omega stowed the nail polish into her pockets as the two of you walked towards the Marauder. Tech looked up from his datapad and perked up when he spotted the water filter.

“Ah, just what I was waiting for.”

“Sorry, got a little sidetracked,” you replied, tossing it over to Tech.

“What kind of sidetracked?” Hunter asked, stepping off of the ship. “Imperial trouble?”

“Just some window shopping,” you spoke evenly, folding your arms over your chest. “Don’t get your bandana all in a twist.”

“We now possess all of the items that we needed to acquire on this pitstop. We should depart shortly, if we want to return to Ord Mantell for a new mission,” Tech announced, causing the Bad Batch to make their way onto the Marauder.

You were about to take your seat in front of the computer when Omega gestured for you to follow her to the back of the ship. Smiling, you headed back, missing the way that Hunter turned in his seat to look back at you. He heard the clinking of glass earlier when Omega and you approached, but now he was certain that it was coming from the two of you.

“Can you show me?” Omega asked quietly, holding out the vials.

“Give me your hand,” you instructed, sitting across from Omega.

Opening the nail polish bottle, you gently grabbed Omega’s right hand and started to apply the dark gray nail polish. Omega watched, fascinated, as you worked to carefully paint her nails.

“Where did you learn how to do this?”

“I used to paint nails. When I was about your age,” you explained elusively.

“For who?”

“A lady.”

“Did she paint her nails like this too?” Omega asked, causing you to shake your head as you switched to Omega’s thumb.

“No, she preferred this weird green color. It looked horrible but apparently it complimented her eyes.”

“Can I paint yours next?” Omega questioned, causing you to look up.

“Course you can. Maybe if you ask nicely, you can paint the boys’ nails too,” you mused, dipping the brush back into the polish.

“They didn’t have nail polish on Kamino,” Omega continued, causing you to nod.

“I wouldn’t expect the Kaminoans to have much need for it. Do they even have fingernails?” you snorted, working on Omega’s left hand. “But a lot of species use this stuff. And there’s other types of polish or things that people put on their nails. But you have to be really rich to get those.”

“Like what?”

“Some people get gems and other valuables embedded into their nails,” you explained, causing Omega to frown.

“Why?”

“The same reason that why rich people do most things. Because they can,” you stated a bit blunter than you intended.

“Did you ever get your nails painted?” Omega asked, causing you to shake your head. “The lady whose nails you painted, she never painted yours?”

“No,” you replied, placing the brush back into the vial and screwing the bottle shut.

“Why not?”

“She wasn’t as nice as I am,” you responded, not meeting Omega’s confused gaze. “Now, keep your fingers apart and don’t touch anything. You have to let the paint dry first. It could take some time, but I didn’t put too thick of a layer on it.”

“And then what?” Omega asked, looking at her newly painted nails.

“Then we can put another layer on, or I can start with the red,” you explained kindly. “Your choice, Meg.”

“What did you do when you painted nails before?”

“I would put another layer of the gray first,” you stated, causing Omega to nod. “It could make the polish a little more durable.”

“What do we have here?” Hunter drawled, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He noted the nail polish bottles on the floor and paint on Omega’s nails. And even if she hid them, he would have smelled it. “I didn’t realize that we had a salon back here.”

Hunter’s gaze drifted over to you, and you stared back at him with some measure of defiance, knowing that the edge in his tone was directed at you. But Omega got in between the two of you.

“Look at my nails, Hunter!” she called, causing Hunter to turn to her. He bent down to her height and reached out to grab one of her hands, but Omega quickly drew them towards her chest. “Careful! The polish is still drying!”

“I’ll be careful,” Hunter assured Omega before looking down at her nails. “Dark gray, huh?”

“To match your armor,” Omega explained, causing Hunter to nod. “We got red too. She said that she’s going to do designs on my nails once the layers dry.”

 “Anything specific picked out?”

Omega turned to you with a questioning look, but you simply smiled and casually leaned back against your hands.

“It’s whatever you want, Meg. You get to pick,” you assured her.

After the top layers of the nail polish dried, you got to work on the red nail art that you promised Omega. You did a horizontal stripe to represent Hunter’s bandana, two adjacent dots to represent Tech’s goggles, an ‘H’ to represent Wreaker’s lula, and a ‘V’ to represent Echo’s kama. And then a '99' symbol too.

“They should be all set now,” you stated, causing Omega to smile and get to her feet.

You watched with an amused smile as Omega ran around and showed off her nails to every member of the Bad Batch. Wrecker seemed most excited for Omega, though the others offered her their praise in their own ways. And it wasn’t long before Omega was going around and painting all of their nails.

You walked over to where Hunter was sitting in front of the computer, watching as Echo offered Omega his hand. Wrecker was blowing on his nails, not wanting to disappoint Omega by ruining her hard work. You folded your arms over your chest, as Hunter had done earlier.

“You going to give me a lecture on pickpocketing again?” you asked him, not taking your eyes off of Omega.

“I’ll make an exception. This time,” Hunter replied, slowly turning to look at you. “I still don’t like it though.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you stated, pushing off the computer table.

“Then why do you keep doing it?” Hunter asked, causing you to raise a playful eyebrow.

“Well, someone has to teach her how to have fun,” you responded, brushing past Hunter. He turned slowly in his chair, watching as you kneeled down beside Omega. You smiled at her work and offered some praise. “You’re getting the hang of it, Meg.”

“You think so? It’s still sloppy compared to yours,” Omega replied, glancing down at her own nails.

“With practice, comes perfection, as with everything else,” you assured her before standing up.

Walking past Hunter once again, you could feel his eyes on you, but kept walking. Hunter shook his head and turned around to find Wrecker staring at him with a grin. Nudging Hunter in the arm with his elbow, Wrecker let out a teasing laugh.

“Did you want her to do your nails, Hunter, huh?” he teased, causing Omega to pick her head up.

“She’s the best at it,” Omega vouched innocently.

“I’ll just wait for you, Omega,” Hunter replied awkwardly, sinking in his seat.

[threecatsinatr3nchcoat]

(fluff) words: 1.6k

summary: mike lets you paint his nails because you’re not feeling well!

authors note: my first fic and my first time actually posting on here !! feel free to send requests or suggestions on if i can improve my writing :3

-

it seemed like you were drifting on that border of sleep for hours now. until mike came through the front door, carrying two plastic grocery bags in his hands. he quickly shuts the door to prevent any of the icy air from outside getting into the warm house.

mike takes off his snow-soaked shoes and coat, setting the bags down beside the door. at first, he doesnt see you under your mass of blankets on the couch and calls out your name. you let out a pathetic mixture of a whine and a sluggish grumble as a response.

“ah, there you are. i brought some stuff for you.” mike chirps. his comforting and warm aura contrasts harshly with your stagnant and lethargic attitude. you sit up on the couch and try your best to fix your messy hair to look at least somewhat less sickly.

before he sits down, mike picks up some of your used tissues and takes away your cup of tea that had gone cold. you grumble that he shouldnt do that and that you’ll clean up after your own self but he just brushes you off, continuing to tidy the area.

after, mike picks up the two bags he set down earlier and plops down beside you on the couch. he doesnt seem to care at all that he could catch your cold by being so close to you. your interest is spiked as he begins to rustle through one of the bags.

“some drinks,” mike sets down a few of your favorite drinks on the coffee table. “couple of snacks,” he places various kinds of candy and chips into your lap. “and some medicine, obviously.” lastly, he brings out some over-the-counter medicine for your cold.

before you can respond, he starts digging through the second bag. “oh! also, i picked up a few nail polishes for you too. as a little pick me up. i’ve got red, this sparkly pink, and look at this one! i got it because it looks like your eyes.” mike dumps the nail polishes into your lap over the snacks and holds one up next to your face. he has a bright smile plastered on as his gaze flickers between the nail polish and your eyes, seeing how perfect of a match it is.

mikes smile fades when he sees your pouting expression. “what? whats wrong, baby?” he frets, setting the nail polish down. he places one hand on your shoulder and one on your cheek as he searches your eyes for an answer.

“no, no, nothing wrong. its just, you didnt have to get me all this. thank you, really.” you start to sniffle and you cant really tell if its because of your emotions welling up or if its just your cold. mikes soft smile returns and he tilts his head at you before he embraces you in a tight hug. you can feel your previously sickly and grumpy mood is brightening up by all the gifts and affection mike brought home for you.

“of course, of course. you know id do it anytime, whether you’re feeling bad or not.” he breaks the embrace and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. a small smile sprouts on your lips. your eyes flicker down to your lap, the pile of items mike bought you reminds you of how a cat would bring a dead mouse to a human. you sort through the snacks and pick up the nail polish that mike said resembled your eyes. an idea youre not too sure mike will be happy with pops in your head.

“can i paint your nails?” you chime, looking at mike with a smile. he pauses for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

“sure.” he replies with a soft smile. your expression immediately radiates warmth and you squeal with joy. mike smiles at your excitement.

you take everything off from your lap and dump it onto the coffee table, getting more comfortable next to mike. he extends his hand out to you and picks up the tv remote with his other.

as mike sorts through the collection of movies on the tv, you hold his hand in yours and begin to delicately paint his nails in the color he mentioned looked like your eyes. a sense of warm comfortable silence fills the air as the soft moment unfolds.

“okay, don’t move around too much or i’ll mess it up.” you order and mike nods obediently. as you paint his nails, you can tell mikes eyes occasionally shift between the movie he picked out that plays on the screen and how your hand gently holds his. he has a small smile whenever his attention refocuses on you.

time passes and you’re still working on mikes nails. you’ve finished up one hand, painting on a few layers to get good and vibrant coverage, and have moved onto his other hand. this one is a bit more awkward to do since as you sit side by side, his arm has to reach over his body for you to be able to hold it properly. mike adjusts his arm which causes you to accidentally mess up on the polish, getting a little on his skin.

“sorry! sorry, sorry!” he quickly apologizes as you shoot him a strong glare. your expression softens immediately when you see his apologetic and puppy-like eyes. you wipe off the wet polish off his skin and continue to finish up on his nails.

after a few more minutes and a top coat for that extra glossy look, you look at your work with a smile. mike tears his attention away from the tv screen and admires his nails along with you.

“nice job! you’re great at this.” he compliments genuinely, showing you an appreciative smile. you soak in his praise and smile right back. you tentatively tap on the surface of mikes nails, testing to see if they’ve dried all the way.

disappointingly, this nail polish proves to be difficult in how long it takes to dry. either that or it’s because of how many layers you did.

“okay, you can either not do anything with your hands for the next hour or so while the polish dries…” you begin but mike glances over at you with a confused and worried look. “or… you can dip your fingers in ice water for a few seconds. that always makes polish harden faster.”

mike contemplates his options. ice water really doesn’t sound too pleasant but neither does not being able to use your hands for an hour.

you smile at mikes indecision and get up from the couch to go fetch a bowl of icy water. in the kitchen, you fill up a bowl with cold water and drop in a few ice cubes, bringing it back over into the living room where mike waits on the couch for you.

“m‘kay just keep your nails in there for a little while.” you say once you take your seat back next to mike and place the bowl on the coffee table. mike eyes the icy water worriedly. “come on noowww.” you tease.

mike dips his fingers into the water, keeping them submerged with a wince. “how long till the polish is hard?” he whines.

“i usually do it till i can’t feel my fingers.”

“what!?”

“c’mon, quit being so dramatic, it’s not that bad! if you really cant take it, take a break and dip them back in when your fingers are thawed out.”

mike immediately pulls his hands out of the bowl and shakes off the water. you laugh softly at him. mike glances up from drying his hands on his jeans to listen to your laughter, a smile appearing on his face when he gets to listen to his favorite sound.

“i think they’re fine now, right? the polish feels dry to me.” mike comments, gently touching the nail polish on his fingers. you run your finger over the top of mike nail, which brings a softer smile to his lips. he can’t help but enjoy your casual yet intimate touches like this. when you shake your head, his smile turns into a more unpleasant expression.

“look, they’re dry, yeah, but if you press them too hard against something they’re going to become textured! you need to keep them smooth and glossy.” you explain carefully. mike rolls his eyes playfully and swipes his hand away.

“okay, okay, i’ll be careful. i just don’t want to keep my hands in that ice water for any longer than i have to.” mike grumbles. “can’t believe you have to do all this when you paint your nails… so needlessly complicated!” he adds in with a sigh which makes you smile.

despite his complaints, mike admires his nails every chance he gets. every time he’d catch a glance at them, he’d be reminded of how the color matches your eyes. mike wore the color with pride, and still as the polish was chipping away and worn off after a few weeks. he never bothered to completely take the time to remove the nail polish off his nails, why would he when he always thought of you when he looked at them?

[reginalusus]

Hey girl, can we have some Duela (aka the "Joker's" daughter) and Jason's bond in ur au pretty please? (Harvey would totally be like: "my daughter Duela and her brother Jason (Bruce don't let me adopt him.)")

I hope another writing drabble is ok because I'm kind of arted out at the moment. </3 (Might be working on a larger drawing and I don't wanna doodle myself out before I get to it). But anyway!

---

Jason stood, arms tight against himself, as Duela trailed on about her rather enthralling time with some group of people. She wasn't name-dropping anything anytime soon. A lot of words, but no names. At least she was jovial about it, Jason thought.

He just wished Harvey wasn't being so plucky about the Subway order. It didn't need to be a in a fucking perfect half, and he was holding up the rather terrified queue.

So here he was, standing in the corner of the place with Duela jabbering in his ear about whatever it was she was talking about. He didn't mind jabberers, people who talked a lot. Maybe she was nervous. Jason was certainly nervous; he knew tidbits of her past. He knew of a certain alias she had. He analysed her face, looking for any familiarity. Thankfully, he didn't see any. Yet. Duela looked like any other girl embracing a phase. Piercings too. A nice touch.

"Where do you get your piercings done?" Jason interjected.

Duela smiled. "Oh. Claire's."

Jason glared at her, blank. Duela glared at him, blank. The queue was not getting any smaller. Oh, God, get smaller.

"I was joking by the way," Duela said, leaning over to view Jason's thinned lips and averted eyes.

Ah, yes. Because Jason liked jokes. She seemed to feel bad though; her bright smile faded and she shouldered the wall, gazing at her phone now. It felt strange not having her gossip pierce the air, as had been for the past ten minutes or so. It was better than listening to Harvey try and guide the sandwich artist's knife placement like a claw-machine.

"He's a case, isn't he?" Duela asked, watching Harvey.

Jason scoffed. "Yeah, a fucking nutcase."

"He tries though."

"That he does."

"Hey, dad?" Duela called to Harvey, prompting him to look over. "We need to go soon because I'm pretty sure someone's called the cops."

"No, they haven't," Harvey growled as the cashier wiped sweat from their brow. "I didn't hear none of these morons talkin'."

"I saw them. They held the phone up and the police instantly know your voice. Also," - Duela pointed to a wanted poster directly beside her - "So yeah, dad!"

"Can't have shit in Gotham."

Dad. It was weird hearing Harvey be called that. But Duela said it so casually, just like any other normal teen talking to their normal dad in their normal life. Jason hadn't quite got there - he probably never would.

Harvey shoved through the crowd, looming over most of them, his Subway bags in tow. He exited the shop, almost breaking the door off its hinges from his barging shoulder, and that was the signal to chase after him.

"You really know how to get him to, like... listen," Jason mumbled as he left with Duela.

Duela smirked. "Dad is the keyword. I didn't use to call him that often. You know... father-daughter arguments and all that. But it softens him up a little."

"I see."

Jason still wasn't calling him that, however. He could barely call Bruce that. It was nice that Duela could though.

They caught up with Harvey as they made trek to the car. Jason was used to the wide eyes of passers whenever he and Harvey would pit-stop at a 7-11 or a McDonald's drive-thru when coming back from a job. Yes, they all looked odd. Duela was, somehow, perhaps the most normal looking out them all, despite her loud hair and copious piercings and brightly polished nails.

"Dad, can we stop at Claire's to get Jason new piercings?" Duela asked with a grin as she sat in passenger.

"Fine," Harvey sighed.

Jason clambered into the back. "Dent, can we stop at Walmart so I can get new slipper socks?"

"No."

"What?" Jason spat, his voice higher than usual. "Why not?"

"We're tired."

"We'Re TIreD."

Duela eyed Jason in the car door mirror. She raised her brow and nodded her head to the side, gesturing him to try the Word. Jason folded his arms. He wasn't trying the damn Word. The Word was caught in his throat like a lump of cement, and it only hardened more and more over time.

"Fine," Duela sighed. "I'll teach different ways to soften him up when we get back. But only if you let me borrow your Green Day CD."

Jason frowned at her in the mirror. "Deal. Just don't fucking drop it or I'll drop you."

They shared a chuckle, even more so at a bemused Harvey who questioned what the hell they were talking about. Jason wasn't fond of sharing that CD of his, not yet, but sharing a laugh together was fine enough.

[123puppy]

(Im)proper Meeting Part 2

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Angel Dust, Lucifer Morningstar

Lee!Lucifer Ler!Angel Dust

Note: Now it makes sense to add tickling.

Update 2/17/24: I might add/fix this up at some point. I always was impatient writing these particular parts because I like to get to the fun parts. I'll try to keep in as much as possible, I just need to 'polish' some of it so I can stop thinking about this like I made a mess of a fic XD

---

Lucifer felt very comfortable this morning. Not that he's not ever comfortable, but his pillows are extra soft today and he slept through the night without waking up and possibly never going to sleep from restlessness or nightmares. Maybe both.

He did not wake up, once.

And he didn't want to start now, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow and smacking his lips.

A sharp intake of breath makes him freeze. Since when can his pillow breathe? He forces his eyes open and is greeted by white instead of red. He doesn't have a white pillow.

Lucifer reluctantly detaches his face from the fluffy white cushion to get a better look at what he's holding.

"Mornin', cutie" Angel mewls.

Who in hell's name is this!? How did this sinner end up in his bed!??? Did they-?

"WhaaaAHHH! WHO ARE YOU WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, IN MY BED? OH MY GOD WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING DID WE? HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY S-Mmph!"

One hand is placed over Lucifer's mouth while the lower set of hands cup his rosey cheeks, guiding his face towards Angel, eyes blown wide in his panic

"Deep breaths, doll." Angel's breaths are exaggerated as he stares into the smaller man's eyes. Lucifer follows his breathing, and though it took a few minutes, he began to settle down. His body is still suffering the aftershocks, frame trembling as he continues to stare at Angel Dust with severe unease.

"First things first, we didn't fuck so you can rest easy," THAT got Lucifer to breathe properly and sag all the way down on the bed like a puddle. Angel snickers, "Second, you can be pretty convincing to get someone into bed with you just by being adorable. Very cuddlebug material."

Lucifer covers his face in shame, ears flushed. " I am so sorry, I shouldn't have forced you like that, I never sh-ack! Hehey!" The shorter male yelps as his side gets a sharp poke, immediately throwing his hands down to shove the appendage away.

Angel noticed the reaction but needed to focus on important matters."Ya' didn't do no such thing. I jus' couldn' say no to a precious face like this~" He grasps Lucifer's cheeks and squeezes them. The blush returns full force and the man squirms in his hold. "And I got to sleep in the most comfortable bed with the softest sheets to boot, so it's a win-win on both parties, baby!"

Lucifer grumbles and Angel can see the remnants of sadness from last night shimmer in his eyes. The Porn Star frowns, then remembers what he did earlier and grins.

"Ya know, I can't help but notice how jumpy you were when I got you on ya' side." He sees the panic in the King's eyes and his grin widens.

"Y-You startled me is all!" Lucifer pulls away from Angel's hands. He doesn't look the sinner in the eyes, fidgeting. "I...," He swallows, "... haven't been in physical contact in a long time. I mean, uh... I-I..." He mumbles and Angel leans forward.

"What's that?"

Lucifer goes red again. He just can't stop blushing today! "I'm sensitive okay? Its been so long, I'm not used to touch."

Angel looks at Lucifer with a soft smile. "Well, maybe I can help with that."

Lucifer's eyes widen. "I-I don't think that's necessary."

"Not what you're thinkin', hun." Angel chuckles, edging closer to the nervous fallen angel. His smile turns mischievous. "This is 100% vanilla."

"What do you me-" Angel's top set of hands scuttle along Lucifer's sides. "Wait waitwaitwaitwaitwaihahahait!"

"Ohhh so the King of Hell is ticklish." Angel creeps his nails up higher and pokes at each individual rib, causing the shorter male to curl forward, trying to cover himself. "Ah ah ahhh," Angel's bottom set of hands find their way to Lucifer's exposed hips and presses the pads of his thumbs against the soft thin skin. The shrill laughter that comes out is almost enough to stop the assault as Lucifer jerks at the sensation, bucking and thrashing on the sheets.

"Ohohoho my gAHahahahahad nohohohoho I cahahan't!"

"Already tappin' out?" Angel lightens his touch and brings out his third set of arms. He uses his top set to grab Lucifer's flailing arms and presses them above his head. The middle set of arms gently drag up his sides, pushing up Lucifer's shirt. The shorter male seized at the feather light touch to his sensitive skin and squeaks with each nail that drew patterns at the sides of his tummy.

"Dohohon't!" He wiggles around and cries out when Angel teases his belly button, drawing circles around it. "STAHAHAP!" He squeaks out, unable to keep the desperation from his voice, cheeks pink and eyes popping wide open.

"Don't stop?" Angel cooes, "So you like it when I dooo this?"

A shriek emits from Lucifer when Angel plunges his finger in his navel, wiggling rapidly. Pin prick tears appear at the corners of Lucifer's eyes, back arched as he kicks a pillow across the room. "NO!" He did not like that, he wanted to yell that out too to get his point across but squeaky laughter is all he can muster as he bucks and kicks about.

"Okay, okay I'll go back to this then." The wiggling stops and Lucifer drops on the mattress with a whine "That betta'?" The smugness in his tone has Lucifer thinking about setting the archnid on fire if he had enough mind to concentrate without that damn finger sending him into panicked fits of giggles.

"NohohoHOHO!" The King cries out.

"You gotta make up ya' mind," Lucifer hiccups before a shriek comes out when Angel wiggles his finger again.

It felt like an eternity to Lucifer before his laughter goes silent. That's when Angel slows his assault, removing his finger from the bright pink area all around Lucifer's navel, pretty much petting Lucifer's belly. Which is miles better than what he endured a moment ago.

He doesn't know how long it's been but he's not going to complain getting free belly rubs. He should tell the sinner to stop and leave his room this instant, but his tongue proceeds to poke out between his upturned lips in a form of contentment. He was a weak man to receiving affection.

"Holy shit," The Porn Star places a hand over his mouth, unable to contain the starstruck look on his face at the King of Hell practically melting under his touch. He's released Lucifer's arm a while ago, but the smaller man never moved them from where they've been pinned. He's practically stretched out, welcoming every bit of attention he got. It isn't long until a strange rumbling sound draws Angel's attention. He felt it, in the King's chest where one of his hands lay. It could be him just hearing things but his fingers are vibrating where they rest. He is! The King is... purring!?!?

Angel stops altogether, stunned as Lucifer's stirs from his trance, face pink from exertion, hair stuck out in all directions from tossing and turning in his laughter induced state.

Lucifer peels his eyes open and tries to glare at the Spider Demon, but he's too relaxed to work his best growl that comes out to be a whine.

Angel snickers, "Is that your way of asking for more, shortcakes?"

"..."

"Oh my God, you're too precious-"

"Shut. Up."

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 8: Sleep Deprivation

More Obey Me! for today's @whumptober prompt. It felt so good to write Wing fic again ^_^

Prompt: Sleep deprivation Fandom: Obey Me! Nightbringer Character: Lucifer

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

Sleep Deprivation

Lucifer seems to be in a particularly bad mood lately. Maybe it has something to do with all of the black feathers blowing around. (Protagonist POV)

~~~~~

It was never outside the realm of possibility to expect total chaos when arriving at the House of Lamentation, but even I had to admit that I hadn’t seen it this bad for a while.

As soon as I came in the door there was loud music playing, but even that couldn’t cover the sound of arguing.

“Who gave you the right to eat my pudding!” Satan’s voice roared from the parlor.

“You were so busy reading your book I didn’t think you wanted it!”

Mammon rushed around the corner, looking behind and under things. “Gotta be here somewhere.”

“Are you looking for something?” I called to him.

He shot up instantly, a suspicious grin on his face. “Ah, hey Helena. No, not really. Just, um, inspecting the mansion. You know.”

“Did Lucifer take your credit card again.”

“Yeah, actually about that, you wouldn’t have to have some extra money lying around—”

“For the last time, turn the bloody music down! I’m trying to read!”

The dull sound of impact followed Asmodeus screaming.

“You just made me spill my nail polish everywhere!”

“You shouldn’t be doing your nails on the couch anyway!” Satan snarled. “Now turn it down!”

I ignored Mammon and headed past him toward the parlor just in time to see Satan about to heave a lamp in Asmo’s direction.

“Hey, that’s enough!” I snapped and crossed to the stereo, turning the music way down. “What is going on here?”

“Helena, save me!” Asmo cried as he jumped off the couch.

“Put it down, Satan,” I commanded.

He made an annoyed sound but set the lamp down.

“It seems pretty early for you to be at each other’s throats,” I commented blandly. “Where is Lucifer?”

“Oh, about that,” Asmo started.

“He got mad at dinner last night and we haven’t seen him since,” Beel commented.

“Considering everything, I’m sure he had good reason.”

“Actually, he’s just been kind of crabby for the last couple days,” Mammon said from where he was peeking under couch cushions. “Have you noticed?”

I frowned. It was true that Lucifer had seemed on edge, but he was always pushing himself too hard. If he hadn’t shown up yet, maybe he was finally sleeping in—although I found that hard to believe considering the noise. Only Belphie could sleep through that.

“I guess he has seemed a little more tired than usual.”

“No, he’s just being an asshole like usual,” Satan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, Helena’s right, he did seem particularly exhausted last night,” Asmo said. “Maybe he’s sick or something.”

“I’ll go check on him,” I volunteered, a little worried myself now.

“Just be careful,” Mammon warned. “You know how he gets in his moods. But, if you could ask him where my credit card is…”

I ignored him and left the room, heading toward the stairs. I nearly bumped into Levi on the way. He was standing on the top of the stairs, looking at something in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Ahh! Oh, Helena, it’s you,” he said, startling slightly. “I’ve just been finding these feathers everywhere the last couple days. I thought it was strange—I have no idea where they came from.”

I reached out and took the feather from his hands to inspect it. It was long and black, bigger than any bird feather I had ever seen….

A sudden suspicion wormed its way into my head. “Levi, have you seen Lucifer today?”

He shook his head quickly. “M-mn. He stormed off at dinner last night after yelling at everyone and locked himself in his room.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Wait…you think these might be his feathers?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, running the feather through my hands. “I’m going to go see him.”

“Oh, please be careful! If…if he gets really mad at you, just scream—I’ll come save you!”

I smiled. “Thanks, Levi. But I’m not afraid of Lucifer. I have a feeling he’s just a bit under the weather.”

I continued down the hall to the oldest brother’s room. As I looked down, I could see several more feathers of varying sizes collected around the gap at the bottom of the door. I frowned, worry settling heavier in my stomach as I raised my hand to knock.

“Lucifer?” I called. “It’s me…can I come in?”

There was the sound of shuffling from the other side of the door. “Helena? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I came by to help out with whatever you needed today, but I got worried when everyone said they hadn’t seen you since last night. Are you all right?”

“I’m busy,” came the curt reply.

“Then let me help you! You haven’t let me help you with work all week.”

There was a soft grunt of discomfort and more shuffling. “I just want to be alone right now.”

“Lucifer,” I coaxed, putting my foot down. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

There was no reply and the seconds stretched on interminably. Finally, I reached for the doorknob. “I’m coming in.”

“I didn’t give you permission to do that!”

The voice was slightly strained and that made me even more worried. “As your friend, and your assistant, who is worried about you, I’m coming in.”

There was a swift scramble as I opened the door and I sighed as I slipped in in, hearing the door to the adjoined bathroom close.

“Lucifer, please, I’m just trying…” I trailed off as my eyes landed on his bed. It was covered in black feathers, in fact, some of them were still lazily floating to the floor, presumably from Lucifer’s quick retreat.

“Lucifer, where did all the feathers come from?” I asked in shock.

“It’s none of your business. Now leave.”

“Not until I know if you’re okay,” I snapped, heading over to the bathroom door and standing firmly in front of it. “You’ve been so tired lately, more than usual. Are you sick?”

“No,” he snapped but the hoarse tone of his voice said differently.

I sighed and leaned my shoulder against the wall by the door. “Lucifer, please. I just want to help. At least let me see?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s nothing!”

“Lucifer, you’ve lost half your feathers, that’s not nothing!”

The door was finally wrenched open and I jerked upright, face to face with the eldest demon brother. I was surprised to see just how disheveled he looked. Lucifer was always so put together, but today he was only wearing his slacks and his black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles under them as if he hadn’t slept for three days.

But despite that, I couldn’t help but notice his wings. They drooped at his back, patchy and ragged. Since he usually hid them out of convenience, I hadn’t seen them for a few days and, well, they looked pretty bad.

“I’m molting,” he snapped, jaw tight. “That’s all. Nothing to concern yourself with. Happy?”

“Oh,” I said, realization dawning. “I didn’t realize demons molted.”

“Well, only if they have feathered wings,” Lucifer gritted out. He pushed past me and went to sit on the bed. “But it’s a very uncomfortable process and I would like you to leave me alone.” He attempted to reach behind him, scratching at one of his wings, before growling in frustration as he couldn’t seem to reach the right spot.

I stepped forward. “Can I help? It must be hard to reach—”

“I said it’s nothing to concern yourself with!” Lucifer snapped hoarsely, smothering a cough with his hand.

I frowned, noticing a slight flush to his face and boldly reached out to press my palm to his forehead. He jerked away in indignation, but I’d already found out what I needed to.

“You have a fever,” I chided.

“I am fine,” he insisted stubbornly, pressing his back against the bed post and gritting his teeth in frustration as he rubbed his wings against it. He pulled away quickly though as I continued to stare at him, glowering in indignation, hands clenching in his lap.

“You’re sick,” I stated. “Which means I am obligated to take care of you.”

“It means no such thing!” he tried to scratch at his wings again, shoulders shifting uncomfortably. He finally growled and reached for the lower wing on his right side, wrenching it around and digging his fingers into the sparse feathers. I glanced over his shoulder and saw the raw skin on his wings where the feathers had been.

“Lucifer, stop; you’re hurting yourself,” I said, reaching out to grab his wrist in concern.

“Don’t touch me!” he swatted my hand to the side.

I huffed in annoyance. “This really has put you in a bad mood, hasn’t it? The others said you yelled at all of them last night.”

“You think they didn’t deserve it?”

“I think despite what your brothers say you’re not usually this upright.”

“Yes, well, the…the itching—it’s infuriating!” Lucifer cried, digging his fingernails harder into his wing, scratching until he winced.

I reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist again. “Stop!”

He froze, both of us staring each other down, but I refused to let this one go.

“I know you hate accepting help,” I said as he continued to glower at me. “But just this once, let me do something for you.”

The staring contest continued for another long second before he finally shut his eyes and sighed heavily, his wings twitching in discomfort. “It would be more helpful if you just made sure the others don’t burn the house down while I’m…indisposed.”

I smirked. “I can do that and take care of you. Just let me collect a few things, then I’ll be back, okay?”

He grunted and I left the room. I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for, so I pulled out my D.D.D. and texted Barbatos, thinking that he would probably be the most likely to help.

After explaining the situation he offered to bring some stuff over to the House of Lamentation that would hopefully help Lucifer in his recovery.

I headed back downstairs to make sure nothing else was falling apart but things thankfully seemed quiet for the moment.

Asmo found me on his way up the stairs. “Oh, Helena, did you get to talk to Lucifer?”

I nodded. “He’s a bit under the weather at the moment. I’m making sure that he rests.”

Asmo smiled softly. “He must really like you if he’s willing to listen. I hope he feels better soon though.”

“Me too,” I replied.

I headed down to the foyer to wait for Barbatos and when the demon butler finally showed up I went to meet him.

“Thank you so much for bringing this over,” I said with a grateful smile.

“Of course, Helena, I hope that Lucifer will be feeling better soon,” he handed over the bag as he explained the contents. “It’s best to brush out all the loose feathers and once you’re done with that, there’s an ointment that will help soften the skin around the new feathers coming in. If the skin gets dry, it’s very itchy and uncomfortable. There’s also a tea that will help his fever.”

“Is it common for someone to get sick while molting?”

“Fairly common, actually. It takes a lot of energy to grow new feathers. It would be best to make sure Lucifer has some nutrient rich meals while he recovers. I’ll send over some recipes later, if you wish.”

“I really appreciate it, Barbatos,” I said gratefully.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” the butler said with a small nod before he left. “I’m sure Lucifer will be well looked-after in your hands.”

I first went to make a cup of the tea then brought that up to Lucifer with the rest of the stuff.

He was still sitting dejectedly on the bed, an annoyed frown on his face as he tried to reach his wings, back arching in discomfort.

“Alright, no more of that,” I told him firmly, handing him the tea. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Tea for your fever and sore throat,” I told him as I took the other items from the bag and set them on his side table.

Lucifer eyed them suspiciously as he sipped the tea. “While I appreciate you bringing these for me, you don’t need to help me further.”

“And you’re going to be able to brush all of your wings out by yourself?”

He glowered and I raised my eyebrow pointedly. “I’ll manage,” he lied.

I rolled my eyes and picked up the fluffy brush Barbatos had brought. “Not today, you won’t. I’m here to help, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

He looked indigent, but I simply motioned him backwards. “Why don’t you get comfortable? This will probably take a while.”

After some obvious inward struggle, Lucifer finally sighed, his shoulders slumping in pure exhaustion. “Fine. If you insist.”

He flopped into the middle of his bed a bit petulantly, wrapping his arms around one of his pillows as he settled on his stomach. I climbed up beside him and settled the first of his four wings across my lap.

“I’m going to start by brushing out the loose feathers,” I told him as I wielded the brush. “Please let me know if I’m hurting you at all.”

I started at the base of his wing, moving slowly outward. His wing twitched in discomfort several times, but the feathers seemed to be coming out easily enough, leaving a pile of black around my knees.

“How often does this happen?” I asked him.

Lucifer huffed. “Every few years. It’s…abysmal.”

He sounded so tired it went to my heart. “I imagine it’s hard to sleep, especially if they itch so badly.”

“It’s the new feathers coming in that are the worst,” Lucifer grumbled into his pillow. “It’s like cutting a thousand teeth at the same time.”

I winced. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

I could see the new feathers coming in, little black buds breaking through pale skin. A lot of the areas looked dry, some red and irritated from Lucifer’s scratching. I tried to be as careful around those areas as possible, knowing how sensitive they must be.

Thankfully, though, Lucifer seemed to be relaxing more and more into his pillow by the time I finished the wings on his right side.

“That’s that side done,” I said, getting off the bed in a flurry of feathers attached to my skirt as I moved around to his other side and continued the process.

Lucifer made a soft sigh as he turned his face toward my direction, eyes half closed. “It actually…feels pretty nice,” he admitted tiredly.

I smiled as I continued brushing. “I’m glad I could help a little bit. Barbatos also gave me a salve to help the new feathers grow in.”

Lucifer hummed softly, eyes sliding shut. I finished up the last of the brushing and reached for the little pot of cream.

“I’m going to use the cream now, so it might be a little uncomfortable,” I told him in warning.

He nodded into the pillow and I opened the pot to an herbal smell, taking some onto my fingers. I started to spread it over the bare patches of skin on the arms of Lucifer’s wings. He flinched initially.

“It’s cold,” he grumbled.

“Sorry,” I apologized, continuing to work it in with my fingers, careful around the new buds of feathers coming through the skin. Lucifer twitched in discomfort a couple times during the process, but he seemed to relax again after a while.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

He gave a soft hum. “Not bad,” he admitted. “They actually don’t itch nearly as much now.”

“Good.” I continued applying the salve to all of his wings and finally closed up the pot and set it aside.

“Feeling any better now?”

Lucifer glanced up at me, raising his head slightly from the pillow. “I actually do.” He admitted before looking down. “Helena…thank you. I know I’m not easy to deal with but…I appreciate you and your stubbornness.”

I smiled fondly and reached out to squeeze his hand briefly. “I’m just glad you’re feeling a little better. I would be happy to come back tomorrow and do the same thing.”

His even breathing told me that he had simply fallen asleep. My heart warmed at the sight, glad he could finally rest peacefully. I pulled a blanket over him before I left and quietly closed the door behind me.

Now I just had to make sure the rest of the brothers would be quiet enough to let Lucifer sleep for the rest of the day.

[stellar-skyy]

I JUST DESPISE YOU - Heizou x reader

i. SUMMARY: There is no one you hate more than Shikanoin Heizou. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: Enemies to lovers, detective!reader, gn!reader, 0.8k words. iv. A/N: Okay I know Heizou doesn't canonically wear nail polish but HE SHOULD HE DESERVES IT.

Shikanoin Heizou was, without any trace of doubt, the easiest person to hate.

How could you not hate him, with his smooth words laced with subtle smugness, like he always knew something that you didn’t; with the way he picked apart your theories until they were completely frayed apart by his ‘intuition’?

And how could you not hate that delicately crafted face, all soft features artfully arranged like a priceless work of art? His eyes, that were big and doe-like, the softest shade of olive green that you’ve ever laid eyes on. And underneath them, twin moles that dotted across his face, beauty marks in the truest sense of the word.

His hair was especially hateable, with how it loosely hung in choppy layers and framed his face, in a shade of beautifully rich wine-red. And of course it was pulled behind him, hanging across the back of his neck, just waiting to be untied and spilled across his shoulders.

More than anything, you hate the way he stared at you with those piercing eyes of his; how he always met your gaze with a hint of a challenge in his smirk, and a huff of laughter every time he managed to get under your skin.

(How he looked at you gently, with the barest flicker of reverence reflected across his eyes, staring at you like you were a puzzle box just waiting to be solved.)

“Quiz time,” Heizou croons, leaning forward in his chair. He rests his elbows against the desk and cups his cheek in his hands, rhythmically tapping along his cheek in pattern only he seemed to understand. “Why is my dear co-worker looking so sour today?”

You let out a sigh. “I am fine.”

“Mm, but my intuition tells me something is on your mind. And you know what they say—” Heizou’s smile widens minutely. “—My intuition is never wrong.”

“You say that.”

“Other people say that too.”

You don’t bother that with a retort, only scoffing in disbelief. Heizou’s face shifts into a frown, and he moves his arms to rest folded across his chest.

“They do. See—” He raises his voice, calling over to another detective across the room. “Hey, Uesugi. Is my intuition ever wrong?”

“No, sir!”

“Exactly.”

“So you have a fanboy. Big deal. That doesn’t mean you don’t make mistakes.”

“Shall we put that to the test, then?” Heizou asks. He stands; pausing to stretch his arms, exposing the barest sliver of skin around his waist. “Let’s see~”

Heizou approaches your desk, surveying its contents. For a second you wonder if you would be able to sweep away the junk lying across it, if only to avoid Heizou’s scrutiny. “Messy. Messier than usual.”

“This is how it always looks—”

“Lie.”

You scowl at him, hoping that your irritation makes him reconsider whatever game he’s playing. It, of course, does not.

“You also came in late today. When you did finally arrive, you were flustered, like you were in a rush before you left.” He recounts.

“I slept in.”

“Lie.” Heizou hums. “You’ve been late because you overslept before, and you’ve never been that on edge. Something happened that caused you to be late, but it wasn’t your sleeping habits. There is something in your life—something personal that you don’t want to share. Now, I know not to pry, so I’m not going to ask you what is wrong. But I do know for a fact that there is something wrong.”

“That 'evidence' is all circumstantial.” You protest. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Ah, but that brings me to the final piece of evidence—” Before you could blink, he was right in front of you. One hand—a smooth, uncalloused hand with nails painted black—reaches out and cups your cheek. His touch is light, barely ghosting across your skin, as he uses the tip of his finger to brush across the space underneath your eye.

“The shadows under your eyes are very dark. You haven’t slept in days, have you?” Heizou’s voice is quiet, and sounds startlingly genuine. Combined with the concern that practically seeped out of his expression, it was enough to send your head spinning and breath tightening in your chest. For a second, it was enough to make you think he wholeheartedly, truly cared for you.

But this was Heizou you were talking about.

Your hand stretches out of its own accord and slaps his away from your face. He looks barely affected by the sudden movement and leans back against his own desk with a satisfied expression.

“So?” Heizou prompts. The uncharacteristically gentle moment was gone, replaced with his usual bravado. “Was I right?”

“I despise you.” You hiss under your breath, rubbing under your eyes to scrub away the feeling of his hands on your face.

Heizou tilts his head, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards into a smirk. “Lie.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

!Important!

Hi lovlies! I regret to inform you all that the Twilight Fic for the 200 follower challenge is fighting me tooth and nail, so I'll be focusing on all the emergency works and other requests until a coherent plot can be reached.

ALSO. I've hit a spot of inspiration for another, longer-term project of mine exploring an alternate version of botw. I'm debating posting it to this blog, and I'd like some help deciding.

An excerpt for you lovely people (Under the cut):

The sky was dark, shadowed with magenta-streaked hate that formed a swirling vortex above the barely visible castle. Peals of thunder rumbled in the distance, flashes of lightning illuminating the smoldering landscape in terrifying bursts. An armored figure atop a dappled white and black horse erupted from the neighboring treeline, racing into the field. They yanked the reigns back, and the horse reared with an impressive neigh, skidding to a stop amongst the lonely ruins. Small clouds of breath puffed from the vertical slit in their helmet, dented in more places than the eye could count. The figure dismounted and unsheathed their sword with unusual grace, the polished metal gleaming softly in the faint light. The Hylean crest adorned the pommel, painted a soft gold that seemed to glow with its own light. 

The battle started in an instant. In a flash, a blinking laser focused on the figure’s breastplate, followed by two more on their hip and shin. A whirling sound started as the Guardians primed to fire, rising from their earthy prisons onto creaking joints in desperate need of oiling. Skillfully, the figure reached for their shield, deflecting the first strike with great ease, then somersaulting behind a large section of ruins to avoid the second and third. Two more blasts rang out, the paltry stone walls shuddering on impact, and the figure rolled left, slashing at the approaching guardian’s legs. With a metallic groan, the machine tumbled, leaving space for them to deflect the next strike back into another guardian. A fierce explosion shook the clearing, undoubtedly attracting more foes. The figure turned tail, whistling for their horse, which had bolted when the battle began. 

A neigh sounded, and the figure hopped back on their horse, nudging it into a full gallop as more guardians closed in, aiming their lasers at the retreating figure. Several more explosions rang out, but quickly dissipated with each stride the horse took. 

The figure traveled for an unidentifiable amount of time, skillfully guiding their steed back to the safety of the forest, still headed in the direction of the castle. The night began to close in, a terrible crimson moon blotting out the very sun, filling the remaining sky in putrid burgundy light. Yet the figure rode on, only stopping to slash at the group of Lizalfos in their path, born of the blood moon itself. It was pitch black by the time they reached the first friendly light of the Wetland Stable. 

“Traveler!” an exhausted Lawden, owner of the stable, called as the figure approached, dismounting just outside the main entrance. They padded to the desk, producing a red rupee from the small pouch on their belt, dropping it on the table with their horse’s reins. “Ah– enjoy your rest!”

There was no response, and the figure disappeared into the stable, taking the first available room. Only when the door was closed did a drawn-out sigh leave their lips. With shaking hands, the figure removed their helmet, revealing what appeared to be a nest of hair, two weary eyes, and a stern, cracked mouth. The rest of the armor was next to go, falling to the ground as it was removed rather unceremoniously. Dressed in only their dark undershirt and black trousers, the figure waddled to the bed, flopping down as sleep consumed them. 

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

You awoke an hour after dawn. 

While the sky was no less angry–magenta clouds still obscuring the once cerulean atmosphere–it was a far cry from the state it had been a day ago, practically bursting with malice. You cringed at the memory, forcing yourself to the edge of the bed, legs hanging limply as you smacked your cheeks in an attempt to regain some feeling. Your eye twitched when you caught sight of your armor strewn across the floor, cursing yourself for being so careless. There was a distinct ache in your head as you bent to gather the scattered items, gently placing them on the bed before migrating to your traveling pack, practically smushed into the corner in what you could only assume had been a delirious bid for sleep. 

There was a mirror on the same wall, though you dared not look at it until you had run a comb through your hair at least once. Not that you were embarrassed by your appearance, but it was still jarring when you remembered your life before the calamity. Growing up in Lurelin Village had taught you many things–fishing, astronomy, knot work, gambling–though you never expected to use them quite as frequently as you did now. Up until a year ago, you had been an ordinary fisherman’s kid, spending your days on the beach with friends, the boat with your father, or the stable greeting weary travelers. Until a squadron of Guardians swept in from the West, desecrating your village beyond repair. Despite never handling a sword before, you took a stand against the monsters, only to take a laser to the chest in the final moment of the battle as the screams of your family and friends rang out, forever branded to your brain. It was a miracle you hadn’t shot up in the night, scarred breast heaving with stolen life. 

The sun crept up in the sky as you redressed. First, a chainmail shift that once belonged to your father, a forest green surcoat, and your trusty breastplate, followed by the pauldrons, forearm guards, and gauntlets. The boots came last, the polished metal extending to your knees. You flexed your arms, testing for any unwanted tightness, and adjusted the scabbard belt around your waist, pulling it close. Only your helmet remained on the bed, though you left it off–it was too good a morning for that.

The stable was practically buzzing with activity–at least ten travelers mulling around–when you exited the room, b-lining straight for the nearby cooking pot for breakfast. You had enough fish stored to last at least a fortnight, but life on the road left little opportunity to cook your spoils. Plopping down on a nearby log, you tossed a mighty porgy and Hylian rice into the already steaming pot, waiting patiently as it sizzled. Until a cheery voice sounded behind you. 

“Hello there! Do you mind if I sit?”

You shook your head. The log creaked as a burgundy-haired woman took the seat beside you, a large map in her hands. She pulled at it lightly to fluff out the creases. “First time in the Faron Woods? I can’t recall seeing you around before.”

“It isn’t,” you intoned, watching the meat and rice crackle away in the pot. A light breeze blew into the clearing, ruffling your hair like a rowdy sibling. You tipped your head to the map. “It’s good to be prepared.”

“Isn’t it?” The woman laughed, extending a hand for you to shake. “I’m Meeshy, adventurer and fashionista!”

You took her hand, introducing yourself in turn. Meeshy nodded along before sighing. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Misko’s Treasure?”

It felt almost surreal to have a normal conversation with the raging sky, but you weren’t one to rebuke small mercies. “I haven’t.”

“Well, there was a bandit with unparalleled fashion sense named Misko,” you hummed in acknowledgment despite having never heard of such a person. “Legend has it that he collected legendary outfits from all over the world and hid their pieces throughout Hyrule.”

“You seek them?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Well, she had you there. You turned your attention back to the pot, skillfully forming the fish and rice into large balls, packing them closed with stripes of dried seaweed from your village. The smell was divine, and you had to hold yourself back from stuffing the entire thing into your mouth at once. Sure, you had lived like a soldier for the better part of the last year, but it was no excuse to behave like a barbarian. Glancing at Meeshy, you held out the remaining rice ball, though it pained you to potentially part with such a delicious item. Fortunately, she held up her hands, thanking you for the company. You watched her departure with a mouthful of rice and fish, turning back to the fire to examine the burning embers, not unlike the smoldering remains of Lurelin as you crawled through the wreckage, stained in more blood than you could stand. 

In Hyrule, ignorance was bliss. Even Meeshy, a traveler, hadn’t said a peep about the mass in the sky, nor had anyone on your journey. You supposed it was a side effect of living with a two-hundred-year calamity; people became used to misfortune, accepting it into their lives like one would bad weather. Never mind the fact that the supposed Hero of Hyrule hadn’t been seen since the calamity struck, and had all but been pronounced dead. Even stranger, the malice surrounding the castle was stagnant, neither expanding nor contracting in the years you’d observed it. 

The longer you stared at the embers, the angrier you became. Your father had died in flames, barely able to breathe when you managed to pull him from the wreckage. His last words were uttered in your blood-stained lap, a whispered plea for vengeance that continued to haunt your dreams. What could you do but comply with his wishes, which is why you dragged yourself to the smoldering armory, stumbling upon a suit of armor lying on the dirt? Your path was clearer than the Lurelin waters when you donned the scratched metal, blood pouring from the wound on your chest to soak the silver of the breastplate, staining it in the fires of your ire. Pain became secondary to the burden placed upon your shoulders. You would find the Hero, and you would destroy Calamity Ganon, or die trying.