#trying to figure out how much the ear clipping would affect me

[vigilskeep]

what if... elf sol.......

[coolerdracula]

my rambling thoughts about The Substance [inconclusive] [really long post] (spoilers; Symphony don't read etc)

sooo. hmm. I liked the blood and the gore and stuff. I like that this kind of thing is in theaters. I enjoy the color palette, and I think the opening shot was fantastic for conveying the major "weird thing" of the movie. the satirical tone came through very strongly, and there were a lot of really funny moments. trying to think of more things I liked... I did give it 4 stars on letterboxd, though I keep going between that and 3.5 . it's a fun spectacle.

I did have some gripes with the second and third acts, especially with the "fake-outs" they kept doing, but I'm also wondering if that was intentional, where they kept faking the viewer out in order to make you think that the final sequence isn't going to be real, either? but then it is, so you're like Ohhhh Fuck? idk. it did give me the feeling of "man, when is this movie going to end?" lol. and I get that it's a satire, but it was still pretty heavy handed with a lot of things. like, a lot of the flashbacks (either clips or voiceovers) that were meant to make you as a viewer go "oh, this part of the movie mirrors a prior scene!" made it feel like the movie didn't trust its audience to connect things and Get The Point. plus the scene where she sees the other substance user in the diner was very "hey! this is what you're supposed to understand about it!" irt them giving like 5 different clues that he was the 'same' guy as before. it's way too much handholding :|

in terms of themes ... it's mixed bc of how they approached her becoming "ugly." right. but more on that later. aside from the execution, and more just in terms of the concept, I think that it's saved by the last part (Elizasue confidently dolling herself up), but it's a tenuous save. bc, without that, it's "woman tries to become more beautiful in the eye of society; winds up liking herself less and is punished for this choice." and it comes very close. which ... like, yeah, it does happen to people. but using that dynamic as the focus of an exploitation film is weird to me? I could be wrong. bc it's not necessarily being endorsed by the movie, bc it's a parable, and movies are a social forum, not moral end-all-be-all's, but ... hmmmm idk. idk. it being made by a woman about her own experiences helps. ANYWAYS. the part that saves it from being entirely that dynamic -- the character arc of Elizabeth+ learning to like herself, no matter what she looks like.

I think that it's a good turnaround, conceptually. but the execution... hmm... muddled. bc, Elizasue is in a very unclear mental state, and it establishes that she's hallucinating, or imagining things, or etc. so she's not present in choosing to love herself, she's just lost in imagined grandeur where she is still "beautiful." the parts where Elizasue puts on makeup and earrings come across as more comedic than touching, which is....interesting....thought I might be misremembering, and would have to take another look at it to be sure. maybe it was serious, and people were just laughing because they didn't get that. idk. but then, the reason I believe in this arc even happening, is during the gratuitous bloodbath segment when her glued-on self-mask falls off (her finally dropping the notion that she must look a certain way?) she says "it's still me; I'm not a monster" or something to that affect. which brings it back some, since she's actively acknowledging that she's changed, but it's still her, and she is still good and lovable. idk. I'm mostly writing this in order to figure out my thoughts honestly. I did really like the final sequence where she turns into goop and oozes her way back to her star & becomes absorbed into it. it contextualizes the prior bloodbath sequence as the "moment of change" so we can then get the more straightforward "new normal" of the star scene. but I guess the moment of change was too drawn out and not serious enough to match what it transitioned into.....imo.....but I liked the blood.....hmm.... but I did like the symbolism of her becoming one with the object that represented the decline of her career. contentment & acceptance etc.

ok back to how they conveyed her becoming "ugly." I do think that ... the early stages (the first two, where it's first just her finger, then half her body) were more.. SHE thinks she looks 'ugly,' not the narrative itself. but even with that, it's still presenting her physical changes in a sensational way. so.. the viewer is supposed to be shocked and appalled. especially so once we get to the third stage where she's completely deformed. and I think that relying on that element of deformity of the human body as horror, it... feels icky......... even if what happens to her is not 1:1 with real-life conditions, it still is analogous to them. this is my core issue with the movie, in terms of critiques.

now for the plural aspect. I don't think it's much of a reach to interpret it with a plural lens, since she literally splits into two and then is continually told "you are one." so what does it say, plural-wise? I mean, it's like Fight Club, where this woman has a dissociated part of herself, which can affect change on the world (HER world) without her knowledge/consent, and is perfectly molded to fit society's standards of how her gender should be. they come into conflict when their shared life negatively impacts the protagonist, and then move into mutual destruction. this does imply some things. the core message is that functional multiplicity is not sustainable. we see this in Sue's refusal to respect Elizabeth's time/physical form, as well as Elizabeth's almost immediate resentment and hatred of Sue. if this were to be reframed as a real system situation, it would be a host that thinks they're more important than the rest of the system, and an alter that sees themself as too separate from the host to give a shit about them. this dynamic does happen IRL, but it's allllll we see in media that includes plurality, so I dislike seeing it. this wouldn't be as much of a problem to me if the narrative didn't affirm this dynamic as a universal truth, but it's mirrored in the affirmation of Elizabeth being "the matrix" that Sue cannot exist without, as well as it being the experience had by the only other substance-user in the movie (guy who hates his other self). there isn't room for implying that there's another possible outcome. there also isn't really room for questioning Elizabeth's importance as the Matrix (or the "Core self," a problematic theory irt DID), since that's established by the 'science' of the world (necessity of Sue's 'refills') as well as the film's 'word of god' (the guy on the phone). additionally, we really miss out on the premise of "you are one." how? when? when, except for the very short moment where Elizabeth regrets trying to terminate Sue bc she realizes that Sue is her source of self-worth? we barely see it even when she literally becomes "Elizasue." missed opportunity to explore that more imo.

okay I'm tired of typing lol. this is way too long bc I don't have the energy to distill the rambling into a coherent thought, but ... those are my thoughts. 👍

[the12thnightproject]

Happy WIP Wednesday!

Share thy WIP if you feel like it :)

But I have another question! If you were to pick a favourite word, what would it be?

Hi! And thank you for asking.

A favorite word? Like one that I overuse in my fics? That would likely be the word "anyway." Or do you mean, a word that I like in general? In that case, the word would be "breeze" because it reminds me equally of something cooling on a too hot day, or the gentle wind that rustles the leaves in Autumn, or the something that carries fresh ocean scents to my nose.

And, also... here's another longfic sample... it's still from the Mitsuhide fic, but because we're getting close to the birthday of a moderately awesome ninja, this is a clip that features him.

“I take it there’s a matter of some urgency for you to have climbed into my window. How were you even aware that I was in Saka-“ Yoshimoto broke off and gave me a hard stare. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have been disguised as a woman earlier today?”

“Er, I was in disguise, yes, that was me.” Then, because I obviously didn’t want him to realize that 'Katsu' was as much of a disguise as the concubine 'Kaya,' I hurried on. “I need to get an urgent message to Sasuke. Will you be seeing him soon?”

In response to the question, Yoshimoto nodded, held up one finger and exited the room.

Moments later, he returned, leading a half-awake Sasuke. My ninja pal was not wearing his glasses and he squinted at a tapestry screen. “Katsu?”

“Over here.” I waited for Sasuke to reorient himself. “What happened to your glasses?”

“They met their demise under Yoshimoto’s foot.” He flapped his hand in the general direction (very general) of Yoshimoto. “I have another pair in my pack, but it sounded urgent. I can listen without seeing you.”

“In my defense, if you had put your glasses on the desk, they would not have ended up between my foot and the floor.” Yoshimoto added another kimono layer. “I’m going to see if any of the tea maids are awake, as I presume you wish to speak to Sasuke alone.” Once again, he glided out of the room.

“How does he do that?” Yoshimoto made me feel clumsy, and I am not a clumsy person.

“Er, Katsu, I am not able to see what he did.” Sasuke was still standing in the center of the room, arms outstretched like a zombie.

I helped him to a cushion to sit upon. “Oh… it’s the way he moves, like he’s always wearing…” I automatically paused to censor myself, then realized that I no longer needed to do so with Sasuke. “Ice skates.

He went very still, no doubt trying to recall if ice skates had been invented yet (they haven’t, as far as I know). “Ice skates?”

“So that kind of leads me to what I needed to talk to you about. Not ice skating, of course, but… ok, wait, don’t say anything yet.” I rushed on because he clearly had questions (so did I, if it came to that).  “I’m trying to figure out where to start, but it’s a long story and Yoshimoto will be back before I finish, if I don’t-“

“No, he won’t.” Sasuke flexed his fingers… as if he was making invisible calculations.

“He just said he was going to find tea.” I had clearly heard that. Maybe the loss of his glasses was affecting his ears.

“To be one hundred percent accurate, he expressed the intention to find a tea maid. He won’t return until after sunrise.” Sasuke sighed. “I wish I had my glasses. I would prefer to take notes as I suspect several ideas will present themselves while you talk.”

[evanthenerd83]

"Inked Up: A Marvin Mission"

1.

Ellen calls me, late at night.

The shrill call of a landline shatters whatever reprieve I happened to be enjoying. Dogs bark in the woods. Wolves, probably.

I ignore it. I bury my head beneath the floorboards, trying my best.

No dice.

Ellen does not enjoy waiting. She simply enhances local volume, and that barely tolerable shrieking becomes torture. A banshee wails right beside my ear.

I jolt awake.

Blinking away the last vestiges of peace, I scan.

My eyes land on my bedside table, which is wooden, brown. No lamp. No alarm clock.

Only the old-fashioned home phone.

Which was… Not there a second ago.

Neither was the bedside table, for that matter.

I grumble.

I pick up the new addition to my sparse bedroom.

“What was that, Marvin?”

“Nothing,” I sit up. “What’s the issue?”

The voice on the other end of the line is clipped. As well as young, clearly saturated with molten sarcasm.

If tones could kill, I’d be speaking daisies right now.

Ellen stays silent. After a whole minute, I start to wonder if I waited too long, and if this delay has just cost me a job. And a big, fat paycheck.

That scares me more than what I’m hearing in the background.

Somebody is screaming. The words bleed together.

Explosions. Loud hissing. Like a snake shoved into a megaphone.

Word salad is being passed around. Tossed, you could say. Innumerable voices drown out meeker, pitiful whining.

Somewhere else, amidst this cacophony of apocalyptic horror and abject panic, somebody shouts, “Quick, seal it, se—”

Well. That’s all I hear before a volley of gunshots cut them off.

From an AC-19 or EDEB-1.

If the former, Rest In Peace.

If the latter… Rest in pieces.

Either way? Poor bastard.

“Uh… E-Ellen?”

Silence on Ellen’s part.

I stand up. The cabin’s wooden floor is covered with burnt paper stapled together. An impromptu carpet.

For an impromptu home.

On the other end, broken car horns blare.

Glass shatters.

A very big, very loud laugh overtakes the hissing.

“Ellen? What’s, uh, what’s going on? Are you at a… p-parade?”

Gunshots become wet.

Finally, Ellen takes a deep breath.

I can hear the faintest instability. Not much. But enough to make me worried, since she is almost never shaken.

And if she is shaken, and calling me this late at night, then…

… Oh crap.

Before she speaks, a new sound enters the chaotic fray.

Trumpet music.

What she says next puts everything in perspective.

“Marvin… I’m afraid that we’re gonna be needing your… services… again.”

2.

“What happened,” I ask.

“Someone forgot to use non-bleeding ink.”

I stand in the center of the cabin. “Do we know who?”

“Nope.”

“How many were contaminated?”

A brief pause.

By now, the background has become incomprehensible; jumbling sounds indistinguishable and indescribable.

“I think…”

Ellen pauses again.

“... About… Thirteen? Twenty-five? Not really sure. You know how they get.”

I pull on my boots. Military grade. “Yeah. I know.”

Depending on the kind of ink, and the circumstances involved, the Bled-Together could range from just a few to a lot. Nobody has figured out the maximum participation.

But the biggest one ever dealt with reportedly comprised eighteen victims. A whole orchestra had been affected. The notes on their music sheets. A horrid affair.

These guys are rare. Once every month.

Easily taken care of. If you nip them in the bud.

I glance around. The cabin is dark. Yet something akin to light still filters through. Something akin to light, of course, because there are no stars. No moonlight.

My weapon should be around here somewhere.

“How about civilian casualties? Have you evacuate—”

“Yes, yes, Marvin,” Ellen snaps. “We did. Now, can you just come do—”

Trumpets squelch. Alarm bells herald the Bled-Together’s mutation. I lean forward.

Fingers shake.

“Are you sure? Completely sure?”

A growl from Ellen’s end.

“WOULD YOU JUST… COME DOWN HERE, AND KILL THIS… FUCKING… THING?! IT’S GETTING BIGGER! MUCH BIGGER! I’M STANDING UNDERNEATH ITS FUCKING BELLY OR TORSO OR WHATEVER THE FUCK MAKES UP ITS TOP HALF, AND THERE’S FIFTY FUCKING HEADS SPROUTING!”

Her voice fails to drown out the apocalyptic choir. It also gets more shrill, an ear-tearing siren.

Something glints in my peripheral vision. I already know what it is before I lay both eyes on it. I smile.

And that smile quickly vanishes.

“That bad, huh?”

Ellen seethes. Air passes between her two front teeth, almost becoming a kind of whistle.

She is angry.

Then again, Ellen is almost always angry. At someone or something.

“You have no fucking idea.”

“Hm.”

I approach the corner. Floorboards barely utter a single groan.

Weight has no power here. The cabin smothers all sounds.

I kneel. My hands are numb, neither burning hot nor freezing cold, as they reach forward.

They curl around metal.

An old friend greets me.

Sensations come flooding back. I take a deep breath.

The air tastes like paper. Echoing heartbeats disrupt. Blood begins to pump through veins, and I sigh.

Life.

I’m alive again.

“Marvin, you dumbass. Are you even listening?”

I lift my iron.

Things rattle within the pockets of my jacket. Bullets.

And not just any kind. Special, custom made.

Reliable. You don’t have to worry about running out of slugs. Not when you were born with them.

“I said—”

I let go of the horn. It falls.

Goes poof. A cloud of eraser shavings.

Such a construct is no longer needed. It was never needed, in fact. We are connected, Ellen and I.

We can talk whenever.

I speak.

“Loud and clear, boss. Just let me o—”

The cabin falls away.

Walls and floor, windows, flicker away.

Silence switches to a low rumbling.

Darkness overtakes my sight.

I can no longer breathe.

I can do nothing.

I’m a concept.

An inference.

Unassembled.

Vaguerities barely resembling flaws,

virtues,

an appearance,

a being.

For a few seconds.

Before—

“Welcome back.”

Light.

Sound.

Cruisers flash.

Explosions pop. Debris showers the crowded street, and I instinctively duck.

A jet screams overhead. It tilts to avoid a nearby building, but something suddenly changes. Space inverts.

Or the building simply gains its own gravitational pull.

The jet no longer turns away.

It curves right—

Just then, everything hits. Colors begin to swirl together. Images run down the canvas of reality.

My legs buckle.

“Marvin?”

My knees hit the ground.

“Marvin, for goodness sake, don’t—”

I throw up.

3.

Ellen is a vision.

Short, lithe, a branch with legs. Her knee-length skirt billows in a sudden gust of wind.

Her uniform has been put through the wringer. Splotches of drying ink pockmark her collar and sleeves. Something glitters.

It takes me a while to recognize what I’m looking at.

“Is that—”

A swift hand motion sends the parasitic glass shards tumbling. “Never mind that.”

Her black hair dances. It is short, the strands unnaturally straight. Cut per regulations.

Long hair risks touching a puddle.

Or worse. There’s been so many secretaries who have accidentally contaminated themselves.

Many are placed in quarantine. Indefinitely.

Others quit. They don’t want to get put into quarantine. Nor do they particularly want to be bald.

I can’t really blame them.

Ellen fixes her brown eyes on my own. I almost shiver from the cold.

Instead I look away, cough into my fist. “Details?”

A beat of silence. I can hear the cacophony echoing from somewhere close by. Right around the corner.

And the screams.

Jesus Christ.

The screams.

“Alright,” Ellen sighs. “Here’s the situation.”

I watch as a newspaper flutters along the cracked street. “Exposition already?”

“Shut up and listen. And be serious. People are dying. Kids have lost their parents, siblings, or belief in Santa Claus.”

I look up.

My eyebrows rise.

“H-how?”

She rolls her eyes. What a lovely expression. Like a model who has seen an anime fan.

“How did they become orphans?”

I wave my hand. Sweat dots my forehead.

Another jet screams past. The pilot ejects. He manages to land on the roof of a nearby building, his parachute unused.

“No. No. The last part. About Santa.”

She glares at me.

“The Bled-Together’s been treating Times Square like its… Uh, their very own All-You-Can-Absorb buffet. They rolled up whoever was walking around.”

“Including the real Santa Claus?”

Teeth grinding.

“No, dumbass. There were plenty of him standing around. You know how heavy foot traffic is during Christmas.”

The expression on her face melts away. She slips a hand into her pocket, rummaging around.

Until she finds it.

She pulls out.

I frown.

“You shouldn’t be smok—”

“You should be killing that fucking thing.”

She next retrieves a golden lighter. Flame meets paper.

“They came from Miguel and Michael. Which is some sort of… Law firm, or something. A typical desk job.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know much. The trigger. The core. Not even the time of initial aggression. So… Yeah, sorry. But it was quick. Quick enough for the janitorial staff to be absorbed.”

Ellen blows a ring of smoke.

“First emergency call was made an hour ago. By then, the Bled-Together got outside the building, taking security along with them, and rolled on. Police approached. Police retreated. Poor bastards were…”

She sneers.

“... Unprepared for the situation.”

Her sneers melts.

“The survivors alerted dispatchers, who alerted us, and we put out the good word. Evacuation order.”

I see movement.

A glimpse of something big, bright, and bleeding behind the nearby skyscrapers. The edge of an elbow.

This elbow is bigger than a bus.

“The jets?”

Ellen takes another drag.

I really hate it when she does this.

She needs to kick the habit. We both know how dangerous smoking is.

Lung cancer. Throat cancer. A whole bunch of other, debilitating medical hazards.

Death being one of them.

And all of them.

But we both know.

She can’t.

She won’t.

She stares at me. Her eyes reflect the flashing lights from downtown, familiar colors. Green and purple.

Our colors. A META van comes around the corner, gunning it.

It plows through the police tape. Tires squeal as the driver hits the brakes just a foot away. Close enough to gently blow Ellen’s hair.

She shrugs.

“National guard.”

The window rolls down. I glance over Ellen’s shoulder.

A face peers out. It is pale. Tears stream down cheeks, and wide eyes burn themselves into mine.

The driver nearly jumps out of the van. “Ms. Shirley!”

Ellen groans. “Oh, Christ.”

I step back.

My interest in humanity begins and ends with Ellen. She gives me orders. I can only be around other people during times like this.

I have no social life.

Not that I mind. What would I do?

Read?

Of course, I still watch.

“Ms. Shirley!”

The driver opens the door, flops on the ground.

They scramble to their feet.

Ellen clenches her eyes shut. A vein nearly pops.

She spins around.

“Mitch.”

Mitch bends over. He takes a deep breath.

“Mr. Lyle,” I nod.

Mitch raises a finger. The universal wait-a-minute gesture.

He straightens. His glasses are smashed. One lens was knocked loose, and is dangerously close to falling.

“Ms. Shirley! I’ve… I’ve just completed—”

Ellen doesn’t let him finish.

She spits out her cigarette, crushes it beneath her heels. The act is quick.

Cold. Just like everything else she does. There’s a professionalism in Ellen that I find, and don’t tell her this, positively frightening.

“Finally.”

I freeze. My ears have picked up…

… The cacophony is louder now.

Closer. Closer still.

As if it is about to pop out from behind those skyscrapers, roaring, screaming, laughing, blowing those trumpets.

Which means—

I instinctively step back.

I raise my heat, causing several passersby to duck.

Goosebumps flare up and down my arms. Neck hair rises.

We are tied. Being fictional, we sense each other. I hate myself sometimes.

Ellen notices my reaction, and she smiles.

A sweet smile. One that is awfully familiar. Her very own version of puppy dog eyes.

“Time to do your job, Marvin.”

4.

Ever seen something completely, utterly incomprehensible?

Seeing a Bled-Together is like that. Except even worse.

You can only see one part at a time. The whole thing would cause your reality to collapse. Survivors routinely get institutionalized.

Which is why I can hear—

“DO NOT LOOK UP. DO NOT LISTEN. JUST RUN.”

Mitch has hit the automated voice system in his van. It is neither male or female, perfectly androgynous.

He wipes his forehead with a beige sleeve. He wears the traditional uniform of a low-level field agent, a full-body suit. Sweat dampens harsh fabric.

A pair of headphones hang around his neck.

Ellen ignores him. She ignores everyone.

Aside from me.

Speaking of—

“You gonna deal with that?”

I turn back towards my employer.

“R-right.”

I’m not normally flustered. Or scared.

But this is definitely not a normal situation. The size of the Bled-Together says it all.

A hand slowly curls around the roof of a skyscraper. Glass shatters from inhuman pressure. Shards rain down.

I strain my eyes. The hand is multicolored, patches melting together.

There are also mini-hands forming it. Victims sway in the air. Fingers wriggle like worms.

A jet passes by. It launches a missile.

The missile curls downward. An explosion ripples, adding yet another drum-beat to the entertainment for the evening.

Another thing about Bled-Together?

Their presence throws the Laws of Physics into disarray.

Gravity. Light. Mathematics. They go screwy.

Which makes attacking them exceedingly difficult.

At least with traditional weaponry.

Ellen shoves me forward. “Good luck, pal.”

She darts away. She drags Mitch along with her.

They bend underneath a line of META tape— like police tape, but green— before vanishing among the crowd.

I watch as yet another hand emerges. It punches through another skyscraper.

It isn’t long before the head shows up.

Before then, I calculate the important numbers. Five-hundred feet tall. Ten city-blocks long.

A melting marshmallow containing countless eyes. Innumerable mouths gape, teeth gnashing. Tongues slither all over its skin.

It is dripping wet. Coagulating flesh and blood.

Ink slides down its lumpy, lumbering form. There are people trapped beneath it. They haven’t escaped.

Contaminated spreads.

Contamination.

Ellen wasn’t lying.

The cacophony did it no justice. The situation is beyond bad, it is cancerous.

“Holy moly.”

I squint through the scope. My finger rests on the trigger.

Ol’ Eraser hums impatiently. That’s my weapon. Ol’ Eraser. Not creative, I know.

But I’m not the creative one.

Ellen is.

I’m just the created.

The Bled-Together strikes first.

I barely set my sights on the thing before it swivels its eyes.

A pulsating iris implodes. A couple of mouths open, and the shrillest screech I have ever heard bursts free. Everything goes fizzy.

Tendrils slash.

I duck, tuck, and roll a hundred feet.

Destruction falls around me. Bolts from battered vehicles. Bricks pulverized into dust. Entrails.

Some poor META field agents missed hazing week.

Always duck, tuck, and roll. No matter how far you think you can throw yourself.

I dash. Avoiding crumpled grills and bumpers. Shelter is key.

The tendrils rise. They hover in midair.

But not for long.

Those eyes quickly find me, the buffoon walking around in a brown trench-coat and black slacks.

Another eardrum-exploding scream.

High winds.

I have found shelter.

Lobby is empty. Nobody sits behind the desk.

Polished floors reflect my sweaty mug. Janitors are gone. Nobody ignores an evacuation order, especially if META has issued that order.

Booms rock the building. A vase slides.

I take a shortcut. The velvet chair would make Ellen look like a delicate China doll.

It also clips my shin. I feel nothing.

There are a few elevators. Three in total. One of them is open, light shining like heaven.

Waiting for me.

I appreciate it, god. But I’d rather not be trapped in a tiny, metal box.

I sweep a wide arc. To the right.

Towards the stairwell.

Fifteen stories later.

I can’t feel pain, but I am aware of time.

5.

Killing a Bled-Together is difficult.

Like I said before, you can’t use regular weapons. Missiles will just bend around it.

Nor can you cut at it with a sword. The blade might damage the skin, but it’ll also spray hazardous materials in your face. That defeats your purpose.

Only hardware specifically crafted by people with certain skills work.

Like mine. Ol’ Eraser.

Ellen is talented. She created me as a child, after terrible circumstances left her both motherless and fatherless.

I was her imaginary friend.

Her guardian. Her hero. Her knight in shining armor, who’d come to her rescue.

A scared little girl needed hope. Protection.

And I offered her that protection.

Now… I’m her employee.

Her best employee.

Killing a Bled-Together is difficult.

But not impossible.

Even if it was, I’d do anything for that scared little filly, who has grown up into a hard gal.

The roof is devoid of air-conditioning units, elevator cable holders.

Wind casts my black hair fluttering. My coat acts as a cape.

I shield my eyes with an arm.

Birds take off flying. I hear them being swiped out of the sky.

The Bled-Together doesn’t seem to notice me. Something has distracted it.

I roll. I peer over the edge of the apartment building. What I see makes my blood boil.

“What the—”

Ellen stands before the abomination. She is smoking another coffin nail.

Her body can barely compare. Only the Cord lets me know precisely where she is.

And where she is…

… Is…

… A random eye twirls. I duck, taking cover.

I proceed to slap my forehead a couple times.

What’s taking you so long?

Her voice cuts through the anger. She sounds so calm. Which makes the anger flare up again.

I grind my teeth. Why are you here?!

The Bled-Together still doesn’t sense my presence. It leans forward.

I asked you a question.

Images flash. Ellen in a body bag. Ellen melting into a puddle of ink.

Ellen dead. Ellen forgotten. Ellen discarded. Ellen.

I pinch my end of the Cord tight.

Get outta here, princess. Do you not notice that the thing’s dripping—

Hey. Dumbass. Do you not notice that I’m waiting?

Waiting for what?

I can practically hear her chew.

For you to do your job.

Right.

My job.

I sigh, calming myself down.

Ol’ Eraser weighs on my shoulder. The bullets growl. They really want to put the Bled-Together down.

As do I.

I turn back around.

I set the barrel. It rests against the ledge.

My eye finds the scope. Crosshairs fill the entirety of my vision, the world turns bright green.

I use a gun for the same reason Ellen smokes. Because I have to.

We both suffer from our own little problems. Hers is apathy, while mine is codependency. A need to be of her.

Like she’s my mother.

Which… I mean, yeah. She did create me.

But that’s besides the point.

The Bled-Together has quieted down.

No more hissing. The word salad is cold, uneaten. Whoever was laughing now sits calmly.

The trumpets are gone. Replaced by silence.

I’m honestly grateful for this respite. I wouldn’t be able to aim with the cacophony blasting at full volume.

Killing a Bled-Together means hitting an important spot. You have to destroy the original victim, the so-called core. That holds the whole mess together.

It provides the basic biological material. The rest is attached.

In this case? Finding the core is difficult.

Mr. Hodgepodge is bigger than any we’ve dealt with. Its body doesn’t fit inside the range of my scope.

I’m zooming all over the place, trying to locate the core.

Eyes are everywhere. So are mouths. Patches of fabric stick out.

Police uniform. White shirt. Blue jeans. I blink back tears when I see a couple Santa hats.

Ellen taps her foot. Each flick sends shockwaves through my nerves.

I try to think.

In moments like this, which are not rare, I review what scant information is available.

Ok.

So.

Miguel And Michael. Law firm.

Law firm means lawyers. Lawyers typically wear suits. Suits usually consist of black jackets and pants, white shirts, and ties.

Ties.

Ties!

I nearly miss it.

Stripes.

Not the haphazard constitution of disarrayed absorption. A purposeful design.

The fabric flutters. It happens to be trapped between two mouths, which are halfway up the thing’s side.

I sweep the scope back.

The core is never actually located in the center.

I take a deep breath. Steady my heartbeat.

I press the trigger.

The Bled-Together dies.

It does not scream. All of its mouths open, all at the same time, gaping.

But word salad is not passed around. Snakes do not hiss through megaphones. Trumpets remain silent.

A printer beeps.

6.

By morning’s light, META cleans up.

Body parts are swept.

The ink faces flamethrowers.

Those who were contaminated, and managed to survive, are led into vans designed for this exact purpose.

Hazmat suits momentarily regain their popularity.

META holds a press conference. A blonde with bright blue eyes and a plastic smile stands before reporters salivating for answers. She goes through the motions.

I am never mentioned.

I like it that way.

So does Ellen.

She waits until I get back down. Her cig shortens to a stump. It dies.

When I approach, she digs around her breast pocket. Seconds pass. Our ears ring from the gunshot.

Her hand returns.

I smile at its contents.

Ellen smirks. “This will do, right?”

“Yep,” I nod.

And I take the money.

[symbioticsimplicity]

Okay, so full disclosure, I haven't actually seen S4 yet.... or season one or two honestly i don't know how I got here but I'm enjoying it

But I did just look up Eddie clips on Youtube because it occurred to me I've never actually heard the man talk. That was an experience (Jesus fuck the Big Boy line hits different I did NOT expect that tone) but it also made me think:

Steve's got a praise kink a mile wide, but like, not everyone praising him hits like that. Usually it just makes him extremely happy, but platonically. He doesn't get told he's done well very often so when he does he holds onto it. What if he's got no idea that praise can make him feel like that until Eddie is the one giving it?

That would spark two entirely different mental spirals. First being was that always there??! Second being how much Eddie's voice affects him. Like yeah he thought he was cute, but he's thought that about a couple guys before even if he kept it to himself. He was at least able to keep it to himself! Whenever Eddie says something nice to him, he just shuts down for a whole few seconds as his whole brain just goes "Pretty voice say nice thing make brain go brrrrr".

What's worse is that Eddie notices too. He thought something was up relatively early on but also thought it was probably just wishful thinking on his part. Until it happened again and again. He decided to run an experiment, wrangling Robin in to help.

He has her compliment Steve, and while Steve is slightly confused about the sudden compliment, there's no shutdown. Eddie later compliments him and watches him just meltdown while trying valiantly not to.

Eddie makes it a point from then onwards to compliment Steve as much as possible. (He likes cute, flustered boys, sue him)

It takes him a while to figure out what the difference is (he's embarrassed that its after they start dating and Steve literally tells him) but once he does, he runs with it. He'll walk up behind Steve and just talk to him in his lower register, right by his ear. Steve will almost always melt into him and Eddie loves that he can do that so easily. He has however been banned from doing this with compliments in public.

[m3gum1s]

— short moments with megumi

— content notes : fluff, yuuji being an idiot, throwing of water bottles

— note : first writing post on the new blog <3 (and in a whil hehe.. )

“y/n.”

“megumi.”

“what’s your wallpaper?” freezing at the question, you slowly turn to where he was sitting. 

“why…” avoiding eye contact, you quickly search where your phone is only to spot that your dear boyfriend has it. 

“it’s pretty,” he turns the phone towards you, showing you your chosen photo. smiling -and letting out a breath of relief- you lean in to give him a peck on his cheek. he flushes at the sudden affection. 

“is it live?” he asks and before you can stop him, he’s already holding down on the screen. 

a sequence of short clips of megumi neatly edited together was now playing on your phone screen. 

nothing could’ve prepared anybody for this. 

stomach doing flips, you slowly push away from him and grab a pillow; hugging it close to your chest. 

what surprised you even more was the outcome of the situation. there you were, ready to hear whatever megumi’s freaked out response was. 

“cute.” he snickers. 

if your gut was doing flips before, you don’t even know what it was doing now. tightening your grip on the pillow as if it could leave your grasp at any second. 

“what..” you murmur looking at him through your lashes, shrinking into the pillow. 

“I said it was cute, idiot,” lifting a finger and lightly flicking your forehead. 

grumbling, you rub your forehead roughly attempting to soothe the pain whilst trying not to appear flustered. 

the music pumps through your ears, a soft melody soothes your worries, slowly melting away. sooner than later, your head slowly falls but you can't bring yourself to care. 

megumi jolts slightly as he feels your head fall on him abruptly. he freezes, not knowing how to continue. 

from his peripheral vision, he spots nobara and yuuji cooing at him but shuts them up quickly. 

“you’ll wake them up idiots,” he grumbled, trying not to move too much. 

“oh but of course, we wouldn’t want to interrupt,” yuuji announces dramatically, with a large grin planted on his face. 

“have fun you two,” nobara winks and before megumi could shoot back anything the two of them busy themselves with a conversation. 

sighing, megumi relaxes and turns back to your sleeping figure. 

they must’ve been so exhausted to fall asleep on the train like this. 

he takes his arm and wraps it around you gingerly, careful not to wake you up. his eyes glaze over as he admires you and feels a tight squeeze in his chest. 

“ah, young love,” megumi almost threw a water bottle at gojo. 

—he held back for your sake, of course— 

—

a large hand lands on your head gently. looking up, you spot your megumi with a stoic expression. per usual. 

“hi meg, you need something?” you quirked tilting your head, he keeps his hand resting on your head. his face doesn’t change. 

“no, just wanted to see you,” you beam at him and megumi had to physically restrain himself from squeezing the life out of your cheeks. 

“so,” he coughed, “you want to go out for lunch today?” although he so badly wanted to rip his eyes off of you, there was something stopping him. 

maybe it was the way your eyes kept him stuck there.

“are you asking me out?” nothing about the way you were looking at him seemed like a joke. 

“uh.. yeah- if that’s okay-“ you cut him off by quickly wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your head in his chest. 

“I would love to,” you smile that stupid, cute, smile of yours once again and this time megumi couldn’t stop himself. 

cupping his large hands around your cheeks that were now warm by his actions. wide eyes, you gasp softly. 

“can I…” he trails off before quickly shaking out of his trance. 

“can I kiss you?” you nod and before you knew it your long-time crush pressed his lips against yours gently. 

kissing megumi felt like forever even if it lasted only a few moments due to the both of you being extremely flustered at the moment. 

“get it megumi!” a loud yell interrupts your moment and you swear you’ve never seen megumi throw a water bottle faster than at that moment. 

“dumbass! couldn’t you see they were in the middle of something?” nobara scolds yuuji, hitting him square at the injury megumi had caused before. 

“when will he learn…” you wondered, shaking your head, before whisking megumi away to your little lunch date. 

all works belong to @m3gum1s 2022

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship. 

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

           “That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

           So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

           Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

           It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

           Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

           It was the best decision he would ever make.

           So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.  

           Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

           In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

           Until it wasn’t.

           Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

           That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

           The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

           It makes Spencer sick.

           His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

           “There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

           “Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

           “Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

           “Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

           This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

           “You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

           “Not exactly.”

           The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

           Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

           “Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

           “There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

           He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

           “The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

           “Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

           “Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

           Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

--

           The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

           Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

           “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

           “I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

           “Busy?”

           JJ nods.

           “Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

           Of fucking course.

           Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

           He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

           “– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

           You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

           “She’s not interested.”

           The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

           “What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

           Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

           Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

           “I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

           “Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

           Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

           “What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

           Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

           When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

           “I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

           “Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

           “Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

           “M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

           “I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

           Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

           “Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

--

           As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

           “Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

           You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

           “What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

           “You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

           You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

           “Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

           “Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

           Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

           He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

           “You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

           You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

           “Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

           Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

           “That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

           “You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

           “Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

           “God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

           By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

           Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

           Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

           “M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

           Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

           “Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

           Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

           “Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

           “Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

           Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

           “Open.”

           You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

           “Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

           You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

           “D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

           “So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

           You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

           You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

           “Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

           “S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

           Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

           “Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

           And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

           “Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

           “So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

           “F-Fuck, Spencer!”

           “Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

           You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

           “Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

           “Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

           Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

           “C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

           “I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

           Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

           “How many do you think you deserve?”

           You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

           “However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

           Spencer returns your smile.

           “Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

           “Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

           You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

           “T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

           It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

           “Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

          “Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

           The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

          Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

          “You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds. 

          “Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips. 

          Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

           “Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

           “I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

           You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

           Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

           “So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

           “S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

           “Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

           “P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

           “Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

           It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

           Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

          “You okay, princess?”

           You give a weak nod.

           “M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

            Spencer is the first to pull away.

           “Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

           You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

           You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

           “S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

           “Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

            Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

           “Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

            You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

           “Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

           “Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

           You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

           “God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

           “Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

           Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

           “You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

           He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

           Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

           “Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

           “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

           “Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

           And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

           After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

           “You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

           It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

           “You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

           “We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

           “Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

           “You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

           “Only for you.”

           A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

           “We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

           “Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

           “Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

          “Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

          “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

          “Is that a no?”

          “... Look up the number.”

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin​ @moon-light-jukebox​ @thebookamongmen​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsametaphorbriansblog​ @eldahae​

[touyasdoll]

Aizawa x Reader, a gift. — ℊ

You sobbed out as you came again, one orgasm right after the other due to your Master giving your tail a harsh yank right near the base as soon as he felt you reach a crescendo the first time cuming. This was the first time you were having sex with him and you knew you were done for. Sometimes, you were certain your Master had a cat quirk, too. Just a more passive one, at least until today when he had come up behind you, pinned you to the couch and bit the back of your neck until you slumped in submission.

Not that he had had to wait very long for you to submits only fighting back from the surprise of the action. You had learned early on that you weren’t one to take the reigns in the bedroom. You were so far from being a dominant person that you had begun to question yourself. It took two relationships fizzling out at your “lack of passion”, as one called it, and an accidental crashing of a fellow heroine’s “dungeon party” to figure it out.

But you did get it figured it out, all with your fellow heroines help. She had helpfully guided you as your first dom, taken you on herself that very night and the next few weeks as well, teaching you as much as having you experiment. She had laughed when you had told her about the passion comment in the aftermath of a session — mainly because she had just gotten through with having you on your hands and knees, begging to taste her, then begging to be used and taken before sucking off her strap on and being bent over a desk where she did indeed take. You had pouted in embarrassment at her reaction, so once more she took you over the desk that night, going farther than before with a wicked smirk as she made you yowl, dissolving into begging to cum again between absolutely filthy promises to all she asked, all just to prove that “a lack of passion” was most certainly the not in any way true. Your former partners just hadn’t known how to be what you needed. And that was fine. You just had to find what you needed in someone you clicked with — after you fulfilled your promises to her. You were going to be sore for months, you had thought, but found yourself enjoying every moment of sinfully wonderful pleasure as you soaked up all she diligently taught you.

Which is when she introduced you to Aizawa Shouta, aka the underground hero Eraserhead, a friend of hers from their school days. You both had moved slowly, learning about one another before today had come.

He had asked you to sit down and then silently brought out an elegant tray with a collar, a beautiful amethyst one that matched your eyes, with a matching lead (that was unattached for now, not even out of its delicately showcased packaging) and set of accessories. There were silk blindfolds, cuffs and ties, three stud and three hooped piercings, a beautiful clit clip that was evidentially expensive by appearance alone, several matching clamps, a y-shaped chain to connect them, an anal plug trainer set, a vibrator, a gag and several other items all complimentary in colour and design to the collar and lead. Your eyes roamed over everything carefully, recognizing pieces from your training that made you gulp, mouth going dry as you couldn’t help but image him putting them on you, using them on you. You squirmed in your seat, rubbing your thighs together before a sharp word has you stilling, your attention back on your boyfriend.

Shouta then carefully and completely set up terms and rules to follow, going as far as to set up three different safe words of your choice. He looked at you as if you were a gift waiting to be opened as you went through the discussion with your well being as the topic. When the collar went on, so too did he become Master. What he said was to be followed. You gave a small whine, already feeling yourself slip a bit. You wanted to be his, you needed to be his and this was taking too slow!

He obviously could tell as he let out an irritated sigh and quickly pinned you to the couch on your stomach. Your hands were held tightly behind your back and a knee was settled between your legs, making it so you couldn’t escape back or forward so long as he held you tight. His mouth was right behind your ear as he firmly commanded you to be still. Your heart dove into your stomach and bounced right back out as he repeated himself before making sure you understood by repeating him.

As soon as you replied with your knowledge of what he said and consent he bit the back of your neck. Just which one of you had the cat quirk again?

Your answer came in the form of a nip to your ear that causes both to flatten to your head in reflex. You had zoned out and your Master looked amused.

“Still with me, Kitten?”, he asked, a hand moving through your hair, causing you to purr loudly.

You gave a soft mewl at the affection in his tone and nodded, leaning further into his hand at your hair, noting the other was massaging your breast, giving gentle squeezes and then tugging lightly at your nipples sending a shiver down your spine. If he kept that up….. “Yessir,” you responded, blinking slowly up at him, not quite looking at his eyes.

“Good,”he nodded, letting out an amused huff as your head presses him for more petting. Shouta pressed back, gripping your hair as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a firm but loving kiss.

As the kiss broke you mewled questioningly, head tilting as much as you could, “Good Kitten?” You hoped you were. He seemed pleased, but you had to ask to be sure. You didn’t want to disappoint your new Master, not now, not ever. You had already started off distracted, but he seemed to let that pass.

Shouta chuckled, a wicked hint to it, and you felt his clever fingers tweak your nipples eliciting a moan before both hands traveled down your body.

“Excellent Kitten,” he replied, one hand slipping to press against and squeeze your ass, bringing your body even closer to him. The other slipped around to between the both of you and honed in on your clit, rubbing it in even measure. “My Kitten.”

“Oh!” You let out a sound of surprise as you began to squirm as he began to play your body, the first round and break done with the second beginning. “All yours! All for Master! Master’s Kitten, Master’s pet, Master’s, Master’s!”

The words played out like a chant as the hand on your rear moved to cup your hip and readjust your body to fit his. You’re core was matched with his cock and took just one smooth thrust before it slipped into your pussy, bottoming out. You gasped in surprise again before moaning loudly. “Master….!”

“Yessss,” he grunted in pleasure, thrusting his hips forward with a sharp snap to bury himself almost far more impossibly deeper. “Fits perfectly, Kitten. Your used little pussy, opening up and swallowing me right up, Pet! My Kitten’s tight little pussy, taking me so perfectly! Knows who it belongs to! Going to make it so it’ll fit me and only me, Kitten. So you’ll only get wet for me, can only be filled up right by me, can only cum for me. Only for your Master, who you only belong to, isn’t that right?”

“Only for Master, only Master’s.” You nodded quickly, beginning to babble as you repeated his words to show you understood. You wore his collar. You were his Kitten, his pet and only his. You followed his words and your body would only be filled up right by him. By your Master. “Master’s pussy, Master’s pussycat! So good for Master! Only Master, only Master’s pussy, only fit, only wet for him, only Masters Please! Please please please! Master! Oh!”

With each deep, slow thrust Shouta gave you, you promised, you begged. And he smirked smugly with a touch of sadistic. He’d keep you begging for a few more minutes. See if he could bring out some more promises, maybe get you to agree to those piercings — he had the tools for it. You would look so good laying on the table, trying to stay still like he would order, only to fail and have to be tied up. He’d then pierce you, listening to your restrained whimpers as he took care to fasten and clean you up, admiring the gorgeous sight of you with them, then reminding you with a sadistic smirk that you couldn’t have your tight, sweet little pussy used up any until it healed. Same with your sweet nipples, just to be safe, of course. You wouldn’t be allowed to touch yourself, either.

You would whine and whimper, wanting to be filled with your Master’s cock and that’s when he’d bring out the set of training plugs. You’d be so eager, needing to be filled now that you found out you couldn’t. He’d prepare you maddeningly slow, letting you squirm some more on his fingers, but giving your ass a firm warning smack when you wouldn’t settle. Shouta could picture it perfectly, accurately too as you would indeed react true to his predictions, even going further to his surprise. Just because you couldn’t use your pussy didn’t mean you couldn’t use your mouth, too.

And he’d soon learn how addicting your mouth would be. How much he’d come to love watching you be spit roasted between him and your toys, maybe even just between your toys, practically choking on a dildo, drooling around the thick and textured replica like a slutty little kitty as a large vibrator made your tail stand straight up as it pushed into you from behind, slowly and then with a last harsh thrust to bury itself inside that would have you yowling? What of two sex machines, perhaps? Or maybe three, with you tied in his scarf, wrists bound up as you bent forward on your knees, a spreader bar locking your legs wide open as one machine thrust into your delicious pussy, another your ass and the final one into your mouth, slick and drool making for lewd squelching sounds with every movement as he sat back and jerked off to the amazing scene before him again and again? Maybe he’d even tape it. He’s sure Nemuri would appreciate it, as a gift.

Maybe he’s even allow another person to help spir roast you, if there was anyone else worthy of being able to use what belongs to him, that is. Worthy of his perfect pet’s beautiful holes, excellent body. Just perfect, just right, just his.

Shouta’s pet, his obedient little Kitten.

—

Deepest apologies that this is so messy, but I was in a hurry to share while I have so many things to do. I’m thrilled you want to continue up the last bits I have left you and I cannot wait to read it. Have a lovely week!

ℊ

Thank you for the wonderful meal, g 😩😩

Aizawa simps, come & eatttt 💕

[generallybrontidefeelings]

Honey will see the Art

Rating: mature

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you, Marcus Pike x 3rd person voice

Warnings: bribery but no cigar, a yearning desire to see stolen art, big hands, um...there's no smut it's just cute

A/N: this has been sitting in my draft box for over a year so I decided to put it out in the world because I miss Marcus and Honey and they're silly little romance <3

Honey knows about the secret storage facility all the recovered pieces go to for holding and processing. She doesn't know where it is, but she knows when he's been, because he comes home smelling like turpentine and pencil shavings.

Honey has asked if she can go see it, because she's a curious woman, and she wants to. And he looks awkward and says he isn't supposed to take anyone. Yes, he's the boss, but he has to set a good example.

Does this stop Honey from trying? Nope.

She will see that facility. She's determined.

Over two weeks she accumulates the goods necessary to loosen Marcus up. A bottle of his favorite rye. A plain, white body suit that hugs her curves. She even learns how to make scampi and it only takes two failed attempts.

Marcus wonders why there is so much shrimp in the fridge, and eyes her suspiciously.

Honey pulls all the stops - cleans, cooks, gets a sugar waxing, she will see the stolen art. She must. She grumbles it to herself while trying her silk robe around the bodysuit.

She's just browning the butter for the shrimp when she hears Marcus hang his jingly keys up at the front door of his townhouse. She bites her lip when he clasps her waist in his big hands and holds himself along her back.

"Did you know," he murmurs in her ear, tickling her with his scruff, "that when you were my student-" her cheeks warm up "-whenever you asked for a favor, you would bring me a pastry from the café?"

Honey stop moving the butter around in the pan. Marcus buries his face in her neck.

"I did?"

He sets his chin on her shoulder. "You did."

She turn the burner off but continues holding the spatula.

Does she feel silly standing there with her hair done in her barefeet and bathrobe, looking like a housewife? Yes. Does she regret it? No.

"Well," she says, finding her courage and turning the burner back on, "if you're so observant let's see you guess what I'm going to ask for."

"You want to see the art storage facility."

She drops the spatula on the counter and turns in his arms, crossing her own.

"baby," Marcus says, placatingly, "I'm a detective. It wasn't hard to figure out." He kisses down her cheek to your neck. She stands stock still, unaffected by his affection. However nice it is.

"I put so much work into this bribe," she whines, with his face in her neck. Arms still crossed.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says, genuinely apologetic. "Would it make a difference if I said I got you this?" From his other hand, the one not holding her back, he dangles a little clip-on badge that says 'consultant' and has her name in Marcus's neat, all caps print.

Honey squeaks. She reaches for the badge, looking at Marcus to make sure its' real.

"I'm a consultant?"

"For exactly ninety minutes on Thursday afternoon you're a consultant," he says, all smiles. Honey runs her fingers over the laminated surface. She clips it onto her silk robe.

"What's my specialty?" she says and picks the spatula back up, absolutely content in her new status as temporary consultant.

Marcus keeps staring at where the little metal clip has dragged the silk to show the curve of your chest.

"Art recovery and negotiation."

Honey stops adding the minced garlic half scoop. "That isn't an art form."

Marcus gestures vaguely toward her and the kitchen with all the goods for shrimp scampi prepared on the counter. Honey's face heats up, and she wiggles her painted toes.

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Beelzebub

6 - That moment when you accompanied Beelzebub to the military.

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Mentions of blood

“I’m sorry,” Beel said. One of his hands patted your head in the form of a silent apology. “Our date got postponed because of the military summon… I really wanted to share Madam Devian’s new dessert with you.”

You smiled at him, catching his hand in yours and giving them a squeeze. You couldn’t deny that you also were excited to try out the new cake that Madam Devian released recently, but any time with Beel was time well spent. It didn’t matter whether you went to a bakery or the military, as long as you were with him.

“It’s alright. We can always go later,” you said. “But are you sure I can go in with you?”

Beel scowled at the fence gate in front of you two, its barbed wires separating you from the military encampment. He gently squeezed your hands back. “Don’t worry. They will let you in.”

From beyond the gate, way in the back, you saw a demon in a white military uniform rush out from a large building. His cap almost flew off from how quickly he arrived at the gate.

“General Beelzebub!” the demon greeted, saluting. He opened the gate, and you two stepped inside. “I have been awaiting your presence. I thank you for coming here on such short notice.”

“Don’t worry about it, Colonel Alastor,” Beel said, but you knew he was secretly a little upset about it. You could tell from the way his eyebrows were furrowed, the slightest bit of indentation appearing at the base of his forehead. “What do you need me for?”

“Of course, general, please follow me to the training grounds. I will explain on our way there,” Alastor said, but then his eyes fell on you, and he added on, “General, may I ask who your guest is? So that I may provide the correct identification tag.”

“My lover,” Beel said, his face straight. He didn’t even blink.

You almost choked at how naturally Beel spoke, as if he was simply ordering a meal at a restaurant, but it seemed you weren’t the only one surprised. You saw the shock settle on Alastor’s face before he quickly collected himself.

“I apologize, Your Grace. Please excuse my rudeness,” Alastor said to you, bowing deeply at the waist. “Please allow me to welcome Your Grace to the Royal Army.”

“Ah, thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm up slightly. You were trying your best to not appear flustered, but perhaps your nervousness was leaking into your actions. Beel announcing that you were lovers made butterflies flutter at the bottom of your stomach—you even thought your heart might have skipped a beat. “Please, don’t worry about me. Just go ahead and do what you need to do. I’m just here to, uh, sightsee.”

Alastor smiled and closed the gate before leading you two to a field further down the path. It was a stone path, you noticed. After visiting almost every nook and cranny of the Devildom, you could conclude that Devildom didn’t have any concrete. The flooring was always wood, stone, brick, or marble.

You nudged Beel in the side. “You’re a general?” you whispered as you both followed Alastor. You knew demons had enhanced hearing, but you whispered anyway. It wasn’t anything that needed to be kept secret, but you felt that it was a bit embarrassing to ask a question that seemed to be common knowledge.

Beel didn’t seem to mind. “Lieutenant general to be exact,” he said. “I’m referred to as ‘general’ though. Diavolo is the actual five-star general. Although, I don’t know if I still count as one since I’ve been taking a break from the army ever since you’ve arrived in the Devildom.”

“If I may interrupt,” Alastor spoke up from the front. “I would say that General Beelzebub has all rights to keep his rank. Even if he has been away from the army for some time, he has been very helpful in leading us, especially with new recruits. They are always a willful bunch.”

“Is your new batch acting up?” Beel grumbled. “You just have to give them a good beating.”

Alastor sighed. “I would do exactly what the general advises if they weren’t children of nobility. As a demon of common blood, I’m afraid they will complain to their families and have them take my head.”

“Even though you are a colonel?” you asked, baffled. Even if Alastor wasn't a noble, this was the army. How could new soldiers affect the colonel? To this day, you still weren’t a hundred percent clear on demon hierarchy. Perhaps, after spending so much time with the brothers, you’ve become desensitized to it all.

“I may be a colonel to them, but to their families, I am a mere commoner,” Alastor replied with a chuckle, and then he stopped in front of a field. Since the Devildom was always dark, several round balls of light hovered in the air, lighting the field enough that you could barely see the faces of the recruits. They were spread all over the field, but it didn’t really look like they were training. “Alright. General, Your Grace, we have arrived at the training grounds. Your Grace, please take this visitor tag.”

Alastor handed you a clip-on tag with the word “VISITOR” printed neatly in bold letters. But before you could accept the tag, Beel took it from Alastor and carefully pinched it onto your clothing.

“They don’t have benches on the field,” Beel said, smoothing out your clothes. His purple eyes met yours. “Will you be okay standing nearby?”

You brushed his bangs away from his eyes and smiled at him. “I’ll be okay. Will you be okay though? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not hungry.” Beel brought you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you. When you returned his hug, he brushed his lips against your cheek and murmured into your ear, his voice a low, soothing hum, “I have you here with me, after all.”

And then Beel was pulling away from you. You had half the mind to chase after his touch, but you held back, knowing that perhaps now wasn’t the best time.

“Hold my jacket, please?” Beel asked. When you held your hands out, he shedded his jacket and gave it to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, Pudding. I’ll be back soon. If anyone annoys you, just let me know. I’ll deal with them.”

“Okay.” As you followed Beel’s figure with your eyes, you pressed his jacket to your face, the traces of his remaining heat warming your face and the soft smell of laundry detergent filling your senses. With his back straight and his posture full of confidence, every inch of him was unyielding, commanding, demanding to be obeyed.

In that moment, you could see Beelzebub on a battlefield, blood darkening the streaks of his orange hair. A spear in hand, the silver of the blade dripping red and dampening the carmine tassel tied beneath the blade. Beelzebub tattered, tired, torn apart mentally—you could see it, you could see it all in your head because you knew he lived through a war before. You could see the blank look on his face, the agony tightening his throat, the truth of loss settling into his body—

“Your Grace,” Alastor said, his voice breaking you out of your reverie, “it may be safer if you stand over here against the wall.”

You broke away from Beel, who was now speaking with the recruits. Alastor stood slightly further away, off to the side next to a gray brick wall. Smiling, he waved you over.

Clutching Beel’s jacket closer to you, you hurriedly walked over to him. There was a slight embarrassment creeping up on you when you realized that Alastor probably saw you staring at Beel for who knows how long.

“I’m sorry,” you said, settling yourself against the wall when there was a respectable distance between you and Alastor. “I didn’t realize I was blocking the way.”

“Not at all, Your Grace.” Alastor laughed. For some reason, some of his mannerism reminded you of Barbatos. “Everyone knows that the new recruits are training today, so not many others will be around here. Since the recruits are allowed to use magic in their training, I am afraid that a stray spell might hit you if you stayed out in the open. If the noble families will have my head if their children complain about me, then General Beelzebub will ensure that I suffer for the rest of eternity if I allow you to get hurt.”

You hummed, hands fidgeting with the zipper of the jacket as you turned back to Beel, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting to find his silhouette. The balls of light were sparsely distributed across the entire field, emitting enough light that you could just barely make out the details. You supposed that the lights were just so that the demons weren’t training in complete darkness. Most demons have excellent night vision, after all. But for a human like you, you were glad the field wasn’t that big and that they weren’t that far out. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to see Beel tilting his head as he crossed his arm, the warm light whitening the orange strands of his hair.

“Maybe not for the rest of eternity,” you quipped with a smile, although there wasn’t much room to disagree.

There was something warm in hearing that Beel would raise hell to protect you. To know that there was someone out there that cared about you, someone that loved you, someone that considered you as family—a fluttery feeling coursed through your body, spreading out from your chest, and your heart was clenching in something that wasn’t pain but something similar enough that it hurt yet still felt so sweet.

“Your Grace is right. The general would destroy me instantly,” Alastor said, but you could hear the amusement in his voice.

It was then that you were able to clearly make out the voices on the field. You weren’t that far away in the first place, but when Beel first approached the recruits, you didn’t hear anything distinct at all.

“For honor?” Beel asked, his voice raising in disbelief. “What kind of honor could you be fighting for if you’re fighting in such a lackluster way? How honorable is it to fool around?”

“Fool around?” a demon scowled. He stood at the forefront of all the other soldiers who had gathered around Beel. On his chest was a rose crest, imprinted into his brown military uniform. “Do you think we are fooling around? Who are you to say that?”

Beel scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Your footing is off. Too clumsy. You don’t put enough weight into your strikes, and your moves are too extravagant. Fighting with your body is not supposed to be flashy. This is the battlefield, where your lives are on the line, not some game where you show off. You don’t even have the basics down. Colonel Alastor is an excellent teacher and fighter. Haven’t you been listening to him?”

The demon with the rose crest growled, his hands bunching into fists at his sides. Another demon next to him crossed their arms and sneered.

“Are you mocking us? Why should we listen to a mere commoner?”

Next to you, Alastor sighed and rubbed at this forehead, seemingly more troubled than offended. You could see why. They were essentially spoiled brats who thought the worlds revolved around them.

The rest of the group also spoke up, their voices mixing into each other as they tried to announce their displeasure, but after listening for some time, Beel just simply raised a hand.

“Enough,” he said. Pure power, heavy and pulsing, rushed out from the word as it rumbled from his chest, the oppressive force pushing the recruits down. Some of them buckled under the pressure, while others tried their best to fight back against it, only to end up collapsing entirely. “This is the army. It doesn’t matter what family you’re from if you’re not strong enough.”

Even though you were farther away behind Beel, you still felt the residue power wash over you in waves. You shivered at the sensation, and the urge to make yourself appear smaller briefly crossed your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, Alastor shuddered but remained standing upright.

“Who are you to say that?!” a demon at the front gasped, a hand on their knee as they straightened themselves. “You’re not even wearing a military uniform or a tag! Do you even have the authority to be here?”

“That’s General Beezlebub to you.” Beel took a step forward and started stretching his arms, rotating them slowly. You knew him well enough to know that he was most definitely frowning from the tone of his voice, the ends of his lips curving downwards and his eyes narrowed, the dark purple glowing dangerously. “Although, from the sound of it, I doubt you would address me properly.”

“Beelzebub? I’ll have you know that I am the eldest son of the Duke of Rosales,” the demon huffed, smoothing out the rose crest on his chest, “and I have not heard of a Beelzebub from any noble family.”

Beelzebub snorted, switching to his other arm, and took another step forward. The recruits, despite their tough act, all took a collective step back.

“Son of Rosales,” Beel said, “since you’re so adamant about status, I’m sure you are well aware of those above you. Address me correctly then—it’s Prince Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony.”

The son of Rosales gulped, his body stiffening against the warm lighting. In the silence following Beel's command, the whispered words—the non-sovereign prince, Beelzebub—hung loudly in the air.

This was a first for you. You’ve never really seen Beelzebub flaunt his status, nor have you really felt the weight of the ranking of prince until this moment, where the once prideful recruits were now cowering in part fear and part awe.

Pride blossomed in your chest. This was Beelzebub—your prince, your Beel, your lover.

“Why don’t you come and show me what it means to fight for honor?” Beel asked the demon with the rose crest. “I’ve never slacked off, not even after I took a break from the army. Every single day, I kept training because I knew why I was fighting. I fight to protect my family. Every moment of suffering will pay off in the form of my loved ones’ lives in the future.”

Beel readied himself, bringing both of his hands up close to his face, and said, “So, recruits. Show me your determination. In return, I will show you mine.”

The world faded around you as you watched Beel throw himself into fight after fight, often defeating the recruits within one or two moves. Despite appearing so burly, he possessed surprising agility. He seemed so limber as he evaded all of the punches and kicks thrown his way, almost like he was dancing.

The recruits that Beel struck down always made their way back up, like a switch had been turned on inside them. It must had been what he said earlier, the pure determination of his words inspiring the soldiers, as well as the natural instincts of a demon to respect the strong.

Beel turned around with a sweeping kick. You briefly saw his well defined abdomen as the shirt fluttered back into place. A dark tail aimed for his head, but he leaned backwards slightly to avoid it as it swept past, extremely close to brushing against the tip of his nose. As he did so, the white light warmed the outline of his body like a halo—illuminating.

Beelzebub was utterly enchanting—you couldn’t deny it at all. You didn’t want to, and you didn’t need to, because that was the truth, and the truth was all yours to appreciate. Watching him like this took your breath away.

A group of recruits jumped out of nowhere. They lunged at Beel’s back in a semicircular formation, their demon forms out, and you almost shouted out to warn Beel when, with barely a glance behind him, he slammed his foot into the ground. The force of it shattered the terrain into fragments. A wave of magic rushed out, colliding head-on with the soldiers, and it swept them away in a heap of tangled limbs. The recruits groaned in pain.

The residue of the magic electrified the air, crackling along the broken edges of the ground. You felt it sparking against your arms, the sensation of his magic a familiar feeling to you, yet it never failed to give you goosebumps.

“The battlefield doesn’t tolerate failure,” Beel said, swinging an arm behind him just in time to elbow a recruit right in the middle of their chest, knocking the breath out of them. “Failure means death.”

Perhaps you were too captivated by the sight of Beel displaying his prowess, but it was only when Alastor called out did you realize that a particularly huge but unstable spell was coming straight at you.

“Your Grace!”

You knew better. You really did. You didn’t survive this long in the Devildom for nothing. You had your fair share of experience in surviving dangerous spells, at closer distances than this, but as you watched the roaring flames come at you, you could only stay frozen in place, hands clutching Beel's jacket in your hands.

Vaguely, you heard Beel shout your name—the sound echoing in the air, echoing around you, echoing in your mind, matching the increasing tempo of your heart—then everything went dark.

The faint smell of leather and something that you instinctively recognized as belonging to Beel filled your nose. Strong arms wrapped around you, the embrace familiar yet also somewhat strange, and with a low buzzing sound in your ears, you also heard—no, you felt the desperate heartbeat.

Beelzebub.

Beel held you to him, so tightly to the point that you were crushed, your body completely melding with his. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, pressing you into him, and the other clasped your waist.

Beel was shaking.

Even though he was the one holding onto you, like you would disappear if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough, his body was trembling—in fear. Fear of you getting hurt, fear of losing you, fear of not being quick enough, of not being strong enough, of not being decisive enough to protect his family yet again. The debilitating terror that often accompanied his nightmares—you were all too familiar with it.

So you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the unsteady, nervous flapping of his wings, now understanding why you felt leather instead of skin, and you squeezed him back.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

You gathered all the feelings bunched up in your chest and sent them through your pact bond, hoping he could feel that you were absolutely safe and unharmed. He shielded you, after all. From the ebbing magic on his body, you could tell that he teleported over to you. That was how he made it on time.

Beelzebub. I love you. I love you so much.

Beel slowly pulled back, his eyes a chaotic mixture of purple and magenta, and you noticed that he had indeed transformed into his demon form. But before you could say anything, he started running his hands all over you. Gentle but hurried fingers traced your face, down your throat, around your torso, all the way down to your feet. He inspected every part of you in a desperate frenzy.

“Beel,” you said, cupping his cheeks. “I’m safe. I didn’t even feel the heat. But are you hurt anywhere?”

Beel shook his head and went back to checking your body, but you patted his face, huffing. He stopped almost reluctantly, eyes meeting yours once again.

“I’m not hurt,” Beel said. “Alastor casted a barrier just in time.”

Something silver shimmered in the air behind Beel, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Gratefulness flooded you. Beel might have thought it was fine to protect you with his body, but you didn’t want him to get hurt at all. If you had just reacted fast enough earlier… then Beel didn’t have to throw himself in front of you, and Alastor didn’t have to cover for you.

After the gratefulness came the guilt.

“You’re really not hurt anywhere?” Beel asked, but his eyes were already searching your body for any potential injuries. “Really, really?”

“Really, really,” you answered. “I’m really okay. I’m sorry though… I don’t know what came over me. I saw the spell coming at me, but I didn’t move at all. And I had to disrupt your training session because of it. I’m sorry.”

Beel visibly relaxed at your reassurance, his body no longer tensed up like before. “No, Pudding. Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I will stop everything to protect you,” he said, kissing your forehead.

Your mouth opened, cheeks warming as you tried to respond appropriately, but then, Beel blinked like he remembered something. He stepped away from you, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and turned to the recruits who had all stayed silent earlier.

“Who casted that spell?” Beel asked, a frigid aura surrounding him. You bet the recruits were in for a world of pain.

No one responded. The recruits remained in their positions, not daring to move.

Beel clicked his tongue. “Don’t make me repeat myself again. Who. Casted. That. Spell?”

When no one spoke, Beel didn’t bother again. He came back to your side and wrapped an arm around your waist, tucking you into his side as he reverted back to his human form.

“Colonel Alastor, increase the daily training by three. Send me a list of all recruits here today. I will be back at a later time to properly train them,” Beel said.

Colonel Alastor saluted. “Yes, general!”

Beel nodded and headed for the gate. You glanced at the recruits still frozen in place and Alastor who waved at you with a smile. You nudged Beel in the side.

“Are we leaving already?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, taking his jacket from you. “Thanks for holding my jacket, Pudding. Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Are we resuming our date? After what had just happened?”

“They’re not important,” Beel said, and then he smiled at you, peppering kisses all over your face. “Let’s go back to our date.”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, covering his mouth. “Let’s go.”

-------

Masterlist!

Ahh, I don't know if this is good enough :( but I hope you enjoy it!

[inkyblinders]

Dancing with the Devil

Pairing: Luca Changretta X Reader

Author’s note: So excited to share my first fic on this blog! I’m still trying to figure out the ins and outs of Tumblr as it’s been a hot minute since I’ve last used it, but if you like my writing please repost and follow for more :)

The story (part one of many, hopefully) is set in early Season 4 and is in second-person, but you’re also a character with a name.

And in case you can’t tell...I think Luca Changretta is criminally underrated.

Warnings: Some mild smut.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is a stranger in the Garrison tonight.

He isn’t a shipyard laborer, neither tired nor grimy from the perpetual muck that belongs to Small Heath. In fact, he is more polished and well-dressed than anyone you’ve ever seen, except for perhaps the Shelby brothers who frequent the Garrison.

But this man is no Peaky Blinder.

He leisurely surveys the customers in the pub, eyes obscured by a fedora that slants on his head. An unlit cigarette hangs between thin lips. It’s a halfhearted attempt to blend in, as if he’s doing this as a courtesy but cares not in the slightest if he rouses suspicion.

You are used to breaking up bar fights and mopping up the bloody aftermath, but this man makes you more uneasy than any roughhousing drunkard you’ve dealt with. He is too quiet, his eyes too sly.

“This must be the trouble Tommy was expecting,” you think to yourself.

When he catches your gaze from behind the bar, a hawk-like smile cuts across his face. He winks then, and you flush even as something dangerous spikes in your throat. The whiskey you hold in your hands is just like his. Another prop, another facade.

“Anything else for you then, sir?”

He looks up from beneath the brim of his hat. His face is slyly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a striking nose you crave to run down lightly with your fingers. Now you understand why he tries to keep himself hidden.

Here is a face that, once seen, would not be soon forgotten.

A tilt of his head, a voice as like raw silk as you shiver.

A tilt of his head, a voice as like raw silk as you shiver.

“Your daddy owns this place?”

So he’s not from Birmingham, after all. Every man within a fifty-mile radius knows who owns the Garrison. They might have never met the man, but they certainly know the name of his younger brother.

“No sir, he doesn’t.” Your voice is carefully polite but clipped, praying it doesn’t betray the pounding of your heart as you watch him take off his hat and run a hand through dark, slicked-back hair. You’ve seen Tommy talk like this with men he mistrusts, and he mistrusts a lot of men. No matter what, you are not volunteering any more information than necessary.

He waits for you to say more, and his smile doesn’t falter when you remain silent. “Well then, signorita, will you tell me who does?”

The Italian. So it is him.

Fuck.

“The Garrison is owned by...a family from these parts. Do you have business with them,” You can’t help but add impulsively, “Signore?”

His dark eyes widen with pleasure at your flippant remark in his own language. He is playing a game, and you are playing along with him.

“What business would I have with Gypsy fucks like them?” He leans forward, “But sweetheart, you on the other hand...”

Working for the Shelbys means minding the pub when Arthur’s gone, and spying for Tommy when he needs intel on whoever he’s feuding with at the time. It’s more serious than simply turning the other cheek when there’s a cutting in the streets. But you are not prepared to face an enemy alone.

Even if he is as charming as the devil.

Even if he wants you, and you want him back.

For the millionth time, you silently curse Tommy for forbidding you from having a gun, a knife, anything to protect yourself while in the pub. You had asked him about it one night, afterwards, and he only replied, “It’s bad for business if a girl like you gets caught with a weapon she can’t handle.”

“Then teach me,” You had retorted, balling up his trousers and chucking it at his head, “You think you can protect me. But what about when you’re gone?”

Tommy had looked up from buttoning his shirt then, his gaze steely and blue. “I have eyes in all of Birmingham. And besides,” He smiled ruefully, “You’re never in danger unless I put you there myself.”

In the pub, the Italian watches your expression. And in a moment of madness, you almost take up his veiled flirtation.

But then there is Tommy. Tommy with his inscrutable blue gaze. Tommy with his whores. And now you are angry at yourself for thinking of him when he was probably fucking some other woman in Camden Town. For business, he would explain, avoiding your eyes.

“What business would you have with a barmaid like me?” A whisper of regret fills you as you turn to leave. You are halfway up the stairs that lead to your room above the pub when you hear a caress of a single word that turns your blood to ice.

“Isabel.”

The Italian is leaning against the banister, eyes drinking in your figure. And now he saunters up the steps. You scamper up the rest of them but he is quicker. In a flash he spins you around, his body snugly against you and the second-floor wall. An arm over your head, caging you with his tall frame.

The intoxicating scent of tobacco and roses fills the crevices between your bodies.

Your eyes flash dangerously as he bends down, daring him to force a kiss. But he only murmurs into the crook of your neck, “Where is Mr. Shelby tonight?”

You answer breathlessly into the shoulder of his freshly-pressed suit, “He could be at the betting shop. Could be with his wife at home. I don’t-- ”

“The other Mr. Shelby, Isabel.”

Maybe he already sent his men after Tommy. Maybe Tommy’s already dead in a ditch, in godforsaken Camden Town. Or maybe, just maybe, this man really doesn’t know where he is, and you are the only person who can tell him.

He has you good and compromised. No one can help you, so you must save yourself. Instincts kick in, your mind feverishly formulating a plan. It won’t be the first time you’ve done something like this, and on Tommy’s orders nonetheless.

Loose lips sink ships, and men are so pliant after a romp in the sheets. Mindful of your mission now, you angle to ask for his secrets, anything you could find out that gives Tommy an advantage.

Only this time, your heart actually catches as you gaze into the mafioso’s lethal eyes.

A pause then, wondering how much you should reveal, and you confess, “Tommy doesn’t tell anyone where he is until he’s already there.” It’s a half-truth—he told you.

“So he’s Tommy to you then?” The man is pleased with your slip of the tongue. You’ve told him a secret he already knows.

“You are his woman.” He caresses your face with the back of his hand, etched with ink. A cross. Rosary beads. And there, a black-palmed hand. Just like the ones he sent the Shelbys.

I want to see where his tattoos lead to.

“You are his woman,” he continues, and something dark and sweet fills his voice as he purrs, “And you are not afraid of me.”

“I’m not giving up Shelby secrets even if you seduce me,” You stifle a whimper as he wedges a leg between your skirts, and you think of nothing except the way you ache for him to come even closer, until there is nothing between you but skin on bare skin.

“Tommy has whores who might give him up for a pound or three. Although,” you smirk, “I won’t tell you where you’d find them, either.”

“Oh sweetheart, didn’t you hear me?” So close you can feel his heartbeat with your fingertips, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

A deathly promise.

“I’ve come for you.”

He slants his mouth, his lips pressing hotly to yours as you surrender to desire. The kiss is swift and hard. The two of you come together, again and again, like lightning and thunder. As he cradles your head with one hand, the other slips underneath your blouse to palm your breast. You arch against the wall. The onyx rings on his hand are cold, and they pucker your nipples as they bite your skin.

Somehow you find your fingers seeking him too. But it’s not enough to touch the exposed skin between the gaps of his buttoned shirt. You want more.

When you pull apart he is panting, lips apart and wet. His once slicked-back hair now mussed, you imagine yours is too. For the first time this evening, his arrogant face is a little shocked, as if the taste of you affected him more deeply than he expected. You unclench your fists from his shirt and slowly take his face into your hands. You draw a line down the bridge of his nose, feeling all its bumps and ridges.

You murmur huskily, “Why did you really come to Birmingham?”

He tilts his head expectantly, and you are lost in his devastating eyes as he replies.

“Pleasure.”

[glowingbadger]

I loved the Ashe, Sylvain, and Hilda modern-day HCs. So….can I ask for….Marianne, Dima, and Claude now? They’re so so good.

Here's a quick list of the places I've touched on ModernAU stuff with these characters before, for anyone who's interested! General Modern HCs (Dimitri) W/ insecure Reader (Claude, Dimitri) W/ insecure Reader (Marianne) Soft HCs (Dimitri)

I'll try not to repeat myself too much, but the SFW portion might be a little sparse because I've written a good deal of my thoughts on that already :3

Marianne, Dimitri, Claude x GN Reader

Modern/College AU headcanons

SFW (not sfw under the cut)

Marianne:

- Definitely a veterinary student who has an incredible, intuitive way with animals. One of those "gets along with animals better than people" types. As a result, many others in her classes see her as aloof or difficult to talk to. Fortunately, when Hilda drags her to a party one night, you notice her keeping to herself and come to make casual conversation. It takes a bit for her to open up, but she's soon grateful for pleasant, relaxing company in the midst of the loud chaos.

- She needs a good amount of reassurance in a relationship, as she's so convinced you could do better. Marianne is totally the type to apologize for not being good enough for you, then apologize for bringing it up, then apologize for apologizing. But her love and admiration for you are so very clear. She'll shyly take your hand in hers, and just the way she looks at you, it's like you're every star and every sunset she's ever seen.

- Marianne spends some of her free time volunteering at a local animal shelter, and one of your earlier dates would involve her introducing you to some of the animals in her care. Here, it's like you see a completely different side of her- she's so much more confident and firm when she speaks to the animals, and she smiles so brightly and laughs adorably as she watches you attempt to make a good impression on them.

Dimitri:

- We've chatted about Modern! Dimitri a good deal so far- but I will double down here on the fact that, while he's outwardly extremely intimidating to your friends when you first start dating, you know (and they learn) that he's absolute Malewife material.

- He loves sitting on video calls with you and just staring at your adorable, lovely face. He's an excellent listener, and will gladly hear about your entire day from start to finish, even if you insist it was nothing special. He's just so soothed by your voice, and the chance to see you. While he's honestly not very good at social media in general, he does have a couple hundred pictures of you saved. Not to post anywhere, just to look back at with a goofy grin on his face.

Claude:

- Claude is the guy on campus that everyone likes, plenty of people want, but no one can really nail down. He seems to know everyone, but he's only actually close to a few good friends, and for the longest time, even they assume that he's the "doesn't believe in serious dating" type. It starts much the same with you- he figures you're interesting and cute as hell, so he may as well spend some time having fun and getting to know you. And then... the feels TM creep in.

- You'll be caught up in a sort of... friendly flirtation with him for a while. The kind where it would be easy to play off all of the corny innuendos and knowing glances as "just kidding around." Then, one night, after a long group study session or just lazing around with drinks and games with his friends, he offers to walk you back to your dorm. When you get caught in a sudden downpour and have to duck under the nearest building's awning for shelter, he gives you a strange lingering look that's so much heavier than any you've seen. And without a word, he leans down to kiss you. When you part, he's wearing a slanted smile, but he's fidgeting a bit when he says, "Hey, uh, Y/N. I wanna be with you- for real. So uh... how 'bout it?"

- Claude is just the most fun boyfriend ever. He's got an active and curious mind, so he's always game to try anything you're interested in, and you'll never be at a loss for date ideas. He's the kind who gets okay grades, though nothing incredible, but his brilliance shines in how he latches on to new information, turning a topic around in his mind until he's seen it from every angle. It's especially charming when he asks to hear about your interests or areas of expertise- he asks all the right questions and the conversation becomes lively just about instantly.

NSFW 18 + v

Marianne:

- You're definitely her first sexual partner (she hasn't even dated seriously until you), and she's going to take a long time to get comfortable freely exploring the physical side of a relationship. She's a big cuddler, once you've assured her that you like it too- she finds it immensely soothing to rest her head on your shoulder or on your chest, just listening to your breathing and feeling you warm against her. But as for sexual affection, she'll start slow, testing things by letting her gentle hands tentatively wander just a little further than before, or deepening your kiss a little more than usual.

- Best practice with Marianne is to let her be the one to suggest or initiate things, but to respond enthusiastically when she does so she knows you're happy with it and you want her as much as she wants you. Your approval and encouragement fills her with warmth she's never felt before, and a sense of bold desire she hadn't even known she was capable of. There's plenty of communication with her- there has to be -but in a way, that becomes its own sort of eroticism. Soft murmurs of, "is this okay?", "does that feel good?", or "can you take more?" mix in with affirmative sighs and moans, turning the negotiation of comfort into a wonderful, slowly escalating path towards satisfaction.

- She's absolutely mortified by the idea of sexting or sending nudes, but if she sends you an outfit she's considering and reply with a coy "You look amazing- can't wait to take that off of you" (honestly the cheesier the better with the pickup lines- being too smooth would intimidate her)- she'll only respond with a single blushing emoji, but you bet she'll be wearing that outfit to your next date.

Dimitri:

- Everyone on campus, including your friends/roomates see Dimitri as such a pure cinnamon roll that you might be surprised to learn he has a rather healthy sex drive underneath all of that sweetness and affection. Granted, he's definitely most likely to desire you when he feels emotionally close to you- but that won't stop him from fucking you nice and deep until your bed creaks. The first time someone overhears you practically screaming out his name, rumors start spreading that your ever-devoted Malewife is actually legendary in bed. It's mostly a raunchy joke, but as far as you're concerned, they're not exactly wrong.

- He's too nervous to actually save any of the spicy pics you've sent him to his phone, but that doesn't stop him from regularly scrolling back through your message threads to find them. Masturbating to porn is fine and good, but when he can look at you biting your lip as you show off your body to him, he pumps his cock and bucks his hips against his hand until he cums far harder than he's used to. Dimitri especially gets a thrill out of the implied part of this- the fact that you wanted to flaunt yourself to him like this and made sure that he would linger on the sight of you.

- A very fun game is to comment or imply something about how good Dimitri fucks you while you're hanging out with his friends. He stammers and turns bright red when you mention how, "Oh don't you worry, Dimitri keeps me nice and satisfied, don't you babe?" with your eyebrows quirked playfully. His buddies nudge him and laugh, and as timid as he appears about it, he'll need you as soon as you're alone together, and he'll hold you extra close and pound into you a little harder than usual.

Claude:

- Alright. Claude is hot, and Claude knows he's hot, and he has no problem using this to his advantage. He'll absolutely send you gym selfies, or raunchy messages when he knows you're with friends or family. During minor disagreements or when you're pretending to be mad at him, he'll slip an arm around your waist and nibble at your ear, whispering, "C'mon babe, don't be like that..." before pulling you close and kissing you until you can't think straight.

- He absolutely doesn't care if people overhear you- in fact, he'll tease you about it, murmuring in your ear that you can't keep moaning for him like that or you'll be heard. But the fact that he's fucking into you harder and deeper as he says it tells you clearly that he wants you to cry out for him. In general, he's pretty shameless about your shared sex life if you allow him to be. He'll practically strut out of your room to clean up in just his boxers, not caring a bit if your roommates get an eyeful. He's handsy in public as well (again, depending on your comfort with it), and will absolutely grab a handful of your ass while you're on a date together, or trail his hand up your thigh during a movie.

- Claude is adventurous and open minded about sex in general, as I've mentioned a couple times. Hell, he'll even send you a porn clip or a bit of smut, along with a brief "we should try this ;)"- and he obviously loves when you do the same for him. He sees no reason to be shy with his partner about your mutual pleasure. Communicating your preferences will make sure you both enjoy yourselves, and the process of even talking about it can be pretty hot on its own.

[thetaekookcloset]

So what about Jikook?

Maybe this isn't wise, but the Jikook questions are inevitable and so I kind of just wanted to rip the Band-Aid off and address it right off the bat.  So, what about Jikook?  Well, I adore Jikook.  I think their relationship is delightful, that it resonates with mutual affection and admiration, and that they clearly love and trust each other a lot.  I just don't think there's anything romantic to it.  Could I be wrong?  Yeah, totally.  As I said in my Taekook posts, I don't know these people, all I'm doing is applying critical thinking to my observations of limited public content, so I could totally be reading things wrong.  I feel pretty confident in my own understanding, obviously, but fully recognize that I could be incorrect.

So I figured I may as well just address my reasons for feeling the way I do, so that it's done and doesn't need to be dragged up all the time (though I am personally open to discussing Jikook because, as I said, I really like their dynamic).

The thing is, just like for Taekook, a lot of it comes down to the Vibe I get overall.  I've watched a lot of BTS content at this point, and I've also sought out a lot of Jikook content, especially early on, as I was finding myself getting more invested in Taekook.  It was really important to me that if I was going to feel any degree of emotional investment in the potential dating lives of strangers on the other side of the world, I didn't want to be deluding myself about it.  If there was something to see between Jikook, I wanted to make sure I saw it.  I didn't want to just be seeing what I wanted to see, basically.  I wanted to make sure that my conclusions were based on reality as much as possible.  So yeah, I've watched a lot of specifically Jikook content at this point.  And the more I watch, the more confident I am in my belief that the two of them have a really close friendship, even one with some familial aspects (especially when it comes to taking care of one another).  It's the vibe they give off to me, and in some ways it's as simple as that.

However, I would like to address why some of the most popular Jikook proofs don't hold up for me, in terms of being evidence of a romantic relationship, since people ask about these things a lot and, frankly, because I think it's an interesting topic.  I'm not trying to "debunk" these moments -- as I've already said, I could be totally wrong about any and all of them -- but these are the reasons some of the most popular Jikook moments don't make me think they're in a romantic relationship.

Rosebowl

We'll just come right out the gate with this one, I guess.  For me -- and this is going to be a repeated pattern, I think -- we simply don't have enough information about this one for it to tell me much.  I realize that a lot of people will think that's ridiculous, because a lot of people think it's beyond clear that Jungkook puts Jimin's ear in his mouth in this moment.  I'm just not convinced that it's true.  I've seen angles where it looks like that could be what's happening, and I've seen angles where it seems pretty clear that it isn't what's happening.  If he did do it, it's definitely an indication of a more intimate relationship than the one I'm inclined to think they have, but there's a much clearer clip of Taehyung kissing Jungkook's ear already, so if we're going to consider mouth-to-ear contact as telling, then we've already got another one to take into account.

Hickeygate

Again, we simply don't have very much actual information here.  What we know for sure is that Jungkook showed up to work with a small bruise on his neck, Jimin pointed it out to everyone and claimed to have put it there himself in a moment of drunken shenanigans, and then a cameraman asked Jungkook later how he got it and JK repeated the story.

The way I see it, there are a few possibilities here: 1) Jimin's story is the full and accurate truth; 2) the bruise is actually a hickey, which Jimin gave him, and Jimin's making up a story about how it got there; 3) the bruise is actually a hickey, that someone other than Jimin gave him, and Jimin is making up a story about how it got there, maybe to tease JK or maybe to "help" by giving him an excuse for having it.

If it's the first option, it's certainly a bit of a wild thing to do to your friend, but it's not like Jungkook and Jimin have much in the way of physical boundaries, and if they were drunk, then those boundaries were likely even looser.  If the second, why draw attention to it at all?  Most likely no one would have noticed or asked if Jimin hadn't pointed it out, which seems like a strange thing to do.  If this is your read of the situation, fair enough.  However, if we're already accepting that they might have been lying about how the bruise got there in the first place, then is it really such a stretch to think they also might be covering up who put it there?

Honestly this one frustrates me a little.  People in this fandom like to talk about taking the guys' words and content at face value and trusting everything they say, otherwise you're calling them liars.  Then as soon as this moment comes up, a lot of the times it seems that people take it for granted that the bruise is definitely a hickey (which means they lied about how it got there) but also that Jimin is definitely the one who put it there (why would you take this for granted if you already accept that they're fibbing about how the bruise got there in the first place?).

The fact of the matter is, none of them owe us the full, accurate, and unfettered truth about their personal lives.  No matter how you slice this moment, Big Hit clearly thought it was safe enough to share it with the entire fandom, which implies to me that they didn't see any reason that they might need to "protect the artists," as they're fond of doing for so much as a flash of belly button.  So.  We can all draw our own conclusions from there.

Also just an observation that I think is interesting in this moment, which is that to me, it doesn't look like Jungkook is very happy that Jimin points out this bruise.  He kind of laughs it off after a second, but he avoids making eye contact with anyone, and when someone (Jin, I think) reaches for his neck, he moves away.  It just reads as displeased and uncomfortable to me, which has always stood out.

Jimin's Birthday V Live

Again, not enough information to tell me much.  It's definitely a weird moment, fully not denying that -- specifically the moment when Hobi teases Jimin for being in Jungkook's studio, I mean -- but I feel that the reason for Hobi's teasing is too up in the air to draw much of a conclusion from it.  Could it have something to do with Jungkook and Jimin being together, or having feelings for each other, or something related to that?  Yeah, it could, but we know so little about it that it could be literally anything else too.  Maybe Jimin's studio is notoriously a mess, maybe he had a guest in there, maybe he doesn't have a studio at all.  My point is just that we know so little about why Hobi was teasing Jimin that it could have been for nearly any reason.  JK attempting to distract from it might just have been in solidarity with Jimin, but honestly it seemed to me like he was just bored and messing around.  No matter what the reason, Big Hit staff had clearly decorated that studio and brought the cake to that studio, so it seems pretty innocent to me.

As for the way Jikook acted on the phone in that Live, I have mixed feelings.  I've read that K-ARMY say JK's tone on the phone was particularly fondly indulgent in a way that's reminiscent of couples.  It is pretty clear, though, that the guys are very familiar with each other, more so than they sometimes act, so I could easily see this being an extension of that.  This is particularly true throughout the maknae line, so this makes sense to me.  Jimin's reaction to JK saying he's coming has always seemed off to me -- even before I was invested in literally any of this.  It just doesn't seem like a natural way to react to someone you've known that closely for that long, all the blushing and fawning and whatnot.  It makes me think he was either playing it up for the camera or he was feeling even more awkward than he'd already let on, either of which seem normal enough to me.

Again, definitely not trying to claim that there was no weirdness in this Live, and I'm sure I would see it differently if I already felt that I had other reasons to think there was something going on between Jimin and Jungkook, but I just don't, so there's nothing about the weirdness in this Live that makes me think otherwise.

GCF Tokyo

All right, the Big One.  I'll be straightforward: I just don't see GCF Tokyo as being inherently romantic.  I certainly do understand why other people see it as romantic, and like the birthday Live, I would be more inclined to see it that way too if, for example, the other GCFs leant themselves to romantic readings, but they don't, in my opinion.

I get that they went on a trip, just the two of them.  I get that the video itself reads as romantic to a lot of people.  I get that it's a romantic song.  Like I said, I do understand this one, I understand why so many people see it the way they do.

But for me, I mean, I've been on trips alone with my best friends before, even when I had a romantic partner.  In the last few years, before COVID, I went on two big trips with two of my best friends, a different friend on each trip.  I'm not really a video person, but we did take a lot of photos together, and I'm sure that some of them would read as romantic to people who didn't know us.  Both friends feature alone in a lot of those pictures too.  And if I were the type to make videos instead of taking photos, I know exactly which songs I would have used for each trip, because those were the songs we listened to the most, they were the songs that exemplified the vibe of the trips for me.  Both are romantic songs, because most songs are.  But I didn't have a crush on the friend I went to Disney World with, and the friend I went to Ireland with was not my dying lover of many years, despite what my song choices might have implied.

GCF Tokyo is, to me, something that definitely could be romantic, but isn't inherently so.  If I had other reasons to think Jikook might be involved, if I got that vibe from them, if their suspicious moments were clearer to me, I could very well see GCFT as romantic.  As it is, I don't have those other reasons, and so I'm inclined to think this video was just Jungkook on a trip with his friend, experimenting with making videos and choosing a song he liked to use for it.

Jimin Flying to JK for His Birthday

I'll keep this one brief.  Undeniably, it was sweet of Jimin to make time to see JK on his birthday, and maybe he even planned his vacation partially around doing so, we don't know.  But people talk about this like he flew halfway across the world just for JK's birthday.  I would agree, if he had then flown back in the direction of Europe.  But the next day, he was going to Hawaii.  Korea is pretty much right in between France and Hawaii.  He could have gone the other way around the planet, I guess?  But if he went to Hawaii with different people than he went to France with (I don't know if he did or not), then it would make sense to fly out of Korea.  In fact, it would make sense to fly out of Korea anyway, because it would give him a chance to go back home first.

I know people are fond of this one, but it just doesn't hold much weight for me.  Again, a totally sweet gesture, but not nearly as huge of one as people make it out to be.  Presumably he'd already planned his flights.  Going from France to Hawaii, stopping in Korea makes complete sense, especially if he was meeting a new set of friends for Hawaii and/or wanted or needed to stop at his place first for new things.

Conclusion

I just want to reiterate that I'm not trying to debunk these things, and I get why people who see something romantic between Jikook see more meaning in these events than I do.  I simply don't have that reading of their relationship, and none of these popular moments change my mind on that.

I do, however, think that Jimin and Jungkook have a really special and precious bond.  Just because I don't see it as romantic doesn't mean that I don't appreciate it for what I do see in it.  It seems clear to me that they have an extremely deep and loving friendship.  I hate the narrative that there's anything wrong with the relationship that they have, and one thing I'd like to do with this blog, if and when it comes up, is defend their bond.

Finally, I just want to say that I love Jimin, I have a lot of respect and appreciation for him, and I won't appreciate anything hateful or disrespectful about him being sent to me.  Just because I think it's more likely that Taehyung and Jungkook are together than Jimin and Jungkook, that doesn't mean I hate Jimin or hate his relationship with Jungkook.

[beccascribbles]

hcs series detailing what it is like to be a manager for the various haikyuu teams

karasuno | seijoh |

warnings - swearing

word count - 2.1k

you weren't immune to oikawa's charms, but being friends with him since middle school meant you were the least likely in the school to fall for him (you were also the least likely person he would mess with in that way, especially as iwaizumi would happily punch him for the trouble)

this meant you were a perfect candidate for manager of the team

when you all been first years, the team had come up to you and begged

ultimately, it had been iwaizumi who had finally convinced you (the sight of him almost begging you would be forever ingrained in your mind. boy did not want to be the only one responsible for oikawa)

by the time you reached your third year, you were immensely glad that you had agreed to manage the team

at times, it had been tough. dealing with oikawa's jealous fangirls often felt like a full time job. the amount of times you had sprinted into the club room to the shock of the team was ridiculous

one day, you had dived through the door, yelling for then to shut and lock the door as you crashed to the floor

iwaizumi had been by your side in an instant, worried gaze assessing you for injuries. when you let out a wince, rubbing at you arm, he was automatically assessing it for damage

"it's not broken," he assured you, giving your head an affection pat before his gaze turned to oikawa, eyes narrowing. "call your fucking fangirls off, shittykawa"

"i've tried," he whined, giving you an apologetic look. "clearly their love for me is too strong"

"maybe if they actually spoke to you, they'd realise what a crap personality you have," sighed matsukawa, slapping oikawa on the back affectionately and then holding the hand up to receive a high five from hanamaki

slowly, hesitantly, you moved over to the door, pressing your ear to the surface. through the wood, you could the girls, their high-pitched voices grating at your nerves

“i really fucking hate them,” you grumbled, moving away to sit on the floor beside hanamaki, who wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you leaned against his shoulder. “why did i let you convince me to join this club?”

this was directed to iwaizumi, who had the good idea to look sheepish. oikawa, on the other hand, collapsed down on the floor in front of you and spread out his arms. “because you love us, y/n-chan”

“not you,” you scoffed, poking him in the chest. he pouted

“that’s no way to talk to your childhood friend”

“it is when they have a swarm of jealous fangirls after you”

oikawa looked like he was about to reply, but a clip to the ear by iwaizumi was enough to distract him. he turned to his friend with a cry of outrage, beginning to bicker with the ace

while you would usually tell them to shut up, pull them apart, you couldn’t really be bothered. breaking up fights was for when you were on duty. training hadn’t started yet so you figured you could let them bicker

the second years clashed less than the third years but sometimes you were needed to break up the fights, particularly when kyoutani made a return to the team

while he was away, you had been one of the only ones who checked up on him, always telling him that if he needed to talk, if he was struggling with anything, you would be there

therefore, he had a lot of respect for you, placing you on a similar level to iwaizumi (the only member of the team who could get away with telling him what to do or scolding him angrily)

this meant that, when you appeared in front of him, placing a placating hand on his chest, his hackles would lower and he would back away, though the glare would remain on his face

truth be told, kyoutani was a little bit scared of you suddenly exploding on him, especially after the way you had snapped at him when he had first pulled off a risky play in practice

you had seen red when he had pushed kindaichi out of the way to spike the ball, marching over and grabbing him by the top to drag him away. it was the first time they had ever seen him apologise

while kyoutani respected you, the relationship you had with him was very different with the one you had with the other second years. kyoutani would never invite you to lunch. watari and yahaba on the other hand...

your week is not complete without a lunch with them. you aren’t even sure when you managed to form such a strong friendship with them, but it was likely when you agreed to help them in maths (it’s not yahaba’s strong point and he begged watari to join him)

you are the one responsible for stopping yahaba showing off, particularly when the gym floods with fangirls, most of them there to watch oikawa

he will flip his hair and affect an air very similar to oikawa which will frustrate you to no end. you will drag him off court by the ear, telling him to stop, threatening him with extra conditioning

matsukawa and hanamaki will definitely start snickering at the way his face reddens, focused more on this than the fact that they are meant to be improving their serves

you can always trust watari to help you out, no matter how much you insist that you don’t need it. he is the first to volunteer to help you set up the court, to help you carry the equipment for away games

now, the first years. if iwaizumi is the team dad, you are the mum

you dote on kindaichi and kunimi, trying to keep them away from matsukawa’s and hanamaki’s influence. you don’t want them to be corrupted by the pair. iwaizumi will help you but even he sees little point in stopping the inevitable

kindaichi was very awkward around you at the start. his brain couldn’t comprehend that a pretty girl was talking to him, let alone asking if he was okay, if he needed a drink

eventually, kindaichi relaxes. you are the one he turns to when he has a problem, explaining it all to you. if it involves another team member, you will encourage him to tell them, not wanting there to be fractures in the team. after all, aoba johsai thrives because of their great teamwork

kunimi is, as usual, very relaxed around you

most of the time, he barely acknowledges your fussing, simply waving you away and heading back onto the court to resume practice

however, if he wants to slack off (which he does often), it will be you he makes eye contact with. you know you shouldn’t condone this behaviour but, occasionally, you allow it. he promises he will pull through for the game and you believe him, though you do explain that if he slacks off too much it could mean risking his sport in the starting rotation

your quiet understanding is often what motivates him to keep going. he doesn’t want to disappoint you. plus, he has seen you angry and would rather not be the reason for that

oikawa is intimately familiar with your anger. the boy just seems to do everything possible to piss you off. what angers you most is the apparent disregard for his own health, but you don't take this out on him physically

you and iwaizumi team up to handle him, with both of you favouring a more violent approach (sometimes that's the only way to knock some sense into oikawa's brain)

while iwaizumi will throw either oikawa or various items such as volleyballs at him, you tend to favour a good old-fashioned slap to the back of the head

he always knows you're coming, his whole body tensing at the sound of your footsteps drawing closer to him. oikawa is almost more scared of you than iwaizumi, probably because you are more cold fury than fiery anger

that first night iwaizumi had asked you to stay behind after practice with him, your heart almost broke at the sight of oikawa pushing himself

you saw the sweat, watched him stumble, clutch at his damaged knee... but despite the pain, he kept pushing

as you watched, you grasped iwaizumi's hand, who was tense beside you, needing the physical anchor as much as you

"why does he do this to himself?" you questioned, watching as oikawa pushed up from the floor, landing awkwardly on his feet. still, he kept pushing

iwaizumi didn't bother to answer. the answer was obvious, and you both knew what it was. he needed to get better, for the team, for himself, for revenge

"if he keeps going like that, his knee will be permanently damaged and he can say goodbye to a volleyball career," said iwaizumi, jaw tight. hand still in yours, he marched onto the court

he finally released your hand to grab oikawa by the shirt and yank him away. his voice was a low growl as he spoke, "don't fucking complain. we've been here long enough and you're going home before you regret it"

"you're so... urgh, do you want to make me lose my mind with worry, tooru?" you sigh, wrapping an arm around his waist, more to reassure yourself that he was fine than to other support. he slung an arm over your shoulder, leaning on you slightly with iwaizumi at his other side

"didn't think you cared, y/n-chan," he teased, giving you an affectionate squeeze. you caught eyes with iwaizumi, rolling your own at oikawa's words

"of course i care. we both do"

from that night on, you and iwaizumi took turns watching oikawa, stopping him when it became clear that he was doing too much

on the nights when you had to watch him, you would sit in the corner of the gym on a video chat with matsukawa and hanamaki as you tried to do some homework (to be honest, you spent most of your time joking around and chatting, but the thought was there)

oikawa, though he never showed it, was grateful for you and iwaizumi's worry. it put a check on him which he would never admit to wanting, but needed desperately

on weekends, you and the third years will always meet up, be it to do homework or just watch a movie at someone's house

movie nights tend to be quite messy (it's not uncommon to be picking popcorn out of your hair at the end)

one time, you had fallen asleep on iwaizumi's shoulder only to wake up to his head flopped against yours and a snickering oikawa and hanamaki. the pair had taken great joy in drawing a moustache and beard on your faces, while matsukawa took photos (he's usually the one who takes your group photos and sends them to everyone at the end)

managing the team is mainly fun, though it does have its cursed moments

you weren't ashamed to admit that you cried, along with the rest of the third years, when you left

however, the tears did not stop you from giving your kouhais some strongly-worded advice

yahaba was warned to not think with his dick and to try his very best to not intimidate oikawa in his quest for some fangirls

kyoutani was told that you were only a phone call away and would not hesitate to scold him if he let his anger take control over his playing style

honestly, the only thing you wished watari was luck. he'd need it, especially as there was no manager to support them next year

kunimi you told to slack off less, though you wouldn't hold it against him if he did sneak off for a little nap during the school day so long as he was energised for volleyball

with kindaichi, you simply gave him a hug and told him to keep trying his best, to not beat himself up over every mistake he made

it was oikawa who insisted on a big group hug, pulling you and a rather disgruntled iwaizumi into his arms, the rest of the team happily bundling in

and, as you hugged each other, you were thankful iwaizumi had convinced you to join the team because you knew you had made friends for life

[evierena]

The Demon Brothers catching MC listening/Dancing to their songs

I know that Belphie’s song has been out for a while now, but I still wanted to write something to celebrate all seven songs were blaring on replay on my phone so, here it is. 

INTRO:

For this time around, MC (and Solomon) has somehow convinced Diavolo that in the human world, people felt more at ease with music, with songs that reflected the character of the singer and that could move their hearts.

So, to further expand this idea and to see if it could prove useful to his goal of uniting the realms, the Demon Prince entrust the task to none other than the demon brothers.

Now, with all the songs out and blaring all over the Devildom, MC had found themselves to be quite fascinated by a particular song they just couldn’t stop replaying.

And what happens when the author of said song catches MC singing and dancing along? Let’s see…

Lucifer

You were waiting for him in his study, so probably you shouldn’t have expected much privacy really.

But, in all honesty, how could you not sing along to Arcadia?

The music was alluring, and his voice was simply enticing, it compelled your body and soul to let go, to allow being embraced by Lucifer.  

So you did.

You had forgotten your headphones, so you just had your D.D.D blaring Arcadia on replay, and once the lyrics began, you started signing along, your already dancing hips gaining rhythm and sensuality as the song progressed.

And while you were having a blast, dancing and signing in Lucifer’s study to his song, he was right outside, with the door half open, staring at your figure.

He was as captivated by your dancing as you were by Arcadia.

His heart was both full of love and pride, although he would only publicly admit to the latter. Because, you already knew about the first. And that was enough for him.

In one of those twists and turns you did while dancing you finally lock gazes with the deep crimson irises of Lucifer.

But, instead of stopping all together, you were encouraged by his powerful eyes, and decided to continue signing without breaking eye contact.

Lucifer was amused to say the least, by your little show, and he started to approach you with slow, determined strides until you both were inches away from each other.

The atmosphere grew heavy with his proximity, and you found yourself lowering you tone, adapting it to a soft whisper only loud enough for his ears.

His hands found purchase in your hips, stilling your movements, and to your surprise he joined you in your quiet singing.

And like that, both enraptured, lost in each others eyes, basking in the others presence, the song ended.

Your D.D.D ran out of battery, and the study was suddenly filled with tentative silence.

Lucifer had a smirk in his lips and you were smiling, your hands traveled to his shoulders, and you reach out to him to close the final gap between his mouth and yours.

But just before sharing a kiss that promised so much more, you both were startled by a loud crashing noise somewhere in HoL, and then a series of cursing and screaming.

Let’s just say that the punishment for whoever it was that interrupted Lucifer’s and his human moment was… terrifying.

However, that night you received a visit from Lucifer.

“Why don’t you sing for me again, my dear?”

Mammon

Mammon had invited you to a night out in the casino, and for such a thing you had decided to doll yourself up a little in your room before going out.

That’s what you were doing, when Are you Ready? Started to play in your D.D.D and well, you started to dance in front of the mirror.

The song always managed to bring a big ear to ear smile to your face and it brought out your party self. You really enjoyed it.

The music was so fun and Mammon’s voice reached the best parts of your heart and soul. And the lyrics, in your opinion the lyrics were the best part, specially because you had been there when Mammon was writing them.

It just warmed your body and made you happy.

Speaking of Mammon, he was on his way to pick you up, when he noticed you door was open so he let himself in, just to found you dancing and singing to the mirror his own song.

A deep blush spread in his cheeks, his eyes not entirely comprehending that his human looked that happy, making funny faces and dancing while listening to his song.

Once you caught onto the figure behind you through the mirror, you could see that the fiery blush on your demon grew even deeper. And so did your smile.

So, in your Are you Ready? Induced state, you went for him across your room.

Mammon tried to stop you, but in all honesty, we all know he could never say no to you, not really.

So you brought him next to your still dancing body and spurge him on to do the same.

It took a few seconds for his brain to process the situation, but once he saw the true joy and affection shining in your eyes, he felt himself relax and follow your lead.

Fortunately, the song was on replay, and your speakers were connected to your D.D.D so finally, both you and Mammon fall into a semi party just dancing, jumping to the rhythm, singing along and enjoying the others movements.

Eventually, Lucifer appeared and order both of you to shut up, and in giggles, with your cheeks aching, Mammon and you sneak your way out of HoL, and once you were in his car, on the road to the casino, he put Are you Ready? Again in the speaker of the vehicle.

All the way, both of you sang to the night in the Devildom, him stealing glances at your ecstatic face, and you staring at him while signing using your D.D.D as a pretend mic.

Once you reach the casino, Mammon felt so happy and elated to have you right by his side while he gamble his money away, he actually did manage to win a small fortune.

You both were in a rush with adrenaline pumping and serotonin flooding your brains, you suddenly found yourselves back in Mammon’s room.

Where he catch your body with his, and he stared deeply into your eyes, showing off his white pearls, no glasses covering his eyes so you got lost in the beautiful, divine blue and yellow.

“I’m just crazy for you, MC”

“And I’m madly in love with you, Mammie”

Leviathan

You wanted to surprise him, ok?

It’s just, you really appreciated that he had gotten over his insecurities and power through the whole recording and making of the song. So you wanted him to know that it meant a lot for you and that you truly loved his song.

So you got a Ruri-chan cosplay from Akuzon, pretty much spending all of your savings in a really good one, made up from scratch a choreography for My Chance! And went to work

With all of this motivation you were in the planetarium, recording video after video to just make sure everything was perfect. Of course, it was not your intention to post the video, after it was ready, you were going to send it to him privately.

But, of course, when did things go exactly the way you wanted them to without complications?

Yup, pretty much NEVER.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame you either, after being dressed up, dancing for at least three hours consecutively, perfecting your moves, editing and deleting the unwanted clips, pretty much being exhausted AF, you just hit the wrong button without realizing and post it to the DevilTube channel you had with the brothers, besides sending it to Levi.

Well, good news: it went viral. Bad news: it went VIRAL.

Leviathan couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the video.

You were so, so, so cute!!! And he couldn’t understand why would you choose HIS song to make such a good video? Like, why would you want something he made (with you in mind of course, but he couldn’t for his life say that out loud without combusting) a icky otaku like him?

So, after you realized your mistake you went to his room to clarify things.

Boy, was he flustered just by seeing you. Although you weren’t wearing the cosplay anymore, he couldn’t make eye contact without blushing furiously, stutter and imagining you in all sorts of different cosplays.

When you explained that you wanted the video to be something private for just the two of you as a token of appreciation for his song, because you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, he understood and said thank you in between stutters and mumbles.

But you also said that you weren’t ashamed that everyone got to see you enjoying his song, almost as if you were bragging about him.

By the end of the day, he truly believed that you loved his song, and somehow both of you had agreed to make another video, dancing along My Chance! But as Henry and Lord of the Shadow.

“And I’ll be the one to make our cosplays!”

“Of course, Levia-chan”

 Satan

In all fairness, you hadn’t realized he was there the whole time you were in the library, trying to study but miserably failing the moment Read My Heart started to play in your earphones.

Singing softly, almost to yourself, your eyes unfocused on the textbooks in front of you, slowly rocking your head side to side, tapping your fingers as if playing the piano, you were enjoying Satan’s song.

You didn’t even felt the green eyes of the blond demon zeroed in on your form, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

In the beginning he just followed the quiet noise because it was distracting him from his reading, until he noticed it was you, and after paying more attention to your voice he realized you were singing his song.

A faint blush spread on his cheeks, but his eyes couldn’t stray away from you unaware of your audience, you continued signing over and over again.

He felt warmth, feeling all fuzzy and giddy in the inside without showing much in the exterior, but the small, tender smile he wore in his beautiful face along with the pink in his cheeks said otherwise to anyone who looked.

Lucky for him, it was only the two of you in that moment.

So he decided to indulge himself in the adorable sight that was you, softly and inadvertently signing for him.

However, soon enough he just wanted to be closer to you, so he did.

Slowly, he approached you until he sat beside you.

That’s when you finally noticed him.

You stared at his eyes, and found a glint of amusement at your bashful reaction, but the tenderness in them and his own blush eased your nervousness.

You stopped signing, but he took one of your earphones and put it in his own ear, and then, he also started to softly sing along.

Wide eyed, heart throbbing and your soul melting at the sight of his deepening blush, you let yourself listen to his voice only occasionally adding your own.

Somehow, you ended up resting your head in his chest, and he used one arm to bring you closer, your earphone long forgotten, your ears capturing the sound of his heart in his chest and his soft singing.

After he ended one last time, you sneaked your arms around his midsection.

“It truly is a beautiful heart, Satan”

“And it’s yours, MC”

Asmodeus

On your way from RAD, you had passed by Majolish, and, through the window, caught a glimpse of the pink haired demon, dressing in what appeared to be another brand new outfit, posing in front of mirrors, being praised by a group of lesser demons.

You saw the practiced, smooth smile and postures Asmo was putting on, and couldn’t help but remember when both of you were in his room while you were trying on face masks among a bunch of other products, how carefree and relaxed he looked, how even his flashy and over the top personality had seemed to be calmed down a bit, and how he just enjoyed your presence and allowed himself to be engulfed in the comfort of the moment.

A tender smile sneak its way on your face, watching attentively as he continued on posing through the windows, and you started absentmindedly singing the lyrics of Pomade.

Not long after, Asmodeus locked gazes with you, and your heart flutter at the immense and dazzling smile he flaunted in his beautiful face.

So you continued on with your one-man audience performance.

He mantained eye contact through the mirror, and eventually he understood by reading your lips what you were saying, which brought a bashful blush spread on his cheeks that punch the air out of your lungs.

It should have been illegal to look that exquisitely magnificent. You thought it was fair since he was indeed a demon.

Finally, tired of not being right by your side as you made his own heart throb with such a gentle affection, he grab his bags filled with new products and gifts for the both of you to share, he made his way out of Majolish.

He found you waiting for him with a smile, open arms and sweet benevolence in your eyes, he almost melt instantly in your embrace.

Asmo, with a teasing smile said:

“Baby, you want my love?”

“Yes, I need your love”

Beelzebub

In the middle of the night, you and Beel had decided it was time for a snack. So now, in the kitchen, while you tried to keep as quiet as possible, you watched the gentle giant of a demon that was him, working to make the both of you a few sandwiches and some other snacks you knew he would eat the most of.

You both were sharing AkuPods, and you were in charge of the playlist for the silent raid to the fridge.

Suddenly, Hungry Six-Pack started playing. A fond smile formed on your lips, noticing that the demon himself didn’t seem to realize what was playing on his ear, so you began following the lyrics, making small movements to go along with rhythm.

You gained confidence, and a little mischievousness, so you boldly turned up the volume of your voice. Little by little, your dancing became more jumpy and louder.

Finally, while you were immersed in one of your twists and turns, you felt the warmth of a chest on your back and strong, gentle arms surrounding your dancing figure.

Giggling freely in Beel’s arms, you continued singing to your favorite song. It didn’t took you by surprise when you hear him behind you, joining your little display of talent.

Fortunately, you were able to discern the steps of someone coming over to the kitchen, and as you and your sweet demon scurried back to the safety of his room, the song kept on playing on your ears.

Once inside his room, you flopped into his bed, a wide smile on you, finally being able to see the pure adoration plastered in the orange haired demon towering above you.

“Forever?” he asked.

“Forever, Beel”

Belphegor

Late at night in your room, unable to sleep, your D.D.D screen the only source of light, you were absentmindedly reading a children’s book that you had downloaded earlier that day.

Still, dreams seemed to elude you that night, so defeated you stood up and went to your switch, to distract yourself with some doodling on your desk.

You put on your favorite soft playlist to further help you in getting sleepy.

Then Dreamscape started playing.

Firstly, your moved your head to the rhythm, then your fingers stopped holding your doodles and followed the lead, later, you started humming.

So, you let yourself be comforted by Belphie and his voice, staring through the window, unfocused on the bright Devildom moon, recalling the demon’s face and his gestures while you gave in and began singing the lyrics.

The soft music unexpectedly didn’t get you sleepy, if anything it reinvigorate you by bringing happy memories of the two of you, dissing Lucifer, sleepovers in the attic, some with Beel others not, stargazing, sleepless nights like the one you were experiencing right then just talking about dreams and their very weird, complex, simple or absurd meaning, or, of course, just basking in the others company in a comfortable silence.

Absentmindedly, you had keep on singing and what you didn’t know is that your favorite cuddle buddy was right behind your door, struggling to hide the blush on his face at hearing you sing his song, pondering on whether leave you be or demanding to sleep together.

In his own side, lost in his thoughts, he missed how your voice was approaching the door, you were also on a mission to find him to sleep by his side.

Once you both were face to face, it became obvious what had happened, so you let a small giggle leave your lips, and grabbed him by the arm, turning off the lights, forgetting the doodles in your desk and dragging him to your bed.

There, both of you snuggle closer until the maximum amount of coziness was reached. Limbs tangled between the two, Belphegor’s head ended up resting in your chest, his arms surrounding your midsection, while your hand played with his hair.

In the quietness of the atmosphere, you dared to once more humming the melody of Dreamscape, to your surprise, that earned you a tighter hug and a satisfied hum from the sleepy demon.

By the end, the only thing you could murmur, eyelids barely open and voice hardly understandable, was:

“G’night, Belphie”

As the seconds went by, you fell asleep without consciously hearing his answer, but your dreams were filled with that simple phrase and the face of the demon in your arms.

“Good night, MC”

Thanks for reading and have a peaceful week!

Here's a little playlist with all the songs and audios from Obey Me!

Atte.- Evie

Let's see if you can guess my top 3 favorites from this HC 👀

[ohmystars-marvel]

So...you’re mine, huh? pt. 2

Pairing: Tony Stark x daughter!reader; Peter Parker x reader (eventually)

Word count: 1,798

Summary: When your mother passes, she wrote in her will if she passed when you were still a minor, guardianship would get passed to Tony Stark. You have no idea what their relationship was, despite both of them living their lives in the spotlight. However, for someone who lived in the spotlight, your mother held plenty of secrets.

A/N: So um.....surprise!!! It’s finally here!!!!! I’m sososoSO sorry ;_; life’s been kind of rough and since I’ve been in uni it’s been hard to actually get time for myself, but I’ve finally actually gotten the time to sit down and write it out. I’m sorry it’s not that long, but I promise I won’t ghost like that again, but without further ado, here’s chapter 2!

(Also credits to owner of gif)

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

The funeral felt like everything was moving in slow motion. A couple of people came up to talk about (Y/M/N), and Tony noticed how whenever the people at the podium would give you a pitying glance in between their eulogies. The older man that was seating with you earlier isn’t sitting up front with you. He sits in a row behind you, leaving you all by yourself in the front. Tony also noticed how stoic you appeared to look. You sat with your head tall, your hair styled out of your face, tightly and professionally, evenly squared shoulders; the perfect sitting posture. 

A couple of people near him whispered about you. Some admired how composed you looked, just like your mother. Some whispered that you looked like you didn’t care that your mother passed, you just cared for the money that you were inheriting. Selfish brat someone whispered around Tony. 

She inherits all that her mother worked for without having to put any work ethic in

She isn’t going up to talk at her mother’s funeral? 

She does take after her mother after all..couldn’t give a care less that her parents died, why wouldn’t her daughter act the same way now? 

In Tony’s opinion, you didn’t look composed and neither looked like you didn’t care. You looked like a kid who was trying to hold it together in a room full of adults in order to be perceived as an adult. A child trying to act far more mature than their actual age.

When the funeral was over, people started getting up to either talk to you, or to talk to others around them. Disgusted with how people talked about you while a funeral was taking place, Tony walked over to talk to you instead. Besides, he felt that he needed to get to the bottom of how the hell (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) had a kid he knew nothing about. He also wanted to figure out whose kid you were. No kid should have to get through their only parent’s funeral alone.

When Tony walked over, you were finishing a conversation with one of the guests. Tony stuck his hand, reaching for a handshake. You accepted his handshake, and surprised him when it was a solid, firm one. Guess (Y/M/N) did teach you well.

“Ms. (Y/L/N). We haven’t had the chance to meet, and I wish it was under better circumstances. I’ve known your mother since we were children, and I know what a devastating loss it is now that she’s gone. I know you’re hearing this phrase more often than you’d like to right now, but please know when I say that if you ever need help, please do come to me. Stark Tower or Avengers Headquarters, you'll be accepted anywhere there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. That’s very kind of you. I as well wish that we could’ve met under better circumstances. You’re kind of my hero, honestly. The advancements you’ve made with arc reactor technology is amazing.” (Y/N) admitted shyly, while sporting a small smile.

Tony analyzed your face. Jesus, it was like Tony was thrown back in time. I looked so much like your mother when she was much younger. That’s where the similarities stopped though. Your shy demeanor and politeness were honest reactions, no acting involved. Your eyes were also different from (Y/M/N)’s. (Y/M/N) looked at everyone like a certain degree of coldness, keeping people at a distance. Yours were gentle, inviting. There’s no way this kid can be hers. She’s nothing like her. 

“Mr. Stark,” you interrupted his thoughts, “I’m only telling a select group of people who actually knew my mother well. We told the public the coroners haven’t signed off yet. That, however, isn’t true, and we'll be doing a more private service. I want to give enough time for the press to leave, and for people who my mother claimed that ‘actually cared for her money, not her well-being to leave’. I’d like it if you were to join us.”

“Please, call me Tony. I’ll be there, Ms. (Y/L/N), don’t worry. Gives us all the chance to actually give your mother the goodbye that she deserves, don’t you think?”

You blinked at him, an expression of shock that briefly broke your composure. “Of course, Mr-” she caught herself when Tony smirked at her, and she smiled sheepishly. “sorry. Tony. It’s going to take me awhile. There’ll be an announcement that’ll be given for the burial service so please, stick around and chat. Please excuse me, I’ve got to greet the others who came as well. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Tony.” She bid him a small smile and left him standing by himself. 

When you left him, Tony went to grab himself a cup of water. While sipping on his water, the older man that sat next to you before the funeral approached Tony. 

“Mr. Stark, it’s a great pleasure to meet you. Though, I wish I would be meeting you right now at something like the Stark Expo.” 

Tony didn’t respond, but took another sip to avoid the small talk that the man was trying to achieve. The man cleared his throat. 

“Right then. Mr. Stark, I’m Philip Ashcraft, (Y/M/N)’s lawyer. Could we step out in the hallway and talk? (Y/M/N) left something important to you, and the both of us would very much rather have this conversation where someone can’t overhear.”

“You find a hallway during a private funeral? Let me guess, you wanna suggest the coat closet next? I mean I guess we can meet in there, but you have to promise no playing seven minutes of heaven-”

“Mr. Stark, please. It’s of the utmost importance.”

“Why don’t you take this up with my secretary, Mr. Ashcraft? They can schedule a meeting with you within this next week. After all, I am not in the mood to discuss business right now, considering that we’re currently at a funeral.” Tony took a sip of his water, raising an eyebrow at the lawyer.

“This isn’t something that can be pushed away! Mr. Stark, this is in regards to what (Y/M/N) has left for you, and her will states for you to receive her last wishes as soon as the funeral’s over.”

Tony sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, (Y/M/N)’s funeral is not over. If whatever (Y/M/N) left for me is that important, then you can wait until after the burial service is over. That’s when the funeral is over and that’s when you will have my attention. Until then, kindly fuck off.”

The lawyer swallowed, clearly trying to keep his temper, and walked away, begrudgingly. Victorious, Tony walked away from the water pitcher and found himself an empty corner that no one else would bother him. Besides, he had some homework to start before (Y/M/N)’s burial service started. If he didn’t know anything about (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s existence, then how much did the rest of the world know about you?

Tony pulled his phone out of pocket, and pulled it close to his face, pretending like he was taking a phone call. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. I need you to do something for me really quick.” 

“What do you need, boss?”

“Look for anything in regards to (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I don’t care if it’s newspaper clippings, science fair photos, or even a mugshot. Anything that just proves her existence.”

“Looking online now. I’ll check back in with you when my analysis online is complete.”

“Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Tony mumbled to himself. He put his phone back in his pocket and decided to wait out the thirty minutes by himself.

******

Tony watched as time passed and those that were clearly not invited or were exhausted from trying to butt into (Y/N)’s business left the room. Tony saw that besides himself, you, that asswipe of a lawyer, and approximately two other people were invited to the service. He noticed that the one who told him who you were wasn’t included in the group. For some reason, that didn’t sit well with him.

The burial service went by just as smoothly as the service given inside. Tony noticed that when you placed flowers on the headstone, your eyes were glassy. So this was the group you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with, not terribly vulnerable, but enough to know that this clearly affected you. When the service finished, the two others were conversing with you, one holding one of your hands as you wiped your eyes delicately, clearly still trying not to cry. That’s the time that the lawyer decided to act. He put a hand on your shoulder, and whispered something in your ear. You nodded and went back to listening. The lawyer made his way to Tony, and opened his mouth to speak, but Tony beat him to the punch.

“Alright, bug-a-boo, now we can talk.” 

“Do you mind if we talk inside, Mr. Stark? I am required to have your signature.”

Tony sighed and made an after you gesture with his hand. “Christ, what is it that (Y/M/N) left behind that is so goddamn important that you have to dump on me at a funeral and require me to sign?” 

Ashcraft clenched his jaw, and opened the door to the funeral home and stalked into the room where the public service was held, Tony close behind. Ashcraft unlocked his briefcase, which held an envelope that was thick with papers. He pushed it into Tony’s hand with plenty of force.

“The thing that (Y/M/N) is ‘dumping’ on you is her child. She left guardianship claims on (Y/N) to you, Mr. Stark” Ashcraft said bitterly.

Tony hurried to open the envelope. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way you actually left your kid to him. It’s gotta be some kind of a joke. At least, that was what Tony tried to convince himself before he found a handwritten will that was in your handwriting. The last sentence is what made his heart drop in his chest.

In the case of my passing before (Y/N) can legally care for herself, I leave guardianship rights to Anthony Edward Stark.

Tony’s phone buzzed in his pocket. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s search had been completed, and only included one document. Tapping on the document, it opened into a scan of your birth certificate. What drew Tony’s attention was the name that was entered for the father’s name. Tony softly scoffed to himself.

“So...you’re mine huh?”