From the very first day you entered RAD, Lucifer tells you that when Mammon starts to take a liking to someone, fortune follows them around. You didn’t think much of it back then. Mostly because Mammon clearly hated you at first. He called you stupid, annoying, useless. He refused to say your name and always calling you “human”. You never once thought someone like that could ever like you.
But Lucifer ordered Mammon to stay close to you, and slowly, things changed. He started hanging around without complaining as much even to the point where he helped you with the TSL quiz willingly.
And then strange things began to appear in your room. A shirt that was definitely not yours, a D.D.D. charger you never bought, a small stack of Grimm on your desk and even a deck of cards tucked into a drawer. Sometimes he even let you keep the grimm which shocked you.
As time passed and you grew closer, a random gifts start to appear outside of your door. You thought it was a prank the first time until you opened it. Inside was a real gift. Another time, it was jewelry, and you froze because it looked far too expensive to be random. Sometimes it was just Grimm.
What you didn’t know was that Mammon watched every time. Hiding just out of sight, peeking around corners, heart racing as he waited to see your reaction. He didn’t understand why he cared so much, only that he did. He laughed quietly when you stared at the jewelry in shock. When he won tons of grimm from gambling, his first thought is about what he could bring for you on the way home.
Eventually, you figured it out. And one day, Mammon found a small gift outside his door too. He stared at it for a long time before picking it up with a warm cheeks realizing that his fortune had finally turned on him too.
. 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 your weird heteroerotic friendship with dick grayson. ꗃ dick grayson x fem!reader .ᐟ
──── you'd known dick since you two were just preteens and by the time you were twenty-something, the two of you had become inseparable in so many ways that made people around you very, very uncomfortable. your room was his room. your closet had his shirts and boxers. his dresser had your sleep shorts and panties. you'd see him naked constantly. scars and all. you'd stepped into his bathroom once while he was shaving, towel slung low on his hips. his abs were still slick from the hot shower. on the bathroom shelf, you noticed your pads, some of your favorite painkillers, and even products from the skincare routine you both shared.
you made a noise of disapproval and reached over to fix the way he was holding the razor.
"you're gonna nick yourself, pretty boy."
"then fix it, dove."
so you did. you reached up, cupped his jaw, and carefully guided the blade against his skin, the intimacy of it heavy in the steam-clouded mirror. he kept his eyes on you the entire time, those soft, pretty blues watching you with quiet trust.
"thanks. you always take care of me."
"of course i do," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his cheek. "you're fucking useless without me."
you said it with a teasing smile, like he hadn't been leading teams and saving lives since he was thirteen. he smiled anyway. but your closeness didn't stop at helping him shave. you'd eaten from the same fork, shared water bottles, gum, deodorant—even a toothbrush. you literally farted on him once when he tickled you too hard during a sparring session. you'd seen him throw up more times than you cared to.
and it gets weirder.
one time, during a particularly rough mission, you lost all your clothes. literally everything, including your underwear. so you borrowed his. every last piece. shirt, pants, even his boxers. you walked around the block wearing fabric that had been in direct contact with his dick and sweaty balls, and you didn't even blink. yikes, girl.
and when people asked what you were to each other, you'd both laugh. loud. like the question was fucking ridiculous. you were best friends. duh. but then he'd hand-feed you fries across the table while hanging out with your mutual friends. you'd adjust his waistband before going out and he wouldn't even flinch when your fingers brushed too low. he'd adjust the strap of your bra in public, and people would act like it was some kind of spectacle. for some reason.
one time, after a shower in the batcave locker room, you walked out drying your hair. dick was there too, getting dressed after some random training session. and he looked. really looked. right at your uncovered boobs. then, completely unfazed, he just went back to putting on his pants and belt.
"you know your left titty is bigger than the other, right?"
"it's not like your balls are very symmetrical either."
With all the overwhelming love you have for your husband, some days it feels… lonely. Unbearably so.
The weight of his departure even when dawn has yet to break plants an undeniable ache inside of you.
You know he has duties that need to be fulfilled, knew what he needed most was an understanding partner that let him work unbothered. A partner that didn’t get in the way.
Now, it was midnight. You were awake on the couch, and your lover wasn’t home. You’ve long become used to this, but it hurts all the same. And of course you couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
You were breaking apart. It felt like all the memories of the past were all that you had left of him. He wasn’t around for the long days and nights you weathered alone. And you loathed the idea that he one day would not return.
You numbly twirl the wedding band on your finger, vision blurring with tears.
A part of you felt you didn’t deserve him to begin with.
You let these feelings of hurt and pain consume you, until you didn’t even notice when the door opened as you broke out sobbing, utterly broken. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
You finally notice him once he’s kneeling down in front of you.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes softly, hesitantly, as if afraid of scaring off a wounded animal, and oh, how long had it been since he actually looked at you like that? Since you’ve heard his voice spoken so tenderly?
He’s here. He’s here and all you can do is cry harder.
“Sweetheart, hey, what’s wrong?” He’s not touching you, giving you space and time to talk to him and it hurts, it hurts because you wish he’d wrap his arms around you, crush you so close and hard to his chest and never let you go. And you want him to be tender, and cradle you gently and whisper softly in your ear and you want to hear his steady heartbeat that tells you he’s okay, and he’s here, and he loves you.
But you can’t voice any of this. Not when you’re bawling. You try to call out his name but your voice just breaks and god, you hated yourself so much. You scrub roughly on your face.
“Baby, stop that.”
Your hands are gently but firmly pried away, and he comes to sit beside you, warm hands cupping your face, forehead resting against yours. This feels so familiar and foreign all at once. It’s been so long.
“Baby, talk t’ me,” he pleads. Your eyes wander over his furrowed brows, his eyes laced with a fierce concern and determination all at once. Determination to help you. To comfort you. To give you the space you need, but not being able to distance himself.
You’re sniffling and trying to stifle your whimpers. You try again, whispering his name against his lips.
“Yes,” he says quietly, “I’m here. You’re okay.” He tucks a strand of hair out of your face, and kisses you. It’s like you’re both kissing for the first time and you’re nervous and uncertain. But he still kisses you, and he pulls away but you whine softly, and he chuckles and obliges when you pull him back in.
You’ve finally calmed down enough to settle into a peaceful silence, your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms around your waist.
“Ready to tell me what’s wrong, baby?”
You mumble something along the lines of ‘not yet’, but that doesn’t stop you from whispering your next words: please stay.
So he does. And he just holds you until you fall asleep in his arms, and when he carries you back on the bed and kisses your forehead, he spends what feels like hours just staring at you. At your lips, your cheeks, the delicate curve of your nose.
At the bags under your eyes. The dried tears on your face.
It’s after a long, long period of time that he lays beside you, pulling you close and relishing in the soft sigh that escapes you, the way you snuggle closer into his chest.
When morning comes, you awake to an empty bed.
The disappointment crushes you beneath its weight. And then confusion when the scent of food reaches your nose, and the sound of oil sizzling on a pan.
Your heart skips a beat. Hope springs to life inside you, enveloping you in its warm embrace.
Please stay.
Last night replays in your mind, along with the last words you had said to him.
There’s a tall glass of water on the nightstand. You down it in seconds.
Took a deep breath. Stepped out on shaky legs into the kitchen.
There stood your husband, an apron tied low on his waist, his hand stirring eggs on a pan.
For a moment, you just stare at him, because he’s real and he’s here and the house isn’t cold and empty. He’s your husband. He’s yours.
There were many times in the span of your marriage where you felt like things would always be lonely. That this was just what it meant to marry a man like him, with more duties and responsibilities than you could fathom. Moments where you felt hopeless, and anxious, and scared.
Then there would be moments where you’d wake in the middle of the night, or the early, early hours of the morning before he’d be gone. It was in these moments that he’d be right beside you, holding you close as if shielding you from the world.
No matter what, he had always returned to be right by your side.
You looked up from your spot on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, book resting on your lap. Pedro shuffled in like a kid who missed bedtime, hair a little messy, hoodie too big, eyes already half-lidded.
"Hi, cariño," you said gently.
He gave you a pout. An actual pout.
"Baby..." he mumbled, dropping his bag by the door. "Can you—" he yawned mid-sentence, then blinked up at you like a sleepy puppy, "—can you put me to sleep?"
You blinked, smiling before you could help it. “Like… rock you back and forth? Read you a bedtime story?”
“Yes,” he nodded seriously, padding over and throwing himself into the couch like a man dramatically surrendering to gravity. “All of it. I want the full experience. I’m a baby now. Take care of me.”
You laughed softly as he collapsed into your lap without waiting for permission. His arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into your stomach like he’d been waiting all day just to do that.
“You’re such a baby,” you teased, fingers instinctively sliding into his curls.
He hummed, already melting under your touch. “Your baby,” he whispered, almost sleepily, lips brushing against your shirt.
"That you are," you said, heart way too full for how long you'd known him. But somehow, this wasn’t new. This version of Pedro—the soft one, the one who clung to affection like a blanket—felt familiar. Like home.
You kept carding your fingers through his hair, slow and rhythmic. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just breathed. Heavy and slow and safe.
“Want me to sing to you?” you whispered after a few minutes.
He nodded against your belly. “Mhm. Something cheesy.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately and began humming some old 70s love song your mom used to sing while cleaning the house. Pedro’s grip on your waist tightened, like he was anchoring himself to you.
“You smell like home,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Your chest physically ached. “Pedro…”
“Hm?”
“Go to sleep.”
“Only if you promise not to move. Ever.”
You smiled, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
After a while, when his breathing had evened out and he was just on the edge of sleep, you whispered, “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you into bed.”
Pedro groaned in protest, clinging tighter. “Nooo… the couch is my bed now…”
You laughed under your breath and tugged gently on his arm. “You’re gonna have back pain for a week. Come on. I’ll tuck you in.”
That got his attention.
“You’ll tuck me in?” he looked up at you with the most pitiful, sleep-glazed expression.
“Yes,” you smiled, standing up and reaching for his hands. “Like a little burrito.”
He let you pull him to his feet, slow and clumsy, his arms immediately winding around your waist like he needed to keep contact at all times. You walked him to the bedroom like you were guiding a toddler after a sugar crash — steady, soft steps, occasional yawns, and one moment where he stopped in the hallway just to rest his head on your shoulder.
When you got to the bed, you pulled back the comforter and patted the mattress. “In you go.”
He flopped down dramatically, arms wide like a starfish. “Okay. I’m ready. Tuck me.”
You giggled and kneeled beside him, pulling the blanket up over his body. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, the tiniest, dopiest smile on his lips as you gently tucked the edges around his chest and shoulders, smoothing them down like you were wrapping a gift.
“There,” you whispered. “Perfect.”
He reached up with both arms and made a little grabbing motion. “Now you.”
You crawled into bed beside him and the second you were within reach, he latched on — arms around your waist, face in your neck, a heavy contented sigh escaping his lips.
“I love you,” he murmured, already slipping.
You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too.”
And just like that, Pedro Pascal — world-renowned actor, internet’s favorite daddy — fell asleep in your arms like a big, clingy baby, breathing in sync with your heartbeat.
Summary: Caught in the middle of a Weasley prank, you’re blamed and sent to detention. Only to discover none other than George Weasley is there as well. What should be a short punishment turns into an adventure to the Forbidden Forest.
Content warnings: Flirting, mild tension, unjust detention, George Weasley being charming
Wc: 1.4k
Authors Note: This is my first published fic, any suggestions or comments lmk :)
Some days, Hogwarts was quiet.
Today was not one of those days, thanks to Fred and George Weasley.
On the way to charms, you take the long route, practicing wand motions taught in the previous lesson. But unknowingly, the hallway you’d chosen had been claimed for the prank of the week.
Hidden around the corner were the Weasley twins. They hadn’t noticed your footsteps down the hall, and you hadn’t cared to notice the unusual silence, or even the bucket in the middle of the hall.
From the flick of a wrist by Fred Weasley, an ungodly amount of frogs accompanied by green slime like fluid erupt from the bucket.
Quickly, you look up in an attempt to find the culprit at the end of the hall, but are met with the eyes of Hagrid instead.
Immediately, your mouth opens to explain, “I didn’t do that.” You look back at the scene and then Hagrid, “You know I wouldn’t-”
“Ah don’t think yeh did it, but yeh’re the only one here, an’ yeh’ve got yer wand out, see…” Hagrid pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah gotta give yeh detention after school, or else ah’ll be in trouble meself.”
“But I didn’t do that, that’s so unfair. I was practicing from the lesson previously.” You argue, hands running down the sides of your robe.
“Ah’m sorry, this ain’t fair on yeh. Jus’ the one night, ye? Ah know yeh didn’ do it, but rules areh rules.”
You look down the hall defeated and nod, glancing to the floor.
The walk down to Hagrid’s hut is painfully long, feet sliding in the dirt every other step, pure frustration coursing through you knowing this is all the twins fault. You shouldn’t be doing this, it should be them in trouble.
Before you get the chance to knock, the door flies open, Hagrid voice booming, “’Bout time, eh? Weasley’s been waitin’ on yeh.”
This has to be some kind of joke.
Taking a deep breath, you step into the small space, only to be met with George’s brown eyes. No Fred.
An open chair sits beside him and Hagrid motions for you to sit down, before beginning speaking, “Ain’t right, neither of yeh bein’ ‘ere so I’ve got yeh a bit of an easy task, can’t really mess it up, but it’ll take a while. Yeh’ll need ta take this message,” he holds up a folded piece of paper, “to the centaurs in the forbidden forest.”
George lets out a scoff muttering under this breath, “It literally says forbidden in the name.” He speaks louder. “I have no problem going but I’m not sure it’s safe,” he jerks his thumb toward you, "for her.”
You repulse back and stand up to face George, arms crossing defensively. “Excuse you. Unlike some, I can do this without any trouble being caused and I’ll be safe the whole time.” Your eyes glare at him and tone drops, “You know, maybe for fun bring a bucket of toads with some slime,” George’s expression begins to twist into guilt, “maybe we can even have it explode.”
Hagrid clears his throat. “Now’s no time fer goin’ ‘round blamin’ anyone fer earlier. He’s in ‘ere cause he’s been nothin’ but late to class, that’s all.”
Silence coats the room.
"Erah wasn’ s’posed ta tell yeh that. Sorry, George. ‘Ere- take the letter," he places it in your hands and begins to shoo you out. “Go on, be nice.”
George stands from the chair quickly, walking around the table to grab the door handle and open it up for you guys to leave.
You walk through the door still upset but also feeling better that this is not even close to a real punishment.
You start walking, not waiting, and George speed walks to catch up.
For a while, all you can hear is the sounds of feet moving the dirt, your breathing, and the rising volume of the forest ahead.
George clears his throat startling you, hands dropping to your sides, “I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t realize you were in the hall. Fred planned it and I should’ve double checked before he did anything.”
He rubs the back of his neck, self soothing, glancing at over you.
You pick your eyes up from the ground to look at him, lips parting to reply, but in the next step you take your foot slips.
Without a second thought, George reaches his hands out around your torso.
You let out an embarrassed laugh and smile, your hands meeting his shoulders to stabilize yourself, “Thanks, that would’ve been bad.”
He holds your waist, as your feet shift finding grip, you continue, “And thanks for apologizing about earlier. Sorry for being short and rude to you at Hagrid’s place.” You look up at him, hands dropping back to your space, but come to find that he’s just looking at you and his hands aren’t moving from your waist.
Your lips purse, not sure how to go about the next sentence. “Um, I’m all good now. Both feet flat on the ground and not planning to slip again,” an awkward smile and laugh meeting your lips.
Immediately, he snaps out of it, “Oh yeah, uh sorry,” he quickly takes his hands off of you and places them at his sides stiffly.
The air shifts lighter with apologies out in the open but now full of tension. You both look at the ground and walk, staying with the path towards the forest.
He looks over at you, scanning your expression, before beginning to speak, “So, what do you think is in that note, letter thing?”
“Umm, maybe its-” you look around thinking, “-a lesson plan on Magical Creatures? That's what Hagrid teaches right?”
He nods. “I’d hope not. I’m tired of convincing 3rd years to write my essays.” He replies, followed by a grin.
You look over at him disbelieving and are met with his grin, unable to hold back, you grin and reply sarcastically, “No wonder you’re always on time, always having others do your work.”
He just chuckles deeply, looking at the ground. You watch as he picks his head back up, looking straight, jawline prominent.
“What do you think is in the note?” You wave it in his face and raise an eyebrow jokingly.
He tilts his head down in your direction, “Blimey, if you really want to know,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, he leans into your ear, feet syncing in pace, “I think it’s Dumbledore’s directions to where his secret stash is hidden.”
You gasp, leaning away, not expecting that answer. Smacking his arm playfully you scold, “George, you cannot just say that.”
“It’s probably the truth, have you seen the guy?” he replies, grin still huge, nudging into you with his side, then chuckling at his own response.
You turn your head to say something, but your breath and voice catches. The moonlight hits his face so perfectly; nose and jaw so defined, hair is messy from a long day, but falling perfectly and the red on his robe is complimenting it perfectly.
It should be a sin to look how he does.
He quickly turns his head to tease, voice laced in a seductive tone, “Like what you see?”
You turn your head away quickly, pursing your lip, attempting to hide a smile, that your tone gives away. “Never in a million years.”
He hums with a stupid smile across his face and you smile too. Silence grows over the two of you, the forest coming closer than ever.
As you approach, George strides to grab a lantern off of the hook. He shines it in your face attempting to intimidate you, but also to just see you.
“You scared to go in?” He nudges his head towards the forest, voice laced with as much genuine concern as humor.
You bite your lip and look over at the darkness, eyes squinting, “Possibly a little bit more than I’d like to admit.” You look back at him to find him still looking at you.
“I’ll hold your hand through it.” A beat of silence crosses the two of you, you swear you can hear his heartbeat. Nervously he keeps speaking, “Only if you’d like? It’s fine if not. You can even stay-”
You grab his open hand, interlacing your fingers, and cutting him off, “I’d love to.” His eyes grow big with the words he’s not saying and a contagious smile crosses your faces.
He lightly squeezes your hand and begins to walk backwards pulling you into the forest, “Let’s waste no time then.” He looks at you following after him, a smirk crossing his face, “I mean unless you want to.”
“Careful, don’t tempt me too much now.” You reply teasing him.
Summary: After coming back from the blip, Bucky is fine. Totally fine. He just… doesn’t like Steve’s new friend (And if anyone asks, it’s definitely not because he refuses to wonder why)
Word count: 1.5K
Masterlist
It's weird coming back after the blip.
It's not exactly as if Bucky hasn't been professionally trained in slipping in and out of consciousness several times a decade for the past seventy years, yet this time it's different.
At least when he was with Hydra, ten years easily slipped by without Bucky really taking much notice of it apart from changes in the officers commanding him to kill, but now he's barely been gone five years, and everything's changed.
He supposes it's because he finally had a life of his own before he was blipped away. He'd had a small apartment in Borough Park. An ally in Natasha. He finally had Steve back. But in the cruel quinquennial Bucky's been gone, robbed of yet another five years of his life, the apartment's been rented out, Natasha's sacrificed herself, and Steve...? Well, Steve's met someone.
Sigh.
Bucky first meets you right after the battle.
He's only been back a couple of hours at that point, still trying to fully grasp what the hell is going on, and he's sitting on top of a burnt-out vehicle, flanked by his two best friends (well, Sam's there too at least) when he notices a staggering limp out the corner of his eye.
"Stevie," you whisper so purely, so delicately that Bucky's heart nearly cracks in two from the frail sound alone. Almost instinctively, he stands up and looks towards the mess that's walking his direction before realising that Steve's done the same. And while Bucky's breath is caught in his throat, his best friend in the entire world exhales with relief and runs towards you with a sobbed 'sweetheart'.
Bucky's left standing as he watches the scene unfold before him, unable to breathe fully as broken tears start running down your bloodied cheeks while his best friend hugs you tight, holds on to you for dear life. "My goodness, you're alive," Steve sobs, "I couldn't find you!"
"I'm here, love," you whisper and fling your arms around Steve's waist in an embrace full of relief and tears and forehead kisses.
"Who's that?" Bucky asks tentatively and immediately regrets looking towards Sam who's sporting an annoying curl from underneath his busted lip as he too watches the loving embrace.
"I'm pretty confident we'll be introduced," he smirks.
Bucky soon learns that you joined the Avenger's initiative a month after the blip. That you and Steve found each other amidst all the chaos and sorrow, that you'd filled the Bucky-shaped hole in Steve's chest. And while Bucky knows he should just be happy that Steve hasn't been left to his own devices for five years, it truly pains him that he isn't.
You're everywhere and even when you're not physically present, Steve makes sure to bring you up at least once or twice. 'She's amazing Buck, don't you think? You should give her a call."
It makes his skin crawl.
It takes a few weeks before Bucky's patience grows thin and he realises that no matter how much he tries to ignore you, you aren't going anywhere. That even though Steve has both him and Sam back, you make him laugh so hard it makes Bucky wonder if Steve's stomach hurts when he goes to bed at night. Or if he falls asleep with the same goofy smile plastered on his face that only Bucky used to be able to procure.
Steve's allowed two favourites, he constantly reminds himself, but no matter how much Bucky tries to shrug you off, he cannot help the uncomfortable clench of his abdomen every time you put your arms around Steve's waist. Or when your fingers bury themselves in his blonde hair and you mark him as yours with your head on his shoulder or your lips on his cheek.
He hates to admit it but he's jealous. So jealous his bones hurt when he sees you and Steve making dinner together. Or when the two of you return from the boxing-ring all sweaty and laugh-struck over some inside joke he doesn't want to join in on no matter how adamant you are in your efforts of getting him down in the ring with you. He's jealous of the smile you make Steve wear. Of how much Steve talks about you. He's even jealous of Sam who's not jealous of you at all but just thinks you're amazing too.
And you try so hard to get under his skin; you bring him his favourite coffee just because you happened to notice that he looks like he hasn't been sleeping for a few days. You're annoyingly funny and charming as you make jokes and send him small winks across the dinner table. You strike up irritatingly interesting conversations about the books he's reading - even gifts him a special lubricant for his arm because you've noticed some of the links aren't exactly gliding like they're supposed to. And it's so sweet and so considerate that he almost falls for it - almost - but then Steve says, "I think she likes you Buck" and ruins everything.
But it all changes on the evening of Steve's birthday.
You're sweet, you're thoughtful, you're kind - so of course you have volunteered to stay behind and babysit Bucky even though he's told you a million times that you should just go watch the fucking fireworks with the rest of the team. That he'll be fine alone in his room with the door wielded shut and a pair of headphones blasting some of that modern shit the spider-kid seems to enjoy.
But you're a goddamn peach. So you stay.
"You should be out there," he says as he examines the two aces he's holding up in front of his eyes, "- don't you think Steve's disappointed you're playing cards with me on his birthday?"
"He's had plenty of birthdays before he met me," you chuckle and shoot him a brief look from behind your own hand. "I'm sure he'll manage one more. Plus, Sharon'll be there. He won't even notice I'm gone," you shrug nonchalantly.
Bucky raises an eyebrow.
"What?" you laugh and lie down your cards face-down.
Bucky clears his throat and stares intensely at his own hand. "Nothing..."
"Spill it!"
"It's just - ...doesn't that bother you? Sharon?"
"What?" You laugh while cocking your head to the side as if you really have no idea what he's talking about. "Why would Sharon bother me?"
"Aren't you supposed to be his girlfriend or something?"
You laugh again. "What makes you think that?"
Bucky can feel his own eyebrows knit together in confusion. "You're always ...touching, I guess."
"He's always touching you too," you challenge him while popping a peanut in your mouth. "Does that make you his boyfriend?"
"Har-har, you know what I mean."
You lean forwards and shoot him a sincere look. "I promise you, nothing's going on with me and Steve. We're just friends," you smile and pick up your cards again. "Now come on, I will not be distracted from winning just because you're suddenly waking up from whatever trance you've been in, old man," you whisper and for the first time since he met you, it doesn't bother him that you're making him smile.
And first then does he realise that it's not you he's been jealous of. It's Steve...?
It's how he so effortlessly gets to hug you on a daily basis, and how he gets to feel your weight on top of him when you manage to throw his back down in the ring. How he talks to you like it's the easiest thing in the whole world. Bucky wants it to be him.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," you chuckle at him, "is your hand really that bad?"
"Er - no," he shakes his head but can't really let the thought of Steve go, so after a lot of hesitating, he still ends up awkwardly asking: "it's just ...is he aware of the just friends-bit?" he feigns nonchalance.
You shoot him an interested gaze from atop of your cards. "Yes, Buck, he's aware. He knows I have a crush on someone else."
He flexes his fingers, thinks of the lubrication you've bought for him. Thinks of all the conversations you've tried to strike up, the inside jokes you're so keen on getting him to join. How badly Steve's been praising you at every chance he's had.
Have the two of you been trying to...?
He stares at you and you once more look up from your hand. "What?" you grin - this time a little more nervously.
"Do you wanna go on a date with me?" he asks so suddenly he's even surprised himself.
But your smile grows wide on your face and you nod ever so sweetly. "Yeah, Bucky. I would love that."
Beel gets food onto belphie's hugging pillow and now belphie uses MC/reader as replacement...
HIHIHIIII
Belphie x GN!READER
-> This isn't a request (I sent it to myself so I wouldn't forget the idea :p)
no CW just fluff, short fic
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The stars of the devildom night shine bright through the windows of the twins' bedroom. The cold air draws you, Belphie, and Beel together closer huddled on beel's bed.
Belphie is in the middle hugging his huge ass pillow. You're on his right side while beel is on the outer edge of the bed holding a burger.
a big juicy burger, filled to the brim with juicy red tomatoes, fresh green lettuce and the spicy yet sweet house sauce in between a layer of fried chicken. Adorned with even more of a different sauce lays in Beel's hands. It's hot, like very hot. Fresh off the stove. It's practically burning Beel's hands.
The pillowcase of Belphie's pillow has slipped off, due to mammon shrinking it somehow in the dryer.
Beel takes a bite, before realizing that the burger is way too hot. And due to this, he drops the burger right onto his twin's most beloved pillow.
"Hey..." Belphie mumbled half asleep, he wasn't as angry as he would be if it were any of his other brothers.
"Sorry Belphie" Beel stood up and took the long pillow, "I'll go wash that for you, I've also got to pick up some food anyway."
And so he left.
Without missing a beat Belphie wraps his slender hands around the higher part of your torso, you can feel his breathing settle into a calm rhythm. He acted like you were his pillow from the start.
A quick shudder comes from him. He pulls you closer as his head slumps into your shoulders/neck.
Hello! Could I make a request with Sylus where the reader/MC becomes really close with the twins (platonically). They’re always up to shenanigans together but Sylus doesn’t realize how come they are until he finds them in a cuddle pile sleeping ☺️ Maybe he’s irritated at first that the boys are cuddling his woman but I think his heart would warm knowing the people closest to him get along like that
This was so sweet, I loved receiving something for the twins, especially as someone who's so big on physical affection, and especially with my friends <33
Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!!
If it makes you smile-
Read on AO3
Pairings: Sylus x Reader, Luke and Kieran & Reader
Wordcount: 1,031
Sylus was more than aware that the twins could be childish.
More than aware.
And he knew they would oftentimes drag you into their shenanigans- no matter what said shenanigans were. It could be something on a grander scale, such as when you all… pranked, a local, low-ranking crime lord, unbeknownst to Sylus himself until long after the act had been committed. Rigged explosives of confetti and dynamite were what he had heard about, through the grapevine of Elysium. Other times it could be quite innocent, like when he had heard about the time the three of you had gone through his list of trustworthy informants and ding-dong ditched every single one of them, like going through a hitlist with so much less bloodlust.
He had needed to explain himself and his henchmen in order to rebuild so many relationships, and it was no surprise just how many of your little endeavors had left him with inconvenient little annoyances.
But when it was you involved, how could he ever be mad at you?
And that was quite similar to how he was feeling right now, staring down in the living room of the main safe house that he used as a base of operations, fire crackling behind him as it warmed the room from the hearth. Pure velvet couch cushions, silken pillows, and cheap arcade plushies were strewn everywhere like a middle school sleepover pillow fight had taken place in the comforts of his own home, rich designer furniture and décor be damned. There were even some fresh blankets that looked like they had been previously put into a position to create the roofing of a fort, long since torn down in the aftermath of a plush war.
And in the center of it all?
Three people, all draped across each other. Mixed in with all of the blankets, pillows, and plushies that already were scattered around the room- just how many had the three of you collected from around the house…?- Luke and Kieran were out cold, obviously more tired from the mission Sylus had given them the night before than they would have ever admitted to his face. Kieran's head was pressed up against the side of the couch, his chin touching his chest as his arms crossed over it, looking perfectly comfortable despite the severe angle his neck was bent at. His mask was nowhere to be seen, and Sylus wondered if it had been collateral damage in the hard-won battle.
Meanwhile, Luke was across his lap, a hand behind his head as his own mask hung half-off his face, his mouth wide open as he snored. He seemed to be a lot more comfortable than his twin- maybe a bit too comfortable, his other arm was wrapped around you, holding you against him even despite the small amount of drool coming from your mouth that was pooling along his shirt.
That wasn't anything that surprised Sylus, he had known you were tired when you had left for work early in the morning when he had just been heading to bed for a nap, and that was before your already long shift headed into overtime. He'd felt a bit guilty climbing under the warmth of the covers as he heard you rustling around the room and getting dressed, but there wasn't any way he could have helped it. And then he had been too busy to have dinner with you, so he had sent Luke and Kieran home to try and cheer you up, and make sure you had help with anything you may need with how exhausted you would be. He'd been zeroed in on getting his work done in order to come home shortly after them, but even still- it had gone longer than expected, and he was at the end of his rope with the idiots he had been dealing with by the time he was finally done.
He wasn't… expecting this outcome in front of him by the time he got home, per say. But it didn't catch him off guard. He'd long since known how much you loved the twins- they were a connection you'd never had before, and filled the void inside of you that Sylus himself couldn't even fill, being your romantic partner already. They were something familial and familiar, something you had sought after for year after year, and finally found in the two of them. He was happy to see that your day filled with overwork had turned into something fun and sweet, if the plushie causalities were anything to go off of.
Still, he couldn't help the little pang of jealously sneaking into the corners of his heart.
He didn't care for it, he found it unbecoming- especially with how much he knew about your lived experiences and the hardships you had dealt with- that you were still dealing with somehow, despite looking so careless as you did now among old Christmas blankets pulled out of storage for a fort that most children dreamt of, not adults. Not adults that went through so much pain-
At least, that's what most would think. Including himself, ages ago. Back before he had met you. Back when he didn't know that sometimes, growing meant going backward, and enjoying the experiences you missed out on or simply missed. Before he realized how much healing you were working through, fighting your own little battles that he didn't even see.
And while Sylus himself was your prince charming, the twins had taken up the mantle of knights in your story.
They helped you in ways he couldn't- were there for you when Sylus couldn't be- or shouldn't be, and that was okay. It could be a hard pill to swallow, realizing that there were some things he just wasn't equipped to help you with, but it went down so much easier knowing one thing.
The one thing was just how loved you were.
And if the twins could help you with anything you were going through, Sylus could handle seeing a few more destroyed pillow forts. A few more cuddle piles of tired limbs and drool.
