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todayisafridaynight · 10 months

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RIGHT YEAH I was also thinking about the scenario of Jo accompanying Masato in relation to this, in the vein of… that'd solidify that the whole lie was always about His Family and not The Family right… because what can Jo even DO for the family while he's away? He's more than a glorified accountant.

Though thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have been away too long, at least compared to a prison sentence for murder. Because Masato only faked his death in 2004 (at the very latest, I guess; it's when the news went public) and Bleach Japan was founded "almost 20 years" prior to 2019, at which point Aoki and Ogasawara had already graduated and returned to Japan.

That and Aoki wasn't in a wheelchair anymore when he met Ogasawara at Harvard, so perhaps Jo would only really /need/ to stay for the procedure and Aoki's physical therapy and all, though of course I can see him staying longer. Still, not too long, all things considered.

So this scenario's kind of the worst of both worlds, because perhaps those first couple of years it's Arakawa's own stubbornness, and then the rest of his family has to go away anyway. And he's so sure in that time what he needs is to be with his family again and he'll at least feel less alone, miss Ichi less.

But then Masato's Aoki now and only really staying in touch to use him and the Arakawa Family's resources for his own gain, and Jo--as you perfectly put it--doesn't know how to emotionally take care of him. So things he should be ecstatic about--seeing his son walk on his own two legs for the first time and having his right hand man back in action--end up bittersweet at best. Aiiieeeeee……

OH YEAH SHINJI I half-remembered there was a visit in 1 but not who actually went to visit Kiryu sorry for doing you like that my boy </3 still counts as part of a pattern to me though… subordinate visiting his aniki…

SPEAKING OF KIRYU. Yeah. Typical Kiryu L. Kazuma Kiryu you have blood on your hands and NOT in the funney Reddit meme way… ABSOLUTELY DERANGED to blame Ichi for anything in the ending whatsoever though like WHAT. He got him immediate medical attention and WE AS THE AUDIENCE don't even have time to react, let alone anyone living the fucking moment good god my blood pressure is spiking

ALSO THE JO POST… YEAH… yeah yeah yeah that's the shit I'm talking about… and like. This is where localization frustrates me so Bear With My Complaints a moment but his very last line is mistranslated in both versions, the sub in terms of what he was actually saying and the dub in terms of giving him this bitchy, flippant tone that doesn't convey his intent. So I'll cut them down the middle and say it's "[The] legit [way]? The word has never crossed my mind, not once."

There's just something to it as a clear thesis for his whole life and his eventual fate. Like of course Adachi means in terms of going through the proper legal processes, but words like proper, legit, decent, these also have clear connotations of adequacy. So for him to literally say NOTHING he's done has been adequate in his eyes perfectly illustrates what you were saying. Like he's always taken it as a matter of fact that nothing he could do would be enough, like that's a truth woven into his existence so tightly he never even thought about it. And now there really is nothing he can do.

i have my own theoretical timeline on masato's stay in america, but even with what we have there's a lot of variables involved with for exactly when certain events happened

under the assumption masato was to enroll at harvard in the fall of 2001 (assuming he was somehow able to be approved for a lung transplant as soon as that year), then jo would- at max- might only have to be abroad for (assuming they leave in january) nine months (to account for the time it took for masato to get approved for surgery and then the surgery itself plus the potential 3-6 month recovery period afterwards)

alternatively, if masato had to wait a year- two max if we're being optimistic so he could graduate on time under an accelerated 2-year academic schedule to get surgery- then jo, similarly, would have to be abroad for a similar amount of time.

the time gone doesn't matter too much i guess: arakawa will still be left alone for a long time, and that really couldnt have been easy either way. the time his family's gone only makes their comeback all the more bittersweet, as you put it (´▽｀;;)

OH BUT YEAH NO THE Y7 BIT THAT SHIT PISSED ME OFF SO MUCH WHEN I READ IT like mates were trying to be smart about it like 'wow ichi way to go showing how much you love aoki and how you'd do anything for him 🙄' like God Forbid a human character acts human and imperfect what the fuck you want him to do he aint got no goddamn spidey sense how the shit was he supposed to know (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

but yeah.. speaking of Doing The Right Thing jo's never ending feelings of inadequacy are my favorite </3 cause its like.. it's a reason why i love jo so much if i can be weird to say: what he did wasnt something that you can confidently forgive or try to say 'he's done the most to rectify this' or anything like that because putting a baby in a coin locker's like.. a lot of steps are involved to do that.. not really a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing that would have grounds to forgive yourself for.. so the fact jo knows this and just has that intense guilt- it's my bread and butter to say the least 😔

#long post #snap chats #i didnt mean to ramble about my masato timeline OOPS. i havent mentioned it in months tho.... i do like thinkin a it....#thats not even to consider the idea of jo staying abroad all four years to make sure masato was getting along fine #and to make sure he made it back to japan alright- but for the sake of giving masato some independence for a bit #we can also say jo went back when he was 'no longer needed' and just let masato live how he wanted to #but again i guess the exact amount of months and years dont matter too much #as for Jo's Suffering though i can't explain why i love it so much #i think its just cause like. its nice that a character acknowledges they did something unforgivable #like even if aoki did get the lung transplant and he's fine- or WAS fine rip- that doesnt negate the 24 some years he had to be miserable #i cant explain it im very bad at explaining things can we tell #its just such a weird situation. because again what jo did isnt something you can excuse or forgive yk #like masato's critical years and his early adulthood were severely impacted by his disability #to say half his life was altered by jo's actions is an understatement- and jo knows that right #even if he made sure everything that could be done for him to make his life better was done #there was probably always that thought of 'this extra work wouldnt be necessary if i didnt do that' yk what i mean #so i guess im just glad he's dedicated to acknowledging that and trying to take responsibility for it now #idk idk i cant explain it but i hope we know what i mean. dear god i hope we do words arent my strong suit #but yeah again.... now he cant do anything to continue righting that wrong in his eyes #now its just guilt with no means of alleviating it and THAT. hurts the soul in a good way. me thinks anyhow

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hannieehaee · 4 days

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Can you please make a seventeen reaction if a saesang hurt their s/o? lysm btw💙

a sasaeng hurting their s/o

content: mentions of an ambiguous attack on the reader (u can assume it was something like pulling at reader's arm/hair or a simple slap/punch), anger from the members, angst, fluff (kinda??), etc.

wc: 829

a/n: ily <33 i was kinda conflicted on this bc im not sure whether theyd react in an idol fashion in which they just kind of let their managers handle it or if theyd handle it themselves so i went for a mixture

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's super protective over his members, which also translates over to all his loved ones. i think he would get immediately exasperated and get all up on whoever dared hurt you, fan or not. if things got physical, he'd get physical too. however, he'd try to keep things civilized.

jeonghan -

he'd let his managers handle the sasaeng, knowing that despite how much he'd like to protect you on his own, head on, he had a lot of limitations as an idol. he'd feel extremely guilty about it and would beat himself up over it for a while. would do everything he could to make you feel protected and taken care of (even more than he already did) from then on.

joshua -

he'd be unfiltered in his arguing and his anger towards the aggressor. he wouldnt get aggressive or anything, but the venom in his eyes would be enough for a person to drop dead. would go as far as try to get the authorities involved right in that moment, promising that he'd be pressing charges on your behalf. when it came to you, he'd need you to calm him down lol.

jun -

he's so used to being mobbed and to people injuring themselves due to this that he wouldn't even be surprised at this happening. this wouldnt mean that he wouldn't be insanely angry though lmao. he'd curse them out in chinese and start a whole scene if necessary. this person was not going to leave this situation unscathed.

soonyoung -

his emotions usually take over him very easily and i believe in such an instance anger would show clearly in his demeanor. he'd protectively hold you behind him as he cursed and antagonized the sasaeng while his managers attempted to alleviate the situation. there would be anger in his eyes that you'd never seen before, but it'd turn into worry and regret as soon as he met your eyes.

wonwoo -

usually when he's being crowded or fans are too close, his body language seems closed off and unwelcoming to all the unwarranted attention, but in this instance i think his fight or flight mode would activate, making him physically place himself between you and the aggressor. rare instance in which anyone would see wonwoo genuinely angry.

jihoon -

he'd be too shocked to react, only realizing what had happened after the fact. kinda out of character, but i think he'd have to be held back from taking matters into his own hands. would be furious at the blatant disrespect to both you and him. how could a fan ever lay hand on you? he'd remain disappointed in his fandom for a while, keeping himself (and you) away from the limelight for a short period of time.

seokmin -

for once in his life, the only emotion taking over him was pure unfiltered anger. BUT he would 100% prioritize checking in on you and keeping his hands and eyes on you to make sure you were okay. would let his managers take care of the situation and simply stare down the perpetrator with venom in his eyes. would be extremely apologetic to you afterwards and express guilt over and over.

mingyu -

he's shown many times before he's not afraid to tell fans to mind their boundaries before, so i think that in a serious situation in which you were being put in danger, he'd become extremely serious to a scary extent. he would not get physical or anything like that, but he'd use his words and stance to intimidate the crazed fan.

minghao -

extremely serious and put off. the moment someone laid hands on you, his body would take control of itself and put himself between you and any danger. he'd yell and curse at whoever dared cross such a boundary and disrespect both you and him in such a way. he'd hold certain disdain for fans crossing boundaries from then on.

seungkwan -

he's too polite and media trained to actually participate in the altercation, but anyone could see the genuine anger trying to filter out of him as he and his body guards tried to deal with the situation. his first priority would be you and making sure you weren't too hurt.

vernon -

he wouldve been too shocked in the moment to do anything, but as soon as the short-lived attack ended and his managers were already apprehending the perpetrator, he'd scoff and curse at whoever hurt you. there would be this unknown craze in his eyes indicating uncharacteristic anger that could only ever be provoked by such a situation.

chan -

insanely angry and frustrated at the situation. in an ideal world, he'd take care of this situation on his own, proving to you that he'd never let anyone hurt you. however, he knew that the appropriate thing to do would be to let his managers apprehend the aggressor while he checked in on you and made sure you were okay and as far away from the situation as possible.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagine #svt #seventeen oneshot #svt reactions #seventeen reactions #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt angst #seventeen angst

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gfguren · 5 months

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pro hero!bakugou x sidekick!reader | fluff, mutual pining, blatant flirting, bakugou calls reader darlin', bakugou is soft(ish) | cw: injury, mentions of alcohol, name calling (idiot), kisses kisses kisses

-bakugou tends to your injury, pining for you nearly as much as you do for him-

Your arm burns in waves, like kindling fire, the plain between your elbow and wrist a bramble of red and purple. It stings like a million tiny thorns pricking your skin.

"Why'd ya get in the way, idiot!" Bakugou's words are fierce and his brow is drawn, but you see the way his cheeks flush. He's embarrassed, guilt-ridden though it's not his fault. Not really.

You were both too overzealous for your own goods, determined to land the final blow on the villains. But his quirk was bigger, more explosive, harder to stop when your hands inevitably collided. You're just lucky your arm took the brunt of it.

Still, you smile despite the pain and his frown deepens, "What? Ya hit yer head too?"

You take a step forward, then two, crossing the threshold of your front door, reveling in the way his blush travels to his ears. "Did you come all the way here just to nag me?" There's a lilt of amusement in your voice, and he huffs, exasperation on his breath. "Or are you finally gonna give me that?"

You point to the bag dangling from his fingertips, pharmacy label half hidden by his baggy combat trousers. He's still in costume, mask pushed up over his wild, blonde hair, light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders.

He's a proper distraction from the pain at least.

His gaze falls to his own hand, as if he'd entirely forgotten. There's a palpable moment of hesitation, and then he grunts, knuckles clenching; he thrusts it against your chest.

"Did'ya sterilize it, at least?"

You're half listening, shuffling through the contents of the bag. "Mhm, rinsed it with water when I got home."

"Yer hopeless, darlin'."

You shrug, "If a little burn could take me out, I wouldn't be much of a hero, now would I?"

He snorts, "If ya were such a good hero, you'd have dodged in the first place."

"You think?" You humor his attitude, heart swelling in your chest when you spot your favorite candy hidden beneath the ointments and bandages. You have half a mind to tease him about it. "Are you gonna help me put this on?"

His arms fold across his chest, half a scowl twisting his face. He leans back, tapping a heavy boot against the floorboards. "And why would I do that?"

He must think he's subtle but you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. There's worry in his brow, guilt, turmoil, anger directed at his own self.

You figured it would help alleviate his conscience, at least.

"That's fine. I'll get around to it eventually." You turn on your heel, adding a cheeky "probably" to accentuate the wave of your hand, nudge him into action. It works.

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue, suppress the laugh inching it's way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

Two big hands push you down by the shoulders, cushions folding beneath your thighs. Bakugou holds a palm out expectantly and you place your own atop his, reveling in the way his nose scrunches in frustration.

You don't miss the way he lets it linger - just for a moment - before finally swatting it away with a half-hearted flick of the wrist. "The ointment, idiot."

You relent, handing him the thin white tube. He spreads a stripe down his fingertips, seat dipping beside you; he extends his opposite hand. "Now your hand."

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours.

It's intimate, familiar.

It makes you want to break whatever this unspoken 'something' is that the two of you have fostered - this growing affection you're both too proud to admit that wears on you, leaves you yearning to lean just a little closer and finally concede.

Just like all those nights ago, when he got a little too drunk at the hero convention, quickly annoyed by the crowds and reporters, the loud, boasting heroes. His champagne glass was quickly emptied once more, grunting when he pushed back in his chair. You remember leaning closer, close enough to discretely ask if he was alright. His red hot stare followed, burned through your chest and down to your core, left you shifting restlessly in your seat.

The air was thick when he finally careened upward, swaying perilously as he took you by the wrist, led you up and out of the dining hall until it was just the two of you, alone in an empty corridor. You could still hear the echo of stranger's voices, but it didn't bother him, not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What about the party?"

"'as boring." He'd replied, fingers 'round your wrist, lingering on your pulse; he feels it stutter beneath his touch. "Ya scared?"

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper - but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him.

"No."

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times.

"Good."

You're so lost in thought that you miss the way skin meets skin, thin buffer of ointment between you, and it burns - his fingers against your aching forearm. Your cheeky smile twists into a grimace and you can almost taste his guilt.

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Yer a hero, r'member."

You watch as he carefully applies the medicine, touch gentling each time you flinch until he's barely touching you at all.

"You've said that a lot today. 'Hero'." You muse. "It's usually sidekick this, sidekick that."

He shoots you a look before wiping the ointment from his fingers. "Yer my sidekick."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning forward to rest your chin on your unattended hand. "And what's the difference?"

He could answer you honestly, if he wanted. You're capable, brave, strong in your own right - beautiful to boot. You're the best of the best; Bakugou would never settle for less after all. Not that he was going to admit that.

Instead his lips twist in amusement, curling, lopsided, askew; you realize you won't be getting a straight answer.

"Ya should know by now when t' stay out of my way, is the difference." He pulls a bandage as big as his fist from the bag, pressing one corner to the flat of your palm, working it up and around until it reaches your wrist, and further still. "Was perfectly capable of handlin' it on my own."

"Seemed like you had your hands full with the big guy," you quip back, rubbing your thumb absently over the scratchy bandage. "Was I supposed to watch while the other one pummeled you from behind?"

He quirks a brow, you're not sure if he's annoyed or amused. "Woulda been fine. How d'ya think I made it to the top twenty, 've practically got eyes on the back of my head."

"You sure? Think I recall a time or two you've been whacked upside the head."

His eyes stray for only a moment, simmering up at you beneath dark lashes. "Think we might need t' get yer eyes checked, darlin', seems yer seein' things."

"Guess I need a hearing test too, since I remember you being a total crybaby about it."

He centers the tips of his thumb and pointer just above your brow, fingertips bouncing off your forehead, a tepid flick! and he's resuming his handiwork.

"Hey!" you pout, rubbing the offended area with your unfettered hand. "I'm a patient, you're supposed to be nice to me!"

"And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still.

You sigh, "Look at me." And he does, begrudgingly as it may be. "It's not your fault. I should have trusted you more. And you should have trusted me. We're both idiots so quit blaming yourself." You lightly flick his forehead in return; he doesn't flinch, eyes never leaving your own. "Finish the wrapping and we'll call it even, yeah?"

He grumbles something lost on you, stretching the last bit of fabric beneath your elbow and tucking it into itself. He turns your arm over in his palm, lightly, carefully inspecting it before leaning back against the cushions. You can feel his guilt dissipate, the stress in his shoulders slowly deflating.

"Ya hurt anywhere else?" His voice is low, quiet. He desperately hopes not.

You think for a moment, read his face, his body language, and then you're rubbing the space above your brow, faking a pout if only to lighten the mood. "Yeah, some brute bruised my forehead earlier, think it needs medical attention."

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing, brow tightening in discontent. "I'm being serious."

You struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. "So am I. What a devastating injury, I fear I won't live long." You dramatically throw yourself over his lap, knuckles laid flat over your brow. There's a conflicting look in his eye; you struggle to read it. "If only a big, handsome hero woul-"

You nearly miss the annoyed huff, the subtle roll of his eyes, too enamored in the way he encircles your wrist with one big hand, guides it to rest against his chest before leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

You're sure there's hearts in your eyes when he straightens his shoulders, hand still idle against his heartbeat; his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?"

You try and fail, miserably so, to hide the delight dancing in your chest and curling your toes. There's a grin splitting your cheeks when you sit up, face an inch from his own. "Mhm."

You can feel his breath, his hesitation, the slippery, fluttering feelings he's struggling to catch, and name, and put into words. He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you - again.

It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back.

He's up in a moment, fidgeting with his tank, his gloves, his mask, anything he can get his hands on. You sigh, pushing off the couch, taking one step, two, arms wrapping snug around his middle. "What're ya doin'?"

"Checking something."

"And what's that?"

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you."

He croons his head to stare you down, if looks could kill, you'd be very very toasty right about now. Still you laugh, hide your smile in the shadow of his broad shoulders, tip toe around him when twists around to face you.

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own.

You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours.

And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three - possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?"

You stifle a laugh, keen up at him, hands absently against his chest. "Well what?"

"What d'ya mean 'well what'?!"

What ever self control you had wavers, the incredulous look in his eyes sending you over the edge until your devolving into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"'m sorry." The laughter rattles you, chest like a suitcase too small to pack away the joy that fills you, spills over the brim in fits of laughter. It's infectious; Bakugou grins.

Your hands cup his cheeks. "You're too cute not to tease."

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

You lean forward, bump your nose against his. "Mhm."

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed you, twice. If ya didn't take the hint, that's on you."

You're smiling when you press your lips to his - quick, tepid, chaste, and over and over and over again.

He breaks away, eyes full of suspicion. "What was that for?"

"What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again.

He snorts, palm falling to the small of your back, big hand heavy on your skin. "Point taken."

He dips his head low, kisses you, soft and slow, fingers flexing against your shirt, dragging you closer when you move to pull back. "I like ya." His breath is hot against your mouth. "Always have."

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #finally finished the anime #now this blonde menace lives in my head rent free 😩#if anyone was wondering why i disappeared for 3 months its the 6+ bakugou wips in my phone ☠️

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mead-iocre · 3 months

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Brown Eyes | Jessie Fleming x Reader

Brown Eyes.

You and Jessie have been dating for a little over a year now. When you transferred to Chelsea you were quickly charmed by the shy Canadian, who on one of your earlier training sessions, welcomed you to the team with a ball to your face.

Hearing “Heads up!!” should’ve given you more than enough warning, but you were so focused on your own drills that you did not think that the warning was directed at you, nor were you expecting the sheer force of the ball hitting you right on the side of your head.

As soon as the ball made impact you came barrelling down to ground, luckily just about managing to roll yourself over to your side to land safely without injuring yourself any further.

“Fuck! I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

You hear the voice coming closer and the sound of their cleats pushing into the grass before you feel them drop down to crouch beside you. You wince as a warm hand lands on the arm currently nursing the side of your head. Your eyes squint as the throbbing continues, trying to take steady breaths to alleviate the dizziness that’s starting to take over your head. A dull ache settled behind your eyes, making it difficult to focus. The training ground around you felt slightly off-kilter, as if gravity had momentarily lost its grip. You attempted to push yourself up, only to be met with a wave of dizziness that forced you to slump back down.

“The medics are coming, don’t move” You squeeze your eyes closed a few times in pain. The dull throbbing in your head making it hard for you to identify who is talking to you, but the accent makes it pretty distinguishable.

“Jessie?” The Canadian with the freckles and the pretty brown eyes.

“Yeah. It was me. Sorry about that y/n” Said brown eyes meet yours, concern and guilt swimming in them. However, there’s more to her eyes– something so alluring and captivating about hers. Amber with the smallest hits of green under certain lights, but under others her eyes are like expressive palettes of cocoa, a special treat for those lucky enough to gaze into them.

Warm, tender and familiar.

You avert your eyes away from hers quickly when you notice you were staring a little too long, the headache still a dull drum, nagging and incessant. It would be weird to memorise the exact Pantone shade of one of your newest teammate’s eyes so you instead focus on the rest of her. The Chelsea midfielder’s cheeks are flushed red, as she struggles slightly to catch her breath, clearly having ran the entire length of the pitch to get to you.

“Sorry I–“

“s’alright. Just a slight knock” You grin at her— or at least you hope you are grinning and not looking like you were about to pass out at any minute now.

“a slight knock, eh?” She’s cute. Very cute. And very Canadian

Before you had a chance to quip back, you were surrounded by the medics. They assess you, going through all the steps to make sure there were no signs of anything serious. They poke and prob at you before concluding that the only thing you’ll suffer from is a sore bump on the side of your head and a lingering headache.

The entire time Jessie was stood by you, refusing to leave even when the medics and the coaching staff assured her that you were in good hands. She insisted that she stay with you.

And she did.

After that incident, you and Jessie were practically inseparable. The quiet, reserved brown eyed girl that you had first met was now the girl that you would sit next to on the bus, partner up with during drills, and have front row seats to her entertaining dry sense of humour.

A few months later, Jessie finally found the courage to ask you out on a date— and of course you had agreed. On your first date, Jessie took you to a farmers market where there were stalls and stalls of seasonal foodstuffs from artisan and local producers. You had the most perfect day with her, stopping at almost every stall to taste the samples that vendors leave out. You and Jessie barely let go of each other’s hands the entire day, much preferring to walk side by side and hadn’t in hand. If you weren’t holding hands, Jessie’s hand was a comforting touch on your lower back or around your waist.

Occasionally, you would take your phone out from your bag to snap a picture, wanting to document all the cool foods and the pretty flower stalls. You knew Jessie wasn’t too fond of the camera; however, it seemed like every time she noticed your phone in your hand, she would smile at you, even striking a pose or two at times, clearly showing that she didn’t mind you taking pictures of her.

“Cute” You mumble, mostly to yourself, after you snap a photo of Jessie drinking her iced coffee.

“Did you say something, baby?” The brunette steps closer to you, personal space be damned, and wraps an arm around your waist.

You grin down at her as you click the lock button on your phone, sliding it back into your bag. You take a moment to focus on the girl in front of you, appreciating her warm brown eyes, her pretty freckles, her rosy cheeks, and the little flyaway hairs that would not stay down no matter how many times she fix her hair.

You bring a hand up to cup her cheek, turning it away from you slightly, before you whisper “I said you’re cute” against the soft skin, pecking multiple kisses before planting your lips against her cheek for one more big kiss.

“Gimme one here” Jessie turns her head towards you, her eyes closed and a small pout already on her lips.

You bite your lip at how adorable she looks, so different from the aloof girl you met months ago. You must’ve taken longer than she wanted because she opens her eyes and playfully squints up at you. “you gonna kiss me or what?”

You gently squish her cheeks together with one hand, her lips forming a cute little pout. “how ‘bout a bit of patience, cheeky girl” You press a wet kiss right on her still-puckered lips, moving your hand from her cheeks to cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

If you had to list one of your favourite pastimes it was making out with your girlfriend. For someone so shy at first, Jessie wasn’t afraid of PDA— anytime, anywhere. She is always the one initiating affection, not caring about who may be watching. Jessie always had an arm over your shoulder, a hand placed on your lower back, or a grip on your waist.

Pulling away slowly, to savour the kiss, you open your eyes to pretty brown gazing up into yours. In her gaze, a story unfolds, framed by orbs of enchanting brown. A cascade of warmth, like autumn's embrace, like the coffee she solemnly drinks, like the muted shade of her hair against the morning light.

It’s comfort, it’s love and it’s Jessie.

You often wonder how it would be like to see the world through her eyes, but if you were to ask the Canadian she would say you could see a glimpse of her entire world reflected if you simply looked into her eyes— You.

currently obsessed with jessie fleming and as a result: this.

stay warm, my loves

--- butter

#jessie fleming #woso #woso fanfics #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #jessie fleming x reader

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munariplans · 4 months

Text

cold | natasha romanoff

synopsis: AU to the spidey!reader and natasha series, wherein a bad argument leads to unsaid misunderstandings and forever guilt between natasha and her love, just before christmas.

natasha romanoff x spidey! reader

word count: 2.2k words

warnings: major character death

a/n: i have to emphasise that this is an AU for these two once more, or i fear i may not make it out alive for christmas from your wraths as well...

masterlist

cold had been the one word you would describe the look in her eyes, as she told you to get out. to get out, if it made you happier going out on that stupid mission than spending time at home with your family. that stupid mission that no one could deny was not only dangerous, but life-threatening. but you were confident in your abilities. you knew that if anyone could survive it, you could. you also knew that bringing the stolen artefact home could add a nice year-end bonus that would chip in heavily to the new play room that was being built for your son.

you didn’t mention any of that to natasha, of course. she was already enraged enough as it is, standing by the christmas tree the three of you had decorated together. your son was a greater help than you, she would say, as you carried him on your shoulders and allowed him to choose where he wanted to hang the ornaments beside natasha. you remembered those moments fondly.

“get out then,” she bit harshly, “get out on that stupid, godforsaken mission if you have to. i could care less about trying to convince you otherwise anymore. it seems that whatever i say these days doesn’t even matter.”

“nat, of course what you say matters.”

“you don’t love me enough to have it matter.”

“how can you–”

but she had put up a hand to stop you. it was enough. she had sighed deeply, and began walking back to the bedroom. it was late, and your son had a preschool play the next day. natasha needed to get up early to put his costume together for him.

you didn’t see a point fighting her. maybe you should have. maybe you should have gone up to her, wrapped your arms around her, and told her just how sorry you were. that you weren’t going on the mission anymore, because it would be going against her wishes, and you loved her too much to disrespect her like that. maybe things would’ve been different then.

what you did instead, was sigh irritatedly as well, and began packing up for the mission. getting dressed in your spider suit underneath plain clothing, you slipped your mask into one of the pockets on your jacket. the pendant with natasha’s photo inside of it hung snugly on your neck; your good luck charms.

natasha watched you enter the bedroom, equipping your web shooters and packing the last of your things. she didn’t say anything. when you were finished and shot one last longing glance to her, she clenched her jaw and looked away. she didn’t want to be the one to give in first. she wished she had. she wished she had just put her ego down, and hugged and kissed you goodbye. it would have alleviated so much of the regret, and sorrow, that she was feeling right now.

you nodded understandingly, swallowing a particularly difficult breath. coming a little closer, you noticed natasha not flinching when you moved. so you took the chance to kiss her on the cheek, and murmur i’ll be home soon in her ear. she gave a nonchalant grunt and drew the covers over her face.

but natasha still cared. she cared so much that it hurt; it was inane for her, just caring for you. and so when you left the bedroom and made your way across the hall to your son’s room, she followed.

she watched by the door as you woke him up gently, leaning down to smile at him as he sleepily reached out for your voice in the dark. you held his hand, calling him your little warrior, and then, you leaned down and whispered, just enough for natasha to barely make out, “take care of your mama for me while i’m gone, okay? just like we talked about, my warrior.”

his hands imitated your own when you shot your web shooters; the spider pose, he would say, as you chuckled. you kissed him gently on the forehead then, and tucked him back in.

“when will you be back?” he asked, eyes wide as he saw your mission supplies.

you smiled sadly at him. “just in time for christmas, i promise.”

“pinky promise?” he let out his pinky, you interlaced it with yours, nodding.

natasha disappeared back into the room before you could see her, her own eyes red and brimming with tears. she heard the click of the front door a few seconds later. she wished she had never allowed you to leave that night.

–

it had been a mistake; a miscalculation on your part, which led to a mistake with even graver consequences than you had realised. you had slipped in the wet snow running from the enemies, allowing them to catch up with you. just enough for a clear shot.

the first few seconds after the initial gunshot felt broken, silent in the freezing air of the night. your breath was still ragged, desperate to flee, and your reflexes had been working perfectly fine. then came the second, and the third, and you knew something had gone very, very wrong.

you let go of the artefact, and zipped away out of sight.

ending up at a rooftop just near the park, you could hear the confused shouts and demands for the enemies to find you. but you knew, that while you were not safe up there, you were hidden. stumbling as you landed, you scrambled to feel just where you had been shot, and why the bullets weren’t deflected from your near-bulletproof suit. you cursed when you felt that they had been designed to mimic the density of arrows instead.

“oh my god,” you hadn’t realised just how much blood was pouring out of you. you reached out for the wall beside you, but soon enough, standing proved to be too arduous of a task, as you crippled to your knees. your hands drawn back were doused in blood, and you finally felt just how piercing the wounds were, exposed to the cold.

you lay on your back. rolling over onto your back was all you could manage. the lightheadedness was coming quickly; you were so cold, everything hurt. you had tried pressing your hands against the wounds, but even more hot blood coated them while doing so. under the moonlight, the blood appeared thick and black, almost like molasses.

the crippling fear that you were going to bleed out before anyone could find you began to set in. and through your short, panicked, breaths, you felt something slip out of your pocket. the blood had made the grip in your suit slippery enough to allow your phone to slip.

there, the wallpaper of natasha and your son shone bright against the dark backdrop of the night. you shut your eyes, summoning the last of your strength to grip it and bring it closer to you. your fingers slipped as they pressed down on natasha’s number from muscle memory. your vision had gone blurry by the time you managed to press the phone against your ear.

the tone rang once, twice, then, “hello?”

her voice was always sweet like honey. the thought of bleeding out before you could hear that voice for another day would have filled you with the rage of dying, but you had no energy for it any longer. you were so very, very tired. and so very, very cold.

“hi, my love.”

natasha moved the phone to her other ear. you rarely called her during missions; you had always feared for her safety. there was the soft pitter patter of rain in the background of where you were. natasha didn’t know that in the rain, the water and blood was slowly filling up your lungs.

“what’s wrong?” you hated how she knew there was something amiss. her voice already carried an air of concern.

you cleared your throat. “nothing. i just needed to hear your voice…how have you been?”

“it’s only been a week, baby. nothing much has changed since you left.” natasha would regret uttering those words just a few minutes later.

you smiled. “t-that’s good. how was our boy’s play? d-did he outshine the others, like i said?”

“he did, he was easily the best one there,” natasha cooed, her other hand ruffling your son’s hair as he played with his toys while waiting for natasha to complete mission reports in the compound. “he misses you so much.”

“tell him–” the line crackled as the rain beat down harder on you, “–please tell him–that–that i miss him too.”

the troubled feeling in natasha’s gut only grew bigger. “i will. baby, is everything okay over there? is the mission…okay?”

you drew a ragged breath that natasha didn’t miss. “yeah, yeah of course. mission’s perfectly fine. like i said…i just wanted to hear your voice.”

there was a beat of silence, as natasha held her tongue and you hoped she wouldn’t detect the fading in your voice. it hurt to breathe by then.

“nat?”

“yes?” she responded immediately.

“i’m sorry, nat. for going on this mission. for going against your wishes. i’m sorry–” the line crackled, “–that i made you feel small, or your opinions unvalued. you know that…you know that your opinions always matter to me. and–”

you had drawn up a cough, wet and bloody. “–and i’m sorry for all the times i never made you feel as loved as i should have. i’m sorry for not loving you enough, as you told me. i regret everything about that argument we had, you know. i love you so much, i don’t think i could fathom…the idea of losing you.”

“it’s alright, baby, it’s really alright,” natasha had moved from her office to the main comms room, paging for an emergency meeting, “i forgive you. and i said some nasty things i didn’t mean too. i hope you forgive me as well, and we can move past it, together. i love you too, you know.”

“yeah, i do,” your eyelids were drooping, “thank you.”

natasha could hear the footsteps of the others by then. “baby, are you sure everything is alright? should i call for help? where are you?”

“no, no,” you begged, “please, i’m alright. just stay on the line with me, please.”

“i’m not hanging up.”

you let out another bloodied cough. this time, it was hard to deny that natasha couldn’t hear it, because it had launched you into an even worse state, your suit beginning to grow heavy on your bones from the water and blood. there was no hope by then.

“nat?”

“yes, sweetheart.”

“it’s just me and you here, right?” you looked up to the moon, wondering if it was the same one she was staring at right now.

natasha shut her eyes in pain, gripping the table before her. fury’s hand wrapped over hers, as the team gathered around her. they had already begun tracing your call, and the avengers were suiting up. “...just me and you.”

you were wincing between every word, “the drawer below where you keep your winter coats. our son’s christmas present…and yours. i–don’t think–i can make it home for christmas on time. will you help me break the news…to him? i’m sorry.”

natasha let the tears run freely then. they had found you. and she had seen just the state you were in. “baby, please. why are you–”

“–please?” natasha shook her head. this cannot be happening. “nat, please?”

“okay, okay,” she reluctantly agreed. whatever to keep you awake. “in exchange, can you…can you hold on for a little while longer? i’m coming, baby.”

you let out a soft exhale as you smiled. “i love you nat. i always have, and i always will.”

“i love you too. so please, can you–”

“–do me a favour, nat. don’t. don’t try. just please…please stop crying for me?”

she had wanted to scream. she had wanted to scream, to find you and shake you so hard that you would wake up and realise that you were killing her just by dying too, and that she had wanted to slap you so hard for even daring to ask her not to cry. but she also wanted to hold you, to hug you and kiss you, and have the opportunity of feeling your touch once more before she said goodbye. she didn’t want this to be the way it all ended.

she didn’t know how she was going to survive without you. her blood was running cold and she was pacing back and forth in anxiety. the team didn’t dare interfere with how she was dealing with the impending loss of her wife.

your voice was drifting further and further away. you were dying.

“i have to go now, nat. please forgive me. please forgive me. and please kiss our son goodnight before bed tonight for me. thank you for everything.”

the phone dropped, and natasha’s world stopped. her son would not only know that you weren’t coming home for christmas, but you weren’t coming home at all. and she would know that had she just convinced you a little better, loved you a little harder, you wouldn’t have gone on the mission. and she would still have you by her side for christmas.

cold had been the body they found right outside yours and natasha's shared apartment. cold had been natasha’s heart the moment she saw you again, the life in your eyes gone and the guilt in her heart needling itself into grief.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel cinematic universe #natasha romanoff x spidey!reader

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astrobolical · 6 months

Text

To make you forget, if only for a while

How the kings (Satan, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub) alleviate your fears and worries, at least for a little while— as best they can, and in their own unique ways.

I love the utter filth that comes from this game, but sometimes a little fluff is welcome, too. If this does okay, I may see about doing some of the other devils as well.

Also yes, I do fully believe that there’s no way Leviathan doesn’t have a larger source of water in his home— his bathtub just being his favourite— it’s not as though he’s going out to find any.

Oh, and I went with “Bell” as Beelzebub’s nickname, as it’s what Mammon calls him in Chapter 3.

Content Warnings: Mildly Suggestive (Mostly Beelzebub), devil behaviours, brief mentions of alcohol, brief & mild mentions of depression, (lightly described) anxiety

Reader: Gender Neutral

Your voice had fallen silent, trailing behind the trio in front of you— and Satan cursed himself as he came to realize far too slowly that you’d withdrawn. His steps slowed, turning his head to see just what had garnered your attention… but was left with a foul taste in his mouth as he discerned what exactly it was. Your eyes were gazing down a street visible from where you were, seeing the frantic devils working tirelessly to restore or save their homes and businesses. Fires were being quelled, devils saved from rubble— trying their best to survive. Satan knew, however, that you weren’t simply watching, he could see how your eyes watered, bordering on tears, as you walked helplessly along.

In your racing mind Satan knew that you were blaming yourself entirely, allowing yourself to wallow and drown in the guilt that had begun to eat away. The look in your solemn eyes told him everything— it was a darkness he was all too familiar with, one that gripped him often, one that was difficult to escape from, especially alone. He wanted to stop, to tell you that none of this was your burden to bear, that not a single citizen of Gehenna would ever blame you. You hadn’t asked for any of this, hadn’t wished for an angel and Satan himself to whisk you away into chaos.

Yet all the same he knew those doubts and worries would not be easily assuaged, that your mind would inevitably take his words and discard them as if they were worth nothing. No matter how sincere they may be.

No, Satan knew that words were simply not enough, not for this— not for the gravity of the weight you felt on your shoulders as you looked out into the destruction and havoc. Instead, he decided, quite quickly, on another course of action that always helped him when he needed it the most.

His pace halted entirely, not having to wait long before you bumped carelessly into his back, not realizing he’d come to a full stop in your stupor.

“Satan?” You questioned, breaking free from whatever thoughts had held you. “Did something happen?” You glanced towards Sitri, as if trying to see if he’d heard someone approaching, or trouble nearby, but he shook his head.

“No,” He placed his hand atop your head, smoothing your hair out gently. “Nothing’s changed… I just think we need a break.”

You pouted, studying his eyes and expression. “A break? I’m fine…” You lied through your teeth— he’d already learned your little human quirks, at least partially.

Your protests, however, went unlistened to, and you were given no more time to voice your concerns. Satan pulled you close, holding you around your waist as he had so many times before and started down an unfamiliar alleyway. Not once did he look back to ensure your companions were following, knowing that they, too, completely understood the situation— you however, felt lost.

He led you, primarily, through the alleys and side streets you hadn’t yet seen, keeping away from the carnage you’d been surrounded by. His pace was quick, determined, keeping you against him as he trekked. You couldn’t quite grasp the sudden change of plans and direction, but your trust in Satan allowed you to relax and follow him as best you could (though you were sure without his arm around you, you’d have stumbled multiple times already). You knew that Satan would never harm you, not intentionally.

And, as expected, your intuition was correct and your trust well placed. There was not a single sign of danger where you now found yourself. In fact, it appeared more like a safe haven, mostly left untouched by the chaos that the angels had wreaked upon Gehenna.

It reminded you of the bar that you’d stopped in to rest before, though even more lively. It was larger, decorated with more lavish designs and furniture. Within were dozens of devils, relaxing and laughing with one another— and each and every one rejoiced when their king came through the door. Shouts and hollers, an energetic flurry of motion as they led your ragtag group further into the depths of the building. Not once did Satan release his hold on you.

It warmed your heart to see how joyous his people were just to see him. Though, it alarmed you quite readily when their joy, energy, and questions were also turned towards you. They offered everyone drinks, began to loudly tell you all manner of stories from their lives here in Hell. It as a flurry of motion, of attention and an infectiously rambunctious attitude— a wonderful and welcome feeling, compared to the ghastly reminders just outside.

Satan and Sitri — and even Ppyong— joined in on the revelry, encouraging the energies around them and rallying the morale. Unlike the last visit to a bar that you’d had, this time it was simply for fun and leisure. Satan kept you steady on his lap throughout the whole affair, hand idly massaging your sides or your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you every now and then, though each time you glanced back you were met with a shockingly gentle smile, and encouragement to pay more attention to his people.

He kept any grabby hands at bay, and a few were sent flying with a well-placed kick upon their weaker frames— though this did little to quell them, if anything it had only added to their adoration. Though you noted that with each attempt to get just a little too close to you, his hold would grow a little tighter, he’d pull you more fully into his lap and against him with a snarl.

You hadn’t laughed as much as you did then in what felt like your entire life— hadn’t met so many new faces, or heard such crazy tales, each one more absurd than the last. You leaned back into Satan, nestling yourself close to his warmth and comfort. When he turned to glance your way you stole a kiss from his parted lips— choosing to ignore the whoops and calls of the others in the room— and caught him off guard.

His eyes were wide as you leaned towards his ear. “Thank you,” You murmured, so quiet you were sure that only he (and perhaps Sitri) could hear. “For bringing me here, Satan.” You knew how much he cared for the denizens of Gehenna, how much he treasured and valued each and every one of them. And you’d realized that’s exactly why he’d brought you to such a place, at such a dire time.

In your moment of heartbreak and darkness, he’d brought you to them. To a place you were sure he’d probably often escaped to himself when his mind spiraled and he couldn’t quell it alone. He was showing you that these devils could be your safe space as well, your light out of the darkness that plagued your heart.

His people were his respite, and now they were yours as well.

This king of Hell had done so much for you, in such a short time… saved you more times than you cared to count— so you allowed yourself to enjoy his, and his people’s, company well into the night. Until the drinks finally slowed, and he’d ushered you to a place to rest on the upper floor. It was then that he returned the kiss you’d stolen earlier, with fervour, as if imploring you to realize that you were never alone in this.

He was alarmed— his gut telling him something was amiss, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it may be. Mammon knew only that it had to do with that faraway look within your eyes, almost as if you were looking through the brilliant gold around you rather than at it— it was not admiration, not his coveted greed, it was nothing. Mammon couldn’t understand why you weren’t pleased with your surroundings, or what all you may be thinking… just that he didn’t like it.

He wanted you to look around and desire it, to want the world despite knowing that it was already yours, as he was. He loved to see your eyes alight with a fiery passion, your heart just as full… but somehow you had fallen far, right under his nose. A human folly, he was certain, and not one he had ever encountered. Yet this? This he did not want, he did not covet this new experience, this new emotion. He wanted to be rid of it.

Mammon lifted you with ease, and without warning, breaking your senseless focus immediately, drawing you towards him effortlessly. You clung to him in surprise, steadying yourself though you knew that to Mammon you weighed nothing— he’d proven that already. You wound your arms around his neck, legs finding purchase on his hips, exclaiming his name in your surprise. His strength always amazed you— then again, he was simply amazing overall.

His silence continued as he pressed a warm kiss against your forehead, holding you close with one arm, while pulling your head closer with the other before it settled on your cheek. Your face flushed pink, dumbfounded at the gentle touches he’d graced you with.

His deep voice rumbled as he spoke, and pressed against him as you were you couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of the vibrations. “What is bothering you, MC?” He questioned, eyes that looked like molten gold peering into yours with concern.

You stared back, silent, unsure how to answer— or if you even should. You worried your lower lip with your teeth as you pondered, not missing the way his eyes flicked downwards at the motion, how he held you a little more tightly. “Nothing,” you finally relented, though accompanied by a forced smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “I’m alright.”

Mammon did not know doubt, or lies— you knew that your words alone would calm him, come as a reassurance that there was nothing to worry over. And you told yourself that you would do better to keep your worries hidden. A white lie, you decided, was the better way to go.

Even if the weight of all the events thus far was pressing down around you, exerting more pressure with each new battle you found yourself surrounded by.

Yet, despite your reassurance, Mammon’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “…While I do not know—or even understand— doubt, MC, I know that there is something wrong. I just know.”

He looked pained as his eyes bore into yours, unyielding as he studied your expressions. His grip became a little tighter as he sighed. “Can you not trust me?”

The question made your breath hitch, and you shook your head rapidly. “I trust you!” You reassured, your heart wrenching at his assumption. Of course you trusted Mammon— with everything in you, you did. You just didn’t want to burden him with your worries, your fears, and your guilt. You’d buried it so deeply within you throughout your journey that you’d thought that maybe you’d somehow escaped it… but it had consumed you the moment you’d finally attempted to rest, comforted by the massive devil’s presence. “I do. It’s just… it’s nothing, really. I’m just worrying over everything that’s happening here in Hell— if Satan hadn't saved me…”

His eyes widened, and his forehead bunted against your own. “Never think that way, MC. Nothing here is your fault— and there is no devil in Hell that thinks that it is.”

“Everyone is ecstatic that you’re here— even more than when they see me!” He continued, placing slow, soft kisses on your face between each breath.

You knew he was right, deep down. That if it hadn’t been you, another descendent of Solomon could have just as easily ignited it all. It wasn’t your burden to bear, just as much as it wasn’t Mammon’s. Whatever happened to God — the event that had earned the angel’s ire— was still a mystery.

You sighed, your eyes glossy as you looked up at him once more. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He straightened again, adjusting his grip on your bottom. “Just tell me when these thoughts plague you, and I will reassure you of every worry— I am yours, after all. You have me at your side to deal with whatever you feel you can’t. You are the only being to ever have this, the only one I’ll ever give it to.”

He grinned, sharp canines glinting in the light that shone into the room from the elegant (yet gaudy) golden windows, and you couldn’t help but smile— genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Mammon. I’ll keep that in mind.” It was strange, you thought, that he could so easily clear your mind with his promises alone… but when you looked at him, it also wasn’t hard to see why. He was powerful, confident— and he so proudly declared himself yours it was difficult to not believe him, to rely on him. “Aren’t you getting tired of holding me up, though?”

Your attempt to change the subject earned you a hearty laugh, that shook you in his arms. “Never!” As if taking your words as a challenge he tossed you upwards before catching you just as effortlessly, before securing you once again against him. “And if you don’t believe me, I’ll parade you around Tartaros to prove it.”

“Please, don’t!” You laughed, though you could see that he was absolutely considering his own words. “Mammon!”

“It would do you well to go out— and you can still rest as long as you’re in my arms.” You hit his chest, grumbling about how impossible he was— but there was little you could do to stop him from walking out the door, with you still held close. Though, despite your protests, you really didn’t mind— Mammon was right, seeing the devils of Tartaros going about their daily lives, seeing their smiling faces as they saw their king, and you… it really would do you good.

And, though you didn’t give him the pleasure of telling him, being held by Mammon was the safest place you felt you could be. Untouchable, secure, and comforted by his warmth.

Even if it was still a bit embarrassing.

Your mind was elsewhere, lost deep within unwanted thoughts that forced their way through despite any efforts to hinder them. Leviathan, in a way, couldn’t fault you for it— you were only human, and your entire world had been upturned and threatened. But Leviathan himself was at your side, seated just an arms length away— could you not even consider him a worthy distraction? Surely his presence alone should earn your gaze, at least? Yet your eyes were staring at the floor, your brows furrowed.

It irked him, stirring feelings in his heart that made his eyes narrow and fists clench— especially when he wondered just what it was you would finally use to alleviate whatever thoughts you were unable to escape. Whoever, or whatever, it may have been, even if imaginary, made envy seep through him.

Had he not proven he would go to great lengths for you already, without question? He’d even gone outside of the sanctity of his home for you, protected you from angels at the cost of his own wellbeing.

He sucked in a breath, steadying himself from whatever spiral he himself had nearly fallen into— now was not the time, not when he could simply take your attention for himself and eliminate the threats from the equation altogether. Motioning with lithe fingers, ropes quickly fell from the inky darkness of the ceiling above, entangling you despite your surprised protest. At least you’d called his name in your alarm.

The ropes dragged you closer to him— surprisingly gentle— and you wondered what his plan was, recalling just how pleasurable it could be to be bound before this devil king. Yet only your jaw was slowly traced by a singular long finger, no further touches gracing your skin. Instead his pale eyes met yours, contemplative. He did not seem exceptionally angry or upset, in fact he appeared oddly calm for having called on his favoured ability.

And then he stood, sighing, leaving you where you were. “Come, then.” He spoke, a chill running through your spine— from suspense or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Yet despite ordering you to follow, he hadn’t intended to give you a choice to begin with, the strong ropes moving you for him, just behind (but so, so careful not to damage your frail, human skin).

He spoke nothing of where he was taking you, barely acknowledging that you were with him at all. At times his intense gaze met yours, as if checking on your wellbeing — though you surmised it was to ensure your attention was on him, as he wanted.

Any complaints you had, though, died on your tongue the moment he opened large double doors with a wave of his hand, and you were greeted with a marvelous sight that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

Within it was not quite the same castle-like structures you’d come to know, it was somehow more cavernous while still retaining its elegance. In the center was a pool, of sorts, though if you were to describe it properly it was more akin to a man-made (devil-made?) lake within the confines of Leviathan’s estate. The water’s surface was reflecting all across the walls and every item it could reach, creating a beautiful, moving pattern that was hard to tear your eyes away from.

You wondered if you should really feel as surprised as you do, that he had such a place tucked away, being as fond of water as Leviathan was.

“Very few have been here, Child of Solomon. I don’t allow it.” He spoke bluntly, those agile fingers motioning for your freedom (and oh, you knew what else those hands could do). “But,” He continued, turning to face you. “It appears you need something to distract you. Come.”

His hand extended towards you, waiting impatiently for you to take it, and despite your surprise and tentativeness you did just that. He led you towards the waters, still fully clothed and unperturbed. “Wait— shouldn’t I get a bathing suit, or something?”

He stopped, a quizzical look upon his beautiful features. “If you must worry about your clothes, just remove them.” As if assuming you would do just that he released your hand as quickly as he’d taken it, stepping into the water without waiting any longer for you to decide.

It wasn’t hard to see he belonged there, his pale skin practically glowing in an ethereal light. Soon enough he vanished into the depths, only to resurface a ways away, floating lazily despite the weight of his clothing.

Hastily you joined him, donning only your undergarments (not quite as confident within such deep waters while being weighed down). Yet when his hands were on you you knew that even if you even began to sink towards the bottom, he’d keep you afloat with ease. “You’re only the second outside of myself I’ve allowed in here.”

“…Why?” You murmured, enjoying the feel of the small, cool waves on your skin.

“Because it’s mine.” A simple answer, blunt as always. “But … so are you. So I don’t mind you being here, as long as your attention is on me, MC.”

Your heart felt warm as you realized how much you meant to him— that he would break his own comforts for your own, in a way. Even if it was borne from wanting your attention only on him and nothing else. “Sorry, Leviathan,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek, which met with a strong hand pulling you closer to him. “For being so distracted before. Thank you for showing me this.”

He hummed in response, more taken with your body in his arms than with your gratitude— though you could very easily see he enjoyed it.

He’d succeeded in claiming your attention, keeping it upon himself with ease now that you were reminded that not everything in your situation was a bad thing. That you had devils like Leviathan at your side, and that they would do anything to assist you. Leviathan, who so rarely let others in but who opened himself to you without thought or hesitance.

Even if Leviathan’s needy hands barely gave you a moment’s rest, itching for your touch at every turn. You’d give him everything he wanted— how could you deny him, after all?

The room felt as though it was nearly split down the center as Beelzebub glanced around— on one side was the chatter and planning, a tense atmosphere of grumbling devils attempting to decide what to do… on the other, was you. Around you was quiet, abnormally so— the devils had let you be, he supposed it was to give you time to breathe and catch up with everything that had transpired.

Yet to Beelzebub, you simply looked pitiful, too sad for his liking. Your eyes were staring blankly out the window, sitting idly and unmoving on the sill. Yet you weren’t really looking at anything, your eyes barely moving even when there was an outburst on the other side of the room, or a bird flew by your window.

Clearly, despite what the others may think, you didn’t need time to yourself to breathe. In fact, it seemed as though leaving you to your own devices was only making things worse in that little human mind of yours. And, being who he is, Beelzebub was more than willing to bend the rules and expectations just to make you smile again.

He could sense Bael’s cautious yet curious gaze on his back— unwilling to believe that his king would simply sit idly. And he wasn’t wrong, really. Yet Beelzebub didn’t do anything immediately, instead standing and making his way over towards you rather languidly, lazily as though he just wanted to banter with you—despite being told to leave you be.

You didn’t react to his approach, or even seem to hear his intentionally loud footsteps, utterly lost in whatever thoughts were plaguing you. If this were another time, or he were any other devil, it may have been concerning how unaware you were of your surroundings in an unfamiliar environment— even if it was safe.

However, he was not another devil, and was still Beelzebub. He looked at this, instead, like an opportunity he simply couldn’t let go of and let pass by. In one swift motion you were hoisted upwards, a garbled noise of surprise escaping you as you were thrown over a strong shoulder. His hand kept you steady, lying comfortably on your lower back (if a little lower than necessary). Instinctively you reached out to grip anything you could to ground yourself, hands clinging to whatever you could reach on him. You knew that no matter how irresponsible Beelzebub may be, he would never drop you, but it was still difficult to settle when you’re quite literally thrown like a sack of potatoes.

“Let’s go out and play, MC.” His voice was a purr, adjusting you quickly before the others could react and taking off out the door with a surprising burst of speed— you hadn’t even known he could move that quickly!

There was chaos behind you near immediately, and you could see the others— particularly Bael— preparing to stop their quick-footed king from escaping, especially with you in tow. However, as much as the efforts were doubled by your presence, they were also incredibly hindered, not wanting to harm you in any way while attempting to stop the ever-troublesome man.

“Bell!” You protested, though he could hear your insincerity within your voice, a bubble of laughter escaping you at the audacity of the unanticipated situation you’d found yourself in. “Where are we even going?!”

The gloom that had surrounded you already began to crumble, and he laughed as he replied. “Somewhere fun!” He didn’t elaborate, however, as he dealt with the devils in his way, deftly outmaneuvering them.

Looking back once more, you couldn’t help but pity Bael, seeing now what it was he dealt with, but at the same time you were thankful for Beelzebub and his free spirited nature. You’d forgotten that, though the situation was incredibly serious, you were still allowed to have fun.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the chaos came to a close, Beelzebub successful in his escape, and you now safely hugged within his arms after he’d set your feet back down securely to the ground. His grin was positively infectious as you took a step back from him, and you had to stifle your laughter. “There!” He exclaimed, fixing your hair idly as he spoke. “Now, let’s find someplace fun to waste some time in. Let’s let loose, MC.”

Grasping your hand he pulled you along through the streets, searching out a familiar haunt that would be filling in with devils soon. He didn’t pay mind to the confused looks he got along the way, loudly talking with you all the while. He didn’t let you rest until you’d arrived at wherever it was that he’d thought of.

The rooms were dimly lit, but there was a well-stocked bar at the far end of the largest one, the music blaring from speakers already despite guests just beginning to filter in. It wasn’t terribly large, more quaint than you’d expected for Beelzebub, but it was clear he was a common sight there, as no one batted an eye in his direction as he led you further in.

You clung to him as the crowd steadily grew, unwilling to be parted from your guide— and it wasn’t as though you disliked touching Beelzebub, either. There were certainly no complaints from him, either, as his hands groped and prodded your body in return. It wasn’t long before he led you to the dance floor, where his hands explored more boldly, front pressed against your back as you swayed to the music.

You knew it didn’t matter if you were any good at dancing, Beelzebub simply wanted you to lose yourself to the music, and more importantly with him.

It wasn’t difficult to persuade you, letting his body guide your movements, losing yourself to his touch and the vibrations in your body from the sounds around you and the mesmerizing lights.

You could hear his praises when his hot breath ghosted by the shell of your ear, sharp teeth toying with the cartilage. His lips finding your neck, his hands dipping lower— it was so easy to lose yourself with Beelzebub, that your worries melted away. Not even the inevitable repercussions that were to come from your escape could bother you.

You were thankful for how carefree the king who held you was, that he’d decided to encourage it within you, too.

Though you weren’t sure how long you were among those on the dance floor before Beelzebub inevitably led you towards the dark bathroom, your bodies barely parted for a moment. You locked the door behind the two of you, opting to lose yourself to him in another way, even if someone heard you.

#what in hell is bad #whb #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#whb Satan #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb beelzebub #whb Satan x reader #whb leviathan x reader #whb mammon x reader #whb Beelzebub x reader #whb x reader #what in hell is bad x reader #~take time to relax #the brain rot is so real #is it bad I want to write for Gabriel?

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