Deceit's So Natural

I love the unhinged idea that if Mc is angry or dissapointed with the demons, that they would create a circle of salt around themselves and just stay in it

And no matter the immense combined powers that Diavolo, Barbatos, and the Brothers hold, they ain't getting past the salt circle no matter what they do

Salt is the most powerful thing in the Devildom, confirmed

junimo breakdancing

animated on stream !!

Thought I would expand on this post a bit...

Pairing: Johnny x fem!Reader (american, unfortunately), tried to keep the reader's body type and race relatively neutral (but this lil fic is also completely self-indulgent and I'm fat and Asian so take that as you will).

Tags/warnings: alcohol, suggestive language, some semi-public making out, but no explicit sex (yet?), bad scottish accent. (if I left anything out please let me know!!)

A/N: This is my first time doing any sort of creative writing since college and I wrote this in my notes app so please be so nice to me. I'm sorry this isn't smut galore, it's more just a set up for everything. Although I do have plans to make things more spicy, I'm just a lil nervy about it. Anyways.... enjoy!

Your eyes follow the trail left by the bead of condensation as it makes its slow descent down the side of your frosted martini glass. Picking up the speared olives by the skewer, you twirl it between your fingers before sliding one off into your mouth. Savoring the briney bite before washing it down with a sip of your cocktail.

You had an early flight tomorrow and weren't planning on being hungover for it. Just attempting to decompress after a day of meetings and to soothe some of the jitters for your upcoming trip at a pub down the street from your hotel. There weren't many patrons this evening, and the dark lighting allowed for some additional anonymity. 

In your peripheral, a body slides into the stool a few down from you. Not looking for any small talk tonight, you keep your eyes trained on your glass. You take another sip and finish off the second olive.

A deep voice colored with a rough Scottish brogue asking for whiskey makes you glance up. You find sparkling blue eyes already on you. They're on a roguishly handsome face. Attached to a devastatingly built body. The man tilts his head, catching you in the act of ogling him.

"Stiff drink for a Monday, no?"

You huff out a laugh. "I suppose, but could say the same to you," nodding at the drink the bartender had placed before him.

He shrugs. "So... American? What brings you to London?"

Maybe small talk isn't so bad if it's with a statue of a Roman god come to life. "Oh, I'm here for a work trip. Last day, actually."

"Ah, a shame. I've just started my leave. Military," he explains. Though you could've guessed from the size of his biceps.

"How'd the UK treat you?"

You mull the question over a sip. "It was mostly enjoyable. Though I'm looking forward to finally having food with seasoning again," you say with a small, teasing smile.

"Cannae blame ye lass. The Brits went through all tha' trouble with the spice trade and promptly forgo' about 'em," he says with a sad shake of his head. "Ye should come to Scotland."

"What's the difference?" Feeling brave, you scoot over one chair. "The food's worse? I've heard about haggis, you know."

"Och, ye wound me!" Feigning injury with his hand clasped over his chest, he slides across to the stool next to you, your knee now brushing his. "Maybe an acquired taste, but a delicacy still."

He's looking at your face with amusement, but you're trying not to stare at the way his denim jeans look like they're painted onto his muscular thighs.

Tearing your eyes back up to his, you can almost count the dark lashes framing his eyes. But before you get too lost in the deep blue, you take in his rather silly haircut. 

"A mohawk?"

"Aye, it's tactical. Gives a bonnie lass something to hold onto," he smirks.

Eyeing his dark locks, "Not sure how having less hair to grab would make that any easier," going to finish off your drink.

"Already thinking about pulling my hair, lass? Very forward." He leans closer. "I like it."

You sputter at the insinuation, and he chuckles, leaning back, giving you some space.

He's hitting on you. This absolutely stunning man is hitting on you, and you're not sure why.

You can't help but notice the way his long fingers wrap around his glass as he takes a small swig of the amber liquid. They look strong. And thick. This close to him, you get a faint whiff of cologne and something more natural, as well. It's heady. More intoxicating than your cocktail.

The look on his face says he knows what you're thinking. You've been caught, and you feel your face warm.

"But last night, ye say?" he questions, stretching his arms over his head, gifting you with a peek of his stomach and dark happy trail. "Swear I could make it the highlight of your wee trip."

You have no control over the way your jaw drops, dumbfounded. 

Are you actually going to entertain this? The man is arrogant and a complete stranger. You really aren't the type to hook up with handsome men you’ve talked to for less than five minutes. Not that you’ve ever been presented with a situation like this before. But there's a magnetism about him, something pulling you closer to this man. Maybe just the martini hitting you quicker than you were expecting. You can't ignore the heat pooling in your core at the thought of his offer.

The rational part of your brain says to politely depart and get a good night's rest. But the part of your brain focused on the fact you haven't had sex in months after a particularly nasty break up says fuck it. There's an obviously interested, gorgeous man in front of you. Fuck him.

You slap some money down for your drink, saunter towards the door, and turn back, quirking your eyebrow at the Scotsman.

He seems a little shocked, but he scrambles to put a couple bills down and throws back the rest of his whiskey as you push out the door.

You're at the mouth of the dim alley next to the bar when you feel firm hands grasp at your middle, spin you, and pin you up against the wall.

He's got one hand up against the bricks, leaning over you as his other hand drifts down to your hip. Taking in his broad shoulders, you can't help but put a hand out to graze the outline of his pec, feeling the muscle underneath tense. 

The Scot looks hungry, eyes trailing up your body. A veritable feast. His gaze lingers on your lips for a moment before his eyes meet yours again.

He starts to open his mouth, and you can tell he's going to say something that could make you regret leading him out here. You quickly clutch his shirt, bring his face down to your level, and crash your lips onto his to shut him up.

Fortunately, he gets the hint.

He deepens the kiss, bringing the hand that was bracing him on the wall down to cradle your face. The other kneading the fat of your hip.

His lips are surprisingly soft and clearly experienced. You feel him roll his hips into yours, and a gasp escapes your lips. He takes the invitation to begin exploring your mouth with his tongue. His kiss still has the bite of whiskey, which has you moaning into his mouth. Your hands trail down his chest over his toned torso. Wandering fingers just reaching the waistband of his jeans, when his breath hitches.

Raucous laughter explodes at the opening of the alley as the doors to the pub burst open, a group spilling out. They don't look your way, but still, you draw your hands back up to his shoulders as you pull away slightly. He groans.

"I'm not really an exhibitionist."

"I think I could change tha'," he murmurs with a gleam in his eye. 

You roll your eyes. "I'm staying just around the corner," you offer.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Lead the way, lass."

You grab his hand and start towards your hotel.

"It's Johnny," he says when you reach the sidewalk.

"What?"

"My name. It's Johnny. You'll need it so you can scream it later."

That almost causes you to stop in your tracks. You were so blinded by lust that you hadn't even gotten the name of the man whose tongue was down your throat moments ago. You give him your own name in return.

He hums. "Pretty. Though I think I'll call ye mine," he quips with a wink.

Could you strain your eyes from rolling them too much? You might need to be careful if he keeps his oneliners up.

"We'll see about that lover boy," you toss over your shoulder, hauling him down the street towards the privacy of your room before you can change your mind. 

--------

You wake up early in the morning with a slight ache in your hips, shocked that you received zero noise complaints last night. 

There's a faint rumbling next to you and a heavy arm draped over your stomach. Johnny's sleeping peacefully. He deserves it, you suppose, after the work he put in last night.

A glance at your phone shows you miraculously managed to wake up before your alarm, but it's still almost time to go. You thank your past self for having the foresight to pack up before going out yesterday.

Trying your best not to wake him, you shimmy out from under his arm and sneak your pillow into the space you were occupying. You freeze when he stirs. For a moment you think he might wake up, but he just squeezes the pillow closer and his soft snores resume.

You change into the comfy travel outfit you had set aside. Sweats, your softest tee, and a sweatshirt. After slipping on your sneakers, you turn to the small desk against the wall, eyeing the thin hotel stationary notepad and pen.

You think to write Johnny a note, but you don't want to leave your number or anything. No need to stay in touch. You opt for a little rating of your night together. It's fun. Maybe a little demeaning, but ultimately harmless since you know you'll never see him again. Not that you would turn down another night with the sexy Scotsman. You just had a flight to catch and no intentions of returning to London anytime soon. You scribble out a quick review:

4/5 stars. Nice hands and ate pussy like a god. Talked too much and fuckass haircut though.

You smirk to yourself as you slide the note onto the bedside table. Grabbing your suitcase, you make your way out of the hotel room. Fingers crossed he's up before check out.

Ok but like husband Katsuki and y/n with kids. Story can be whatever you want, but GOD I just need this

hhhhheeeyyyyyy i got dadsuki papagou on lockdown for u

a part of me // katsuki bakugou

Delusional Yandere Elf

Quick colored sketch to show his colors

I like the idea that Simon has one go-to way of cheering himself up and after Johnny is down about some reprimand he decides to share it with him.

It's you. After a rough day, he shoves his face between your thighs.

He comes home with his friend, "Jawnny had a bad 'ne. Can you cheer 'im up? The way you do me?"

The look of shock doesn't go unnoticed by Johnny.

"Jus' once?" Simon curls himself around you, pecking your temple.

You're sitting with Simon at your back, running his hands down your shoulders while Johnny finds that blissful pressure of your thighs squeezing his head.

You're still clothed, he's just laying between your thighs, half asleep as you squeezing his head gently.

Big guy's looking fucking IMMACULATE in the new Schlatt and Co vid holy shit 🤤🫠