#flu makes stupid posts

[felinefamiliars]

[fridayiminlovemp3]

i neeed to stop obsessively hating on people but like if it’s bad why does it feel so gooddddddddd 🤨🤨

[liu-anhuaming]

me in 2022 after getting my covid and flu shots at the same time: wow this was awful, i'm never doing this again

me on nov 1, 2024: i should just get my covid and flu shot at the same time so i don't have to go to walgreen's twice 🤡

needless to say, that was a horrible idea and i feel like garbage now

[drbtinglecannon]

Really love that some conspiracy theory brainrotted dipshit can spout lies and nazi propaganda for 10 min straight to no one being bothered but the second I turned to him and said "You know literally none of that is true" the entire room tenses and gets upset

[torgawl]

can't believe i'm getting sick. and i also cracked the back of my phone by accident because nothing was going my way today. wow, great christmas

[chuluoyi]

✎ sick days

- gojo satoru x reader

who holds the fort when you fall sick? of course, it's your lovesick husband and baby!

genre: fluff, fluff, fluffff. basically, your baby is adorable, gojo is your husband and not only is he lovesick with you, he humors your baby so much it’s making me— sighs

note: based on this post! hi hi chu is back from vacation and here’s another dad!gojo fluff indulgence and we stan domestic men okay🤭

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

It's plain sight that Gojo Satoru is a highly attractive individual, and now that he has a son, it's fair to say that he’s the hottest dilf on the block.

With one hand twirling a famous brand of flu medicine box and the other propping his baby son at his hip, he garnered curious eyes, even in drugstore near his home.

“Hmm, why is it so cheap? Suspicious…”

Satoru let out a light hum, studying the orange and pink boxes, as well as glancing at the other purple box with bold labels claiming its effectiveness in halting cold symptoms, and then looked at his son.

His baby's big, crystal blue eyes blinked in wonder at the vibrant colors, and he reached out with grubby hands towards them. “Bwah!”

Suddenly, he got an idea.

“Hey, kiddo. Which do you think is better for mama?” he asked the baby, gesturing at the all three medicine on the rack with his jaw. “You choose.”

As if on cue, the little ball of fluff that was his son immediately reached out for the purple box, the more expensive out of all three displayed before him. Without missing a beat, he also seized both the orange and pink boxes in quick succession, holding them close to his chest.

Satoru broke into a hearty laugh, a wide grin split his face, as he affectionately tousled the boy's head with pride.

“That's my boy! Splurging is allowed—after all, we're rich!”

When the first signs of cold manifested in you, Satoru was already worried. He had warned you to take more rest, but typical you, you brushed it off as a mere fatigue.

And when this morning, you woke up to sudden coughing fits and hot-and-cold spells, which ended up with kicking him out of your shared bedroom in fear of spreading the virus, like the doting husband he was, Satoru promptly headed to the pharmacy with your baby in tow to get you some help.

"Oh my, sir, your son is so adorable!" the female cashier gushed when he got over to pay, finally voicing what other customers thought in their heads. He could sense the discreet glances from those around him even now.

As the baby clung to his shirt, Satoru tightened his grip on him and responded with a self-assured grin, ensuring those nearby heard his words, "Of course he is! My wife is pretty as heck too, shame she's down with fever today."

"Aww! Such high praise, you must adore your wife!"

"Mm-hmm!"

Ah, so he still has a wife. The other customers went about their day, some disappointed that the dilf was still evidently devoted to his wife. They could only wonder just who could the lucky woman was.

Moving on— after the short trip to the drugstore, Satoru went back home. He promptly checked on you in your master bedroom, inquiring, "Hey, how are—"

But he immediately halted upon seeing you nestled so comfortably under the blankets, sleeping soundly. For a moment, he simply stood, blinking and observing your serene slumber.

Strange that something inside him both softened and lurched at the sight. You were just that precious in his eyes. Stupid as it was, he was quite miserable to go through the day without your nagging and nitpicking. And above all, he never liked seeing you in any kind of discomfort—it made his protective instincts soar.

Hence his thought— there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, even if it means sacrificing heaven itself.

“Myah!” A hard shove on his arm and his baby’s babbling snapped him out of his trance. Satoru shifted his baby to his other hand, let out a questioning hum, and affectionately pinched his mochi-like cheeks.

“Hmm? You can’t be hungry, I—oooh,” a sheepish expression of realization appeared on his face, his blue eyes widened slightly as his baby glared at him. Then, chuckling like the goofball he was, Satoru patted him on his head to appease his grudge, “I haven’t fed you since this morning, eh?”

“Fwah!”

“Pfft! There, there… Me is sorry~ Now let me whip something up for you and mama, yeah?”

Now, he wouldn't claim to be the best chef, but he could certainly cook to save himself. Rolling up his sleeve, he went to the kitchen after leaving and stuffing his baby boy with a pacifier on his high chair.

“Hmmm, baby food for the minion and… congee? Yeah, congee should be good.”

Next task was feeding his already seething baby after he mixed together his baby food. He was a fussy eater—mostly with him, but surprisingly not so much with you (apparently, that's just his way of showing who he favors between his parents, heh). But when he managed to get the food in, with every spoonful, his son’s smile gradually widened, and so did his happiness.

Satoru thought then that he was the cutest thing he had ever created. His son was clearly a mini-him, but his reactions were definitely so you.

“Is it tasty? It is, isn’t it?” he cooed with baby voice, earning a delightful giggle in response from his son. Pushing his luck, he added with a suggestive grin, “Papa is the best, isn’t he?”

“Bwah...” The joyful expression on his baby's face faded instantly, dissolving into an unamused pout, prompting Satoru to righteously click his tongue.

“Why are you so against me?!”

After he was done with his fill, Satoru picked your baby up to the master bedroom to bring you something to eat. Seated on the opposite edge of the bed, he silently adored your sleeping form once again.

Right at that moment, the baby in his arms wriggled, reaching out for you. Acting on a sudden impulse, he put him on the bed, facing you.

“Now, go to mama, would you?” he whispered gently, grinning and giving his bum a light pat. “Go!”

Your son was also Gojo Satoru’s son, therefore he was an adept crawler even at barely seven months old. With remarkable agility, the little soldier steadily moved towards you, his diapers jiggling with each motion. He stopped right in front of your face, clearly recognizing you as his mother.

And your husband swore that even his logic-driven heart melted at the sight of your cute baby suddenly leaned in and clumsily smooched your nose.

Simply just the two most treasured loves of his life.

“Mm?” you let out a soft grunt, feeling the dryness in your throat as you cracked your eyes open, surprised to find yourself face-to-face with your baby. “Oh… why are you here? Don’t get too close…”

“He’ll be fine.” Satoru picked your son up, placing him on his knee and steadying him with one arm. Having moved next to you on the bed, he brushed hair from your forehead. “What about you, hmm? Feeling better?”

Your eyebrows creased into a frown. “Yeah, I think, but more than that, Satoru, I’ve told you, don’t let him—”

“Yes, yes, sweetheart. He won’t get sick, look, he’s as healthy as he can be~” and to make a point, he turned his baby over and lightly smacked his bottom, prompting a whimper from the little one and a gasp from you.

“Don’t spank him!”

“Ehh? Then can I spank you instead?”

“Satoru, you’re a little piece of—!”

Just you and him, as well as the little treasure that was your son. This little family was enough reason to live. To win.

And Gojo Satoru once again thought, that being the strongest didn’t really mean that much anymore because with his world in his hands, nothing else matters.

Epilogue

“You’re so silly, why did you buy so many?” you grumbled at the sight of three different brands of cold medicine your husband displayed in front of you. “One is enough, do you want me to overdose?”

Satoru snickered. “Don’t blame me, blame your kid. He’s the one picking all of them.”

You totally didn’t get what he meant at all, but yeah, your husband was the silliest human ever and that’s that.

“Hey, don’t you think it’s a bit smelly here?” Satoru suddenly asked, wearing a quizzical expression.

You took a sniff of the air, glancing at your baby blinking innocently and sitting calmly on your husband, and a realization struck you. “Uh, Satoru...”

Following your gaze, as if sensing an omen, Satoru hastily scooped up his son, letting out a bewildered gasp as he felt a slight wetness where the baby had been sitting on him.

“Did he just poo on me?!”

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[mntozakii]

thinking about stepbrother jeno who is secretly obsessed with his little sister 💭

warnings: handjob wonk womk

[NOT FINISHED YET I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED IT FHDJJSJSJ]

when his mother decides to marry again, jeno didn't expect to meet such cute and pretty thing like you. he learns that you are a few years younger than him and has two little brothers.

on the wedding day, he tries to make conversation with you but failed miserably. you didn't even bother to look at him and only speak a few words.

yeah, jeno admits that you're a doll but he has decided that he hates you. he thinks that you're such a princess and probably gets whiny when things don't go in your way.

"daddy, can i go home?"

"daddy, it's so cold"

"daddy, i wanna go home"

ugh, such a demanding darling, he wants to hate you but you look so adorable begging to your father.

being the kind person he is, jeno offers to drive you home. at first, he plans to talk about the bratty attitude but immediately changes his mind when you apologize first.

"jeno, i'm so sorry for being rude this evening" you mutter softly as you tell him about your flu. his palm immediately goes to your forehead and gasps at the burning heat, you must've felt fatigued for hours.

"it's okay sweetheart, you should take a rest" he reassures as he buckles up your seatbelt, you are quick to fall asleep as he drives you home.

jeno meets you for the second time when your father invites him for dinner at home. after that, jeno regularly schedule a meeting with his new baby sister. it is clear that he has a favourite among his step siblings but to not make it obvious, he meets with your little brothers and spends time with them too.

you have always feel jealous of your friends who have an older brother, all your little brothers do is bully you. hence, you love being around jeno; your step brother who is kind, caring, and gentle.

jeno who picks you up from the dormitory so you can stay at his home during the weekend, he will bring you to a cat cafe because you've been telling him how much you miss your cats.

jeno who brings you on a yacht trip so he can be with you all the time, he loves when you are sitting close to him with the prettiest top that does nothing to cover your chest.

his hands linger around your body as he listens to stories about your stupid crush on a boy named haechan. jeno thinks that you look so adorable giggling and twirling your hair merely by thinking about a date, such a cutie loser.

your lovely jeno who lets you sit on his lap as he reapply the sunscreen on your face and body. however, he takes an extra time to put it on your back as his thoughts run wild, it would be nice to have you on his cock.

jeno asks the chef to prepare strawberry smoothie because he knows how much you love it. he keeps you seated on his lap as he watches you drink the large sized smoothie while his gaze is fixed on your tummy.

"baby, you have to finish it" jeno stops you from putting the glass down on the mini table, he clicks his tongue in disapproval when he hears you whine.

"it's good for your health" jeno whispers and kisses your cheek when you finish it all. when jeno notices that you're getting antsy, his lips curled into a sinister smirk before bouncing you on his lap.

your bladder is so full but you're just too shy to tell jeno that you want to go to the restroom, you bit on your lower lip as you try to focus on jeno's stories about the movie he watches last night. he loves seeing you struggle to keep your composure up, he can only laugh when you ran off to go to the restroom.

jeno who likes to provide for his princess !!

even though your father has told him to not give you any allowance, he will still let you to keep his credit card and spend it as much as you want. jeno doesn't mind seeing his account gets billed thousands at the end of the month, as long as you're happy then he's happy.

whenever you

when jeno gets home from work, he didn't expect to see you crying in his room. you quickly run to his arms and sob pathetically as he rubs your back to comfort you.

the date went well except for one part, you learn that you give terrible handjob. haechan doesn't say it explicitly but it feels humiliating to know that you're bad at it by judging his reaction.

"nono, please teach me how to do it" jeno feels dizzy when you make a little wanking movement before you try to unbuckle his belt. you even promised to not tell anyone and made pinky promise with jeno so what could possibly go wrong?

jeno tells you to sit down on the bed and unbuckles his belt, he unzips his pants before pulling out his semi-hard cock. he stands dangerously close to you and chuckles seeing you stare at him with glossy eyes.

"princess, can you spit on my hand?" jeno holds out his palm and pats your head when you obey him. he starts stroking himself while the other hand plays with your hair before he wipes the tear on your cheek.

"you can be gentle or firm with it" jeno tells as he glides his thumb on the bulbous tip, he gives himself a nice and consistent stroke as he watches your reaction. it is honestly endearing seeing you pay attention to him, he bet that you'd take note using your zebra pens if you could.

jeno takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, he puts his hand over yours and continues jerking himself off.

"jeno, does it feel good?" you ask out of curiousity as you watch the way his cock grow bigger and the tip looks painfully hard.

you're too good, jeno can't even form a sentence. he just hums lazily and gently tug on your hair to take a better look of your fce.

"you did well so baby, let's practice more, hmm?"

[felinefamiliars]

Fives: …gonk

Hardcase: Gonk?

Fives: Gonk!

Hardcase: GONK

Fives and Hardcase: gonkgonkgonkgonk

Rex: …

Rex: *walks away*

Fives and Hardcase: *gonks sadly* :<

[theshiftanlibrary]

┈◦•◦❥•◦ | In their ways...

SYNOPSIS: Uh oh! It seems you have fallen ill! Not to worry dear prefect, they will look after you, albeit in their own ways.

CHARACTERS: Riddle Rosehearts; Leona Kingscholar; Azul Ashengrotto; Jamil Viper; Vil Schoenheit; Idia Shroud; Malleus Draconia

TAGS: Fluff; Established Relationships; Hurt/Comfort; Sickfic

He couldn't help his smile. You were just too cute. Few would beg to differ, what with your snotty nose and whistling breaths, but they wouldn't dare defy the Queen. Lest they lose their heads. He probably shouldn't allow you to take him as your personal pillow, after all he had so much to do. But... A rest won't hurt him. And even if it weren't for you, Trey would have forced his rest.

Stupid Ruggie... That soup he gave you should have worked an hour ago. Yet, here he is, still suffering through your little whimpers. The twitching stopped though and so did the tossing and turning. So, small wins for now. He probably should have taken you to the infirmary already, but it's his nap time and he's not going to lose his (favorite) pillow. You were the perfect size for cuddling too, what with your small back fitting perfectly into his chest as his arms cradled you so. Tch... Stupid herbivore, why'd ya have to go and get sick?

The little coughs from the couch pulled at his heartstrings. A strange thing to feel while also simultaneously hooking a poor unfortunate soul into one of his contracts. But his heart still sang whenever he sees you resting on the couch in the VIP room. You were quite sick and loopy when you first plopped down into the couch, so in his benevolence, he draped his coat over your form. Nothing will come bother you here, he'll ensure it.

The chicken soup is taking too long, he muttered to himself. Your skin burnt as hot as the desert sands, which was concerning to say the least. Even Kalim's fevers weren't this bad. What made it worse had been the fact that you came into the Scarabian kitchens with the fluffiest blanket Kalim had gifted you and your frame still shivered through all those layers. He silently thanked the Sevens for giving him the time to look after you too, since Kalim had been at the Light Music Club. He'll dedicate his life to you should you let him.

He couldn't bring himself to scold you. Your bleary eyes and red skin told him all he needed to know. A nasty flu afflicted you and you came to him for help. He's quite flattered. Normally, he'd start applying skin care products while listening to your latest escapades but today he simply tucked you into his bed. After your soft scratchy voice asked him so nicely, how could he refuse? Besides, washers were there for a reason. He left you to rest as he dashed around for flu remedies. At least he would have if it weren't for your whines, begging him to stay for just a little longer.

His hands kept readjusting themselves on your form, making you groan at him as you tightened your grip on his neck. He was sure you could hear his heart beating out of his chest, after all you did nuzzle yourself into his neck and hair. Speaking of his hair, he was also pretty sure you saw the pink glow from under your closed eyelids. His hair never shined so brightly before. But Ortho left him to get some medicine for you, which is cool. KK, GG. But he's gonna get KO'ed if he hears another contented squeak from you.

Your weight had been quite a relief upon his chest. He started to worry when he heard your scratchy voice politely asking him to cuddle you. He obliged, of course. Your form curled itself into a ball as he held onto you to trace every dip and divet he could find with his fingers. Your skin burned hot, indicating your fever. A voice very similar to Lilia's scolded him for not taking you to the infirmary, but he couldn't bring himself to move. After all, humans needed to rest when they're sick, yes?

A/N: Ani not posting Genshin content?! More likely than you think. Anyway, I wrote this when I was sick. So most of what the reader has, I had. Fever, runny nose, the whole works. And can you spot who are my favorites? 👀 And I redid my formatting, if you couldn't tell. what am i saying it's been so long since i posted a fic

[hummusxx]

I Don't care -JB5

parings: Jude Bellingham x fem!reader

summary: It's New Year's Eve in Madrid. Everyone is out having parties and celebrating the new year while u is stuck home sick with the flu. Your boyfriend tries to cheer you up.

Of course. The only handful of days Jude and I can go out together is spent inside on the couch, watching some stupid show. I just had to go and get the flu. My aunt had forgotten to inform everyone that her demon of a child had every sickness known to mankind at Christmas dinner

" Babe get the frown off your face- Everything is alright " Jude tried to reassure me as he was walking towards the couch with a steaming hot bowl of soup.

I look at him in disbelief.

"No Jude. We were supposed to have fun tonight and go out. Not say home and watch this stupid show in clothes that smell like we haven't showered in years." With a frown on my face, I bury my head into the couch cushion.

I start to hear loud bangs and realize that fireworks are going off. I look outside the window with a somber look.

"Um excuse you but The Sopranos is one of the best shows in the world" Jude says offensively as he sets down the bowl.

"-and i wouldn't want it any other way. Just Me and My girl, alone, in pjs, watching a dumb show as u say." he sits next to me, laying his arm around my shoulder and pulling the blanket over him.

"Stop you're going to get sick Jude," I say, as I try and push him to the other side of the couch.

Jude doesn't move any inch. After my pity attempt to move him, he reaches and grabs the bowl on the table and starts to feed me like a mother would her babe.

"Judie I'm not a baby" I whine.

Well, you're my baby" he says, laughing as he watches me frown.

He suddenly puts down the bowl and makes his way into the bedroom.

"Jude where are u going."

"Just a sec" he responds. His voice was muffled by the loud fireworks outside.

He comes back in with a hat and party blower that says,'Happy New Year.'

"Jude what- How did u get this stuff." I say as u sit up from the couch.

Jude moves over to me and puts the hat on my head and the blower in my hand. He walks over to the kitchen and open the fridge.

He grabs 12 grapes for both of us and sits down on the couch.

"I grabbed all this while I was out getting your soup" I stare at him in disbelief. My eyes start to water.

" I know how bad u wanted to go out tonight, so I brought the out to you," he says while turning on the broadcast of the clock in Puerta del sol.

I look at the time, it's 11:57. It's almost the new year.

" Jude"

"mhm" he turns to look at me.

"I love you so much and I'm so grateful for everything that has happened to us this year."

He looks at me and grabs my hands

"Baby you have helped me so much this year and i am forever grateful for u" He Kisses my forehead right at the clock Strucks 12.

The chimes start and we eat the grapes.

We both finish them all in the chimes.

"Happy New year baby' he says as he grabs my head..

"Jude you're going to get sick" i say leaning in

"I don't care."

Hummusxx Corner

heyyy everyonee i hope this was good. I haven't wrote in ages it feels like so im happy to have a new piece out. In Spain, they have a tradition of eating 12 grapes with the 12 chimes of the clock in puerta del sol and if u finish all 12 you will have a good new year full of luck. So since Jude has moved to spain decided to include it in because it just felt right. If u liked it plssss repost or comment. Love yall and byeee

I wanted this to be posted on new years eve BUT I literally can’t wait so here it is early 😉

[restinslices]

Ahhhh after some thought I’ll choose the earthrealm men with a lovey dovey s/o 👉🏻👈🏻

back to requests a mere 6 days after saying I was gonna take a break. Was that post a little unnecessary? Yes, but I didn’t want anyone to get mad at me for not posting everyday and not getting to requests immediately. ANYWAY, back like the flu.

Johnny Cage

Johnny “Loves Attention” Cage is having the best time 

Do y'all remember how much of a cornball this man was in the game? He has no shame 

So a significant other who also has no shame? He's getting on one knee as soon as possible 

He tries to out cornball you 

He loves it all. The stupid nicknames, the cuddling, the gifts, the giggling, all the adoration, he's just in love

Definitely returns the favor. If you buy him smth, he's buying you smth (let's ignore that debt), you give him a nickname so he gives you one. It goes on and on

All this lovey dovey shit might exhaust some people. Johnny is not some people. 

The nicknames are probably his favorite part. He makes the most atrocious nicknames up because you won't be upset 

Some real dumb shit like Oogy Boogy Sweetie Weetie Cutie Patootie Kissy Face- yeah all that shit is one nickname. Why? Because it's funny to him and you'll laugh 

The type to get y'all dumbass matching shirts 

“If found return to stupid” “I'm stupid” 

Those type of shirts 

Everyone hates you because it becomes a competition of who can be the most corny. It's tortuous for anyone near you 

Cannot express enough how much this man enjoys the attention you give him. If one day you decided to ignore him as a joke, he'd actually be so sad and notice immediately 

He just adores having a corny lovey dovey partner. The best thing to happen to him. 

Kenshi Takahashi 

He doesn't hate it but he definitely needs a breather sometimes 

Having a lovey dovey partner isn't terrible to him. All the touching and nicknames and being spoiled is definitely cute to him, but being lovey dovey also means you're on him a lot. Kenshi doesn't give me huge extrovert vibes so I think because you're so extreme(?) that there's times when he needs a break 

He thinks it's adorable though. He likes feeling wanted so he likes how outwardly you are with your love 

Idk if he likes all the nicknames though. I can see him easily cringing if you go overboard 

Idk how he'd feel about you spoiling him. He doesn't hate it but he feels like everytime you give him a gift, he has to give you one and he ain't got that shit on him. His own thoughts are running him dry 

When his social battery is recharged I think he'd like how physical and sweet you are

He enjoys how loved you make him feel. He's just not sure how to respond sometimes. I can see you saying something really corny and although he thinks it's cute, his brain doesn't move fast enough and he ends up just staring at you 

He rolls his eyes a lot too so it can give the appearance that he's annoyed by you but it's definitely not that 

You want some corny shit he'll definitely like? Matching jewelry. He'll eat it up like it's a cookie 

Also draw over his tattoos. He loves it 

Loves the corny shit his brain just legit shuts off sometimes 

Kung Lao

Like Johnny, he enjoys the attention 

Idk if he necessarily enjoys all the corny things. I don't get a strong feeling from him. Maybe it depends on the day 

Likes the attention and spoiling but all the corny nicknames and shirts and just being a total sap makes him a little uncomfortable at times 

Once again, it depends on the day. Sometimes he's all for it and sometimes he's like “let's calm down for today”

Gets you a matching hat but without all the sharp shit because he doesn't trust you with sharp objects 

He's a mix of Johnny and Kenshi tbh

He refuses to wear those corny matching shirts. You'll have to kill him 

That applies to other things too

Those corny nicknames Johnny would make up? He'd prefer a beating from a serious Spiderman 

“Aw my Snookie Wookie-” “I'm gonna shoot myself right here right now. Please stop”

It's cute and he acknowledges that it's how you show love but certain things just ain't gonna work with him

Especially in public certain things just won't work with him because he has an ego and thinks certain things will make him look weird. It's giving insecure teen 

Don't doubt his love for you though. He loves his little sap. Just take it a bit slow 

At some point a switch would flip and he'd go from being embarrassed to thinking “wow, I'm so great my partner is willing to look silly in front of others!”

Now he feeds into your corny bullshit

A win is a win

Raiden

I fully believe him and Liu Kang are romantics, therefore he loves it 

He gets flustered easily so tons of affection makes his face go red and all that cute shit 

His brain also short circuits like Kenshi's. He's so bad at pretending he's not flustered 

“Are you blushing?” “...” “...” “...” “Raiden?” “Of course not”

Likes the consistent physical contact 

Spoiling him also makes him short circuit. He's trying to think of how to thank you but all that comes out is “oh!”

Adores you just as much as you adore him 

He likes gift giving. And idk mean just jewelry, I mean “you got me all these gifts so I'm gonna bring you a bunch of produce and hey, maybe we can cook later”

We saw him collecting cabbages like Cabbage Man from ATLA in the beginning of the game, he gotta still have the hook up

Loves receiving cheek kisses 

Man is so weak in the knees. Kung Lao can yell “STAND UP!” all he wants. That shit is not happening 

Play with his hair. Once again, weak in the knees 

He's having a great time. Sure he's easily embarrassed but it's not like “omg, you're being weird. Stop”. It's more of a “I love this but I feel like everyone's looking”

You two are super lovey dovey but not as obnoxious as you and Johnny. Johnny is like “you can't out corny me” and Raiden is just tryna vibe and love on you since you love on him 

All the embarrassment he feels is so worth it to him 

Liu Kang

A romantic so all that lovey dovey shit? Heaven to him 

Liu Kang has so much love to give and he's never allowed to share it because his life is ass in every timeline 

So a partner that adores him and shows him how much they adore him? Did the Elder Gods hand craft you for him?

He's honestly a mix of everyone. He wants to love you all the time like Johnny, he loves how much you love him like Kenshi, he loves how much you outwardly adore him like Kung Lao and he's a huge romantic that loves how much time you spend together like Raiden

He's so love deprived so he loves everything you wanna do 

Matching shirts, jewelry, socks, whatever the fuck? Absolutely. 

Spoiling him with random shit? He'll take it all

Telling him how much you love him all the time? Yes. 

Giving him the dumbest and corniest nicknames? He'll take that too 

He's also lovey dovey so the feeling is very much mutual 

Enjoys quality time so you wanting to be on his hip is very much welcomed 

You're a breath of fresh air since you're so kind and loving to him. Remember he has all the memories of the past timeline, then this timeline gets fucked up. He's used to constant smoke and destruction so someone being so nice and sweet to him and relaxing with him is heavenly to him

Doesn't matter how corny it is. It's all he wants 

Real quick, two things. Firstly I wanna make more MK1 intros so y’all should give me ideas. Secondly I think it would be fun if we as a unit made an MK1 oc. I’d make polls, you’d vote on certain things and then we use the same results but tinker it to our individual liking. For example maybe we know they’re Edenian but their gender is up to you. It’d be like a bunch of variants. A Multiverse of Madness if you will.

[daceydeath]

Hiii 👋 I was wondering if you could write a Chan imagine where yn is the ninth member and her and Chan are secretly dating. Yn gets really sick and has to stay in bed and when Chan is filming a Channies room he hears he call for him weakly. Sorry if that doesn’t make any sense 😭

Hi! I'm sorry this took so long to write but actually it was much harder to write a 9th member imagine than I thought it would be. I do hope you like it though darling. Dacey xx

I didn't know you were filming (a 9th member imagine)

Pairing: Chan x reader Word Count: Genre: 9th Member, Fluff, Comedy (stupidity) Warnings: swearing

Being the only female member of Stray Kids wasn't difficult. Keeping your relationship with Chan secret from Stay however was much harder.

You had caught a cold on the way home from the last Japanese promotions at first you thought it was going to be a minor inconvenience but after a few days it turned out to be a full blown flu. Management had made an announcement that you would be missing the next week or so of promotions as you recovered but you were miserable and felt wretched so each of your members had been taking care of you much to Stay's delight and posting photos of you bundled up in blankets and pouting on Bubble. It was Saturday and all morning Hyunjin and Han had been fussing over you much to your annoyance.

"Chan! I'll be fine" you mumbled pouting as Minho and Felix sat on the other couch smirking.

"You say that but this flu has really knocked you around" he smoothed down your bed hair slightly while Han and Changbin flat out laughed at you.

"I know but I'll just sleep and drink water and stuff. I am fine I am not going to die from it" you continued whinging until you sneezed loudly and proved his point.

"Minho and Felix will stay with you" Chan raised his eyebrows waiting for you to argue "please take you medicine when they tell you to and also eat when they tell you to". You pouted again as Chan chuckled and patted your head.

"See you later then" you sulked groaning and you got up and shuffled to your room.

"See you tonight" Chan chuckled as he left with the others.

Being member of the same group you tried to keep as much of your relationship out of the other members faces so cute nicknames, cuddle sessions and kisses were off the table unless you were alone. It meant you were both much less likely to accidently do something that could cause a scandal, plus everyone loved to tease and joke about each ship that Stay came up with regarding you.

"Oi noona you have to take your medicine" Felix called after you following you with a glass of water.

"Yes Felix" you grumbled pouting as you took the glass from him and took your tablets.

"I'm going to order you some soup and stuff why don't you just rest?" Minho added as you flopped back onto your bed, if you hadn't be so sick you would have curled up in Chan's bed his scent always made you feel better but the best you could manage was the hoodie he had given you earlier in the morning. You drifted off into a miserable sleep hoping that when you woke up you would feel better.

"Wakey wakey" Minho whispered softly shaking your blanket cocoon as you blinked slowly groggy from the sickness and the medicine. "You need to eat something it will make you recover faster".

"Alright" you snuffled slowly sitting up before Minho helped you to stand.

"After you eat something you need some more medicine" Felix smiled as you sank into the couch cushions, taking a bowl of soup from Minho's hands you sat and ate slowly the warm liquid helping to soothe your sore throat, the boys put on a movie and sat with you for a few hours making sure you kept hydrated and trying to lift your mood. But with the medicine making you drowsy again you couldn't help that you ended up falling asleep in Felix's lap as he played with your hair.

"Aw she looks so cute when she's sleeping" Han cooed making you blink and look around.

"Didn't I just say not to wake her?" Chan sighed looking between Han and you as you rubbed your eyes "How are you feeling?".

"Like I have been run over by a bus" you yawned sitting up from Felix's lap "Is there anymore soup?"

"Already heating in up for you" Minho called from the kitchen making you smile they had been taking care of you so well and you knew you were lucky, had you been left with Han and Hyunjin the dorm might have caught fire.

"Thank you" you croaked while Felix propped you up on some pillows and Chan got you a glass of water. They all continued to fuss over you while you ate making sure you were warm enough and comfortable.

"Changbin and I are going to the gym later you in Chan?" Han asked while he played around on his phone.

"Nah, I going to do to a live later so I'll make sure shes got her medicine and stuff too" Chan shrugged casually sitting on your left with his arm around your shoulders.

"Oooh looking at doing a bit of team building?" Han teased taking your empty bowl again.

"Fuck off she's sick one of us has to take care of her and since Minho and Felix were here all day it's time for someone else to have a turn tonight" Chan groaned at how stupid Han was being while Minho and Felix made kissing noises that made you laugh, and then cough a lot.

"Stop trying to kill me" you whined burrowing yourself into Chan's chest so that they couldn't see your face any longer.

"Alright I think you need another nap now" Chan sighed as your breathing returned to normal, you simply nodded knowing that arguing was pointless as Chan helped you to stand and you shuffled off without complaint to your room to get some more rest.

When you woke up again it was late, checking your phone you realized there was a glass of water and medicines sitting next on your bedside table with a note Chan had left you saying to take them as soon as you woke up and call for him if you needed anything. Smiling you took your medicine and sat up in your bed a little thinking that you should probably get up and get something warm to drink to help you fall back asleep. Picking up your phone you messaged Chan saying you had woken up and taken your medicine, he answered that he hoped you were feeling better and that if you needed anything he would get it for you. You felt your eyelids growing heavy again but after ten minutes you still couldn't fall asleep you could hear Chan talking but not who he was talking to, so you decided to call to him.

"Channie? Are you there baby?" you called your voice croaky, you head him pause but then he started talking again.

"Channie, I need cuddles to sleep" you called again whinging as you again heard him pause and your phone lit up with a message from Chan that only said the words on live. Frowning you sat for a few moments before you heard Changbin's voice from somewhere in the hallway.

"Chaaaannnnnie" he called in his most annoying high pitched voice before ducking into your room.

"Changbin what are you doing?" you chuckled as he sat on the end of your bed trying to hold in his laugh.

"He's doing an episode of Chan's Room all of Stay just heard you call him baby and ask for cuddles" he explained as he shook with laughter as your face paled further.

"Shit" you groaned flopping down on your mattress.

"Channie I love you" Han shouted from the opposite end of the hall.

"Channie marry me?" Changbin yelled louder this time as you opened the live up on your phone to see what was happening. Chan was sitting on his bed head in his hands, flushed pink and trying not to laugh as the comments of how chaotic you all were, whether this confirmed you were together or if this was a prank you were all playing on him.

You continued pouting even after Changbin left your room to go back to the lounge room where he and Han had been eating after their workout. You continued watching the live as Chan explained how you had all decided to tease him once again and that he was going to have to move to the other dorm for some peace and quiet eventually he signed off with his signature hug and finished the live, then you heard him shuffling around and you knew he was going to come and scold you. As he opened the door you gave him your best puppy eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't know you were doing a live" you kept the misery act up until he sighed deeply walking across your room and sliding in behind you.

"I better cuddle you to sleep then, since Stay thinks we are so cute together" he teased softly holding you tightly against his chest.

a/n: Thank you for reading you beautiful human! Any likes, reblogs and comments are loved and adored xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks, @leeknowinggg, @uno7,

[l4ndojpg]

whumptober 2024, day 5: heatstroke

fandom: formula 1 RPF | characters: lando norris, oscar piastri, jon malvern, max fewtrell (briefly) | ship: lando norris/oscar piastri | trigger warnings: vomit | content: lando experiences heatstroke after the singapore grand prix | word count: 956

“Fuck,” Lando hisses against the shock of cold as he lowers himself into his icebath. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

“Mmm,” Oscar agrees, already in his own, eyes closed, head tilted back. Lando dunks his head under the water and gasps as he emerges, running his hand through his wet curls. The water has done well at cooling his core temperature down, but it hasn’t slowed his dizziness like he thought it would. 

“Oi! LN,” Fewtrell says, popping his head around the corner. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Yes mate,” Lando says, splashing his face with water, hoping it’ll cure his dizziness and fatigue. “See you at ten?” Oscar starts to stand up, and Lando takes this as his cue to do the same. He hopes Jon has a good meal ready for him before debriefing.

Max gives him a thumbs up. “Whatever you say, race winner,” he says, and disappears around the corner again. Lando grins, but as he does, a wave of nausea hits him. He stumbles where he stands in the bath, gripping the rim of the tub to steady himself. 

“Woah, hey, Lando,” Oscar appears at his side almost instantly, hand on his shoulder. Lando brushes him off, not wanting him to worry. 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, swallowing against the urge to throw up. He hauls himself out of the bath, stumbling slightly again as he stands, immediately overwhelmed by the heat again. Oscar hands him his towel. 

“Still dizzy?” he says sympathetically. Lando cringes at his kindness. Even after a hard race for Oscar - Oscar, who wouldn’t have made the same stupid mistakes that he made 20 fucking seconds ahead of everyone else - his primary concern is still Lando’s wellbeing. What has he done to deserve that? 

“Fine,” Lando mumbles again, tying his towel around his waist. He already feels himself beginning to sweat again in the Singapore humidity. The immediate urge to throw up has abated, but nausea still swirls at the pit of his stomach. Dimly, as they walk back to their respective rooms to meet Jon and Kim, he thinks he probably shouldn’t be feeling like this. The post race aches are starting to set in, but that’s normal. And it’s normal to be a little dizzy after hopping out of the car in Singapore, but he’s never felt sick like this before. 

He hopes he doesn’t have the flu again. That was awful. 

Oscar squeezes his waist briefly when he gets to his own Driver room. “See you for debrief?” 

“See you,” Lando says, and his voice sounds far away. His waist burns where Oscar touched, but not in the usual way. It feels uncomfortable, sticky with heat. 

When he gets to his room, Jon is waiting with a recovery shake and a decent meal, but Lando doesn’t feel like either anymore. 

“Mate, you’ve got to eat,” Jon says, throwing his water bottle at him. Lando’s movement to catch it feels sluggish and off, not like his usual quick reflexes at all. Jon seems to notice this, because he notices everything, and raises an eyebrow as Lando takes a long drink from the icy bottle. 

“Feeling alright?” he says wearily. 

Lando opens his mouth to say that he’s alright, but it suddenly feels full of cotton and saliva. 

“‘M gonna throw up,” he slurs, and Jon thinks quickly, grabbing a container that used to be full of salad and shoving it under Lando’s face. He chokes and gags, the bile burning his throat and making him dizzier. His eyes are blurry - when did he start crying? - and his arms feel so weak he can hardly hold the container up himself. Jon has to do it for him, and it’s fucking humiliating. Singapore Grand Prix Winner and he can’t even puke without someone to help him. 

When he’s done, he spits one more time for good measure and slumps back against the couch, the leather sweaty beneath his neck. He shuts his eyes and tries to ignore the tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. Jon’s voice wavers in his ears. 

“-heatstroke, I don’t think you drank enough water-,” he doesn’t open his eyes. It’s too much effort. After a moment, Jon’s voice is joined by another, and a squeeze on his leg. 

“Lando. Lando,” Lando opens his eyes, and the room is spinning so hard that there appears to be three of Oscar in front of him. 

“Leave me alone,” he moans. He doesn’t want Oscar to see him like this. Oscar, who should hate him for having a faster car. Oscar, who should be out celebrating his P3. Oscar, who despite everything, is here beside him, because he’s always beside him. 

“Can’t do that mate,” Oscar says gently, and Lando feels the couch dip next to him. “Jon’s had to go get some stuff for you. You’ve got heatstroke.” 

“I’m fine,” Lando says again, but his voice cracks and he suddenly wants to cry again. He hates himself for it. P1, he should be fucking thrilled, but he’s here instead, thowing up and shaking and unable to stand up without falling over. Some winner he is. 

He must say some of this aloud, because Oscar says quietly, “Lando, no. C’mon. This could happen to anyone.” 

“Just-,” Lando says, and his voice wobbles. Tears threaten his eyelids again. Oscar’s seen him cry plenty before, but this feels worse. Lando spends so much time trying to convince himself he’s not weak, and here’s living proof he’s wrong. “Just go away.” 

“No,” Oscar says, more firmly this time. “You can just ignore me, it’s okay. Pretend I’m not here,” but even as he says this, Lando grips Oscar’s knee. He doesn’t actually want Oscar to leave. 

He’s weak. 

[somber-sapphic]

Hey! I was wondering if you would be down to do the sicktember (I already know my autocorrect is going to hate this 😂) but day 27 I think. The one with Marina x reader and Carina is sick. If not I totally understand

Taking Care of Her

〖Summary: Carina is sick and not doing a great job at being a patient.〗

〖Word Count: 1.1k〗

〖Pairing: Marina x Reader, Sick Carina〗

〖Notes: I absolutely can! Sorry it took me so long to respond to this one, I wanted to make sure I could have the req with the post. If anyone else has any sicktember prompts they want finished I'll link the post here and you can let me know :)) Apologies for the title, it's late and I cannot think of anything better.〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Carina, there’s no way you’re healthy enough to be here. Let me take you home, please.” You begged, hugging a clipboard to your chest as you watched your very sick girlfriend move about the on-call room. It was a slow day in the ER which left you time to chase her around instead of taking blood and treating patients. It also helped that April wanted Carina to go home as badly as you did. 

She had helped run clinic day with Maya and the rest of the crew of 19 a few days ago and had encountered the nasty flu that was going around. She’d actually been forced to deny one man a flu shot and sent him to the hospital to be evaluated by one of the ER docs. That night, she and Maya came home exhausted, making you regret not taking your day off to help them.

To make it up to them, you’d made them both a fancy bath with salts, candles, and scented candles. While they were relaxing in the bath you attempted to cook and when that failed you put in an order for the Italian place down the street. They had been incredibly thankful but Carina had practically fallen asleep in her plate of pasta, leading to an early night. 

The doctor had the next day off so you and Maya had gotten ready quietly around her and she was still asleep by the time the two of you got back that night. That was the first sign. 

There was evidence that she had gotten up, at least to eat lunch, but the fact that she would even consider sleeping the whole day worried you and your other girlfriend. The two of you let her sleep anyway, both of you hoping silently that she could fight off whatever was trying to take hold with a little extra rest. 

Of course, it didn’t. So here you were, trying to convince Carina that it was in her best interest to let you take her home instead of treating patients. There you were, blocking the exit to the on-call room prepared to shove Carina into a bed if that’s what it took. She had driven you there (a bad idea in hindsight) and you weren't sure how long it would take for Maya to get there to pick you up. 

“Y/n, I have mothers waiting for me preparing to push tiny humans out of their bodies. What they are preparing to go to is far worse than this little cold.” She insisted, bringing it back to the mothers yet again. Throughout the whole argument, she had stood firm that she needed to be fine because her patients were not. 

“Come on Car, you have to know that's a stupid point. What if you get them sick? What if you get the babies sick? Masks are great but they aren’t foolproof, what would happen then?” You challenged, raising an eyebrow at her. The woman’s face went a shade paler, something you didn't realize was possible, and she faltered slightly. 

“But, it's my job. Another doctor won't know them like I do, they won’t be able to…” She trailed off and raised a hand to her forehead, swaying suddenly. You rushed forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, quickly taking almost her complete weight as you sat her down on the bottom bunk of a bed. 

“Sweetheart, you’re sick. Let me take you home. Maya has the day off, we can watch movies and I’ll make you soup and we can get you feeling better. Please. You’re a biohazard.” You knew that last part would make her rethink her position which was exactly why you’d thrown it in. 

Carina dropped her head on your shoulder for a moment giving into the dizziness that you were sure she was feeling. 

“Please. Flu season has been bad, this will only get worse before it gets better.” As a nurse, you had been treating case after case of the flu several of them with severe enough symptoms that they needed to be admitted. You were used to rates going up during the winter but it was worse this year. 

The two of you sat in silence for a few more minutes, you rubbing Carina’s back as she carefully weighed her options. 

“Fine.” She finally said, lifting her head to look at you with glassy brown eyes. “I don't want to get the mothers sick.” You smiled, perfectly happy with that answer. You didn't care why she went home as long as she did. 

“Thank you.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You stepped through the door to your home and were immediately greeted by a very worried-looking EMT. 

“Hey baby, come here.” Maya breathed, reaching out her arms for the shivering brunette bundled up in yours. She broke away from you and drifted toward the firefighter, tears already beginning to form in her eyes. You sighed quietly and pinched the bridge of your nose, wishing that you knew of a way to keep her from crying. She always got weepy when she had a fever and you hated that there was so little that you could do to help. 

“I made a little blanket fort on the couch or we can go lay down in bed, what do you think?” The blonde offered, stepping immediately into the role of caretaker. She was so good at that, even you, a nurse, had trouble with it when it came to the people you loved. For some reason taking care of strangers always came easier. 

“Bed.”

It took the two of you ten minutes to get her settled, she had refused the first three sets of PJs that were offered and wouldn’t lay down until Maya did. Once the blonde was in bed it seemed to signal to Carina that she was allowed to rest and quickly cuddled up against the firefighter. 

You flipped on the TV and handed the remote to your healthy girlfriend so that you could change out of your scrubs and into sweatpants and an oversized band t-shirt. The shirt belonged to Maya, but the two of you frequently swapped clothes, so she didn’t mind. 

“Do you need anything Car? Some tea? A snack? Anything?” You offered, expecting the answer to be no. She shook her head, just as you thought she would, and reached over the EMT to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Will you lay down with us? Just for a little while?” She croaked, sniffling softly. Her nose was running a little but she didn't seem to notice or care. You smiled and walked around to the other side of the bed so that she could be in the middle. 

Taking care of the doctor would never be an easy feat but you and Maya were more than willing to accept the challenge. Though you both were glad that she had such a strong immune system. That certainly helped. 

〖Join My Taglist!〗@lovelyy-moonlight, @bloomingflowersthings, @lots-of-pockets, @asiangmrchk13, @scrambled-brain-eggs, @juststuckhereforever, @chairhere, @goldenempyrean, @villaneve4life

[sinnoman]

The Dummy's Dummy

Once again, possessed by the spirit of Macaron (is that their ship name?) I have dumped 5773 words into a google docs and created a fic dedicated to Mammon and Barbatos.

Please sit back and enjoy how stupid these two are... stupid in loooove~

This is cross-posted on my ao3 which I will link here if you prefer to read long fics there.

Summary:

Mammon, although everyone liked to make fun of his intelligence, was somewhat sensible. He was able to mate for life! Although his mate doesn't exactly know it. No matter, he's sure Barbatos will get the hint someday.

Or alternatively,

Mammon unbeknownst to Barbatos, has mated him. Barbatos learns the crucial lesson of being mated to a crow and how to fall in love with Mammon all the same.

— 

It begins with a song. 

Mammon is surprised to hear a slow clap after he finishes singing. Whipping around, Mammon watches as Barbatos descends the steps of the house and enters the planetarium of the House of Lamentation. The royal steward gives him a small smile and Mammon can feel the heat rush up to his cheeks. Most of it was from embarrassment but a bit of it was flush from the praise he received. 

He doesn’t know why Barbatos was even in his home. Barbatos doesn’t visit often. When he does it’s usually because Lord Diavolo had demanded a change of scenery and wants to hole himself with Lucifer in his brother’s office. Even then Barbatos is often glued to Diavolo’s side tending to his every need as it’s required of him. 

“I did not know you possessed such a voice, Mammon,” Barbatos says smoothly. Mammon can feel his heart beat a pace too fast in his ears. “It was beautiful.” 

Mammon, who feels his brain and nervous system shut down, stands in silence as he stares down Barbatos with a shovel and plant nutrient in his hands. The praise does far too much for how vague it was but Mammon is sure it is not entirely his fault. Relying on instinct alone, he tries his best to make sense of the situation. 

Singing is a vulnerable language for him. Singing carried depth for him unlike how little meaning it has for everyone else. Depending on how he sang, it was very important that he received appropriate recognition for his performance. The last time he sang was to lull Belphie to sleep when he was sick with devil flu. Mammon had been singing this time to the plants in hopes they’d grow steadfast without any problems.

So when Barbatos praises his singing, the small thought of “mate?” that rings in his head makes Mammon consider the steward. 

Barbatos is about the same height as him, only an inch taller. He’s slim, but he makes up for it with amazing posture and honed skills in other areas. Mammon’s sure, from what he’s seen from Barbatos’ bare hands when the steward washes dishes, that Barbatos was well-toned. Under a faux golden moon and diamond stars, Mammon can almost imagine a life of both of them together. 

Yes, Barbatos will do. 

It takes him two whole minutes of standing in awkward silence to process the words before he flushes completely red. “Oh. T-Thanks.” He managed to stumble out. 

Scratching the back of his neck, Mammon lowers his head a bit to hide his face before looking at Barbatos, “Would you like to hear another song?” Mammon whispers as if anyone could hear them. 

Barbatos nods and gives him a look of expectancy. Mammon bends down, placing his shovel and spray bottle down, and slowly walks over to Barbatos closing the gap between them as best as he can without making Barbatos uncomfortable. 

Fiddling with his fingers, Mammon takes a deep breath before he starts to sing softly. This time, it’s not a song with words but rather a tune that Mammon forms precisely just for Barbatos. The melody conceals coos and clicks, as customary of a courting song. Once he’s done, Barbatos claps once again and Mammon feels giddy all over. He’s done it. He’s succeeded in mating with Barbatos. 

“Well done once again, Mammon.” Barbatos praises, putting his arms down once he finishes clapping. “Before I forget, Lucifer is looking for you. I believe you told him you would help him understand a banking transaction.” Barbatos informs him, turning to walk away. 

A clicking sound causes Barbatos to pause before turning back to Mammon. “Did you hear that?” 

“Must be the telescope.” 

— 

In the late hour of the night, after he frees himself from hanging from the ceiling, Mammon shakes Lucifer awake. 

Discombobulated, with spit running down his cheek, Lucifer’s eyes blink one after the other as he sits up looking at Mammon with the hardest look. But Mammon couldn’t care less. 

“I did it, Luci,” Mammon whispers excitedly. 

Groaning, Lucifer runs his face, “What have you done?” 

“I found a mate,” Mammon tells him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking back and forth. 

“Excuse me?” 

—

Mammon spends the next two weeks embroidering black silk gloves with thread mixed with hues of green and blue. While his sin and instinct urge him to quit wasting time on this one thing and hurry to present many valuable items to his mate, Mammon takes the time to craft his gift to perfection. 

Of course, no matter how much his brothers make fun, Mammon isn’t entirely stupid. It would be taking Barbatos for granted if he didn’t uphold his side of the relationship. So, like a good mate would, he sent his crows to drop off smaller gifts for him. His last gift was a tea bag worth half of what he got paid for his last modeling gig. Sure, it wasn’t anything valuable but his closest familiar (that he named Luce, after Lucifer) said Barbatos did not have it in his cabinet of tea. 

And who is Mammon to deny his mate what he loves?

When he is ready to give Barbatos his gift, he catches him in a partially secluded area of R.A.D. 

“Did you commission this?” Barbatos asks, hands tracing the stitching in awe. There is not a stitch out of place and every teal stitching is practically symmetrical down to the curls of its design. “Or..?” 

“I embroidered the teal parts of the gloves,” Mammon says looking away with a blush. “S-Sorry I gave it t’ya late. Embroidery takes time.” There’s silence as Barbatos fiddles with the fabric in between his fingers. He aimlessly watches as Mammon also begins to fiddle with his fingers as they both linger in the awkward silence between them. But Mammon, as his reputation prevails, is quick to break it. “I noticed yer white gloves get dirty easily. These would be better, right?” 

The hallway they were standing in was practically empty unless you counted the few lower demons who were rushing to get to class before the final bell. A small part of Barbatos, the most logical part, wants to give it back to him. If Mammon had truly meant to give him this gift he would have done so at a better time. Causing him to be late to class is nothing but a hindrance to him and his perfect attendance. But the bigger portion is grateful for it. 

“It would… This is extremely thoughtful, Mammon. Thank you.” Barbatos says, giving him a saccharine smile. 

Another click leaves Mammon’s mouth, causing him to slam his hand over his mouth. 

Barbatos’ eyebrows furrow as he makes the connection, “That clicking sound. Are you the one making it?” 

Mammon blushes hard. “I can’t help it.”  

“What is it?” Barbatos asks, a bit curious. He really should be going now. 

“An angel trait thing. It’s supposed to mimic chirpin’ but since I’m a demon it mimics the clicking of crows.” Mammon explains, not looking Barbatos in the eye. 

“It’s cute,” Is the only thing that Barbatos says as he walks away from Mammon toward his designated classroom. 

The sound of clicking echoes in the hallway before the final bell. 

—

There’s a chair in the middle of his room. 

Barbatos immediately pauses once he sees it. It stands out as Barbatos rarely kept any furniture in his room of many doors. With red mahogany wood, the chair is polished to the point where Barbatos can see his reflection. The golden cushion of the chair is plump enough to deem it comfortable to sit in. And while Barbatos does like the aesthetic, it makes him panic. 

Someone was in his room. 

Taking a few steps towards the chair, Barbatos uses his magic to check for any curses or hexes placed on it. He finds none. Looking around, Barbatos can’t see anything suspicious that has changed about his room. Keeping it in mind, he moves on with his day. 

Coming back to his room, he finds more furniture. This time, there’s a rug, a couch, and a bed fully covered in sheets and pillows. Barbatos notices the shiny theme that the furniture all share. Nothing important of his is missing but rather is moved around to make space for the added furniture. 

The culprit shows himself as he drags a bureau into the room. Barbatos watches, mouth slightly open at the audacity Mammon has to come and redecorate his room. 

“What are you doing?” Barbatos snaps, making Mammon pause his antics and look at him. 

Mammon gives him a toothy smile, “Putting furniture into the room.” 

“Mammon,” Barbatos says exasperated. “You cannot furnish my room without my permission. Take it out.” 

“H-Huh?” Mammon gives him a look full of hurt and Barbatos is nearly on his last nerve. In what timeline would Mammon care so much about the state of his room when Mammon has his own. 

“Take. The furniture. Out.” Barbatos emphasizes, watching Mammon bite his lip as a whimper escapes him. 

“Okay.” 

And Mammon does remove all the furniture from his room by the end of the day. 

He also doesn’t see Mammon for the rest of the week. 

—

“No matter how many times I perform a correction spell, my eyes still end up needing glasses,” Solomon said irritated, his eyes squinting at the paper as he leaned closer to it. In his hands was a packet of evaluations that were going to be discussed at the R.A.D. meeting this afternoon. Barbatos can’t help but chuckle at the banter in front of him. The man had a whole week before going over this packet but, Solomon wasn’t known to do things the moment it was presented to him. 

Simeon hums, “Try pulling the paper away from your face.” He placed his teacup down on its appropriate plate. 

“I tried that!” Solomon exclaims, slamming the packet on the table before he pushes it away. Crossing his arms, he pouted leaning back in his chair. “Do I really need to read this evaluation? It’s not like Lucifer is going to pick at my brain for the information.” 

“What if he asks you questions?” Simeon countered, a playful grin on his face. 

Solomon caught Simeon’s glance, “It’s Lucifer. Chances are he’d end up making the entire meeting just himself talking.” Solomon’s lips flatten into a straight line. “He won’t notice.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence and a small smile fell onto Barbatos’s face. It wasn’t the first time the residents of Purgatory Hall came a few moments early to a RAD meeting. Like his master, Barbatos enjoyed watching the relationship between all of them grow. It was nice to see how awkward small talk could develop to childish quarrels. 

Barbatos places his cup of tea down before clearing his throat. “Simeon, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” The angel perks up at the sound of his name. “Are angels similar to birds?” 

Simeon nearly choked on his tea. “W-What? What brought this on?” 

“Just humor me for a bit,” Barbatos responds, not exactly wanting to dwell on his experience with Mammon. He considered that Mammon’s actions were based on angel habits that he couldn’t quite shake off despite being a demon for centuries now. “Are there certain things that angels do that are similar to birds? Perhaps gifting? Collecting and gathering?” Barbatos says, trailing off once he sees the flabbergasted expression on Simeon’s face. 

It only takes a second but Simeon is quick to answer him, “Any behavior that a bird has, us angels had it first!” He corrects, finishing the rest of the tea.

Beside him, Solomon laughs. “They’re pretty much the same species, Barbatos. You don’t know how many times I’ve caught Simeon and Luke bringing in blankets just to cover the ones they already have on the couch in Purgatory Hall.” He informs smugly, dodging Simeon’s hands as the angel tries to shut him up. 

“Nesting is essential, Solomon.” Simeon huffs. Pouring more tea into his cup, Simeon sucks his teeth, “There is nothing wrong with a comfortable home.” 

“So it isn’t unusual for angels to… nest as you put it,” Barbatos confirms, his mind wandering off to his interaction with Mammon. If Mammon was nesting, why in his room? 

Simeon hums, “Well it depends on the stage of the nest. When either Luke or I bring in new things like blankets it’s for maintenance of the nest we already made. In the beginning stage, we bring in things like—“

“—furniture.” Barbatos interrupts catching Simeon and Solomon by surprise. 

Nodding, Simeon continues, “Well yes, but it ultimately it depends on the angel. Some angels like comfortable things, or colorful things, or even—“

“—shiny things.” Barbatos finishes, almost breathlessly. He looks down at his cup, tracing the rim of it with a gloved finger. He then lifts his head, “Is there a specific reason for one to nest?” Barbatos asks, sounding a little more urgent than he would like. 

Simeon simply shrugs, “Not every angel nests, and not every angel has a reason to nest. I nest because Luke is still a fledging and he needs a safe space or else his development will suffer. However, there are other reasons an angel might nest. For comfort, protection, or to show off.” Simeon finishes, going to take a bite of the dessert Barbatos had made for the meeting. 

“Show off?” Solomon echoes in confusion. “Show off for what?” 

“For who,” Simeon corrects after swallowing his sweet. “Some angels build nests to court other angels.” He informs as if it were common sense. 

Solomon’s face contorts to a shit-eating expression. “Have you ever tried to show off for me?” He says as sweetly as possible. Simeon rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you have seven hundred wives? Can’t you flirt with one of them?” 

The residents of Purgatory Hall continue to bicker back and forth but Barbatos tunes them out. Simeon’s words repeat in his head over and over again. Courting? Mammon has been courting him this entire time? With a sense of dread, Barbatos goes to stand. 

He has made a grievous and heartless error. And he must fix it immediately. 

— 

When he finds Mammon, the Second-Born hands him a random bottle of wine that he accepts gracefully. 

“When you were bringing furniture into my room, Mammon. Were you nesting?” Barbatos asks bluntly. He watches as the Avatar of Greed stiffens at his words and nods slowly. 

“But ya didn’t like it,” Mammon whispers sadly. A small sad trilling noise escapes him and it pulls at Barbatos’ heartstrings despite him not showing it. 

“I didn’t know,” Barbatos whispers back. “I didn’t know you were courting me.” If he had, he would have at least let Mammon down gently. 

“I wasn’t courting you,” Mammon states, slightly annoyed. Barbatos’ head is practically reeling at his words. None of Mammon’s behavior has made sense and the little bit of information he was able to gain just appeared to be useless. 

“Ah,” Barbatos responds, unsure of what to say next. 

“We’re already mated,” Mammon informs him.

“Oh.” 

—

Being Mammon’s mate is… something. 

Mammon had explained that Barbatos complimenting his singing was in fact Barbatos agreeing to a relationship with him. How those two very separate things correlate with one another Barbatos isn’t sure. What he does understand is that it is frankly dumb. 

He expected much more attention and disturbance in his day-to-day routine. Furthermore, he expected this whole courting and mating thing not to last long due to arguing on his part but surprisingly none of that happened to be true. What ended up happening was Mammon treating Barbatos as if they weren’t mated. Nothing truly changed except the weekly gift-giving that Mammon said was absolutely necessary whether he liked it or not. When Barbatos brings it up, Mammon is able to explain. 

“Y’don’t like PDA. I’m okay with taking things at your pace.” They’re hushed away in a corner of the ballroom, watching as everyone celebrates the current event of the season. Mammon stands close to him, but not too close to draw any suspicion to either of them. 

Barbatos frowns, “I feel guilty. As if I have led you on.” He does genuinely feel bad. Mammon has devoted his time to planning each and every second he spends with Barbatos. If he cannot see him, Mammon makes sure to spoil Barbatos with thoughtful gifts such as the gloves he wears tonight. 

And here Barbatos is, not reciprocating anything in return. 

Mammon shakes his head, “Yer not. I’m not expecting anything special. I already know ya like me back.” 

His words make him freeze. “W-what? Mammon, when have I told you that I reciprocated your feelings?” Barbatos’ questions, eyes flickering between him and the guest of tonight who seemed too busy distracted by Lucifer and Diavolo dancing the night away. 

“Ya don’t have ta. I can see it through yer actions. Like when ya compliment my choice of gifts, or when ya let me put my nest back. If ya didn’t like me, wouldn’t have let me do that. You don’t let things like that carry on for long.” Mammon explains, raising his hands to clap when everyone else does. 

Barbatos follows suit, not caring what is going on publicly. Remaining silent, he thought hard about it. What he thought was being a good samaritan, apparently wasn’t clearly translated to Mammon. While he had let Mammon put his nest back and continue his bird mating habits, it was simply because he did not have the heart to shut Mammon’s shenanigans down. 

But now that he really looked at it from Mammon’s perspective, did he truly have feelings for Mammon? 

“We could start small.” Mammon continues, his eyes averted from the dance floor and linger on Barbatos. “In private, I mean. Hand holding, hugs, we could practice touching until yer comfortable to do it in public.” 

Barbatos feels like he’s suffering from whiplash. How has this conversation gone from explanations to talks of progressing their romantic relationship that he has just been made aware of? 

But instead of saying no or even breaking up with Mammon, Barbatos lets his curiosity get the best of him and nods. 

“Okay.” 

—

In the privacy of Barbatos’ room, Barbatos and Mammon sit crisscrossed in front of one another. They’ve been sitting on the rug that Mammon had put back in his room for about half an hour now and Barbatos thinks he should probably say something before it becomes too late to do anything. 

“Mammon, do you want to try holding hands?” Barbatos asks softly. 

Mammon hums, chuckling a bit, “I wanna do more than hold hands, sweetheart.” But despite the sexual innuendo in his words, Mammon blushes. “But yeah, we can hold hands if ya want.” 

Shuffling on his knees, Mammon moves closer to Barbatos until their knees are touching. Slowly, he grabs Barbatos’ wrist with one hand, and with the other, he digs a finger underneath the cuff of the gloves he gifted the older demon. Steady, he slides the glove off and watches as the fabric falls onto the carpet with a plop. 

Although it is simply Mammon taking off his glove, Barbatos can’t help but think about how lewd that was just now. With the way Mammon practically undressed his hand, Barbatos sure that if anything serious were to happen he wouldn’t last very long. 

Mammon grabs his bare hand with his and holds it firmly. “Is this okay?” 

Not trusting his voice, Barbatos nods. Mammon nods as well and then focuses back to their hands. Shifting his hand, Mammon goes to intertwining their fingers, holding his palm firm with his. 

“Is this okay?” Mammon whispers, red sitting pretty on his cheeks. Barbatos would tease him about it but he’s sure he is just as red as he is. Whatever composer he had left has been long gone. 

Barbatos nods vigorously, “It is more than okay.” He whispers back. 

They hold hands for what seems too short of a moment between them. The constant cheering and laughter coming from the ballroom seems to remind them that they should probably return to the festivities of the night. Neither of them makes the move to leave though. 

“So did’ya figure it out?” Mammon asks after a while of them sitting in silence. “That ya like me?” 

The words leave Barbatos before he can even think about it. “May I kiss you?” 

Mammon’s eyes widen and he pulls back from their space but he relaxes with the softest smile on his face. As gentle as a midnight breeze, Mammon places the quickest peck on Barbatos’ lips. 

In awe, Barbatos watches Mammon sit back with a grin. “Another one?” Barbatos asks. 

Mammon scoffs playfully before rolling his eyes. He raises himself on his knees once more and leans into Barbatos’ space and places another kiss on his lips. This time it’s a bit more of everything. A bit longer, a bit more passionate. 

A bit too short for Barbatos’ liking when Mammon pulls away. Barbatos, gripping Mammon a bit tighter, damn near whines. “Again?” 

“You could kiss me as much as you want, Barbatos.” Mammon smiled, “It’s practice.” 

It’s all the confirmation he needs to pull Mammon down with him and lock him in place. Taking one hand to hold Mammon’s chin, Barbatos presses his lips to Mammon’s. Instead of pulling away, Barbatos does the opposite and deepens the kiss further. 

He only parts from Mammon once he hears another round of cheering coming from the ballroom. “We… should head back Mammon,” Barbatos states, taking in Mammon as he fails to cover the flush in his face. 

This is ridiculous, absolutely stupid. He shouldn’t be entertaining any bit of this but instead going to stand he continues to do everything but go back to the party. He holds Mammon’s cheek and lightly plants kisses along his jaw before moving up to his cheek and then relatching to his lips. 

Mammon calls it “practice” but Barbatos doesn’t understand what they’re practicing for. It’s now Saturday morning and they’ve spent the last five hours of the night glued to one another just kissing. 

Their current position was rather promiscuous. Moving to the bed, Barbatos hovers over Mammon, his thighs spreading Mammon’s legs apart as Barbatos lays on top of him. One of Barbatos’ hands rests behind Mammon’s neck and his arm is curled under Mammon’s back holding him close. Mammon doesn’t lock Barbatos down with his ankles but does let his fingers run through green locks of hair. The most memorable part of their position was the kissing. 

Barbatos’ lips have come across every inch of Mammon’s face and neck by now. The only time Barbatos has parted from Mammon for more than 30 seconds was to change them both into something more comfortable. 

Even now, as Barbatos pushes their bodies together, tongue slipping past Mammon’s lips, groaning at the way Mammon moans into his mouth, all he can think about is how he wants to continue this until he has to get up to ready the castle that was supposed to be serviced an hour ago. 

Barbatos pulls away, looking down at Mammon who smiles back at him. The clicking sound comes back along with a few happy-sounding trills and it pulls a smile out of Barbatos. Pushing away the hair that has stuck to Mammon’s forehead, Barbatos gives him one more peck on his puffy lips before moving completely off of him. 

Panting, Barbatos watches as Mammon huffs along with him as he sits up. “This was not at all what you meant by touching was it?” Barbatos laughs breathlessly. 

Mammon laughs with him, “Nope! But s’greatly accepted.” He chirps, trilling away in the comfort of the pillows he bought for Barbatos. Barbatos’ lips twitch upwards at the sight. Mammon slowly blinks desperately trying to stay awake. With his hair a mess and clothes all wrinkled Barbatos can’t help but coo at the sight of him. 

He had to admit Mammon did look adorable. 

“I am extremely late for work.” Barbatos mumbles, picking up his D.D.D. and looking at the time. The countless messages from Diavolo and even some from Lucifer scold him for his lack of attention to his position. 

“Ya didn’t sleep,” Mammon tells him. Lazily, Mammon pulls the comforter down and shuffles over making space for Barbatos. He pats the spot beside him. 

“I have a job that I am committed to, Mammon,” Barbatos responds. He hopes that Mammon does not begin to argue with him about it. He’s always known that Barbatos was a busy demon. The time demon was not going to change his ways simply because Mammon had imprinted on him or whatever it was he’d convinced himself of. 

“I never said yer weren’t committed,” Mammon whispers. “But ya can’t be the best if yer fallin’ asleep on the job. Come lay down.” He orders gently. 

Pulling all-nighters is nothing unusual for him, but with the way Mammon opens his arms for him inviting him for a cuddle he can’t help but let the tired wash over him. As he crawls through the wrinkled mess of sheets and curls up in Mammon’s arms, he can hear the left and right sides of his brain argue over the decision. 

A quick text of not feeling well is sent to Diavolo before his phone is thrown aside. 

As he contemplates the past ten hours of his life, Barbatos allows the soothing melody of Mammon’s voice to lull him to sleep. 

— 

Mammon turns out to be a distraction. 

The week rolls by before Barbatos knows it and although it is completely peaceful, the itching of his greed gets the best of him. There’s a slight decrease in effort to perform his duties as steward as perfectly as possible, his attention in class cannot be accounted for, and there is a lack of care for anyone speaking directly to him other than his mate-sorta-not-mate. In short, Barbatos is a mess. 

He supposes that it is somewhat his own fault. Barbatos never truly let his greed run rampant as long as it has now. Whatever item caught his eye was quickly retrieved whether it was from this timeline or another. His greed was almost always sated immediately. He’s never experienced deprivation like other greed demons have. 

And unfortunately the apple of his eye this time happens to be Mammon. 

He’s all Barbatos thinks about as of late. What Mammon might be doing? Is he causing trouble or was he relaxing? Is he currently suffering from one of Lucifer’s punishments? Has he eaten? Would Mammon like his baked goods? Should he try preparing spicy foods? Would Mammon prefer a dish made by him? Does Mammon miss him? Is Mammon thinking of him? 

Dear all things sinful, this was getting pathetic. 

But the more he thinks about Mammon, the more he wants to be near him, holding him, kissing him—

The kitchen door bursts open and surprise, surprise Mammon strides in with a giddy look once he spots him. “I’m not here for long, I promise.” He says, practically skipping over to him. 

He pulls out a goodie bag and slides it to him over the counter. His fingers pat the edge of the kitchen counter excitedly as he watches Barbatos open the goodie bag and a smile forms on his face. 

“Ya like?” Mammon asks, desperately waiting for Barbatos’ approval. 

Barbatos hums, “I do, Mammon. Thank you. But may I pry, where do you get these? Some of these tea bags are not in season.” The last thing he wants is to be enjoying tea that has been stolen. 

Mammon gloats in the praise, “Haha, of course, ya like it. I am the Great Mammon and my gifts are the best!” He says. He pauses once he’s realized that he’s been asked a question. “Oh. I go down to the ports. One of the lower demons gives them to me in exchange for free labor.” 

Barbatos pauses before giving Mammon a disbelieving look. Not only because Mammon is doing manual labor just to bring Barbatos four tea bags that will soon be put on a shelf.

But because there’s some lower, not worth mentioning moron, is giving things to Mammon. His mate-positively-sure-mate! 

Just like that, a flare of Greed overwhelms them both, and Mammon’s lips split into a shit-eating grin. “Are ya jealous?” 

“I am not.” Barbatos lies. Mammon disregards his words as he walks away giggling but not before letting Barbatos kiss him. 

If the lower demon down at the port randomly goes missing, Mammon doesn’t say anything. 

—

Barbatos figures that he doesn’t really like Mammon, he just likes playing his role as the Avatar’s mate. 

Simeon tells him otherwise during their weekly tea. Luckily for him, Solomon is too busy bothering Asmodeus after being nagged by Simeon for shamelessly flirting with anyone in sight. When Barbatos catches him up Simeon’s jaw drops. 

“That’s why you asked me all those questions?” Simeon said, a happy glint in his eyes. “Who would have guessed you and Mammon?” 

“It is not as if I like him, Simeon,” Barbatos says, taking a sip of his tea. 

Simeon scoffs, “You just spent the past half hour telling me how nice it was to kiss Mammon.” He sets his teacup down on its designated plate. “Not to mention you called out sick just to cuddle with him.” 

“Kisses are nice in general,” Barbatos says automatically as if he were reading from a dictionary. He was not even going to address the other part. 

Simeon’s eyes narrow. “Alright, would you kiss Solomon?” He asks cautiously, analyzing the look on Barbatos’ face. 

Barbatos looks disgusted. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” 

There is a beat of silence before Barbatos speaks. 

“Because… he’s not Mammon.” 

— 

When Lucifer stands in front of him arms crossed with a hard look, Barbatos can’t help but feel numb. He had forgotten that if he was dealing with Mammon he was also dealing with Lucifer by extension. To make matters worse, Mammon happens to be Lucifer’s favorite no matter how much the eldest brother denies it. 

“Mammon tells me..” Lucifer begins, unsure how to start the conversation. “That you, the both of you, are involved… romantically.” He finishes. Red eyes look him and down expectingly. 

Barbatos isn’t sure of what to say. To be frank he’s still making sense of the fact that he and Mammon are involved romantically and have been apparently for the past three weeks. 

“We are?” Barbatos says although it comes out more like a question. 

“Are you not sure?” Lucifer asks him. He then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please do not tell me you have let yourself be coerced into a relationship.” 

“It is only coercion if I am unwilling.” Barbatos mumbles, catching them both by surprise. There’s a pause of silence before Barbatos continues, “He tells me we’re mated.” Barbatos informs him. 

His words were true. After a long consideration of what others might deem make-outs and cuddles, Barbatos came to realize that he did enjoy Mammon’s company. He didn’t hate the idea of being Mammon’s mate at all. 

“And you are okay with that?” Lucifer presses, looking for any sign of displeasure from the royal steward. “Let me illiterate, do you understand what that means?” 

“It means,” Barbatos trails off trying to come up with the words, “that I am involved with a bird.” 

A gargled noise escapes Lucifer. “I just want to make clear that I value you as a friend Barbatos. But I am not above choosing Mammon over you at any point in time.” Lucifer tells him sternly. 

Barbatos ignores the way it sounds more threatening than basic shovel talk. He’s sure that the rest of the brothers will come to him one by one and present him with threats but he will deal with that later. Instead, he hands Lucifer a teacup on top of a matching plate. 

“Yes, yes. Aren’t you a devoted brother,” Barbatos teases before pulling a stool in front of Lucifer and sits down. “Now tell me, will I have to perform a dance or gift your brother a rock?” 

—

The night comes soon enough and Barbatos finds himself being pampered. Mammon suggested that he help get him ready for bed. What Barbatos thought was going to be a quick change of clothes and a tuck into bed turned out to be quick exchanges of kisses and nuzzling. 

Now Mammon has Barbatos sat in a chair as he brushes his hair. Barbatos sits contently, eyes closed, as he indulges in the way the brush softly strokes his scalp. The sounds of soft trills and clicks fill the room. Barbatos pulls away for a second before turning to Mammon, “Is this another of your bird traits?” He asks the younger demon. 

“Uh,” Mammon says, “I dunno. It just feels right. You could see it as preenin’.” 

“Preening,” Barbatos echoes. He summons all the knowledge he’s read about bird behavior on his phone last night and comes up blank. 

“Yeah, but ya don’t have wings so I’m just pamperin’ ya.” Mammon explains simply, going back to brushing Barbatos’ hair. 

“Ah.” Barbatos responds dumbly. He looks at Mammon through the mirror and figures this is an appropriate time to say what he is about to say, “I like you.” 

Mammon freezes, “I know y’do.” 

“I did not say it,” Barbatos tells him a bit sadly, “When you asked me the night of the event.” 

“S’okay,” Mammon smiles at him, “We have the rest of our lives to tell each other we like one another.” 

Barbatos gives him a look of confusion and Mammon kisses his temple, “They didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

“That angels' mate for life,” Mammon responds looking Barbatos straight in the eye. “We wouldn’t be mates unless one of us dies.” 

Barbatos, although he should be shocked or angry, isn’t. He simply grabs one of Mammon’s hands and kisses his knuckles. “Good thing we are immortal then.” He says, looking up at Mammon. 

“Yeah,” says Mammon. “And it’s not like we’re in danger.” He adds, giving Barbatos a saccharine stare back. 

“Who knows when we’ll ever be,” Barbatos tells him, dragging Mammon towards the mattress. Once the younger demon is tucked in, Barbatos allows himself to be nuzzled by the trilling fallen angel beside him. “Could be years.” 

“Centuries.” 

“An eternity.” Barbatos finishes. He plants one passionate kiss on Mammon’s lips. 

He’s rather glad that this dummy chose him.