#wow what a bunch of idiots-

[dayseedrawz2]

♧See? You may be stuck, b-but you have wonderful caretakers!♧

☆We reassure you that your stay won't be as miserable as you might think!☆

[puppyeared]

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[berrymeter]

feel the need to make it clear once again that i have better shit to worry about than deciding who gets to be lgbt. if your internet presence is nothing but focus on keeping ‘the ones who are NOT lgbt’ out you’re kinda pathetic & should log off probably bc things don’t work like that anyway? get a hobby or something

[middle-child-of-eternity]

laying in bed for like the 5th time today thinking "damn why am I so tired" as if I didn't just work for 3 weeks with several 15 hour days and only 2.5 days off, including sailing for 3 days straight and getting seasick, with a wack sleep schedule, abnormal diet, and multiple 90F+ days. like dude. the conditions.

[livwritesstuff]

i went on a deep dive of the Steve & Hopper ao3 tag yesterday and and it got me thinking about what would happen if Chief of Police Hopper ran into Steve and Eddie while he was on patrol after pseudo-adopting Steve, and it’s been long enough that Hopper is sort of a safe-person for Steve so Steve goes into full-fledged bitch mode when Hopper tries to pull cop stuff on them, and Eddie (who knew about none of this because Steve is a chronic under-sharer) is so totally baffled.

He’d spent years watching Steve sweet-talk his way out of trouble. Even before they started hooking up it used to drive Eddie goddamn insane, because if (when) Eddie pulled any of this shit Steve gets away with, he’d be totally screwed, but all Steve has to do is flash a sheepish grin and run a hand through his hair once or twice and say, all baleful, “I really didn’t mean any trouble,” and he’s home free.

It has its perks though, or so he's learned during his last few months of hanging around with Steve, so when Steve and Eddie’s make-out session is interrupted by the tell-tale red and blue lights of a cop car pulling up behind where Steve parked the Beemer a few hundred yards down a maintenance road, Eddie’s not all that worried. In fact, he’s got a pretty good amount of faith in Steve’s ability to spin up some story to keep them out of any real trouble, and as Chief Hopper ambles over to them, Eddie prepares himself for a whole show of, “Yes Chief, sorry Chief, it won’t happen again Chief.”

So imagine Eddie's complete and utter surprise when Hopper barks, “Hey, morons! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and Steve only rolls his eyes and says, “What’s it to you?”

Eddie feels his jaw drop.

“Steve,” he mutters through gritted teeth. He tries to elbow Steve into shutting the hell up, but he misses because Steve has already taken several steps forward to meet Hopper, his face turned up in a kind of defiance Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before.

“What’s it to me?” Hopper repeats, glowering at Steve, “It’s midnight. I’m on patrol. You’ve got one of the most recognizable cars in this entire damn town parked in a restricted-access zone with this idiot–” Hopper gestures at Eddie (Eddie didn’t think the pointing or the idiot were necessary, but clearly, clearly, he’s missing something here), “–who’s been dragged into my station more times than I could count.”

“The town line, Hop, is over there,” Steve says, pointing at an indiscriminate spot over Hop’s shoulder that may or may not be part of the Hawkins town line, “We’re not even in Hawkins anymore. You’re totally out of your jurisdiction.”

“You wanna know something about jurisdiction, smart-ass?” Hopper asks, “If my report says shit happened in my jurisdiction, it happened in my jurisdiction.”

“Wow,” Steve deadpans, “Way to not sound totally corrupt. Nice work, Chief.”

Hopper’s jaw twitches for a second, and he’s clearly debating if he wants to keep arguing with Steve who, to Steve’s credit, looks like he’s got debate in him for days. Ultimately though, Hopper decides against it and stalks back over to his squad car.

“If you’re not home by one there’s gonna be hell to pay. You hear me, Harrington?” Hopper yells, “One AM. Hell to pay.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Totally hear you. One AM. Loud and clear or whatever.”

Steve flips the cruiser both birds as it peels away, which Hopper only flashes his high beams at a couple times before he’s gone, kicking up a bunch of dirt and mulch and leaves in his wake, and Steve is wearing an exasperated expression as he turns to face Eddie again.

“God, he’s so annoying. Let’s just go to my house.”

Eddie gapes at him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Huh?”

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie repeated, gesturing wildly towards where Hopper’s car had just been.

“Wha– you mean with Hop?”

“Uh, yeah?!?”

Steve just brushed him off, “Whatever, just ignore him. He’s basically my dad.”

“What?”

[sapsolais]

i have,, thoughts

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART TWO ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: he should have waited for you. but no, toshinori felt like he had something to prove. now, roles are reversed and he needs your help. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 5k tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (male receiving), piv, sex pollen trope but make it canon specific, dirty talk, praise kink, denied feelings, deeply needy fucking, size difference, toshinori being a good old fashioned lover-boy (again), enemies-to-coworkers-to-lovers hits hard a/n: oh wow a part two,,, i'm sick in the head ← previous | the tag

This ain't great.

This is, uh, bad actually.

Like, Toshinori has absolutely no idea what to do, bad. 

For Christ's sake, he's All Might. He should have known better. He should have known to wait for you — but no, he just had to calm his nerves by beginning your usual shared patrol an hour early. 

It's been one week, two days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes since he last saw you. Not that he's counting. It's not like he's suddenly acutely aware of the time he's spent apart from you, or anything. 

Japan is locked in a heatwave. 

(Or, maybe it's just the fever in his bones.)

Large, calloused palms dig into his eyes as he leans back against the rooftop's barrier and groans. Toshinori drops his head against the iron railing in defeat, sending a twang through the hot air. Sweat is running down his back beneath his suit, tracing the curve of his spine.

Oh, and he's hard.

Painfully hard.

Like he said, this ain't great.

The call went out that they spotted the same love quirk user from last week holding some sex workers at gunpoint. He should have waited. The two of you could have handled him easily. 

But, no. Toshi had to go and think he had something to prove. 

He groans again, pounding his knuckles to the gravel.

It's going to be all over the evening news. That clip of him, panicking, and absolutely decking the very-much-not-a-real-violent-threat-of-a-man in the face on reflex after being hit with his quirk. He couldn't help it. It was like... a knee-jerk. It's like suddenly you're being touched everywhere and nowhere. It's strange. Sort of violating. It... I-It was just all he could do, okay? 

And he apologized! Plenty! A-And Officer Tsukauchi said it was fine, that he had it handled, as a bunch of officers began to help the now-unconscious offender out of the storefront's debris.

...Toshinori's phone is ringing.

He has half the mind to ignore it.

But it's the guitar riff from 'Bad to the Bone'. 

It's you.

He barks out a huffed 'shit' before digging his phone from the pocket in his belt. Even your picture glowing alongside the phone call notification is enough to make his cock throb. 

It's not even racy. It's blurry. It's in the All Might Agency's lobby. You're smiling. It's such a rare sight. You're holding up your official hero license and a big thumbs up.

He took the picture a few years ago. It was a big deal, a huge win. Your hair was a little shorter, and your hands weren't as scarred from Pro-Hero work as they are now. And god, that smile. 

...Jesus, you're just happy and he's this horny? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Toshinori picks up on the last ring.

"Where the hell are you?" comes your voice, cutting through the sound of wind — he can hear the thrum of your bike's engine in the background, "I've been looking all over for you, and I just got a call from Tsukauchi — are you alright?"

The sound of your voice is making his mouth dry.

"I'm fine."

He's not fine.

He's sitting here, aroused out of his mind and in pain, trying to battle through the mind-numbing, knuckle-breaking heat of desire. He can't even come close to the word 'fine'. He's a mess. All he can do is sit here and sweat because he knows no amount of trying to jerk off is going to solve this problem.

He's so not fine.

You can tell.

Tsukauchi gave few details — just that whatever the hell happened sent All Might hightailing it outta there. And, after getting a brief description of the prep, you had a pretty good idea why. 

Your fingers twitch against the throttle.

"Send me your location," you say sternly; the glint of your helmet's visor catches the passing lights of traffic as you talk into the built-in comms system, "I'm coming to get you."

"No," he grits out, tugging on a piece of his blonde fringe, "N-No. I'll be fine. I-I am fine. Just need some time—"

"Toshinori," you bark back as you check for an opening between cars; your whole body is hot and it's not just from the summer heat, "I'm not asking. Let me help." 

...Oh.

Help. Right.

It's ambiguous and sort of ominous but, if he squints, it's the first time either of you has even come close to talking about what happened last week. Y'know. When he kissed you in your entryway, the way he ate you out on your couch, or the way he absolutely fucked your brains out in your bed. All because you had been hit with the same quirk influence he's riding out now.

His location pings up on your visor's HUD. 

"Be there in five."

And you hang up.

Because — I mean, what else is there to say? You are going to do what you have to to help him. Just like he did for you. Then, maybe it will be even! And then, maybe, this feeling that has been eating your heart away for the last week will disappear. Right? And things will go back to normal!

...Right?

Ha! B-Because, yea, that feeling is definitely guilt, right? Like... You... uh. You feel bad. Because... he had to... help. And you haven't helped him. Right. Yes. 

Yep.

Not because you can't stop thinking about his hands on your face, cradling you tenderly as he drove himself deep into you. Not because you can't stop thinking about the way he looked up at you with his tongue flat on your clit. Not because you can't stop thinking about his voice, or his smile, or his laugh, or his—

The telltale roar of a motorcycle sets Toshinori Yagi's stomach ablaze. 

Immediately, the air gets thicker like the feeling before a summer thunderstorm. He knows you're here. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and before he can rub the feeling away, you're there. 

On the roof.

"You look..." you breathe out as your feet touch down with a crackle of lightning crescendoing around you, "Like shit." 

(Truly he looks divine. Rosey cheeks, his chest heaving. His eyes are half-lidded. There's a bead of sweat that runs down his jaw, down down down, down his neck, then disappears beneath the collar of his suit.)

Toshi sighs. It's a ragged sound. He pulls his knees up, trying his best to hide the apparent tenting across the front of his hero costume. He scrapes his rough palm down his face.

"Don't start—"

"Did I look this bad?" you ask, voice hiking an octave as you move towards him. You keep an even distance. Your face is morphed into a look of pity, but there's something in your voice that makes the knot in Toshinori's gut wind tighter, "He got you good, huh, Tosh'?"

He can't do nicknames right now.

"Ha, ha," he grits out, the trademarked All Might boisterousness dying in favor of the lackluster, dry humor he was born with, "You're real funny, zippy."

It's your favorite flavor of him. The man is out of the limelight. Though he may still be bigger than life biceps and thick steel-corded quads, the facade has fallen. 

"And you're a mess," you sigh as you squat down, rummaging in your pack for something. It's a water bottle. You offer it as you watch him. 

The condensation kisses his fingertips as he takes it and pops it open. 

He takes a long drink, caps it off, then presses the cold bottle to the back of his neck. It does little to dissipate the tension in his broad shoulders. The sensation arguably makes it worse. Another bead of sweat runs down his back.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

We're never gonna talk about this again echoes somewhere in the back of his mind. At this rate, they're gonna have to talk about this. Because once is just a fluke. Twice is a problem. A real problem. 

He places the bottle back on the ground after another long sip.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Despite your desperate attempt to remain levelheaded, you know exactly how he's feeling at this moment. You gotta admit, his self-control dwarfs your own though. You could hardly keep your hands off him the second he walked in your door. 

You wrestle your bike helmet off, and Toshinori has to quell the wave of longing that rises in his chest. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and neck. He suddenly wishes he made you look this way — windswept and sweating. 

The jet-black helmet lands on the rooftop with a thwat. He can see his ragged, flushed reflection in the black visor. 

Your voice is soft. "Hey."

It brings his focus back to you. His mouth is dry. Big blue eyes swivel as they rake across your face — and he hates how his cock jumps at how softly you speak next.

"What do you need right now, Toshinori?"

His chest is rising and falling a little faster. The usual steadfast expression on his face has melted into something doe-eyed and boyish. It makes your heart clench. 

"Are you sure about this?" his voice cracks as he swallows roughly. It's a non-answer. It's a metaphorical boot-kicking-in-the-door, though. Toshinori rakes his hands through his hair, "I-I... I can wait it out—"

You exhale tightly; your rationale is clear. Totally unbiased and very much not rooted in an unabashed obsession with the way he touches you. 

"Tosh', you helped me. I won't sit around and let you suffer when the same hand is dealt your way."

He drops his head back again. Another twang echoes through the night air. 

"Plus," you offer with a slow, crooning smile, "I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

It takes a second.

Then, one blue eye cracks open. Long, dark blonde lashes flutter a bit — and then, he's smirking. 

Ha. 

Right.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his head still dropped back and shoulders slumped. 

"Sure as I'll ever be, big man."

That's the only permission he needs.

Toshinori Yagi is fast. He has to be. He's the Number One Hero in all of Japan. Top of the popularity ranks, fan-favorite, best stats in history. Being fast is part of the gig. 

He's fast to sit up and catch you in a kiss that feels like a bruise — tender and aching and miscalculated. It's teeth and tongue and then a deliciously low noise that rumbles up from his chest and sets your whole body on fire. 

His grip is rough — his fingers fist your hair as he drags you closer, his mouth presses firmly to yours as you scramble against the rough rooftop. It's... 

Needy.

You're crawling towards him.

"That's my line," he breathes out, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth and pressing back in to steal your breath. His grip tightens in your hair. His voice is so low that it feels like someone lights a fire under your skin. It's rough and breathless and so not All Might.  

"It's a good line," you mutter back as your brain stutter-steps. You pull away to crawl closer and straddle his hips. Your knees pin his cape to the gravel. You're kissing him again, letting his feverish need set the pace, "Worked on me."

You can feel him through your hero suit. 

His suit's pants are thick, made of some patented material you can never remember the name of — but his arousal is more than apparent as you settle your weight down against him. The added pressure earns a throaty hum of approval. 

You always forget just how big he is in this form — his hands dwarf your hips as he drags his grip down, allowing himself a little bit of an edge when he unceremoniously bucks up against you. 

"Sorry," he slurs out, his boots scraping against the roof; it's utterly pathetic, "Sorry—"

"Stop apologizing," you breathe out as you follow his lead and continue the movement, grinding your hips down, "I asked what you needed—"

"Anything," Toshinori's words rush out with his blue eyes screwed closed tightly as he grips your hips and slots his mouth back against yours, "Anything you'll give me."

...How is he so romantic? Even in a moment like this? Even when he's blindly seeking friction through his pants, bucking his hips against your own, as he moans into your mouth. 

"Hands? Mouth?" you parrot his line of questioning from your previous encounter; it seems to knock some sense into him.

His breath catches. Blue eyes widen minutely. You feel him twitch beneath you.

"God, mouth, please—"

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be here? 

Who would have ever anticipated you'd be helping him work off his belt, work off his tactical pants? Who knew you'd be watching his taut stomach flex as you push his costume's top higher up his torso, who knew you'd be dragging his stupid All Might-themed boxers down his narrow hips to spring him free? 

Who thought you'd ever see him like this, so desperate and winded and needy? 

Not you, that's for sure. You never thought, in all those years you sat in prison, this would be your life shortly after: giving head — happily — to the man who put you there in the first place. 

And here you are, slipping him a tentative look as you wrap a gloved hand around his hardness and smirk. 

"Is this okay?" you murmur up at him, on your hands and knees. You're teasing him. He knows this. 

Toshinori laughs — an incredulous bark. It's all you need to hear as confirmation. 

The sound splinters into a choked moan when you bend down and take him into your mouth.

He sees stars.

This is going to be a problem.

All he can do is lean back and grip the guard rail over his head for dear life because ho-oly shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. His biceps go taut, his knuckles white, and he tries so hard to keep his hips still as you hum around him. His whole body shudders — his thighs tensing under your other hand as you balance above him. 

This is — son of a bitch. Your grip around the base of his cock tightens incrementally, and as you lap at the head of his cock, his thoughts die in a strangled burst of pleasure. 

Then, his hand lands on your cheek.

The touch is reverent. Holy. Tender and adoring.

"Jesus, Der'," he slurs out, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to keep his eyes on you; he can't stare too long. The sight is too much. Too pretty. Mouth full of him, "You're such a good girl." 

There it is. 

The little bit of praise he slipped you before. 

If the iron rail creeks beneath his tightening grip, neither of you pays it any mind. 

You're on your knees, gloved hand around his shaft, watching his face contort into something so wonderfully steeped in bliss. You've got more important things to mind rather than the structural integrity of some stupid rooftop rail. 

Like the way his stomach clenches — the way his abs tighten. Like the way he says your name or the way he chokes out a nervous laugh when you take him just a litttttle deeper. 

"Fucking shit," he hisses; you make a mental note to rib him for his language some other time. Hearing him curse like this is a hell of an indicator for your ego that you're doing a good job, "Der', if you keep that up—"

"What?" you rasp, spit connecting your mouth to his cock, "You'll cum?"

Something snaps. 

It's a flash of red and blue and silver and blonde, his cape tearing through the air. 

Suddenly, you're pinned to the rooftop — gravel scrapes as your boots kick and grapple for purchase. Your elbows scuff against the ground. The wind is swept out of your body and he's kissing you so roughly you swear you taste blood. One of his hands is locked around your jaw. You're effectively trapped. 

All you can do is let out a shaky, startled, yet painfully aroused laugh. 

His other hand isn't gentle — it's tearing at the bottom half of your suit, unceremoniously snapping the button of your tactical pants open and shoving his hand down the front of them. You can feel a slight shake in his fingers as they delve past your underwear and slip into your folds.

"I need you," he hisses; his eyes are dark, and you can see the edge of frustration building. You know the feeling. 

Another kiss.

Suddenly, there are two fingers in you. 

You whine against his mouth.

He doesn't waste any time. He can't. Not when all he can think about is splitting you open on his cock. You're right here and you're soft and beautiful and fuck, he can't even think straight when you clamp down on his middle and ring finger. 

"Be nice," you warn between pants and whines and whimpers. It's an empty threat.

"Or what?" he chirps back, working his fingers in and out; his voice hitches along the syllables, trying his best to sound unaffected by the little breathy sound you let out when he kisses your jaw, "You'll cum?"

It's your turn to laugh. Your hands grapple with his cape, trying to anchor yourself in any way possible. You fist it as his fingers continue the task at hand: opening you up enough to take him. His knees nudge your legs open a little bit farther. Toshinori's body feels like it's on fire. 

His heavy, hot cock drags up the inside of your thigh and he shudders. 

His face is pressed to your shoulder in a flash; it's good because he doesn't see the blissful smile working its way across your face as our own arousal builds. 

"You're soaking wet," he strangles out; his pride is overshadowed by the embarrassing need to have you. He feels like if he doesn't, this raging fever will just get worse and worse and worse. 

"Par for the course," your words hitch on a hot wave of arousal as his palm grinds down against your clit. You grip his wrist, trying to ignore the tell-tale shake in your legs. His hand is holding your face.

"At least I'm doin' something right," he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek as he relinquishes his fingers from your heat and drags your mouth across your jaw, "Y'think... Think you can...?"

Take him? Yea.

You're a brave girl. 

Yea, that shouldn't be a problem. 

What is a problem is your riding gear and hero suit — but Toshinori can't be bothered. He's grappling with them for you, hauling you into his arms as he drags them down enough. They get caught on the tops of your boots, but he doesn't give a shit. Not when you're here, spread, and glistening before him. Not when you're in his lap, half-dressed, and trying to maneuver yourself down onto him with some semblance of grace. 

Everything is bigger when it comes to Mr. Double Detriot Smash.

Again, you're a brave girl. You're not going to shy away from the upgraded dicking down you got last week. Hell, that was great. Filled you up perfectly, and hit all the right spots... and now, you're realizing that the already tight fit is going tobe a littttle tighter. 

Your knees are like jello as your fingertips dig into his shoulders. Your hair is wild — and you're sweating. He's no better off; there's a crease of worry in his brow, even amidst the blinding heat of desire that's eating him up inside. 

He knows he's big. He's huge. He's... 

This is the first time he's ever had sex in this empowered form. 

Not like he advertises this as a service.

He'd be lying through his trademarked smile if he said he wasn't nervous — but there you go, giving him just another reason why he should buy a ring tomorrow and give you everything you've ever wanted because fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you're so tight and hot and wet and the sound you make the second you sink down on him—

"God, yes, Tosh'."

The gasp that wrings itself from his mouth is utterly pathetic. He doesn't care. He truly can't even think straight — all he can do is dig his fingertips into your hips and slam his mouth against yours to muffle the whines crawling up his throat. 

"Stay right there," you whisper; there's an edge to your voice of warning. He's trying to listen. He's trying to be a—

"Good boy."

You're holding his face and he can't seem to catch his breath. His boots scuff in the dirt, his brows knit, and he inhales sharply when you clamp down on him for good measure. Fuck. Shit. God, nonono. He needs to move. He needs — c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please.

"Der'—"

You're kissing him again — and then you move. Slow at first, a little hiccup of your hips. Then, more assured, more confident. An easy up, then down. Then again, and again, and again. And again. 

"God, yes," he nearly cries; he smothers his desperate moan into a kiss that melts away time. Toshinori's hands are trying to find purchase, trying to help guide you up and down his cock as best he can. He doesn't want you to do all the work — he wants to help, "You're so fucking good, Der'."

"Y-Yea?" you breathe out, your entire body shuddering at the praise. Your hip tightens, and you don't even have the wherewithal to consider the cramp. You're not stopping for anything.

Not when this is, like, the hottest thing you've ever done. 

"You have no idea," he melts into another kiss that's all tongue and adoration, his bare thread composure snapping up like his hips in a testing manner, "Lemme fuck you, please, Der', please, please, I promise I'll be good—"

It certainly felt good.

All you can do is hold onto his shoulders. 

If you've learned one thing in the time you've known Toshinori Yagi, it's that he's a man of his word. He holds promises in the deepest homes of his heart, ensuring that nothing prevents him from honoring them. He's dedicated entirely to those around him and to seeing them prevail. Toshinori, even on his worst days, never makes a promise he can't keep. 

So, promising he'll be good?

I mean — it depends on the definition, doesn't it?

If 'good' is desperate, pathetic, fast drillings of his hips as you cling to him and gasp? If 'good' is filthy, muttered praise into your collarbone as he slams into you again, and again, and again?

If 'good' is scrambling in the gravel, being pressed flat as he takes you from behind?

Then, yea.

He's really good.

He's incredibly good — especially as he presses his chest to your back, and wraps his arm around your front. His fingers are greedily pushing through your folds as he keeps up his thoroughly rough pace. The thick, calloused pads of his ring and middle finger grace your clit and you nearly scream. 

The gravel is biting into your knees and palms but you don't care. Not when his mouth is on your neck and he keeps saying your name over and over and over and over again as he drives you into the ground. Not Derecho. Not some tender version of a nickname.

Your name. 

The hot fire of your arousal is building steadily — the wet, explicit sounds of him pushing his cock into you over and over again as he pins you are doing plenty, but it's the way he says your name that really seals your fate. 

Toshinori isn't here right now. Come back in two business days. He's lost in the bone-deep influence of this quirk, hellbent on filling you up and proving he's a good boy. He can give you everything. A ring, a house, a life — three more motorbikes and whatever you want on top of that. 

Fuck, he loves you.

Your fingers dig into the rooftop. 

"Oh, fuck, Toshi — yes," you cry; there's a crack in your voice, "Right there. K-Keep... Keep doing that—"

"C'mon, I wanna f-feel you cum," he babbles as you bury your face into his elbow bracing his weight, "Come on, Der', you're such a good girl, you're taking me so well, I know you c-can—"

Everything is Toshinori. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants, and his voice — so low and honeyed — is right in your ear as he moans.

Even now, he's ever so selfless.

"I need you to cum first," he grits as his fingers work your clit just a little faster, "C'mon, Der', you're doing so good — you deserve it, you deserve to cum so hard—"

Your knees jerk — and the world's best orgasm rushes up to meet you headfirst. A snap of lightning ignites your skin as you lose all control, and so suddenly Toshinori is right behind you, tumbling down the white-hot bliss of the best sex he's ever had in his life. 

He made you snap, he made you lose control, h-he made you cum—

His composure shatters. There's a guttural sound wrenched from deep in his chest and it's delicious. He finishes with a series of frantic thrusts that make you whine. His mouth is on your neck, your cheek, then your mouth. 

You crane yourself back, humming delightfully into the kiss that quells the rolling tide of desire into something softer. 

His whole body shudders as the after-quakes of your orgasm ripple along him. All Toshi can do is smother his sounds into another kiss. This one is slower. It's needy in a different way. 

When the kiss finally slows, it takes a second for him to peel his eyes open.

You look thoroughly wrecked. 

Your expression is that of a woman exhausted. 

Toshinori is suddenly aware of his own bulk, his own weight. Gently, he presses a hand to your cheek as he pushes himself up and off of you. His muscles burn — and pulling out of you makes his entire chest ache. 

The feeling wrings a gasp out of you. 

You exhale slowly, through pursed lips. Then, you brace yourself up on your elbows and hang your head. Toshinori flops gracelessly onto his back, his arms and legs spread with his half-hard cock sloped against his stomach. Your slick is coating him. His pants are half down around his ankles, and his usual up-right bangs have sagged. From heat or exhaustion, you're not sure. 

It sure as hell is cute. 

"You okay?" you ask after a second, taking him in as he begins to catch his breath. 

"Oh, yea, just peachy," he rumbles. The thousand-yard stare into the evening air is a hell of a thing on him. 

It makes you bark out a laugh.

Toshinori lolls his head to the side lazily, taking you in.

Your knees and elbows are bleeding. You're picking out the gravel stuck to your palms. You're in no better of a state — your pants are half on, wrenched down over your riding boots, and your uniform's top is pushed up over your breasts. His orgasm is leaking out of you, and the insides of your thighs are coated with your own arousal. Your hair is a mess. 

You're both messes.

You laugh again — and his own laugh starts shortly thereafter. Before you two know it, you're both locked in a laughing match that only ends when you try to reach to shove his shoulder. Your abs burn. Toshinori tries to muscle the grin off his face but fails.

Fuck. 

Fuck, that feeling hasn't gone away. 

It wasn't guilt.

Mayday, mayday, abort, abort, it wasn't guilt. He's smiling at you in the moonlight, looking so utterly wrecked and handsome and gentle—

His hand moves, a single crux finger gracing the curve of your arm soothingly. It's slow. Tentative. Hesitant. Not too much, not too little. 

Toshinori's voice is rough with sheepishness.

"Are we, uh, are we never gonna talk about this, too?" he asks. 

The touch and the question make your heart kick into a stutter. 

You swallow roughly.

"I..." you drop your head, as you wet your lips; play it cool, "Is it something you... want to talk about?"

"...Do you?"

A non-answer.

Your lashes flutter as your stare widens. You open your mouth, about to say something, but suddenly both of your phones are blaring with a city-wide alert. 

It takes a second for it to register — and as suddenly as the moment came, it went. 

ALERT, ALERT, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, MULTIPLE HOSTAGES, ARMED GUNMAN, ALL PROS REPORT TO CITY HALL, ALERT, ALERT!  

You're struggling to haul your pants up as All Might fumbles with his belt. You hop on one foot, cursing as he scrambles for his phone in the gravel.

"You gotta be kidding me," he grits quietly, thumbing through the notification as you struggle in the middle distance behind him, tripping into your pack as you try and button your pants. 

"Time to go?" you ask pathetically as you try to ignore the feel of after-sex between your legs. 

"I guess that conversation is going to have to wait until later," he says apologetically, bending to grab your helmet. He offers it as you shrug on your pack; there's a sudden cocky confidence seeping back into his posture, "So let's make this quick, shall we?"

You swallow down a rush of worship. 

"I guess so," you remark easily, again trying your best to seem cool. That's your whole persona after all. Little miss spiteful, cold, rough-around-the-edges...

Beautiful, perfect, lovely, Toshi muses as you shove your helmet on and jut your chin his way. You flick your eyes toward the edge of the building.

He's already got a running start. 

"After you, All Might."

"Race you there, Derecho." 

[zweiginator]

Patrick Zweig x Reader x Art Donaldson perhaps??

Again thinking about being in a group project or something with art and Patrick. Neither of them care about the assignment, but you do. You care a lot. And they make fun of how nerdy you’re being but both of them have noticed how pretty you look in class when you’re taking notes. So they’re not mad at all when you’re all paired together.

You know you’ll have to explain everything to them. You wouldn’t say they’re stupid, but they’re acting like it.

And for a second they thought this was a biology class and you have to remind them, no, this is political science.

You’re bossy; you text them late at night and tell them what to do. Art and Patrick have an inside joke about you acting like a drill sergeant about this stupid group project.

“Jeez, calm down. We’re working on it.” Patrick is “researching” on his computer; you can see he’s looking at the Berkeley tennis roster.

Art is glancing over his shoulder. “That’s a good article. Credible too.” He’s eating an apple; the juice falls down his chin.

“I can see your screen you fucking idiot.” You’re not usually this mean, but they’re pissing you off. This is due in a week, it’s almost finals week, and you really don’t want to do this all yourself.

“Wow, okay, sorry ma’am.” Patrick salutes you.

You’re in a study room at one of Stanford’s libraries. It’s almost midnight.

“Why are you calling me ma’am?”

Art giggles. “Because you’re acting like you’re in charge of us.”

“Maybe if you acted like men and not dumb little boys I wouldn’t have to be so bossy.” You shut Patrick’s laptop and put it on the table.

“Plus,” you say. “I think I kind of am in charge of you.”

Patrick and Art just stare at you. You’re sitting on the table, they are in separate chairs, legs spread.

Art scoots forward; the wooden legs of the chair screech against the linoleum floor. “What will happen if we don’t listen to you?”

You stand up and bend down so you’re eye-to-eye with them both. “Why don’t you want to listen to me?”

“Because it’s hot when you’re pissed at us.” Patrick gives you a toothy smile, chewing his gum.

“Art, open your laptop.” You command, grabbing Patrick’s from the table. You open it for him and gesture for him to unlock it.

“Sir yes sir.” Patrick salutes you.

You grab his face. “Do your homework.”

Art stifles a laugh.

As they start typing, you close the blinds to the room.

You sink to your knees, pretending to tie your shoes. But your hand snakes up Patrick’s leg. You see his adam’s apple bob.

“What are you doing?” He looks down at you, confused.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

He nods.

You clear your throat. “Well are you going to take your pants off?”

He gets up to peel them off so fast you have to grab his laptop to keep it from falling.

Art is confused; he’s half heartedly typing on his computer but he’s paying close attention to what’s going on.

“Sit down. Keep working.”

He’s hard; pre-cum leaks from his tip as he clicks randomly on his laptop, looking through tabs—doing anything to seem busy.

You press a kiss to his balls and he moans pornographically, his hips bucking up reflexively.

“Jesus—“ his hand moves to find your hair, but you slap it away.

“Keep working.” You lick a stripe up his shaft, and Art is nervously tapping his foot, clearly awaiting his turn.

Just as Patrick is ready to fuck your mouth, you let off him with a pop and move over to Art.

Patrick groans, but continues to work. This is working for them.

“Look how much I’ve gotten done.” Art shows you his screen; he has finished a few paragraphs and they actually aren’t too poorly written.

“Good job, Art.” You praise. “See, Patrick? It’s not so hard is it?”

You peel Art’s shorts off and his cock slaps against his stomach, hard and ready for you. You don’t make him work on his laptop, and you let his hands bunch your hair up as you suck him fully into your mouth.

He stifles his moans. They’re so pretty and needy. Spit pools around his balls and you massage them for him, reveling in how he whimpers and thrusts into your mouth.

You pull off him with a gasp.

“Poor Patrick is left out.” You pout.

“Don’t worry about him. I did a good job remember?” You giggle at how he turns against his friend in a moment of pure desperation.

“You don’t want to help out your friend?” You ask.

“What do you-“

You interrupt him. “Patrick, why don’t you move closer.”

He does, immediately.

“Art, you should touch him. Look how hard he is. I bet that hurts.”

Art looks at Patrick’s cock, slick with saliva, angry and red.

Art wraps his strong hand around Patrick’s cock and strokes him slowly at first. He feels Patrick throb in his grasp and you smirk at how Art’s cock does the same.

Patrick moans, throwing his head back. “Feels so good, Artie.”

“Yeah?” He asks. They’re enjoying this more than you thought.

“You’re such good boys.” You praise, removing Art’s hand.

You can tell they are desperate to cum.

“Do you want to cum?”

They both nod fervently.

“Then get to work and I promise you both will—if we finish this project tonight.”

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream on their wedding day.

AN: Yes I know how weddings usually happen in Korea and China but let me dream.

Mark Lee

Church wedding DEFINITELY A CHURCH WEDDING. I think that it'll be intimate with just a few guests. Like knit-tight friends and families. And definitely Johnny is his best man, he has to be! Mark's vows are so poetic and long AND he'll cry halfway when reading the vows. He won't be crying when you're walking down the aisle but the moment he's telling you his vows, his voice becomes shaky and tears will fall!! Also would smile nonstop, looking at you, and telling you that you look so beautiful!! He couldn't believe he's marrying you. 

Huang Renjun

A Garden wedding! He'll make sure that you two will have a wedding during spring or summer where the weather is sunny and the flowers are blooming!! It'll be an intimate wedding too and I feel like he doesn't have a best man (he loves Dreamies equally.) He'll be the type to cry \during the first look, seeing how beautiful you are in your wedding gown. He'll be surprised, as if you took his breathe away. But I feel like there's still a touch of the chinese tradition in his wedding, so I think it's a bit mix-cultural wedding too. 

Lee Jeno

Oh it's a simple indoor wedding, but the designs are just extravagant because you know, he still wants what you want, and he's just there going with the flow with the wedding planning. Jaemin as his best man, end of debate. Probably has a color motif for your wedding AND the prenup wedding shoot was something else. It looks like straight out of a magazine and it's displayed outside the venue halls. You two are hot and so in love. Probably won't cry, would let out a laugh because its YOU who's crying in your wedding with him. (I mean who doesn't that's Lee Jeno WTF.) But would be the most comforting groom ever!!

Lee Donghyuck

HAECHAN WILL BE HAVING A BEACH WEDDING. It should be a beach wedding!!! His tan skin perfectly kissed by the sun. It'll be a non-traditional wedding that's exclusive too! Probably has Taeyong to officiate the wedding (Im not kidding with this one.) and Taeil to be the wedding singer. His wedding would be fun but it gets dramatic when it's time for the vows because Haechan started crying before he could even talk! You two were a bunch of crybabies during the exchange of vows. Also you two kissed while the sun was setting. So romantic omg.

Na Jaemin

Extravagant, and grand wedding. Imagine Hyun Bin and Son Yejin's wedding, I feel like that's what Jaemin's wedding is. But despite the grand wedding, there's only a few guests, so its very exclusive too. The wedding prenup shoot was also breath-taking. When you walked onto the aisle, Jaemin would be in daze, mouthing "Wow" when he sees you even though you're covered in veil. He'll be smiling widely that the NCT members are teasing him for looking like a love fool. When you reached the aisle, he'll whisper "I love you." to you. 

Zhong Chenle

Just like Jaemin, Chenle will have an extravagant and grand wedding too. It's just going to be huge wedding that's going to be the talk of the town, for the sole purpose that his parents invited A LOT OF PEOPLE (imagine the wedding in Crazy Rich Asians.) But what matters is that he's marrying you. There won't be a lot of crying because you two would constantly tease other, especially during the vows! It'll be filled with laughter and teasing, just two idiots in love with each other. 

Park Jisung

An indoor wedding too! It'll be cute and motif in pastels, so it's very innocent-like and is filled with flowers. An intimate wedding too, so only a few guests. Jisung would be a MESS, he'll be nervous thinking about getting married to you, that his hyungs has to convinced him that everything will be fine. That's why when you reached the end of the aisle, he'll be crying mess already!! You'll be worried but he assures you that he's fine, he'll unknowingly slipped that he's happy today because you two are getting married!! :<

[freak-accident419]

Soft Spot

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Summary: After a long, frustrating day of work, Derek comes back home to you for comfort. Being the tough, asshole-ish, and reckless man he was on the outside, he easily melts into you with sweetness and submission. After all, he had such a soft spot for you.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content: fluff, gender neutral reader, cuddling, cursing, reader babying Derek, reader feeding him cherries (putting their fingers in his mouth, wow) but it’s not sexual (maybe only slightly suggestive), reader and Derek are engaged already, basically tooth-rotting fluff and intimacy, short but sweet, inspired by a scene from S02E06 of The Bear

-

You were laying on the mattress in the bedroom that you and Derek shared, looking down at your phone while eating cherries from the nightstand. There was a sweet domesticity to it—you in your pajamas, snuggled up in bed, waiting for your boyfriend (or rather, fiancé) to come back home.

Derek had a long, exhausting day of work. He thought today was going to be like every other day, relaxed and held back, but instead, he had to deal with so much bullshit from Danforth Enterprises, including international affairs and money complications. And his employees made things even worse, their incompetence driving him insane until every sentence he spoke had at least one “fuck” in it. And not only that, but UDG and Nine Star were experiencing setbacks and issues that could have probably been easily fixed if it wasn’t for his idiotic employees. After an entire day of yelling at his absentminded workers with hostility, he was so desperate to just come home to you.

It was only until the evening when you finally saw Derek in the doorway of the room, letting out an exasperated sigh. He looked… rough, to say the least, despite the fact he was wearing a fancy and highly expensive black suit. He was still very attractive, of course, especially in that suit, but right now he just looked utterly exhausted. You turned off your phone, placing it face down on the nightstand to give him your full attention.

“Hey, my love,” you coo softly, smiling up at him.

“Hey, babe,” he mumbles tiredly, slowly walking towards you.

“Rough day?”

“Yeah.”

“Come here,” you grin, grabbing him by his black necktie to bring his lips to yours, sharing a brief, soft kiss. Then he lazily went into bed, melting into your arms with his head buried in your neck. He melted into you entirely. He felt comforted and warm in your embrace, the tension in his muscles gradually dissipating.

“They didn’t keep you too long, did they?” You ask gently, holding him closely as you caress his hair.

“They totally did, Y/n. Today was a fucking mess,” he huffs, yet already too relaxed to even raise his voice. “I swear, baby, these guys are so fucking incompetent and can’t do their goddamn jobs. Those fucks give me such a migraine.”

You continue to stroke his hair and then his face. “Aww, my poor baby,” you coo soothingly. Derek loved all of it, leaning into your touch and just being limp in your arms. However, he would shoot anyone else who witnessed him in this state. “Westwyld just hired a whole bunch of idiots. He’s even an idiot himself. It’s none of your fault, my love.”

He sighs softly, nuzzling into your neck further. “I know,” he mumbles dismissively. “But it’s just so fucking frustrating because I feel like I always have to do everything ‘cause they keep fucking things up. Like, what are we even paying them for if they can’t do their fucking job?”

You chuckle under your breath. “I know, honey, I know,” you whisper. “Well, that’s why you’re the CEO, yeah? To keep everything, you know, all balanced and orderly?” He hummed in understanding. You look over to the nightstand, then grabbed a cherry from the box. Derek noticed this action and pulled his head out from your neck, now sitting up against the bed frame. You then guided the small, red fruit to his lips. “Open,” you order in a gentle voice.

You watched him open his mouth and you placed the cherry in, letting the stem rip off, placing it in a bowl for stems and pits. He began to chew it slowly, indulging in the sweet and juicy sensation in his mouth while also enjoying the fact that you were feeding him. The cherry tasted different than any others he had tried, all sweet with no bitter or even slightly tart aftertaste. “Mm, these are good, where did you get these?” He asked with a mouthful of cherry flesh, his speech slightly muffled.

“Hm, it was a shipment from Japan,” you answer. “I think they’re, like, the most expensive cherries in the world… Open,” you say again, letting your fingers enter his mouth to grab the pit, placing the seed in the bowl on the nightstand. In the few seconds your fingers were in his mouth, it was arousing and suggestive, to say the least. But all you wanted to do right now was to take care of him with the least amount of energy possible. If he was fatigued, then you should let him rest.

“I can’t believe I’m going to marry you,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering down to his shiny silver engagement ring.

“And I can’t believe I’m marrying you, my love,” you chuckle, kissing his cheek, reaching over to the nightstand to grab another cherry. His lips parted, letting you place it in his mouth, eating it contently. “How did your day go, baby? Like, before everything went to shit. Tell me all the good.”

After he ate most of the cherry’s flesh, he let your fingers in his mouth once more, removing the pit and placing it in the bowl. There was something so curiously intimate about this moment, feeding him, removing the pit for him, and holding him close.

“Had my usual coffee,” he answers quietly.

“Oh yeah? Your flat white with oat milk?”

“And extra shot of espresso—”

“—extra espresso, yes,” you giggle, stroking his hair once more. “How much espresso does one need? Like, flat whites are meant to have a higher espresso-to-milk ratio, yet you still want more.”

He pouted, looking at you from the side. “But it’s good.”

“Do you even need to say ‘extra shot of espresso’? Like, as a flat white, I’m pretty sure they’re adding more espresso than, say, a latte,” you grin.

“I know, but I want more than usual, like, more than a flat white,” he reasons, yet his delivery suggesting that he was lying.

“Wow. You’re just greedy, aren’t you?”

“You know me,” he mumbles.

“You don’t know the difference, do you? Is that why you always ask for an extra shot, just to make sure?” You say, calling him out.

He just pouts silently at your teasing, which only amused your further. “You’re a dork,” you giggle.

“Meanie.”

“You’re the meanie. You never answered my call,” you utter. It was true. He was too caught up with work that he didn’t even know you called him up at that time.

“Oh, shit…” he sighs. “I’m sorry, babe. I was just so busy today, I totally forgot to get back to you.”

You frown. “Hey, no, don’t—don’t apologize, I was just teasing. I know how busy you were today and I’m sorry that you were surrounded by idiots. You’re okay.”

“Okay.”

For one last time, you grab a cherry, guiding it into his mouth. You wait for him to chew it until you’d take the pit out from his mouth. You wipe some of the fruit’s juice off the corner of his lips, but suddenly, his mouth welcomes in your fingers once more, sucking lightly on your fingertips before you pulled them away to kiss his lips passionately. It was a patient, loving kiss, your lips moving slowly with his as you savored the cherry taste on him.

You had him in an embrace in one arm and the other was occupied by cupping his face gently. Your touch was tender, making him feel comforted and warm. You looked closely at his face, absorbing all of the details. You could see the faint freckles spread across his nose and cheeks. He was so close to you. And he was beautiful.

“Hi,” you whisper, looking deeply into his eyes.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

“You’re so cute,” you comment.

You caress the side of his face as he enjoyed feeling your soft palm and fingertips graze his cheek. His eyes closed sleepily, completely infatuated with your soothing touch and the way you encompassed his body. You pressed a kiss on the top of his head. And again. And again.

He felt small.

Like, smaller than usual.

He was completely vulnerable with you and it was freeing. This was a part of him that nobody else but you knew about. He could curse and be a privileged, arrogant dickhead whenever he pleased, but at the end of the day, he is always succumbing to your embrace and warmth. He was indisputably smitten with you—infatuated, even. You were the only person he could be fragile around.

“You know, your mom is always on my ass about you,” you chuckle, pressing two soft kisses on the top of his head as you pet his curls.

“Huh? I thought she liked y—”

“No, no, it’s not like that. She just asks me about you all the time. How you’re doing and everything.”

“Oh.”

“I think it’s because she knows you only open up to me,” you point out.

“Yeah, well… She’s been busy her whole life. I’ve never gotten the time to… You know… Actually have a full, authentic conversation with her.”

You kiss the top of his head once more, then let your head rest on it. “Mommy issues?”

He hums in response.

“Does the fact that she and Westwyld having some weird thing—in the past, at least—also affect your relationship with her?” You ask curiously.

“Well, sort of. I don’t know, he always acts—”

“He tries to act like a dad to you, yeah,” you giggle.

There was a silent pause as you two just cuddled each other, Derek, especially, feeling safe in your arms.

“Stop investing in crypto,” you murmur, stroking his hair.

“Mm, stop crushing my dreams,” he grumbles wearily.

“Your ‘dreams’ would get us broke if you weren’t already a billionaire.”

He chuckles and you proceed to caress him gently, observing him silently.

“S’it too hot, my love?” You inquire gently, beginning to help him remove his tie and then his blazer once he nodded. “Better?” He hummed as you placed the clothes at the end of the bed and went back to cuddling him.

He was closer than before, laying down beside you with his face buried into your neck. He held onto your waist tightly as if you’d disappear any second, and your arms wrapped around him generously. You press a soft kiss to his forehead and hold him warmly.

“You’re going to be my husband…” you whisper sweetly, kissing the top of his head once more.

“Mm, you’re going to be my spouse…” he mirrors.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too. So, so much.” Derek mutters sleepily, melting into your touch.

You rubbed his back, letting your head rest against his. Until finally, after peppering his face and head with kisses, you two fell asleep in each other’s arms, feeling safe and secure.

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me as Disenchantment Quotes #1

Lucifer & Satan: *Laughing maniacally*

Simeon: “While I question their evil motives, it is nice to see them happy.”

Barbatos: “Now announcing the triumphant return of our heroes from their quest that we all privately thought would fail.”

Mammon & Leviathan: “…”

Lucifer: “How do we even know it worked.”

Solomon: “Oh but it must have worked. Now to test it, we need a volunteer to kill you.”

Belphegor: “Dibs.”

Barbatos: “How can you keep messing up a recipe with two ingredients?”

Solomon: “If you ever run into trouble give them this note.”

MC: “Kill me?”

Solomon: “Thirteen gave it to me, now I give it to you.”

Leviathan: “I’ve been meaning to…but the thing is, I…so you see…well, I’m glad we had this talk. How bout you talk now?”

MC: “But you haven’t said anything yet.”

Belphegor: “Well I was waiting to tell you until after I was dead so I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

Mammon: “Now just keep holding on, okay. Just keep holding on.”

MC: “It’s okay, it’s okay Mammon, I always wanted to go out while I’m still young and hot.”

Leviathan: “I didn’t want to tell you because I’m terrified of female emotions.”

Satan: “No, no, no, I was mostly raised by Lucifer. And a bunch of friendly drunks down at the pub. They taught me the fine art of stabbing.”

Barbatos: “It’s just too painful seeing the truth all the time.”

Solomon: “Ah, that’s why humans tend to avoid it.”

Belphegor: “The profession left without me.”

Diavolo: “Oh, that’s too bad.”

Belphegor: “I blame myself, cause I didn’t even notice.”

Solomon & Barbatos: *fighting*

Asmodeus: “Guys, guys come on. I’m much more embarrassed than I am aroused.”

Asmodeus: “MC, you poor baby. What a horrific day you’ve had. Let’s have too much wine and forget about it all.”

Beelzebub: “How’d you become a weird talking cat.”

Satan: “You keep shoving waffles in your mouth while I think of an answer.”

Thirteen: “I’ll use my skills as a hunter and Raphael will use his diplomacy to stab them with a broom handle.”

Solomon: “I used to spend many nights up here. Watching the sky, the moon, the neighbors.”

Lucifer: “This is your home. You’re free to explore.”

MC: “Wow, what’s behind that door?”

Lucifer: “None of your business nosy.”

Mammon: “Maybe you were overcome by chimney fumes. It happens quite frequently in a place like this with no chimnies.”

Satan: “What family curse? You mean insanity?”

Leviathan: “No, don’t be crazy. But yes I mean insanity.”

Asmodeus: “You guys are heavy. Do I really need both of you?”

Solomon & Satan: “Yes!”

Asmodeus: “Damn, I hate democracy.”

Mammon: “I knew you could count on me!”

Simeon: “What’s this called again?”

Mammon: “A a massage. It’s like a light well intentioned beating.”

Diavolo: “You’re clearly upset.”

Lucifer: “I’m not upset!”

Diavolo: “You said that like you were upset!”

MC: “Come on Belphegor be reasonable!”

Belphegor: “Never!”

Satan: “We’re gonna have to wing this in a dangerously half assed manner.”

Mammon: “That’s the Morningstar way.”

Asmodeus: “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, Sol.”

Solomon: “Like hell am I marrying another fish woman.”

Lucifer: “Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

Diavolo: “Tell me, where are you from.”

Solomon: “A country setting, it’s kind of like a farm but more stabbing.”

Simeon: “This whole thing feels like a weird dream.”

Mammon: “Or scurvy. When does scurvy kick in?”

Lucifer: “Believe it or not I know what it feels like to be burned alive by a mob of idiots.”

Beelzebub: “Oh, sweet butter, you’re the only thing right with the world.”

Solomon: “Morning, Belphegor! Care to try my new cure all? It wards off the deadly plague.”

Belphegor: “I’m actually hoping for death. Thanks though.”

Mammon: “For the first time in my life I feel completely calm and—“

Mammon: *Gets attacked by hawk*

Satan: “I’ve loved you since the moment you killed my brother.”

Mammon: “You don’t scare me! I was born scared.”

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Mercs proposing hc?? So basic but Im literally one corny mf

The TF2 Mercs proposing to their partners

WARNING: Mild gore gifts because this is the Mercs we’re talking about here.

—————————————————————————

Scout:

- Biggest panic attack of his fucking life. Has no idea how to function like a normal human being anymore. It was that feeling of being in love with somebody all over again and needing to tell them. What’s worse about this though is that marriage is a huge commitment. One that many aren’t ready for yet. What if you reject him and he messes this relationship up?

- Goes to Spy for comfort. In all honesty he’s just a very damaged little boy on the inside and scared that he is incapable of receiving unconditional love. The other Mercs catch him behind the base crying into Spy’s shoulder on the curb while Spy holds him. He’s telling Spy how much he loves you; and how terrified he is that you cannot return that same vow. Spy knows the feeling. “Shh, mon lapin.” Boy howdy Spy’s certainly grateful that Scout’s mom didn’t teach him a word of french.

- Spy has to shove Scout into your room to actually finally get him to do it. “Your idiot boyfriend has a few words for you, and apparently I have to be present or i’m certain he’ll break down crying again.” He says to you. While poor Scout curls up into a ball on the floor.

————————————————————————-

Soldier:

- First of all, why him? Second of all, this is the type of guy to go all out and spend half the money he earned in mercenary work to get one of those “will you marry me Y/N?” banners hooked up to a plane. Complete with the pilot being ejected and the plane crashing nose first into a rock formation. Apparently that was 100% intentional because a bunch of confetti came out of the explosion. You don’t know if you should be horrified at the audacity, or head over heels.

- Brings you an entire necklace of ears. But that’s not all! For limited time only you can get one of soldiers’ severed heads that was purposely boiled and skull cut into the shape of a helmet! Great, right? “Wow, what type of animal is this?” You ask. “A DOG. PACKAGED WITH PURE, NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, PASTEURIZED AMERICAN GLORY!” well that’s not reassuring. “OOOHH SAAAAY CAAAAN YOU SEEE—“ Soldier immediately gets hit over the head by Heavy and knocked unconscious.

- After the initial silliness dies down you see adoration as you tend to his awful head wound. Maybe Heavy knocked the stupidity out of him? No. He’s still insane. Soldier grabs your wrist as you apply alcohol to his wound and squeezes your hand. “Somebody like me doesn’t deserve somebody like you.” He says. “Bullshit, Soldier.” You say, leaning in for a kiss.

—————————————————————————

Demoman:

- He can only achieve this when drunk off his mind. Not to mention it arrives in the most unromantic way possible. But it doesn’t make you love him any less. He holds you close to him after a New Years party at the base and pats your back. “Jus’ so you know, you’d look mighty fine with a ring on your finger.” He flirts, getting incredibly physically affectionate. He makes sure never to cross your boundaries.

- “Me mum would kill me but fuck all. y’know? Old wench’s days are numbered anywae. We could live ina nice cottage by the sea.. If ya want wee lil’ bastards I’ll actually take care of em. I’d have to stop me drinkin tho.” He says, pecking your neck. His remaining eye is pleading with you to say yes. “Pleaaase?”

- Has no recollection of these events in the morning so imagine his dumbfounded expression when one of the Mercs asks about his new fiancé. Cue the embarrassment mixed with pride and excitement.

—————————————————————————

Engineer:

- Will 100% go to your window in the dead of night and sing a song for you on his guitar. Particularly I imagine this would be the contender. You have no idea this is even a marriage proposal. You just think he’s being incredibly sappy. Imagine the surprise while mid song he pulls out a small box and throws it up and down recklessly like a baseball. You’re slowly beginning to catch on as he opens it with his free fingers after finishing the song.

- Complete overconfident show off. He pep-talked himself before all this and rehearsed his performance repeatedly. By using the wrangler and effortlessly throwing the box up in the air and propelling it forward with a single bullet, the sentry successfully aided in getting the box up to you. You don’t even know how you managed to catch it, to be honest.

- Tips his hardhat to you. “Whadda say? Marry me?” He can barely contain his smile. Both excited and somewhat relieved he pulled that off.

—————————————————————————

Heavy:

- “Heavy made you dead person crown..” He walks into your room one day and puts it on your head. It’s a bunch of severed ears meant to resemble a flower crown. “Hey, thanks big guy.” You’re grateful for the gift, being a crazed Merc yourself is it really any surprise? You give him a huge kiss on the cheek. Heavy looks thrilled that you accepted his gift. Which is very much unlike him. Usually he’s reserved. Maybe he’s just having a good day?

- Well.. you eventually find out why. That was apparently his way of proposing to you. Soldier nudges you the next morning and teases you for being engaged to Heavy. You’re horrified to say the least. You had no idea this meant marriage. Not that you wouldn’t marry him. But what about his gun Sasha? Wouldn’t she feel jealous? You’ve been with Heavy so long you keep referring to that damn thing as a person.

- Immediately upon seeing you; goes up to you and gives you a list of stuff he wants at this wedding. There’s even a blank page for you to write your own needs. He seems oddly motivated to plan this out months before it actually happens. There is countless mentions of Russian authors he wants to attend the wedding. As if they’d ever consider going to a stranger’s wedding. “If they won’t come then Heavy will crush them..” He says. Same goes for your guests.

—————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Wow.. Kind of the most normal out of all of them. For the most part. If TF2 took place in modern day they’d propose with a ringpop but all they have is a bag of candy and an actual ring (That they may or may not have stolen from someone in Tuefort.)

- They get on their knees and offer the ring to you in an extremely professional manner. It’s quite surreal to see Pyro pull off something so domestic and normal when he’s always destroying stuff with fire. In fact this is a little too normal.. This is Team Fortress we’re talking about here. Shouldn’t something be wacky happening right about now? It’s like the perfect opening for slapstick. Through your cries of love and laughter you begin to feel anxious at the back of your head.

- Yup.. There it is. Pyro tells you that Scout offered to be the ‘Ring bear’ for the wedding. There’s Scout dressed up in a cutesy teddy bear costume. You’re certain that’s not how it works. “Just for the record, if you tell anybody about this, I’ll fuckin’ saw off both your knees boston sandwich style. Capeesh?” He says. You have no idea what that means so you quickly agree.

————————————————————————-

Sniper:

- Afraid he’s going to mess it up, much like Scout. Gets incredibly physically ill as a result from stress and isolates himself in his camper van. You’re convinced he wants to tell you something but you have no idea what it is. One day on the frontlines an arrow narrowly misses your face and embeds itself into the wall next to you. You were about to turn around and bombard Sniper until you saw the note attached to it. “Pardon, Will you marry me? -Sniper.” With a very worried sad face drawn next to the note. He even bothered to draw his hat on it.

- Disbelief clouds your face at first. Sniper? Marry another Merc? You’re in shock. This isn’t something you’d ever suspect from a guy like him. But your initial thought makes way for an uncontrollable smile.

- He literally will not approach you first after this. You have to knock on his camper van because god knows he won’t be even able to face his team for months. As you jump into his arms and kiss him he immediately pulls you inside to love on you in private.

———————————————————————-

Medic:

- WOULD RATHER SHOOT HIMSELF

- Just kidding. But he wishes he were dead right now. How could he do something so… Un-mad-sciencey? Marriage is just a concept brought upon by money hungry people. It only exists within the mind… Yet, that’s how he feels. An eternal vow to you is something he wishes to do. He’s already planned to make you a god alongside him once the time came so you could be his beloved consort forever. It reminded him of the greek story of soulmates.

- Gets a little fruitier than usual. The most feminine moan you ever heard left this man’s body as you brushed against him while trying to help him grab a syringe he dropped. This man gets unusually hornier and that’s how you know something’s up.. “Looking up my skirt, I see!” He says, as you glance up his long lab coat. There isn’t anything there but his pants so you roll your eyes. “Ah yes.. “ You respond. You decide he’s just clingy and horny as usual and carry about your assistance. You’re not in the mood for that. He never even bottoms so he’s feigning it anyway.

- “Err—Uh— Ho! Wouldn’t it be just shameful if I knew what was going on inside your head?” He asks. “Alright, i’ll bite. What are you saying, Doc?” You sigh. He fixes his glasses back up on his face thoughtfully. “One body, one mind. That would be quite intriguing don’t you think? If we were to.. Become one.” He placed an odd amount of emphasis on that, as if the thought was simply music to his ears. Lord he’s creepy. Medic grabs you and holds you close to him. “Think of the possibilities. We’d never be lonely again. I could stitch our bodies together and we could feel each other’s essence. Forever.”

- “Medic, you good?” You ask. Although his words were strangely flattering nonetheless in their own way. You smile at him. He seems to be lost in the idea. Fantasies of being with you for eternity flood his head. Particularly ones where you’re both a weird hybrid god. Weirdest marriage proposal world record goes to Medic.

—————————————————————————-

Spy:

- No, no no no no no. He can’t do this again. Marriage never worked out for him. After losing Scout’s mom and many partners that followed, he couldn’t bare hurting somebody like that again. His job always got in the way of what he truly desired but he had to live with it. This life chose him after all. His hand was forced into this position. Seeing your bright smile for the rest of his days was all he ever wanted. His urges to get up and say something to you were too strong.

- Has to metaphorically slap himself in the face and remind himself to act like a fucking adult. He wasn’t a little rambunctious teenager in Paris anymore. Yet he felt like one whenever he saw you. Such boyish feelings for an old put together gentleman like him. Spy decided to trust you and himself. But if something went wrong he wouldn’t hesitate to jump off a fucking cliff. Spy would stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours and contemplate his decision before making it.

- He proposes to you under a starry moonlit night. Not even bothering to kneel down, he slides the box across the balcony to you. “Well?” he asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His eyes fixated on the horizon. “Do I have to say it?” He asks. “Yes..” You tell him. Your eyes gleaming with joy. You never felt happier in your entire life. “Fine.. Will you marry m—“ He couldn’t even finish before you jump on him, ultimately knocking you both down.

[2knightt]

「 you the cutest jailbird i ever did see!」

IN WHICH—you’re literally mickey milkovich!♡ ໋֢ 👒✧

🍵ヾFT. THE GREASERS࿐ྀུ ♡

⌗ 👒 notes !𖥔༌ ᰷ ﹅ this is platonic. and if you haven’t seen shameless just imagine a modern, stinky dallas. also MARRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS!!!

you met them while running from the cops. sure—it was completely your fault and you do deserve to be thrown into the cooler. but you just got out! can’t a person want just a few more minutes of peace?

as soon as you heard those sirens, you jumped off the guys you and your cousins were jumping and just started running. those two idiots already got caught, you just kept on running.

you heard that the curtis house doesn’t ever lock their door—stupid. you’d never do that, not when people like you run around this city!

the sirens got closer, and without thinking, you jumped their fence. as your feet touched the ground, you hoped to god that they weren’t home. or that dallas winston wasn’t there.

you rushed to the door, swinging in open before hiding beside their couch that sat in front of the window. peeking your head up, you watched as the cop car slowed down before speeding back off.

a grin grew on your face as you watched the cops go in the other direction.

“fuckin’ idiots.”

“wow, y/n getting chased by the cops. what is it, the 30th time this week?”

you’ve had unfortunate run-ins with dallas. but you thought his voice was more annoying now than when you and your cousins jumped him for trying to hit on your sister.

you’d recognize that disgusting new york accent from anywhere. you sighed, turning your head to face him as he stood above you, hands in his jean pockets.

dallas had a stupid grin on his face as who, you think is soda, comes rushing beside him. his eyes showed worry, but his grin made him look interested in you.

“shoot, what happened to you?”

“soda—this is y/n. what ain’t they done is a better question.”

you rolled your eyes, holding back from socking him in the jaw. you turned your head to face soda, standing up from your position. rubbing your neck, you hung your head low.

“tough shit, man. bunch of assholes—you know.”

suddenly, someone with cake smeared all over his fingers and who smelled like oil popped up out of nowhere. ‘steve’ was written on the chest of his ripped up work uniform.

“that can mean a lotta things. what kinda tough shit?”

‘jesus, the curtis group asks a lot of questions.’ you thought to yourself, a lip raised. dallas kicked the leg of the couch beside you, causing you to whip your head up after avoiding eye contact. sodapop smacked dallas’ shoulder, telling him off.

“answer ‘em, y/n.”

dallas demanded, saying your name is a singing tone.

“…me and my cousin’s has jumped a guy. it ain’t nothin’ bad like stabbing a kid with a blade.”

you mumbled, dusting yourself off, you heard snickers leave steve and soda’s throats. soda grinned, ear to ear as he ushered you to sit down at a table. as he did so—he kept on asking you a bunch of jumbled questions due to how fast he’s talking.

four boys sat there, staring at the situation that had just unfolded. they both looked younger than everyone else did, the two older ones standing out like sore thumbs. one was finishing his plate, the other one downing a bottle of beer.

soda sat you down, steve rushing behind the both of you. either of them sat beside you, smiles on their face.

“what’d the guy do?”

“did you beat ‘em black and blue?”

“what’d you use?”

with that, you found yourself hanging around the two of them more. sodapop and steve found your company fun. sure, you were like dallas, but different in so many ways.

you were so comforting to be around, yet you always had a scowl. they loved having you around, causing the gang to hang out with you too.

you honestly became a reoccurring person in the gang—to the point where people would ask where you were if you weren’t around them.

you’d just walk into the curtis house and make yourself comfortable. your house wasn’t exactly the definition of ‘ideal.’ the old man wasn’t the kindest to you, your sister—or anyone for that matter.

he’d frequently take his anger out on you and smack you ‘til you’re every colour under the sun after he heard you’d been foolin’ around with some chum around the block. it wasn’t even true—but your cries always fell to deaf ears when it came to that alcoholic.

it’s not like it was a secret either. every person on the east side could hear the arguing from your house—even the front door slam shut. that’s when the people would know you’d be huddled up on the curtis’ couch.

“y/n—breakfast.”

soda’d nudge you gently—talking in a hushed voice. the smell of bacon filled your nostrils, a sigh leaving your lips as it hit you that he was the one cooking. you aren’t exactly the biggest fan of his rather odd choices of how he makes his food.

but goddamnit you can fake it for him. if you can lie to the cops, you can lie to one of your greatest friends.

just like how you can lie to the investigators trying to find dallas winston.

“you know this kid?”

“never seen ‘em in my life. lay off now, assholes.”

you’d mumble, walking past them, making sure you hit their shoulders as hard as you could. you always got a kick out of hurting those pigs as you’d call ‘em.

which is what caused dallas winston goin’ MIA. you had seen dallas winston getting knocked down by the police after a long chase.

even though you can’t stand that new yorkian—you do love fighting. you tried to walk as quietly as you could up to them before making yourself known.

“hey, man!”

you shouted, causing their heads to turn. when they saw you—their eyes immediately flashed a look of hatred. they obviously knew who you were, and if they didn’t know, they’d know after you socked one in the jaw.

all attention on dallas turned to you—all of them going after you. until dallas also landed a clean hit on one. with the impact of the officer falling on the ground—your feet started moving on your own.

you cackled, hearing dallas laugh along with you, running beside you. the rush that washed over you two was indescribable—the adrenaline was great.

this isn’t the first time you’ve been on the run, and it’s not like you haven’t been caught. one time you got caught—your bail was low. but too high for you. you were offered one call and the first person that came to mind would surely rip off your head.

‘worth a shot,’ you thought to yourself, dialling the numbers with the phone to your ear, a cop hovering over you.

“hello?”

“darrel? it’s y/n.”

“goddammit, y/n. what the hell did you do this time?”

“nothin’! i-i just need you to come and bail me. it’s only 50 cents, darry.”

“you’re never gonna hear the end of it, you damned jail bird. i’ll be there soon.”

with that—you heard a click on the end of the line. you wanted to defend yourself, but hearing him call you a jail bird gave you more pride than you’ve felt in a long time.

of course, when he did bail you out, any feeling you had of pride evaporated. as soon as you entered the backseat, you could feel the rage from darry.

“what the hell did you do? it’s 11PM. ponyboy and soda’s in bed—and i was getting ready! 11PM, y/n!”

“holy fuck, darry! stop acting like i killed a guy! it was just a grab n’ run!”

“y/n—is it too hard to ask that you try to stay safe? just once, that’s all i ask!”

“oh my god, darry! you aren’t my fucking father!”

“guess what’s happening. you’re coming to my house and spending the nights there. the second i hear that you’re runnin’ from the cops i’m contesting against you in court!”

the rest of the ride was in silence, it being broken up by the occasional blinker. when he pulled onto the side of the road, parking his truck in front of the house, you sat there.

stubborn is what people thought of you—and you sure as hell were. darry got out, expecting you to follow. he stood in front of the gate, arms crossed as you stared off into space.

the door opened—darry quickly grabbing you. he carried you like a baby, against your very loud protests.

soda opened the door, snickering as he sees the situation you’re in. ponyboy was sitting on darrys chair, playing with the tab of a pepsi can. once he seen darry step in, you in arms, he shot up from where he sat.

“where were you? what happened?”

“yeah, jail bird. what happened?”

you heard the two younger brothers ask, one sounding more mocking than the other. darry placed you on the couch, swiftly throwing a blanket over you.

you’d been in this situation before, the memories flooding back to you as you felt yourself drift off into sleep.

expect you weren’t the one being carried. you had carried johnny from the lot, put him on your back. it was a few days after he’d been jumped real bad.

you were out of the loop when it came to who jumped who. you seen johnny asleep in the lot. dried blood on his jacket and face. bruises were everywhere on his body. you felt bad.

you always liked johnnycakes. he understood you in a way. as you carried him on your back—you could only thing of the similarities between you two.

you both had rough home lives, you both always found yourself trying to keep everything together. he used to be so tough but turned quiet—you had always been tough and never expected to change.

lost in your thoughts—you got to the curtis house faster than expected. you quietly walked up the stairs, opening the door, avoiding the creaky floorboards.

you placed johnny on the couch, taking a silent vow to beat whoever did this to him even worse.

and you always kept your word.

robert sheldon was the guy you and your cousins had tracked down, bats and other weapons in hand. if he can use those thick gold rings—you can use your bat. fair game, right?

you caught him, drunk on the streets, and stupidly alone. your cousins beat up ford slowed down beside him—making it a repeat of what he’d do to others.

he took notice—stumbling as he turned his head. your own small gang took notice to this, stopping the car before jumping out.

you guys had beaten him to the point where he looked just like johnny. you kept your word, and you wouldn’t let anyone ever touch johnny like that.

you always hated soc’s. you’d do anything to do annoy ‘em. even if it meant stealing their mustangs, you always liked them anyhow.

steve always talked about how he’d do anything to drive a tuff car like that. everytime he seen one, that’s all he talked about.

“imagine drivin’ a car like that. could you imagine how fast i could go?”

you’d learn how to hot wire at a young age, rarely ever did it though. but when you seen a wine coloured mustang left unattended—you knew you had an opportunity.

it wasn’t hard to get it going, and it wasn’t hard to drive it to the DX without getting caught. steve was working in the hood of an old car outside until he heard a honk.

a grin grew on his face as he seen you in the drivers sear of the car, a smug look on your face. steve practically skipped as he rushed towards the vehicle, tapping the hood as he took a closer look.

as he was nothing less than mesmerized—you hopped out of the car. steve looked up at you from his crouched position before you threw the keys at him, walking towards the passenger seat.

steve immediately put two and two together, jumping into the car without a second thought.

you swore you ain’t never seen steve so happy when he was speeding down the road in this mustang. he never asked where you got it—and you never told him.

you and ponyboy were alright. he didn’t like being around you for long periods of time. on the other hand—you absolutely loved it.

you could tease him until the sun went down for everything and anything.

“what the hell are you wearin’, pony?”

“a shirt?”

“sure as hell don’t look like one.”

you’d ruffle his greased up hair, going against his complains. you’d mock his books and movies, mimicking what they just said in a higher voice. ponyboy always disliked this. he didn’t hate it however. a small part of him knew that’s how you showed affection.

but he never knew you could be so gentle when you felt like it—that he really, really liked. one day, when school was out and everyone was doing their own thing, ponyboy sat at home.

he was reading a book with the tv as background noise. until you barged through the door, beelining for the fridge. you got a beer, closing the door. you took a sear in darry’s chair, watching TV.

ponyboy wondered if you noticed he was even home. when he seen you enter—he felt insecure. you were the definition of a greaser—he was…just some guy that so happened to have grease in his hair.

you realized he stopped reading, his eyes everywhere but his book. sighing, you got up and sat beside him on the couch. you took one more swig of the beer before you told him to read out loud.

“read to me.”

“wh-huh?”

“the TV’s borin’. read.”

with that, he did. the longer ponyboy read, the more relaxed he became. of course—you looked like you wanted to rip your own head off—but ponyboy did like the fact you immersed yourself into the story.

“she fucking what?”

“yeah! crazy, right?”

“crazy’s an understatement, man.”

‘crazy’ is what people would call you and two-bit. people would’ve never willingly put the two of you in a room, but you two got along swimmingly.

he was loud, sometimes clingy, and always joking around. you really needed someone like him in your life. a breath of fresh air—until the two of you would compete.

“let’s see who can steal the most stuff without gettin’ caught.”

was a sentence often said between the two of you. a little fun never hurt nobody, right? two-bit seemed like the expert at stealing, and you just liked to break the law.

the longest it went on was for a week. you tot caught first and you have yet to live it down.

“so god fuckin’ help me—i will gauge your eyeballs out with this fucking fork!”

“yeah but, i’ll die knowin’ that i was able to steal without gettin’ BANNED!”

two-bit later had a bruise on his ribs.

you’ve never been one to stay in a group of people. but staying with these people—it was different in so many ways.

you knew they wanted you here, they knew you loved them and that you knew that they loved you too. and unfamiliar feeling sure—but a welcomed feeling.

you argued, fought, and even fist fought each other. but goddamnit, you all moved past it. and that’s all you could ask for in this little life. even if your life is mostly you sitting in a prison.

[animentality]

Ok here’s a fun question. We know Gortash and Durge came up with the Absolute scam. But who designed the goofy logo combining all of the dead three symbols?

Was it Gortash, thinking he was SO CLEVER for “subtly” hinting at the cult’s true power in a way he was convinced none of the brainwashed cult idiots would even notice? Did Durge help, pointing to the sketches and being like “this part should be covered in blood” and “make this part drip, like blood” while Gortash takes notes and is also genuinely turned on by what a beautiful creative genius he thinks Durge is?

Was the handprint (for Bane) being in blood directly over the skull (for Bhaal) a romantic gesture on either of their parts? Look babe our gods’ symbols are touching..

Was Ketheric unimpressed that all they did for Myrkul (read: for Ketheric) was flip the triangle upside down? He’s like “the skull is for Myrkul too right” and Durge hisses “that’s BHAAL’S SKULL” and Ketheric, ignoring them, goes “well it could stand for both I suppose” and Durge tries to bite out his throat

Or did the three of them all try to collaborate, and the flipped triangle was all Ketheric could come up with? And Gortash is like “wow Ketheric that’s.. so creative of you.. great contribution.. anyway I’m going to stamp Bane’s hand over the entire thing in blood” and Durge is like “can it be my blood. Can it please be my blood. Let me give you my blood Enver please I want you to have it” and Gortash goes “aww babe 🥺” and Ketheric leaves the room

I need to know what happened here canonically because every possible variation is perfect

I.

I.

I'm so fucking stupid. I didn't even MAKE the connection that the Absolute symbol is literally just their three cult symbols combined.

Oh. My. God. THEY ARE SO STUPID. Why would they even DO that?

WHAT A BUNCH OF IDIOTS. They're lucky the people of Faerun are even STUPIDER than they are, omg.

I didn't even think about this anon, you've rocked my world.

YES, Gortash is fucking holding Durge's hand, and it's the MAIN EVIL SYMBOL of the game.

That's amazing.

Durgetash was already the basis for the entire game, this just makes it even better.

[lady-eris]

Hi! I was wondering if you could make a Dbz android17, Goku, Vegeta, Gohan and trunks with a reader who’s exactly like misturi from demon slayer ( I’m not sure if I wrote it correctly)

my idiot self almost deleted the ask XD i was so excited to write this I almost deleted it, i didn't know if you meant personality, or stength and eating or anything else, but i basically decided to do it where the reader has there looks, but the personality and the abilities of Mitsuri

Tw/Notes?: slight description of fighting, profanities, mostly They/them pronouns, Trunks one is feminine hinted

Android 17

His foot was placed on a rock, watching as the poachers down below. They always seemed to bother him. "Again? surely the beating from last time would make them realise" He rolled his eyes, before hearing a voice. It seemed like a shout? His eyes narrowed as he scanned the men below, nothing. His audio picked up a sound from above and quickly looked up.

"Kya!" the voice shouted, jumping from the air and then posing as they landed on the ground. He almost sweat dropped, until he saw the men one bye one drop like fly's. Now just who are they? thought Android 17 it wasn't everyday you saw an average human defeat a bunch of poacher's with what seemed to be ribbon sword.

"you bitch!" one of the poachers wore as they raised their guns, before firing at them. But before the bullet could hit Android 17 quickly deflected it, and knocked the poacher out at the same time. it was child play.

"are you alright?/Will you be my boyfriend?" Android 17 paused, looking up at the taller person. They were strange, but a good strange.

Vegeta

He tsked as he looked up. He had been in a battle, and had almost had his head ripped from his spine. Almost, Just before the attack he felt arms curl around him, as the person carrying him jumped in the air. He opened his eyes, ready to shout at them feeling his pride damaged, only to quickly close them again. a bare chest/exposed. The person holding them had there chest/breast exposed. was the person holding him some harlot?!

But before he could say anything, they began to do an head twirling amount of somersaults and twists as they tried to avoid the attacks. Before landing on the ground. The dirt underneath them coming undone as they did this.

He was speechless (his ego being broken) as he was placed gently on the ground. "Don't worry! I can defeat him!" Vegeta watched them going back to fighting. were they royalty? surely they must of they were as beautiful as a god/goddess, and it seemed like they were trained by the highest of warriors.

he had been too distracted, and had only now come in to terms that they had just beaten the villain. That was HIS fight.

"woman! who are you?! and how dare you steal my fight!" Vegeta shouted, pushing himself up.

Son Goku

Goku sat on the chair (that was quite uncomfortable) as he stuffed his face with food, ordering more and more. The other people looked over in amazement. How could he eat so much? surely it should be impossible to eat that much without being sick, right? WRONG! for Goku was not like them!

"Wow! you eat a lot just like me!" An overly enthusiastic voice stated. "huh?" Goku asked, as he saw someone other then a server come over to talk to him. "can i sit down please?" Goku swallowed the rest of his food before nodding. "Yeah sure!" he stated, and they sat down with a large grin. He looked them over noticing, that they wore colourful clothing, with decorative design on it.

"OH! these look good! so do these! and these too! I'm (y/n) by the way!" They cheerfully said, calling the waitress over who then took there order.

"My nmaes Swon Gokuw" Goku said, speaking with his mouth full. "You have a lovely name Goku! i have a question for you!" Goku swallowed his food, as he waited for them to continue. "go on"

"Would you like to be my husband?"

Gohan

"can I sit here?" Gohan looked up from his spot, seeing someone with (main hair colour) and (secondary hair colour). "Oh! uh sure! Sorry give me a moment please!" He said, as he removed his bags from the chair besides him. They giggled taking the seat next to him.

"thank you!" they grinned, as they took their pen out. it was a pink colour, which had (Image) designs printed on it. Gohan watched from the corner of his eyes, as they stuck the tongue out from the corner of their lips, making there notes look cute. Everything about her was so cute.

"so what's your name? I'm (y/n)!" They asked, as they turned around placing the pen next to their notebook putting their hand out to shake his. He looked up, grabbing their hand and shaking it.

"I'm Gohan!"

"So Gohan, do you wanna go on a date with me?"

Trunks

Trunks screamed as he fell to the floor, his head looking up as that's all he could do his body was badly damaged, sore and bruised. He could only open one eye, as he watched what the villain was going to do.

"You bully! how could you harm someone as cute as him?" A voice shrieked, as suddenly the villain screamed, his arm being sliced off. Trunk's eyes widened as someone appeared in front of him. They were much taller then him, and had defined muscles. His face quickly blushed.

"Pink and green stripes" He muttered looking down. He had accidentally been flashed by the one in front of him. His face felt hot, but the sound of slashing brought him back into reality. They were in a battle, and he was watching the person in front of him fight better then he ever could.;

"i think I've got my first crush" They muttered, there cheeks blushing.

[northsoulss]

1am - k. seungmin

fluff </33 (if i see another couple in public im sleeping on the highway)

the night was cold, your blanket was bunched up to your nose, leaving only your eyes exposed as you rewatched Brooklyn nine-nine for the third time on your phone. you were huddled in the comfort of your bedroom, the only light source being your phone screen and the small lamp next to you.

it was yet another day of you waiting on seungmin. it was like any other night, except you were missing him a little more than usual today.

as you watched rosa and captain holt continue to be the best possible duo in the show, you did not notice the apartment door opening and the jiggling of seungmin's keys, the pattering of his feet on the hardwood floors unnoticed.

just as he was about to announce that he was home with a contented smile on his face, he saw that you weren't in the living room. seeing that you were not at your usual spot on the couch had him puzzled and slightly worried. were you okay? did something happen to you? his mind continued to race as he opened the bedroom door, only to see you covered in a mountain of pillows and blankets. he felt his shoulders relax seeing you safe, a smile reappearing on his face seeing your head jolt towards his direction.

your eyes lit up when you saw him, nearly slipping as you ran towards him and engulfed him in a hug. he swore he felt his heart beat out of his chest from the way you nuzzled into him.

“hello to you too.” he coos, caressing the top of your head.

“hi.” the sound of your voice is muffled as you hide your face in his shirt, breathing in the smell of the perfume that you got him for his birthday. it made your heart flutter knowing that he wore it everyday, without failure.

“i missed you, so much.” you tilt your head up to see the soft smile he had adorned, a slight crinkle forming around his eyes. there was so much fondness in them your legs nearly buckled from the sight.

“missed you too.” he squeezes your body towards his, giving you a near bone crushing hug. you did not mind it of course, only squeezing back with the same force.

he chuckles, an amused expression forming on his face as you tried to lift him off the ground. alas, to no avail. to your surprise, he turned you around and lifted you off the ground with ease, arms wrapped tightly around your middle so that your back was pressed against his chest. he waddles to the bed and crashes onto it, still holding you against him.

you two lay there on the bed like two teenagers doing something that they weren't supposed to do, giggling and smiling at each other like idiots in love. you faced him, his arm propping his head up to look down at you. he was breathtaking, and he knew it. he grins, sticking out his tongue at you and you've never wanted more than to just kiss that smug look off his face. so, you decide to pull his arm close to you, so that he was inches away from you.

he laughs as you peck his face repeatedly, the sound loud and unfiltered. you pull back and rest your chin on your palm, staring at him, staring back at you. there was a twinkle in his eyes, a light flush on his cheeks, the warm hue from the lamp on your nightstand made his face glow in the most ethereal way.

he was gorgeous. so, so gorgeous. the way his lips were upturned, the way he smiled so that all his teeth showed. you wondered how he looked so endearing despite coming back at such an ungodly hour.

“you wanna know something?” seungmin says out of the blue, catching you off guard. you tilt you head in confusion, and he swears he falls in love all over again.

“what?” you question, anticipation clear in your voice.

“i love you so much,” he takes a big inhale, “and i genuinely think you outshine the sun even on your darkest days." oh wow. you were not expecting his confession, especially one on that level of grandeur.

“well, it is like 1am so there is no sun to compare with,” you say with a teasing grin, watching the love sick expression on seungmin’s face be replaced with a “i am so done with you" look.

“i’m never being sappy with you ever again.” he huffs and turns to the other side, his arms crossed and letting out fake cries.

this man.

“love you too, baby.” you lean over to peck his exposed shoulder, smiling when you feel goosebumps rise on his skin.

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