Hey

Hey<3

I hope you're having a lovely day like you♡

I have a lil request which is OM brothers accidentally hitting MC maybe in the face or smth.

Thank you in advance ☺

a/n: considering the daily chaos that ensues at the HoL, I could see a lot of accidents happening. plus, they're demons—maybe they forget their own strength, y'know?

➤ when accidents happen | the demon brothers

1.1k words | sfw | hurt/comfort | gn!reader

Lucifer makes a grab for someone—probably Mammon or Satan—who ducks behind you at the last moment, causing his hand to swipe across your cheek or forehead instead. You rub the sore spot and start sputtering angrily at them, glaring back and forth between Lucifer's bewildered expression and the guilty face of the sibling he was reaching for. Their little fight is momentarily forgotten when they both comfort you and make sure you're okay. Lucifer feels the most guilt and over the next few days, you catch him staring at your face like he's trying to make absolutely sure you're not injured or holding a grudge against him. He eventually remembers how this whole situation started, and his sibling's delayed punishment is much more severe because you were caught in the crossfire.

Mammon nearly crashes into you in his rush to escape Lucifer or Levi's wrath. You have no idea what the shouting down the hall is about—maybe he spent too much money at the casino again or maybe he broke something valuable. All you know is that you're heading to the library and minding your own business when Mammon comes tearing around the corner at lightning-fast speed. It's comical how quickly his expression morphs from surprise to horror when he realizes you're in his path. He grazes your side even though he changes direction to avoid hitting you head-on. He loses his balance and the momentum sends him crashing to the floor. Whoever was chasing him catches up to him and there's gonna be hell to pay, but Mammon managed to avoid seriously hurting you and that's all he really cares about.

Levi shifts into his demon form when he's cuddled with you in his tub but he doesn't always realize it. You wake up most mornings with his tail wrapped around part of you: your arm, your waist, one of your legs. When Levi gets excited, his tail thumps against the porcelain. (You can't help but think about an excited dog wagging his tail, but you keep that comparison to yourself.) You usually fall asleep curled around each other, but sometimes his tail flails around enough that it wakes you up. Tonight his tail flicks roughly against the tip of your nose, and your eyes water from surprise and the initial burst of pain. You're fine again within a couple minutes, but that doesn't stop Levi from apologizing profusely and he nearly sobd with embarrassment over the whole thing.

Satan has better control over his frustration and rage now than when you first met him, but he still needs some sort of outlet when he feels overwhelmed. He usually storms off to his room and deals with it privately. You've offered him the solution of screaming into a pillow, but it's not soothing for him like it can be for you. He often destroys something instead—ripping a book to shreds (and regretting it later) or throwing something against the wall. Whatever's in his hand becomes collateral damage. If he forgets you're in his room too, it can be dangerous. He's never thrown something at you, but poor aim and bad luck means that whatever he sends flying against the wall can ricochet into pieces and hit you after. It's like a bucket of cold water dumping over his head when your little noise of surprise catches his attention, and he fusses over you endlessly while he makes sure you're not really hurt. He doesn't think it's funny when you grin and remind him that you're still in better shape than his now-destroyed coffee mug is.

Asmo rarely hurts you even by accident, and usually it's in silly moments of clumsy excitement. Today he painted his nails with a new nail art technique he hasn't tried before. You both lean down at the same time to admire his work and his forehead smacks into yours. You're both a little stunned and your eyes water from the shock rather than actual pain. He breaks out into giggles when you whine his name and try to blame him even though it's really no one's fault. Asmo accepts responsibility anyway and he apologizes profusely, but he hesitates to hug you when his nails are still wet and tacky with polish. He opens his arms wide so you can wrap your arms around his chest instead. He peppers your head with kisses and promises to make it up to you as soon as his nails are dry.

Usually Beel polishes off all the leftovers at dinner. Some nights you want extra helpings too, and it's like a mad dash to help yourself before Beel does. Tonight you both reach for the dish of hellfire scalloped potatoes at the same time. Your fingers grab the side of the dish first, but his fingers squeeze around yours immediately after. His grip is tight—too tight—and you wince from the pressure of his fingers digging into hand and the uncomfortable heat of the ceramic dish against your palm. Mammon grabs his fork and stabs Beel's hand with it on your behalf. Beel looks so guilty when he pulls his arm away and insists that you can have the rest. His stomach growls in protest, but you know it was an accident and you're not really hurt. After you shake the stiffness from your fingers, you scoop some of the food onto his plate before helping yourself to the rest. Later on, he offers to take you out for ice cream as an apology.

When Belphie sleeps, he has some cursory awareness of what's going on around him but he tries to block it out. He's not easy to move around, either—his body is like dead weight, heavy and awkward and unyielding. When you nap together, he usually falls asleep and doesn't move around too much. You might scoot away when his body next to yours causes you to overheat, but he tends to stay exactly how he is. It's days when he has active dreams or bad nightmares that things can get a little awkward. He might wrap an arm around you suddenly and it's nearly impossible to wiggle free, and sometimes his tail makes an appearance and drapes over you when he feels particularly clingy. Sometimes your arm ends up pinched against the mattress after he rolls on top of you in his sleep. He'll wake up when he realizes it's you trying to get his attention, but his apologies for nearly crushing you don't sound very sincere. Once he's lifted himself off you, he lets you get repositioned first then he cuddles up beside you again. As he drifts off to sleep, he grumbles under his breath about how it couldn't have been that bad.

Eraserhead x Reader How Convenient!

There were perks to working the night shift at Al Deraan’s Convenience Store. You got to pick the music playing on the old stereo, because there were rarely any customers present or sober enough to complain. You can be on your phone if nobody else is around. All you really need to worry about is turning off the lights before heading home, and locking up. Most nights, you are alone with the smell of window cleaner and prepackaged pastries.

Sometimes, he stops by.

He’s a pro hero. A real one, with talent and history. Every time you see him, he exudes mystery and steadfastness. He is the coolest man you have ever seen, dressed all in black except for his scarf and protective eye-wear. You hang on every gruff word he speaks.

Which is usually limited to, “Keep the change,” or, “No bag is fine.”

Keep reading

cute old man in your area

other ver

"Stop that, Suna."

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything."

You read the same line of your notes for the fifth time before slowly closing your eyes and trying to deflect the gaze burning into the back of your head.

He sighs, loud and long. "Woe is me."

There's a rustle of linen as he rolls over.

"Ignored. Abandoned." His tone is flat. "The loneliest boyfriend in the world."

There's a quiet scratching sound and you can picture him dragging his fingers along the wall in boredom; you suppress a smile.

"Not even called my real name," he says in mock hopelessness.

He sighs louder. "It's like I don't even exist."

"Rintarō," you reply, trying to focus back on your notes again. "You're not helping."

More rustling and you feel a hand grabbing at the back of your chair.

"Kuroo needs this repor--" the word cuts off in a gasp as the chair is dragged away from your desk. "Rintarō!"

You hop out of the chair the moment before he reaches for you and turn around to see his ridiculously flexible and strong torso hanging over the side of the bed, eyes narrowed at you in frustration at your evasion.

"So you'd rather make Kuroo happy than take care of your boyfriend?" He tsks and shakes his head. "Not very considerate."

"I would be happy to," you try to pull your chair back but he's still got a firm grip on it and he's much stronger, "if my boyfriend," you quickly dance out of reach as he tries to grab you again, "would let me finish the work for my job. You know...So I don't get fired. Rintarō! Give me back my chair."

"Come get it," he replies with a sly smile.

"Damn you and your stupid athlete's body," you mutter and squat awkwardly at your desk.

"Funny...You said that last night, too, but with a much different tone."

"I'm ignoring you," you sing-song reply.

He huffs and there's a moment of quiet before the unmistakable sound of him climbing out of bed.

You move a moment too late.

"Rin--PUT ME DOWN!" You scramble for a grip on your desk but he's already swept you off the ground, carrying you to the bed. "I HAVE to finish this!"

"Relax." He rolls his eyes as he puts you in bed, goes right back to your desk, and brings your computer back, grabbing the lap desk and neatly arranging the workstation on your legs before climbing-crawling over you and wrapping his ridiculously large body around every bit of you he can. He tucks the blanket around you both. "There. See? Now we can both get what we want."

You don't try to hide your smile as you watch him settle down and snuggle into you, content.

"Stop that," he quips, eyes still closed.

In affectionate mocking you reply "stop what? I'm not doing anything."

He buries his face against your side muttering "you're lucky I love you."

With a grin you turn your attention back to your work. "Yeah,

I am."

barbarian bakugou who leaves his mother’s village to earn the right of chief. who leaves you with the first beast’s tooth he’s ever slayed, a promise. he’s going to come back–for you. you who he’s only kissed once or twice in secret but has loved you since you were even smaller than you were when you promised yourself to him, cutting off a lock of your hair and braiding it into one of his spiky tufts. 

years pass, so much more time than your tender heart had thought and the two of you grow up apart. there are no letters. no word of him except for a few murmured rumors from other villages. they say he has tamed a dragon–a feat that would secure his spot as chief without question. a season passes and he still doesn’t return home. it breaks your heart. you think of it as a rejection. you think you are a fool for waiting on a promise that was made by a young boy who had barely lived.

you find your purpose along the way, apprenticing under the elderly healer who is willing to share all her secrets with you, you grow into yourself. you never take the necklace off but the puppy love you once had for the absent red-cheeked boy you fell in love with is now just a fond memory that you smile at while you crush herbs and mix salves. you have learned to mend the wound caused by your naivety.

eventually. you open yourself up to another man. another warrior who makes your cheeks warm and your mouth go wide. you take the necklace off, wrap it in cloth and keep it in the box of your most treasured memories. 

you learn of his return through your own apprentice. she’s a flurry of excitement and tugs you out of your healers tent. she tells you bakugou has returned on the back of a dragon that carries an assortment of valuables they tell tales of all his adventures over these years. you don’t know why, but your heart skips a beat and you have a tightness in your belly–anticipation. you let yourself be dragged along to the village center.

the moment you see him, you stop in your tracks. he’s changed so much. no longer the boy you had snuck out of your bedroom in the middle of the night to stare at the stars with. he’s big–bigger than any man you’ve ever seen and covered in scars and around his neck is an arrangement of beastial teeth. it’s then he sees you. without even a breath to ready yourself he’s charging towards you. he shrugs off the many hands reaching for him and looks at no one but you.

you go utterly still at the warmth in his eyes and take a step back, he’s older, but he’s still the same red-cheeked boy with his sharp grin and spiky tufts, you see the braid–your braid still proudly worn and your foolish heart squeezes. he’s reaching for you…stops, stares at your own neck, wearing someone else’s promise.

@bizarrebankai asked:

husband!Lucifer would kiss your ring on your hand a lot and he'd kiss along your knuckles too 😔 like he'd just be sitting next to you or something and he'd look over at you on your phone and he'd see that shiny diamond flash and he'd grab your hand and kiss the finger and then your knuckles <3 and he'd just say stuff like, "My darling wife..." "The ring still looks so good on you..." raaudjffhskdbs

[ smutty follow-up because we can't be tamed ]

okay but like can we pleeeeease talk about sappy old man Luci for a sec?

➤ thinking about: Luci putting a ring on it

lucifer x gn!reader | sfw | tipsy wedding night fluff

he wants everything to be perfect for you, and your ring is no exception. he's not going to surprise you with a ring because he wants you to love the ring he slips onto your finger. he wants you to love it so much that you never want to take it off again. the devildom has master jewelcrafters he plans to consult later, but first he takes you to the human world so you can show him the styles you like or don't like. it's fascinating listening to you talk through your preferences. the things you wear are a reflection of you. in all the three realms, he's one of the lucky few that gets to understand why you like the things you do.

when he finally slips the ring onto your finger on your wedding day, you don't look shocked. you're not supposed to, because you designed it together. there are a few surprises he'll tell you about later, like the minor warding spells imbued into the precious stones, or the engraving etched into the inside of the band. the look on your face when you hold up your hand and admire the ring on your finger is nothing less than happy, loving contentment. he'll never forget this perfect moment.

after the wedding reception and far too much demonus, two of his brothers help you take him back to the house of lamentation. you changed out of your wedding attire before the party, but lucifer's still wearing his tux—or most of it, anyway. you're not sure where his bow tie is, and the buttons of his shirt collar are undone. his black-grey bangs are a little damp with sweat from feasting and drinking and dancing the night away together.

you shoo the others away and shake your head at your silly husband who sits on the edge of the bed and stares at you with the biggest grin on his face.

we're married.

yes we are.

how did I get so lucky?

his voice is so syrupy-sweet and you assume it's from the booze, but his bright ruby eyes shine with adoration like you're the most perfect, gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

you kneel at his feet to hide your own bashfulness and you slip the dress shoes off his feet. you pat his knee gently to let him know you're done, but he takes your hand and brings it to his mouth. he kisses your fingers, his half-lidded eyes lingering on the twinkling band of gems and metal around your finger.

mine, he murmurs happily, bringing your hand to his cheek and nuzzling into your palm with a sigh. his hand covers yours, and your own ring on his finger glints in the candlelight of his room.

yours.