#maybe a drabble series...?

[sharksnshakes]

I Knew You Would - Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy, your coworker and friend, does not want to just be friends. Too bad he hasn't told you that.

AN; honestly this fits with any post-re2 leon era, but i had death island on the brain. horrible movie. one of my absolute favorites. happy late valentine's

Wordcount; 226

TW; um... use of 'pookie' ig 😭 its ironic guys i swear

Leon's never been one for sappy shit. He doesn't have it in him, not after... well, everything. A lifetime of zombies and paperwork will do that to you. Still, when you set down a teddy bear on his desk with the utmost authority, he finds himself more confused than annoyed.

"His name's Pookie," you say, gesturing to the lettering on the pink ribbon around the bear's neck.

"Good morning to you, too," Leon mutters, leaning back in his chair and looking up at you with furrowed brows.

"For Valentine's Day," you add, pushing the bear closer to Leon. "Since we were both working."

Never mind the fact that you're just friends and nothing more. Just friends, even if Leon's been wanting to be more than friends for a long while now. Not that he's told you.

You lean against his desk, casual, as if you're not on the clock right now. "Was gonna get one for Chris, but I didn't think he'd appreciate it the same way you would."

"You thought I'd appreciate this?" he asks, trying and failing to tamp down the amused grin tugging at his lips.

"Oh, I knew you would."

He huffs out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're too much."

You laugh as you walk away. "You love me, Kennedy."

If only you knew how right you were.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

yall..im workin hard on the last part of fbrc rn....BUUUUUTTT--

i thought of childhood friend (im sorry i cant help it) bodyguard katsuki being hopelessly devoted to big boss' daughter reader.

let's say the environment he grew up in wasn't good at all. he lived in a horrible neighborhood that had a survival of the fittest mentality. he had to rob n steal and fight to survive. and them maybe he got recruited by some crime syndicate who saw his potential from a young age.

he feels indebted to them cus they got him out the streets, so he decides to devote his entire life to this syndicate and his boss, who just so happens to have a child : you.

you're the same age as him, maybe a year younger. his first thought is that you're a pushover. you hide behind your father the whole time he's introducing you to him and you barely even look at him, but he's been told he has a bit of a stink eye because he's just sorta used to glaring at people.

as your father keeps introducing you both your eyes widen at him saying katsuki will become your new best friend. yours out of joy cus you've always been sheltered and you've never really had friends your age before, and katsuki's out of shock. he thought he was here to kick people's asses, not babysit some random girl !

when your father pulls katsuki aside later that day he explains that since he's a very dangerous man other dangerous people will try to endanger not only him but his family and since he's strong he'd like him to watch over you. katsuki doesn't like it, but your dad did save him from his life on the street, so he can play nice for now.

he's never had friends either, so he doesn't know how to play like other kids do, and definetly not like you do.

you have him follow you around calling him your knight, you stick stupid clips in his hair and get all pouty when he won't let you put that pastey makeup shit on his face. you have him kiss your ouchies away when you trip over your own shadow and you whine and whine until he let's you jump on his back to give you a piggy back ride.

though, the more he spends time with you, the more there are fun moments. he hates to admit it but it's fun to be a kid with you. you play games that he likes to play and you share your cookies with him and he carries you around and plays dolls with you in exchange. he kisses your ouchies away and you put a cool bandage over his cheek when he's done training for the day and press a big get better kiss on it. you tell him it's to energize him and he huffs and puffs about it but he always looks forward to his kiss after training.

you've complained to him about how you can't spend much time with your dad since he's always out working, you don't have friends because everyone is a threat and you're always being surveyed and watched from a distance and you cry and say you hate it. you tell him that he's your fifth body guard and that he's your favorite one by far. you smile at him and the apples of his cheeks burn, he tries but can't supress the proud smile that grows on his face "of course i am, i'm the best !"

he's been your favorite and last body guard since that day because katsuki has made it his life's mission to devote himself to his clan, his boss and most of all, you.

[otaku553]

Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)

Here are the originals:

If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!

So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.

Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.

The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.

Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.

Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.

Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)

Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.

And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.

[typicalopposite]

And so maybe I have been thinking a lot about the clipboard!118 proposal… and looking at it from the other side of things.

Tommy has had the ring a couple months now. He maybe, sorta, kinda impulsively bought it after their last date left him 100% sure Evan was the one. He just hasn’t figured out how to go about popping the question.

Logically he knows he could just casually ask him over a morning coffee, and Evan would be as speechless and emotional as if it were the most extravagant proposal to ever be proposed. But as much as Tommy would prefer a more casual approach, he still wants it to be something special. He wonders what would be most special to Evan.

And then the idea comes so easy.

The 118.

He goes to Eddie, spins the idea of getting everyone to help with the proposal. Eddie thinks it’s an amazing idea and he FaceTimes Hen and Chim to share the idea. Hen is the one to suggest the clipboard. Tommy has questions, but they all just vaguely insist its an inside joke that he will definitely get and Tommy leaves it at that.

He goes to Bobby and Athena’s next. Bobby isn’t Buck’s dad — Tommy has already set aside a day to speak with him and Buck’s mom regardless of the tension in theirs and Buck’s relationship — but he is extremely important to Buck and Tommy (hell anyone who watches their interactions) can see the feeling is mutual. Bobby couldn’t give his blessing fast enough.

The day comes and Eddie is off to start what will be a chain reaction of Buck being bounced around from person to person. After Hen takes him from Maddie and Chim’s, Tommy comes out from the room he’d been hiding in to ride with them to the station.

“You ready?” Chim asks, eyes turning soft as he straightens Tommy’s tie.

“Of course,” Tommy replies. He is, he really is. Maybe more than he has been for anything else in his life, ever.

“You got the ring?”

“Right here.” Tommy pulls the box out of his pocket.

“Is the ring in it?” Chimney asks, face now serious.

“Uhhh… yeah, it should be,” Tommy laughs.

“Have you checked…”

Tommy blinks, but Chim’s eyes are focused on the box. Tommy opens it and reveals the band inside.

Chim’s face softens once again, a big smile spreading across it and he pats Tommy on the shoulder. “Alright then… let’s go get you engaged.”

[inkie-does-whump]

I'm honestly shocked I've gotten more than one shortgrass (Bdubs/Joel) request lol

[nomstellations]

Imagine being eaten by a nature elemental. It'd be very different from what one would normally be used to- their body is made up of dirt and plants, and their control over them makes it easy to ensnare and devour you. The inside of their mouth and throat is all muddy and cold- hope you weren't wearing something nice.

The elemental's stomach is nicer than you'd expect. It's surprisingly warm inside with the walls being made of plush moss with little flowers blooming from them. No digestive acids greeted you- the inside of the elemental only held a sticky sweet-smelling substance that pools around you. Instead of being crushed by churning walls, you were enveloped by the soft mossy walls and sweet smell of flowers and honey. Who knows how long you'd be trapped in here, but at least it's a pleasant stay...

[forwhump]

a/n; more wren ‘cause I’m obsessed w him 😀 I think I said before but I consider this part of the story the “farmhouse arc” & it is some of the worst time of wren’s entire life 😛 this probably doesn’t really count as story progression this time it’s just a random snippet of sad things happening to a sad guy 😛 but when your entire life is sad we call that slice of life babeyyyyy

(I really wanted to write a manhunt which is why I did but them being on the run comes w there being like 100000000 oneshots of just like bad things happening to wren & I probably wasn’t gonna post them all ‘cause at what point does it just get gratuitous ??? but then I didn’t post anything for months so now I’m posting one of those things anyway)(maybe I’ll post another even)(who can say)

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, objectification, mentions of rape/noncon, transphobia, misgendering, psychological torture, sexual torture, exploitation, creepy whumper

Once, Wren was an artist. He’d been a damn good one, too. Good enough that he could support himself doing it, that he was able to afford his dream apartment in Sugar Land, that he’d started making a name for himself not within the general public but amongst his peers, his fellow artists, and that was good enough for him. He’d had to move back home after a while, had to help his mother look after Robin, and that was hard but if he could, he would still go back. He was at home. His cows were always there and always happy to see him. Robin wasn’t doing well, but he wasn’t a mutated super soldier without a tongue. Every day, Wren got to hug his mom. 

That was a long time ago. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for just one more hug from his mom. 

Now, Wren isn’t an artist, and he isn’t a person. He’s a doll, and even that, just barely. He’s a warm body. Now, Wren sits in a booth in a shitty diner in the middle of the night, the shiny plastic of the bright red seats cold against the backs of his thighs. White corset and white garters, white stockings and white cowboy boots, he’s barely more than naked and keeps his hands folded in his lap to hide how hard they tremble as he shivers. Across from him, handsome in an old Hollywood kind of way, almost twenty years Wren’s senior, Point is wearing a white ten gallon hat and a t-shirt that’s supposed to look like a tuxedo. 

“We just got married,” he tells the waitress, putting on a thick Texan accent. 

Once upon a time, they’d been strangers. It’s hard to remember that time. For so long, for years, for every one of Wren’s adult years he’s lived as Point’s pet. He knows he was an artist, a brother, he knows he loved his cows and his mom, but that was a whole other lifetime ago. Those are somebody else’s memories. 

He knows he was an artist but he doesn’t remember how it felt. He misses his mom but he doesn’t remember anymore how her hugs felt around him. He doesn’t remember who he is without Point. As much as Wren tried to fight it, as stubbornly as he tried to get out and get home, as many times as Silas died for him to do it, Point had not only changed his life, but fundamentally who he is as a person. Everything that was once Wren’s, everything that used to make him who he was, it had been taken from him. Point had taken it from him and he’d delighted in doing it. He made Wren watch as he crushed it. 

What’s left? Wren’s got pretty hair and warm skin. He doesn’t have anything else. 

The waitress looks at him and only sees what Point had wanted her to see. He likes to hurt Wren in any way he can — it’s never only been physical. He hurts him in the clothes he dresses him in and the way he introduces him to people, smug, the lengths he goes to humiliate him, the way he makes other people hurt him, too, whether they know they’re doing it or not. The waitress looks at him but doesn’t see him, she sees his bare skin, she sees somebody young and pretty and half naked with a man visibly older than he is. Newlyweds. The waitress looks at him, and she looks at him judgmentally. 

He flushes, looking away as Point grins. 

“Pretty,” he says, “ain’t she?” 

Fuck, Wren misses being a person. He misses wearing the clothes he wants to wear. He misses being able to form his own thoughts and have his own opinions. He misses being able to speak the way he wants to speak and to whoever he wants to speak to. He barely remembers what it’s like, but still, he misses when he was a person and he wasn’t always cold, he wasn’t always in pain, he wasn’t always bleeding. Wren can’t remember the last time he wasn’t hurting. He always hurts. He’s always bleeding. He misses taking his fucking testosterone. 

Weird how far removed he is from that version of himself. Weird that he’s now lived more years beneath Point than he ever got to live as himself. 

Hard to imagine there was ever a version of himself that wanted something so much and actually got it. His mother, a Southern Baptist beauty queen from Texas, had struggled with his transition but not nearly as much as Wren would’ve expected. She tried a lot harder than he thought she would. At some points, she took it upon herself to be the is Wren passing? police, which he didn’t usually appreciate but he knew it was her trying her best. She drove him to and from his top surgery, had doted on him for the time he spent recovering afterwards. She made sure to always pick up his hormones for him during her trips into town. She still referred to him as her daughter sometimes, but she always called him Wren. She’d been delighted that he’d picked another bird name. That he and Robin still matched. 

He misses his mom. He doesn’t remember the scent of her perfume anymore. 

“Right,” the waitress says. A plump woman probably in her early fifties, she looks down her nose at Wren as she barely looks at him. She doesn’t like him. He’s sure it would hurt his feelings, but it’s hard not to want to know what she thinks when she looks at him. What does she think of him, really? 

Wren had lost a lot of what faith he had in humanity while he was in the district. Their most closely guarded secret wasn’t human, and he was still the most human being in that place. The men there were hardly men. Every one of them was a monster. 

Wren had been so desperate to get out of that place, to get away from those men, but to what end? Had he really, truly convinced himself that all the worst men in the world were hired on to work in the district? Were they not just regular men? On the surface, in the world Wren had begged so hard to be returned to, the men aren’t any more human. How had he never noticed before? 

Wren is so sick. He’s so sick. He’s so skinny and starving and he’s always dehydrated. Point barely clothes him, and when he does, the clothing is barely clothing at all. It does nothing to hide the cuts or bruises or bite marks. His fingernails are all broken off. The ligature marks around his wrists had once been so deep they had scarred. Still, somehow, nobody sees him. The men on the surface look at him and they see the same thing the men in the district had seen. They look at him and they see warm, bare skin and a pretty, crying face. They see somebody that’s begging them to stop, it hurts, and they love it. 

The women on the surface look at Wren and look down on him. They judge him. They sneer. For some reason, they don’t see the scars or the bruises or how tight Point’s hand always is on his hip. For some reason, they, too, only see how short his skirt is. Why doesn’t anybody see him? Why, after all this time, can’t he let go of the hope that somebody will? 

The waitress doesn’t. She smiles at Point and tries not to look in Wren’s direction. Hard to imagine what she sees when she looks at him, either. Point, mostly, is very conventionally attractive. He looks like an old Hollywood movie star, tall, dark, and handsome. But Point doesn’t have human eyes. Point has the dark, empty eyes of a wild animal. When he smiles, it never reaches them. When he smiles, the way it stretches across his face is unnatural, a grotesque mimicry. He smiles like he’d seen somebody else do it once and is trying to recreate it. It isn’t a human smile. 

The waitress doesn’t see this, either. She sees a handsome cowboy and the blonde slut taking advantage of him. It almost makes Wren want to laugh. He doesn’t. 

“What can I get you both?” 

“My bride’ll have a glass of water,” Point answers, “and I’ll get a coffee, please, ma’am.” 

“Nothing to eat?” 

“No, ma’am,” he says. 

She smiles at him again. It might make Wren laugh again if he had more in the way of a sense of humour. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says. 

She smiles again as she scurries off. Beyond the window in their booth, stars twinkle brightly above a long stretch of dark highway, lit up every few minutes with the glaring light of a passing truck. Inside the diner, there’s a man at the counter, sleeping or dead, and a few young people crammed into a booth in the furthest, darkest corner, heads down as their hangovers start to set in. 

Across the table from him, Point clicks his tongue to get his attention. 

Wren’s never been an especially violent person. A little reactive, maybe — when Robin turned eighteen and immediately enlisted in the military, Wren had thrown every one of their mother’s plates at him — but he’s never been violent. Even still, even after everything, if Wren had the means he wouldn’t go back to the district to hurt all those men for what they did to him. If Wren had it his way, he would never think about them again. He wouldn’t stop Silas from hurting them, he doesn’t wish them mercy, he just wouldn’t want to hurt them himself. He wouldn’t want to watch Silas do it, either, he’d just want to know it was done. He’s had enough violence for more than one lifetime. He’s seen enough people die. 

Except for Point. Wren would kill Point. He’d start by gouging his dark, animal eyes out of his face with his filthy, broken fingernails. 

Point grins at him. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I love when you look at me like that,” he says. “You’re more fun when you got some fight in you, cowgirl.” 

Wren doesn’t look at her when the waitress drops a lukewarm glass of water down in front of him. Point’s cup is placed on the table with an unnecessary amount of care. As she fills it, she asks sweetly, “cream and sugar?” 

Point says, playing cowboy, “no, thank you, ma’am.” 

She smiles at him. “Holler at me if you need anything else, okay?” She kind of mimics Point’s fake accent as she says it. How deeply it offends Wren is almost irrational, but how is that any fair? Really. She won’t even look at him. She won’t help him. It’s his accent. Point lives in fucking Greenwich. 

He tips his hat at her. Wren can’t help that he snorts. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Of course,” she says. Wren can feel the look she gives him before she swishes away. Pretends he can’t. 

Point doesn’t touch the coffee. Looks over it at Wren and looks at him too closely. Wren isn’t sure if he keeps doing this to remind him that nobody will or wants to help him, that Point owns him, or if he just likes to see it for himself. Maybe both. He flaunts him like he isn’t actively evading a military manhunt and that Wren isn’t legally a dead person. He didn’t want shitty coffee in a shitty diner off a barren stretch of shitty highway, he wanted to see Wren suffer, around other people but completely alone. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. 

Wren swallows bile. 

Looking across the table at Wren, he isn’t smiling anymore. The intense, almost empty set to his face looks a lot more natural. He lifts his chin. “C’mere.” 

His shoulders tense. He presses himself a little harder into his seat. “No.” 

Point’s eyebrows lift. Otherwise, his face doesn’t change. “Excuse me?” 

Wren swallows again. Unsurprisingly, he has to swallow more bile. He looks into the diner, at the man at the counter and the farthest, crammed booth, but Point says, “don’t look at them. They won’t help you. Look at me,” and as Wren looks up at him again, slowly, Point demands, “you do what I fuckin’ tell you. You know that. C’mere.” 

With all the grace of a newborn fawn, Wren slides out of the booth. Point, either impatient or not trusting him, probably both, reaches for him before he can take a single, shaky step and pulls him down into his lap. Instinctively, Wren tries to pull away, but Wren is weak and malnourished and Point is so much bigger than him. Point has always been so much bigger than him. 

He takes both of Wren’s wrists in one hand, holds them between them, and Wren is totally helpless. With exaggerated ease, Point maneuvers him how he wants him, pulling Wren into him, spreading his thighs over his lap. 

Wren’s breathing hitches. 

Point holds him there, holds his legs apart with bruising force but so softly, too softly, he says, “kiss me.” He lays his accent on thick. 

Instinctively, Wren flinches, trying to lean away, to pull himself off Point’s lap, and Point presses his fingertips so hard into the bones of Wren’s wrist that static starts to crackle down his fingers. “I said kiss me.” With his other hand, he arranges the white frill of Wren’s skirt very carefully over his lap. 

Wren can feel his heartbeat in the side of his throat. “Darren,” he pleads softly. “There’s people here.” 

“When do you think I started giving a fuck about other people?” 

Wren tries to push himself up on his knees and Point watches him, smirking. “I don’t want to.” 

With a raise of his eyebrows, he smirks a little wider. “When do you think I started to give a fuck about what you want, either, cowgirl?” Pushing a hand up and under his skirt, he pulls Wren back down with the hand he curls around the back of his thigh. “I want to kiss my wife.” 

Point has a wife. A real one. Wren tries not to think about her but it’s hard not to wonder sometimes. They have kids. Young ones. Wren’s pretty sure the youngest is still only a newborn. Wren, they’d named the baby. Does she know? Does she have any idea? 

Not gently, Point guides Wren’s arms around his neck. Pulling his skirt out and over his lap again, he pushes both his hands beneath the tulle and Wren can feel the cool metal against the inside of his thigh as he pulls open his belt buckle. 

Wren makes a hitching, gasping sort of sound as he tries to lean away, and Point reaches up quickly, clamping a hand over Wren’s mouth with a force that knocks his teeth against each other. 

“You can go ahead and make a scene, cowgirl,” he says quietly, leaning in too close. “You know it won’t help you. I’ll blow the brains out of everybody in here and then I’ll fuck you in the mess, won’t I?” Slowly, he slides his hand from Wren’s mouth, pressing his fingertips too hard into the hinge of his jaw. “Or you can be good, baby, and you can be quiet, and everybody can walk out of here alive.” 

“Somebody will see us,” Wren says softly. 

“Not if you’re quiet,” he coos. He covers Wren’s mouth again as he moves, gripping the edge of the table behind him, caging him in. “Kiss me.” 

“Please,” he whispers. 

But Wren isn’t a person, and he isn’t a human being. He’s bare skin and short skirts. He doesn’t have thoughts or opinions of his own, not that he’s allowed to express. He doesn’t get to want. He isn’t allowed to say no. 

“You’re gonna wanna hold onto me, cowgirl,” Point says with a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes. 

Wren starts to cry, because Wren is usually crying, but he’s been dehydrated for so many days that he doesn’t produce any tears. He only sobs, and Point leans in quickly to kiss him, to swallow the sound with a groan of his own. 

Nobody comes to help him. He’s sure the rest of the diner can see them, and he’s sure they must know, as much as they can, what they’re doing, they aren’t discreet and Point isn’t gentle but still, nobody comes to help him. Nobody comes to stop them. Like usual, they watch and they don’t do anything else. 

Not for the first time, Wren thinks back on his last day. He thinks about kneeling in that sinking apartment building, begging Robin to come home with him while Robin begged him for a couple bucks. He thinks about looking up at Point for the very first time, black mask and black uniform, black machine gun. He thinks about the way Point had looked at him. 

Not for the first time, Wren wishes Point would’ve just killed him. 

[ellohallohiya]

imagine like other traveling groups like the covey. instead of just singing and dancing there's also playwrights and poets, historians and archeologists, traveling cooks making all sorts of foods from the local ingredients, people who research linguistics and languages, astronomers who tell the story of the stars, merchants of animals or flora from different districts, all the way to witch doctors and apothecaries or pillagers and raiders. and just people who like to hop place to place, probably hunting or gathering in between

there's actually so many possibilities for traveling groups/families/people in Panem who got trapped in a district after the dark days. like we don't know about all these people and cultures because they eventually just got integrated into the districts by Katniss' time

[sweetbrier2908]

who fell first, who fell harder?

Mammon

He fell first and he fell harder.

He is completely in love with you.

He is crazy for you.

He is deeply in love with you.

He is head over heels for you.

He will do anything for you, and it means anything. Nothing can stop him from being with you. You're his angel, his guiding light, his only love, his first, his human. You're his everything. He couldn't think of one thing he can't stand about you (maybe just the fact that you're always so close with his brothers). He wants to be with you for the rest of his life and he hopes you want the same.

He was always so insecure, it was not like he cared about what his brothers and strangers say about him, it was not like those words were going to affect him schemes anyway - what he cared was what you will think about him after hearing those words. but you lay next to him every night and tell him how kind he is, how decent he is, how much Lucifer trusts him, how much his brothers love him despite their rude words, how great he is to you, how much you love him. Just like that, you chase his insecurity away.

He was always so scared that he couldn't be with you the moment you need him the most, that he couldn't be the one who SAVE you. he had failed once and twice, he doesn't want it to happen thrice. He had slipped and could have not been the one who protected you from Levi's anger, he had not realized and couldn't protect you from being hurt by Belphie.

Who is he if not the first one to protect you when he is supposed to look after you?

Little does he know, you love him the same, you love him as much as he loves you and you would do anything for him. He is your first demon and he will be your first and only lover. He is your guardian demon (even when he always believe that he himself of all demons doesn’t deserve to be your guardian demon, just him wait, you will prove to him that he’s so wrong) and you love him desperately as he does. You will defend him no matter what it takes, you believe in him because you know, from the moment you belong to each other, he will never betray you. You believe in him, because he’s kind, he’s full of love - for his brothers, for the angels who he always complains about, for the Devildom's Prince and his butler, for the world which they casted him out thousands years ago, for the mortal world you belong to, for you. You love him and you want him to feel that he is loved and trusted by you; you love him and you want him to realize how amazing he is, how great he is - things that he always says but never believe himself. You love it when he flustered while confessing, you love how awkward he is with kisses and hugs and affection, you love it when he will never leave your side, you love it when he said that now he's only greedy for your love.

Little does he know, you also fell for him as hard as he did.

Little does he know, you fell for him (maybe) the exact moment he fell for you.

Little does he know, you fell for him when he talked to you about the little girl in human world.

Little does he know, you are completely in love with him.

Little does he know, you are crazy for him.

Little does he know, you are deeply in love with him.

Little does he know, you are head over heels for him.

You will do anything for him, and it means anything. Nothing can stop you from being with him.

Nothing can stop you two being together.

Not even Lucifer, not even his younger brothers, not even Diavolo or his butler, not even the angels, not even the most powerful human, not even Father.

Not even him. Not even you.

[cindol]

Mm mm mm! Just imagining city boy!getou and sweet farmers daughter!reader.

city boy!getou who’s a city boy but country at heart, it’s why he voluntarily did some farm work for a well known farmer on his mother’s side. He was definitely the opposite of y/n funny enough, he was a humble city boy who loved working in the dirt while y/n was the sweet country daddy’s girl.

city boy!getou and sweet farmers daughter!reader are one of those couples you can’t stand just because they’re very sweet. How y/n gives him a towel and fresh lemonade saying,”here you go baby.” Makes any farm hand around wanna pull their hair out. How getou takes on her heavy work is sickening sweet too. Even when y/n tries convincing feeding the goats aren’t too hard doesn’t sway him because he sees how she struggles feeding the goats and milking the cows sometimes.”hush now, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t help my country peach out with heavy duties? Now tie my hair up for me yeah love?”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

SUGUDRABBLE FINISHED WOOOO i shall post the comm and then flee the scene …. love u dash

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

fire breathing roommate chronicles !

a dragon appears . . ?!

lowkey..just lowkey.. thinkin about waking up one day and seeing dragon! bakugou in your house…accompanied by a giant hole in your wall.

you’re so confused you can barely process it. there’s a handsome man passed out on your floor and from what you can see (which is basically everything since his shirt is torn to shreds) he looks injured. you also live on the third floor so you have no idea how he landed here, but you think the huge sprawled out wings on his back, his tail and those huge reddish horns that scream “ i’m a mythical being !!” might be the reason.

but there is one thing you’re able to think about and that’s how much money will it cost to fix your damn wall??

you call off work. you call it a family emergency because you don’t think “a shirtless man i think might be a demon just blasted through my wall and he looks injured” is gonna fly over well with your boss.

he seems to be able to heal himself because his wounds look better than when you first laid eyes on him and you can see that his skin looks like it’s restitching itself almost, you decide to help him out a bit and at least dress his wounds up the best you can with the little you know about doctor..stuff.

when he comes to though, he acts like you’re the one who knocked him out. he’s snarling and scowling at you, sharp teeth on display while he growls at you from the comfort of your fucking couch. he spits out all types of curses at you, you’re shocked because they come out so naturally. you’d honestly expected him to speak like some type of caveman and for a second you think this is just a very rude man in very convincing cosplay.

he keeps insulting you and he’s a little too good at it, so much so that it actually hurts your feelings a little. he keeps yapping about how if you didn’t let him out this instant he’ll have you grilled and barbecued or how he’d make quick work of you and have you sold to some merchants for a good amount of gold, since you “look like you’re not worth that much.” you’re a little pissed now. you scowl at him and you feel silly for calling off work and not pushing this huge asshole out of your flat and leaving whatever knocked him out to deal with him.

“you’re the one who blasted a hole in my wall, you jerk ! i say i’m the one who should have you sold if you can’t reimburse me for this, asshole ! and if you wanna walk out without a shirt on and get arrested like a creep, the door’s right there.” you don’t care to see him, because you would’ve seen how his eyes widened to the size of saucers at your retorts. you’ve never been more irritated in your entire life when you stalk to your room to get some much needed rest and to fight off the headache you can already feel slamming against your skull. “even demon men are insufferable.” you mutter bitterly before slamming the door.

you somehow managed to fall back asleep because when you open your eyes again it’s about 10 am. you’re frantic for a moment because you think this was somehow just a very vivid dream and you’re so late for work now. you slam your door open wide eyed and your wall is intact.

shit, your boss was gonna let you have it—

you catch something from the corner of your eye. the insufferable demon man is staring..glaring(?) at you but it’s not as intense as earlier,though. and he’s very much still seated on your couch.

“m-my wall..” you trail off. he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at you “i fixed it” he gruffs out.

you like how his voice sounds when he isn’t screaming and threatening you, you immediately scold yourself for thinking like that. he stares and keeps staring at you and you can’t decipher what he’s thinking

“oh..” you gasp “thank you.” he clicks his tongue again and looks away from you. just as much of an ass, but you guessed he felt a little bad about your wall, enough to fix it..somehow. you won’t ask for details.

you can’t will yourself to move past your doorframe so you decide to lean on it a little bit, rubbing your fuzzy socked foot against your calf, you catch him staring at the sudden movement before he looks back up at you. “so are you…a demon or something?” he scoffs for what feels like the umpteenth time today “don’t insult me, human.” he snarls then his face relaxes just slightly “m’ a dragon.” he grumbles.

“oh, wow” the little amount of fantasy manga you’ve read could never have prepared you for this.

you thank him for fixing your wall and he glares at you like he’s mad about it. but then he says he owes it to you for healing him. pointing towards his bandage covered chest. you feel your cheeks burn a little and you’re waving him off, telling him it’s no big deal and somehow his brows furrow even harder. “..so ? what do you want from me?” he growls when you tilt your head at him in confusion “don’t play dumb with me, filthy human ! what do you want in exchange for saving me ?”

“ohh…” you moan. then you shrug “i mean, you already fixed my wall, so i don’t really need anything from you, unless you can make my boss give me a promotion.” you giggle at your own joke and you wave him off again when he looks at you questioningly “nevermind.” you giggle.

he ignores you “you don’t want anything..nothing ?” he speaks apprehensively like he expects you to trick him, you shake your head. he looks bothered by it. he lowers his head and his eyebrows furrow in frustration then he growls.

you think maybe, maybe, he’s the type to feel bad whenever they feel like they can’t repay some type of service. you hadn’t noticed he was apparently on death’s door when you bandaged him up before and it makes you sweat drop a little bit, you try your best to shake it off. he stands up to leave, but he glances at you and suddenly his feet have stopped moving like he’s stuck there and he stares. he doesn’t even look mad like you’ve gotten used to him being for the short amount of time you’ve known him, he just looks confused. he stares at you and you stare at him and for a reason that you cannot understand you don’t want him to leave.

“ um !” you shrink into yourself, embarrassed from his gaze and the fact you were suddenly so loud. “well..you can’t exactly go out like this, it’ll be bad for you i think..it might attract attention to see a wounded shirtless guy walking around, people might take you for..i dunno—” you stumble “a crazy, dangerous person ! yeah, and if that happens they might take you away..so..that’d be bad for you, right ?” you hope he doesn’t realize how much you’re bullshitting around for an excuse but he almost seems to humor you when he crosses his arms across his toned chest.

“what do you suggest i do then, human ?” he growls lowly. he stalks towards you slowly, never breaking eye contact. you will yourself to stay with your feet planted firmly to the ground and head held up somewhat high as you stare up at him, damn he’s tall.

“ you stay here until you’re fully healed, if you wanna make it up to me. it would honestly save me so much trouble” it’s the truth. you can’t help but feel bad when the thought of him getting captured or experimented on crosses your mind, even if he is an asshole, but you don’t say that. you hold out your hand for him to shake “deal ?”

he squints at you and stares and you stare back. usually he would’ve stayed true to his threat and burned you alive by now, the trivial lives of humans are none of his concern. and yet for some reason he himself doesn’t know the answer to he stayed, even fixed up your damn wall you were whining about and even considered apologizing to you..which he absolutely never does !

there’s something different about you and he wants to find out what that something is. so, not so begrudgingly he slowly grasps your hand and squeezes lightly. he ignores the tiny voice in his head that tells him how soft and perfect your hand feels in his.

“deal.”

[shoot-i-messed-up]

…ngl the Ilana & Rick dynamic was more interesting before they fucked

[skullsandfeathers]

You Want To Write What?

Ship: Lucanis/Emmrich/Spite Word Count: 734 Tags: academic curiosity

Summary: Emmrich has been getting a lot of questions about his relationship with Lucanis since bringing him back with him to the Necropolis. He has an unconventional idea of how to solve it without being too invasive of their privacy.

Notes: Brought to you by insomnia, a 5-year-old who will not go to sleep, and a stupid idea that wouldn't leave my brain until I put it out into the world.

ao3 link here or under read more

“You want to write what?”

“A book, darling.” Emmrich said plainly, eyes looking to Lucanis with uncertain curiosity. He knew the subject would likely be one that made the Crow pause, perhaps bristle, and he had guessed he would entirely disagree with it, but academic curiosity got the better of him. He had to ask.

“A book.”

“Yes.”

“About us.”

“Yes. About us.”

“About our sex life. ”

“ Well��,” Emmrich said with a little bit of a scoff and a pursed lipped smirk with his arms crossing over his chest. Lucanis mirrored much the same position, though the look on his face was far less amused than the one of Emmrich’s, a frown drawing down the corners of the Crow’s mouth. Emmrich did his best to straighten his expression and cleared his throat before continuing. “It would be from an academic angle, my dear, there wouldn’t be any of the steamier details. ”

“An academic angle?”

“Yes! There is a great deal of curiosity among a number of professors and other senior Mourn Watch in the Necropolis on the metaphysical mechanics behind engaging in intimacy with a person possessed in a copacetic relationship with their maligned spirit–”

“Ah-ha.” Lucanis said skeptically, raising a brow. “And how exactly would they even begin to be curious about said intimacy?” The rogue asked, then a sudden thought hit him and he looked at Emmrich with a mild bit of concern, his sharp brows relaxing more in worry than frustration.

“Have you been talking about us?”

“Heavens no!” Emmrich said, rather quickly and with a huff, but then his own expression relaxed and he let his hands drop down as he approached Lucanis and put a hand on either one of the assassin’s arms, rubbing up and down from his forearm to his shoulders in a reassuring touch. “I have the utmost and deepest respect for your– our –privacy in such delicate matters. But your possession is widely known, as is our relationship. There has been… talk.”

“Talk?”

“Questions.”

“ Mierda , who is asking such questions?”

“A few of my colleagues. It is… a unique situation, it piques the curiosity of many an academic mind. I assure you, I have not given anyone a single detail. But soon, they are going to be coming up with their own theories and conclusions, and–”

“And you want to make sure they don’t get it wrong.” Lucanis said with a little bit of a smirk, and Emmrich sighed with a little bit of a smile, shaking his head.

“No, well, yes. That is part of it… but it is more so that I’d rather put the information out there in as formal and as technical a way as possible so that they stop asking those questions to begin with.” Emmrich said, lips pursed again, but he felt foolish now for even bringing it up. “I am sorry, my darling, it was an inappropriate thing of me to ask–”

Lucanis brought a hand up to stop the mage from talking, then scrubbed over his face, settling to scratch in his beard just under his chin. He gave Emmrich a look with a skeptically raised brow before bringing his hands down to ball into fists and rest them on his hips. “Formal and technical?”

“Yes.”

“And you would not use our names?”

“Absolutely. I would publish it quietly and entirely anonymously.”

Lucanis considered a moment. He realized that Emmrich was doing it more as a way to protect their privacy from the prying curiosity of Emmrich’s fellow Watchers. And it wasn’t as if the book was going to be detailed in the way his favorite romance novels were. It was technical, formal, only the metaphysical mechanics that would be discussed.

“All right. Fine. You can write your book.”

“Wha– are you positive, my dear?”

“On one condition.”

“Anything, darling, you only need ask.”

“Spite and I get to read it before you publish, and if there is anything in there we don’t like, you take it out or don’t publish at all .”

“That is perfectly reasonable, dearest.”

“Good.” Lucanis said, then moved to grab one of Emmrich’s hands and lead him to the room they shared in their apartment in the Necropolis, a smirk on his lips.

“What are you–”

“Research for your book, mi tesoro… ”

With a chuckle and a smirk, Emmrich followed. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

[flyingwargle]

the locker room after practice is always chaotic. athletes rummage through their bags for toiletries and towels, steam escapes from the shower room, and water is splashed everywhere. atsumu often waits until the initial rush is finished, passing time by checking his phone. it’s not like he’s embarrassed or bashful – it’s just quieter, something sakusa noticed, and atsumu simply followed suit.

“any plans for the weekend, tsum-tsum?” bokuto asks, a towel wrapped around his waist as he pulls a clean shirt on.

“ma is visitin’, so ‘samu is comin’ fer lunch. not sure if omi wants ta do anythin’.” they usually spend sundays together to train, go into town, or help each other with chores. “what ‘bout ya?”

“my old high school friends are visiting, so i’m taking them around! any recommendations?”

hinata joins them. “ooh, you have to bring them to onigiri miya! i bet osamu-san will be happy to serve them!”

“ya took the words outta my mouth, shoyo,” atsumu laughs. “maybe also that izakaya we go ta a lot? beer’s decent an’ the yakitori is ta die fer.”

“already planned for that! komi-yan wants to see some shrines, and washio wants to go shopping. he needs new clothes, or something.”

at the mention of ejp’s middle blocker, atsumu perks up. “oh, if he’s in town, then momo-kun might be, too. it’s ‘bout time he visits omi, anyway.”

“where is omi-san?” hinata asks, looking around. most of their teammates have already left.

“sakusa left a while ago,” inunaki tells them as he walks by. “he looked like he was in a rush."

atsumu grabs his toiletries and towel. “probably ta see momo-kun. see ya next week, wan-san.”

by the time he finishes his shower, hinata and bokuto are heading out. atsumu hums as he dries his hair, goes through his routine. he pulls on a sweater and zips his team jacket, slipping his phone into his pocket, about to pack his bag when he notices his missing water bottle. it’s probably in the gym, so he pivots to head to the court–

 –when he hears noise. not just any noise, but- footsteps? shoes sliding across the floor, some sort of movement, and…clothes whipping around? atsumu inches closer, peers around the corner. he hides his gasp behind his hand.

it’s sakusa. dancing.

the way he moves remind atsumu of the dancing shorts that cross his feed on occasion – clean footwork, impeccable body control, and arms moving with the beat. each action tells a story, echoes the lyric that pulses through his earphones, perfectly choreographed – or is he freestyling?

it doesn’t matter. atsumu watches, enraptured, as sakusa dances without a care in the world, shoes squeaking with each step, arms sweeping outwards, hips moving to the rhythm. he spins on his toes, jacket billowing around him. he poses, a hand on his hip, the other arm in the air. he raises his head and–

oh. atsumu forgot to hide. he steps out from behind the wall. “hey, omi. i…forgot my water bottle.” it’s on the bench beside sakusa’s bag. “i’ll just…grab it.”

sakusa doesn’t say anything, just takes his earphones out. he walks toward him, reaches into his bag to pause the music. atsumu swipes his bottle, eyes lingering on him. “so…”

“just say it.”

it’s kind of unfair how he isn’t breathless after dancing for god knows how long after a full practice session. “how long have ya been dancin’ fer?”

“since i was a kid.” sakusa sits on the bench. “my mom signed me up for ballroom dancing, but i’d sneak out to join the hip hop class next door. she never noticed because our driver would pick me up, and he never went inside.”

“oh.” atsumu forgets how rich sakusa really is, sometimes. like, really, who has a driver?

“i stopped because of volleyball, but sometimes at night, when no one was home, i’d…dance.” sakusa shrugs. “i still follow video tutorials and practice casually. i found out no one cleans the gym until later, so i’ve been using the court after practice.”

“omi.” realization dawns on him. “ya’d be an absolute beast on the dance floor.”

“that’s precisely why i don’t dance in public.”

“just imagine the look on bokkun’s face if he saw ya! or shoyo, he’s got good moves too, but he ain’t got nothin’ on ya. wow.” atsumu’s heart stutters, suddenly breathless. “omi, yer amazin’.”

his brow crinkles. “thanks?”

“ya needa learn how ta take a compliment. hey.” atsumu offers him a hand. “i always wanted ta ask ta dance with ya, but ya always said the floor’s too crowded an’ all…so how ‘bout now? it’s just us?”

sakusa’s cheeks flush red. he hides beneath his collar. “i…don’t really do well dancing with others.”

“s’all right. i ain’t a pro, so we can just enjoy some good music together. ya can even pick a song ya like dancin’ ta, if it helps.”

“i…okay.” sakusa takes his phone out. once he made his choice, he sanitizes an earphone to give to atsumu, then takes his hand to head to the court. “don’t you dare make fun of my taste in music.”

“i don’t make fun ya, omi. not on purpose, anyway.”

sakusa rolls his eyes, taking a step away as the music builds. atsumu recognizes it immediately. “i never thought ya’d listen ta one direction.”

“shut. up.”

“no need ta be shy, omi. it’s just us.” atsumu starts to move, swaying his hips with the beat, tossing his head with a grin. “show me what yer dance is ‘bout.”

sakusa’s scowl is deep but lessens with each step. it’s less hip hop and more contemporary to match the gentler beat, feet moving across the floor. he moves closer, rests a cautious hand over atsumu’s hip. their eyes meet, chorus echoing in their ears. sakusa gives a gentle push, and atsumu steps backward, guided into a spin. sakusa catches his hands, stretches his arms to the side, then together, pushing off his palms to dance away, and atsumu pivots to face him, holds his arm in his direction. sakusa grasps it, draws him closer, guides him forward with his hands on his hips. their eyes meet, heavy breaths intertwined as one.

at the song’s end, sakusa brings atsumu toward him, an arm draped over his lower back, hand pressed against his cheek. the last note fades. “they don’t know about us,” sakusa sings breathlessly. atsumu loses himself in his gaze. “i always…i used to dance to this while thinking about you, and now, you’re here.”

the late night calls. the text messages stretched across prefectures. the video calls and scattered visits until finally, finally, they were reunited. “yer here, too,” atsumu whispers. “an’ we ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

--

i was inspired to write dancer omi after watching shorts from vik white <3 i wasn't referencing any short in particular, but i imagine his style to be similar!

[2-lines-and-a-circle]

Moles and kisses

Notes: Short little drabbles about him kissing your back moles, Ikemen vamp suitors, can really be anyone you want it to be though, Fem! reader, established relationship,

Your back is bare in all of these so, just keep that in mind.

Resting on your side, with your back facing towards him, eyes staring into an aimless space. Soon enough a soft sensation of which you believed to be his fingertips graced your back. What had he been doing? Drawing constellations? Following this came a kiss to your shoulder as he glided his hand to pull you closer to him. Your head against his chest till he got you to be underneath him. A cheeky smile across his face at his new proud findings.

“I didn’t know you had moles back here. It’s cute.”

^ Napoleon, Vlad, Vincent, Isaac

In the early morning you stood in front of the mirror preparing for your new day. Coming into view was your lover and without missing a beat he wrapped his arms around you. With a slight rock in his step as he woke himself up with each step. Taking a good look at your bare back he started placing light kisses, a soft touch to this early morning. From place-to-place different sensations all over your back appeared. Once he was done, he made sure to follow up with his usual good morning kiss.

“Hmmm? Ah, I just felt like kissing your moles. They were begging to be kissed this morning, don’t you think?”

^ Charles, Dazai, Arthur, Shakespeare

Getting up from your bed you welcomed a soothing breeze as it flowed in through the window. Staring down at your lover you placed a soft good morning kiss to start your day. Turning away from them you got up but felt a pair of arms stop you. Pulling you back into bed as he held you tightly from behind. Scanning your back for a quick moment, then he proceeded to kiss you, except only on places you had moles. Once he lifted his lips from the kiss, his fingertips would grace the place last kissed. A soft feather-like touch which became needier as time continued.

“Let’s stay in for a little longer. I want to savor you more.”

^ Leonardo, Comte, Theo, Faust