Belphie: I’ll Kill You.

internally, satan is just an old woman

SIMEON : wallpapers [ obey me ]

don’t repost or remove watermark !!

Kabedon Compilation ; 7 Brothers

Diavolo + others

a series of commission for @KimetsuYou on twitter over the past few months, thanks so much! so satisfying to see it all finally lined up yay~ 

Im never becoming old and I’m never dying so God can figure that one out on his own. Not my problem

* mammon and Satan sitting together in jail *

Satan : so who should we call ?

Mammon : I'd call Lucifer but I feel safer in jail

this is how tumblr girlies hold and look at their insane fictional men

HYAKUYA MIKAELA

Kiss Their Feet, Part 2 

hanma x reader

summary: hanma demands that his entire gang kiss your feet to ensure they knew exactly what his priorities were going to be, and treats you to some much needed cuddling after.

warnings: humiliation, gang stuff, but mostly fluff

attention was not something you were used to, nor liked. truly, you never understood how people could ever want to be the center of attention, thrive in the midst of it. it seemed counterproductive and obsessive to you.

so even with tears streaming down your face, you huddled your body into hanmas as much as possible in the current position you were held in, hiccuping softly into his neck so as to avoid the stares of strangers crowding the valhalla arcade.

it seemed that you didn’t do well when gangsters take you to their boss with the intent of doing bad things to you.

you were just really grateful that it was only hanma you had to face. but the pity you held for yourself at the body-freezing fear you felt when they grabbed you and gagged you and dragged you to hanmas throne was enough to make you want to stay in your room for days.

“kiss their fucking feet,” hanma’s voice boomed, startling you out of your trance. suddenly your main focus was not trying not to cry, but on what hanma just demanded of his gang.

lifting your face out of the comfort of hanmas neck, your eyes widened when the leader of the smaller division that had brought you here so rudely stumbled toward you, a black eye and broken nose so visibly obvious that even you felt a twinge of remorse. he dragged his broken leg to the elevated position of hanmas seat, and collapsed downward, eliciting a gasp from you.

and then he kissed your feet, just the tip of your shoe.

your hands clutched at hanmas shirt tighter, breaths coming out of you sharply. his chest was to your back, your legs comfortably between his to ensure that you were surrounded by the presence of him and him only.

“next,” hanma’s voice cracked through the silence, and one by one each member of valhalla dropped to their knees and kissed your shoes.

after some point, you closed your eyes, and allowed yourself a sniffle, leaning into hanmas chin (he was much taller than you). you had looked up to him once, and unfortunately, his gaze was stone set towards his gang, disappointment emanating off of him in very obvious waves. waves that made his gang leave their eyes dedicated to the ground.

the ordeal ended soon enough. after dismissing everyone, hanma lifted you bridal-style up, and walked you to his place.

his pace was slow and methodical, despite the moons glare. he himself seemed…dejected almost.

it hit you at some point that he felt as if he failed you — the whole point of not introducing you to his gang originally was to protect your identity. but it backfired in the worst way possible.

hanma reached his apartment in no time and lifted both you and himself under his white covers. your back to his chest again, you just felt safer immediately. he rubbed comforting circles around you, and whenever you whimpered, he pulled your closer, softly expressing how you were safe, and how he would never let you get hurt again.

and when he thought you were asleep, he whispered a shaky “im sorry”, his grip tightening exponentially around your waist.

your eyes flew upon at that, upsetting feelings rising within you one more time. turning sharply, you held his face in your hands.

he smiled lazily. sadly. “hi sweetheart,” he sleepily slurred.

panic coursed through you. that tone…he wasn’t going to leave you right? you loved him too much…as did he.

“it’s okay,” you breathed out, shakily moving hair strands away from his eyes. his own eyes closed, breathing deeper with your presence. a content look crossed his expression.

you both slept just like that. face to face, eye to eye. soul to soul.

a/n - awww some soft hanma :( hope you guys liked it hehe….my next muzan chapter is coming out soon dw dw sorry im late again 🤧🤧 STAY SAFE EVERYONE ILY ALL

the sanctity of a name.

word count: 2.2k

genre/warnings: gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns), gojo satoru-centric, injuries, angst but a nice hopeful ending

Gojo Satoru can count on one hand the number of people who have called him by his given name. He actually doesn’t need all five fingers to count them, considering there are only four people who have referred to the sorcerer as Satoru at one point or another in time.

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