#his eye bags and dark circles speak to me personally

[bullseyelover]

BENJAMIN “DEX” POINDEXTER aka BULLSEYE in Daredevil 3x08 “Upstairs/Downstairs”

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #43 Part 1

Everything had been going well on their trip. Danny was going to tell his parents all about his past, and about being the half dead ghost king. Unfortunately, Danny’s life had a reputation for how terribly unlucky he was. He and his family were caught off guard, and even Danny couldn’t prevent himself from fainting when hit in the back of the head with what he assumed must have been something metal.

When he came too he could tell his arms were bound together behind his back and there were two others adjacent to him. He didn’t shift or open his eyes to avoid letting their abductors know he was awake. He could hear some soft tapping that almost sounded like chalk. There were hushed whispers but they were too muffled to hear. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed but he was starting to get a little bored. He knew his family was probably with him, they were right next to him and would have noticed him getting kidnapped. 

Eventually he heard a rustling sound next to him, they must be waking up too, “Maddie? Danny?” Their soft voice spoke.

There wasn’t a reply but that meant Danny was correct, well at least about his dad. He wasn’t 100% sure if mom and Jazz were here but he needed to figure out a way to get out of this without letting their kidnappers know he had powers. 

Another shift this time in the opposite direction. “Mom? Danny?” 

“Jazzie-Pants!! Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you did they?” His words were a bit panicked and almost made Danny reveal his awareness.

“No. I’m fine, Dad? Where are we?” Jazz sounded more annoyed than worried.

A voice interrupted them before their dad could respond, “Quiet hunter scum,” the bags were removed from all of their heads and then ice water was thrown out of a bucket at them. Everyone else groaned as they were shocked awake by how cold it was.

Danny figured there was no use pretending to sleep now so he opened his eyes. They had been captured by cultists and were tied next to each other with a large circle drawn out in chalk. The circle, from some of the runes Danny could make out, looked like a summoning one. Upon further examination they looked more closely to the ones that would summon him, too bad it won’t work since he’s already here… They don’t know that though, and he could use this opportunity to mess with them.

One of the cultists, probably the leader, stepped forward and started speaking toward his followers and started a really long winded speech but a couple things caught Danny’s attention. One they were sacrificing him and his family because his parents hunted ghosts so the Ghost King would of course seek revenge. Two there were five of them there, that meant an extra person was tied up as a sacrifice as well. Who that was Danny didn’t know but he had to save them, he’d get them all out of here.

“That’s all quite fascinating but what does this have to do with me?” A familiar voice said. Danny knew exactly who the voice belonged too and it wasn’t his Mom, Dad, or sister. The fifth person happened to be his twin brother whom he hadn’t spoken to since before he faked his death.

Damian, from the sound of his voice, was behind Danny probably on the other side of his Dad. Danny hadn’t said anything yet so Damian was unaware Danny was there. The dark cavern like room didn’t allow a lot of room for light but there were quite a few candles and torches illuminating the space.

Before anyone could say anything else a loud crash was heard, Danny couldn’t see as the noise was behind him and the room descended into chaos.

Master Post:

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

HALLO I SAW THE PLUS SIZE BIMBO! X HOTCHER NOTE AND MAY I PRESENT

plussize!goth!bimbo!reader 👀

hotch seems like a man who would be attracted to a plush evil looking person 😭🙏

༉‧₊˚. 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size goth bimbo!reader

— summary: aaron's a "scary man" with a big heart who has just so happened to find his perfect match in a trad-goth wearing woman that's determined to bring him lunch - much to Derek's amusement.

— warnings: none! this is probably more sickeningly sweet than it really needed to be, and fluff!

— wc: 761

⋆ a/n: HOWDY!!!! words cannot express how appreciative i am at the recent massive influx of growing support over the past few months despite me being away. i'm happy to present to you my new baby (this fic) also enjoy Derek heavily cameoing in here, i just missed him.

masterlist | AO3

No one was scarier than Aaron Hotchner.

With his stoic face and monotone voice, many unsubs and government officials alike have shrunk in his presence. Though sometimes he was all work-no-play (or a stick up his ass, which is always so fondly put), he was soft towards the people he cared about.

That being said, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when you showed up to the office.

You stood out like a sore thumb amongst the dull office setting, your dark, almost vampiric like clothes deeply contrasted the still-life. Your face was complimented by a piercing here or there; one on your eyebrow, a medusa sitting tantalizing above your top lip – which was painted with black lipstick – and your septum was gauged a few sizes up. 

It should have been a lot, but with your trad-goth makeup, it brought the ensemble together.

The visitor sticker stood out against the lace of your top. 

You were searching for someone, that much was obvious, but your eyes just so happened to land on one Derek Morgan.

“Hi.” You breathed out softly as you made eye contact. The intimidating expression on your face melted into a soft one at the hushed greeting.

“Well hello there pretty lady. Who ya looking for?” You smiled at the man’s flirting. “Hey!” You greeted with a bit more enthusiasm. “I’m looking for Aaron? Aaron Hotchner?”

“Aaron? Oh, he’s –” Before he could finish, the man of the hour came bounding down the steps leading to his office.

“Baby.” You greet so softly, so fondly, so filled with love, that Derek feels like he’s intruding on an intimate moment. 

“You’re early.” Aaron rasped. It was clear that he hadn’t left the office for a few with the way his voice fried from unuse. “Ah – sorry, I kinda got a little restless but… I brought you lunch!” To emphasize your point, you lift up the lovely smelling takeout bag and wave it around in small circles. “Forgive me?” You add with a cheeky smile and a tilt of your head.

With the exposure of your teeth, Derek could see the jewelry of a smiley piercing sitting gracefully against your gums.

Aaron looked at the bag and then back at you before speaking. “I suppose I could, but what would I get out of it?” Oh. So he wanted to be cheeky too? Well played. “Well for one, you get to have lunch with your super sweet and cool girlfriend, and secondly, I control whether or not you get kisses.”

This moment proved to Derek that he really didn’t know his boss and close friend as well as he thought he did, because Aaron looked at you with an expression that he hadn’t even given Haley when they were together.

It was a smirk, one that coaxed the need for a challenge, but it was scrambled by the fact that it was fueled by nothing but pure, butterfly inducing love.

It was sickening.

“Well, I see you’ve got this handled.” Derek remarked with a knowing – albeit shit-eating – grin. 

As if you had been broken out of a spell, you tore yourself away from your boyfriend’s enchanting gaze. “Oh, yes! Thank you…”

“Derek. Derek Morgan.” He finished your unasked question.

“Derek…” You repeated as if it sounded familiar. “Oh!” Your eyes lit up in recognition. “Aaron’s told me about you! It’s so nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Aw, you sweet talk about me behind my back, boss?” Derek teases.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but there really wasn’t any real irritation behind it. “If I’m not mistaken,” He began, “You still haven’t completed the first wave of files on your desk.” Your boyfriend nips slightly without even having to glance at his subordinates desk.

Derek all but laughs out loud, “You’re right, my apologies bossman.” His eyes were dripping with mirth. “It was so nice to meet you!” You say with a wave. “You too sweetness.” 

As he scrambles away, you turn to look at Aaron with poorly contained amusement.

“Really?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Sorry sweetheart, but I’d rather not have to inhale my food when I can sit there and leisurely enjoy it with my – how did you put it? – super sweet and cool girlfriend?”

You scoff, allowing him to take your ring adorned hand (making sure to steer clear of stabbing himself on your sharp coffin nails) – which has occurred more than once when you two had begun dating.

“Alright, alright, you little sweet talker, let’s go eat.”

Aaron just chuckles.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @moonysreid

[chocogoldie]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Sick ࿐ྂ

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

genre: fluff, smau with written continuation

pairing: Husband Bakugo x Fem!Reader

contents: established relationship, bakugo comforts you

Summary: Your husband takes care of you while you deal with the flu.

Domestic Bakugo per request from @channnee !! ^^

You did as Katsuki said, making yourself a warm cup of milk tea and bringing the comforter to your couch, settling on watching your favorite show while you waited for him. The pain in your muscles subsided slightly when you melted into the soft cushions and took a self-indulgent sip, humming pleasingly. Not even an hour through the newly released episode, you hear the front door creak open, making you turn your head towards the sound.

“Hi, honey,” you croak out, clearing your sore throat, shuffling noises earning your attention, “Did you do the groceries as well?”

Katsuki dumps his big combat boots on the shoe rack alongside his gauntlets and utility belt before walking into the living room with two plastic bags in hand. You couldn't catch a whiff of his caramelly scent due to your stuffed nose, which made you pout ever so slightly. He gazes sideways at you as he passes the couch to place the bags on the kitchen table, pulling his mask up to hold his unruly hair in place.

“Yeah,” he responds simply, hurrying over to lean against the backrest of the couch and plant a kiss on your forehead, a ritual you were all too familiar with, “Told you I'd take care of you. How're you feeling, baby?”

You smile and kiss his cheek in turn, his faint stubble tickling your lips. “Thank you. Aside from feeling like a wet vegetable, I'm okay.”

He chuckles at your words, rubbing soft circles on your shoulders with his thumbs. “That doesn't sound good. Let's eat first and then I'll give you the meds.”

“Mhm. Thank you.”

“And stop talking. Text me instead. Soup'll be done in a few minutes.”

He ruffles your already messy hair and heads back to the kitchen, beginning to cook immediately without showering or changing out of his hero costume. He wouldn't want to keep his poor wife waiting, after all, but you still wondered if he was comfortable in those dirty clothes. He'd always been kind of a clean freak, something you admired and picked up from him, and that showed in the cleanliness of your shared house. You felt bad for making him work extra after a hard day of upkeeping his duties as the Nr. 2 hero, but you didn't mind the sight of him, broad shoulders and muscular back clad in dark clothing, cooking for you. You couldn't help but sneak a few glances at him while watching the show, actually.

The cute sneezes and coughs you let out now and then only managed to worry him more, his hands working faster on making the best damn soup you've ever tasted. And it didn't disappoint; once you placed the spoon into your mouth, a satisfied hum rumbled from your throat and it instantly chased away the coldness icing your limbs.

“This is so good, thank you so much,” you praised, devouring the food. You noticed how the ache in your throat seemed to dull, too.

Katsuki smiled, taking a spoonful of his meal, “Don't speak with your mouth full. Don't speak at all, actually. Eat up.”

It was silent as the two of you ate, occasionally stopping to converse about what you did today or you sneezing and having to blow your nose. Your husband was so patient with you like always, cracking jokes to make you feel better about showing such a disgusting part of yourself. In his eyes, flu or not, you were the most beautiful and refined person there was, but he knew you had a different opinion of yourself. One he didn't approve of and aimed to change every day through his actions, words, and touches.

Then, when you finished the soup, you felt revigorated enough to wash the dishes.

“Thank you for the meal, honey,” you say as you pick up his empty plate and kiss his temple.

“I thought I told you to take it easy.”

“I know, but this is the least I can do. I'm not incapacitated yet,” you joke, feeling his arms sneak around your waist and his chin finding purchase on your shoulder as you rinse the dishes.

“Hope you mean ‘never’,” he corrects with the tightening of his arms, his fingers playing with the t-shirt you're wearing. His t-shirt. The one he wore during high school and that didn't fit him anymore. Feeling suddenly overcome with affection for you, his nose meets your cheekbone as he presses feathery kisses to it before chomping down on the plush skin.

You squeak and almost drop the plate while attempting to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail. Your husband was an avid biter, you learned that early on in your relationship, but it never failed to surprise you whenever he decided you looked extra appetizing.

“Katsuki!”

He chuckled and pulled away, satisfied with the reaction he got out of you. The back of his hand came up to clean your cheek of any remaining saliva.

“No shouting, you'll hurt your throat more. I left the Tamiflu on the table, by the way,” the blond recalls, kissing your shoulder before hesitantly retracting his hands and stepping away to go shower.

You sneak a peek at his retreating figure and the medicine left on the table while continuing to clean the dishes, the lingering feeling of his teeth digging into your cheek making you brush it against your shoulder with a laugh. His antics always brought a smile to your lips and you theorized that he somehow caught onto it. Sneaky bastard. Why did he have to be so nice and perfect? It wasn't fair.

A while after you finish doing the dishes, you pop a Tamiflu and head to your bedroom to jump out of your pajama shorts, the flu raising your body temperature pretty high. You were a sweating and coughing mess in the comfort of your bed when Katsuki exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips and another one draped over his shoulders as he aggressively dried his hair. Though, your coughs earned his attention and he hurried to the kitchen to bring you a glass of water, which you gratefully accepted and downed in one go.

“Pill didn't settle in yet?”

You could only nod, the scratchiness of your throat only worsening. It got better after you ate the soup, but now... Katsuki seemed to read your mind, quickly bringing the NyQuil and having you swallow one.

“This should do the trick. If it doesn't, let me know and I'll make you some tea. ’Kay, love?”

Maybe it was the dizziness of the slight fever you were experiencing, but you felt so extremely grateful for everything he was doing for you and for the privilege of living with him in general that made tears brim in the corners of your eyes as you nodded. The gentleness of his actions combined with his comforting words had your heart running marathons akin to your high school years, swelling up with the love you held for him.

“Hey, hey, what's wrong?” His warm hands cup your face as his eyes search yours, brows furrowed with worry. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

You simply shake your head, wrapping your arms around him for a bone-crushing hug as you feel droplets of water drip down from his hair and onto your face. He doesn't hesitate to pull you closer and rub your back soothingly, whispering encouragements as he does.

“You're okay, baby. I got you. I'm here,” he kisses the top of your head and it feels like butterflies are blooming in your stomach all over again, “You've been through worse, haven't you? A shitty cold doesn't stand a chance.”

You find the power to choke out a quiet “I love you”, which he returned before noticing your sobs had lessened and having to get up and get changed. A shiver ran through you as you pulled the comforter up to your nose, curling on your side of the bed.

Katsuki joined you, now wearing his checkered pajama pants, making sure you were completely tucked in and pulling you to his chest.

“I don't want you to catch my cold...” you rasped at some point during your silent cuddling session, realization dawning on you harder than the darkness coating the room. From how touchy you guys were throughout the day, he for sure would get your cold, a fact that made you slightly antsy. You didn't want that knowing your husband is a busy, workaholic man who'd drag his ass to work even if he got a fever.

He scoffed and pulled you impossibly closer by the small of your back, his heat seeping into you and managing to calm some of your nerves, “My immune system doesn't hate me. I'll be fine, so stop worrying about me, sweets. But that's such a you thing to do.”

You cock your head to the side questioningly while gazing up at him, “What is?”

“Worrying about others when you're in pain.”

“Do I do that often?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, closing his eyes when you nuzzled your nose to his neck, letting sleep cloud your decisions of staying away so he wouldn't get sick, “All the time.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Nothing you do bothers me,” the warm tips of his fingers slip beneath your shirt to rest on your back after he felt you tremble against him, “Got it, baby? So, use me to your heart's content, especially when you're not feeling well.”

You give in and wrap your body around his, melding it to fit his frame while you close your eyes too. The heat from his fingers finds its way to your heart, a soft hum escaping your lips at the familiar, cozy feeling. Nights with Katsuki have always felt special, but this was something else entirely. You feel so safe in his embrace to the point where you relax instantly, forgetting the pain, forgetting your worries. He just had that effect on you.

“Noted,” you reply softly, before falling asleep in your husband's arms.

© chocogoldie 2024.

a/n: very short, i know, but i'm sick and lowkey sad so i felt the need to write this akkdkd hope it was okay and that i didn't disappoint!!! not edited nor proofread

taglist: @dinorawrss @nouktis @eyesforbkg @channnee

[bellewintersroe]

Band of Brothers hc request where nurse!reader can’t sleep because of all the injuries piling up/feeling guilty about not doing more?

Thank you for the request anon! <3 mentions of grief, wounds, reader is overworked and ur man takes care of you, mainly fluff.

Easy Company x Nurse!Reader Headcanons

Eugene Roe:

I can imagine Gene’s on duty and he see’s you again, still working late into the night, despite him knowing you were on shift before 7am.

The long days were brutal, Eugene knew that. The urge to help out in anyway possible and feel guilt for resting was something he combatted heavily, especially throughout Bastogne.

But nobody can work effectively when they’re running off four hours sleep.

You and Eugene are close, you’re not in a relationship but there’s feelings there that probably go unspoken until the end of the war. So he feels comfortable enough to approach you.

When you accidentally knock into a tray of surgical and medical items and your breathing deeply, hands running over your forehead - he knows you’re too overworked.

“Y/n.” He steps closer. “Get off duty and go to bed.” Gene would borderline sass.

“I’m fine, Gene.” You’d shake him off, snapping from the irritability of exhaustion.

Gene would cover your hand before you had chance to tidy the tray of equipment you’d just messed up. Finally, you’d look at him now.

“Seriously, you ain’t gonna be anymore help running off no sleep.”

You’d feel a little guilty, knowing your tiredness was potentially messing things up, but you couldn’t give up.

“I can’t sleep, Gene, I feel too bad that I’ve got a warm bed and half these men are sleeping on the floor.” You’d finally admit.

“You gotta try, hm?” Ugh his voice would be so low gentle, he’s so careful not to alarm or engage anybody else in the conversation, and the way he’s holding your hand is distracting.

Anyway, he’s too convincing and soon he’s walking you back with a hand in yours, a little saddened by how clearly overworked you are.

“If anything happens you’ll come get me, right?” You’d worry and Gene would offer you a small smile. “Nothin’s gonna happen.”

But anyway he practically forces you to go to bed and by no surprise you’re passed out within minutes of hitting the pillow.

Gene probably comes back to check up on you a few hours later and he’s soo relieved that you’re fast asleep 🥹.

Ron Speirs:

This mf does not mess around, especially when it comes to you.

You and Ron are already in a relationship by the time you’re at Germany, you’re an amazing comfort to one another and Ron’s already thinking about popping the question by the time they get somewhere nicer.

Anyway, when you’re working tirelessly to take care of the poor victims of the camp, you don’t get back until early hours of the morning, eyes circled with dark bags, legs barely functioning.

The next morning Ron see’s you up early asf, so he asks around to see what time you were back last night. When you don’t return from the infirmary until super late the next day, he’s kinda annoyed.

Not annoyed at you really, he just worries for you.

“What time did you get back last night?” He calls you into his office and for a minute you’re actually intimidated by him, skskskksksle.

You’d attempt to lie that it wasn’t that bad but Speirs would just nod with a knowing expression on his face.

“You’re off duty tomorrow.” He’d simply say and your heart would plummet.

“Ron, no!” You’d immediately plead, the guilt building up.

“I can’t have an exhausted nurse running around, that’s no help to anybody.”

“Then do it for me, personally. I can’t sleep knowing all those people are still in there.”

Ron would inhale, feeling a little worried knowing why you’re feeling that way. He’d secretly inform you that you’re moving out tomorrow anyway, speaking so quietly.

Also secretly brings you up to his private room, the fact you have a night off together is overwhelmingly nice and if you can’t sleep Ron’s doing anything possible to help you.

Talking would be the first thing, you’d discuss everything. He’d 100% be cuddly asf after not being able to relax around you for a while, he’d offer you a massage and then if that didn’t work he’s tiring you out even more using other methods… do with that as you please.

Joe Liebgott:

I can deffo imagine him being a little wise ass about it at first. The two of you are close friends, wanting to be something more, and the way Joe expresses it is through teasing you.

Like you’re sitting on the edge of the nurses foxhole, just staring into blank space.

“Jesus, are ya even alive?” Waves in front of your face, half expecting you to crack a smile like you always do.

You’d probably mutter something back to him, snapping and blinking back down to your gloved hands. You’re just waiting for another cry out for help.

“God, you are cranky when you’re tired, huh?!” He watches you stand up with a sigh, glancing around the area to go check up on everyone.

“Where ya going?” He’s a little disappointed and confused, he saw you patrolling around only moments prior.

Anyway when you think of some excuse he’s pulling you back down into the foxhole, climbing in with you.

Kinda confronts you about how you haven’t been sleeping and practically wraps two of the spare blankets around you.

“Stay warm, okay? Talk to me, y/n/n, why can’t ya sleep?” He knows why you can’t sleep, but he’s so caring, even when he doesn’t mean to, Joe naturally falls into the role of sometimes nurturing other people. The perks of having younger siblings, huh?

When you’d explain that there’s too many wounded men back in town to even know where to start, and that you feel too guilty to sleep when all the others need checking up on out here he’s tutting and wrapping an arm around you.

“C’mere. How ya gonna treat anybody when you’re running off no sleep? You’ll get all jumpy and pass out- that’s the last we need, isn’t it, doll?”

“Yeah…”

“Try get some sleep, huh? I’ll stay, as long as nobody finds me here.” Technically being in a foxhole together wasn’t allowed, but the mutual comfort you gained from one another was unexplainable. Plus, Joe didn’t want you creeping up and sneaking away when you had to rest.

When you are asleep and he has to go, he presses the most gentle kiss to your temple, hesitantly climbing back out and telling all the men nearby to shut the hell up.

Bill Guarnere:

“Now when I heard about a lady out here refusin’ to get some shut eye, I didn’t realise it wa’ you.” Bill would smooth a hand up your back as you’d sigh, melting into his touch as he climbed onto the single bunk with you.

“They had to kick you outta’ the infirmary?” Bill doesn’t know if he’s impressed or concerned by your determination out here. Ever since landing you’ve been overwhelmingly busy, he’s glad to see you in bed. He’s not glad to see you awake, however.

“Pretty much.” You’d mutter, turning around to wrap an arm over his lap as he rested with his back against the headboard.

Bill would let you sink completely into his hold, hoping if anything the comfort of having one another would let you sleep.

Bill knows exactly why you can’t sleep, he knows you better than anybody, the guilt, the desperation to make sure everybody is okay. It doesn’t really need to be spoken about.

“Try get some sleep, yeah? I’ll stay as long as I can until those others get back, ok?”

Shifty Powers:

When he rolls over to you in the middle of the night and see’s you awake again he’s reaching over for you instantly.

“What’ya thinkin’ about, hm?” He’d mutter, gazing over your frustrated complexion.

“I should be down there.”

“Where?”

“At the infirmary.”

Now in Germany, it was more civilian injuries you were treating, especially when a building collapses and you’re absolutely swamped with causalities. After hours upon hours of being run off your feet you’re sent off duty, but your brain won’t shut off.

“Last I checked they had it under control.” Shifty would mutter, running a thumb over your creased brow until you relaxed. “If ya running around any longer you ain’t gonna be able to tomorrow.”

Ugh he’d be so soft and reassuring, there’s not a chance you’re leaving the bed however- he makes sure of that.

Dick Winters:

“Y/n, where are you going?” Dick has one eye open in his foxhole when he see’s you creeping past, arms huddled around your chest and scarf wrapped around your head.

Dammit, you thought he’d be asleep.

“Uh, just going to help out, Di- sir.” Although you had both been seeing one another, nothing had occurred out at war so it was extremely professional to maintain professionalism with one another.

“You’ve been there all day.” He’d sit up straighter, both your teeth chattering practically back to one another.

“I-I can’t sleep, sir. There’s so much to do.”

“If you don’t sleep you’ll be no help at all.” He’d remind, a very nice way of saying ‘get the hell back into your foxhole’.

“I know but. I can’t sleep. I feel too guilty.”

“Well we need a nurse out on these lines. Anybody needs you I’ll come get you, alright?” Dick is so understanding and makes you feel less guilty & more important at the same time. He’s so emotionally intelligent.

He walks you back to your foxhole, with a gentle squeeze of your hand he leaves you with a reminder that he’s still there.

He sure as hell isn’t waking you up however.

Babe Heffron:

“Hey get back into bed, would ya?” Babe would be on patrol and see you sneaking back to the aid station, walking alone through Haguenau.

He’d catch you red handed, sneaking over through the concealment of the darkness.

“And what’a’ya doin out here alone, huh?” He wouldn’t be happy, he practically had to force you to go to bed initially, and now you were sneaking out a mere 2 hours later.

“They need my help, Babe.”

“Did they tell ya that personally?” He gets kinda sassy ok, he’s a little annoyed cos he only wants the best for you, but the second he see’s you starting to get upset or blubbering he softens.

“Aw no, c’mere, I didn’t mean to upset ya!” Fuck patrolling, he’s pulling you aside and giving you a cuddle.

When you tell him what’s up he’s reminding you of every single accomplishment, big or small you’ve completed- and just how helpful you are and how everybody loves& appreciates you.

I think Babe is accidentally good with his words in certain situations, even if he’s a little flustered and worried for you, it’s his kindness and reassurance that has you eventually knocked out in bed again.

[bruisedboys]

THE DARK NIGHT — sirius black + "don't forget to kiss me" from glue song by beabadoobee ty hehe

omg yes I freaking love that song

fem!reader 1k words

You’re up early for work, as always. Sirius, the lucky bastard, gets to sleep in. You mourn his warmth as you get ready in the ensuite, peeking through the half-open door to see him fast asleep in bed, bare arm stretched out over your empty side and his hair all fanned out over his pillow. He looks unfairly pretty when he sleeps.

It makes you want to cry. And to ditch your makeup and get back in bed with your boyfriend. You sigh and turn back to the mirror. You manage to get through your makeup and your hair before you allow yourself to look at Sirius again. Only, he’s not in bed anymore. He’s standing in the doorway, watching you in nothing but his boxers.

“Sirius,” you gasp, half-shocked to death. “Jeez. How long have you been standing there?”

Sirius mumbles something unintelligible. His eyes are still plagued by sleep, lips pulled into a tired frown. He is very clearly not a morning person. It’s amusing, and very cute.

He shuffles into the bathroom and across the tiles until he’s right in front of you. His bare chest staring you in the face. His tattoos stark against his pale skin. He smells like sleep. Like the laundry detergent you’d used on the sheets yesterday and his conditioner that you both share. It immediately makes you want to fall asleep against his chest in the middle of the bathroom.

“Go back to bed,” you tell him softly. You touch your hand to his abdomen, spread your fingers over his ribcage. You swear he shivers under your touch. “You’re tired.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything, only gets his arms around you in maybe the warmest, softest hug he’s ever given you. One arm circling around your back to hold your waist, the other bent over the top of your back to cup your head in his hand.

You melt.

“Sirius,” you say weakly, speaking into his chest. It’s hard to talk when he’s so close. When it’s just you and him, in the dark, quiet hours of the early morning, and he’s giving up his precious sleep to hug you instead.

“Y/N,” he says back, in the same sort of tone, the first intelligible word he’s said this morning. His hand strokes the back of your head all slow and soft. “C’mon, just let me hug you. I miss you.”

His words stick together like taffy, seep into your heart and make your chest ache. “Miss me?” You ask softly, though you think you know what he means. “I’m right here, baby.”

Sirius holds you tighter. So tight you’re sure your fresh skin products are rubbing away on his chest. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“I mean I miss you in bed,” he says moodily. He presses his lips to your hair and speaks into it, “Don’t want you to leave.”

Fondness for him bruises your heart. Makes your body ache all over. You make a pitying noise without really meaning to.

“I don’t want me to leave, either,” you say into his chest. You pull away slightly and press your lips to his chest, kiss kiss kiss over his sternum before lifting your chin so you can look at him.

He gazes back down at you, pretty in his sleepiness, the lovesick look on his face mirroring exactly how you feel.

“Then don’t,” he says.

You sigh. It’s affectionate in its annoyance. You’re annoyed because he’s so lovely and he’s really extremely persuasive even when he’s not trying.

“I can’t,” you say. You kiss his chest one more time and then pull away from him before you get stuck in his arms all day. Scoop up your things, slide past him back into the bedroom to get your bag.

Sirius watches you silently. He drags his feet back to bed when he realises you’re not planning on staying, however persuasive he is. You shrug on your jacket and slip on your shoes, pack your bag and grab your purse. By the time you’re done you think Sirius has gone back to sleep. You try to leave the room very quietly so as not to wake him again, but his voice calls you back.

“Y/N, darling?” His voice is raspy as ever, with him straining to talk loud enough for you to hear him. It honestly makes you a bit dizzy, the roughness in it. “You forgot something.”

You wheel around. “What? I’ve got everything, I think.” You instinctively check your purse for your phone, your wallet, your keys. They’re all there.

The blanket-covered lump that is Sirius rolls over onto his back. He lifts his head very slightly off the pillow so he can squint at you in the dark.

“You forgot to kiss me goodbye,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

You huff but stride across the room anyway, lean over his side of the bed and plant one hand on the side of his waist furthest away from you.

“It’s ‘cos I thought you were asleep, that’s why,” you explain, hovering over his chest.

He grins up at you, eyes half closed. Looking so lovely and sleepy and warm that you almost cave and fall right back to bed with him.

“Excuses,” he says lightly.

You roll your eyes and lean in to kiss him. It’s meant to be a chaste kiss, a quick one so you can leave before you’re late for work. But Sirius is quick to shoot his hand up and hold your jaw in place while he kisses you deep and slow, his lips hot and languid. He even manages to sneak a bit of tongue in there, even this early in the day. His thumb drags over your cheekbone and you think if he keeps kissing you like this, you’re never gonna leave.

You think that’s exactly what he wants. You pull away before you can give in to his antics.

“Sirius,” you say, breathless, lips swollen.

Sirius falls back onto the pillows, grinning like mad. His hand finds your hand across the sheets and squeezes.

“Bye, sweetheart. Have a good day, yeah?”

You escape before he can make you late for work. It wouldn’t be the first time.

-

[hiyori-ii]

Interview with An Underground Hero Pt. 1

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,561

Tags: fem!reader, pseudo!chikan, some grinding, public indecency, post-canon, aizawa is horny and he hates it, slight age gap, reader is in her last year of uni

Author's Note: I have NOT been able to keep Shouta off my mind. He haunts me day and night. In an effort to take back my sanity, I give you this.

a03 link

Shouta’s fingers are stiff as he shoves them into his pockets, the air icy despite the bright sun overhead. The platform is crowded with early morning commuters and he can’t help but curse his luck.

“Ah! Aizawa-san! Good morning!”

Your hand is raised high above the crowd, waving excitedly to catch his attention. Your student I.D. swings back and forth in your grip and he instinctually sinks further into his scarf, desperate to get away from the attention.

You’re out of breath as you slip between two salary-men, “Ha! Made it! Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me here this morning Aizawa-san.”

“I’m so honoured to be interviewing you today!”

————————

When he had first been asked to participate in an interview, the phone was halfway back on the cradle with a firm, ‘No thank you, I don’t do press,’ before you could blink. 

‘W-wait! Wait! This isn’t for the press! W-well, sort of. It’s for school! My school! I’m writing a paper for my final project on heroics and ethics and you’re the perfect person to speak to!” 

The threat of a headache is brewing behind his good eye, begging him to just hang up and get back to grading papers. 

‘Fine. Meet me next Friday at 6:45am on the central line at Tatooin Station. Bring your student I.D. or I’m leaving you behind.” 

He barely hears your squeal of joy before the line cuts, his head already throbbing. 

————————

His acknowledging grunt is barely audible over the sound of the train pulling into the station, people eager to find a spot for the commute ahead already beginning to shuffle closer to the yellow line.

Despite his chilly demeanour, your smile never slips; if anything, his lack of enthusiasm makes your eyes light up even brighter, “Do you always take the train into work, Aizawa-san?”

The two of you have shifted closer to the train doors, and when they finally open you’re both ushered in quickly by the wave of people pressing in behind you.

Without much thought, Shouta guides you across the car and toward the opposite door, eager to get as far away from everyone else as possible.

“Not usually, no. I live on campus but I was on patrol in the neighbourhood last night.”

You’ve both settled up against the sliding doors and Shouta’s thankful for the moment of reprieve. His eye burns from overuse and his right knee is screaming at him to take it easy.

You’re quiet for a moment too long and he risks catching your next wave of questioning to study your face. You’re obviously younger than him but the dark circles under your eyes tell him a thousand tales of sleepless nights spent pouring over research papers and mandatory readings. He wonders how old you really are, noting the claw-machine bag charm dangling from your study bag before taking in your attempt at business casual - a too tight blouse peaking out from under your knit sweater and a skirt that probably fit right a few years ago but now sits high on your waist to accommodate the zip closure. At least you’ve elected to wear dark nylons to make up for the short hemline.

“If you’re too tired to meet today, I’d be happy to reschedule to some other time.”

Your hushed tone pulls him from his thoughts and he can feel his neck flush in embarrassment. ‘Get it together, Shouta, what the hell is wrong with you?!’ 

“N-”, he clears his throat, “No, that’s alright. I’m fine.”

Your lips purse and you look at him like you don’t believe him. Observant. That journalism degree suits you well.

Before you can say anything else, the train is slowing to a stop and the doors open to a flood of even more passengers.

You’re barely able to voice your surprise before you’re being crushed up against the car door by a drowsy middle-aged man with a too large briefcase. Your eyes flicker over to Shouta and despite the bemused grin on your face, he can tell you’re uncomfortable.

Without thinking twice, he’s already making a spot for himself between you and the man, placing his palms above you on the glass window to gently press backwards and open up just enough room for you two to breathe.

When he looks down to ask if you’re alright, you’re already staring up at him, eyes wide and ears brightly flushed.

Ah. Right. Now he’s got you cornered.

He clears his throat again, more aggressively this time, and you snap out of your stupor. “Ha, thank you Aizawa-san. I was totally about to be crushed there!” Your voice has pitched higher and you’re actively avoiding his gaze.

He uses one hand to pull at his scarf, desperate to cool the flush threatening to crawl up his neck, “Don’t mention it.”

The train jolts forward as it accelerates and you both sway with the sudden lurch. You stumble, feet staggering to keep your balance and you quickly reach up to grab onto the loose fabric of Shouta’s jumpsuit.

Your neck is stretched to the side as far as you can manage to avoid eye contact. The apples of your cheeks are stained with a deep flush and your heart is thundering against your ribs; you’re worried he can feel the heat radiating off your thighs from where they’re spread around his right leg.

Meanwhile, alarm bells are blaring in Shouta’s head. Every single moment of irrational lenience over the last week has led him here; he should have never agreed to this interview, should have never gotten on this crowded train, should have never gotten between you and that man ‘cause now all he can focus on is the smell of your hair and the heat of your pretty thighs spread over his bad leg.

Another sudden lurch as the train switches tracks and his knee finally gives out.

He stumbles, not expecting to loose his balance and finds his thigh wedged tightly between your own. Your surprised squeak sends a shock of electricity down his spine and he can feel the press of your tits against his ribs, your laboured breath fanning the gap of skin peaking out from beneath his scarf.

“Shit, sorry, give me a second, my leg- ”

The half-awake business man behind Shouta sways in his comatose state and that ridiculous bag knocks his hips directly into yours.

“Ah!”

The pretty little gasp that slips past your lips has Shouta snapping his head down to look at you, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth screws up into a tight line.

Oh fuck.

He’s such a pervert.

He knows you can feel the press of his cock against your hip, knows you know he’s hard because of you. And as if he couldn’t get any more pathetic, the whine you let slip is like a phantom pull, drawing him forward to grind into the heat of your body.

He expects you to slap him. To call him a pervert. Call off the interview and report him for sexual harassment.

He doesn’t expect you to let your weight settle down against his thigh. Doesn’t expect you to finally look over at him out of the corner of your eye with tears swimming in your lashline and let your mouth fall open on a silent moan. Couldn’t have dreamed of you reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to that pretty mouth of yours.

“Please don’t stop.” 

Your voice comes out in a whisper, lust dripping from each syllable and he caves. He blames the pain behind his eye, his shitty knee, the lack of sleep, he blames it all for the way he buries his face into your neck and bites the tendon there. Blames it for the way he reaches down to grab at the meat of your hips and pull you higher up against his cock.

You’re so caught up in the feeling of him rocking against you that you don’t even register the doors opening behind you.

Suddenly you’re tripping backwards and Aizawa is stumbling forward with you, his legs tangled with yours as you’re forced onto the platform by the passengers getting off. You finally catch yourself, back bent and your free leg pushed behind you to balance your weight. When you look up Shouta is there above you, handsome face bright with embarrassment and shock.

You hear a few people complain about the two of you just standing there and you pull away from him, standing straight and frantically trying to fix your clothes in an attempt to ignore the tension settling.

Shouta is left blinking at you completely speechless. What the fuck just happened. 

He opens his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything to acknowledge what he did to you but you beat him to it, smile tight on your pretty face, “So, uhm, would you like to walk the rest of the way?”

He stares for a moment in complete disbelief, his cock twitching in a desperate attempt to keep going, to pull you back toward him and finish what you two started.

“Yeah. Let’s walk.”

You pointedly ignore the dark wet patch just above his bad knee.

[joocomics]

ಬ be quiet (or not)

pairing: non-idol!ten x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 953

contains: university au, sub!reader, usage of toys (vibrator), exhibitionism kink, dirty talk, light humiliation kink

[ wayv masterlist | general masterlist ]

“I will move my hand now,” Ten warns you, but his low voice with an evident sneering tone makes it sound more like a command than anything else; a command he knows you’d suck at following.

It sounds like I want to see you try and fail.

His bold eyes peer into yours in attempt to read your answer in the way they are glazed over with arousal. It’s a small plaything that’s working between your legs, but with a strong impact on your whole body, causing your gaze to be constantly refocusing on the view in front of you, more specifically on him from different angles as you’re locked inside the bathroom.

“You probably know how to keep quiet since you brought this little thing with you.” Ten’s hand retrieves and he cannot help but grin when he catches you desperately tucking your lip between your teeth to avoid making a sound the second he uncovers your mouth. “C’mon, tell me… Why do you have this in your bag anyway?”

The same warmth that overflowed your body when you ran into him on the stairs earlier spreads beneath your skin once again. How come you forget to zip up your bag once and out of all things you keep inside your vibrator is what falls out of it? And out of all people in this building he’s the one to witness it?

However, the feeling of indignity you suffered from in that particular situation which led to this present moment lingers differently now… and you’re enjoying it rather than wanting to escape from it.

“It’s just…” you speak up quietly, “I’ve been feeling stressed out lately.”

“So you hide and touch yourself in public?” His eyes widen with a sparkling glow, the same way they did when he picked up your toy to observe it up close. It’s a discreet size, but there was no way he could ignore it while helping you gather your stuff.

“I—“ you gulp after an unsuccessful attempt to respond. The effects of the vibrations are causing moans to rise into your throat. “I’ve never done it h-here. Just in my car.”

You look at Ten with more concentration after his finger lifts your chin higher. He’s attractive, he really is. Especially when he’s smirking at you condescendingly like that and you can’t do anything except anticipate his next move or his next teasing question.

The son of the dean of this university… If you could turn back time to tell your past self that one day you’re going to find yourself hidden in the campus bathroom with him while everyone else is in class you wouldn’t believe yourself.

“No, I get it, baby,” Ten nods as a gesture of rapport. “It’s exam season, that’s always stressful, isn’t it?” The artificial concern drips from his voice, erotic and tempting in a way you cannot describe.

The small space of the cubicle is making you both feel hotter and you can sense sweat growing on your neck as the buzzing sensation starts to burn in your core.

You move the vibrating head in a slow circle, doubling the pressure on your clit by pressing harder.

“I’m close—“ You whisper the same moment Ten leans in with a hand against the wall behind you where your figure is quivering from the approaching high.

His gaze lowers all the way down to your panties stretched from your ankles. They have a dark spot, a result from the few minutes you spent making out before he turned on your personal toy.

“I think I’m gonna keep those.” He says as you pant into his face; his expression changes into something completely new once your free hand grasps on his hoodie. He swallows the reckless urge forming inside him at the same pace as his erection throbs - stimulated even further from the pretty way you’re breaking down for his eyes only. “I want to make sure that you’re really gonna come over at my place tonight.”

A high pitched sound echoes throughout the tiled walls, but there was no time to prevent it as Ten’s fingers slip inside you without a warning, eager to speed up the process of reaching your climax, but also unable to stop wondering how you feel down there.

“Fuck—“ he mutters in one breath, guiding his lips against yours, but without actually touching them, “you’re perfect for my cock, pretty.”

“I will—“ you mewl in a delayed response while quickening the circles on your sensitive point. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your tummy tightens from the gliding movements that excite your walls with each rub.

“Good.” Ten chuckles amused by your reactions, by your neediness, before his voice turns firm again. “I’m gonna teach you how to actually keep quiet. A perverted girl like you needs a lesson or two.”

You’re unsure if it was just a coincidence or if his words were what pushed you over the edge, but seconds later, you cum around his curled fingers, making him snicker again; this time with your efforts to endure the sensation as calmly as possible which were quite pathetic.

“Tsk, almost got us caught.” He grabs your face with a quick domineering grip almost as if he wants to look at you carefully one more time so he can make sure he has all its details memorised.

Fortunately, the rush washed over you just in time for him to go.

In eight minutes lectures will start coming to an end, and as the son of the dean, he wants to save himself the trouble of being seen leaving the women’s bathroom with a boner and a pair of panties in the back pocket of his jeans.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[eternal-evergreens]

hello! i saw the request open so i would like to request yandere azul from twst having a relationship with his darling (fem reader) but deep down his darling started to get tired of the relationship because y'know, his yandere tendencies. especially he's super clingy to her it makes her suffocated around him.

thank you,

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧ "Error 30004" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post type: drabble

Pairing: Yandere!Azul Ashengrotto x Fem!Reader

Word count: 744

Warnings: Angst, pretty tame for a yandere fic actually

Being Azul's girlfriend wasn't...without benefits, but the cons are slowly, steadily starting to outweigh the pros. He is far, far too dependant on you. And aside from the mental exhaustion his clinginess causes you, you're sure it can't be healthy for him, either.

Truthfully, you should have broken up with him a long, long time ago.

To be fair, you have tried. It's just...whenever you start to steer the conversation to something more somber, it's as if you can hear his heart breaking into little pieces.

The image of his face, tear-stricken and blindsided, keeps you up at night.

But enough is enough. This is the sixth time he's tried to delay your departure just tonight. It was well past midnight, and you were supposed to have been gone by five.

"Oh dear, would you look at the time? I'm afraid I simply cannot allow you to walk home at this hour. Why don't you stay the night? I've already made the preparations, just in case." Of course he has.

You take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and look him in the eyes. "Azul," you say. "This would be the eighth night in a row that you've asked me to stay over. I already told you that Grim is waiting for me back at Ramshackle. I promised him I'd come home tonight. I told you that I'd go home tonight."

"But I couldn't possibly let you walk home in the dark, even with me to walk you back it'd still be—"

"—'Improper'. I know, Azul. You've given me this spiel a hundred times before. At this point I spend more time in Octavinelle than I do in my own dorm!"

"Is that such a bad thing?" He asks. His composure is wavering. An ordinary person wouldn't be able to tell, but you know him well enough to know the difference. He shakily reaches for you hand, but you bat it away. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes and putting your hand up to your temple.

"Azul, I can't do this anymore. I need space. You aren't even giving me room to breathe."

"...You're...breaking up with me...?" His voice is cracked, and you can hear him holding back a sob. Against your better judgement, you crack an eye open. Clear grey eyes welling with tears, a wobbly lip, pinched eyebrows. It's the very same face that you'd been fearing all this time.

Your resolve cracks.

"I just—I just need a break. We don't have to break up, just—just show me that we can live without each other, okay? It's not healthy. We're not healthy."

"...o...ut...?" Azul mumbles something, but you can't make it out over his cries.

"What was that?" You ask, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

"So what?!" He says, nearly yelling. "So what if it's not healthy?! We love each other, don't we?!"

"Azul..." He begins to break down in your arms. You hesitantly hold him as he cries, rubbing soft circles into his back. After what feels like an eternity wrapped up in an hour, Azul's sobs finally calm down enough for him to speak.

"We love each other..." He says, nearly murmuring. "Isn't that enough...?" Neither of you say anything more, and eventually, his breathing evens out, indicating he's finally asleep.

Your sleeves are wet. It's been a long night

Gently laying Azul onto his pillow, you check the bedside clock. It's one in the morning. Grim is going to give you an earful...assuming he's awake enough to care, that is.

In the bathroom, a spare toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, hair ties, face wash, makeup.

In the bedroom, an extra pillow, spare clothes, an overnight bag, a sleep mask, a weighted blanket.

In your bag, school supplies, snacks, a water bottle, a friendship bracelet with a paw charm. Your resolve strengthens.

You pack up your things, all of them, and leave. When you get back to Ramshackle, you send a quick text, and then promptly shut off your phone.

1:06AM

I went back to Ramshackle. I took all my overnight stuff with me, too. Won't be needing it anymore. Sorry, Azul, but I lied. This is the end.

Delivered.

7:46AM

You have -78- missed calls.

You have 62 new voicemails.

You sigh, quickly hitting something on your phone before shutting it off again. You knew you shouldn't have looked.

From across the campus, Azul stares at his screen.

Message failed to deliver.

[leviathans-watching]

Do you have any random headcanons about any of the Obey me characters that no one's asked the right question for you to share / don't fit with any headcanon post you've made?

misc hcs of the brothers

includes: the brothers

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list | pt. 2

a/n: omg?? this was so fun to write i'm def going to have to do one of these for the dateables at some point. thanks for requesting!! my inbox is open to that, req, or leave feedback, so come say hi!

please reblog :))

➳ lucifer wears makeup. after someone (mammon, most likely) not-so-kindly pointed out the bags and dark circles under his eyes, lucifer went to asmo for help and learned the basics of concealing, which eventually grew into a whole bag of products he applies most mornings, unbeknownst to everyone but asmo. he does a light coverage foundation, concealer, pencils in and shapes his eyebrows, some light contour on his nose and jawline, and some hardly-noticeable eyeliner. his whole goal is for it to look as natural as possible and he’s gotten really, really skilled over the years.

➳ mammon not only knows how to sew, but makes many of his own clothes himself. nothing on the market was eclectic or unique enough for him so he took matters into his own hands and not has a closet full of custom-made and designed pieces. he doesn’t tend to show off his talent (for once) preferring to let others think they’re obscure designer clothes or made by difficult-to-book designers. every once in a while he can be convinced to make his brothers something, but not unless they agree to an exorbitant price.

➳ levi is an adobe girly. not only does he use almost all of their services, but he’s really really good at them too. mammon and asmo will have him photoshop pictures for him, lucifer will go to him for help with document creation, and even belphie had him teach him the basics of premiere pro. the reason he has such high-powered computers and machinery isn’t for gaming, as most assume, but so they can handle adobe optimally without lagging or overloading. additionally, upon hearing adobe flash was being retired, levi scalped the mechanics of it and created a knockoff that functions just as well, something he shares liberally at rad.

➳ satan has a prodigal-like talent for instruments, able to pick them up and teach himself how to play decently in very little time. he also has perfect pitch, can sightread excellently, and composes music in his free time. his favorite instruments to play are the violin, the piano, and the harp. though his not in any music-based classes (as those are all too basic for him of course) he offers help to students in the classes that are struggling with theory, composition, or playing. he’s also the reason the music wing is rumored to be haunted, as he often plays at weird hours.

➳ asmo is the most independently wealthy of all of his brothers, thanks to all of his economic ventures. not only does he model and act, but he also has shares in many major companies in all three realms that show large profits even if they aren’t super successful when he first invests. he works with barbatos to manage his money and has several bank accounts, and though he lives lavishly, is careful not to show the extent of his wealth, leading people to believe it’s family money he’s spending. although this was done, in part, intuitively, he’s also taken several finance and business classes over the years to help him learn and improve.

➳ beel really really enjoys all of the booktok books, and even discusses them at length with solomon and thirteen, when the two can be civil enough to speak to one another. his favorite genres is dark fantasy and belphie makes fun of beel to no end when he catches him reading. beel keeps his kindle on him at all times, and for his personal favorites, buys a hard copy and annotates it with sticky notes–the whole nine yards. for his birthday, satan gives him a book cover so that he doesn’t keep walking around with those embarrassing overs on display. beel doesn’t use it.

➳ belphie is notorious for stealing his brothers’ clothing. for some reason, he finds them more comfortable than his own and every few weeks the others force him to empty out his drawers and give them everything back. his personal favorites to steal are beel’s shirts and asmo’s sweats, but he’s not picky. he wears them to sleep, around the house, while running errands, and would wear them to rad were there not a uniform. at the beginning, it was out of laziness; him grabbing whatever was close. but over time he developed favorites, and, well, there was no going back from that.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[wordywarriorwrites]

Feels Like Home

Feels Like Home | AO3 | Rating: M | Main Masterlist​

Pairing: Javier Peña x F! Reader

Summary:  They say you can't go home again, but maybe for you and Javi, home isn't a place - it's a person.

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Language.

Getting Chucho Peña back up on his feet after a bad fall from the hayloft – that was all you’d been tasked to do.

But you hadn’t considered the prodigal son.

You hadn’t thought about all the ways dark, earthen eyes – eyes that had seen too much – could be so compellingly, devastatingly, hauntingly preoccupying. Hadn’t really thought of how the stories of this larger-than-life individual would pale in comparison to the actual person. Hadn’t really believed that this man and this town would get to you, become so much a part of you that you’re thinking about rejecting a career-changing offer that would see you moving on to bigger (though perhaps not exactly better) things.  

Four seasons have passed, and yet, you haven’t felt the itch to pack a bag and hit the road. And because you stuck around, Javi, Chucho, and you have become los tres amigos. Reading books and watching Cheers. Exchanging cards and gifts on birthdays and at Christmas. You host dinner at your place once a month. Javi occasionally pops in during your meal break at the hospital to bring you something decent to eat. And sometimes, his dad will call you nenita – a term of endearment that feels far too precious to be directed toward a drifting, wayward soul like you.

It’s hard not to mull over the what-ifs – especially with how Javi looks beneath the sparking lights of the convention center. Exuding confidence, chit-chatting, and mingling with your coworkers like a pro, all understated power and authority. He stays still while everyone else gets pulled into his orbit, revolving slowly around him, like planets circling the sun. He steers you in that way, too, pulling you into his atmosphere, making it painfully impossible to keep your gaze averted from the fine figure he makes in his charcoal gray suit.

This isn’t the first fundraising event he’s escorted you to. In fact, he’s graciously played the role of plus-one several times. Haughty conversations, dry chicken dinners, watered-down drinks, and office politics – he’s been there and done that. And for a man who says he hated it, that he’s left all that bullshit behind, he’s really good at it, reading the room and owning his space within it better than most of your puffed-up peers.

It’s difficult not to admire him. Get attached to him. To feel as if you’ve made a real, true friend. You don’t have many of those and neither does he. It’s as if you’ve somehow been chosen. That out of all the people in the world, he’s picked you.

Bowling on Thursdays. The little snort that sometimes escapes when he laughs. His gentle manner with horses. The scent of his cologne; a blend of leather, wood, and oakmoss. The way he always refuses dessert, but somehow, ends up finding room for two servings, especially if it’s your homemade peach cobbler. His shoulder – the one you lean on when you nod off during a football game. His arm – the one you grip during scary movies. His ear – the one he lets you talk off when the day has been too hard and too bloody, and you can’t fall asleep.

If you leave, you lose it all. You lose him.  

“Is it just me,” Javi prompts with a slight nudge, turning away from the inner circle and leaning in close to speak directly into your ear. “Or are all the doctor jokes really fucking terrible this year?”

His voice – low and amused – cuts through the chatter and clinking cutlery, guiding you out of the spiral of dark thoughts and back into the present. You glance up at him and wonder if that inquisitive, clever mind of his has worked out how you really feel and uncovered what you really think. And if he knows, has he just been too polite to say anything? Even if it’s only to let you down gently?

“Maybe you should teach them a thing or two,” you manage to quip, burying your emotions by taking a rather undignified gulp of merlot.

Javi snorts and shakes his head, “With their egos? Not likely. Look, can we get outta here? Go get some real food?”

You nod, placing your now empty wine glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and snagging your purse up from the table. Javi is quick to take your arm and the lead, guiding you both through the throng and a seemingly endless stream of polite farewells. The elevator, the parking garage, the drive-thru – none of it really registers. It’s not until you’ve fallen into the cushions of your couch, a heavy bag of tacos in hand, and two beers on the coffee table in front of you, that your brain gradually starts to come back online.

“M'starving,” Javi announces, snatching up the takeout bag and plopping down next to you. “Remind me next time to eat before I pick you up.”

He peels off his jacket. Kicks off his shoes. Wriggles his sock-covered toes into the plush carpet and sits forward on the cushion just far enough to reach the table. Large, deft hands drop napkins – one onto your knee and one onto his own – and then, he’s unfurling paper and distributing a half dozen oversized carne asada taquerias onto two paper plates. A brief pause. A rather ferocious bite. A long, low groan.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” he mumbles, cheeks puffed out and comically overfilled.

“Emily Post would not be impressed,” you teasingly chide.

Javi grins and juts his chin, “Hey, get my tie? It’s the one you got me for my birthday, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Once his messy hands are out of the way, you do as he asks, working the knot free and slipping the silk off with a careful tug. You pop a few buttons for him, too, and he gives you a nod of thanks before digging back in with renewed gusto, washing it all down with long pulls on his beer.

You don’t know how he does it, but his steady, calm demeanor always manages to soothe you. You unclench your jaw. Relax your shoulders. Even eat with him. Once the food’s devoured and the mess is cleaned up, you offer him a nightcap that promises to be better than what he’d been served at the fundraiser, and he happily accepts.

With tumblers in hand, the two of you migrate out to the patio. Javi is quick to indulge in his after-dinner smoke, bringing flame to paper-wrapped tobacco with a practiced flick and inhaling deeply. He fills his lungs with nicotine a few more times before turning his attention to his glass, bringing it to his nose before taking a slow sip.  

“Dios mio,” he appreciates aloud. “What is this?”

“Macallan,” you tell him.

“That’s damn good whiskey.”

“It ought to be for five grand a bottle.”

Javi chuckles and lets out a low whistle, “You lift it off a truck or something?”

“It was a gift,” you admit, taking a seat on the outdoor bench. “From Brad.”

He blinks slowly, “Your ex?”

You nod and shrug slightly, “Bastard always did have good taste.”

Javi doesn’t pry – he just smokes and paces, seemingly content for you to either share or plead the fifth. You take a sizable gulp for courage and finally tell him about Alaska, about the brand new, state-of-the-art facility, and what an opportunity it is. You explain the position. Tell him it offers better pay and an extremely generous housing stipend. A year there, maybe two, and you’ll have your pick of any hospital you want to work at going forward.

Brad’s presence, his role as department head, his status as your ex-fiancé, the wholly inappropriate “welcome gift” he supposedly sent on behalf of the entire staff – a gift you’re certain was pilfered from his dad’s private collection – none of it matters. You’re going there for work because you go where you’re needed, nothing more.

“Got the papers inside,” you say quietly. “Just gotta sign ‘em.”

Javi curses. Drops the butt of his cigarette into the remaining inch of whiskey. Sets the glass down a little too hard on the window ledge. It’s tense now, the air between you, the atmosphere filling with acridness neither one of you is accustomed to. He rolls his jaw. You tap your nail against the tumbler. Javier runs a hasty palm over his mustache and then, much to your surprise, he sits down next to you.

Your glass is taken and hastily put aside. Slowly, carefully, as if giving you the chance to pull away, Javi slots his fingers between yours. When you don’t protest, he holds on tight and brings your knuckles to his lips. His palm pressed to your palm; he lowers his head until his furrowed brow meets the back of your hand. It’s so achingly, intimately tender, so unexpected and jarring, that makes your eyes well.

You swallow hard and clear your throat, “Look, Javi, I’m –”

“Don’t,” he interjects with a slow, purposeful shake of his head. “Just… Don’t.”

The moment stretches, unbearable with the weight of the unknown, all nerve-wracking and heady at the same time. Javi eventually looks at you – eyes searching and examining and questioning. Head slightly tilted, a wayward chunk of his hair tumbles out of its’ carefully coiffed place, and you don’t consider your actions when you take back your hand to carefully brush it off his forehead.

“I don’t want you to go,” he murmurs.

You frown and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I don’t want to, either.”  

Javi’s fingertips brush your forearm, and when he leans forward, you meet him in the middle. Your mouths join. Lips brushing, breath stolen and returned. The two of you are traversing unmapped and uncharted territory, but it’s so easy. It's as if you’ve been touching like this, kissing like this, for such a long time.

All languid and unhurried until he licks into your mouth, coating your tongue in hints of vanilla, nutmeg, and smoke, and then, you’re both in pursuit of more. Tripping over each other to get back inside. Both of you going for his belt, and then, your underwear – no finesse or thought of the bedroom just steps away because the couch will work just fine.

Knees sunk into the cushions and cheek mashed into an armrest. Heels kicked off and the skirt of your ankle-length dress tugged up over your hips. Javi explores and discovers you from behind, tongue tasting the unmistakable evidence of your desire, and fingers stoking the flame until you’re begging him to put you out of your misery.

“Condoms,” you croak, gesturing blindly. “In my work bag.”

A low growl. Nips and licks and sucks to the back of your thighs, the curve of your hip, the rounds of your shoulders. You’re melting to the floor, rolling into your back, eyes barely able to focus as he snatches up your battered canvas tote and upends it, the contents spilling out messily and noisily across the carpet.

“Preparing for an orgy?” he teases, letting the line of rubbers unfurl above your head.

“Shut up,” you sass, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You know I had to teach that sex ed class today.”

“Did the hospital supply bananas?”

“Actually, it was cucumbers.”

Javi laughs. Tears open the package. Rucks up his shirt. You watch, gaze hooded as he slides the rubber on. You toss out a compliment to his technique, and he flushes, all hasty to push your legs apart and make room for himself between your splayed thighs. 

“It’s been – I haven’t done this in a while,” you admit, bravado lessening slightly.

Javi clicks his tongue, thumbs making small circles on your kneecaps, “Me, neither, cariño. Been saving myself for you.”

Your spluttered laugh brings out his hidden dimples, and then, he kisses you. Smiles gradually fade, amusement giving way to urgency, prompting you to reach for him, guiding him until he’s slowly sinking into you, filling you. And it’s a snug fit, but it’s just right, and when Javi rocks his pelvis, you’re remade. Suddenly cast adrift, in search of an anchor, you dig your fingers into his hair. Seek out his shoulders with your hands. Follow the curve of his spine and twine your legs around him just so you can feel the way flexes and stretches into your touch.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. “Javi, please… Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises against your throat. “You feel so good, mi corazón. Feels like you’re mine. Like you’ve always been mine. Fuck.”

His words thrum through you, wreaking havoc, curling your spine, bringing even more heat to your cheeks. There’s no hiding the way your legs are trembling, no stopping your body from bearing down, from clenching hard, from trying to keep him deep inside for as long as possible. His name spills out from your lips like marbles on a wooden floor, the reverent mantra smothered only by his mouth seeking yours.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” Javi demands, teeth nipping your chin.

You nod frantically, “Yes. Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

In possession of you, of your agreement, Javi’s hold becomes unforgiving – fingertips digging into the meat of your hip and the nape of your neck. His thrusts turn pointedly devastating – retreating and surging forward, all precise and measured, purposeful in the way he seems to take control, bringing you to orgasm for the third time with a broad, self-satisfied smile that isn’t as humble as he probably thinks it is.

When he finally comes, he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, stubble rubbing against your cheek as he muffles his groans of pleasure into the crook of your neck. As the two of you lie together in the afterglow, his head pillowed by your breasts, your arms and legs wrapped around him, breaths slowing until they match, the truth of you, of him, becomes undeniably clear.

Home isn’t a place. It’s a person.

And you’ve finally found each other.

[underoossss]

the way you move- s.h -part 2

pairing: jock!steve harrington x ballerina!reader

1.9k words

warnings: language

an: part two of this best friends to lovers story, I hope you guys enjoy these smaller chapters instead of a big story with a lot of cuts. we have some jealous steve because that's always fun and some revelations. let me know what you think!

part 1

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“Stevie!”

Steve’s head whips to the right at the sound of your voice. Warm up had just ended and his teammates were on a water break after finishing all the drills he planned for today. A smile appears on his face as he lifts his hand up in greeting, putting his water bottle down and walking towards you. You look devastatingly pretty, with your hair already up and away from your face for your practice in an hour. Your backpack and duffel bag are slung over your shoulders while you hold your coat and a hoodie in the crook of your arm.

Dark blue long-sleeved leotard and black sweatpants are your outfit for the day –Steve knows you’ll wear the baby blue chiffon skirt today. He might even linger for the beginning of your practice just to see how pretty the colour looks on you. Madame Laverne will try to kick him out, but Steve can be pretty convincing.

“Hey babe, how did your test go?” Steve asks, leaning close to kiss your forehead in lieu of a greeting, he’s too sweaty to hug you but god knows he’ll take any excuse to be close to you.

“Aced it, I’m sure.” You smile brightly enough to knock the wind out of him, self satisfaction clear in your face. “I have Algebra tomorrow and I’m done. Mind if I hang out here?”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly; you always ask, and he always says yes. When has he ever said no to you? “When have I ever said no to you?”

You pretend to think just to tease him before laughing to yourself. “Thanks Stevie, I won’t bother you I promise.”

“You’re not a bother, come on let me help you with that.” Steve takes your bags and sets them on the bleachers you always occupy when you watch basketball practice. “I’ll walk you to class after, okay?” Fuck, he’s whipped.

“Okay.” You smile, that soft smile of yours and sit down, lighting up his body from the inside. “Good luck!”

I’ll need it. Steve thinks on the way back to his teammates. With you sitting so pretty over there he’s bound to be distracted, and he can’t have that.

“I see your girl’s come to see you practice.” Jacob Nully teases as soon as he’s back, and Steve rolls his eyes. “Honestly Harrington when are you going to ask her out?”

“We’re just friends.” Steve says shaking his head –Nully’s always rubbing salt in the wound.

“Please, you know how depressing it is to watch you pine after her for years?” Jacob fake gags. “It’s the only reason why no one’s asked her out you know. We know she’s your girl.”

“She’s n–” Steve begins to say only to be cut off.

“Speak for yourself.” Brad Connors, another teammate speaks out. “If Harrington doesn’t ask her, I might.”

“Shut it Connors.” Steve snaps, clenching his fists instantly like his body’s determined to fight for you.

Brad’s following laugh echoes around the gymnasium. “See, maybe jealousy will get him to ask her out. Better hurry though, Captain.”

With a shove to Steve’s shoulder Connors moves to center court and waves at you. You seem confused for a moment before you wave back, hesitantly. Fucking Connors. Steve would ask you out, he wants nothing more than to ask you out but he’s not sure if you feel that way about him too. You are best friends; you’re the most wonderful person Steve’s met, his best girl. What would happen if he asked you out and you reject him, where would that leave your friendship?

Steve’s mind can’t think of anything else even as he plays and shouts at his teammates. The same question circling his mind in a loop, his brain thinking really hard about your feelings. The two of you are attached at the hip, you do everything together and Steve knows the two of you are happiest when you do. There’s also the fact that you don’t date anyone, ever since you met Steve, despite there being more than a few attempts from people you go to university with. It always makes Steve’s blood boil, how they approach you and try to give the same compliment he gives all the time. It might be his fault though, for selfishly sending deadly looks their way the minute the show interest. But no, at the end of the day it’s your decision and you always say no to any of the guys that try to ask you out.

Then there’s those soft looks Steve’s always in the receiving end of, the way your eyebrows relax and smile does that thing that makes his heart skip. He knows you don’t look at anybody else like that and selfishly he begins to wonder if maybe his feelings have been reciprocated all along.

Your cheer can be heard around the gym when Steve scores a three pointer, which makes him look your way. It turns out, the hoodie you carried earlier and are now wearing is his. He’d been looking for it for a week and all this time you’ve had it. For anyone not playing, the bleachers can get cold during winter, and of course you had to shrug it on while he plays. Because you being there isn’t a distraction enough. No, you have to wear his clothes and look good in it; the oversized fit makes you look cozy and frankly adorable, and Steve knows Harrington is displayed across your back. It makes his heart jump to his throat. Steve smiles though, winking as a thank you for your ever present support. Your returning smile softens even more while your eyes flicker with more affection than usual, and Steve might be wrong after all. What if you feel the same way he does?

He's everything you want. The ache within your chest worsens every time you look at him because Steve during practice is lethally hot. If he’s handsomeness and charm outside the court, in it he’s passion, strength and hotness all in one. You can’t focus on Algebra, and selfishly knew so when you decided to visit Steve today. You can’t go away though, you’ve never been able to, so you brave the cold gym with his hoodie and watch the team play.  Anything to see him wear those dark grey shorts that make you feel things you probably shouldn’t.

Steve’s team for the day wins thanks to his last three-pointer, a beautiful finish for the practice. You can’t help but cheer, and it’s worth it to see the way he smiles and winks at you. Selfishly you want him for yourself, then you’d be free to run towards him and kiss him to show him just how proud of him you are. How can you not be when you’ve seen how much he’s improved since he decided to join the team. His athleticism and discipline helping the team so much he was voted captain last term. If you could confess all of this to him in a kiss and show everyone he’s yours, you would. You don’t though, and only smile feeling your guard fall in a moment, affection clear as day for anyone to see. It only last a second before you remember to shake yourself out of your daze.

Having given up on your test for the day, you snuggle into Steve’s hoodie and watch the end of the practice. Enjoying the way Steve pushes his hair back or pulls the hem of his t-shirt towards his face. Your insides flip and you look away when you feel your body burn, but you’re spared any more torment when within seconds the coaches dismiss the team.

“You didn’t study,” Steve says as he approaches you, a towel around his neck and bag over his right shoulder. His eyes are a soft thing with more warmth than usual; different but you don’t know what.

“It was a fun game.” You shrug, putting your book inside your bag and closing it. “I’ll be fine. I can study some more after class.”

That makes Steve’s gaze move towards his watch and furrow his brows. “Let me change and I’ll walk you, okay?”

You smile and shake your head, you love him more than you can comprehend sometimes. “Stevie you don’t have to.”

Steve’s hand moves towards your face, holding your cheek briefly. “I want to.” He murmurs, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek before his touch disappears. “Five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

You can do nothing else but nod, face burning where the ghost of his touch still lingers. Steve is different, not in a bad way but different enough from an hour ago that you can definitely notice. His eyes kept gazing into yours like he wanted to figure something out and tell you something at the same time. There’s there’s the way he’d lingered like he didn’t really want to part from you. There’s no more time time wonder what’s going on because true to his word Steve is back five minutes later, in his burgundy sweater, black coat and backback thrown over his shoulder.

“Come on babe, you’ll be late to class.” He smiles, taking your duffel bag before throwing his arm around your shoulder.

The smell of soap and a hint of cologne floods your system with warmth and you can’t help leaning closer to Steve, your temple resting against his jaw as you walk. “Thanks Stevie.” You murmur, shivering lightly when the weather outside bites at your skin. “For always walking me to class.”

“You know I love to do it.” Steve’s smile is clear as day in his tone, and its followed by a kiss to your temple. “You think Madame Laverne will let me watch you warm up today?”

His question makes you laugh and shake your head. “You know how she is, I think you can imagine the answer to that.”

“But if I hide behind the curtains…” Steve proposes, seeking only to make you laugh again and succeeding.

“I fear for your well-being if you try to pull that off, Stevie.” You look up at him and smile, having reached the ballet studio. “Maybe when we begin practicing at the theatre, you can sneak in.”

“Oh I just might.” His smile is pure mischief as he whispers, face closer to you than before. Beautiful brown eyes meet yours and linger longer than ever before. Not that you mind. Not that you’ve ever minded. You would gaze into his eyes any chance you got if it wouldn’t make things weird between you. This is the first time Steve’s done it, though, and you wonder briefly if maybe he’s doing it for the same reason you do.

Your thoughts are interrupted however, by a honk on the other end of the street. The two of you jump apart and smile bashfully. What’s happening? Could your wishes be coming true at long last?

“I’ll be here when you’re done.” Steve hands you your duffel bag and smiles before kissing your cheek just like he did the other day. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Stevie.” You smile softly and hug him goodbye. “See you later.”

The two of you linger a moment longer on the sidewalk before heading in different directions. Steve towards the library, and you inside the studio. Hearts pounding, in fear, in love, in determination. What if? You wonder all throughout practice, even as your feet hurt and more blisters appear. What if we both feel the same way?

✰✰✰✰✰✰

part 3

motivate an unmotivated writer, reblogs are appreciated ❤︎

masterlist

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. chapter map.

The Gate to Hell

You’re not sure what it is about airports, that somehow makes them feel like a special little extension of the circles of Hell. Or maybe purgatory, is more the like. All you do there is wait, and wait and wait, praying that soon it will be time to move on.

It probably doesn’t help that you’re absolutely fucking dreading your destination ahead.

Frankly, it will be a miracle if you survive this weekend with your sanity intact.

And then, there’s this dude behind you. You keep seeing him out of the corner of your eye. He just keeps pacing back and forth, rolling his stupid bag with him, and you just want to whirl and tell him to be still or sit the fuck down.

Instead, he comes to stand next to you.

You give him a glance. And then, you’ll admit, a double take, because he is stupidly handsome, even while frowning, staring churlishly at the flight monitor as though it had personally insulted him. And, to add insult to injury, he is tall. And well dressed in jeans and a button down and a nice sports jacket. And you inwardly sigh for some indefinable reason that has to do with longing and your acceptance that the universe does not bestow such gifts upon you for free.

“Nice dress.”

You blink, not having expected him to speak to you.

“Thanks.” It’s a 50’s style robin’s egg blue halter swing dress, your favorite color. You needed some bright color therapy, to face the hell you’re about to be stepping into.

“Is there a sock hop in San Luis Obispo I’m missing?”

You guess with your cat-eye Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, you do look rather on brand.

From his sardonic tone you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. “All the cool kids are going.”

You kind of deliver it like a dig, and you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ah. That explains everything.”

You look him over. He…really is ridiculously handsome, if you’re being honest. High cheekbones. Trimmed beard. Piercing eyes. Casually well dressed. A bit older than you, not that that’s ever stopped you.

“I hope our flight’s on time.”

You check your phone app for the airline. “Supposed to be.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got an app for that?” The way he says it, just this side of snide, like you fucking millennials—it kind of pisses you off. And maybe you’re overly sensitive to patronizing comments from older men, but with your history you have a right to be.

“Do you have a problem with me?”

He stands up a little straighter. “What?”

“Like what’s your deal? I was just standing here minding my own business, while you’re creeping around behind me—”

“I was not creeping. I was trying to see the board.” He gestures at the display screen by the gate.

You look him up and down. That’s a tall drink of water, if you’re being honest. “Because Mr. six foot six over here can’t see over my head—”

“I’m only 6’1”—”

“Okay, 6’2” in your shoes, and then you come up here, give me a backhanded compliment, and make fun of me for having the means to keep track of what’s going on with our plane?” You glare at him. “Holy shit, are you trying to neg me?”

“I don’t…even know what that means.”

“Ok, boomer.”

“I am not a boomer.”

“Whatever.”

Then he has the gall to step away—in front of you.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re going to butt ahead in line too?”

“On a flight that holds eight people?”

“Wow. Ok, be my guest.” You wave him on, and he rolls his eyes. Then you have to stand there, and look at his stupidly broad shoulders in that nice sports jacket, and his dark softy waving hair that just brushes his collar…you’re not going to look at his butt.

You’re not.

Your eyes slide down.

Fuck, but that’s a nice caboose.

The Fight Or Flight Response

As you sit in your backseat of the plane, there is one seat left beside you, and when you see who boards last you want to throw yourself down the stairs before they close the door.

“Anyone want to trade seats?” he asks, bent over practically in half, he’s so tall and the plane is so small.

Crickets.

With a resigned grumble he settles into the seat next to you, as though the world might end if he has to spend a handful of minutes in your general proximity.

Then, of course, the universe further conspires to embarrass you by sending you a defective peanuts bag, which you cannot for love or money get to tear open.

“Dear god, tear it at the notch,” grouses the rude man beside you, driven insane by you fighting with it.

“There is no notch.”

He’s there with his big hand extended, making an annoyed give it here gesture. It’s distracting, truly, how long and elegant his fingers are.

“Give it here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Give. It. Here.”

You’re so disgusted with this whole day, you hand it over. Then watch with smug delight as he can’t get it open either. Finally, he uses his teeth in his frustration, undoubtedly spitting all over it. When he tries to hand it back to you, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

With a sigh, he offers you his less molested bag.

You take it like accepting his sword on the battlefield.

You both make faces as you quickly find that the seasoning on the nuts tastes like hot trash, and you reckon it’s probably a metaphor for how the next few days are going to go.

This is going to be the weekend from hell.

“So what brings you to San Luis Obispo?” the man asks resignedly, almost like he can’t quite stop himself from talking to you. There is an exhaustion in his tone that would have pulled at your heartstrings, if you weren’t so generally pissed off.

“You don’t have to try to talk to me.”

He shrugs, throwing up those big, beautiful hands in a gesture of annoyance. You can’t help but stare at them—they really are a menace.

“Just trying to be pleasant.”

You can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes you at hearing that. He frowns over at you, and you cover your mouth, hiding your smile. You know you must look like a crazy person—but it’s just too ridiculous.

“Was it that funny?”

You sigh, and for some reason you feel better after the involuntary outburst. Okay. Maybe you can make an effort. No one is ever in a good mood at the airport, after all. “I’m actually going to Paso Robles.”

“Row-bulls.”

“It’s pronounces ro-blays.”

“Everyone says Row-bulls.” 

“Well, not the fucking Spanish who named it.”

He looks away again with that thunderhead of a frown. Why does he have to look extra handsome, when he’s pissed off?

You sigh again. “Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I’m not always such a bitch. It’s just…this fucking wedding I’m going to.”

This catches his attention; he turns to look at you like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. “Not…Keith and Anne’s wedding?”

“How do you fucking know Keith and Anne?”

“Keith and I share a mother.”

“Holy shit, you’re Frank?”

“Who are you?”

“I was engaged to Keith, years ago.”

“Oh my god, you’re y/n.”

You can sense by the way he says it that you’re infamous in the family’s lore. It’s been a long time, but still, it fills your heart with a familiar leaden despair.

You close your eyes, and look away.

“You’re just as horrible as Keith always said,” you say to the window.

“I find you equally disagreeable, I assure you.”

waiting for death the car

“There was supposed to be a car,” Frank grouses the second you exit the airport. Patience is clearly not his strong suit.

“The flight was early.”

“But it seemed so long.”

It’s a good dig, truth be told, and the corners of your mouth twitch despite yourself. You sit down on a bench, and to your surprise he sits on the other, though on the side closest to you. “So what the hell are you doing here?” he asks. “Didn’t Keith break your heart?”

“Shattered it into bits.”

“Well?”

“I was invited.”

“And…you’re a masochist?”

“Look, I’m not…whatever Keith must have said I am. I was practically a fucking child when he started dating me. It was not…” It was perfectly legal, of course, but the imbalance of worldly experience, looking back, had not been kosher.

You feel the tide of all the pain and insecurity that man caused you raise up in your heart. Usually you’re pretty good at shoving that shit down down in the deepest dungeon you can, like a healthy person, but the wound is feeling a little fucking raw at the moment, considering.

“Keith is an asshole who only cares about himself. I am aware.”

You sigh, and the tide miraculously recedes. Goddamn. It almost feels like he’s on your side.  “Okay, yeah. There you go.”

“Why do this to yourself?”

“You know, before he broke it off, we had a fight the night before because I told him I would never get breast implants, of all fucking things, and Keith told me I would never amount to anything without him.”

“Sounds like something asinine he would say.”

“I wanted to go back to school, and he didn’t like it. He wanted a Stepford wife, and I was becoming alarmingly aware of the world outside his own making of it, the way children do when they grow up. If you’re wondering why he dumped me.”

“That tracks perfectly.”

“He invited me to be a shit and rub my nose in it, so…I’m here as a fuck you. I wanted to show him I’m doing fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“You do seem rather well adjusted.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

This, surprisingly, makes him smile a little.

A few moments of slightly less awkward silence pass before he asks, “So what did Keith tell you about me?”

“Oh, he told me plenty.”

“Such as?”

“What does it matter?”

“Don’t do that,” he snipes. “Don’t dangle the tidbit then refuse to deliver it.”

“Fine. He said you’re a grouch who hates everyone.”

“Oh. I was afraid he might have said something untrue.”

You glance over at his ridiculously well-sculpted profile. He glares ahead, his brows furrowed, and you strangely get the sense that maybe…he’s a little sad for it.

At fucking last, the shuttle car from the hotel arrives.

Tbc...

[mhahaikyuus]

mafia geto pt. 1

tags;: college reader, meet cute between geto x reader, fluff, geto is slightly yandere, fluff

word count;: 616

pt2: & pt3:

a/n: hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and likes appreciated

You were working part time at this fancy jewelery store part time as a college student. It sucked but it paid okay, the customers were horrible. Working as a young girl with super rich older guys as customers was an...experience to say the least but a job is a job.

It was a regular day, bored out of your mind staring at the watches counter below you when a guy younger than the usual customer crowd, walked into the store. He was pushing over six feet, had a suit on with a loose black tie, dark circles under his eyes, and long dark hair pulled up in a bun.

You were distracted staring at the assortment of watches worth more than your salary for the year under the glass case. 

When Geto walked up to you on his phone and put it away to speak to you, not noticing how attractive you were until you were only separated by a counter. 

A shadow was over you causing you to look up. “Oh hi how can I help you?” You said using your designated customer service voice.

Geto was speechless. The mafia leader who was notorious for being the most terrifying person to walk the earth, was speechless. 

Both of you were stunned for a second at the instant chemistry but you held composure you couldn't drool at customers at your job. Swallowing back a gasp at how handsome he was.

You looked up at him waiting for his response. 

Your doe eyes were mesmerizing. 

“Do you need help?” You repeated after remembering to blink.

“Uh..yeah. Do you have watches?” He asked and internally face palmed at his stupid question.

His voice was really…deep and sexy.

You let out a small breath trying to not laugh right in his face. 

“Depends, on whether or not you have eyes” You joked

That was all it took for Geto to fall in love. 

He bought a watch totalling up to 30k like it was nothing. 

Geto tried to flirt with you but every time you made eye contact he froze. 

You rang him up and waved him goodbye, sort of bummed that you’ll never see him again when he was so cute. You couldn't even think of another time you had felt something like that with another person.

Geto had other plans. 

He walked back to his car with a smile and a shopping bag between his fingers, calling his guy to find out everything he possibly could about you from your birthday, your daily schedule, to your telephone provider. 

You noticed that the cute young guy with unlimited funds kept coming into the store. Once a week he would come in and make small talk with you until it was routine after two months of speaking to Geto. 

It was a nice break from the snooty older women and creepy older men with too much money and too little manners. 

Geto was making you laugh as you were reorganizing the counter when you asked a question that kept bothering you. 

“Suguru?” “Yes darling?” He said a nickname he always called you, leaning against the counter watching you. 

“Why do you keep coming in? I mean I know you just love watches and jewelry and my lovely company." You joked continuing to reorganize.

Geto froze for a second and cleared his throat, “I like spending time with you…and I want to ask you out.” 

You paused your movements and slowly turned to him, “Why didn’t you just ask me? I would say yes.” 

Geto’s face was flushed a light pink at your words. 

“So are you going to ask me?” You repeated and he stuttered. This was the first time you had ever seen him anything other than calm. 

“Y/n do you want to go out?” He asked scratching the back of his neck. 

You stood up “Pick me up at 6, I can text you my address.” Geto nodded before leaving the store to stop himself from embarrassing himself further. Walking back to his car he fell into the backseat with a relieved sigh telling his driver to “Get home as soon as possible.” to prepare for his date. 

[kitsuga]

Study. {Beelzebub x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which Beel helps MC study. 

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Tags: fluff, reader was up all night which honestly mood, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, beelzebub/beel x reader/mc, obey me!/obm/om

Word Count: 821

A/N: Written on: May 8, 2021 

My sister was stressing about her finals that were creeping up on her so I wrote this to comfort her at the time! I hope it brings you guys at least a lil bit of comfort too ^^ 

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Beelzebub watched as MC sighed once more, like they had been for the past hour as the two of them struggled to study. They were both struggling with the material being taught in class, but the weight of it had been weighing more on MC than it did him. 

“I’ll never be able to understand this. I’m going to fail and if I fail who knows what Lucifer will say—what will Diavolo say? What will Diavolo DO?” 

“I’m having troubles with it too,” Beel said between the bites of his sandwich, “so you won’t be alone--” 

“But you can take them if they get mad at you!” 

“I mean, not really...” his voice dropped off and took another bite, placing his other hand beneath MC’s forehead to stop them from injuring themselves as they continuously smacked their head against the table. 

Another sigh came from them before they laid their head on top of his hand, admitting defeat for the umpteenth time that day. Beel held out the remainder of his sandwich as an offering for a sympathy bite, which they took in a slow, sad manner.  

“It’ll be fine, MC.” 

They responded to him with a grunt; Beel knew they didn’t really believe him. He read through the chapters and notes again quietly, hoping to find something he could understand and help MC with. MC stared off into space the remainder of the night while Beel quietly kept at it, reading and keeping his hand in place as a pillow. 

The next morning, Beel waited for MC at school, surprisingly early for once. MC was surprisingly late, for once. Instead of rushing up to him, Beel watched MC shuffle up to him with their head hanging low, eyes stuck to the floor only to rise slowly once they bumped into his chest. 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Oh. Good morning, Beel.” 

He frowned, taking notice of the state they were in. After handing them the snack bag he had been eating from, letting them munch a little bit before they had to head to class. Carefully, he tamed pieces of MC’s hair that had been a bit crazy, hoping his silence would nudge them into telling him what had been wrong; instead, they fell forward and bumped into his chest again, staying there for a little bit before standing back up straight. 

“MC, did you get any sleep?” 

They smiled weakly at him, hoping to deflect his question; they stared in a tired disbelief up at him as he gently cupped their face, a disapproving look taking over his features. 

“You didn’t.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I had to keep studying.” They sighed, their body tensing up and their voice growing higher and more distressed as they kept talking, “I had to keep studying because I had to learn it because we have that test today and I couldn’t fail—I can’t fail because then I’ll be in trouble and then--” 

“Shh.” 

Beel was never very good at words, but he always did his best to speak through actions, and now was no different. Holding their face, he carefully wiped away the tears that started to fall from their eyes out of frustration and exhaustion. He frowned and gently rubbed the dark circles beneath their eyes and let them cry a bit more, continuously wiping away the tears as they came up. Leaning down, Beel placed a soft, feathery kiss square between their eyebrows; he moved and continued his barrage of kisses, ever so lightly, across their entire face. Their eyelids, underneath their eyes, their nose, cheeks, forehead-- wherever he could get his lips to comfort the person who mattered to him most.  

Their hands wrapped around his wrists as they allowed their face to melt into his hands and his kisses. Once the tears had stopped, they whispered a faint ‘thank you’ that Beel hummed a response to. After standing together in silence for a moment, Beel moved to run his thumb over their cheekbones before pulling their head closer to his chest, resting his chin on the top of their head. 

“You’ll pass the test,” they felt his voice rumble through his chest, “I’ll ask Satan to help.” 

“You will?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What if he says no?” 

“I’ll offer him lunch.” 

MC laughed, wrapping their arms around him now that they felt comforted. Knowing that Beel cared about them enough to show love in such a gentle and expressive way was enough to expel any negative emotion they’d have all day. Their sigh this time was one of relief as they laid their head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. The two of them stood together until the bell rang, signaling the beginning of class; they listened to the rumble of Beel’s chest one last time before going on their way. 

“If you still fail, I’ll fail too.” 

“Beel, please don’t do that.”  

[lazymonth]

Just randomly having a headcanon about Turbo & The twins ✰ ||

( Sorry for my English )

❝ The turbo twins ❞

Back in the 80’s coding and AI having a lot of limited than present day. When Turbo time was made they’re programming one of the twins and copy the code to make another twin instead of making new code for saving time and etc.

Because of that when Turbo twins exist they have a lot of same thing. Same voice, very similar personality ( but they still have a little different detail ) and even talking in the same time often like they’re the same person

It’s giving me a headcanon about the twins like to talking in the same time or sometime speaking for each other like those creepy twins in the horror movie, haha

❝ Turbo ❞

If you remember, Turbo is the only character in Turbo time who’s having a dark eye bags and the twins don’t have it. It’s giving me a idea that Turbo probably doesn’t have it at the first

I’m just gonna simply think it’s because he doesn’t sleep often and when the arcade closes he just go fucking around or still keep racing in his game like practice himself something like that. Overdose energy drinks to keep himself up all the time ( probably smoking cigarettes to ripping off the stressed too )

It’s ending up giving him those horrible dark eye bags and because Turbo is having a gray skin that makes the dark circles under his eyes look more stand out

Yah, that’s kinda it. Just a little funny, silly thought about them <33