#i should have layered this differently but i got tired of looking at it. i continue to be a girlfailure

[bajablastable]

thought abt this dude today

[pit-and-the-pen]

Broken Pieces

Based on this request by @romantasyreader28. Thank you again for the request <3

Warnings: non-sexual nudity, brief mention of death

Wc: 3.3k

Azriel was truly at a loss. You had come back from your last mission, different. Something that in all your years working together had never happened before. All the years since being your mate, being your husband. Azriel never saw you take a mission this hard before. 

He should have sensed something was off sooner. He was the spymaster for the Night Court and he couldn’t tell when his mate was upset?

You had just come home. Walking into your shared room bleary eyed and limping. The hug he wrapped you in was quickly shrugged off. Sliping from his hold in a way that he’d never seen you do before. He put it down as exhaustion. A three day mission by yourself always wore you out. So he drew you a hot bath, helped you peel off your clothes. 

“Azriel can you…Nevermind.” You spoke, something dimming out from your eyes. He raised  his eyebrow but you turned your back on him. He just thought you wanted some privacy to deal with the layer of grime on your skin. He ignored the small pang of hurt that ran through him. You would almost always beg him to join you in baths. More than once, you’ve pulled him by his jacket into the oversized tub. Not caring that the floor got soaked or that the clothes were that much harder to take off when they were wet. You would melt in his arms only once he had your back pressed against his front. But not today. Not wanting to overcrowd you, he stepped out of the bathroom, placing the towel within arms reach and going to grab your bathrobe. He knew how much you hated leaving the warmth of a bath only to have to walk across a cold room to get dressed. Normally that wasn’t a problem because Azriel would just carry you. Normally would find other ways to make sure you kept warm. 

He sat awkwardly at the edge of the bed. Not knowing what to do with himself. He leaned back on his hands and tried to keep his rising panic away from the bond. You were just tired. He kept reminding himself. 

Eventually, you walked out of the bathroom. Clutching your bathrobe for warmth. You walked over to the dresser by the foot of the bed and started pulling out your nightclothes. Azriel’s hands twitched slightly when he saw you drop your robe to the floor, leaving you bare in front of him. Pushing himself off the bed, he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle. Light kisses pressed against your bare shoulder. You head lolled back, body finally relaxing against him. He dragged his kisses up to your neck and he felt you stiffen under him. You took a step away from him, putting just enough distance for Azriel to get the message. “Love,-”

“Azriel, please. I just want to go to bed.” He truly was beginning to panic. You were obviously allowed to not be in the mood, he would never dream of insinuating otherwise. But you wouldn’t even look at him. As much as his blood was roaring for you, he just wanted to see your smile. She’s just tired. He was all but chanting to himself. But as he let you crawl into bed, he knew it was something more than that. When he went to send a wave of comfort down the bond, he was met with no more than a brick wall. His eyebrow furrowed. Not once had you blocked off your side of the bond. Neither of you had. Not when your job required so much distance and was so dangerous. He was shaking as he walked over to his side of the bed. The side you normally insisted on occupying half of so he would have to pick you up and pull you onto his chest. He was at a loss for words. He just stared at your frame. Unable to think about the right thing to say to you. He had never felt more helpless in all of his time of being your mate. How many times have you comforted him? How many times did you patch him up when he wanted nothing more than to fall apart? And here he was gaping at your turned back. Unable to return that for you. 

He climbed into bed and went to wrap his arm around your now shaking frame. His heart broke at the sob that broke past your lips. It broke even further when you scooted out of his grip without a word. He was forced to listen to your sniffles and see the shake in your shoulders without being able to comfort you. He didn’t fall asleep until he heard your breathing even out, until the sniffles stopped and he knew you were asleep. 

The next morning you were still asleep when he woke up. He didn’t hold much hope that you were going to be magically better this morning but a small part of him wished it to be true. Even though you were right next to him in bed, having curled up into his side during the night, he felt so far away from you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you for what might be the only time today. You nuzzled deeper into his side, the soft snore that left your mouth the only indicator that you were still asleep. He just held you, his mind reeling with ways he could fix this. 

You started to stir in his hold. He didn’t let you go, only loosened his arms so he wasn’t squeezing you as much. You curled into him even more before you stiffened, he saw your eyes for only a second before you pulled his arm off of you and turned away from him. You didn’t look at him again as you climbed out of bed and went to the dresser to grab clothing for the day. You stalked over to the divider in the room and Azriel could only see your faint outline as you changed and walked out of the room, leaving without so much of a glance his way. He just sat there, looking at the slightly open door and let you walk away. 

Azriel was out of ideas. So he dressed slowly and then headed down the hallways to Rhys’ study. He didn’t knock and his brother took one look at him and put down the paper he had been looking over. 

“How is she?” So Rhys knew.

“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me. Did she..”

“She didn’t come see me after her mission and that’s never a good sign.” 

“I don’t know what to do. Rhys she won’t even let me touch her.” He felt a slight tinge of shame at talking to Rhys about this, about your personal life like this. But he needed his advice. He really needs both of his brothers' advice. And like he could hear him, Cassian walked into the room. He sat in the chair next to Azriel. A shadow slinking up Azriel’s shoulder to give him an update about your whereabouts, the priestess library. Well at least you weren’t fully alone. He would accept that. But it also meant you didn’t want to talk to him. His brothers must have sensed his growing anxiety because Cassian placed a light hand onto his shoulder, sympathy shining in his eyes. 

“I have to watch as the girl I love… slips away” Azriel spoke to his brothers. Rhys’ face dropped and even Cassian didn’t dare to speak. “I don’t know how to help her or even if she wants me to help her but… I just don’t know.” And if there was anything Azriel hated in this world, it was not having an answer. No amount of spying or sneaking would help him fix what was going on in your own head. 

“She probably just needs time.”

“Rhys, she’s fully blocked me out. I’m losing my mind right now not being able to feel her through the bond.” Rhys shook his head, understanding the feeling all too well. 

“Just give her time.” Was all his brother said. Azriel’s shadow’s became a flurry at the thought, wrapping around him and hiding him from his brothers views. He knew he needed to give her space but the urge to comfort his mate was eating him alive already. What type of mate was he if he couldn’t make you feel better? He didn’t want to think about it but it was starting to consume him.

You didn’t return to your room that night. He waited for hours, sending his shadows all around Velaris to look for you. They found you in your old room. Curled up, crying herself to sleep. Very sad, needs you, sent us out of the room. They informed him. Regardless of his shadows all but pulling him from the bed, he stayed put. If you wanted to be alone, he would give you space. As much as it killed him to do so. 

Easier said than done apparently. He lasted all of three days before he started to seek you out. Something that was very hard to do when he personally taught you how to avoid being detected. If it wasn’t for his shadows, he wouldn’t even know you were still in the house. But everytime they told him of your location, you would be gone before he could reach you. It was the most frustrating thing he had ever experienced. He was wound so tight he was starting to avoid Rhys and Cassian, for no other reason than he couldn’t stand to see the concern in their faces. Azriel had barely been able to sleep without you next to him, with his shadows all but screaming at him to go to his mate every second of the day. 

HE was going crazy, he knew it. His hands were clenching and unclenching by his side as Rhys was speaking to him, not listening to a single word coming out of his mouth. Your figure passed by him in the hallway and it was all he could do to politely excuse himself from Rhys’ side. He ungracefully ran to catch up with you. He was about to grab your wrist before you froze in front of him. You stood facing away from him, but didn’t move, utterly still. 

“Please. Just look at me.” He felt his skin crawl as you still didn’t move. HIs shadows had wrapped around your shoulders, your arm,your legs, all over you. You didn’t lower your shoulders. But he was graced with the slow turn that brought your tense face into his view. The muscles in your jaw clenched tight, eyes casted over his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. 

“PL-”

“Azriel, I can’t… I can’t talk about it. Please just stop.” Your lip trembled, voice tense but soft. 

He sank down onto his knees, maybe begging, maybe praying to a god to be able to help you.

“Please, what's wrong.” Azriel clutched your hand. You looked at him but he could tell the slight fog in your eyes that you weren’t truly seeing him. You shook your head as your eyes returned to him. As you were pulled from that memory. 

“You’ll hate me if I tell you. I hate myself.” You choked out.

“Darling, I could never hate you.” You shook your head at his words. 

“No, this was… unforgivable.” 

“Do you know what I do for this court? Trust me, I’ve seen and done far worse.”

“It was a kid. They were a shifter. I didn’t know until I was holding their lifeless body. Until their mother broke down the door. She was…I should have let her kill me.” Your hands were shaking, you were rubbing them against the leg of your pants. Trying to wipe them clean, he recognized the repeated motion. It would happen sometimes when you just felt like your hands couldn’t get clean. It happened when you had a particularly bad reaction to a victim. I still feel the blood for days after. Can see it sometimes. You had told him once. So he did the only thing he could offer you at that moment. Azriel lightly took your hands in his, pulling them away from your pants. Placing feather light kisses to each joint in your finger, placing a handful of extras on the ring with a piece of his siphon embedded into it. He flipped your hand over and copied his trail of kisses. Followed onto your palm, up to your wrist. He didn’t let that hand drop as he turned his attention to your other hand. Trailing kisses all over until that was the only thing you could feel. Until the phantom blood would be replaced by the warmth of his lips. 

He knew you were crying. But your hands were only slightly trembling now. When Azriel went to pull away, you clutched him so hard he thought it would bruise. Nails biting slightly into his skin. He didn’t flinch. Just let you guide him up and into your arms. Clinging to him like he was a life persevere and you were drowning. And you were. For the first time in days, he felt that door on the other side of the bond open and the wave of grief and sorrow that filled him only had him pulling you tighter against him. 

“You didn’t know. Rhys didn’t know either, I’m assuming?” He felt your head shake against his shoulder. No.

“You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. I should have been able to tell. The way he spoke… I just thought he was low born. He was one of the best assassins that Hewn city has seen in centuries and he couldn’t have been more than fifteen.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“I buried them both. I couldn’t just leave them. I even tried to leave something for them, some identifier but… I can still see them when I close my eyes. He was so small…” Your voice broke on the word and you were pushing on his chest then, writhing to get out of his arms and so he released you. As much as he didn’t want to. He let you go and watched as you crumpled to the ground. Head in your hands and knees drawing close to your chest. He didn't touch you as he sank down to his knees in front of you. He just sat with you in your grief. He breathed louder than normal, a silent encouragement for you to breathe with him. Slowly, you did. your chest rising and falling slowed until they matched. You pulled your head up slowly. Eyes shiny and red. 

“Can we go to bed?” your voice wasn’t louder than a whisper. He nodded, opening his arms in question. you nodded back and Azriel scooped you up in his arms, you buried your head into his chest, blocking out the rest of the world. 

He delicately held you in his arms as he walked into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.“Do you want to bathe first?” You nodded, not raising your head from where it rested. 

So he walked into the bathroom and shifted you onto the counter, keeping a hand on your knee as he started to draw the bath. He walked back over to you and stood between your legs, wrapping his arms around your middle. “Can I take these off?” His fingers were lightly tracing the bottom of your shirt and you nodded. Ever so gently, he pulled the cotton over your head, placing a small kiss to the top of your nose when it was over your head. He popped you up long enough to get your pants down your legs. He was slightly disappointed with himself for still finding you so beautiful, even with the tear marks sticking to your face. You were the most gorgeous female he had ever laid eyes on and he let you know that. You blushed and pulled him down for a light kiss. It was just a quick peck. He went to turn off the water before it could spill over the edge of the tub. He picked you up again and slowly lowered you into the water. He turned away, giving you some privacy, but you only took his hand in your and stared up at him. 

“Can you…get in?” The slight tremble in your voice had him nodding before you even finished. He didn’t care what words were about to come out of your mouth, he would do it. So he peeled himself out of his clothes and joined you in the hot water. Slightly too hot for his preference but just the way you liked it. He pulled you against his front and picked up the shampoo you used. 

He cupped some water into his hands to wet your hair and worked the soap through. Fingers stretching at your scalp in the process, you leaned further back into him savoring the feeling of his hands in your hair. Once he was done, he washed the bubbles out with the cup by the edge of the tub. Covering your face lightly with his hand to avoid getting it into your eyes. He handed you the sponge and his body wash, the scent always soothed you when you were upset, giving you space to wash your own body. His hands did smooth the soap off your shoulder and back, but he knew what would happen to his own body if he dragged that sponge over your soft skin and this wasn’t about that. This was him taking care of his mate and nothing more. He took a deep breath to push those thoughts away from the front of his mind, a soft wave of nothing but pure adoration washed down the bond as he did so, fully banishing the thoughts from him. He stepped out of the bath first to grab the towel that was hanging on the edge of the door. He quickly dried himself off before he went  to pick you up from the now lukewarm bath. He wrapped you up in the towel and carried you over to the bed. He placed you down in the middle and you sat watching him as he went over to the dresser to grab something for you to put on. You shook your head at him and pulled the covers over yourself. 

 So he joined you, shuffling you onto his chest. You both laid like this for a few minutes, lazily drawing shapes onto your back with his hands. This was just about needing to feel your mate close to you. A need to feel something. A content sigh left you as you nuzzled into his chest, hand already going to circle around the patch of hair at the center. His own hands were brushing over your hair. Neither of you spoke, both content to lay in your own little bubble of quiet. He listened to your breathing slow slightly and knew you had drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t find it in himself to let his eyes close. He could only stare down at his amazing mate. His wife. His everything. The person who felt so deeply that she had made graves for the people she wasn’t supposed to care about. Who would have been content to drown in grief alone at the thought of what she had accidentally done. Your rule was simple, one that everyone else echoed, no children and no mothers. Despite all the things you had done for the Night Court, there were boundaries that even Rhys would never cross. He would have to tell Rhys what happened, encouraging his brother to let Azriel gather intel before sending in his mate to finish the job. But that could all wait until the morning. Tonight he would be with his mate, tonight he would do his best to take the weight of the world off your shoulders.

tagging the girlies: @daycourtofficial @sarawritestories @milswrites @prythianpages

[angelfoxx]

Coddling Keegan while giving him a handjob😖😖he’s cuddled up to you, head buried in your neck while your hand pumps his cock slow nd sloppy, whines a little when you pay attention to his tip, rubbing it with your thumb, “feels good, baby? Hm?” While ruffling his hair❤️❤️

“You wanna cum, sweet boy? Yeah?” You murmur, practically babying him🫶🫶

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ SWEET BOY? ❞

…in which a very tired keegan gets special treatment.

FEATURING: keegan p russ (duh)

WARNINGS: obviously nsfw. mild overstim. mentions of crying. whoopsie

NOTE/S: hi anon hope u know i read this and my stomach clenched up. sorry just thought u should be aware

“Feel good?” Your voice is just a soft murmur, sickeningly sweet and practically dripping in endearment. “Is that good, Kee?”

The only response you get is a breathy half-groan.

Poor Keegan. Genuinely. He’d come back from what he dubbed a shit mission this past afternoon; nothing too risky. Just a job that the “regular” recruits hit a wall with. A job that he had to go finish, because apparently the general force couldn’t get the fucking thing done.

His next assignment? Tomorrow afternoon. Approximately twelve hours from now, he’d be out again.

The poor guy was fucking exhausted. Hell, he’d called you that morning from the bed of the truck, and…you know why he had to go, you know that it’s his job and all, but…Christ, he’d sounded so tired. Tired and strained and done. Every nerve in your body had been screaming at you to fawn over him the minute he got home; a warm bath, a hot mug of tea (black). Some soup, bowl steaming. Hell, you’d been wringing your hands together at the mere thought of washing his hair. It had become a regular practice at this point; whenever he came back from an assignment, you’d be there to give him a soft landing upon arriving home.

This time around, you didn’t have the time for that. Despite his arguments, you’d probably have a word with whatever shit-for-brains commander had been in charge of putting him on back-to-back assignments.

To focus on the task at hand. Or in hand, rather. Keegan had told you he didn’t want all of the fancy stuff; tea, sure. Soup, sure. The bath and everything? No, he’d just shower.

He wanted a hot mug of tea, a bowl of soup, and then he wanted you to make him feel better in the best way you knew how.

Hence; your current position.

You hadn’t even made it to the bed. Keegan hadn’t even finished his fucking soup. He’d been staring into it like a ghost; gaze vacant, face empty, eyeblack staining his skin charcoal-gray. Hell, the man had just thrown whatever clothes he could find on; just a plain white tee and sweats. For once, he hasn’t been careful with his gear; he’s got it slung haphazardly across the chair beside him. His fucking rifle is sitting on the thing like it’s also eating soup.

He didn’t have to say much. He just kind of shifted and looked you in the eye; sat back, opened his legs a little wider.

Upon swinging a leg over him and sitting in his lap, Keegan had all but deflated.

He’d smelled like soap. Kind of tasted like it, too. Either he had scrubbed off a layer of skin in the shower or he’d just neglected to fully rinse all of the shampoo out of his hair. Either way, you didn’t mind; the fact that he smelled vaguely of vanilla (because for some reason he continued to take your shampoo and not use his own) and he was just slumped back in the chair, weakly holding onto your head as you littered a trail of little marks along his throat…

…oh, sweet boy.

He thought the pet name was stupid. Usually. He’d laugh at you if you called him by it in most situations; the day he’d apparently decided it was safe enough to kiss you goodbye before he boarded the plane to head out on an assignment, you’d called him a sweet boy and Keegan, fully geared up in his vest and helmet with probably five different weapons strapped on around his waist, had just whistled and hummed in response.

Sweet boy, carrying a rifle and a knife and god-fucking-knows-what-else.

Now, though, he doesn’t complain. Either because he’s too tired to or because, right now, even he knows that it’s fitting. Big, beefy soldier, pretty blue eyes rolled back, pretty pink lips parted and pretty little mouth too tired to fight the quiet little noises that would normally remain buried under his tongue. His brow knits, and his nostrils flare, and — oh — his chest rises and his breath hisses in through his nose.

A fat pearl of pre swells up on his tip for a moment before you run your thumb over it and spread it across the blunt round of his cockhead.

It’s not fair to him. Maybe. You’re going so slow and you’re just lazily stroking him but he doesn’t seem to mind. Oh, not at all. His brow knits and his mouth opens a little further; he lets out a short, hoarse breath, chest puffing up before it shudders back down and the muscles along his neck flex.

“Deep breaths, Kee.” You lean forward, kissing the side of his cheek and biting back a grin when his entire body shudders. “Easy.”

“I’m ff…fffuckin’ trying.” Keegan’s voice is rough, strained breathlessly thin. “I’m ff…uhhhckin’ trying, princess, but…”

“Can’t?” You smile, body shuddering. “Aw. Sweet boy.”

Keegan tries to shoot you a glare. He tries. One squeeze of your hand closing over his cockhead has him tensing up again, head tipping back and jaw clenching up as he bites back another groan.

You don’t say anything. You could tease him more (hell, you’d be jumping at the chance any other time), but right now he’s almost pitiful. Sore, exhausted, run-down and on a tight deadline to head back out tomorrow.

The man deserves a break. He doesn’t deserve to be mocked. So you keep your mouth shut (at least, in regards to taunting him) and you tease your thumb over his slit in slow little circles.

Keegan’s body shudders. From somewhere deep in his chest, he groans, brow knitting and eyes squeezing shut. His hips buck up; his cock slides through your grasp, swollen and slick. He’s aching for release, aching for it; it’s like his self-control has been put out to float on a raft and is just drifting towards total euphoric collapse. His head lolls on his neck; he’s in a daze, exhaustion and pleasure mixing like a dreamy cocktail in his system.

“I’ll get a nice bath ready for you after this assignment. Sound good?” You grin as you swish your thumb over his tip and he stiffens, body wound tight and eyes rolling back in his head. He doesn’t give you a verbal response; he just groans, one of his hands pawing uselessly at your waist. His big hands, gloved hands, rough and callous…

The throaty auh Keegan lets out brings your head back into reality, just in time to see his jaw drop and his pretty lips form a pink O as his eyes squint and his lashes flutter. His cock jerks in your hands, and a dribble of thin pre runs down the joints of your fingers. His hips buck up; under that thin layer of cotton, you feel his abdomen flex tight.

Apparently embarrassed at his own sound, Keegan turns his face towards you. Messily, he thrusts his lips at yours; when your body ripples and your hand flexes, he groans, low and tired into your mouth. His skin is hot; he’s flustered, but he’s too tired to do much about it.

“You gonna fall asleep on me after this?” You manage a quiet laugh. “No real rounds?”

Keegan groans. His voice, when it does manage to come out, is throaty and hoarse. There’s a sort of grumble in his voice, a sort of sleepy drawl that has your knees weak. “Shit, if you want…”

You giggle, biting your tongue when you skim the tips of your fingers over the ridge of his head and he tenses, teeth sinking into his lip. “I don’t think you can, Kee. I really don’t.”

“Shut it.” Though his tone is gruff, a tease of your finger over his leaking slit has Keegan��s head lolling back and his eyes, pretty pools of sapphire blue, roll back as his lashes flutter. “I’ll just lay there. You…nngh…you can just get on top an’…”

Keegan’s body shudders. His shoulders lift off the back of the chair; there’s a tremor deep in his belly that you can feel under your hand as he slumps back again, stomach rolling forward and hips rolling up. His abdomen clenches and sucks in so hard you can see the outline of his abs through his shirt, despite the loose fit.

Close.

You’ve learned his bodily cues by now. He tenses, starts to breathe hard — you can hear air rasping in and out of his nose — and, yeah, he paws around until he can grab onto your wrist, fingers wrapping around the spot right under your hand. He’s funny like that; you wouldn’t catch him dead pitying himself, telling you he was nothing but your little play-thing — but god, the quiver in his hand and the tremor in his breath is so, so far away from dominant. It’s so far away from being in control. If anything, he’s feeling your control; he’s feeling your pulse pick up as you shift on his lap, he’s feeling your arm tense as you bite your lip and stroke quicker, faster, twist your hand, and — oh — he’s gripping tight as you swipe your hand at just the right angle, pull it flush against the base of his cock and pump up and —

The strangled cry that comes out of Keegan’s mouth is strained and loosely contained. His jaw snaps shut, his lips seal; his hips buck up, and there’s a soft scuffle as his feet shove against the ground and his socks give him no traction to hold on.

You see the corded muscle of his neck swell at the same time that you feel a ribbon of something hot and sticky squirt up your forearm.

Five times. Five times, Keegan’s hips jerk up; his head turns either way, and his eyes squeeze shut for the first two jolts. They start to open; they flutter, roll back. Close again for the third. The same goes for the fourth. The fifth, though, his eyes open when his hips twitch, and when you try to meet his gaze you look into bottomless blue hues lidded and vague with euphoria.

The blunt edges of his nails dig into your wrist right under a streak of cum. The stuff strings your arm and webs beneath it, threatening to drip onto his thighs. Not that he’d mind, probably. Not now, at least. He’s too weak and tired to really care. Too busy groaning, sound contained deep in his chest, body rippling as pleasure tides over him. Over…and over…and over.

“Feel better?” You prompt the question in a soft voice after a long moment of silence for him to recover. Not that he had any performance issues — just tired, like this, pushed flat-out for too long…he has this worn, beaten look on his face. Barely lifted after everything.

“Yeah.” Despite that, Keegan’s response comes quick; breathless, but quick. His eyes shift over to meet yours, and Christ, if he looked tired before…

“Kee.” The note of pity that leaks into your voice is entirely instinctual. When you lean forward, his breathing staggers; he sort of half-laughs when you run your thumb over his three-fourths lidded eyes, weakly turning away from the contact. “Don’t touch me right now.”

“Kee.” You repeat his name, more seriously this time. “Kee, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m not.” Keegan shakes his head; as if to prove his point, he shifts a little in his seat, pulling himself slightly more upright.

“You look like it. You look so tired.” You lean forward, this time; it’s an effort to push his hair back, and one that he leans away from. “Keegan. Let me take care of you.”

In response, he only laughs. It’s a tired laugh, one that rasps in his chest, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. When he replies, his tone isn’t serious. “You’ve got it on your hands.”

so sorry for my absence. my cod hyperfixation chilled the fuck out a little whoopsie anyways

[bigification]

Spiked

Friday,

I feel strong, but these protein shakes haven't been helping my bulk as much as I want. I'm still too skinny. Maybe I should give them more time though, I've only been taking them for a couple weeks after all. I'll try bumping it up to two a day, and I'll eat more, that should help.

I pick up my phone as I leave the gym and stare at the Grindr app. Should I? Is it fair to Dean that I keep bringing back guys to our place. This would be the fourth time this week, I think I can hold off for his sake. Anyway, I put away my phone and head back to my apartment.

"How was the workout?" Dean asked when I got home. I'm shocked, he's never really been interested in my workouts before. We used to go together before we were roommates but now that we live together, the gym is a rare activity we do apart. Besides, he hasn't really been going that much recently.

"Oh, it was good... I'm just not bulking as much as I want to." I reply.

"That must be why you got those protein shakes, huh?"

Why is he taking so much notice of this stuff now? We can share the shakes if he really wants to, he might just be trying to motivate himself to get back in the gym. But he could just ask if that's what he wants. "Ya, I'm gonna try to drink more, maybe that'll help." I say as I go to the fridge and grab one.

"That's good." Dean says in a flat tone, he usually does this when he's lost interest in a conversation.

I get distracted from the conversation anyway as I drink the shake. Something seems different about it, it's got a bit of a bitter aftertaste now. I figure it's probably just me getting tired of the taste and shrug it off.

Saturday,

I wake up in a cold sweat. This was unusual given that I get up every day at this time to go to the gym. I look to the clock and it's... 10 o'clock. Holy shit, I slept in. I'm usually at the gym by 8. I calm down a bit when I remember it's Saturday, so I have nothing to do anyway.

I roll out of bed and hobble my way to the bathroom. My head is spinning and my stomach is growling, I felt hungover. I didn't drink last night did I? I don't really remember. However, all of that leaves my mind in an instant when I look in the mirror. I rub my eyes and look again. Where do I even begin. An itchy beard now covers my face, despite the fact that I shaved yesterday morning. My sweat glistened on my distended stomach, my six pack buried under a soft bloat. My pecs are swollen and slightly rounded.

What the fuck. My mind is trying to process what's happening, but it can't. I turn to the side and see the subtle S shape in my stomach and my ass. Was it the shake? It couldn't have been, it hasn't done shit for me in weeks and now it does this! You know what, this is fine. I pinch my stomach. It's mostly bloated, just a small layer of fat, nothing I can't work off in a couple weeks. If anything this will give me a head start on my bulk.

I throw on some of my loose gym clothes that do a decent job at hiding my physique, but I still look different. I grab my gym back and try to sneak out, I don't want Dean seeing me like this. I quickly try to rush out the door, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Dean.

"I didn't know you were still home, you usually leave before I get up." He says nonchalantly.

"Oh ya... I just decided to sleep in today." I pull my bag to cover my stomach.

"Okay, have fun at the gym. Nice beard by the way, when did you decide to grow it out."

"I've just been a bit lazy with shaving it, that's all." I'm sweating buckets.

"Well it looks good, you should keep it." He smiles at me.

I can feel myself blush, so I smile and get out as quickly as possible. I chug a protein shake on the way to the gym, noting that bitter aftertaste again. It's probably nothing, I have bigger issues to deal with.

Once I start my workout, I feel pretty self conscious about my body. I know no one else could know that something is off, but I still feel off. But as the workout goes on, I start feeling more and more comfortable. I start hitting more reps than I ever have before, though cardio is a bit of a slog. It doesn't matter, I feel surprisingly great. I finish off the workout great, and flex in the mirror for a bit of a confidence boost.

I drink another shake on the way home. As I get home, Dean seems to be waiting for me. He asks how my workout was again. He's acting so weird again. I decide to spend the rest of the day out, drinking the night away. I am bulking after all.

Sunday,

I wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck, with no memory of how much I drank last night. I've never felt like this after a night out though. The more I think about it, the more my mind points me to the shakes. They have to have something to do with this. I don't have time for this right now though, I have to get to the gym.

I brush my teeth and shave, I'm shocked at the beard I grew in just two days. I try throwing on some clothes, but I feel some resistance. My largest gym shirt no longer fits, there's always a sliver of skin showing and it goes past my belly button when I reach up. My shorts fit a bit better, but they hug my ass very tight. I think I'll have to buy some new clothes on the way home.

The workout goes similarly to yesterday. I start self conscious of the fact that my belly is showing and my shorts look like they're about to rip. But the worry escapes my mind when I destroy my routine. I feel so strong.

I feel great by the time my workout ends. I head to the locker room and take off my shirt. Yeesh, I have a full on beer belly now. This is no longer just a bloat, my stomach is covered in a thick layer of fat. I didn't even know you could gain this much fat in only a couple of days, and I'm not even eating that much. And what's with the beard, I shaved this morning and it's already coming back in. Although my arms are looking massive, I could even feel my sleeves stretch from my biceps when I was working out. I stare at my belly a bit as I think about what to do.

I throw on my shirt again and head out. I pull up to a clothing store and pick out a few loose gym clothes that should fit me if I bulk even more.

"Hi, where are the change rooms." I ask an employee.

"Oh.." he pauses for a moment, looking at my belly. I notice that my shirt is riding up more than it was this morning. I instinctively cover my exposed belly with my arms and shrivel up in embarrassment.

"Just over there sir." He awkwardly points to the back of the store.

I grab a few larger clothes on the way out and leave the store as fast as humanly possible. I instinctively down another shake on the way home. Dean didn't say anything to me when I got home, but he glanced at me and then looked away. He is acting so strange.

I woke up in the middle of the night, there was a rattling coming from the kitchen. I walk out to investigate and see Dean doing something with the protein shakes. Is he secretly drinking them at night? He could just ask and I would give some to him. But I see him pour something into the shake and then close it back up again before putting them back in the fridge. What the hell? I try to think of what he could be doing. He stashes something away in the bottom of the cupboard and starts walking back to his bedroom. I quickly hide in my room until I hear his door close, and then I go back to the kitchen to investigate. I look at the protein shakes in the fridge and notice their seals have been broken, I can't believe I never noticed that. I move over to the cupboard and find a small bag with white powder in it. It looks like coke, but why the fuck would Dean put coke in my shakes. And besides, I don't think fat, muscle, and hair growth are symptoms of coke. Maybe I'll give him a taste of his own medicine. I go back to the fridge and pull out the jug of orange juice that Dean drinks every morning. I have no idea how much he put in my shakes, so I just pour a bunch in. I kind of feel like a secret agent, sneaking in a mysterious powder into his drink. I would feel worse, but he already did this to me so I'm fine ignoring my morals this time.

I head to bed, lying awake in my bed for a while. Thinking about what I just did, thinking about the results. It's making it hard to fall asleep, but I eventually do.

Monday,

I wake up feeling better than I had the past few days. I go through my normal routine, throw on my gym clothes, and grab a bite to eat. When I open the fridge, i see the orange juice and protein shakes and I'm reminded of my situation. Every morning I get a few moments of blissful ignorance before it's ripped away. I think for a bit, then grab a couple shakes and put in my bag. I'm kinda liking this new me, the strong me, and the belly is definitely growing on me. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I head out, I'm really committing to this aren't I? I ask myself as I look at the bushy beard that has engulfed my face and the belly and moobs that are unmistakable under my shirt. I smile and then head to the gym.

Every day that I spend at the gym, I get less self conscious. I almost forget about the fact that my hairy gut I exposed to the world whenever I reach up. I only care about the fact that I have been increasing the weight on my workouts every day and it feels amazing.

I take a shower and get dressed for work... Oh shit. I never bought work clothes that fit me, I'm reminded when I try in vain to button up my dress shirt. I stop by the store again and grab a couple shirts and pairs of pants. The thought of the protein shake in my car makes me think of the future, so I buy a few clothes in larger sizes too.

I barely make it to work on time. The day went by fast, but all I could remember were the stares and the comments from coworkers. "You forget to shave this morning Santa?" "Might want to lay off the doughnuts in the break room buddy." "We're concerned about your health." "Did you forget to stop bulking?" That was all I heard today. It was embarrassing at first, but it soon turned to encouraging. Each sly comment just makes me want to grow more. It honestly makes me realize how much I'm enjoying growing, and makes me even more excited to see what happens to Dean. It was hard to keep my dick in my pants today, I think the only reason no one noticed was because they were too busy staring at my gut.

I make it back home after work and dress down to my underwear first thing. Damn I am getting hairy, I run my hands through the forest of hair that has grown all over my body. As I'm doing so, an amazing idea runs through my mind. I'm gonna surprise Dean. There's no way I can hide the changes in my body regardless of how baggy my clothes are, so I'm just gonna show it off. I lay down on the couch by the front door, still only in my underwear, and I wait for him to show up.

"I'm hom- Oh hey..." Dean stutters as he sees me.

"Hey bud, what's up." I say nonchalantly.

"Just tired from work, where are your clothes?"

"I had a crazy workout today, just figured I'd air out a bit. Ever since I started this bulk, things have really taken off for me at the gym." I say while I rub my gut. In trying my best to make him uncomfortable and it seems to be working.

"Okay, well if you need me I'll be in my room." He quickly scurries into his room.

I just chuckle to myself and continue rubbing my belly. I wonder if there's any leftovers in the fridge?

Tuesday,

Same old same old. Get out of bed, get dressed, shave, grab a shake and head to the gym.

I feel so imposing at the gym now. I think I've gotten taller, because I look down on almost every now. I have a beard and a deeper voice than I used to, and not to mention the big gut and strong biceps. I'm like the biggest guy here, and people treat me like it. Women and men stare, and people tend to let me use the machines I want. I also notice myself grunting when I work out, I wonder if the entire gym can hear it. Anyway, the point is I feel amazing. This is the first day I dropped cardio because who fucking needs it, I sure don't. Now I focus purely on mass gain. I'm tired of holding back and I don't care what other people think, I want more.

I arrived at work, rocking far more confidence than I did yesterday, and people noticed. I don't care if they stare or comment, and I don't care that my dress shirt is already too small for me. People even asked me how I gained as much muscle as it did that fast. I just tell them to eat a shit ton and drink protein shakes, but maybe once the jig is up with Dean I'll ask him how to get the powder. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing some of the men at work blow up like I did. This is not the time to think about it though, it's getting hard to hide my boner at work. The only thing hiding it when I sit down is my gut.

I get home and notice Dean is home too. He must have stayed home, I wonder if it's because of the powder. He won't seem to leave his room though, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the results.

I just decide to change into some comfortable clothes and eat my heart out. Though I'm shocked at how small my once 'baggy' clothes are. They barely fit past my stomach, and they ride up past my belly button when I lift my arms.

Fuck I'm getting fat. There is nothing hotter to me right now than the thought of my body growing. I make my way to the kitchen and grab a few more shakes and start chugging, feeling my dick harden with each gulp. I feel like a fucking pig, what has come over me. The shake is dribbling down my beard and onto my shirt, but I can't stop. Once I've had enough protein shakes for a lifetime, I stumble to my room and promptly fall asleep.

Wednesday,

I wake up in a pool of sweat, similar to a couple days ago. My mouth tastes awful and my body feels heavy. I question what happened last night as I roll myself out of bed. I drag myself to the bathroom and freeze in shock at my image in the mirror. Holy shit. I pull up my shirt to see a massive ball belly, covered in a thick layer of hair. I pull my shirt up further and see a pair of soft man tits that now lay on my gut. Every part of my body looks swollen, my arms, my hands, even my face looks puffy.

I let out a loud burp that reeks of protein shake, and suddenly I remember last. I walk to the kitchen and see six empty protein shakes on the table. I chuckle in a surprisingly deep voice before opening the fridge and grabbing a shake. I down it before getting ready to head to the gym. I put on my largest gym shirt and it only reaches halfway around my gut, I try to put on my shorts but I can't get them to cover the top of my ass crack. That's alright, I don't particularly care if anyone sees, it's their fault for looking.

I spend the day at the gym enjoying all the attention from shocked gym goers. They watch in amazement or contempt as this fatass walks around like he owns the gym.

I go to work with a similar energy, though I do have a dress shirt that still barely fits me so at least I'm not half naked going to work. My clothes still leave little to my coworkers imaginations, as I confidently strut my fatass around the office.

I get home and stand in shock as I walk through the door. Is that Dean!? Across the living room stands a morbidly obese man wearing nothing but boots, a baseball cap, and a ripped towel around his waist.

"You did this to me!" The man yells in a gruff southern accent.

"Dean, is that you?" I respond.

"Yea, you dumbass! You gave me some of that powder didn't ya." He turns to face me and reveals the damage the powder did to his body.

"Hey you did it to me first! I was only returning the favour."

"I only put I bit into your shakes, how much did'ya give me!? Look what it's done to me!" He grabs a handful of the fat on his belly, and it jiggles like jello.

"Well I didn't know how much to give you."

"And you're only s'posed to take it when you're workin out, otherwise it only grows fat and not muscle. Beside, why d'ya keep drinking it after you knew?" He asks

"Because I like me this way, it just felt good to get revenge. Why did you even do it in the first place?" I ask in return.

"Because I thought if you got fat you'd stop hooking up with so many guys, and you'd notice me. It was only s'posed to be a bit, but then you started drinkin the shakes like crazy and now look at ya." He responds in a genuine voice. I don't know what to say, so I stand silent. He grabs his phone and approaches me. "This is what I looked like 2 days ago!" He shows me a picture of himself. "I was so happy that I could finally grow a beard. Little did I know why."

"This is what I looked like yesterday." He shows me another photo. "My hair was falling out and my hairline was receding. I woke up looking like I was pregnant, and my pants couldn't fit anymore."

"I was so scared that I ate some of that powder, but I didn't know what to do, so I stayed in my room all day and drank nothing but orange juice. Then I woke up this morning as a bald 350 pound man. That's when I knew you put that powder in my orange juice." He seems frantic.

I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed him and kissed him. "I never realized how hot your accent is until now." I say as I pull away from the kiss, he smiles in return. In the moment, another terribly amazing idea comes to my head. I grab the bag of powder he had left on the table and pour some of the powder into his mouth before snorting some myself. He looks at me in shock for a moment before swallowing it. I smile before dragging his fatass to my tiny king sized bed.

Then next Monday,

I just hit 300 today. I still go to the gym everyday, so that keeps my gut from growing out of control. Though I have had some interesting conversations with my family since. But the shocked faces of my family when they see me and their concerned comments if my weight gain only fuels the fire. Though my dad seems to be the only one who says he likes the new me, says I look manlier. It's funny coming from the next fattest man in the family, only behind me of course.

The scale stopped working on Dean after last Thursday, but he has to be pushing 500. I really gave him an insane dose of that powder, and the more fat he got the less capable he was to workout and thus reduce the fat gained. He just sits around and pigs out all day now, and I wouldn't want him any other way. I usually bring home a few meals from a couple fast food restaurants for his first dinner, and when I feel up to it, I'll add a little bit of powder to his meal.

I'm also enjoying work far more. I told all the men at my work about the powder, and within a few days I was seeing results. Some became as fat as Dean by the end of the week, clearly they neglected the part where it said to workout while consuming the powder. Some look like me, with big arms and an even bigger belly. And some have just become muscle beasts, almost like they spent hours a day at the gym. I also feel more imposing at work, people respect me more, even if half of them are bigger than me now. It even helped me get a raise, which funds all of the fast food trips for Dean and I. One day I hope to be the big boss with a silver bushy beard and hulking gut that spills out of my suit.

[puripurin]

— Cute!Yan!Monster, who is nothing more than a literal cutiepie. Sure, his jaw is bloody and quite literally hanging by muscles, but his mannerisms are totally different than by how he looks.

The first time you saw him was in an abandoned building you were exploring for fun, dangerously stupid, but quite frankly stupid was in your middle name with all the dangerous stunts you had pulled, so this was the usual.

Until you saw him jump out of nowhere but still didn't come close to you as he banged his head on a piece of hanging metal, to which tears started forming in his eyes.

You pouted as you got a closer look. The monster that had tried to scare you had strawberry blonde hair and deep red eyes. Overall, the monster was cute except for his hanging jaw.

"Erm... are you okay?" You stooped down near him and handed him a napkin. He stared at you before taking it gracefully and wiping away his tears.

"I... I'm sorry for doing a poor job of scaring you... I'm just bad at what I'm supposed to do..." He weeped some more as he patted his tears. His voice was soft and slightly scratchy, but you had no idea where it came from, so that was a bit eerie.

"Hey, no... you actually scared me. The atmosphere was really scary as I heard your footsteps periodically, and I was always looking back. Even if it was botched, you did a good job." You patted his head as his eyes widened in happiness.

"You mean it??? I am so happy that I was able to scare you! Ah! My papa says that if you love someone very much you should marry them!" He nuggled into your chest, leaving you in confusion. "I am not letting you leave here. My papa says you should never let the person you love the most leave... I think that's for the best for you..."

"Wait, what--"

"Ah, anyways, what do you mean by you heard my footsteps periodically?" He looked up at you and tilted his head.

"Oh, it just meant I heard you walking around. Is there an issue?"

"But I don't make sound when I walk."

"Wait... then, who...?"

"Oh! Wait, you're talking about my papa!"

"Your papa?"

Just then, a horned monster layered in short black fur appeared in front of you both and screeched loudly. The cute monster giggled as he ran up to hug his papa. Meanwhile, you pass out in fear.

Eh, i think ill make a fic about his papa later. Oh also, i did post an intro, but deleted it because it was ugly so I'll have redo it, plus i was tired while doing it, so uh yeah. Also, he's not really yandere in the beginning, but once you spend more time, the more he wants to lock you up and keep you as his wife <3

[writingrock]

petals of longing

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: after spending time with bakugou, you couldn't help but make the dire mistake of falling in love with him.

notes: angst, unrequited love, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, college! katsuki bakugou, rejection

word count: 2.2k

a/n: I lied, I have more angst in my drafts.

edit: there's a continuation here

Has he ever noticed you?

After listening to Bakugou talk about training for the past hour, you couldn’t help but rethink about your presence in his life. The two of you are in his dorm room, having another one of those late night conversations. You weren’t sure when but having late nights together became normal.

It didn’t matter whose room or what the conversations were. The only thing that mattered was that it had to only be the two of you. At first, it started off as night study sessions but it devolved into something more casual.

The two of you got close by chance. It all started with some assignment where the two of you happened to be paired up. From the beginning of the project, he had displayed his frustration to be paired with you. Something about being paired with ‘some extra’. You paid no mind to his comments and essentially forced him to comply with you.

Bakugou did eventually get used to you. Working with you was effortless. Not like he'd ever admit that. He liked working with someone who cared like you. It was refreshing to see someone match his hardworking nature. There were late nights and countless revisions over this project. It was tiring. You could recall how badly you wanted to yank your eyeballs out during certain nights.

But the two of you kept encouraging the other, keeping each other alive and motivated. Bakugou always specifically made sure you were eating. To the point where he cooked for you during those study sessions. It was always paired with his long spiel about how important it is to take care of your body. Ironic, considering the number of sleepless nights the two of you shared over this project.

But it was all worth it when the assignment returned highly-graded. The look on Bakugou’s face when he read the commendations from the professor was memorable. Pure satisfaction. These two words describe his expression perfectly. The way his eyes gleamed with a sense of achievement when he read the professor’s comments.

You’d never seen such a proud grin stretched on his face. “We make a pretty good team.” he remarked as he admired the result displayed on your laptop’s screen. You should have realised then that you saw him differently. Whilst his eyes remained glued to the screen, yours were admiring him.

You thought that would be the last you’d see of Katsuki Bakugou. That the two of you would return to being strangers after the project. Afterall, he wasn’t ecstatic in being your project partner initially. To your surprise, Bakugou started hanging around you. In subtle ways of course. It started with small texts about lectures— asking about deadlines, exchanging notes and arranging study sessions.

At first, you didn’t think much about it and figured it was beneficial to both parties to become study partners. But it slowly became more than that when he started inviting you to do stuff with him. Accompanying him to the grocery store because he needed help with the groceries. Making you watch him cook so you could learn and try his new recipe. Then eating with him because he made too much.

Before you knew it, the two of you became friends. A friendship that most did not expect and even questioned. Spending time with him brought the two of you closer. Peeling back the layers of Bakugou and uncovering the nuances that uniquely made him who he is. Learning easy details about him like his favourite foods and hobbies. Occasionally, you'd hear snippits of his deeper thoughts if he'd allow.

You even got used to his insults, forming witty comebacks in response to them. It stunned him when you fired back at his words for the first time. Resulting in endless banter you deal with daily. His brash exterior you once deemed unnecessarily aggressive became something you understood. The closer you got, the softer he became. However, with that came a flower.

A tulip.

A blood-stained, pink tulip that you retched out one night. You jolted awake one night, gasping desperately for air. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as the coughing fit intensified, each spasm more forceful than the last. Did you get sick? Another violent cough wracked your body. No, this is definitely something else. Fear gripped your heart when you realised how clogged your throat felt. The panic you felt that night was unmatched to anything you’ve ever experienced. Throwing the covers off your body, your mind raced for answers. The air felt thick, suffocating, as you stumbled out of bed. You barely made it to the bathroom, the cold tile floor sending a shock through your bare feet. What was happening to you?

Falling to your knees in front of the sink, your reflection in the mirror blurred by the tears welling up in your eyes. Your heart pounded hard against your chest. With a final, desperate heave, the mystery lodged in your throat finally gave way. You doubled over the sink, feeling something solid and foreign in your mouth. Trembling, you opened your lips, and a delicate pink tulip fell into the sink, its petals slightly crushed but unmistakably beautiful. The vibrant colour stood out starkly against the white porcelain, its soft edges smeared with the faintest trace of blood. A cold wave of realisation settled in your gut like a stone. You have it don’t you. You weakly draw a slow breath. Hanahaki disease—the tragic, unspoken affliction of the lovelorn. A disease born from unrequited love.

You just had to fall in love with him.

The tulip in your hand was just the beginning, the first bloom of many. And as you stared at its delicate beauty, you felt the bitter sting of irony—the same love that had once filled your heart with warmth and hope was now destined to consume you, one petal at a time.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ pink ] - caring, attachment, happiness

Has he ever noticed you? Did he notice the times you’ve hurriedly excused yourself to throw up these plague of flowers? How much weaker have you been? Or even the trail of pink petals you leave behind? Your eyes find him leaning against the bed frame, scrolling on his phone. Oblivious to your suffering. How you wish you could be blissfully ignorant too. It’s been a month since you learnt of your condition. You’ve tirelessly tried to fall out of love with Bakugou. Avoiding the areas he frequents and making lame excuses that you can’t see him. Texting him less and telling yourself that he’s just some asshole. He’s not even that good looking. Right? His deep, rumbley voice isn’t attractive at all. Bakugou’s voice belongs to an old man who eats cigarettes. Plus, his attitude sucks. There's absolutely no reason for you to love him.

Oh, but… one look at him and it all crumbles down. His eyes, fierce and crimson, are like molten embers—burning with a relentless fire that you’ve always admired. Those wild locks you love to run your hands through. His chaotic crown of ash-blond spikes that comedically defy gravity. It frames his face in a way that accentuates his sharp features. Specifically his irritatingly perfect, sculpted jawline. And, of course, his voice never did sound like a senile smoker. You’ve always found his gravelly undertone to be hot. His looks weren't the only thing that made you gravitate to him. The air around him crackles with raw energy and confidence. He's strong-willed and fierce, he's unforgettable. You want to be by his side and watch him achieve his ambitions. Aside from all that, it's how soft he becomes when it's just the two of you. No matter how much you told yourself you didn’t love him, he only needed to appear for your heart to race. Lying to yourself was useless.

Deep in your lungs, you could feel a tightness that’s been building for weeks. You knew it was getting worse yet you refused to confess. But this curse wasn’t going to give you time. It hits you hard. You catch on quickly that this flowery misfortune is flaring up now. With you sat on the floor of his dorm. The pain in your chest intensifies, a sharp, burning sensation that spreads to your throat. Your stomach twists with anxiety and fear, but beneath it all, there’s a quiet, desperate hope. It dawns on you that you are unable to keep your secret for much longer. You have to tell him now. It doesn’t take long for Bakugou to take notice of your pain. Alarmed, he goes to your side, putting his hand on your back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t look too good.” His voice carries a gentle warmth, confused with the sudden change from you. Softly, he rubs circles on your back in an attempt to soothe you. Unfortunately for you, his concern only makes the tightness worsen.

“Katsuki, I have to tell you something– ” Your voice trembles as you utter those words. You’re barely holding it together from the twisted pain. Just as you take one shaky breath, a cough forces its way through. A red petal lips past your lips, falling to the floor. The petal alone being the confession you were meant to voice. You press your hand over your mouth, letting out a sob.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ red ] - declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, believe me

“I… love you Katsuki. I’ve always loved you.” The words come out in a rush, each one a painful release. “From that moment we got assigned together, you’ve taken my heart.” You can’t stop the tears now; they spill over, sliding down your reddened cheeks. Each breath you take brings another cough, another handful of those red petals, each one soaked in the essence of your clandestine love. The petals start to fall faster now, flooding the floor with these red tulips.

Bakugou is frozen in place. His widened eyes stuck onto the floor that is now scattered with red petals and tulips. The moment that petal flew out, he knew what you’ve been suffering with. Reluctantly, he turns to look at you. “You…” What does he even say in this moment? Words lose him as his mind races for a solution for this whole situation. Something has to ease your pain. Is there a cure for this unforgiving disease? Bakugou knows himself and the reality of this situation. The cold, harsh reality is that he doesn’t love you. His features harden as he grits his teeth, swallowing hard. “You… hopeless idiot. Fucking hell.” Is all he manages to say. He can’t bring himself to crush you with the raw truth. His lips twist into a scowl. Why did you fall in love with him? Why did you make the mistake of loving him? You absolute fool.

“I never wanted you to fall for me.” he wished to say.

He doesn’t need to say it. Another flurry of petals erupt from your mouth. These red tulips are stained with blood. The fluid sticking on them in sickly sweet fashion. His hesitancy is the only answer you need. His silence speaks volumes. Bakugou does not love you. Your heart sinks as you find the courage to face him. To take one look at the handsome face you’ve grown to love. However with one look, you regret ever catching a glimpse of him. That detached, impassionate expression of his shattered your heart. How could he look at you with such indifference as you regurgitate your declaration of love. You didn’t blame him for not feeling the same way. But the way he looks at you makes you feel sick. You couldn't accept how he's looking at your pain as if it were meaningless.

He looks at you like you’re nothing to him.

“Look.” With your remaining strength, you fist up a bundle of these petals. Shoving them in front of his distant gaze. You wanted him to see them, the raw consequences of your love for him. Red petals, dripping in red secretions in your grasp. Blood dripping from your fingers to the floor. “I am literally head over heels for you,” You spat, a few more petals leaving your mouth. Facing his glare with your own. It’s hard to speak but you need to. You need to scream at him. Did all of your memories with him mean nothing? To look at you with such an apathetic expression hurts you more than this wretched disease. There never was a chance for the two of you.

“But here you are,” You scoff as you lower your hand. Letting the petals sink to the floor. You should have known better. He's right. You're just a pathetic fool. A fool that can't even bring herself to hate him even now. “indifferent to everything that I’m feeling.” A full bulb of a tulip tumbles from your mouth. The final, yellow tulip lands silently by their feet. Your heart sinks, and the pain in your chest doesn’t disappear. Why does your quivering heart still beat with such passion for him? The yellow tulip stands alone, its petals vibrant and golden, glowing softly in the light. Blood clinging onto its velvety surface and seeping into the grooves of the petals. Everything dissipates, you only feel despondent.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ yellow ] - brightness, sunshine, hopeless love, unrequited love

You pull away from his embrace, accepting the rejection. Wobbling as you rise to your feet and turn to the door. Bakugou tries to reach for you, trying to find the right words. You don’t entertain him, swatting his hand away as you shake your head. Turning to the door before he could catch sight of the fresh tears in your eyes. You walk out the door with heavy steps and an aching heart. Now with every breath, flowers bloom within you to remind you of a love that will never be reciprocated. Your unrequited love.

a/n: just something quick because my brain was rotting. I don't offer free therapy on my blog, sorry :) @chocogoldie

In case you needed me to say it, hanatokoba is japanese flower language.

Reader's last words are from the angst prompts over at @me-writes-prompts !!!

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

[yurinaa-world]

"𝑅𝑒𝓅𝓊𝓃𝓏𝑒𝓁 𝑅𝑒𝓅𝓊𝓃𝓏𝑒𝓁 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝒟𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝐻𝒶𝒾𝓇"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Moze, Jing Yuan, Aventurine, & Blade x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: His hair is something else

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

A shadow guard like Moze has no time to take care of himself, which truly does explain the texture of his hair, rough and slightly tangled—because he never took care of it, has a lot of split ends with how his hair was styled and cut, it’s horrendous. 

He doesn’t have time to care about outside appearances and you usually can’t catch him on a day off to take care of his body properly until he (unlucky) gets injured and gets sent home, acting shameful and wishing he did things differently as if he got suspended from school. But you think this is positive since now he should take his “day off” and take care of himself.

Since he’s spending it with you, he’ll accept his situation. “See now you’re hair feels nice,” you complimented, scratching his scalp with your fingers, while you sat on the bed and had him sitting on the ground; his arm around your calf, pressing the side of his face against your knee. He may have been injured, but at least he can enjoy every part of your body, even your legs. “Doesn’t it feel nice when finally take care of hair?”

“Mhm,” He hummed. forget his hair, the feeling of you is way better to him. It might just be his only bliss. His hair was usually dry and unkept, like a quick comb (if he was lucky) and getting out there. (He would try to fix it up when going to see you, like running his hands slightly through it—just making him look like a total goof). 

Such rugged and matted feeling to it, yet it never bothered him when it was in his face, you always chided him about personal care, and he tried to listen, he truly did but his life had always been like this before you fell into his life. Old habits just die hard.

“Moze, move, I need to dry your hair.” Gently tapping him so he could move off your leg so you could dry his hair, yet he refused, he wanted to stay in this position for a little longer, but for the first time in a long time, he’s let his guard down.

“Forget it.”

💫𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈"

His hair is slightly messy when he puts it down from that ponytail he wears every day, his hair has been cut in several different layers which has just caused a complete mess when it’s put down. You needed a closer look at it, just curious, which he doesn’t mind at all, just keep running those pretty fingers like a lullaby being sung to a child and he won’t complain.

There may be a few tangles here and there, yet his hair was soft. The odd thing is, there are always birds popping in and out of that white nest that he calls his hair so you didn’t expect it to feel so good! 

“Seems like you’re having fun, yet try to be a little gentle with me.” 

That tired expression accompanied by his groggy voice, looking up at you from your soft lap as if you were some being out of this world. 

“Was I being too rough?” You worried, stopping your fingers, “I was only messing with you, keep on going,” he reassured you, a smile plastered on his lips just to make feel better, which you just laughed at before going back to where you left off. 

“Your hair is so odd.”

“What is odd about it?”

“So many layers and cuts at this point you’ll just have to wait for it to grow back to put into one proper layer.” you talked like some sort of dictionary that you were all about hair, yet it was adorable that you analyzed the strands of his hair as if he were your subject in a lab. 

“Do you like the style of it now?” he hummed, eyes closed and relaxing while your gentle fingers prodded against his scalp.

 “Of course I do! It suits you well! I couldn’t imagine you with anything else.”

“If you like it then I shall keep it that way.”

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

His hair looks like something out of a commercial, it looks so glossy like a diamond, looking smooth and soft to the touch, and you can't forget how well-moisturized it is. It makes any hair model jealous of him, yet it just makes you wanna touch his hair more, just to feel if it’s as soft as it looks. You can’t help yourself, it’s more like a need than a want.

No tangles, no matting, nothing bad at all. Just a touch that’s all you have to do while he wears his signature hat.

“Want a touch?”

He won’t act like he doesn’t see you staring, loving at his hair, looking like you wanted to get a feel—eyes lighting up whenever he goes to take off his hat. Tonight he feels tired, just wanting a little love from you after a tough workday. You, were already in bed as he came in, arms out waiting for him to hug you, which he couldn’t resist.

Feeling your arms around him, probably fixed the stiffness of his shoulders, as if you’re like a remedy to every problem he’s had.

 His scalp is killing him, won’t you help him out? Taking off the hat that sat perfectly on the top of his head and threw it to the side, one knee down on the bed, sinking the bed with the weight of his knee, before bending down; giving the go-ahead card to touch his hair.

It was just as soft as it looked to be, your soft fingers gently going through and touching his hair. He can see your eyes shine so brightly while playing with his hair as if he were a little doll.

Just the feeling of those pretty fingers makes him want to stay forever.

“Keep on going.”

💫𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈"

Rough and straw-like, are the only words you can use to describe his hair, you can tell he never takes care of it properly—always too busy going on missions, a quick shower—to get all that muck off and he’s gone out again, it’s truly a sad sight to see. A man with those illustrious locks of hair just to not be treated properly.

Even now with his hair wet and still filled with so many tangles, every time you try to move the hairbrush after fighting with a knot it just ends with another fight with another nasty knot, which makes him look back at you, biting his lip while pain looks in his eyes, as this wasn’t just the consequences of his actions. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you should brush your hair more often,” you groan after manually untangling the knot in his locks before arriving at the same problem again when you attempt to brush it again. “What am I going to do with you, blade,” sighing at the fact it’s been an hour of you doing this.

You hear his groans of pain while going through his hair, sectioning it pretty well. You can feel your hands go numb from all that fighting you had to do with his hair, but it was worth it since now his hair is silky smooth and smells like oranges, you can’t forget the little bows as well, and he’ll let put it on begrudgingly since you did all that work (and that you gaslit him about your pain).

“Like it? You’re so pretty now.”

“Tsk…”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[writer-logbook]

Random Pieces of Advice About Characters

Sometimes, they mess up. They should. A good character to root for is someone who makes mistakes and tries to make amends for them. Just because they’re the hero or on the “good side” doesn’t make them above reproach. It could even thicken the plot to see how they get out of a bad situation… Or maybe consider not forgiving them at all (I’ll write an essay about morals and ethics someday).

They have a life outside the plot (just like I do outside the office). Show some hints about how their life was before everything started. By giving them layers, just like an onion (thanks, Shrek), you also give them consistency and realism. And maybe people will relate to them. But be careful not to give all the info at once.

Don’t expect your characters to remain the same from the beginning to the end. A good story will shake things up for your characters, even slightly, but enough to make them grow—at least mentally. If they didn’t “learn” anything from their journey, something isn’t working. The whole point of a story isn’t to maintain the status quo. The reader is supposed to grow alongside your characters.

Choose your leader. I advise you to look at the main events of your plot, if you’re of the architect-author team, to see whether it’s best for the MC to take the lead or to be led instead. There’s no good answer except that of logic: if a battle is about to start, it’s better to follow the captain of the guards instead of some random folk who came out of nowhere.

Characters should all have different voices. It’s not only a personality trait; it’s also a part of themselves. They might have different social backgrounds, accents, verbal tics, peculiar slang… Even a group of friends from the same social circle has its own idiosyncrasies.

Sorry, I didn't have time to think up a more detailed article; things got pretty tense at work and I'm pretty tired. Again, I'm open to suggestions if there are subjects you'd like to see addressed.

[scientia-rex]

Saw a patient today who had been through a series of medical visits that epitomizes what I hate about multiple different kinds of care providers. Their VA dermatologist took a scoop out of them to remove a basal cell cancer. Fine. I’m not a dermatologist, maybe it needed those wide margins. (If it didn’t, going that deep should mean it was an excisional biopsy and they put in sutures to close it.) They gave the patient and his wife confusing instructions about wound care. They didn’t provide guidance around keeping it covered or moist. It got infected. His wife took him to Urgent Care. The UC doc took a swab of the wound and started antibiotics. They came to see me for a visit we scheduled ages ago for something else.

Here’s the thing. Wounds need to be kept at what I call the Goldilocks moisture level: not too dry and not too wet. If it’s pruny/white/mushy like it’s been in a bathtub, it’s too wet. If it’s cracking, it’s too dry. This is why you can’t say “cover it for X days and then leave it out.” That would be like telling someone with heart failure and lower extremity edema “take the diuretic for a week and then stop” without any instructions around dry weight, dizziness, etc. It’s more complicated than that.

This wound was too dry. No one had talked to them about keeping it moist. No one had even mentioned Vaseline.

No, they got a wound swab. Want to guess how good a wound swab is for an open wound exposed to the world? Pretty terrible. You can improve it a little bit by making sure you’ve removed some kind of layer and then expressing fluid directly from the wound with the swab, but it’s still bad. The only time I give a shit about what grows from a wound swab is when it was a) collected in the OR (as when the podiatrist gets a sample of osteomyelitic bone in a sterile environment) or b) when it grows pseudomonas. Everything else? I can figure out by looking at it. If it’s skin it’s probably either staph or strep. If it’s staph, it’s either MRSA or MSSA. If it’s MRSA, it’s making a lot of pus, it’s red, it’s hot, it’s painful. This wasn’t. So it was either MSSA or strep. So what are we going to do for systemic antibiotics? Probably the same thing we would have done anyway—Keflex.

And what’s the utility of systemic antibiotics in a skin wound? Not a lot, most of the time. This wasn’t cellulitis proper. It wasn’t red or hot or angry enough. A red border around the wound does not a systemic infection make. And if you don’t care properly for the wound itself, there’s no point in antibiotics, because it still can’t heal. Antibiotics can get where blood goes. Blood does not go into the slough that is the bacterial biofilm covering a wound.

So I sat there with gauze and saline and gently debrided the 100% slough off the wound. It’s yucky and it takes time and attention. It doesn’t get compensated. That’s why no one else had done it yet. The derm had blown it off as “it’s healing, it’s fine.” It wasn’t healing. It was developing rolled edges, where the wound edges couldn’t heal across the slough and so they started to curl back under themselves. If taking off the slough (and keeping it gone by MAINTAINING PROPER CONDITIONS) doesn’t let it heal, I’ll need to get him back in and rough up the edges with a Buck’s curette until it can heal.

Multiple professionals who should have known better tried to make my patient just go away, rather than heal him.

I’m pissed. I’m tired. I think I have a cold. I shouldn’t be doing the work the dermatologist or the UC provider should have done. And because of everything they’d told her, his wife was pissed at me for doing what was correct. “We’ve heard a lot of different things!” Yes, and I’m right. You’ll find out when the wound actually starts healing when we care for it properly.

The value of a model is in what it can predict. Wounds are great about making it clear when your model sucks.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for ItsOleander behind the cut; a fake cryptid and a real romantic. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

. . . ‘diamond’, the Batman repeats skeptically. Tim radiates embarrassment, then pulls a bright, shiny stone out of his hidden belt to show to it. The Batman tilts its head again. 

It’s a diamond, yes. An unusually large one, shaped more like a heart than any traditional cut. And it’s new, too. There’s no history to it at all, just faint traces of determined perfectionism and something a little hesitantly hopeful, all burnt in fire and care and pressure. And not something stolen or reclaimed, like one from a Cat would be. 

Though its new Robin tastes just a little bit like a Cat, doesn't he, it realizes. 

Hm. 

That’s different. 

diamond, the Batman says, leaning down to inspect it more closely. 

“He, uh, made it,” Tim says. “Like–for me? I mean, he thinks I’m–a bird, kind of, so he thought I’d like something, uh . . . shiny, you know? Like a magpie or crow or whatever, I guess. Or, um, possibly a penguin. Possibly he thinks I’m a penguin, given this is technically a rock. God, does he think I’m a penguin?” 

hm, the Batman says, frowning consideringly while Tim keeps muttering to himself in concern about penguins, which is understandable, because Oswald Cobblepot isn’t the kind of role model a Robin should aspire after. It’s never had a Robin who could make diamonds, but supposes there's a first time for everything. Not every Robin can do a quadruple backflip or deduce its summoning ritual either. 

. . . or jack tires off a car that doesn't even count as an actual physical “car”. 

Or . . . draw. 

The Batman–pauses. Frowns. 

None of its Robins draw. Why did it just . . . 

Its new Robin flies back up with Dick curled around his shoulders like a cape. Maybe he draws, the Batman thinks, flicking its approximation of eyes towards him. He made a diamond, after all, and cut it to shape. That’s . . . artistic, technically. The human kind of “artistic”, anyway. 

Humans have very strange ideas of what counts as artistic, but the Batman supposes that’s just how humans are. “Just how humans are” has been a necessary thing to internalize, at this point in its existence. 

. . . it still doesn’t know how Jason got the damn tires off, even now. 

“Um, hi. Again. Sir/ma’am. Ma’am/sir?” its new Robin attempts as he lets Dick back down on the ledge, looking nervous. Tim was nervous to meet it too. Dick was too grief-stricken and angry for anything like that, though, and Jason just wasn’t afraid of it at all. 

And . . . 

And–it doesn’t know why it thought “and”, there. It hasn’t had another Robin. There was Batgirl and now there’s the Spoiler, but . . . 

There’s no reason to think “and” there. 

But it thought “and” anyway, didn’t it, it notes, and files that thought away in the place where its mind would go. 

If it had one, obviously. 

“Baaaaatman,” Tim hisses, Robin’s voice layered back over his own. 

“Batman,” its new Robin repeats, then puffs himself up like he’s displaying plumage he’s not wearing–his colors are bright, at least, but not the right colors; not colors meant for flying. The Batman appreciates the instinct, at least. “Um–I’m Superboy! Hey! Nice to meet you!” 

The Batman glowers. Dick, inexplicably, starts sniggering, and Tim makes a pained sound. Its new Robin–not Superboy–looks more nervous, hiding his hands behind his back. The Batman resists the urge to sweep off to go screech at Superman. Barely resists, but resists. 

Its new Robin is just as new as the diamond he made, though, and clearly worried about its reaction. It doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea. 

It’ll screech at Superman later, though. 

meet, it says, leaning forward over the ledge and letting the shadows of its cape wrap underneath its new Robin’s legs, just in case. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to catch. 

A net. 

Obviously. 

He’s still flying wrong, after all. 

Its new Robin peers down at its trailing cape of a net curiously, looking interested, and then peers at it instead. 

“Huh,” he says. “You’re way nicer than everybody said. Well. Everybody except Superman, anyway. He says you’re super-nice.” 

Hm, the Batman thinks grudgingly. Alright. Maybe Superman isn’t trying to take its new Robin. Maybe he sent it its new Robin, after he woke up alive again and found him flying around Metropolis without a net. That, admittedly, would be more in line with Superman’s usual behavior. And general . . . “Superman”-ness. 

The Batman really does not understand Superman. Superman is a thing of Metropolis skyscrapers and alien skies and rolling farmlands and blazing sunlight, though, which are all far beyond the Batman’s sphere of influence and comprehension, so that’s hardly a surprise. 

It does make more sense if Superman sent it its new Robin, though, as opposed to trying to steal him, so the Batman is somewhat mollified by that. Even if its new Robin apparently doesn’t know his own name. 

. . . ah, the Batman realizes, and tilts its head slowly. 

Not “doesn’t know”. 

Doesn’t have. 

diamond, it says, and its new Robin immediately looks flustered. 

“Oh, uh, I just thought Robin’d like something shiny for his nest, maybe?” he says, and the Batman–pauses. 

‘nest’? it repeats carefully. Tim makes a mortified noise and hides his face in Robin’s wings again. 

“Um–yeah?” Its new Robin looks embarrassed. “I mean, I kinda just assumed he had one, I haven’t, like, seen it or anything. Like, I’m not trying to go into his, uh, private space or–um! I’m not doing anything weird, I swear!” 

The Batman tilts its head. 

The Batman has never seen one of its Robins nest. But . . . 

They grow, don't they, it's distantly reminded. Dick's grown into Nightwing, and Tim fits Robin's wings so differently than he first used to. 

Jason grew too, a little. For what little time it had him, anyway. That hot-tempered, fearless stray fledgling who could do his workings with nothing but scraps from the streets and a length of cold iron became a bright grin and gleeful energy and bold Robin-wings. 

But Jason only got to grow a little, so sometimes the Batman . . . forgets. 

They all grow, though. 

nest? the Batman asks again, looking to Tim. Tim doesn't lift his face out of Robin's wings. 

“Priiiiivate!” Tim hisses, and the Batman can sense the mortification rolling off of him in waves. The Batman frowns, leaning down over him to assess him more closely. Robin's talons give off the impression of dry, cracked wood and awkward mistakes layered over Tim's hidden hands full of carefully-hunted information, and it thinks . . . oh. Tim actually tried to. Didn't manage it, but . . . 

The Batman doesn't know how it feels about that. He's so young. Isn't he? Dick hasn't even nested yet; just courted and flirted and occasionally pined. 

“ROBIN nesssssts, now?” Dick teases, popping up on Tim's other side. Tim makes a strangled noise again and huddles in smaller on himself. The Batman frowns in concern. He doesn't feel injured, but . . . 

“Nooooot Nightwing's . . . busssssinesssss!” Tim hisses, snapping his teeth behind Robin's mask, then visibly sulks. “Stuuuuupid.”

The Batman frowns again. 

[devildomwriter]

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough | Mammon x Reader

3.4K Words | GN! Reader | CW: mentions of sickness, some suggestiveness | Romance/Humor

When your common cold turns out to be something much more dangerous Mammon rushes into lava-flooded land to find what he believes is your only chance at making it out alive.

Another cough echoed through the house and Mammon flinched. He clicked his tongue in annoyance but Lucifer knew he was only worried.

“They’re still sick?” He asked for the millionth time that day. Lucifer sighed, tired of hearing the same question every few minutes, and nodded.

“Mammon, for the last time—“ he began but his office door swinging open cut him short.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo exclaimed making the two brothers jump.

“Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer asked, unprepared for his sudden entrance.

“I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news—“ his words were cut short by another gaggle of hacks and coughs from the other side of the house.

“That’s, ___, isn’t it?” He asked, brows furrowed in distress.

“Yes. Their cold hasn’t gone away,” Lucifer confirmed and Diavolo shook his head as Barbatos entered the room, equally concerned.

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Diavolo frowned and Barbatos stepped up to explain in his place, seeing how upset Diavolo was.

“It’s not a cold.” He stated and Mammon jumped to his feet.

“Huh? What is it then?”

“If you’d let me explain,” Barbatos scowled but in his panic, Mammon wasn’t phased.

Lucifer clenched his jaw anxiously and Barbatos continued. “It’s the Hell-Magma Virus.”

“The what?” Mammon interrupted again and this time Lucifer glared at him too and yelled at him to quiet down.

“The recent volcanic eruptions in the third layer have released a slew of ancient viruses. This one is akin to the common cold and relatively easy for a demon to recover from, however—“

Another cacophony erupted from your room as you coughed and cleared your throat continuously. You struggled just to clear your airways from the drainage so you could breathe.

Leviathan cautiously walked into the office while Satan strode in as if he belonged there. He walked up to Diavolo and demanded answers as he’d been eavesdropping.

“You’re not even gonna hide the fact you were listenin’ in?” Mammon scoffed and Satan rolled his eyes.

“As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s different—“

“Mammon shut up!” Lucifer scolded.

“Why only me?” Mammon yelped.

“Quiet!” Satan, Lucifer, and Leviathan yelled simultaneously.

Barbatos shook his head at their quarrel and continued. “The medication we’ve acquired was made from flowers at the bottom of the volcano before the lava burned what was left. We don’t have a strong enough variation of this medication to cure ___.”

“So, we’ll call for Simeon,” Lucifer suggested but Diavolo shook his head.

“This virus…it’s more of a curse, there’s only so much Simeon can do. This curse which acts as a contagious virus will continue for at least twenty days. The medication for demons should clear up their symptoms in three days but for ___ that will be too late. The effects they are experiencing now will worsen until their saliva bubbles and the accumulating mucus in their throat becomes hot enough to burn through their lungs—“

“Aaaah! I don’t wanna hear it!” Mammon cut him off. “Just tell us how to fix it!” Rather than scold him, his brothers agreed and they looked pointedly at Diavolo and Barbatos.

“Well, we’re working on a medication now with aid from our magic but it would be beneficial for us to have more of the magma-glories to work with.”

“Right, got it! Where are they!?” Mammon exclaimed, ready to run.

“Hold on, Mammon,” Lucifer warned.

“There should be more in the fourth layer. However, it’s too dangerous to teleport there as we can’t be sure the lava hasn’t spread anywhere we attempt to land.” Barbatos explained.

“Flying isn’t an option either. The plume of smoke and ash will make it impossible to see or breathe,” Diavolo continued.

Lucifer clenched his fist, “Then I’ll figure something out,” he growled and Diavolo nodded.

“Right, why don’t we call Solomon,” Satan advised and they agreed. All except for Mammon who was already out the door.

“Where did Mammon go?” Lucifer asked, already knowing the answer.

“That idiot…” Leviathan mumbled.

Leviathan left to tell his brothers what was happening and they rushed to your bedside as their older brothers and wiser friends discussed what to do.

You continued coughing and groaned in agony. You felt like you were choking and not even Simeon’s and Luke’s angelic powers could cure it; they could only keep it at bay enough to let you lay down again without suffocating.

You saw their worried expressions and knew something was different, it wasn’t just a cold.

“So—“ you croaked. “Wh-ats, hap-ppen–ing?” You struggled to speak as your throat scratched with every word.

“Well…” Asmodeus bit his lip and looked away and Levi looked at the ground while Beelzebub stayed silent.

You could only wonder what was threatening your life this time around. Tuesday was the last time you nearly died, it was Saturday, and you’d gotten sick Wednesday. That didn’t take long at all, did it…

“Well…” Belphegor tried to explain when Solomon burst through the door to your room.

“Eek! Solomon, give us some warning!” Asmodeus cried out. Solomon ignored him and instead rushed to your side.

“My poor apprentice,” Solomon cooed sadly, but then he grinned and held up a glowing purple vial.

“N-o!” You choked.

“It’s not food,” Satan explained walking in with Diavolo, Lucifer, and Barbatos. You sighed in relief and Solomon frowned.

“I could make you some soup though—“

“There’s no time for that nonsense,” Lucifer hissed and the sorcerer sighed and fed you the potion.

“What is that?” Leviathan asked and Lucifer sighed, more relaxed than he had been.

“It’s the cure. Solomon made it the last time it went around in the Devildom, just in case he could catch it. He didn’t…so he still has it and now it’s very potent due to the amount of time.”

“Wow, really?” Asmodeus gasped. “How long has that been?”

“Hey, there! There’s no need to go explaining my age to them,” Solomon waved, silencing him in an instant. Solomon turned back to you in bed and ignored the question.

Your sickly pale, pasty skin, ten shades lighter than usual began regaining its normal color. Almost immediately you felt the strength to sit up, but as soon as you did, the nausea came in full force. You bent over the trash can, vomiting what seemed like an eternal river of mucus that burnt through the trash can.

“Eek!” Asmodeus screamed in fear and disgust and the brothers looked away uneasy.

Solomon was shocked, “it’s already gotten so bad?”

Barbatos shook his head amazed, “I see. Thankfully ___ is significantly stronger with their pacts and the help of Luke, Simeon, and Raphael.”

“Yes. Thirteen was keeping an eye on their candle too,” Solomon informed.

“That’s cause she wants ___’s soul.” Belphegor chided.

“That’s true, but she doesn’t want it right now,” Solomon argued for Thirteen’s sake. Thirteen wanted your soul as much as anyone but more than that she wanted to enjoy your presence and life much longer.

You rubbed the crust from your eyes and Beelzebub gave you a wet rag to wipe your mouth as Belphegor pulled your hair back.

“Hey…where’s Mammon?” You inquired and everyone looked at each other.

“Oh…somewhere in the fourth layer surrounded by active volcanoes,” Satan said nonchalantly.

You spit out the water Asmodeus had just handed you and he shrieked and wiped his face off.

“What do you mean!?” You demanded.

“Well you see, before we got in contact with Solomon, our options were to experiment with lesser medications we had or to create more potent ones.” Barbatos explained, “We needed a special flower for that, so Mammon ran off to get it.”

“Active volcanoes? He slips down the stairs at least once a week why in the three worlds did you let him go alone!?” You panicked and Lucifer looked guilty.

“He’ll be back when it gets too hard,” Leviathan clucked and you shook your head.

“No, he won’t! It’s Mammon we’re talking about!”

“Exactly,” Belphegor sneered.

You shook your head and glared, “Right! So you should know that when it comes to me Mammon will do literally anything.”

They all fell silent as they thought it over and realized you were right.

“Oh…so he’s probably,” Leviathan muttered.

“At the volcanoes…” Beelzebub worried, frowning.

“Ugh…” Belphegor sighed but was the first to speak up, “Let’s go get our idiot brother.”

Everyone nodded, “Right.”

They began to shuffle out the door but you stopped them before they could leave.

“Wait! One thing!”

“Yeah?” Leviathan asked, worriedly.

“All of you need to promise me—no—you must obey me when I tell you—do not let Mammon know you cured me.”

The six brothers immediately nodded, subjected to your power, but Solomon looked puzzled. “Oh, and why not?”

You frowned, “because…I want Mammon to think he saved me. He tries really hard and…”

“Falls flat?” Satan huffed.

“Fails?” Leviathan stated.

“Disappoints us every time,” Lucifer grimaced.

“He tries?” Asmodeus questioned.

“Enough!” You barked. “Mammon tries really hard and I want him to think he saved my life. Especially because if you didn’t conveniently have this vial, Solomon, Mammon was the first one out that door ready to brave flowing lava and poisonous smoke for me!”

“Poisonous?” Belphegor asked.

“How poisonous…” Beelzebub gulped.

“Uh…well I’m not a volcanologist, as cool as that would be, but…” You looked at Barbatos for help.

“Human world volcanoes release ash that can be detrimental to health when inhaled, even having long-term effects,” he began. “The volcanoes also release carbon dioxide which is deadly when exposed to for too long. Here in the Devildom, it’s the same but at more lethal levels. A high-level demon like Mammon should be fine if he inhaled some but…”

“But he’s probably panicking and running around like a moron looking for the flowers,” Lucifer sighed.

“Well, hurry and get him, he might be passed out on a rock somewhere!?” You ordered and they immediately left.

Simeon, Raphael, and Luke stayed behind to monitor you. Thirteen showed up an hour later when she was sure your life candle was stable.

“Which button do I press if there’s an emergency…?” Simeon asked and angled his phone for Luke to look at it.

“The green one! It’s always the green one!” Luke barked, upset he still had to explain these things to Simeon.

“At this point, he’s got to be messing with you,” Thirteen remarked and walked to your bedside, sitting next to you.

You could tell she had been stressed and you squeezed her hand. She blushed and took it away, “huh? What was that for?” She asked and you laughed at her cute response.

“Thank you,” you said and she turned a deeper shade of pink.

“You mean for looking after your candle? Obviously, I’m not just gonna let you die, you’re way too entertaining.”

You chuckled, “Okay. Sure.”

“What do you mean, sure?” She demanded but Simeon’s phone began ringing.

“The green one?” He asked.

“Yes!” Luke threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

“Calm down Luke, it’s okay,” Raphael patted his shoulder and Luke crossed his arms and huffed as Simeon held the phone out for everyone to hear.

“The speaker, Simeon,” Thirteen reminded.

Simeon instantly looked confused so Raphael hit the button for him.

“Can you repeat that,” Luke asked.

“We found him,” Satan’s voice sounded over the speaker.

Your shoulders relaxed and you let out a deep sigh, relieved your precious but often stupid demon hadn’t gotten himself killed while running around.

“He didn’t even know what the flower looked like!” Leviathan shouted into the phone and Satan scolded him for being so loud.

“And?” Raphael prodded.

“He found it anyway…” Satan mumbled, seemingly not wanting to admit it.

“Wow, really!?” Luke exclaimed and Raphael looked similarly surprised.

“You were right, ___.” Simeon smiled at you knowingly and you blushed.

“How is he doing?” You asked loudly until Luke finally handed you the phone.

“He’s unconscious. As soon as he saw us he passed out.”

“From fear?” Raphael questioned disgruntled.

“IDK, probably relief. Looks like he was trying to call us.” Leviathan responded and you frowned.

“There’s no fucking signal out here what’d he expect?” Belphegor complained.

“Then how are you calling?”

“Solomon has a spell for everything,” Leviathan responded. “Anyway, we’re teleporting back home now, clear the area in your room.”

“My room—“

“Hurry,” Raphael warned and picked up Luke, jumping away to the edge of your room as Simeon and Thirteen scrambled to jump on your bed.

With a puff of smoke the brothers, Barbatos, Diavolo, and Mephistopheles appeared in the room covered in ash.

Mephistopheles started coughing and wiping the ash off himself as much as he could.

“Oh, hey, Mephisto,” you commented, unaware he’d been part of the crew.

“Likewise,” he grumbled, unhappy with his present state.

“Yeah, we found him too,” Belphegor chuckled and Mephistopheles blushed.

“I would’ve been just fine for your information,” he insisted.

“You didn’t even realize you were surrounded by lava you were so busy taking pictures of it,” Satan argued and the purple-haired demon stiffened up and blushed.

“Mephistopheles, please take better care of yourself. It may be a historically large eruption, but still,” Diavolo worried and Mephistopheles straightened up and bowed, offering a strew of apologies as Diavolo awkwardly accepted them.

Lucifer had Mammon slung over his shoulder and you got up from your bed. Your legs were shaky from all the time you’d spent there and Simeon caught your arm and helped you stand up properly.

“Lie back down, he’s fine,” Lucifer ordered but you ignored him and pointed to your vacated bed.

“Lay him down,” you demanded and Lucifer rolled his eyes and unloaded Mammon.

“Great, now your clean bed has ash everywhere,” Asmodeus pouted. He’d been the one trying to keep the room clean for you during your sick days.

You snapped your fingers and whispered under your breath and the ashes shone brightly and vanished into the air. Luke gasped and Asmodeus’s eyes shone as he watched its brief glow.

“Wow, it’s all gone,” Luke exclaimed.

Mephistopheles nodded and thanked you, as he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more dirt on himself.

Mephistopheles left, still embarrassed, and Diavolo waved Barbatos and the others from the room. Lucifer ordered his brothers to follow and left you with Mammon passed out on your bed face-down.

Before Satan shut the door behind him you made a zipping motion across your lips, “Remember.” You said and he nodded and repeated the motion before closing the door.

You sighed and smiled.

You looked at the demon snoring in bed and rolled him onto his back.

“That can’t be very comfortable…” you said to yourself and with a bit of magical assistance you removed his coat and took off his sunglasses and shoes.

You drew the comforter over him and crawled onto the other side against the wall, waiting for him to wake up.

Mammon was sound asleep for a long time. Asmodeus brought you food and you played on your phone as you waited. Finally, as the sky reached its darkest hour, Mammon’s nose twitched and he began to softly mumble.

Your name poured softly from his lips and you watched him in adoration. Mammon has always been your favorite even when he wasn’t on his best behavior but today you both proved to everyone else that Mammon could be serious and trustworthy. When it came to you, there was no mountain Mammon wouldn’t climb, no sea he wouldn’t swim across, no hell he wouldn’t face…all for you.

You gently planted a kiss on his lips and his mouth twitched. Slowly Mammon’s eyes opened and his vision cleared up. He sat upright and began coughing, “Oh shit! ___! ___’s flower— I-!”

You threw your arms around him, bringing him back to the present, and as Mammon’s heart slowed he realized where he was. He felt your arms around him and immediately held you close to his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and you felt your shirt dampen as he silently cried in relief.

“Y-you’re okay?” He asked.

You nodded, “Thank you Mammon.”

“Thanks? Did—did I do it?”

You nodded and he hugged you tighter, “Thank goodness… thank goodness!” He exclaimed and began laughing as a weight lifted from his chest.

“Don’t worry! What’d I tell ya, Mammon’s got your back!”

You nodded and laughed still hugging him tightly.

“Forever, right?” You asked and he pulled back looking surprised.

“Of course, forever. Did ya ever doubt me?”

“Not even for a second,” you beamed and his eyes sparkled as you leaned in and kissed his lips.

Grinning, Mammon grabbed your hips and moved you closer to him, positioning you on his waist. He moaned softly as he deepened the kiss between you both. He flicked his tongue across your bottom lip asking for permission. You smirked playfully and parted your lips for him. He growled in excitement and began exploring. He grabbed the back of your head with one hand to pull you in as close as he could and when that wasn’t enough he flipped you onto your back and leaned over you.

Mammon explored your mouth with his tongue excitedly until you patted his back, signaling you needed to breathe. Mammon parted unwillingly, a string of saliva still connecting your lips as you panted heavily. You both laughed excitedly to yourselves and Mammon adjusted himself over you, slinking one hand beneath your shirt.

You moaned into his kiss when suddenly the door burst open, nearly flying off the hinges.

“Oh good, I thought you might be awake,” Satan said in a painfully fake cheerful voice.

“Shit! What the hell man, give us a minute will ya?” Mammon shouted annoyed and angry.

“Really, a minute? That’s all?” Asmodeus strode into the room and shook his head. “Poor ___.”

“Wh-hey! Y’know that’s not what I meant!” Mammon protested.

“Enough shouting,” Lucifer hissed as he joined his brothers in your room.

Your face turned red and Mammon finally swung his leg over the bed and got off of you. His hand still lingered on your slightly exposed stomach. He didn’t intend to leave without seeing more of you that night.

His brothers knew this and they had every intention to stop it.

“You guys—“ Mammon tried to protest.

“Is he awake?” Luke asked nearing the room.

“Ah, shit,” Mammon mumbled and you both straightened out your clothes and sat up straight as Luke walked in holding a small cake.

“I made an Angel Cloud cake! For your recovery!” Luke smiled excitedly and handed it to you.

“Ah sweet, looks good,” Mammon commented and from behind Lucifer, Beelzebub nodded slowly, drool running down his chin.

“Let’s split it,” you said turning to Mammon.

His eyes lit up. “Really?” You nodded and fed him a piece from your fork.

“Wh-huh?” Luke blurted in surprise at the affectionate display.

“Okay Luke, they liked your cake, see? Let’s go back home now shall we?” Simeon suggested and pulled Luke out of the room.

“Hey—wait!” Luke protested, but it was too late.

Raphael glared at Mammon and Mammon hid behind you in fear but disguised this as hugging you from behind.

Volcanoes were nothing but a glare from Raphael had him using you as a shield. He was incorrigible. But he was yours and that would never change.

After an hour of banter and talking between you and the brothers they finally left. Each gave Mammon a steely look before leaving and when Satan left last, he slammed the door shut, well aware of Mammon’s intentions.

Mammon ran to the door to lock it and sighed in relief that you were finally alone again.

He turned around to look back at you and grinned playfully, “So…still up for some fun?” He suggested and you laughed and nodded.

“With you? Always.”

Mammon did not separate from you until the early hours of the following morning, and after his actions that day you spent most of your nights this way.

Mammon would eventually find out that Solomon’s vial had saved you but he successfully “redeemed” himself when the vial turned out to be deadly too and another cure was needed. Solomon was kicked to the doghouse again, and Mammon, without too much complaint from his brothers, deservedly got you to himself once again.

[spider-ghoul]

Nice to have a friend

Percy Jackson x Gn!reader (loosely based off the taylor swift song)

summery: winter nights, gloves, and your impulsive best friend

Warnings: reader is mentioned to be shorter than Percy, use of Y/N, light cussing(?), nothing else I can think of lmk if you spot something :)

I wrote this really fast so idk it might be complete shit

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"Walk me back to my cabin?" I say though a yawn, it wasn't really late but today was overwhelmingly tiring and i wanted nothing more than to sleep for about three years. 

"Yeah yeah, whatever, dummy." Percy said,  he had his signature grin on his face. The one that told me he was about to say something stupid. "You know...if you're so tired you could always let me carry you-" there it is.

"Shut it, Jackson." I cut him off, watching as he raises his hands in defeat.

"My bad, my bad-" he still has that stupid shit-eating grin on his face, he's too damn cocky for his own good. but I wouldn't change a thing about his stupid face.

I stick my tongue out at him, and he does the same in response, "let's go, you big baby-" I mumble, yawning again.

We quickly fall into pace with each other, it's almost routine at this point. We've been doing it since we were twelve, sitting by each other at the campfire, making fun of each other's singing, and him walking me to my cabin.

I was spending my winter break at camp, with my  best friend, Percy Jackson. It was the perfect break from school, from everything. From monsters, and studying, and tests. I fell back into our patterns quickly. 

Although, recently, it feels a little different. His hand brushes against mine, and our fingers intertwine. Any jokes i wanted to make die in my throat. It's the same feeling every night, holding hands, never talking about what it means.

i look up at him, and he's looking at me.

He squeezes my hand twice, his gloves are scratchy on my skin. 

Whatever this is, whatever we are, it's an unsaid thing. Something under the skin, barely noticeable unless you're looking for it. A ball of yarn about to unravel.

Something we avoid, but can see. Something we hear but don't listen too. Longing glances and hugs a moment too long. Never pushing it, never reaching out just a little more for fear of what we would find.

I looked down at the path we were walking, it was covered in a light layer of snow. Yeah, camp had the weather shield, but Chiron has an affinity for snow, letting it sprinkle into camp during the cold months. 

there are a few sets of footprints, but most campers stay home during the holidays, leaving camp almost empty. 

 The cabins were a good walk from the fire place, the warmness of the flames quickly left me shivering. Goosebumps slowly plagued my skin, and I pulled my jacket  a little tighter. 

"Cold?" Percy asks, his voice laced with concern. 

I shrugged and he rolled his eyes. He pulled is hand away from me, I hated the way it made my heart ache in my chest. I watched silently as he tugged the glove off his right hand and passed it to me.

"..thanks." I whispered, my cheeks are only red because of the cold, I swear.  I tug the glove onto my hand, it was still warm from his. 

it only takes him a few seconds for him to wrap his finger around mine again. 

The rest of the walk back is in a comfortable silence, somewhere along the way he started swinging our hands back and forth. 

When we finally got to my cabin, I wished we didn't. I didn't want him to leave, I didn't want to lose the feeling of his hand on mine. 

He led me onto my porch, and I turned around to face him, our hands still intertwined. I smiled up at him, meeting his eyes. He smiled back. 

"See you tomorrow?" His smile was softer, quieter, just for me. 

"Course'." I whisper back. 

neither of us move, our hands still intertwined between us. I should just pull away, I know I should, but gods.. I don't want to. I only want to be closer to him. Who cares if the yarn unravels? 

"..Percy?" If I want to do it I just should, right?

"..yeah?" I should just ask him. I should just say it. I'm gonna say it. 

"..Percy.. I-" 

And then I hesitate. 

"...I'll see you at breakfast." I say with a breath out, peeling my hand away from his, stepping back. 

I could see the hesitance behind his eyes, but he nodded, "Night." 

"..night." I say quietly, watching as he smiled one more time before he turned to leave me. I was still wearing his glove. 

I stood there to watch him leave like I always did, watching him slowly sink into the shadows away from me.

I closed my eyes, turning on my heels, my hand on the doorknob when I heard him again. 

"Wait!" I quickly turned around at his voice, it was louder than he normally was. his voice sounded almost desperate to get my attention. He was running up the porch stairs.  

"Percy-?" 

And then he's in front of me, his hands on my cheeks, and his lips on mine. 

It only took me a few seconds to close my eyes, leaning closer to him. One of my cheeks was suddenly colder, and one had itchy yarn pressed on to it. Heaven. 

He pulled away a little too quickly, breathing heavy. 

"Goodnight." He said, turning on his heels and running back into the darkness. 

[thatdesklamp]

Spring, 2007

more intrinsic warmth + gojo pov. This one is a little more salacious. I feel like a heathen. (nsfw, if that wasn’t evident) La la la la la

Satoru was seventeen when he first dreamt of you.

It was a weird dream, which he decided later was because of the heat: it was a spring heatwave, a sweltering April night, the air thick and sticky. Satoru liked the spring usually, as the school year slid to an end, leaving him with with all the freedom and the long days and the excuses for laziness. But when it was hot, it was too hot; especially since, like you always told him, his body ran far too warm. He was great in the winter, when he never needed more than one layer whilst you were bundling up with three, but in any extreme heat he was useless.

He had stripped off in bed, thrown the blankets down to bundle at his ankles, but his bare back still stuck to the bedsheet. When he rolled over onto his stomach, the sheet was damp with his sweat. Suguru had told him to lie on the floor without the mattress, but Satoru thought that was something he only said because he’d never slept right in his life. Satoru was raised with absolute care, and he was also raised with air conditioning. He wasn’t going to sleep on the floor, whatever Suguru said. Satoru had standards.

That was why it didn’t count. When he had the weird dream, it didn’t count, because his room was so hot and he was feeling so tired and he wasn’t himself.

 

---

 

In the dream, Satoru was sat in the Chapel, his back propped up against the wall he would lean against when he used to play Pokémon. He was playing Pokémon on his Game Boy Colour—which should have been his first indication that this was a dream, because he hadn’t played on that old thing since he was an actual child—and he was moving his character through Blackthorn City. The Chapel looked like it had when you were younger and still went there every day; nowadays, now you two weren’t so childish, you went there less and less. He played the game for a few minutes, and then he realised that there was a weight on his shoulder, and he stopped. Satoru looked down, and there you were.

You had your head on his shoulder. Looking back, Satoru would note this as the second weird thing, in the long list of very weird things. The third weird thing was that, in the dream, Satoru didn’t think that this was weird at all.

He didn’t think about how, in real life, you wouldn’t want to touch anyone, or put your head on anyone’s shoulder. He also didn’t think about how, in real life, you also wouldn’t want to touch him. Not the way you were touching him in the dream, at least.

In the dream, Satoru smiled. He noticed that his arm was already around you, and that he could splay his fingers around your waist if he wanted to. You felt warm, and in the dream, the feeling was familiar. He entertained himself with that for a few seconds, and then moved his hand up, skirting higher than your waist, around your ribs.

Then, curious, he moved his hand back down to feel the curve of your side, and then further down, down to your hips. You felt different, he noted, to the way his own body felt. He knew that was because you weren’t him—you were a girl, or a woman, which he’d only really noticed a few years ago. When you were both kids, your respective genders hadn’t been a thought at all. But then you both got older, and he became aware of it, and now it was something he had to think about. And Satoru was aware of it, now. He had that thought in the dream, and later, he would realise what it had meant, because he’d thought the same in real life, too.

But it was nice, to feel. He liked touching you.

Your head moved on his shoulder. Satoru would remember this as a pivotal moment, not just in what happened, but how he had felt with your head resting on his shoulder. He had not felt guilty, then; not the way he later felt, when he woke, panting and sweaty and achingly hot. It had been normal, in the dream, for him to be touching you like that.

So, he hadn’t stopped. Satoru’s hand stayed lazily at your hip as you stirred. Then, he realised that you weren’t asleep at all: in fact, you were just as awake as he was, and you were watching his hand move on your body with a smile playing around your lips.

You looked up at him, eyes glinting. It was a smile he recognised: Satoru knew all of your smiles, each and every one. This was one of his favourites, and one of the rarest. You looked mischievous, slightly sly, and the expression sent heat coursing through him in a way that was both familiar and new.

“You could’ve just asked,” you said. You shifted from his side, and Satoru opened his mouth to protest. You clicked your tongue and placed one gloved finger against his lips. Satoru fell silent, and your lips curled up. There was anticipation, now: excitement. He knew what was coming, and he wanted it from you.

“Could I really?” Satoru asked, as he reached out to touch you again. His hands found your ass, and he grinned at you, tugging you closer.

You laughed at that, and he marvelled at how easily he could make you laugh, here. Satoru spent all of his days trying to make you laugh—it didn’t come easily, so he savoured each time like he’d never see it again.

But you just swatted him on the chest, playful, and he took the touch as encouragement. Satoru kept one hand on your ass—which he liked being able to touch, he realised, or he just knew, because in this dream he had clearly done this before—and moved the other to skirt the underside of your shirt. Your skin was burning hot, and so soft. He slipped his hand under your the fabric, and felt the dip of your back, how it arched under his touch, responsive, and then higher, to the material of your bra strap. Lace—

“Eager!” You laughed again—so easily! Satoru liked this, he definitely liked this—and gave him that cunning, knowing look again. And then you had swung one leg over his, and you were sitting in his lap, hard and directly on top of him. Satoru inhaled, sharp and surprised and aroused. Your hands had moved to his shoulders, resting there, steadying yourself. You let out a soft noise, like you had surprised yourself, but that blazing look was still in your eye, and Satoru was staring.

He could feel you: the insides of your thighs were pressing against him, and his pulse was starting to quicken. You shifted your weight, moving to the side just the smallest amount, but the movement was enough to make Satoru hiss.

“Did I do something?” you asked, eyes going wide. Your eyelashes looked long, and they fanned across your cheeks.

You knew what the answer was, and Satoru knew that you did. You moved again, this time deliberately grinding down on him, and Satoru tilted his head back against the Chapel wall and focused on breathing.

You knew what you were doing to him: it was another one of those moments you had, when he could read exactly what you were thinking, and when you could do the same for him. It usually made him nervous, that you could tell so much about what he was thinking without him even knowing it, but here he was just exhilarated.

“Hebi,” Satoru said, his voice half-choked. He heard what he said, and frowned—later, he would understand that he was on the cusp of breaking from the dream, and that saying your name had almost pushed him over the edge—but then, when your thumb moved to brush his bottom lip, he shook off any reservations.

You hummed, and dipped your head down to his neck. Your lips pressed there, burning hot, and Satoru groaned. He felt your tongue, how you kissed and licked up his throat, and he gripped tighter onto you. You moved your hips against him, and pleasure was growing there, exactly where he could feel you, where he wanted to feel you.

“Hebi,” he said again. This time, his voice was whispered, like a plea. “Hebi. Hebi.”

“I’m here,” you said back, your breath hot against his lips. “I’m right here, Satoru.”

A ragged moan was torn from his chest. His name. He loved it when you said his name—he loved it now, as he watched your lips move around it, the way your lips pursed at the end, like a kiss.

Like you knew what he was thinking, you said it again.  

“Satoru. Satoru, touch me, Satoru.”

He wanted to: you wanted him to. He explored your bare skin, hand still underneath your shirt—that was his shirt, he realised. You were wearing his shirt! It was a t-shirt that fit normally on him, but it was too big for you, and it fell to just skim the tops of your thighs.

He loved it, the sight of you, of you on top of him, your lips round and soft, you wearing his shirt that was far too big for you. He wanted to take it off, but he also wanted to keep it like this: Satoru liked you wearing his clothes. He realised it in the moment, but of course he did! In the dream, you wore his clothes all the time.

Of course! The first time had been a few months ago: you had arrived at his house in the middle of the night, fresh from an incident with your family that you refused to go into detail about, and you had been blinking back tears when you had asked him if you could stay the night. You hadn’t had to ask: Satoru would have never turned you away, not ever. But Yahaba had been washing the pyjamas he kept at his house, and so you’d shrugged and walked into his room, so carefree, and picked out a t-shirt of his that had looked the biggest.

“I’ll wear this,” you had said, casual. Satoru hadn’t known what to say. He was too consumed with this new, fresh idea of you wearing his clothes, and what you would look like in them, and whether you would do it more, and he had just about managed to crack a smile and make some joke, passing it off like it was nothing.

Now, though, it wasn’t nothing. The shirt was large, and it hung low about the neckline, exposing your collarbone and the shadow of your breasts. You moved your hips down against him, this time even harder. Satoru’s fingers fisted in the bottom of the shirt, tugging you towards him.

The friction was good, and Satoru was certain that it was only made better that he got to feel you moving against him. He realised with a wave of arousal that your legs were bare, and that other than his clothes, the only thing separating your bodies was the thin strip of your underwear. And that you were doing this to him and that you wanted this, that this was good for you, too. Satoru wanted that desperately, and recognising it was staggering; Satoru wanted you to feel good, and he wanted to be the one to make you feel good.

He gripped your thighs, hard, and then almost lost control completely when you moaned against his neck. Your head dropped down to his shoulder, and he could feel your hot gasps right near his ear. It hit him that you were trying to say his name, just choked-off syllables, like the only thing you could think of was his name—his first name, Satoru. Encouraged, he pulled you down against him, controlling the movement of your hips, and both of you gasped together.

Closer, Satoru wanted. He wanted more, more of you. He felt your bra strap again and he undid it with one hand expertly, which of course he knew how to do, even though he had never been able to do that before.

The snap of your bra against your skin made you gasp, high and breathy. Satoru sucked in a breath. There was another noise he wanted to hear again: your laugh, and this. He moved his hand from your back, to the front of you, where he really wanted to touch now. When his fingers brushed your breasts, your eyes fluttered closed.

“Satoru,” you were saying, with every roll of your hips, with every rise and fall of your chest. He felt you breathing, he felt it as you shook against him when his thumb rubbed over your burning skin. “Satoru. Satoru, please… please, touch me more.”

“You want me to?” His voice was ragged: you had made his voice ragged.

“Please. Please, Satoru, it feels good, you make me feel so good—“

Satoru bit down on his lip, hard. You never spoke like this—he didn’t know that he wanted you to speak like this, but he was hard against you, painfully hard. It would have been embarrassing, but Satoru couldn’t feel that, could only focus on how much he wanted you to say that again.

Satoru spoke in a rasp, his head spinning. “I do?”

“So good.” Your hands were on his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, his chest, touching him everywhere. Every movement of your hand left searing impressions in its wake, and Satoru wanted you branded onto him.

“You—” Satoru shuddered, visceral, as he felt your hands tug at his shirt, try to pull it up. “You feel good too—“

Now he wanted your shirt off. He wanted to see, not just touch, and he wanted to put his mouth on you, the way your mouth was on him. He wanted to make you gasp like that again, and he wanted to feel you underneath him, and he wanted you, he wanted you to touch him, touch him harder, harder, harder until—

 

 

--

 

Satoru awoke, gasping.

His mattress cover was damp again, and when he looked down he realised it was uncomfortable and sticky. Satoru grimaced, and wiped his palms on the sheet. He stared up at the ceiling, and tried to will his heart to stop racing.

Satoru had had dreams like that before, obviously. But, shit, he’d never had them about you before. He had never dreamed about you so vividly, with his subconscious piecing so many half-moments together to make… whatever the hell that was.

Like the time you had borrowed his t-shirt a few months ago, or the time when you had fallen asleep on a pillow beside him and he had wondered what he could do to make you rest your head on his shoulder instead, or all those times you had called him by his first name.

He breathed in, but the air didn’t seem good enough. It was hot, and too humid, and Satoru decided that there wasn’t enough oxygen, what with all of that water floating about.

Yes: it was the heat. Besides, Satoru had heard stories of people going crazy when they got heatstroke, or whatever. It was probably something like that. It didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just an unconscious side of his brain realising that he’d been spending so much of his time with a really, really pretty girl, and it had only just caught up to deliver the normal, maybe-weird reactions to it.

And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered you like that before—sure he had, kind of. Satoru was convinced that he’d be weirder to not have. You were his best friend, and he spent all of his time with you; there was one time before your big fight, and he’d not really known what to make of it, and then after, when it was like he hadn’t seen you in months, when he asked you to be his friend again. It was raining, that night, and he must have woken you up, because you were in your soft cotton pyjamas, and the shorts had ridden up on your thighs, and you hadn’t been wearing a bra, and of course Satoru had noticed. He was a guy. It didn’t mean anything, he’d known, but he also hadn’t told Suguru about it. Satoru didn’t know why he hadn’t. Something itched at him, uncomfortable.

But it hasn’t meant anything! Just how it didn’t mean anything now.

It was just the heat. It didn’t matter about anything else: he’d had a weird dream, but it wasn’t like he needed to tell you about it. You wouldn’t be able to guess, would you?

Guiltily, an image flickered across Satoru’s mind before he could stop it: the sight of you above him, your bare legs hardly covered by the long t-shirt, the purse of your lips as you said his name. Satoru pushed it away. What was he doing, thinking about you all weird like that?

This was the worst time for something like that to happen, too; it was almost a year since his and Suguru’s mission, and so it was almost a year since he had apologised, and since you had both been trying to be friends again. Friends.

Friends. It didn’t help, this. Satoru had thought you two were getting better, and even if it wasn’t exactly like it was before, it was close, really close. He wanted you in his life. He always had.

Satoru turned to the side, and then wrinkled his nose as he remembered that he needed to change his sheets.

He bunched them into a ball, and then chucked them into the laundry basket he kept in the corner of his room. He looked back at his mattress, and decided that, fuck it. Suguru was probably right. With a grunt, Satoru managed to pull it off the bedframe and onto the floor. Then, deciding that the heat wouldn’t win against him, he lay down on the mattress and tried to get to sleep.

1-1 to me, he thought, to the heat. Fresh slate. We can forget about everything, then.

 

--

 

 

You were knocking at his door.

“Hnrggh—“ Satoru blinked in the light, everything blinding and bright as it usually was. He patted on his bedside table for his glasses, then remembered he was lying on the floor. Satoru rolled out of bed and bumped his forehead on the floor, shoved his glasses onto his face, then rooted around the ground and pulled on some boxers. If it was Suguru, he’d be fine like this, because who cares? But it was you, he recognised the way you knock, and so he’d got to find a shirt—where was his shirt?—shit, last night. Shit.

Satoru stumbled to a halt. He couldn’t see you like this, after last night.

What if—and it wouldn’t be him, it would just be his body, which wouldn’t be him at all, just normal teenage instincts—he saw you and started remembering the dream? And if he remembered the dream, he’d get a hard-on way too fast, and then he’d be standing in front of you like that, and Satoru couldn’t deal with it. You were friends. That would be fucking weird, for friends to do.

Again, it was weird for friends to dream about having doing some strange dry-humping-slash-groping sex, but he had already rationalised that it was just the heat and normal teenage instincts, so that dream didn’t count.  

“Gojo,” you called. “Gojo! Wake up.”

Satoru, his brain supplied, unhelpfully.

“Ah—one second, Hebi-Hebi!”

He pulled on some jogging bottoms, threw on a scruffy shirt, and then, scrapped for time, used Blue to make the door fly open.

“Finally. You’re impossible to wake—”

“Good morning!” Satoru said, taking a theatrical bow. “Good morning, everyone!”

You stared at him, blankly. “What?”

“It’s my audience. I’m saying thank you and good morning.”

“You don’t have an audience.”

“Sure I do. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

“Not for long.” You sent him a glower, and Satoru felt his stomach flip. “You forgot to give me those worksheets for class today.”

“Oh!” Satoru did, actually, forget. You’d wanted them in yesterday, but then he had been hanging out with Suguru in the evening when you went off to chat with Shoko, and by the time he’d gotten back it was too late to do anything. “Why didn’t you remind me, Hebi-Hebi?”

Your nose crinkled. Satoru had to admit that it was pretty cute, objectively.

“I did remind you,” you said. “All of yesterday. C’mon, Gojo, how are you so irresponsible?”

“I’m not! I’m the most responsible person you’ve ever met.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

Would you? he thought, traitorously. Would you laugh for me, again?

You tutted, pretending to be unimpressed, and then you glanced down at the floor. You frowned. “Why isn’t your mattress on the bed?”

“It—was hot.” Satoru knew he blurted it out too quickly, and that you noticed, because you always did, with him.

There was a torturous moment of silence where Satoru was convinced you had figured it all out and that he was ruined and you would never want to speak to him ever again, but then you said: “I thought you had that superiority complex thing. You know. With Geto, and the mattresses.”

“You heard about that?”

You hummed. “You must’ve told me.”

Satoru didn’t think he had. He was too focused on inconspicuously wiping his hands on the backs of his jogging bottoms without you noticing.

You noticed. Your eyebrows furrowed, and then your gaze slipped from his hands, to his backwards shirt, then to the balled-up bedsheet by the wall, and finally landing on the half-empty bottle of hand lotion Satoru had bought a few months ago, because he kept thinking that his then-girlfriend didn’t want to hold his hand because the skin was so rough.

You looked back up at him, and Satoru was certain you could see the flicker of panic on his face. You groaned, loudly and in disgust, and covered your eyes with your gloved hands.

Satoru’s heart skipped with fear. No, he couldn’t ruin it with you, not when he’d barely even—

“Gojo!” You peered back at him through your fingers, and Satoru realised with a jolt that you weren’t disgusted, you were embarrassed. “Just tell me not to come in if you’re—oh, eugh!”

Satoru’s lips parted in confusion. What? And then—

Oh! Satoru felt a heavy weight slide right off his chest, and suddenly he was light as a bird! You just thought he was jerking off! Yes—what a win!

Satoru could deal with this. He could even turn this in his favour, the way he always was trying to with you.

He grinned at you and leaned forward, bending at the hips with his hands still behind him. “What, you embarrassed?”

Your lips pinched tight together. “Shut up.”

“It’s a normal bodily response, Hebi-Hebi,” he said, delighting at your growing mortification. “I’m seventeen! And, hey, it’s not just guys who would enjoy—”

“Oh my god—”

“—so you should we congratulating me!”

Satoru beamed at you, enjoying himself a lot now.

You glowered. “I hate you.”

“Self-pleasure—”

“Don’t call it that!”

“—isn’t something that—”

“Stop talking.”

“Stop interrupting me!” Satoru couldn’t help but laugh at your expression. “I’m trying to give you a biology lesson. Just because you’re a priss—”

“I’m not—”

“And I’m sure you’re no stranger to it! After all, I’m sure you’ve…” Satoru’s brain caught up to wnat he was saying, and his voice faltered, and then trailed off.

Your eyes widened. You looked away from him, folding your arms right across your chest.

Satoru felt just as out of place. Just as he’d said it, the actual image of what he was saying had forced itself into his head. You: you, touching yourself, gasping and moaning in that same way you had in your dream. Would you sound the same as your had in his imagination? What you would look like—Satoru had not seen you naked in his dream, but he had wanted to, there.

But he could imagine. Your soft thighs, clenching around your bare hand, buried between your legs, your fingers—your fingers inside you, moving inside yourself, or rubbing circles on your clit, and Satoru’d had a girlfriend a few months ago who had liked it when he watched her masturbate, and he remembered how it had felt to be in the room with her.

It had almost been painful how hard he’d been, how much he’d wanted to touch her and be able to make her come himself—and there was a flash, just a split-second image, of Satoru’s lips on yours and his fingers curling inside you and your neck bared for him instead, and making you come. He didn’t know what it would be like, and Satoru felt his curiosity like a hunger, something that ached to be sated. Satoru swallowed.

Touching yourself, what would you think of?

Who would you think of?

You cleared your throat. “Anyway.”

Yes! Anyway!

Satoru forced out a laugh. Anyway! He pushed all those thoughts from his head—just remnants of his dream, coming to haunt him, everything perfectly normal—and grinned at you, feeling slightly delirious. He noticed that you didn’t look all that right either; you were blinking in that way you did when you were nervous or off-guard, and you still weren’t making eye contact with him. You didn’t know, did you? Was he—Satoru tried to subtly glance down—no, he was okay. You couldn’t know. Sure, you could figure out pretty much anything about him most of the time, but you weren’t a literal mind reader. You were just embarrassed for… whatever reason. Satoru didn’t know.

But he was moving on! He wasn’t thinking about it.

The silence stretched. Satoru felt awkward—he never used to feel awkward around you, but you’re still learning each other after your fight, and it’s harder than it was before.

“We good?” he asked, in a way that he realised a second later was much too vulnerable for his liking. He fixed it with a wink, and a casual stretch of his back.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. You cleared your throat again, and then nodded. “Yeah. Anyway.”

“The worksheets!” Satoru clicked his fingers in the air and hurried over to his desk. He rifled through the mess of papers, humming loudly and on purpose, and then shouted out: “Ha-ha! I’m amazing—here, look, I printed it out.”

“Good,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Hopefully Yaga won’t kill me in first period.”

“I’d have defended you from him.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome! I appreciate the appreciation, Hebi-Hebi. Being this kind and generous is a thankless job sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re such an idiot.”

But your lips were curling, and Satoru was floating on the air again, overjoyed that the awkwardness had fallen away. Success! A perfect deflection, and he’d coaxed the first half-smile of the morning from you.

Satoru laughed. And then you were just looking up at him, with that standard way you do, slightly heavy-lidded and bored, and it felt like a normal day again. It didn’t feel like anything had changed: even though it had, for him. It had changed. But between you two… it was just normal.

He hoped you couldn’t do your psychic magic trick on him, and figure out that he was feeling awkward. But why should he? After all, he was Satoru Gojo: it was him, now, him and Suguru. Both of them together, the world’s strongest. He didn’t need to feel awkward about anything! And especially not something that could be so easily explained, by the heat and by his normal teenage reactions to normal teenage stuff.

So, nothing had changed. Satoru’s face broke into a grin. That was good. You were just as close as you always were. No stress. He should just forget about it.

 

--

 

And he did.

And then it happened again.

[klausysworld]

Hey 👋 I've been watching videos of Joseph during the Liverpool convention (hope you had a good time by the way) and got the idea of a Joseph x Reader story where they meet during a meet and greet perhaps during signing?

(Started writing this and it’s kinda giving yandere!reader vibes but she just a crazy obsessed fan like the rest of us🤷‍♀️)

Also in this he is not married! And this is gonna be set in America maybe a few years earlier?

Favourite Fan

Y/n had watched the vampire diaries and the originals religiously. They were played continuously and she could speak each episode word for word. Her favourite character was Klaus by far, she loved Joseph Morgan’s acting and who he was truly.

So she saved up, a lot, and decided she would see how many conversations she could see him at.

She knew he was doing conventions in a couple states that year so decided to go and meet him.

The first time it was to have a picture of him signed as well as a photo.

When she got their, she was practically bouncing. She waited in line and finally got to meet him.

———————————————————————

Joseph had been switching between photos and autographs all day. It was the afternoon and he was growing tired. Time between each person was getting shorter and shorter but he didn’t want to disappoint any fans so he tried his best.

But when he glances up at Y/n, for some reason he decided he would talk to her for a little longer. His eyes were locked on hers, her bright smile seemed to warm him as he wrote her a personalised message on the item she wanted signed. She then shyly asked if he was allowed to hug her to which he let out a soft laugh and nodded.

He pushed his cheque back and stood up, moving around his table and welcoming her into his arms. He smiled at the way she clung to him, it wasn’t uncommon among fans. He gently rubbed the top of her back before she pulled away and thanked him. His eyes followed her as she walked away and he continued with the autographs for a while.

By his last set of photos with fans, he was exhausted and hungry. Some of the other stars were taking a break while others were flooded with people.

He sighed softly to himself, his face hurt from all the smiling but he was used it. He could feel the heat getting to him as he stood in far too many layers but nevertheless he wrapped his arm around the next person and gave an award winning grin for the camera.

He glanced to the next person and saw a familiar face, the same girl from earlier. His smile was smaller but it was real. So was hers as she quickly approached him and immediately wrapped her arms around him. He chuckled and hugged her bag, accidentally smelling her hair as he felt her face against his shoulder.

“You ready sweetheart?” He murmured softly to her and she nodded, her cheeks pink as a blush spread through her. She pulled away and turned to the camera, his arm stayed around her waist and they both smiled. He waved as she left and turned to his next person with a better attitude.

———————————————————————

He saw her multiple times in that year alone, in a few different states across different days.

He began to look for her in the line or when he was walking from photos to the autograph tables. Occasionally he would spot her, she was always already looking at him which made his face warm as a soft blush rose to the surface. Joseph would always wave at her as he went by.

By the time he got round to seeing her, he was always tired. She seemed to uplift him throughout the day.

So when he got to her again, for maybe the 7th time meeting her, he was relieved to have her in his arms again. He could hear and sense his co-stars giggling and staring as the hug lingered for longer than it should have.

“I made you something” she whispered to him as they parted and he smiled

“You did?” He asked and she nodded, holding out a few pieces of paper. One of which was a hand written letter and two were portraits of him in a remarkable amount of detail. His smile broadened and his face went pink again “you made those yourself?” He questioned and she nodded nervously.

“You don’t have to-“

“No no, I want them” he took them from her hands and she smiled back at him. “They’re wonderful, love” he told her and she looked down “thank you” he whispered “will I be seeing you again later?” He asked eagerly.

“No…not this time” she sighed softly “I booked late, couldn’t get anything else. Next time?”

“Definitely” he smiled, subconsciously raising his hand to brush her hair away from her face, ignoring the ‘ooos’ from his co-stars.

They smiled at each other and said their goodbyes before she left and he turned back to his next eagerly awaiting fan.

———————————————————————

Joseph’s friends teased him, Daniel, Phoebe, Claire, Charles. The lot of them knew, as soon as they saw Y/n coming, Jospeh would be a blushing mess.

One of those days, when Y/n was lining up for Joseph again, Daniel came up behind her. He effectively scared her and made her laugh, he whispered to her secretively and had her dial her number into Joseph’s phone.

Joseph and Daniel had been given private rooms to do their photos and signings and Y/n was the last in line for Joseph so Daniel saw it as perfectly set up. He gave her a hug and winked at Jospeh who looked a mix of embarrassed and horrified.

Once she got to him, they were both red in the face and their hearts were beating fast.

“I’m sorry” he whispered “he’s rude and-“

“It’s okay” she smiled “I know it’s just a joke, you can delete the number” she told him but he shook his head

“N-no no I’ll keep it” he whispered, his eyes trailing her body without his permission. She could feel his eyes on her and she could feel herself getting hotter

“Can I have my hug?” She asked quietly and he cleared his throat with a nod

“Yeah- yes” he mumbled, pulling her close and holding her against him. His nose buried in her hair and the soft skin of her face pressed to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut and he held her their for a short well, his hands gently caressing her hips and waist.

He knew it would be inappropriate to touch her, to think of her in any indecent way but part of him just couldn’t help himself. He was attracted to her in every way, she was so kind and thoughtful. He wondered how happy she was on the day to day. He wondered how many people got to see her big smile and get given personal gifts from her.

Sometimes he worried that it would be bad to date a fan, would he be taking advantage of her love for him? And then the worry would settle, does she like him or his characters?

It clouded his mind and he felt her pull back, looking up at his face. “You okay?” She whispered, seeing his eyes zoned out. He seemed to snap back when her hand touched his face and she quickly retracted it “I’m sorry”

“No, it’s alright” he smiled, squeezing her hand gently before stepping back. “You were here for the autograph again?” He asked, and she shook her head

“Photo” she corrected and his face went red, glancing to the camera man who was looking thoroughly amused

“Right” he whispered “a photo” he repeated and she laughed softly

He pulled her close and smiled for the camera. She was the last one so he walked her back to the door, his hand automatically on her waist as though it belonged there.

———————————————————————

After that, Joseph had very nervously sent a message to Y/n. She had assumed it was on of her friends messing with her and told him to go away. He proceeded to ring her and prove her wrong making her apologise profusely and promise she didn’t know it was him. She could hear Daniel Gillies laughing in the back ground and Jospeh telling him to shut up but letting her know it was okay.

They messaged more and more frequently, video calling sometimes in the evening.

The two would talk about the next conventions and when they could see each other again, Joseph felt bad that Y/n had to pay so much to see him for a few minutes and offered to pay for her but she always refused. Until one day, a few months later when she couldn’t afford to go and he practically begged her to send her bank details so he could transfer her.

When she came and saw him, she hugged him so tight and kissed him on the cheek. He felt like he was floating, he went to his her on the cheek back but caught her lips. He could hear people around gasping but he couldn’t care in that moment. All he could think about was her lips on him, his finger weaved into her hair and he kissed her with as much passion as he could show without putting his tongue in her mouth.

He didn’t want people getting to many pictures so he turned her around, away from everyone so they could just see his back as he kissed her gently. His hand cupped her cheek once he reluctantly pulled away, his eyes on her swollen lips before their lifted to her eyes. She was breathing fast but Joseph knew he was too.

“I hope the next fan doesn’t get that too” she whispered and he laughed

“They won’t, I promise” he murmured, kissing her once more and grabbing his pen without turning around. He scribbled his signature onto her shirt, right on her breast making her grin. “I’ll call you later” he muttered, pecking her cheek

And with that she walked away, other fans squealing and looking at her as she floated through the crowds.

[campbell-rose]

Helluva Rewrite (and some of my personal doodles)

Alrighty, so I finally found the motivation to draw up the entire I.M.P crew and finalize their designs! Introducing my version of the new and improved Immediate Murder Professionals!

I'm so freaking lazy so I didn't add shading or anything extra like that because ughhh. I also decided on some defining traits for imps depending on their ring, but only for the gang and the rings we've seen in the show so far

Wrath imps are larger, stronger, and spikier than other imps. Lust imps have varied bodies, but all have heart shaped barbs on their tails and leathery wings on their lower back. Greed imps are more slender than other imps and often wear jewelry. Gluttony imps are small and fast, high metabolisms so they can gorge. Sloth imps are easy to identify because they usually are just lying there doing fuck all and lack barbs on their tails.

Also, the scarring for imps is the same. White markings indicate scars. In the show I feel like it’s hard to tell what’s a scar (like Blitzo’s facial marks) and what’s a birth mark (like Moxxie’s freckles) so for my own sake, white marks are scars, black marks are birth marks or tattoos, end of story. Millie got her scars from fighting in the wrath ring, Blitzo got his scars from the explosion, and Moxxie’s freckle-like scars are cigarette burns. Should also note that imps are immune to hellfire, but not normal fire because... uhhh idk honestly it just seems more logical. 

~ Helluva cutoff starts here ~

I kinda wanna show off my own imp designs for my little demon thing because helluva boss posts get traction and I just wanted someone to see them, so if you only came here for helluva content, feel free to stop reading lol 

Okay, so I wanted the imps to all look like the same species but at the same time not at all. Essentially the imps in my series are based more on folklore surrounding them. In christian folklore imps are straight up evil, but I want all of my imps to just be little guys. Look at em, they’re just little guys. Imps were sometimes thought of as the familiars of witches, taking forms of different animals, so I wanted some of the imps to look animalistic, but it’s their behavior that reflects it more (which is hard to show in a still doodle). Also the imps are just color coded here so I know which is which, imps aren’t actually these specific colors in my world. 

Greed imps tend to bind themselves to objects that they particularly adore – in some tellings imps were bound to objects like crystals and could be summoned by their masters. So Greed imps often have a specific item bound to them that they guard with their lives.

Sloth imps are the most harmless when they’re tired, it’s when they’re awake that they become the full on imps of folklore. They’re often paid in sugar cubes and used as servants in the sloth ring. 

Gluttony imps are alluding to the fae origin of imps in Germanic folklore, having wings and being generally bug like and little shits. I wanted them to look like pixies almost.

Envy imps are the more attention seeking type who play tricks on humans to garner a reaction. Tricks such as attempting to drown people and such – harmless fun, you know? They’re actually a little based on Kappa I'll admit. 

Lust imps have the habit of snatching babies, as in a lot of demons associated with lust (such as Lilith) tend to be obsessed with babies/pregnancy. The lust imps are nearly infertile, so they love taking babies to raise, then discard them once they’re annoyed.

Pride imps are based on the Lincoln imp (in short an Imp threw a rock at an angel and got turned into stone). They’re fluffy and covered in shiny fur since they live in the frozen layer of hell. Their horns are the largest of all imps, and their biggest source of pride – like if they break their horns, they’d rather die than live with the shame because their horns don’t grow back. 

Wrath imps are based on the old art of imps you can find – bald little creatures with horns and tails. They’re the more feral animalistic imps, often acting on pure instinct and lacking much social structure. They do tend to exercise in their own way, as strength is their greatest feature. 

Anywho if you read all that omg thank you for feeding my ego teehee. But for real, as much as I hate digital, I did enjoy drawing out the imp gang, I might (keyword MIGHT) draw out some rewritten scenes in comic format the most daunting part is actually doing it lmao.

I probably won't shove my own stuff into posts too often, I mostly did it because I wanted to compare my ideas for Imps to Viv's because I think mine are better sorry not sorry lmao. I like to actually research what I'm doing and incorporate it into my art and creations because i think of it like little easter eggs for people who like the things I like. Viv's version of Hell is my least favorite mostly because everything she does feels like bible fanfiction written by a middle schooler who thinks shouting penis in class is the peak of comedy.

[moongreenlight]

U already KNOW what time it is baybee!!!! WIP WEDNESDAY!

Been riding the Gaz high and this has been in the works recently (I wrote 2k words yesterday) so here's this!

Director!Gaz x Actress!Reader

Summary: It’s the mid-1970’s and you’ve recently made the unshocking discovery that it’s difficult to find good work acting. Lucky you stumble on the wrong opportunity at the right time!

You’re not dumb enough to fall for the advertisements in the papers looking for actors in ‘up and coming independent films.’ Not anymore.

After being burned so many times by ‘pay to audition’ schemes and sleazy directors only looking to collect videotapes of girls doing porno auditions, you gave up on that front.

But what’s the stipulation on extenuating circumstances? Like when you’re working at a bar a few blocks away from the community theater and a man comes up and sits at the counter all by himself.

He’s gorgeous and a sweet talker. Seems intent on chatting with you even though you really should be polishing glassware. And once he’s finally caught you in his snare, he drops a bomb that up until this point you’d only ever heard stories about.

He says he’s a small-time director and he saw you in the last production the theatre put on. He laughs and makes a lighthearted self-deprecating joke about being “one of those wankers in the paper” to which you wrinkle your nose and give him a weary smile.

But, Jesus, if he can’t make a bad thing good. He’s got all the makings of a politician the way he’s able to talk circles around you until you agree to show up to an audition for his latest project. ‘Trouble in paradise’ or something to that tune.

He tips you twenty pounds and his business card on a coke he barely touches. Uses your pen to write your audition time on the back of the card.

Wednesday at 11a. x

He doesn’t give back the pen.

Your roommates do no good talking you out of it. Hushing your half-arsed arguments about scams and serial killers and all kinds of things. It ends with the four of you in a pile on the couch, wine-drunk and giggling yourselves into hysterics.

So two days later you go. Forcing your roommates to promise no less than five times that if you’re not heard from in an hour that they’ll send in the authorities.

You find your way to the address on the card that now looks tired in comparison to when you first got it. The edges are fussy and dog-eared from your worrying with it and passing it around to prove its legitimacy.

It doesn’t look like any studio or office you’ve seen. Far from. And that should have been the final nail in the coffin. Should have been the reason you turned tail and went back home. But something pulled you up the worn steps of the house. That same something, now cowering a bit at the looming possibility, brought you to rap your knuckles sharply on the part of the door with a few different layers of paint chipped away to expose the cheap metal underneath.

You’re left standing on the stoop for a few moments too long with no answer. And just as you were about to come to your senses and return home with some sliver of your dignity still intact; the door swung inward and exposed the same man from the bar - Kyle - with his horrible, beautiful, toothy smile.

“Thought you were going to stand me up. Wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.”

You catch yourself thinking it’s a shame that he’s directing and not starring in movies. His devastating good-looks and all. Must be a terrible read.

There’s a card table set up in the living room. Two folding chairs behind it that look flimsy at best. Three thick packets that have been three-hole punched on the side, but held together by a binder clip in the top center.

The rest of the furniture is pushed up against the wall. A hodge-podge of mismatched chairs and a sofa that very well could have been your grandmothers and a few banged-up side tables.

He offers water. Offers to take your purse. You decline both. Opt to stand a bit stiffly on the faded rug in the center of the room with your bag tucked snugly under your arm.

Maybe you should make a run for it. Maybe you were stupid to come at all. He’s a total stranger for Christ sake.

Before you can will your feet to move, there’s s bang from behind you. A screen door slamming shut and rattling on its hinges. It startles you almost a foot into the air.

“Nervous?”

Kyle is cool as ever, sliding into one of the chairs, waggling his eyebrows at you. It whines under his weight and you’re suddenly very aware of just how bulky he is. Doesn’t look it on passing glance, but when all you’ve got to look at is the way his shirt fits it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Easily startled.”

You correct, trying to decide whether or not it’s passé to turn over your shoulder to find the source of the heavy footsteps behind you.

He hums and grabs one of the packets, taking off the clip and leafing through it. Pulling out a few odd pages and setting them on the table.

The footsteps reveal their maker when he rounds the corner into the room and shuffles behind the table. If you thought Kyle was big, this man is properly a behemoth. A bit taller, broader in the shoulders, a layer of fat packed on over his muscles. He looks to be older by a few years. He gets crows feet when he nods and smiles at you before taking his seat.

The chair looks as though it would be happier pulling its own legs out from underneath itself.

“Cap’.”

Kyle doesn’t look up from his papers when he addresses the man.

You get no formal introduction to ‘Cap’ though he doesn’t seem to be truly involved in the audition process. He barely glances up from his packet. Content to nurse a fresh cigar and lean further back in the chair than you think should be plausible.

You read from the stack of pulled-out papers with sloppily highlighted lines and try not to shy away from meeting Kyle’s watchful eye.

The audition goes normally, all things considered. You’re instructed to read three different scenes. Without the time to read the blurb on the project, you draw the conclusion that “Trouble in Paradise” is some sort of short suspense film centered around a woman living, shockingly, in paradise.

The writing isn’t first-rate, but you suppose that’s to be expected. You have a hard time piecing together how the scenes flow, but that’s not your largest concern.

“Lovely. Really, darl’.”

Kyle stands when he talks. Commands the attention even of such a small audience. Takes up space in the room like he’s owed it.

You smile, feeling a bit more at-ease now that things seem to be wrapping up.

“N’ how do you look in a bathing suit?”

The question takes you entirely off-guard. It makes your jaw fall far enough open that you’re left looking like a fish out of water.

“I- sorry?”

Kyle’s face doesn’t change. Fantastic at keeping up appearances. He’s still casting that warm smile over you. The focus of it makes you feel like you’re sunbathing.

“Bathing suit, love. How d’you look?”

Disappointment drops like a stone in your belly. Heavy and fast. It’s another scam. Of course it is.

“Oh. I don’t- I don’t do dirty movies.”

It must be palpable on your face even more than it is in your voice.

‘Cap’ glances up at Kyle when he ashes his cigar. The smell is nauseating. He seems to be chewing on a smile. Kyle meets his eye for only a moment, amusement painfully evident on his face.

“You’ve just read the pool scene. Hardly anything dirty about costuming.”