#and just like a dark cloud passes over his face bc like... no. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 10 months ago

Note

i’m obsessed with ur fics and want to live inside your pretty little brain, you just write jjk characters so well 🫠

recently i’ve been thinking about choso having a bad day or something and just wanting to be taken care of, so now you’re nursing him while you jerk him off and he’s a whiny moaning mess and it’s so cute and when he thinks you’re done with him you get on top and ride him and he’s begging you to stop bc he can’t take anymore pleasure :( like i’m sick over this i need him so bad

❤︎ ໋𓈒 pleasing choso after a long day.

warnings. fem! reader, overstim, jerking choso off, pampering choso bc he deserves it, whiney choso, cowgirl, creampıe, praise, mdni + thank u sm !!!

“. . please,” choso would murmur in a frail weak tone, he sounded so drowsy, so needy. he’s barely through the door before he wraps his strong bulky arms around you. you giggle, being squished between his warmth before he buries his face into your neck. he gently runs his tongue against your collarbone before continuing to speak in muffled sentences. “missed you so bad. had a long day ‘n just need to . . need to unwind.”

you smile, stroking his back lovingly. “aw, bad day today, ‘cho?” you’d sweetly reply, feeling him shudder from your touch alone. despite you being so gentle, he was always so incredibly weak around you, including a simple few electric touches from you. “of course baby, i’ll help you.”

“can….you help me um,” and he’s struggling to get the words out. the two of you were finally secluded together in the large spacey bedroom. choso’s laid back, shirtless and heavy heaving breaths depart from his lips every few seconds. the more you stare at him the more he finds it hard to swallow the growing lump in his throat. “can you do the thing? like last time?”

you giggle, glancing at the poking tent in his boxers. “a handjob, baby?”

“…handjob,” he repeats, his eyes softening before a mere whine escapes from his throat. “oh … yeah, that. please,” and his lungs felt so clouded. with a hand running through his hair, he sighs cutely. “yes p-please. i wanna handjob. i’d do it myself but you always do it better, p-princess.”

choso was so cute, the way he was basically putty underneath your hands..

his words always trembled, he wanted you more than anything. he was always like this whenever he came home, so needy each and everytime for nothing more than your simple addicting touch.

“okay,” you’d comply, just a single word that pours from your lips alone was so seductive to him. he could listen to your voice all day. it was his own type of harmony, a song he’d love to listen to every day on repeat if he could.

your voice.

you reach beside him near the black short nightstand, grabbing a lube bottle before making sure to not waste any time.

you could tell by choso’s dilated pupils and his irregular rapid pants that he was growing more and more impatient as the time passed.

“wanna feel you s-so bad,” he whimpers, tensing a little from the way your hand springs out his length, lubricating around his pulsating cock.

you always made sure to be thorough— slicking every inch of him down with the liquid, starting from his swollen tip, then down towards his shaft, then his base. of course, his balls too. whenever you fondled with his fat puffy balls, choso would make such the cutest whines imaginable. “f-fuck, m-more. hurry, princess.”

“baby, don’t rush me,” you tease, sitting right beside him before pressing a sweltering hot kiss against his temple. he whimpers at your touch yet again, the softness of your lips having him in utter shambles. you made sure to have your dominant hand pay close attention towards the head of his dick, the most neglected sensitive spot. he inhales then exhales, gnawing at his lip before dark eyes of his stares up at the idle ceiling fan. “mhm. you’re so pent up, must have had a really rough day, hm?”

“so h-horrible,” he pouts, despite his voice being naturally deep and a bit gruff, the delivery of how whiney he was was just so cute. “i’m just glad i always come home to you. y-you always know how to make me feel better.”

you simper, your hand finally fully wrapping around his base before you start to give him a few solid pumps.

he moans, thickly swallowing the remnants of sweet syrupy spit that remain all in his mouth.

so so good..

you drove him crazy in the right ways possible. choso felt a sudden ringing sensation rigorously vibrate throughout his ears. he felt hot all over, radiating with a staggering high temperature of scorching boiling heat.

the tempo you had with jerking him off was a decent pace at first, gradually fisting his cock with each concise stroke—you occasionally glance up at choso who’s panting up a storm. “. . . . ugh,” he mewls out through gritted teeth, a hand of his own attempting to grab towards yours. “i wanna touch you t-too.”

“no choso,” you sneer, moving his hand away.

oh, the pout that suddenly spreads across his lips was so cute.

he’s giving you puppy dog eyes as if he’s questioning you a perplexed little, ‘huh?’ whilst you’re still stroking him at such a quickening pace, you make sure he keeps his hands to himself. “you wanted me to touch you, not choso, ‘kay? let me do everything, be a good boy for me.”

“i-i’m sorry, sorry,” he mutters in short breaths, finding your tone to be so hot. the twitch he feels in his dick only gets him more aroused. for a split second, you feel a vein that ran down the middle of his shaft pulse against your palm. “you’re right. ‘m gonna let you please me. gonna be a good boy ‘n keep my hands to m-myself.”

you peck a kiss against his hot cheek. “so good for me.”

“p-praise me more, please.” he whines.

“choso,” you giggle, and he was more needier than usual today. his voice grew a bit more high the faster you stroke him—his beefy thigh starts to bounce and bounce before he’s leaning back in pleasure. “you want more praises?”

he nods. “i- i do, your voice ‘s so hot, so s-sexy,” and his breathing abruptly hitches once you give him a sly smile. “not the right word, that was inappropriate— i- i mean, attractive. your voice when you praise me ‘s so attractive, i want more.”

the way he corrects himself from his choice of words was adorable.

whenever you gave choso a handy though, he’d never really last long regardless. choso would usually only last a few good minutes, especially with your hand work, your techniques.. he was simply no match.

“i’ll praise you all day, baby,” you whisper, watching as he’s feeling himself get close. he’s so desperate to touch you. he wants to, to stroke himself with you, wrap his big hand against yours. choso bites his lip in anticipation— feeling how he’s steadily losing composure. immensely, he starts to feel his throat grow dry, the air felt richly thick and he starts to get more and more vocal. “close?”

“uh huh, uh huuh,” he nods, pretty long lashes of his squeezing shut. choso’s about to fall into that trance again, your speed had him losing his mind. in his mouth, he starts to salivate. you’re so steady and precise with your beats and pumps against his cock that he’s about to spiral completely. “princess, ‘m gonna make a mess. you’re gonna make me m-messy again.”

“be messy for me then,” you invigorate to him against his ear, playfully licking a stripe near the soft outer shell of his lobe. he shivers at that, so sensitive. again, if it was anything that could be considered as choso kamo’s weakness— it was your voice. “give it to me, c’mon ‘cho.”

he’s so hard, his dick was all slick and wet from the translucent colored lube running down the sides of his hefty shaft.

a shaky breath snatches out of choso’s mouth before his abs tense up.

a hand goes through his hair before he feels the pressure finally hit him. “shit, s-shitttt,” he whines, feeling the area of his frenulum pulse and pulse. he’s seeing pure splotches of white— once his climax comes, it takes merely everything out of him. static shoots out from his ears and he lets off a cute shriek. “a-ah.”

you stare at the mess he’d just paint on himself. a few spurts of his own sticky cum shoots against his tummy, right near his lower abdomen. choso’s eyebrows significantly lower before he lets off a cute, “phew..”

“want more?” you coo, unraveling your hand around his dick before staring at him— he returns your gaze with half-lidded dark eyes.

he nods, panting off a sweet desperate. “yes please.”

choso figured you were gonna stroke him off again, but his eyes briefly widen once you end up up making your way onto his lap. straddling him in such a lewdly titillating way, he gulps. the ringing throughout his ears reverberates louder before you align yourself against the wet tip of his cock.

he was so aroused, so needy, so in love..

being a half curse spirit— he’s never got to fully experience types of pleasure like this.

albeit, he was always grateful to you for being able to show him everything he was missing out on though. with his bottom lip quivering, he gasps once he feels you slowly sinking down onto his length, feeling the warm pool of heat introduce itself to his cock that’s gradually splitting you open.

“oh…..fuck,” he’d groan, and at this particular point, his voice grows a raspy low. hooded eyes stare at you, studying your every move. from fixating his pupils on your hips, your chest, and even your face— he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “y-you’re gonna ride me?”

“yes baby,” you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a deep sensual kiss. he’s panting, each breath feels like it’s gonna be its last with you. warm tongues tangle and tango amongst each other before you briefly suck on his. a whine pulls from his throat before he feels your hips start to jerk.

abruptly, choso pulls away, whimpering a sweet. “can— can i touch you now at least? please. f-fuck, can’t take it anymore princess.”

“touch me however you’d like, pretty boy,” you’d speak in a hushed tone, licking another long strike against his neck. he was so sensitive, his eyes were practically about to roll all the way back by this point. you’re easing your sloppy cunt down onto his length and his roughly textured hands grab against your hips. choso then spanks your ass, only to give it a mean squeeze afterward just to see you gasp. “like touching me, huh?”

“y-you know i do,” he pouts, feeling the deep stretch. it was so so good— mouth watering, a perfect way to describe his mouth at the feeling of your pussy taking him in in such a sloppy, erotic way. already, you were a bit soaked from earlier, coating his base with a candied gossamer ring of your slick arousal. “my god, my g-goddd.” he throws his head back once you start to move against him.

a few solid rhythmic thrusts and choso kamo was done for.

he stuffs you full of inches, you lean up close to his face to plant your lips against the bridge of his nose— softly smooching against the area where his darkened scar remained. pink wet lips of his quaver from that simple action and his grip against your hips only tightens.

clammy, sweaty hands guide your hips to fuck against him harder before his head leans back. “fuck me, f-fuck me, jus’ fuck me pleaseeee. can’t c-cum, don’t think i can come anymore.”

choso becomes more whiny, his voice starting to strain overtime and you feel your stomach briefly seizing from how deep he’s hitting you.

relentlessly, you’re moving against him so good that not even he can keep up with you. your pussy’s the perfect match for him, fitting nice and snug like a lock fits inside a key.

oh, but the grip..

the grip of your sopping wet cunt against his dick was so appetizing, he only wanted more. more more more, the squelching noises had him feral and by now, with a tight enough grip he’s helping you slam down against his lap. “hah, can’t . . ‘m not gonna cum again, baby, f-fuck. fuck me so good, i—i love you, love you ‘s much.”

“i love you too baby,” you moan yourself, pulling him back into a steamy kiss. his sweetened whines and whimpers pour right into your mouth, ravened strands of his hair sticking against his forehead like glue. choso was drenched in sweat, perspiring such amounts that it makes his skin glisten entirely. “yes you can,” you hum between sultry breaths, coating his entire face with your kisses. you watch as his eyebrows arch and he squeezes against your ass just a bit tighter. he loves the recoil— spanking your ass just to witness and see the jiggle, it had his dick twitching even more. “you can give me one more, know you can, baby.”

“f-fuck, you’re gonna make a mess outta me,” he whimpers. the way you grind against him has him going feral by the second. hot deep breaths wretch from his throat before his head goes back. he leans all the way back, washboard abs flexing and curling up. with a single finger of yours running down his sharp chiseled v-line, he nearly loses it. your touch, his ultimate weakness. “gonna c-cum again, ‘m gonna flood your pussy again, oh fuuuuck.”

with your arms still lazily thrown around him, choso hugs you tightly, pumping further into your gummy walls that clamp him down oh so good before he ends up cumming again. this time, inside. it’s so hot from the inside—your pussy was all toasty, balmy from every crevice of your walls and the addictive hold it has on him. he shoots a long thick rope into you, it comes out into satiny spurts, filling you up to the very brim.

choso’s reaction was so cute, he’s literally speechless, yet his grip against your ass doesn’t even lessen. his face was practically covered with strands of his hair, half lidded eyes and a pussy drunken smile curling against his thin crimson red lips. “i— oh my,” he hiccups, catching his breath for a moment. the entirety of his body felt a plethora of emotions— hot, cold, warm, all of it. for a moment, his eyes meet your gaze before he swallows, reaching down, swirling two fingers against your sloppy cunt. you moan, feeling him gather up a good amount of his own cum that oozes out of your hole before bringing it toward his lips. choso pops his fingers into his mouth, getting a good taste and he moans, still feeling himself deeply buried into your sweet cunt.

so filthy, tasting himself like that with no shame..

“taste okay?” you puff out, watching as he’s got his two digits stuffed all in his mouth. with a cute nod, he pulls you closer towards his broad chest before you slowly pull his fingers out his mouth. “good, because ‘m not done with you yet, baby. wanna see if you can give me one more. can you be a good boy ‘n do that for me?”

“i- i’ll be your good boy,” he pouts, moaning harmonically once your hips start to make haste, picking up again. “wanna be so good for you. promise i’ll give you one more. f-fuck, i love you.”

#★vegasbaby.#choso x reader #choso smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #female reader #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #cw overstim

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mrsdesade · 7 months ago

Note

I'd like something based on Sage vs fem!supe! Maybe them arguing and then Homie forced to choose between one of them, but everything ending up with something unexpected! You choose what :)

Shattered glasses;

Pairing: Homelander x fem!super (I use Ophera bc I don't like writing ''y/n'' y'know) TW: slight angst, mention of poisoning, morally grey fem!supe Timeline: season 4 Words count: 2,7k Note: thanks for the request dear anon, I was waiting for writing something about s4 :) ofc no hate for any characters!!

Sister Sage never liked you. From the first moment she saw you, she knew you would be a hindrance. She's not jealous, not even in love with him, she just wanted to control Homelander, and you already had him in your grasp. But the little flaws in your absolutely not perfect relationship with him were the perfect opportunity for her to destroy you and get you fired.

For months she had been trying to make you look incompetent or unable to do your work, she was the smartest woman in the world, and in her eyes you were just another showgirl like the others.

But you were on the Seven from the early years and, oh, you didn't liked at all the fact that Homelander had chosen her as his advisor.

You, you are his partner, he should listen to you.

It has always been about control, rarely about love. But now you feel jealousy boiling in your veins, your control over him is slipping away, and you feel in danger. You know that you'll have to prove to Sage that it is not so easy to get rid of you.

Sister Sage sat comfortably at the table of the Seven, her hands folded in front of her, sipping a steaming cup of chamomile tea. With a delicate motion, she set the cup back down on its saucer, and flashed you a calm smile.

“I think you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. You’re making this personal. It’s simply business.”

She's too confident in her intellectual abilities, to the point of arrogance. She's good at reading people, especially their feelings and insecurities, and she uses that to her advantage in arguments, trying to make you say something stupid and make you look like a fool.

“You’ve had your chance at the top, dear. It’s time to accept that things have changed.”

You are standing, with your hands placed on the table, clenched into two fists to hold back your nervousness, looking for the right words to face her, but nothing comes out of your lips.

“Listen, I understand your… frustration. After all, you’re nothing more than a relic these days, don’t you think? A fading star.”

The words hit you like a blow to the gut. Her casual insults were like salt rubbed vigorously into an open wound. You fight back the urge to respond with anger, knowing that she's goading you into a reaction.

“Oh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I? That’s exactly what I meant. You’re stuck in the past. You can’t adjust to the changes. It’s kinda pathetic, really.”

You wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and wipe that arrogant smile off her face, but you knew that’s exactly what she wanted. So you took a deep breath, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“I suggest you think about your words better, the last person who dared to call me pathetic didn't end well.”

Sage raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You can try to intimidate me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that your time has passed. No matter what you do, you won't be able to get your spotlight back.”

“Dear, I fill the stadiums, the arenas, millions of people come to hear my voice every night, every single event is sold out in minutes! I wouldn't call this decay of a carreer.”

“Ah, yes, the fame and the adoration of the masses. Impressive, really. But I was referring to another type of spotlight here.”

She paused for a moment, studying your face before continuing. Your gaze has become dark, almost threatening, you know perfectly well where he wants his speech to end.

“We both know you lost your real spotlight a long time ago…the one that matters. Homelander won’t change his mind about me.”

Your expression betrays your emotions, anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

“You're playing a dangerous game Sage, you know that? You think you can just waltz in here and take my place?”

“Ophera, is it so hard to accept that I’m better equipped for the job? You’ve always been so blinded by your ego and your pride. Your strategy is always to stay safe and not lose your career, Vought needs much more than this.”

Her expression was cool and calculating, as If she had already mapped out every possible reaction you might have.

“And let's clarify, I don’t need to take your spot. I already have.”

Your face twisted in anger, your fists gripped the table’s edge, under your gloves knuckles turning white.

“You arrogant little—“ you began, but she calmly interrupted you.

“Now, now, there’s no need for insults.” she chided, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “We’re adults here, we can speak calmly and intelligently like any normal person, don’t you agree?”

“You're feeling cool, mh? Acting all smart and knowing everything. I've been a part of this Seven for years. And you, you're nothing.”

Her cool demeanor began to crack, and a hint of annoyance flickered across her face at your words.

“Ah, here it goes. The same old tired argument. I've been here longer, I'm more experienced, blah blah blah.”

She leaned forward, her eyes boring into yours with an intensity that contradicted her calm exterior.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” you teased, mirroring her earlier taunt.

“Don't get too comfortable.” she retorted, her voice slightly sharpened. “You should remember that your position here is fragile. One wrong word, one wrong move, and you could lose everything you have left.“

You leaned forward now, your voice lowering as you met her gaze.

“You seem to forget that I’ve still a pretty big influence over Homelander myself. I can make things difficult for you if I want to.”

“I think we both know who he listens to these days.”

The conversation was cut short when the door to the room burst open, and Homelander strolled in, his presence immediately filling the space. His eyes flicked between the two of you, sensing the tension in the room.

“What's going on here?”

You and Sage both turned your attention to him, quickly composing yourselves.

“Just a chat. I was merely informing Ophera of some important developments within about the Vought future.”

Homelander glanced at you, tilting his head slightly as he observed.

“A chat, huh? Didn't look like a friendly one to me.”

“You're right. And since it's clear that Sage loves telling you lies, I'll tell you that wasn't just a simple chat.” an adorable, mischievous smile escapes from your lips. Exposing the little lie she told to him.

Homelander's eyes immediately landed on Sage, waiting for her to respond. “Care to explain?”

Sage shifted in her seat, clearly irritated that you had exposed her lie. “It's nothing serious, just a typical argument between colleagues. Nothing you need to worry about.” she replied quickly, trying to downplay the situation.

And incredibly, it works.

Homelander nods like a tamed puppy and believes her.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration as Homelander seemed to buy into Sage's explanation so easily. It seemed like she had him wrapped around her little finger.

“I see, things like this happens, just keep it professional, ladies, okay?”

Sage shot you a quick, victorious look, smug knowing her sweet words to him had prevailed, again.

Disappointment flooding through your veins. It infuriated you how easily Homelander seemed to believe blindly in to Sage's words. You tried to maintain a neutral expression. But you won't have another opportunity like this to assert your dominance, you have to think of something quickly. Sage sure is smart, but you can be really sly.

You pretended to shrug nonchalantly, even though inside you were seething with anger. But you weren't done yet.

You locked eyes with Homelander, ensuring he was listening to you. And then you spoke, your voice dripping with feigned concern.

“It’s true, it wasn’t a big deal. But there’s one thing that concerns me, Homelander. May I be honest with you?”

He tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued. “You've to.”

“I felt a bit insecure lately and I was wondering...If I should save Sage from poisoning or me from falling from a building. Who would you save?”

Your question comes like an unexpected bolt of lightning, without anyone being able to foresee it or understand its real intention. You cross your arms over your chest and walk around the room slowly, waiting for a response.

He's is taken aback by your question, and the room falls silent. Sage glanced at you quickly, an unexpected flicker of worry in her eyes.

Homelander's eyes follow you as you walk around the room. He's quiet for a few moments, considering the weight of your words before answering.

“Why should I choose, I can save both without effort, you know that.” he finally responds, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your lips curled into a smirk - the answer is far from satisfactory.

“Of course, but let's say you can only choose one.” you persist, your voice steady. “Who would it be?”

His expression unreadable. He's definitely taken off guard by your insistence, and you can see a hint of annoyance starting to form underneath the surface.

“There are too many factors to consider, I can't just say one random name. Fuck, you and your stupid questions...”

Sage looks down at the cup of chamomile tea she was drinking a few minutes ago, and for a second the fear of having been poisoned actually makes her shiver.

“And that's why I'm here to listen all of your thoughts about.” you smile at him once again, hiding something dark behind your kind tone.

Homelander sighs, finally realizing you won’t back down. He crosses his arms, staring at you with slight irritation.

“Fine. Let's say, If I had to choose, I'd likely save Sage first.”

Sage's head snapped up upon hearing his decision, and her eyes widened in surprise. But you answer him carefully, still smiling.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I mean, you're more resistant than her, you wouldn't really die falling from a building. While Sage body is totally human, he would certainly die without an antidote for the poison.”

Your smirk widens, you expected this.

“There, happy now? I solve your fucking riddle.”

You quickly turn away from the conversation and casually walk over towards the large window you know is behind Sage's seat. Acting as if you were admiring the view outside, you casually reach for the handle and pull the window open. The gust of wind that blows in is strong enough to be unexpected, the documents on the table rattle, and the curtains wave violently.

Sage's hand involuntarily releases her cup of tea, and as it hits the floor and the liquid splashes in her direction, a look of panic and realization flashed across her face.

She quickly rises from her seat, her body shaking subtly, trying to play it off as if it was just a simple accident. But anyone can see the flicker of panic behind her eyes. The liquid seeps into the carpet, staining it a dark brown.

“You— Ophera what have you done to my tea?!”

Homelander's eyes narrow, his attention suddenly diverted from the ongoing conversation.

You feign surprise, tilting your head to the side innocently. “Me? Nothing.”

“Bullshit!” Sage points a finger at you, a mixture of shock and fury on her face. She starts to feel strange, she feels dizzy and her legs are shaking.

You turn back to the large open window, the strong gust of wind causing your hair to flutter and the hem of your uniform to flutter. As you look outside, you subtly step back, closer and closer to the edge, the tips of your feet barely holding onto the edge of the window frame.

“What the hell are you doing Ophera?” he say, his voice sharp. “Get away from the window, where has your fear of great heights gone?”

Your eyes flick toward Homelander, a sly smile playing on your lips as you continue to stand dangerously close to the open window, your words dripping with a hint of manipulation.

“Well, I guess now you finally have a real opportunity to choose, love.”

A moment of silence hangs in the air as they're taken off guard by your audacity. Suddenly, without any warning, you lean back, and with a graceful leap, you launch yourself out of the window.

Homelander's heart skips a beat.

“No…No, don't—” he exclaimed desperately, his body moving on instinct.

The wind immediately engulfs you as the ground rapidly comes closer and closer. You feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, looking at the blue sky, the thrill of the freefall mixing with the intense rush of the air hitting your back.

In an instant, a blur of red and blue rushes towards you as Homelander flies out, he flies towards you at superhuman speed shattering the glass of the other windows. He moves closing the distance between you and him in mere seconds.

From the window, Sage leans out, looking at you both with disbelief. Her eyes widened, and her mouth hangs open, speechless at the turn of events.

Homelander catches you mid-air, wrapping his arms around you, the wind still rushes around you both. You can feel his hands shaking a bit as he holds you.

You look up at him, a cheeky smirk dancing on your lips. A breathless laugh escapes you, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Your heart pounds, and a sense of exhilaration washes over you. The suddenness of your action still hangs in the air, and his surprise is evident in his eyes.

“Ops, I guess you picked me.”

Homelander huffs, his grip on you slightly loosening, relaxing, floating in air with you. He shakes his head, relief and frustration clear on his face.

“You're out of your goddamn mind woman.”

“Maybe I am. But, at least you still care enough to save me.” you chuckle softly, enjoying the moment of his attention.

He rolls his eyes, but you can see a smile on his lips and he's slowly moving in the hair to coming back inside the Tower.

You reach out to caress his face gently, your touch tender against his skin. Your hand trail over his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath your fingertips. Your other hand still grips onto the fabric of his suit, holding onto him.

“Y'know...I thought Sage brainwashed you into choosing her over me, but I'm happy to see that's not the case.”

His expression softens a little, his eyes meeting yours.

“Believe me, I think she tried. But she didn’t brainwash me at all.” he grumbles, his voice low. “I’m not that easy to control. You should know that..”

“I know you're far from being easy to control. You’re too stubborn and prideful for that.”

He huffs again, with his bold smirk on his lips. “You’re quite stubborn too, maybe more than me. Just look at your little stunt back there.”

As he lands back inside the room with you in his arms, the scene is a little chaotic. He takes a moment to check you are okay, before his eyes land on Sage, who is now passed out on the floor.

“Was really necessary to poison her? Despite your jealousy he was an excellent strategy member to the team.” he say, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Relax. She's not dead. There wasn't a single drop of poison or anything in her tea.” you look down at Sage's unconscious body, lying motionless on the floor, and a small, satisfied smile lifts the corners of your lips.

“Then why the hell is she passed out?” he asks, puzzled.

You kneel down next to her and tilt your head to the side as you examine her unconscious form. The feeling of triumph washes over you, knowing that you managed to manipulate her fear and doubt to your advantage.

“With a brain like hers, mental deceptions are more effective than anything else. It was enough for me to convince her that she had been poisoned and goodnight little sunshine.”

He lets out a low whistle, impressed by the simplicity of your tactic.

“Damn. You really know how to mess with people's heads.”

There's admiration in his voice. An admiration for you that you can still wear like a medal.

“But you really had to prove a point in such a dramatic manner, huh?”

You stand back up, brushing off your uniform and looking at Homelander with a smug smile.

“I had to do something to prove to her, and you, who your favourite really was.”

-------

Hope you like it! I will calmly continue to write about him based on your ask box requests, I will not leave anyone unsatisfied, I promise <3

#homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander the boys #homelander x fem!reader #homelander x y/n #homelander x oc #homelander x you #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #the boys series #homelander #the boys s4 #sister sage #the boys oc #the boys season 4 #my post #ask box #fanfic request #request open

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fvsm4x · 1 year ago

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Hii! Can I request any jjk men with a best friend! reader who wears a mask to hide their face bcs they think its ugly? (its up to u if u want sfw or not!)

#PRETTIEST [Gojo S. and Geto S.]

SUMMARY: Since you were a child, you‘ve always hated the way you look, so- you started wearing a mask.

— C.W: Gojo Satoru x female reader x Geto Suguru , hurt with comfort , insecurity , fluff.

— WORD COUNT: 1.3k+

— TAGLIST: @starlightanyaaa

— A/N: AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST I HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER I FINISHED WRITING MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE!! SORRY IF ITS SHORT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

Since you were a small child, you always hated the way you looked. Your nose, cheeks, and moles were constant sources of self-consciousness, and you despised the way you appeared in general. It was as if a dark cloud of insecurity constantly loomed over you, casting a shadow on your self-esteem.

Around the age of 7, it all began. You were just an innocent child, excited to go to school like any other kid. You possessed a unique ability that set you apart from your classmates - you could see curses, dark entities that others couldn’t perceive.

Every day, as you walked past your classmates, you were subjected to relentless torment. They would push you into the ground, snatch away your books, spill your lunch onto your head, and even steal your clothes during PE. You became a victim of bullying, and the reason behind it was painfully clear - you were deemed ugly.

At that tender age, you couldn’t comprehend the cruelty that surrounded you. You naively believed that this was their way of noticing you or playing with you. But as time went on, the truth slowly revealed itself - they targeted you because of your appearance, because you were considered ugly in their eyes.

It was during this dark period that you began to wear a mask, hoping that it would shield you from the relentless bullying. The mask became your armor, a tangible barrier that protected you from the perceived flaws you couldn’t bear to face. It became a part of your identity, an integral aspect of who you were. With the mask on, you felt a sense of safety, as if you were hiding your true self from the scrutinizing eyes of the world.

There wasn’t a single moment when you ventured outside without your mask. But despite the mask’s protective facade, deep down, you longed to be accepted for who you truly were.

It was during this challenging time that you crossed paths with your best friends, Geto and Gojo. Fate brought the three of you together on a fateful day as you were walking home from school. They witnessed your ability to kill a low-grade curse, and in that moment, they knew that you were like them - you could see curses just as they could.

This serendipitous encounter changed the course of your life. You made the decision to leave your previous school and join the same school as Geto and Gojo, hoping that this new environment would provide a fresh start, free from the torment of your past.

In the same class as Geto and Gojo, there was another girl who exuded beauty effortlessly. Her flawless skin, perfect facial structures, and the charming mole beneath her eye made her the epitome of perfection. Secretly, you couldn’t help but feel jealous of her. You longed to possess the same level of beauty and radiance, but you kept your jealousy hidden beneath a facade of indifference.

As the months passed, your bond with Geto and Gojo grew stronger. You began to address them by their first names, just as they did with you. It seemed like everything was going well, until one fateful day when a simple request shattered the fragile equilibrium you had created.

The three of you were gathered in Geto’s dorm, engrossed in a movie, when Gojo’s curious gaze fell upon your mask. His innocent question pierced through your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“Say, y/n… could we see your face?” he inquired, his finger pointing towards the mask that concealed your true self.

In that moment, the smile that had adorned your face behind the mask vanished, replaced by a mixture of apprehension and fear. You locked eyes with Gojo, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“We’ve been friends for quite some time now, and I can’t recall a single moment where you haven’t worn that mask. You even wear it while you sleep!” he continued,

Your gaze dropped, unable to meet their expectant eyes. It was true - you had never once removed the mask in their presence. You only allowed it to come off when you brushed your teeth or washed your face. The thought of revealing your true face to them filled you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You feared that they would be repulsed by your appearance, that they would abandon you once they saw the real you, the one you believed to be ugly.

“That’s true, y/n. If you have a larger injury or something, we won’t judge. We just want to see how pretty you look behind the mask,” Geto chimed in,

Pretty.

The word echoed in your mind, taunting you with its expectations. They anticipated beauty, but what if you took off your mask and shattered their illusions? What if they saw the imperfections that plagued your self-image? The mere thought of their potential rejection was unbearable.

But why do you care so much about their opinion?

The reason was because you had fallen in love with both Geto and Gojo. Despite knowing that you were seemingly out of their league, your heart couldn’t help but beat faster whenever you were around them. You had tried to suppress these feelings, but they persisted, refusing to be ignored.

“I promise, Y/N, whatever you’re hiding won’t change a thing between us,” Gojo spoke, his voice filled with sincerity as he positioned himself in front of you. Geto, too, reached out and gently took your hands in his larger ones.

“Please, trust us,” Geto pleaded,

You found it difficult to resist their pleading gazes. Taking a deep breath, you finally relented, “Fine, but I warn you, it’s not what you expect.”

As the mask slipped away, revealing your face, you closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable disappointment and rejection. You didn’t want to hear the people you loved utter the same hurtful words that had haunted you in the past.

But then, to your astonishment, Gojo’s voice broke the silence, filled with genuine awe, “Unbelievable! This is beyond stunning; it’s mesmerizing.”

Did you hear correctly? Mesmerizing? He didn’t say the word “ugly”? You cautiously opened your eyes, only to be met with Gojo’s intense gaze. He was staring at your face, his cheeks flushed with a deep blush. In that moment, you realized that he found you stunning, not repulsive. He was captivated by your appearance.

“I knew you were hiding a masterpiece under there, but this… it’s like you walked out of a dream,” Geto spoke, his hands tightening around yours,

Confusion and disbelief washed over you as you struggled to comprehend their reactions. “I don’t understand… why aren’t you saying I look ugly?” you murmured, your eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Ugly?” Gojo scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. “That’s impossible. You’re the epitome of beauty, and we’re lucky to witness it.”

“Whoever said that you’re ugly clearly is blind,” Geto chimed in, removing his hands from yours and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “Because you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you widened them in shock. The tears began streaming down your face as a genuine smile spread across your lips. You were overwhelmed by their words and the overwhelming surge of emotions that flooded your heart.

Suddenly, a hand crept around your waist, and you looked down to see Gojo smiling up at you, resting his head on your lap.

“You guys…” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as more tears continued to flow down your cheeks, landing on Gojo’s face beneath you.

A hand gently cradled your jaw, turning your head to the side, and you found yourself meeting Geto’s intense gaze. He brought his lips to your face, tenderly kissing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he murmured,

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synthetickitsune · 2 months ago

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To Save The World ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x gn!reader Genre: angst Summary: Joshua made his choice. Now he has to commit to it. The world must go on. And for that, he has to make you go. Word count: 1.6k Warnings: blood, knives, reader dies A/N: inspired by @chugging-antiseptic-dye's post here bcs you can't say "joshua slitting your throat" and expect me to be normal, and also it's highly recommended to read this as well

The night falls. The stars twinkle above, yet the light seems dimmed. The world must be asleep. Perhaps it might be as kind as to close its eyes to what he’s about to do. If there’s one thing the world’s always been good at, afterall, it’s turning away from those who need its help the most. There's a duty to them that he always carried on his shoulders. He’s always tried to make up for what the universe couldn’t do. Now that he’s in need of help, however, who will save him?

He never thought that burden would eventually end up being his own demise.

Joshua’s breath comes out as thin clouds that soon evaporate into nothingness. Just the same as him. Every breath is a thought, a memory, a part of him. He wills them to be. He needs to send them all off, so that he can at least hope to be saved one day. He hopes the wind can carry all of him far enough that he won’t be tainted.

He spent what felt like hours standing under scalding water. As if filth can be washed ahead of time.

Anyway.

Washed as best as he could make it and free of all scent, he feels naked. A blank sheet. Now all that’s left is to cleanse himself of himself. Not a man, but a hero. A fragile puppet dancing however fate and duty pull its strings. Empty. To be filled again with a different substance. Transformed. A copy of himself only on the outside.

The cold makes him feel frozen in time. If it doesn’t start ticking again soon, he will surely lose his mind. But perhaps that’s an option he’d gladly take. There is little chance of that happening soon enough, though. No, it’s not going to happen until it’s too late.

He hears lone footsteps slowly approaching. Bile rises up his throat. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of long, deep breaths. He tries to keep them even. To keep the tremors out of his breathing at least. He can’t be heard. He has to keep standing but his knees can barely support him. If only the darkness of the alley could swallow him. If only the wall behind his back could turn into goo. Trap him like an insect in tree sap. Keep him trapped in amber so that everyone could witness his cowardice that even outweighs the sin he’s about to commit.

‘Hero’ is a funny world. A joke.

In the end, he couldn’t save everyone. Forget everyone. Just one person.

The sound gets closer. Have you always walked with a skip in your step when you were rushing home to him? The bile again. His stomach twists. He has to force himself to swallow. The street remains empty. Everything else aside, Joshua can’t let anyone see his face ever again. He won’t ever look at his face again. His hands feel clammy. He can’t breathe. He can’t—

The knife almost slips from his hand. He only sees your side profile for a split second. He can’t double over. Not now. He’s already a coward hiding in the shadows. So it feels like a cruel joke, the sight that his eyes let him see. It’s like the clouds part and you’re suddenly bathed in moonlight. Are the stars taking you before he can? He only has fractions of a second to pray it is so. To hope his hands will pass right through you. That the moon saves you and cradles you in its cold silver arms.

It’s with practiced ease that he reaches from his hiding spot. It’s with hard-earned skill and speed that he grabs you and pulls you back into the shadows, away from the light that exposes his weakness. He ensnares you in the darkness with him before you can make a sound or register what’s happening.

With tender strength he holds you against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist perfectly, pinning your arms to your sides. It should be like this. You belong with him. He should always hold you. What does heaven have that lying with you, your head above his heart and his arms around you doesn’t provide? Your body fits against his like you were made for him. And lately he believes you were, just to make your fate that much crueler. To start his punishment long before he knew he’s going to be punished.

You can’t make a sound with his hand covering your mouth. He wishes you could. Blame him. Hate him. (Love him.) Your struggling is useless. He’s always been stronger than you. Could always easily pin you down. Why can’t you pout about it now? (Please hit his chest. Please call him mean. Please laugh and pull him down for a kiss.)

Your efforts double when the glint of the blade catches your eye. He has already messed up. He shouldn’t have held you one last time. It comes so naturally to him, though. Instincts can’t be overridden. He had to. He tries to make his voice deeper, unrecognizable. To his own ears he doesn’t sound like himself when he shushes you. You sound every bit like yourself when you whimper. (Can’t he hold you tighter? Can’t he pull the blanket over you like he’s always done and shield you from the rest of the world?)

In his memories, it’s always your hair, your cheeks that he caresses. Your lip under his thumb. As he moves his hand lower though, he discovers that the skin on the vulnerable column of your throat is surprisingly soft too. (Did he not explore your body enough? Will this be one more regret to haunt him day and night?) Your breathing, your heartbeat, he can feel it all with his touch. It’s so fast. Like the little bunny’s that you promised to adopt with him. The one you won’t make a half-orphan because you never brought it home. Your eyes look like prey animal’s caught in a trap too.

His thumb strokes over your windpipe. You deserve that. You deserve something more intimate. You deserve something warmer than the cold steel of the knife. You deserve him. Not a stranger.

But he can’t. He’s a coward. His strength isn’t as tender now. It’s desperate. He doesn’t want to let go. You don’t make a sound.

(Please whine. Please tell him to let go. Please call him clingy. Please tell him to let you hug him too.)

His hand stops before it can dip under your shirt. His fingertips barely brush against your collarbone. How selfish he can be. You must be so scared - a stranger holding you, a stranger touching you. Joshua knows if it was him you saw holding a knife so close to your face, you wouldn’t be scared at all.

(Smile at him. See him.)

As if sensing his hesitation, you move. Just one lone, weak attempt to break free. Just a jolt of an animal that doesn’t wish to be pet.

He leans his head against yours. (Hurt him. Do it. Please.) You stay still. For a blink of an eye that lasts an eternity, you settle and relax. Like he’s holding you while you cook dinner. Like he’s comforting you after a long day. Like you’re watching the storm outside from the warmth of your home. Like he’s saying goodbye.

Like you know what’s coming.

It’s with an order, an impulse to his nerves that doesn’t, that can’t have, come from his own brain and free will that the knife in his sweaty palm turns. Your breathing picks up more. The blade presses against the side of your throat and he—

Joshua!

The shriek pierces the silence of the night.

It rains. Crimson splatters on the ground.

But all he hears is your voice.

Did you recognize him and called his name in shock? Betrayal? Understanding?

Were you calling him for help?

Did you want his name to be your last word?

The knife clatters on the ground with echoes of his name, of your voice. Nothing else is real.

His hand clutches your throat and presses against it with force. He’s trying to pull the split tissue together but it won’t listen and the blood keeps pouring.

The warmth encompassing his hands must be your hands grabbing his. Slipping your fingers between his.

You’re just standing in the shower. It’s hot water rolling down your bodies. You’ll laugh. You’ll scold him for simply holding you instead of washing up.

What’s the point if his hands are forever dyed red.

No shower will ever be enough.

And your life keeps trickling down his fingers and pooling under his feet.

He collapses with you.

His head falls, forehead resting against yours.

(Look at him.)

He holds you like you’re dancing. Your silly wish to look at him after he twirls you. To lean back into his arms and look up at him.

So look at him.

There’s nothing interesting to see at the back of your skull.

He sobs, but he only hears your voice. Only feels the claws of guilt and pain tearing at his throat from the inside.

Did you know? Could you tell he held you? Did you know you’re not alone? That you don’t have to be scared?

Look at him.

Tell him.

The world did not end with a bang. Nor with a whimper. The world did not end at all that night.

But there, in a dark alley where blood pools on the cobblestone, a life and a soul were crushed to save it.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #joshua scenario #svthub #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #joshua angst #svt angst #svt x reader

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enhafilthandfiction · 2 years ago

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i think if be okay to write jwon smut / suggestive things bcs he is of age so wheres the wrong in that?

Hickeys - Yang Jungwon

A/n : Hello everyone! Some of you were asking me to write something 'smutty' for Jungwon, but since he's just turned 20 I'll let is sit for a while and start off with some mild 'smut', but mostly suggestive. This is my first time giving it a shot, so I rly hope you enjoy reading it!

Also, Thankyou so so so much for the love you guys are showing on my previous posts!! A big thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged or even followed! I appreciate you all sooo much <333

Pairings : Bf!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings : fluff, slight angst, suggestive, mentions of grinding, kissing, making out, neck kissing, hickeys, marking, feeling one another over clothes, both inexperienced tbh, mentions of food, reader is stressed at beginning, comfort, hugs, kinda has a shitty ending.

Word count : 1294 words

Masterlist - Tips

It was the worst time of the year; exam week. You always stressed so much about your grades, studying till morning and even forgetting to eat, all for nothing. When your report cards came back, your heart shatters into a millions pieces. No matter how hard you try, your best isn't good enough.

You were honestly feeling like a big failure, and didn't know what you were going to do in your life. Unlike Jungwon, who wasn't only successful with his music career, but also graduated with amazing grades.

It's not that you were jealous of him; not at all. It's just that you constantly compared yourself to him and soon realised that you don't deserve him. He deserves a better person. Someone more intelligent perhaps, someone who could flex their grades and collages to his parents not someone who can barely pass a simple exam.

You were so clouded in your thoughts that you didn't even realise that he had entered inside your house, took off his shoes and coat and walked to your seat.

"Y/n?" he calls out for you and waves his hand in front of your face in a teasing manner. You blinked your eyes and looked up at him, smiling in an instant. He was such a comforting person to you, yet you felt bad because your thoughts told you that you weren't good enough for him.

"H-hi" you let out, running a hand through your hair as he placed a bag over the kitchen counter. "Have you eaten yet? I got food" He announced, placing the take out on the counter.

"Mm, no" you admit, sighing. He sighs as well as he walks over to you. "Aww y/n. You overwork yourself too much on some unimportant grades" he says, his warm hands coming up to your face "Look at you, are you even sleeping?" he asks worriedly, his thumbs caressing your dark eyebags.

"Kinda" you reply shortly, looking up at his worried expression. "You shouldn't stress too much baby, grades don't define you" he leans down and presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss. But it's not a normal kiss you notice. His lips kiss yours for a longer time than usual.

"Perhaps you need a break?" he asks you gingerly, grabbing your hands and pulling you out of your chair, leading you to the sofa inside the living room.

He sits down first, pulling you on top of him. Your knees are on both sides of his thighs, and your hands are on his shoulders, his on your waist.

You look into his eyes and he looks into yours, admiring each other with loving gazes. He smiles and pulls you into an unexpected hug, his hands wrapping around your figure and yours around his neck.

You breathe in his comforting scent, sighing in relief. He's here you think to yourself, relaxing in his warm embrace. He knows you needed a hug, being too stressed about exams and barely interacting with anyone. It's like you've zoned off to yourself lately.

He pulls back after a few minutes, his lips immediately landing back on yours. His hands move back to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your hands move from his neck to the back of his head, deepening the kiss.

As your mouth moves against his, his tongue darts out to lick your lips, asking for entrance. When you wouldn't get the message, his hands grind your hips on him, making you let out a muffled whine, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into your parted lips.

You gasp at the sensation, his tongue meeting yours and exploring your mouth, all while his lips massage against yours. After a while, he pulls away out of breath, breathing heavily trying to catch his breath; just like you.

"Fuck Y/n, You're driving me crazy-" he almost cuts himself off as he leans in again, too addicted to your kisses. You part your lips again, and your tongues collide once again, he sucks on your wet muscle, trying to suck it into his mouth.

It's your turn to explore his mouth now. Saliva mixes together as you two become literally tongue-tied; Your tongues in each other's mouth, tasting one another.

You subconsciously grind on his crotch, too aroused with the feeling of his mouth on yours. His hands reach higher till they're situated under your bra-less breasts, subtly feeling them on his palm.

He lets out a whimper when you place pressure on a particular spot, alerting you of what you are doing. You pull away, looking at his state, messy hair and hazed eyes.

"Would it be okay if I kissed your neck?" he questions hopefully, out of breath. You hum positively and nod your head, giving him the greenlight. He hesitantly leans in, his soft lips making contact with your neck. Goosebumps decorate your skin at the contact, a shiver running up your spine.

Not long after you feel his tongue on your skin, licking a stripe up your neck. You hands grip his hair, pulling at it when he kisses a particular sensitive spot on your neck.

"Mmm yeah Wonnie, keep going" you encourage, your hands gripping harder on his soft hair and your hips rocking desperately on his hardening length.

You feel him get harder, but you don't say anything, now wanting to embarrass him. He continues abusing your neck, sucking harshly and reddening your skin. You would even feel his teeth sometimes, gently biting love marks on the side of your neck.

Suddenly, he pulls back "Why'd you stop?" you ask him, disappointed. "It will leave a mark if I continue" he explained "There are red marks already"

You smile at his concern "They're just hickeys Jungwon. It's fine, I know how to cover them up" you mumble, petting his hair. "So how about you give me some?"

He looks up at you as he leans down again, this time not holding back and fully marking you as his. His hands that were on your waist snuck under your shirt, feeling your warm skin.

He sucks desperately on your neck, reddening marks blooming on there. "How about I give you some?" you ask him "Will you let me kiss your neck?"

He leans back to admire his work and nods at you once he considers the question. He stands there awkwardly till you lean into his neck, starting off with a few gently kisses, almost in a teasing manner, pecking his skin.

He starts whining the second you lips meet the skin right below his ear, his sensitive spot, kissing it a little bit harder just to make him squirm. You suck it and gently nip at it, not wanting to mark him in such an evident area since he's not allowed.

Your tongue licks a stripe down his neck and your lips land on his collarbones, sucking and gently biting at the pretty bones. He whimpers softly, bucking up into you and holding your waist tighter, surely leaving a mark.

"Mm Y/n" he throws his head back to give your lips more space to work on as his hands guide your hips to grind on him at a decent pace, not too fast but not slow either.

You hands also make their way up his sweater, resting on his abs for support. You lean back and admire the red blooming marks on his collarbones, where they can be easily hidden.

"You're so pretty Wonnie" you worship, making a blush creep onto his cheeks. He smiles at you "So are you" He leans in again, but just as he's going to stick his tongue into your mouth (for the nth time) you hear the main door unlock.

"Shit, my parents are here"

Thankyou so much for reading!

Tbhhhh I don't really know about this one. It's clearly not my best work since I'm not used to 'mild smut' or suggestiveness in general. Butttt I do hope that I can write better fics for Jungwon in the future.

Also a lot of you have been giving me the go ahead to write smut for Jungwon (Tysm for sharing your opinions!) so I might consider it!

If you enjoyed this post, you can help support my blog by tipping me here! Anything is highly appreciated!

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neptunescore · 4 months ago

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hi pooks! can you write for brocedes with the random word hotel 🙈 lysm mwah mwah congrats on 600!!

Prompt word: Hotel | Pairing: Brocedes

The scene in front of him is breathtakingly beautiful.

A cacophony of blues, pinks and reds that intertwine and blur into each other, casting hues of gold into the sea as it begins it’s slow embrace of the sun.

Nico could stay here forever — watch the honeyed sunlight melt into deep waters till there's nothing left, and then wait right there as a new day passes and the cycle starts all over again — endless.

He shifts a little; his back sore from the uncomfortably-shaped balcony chair he's seated on, he knows Lewis is going to be cross with him later, is probably going to lecture him about self-care and what not, but the world champion is too tired to care about anything right now — let alone Lewis’ weird protectiveness over his health.

Nico sighs, he missed Lewis.

For all his infatuation with the sight before him, the blonde haired man would give it up in an instant if it meant having Lewis by his side again — the slow dance of blues and pinks and reds may take his breath away; but the soft golden-brown of Lewis’ skin, the infinite black of Lewis’ eyes, that— that left him with no air at all.

He’d been cooped up in this hotel room for a week now, lazily shifting between the bed and the balcony — an occasional trip outside sometimes; walking down streets shaded by never-ending trees, sitting on benches wrapped in leafy vines as he licked drops of melted ice-cream off his fingers.

Nico never wanted to leave. Wanted to spend the rest of his life like this. Didn’t even want to think about the plane ticket he’d placed in the bedside drawer.

A quiet ruffling draws the man out of his thoughts, blue eyes moving upwards as he tries to find the perpetrator of the noise.

There are two birds a few metres in front of him, brown feathers brushing against white ones, their wings stretched out and tense while loose talons tear against the clouds surrounding them. There is something wrong with the white one, it’s left wing crooked and bent, yet—

Oh. Nico’s eyes crinkle, lips curling softly. What a wonder it is, he thinks — watching where the brown sparrow had placed itself. To live. Right below the lower left side of it’s counterpart’s body. To love. Holding up the extra weight that the other could not.

“Man, what are you doing?”

The retired driver looks behind him, musings of wings and feathers vanishing immediately as a pout falls on his lips, “I missed you.”

“Nico-” A chuckle, I was gone for ten minutes.”

Nico sniffs haughtily, “ten minutes too long,” he frowns.

“Babe! I literally asked you if you wanted to come with me!”

“Yes. Well-”

“Oh shut up and come inside before the food gets cold. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re sitting on that chair again.”

Nico rolls his eyes, pulling himself up and arching his back as he steps inside — groaning in pleasure as he feels a few satisfactory pops, “I want a hug.”

“Oh my god, you are so clingy.”

Yet there are arms wrapping around him instantly, blanketing him in a cocoon of warmth and love that he lets himself melt into.

“You okay, babe?” Lewis asks quietly. And Nico can feel the sincerity, the care; he can already feel the tears forming, can’t really believe that he has this now — will have this forever. Maybe.

“You won’t leave me when we go back home, will you? When the season starts? I won’t be on the grid anymore.”

“Oh Nico. I’m not going to leave you ever,” Lewis murmurs into his hair, “I know I can’t change the past few years, but that's never going to happen again, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” A nod, beaded braids brushing against the skin of his face, “Never again.”

Dark lips graze against his closed eyes. Nico’s grip on Lewis’ sweater tightens, a sudden lightness in his chest.

Liv!!! Finally done with this for you, and honestly, I just had to do fluff bc I have read way too much angst abt them😔✋🏽. I hope this matched ur expectations, meri jaan💗 ALSO, in the time it took me to write this, I gained a 100 (A HUNDRED😵‍💫🤭) more followers!! So the happiness just keeps going<3

I have also just given up on finding aesthetically matching pics of the drivers😭 (I scoured pinterest for an hour bfr ending up on nico's YouTube vids and taking ss's from there🙂🔫)

ANWAY, FEEL FREE TO DROP BY WHENEVER POOKS (this goes to all of you)🫶🏼😘

Divider creds to @cafekitsune as always♡

Rules and details☆°•~

#°•☆—Nep's word prompts🖇#nep's inbox🪐#moots°•#formula one #formula 1 #f1 #nico rosberg #lewis hamiton #brocedes #formula one rpf #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic

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hotgirlbedtimescenarios · 3 months ago

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Blurb ideas for joel/dieter + reader— sharing a joint/go out dancing and fucking in the bathroom/going front row in the ga pit to a concert/going on a walk at night to enjoy the stars/staying in a forested cabin with massive windows- fucking at night while it rains HARD (maybe eventually going outside to continue in the rain)/getting finger fucked discretely in public bc joel/dieter just can’t wait

(Feel free to skip/squick out on all these!!)

Thank you for your request! I kind of ran with the blunt sharing and rain idea .... this is what it turned into. I hope you like it 🫶🏻😚

Smoke and Storms

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x reader

Words: >1k

Vibes: sexual tension & smut

Warnings: PinV, smoking, teeny bit of choking/spitting/degradation

———

The sound of the engine purring kept you company as you cruised down the empty streets, the night air cool against your skin. Dieter Bravo sat beside you, his long fingers drumming rhythmically against his thigh, with the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

You didn’t speak much at first. Neither of you needed to. The hum of the car, the occasional flicker of the streetlights as you passed them, there was something almost hypnotic about the whole atmosphere. Beyond that was a low rumble of thunder as storm clouds rolled in, further darkening the sky.

"Where to?" you asked.

"I dunno," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Somewhere quiet." His eyes met yours, flicking to your lips for a split second before he looked back out the window.

"Quiet, huh?" you murmured, your heart suddenly picking up speed. When he’d texted just past midnight for a late-night drive and smoke session, you hadn’t been prepared for the tension in the air to feel so thick. The two of you had been dancing around each other since you met, and tonight, it seems he’s finally making his move.

A few minutes later, he pulled into an abandoned parking lot, the kind of place that smelled faintly of gasoline and old asphalt, completely deserted except for the occasional stray cat or reckless juveniles looking for a place to loiter.

Dieter didn’t hesitate as he parked, rolling down the windows for fresh air then reaching into the glove compartment to pull out a joint and a lighter.

You settled into your seat and watched as he lit the blunt, taking a lazy inhale between his lips then exhaling before passing it to you. You mirrored him, inhaling deeply, eager for the warm calm to wash over you and settle your nerves. Tipping your head back you blew the smoke out between your lips and basked in the warmth blooming under your skin.

Rain began falling lightly at first, misting the windshield, but now it was pouring, the sound of droplets hitting the roof of the car loud enough to drown out any other noise. The world felt closed in, just you and him, the storm raging around you, the occasional flash of distant lightning illuminating his face in sharp, fleeting detail.

"Fuck, it’s coming down hard," you said, after another drag.

Dieter rolled up the windows to shield the interior from the onslaught of rain. His gaze focused on the way the rain was streaking down the windshield. The glow from the dashboard lights softened the sharp angles of his face, giving him a kind of ethereal look—one that made him seem distractingly gorgeous and impossibly close. His eyes flicked to you, dark with a kind of quiet intensity, like he could read your thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, his voice husky, as he took the joint and inhaled deeply, his lips curling around it with a sort of careless elegance. “The rain’s... nice.”

You nodded, not sure whether he meant the rain or something else entirely. The tension in the air was thickening with each passing second, the closeness of the car, the intimacy of the night, the way his body shifted ever so slightly toward yours. You could almost feel the heat radiating off him, even through the humid and smoke filled air.

For a moment, it felt like time slowed. The storm raged on around you, but in that small space between you, it was quiet, expectant, like the calm before something inevitable. Your heart began pounding in your ears as he leaned toward you, closing the distance.

“You ever think about… what it would be like?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper, the words hanging in the wet air between you.

You didn’t need him to finish. You knew exactly what he meant. The sexual tension, thick as the storm clouds above, had been there from the very beginning.

“I think about it all the time,” you whispered back, your breath catching as you looked up at him.

Dieter’s eyes darkened, his lips slightly parted as if he were about to speak, but he didn’t. Instead he stamped out the butt of the blunt on the tiny ash tray in his cup holder. Then, he finally came for you.

He leaned across the center console and reached for you, his hand cupping the back of your head and tangling in your hair as the other found your waist. His lips hovered near yours, his breath mingling with yours, before he whispered, “I’ve wanted to taste these pretty little lips for so fuckin’ long,” he growls.

And then, just as his mouth crashed into yours, the rain hit harder, pelting down in sheets, lightning flashed and thunder rumble but the two of you barely noticed.

His hands roamed to your back, pulling you even closer, and you whimpered into his open mouth, making space for his tongue to slip in and tangle with yours.

The rain kept coming down in torrents, so loud now that it felt like you were trapped in your own little world, everything else washed away. His hands slid to your waist, then lower, kneading against your flesh as he slipped his hands beneath your shirt.

Everything about him, his, breath, his scent—smoke and something deeper—surrounding you as you lost yourself in the kiss, in the moment, in the storm, and in him.

Before long the two of you scramble into the back seat, desperate to finally give in to your body’s desires.

Your clothes fly off quickly, his hand expertly unhooking your bra and tossing it away as you fumble to untie his sweatpants, eager to free the huge bulge you can see from its confines.

“Fuckin hell” he swears, “knew those tits would be perfect for me.” Beneath his hungry gaze and exposed to the night, your nipples peak with anticipation.

His mouth finds them, sucking one into his warmth between his lips and swirls around it with his tongue as he tweaks the other one gently between his fingers.

A gasp of pleasure escapes your mouth.

As he kisses up and down your body you admire and explore his naked body as well. You reach for his already dripping cock, wrapping your hands around it and pumping it eagerly.

Both of you high on lust make quick time of lying back against the seats, with him on top of you. Dieter slides his cock between your folds, rocking back and forth, slipping his length across you, bumping into your bundle of nerves at the top and covering himself in your slick.

“Now” you beg, “please.”

“Please what” he tuts, slapping the head of his cock against your entrance, sending a jolt through your body.

“Fuck” you groan, and rake your nails down his back, sending shivers down his spine. “fill me up already goddmanit.”

Dieter growls, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He plunges into your wet heat, all the way to the hilt in the first go.

He sets a steady, brutal pace, shaking the car back and forth as he pounds into you. Your bodies slicken with sweat and the heat radiating off of them and the warmth of your breaths fog the windows of the car.

“Open up” he commands with a hand around your throat, caressing your jaw with his thumb.

Grateful for the cover of night and curtain of rain shielding the world of your depravity, you open your mouth, and he spits onto your tongue.

You swallow it gladly.

“Atta girl”, he praises.

Lost in the haze of your high and between each other’s bodies you aren’t sure how long it’s been before pleasure builds to a crescendo. Your legs begin to shake and muscles pull taught as Dieter slips a thumb between you, rubbing at your clit as he thrusts.

“Let me have it baby” he grunts, “come on, cum all over my cock.”

Ecstasy explodes, your body convulses around his as you cum, pulling him into his own orgasm. He pulls out quickly, his chest heaving with staggered breath as he pumps his spend onto your stomach.

After you both come down from the moment and catch your breath, you settle beside each other, sprawled out in the backseat. Through the windows you see the rain begin to thin, now sprinkling lightly against the car and pavement outside before quitting completely. Dieter cracks the windows, allowing a cool breeze to flutter through, cooling your sweat soaked skin and airing out the car.

You snuggle into the crook of his arm, content with the world, and the two of you ride out your high together, watching as the skies clear and stars twinkle in the night sky.

#dieter x reader #asks #request #pedro pascal characters #smut #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #hotbox

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ichorai · 2 years ago

Text

get better ; hobie brown.

track nine of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; hobie brown x spider!cottagecore!reader (gender neutral)

synopsis ; electric guitars and strawberries, leather jackets and quilted skirts, city spiders and cottage spiders. the two of you were perfect for each other.

words ; 5.5k

themes ; fluff, mild angst & action, established relationship (dating)

warnings / includes ; mentions of death, a nightmare/mild panic attack, reader is a mutant on top of being a spider (has the ability to conjure flowers), reader's universe is basically cottagecore universe, pav is there even tho he shouldn't be bcs i wanted to include him, hobie is an amazing bf and affectionately calls reader 'cheeky' :( and a little charles xavier mention bcs <3 the x-men are everything to me

main masterlist.

London was a cold, dreary place. You didn’t belong there, no, sticking out like a sore thumb from the cold, harsh corners of buildings that grazed the clouds and the damp, narrow streets. But you were there anyway, almost as often as you spent time in your own quaint universe, where York was nothing but homey cottages and endless green fields of flowers, strawberries, and farmer’s markets.

You were there for your boyfriend, who cared for the people of the city enough to criticize its leaders—a feat the large portion of the country couldn’t be bothered doing.

Today was a long day of protesting. Inhumane laws were being passed, the government was in shambles, and the PM was a fucking joke. You wanted to be there for him and show him support—it wasn’t your universe, sure, but it was important to you, anyway. Nobody deserved to live in fear of tomorrow.

The two of you made your way back up into Hobie’s dingy little apartment when the sky began to grey with gloomy clouds and cold rain dribbled down dirty rooftops. Hobie slammed the door behind him, the faded Sex Pistols poster loosely tacked on the back warbling with the sudden movement. In turn, you made a bee-line for his bed on the opposite side of the room—really, Hobie’s apartment was just a narrow rectangle, with a cramped bed in one corner, a beaten-up green sofa in another, and the kitchen furthest away from the door. There was another door by the other end that led to the bathroom with cracked mirrors. All the walls were covered with art, posters, random memorabilia, and stickers.

It was a claustrophobe’s nightmare, but it was home to Hobie, which made it your home, as well.

You moaned with relief when you laid down on his thick comforter, shutting your eyes for a moment. Still leaning against the door, Hobie watched you eagle-spread over his bed with a small, amused smile.

He could never get over how funny you looked, surrounded by dark colors and ripped clothes and filthy artwork, when you yourself were the exact opposite—all soft hues and gentle nature and sunshine. Hobie loved that about you. How you were unabashedly so lovely no matter where you were, or what you were doing.

“You falling asleep on me, Cheeky?” he asked, voice lilting with the affectionate pet name, languidly striding over to sit onto the mattress beside you. The bed creaked with protest under the additional weight.

“Mhm,” you hummed in reply, turning your head so you could offer him a tired grin. “Rain always gets me sleepy.”

The silver of his piercings glinted with what little light streamed through his window. “Take a nap, then, yeah? I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

With your final murmur of thanks, Hobie dipped down to sweep the hair away from your face, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead, before standing back up to go fix himself a snack.

Hours later, when you had only begun to twitch with the beginnings of a nightmare, Hobie had gently shaken you awake, beaming at the way your nose wrinkled and your heavy eyes fluttered open to meet his bright ones.

“Rise and shine,” he greeted, smoothing out the creases of the shirt you were wearing. “Well, it’s not really shinin’ out there, innit? Rise and gloom.”

A steaming cup of peppermint tea was pushed into your hands. You didn’t even have to taste it to know that he’d added just the right amount of sugar for you. “Thanks, Hobie,” you mumbled, craning your neck to kiss his cheek.

“Got you somethin’ from the chippie—it’s in the microwave whenever you want it.”

Still groggy, you loosely wound your arms around his neck to tug him into a warm embrace, careful not to spill any of the tea. Half of your body was slung over his legs, the other hanging off the bed. Without hesitation, Hobie’s long arms came around to pull you tighter against him, hugging you close.

“Argh, you’re just too good to me,” you whispered, clutching him tight. “How much was the food?”

“Ah, ah,” he said, pulling away to click his tongue and shake his head. “Don’t worry about it. My shitty universe, my shitty quid.”

With an affectionate roll of your eyes, you pulled away from him. “Alright, well, next time we’re at my place, I’m treating you.”

“Would expect nothing less, Cheeky.”

The two of you shared the microwaved dinner from the chippie together, the large fries nearly burning your tongue and the fish drenched in far too much vinegar for your taste, but the two of you ate it happily regardless.

After the food was cleaned out, you curled up into Hobie’s sofa—which smelled just like the mango perfume you had given to him for his birthday—and brandished the sewing kit you had kept here, hidden beneath the cushions. Your boyfriend took a seat beside you, his guitar situated over his lap and a dull pocket knife gripped in his hand. He took to engraving his initials against its side (and planned on engraving yours right next to it), as you pulled his leather vest closer, stitching one of the patches that had come loose back on.

A comfortable silence stretched over the both of you, like a warm blanket draped over your shoulders. It was only broken by Hobie’s disjointed humming to a song you couldn’t recognize, and the soft pattering of rain outside.

Once he was done with the ‘B’ of his last name, he peered over your shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck. “How’s it coming?”

You turned with a sweet smile, one that made Hobie’s chest warm. To him, you were the literal embodiment of sunshine. “All fixed,” you chirped, nudging him slightly. “How’s the guitar?”

“Good as ever. D’you mind if I put your name next to mine?”

Your eyes shone. “Go ahead,” you replied, before reaching down to fish something out of your pocket. “Oh, I totally forgot—I embroidered this for you! Made it from my own synthesized silk ‘n everything.”

It was another patch, about half the size of his palm, depicting a bright red strawberry sitting against an equally vibrant yellow backdrop. A genuine smile flickered over Hobie’s countenance.

“Oh, this is wicked, Y/N! Looks fuckin’ fab,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to inspect all the tiny details. Somehow, his beam grew wider. Hobie situated the patch over an empty spot on his vest. “Could you sew it here?”

You nodded whilst humming an affirmative. A rush of heat pulsed over your face when Hobie leaned down to kiss your cheek, pulling back with an obnoxious mwah.

“You’re a talent, you know that? Thank you.”

It was a few minutes later when you showed him his vest—finally ready and decked out with a multitude of both new and fixed patches. In turn, he showed you your name etched right next to his. Overwhelmed by just how much you loved your boyfriend, every single bit of his punk, anarchist self, you threw yourself into his open arms, hugging him tight. A flower appeared behind his ear, and he pinched it between two fingers, pulling it away to inspect its small white petals and smooth green stem. With a hum, Hobie pushed it back onto his ear and returned your embrace.

A week later, you and Hobie were at another underground music concert, filled to the brim with punk rock enthusiasts and anarchists of the very same ilk as him. Seeing as he was the last gig to play, the night ended with an elongated guitar riff, and Hobie’s fist thrusting high up as the final notes crashed against the cheering crowd. It wasn’t long before he was hopping off the rickety stage, immediately greeted with your wide smile and more tiny flowers blooming within the moist cracks of the sidewalk by your feet.

“You did amazing!” you exclaimed, bouncing on the heels of your feet excitedly. “Argh, I’m so proud of you! When you did that thing—with that guitar—and then you just—AH! I loved it, Hobie!”

Your boyfriend slung an arm over your shoulders, briefly pressing his nose against your hairline. “Thanks, Cheeky.” He glanced at the large box you were holding. “What’s all this now?”

“Merchandise,” you chirped with bright eyes. “Made it all myself back in my universe. Free of charge, of course. Everyone deserves to enjoy art without worrying about its price.”

Hobie swore he fell in love with you just a smidge more right then and there.

With nimble fingers, he plucked a bundle out of the box, unfurling it to reveal a dark black t-shirt with a messy crimson scrawl of ANARCHY! across the chest. To his fond delight, there was a little flower drawn just beneath the large text. A touch of him, and a touch of you.

Not waiting another second, Hobie slipped the shirt over his head, one of his piercings momentarily snagging against the collar. You were quick to shift the box onto one arm so you could help him safely tug the shirt down without ripping his earlobe into two.

After murmuring his thanks, Hobie cupped his palms over his hands to yell, “Oi, you lot! Come ‘round here for free shirts! Made by the loveliest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing!”

The two of you stayed at the venue until all your shirts were given away, and even then there were a few stragglers left, disappointed they hadn’t gotten anything.

“Come to Hobie’s next gig, I’ll bring some more things by then,” you reassured them with a kind smile.

After another series of goodbyes, Hobie finally pulled you out of the dingy venue, his hand curled over your upper back and your arm wrapped around his hips.

Hobie was a true artist. Everything he touched, he could turn into something of beauty, something raw and pure and breathtaking. When you had vocalized such thoughts to him, he smirked, loose and humored.

“Don’t like labels,” he said, gaze fixed on his guitar and the uncapped marker he was using to draw just beneath the strings. “You sure you’re not biased?”

“Not at all,” you hummed in reply, leaning against him. The two of you were in your universe, laying spread over a checkered blanket on a vast field not too far from your little cottage. The grass was greener than what Hobie had back home, and the air was clearer and lighter than anything he’d ever breathed before. Somehow, the breeze that whistled between the two of you smelled of strawberries and peaches—or maybe that was your perfume. Hobie couldn’t get enough of it, either way. Your universe was beautiful—nearly as beautiful as you were.

Whilst he was concentrating on his scribbled drawings, you were tinkering with one of your web shooters—a series of miniscule gadgets with brown fixings to wrap around your wrist. Once you clicked it back into place, you jutted it out to Hobie, the round capsules hovering only inches beneath his nose.

He laughed, gently pulling your hand away so he wouldn’t go cross-eyed. “You make these yourself?”

“Synthesized them with all natural ingredients. Took a lot of trial-and-error, but I think I’ve finally perfected the colored formula,” you said, pressing down with both your middle and index finger, showing him how the webs shot out so far he couldn’t even see where it disappeared within the swishing blades of grass.

Arching a brow, he echoed, “Colored formula?”

You grinned. “Take a look. I made them green! I think it’s much prettier than plain ol’ white,” you said.

“Green spider webs, huh? You really are something else,” he surmised with a half-chuckle, half-snort, a goofy smile to his lips. Your excitement was beginning to rub off on him, so he took your hands again, admiring your craftsmanship. “These are so fucking cool.”

“I could make you colored webs, too—whatever color you want!” You perked up with the idea, smiling brighter than the golden sun hanging sweetly in the soft pink sky (the skies were pink during the day in your universe, it was trippy as hell). Little flowers bloomed around you, a few appearing in the surrounding grass, some popping into his hair, others materializing on your flowing blouse.

Flustered, you reached over to pluck out the flowers in his hair, murmuring a quiet apology.

“Nah, it’s cute,” he reassured you, shooting you a curious look. “So—does your universe have others that are also called ‘mutants’ or is it just you?”

“There’s not a lot of us,” you admitted. “It was scary, at first. I was completely… normal until I hit thirteen years old—all of a sudden, flowers started blooming everywhere and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control it and it only grew worse the more scared I got. A man named Charles Xavier took me under his wing at his school for gifted students—well, that’s just a code word for mutants—and he helped me train to control it. Obviously… not well enough—flowers still sprout when I feel strong emotions.”

Hobie’s nose wrinkled. “My fault. You like me a bit too much, Cheeky.”

With a playful shove, you huffed out a tinkering laugh. “Anyways, while I was at the school, there was a student with the ability to turn objects radioactive. Highly dangerous, and he could’ve been used as a weapon of war if in the wrong hands. One day, he was just fucking around and… he accidentally turned a spider radioactive. He didn’t tell anyone because he was scared he was going to get in trouble. Lo and behold, it got loose, and the next day, it bit me while I was out on a walk. So not only was I a mutant, I became a Spider, as well. I trained with my newfound powers every day in the Danger Room. I graduated top of nearly all my classes. And not too long after, Miguel came popping out of nowhere—the look on his face when flowers started appearing all over his suit was hilarious.” You chuckled lightly, leaning your head against Hobie’s shoulder. “Your powers are much cooler, though. I wish I had electric abilities.”

The marker in Hobie’s hand was quickly capped, and put to the side so he could raise it to stroke the back of your head. “Flower power is cool as fuck, what are you on about?”

You smiled. Another flower, a fragile pink thing, blossomed onto his lap. Hobie barked out a roguish laugh.

“I love you,” you hummed.

“Love you back, Cheeky.”

Nueva York was the exact antithesis to your world. Everything was new and modern and cutting-edge, heavy on minimalism and plain white canvases of nothing. It lacked art and humanity and just… life, in general. You didn’t really enjoy coming to this universe—the only reason you did was to help out with anomalies whenever you were needed. Though you didn’t quite agree with Miguel’s canon theory (it was messy and evidently didn’t apply to every Spider), you had to agree that villains running amok in rogue universes was no good for anyone. You had personal experience with the matter when a glitching Mysterio came tumbling through a farmer’s market in your universe, baskets of fruit flying every which way and bouquets trampled beneath his descent.

Today, however, you were called in because of your boyfriend. His hologram had appeared over your wrist, offering you a loose smile and a two-fingered salute.

“Hey, Hobie,” you greeted, pausing your baking and brushing errant strands of your hair away with flour-covered hands. “What’s going on?”

“I’m at HQ. Heading over to see Miguel. D’you mind coming, if you’re not too busy?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you said, heading over to the wash basin to rinse off your hands. “Is everything okay?”

The hologram of Hobie hummed, warbling as you rushed to change out of your clothes and into your suit—a white top with beige and green accents, webbing into a spiral around an embroidered collection of flowers on your chest shaped into a spider. Your boyfriend lowered his voice to say, “The original is here.”

“Original?”

“The first anomaly.”

“Oh,” you said, eyes widening a fraction. Oh.

Hobie pursed his lips. Though he was doing well to hide it, you could see the buried worry behind his dark irises. The both of you were well aware that Miguel wouldn’t take this lightly. “Yeah. You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be there. See you in a minute, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting by the Spider-burger place. Love ya, Cheeky.” With that, he flickered out of view. You blew out a breath, snagged a bag from your room, and pressed a few buttons on your watch. A glowing orange portal opened by your kitchen door. You stepped through, and a tunnel, an elevator, and a hall later, you found yourself at the heart of Spider Society.

Hundreds of Spidermen, Spiderwomen, and Arachnids alike were passing by, chattering aimlessly, or rushing to wrangle their anomalies to the Go-Home Machine. After weaving through the crowd, you made your way to the McSpiders booth, where they sold the most delicious burgers, but you didn’t think you had time for that today.

Hobie was waiting at one of the tables, Pav glued to his side, and Gwen on the other.

Your boyfriend waved, shooting you a wink just as Pavitr shot up, dashing forward to envelop you in a tight hug.

“It’s been so long!” the younger Spider exclaimed. “How’ve you been? How are you?”

“I’m good, Pav,” you warmly replied, patting his back affectionately. Then, you waved to Gwen, who looked a little uncomfortable at the predicament she was in, but tried her best to push it down for a moment to say hello.

You gave her a warm embrace, squeezing tight, a nonverbal confirmation of telling her you were there for her. Knowing that she was technically universeless, both you and Hobie would often let her crash over at your respective places. In fact, she slept in one of your extra rooms so much it was practically hers by now, filled with plenty of her personal belongings. She was one of your closest friends, and seeing her so anxious did nothing but fill you with worry.

Once you pulled away from your two friends, you gave Hobie a quick hug, kissing his cheek. Pav cooed obnoxiously whilst Gwen lightly joked for the two of you to get a room.

Hobie shoved at the blonde’s shoulder with scoff. “Come off it, we wouldn’t have the time anyway.”

Finally, you turned your gaze to the last one in the group—Miles Morales.

It was certainly strange to see him in the flesh, when he was such a popular topic of discussion amongst the verse-traveling Spiders. He was a gangly yet handsome boy, with a head of dark, curly hair, and large brown eyes.

He offered you a nervous smile. “So, uh, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I can say the same thing,” you replied, thinking back to all the times Gwen would lounge in your bed and tell you about her time helping Miles with Kingpin. “It’s nice to put a face to your name after all this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, same.” Awkward as ever, Miles let out something akin to a laugh. His eyes darted down when he noticed Hobie’s hand slipping over your midriff. “So! You’re Hobie’s partner, right? I thought he didn’t believe in consistency.”

You grinned when Hobie drummed his fingers along your hip, shrugging in a nonchalant manner. “If I was inconsistent all the time, that’d be me being consistent, no? Keep with the times, mate.”

Confused, Miles’ lips parted to ask another question but you shook your head. “Just don’t question it. God knows how many times I’ve stumped myself trying to figure him out.”

Hobie shot you an amused look. Before anyone could say anything else, Gwen swung onto her feet, shifting her weight in a fidgety manner. “We should probably get a move on, before Miguel gets mad.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. You guys mind filling me in with what happened on the way?”

And so the five of you set off, with Pav and Gwen taking turns on telling you what had transpired in Mumbhattan, with Hobie occasionally chiming in. Miles was far too enamored by all the other Spiders to really pay attention to what they were saying.

Once you were all informed, you supplied a worried look in Miles’ direction. Stopping a canon event from happening… Miguel definitely wouldn’t be happy about that.

Sensing your eyes on him, Miles met your eyes. “Is there something on my face?” he asked.

“Oh, no. Sorry. I was just distracted.” A flower popped on your shoulder, and another appeared in Miles’ hair. He pulled it out with a surprised raise of his brows.

“Huh. That’s new,” he said with a slightly curious smile. “So, you and Hobie! I guess I just didn’t expect him to be with someone so…”

You tilted your head. “So…?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You guys look, like, complete opposites.”

Pavitr clapped his hands. “Well, opposites do attract!”

With half a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, Hobie chimed, “We aren’t complete opposites. We both have a crippling hatred for capitalism and greedy billionaire corporations.”

“That we do,” you agreed, beaming warmly at him. Suddenly, you perked up, remembering what you had brought with you. “Oh, I almost forgot! Pav, Gwen—I made you tote bags a while ago and haven’t gotten the chance to give it to you guys. They’re all made from ethically sourced materials, of course. Sorry, Miles, I would’ve made you one if I’d known I was going to meet you today.”

“It’s no problem. There’ll be a next time, right?” he said, watching as you handed the rolled up bags to an excited Pav, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a litany of thank you so much, this is amazing on his tongue, and a hesitant Gwen, smiling despite being so strung-up to face Miguel.

“Right… A next time…” you echoed, unsure if there’d even be a next time if Miguel had his way with things.

Everything was going wrong.

Miguel went too far, as he often did in his tunnel-visioned haze for order, and trapped Miles in a laser cage, intending to keep him in Nueva York while his father died back in his home universe. A sick feeling curdled within the pits of your stomach—none of this felt right to you. Peter and Gwen were yelling at Miguel, their words washing over you in a blur, like the crashing and the retreat of a wave against an unsuspecting shore.

You watched helplessly as Miles turned around, betrayal lacing heavily across his crestfallen features, staring at the people he had once considered his friends. For half a second, Miles caught your gaze. Anxious flowers—various shades of violet and scarlet—blossomed by your feet. To your side, your boyfriend held both his hands up, gaze fixed on Miles.

“Palms,” he silently mouthed.

Heeding his advice, Miles pressed both his palms against the barrier.

And three beats of a heart later, he had broken free. A blast of energy pushed everybody back a few feet, and you could hear Hobie’s faint laughter echo right beside your ear. You couldn’t help but smile along with him.

Someone had to look out for the little guy, right?

Apparently, Miguel had other ideas. He wasn’t a rational man. No, he was a perfectionist to the core, needing everything to go according to his plan, his theory, his ideology. When the stakes were this high, who was to say no to him? And now, he had somehow convinced nearly the entire population of the Spider Society to chase after a fifteen year old.

Then what? Lock him up? Force him away from his home and wait out his father’s death?

No. It wasn’t right. None of it was.

As pandemonium broke out during the chase after Miles, Hobie gave you a glance. “Just for the record, I quit,” he announced. It wasn’t directed at you, per se, but it was important to him that you knew of his stance. That he wouldn’t sit around and idly twiddle his thumbs at this bullshit.

A portal opened behind him, bathing his dark skin in a bright clementine glow. He unclasped his watch and let it fall to the ground. “You coming, Cheeky?”

“I’ll meet you at your place,” you reassured him. An unspoken trust me hung heavy between you. A white little wildflower appeared in his hair, but Hobie didn’t move to pluck it away. Instead, he ducked his head to press a lasting kiss onto your forehead. You shot him a fond grin before leaning forward to peck his cheek in return, and hurriedly rushed off to go help Miles, canary-hued flowers floating behind you with every swing.

It was by pure chance that you happened upon Miles and Peter, the latter begging for him to hold his baby, which he most definitely shouldn’t have brought along to a chase. You hid behind a large metal pipe, waiting for Miles to leave Peter. It wasn’t long before Miles was running away again, believing his mentor had betrayed him once again, and you were quick to follow after him. Green webs shot out from the fixings on your wrist, and you caught up to the younger Spider in no time.

“Miles!” you exclaimed.

“Please, just let me go back home!” he yelled, stress and panic coiled around his words as he rounded around cars and signs.

Guilt settled around your lungs in a constricting manner. You’d lend him your watch to get home, but with a quick glance behind you, noting the several dozens of Spiders hot on your tail, you realized that there was no way that he’d make it there in time without them following after. There had to be another way.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you replied, trying your best to convey that you were on his side. “Trust me, I’m with you on this! If not for you becoming Spider-Man, there’d be no Spider Society, and I would’ve never met Hobie. Of course I’d try to help you, Miles! Listen to me—there’s a bullet train that goes to the moon here—if you draw all the Spiders away from HQ, then you can use the Go-Home machine to get back to your universe!”

Miles shot you an initially dubious glance, which soon melded into one of cautious appreciation. “Where?”

“A couple miles that way! You won’t miss it—it’s a huge glass tube going up to space.” You nodded in the direction he was to be headed. “Good luck, Miles. I’m rooting for you!”

With a shout of his gratitude and a slight smile, Miles swung away from you.

It’s a shame that this was goodbye. Both you and Hobie were really starting to grow on him.

It was raining again, as it almost always was in gloomy London. You were in bed with Hobie, having passed out after letting him know about how you helped Miles, and listening to him tell you about the watch he made for Gwen, knowing she’d most likely need it later down the line if things didn’t work out. He was taking up most of the space on the bed, one arm behind his head on the pillow and the other curved beneath the small of your waist, fingers splayed out over your stomach. Chests rising and falling in synchronized tandem, you were curled up onto your side so that your spine brushed against his side with each breath.

Nightmares weren’t a common thing for you, but when they did slink into your unconscious mind, they were always terrifyingly realistic, and always of the same event. Your canon event.

Tonight was no different.

Soft pink skies. Swinging through the trees after something—someone. Prowler.

The forest gave way to steep mountains. Steep stones and ice and cliffs. The pink above you bled into a menacing shade of purple.

Nets of webbing shooting from your wrists. Desperation. Pleads on your tongue, but you didn’t quite know what you were saying.

The villain tripped over the webbing, rolling down a mountainside that tapered off into a sheer drop. You darted forward, shooting out a web to catch the Prowler.

But it was too late.

They tipped over the edge, stray pebbles tumbling down in their wake. If the Prowler screamed, you couldn’t hear it over the thrumming blood in your ears.

It took over a minute for their body to hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Horror stained your insides black. You weren’t quick enough. You failed.

You made your way down the mountain, wide eyes fixed on the motionless body. You crept forward, checking for a pulse. Dead.

Gingerly, you peeled the mask away from their face. The hazy face of your best friend stared back up at you, beaten and bloody.

Your fault, your fault, your fault—

You woke up with a gut-wrenching sob, jolting up with a broken wail. Hobie had startled from his slumber at the sudden commotion, quick to prop himself up on an elbow, his hand shooting out to properly wrap around you.

Comforting words were murmured into your hair. You only cried harder, gently pushing the blankets away from you, feeling overwhelmingly hot and crowded. It took you another moment to realize that you were hyperventilating, large flowers popping up everywhere around the two of you.

“Breathe,” you could hear your boyfriend say, tracing slow circles along your lower back. “That’s it, love. You got this.”

After a few minutes, your breaths had slowed down, and the tears stopped flowing. You sniffled quietly, turning to Hobie with an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, seeming to know exactly what was on your mind. “You alright?”

“Nightmare,” you whispered in return, voice hoarse with disuse and thirst. “My canon event. It’s my fault Prowler died. My best friend.”

Another circle along your spine. “You wanna talk about it?”

Your eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, blinked back more cresting tears. You nodded, croaking out the tragic story of you and your best friend—the Spider and the Prowler. Hobie listened intently, humming soothingly into your skin.

Once you were finished, he adamantly shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself for that. It’s not your fault.”

But it is, you wanted to say. You swallowed the words, deciding instead to remain quiet and simply lean further into his touch.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and soothing. “You hear me, Cheeky?”

“I hear you. Thank you for… for always being there for me. You’re the punkest punk that’s ever punked.”

A hum rumbled from his throat. “I’ll always be here for you. I trust you’ll do the same for me. We’re all broken, but… it’s a good thing we Spiders got sticky webs to keep us together, yeah?” A pause before Hobie backtracked, “That didn’t come out the way I intended it to but you get my point.”

You wrinkled your nose in amusement. “Yeah. I’m glad we found each other in all this chaos, Hobbes.”

“Mmh. Nothing better than a bit of chaos, innit?”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit longer, simply soaking in each other’s comforting presence. When you arched your neck to press a lasting kiss along the underside of Hobie’s jaw, you could feel his face shift with a fond smile. Before he could reciprocate the gesture, a tangerine glow shone from outside the window, warbling with the rain, but still a stark juxtaposition to the macabre grey of the city.

Both you and Hobie peered out of the window, limbs still tangled.

Outside was Gwen, her cowl pulled over her uneven strands of blonde-pink hair, hexagonal portal rings shifting behind her. Her features were solemn and grim as she locked eyes with the both of you. You and Hobie glanced at each other. Small pink flowers started to bloom along the windowsill, much to your chagrin.

With not another second of hesitation, the two of you leapt out of bed, hastily yanking on your suits and swinging out of the window to join Gwen.

To join her in saving Miles Morales, and, ultimately, the multiverse.

#hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk fanfiction #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown angst #hobie brown imagines #hobie brown drabbles #spiderpunk angst #spiderpunk fluff #spiderverse fanfiction #atsv fanfiction #hobie brown x you

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irishmammonagenda · 8 months ago

Text

Summertime Shenanigans-Obey Me X Reader

Summary: You go to the Celestial Realm on a mission, and end up finding out about a horror occurring all over different afterlives. With Lucifer's upcoming birthday, chaos ensues. Word Count: 6.3k+ Warnings: more than half of this is crack btw. female reader. Religious references. OCs involved, mentions of mythology, very bad representation of a very certian country. very much a Lucifer x reader bc its his birthday <3

post dividers by @saradika-graphics

You seem to keep finding yourself in the Celestial Realm these days, which makes sense seeing as you did get reincarnated as an angel so it is technically your realm. But still, you've visited the Celestial Realm as an angel way more times than you'd visited the Human Realm as a human.

Nothing but your thoughts occupy you as you climbed over the fence that bordered the official entrance to the Celestial Realm. Technically you could´ve just walked through the gate like a fucking normal person, or y´know used your wings to fly over the massive fence, but climbing was funner.

When you do make it over the fence, you make a beeline for the Celestial Gardens, passing Saint Peter on the way. The man just looks at you and sighs inwardly muttering something about how he was not crucified upside down just to watch some crackhead climb over the gates of heaven, he turns away from you and moves to greet a new arrival, being the nosy fucker that you are, you decide to watch from behind a cloud.

Peter can see you by the way. You're not fooling anyone, he's just choosing to ignore you.

Peter smiles at the young woman with hair as orange as a runny yolk. He nods to her. "Hello, and welcome to Heaven. I'm Saint Peter."

The woman's eyes widen and she looks around. "Heaven? But...that can't....I'm not..-"

Peter sighs, looking at the pendant of Mjölnir around her neck and nodding to himself. "Valhalla is currently under construction, again. We in Heaven have agreed to take all coming to Valhalla and host them for a few weeks until the damage is fixed. Again."

The woman lets her quickened breathing slow down, she mumbles weakly. "O-oh right...thank you...but..Valhalla's damaged, how?"

"Nothing much, just Derek."

"Derek?"

Peter shrugs, you tilt your head from where you're hiding behind your cloud. "He's just some guy. He's been appearing in every plane of Afterlife and, pardon my french, fucking things up."

The woman cracks her knuckles. "But why?"

Peter shrugs, "Because Derek's a dickhead."

"I see...."

Peter hands her a pamphlet before pointing her in the direction of the temporary accomodation set up for Norse Devotees before turning around and yanking the cloud off of you.

"Michael's where he usually is. Also, please stop climbing the fence, you're scaring the doves."

"Who's Derek and what's he got against Valhalla?"

Peter just sighs, "He's from Illinois."

"Understandable. I'm off to go see Michael, Bye Peter!"

"Goodbye MC! Use the gate next time!" Is all Peter shouts after you, before turning and having to explain to another disgruntled newcomer that a man called Derek exists so they have to stay in Heaven for a week.

After making it to the Celestial Gardens, you find Michael, Jesus and surprisingly, Satan huddled together looking at a crystal ball. You stop in your tracks, "What are you guys doing?"

"Making a gnome." Michael answers at the same time Jesus and Satan say, "Watching people debate theology."

You blink, sitting down in between Jesus and Satan. The former groaning with his head in his hands, exasperation written all over his tanned face, strands of dark wavy hair fall over his expression as eyes as rich as soil squeeze shut. An unusual sight to say the least. "If these people don't stop calling my mother a whore..."

"Yucky." You make a face.

"Very yucky." Michael agrees. "It's a shame we're not allowed to smite humans anymore."

You tilt your head looking at the Archangel. "You'd smite someone for calling another person a whore?"

Michael nods, golden curls and coils bouncing around as he does so, some paper shavings falling out from the confines of the coils like dandruff, ruby red eyes portray seriousness he doesn't normally express as he looks up from where he's giving the gnome insanely big ears. "Well no one messes with Mary."

Jesus nods in agreement.

Satan pats Michael on the shoulder, "Damn straight."

You look between the three, making note of Michael's green robe tied in such a way half of his chest is visible. Said visible skin is covered in glue and paper. "So, why are you torturing a gnome, and why are you guys watching humans debate theology?"

Satan shrugs, watching in the crystal ball as the Jehovah's Witnesses' enter the room to debate. "Funny."

Jesus smiles, "Interesting, but also frustrating."

Michael looks between the two, now attempting to paper maché more hair onto the gnome, in the process somehow getting newspaper stuck to his dark skin. "I'm an artist."

Satan gives you a hug, standing up and stretching his legs. "Well I better get going. If I leave fast enough I won't have to deal with Saint Peter on the way out."

Michael whistles, still not looking up from the gnome. "This about the upside down cross symbol?"

Satan sighs. "Not my fault people think it's my symbol not his...."

Michael discreetly glances over to Jesus who is explaining to you what's been happening in the debate he and Satan were watching. "Well I mean, getting crucified is kind of a bad experience sometimes."

Jesus makes a face at him. Michael raises his hands. "Okay...all the time."

Satan gives his uncle a look before he waves goodbye to you. "See you back at home, yeah?"

"Mhm! But don't tell Lucifer I'm here or I was here."

Satan smirks. "Only if you don't tell him I was here."

"Pinky promise?" You hold your pinky out.

"PInky promise." Satan intertwines your pinkies before waving goodbye to Jesus. "Bye Jesus! Sorry about the whole Desert thing! Bye Michael thanks for the blackmail material."

"Goodbye my favourite nephew!"

"Goodbye Satan." Jesus pauses the crystal ball and smiles kindly at you. "So what brings you to the Celestial Realm?"

You stiffen. "Oh yeah....I need to talk to Michael..."

Michael pauses from where the massive ears for the gnome have broken apart due to their heaviness. "If it's about Derek I already have a meeting with Father, Hera, The Dagda, and Odin later on today about the situation." He drawls boredly, before grinning, "But don't worry, I'll be sure to tell you all the details afterwards!"

You blank, "Well-...uh...it's not about Derek...." Jesus senses some sort of emotional turmoil from you, and places a tanned, scarred hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

Michael pauses from his horrific gnome creation, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. Ruby red eyes staring into your soul. "Oh...then what's it about? You seem nervous."

Jesus stands up, giving you a pat on the head. "Well I'll give you two your privacy. Good luck with whatever it is, MC." The man gives you a knowing smile before walking away, the sun shining on his dark waves. You watch him leave, missing his comforting presence as you turn your attention onto the Archangel.

Time to ask him the biggest most important question in your afterlife.

meanwhile...

"Psst, kid. Yo kid." A man wearing a baseball cap asks from the fence bordering heaven, a cherub looks up at him, her small head tilting in confusion.

"Who are you?" She asks, stumbling onto her tiny feet as she walks towards the fence.

"I'm a friend....I got locked out of Heaven on accident and need help getting back in!" The strange man says, running his hands over his buzz cut, he adjusts his Chicago cubs cap. "I just need you to let me in!"

The little girl blinks at him, her small ringlet curls sway slightly in the light breeze as she gets closer to the fence. "But I dunno you...."

The man's lips tighten for a moment before morphing into a smile. "But I'm your friend! Are we not friends?" He says, allowing his face to fall into a sad expression.

The little girl looks up at him, still a few yards away from the fence, just out of arm's reach of the man. "My daddy sayed I'm not allowed to talk to strangers...."

"Oh really?" The wolfish man smiles. "And who's your daddy?"

"God!" She grins. "Well so is my other daddy and mummy but they're still on earth!"

God? He pales. "Oh...right....Well I'm still your friend, aren't I?" He reaches a hand through the fence, he needed to get into heaven for his plan God Dammit! The hand inches closer to the cherub.

"What's going on here?" A voice cuts through the silence along with tanned skin and ash-blond hair. The man retracts his hands from through the fence immediately.

"Oh...just got lost and couldn't find the main gates!....I was trying to get help...!...Is all..."

Raphael nods slowly, looking from the man to the cherub. "So you asked a cherub?"

"She was the only person I'd saw!"

"Guards patrol around the perimeter of the realm. Surely you could've flagged down one of them?"

"O-oh."

Raphael's lips twitch upwards slightly in something that could hardly be described as a smile. "No problem. I can direct you to where you need to go." The angel's hand twitches and a spear starts to materialise.

"Hey Michael can I borrow that sellotape for a second?"

"Sure! What for?" Michael tilts his head, still waiting on this very important thing you're supposed to be asking him.

You whsitle, pulling up your shirt and sellotaping under your breast on the left side of your ribs, where your pact mark with Lucifer is. "I can't risk Luci finding this out yet...."

Michael raises an eyebrow playfully.

"So basically...I uh...I kind of need to ask you something..."

Michael grins, red eyes sparkling. "You can ask me anything MC!"

"I...I need your blessing."

"My blessing?" Michael's brows furrow confusedly. "For what?"

"Well you see...."

You explain, and upon seeing Michael's darkening expression, you nearly gulped.

Raphael sighed in annoyance. The strange man had booked it and ran away, leaving him with the cherub, he stiffens slightly as he meets her big hazel eyes.

"...Hello."

"Hi! I know you! You're Raphael!"

Raphael nods. "Yes I am."

The cherub grins, her chubby cheeks making her eyes crinkle slightly. "I'm Evangeline! But I can't spell that so I just write Eva!"

The Archangel nods awkwardly, attempting to smile at the child. "Well that's great, Evangeline....I need to get back to the Celestial Palace...." The man says and begins walking, the child starts walking with him.

"That's fun! Do you always have spears with you?"

"Yes." Raphael answers disjointedly.

"Wow! I always wanted to hold a spear! Can I hold your spear Mr Raphael?"

"That would be dangerous, Evangeline." He answers awkwardly.

The child pouts. "Aw, okay!"

A moment of silence.

The cherub tugs on his trouser leg. "How come your hair's all grey?"

"It just is, I guess."

"But why?"

"God made me that way I suppose." He replies awkwardly.

"Okay!" Evangeline grinned. "God made me with weird eyes! Sometimes they look more green or more brown!"

Raphael blinks, this child was almost as socially inept as Michael. "That's because your eyes are hazel."

This was going to be a long walk.

Michael glares at you, straightening his shoulders to make them seem broader, and even with the mess of paper stuck to his skin and face, he still looks threatening.

As unusually serious as you'd ever seen him, it almost hurts to keep his gaze.

He's stopped his arts and crafts and instead focuses all of his attention on you. "I'm going to need you to repeat that, MC."

You audibly gulp.

Lucifer sighs from where he's seated in the student council room. The paperwork feeling more suffocating than usual. Almost as if someone had taped over his mouth and nose very badly. The door creaks open and he looks up to see Mammon.

The Avatar of Greed looks around the room before cursing and turning to walk out again.

"Mammon."

"Oh hiya Lucifer!" Mammon says, looking disgruntled.

"What are you doing." Lucifer sighs, knowing better than to frame it as a question.

"Lookin' for MC. Can't find'er anywhere...."

The first born sits up straighter, something flashing in his ruby eyes. "You can't find MC?"

"Nope. And I've checked ev'rywhere! Even the fuckin' attic. I asked Beel but he said he hasn' saw'er since this mornin'."

Lucifer feels something swirl in his chest. "I'll ask Diavolo."

"Thanks...Me and Beel are teamin' up and lookin' around the classrooms."

Lucifer pinches his hooked nose.

Diavolo sits in the meeting room of the palace, a man of granduer sits across from him. Long silvery hair frames his timeworn face, a well groomed beard grows from his face, as he enjoys a cup of Barbatos' tea.

Diavolo's brows furrow. "I just don't see us being able to do anything about it without potentially hurting our already strained relationship with the Human Realm."

The man nods, glancing down at his coarse hands with his one eye. He speaks with a Scandinavian accent. "Those were our thoughts as well. Killing him could be a bad diplomatic move."

The Demon Prince nods gravely to the God. "I heard from my meeting with Helios that this mortal journeyed into realms unknown and came out...different."

Odin scratches his chin in thought. "I say we find a way to trap him." He closes his eye. "I do believe this figure was spotted outside of the Celestial Realm."

Diavolo nods seriously, a small grin on his face. "Well at least we know the general area he's in."

"But you and I both know we can't kill him without the high possibility of it backfiring on us." The Revered warrior attests.

Diavolo nods in agreement before a knock on the door is heard. The Demon Prince stands up, excusing himself to open the door, revealling a frazzled Lucifer.

"Oh hello Lucifer, what's the matter?"

"I apologise for interrupting Lord Diavolo but have you seen MC? We believe she's gone missing..."

Diavolo's eyes widen in worry. "No, have you tried calling her?"

Lucifer shakes his head, Odin regards the scene with vague interest. "Goes to voicemail, she isn't receiving our texts either."

Diavolo sitffens.

"If I may interject, MC is the human-turned-angel who managed to keep her pacts even after her rebirth?" The Norse God asks.

Lucifer nods.

"Well then, she's in the Celestial Realm right now with Archangel Michael."

"Thank you. Thank you." The Avatar of Pride says breathlessly. Youre safe, possibly scheming, but you're safe. "How did you know that?"

Odin points to his eye, or lack thereof.

"Oh right...wisdom..." Lucifer blinks, the adrenaline wearing off making it easier to think straight and also feel shame. "Well thank you Odin and Diavolo. I apologise for interrupting."

Diavolo grins. "It's never an interruption if it's about MC's safety."

Lucifer leaves, shutting the door gently behind him, Diavolo and the Mighty Odin continue their discussion.

Speaking of your safety, you're not exactly feeling very safe right now. You should make a wikihow article called 'How to Turn Archangel Michael into a Feral Beast in Literally One Sentence!'

Said Archangel has his narrowed eyes on you. "Lucifer is my baby brother...."

"He's thousands of years old if you think about it." You smile awkwardly.

"Still just a baby."

"He's the Avatar of Pride! LIterally the Demon Prince's Righthand man!"

"And that's a great preschool activity." Michael huffs.

You sigh, looking down at the spear currently being pointed at you neck. Michael makes a sound akin to a snarl. "Look MC. I know that Lucifer is his own person. I know that even though he's still an edgy little teenager slash toddler in my eyes he is technically an adult. But he's still my baby brother."

The Archangel lowers his spear, turning around, golden coils bouncing as he does so, almost deflating with him. "He's just....those two minutes spent without him were the hardest two minutes of my life...except of course the multiple minutes in the Great Celestial War."

You walk closer to Feral Michael, who turns back around to face you, a fire in the crimson eyes he shares with his twin brother. "I know he's all grown up now, but he's still my baby brother, and I know that you're one of my closest friends MC."

He closes the distance between you, cornering you into a tree. Face stony and grave. "But so help me God, if you ever do anything to hurt him....and I don't mean having a simple argument or whatever...If you ever truly do something to hurt him...you're going to wish there was a realm out there that could shield you from me."

He pauses, moving away from you and grinning his usually playful grin. "Are we understood."

He wasn't asking.

"Yes. Very understood." You nod. "I would never hurt Luci like that....ever...."

The blond pulls one of his golden curls so it stretches completely straight before letting go and watching it coil back up again. "Well....I'm sorry I went all...like that on you...big brother instincts?"

You shrug. "Reminds me of Lucifer that one time this witch genuinely threatened Mammon with a grimoire. That shit was brutal."

"Must've been." Michael whistles. "So...have you decided how you're going to do it?"

"Well sort of...but I was hoping you'd help me shop for the ring?"

Michael's grin widens.

Derek Wisconsin made it away just barely with his life. He had almost convinced that little girl to let him into the Celestial Realm! He really almost did! But then that Seraph (or was he an Archangel?) guy Raphael just had to stop him!

He pants, beads of sweat running down his forehead. Taking off his Chicago Cubs cap and sighing in relief at the feeling of a free bald buzzcut head.

Derek groans, peeling off sunburnt skin while the door creaks open. He never should've went to somewhere as sunny as the Celestial Realm without putting sunscreen on first.

Derek might've been one millionth-gazillionth italian but he definitely did not tan like one. When he was in the sun he burned more than a petrol fire on a hot summer's day. There must be ginger genes in him somewhere.

"Derek. You need to stop this. All of this attempted destruction of the afterlife....it's...it's not right Derek." A voice sounds behind him. Another man, with an identical buzzcut and baseball hat, except this man had glasses.

"Shut up Eric." Derek grunts. "I'm doing what has to be done so the cubs win every match they play."

"You're doing this for baseball?" Eric asks, adjusting his glasses further up his nose.

"Baseball is our life Eric."

"No. Baseball is your life, Derek. I like ice hockey better and you know it!" Eric bites his bottom lip, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at his friend.

"That's just because you're half Canadian." Derek scoffs. "Go listen to Justin Beiber you race traitor."

"American isn't a race, Derek."

Eric looks at his friend, before taking off his hat. "You can have your spare fucking hat back, Derek." The half Canadian reaches the door before turning around. "Oh and by the way, Justin Beiber fucking sucks. Canadians don't claim him."

The door slams shut.

Derek is left in silence.

Evangeline giggles, climbing around Raphaels shoulders, he winces and brings up an uncertain hand to stabilise her. With one leg on each shoulder and Raphael holding both of her legs for stability the little angel cheers.

"Wow! I'm so high up! I'm so high up! Do ya see me?!"

"Yes....I see you." The angel nods slowly, continuing his now very delayed walk to the Celestial Palace.

"I love being up high! I can't wait till my wings grow some more and then I can fly!"

"..I'm sure you'll be a good flyer." The ashy haired angel grunts out awkwardly.

"Yay!"

Forget almost dying in the Great Celestial War, this was the scariest moment of his life.

You blink at Michael's retracting form. He sat you down on a bench and gave you crayons and a colouring book, before telling you to wait on him finishing this meeting about that one guy Derek.

You sigh and begin colouring in a picture of a clown and making it Michael. Fuck that guy, you're not a kid!

Upon hearing footsteps you look up. "Oh hey Raphael! Who's the kid?"

"I'm Evangeline!" The cherub grins fidgeting and manuevering herself off of Raphael's shoulders and waddling up to you. "Who are you?"

"I'm MC, I'm Raphael's friend!" You smile at the child. Raphael gives you a grateful look. You never knew he could be that expressive.

"Me too! I'm Mr. Raphael's bestest ever friend!" The girl grins excitedly, swinging while standing, going back and forth to leaning on her heels then to leaning on her tiptoes.

"Well! I'm happy to hear that Evangeline! Would you like to do some colouring in?"

"Yes please!"

Raphael sits beside you, feeling the need to worship the ground you walk on. His ordeal of dealing with a child is over.

After a very enlightening zoom call meeting and bidding goodbye to Odin. Diavolo calls a very spooky number.

The phone is answered a crackly voice speaks through it.

"I need your help. We know where Derek is staying but as Gods, Angels and Demons....we can't kill him...but you can."

A chuckle crackles through the phone speaker. "Send me his Location. I'll see what I can do."

[A Week or So Later....]

Derek wipes the sweat off of his brow as he begins his operation. Making bombs that aren't molotov cocktails is very difficult, thank god for Wikihow.

Unfortunately setting them down strategically in order to blow up the Celestial Realm is quite difficult.

"You seem to be having some troubles with that." A voice cuts through the silence.

"Oh yeah I am-" Derek begins before turning around and staring wide-eyed at the ivory-haired intruder like a deer in headlights. He immediately stands up. "Who are you?"

"The name's Solomon." The sorcerer gives the man a closed mouth smile. "Normally I don't interfere with the business of the Celestial Realm...but seeing as they asked, and a very close friend of mine is an angel, and also seeing as I think baseball is largely pointless...I don't think it's a very logical gameplan to let you live..."

Derek splutters. "Y-you can't!"

Solomon opens his eyes, something unreasonable in those ocean blue irises. "Oh but I can!" He grins. "It's one thing to try and destroy things, it's another to attempt to blow up multiple plains of existence with bombs you made using a WIkihow tutorial just because of baseball."

"I-...I just!" Derek backs away, Solomon follows, absentmindedly using magic to disable every bomb.

"You just what? We know you're from Illinois, but have some sense Derek." Solomon shakes his head. "You are the worst stereotype of Americans I've ever seen. I looked into your file. Your surname is literally Wisconsin."

Derek grunts. "You don't understand my passion. I'll kill everyone for those baseballers."

"You've killed several people after highjacking a bus in the Human Realm. You're a danger to yourself and others. Plus you've one too many jokes about teenage girls 'doing it better'. Bye bye Derek." Solomon gives him another closed eye smile, humming over the screaming and the sound of crackling flames.

When all is done and gone, the sorcerer takes out his DDD, alerting the others that it's been taken care of.

[Yet another Week Later...]

A flash of celestial light bounces off of every wall and surface in your room. You yelp, ivory wings and golden halo jutting out in your startledness. Did you do this? No. You couldn't have. Maybe subconsciously..? How were you going to explain a flash of celestial light to Lucifer? He was going to kill you! Maybe not kill just yet seeing how he reacted the first time you died. But! You were an angel now, which meant no more fragile human body, which meant Lucifer would hypothetically have no qualms stringing you up! Oh God this was it wasn´t it? You were going to-

The light dims, clearing completely, a silhouette appears in its wake. Phew! Guess it wasn't you nearly exorcising everyone in the House of Lamentation then. (Even though it wouldn't exorcise anyone anyway seeing as that wasn't how demons worked. But hey, you were disoriented.) Your relief was short lived, seeing as there was actually someone in your room.

You grab your lamp and hold it up like its a baseball bat. You were prepared to swing, what you weren't prepared for however; was the figure racing towards you. You screech as you're pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Your grip on the lamp relaxes and so do you when you realise just who it is.

"Michael?! What the fuck are you doing here?!" You hiss. "You scared the life out of me!"

Michael loosens his grip, his signature grin on his handsome face, crimson eyes shining. "I don't think you'd die that easily a second time. And besides, I have actual proper serious business this time."

You step out of the hug. Giving him an indignant look as he gets distracted with your room, he walks to your wall, stepping over the bag he brought with him and begins making what can only be described as his 'Lucifer Impression' in your mirror, which was essentially him scrunching up his face so he looked constipated then waggling his ring adorned finger in disapproval.

"You're here for serious reasons. You?"

"Well you didn't have to say it like that." Michael remarked, turning around to face you so fast you get whiplash, so does Michael apparently. His golden curls had been done up in intricate braids, with rose gold braiding rope helping to keep half of it up and away from his face, he'd added jewels and gems in charms hanging from the braids themselves, a fact he seemed to have forgotten until, with the force and speed he twisted his head at, his hair swung back and then forward again, hitting him right square in the mouth. You snorted.

He glares at you. "Don't laugh! Do you know how long I had to sit still for to get these?! 12 hours! I am so lucky I'm not tender-headed!"

"Holy fuck?! 12 hours?! And now they're attempting to assassinate you." You nod dutifully, "Atleast they're pretty."

"Pretty is the least they could be. Especially when Raphael almost poked my eye out when he was measuring the braiding rope. So not only is my hair trying to assassinate me, so is Raphael!" Michael said, sitting on your bed cross-legged, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in his white gold accented blazer suit that looked suspiciously similar to Lucifer's. Damn twins.

You paused. "Raphael does your hair?"

Michael smiles, "Oh yeah! It's his secret hobby! So don't tell anyone!" The Archangel closes his eyes, as if imagining an era long passed. "He saw me and Lucikins trying to do Lilith's hair once and was sold."

You don't comment on the dopey expression. Michael continues. "Raphael never liked playing most games. He's like Lucikins in that way. They both think they're so grown up....He was normally with Simeon writing their little short stories together, seeing as they're both the nerdiests nerds of all the nerds...but he did see the end result of me and Luci braiding flowers into Lilith's hair...we did it with Asmo too, to cheer him after he nearly fell through a cloud. Cue the next day, Raphael asking to do my hair. Being the amazing big brother I was- I accepted!" Michael makes a face. "I think that was the first time I felt true fear."

You laughed evilly. "I should do your hair sometime."

The way Michael looks at you is akin to a deer in headlights. "Absolutely not. One adorable maniac obsessed with spears doing my hair is enough for me thank you very much. I do not need two."

"What if Luke asked?" You tilt your head.

"Jokes on you MC! Luke already likes to do my hair! He puts clips and flowers and bows and all in it!" Michael sticks out his tongue.

"Oh I cannot wait to see that." You grin.

Michael gives you another look, with his ruby red eyes looking so disapprovingly, the resemblance between his younger brother, (by two whole minutes!; he'd add gloatingly at any other time) is uncanny.

You put your hands up defensively. Deciding changing the topic would be a good idea seeing as you would like to not die a second time, (technically a third if you count Belphie.) so, you tilt your head. "You never told me what you were actually doing here."

"Oh yeah!" Michael nods. "Thanks for reminding me." He moves to grab the bag from the center of the room where he appeared. You forgot about that bag.

"Michael I swear to God if you've put a live pigeon in there I'm going to scream." You whisper frightendly.

The Archangel arks his head up to you in a flash, wincing when a braid hits him across the mouth again. He raises an eyebrow. "No? Why would I have a pigeon?"

You sigh in relief. "I had a dream last night that Pigeons caused the Second Coming of Christ."

Michael chuckled. "Second Coming of Christ doesn't exist, MC. I just got bored while John of Patmos was writing the Book of Revelation. Thought it'd be nice to set up for a sequel."

You blink. "How are you not a demon?"

"I dunno. Didn't really feel like it at the time. The lack of sunlight in the Devildom makes me depressed. Plus I'd rather not take vitamin D pills, it seems like so much work." Michael shrugged.

Made sense. "So what's in the bag?"

Michael grins excitedly, if he had a tail it would be wagging like a helicopter and knocking everything in your room that wasn't nailed to the surfaces down. "Well! My most amazingest underling! Can you tell me what date it is?"

"June 5th?"

"Which as you know, is the eve of the best and worst day in history."

You raise a brow. "Best and worst?"

"Best because it's the day I was born, worst because 2 minutes later my lovely adorable little baby brother was born." He laughs.

"If Lucifer ever heard you calling him your lovely adorable little baby brother I think he'd start a war."

"How do you think the War of the Bucket started?"

"Excuse me?"

Michael doesn't answer any of your questions, and instead chooses to finally show what's in the bag. A gnome.

Not just any gnome oh no. One that looked suspiciously like it was made by the same person who made the suspiciously bad looking gnome that looked like Michael that Mammon would hide the spare key to the backdoor of the House of Lamentation behind.

This one however did not have Michael's dark skin, or the horrible neon yellow hair painted on. Oh no, this one had pale skin, another DnD-esque cape on, except with the vampire looking collar, it had black hair with shiny metalic silver streaks in it. So that was the gnome Michael was torturing.

You hold back your laughter. "...Why?..."

"It's a birthday gift MC, you know? the things people give to other people on their birthdays? I mean you look a bit dim, you might not've heard of it."

"Did you-" You try to hold back your cackling. "Did you use clay-" You nearly double over, suddenly your knees feel quite weak. "Did you use clay to...-make Lucifer's ears...-massive?-"

"Why yes I did, and thank you for noticing!"

"Kind of hard not to notice them."

Michael grins, "Wanna help me sneak it into his office?"

You perk up. "Do I ever?!"

Lucifer always finds himself quite melancholy on his birthday. Somehow the date always enjoys to remind him of his first brother. Not that he doesn't miss the idiots he lives with now. If he looks at Satan attempting to annoy him every waking hour in enough of a squint, it almost feels as if Michael is in the Devildom.

Speaking of; it really feels like Michael is in the Devildom today.

Lucifer shrugs it off. As it was his birthday he allowed himself a lie-in. Barbatos had eased his workload for the surrounding week, something Lucifer was quite grateful of.

Sighing, he walked slowly from the kitchen, coffee cup in hand; he might as well get his paperwork done now so he can spend the rest of the day with his loved ones before maybe he'd let Cerberus out of the underground tomb and into his room to sit by him whilst he listened to cursed records and enjoyed a finely aged bottle of demonus. (Not that Cerberus was a pet! Or that he was pampered! He was purely a guard dog! Stop suggesting otherwise Simeon, Barbatos, Diavolo and probably even Michael! Lucifer was not soft!)

The planning of what was essentially his day off was just prolonged enough that he was snapped out of his thoughts once he reached the door to his office.

Upon opening it, he wished he hadnt.

Atop his desk sits the most blasphemous rendition of him he's ever seen, that's including every lifetime christian movie that thinks he and Satan are the same person.

The gnome wasn't hand crafted but it was certainty hand-edited. It was an ugly thing, though, the more Lucifer looked at it, the more innocently charming it became, but in an ugly way.

He'd place it beside the Michael Gnome tonight, at least the ugly blasphemous gnome version of himself could be with his ugly blasphemous twin's gnome version of himself.

As he went to move it off of his desk, he noticed the note attached to the gnome's leg.

To my adorable little baby brother,

Lucifer's eye twitched. Had Michael still not learnt to call him that? Even after the War of the Bucket?! Even after the Emu War?! He was going to rip that Angel's head clean off.

You're so lucky to share a birthday with me! How unfortunate you were a late show, tut tut tut. Should've been born quicker, Lucikins. :o

Lucifer's wings and horns popped out. 'Lucikins?' That nickname again? Oh, Michael was a dead man.

I know you'll love my present. The gnome looks just like you! Though sadly, I ran out of clay so I couldn't make the ears any bigger.

Unconsciously, Lucifer reached up to cover his ears, but caught himself. Damned Michael! Their ears are literally the same size! He takes a deep breath.

Anyway, happy birthday my adorable, squishy cheeked, starry eyed, little baby brother! Maybe one day you'll grow up to be big and strong just like your big bro! Lots of Love to my baby brother: Michael xoxo

Lucifer felt rage course through his body at such a rate, he had to turn around to make sure he didn't pop out another Satan. Thank Diavolo he didn't. If he did, Michael was taking them home.

Fine. If Michael wanted to hide in the Devildom, call his ears big, and then insist that Lucifer was his 'baby brother' despite the fact he was barely even two minutes older!--then Lucifer wasn't going to sit idly by.

He takes his DDD out of his pocket. Cue the dramatic music.

"Hello, Luke? Can you pass the phone to Simeon please? Yes Thank you." Lucifer pauses, hearing rustling and then finally Simeon's voice on the other end of the DDD. "Hello Simeon. How would you like to travel with me to the Celestial Realm, I fear I haven't been in a while."

Simeon pauses. "...Why?..."

Lucifer swallows thickly, a smirk overtaking his features. "I'm planning on paying Michael a visit."

"He gave you another gnome didn't he?"

"...Okay. Goodbye Simeon."

"No way...He did!"

"Goodbye Simeon." By the time Lucifer hangs up, he can hear the angel laughing on the other end of the phone.

The Avatar of Pride sits down on his chair, covering his face in his hands he grinned. Oh he is so going to enjoy getting Michael back for this one.

And hey, if a few garden flamingos with golden wigs and DnD-esque capes are sighted around the celestial realm later on today. What a coincidence!

Lucifer chuckles heartily. He missed this.

Just as the Avatar of pride is resting, a knock sounds on his door.

"Come in." He sighs, eyes lighting up slightly when he sees that it's you. "Oh hello, Dearest."

You approach his desk, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, smiling slightly when you feel his face heat up. "Happy birthday Luci...wanna come on a walk with me?"

"Sure. Let me grab my coat."

And so it goes.

After about twenty minutes of walking through the park hand in hand with Lucifer, you stop at a fountain. "Woah is that fish in there?"

"Hmm?" Lucifer looks over to you.

"Luci can you see fish in the fountain? I think my mind is playing tricks on me..."

Lucifer raises a brow, but always willing to please you, he looks into the fountain, some strands of ebony hair falling over his face at the movement.

"There aren't any fish, MC...I think you might need sleep-" Lucifer drawls as he begins to turn around to face you. Stopping abruptly when he sees you down on one knee, a ring in your hand.

"MC..." He says breathlessly, heart thumping out of his chest.

"Lucifer, the Morningstar, the Avatar of Pride...will you make me the happiest being in all three realms and marry me?"

"MC...I-...You...-...Yes, I'd carve the word into my flesh if I had to..."

You grin, tears welling up in your eyes as you take off Lucifer's glove and slide the ring onto his finger. He helps you up and pulls you into his arms. Face buried into your neck.

"This will mean that you're mine...just like our pact..." He smiles into your collarbone, placing small kisses here and there.

You laugh. "Sure, Luci sure."

Two lovers hold each other in a gentle embrace, witnessed only by themselves and the moon. No granduer, no dramatic announcement, just lying about fish in a fountain.

i cant write proposals BUT as a special birthday bonus: the gnomes.

i was originally just gonna do lucifer but they're twins so I had to do both of them.

in the original fic with the michael gnome i said he had neon hair but i have no idea how to neonify hair and am not an artist so L, have cursed gnomes.

as you can see i can colour inside the lines. and also i hate the fill tool.

before we start:

yes i am posting this on the 5th and i do know that Luci's birthday is the 6th, but i got this done early and have the patience of a child on christmas😔✊

yes derek and eric are dumb stereotypes. everyday im amazed that baseball is literally just rounders with a different name and more theatrics. anyway, i enjoy writing americans the way americans write us. i picked illinois because thats the first state that popped into my head, and also its easy to spell so.

im friends with like three people from canada and im scared of all of them.

anyway grma for reading and i promise the next fic i do for someones birthday i will actually include them in it more.😔✊<3

#yes i know i havent had a lot of irish in my posts recently but thats bc of exams; i wouldnt feel good just like adding stuff #and not being able to actually explain it; but my exams are over now and i just wanted easy writing #(lazy fr)#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me raphael #obey me solomon #obey me michael #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me crack

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rodolfoparras · 2 years ago

Text

Smoke Sprite

Pairing: Captain Price x Trans Male Reader

WC: ca 7k

Synopsis: Price teaches you how to smoke cigars among other things

Content warning: 18+, • MINORS DNI • dry humping • boot worship • boot grinding • verbal degradation • praise • alluded exhibitionism • Sub! Reader • Dom!Price • reference to afab anatomy (sparsely!) • power dynamics • age gap (no specific age stated but in my head it’s like 10 years between them) • no after care

Stand alone/ part of a series:

A/N: The usual disclaimer: English isn’t my first language so excuse any grammatically incorrect sentences, spelling mistakes, ooc, plot holes… heads up for long sentences as well, who needs proper structure anyway.

First time writing smut too bc at some point we ought to dive into this. Am I right or am I right? Also idk how to do accents, as a non native speaker I have a whole vocab that consist of American and British words and at some point something may sound whack but just rewrite it in your head and enjoy the fic hehe

Also don’t be fooled, you will actually learn about cigars here I did a deep dive for this

Few things were hard to come by when enlisted in the army. One of them being a good night's sleep. It was something you as well as many other soldiers battled with. You’d found that the best way to cope with it was to stay up til your mind was as exhausted as your body and one of the ways you’d make the time pass was by smoking.

That’s how you found yourself sitting on the window sill of the little kitchen provided on base, half way through your third cigarette, wishing your mind would let your body go to bed.

It wasn’t always bad being unable to sleep. Hours you spent awake (albeit against your will) were also sometimes hours you’d felt the most at peace.

Tonight felt like one of those nights and the peace washed over you in waves, so much so you finally felt like you were ready to head to bed.

Just as you’re about to follow through with that thought, a sudden noise at the door catches your attention.

You turn so quickly you almost drop the cigarette you’re smoking, ash falling over you with the motion.

It’s too dark to see the intruder’s face but you’re still able to see how he freezes in place and quickly raises his hand in defense.

“Relax sergeant” the tension leaves your body when you hear the intruder speak. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was after all one that was on your mind when you couldn’t sleep. “Didn't mean to scare you, was just gonna get something to drink” His voice sounds husky, he’d probably just woken up from his sleep.

You nod your head, as you go to sit down again, taking another drag of your cigarette as you observe the surprise guest.

His steps are sluggish, head almost dropping as he makes his way over to the fridge and you wonder to yourself if you should turn on some light so he doesn’t trip.

“Don’t know how you can smoke that shit” Price says, somehow managing to express his disdain through his sleep like daze.

You snort at his words before taking another drag of your cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke only to watch it disappear again.

“Look who’s talking” you say referring to the cigar that always seemed glued to his hand.

He opens the fridge, seemingly searching for his drink before he takes out a bottle of water. Soon after he makes his way over to the kitchen counter, across from where you’re sitting. The light from outside shines down on him and you can finally see him properly as he leans on the counter and takes a sip of his drink.

He’s dressed in some gray sweatpants and a matching tank top to go with it. It wasn’t an unusual sight per say. Many times he'd complain about running hot easily so he always dresses lightly when he sleeps. However that didn’t mean that you were unaffected by it.

“Seriously they taste like shit and smell bad too”he says before downing the rest of the water.

“I don’t smoke for the taste” you say as your eyes wander from his clothes up to his neck, taking notice of the dog tags on him and the way they’re glistening with the light shining down on them. Your gaze wanders further up, over to where his Adam's Apple lays and how it bobs every time he takes a sip of his drink, until your gaze finally lands on his face. His eyes are half lidded, lips parted and puffy and a flush coats his cheek. It’s clear that he’d just roll out of bed especially with how mussed his hair is. Despite that he looks good, really good actually.

“You should since these will take you out anyway” he says, bottle now discarded on the counter and hands tucked into his pockets.

“Teach me how to smoke cigars then” You say tossing your cigarette out the window before turning in your seat to face him properly.

Price raised an eyebrow at that.

“What? You can’t sleep, I can’t sleep, might as well do something useful here. Teach me how to smoke cigars”

The older man scratches at his beard in thought before seemingly making a decision. With a grunt he signs for you to move over and you do as he says. He sits down next to you, one foot propped on the window sill and the other hanging to the side of it.

Price digs his hand into his left pocket, pulls out a wooden box of something, pops it open before sliding it over to you.

“Take whichever you want, it doesn't matter. You’ll be prepping it anyway”

“Prepping?” You look at him like he’s grown three heads. It's a cigar after all, what is there to prep anyway?

He nudges his head, signaling for you to take one. When you do so, he takes one himself before he closes the box and pockets it again.

“It’s not like a cigarette. You don’t just shove it into your mouth and smoke it. All good things come with preparation and in moderation.”

“Are we still talking about cigars here “ you grin widely as you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively.

Price grunts at your words but doesn’t do much more as he goes into teacher mode.“First thing first, you want to know what you’re working with. That can break or make the experience”

You nod as you look down at the cigar in your hands. However, figuring out what you’re working with wasn’t as easy as it seemed. You’ve smoked for years but cigars were outside of your expertise.

Price must’ve seen the stupefied look on your face because he says “Don’t look at it like that, lad. It’s a cigar not a ticking time bomb“

“Sorry” you say, shifting in your seat as your free hand fiddles with some loose lint from the sweats you’re wearing.

“That’s alright. Let’s start with something familiar, yeah?” he mindlessly strokes his beard, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to think of how to explain it.

“You lick your cigarettes right? How come you do that?” You’re momentarily stunned by the fact that he’s picked up on this. But his question hits you next and you can’t help but feel embarrassed when you confess.

“Force of habit I guess” you shrug, rubbing at your neck as your eyes wander from him to some random spot on the window sill.

Hey, you’re a smoker not a smoke connoisseur. You don’t know the ins and outs of nicotine.

He sighs heavily and drags his hand down his chin before he speaks “That’s alright.” he says before he goes to explain. “ It's a form of prepping, not really necessary for cigarettes but some smokers do it. However prepping is essentials for cigars”

He then goes on to raise his arm in the air, giving you a clear view of the cigar in his hand.

“First thing first you do a pinch test, it’s pretty simple really. You pinch it between your thumb and point finger. Do not roll it however. If it’s dry it’ll cause unnecessary friction which in turn will cause more tears in the leaf”

He starts to demonstrate the step. You try to focus but your eyes can’t help but wander all over his hands.

Despite the cigar being quite big, it looks something akin to a cigarette in his grip and although he’s got a rather delicate grip on the cigar you know just how rough he can be with his hands. You’ve seen it many times out on the field, and have even imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of the treatment. His hands always look so big and strong, dusted in chestnut hair and lined with thick blue veins. You can’t help but think of how pretty they look as he demonstrates the step.

“You still with me, lad?”

You lick your lips, mouth feeling dryer than any tobacco leaf. “Yeah “

“Now do so with yours. Remember just add some light pressure, it doesn’t need much more than that” he says, once again demonstrating the step. You start to feel a pressure in your chest as heats floods from your head down to your feet. You try to focus on his words but they only seem to add to the lightheadedness you’re feeling.

“You listening?” He asks, taking note of your dazed expression.

You only manage a hum in response to his question as you go to follow his instructions. “It shouldn’t crackle since they should be properly humidified anyway but it’s always good to know the basics yeah?” He says when you both notice there’s no crackling to be heard from the cigar in your hands.

“Now we cut it. I keep this baby on me at all times “ Price says before he pulls out a pocket knife.

“There's all types of fancy shit for cutting but the principle is to cut as little as possible rather than the opposite. You just kind of snip it off” he says as he places the knife at the tip and executes the move perfectly.

“Now you try,” he hands it over to you and you can’t help but feel quite confident in this part. The task didn’t seem complicated anyway. But as you go to cut it, it turns out to be much harder than it seemed. The cut is nothing like Price’s. If anything it’s jaggedy and has the tobacco leaves crackling at the tip.

“That’s alright, you can-“

Before he gets the chance to say anything else, you wrap your lips around the tip, allowing your spit to smoothen out any loose pieces.

“Oh- “ you look up at Price only to see him swallow hard.

“That’s a good lad” he says, voice sounding deeper when he speaks “was gonna say to not slobber it down in saliva but you seem to know your thing “

Your face feels hot when you go to respond.“Thanks”

It’s strange- this relationship you got with your captain. At first sight it might seem that you’re the one throwing flirty remarks around here. And he’s the one who acts unphased, or even annoyed at your flirting attempts. But matter of fact is he’s the one making suggestive remarks whether consciously or subconsciously and you’re the one phased by it. You wish you too could be as unphased as him because his recovering time for these types of situations is remarkable, really.

His voice is void of any previous emotion when he goes to speak again “Now to the last part, we light it”

And of course you try to keep with him.

“Never thought we’d get to it” you say, hoping and praying you seem just as unphased as he seems . But you can still feel your face burning and your voice slightly wobbling and the intense look he’s giving you isn’t helping you very much either.

“Hey you wanted me to teach you” Price reminds you with a pointed look.

“Go on please” you gesture dramatically before leaning back in your seat.

“The way you choose to light it will affect the taste. It’s all a matter of preference so to say “

“And how do you like yours to taste?” Your words come out more suggestive than intended and you can hear Price sucking in a sharp breath, head tilting and his eyes boring into yours when he says “I prefer to take my time with things, enjoy it thoroughly, make the most out of it if you know what I mean”

The mood feels different; stirring in a direction that has nothing to do with cigars and everything to do with something else, something-

“You’ll achieve that with a soft flame”

And it's quickly broken again.

Price fishes a box of matches out of his pocket, slides it open and takes a few of them before pocketing it again.

“Always use two matches but don’t be fooled, you can’t hurry the process this is just to ensure the cigar burns even. You with me?”

You nod - maybe a bit too eagerly to show him you’re listening, brows furrowed and lips puckered in concentration and if you’d be focused on someone else you’d see the ghost of a smile on Price’s face.

“You strike the matches and tilt them downwards, then rotate your cigar around the them “

“Like a marshmallow ” the words slip mindlessly out of your mouth and his eyes widen in surprise before he laughs.

You feel the tip of your ears go red but smile at what he says next “Fuckin’ hell, sure like a marshmallow “

Instead of saying something else that would result in making a bigger fool of yourself, you choose to do as he says.

You take two matches from him and attempt to strike them.

However it feels like the universe is on a mission to make you seem like the biggest fool because for some reason you can’t light up your match.

After your third failed attempt paired with some curses under your breath Price decides to offer you some help.

He leaves his place on the window sill, and leaves his cigar in the ashtray to stand behind you instead. But just as he does it, you manage to light them yourself. However for some reason he chooses not to go back to his seat.

“Like that,” you hear him before you see him, and smell his cologne behind the clouds of smoke.

You try to keep your focus as you slowly rotate the cigar in your hands

“Good lad you’re doing so good,” the words make you feel like a match ignited, burning from your head down to your toes.

“Is it done?” You don’t know what you’re asking about- the lessons or the torture he’s unknowingly putting you through.

“Ever heard of the word patience, kid?“ he chides and if it weren’t for your close proximity making you feel all funny you’d say something to him.

“Just one more round of matches and you’re good to go yeah?” His voice is gruff and breathy when he speaks, almost akin to the tone he uses when he gives commands on the field. You feel the wisps of hair from his beard brushing across your ear and the heat from the close proximity of your bodies. You chose to nod in response, opting to bite your tongue in fear of saying something you might regret later on.

Soon you find yourself with a lit cigar in your hands.

“There now to the last step” the heat quickly disappears as a gust of cold wind creeps onto your skin and you’re sure it’s not because of the open window but rather from the space between your bodies as he goes back to his own seat.

“The most important rule of smoking- if you’re to remember anything out of this- is to not inhale it but rather take a light drag. Your body and your lungs will be thankful for sparing them, see it as something you slosh around in your mouth rather than shove down your windpipe”

You raise a brow at his choice of words.

“I am not the best teacher, “ he shrugs before picking up his cigar again.

He puts it between his lips and takes a light drag of it and you can’t help but think that he looks attractive doing it.

You never thought smoking was attractive. You smoked to ease your nerves and couldn’t wrap your head around what would be so attractive about a little nicotine stick and the awful smell that came along with it. But looking at him now with his eyelids hanging low, head tilted to the side as he exhales the smoke, you finally understand why people thought so. Especially now, with his Adam’s apple on show, dog tags gleaming behind the clouds of smoke and his toned arms flexing every time he goes to take another drag of the cigar.

“You do the most work in the beginning until you see white smoke. That’s how you know it’s properly lit and you can actually start to enjoy it“ Price’s voice sounds stern when he speaks; like a knowledgeable teacher sharing information to his interested students. And you sure were interested: in more ways than one.

“Most work in the beginning huh?” You grin wolfishly at him.

“You pull a lot of jokes, kid “ he chuckles as he continuously spins the cigar in his hand.

Kid. Your nose scrunches at the word “Not a kid and who said it’s a joke?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead he tilts his head and rubs his beard as if mulling over something before speaking again.

“You try now”

You nod your head as you attempt to focus on the task at hand. But it isn’t easy, your eyes flicker from his fingers, to his lips, to the way he sits leaned back in his seat with smoke surrounding him.

Before you know it you’re inhaling the cigar, doing the complete opposite of what he told you and within seconds you feel the smoke hitting you all at once; blurring your vision and sending you into a coughing fit.

“I told you not to inhale it” he tuts as he leans over to take the cigar from your hands before he goes to pat your back “damn shame you seemed so good at following directions, what happened?”

You try to speak but the burning sensation in your throat cuts you off. His hand is once again on your back rubbing up and down aimlessly before he suddenly gets up and you instinctively grab onto him “I’m just going to get something to drink” he says, repeating his words from before and you nod, allowing him to do so.

“Here” he says a moment later, pressing a cold water bottle against your cheek.

You flinch away from the cold sensation, but grab it anyway, downing more than half the bottle within seconds.

“Take it easy or you’ll choke again, boy”

Despite the advice you find yourself unable to slow down and you down the rest like a man parched.

He chuckles at your actions and grabs hold of your chin, turning your head to face him.

“That good?” He asks, eyes shining with both hints of worry and amusement.

You nod in response feeling heat creep up your neck and ears. The feeling intensifies when his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, wiping off any remaining liquid before he pops it in his mouth to lick it off of him.

“I - I can do better” you croak out, still trying to catch your breath.

“What’s that boy?”

You clear your throat and take a deep breath, braving yourself to speak “I meant what I said I can do it, let me try again”

His gaze shifts between your eyes and your lips, seemingly making a decision when he goes to speak.

“Alright, come here “ he says before he goes back to his seat on the window sill, cigar tucked back between his lips, and with smoke surrounding him. He looks delectable to say the least.

As if it were a reflex your body complies to his request, shuffling over to sit closer to him.

You can feel your knees brushing, smell the scent of his cologne mixing with the cloud of smoke, can even see each and every eyelash on his eye along with the gray hairs sprinkled across his chestnut beard.

You thought you couldn’t get any closer than this but suddenly he leans further in and your eyes go wide as you watch him. His hand goes to your head, strokes your hair, and brushes back any loose strands or flies aways before it glides across your cheeks, until finally stopping at your lips.

“Open up, now” he says, one hand under your chin and the other tapping his cigar against your lips.

“Lets try this again, yeah? You did so well, don't want the lesson to go to waste” You hum in response, parting your lips before wrapping them around the cigar. However you don’t take a drag. Instead you await his command.

“Remember gently, no need to put much effort into it, yeah?”

You nod as you put all your focus into doing as he says and finally you manage to take a proper drag of it, enough to taste it and enough to blow it out properly as well.

��Good lad. I knew you could do it “ the look of pride on his face along with his words goes straight to your head. Like the cat that got the cream, you think to yourself.

You go to take another drag of it and as you do he places his hand on the small of your back, soothingly rubbing up and down the length of it. You try to focus on the cigar rather than his touch because you fear that in itself will send you into a coughing fit. But it’s hard to stay focused on the cigar when his hand leaves the small of your back and makes its way up to your neck instead. You’re just about to blow out the smoke when his hand wraps around your neck and gently squeezes it.

You part your lips in surprise and as you do so smoke leaves your mouth, coming out in little circles that quickly dissipate in the air. Your eyes widen at your little trick and he just chuckles at your reaction, before releasing his grip completely and leaning back a bit.

“Little trick I learnt “ he says innocently, shrugging even before he clears his throat, eyes avoidant of your own but manages a thank you when you pass the cigar back to him.

A rather awkward silence falls over you two as you try to process what happened. Price’s hand around your neck- the shy reaction you got from it- the fact that he knew this trick in the first place. It all hangs in the air like clouds of smoke and puts your mind in daze. It’s hard to snap out of it but once you do you wonder if you should say something or move on to the next subject. Looking at him you can clearly see he’s embarrassed about it so you choose to spare him but you also choose to store this moment in your mind for when you’re in desperate need of a replay.

“Gotta give it to you, you were right about the taste. It’s pretty nice actually”

He inhales sharply at that, eyes falling to your lips as he goes to speak “Yeah? Why don’t you describe it to me? Last part of the lesson. Need you to name the flavors ” His hand is now at your thigh, fingertips mindlessly tracing circles onto it and you think it isn’t fair of him. He can clearly see the way your body is reacting to him- to his touches- to his words and he still expects you to function.

You must’ve taken too long to respond because Price’s hand squeezes your thigh in warning “Sergeant”

“Creamy- it tastes creamy sir “ you stumble over your words but still manage to get out a response.

He hums in response, hand tightening at your thigh before once again squeezing it to get your attention. “Anything else? Any specific flavor you can name. Go on, take another drag of it“ he says before passing the cigar back to you. For once you’re thankful that your body reacts so easily to his commands. Your head’s far too gone at this point to be able to give your body instructions.

You take another drag of the cigar, allowing the smoke to coat your tongue before exhaling it. There’s a rich sweetness accompanied with a certain bitterness dancing across your taste buds “Coffee tastes like coffee sir- maybe even hits of almond as well?” you say through batted lashes, eagerly awaiting his response.

“Correct. My favorite” he hums in approval.“You’re a quick learner,huh?” The phrase like the cat that got the cream rings through your head again but this time you couldn’t care less. This time you'd gladly accept it. You’d gladly be the cat and you’d gladly take all the cream especially if it was -

Price grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you close. “You know what else is good to learn? “

You gasp at the sudden motion and instinctively grab onto him, one hand at his arm, the other barely holding onto the cigar. His voice is dangerously low and breathy and the way his hot breath washes over your neck raises goosebumps all over your body.

You can even feel the tell tale sign of his thick mustache brush up against your neck as he goes to say “subtlety, my boy”

There’s little to no space between your bodies. He’s so close to you that you can hear his gruff voice forming the words at the back of his throat, and feel how they vibrate against his chest as he speaks them. Yet you ache to be closer so you grip tighter onto him and press your body closer to his.

“You were fidgeting around in your seat and barely paying attention to what I was saying. I almost thought you were getting bored of the lesson but that can’t be right now can it? ”

It's no longer wisps of mustache hair brushing against your neck but rather a full beard trailing up to the spot behind your ear. And every time he goes to speak, it brushes relentlessly against the skin, leaving burn marks behind him.

“No- no sir. I’m very eager to learn” your mind’s starting to feel hazy, your breath’s quickening and you can’t help but tighten your grip on him, nails sinking into supple skin. You hear him wince but can’t bring yourself to care nor to loosen your grip.

There's a nagging voice at the back of your head telling you this is just a wet dream or even worse a hallucination as you lay bleeding out on a field. So to silence it you tighten your hold on him, hoping and praying you aren’t just imaging him.

However he seems very much real because his arm feels firm and flexes under your tight grip. Every time you go to take a breath you smell the scent of smoke and cologne that seem to follow him and all you can see is his broad back and the small curls at the back of his neck.

“Mm eager you say '' His accent is much thicker now, desire coating his tongue and slurring his words and his tone is playful like you’ve never heard it be before. All of a sudden you feel his fingers at the back of your head, fingers burrowing into the thick mane of hair before he pulls your head up to face him.

“I expect a response when I speak sergeant “ he says, tugging at your hair in warning.

You whimper at the sting, eyes batting up at him as you go to respond to him “Y- yes sir I’m very eager to learn”

Price looks at you with half lidded eyes and with an arrogant smile across his lips as he goes to cup your cheek. “I suppose someone so eager wouldn’t have any issues repeating the steps we learned today”

“No sir” you manage to spurt out a response as you lean into his touch.

“That’s a good boy” he says as his thumb caresses your cheek. “So good for me, yeah?” His voice almost sounds like the one he uses on the field when he goes to praise his team, except this one is just a bit lower, more breathier and wraps around endearments only meant for your ears.

“How about this,” he begins to say, hand slipping from your cheek, trailing down to your neck and landing on your shoulder. He takes his time to straighten the collar before he speaks again

“if you can tell me all the steps we went through today” he trails off once again as both of his hands slide down the length of your arms before finally stopping at your thighs where they rub soothing circles onto them. “I’ll reward you for it “

“Only if you want to, of course” he says, as he goes to take his hands off your thighs.

“Oh I want to ” you say hurriedly as you grab onto his hand to keep them in place.” A lot, actually” you add in a shaky tone feeling your face heat up at your own words.

His eyes flare with desire and he takes a sharp breath before he says “Sit back for me yeah? One leg on each side of the window, need you to sit comfortably for this okay?”

You do as he says, one foot on the desert ground and the other one on the wooden floor and you automatically lean back on the window frame to make yourself comfortable.

He on the other hand, has one boot clad foot propped on the window sill and the other one hanging to the side of, leaning back comfortably.

Your hands are trembling in your lap, fingers still gripping onto the cigar and you can see goosebumps rising on your bare skin but it’s not because of the cool metal pressing against it or because of the howling wind. It's rather something else and Price seems to know the very reason behind it because he says.

“You’re shaking my boy are you nervous about presenting?” He asks in a mocking tone, before he takes the cigar from you and puts it in between his lips. While you’re trembling in your seat he looks as relaxed as ever, leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and with an expectant smile on his lips.

“No-no sir” you respond as you squirm under his expecting gaze.

“Get on with it then” he says sharply and you spring into action.

“The first thing you do is prepare your cigar. That can make or break the experience… “ you trail off as you scramble your brain for what to say next. But your train of thoughts is quickly cut off by a sudden pressure on your left leg.

Price’s foot gently nudges your thigh and once again, as if it were a reflex, your body responds to him; legs spreading further apart, to make more room for him.

Suddenly, he starts tapping his foot impatiently, purposely grazing his boot clad foot against sensitive skin as he waits for you to recite the next step. Despite the sweats you’re wearing, you’re so worked up that every touch feels like he’s grazing bare skin.

“Go on. I didn’t tell you to stop” he warns as he puts a punishing pressure onto your thigh, harsh sole digging into soft skin and you wince at the impact before you speak.

“To check if your cigar is moist you use your thumb and point fingers and squeeze - squeeze it from top to bottom” the air is punched out of your lungs, your words breaking up as the boot moves from your thigh to instead rest directly atop of your dick.

You gasp, fingers grabbing onto the edges of the window sill as your hips buck to get more of the feeling “I’m sorry- I’m sorry sir” you say, feeling embarrassed at your body’s reaction.

However Price doesn’t acknowledge your action nor your words. Instead he decides to raise attention to something else.

“No underwear ?” He asks, taking notice of the wet patch forming on your gray sweats.

“No sir I sleep commando” Price curses under his breath and you feel the pressure increase in between your legs.

“ Of course you fuckin do” he hisses and presses down even harsher, making you jolt at the movement and you just know that the embarrassingly big patch is growing larger by the minute with the way Price grins down at the spot between your legs. And when you look down at yourself you don’t only see the large wet spot on your sweats but you also see soil covered footprints all over it. The mess in between your legs shouldn’t turn you on but the sheer sight of it makes you whimper and buck your hips.

“What’s the next step?”

You go to respond but end up choking on your words when you feel the fabric of your sweats slip between your folds and push directly up against your sensitive clit. He even goes to rock his foot side to side, boot continuously assaulting your sensitive numb.

“What’s gotten your little cock so excited you can’t even speak?”

You whimper at his words, eyes squeezing shut as you lose yourself in the pleasure. “You’re being mean sir”

“Mean?” he asks, voice dripping in faux concern but never once letting up on his torturous movements. “I’m just trying to reward you here. You want your reward, don’t you?”

You nod frantically as you buck your hips up at him. All of a sudden he ceases any and all movements and you snap your eyes open up to look at him.

He raises a brow at you with a wolfish grin on his lips. You blink up at him for a moment, before it clicks; he wants you to work for it.

You almost huff at the realization. Nonetheless you adjust in your seat, hands propping behind your back as you bend at your knees before you gently start to rock your hips: his boot once again hitting your sensitive clit.

“We - we cut it. Not too much though, just the tip” you manage to get out the words before you break off into moans. You don’t realize how loud you’re being until he shushes you. It’s only then you realize that someone else can see or even worse hear you two.

“What if- what if someone sees us sir?” You ask but never once letting up on your movements.

It takes a while for Price to respond, too entranced with the sight in front of him, leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and cigar between his lips. You can barely see his face from the smoke surrounding him but the way his chest is rising and falling at a rapid beat and the way the cigar is shaking in his grip you know he is enjoying your performance.

Truth be told you don’t even know if he heard you in the first place but when you go speak again he says “No one will see anything I promise” he says in reassurance.”Everyone’s fast asleep and if someone even tries to look or listen I’ll teach them to mind their own fuckin business. “

With that you turn your attention back to chasing your high, this time uncaring about who can see or hear as you lose yourself in the pleasure.

However your attention is brought back to him once again when he says “But maybe you’d like them to?” He says, voice sounding thick and gruff. You snap your head towards him only to see him glowering down at you with desire swirling in his blue irises and a playful smile at his lips.

You know he’s just entering the thought of it, he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. And you can see his gaze switching from your face to your body to gauge your reaction. And he must see the positive reaction your body gives because he continues “you’d like for them to see how pretty you look all worked up for me? Maybe even jerk themselves off to you? Can't blame them if they did. You look too good like this” you can only moan in response as he continues to talk “maybe you’d even want them to join us. One cock isn’t enough for you. A slut like you needs to get all your holes stuffed to be happy isn’t that right?”

Your pace increases at his words as you lose yourself to the pleasure. But you’re quickly brought back to the present when he says “What’s the next step sergeant?“

You blink back the haze, as you try to scramble your brain for what to say next.

“Next you light it - you need two” at this point you’re just spurting out nonesene, too busy chasing your pleasure.

Although his boot does hit your clit, many times - due to your fast paced beat- it’ll miss, aim too clumsy and messy to reach it. It doesn’t take long for you to make the decision to latch one hand onto his leg, the other making sure to support your weight as you adjust his foot so that the tip of his boot hits your clit every time you rock against it.

You know you’re putting on a show for anyone who might hear or see; legs spread wide apart, arousal and mud covering your sweats as you desperately cling onto Price’s leg and moaning desperately. However you can’t find it in yourself to care, can’t focus on anything other than the pleasure coiling between your legs.

You look up at Price through half lidded eyes and mouth agape only to see a similar expression on his face.

“Jesus, look at you grinding on me like a bitch in heat, you enjoying this hm?”

“Yes yes sir, enjoy it so much” At this point you're slurring your words, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut as you focus on nothing else but the heat growing in your core.

Your heels dig further into the floor, knees cramping from the awkward position and arms aching from supporting your weight for so long. But you refuse to let up on your pace. You’re so close to the finish line you can almost taste it.

“Almost there” you warn him before your mind’s too far gone to say something.

“Then you better explain the last step or there will be none of it, sergeant “ he says as he squeezes your thigh in warning.

“Yes sir” you groan out before you will yourself to speak again “you puff it - you do the most work in the beginning until-“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before you’re cut off by your own moan.

“until what sergeant?” Is the last thing you hear before you lose focus of your surroundings, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape as you chase your high on Price’s boot.

“Until - until - it starts working by-. “ is all you manage to get out before you’re cumming- stumbling over the finish line with your back arched and with a cry of victory.

You don’t even get to warn him before you’re falling back in your seat, arms giving out and legs losing their footing. As you do so the boot accidentally rubs against your clit and for the first time since you ended up in this situation you jerk back from the friction, dick too sensitive.

You end up leaning against your elbow, window frame uncomfortably pressed against your spine and Price’s hands on your thighs keeping you from falling straight to the ground.

“You alright?” Price asks after a moment of silence and you feel his hand on your thigh again, rubbing soothing circles on them.

You hum in response, still lost in bliss and he chuckles as he gives you a moment to come down from it.

Once you do, you flutter your eyes open and smile lazily at him.

“Good job my boy, you did so well”

“Thank you, sir” your face burns as you respond. him and the phrase like the cat that got the cream rings through your head once again.

Suddenly you see Price’s brows furrow, tongue poking past his lips as he looks down at his feet.

“Looks like you left a stain there” he says as nonchalantly as possible and points to his soiled boot “could you clean it up for me please?”

Your eyes flash in surprise and for a moment the words hang in the air.

But as quickly as they came, the words dissipate leaving a haze behind that seems to take over your brain.

“Of - of course, sir “ you say as you scurry out of your seat but before you can get any further he stops you with his foot, firmly pressing it against your chest “with your tongue sergeant “

You suck in a breath and you can feel your dick twitch in your soiled sweats.

“Yes sir”

You lean in so that you’re face to face with the boot he’s wearing. It’s a simple black boot, worn out from everything it’s been through but there’s one spot on top of it that shines like it’s been newly polished. It’s the very same spot you zoom in on, tongue poking past your lips as you trace a path from the very bottom up to the top of it.

You feel the soft leather scrape against your tongue as the familiar taste dances across your tastebuds. And every time you go to lick the boot your nose brushes against the leather and you smell yourself on it. Despite the work you put into cleaning it you know you’ve ruined the spot with your arousal and instead of feeling bad about it you can’t help but moan at the fact that he can’t hide the evidence of the event that had transpired. You give it one last lick before you kiss the boot and smile at him.

He curses under his breath, a mix of swear words accompanied with your name leaving his lips and your grin widens as you sit up again.

“Enjoy the rest of your night, kid” he says all of sudden, patting your thigh lightly before jumping to his feet. “When you’re ready to put out the cigar, just let it rest on the ashtray, it’ll put itself out that way” he says as he shows how to do it with his very own cigar before making his way over to the door.

Within seconds you’re up on your feet, moving on wobbly legs you almost fall back on the window sill.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Lesson’s over” he says simply before looking down at the watch on his wrist “and I’m old and need my rest. “ He looks away from his watch to the mess between your legs.

“Besides, you need to get cleaned up. See you tomorrow, kid” he says with a wink as he leaves.

“See you tomorrow” you say into the now empty room, chuckling in disbelief as you plop yourself back down on the window sill. You’re a sticky mess and should probably go shower but instead you take a drag of your cigar before you say “This man’s truly something else”

#captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #John price x reader #captain John price x male reader #cod #cod x Reader #cod x male Reader #Alec writes #idc if there are any mistakes I’ve been editing this for so long I’m so tired of it fjdjfjfjf #anyway

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cherry-jamm · 11 months ago

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Okay so like I desperately need a butcher one fr, I don’t know anyone anyone else that could execute this, but once again I’m asking for one there butcher and the reader have a one night stand even thought they hate each other and then are very confused in the morning, and butcher is kind of conflicted bc he just lost becca and he refuses to confront the situation bc he leaves in the morning like nothing happened

It was worth it, I would do it again

・❥・description: after a one night stand, Billy has to face himself and his feelings for you. It's awkward.

・❥・word count: 1.3k

・❥・warnings: title based off ‘Awkward’ by Sza, angst with an unhappy ending, reader was not made for hookup culture (me either girl 😭), references to smut, plot devices that don't really make sense but it all works out

・❥・sorry I made you wait so long booboo bear I just couldn't get this right. But thanks for the request, you know how I love writing about my tragic situationships (I'm projecting)

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been staring at him. Billy Butcher in your bed is a sight you intended on enjoying for as long as possible. He had one arm resting on his stomach, while the other served as a pillow to you. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. He looked so relaxed, his deep frown lines were gone from his face.

You ached to reach out and brush your fingers across his perfectly serene face, but you feared disturbing him, so you were content to just watch. You watched as the light turned from silver moonshine to the soft pinks and oranges of sunrise. His warmth enveloped you.

"I think I love you." You whispered to his sleeping form. You hated him ever since you first met him. It's easier to hate him, it's work to love him. Before tonight he'd never had known it, but over time you took on the burden of loving him. Slowly, but surely he'd won your heart and soul. He doesn't respond to your confession, but his brow twitched a miniscule amount. You felt yourself surrender back to sleep with a smile.

You didn't know what time it was when you woke up. You were greeted with the sight of his scarred back as he sat on the edge of the bed. You didn't say anything as you looked at his tense body sleepily. He sighs loudly and looks over his shoulder at you. You're compelled to pretend to stay asleep, just to see what he does. You feel his calloused hand brush your cheek before withdrawing quickly as if your skin had seared him.

He sighs again and his weight leaves the bed. You hear his heavy footsteps leave the apartment. You open your eyes and look at your ceiling. You felt as if he had just gutted you. Your lips formed a deep frown. Had he really just left? Without even saying anything?

Pitifully you pulled yourself out of bed and walked to your shower. Even after you two had cleaned up last night, you couldn't help feeling dirty after his wordless departure. As you walked your entire body felt sore, something you would've laughed at on any other occasion. You turned on the hot water and scrubbed your body until your skin felt raw.

Your bathroom was filled with steam and the scent of your soap by the time you were finished. You couldn't help regret last night as you wrapped a towel around yourself. You wiped the condensation off your mirror to be greeted by a dark purple bruise on the side of your neck. You fixed your face into scowl.

"Whatever." You huffed to yourself. And grabbed a bottle of lotion as you stepped out of the bathroom. You rubbed the lotion over your sore skin in silence. Clouds had passed over the sun. You went through the motions of a self care day.

You made yourself breakfast, got dressed in comfy clothes, and sat on your couch and watched the first movie you could find. It only served to make you feel more used as the man guided the main character on a romantic walk down the street. You rolled your eyes at the screen.

There came a hesitant knock at your door. You groaned as you got up to open the door.

"Hi (y/n)." Hughie greeted you. He raised his hand to an awkward wave. M.M stood behind him with his arms crossed, but he smiled politely at you. Frenchie had an arm around Hughie with Kimiko standing at his side. Butcher stood off to the side, you had to stick your head out of your door in order to see him. It made you sick.

"Hi Hughie." You said deadpan. "Why are you guys here?" You raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Mind if we come in?" Frenchie offered. You narrowed your eyes but allowed them in regardless. You felt the urge to slam the door in Butcher's face. You didn't, but you got a kick out of thinking about it.

"So? What's with the reunion?" You crossed your arms, only slightly embarrassed at being seen in your pajamas.

"Have you watched the news recently?" M.M asked pointedly, seeming very upset at something. You glance over at the TV.

"-But I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever. You and me everyday."

"Obviously not."

"The Notebook, eh?" Frenchie smiles.

"What's on the news and why does that matter?" For the first time it dawns on you that this could mean serious trouble. Especially with the way Butcher is standing at your counter completely silent and brooding.

"Our hideout was found. We weren't there at the time, but uh... we need a new place to stay." Hughie says. Your shoulders drop as your relax a bit.

"So none of us are in immediate danger?"

"Shouldn't be." Hughie replies.

"And you all decided to come to my studio apartment? I have two rooms total." You frown.

"It's just for a night or two, until everything settles down." Hughie tries to reason with you. It seems everyone else has already made themselves comfortable in your home. Frenchie sits on your couch and watches your movie while Kimiko sits on the floor in front of him. M.M holds a small trinket in his hands and looks at it curiosity. Butcher still stands awkwardly in your kitchen.

"You got yourselves caught in your last place, how can I trust you won't get busted here?" You asked.

"Just one night. Please." He said. You sigh.

"One night." You take the trinket out of M.M's hands and set it back down. You send a glare in Butcher's direction. He looks at the floor regretfully. You feel almost satisfied at the idea of him feeling bad for leaving you, almost.

A silence falls over the room as everyone settles in. You step into the kitchen. "We need to talk." You hissed to the tall man.

"'Bout what?" He says distractedly.

"Not funny." You grab hold of his jacket and pull him towards the bathroom, the only private room in your studio. You bring him in and lock the door behind you. "What the fuck?" You start. Suddenly the bathroom seems cramped. He doesn't say anything. You lean on the shower door to put some space between the two of you. "No seriously, what the fuck? I trusted you last night, you know how much stuff like that matters to me and you just left?" You felt vulnerable and exposed but continued to wait for an answer.

"What do you want me to say?" He starts gruffly. "You want me to say sorry?"

"Yes, Billy. That's exactly what I want you to say." You say, exasperatedly. "An explanation would be nice too." You cross your arms over your chest.

"I don't owe you shit." He huffs. He wants to say something else, if he didn't he would've already left. "Especially not an explanation."

"Billy-" You start.

"You reminded me of Becca." He confides. He might as well have punched you in the gut.

"What?"

"I said you reminded me of Becca." He really didn't need to say it twice, you're sure it would keep you up at night for the rest of your life. "Waking up next to you, just seeing you-" His voice cracks. "I couldn't do it." You looked at the floor. He looked into your mirror.

"So that's all it was? Just a way to pretend I was her?" You ask softly. He doesn't respond, and that's answer enough. "Okay." You whisper and move towards the door to unlock it. He caught your wrist before you did.

"You're more than that." He says but doesn't elaborate further. He unlocks the door and walks out.

#pterodactyl hater #the boys x reader #request #billy butcher x reader

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 4 months ago

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Ughhhh the vampire fic was so good!! I honestly don’t know how you do it all the time, coming out with gorgeous pieces of writing. I would like to make a request of you: Josh x Reader, where the reader and Josh have an established relationship (you can decide how long) and they’re both passing out candy to trick-or-treaters on Halloween. All the other details can be up to you :)

Also, if it’s not too much hassle, can I be an emoji anon? You can assign one to me, whatever is fine. And if not, that’s perfectly fine, too! I might not request a ton of things, but I want to start requesting more :]

Little Bishop - Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: None!!

Word Count: 917 (a super short and fluffy one shot!)

A/N: Thank you for enjoying the vampire fic! For anyone else reading this if you've requested something non halloween those are officially taking priority bc we're getting close to the holiday! As for you ANON... I'd absolutely love for you to be an emoji anon! How do you feel about 🥁? Especially since you seem to like Josh :) LMK! Anyways... enjoy this little fic :)

Edit: Literally posted this without adding the bandito battle stuff 😭 this was for the prompt: the bishops ;)

Josh and I had been together for three Halloweens, and by now, he knew exactly what he was in for every October. My obsession with the holiday was borderline obsessive—skeletons hanging from the ceiling, cobwebs draped in every corner, orange and black everywhere. If it could glow in the dark or be covered in fake blood, it had a place in our home.

This year was no different.

We’d spent the afternoon decorating the front yard for trick or treaters. I’d insisted on scattering tombstones across the grass and setting up a fog machine that puffed eerie clouds around the fake bones poking out of the dirt. Josh had rolled his eyes as I carefully positioned our life-sized animatronic ghoul by the front door—its shrieks and cackles would go off whenever a trick-or-treater came near. The pumpkins we’d carved sat on the porch, three glowing faces staring out at the street.

Honestly, I knew I drove Josh a little crazy with how over-the-top I got, but I couldn’t help it. Halloween was my holiday. And deep down, I knew he secretly enjoyed watching me get all worked up about it.

We were curled up on the couch, waiting for the first batch of trick-or-treaters to arrive. The living room was bathed in the flickering light from the scary movie playing on TV—something classic about a haunted house and creepy dolls. Josh wasn’t exactly a horror fan, but he’d make the sacrifice for me, like he did every year. I had my hand in his, squeezing it every time a jump scare made me flinch, though I pretended it didn’t.

The doorbell rang, breaking the tension of the movie.

I paused it with a grin. “You ready for this?”

Josh smirked, shaking his head. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

I jumped up, grabbing the candy bowl off the table, my heart racing with excitement. The door swung open to reveal a group of kids on the porch, their voices ringing out in unison, “Trick-or-treat!”

There was a witch, a tiny skeleton, a princess, and—my heart nearly stopped—a kid dressed as a bishop. I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing.

This kid, probably no older than ten, had nailed the costume. He was wearing a red cloak and his face was painted pale, with the lower half being black just like in the music videos. It looked like he’d stepped right out of Dema.

“No way!” I stood there, jaw practically on the floor, looking down at the kid. Josh shuffled around behind me, reaching for the candy before joining me at the door.

“Oh my god,” Josh muttered under his breath, eyes wide in disbelief.

I nudged him with my elbow, a huge grin spreading across my face. “I love your costume,” I beamed, grabbing out an overly generous handful of candy from the bowl Josh was holding.

“Dude, your bishop costume is epic. Respect.”

The kid’s eyes lit up, and he beamed. “Are you–”

“Yeah.” Josh grinning crouched down to give him a high five before waving goodbye to the kid’s parents who had been excitedly filming the entire interaction. As the kids ran off, I closed the door and turned to Josh, still grinning like a maniac. “That just made my entire night! See? Halloween is magical.”

Josh shook his head, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, I’ll admit—that was pretty awesome.”

“If I had my way, we’d live in a haunted house year-round,” I said, pressing my lips to his.

Josh laughed, draping his arm over my shoulders as I snuggled up against him. “I know you would. But I think the neighbors already think we’re a little too... much.”

“Too much, festive—same thing.” I leaned into him, feeling ridiculously happy. The movie resumed, the eerie glow of the screen casting shadows across the living room. I glanced around, admiring our decorations for what felt like the hundredth time—black candles flickering on the mantle, fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and the orange glow of pumpkin lights filtering in from outside.

Josh gave my hand a playful squeeze, pulling me from my thoughts. “What are you plotting over there? You look like you’re about to go full psycho on me.”

I laughed, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Maybe I am. I just love this. The decorations, the costumes, the candy, the scary movies. And doing it all with you.”

He softened, kissing the top of my head. “I know I give you a hard time, but I love how much you love it. I mean, if skeletons and haunted houses make you happy, I’m all in.”

I grinned up at him, my heart swelling at his words. “Just wait until next year. I’m thinking of going even bigger. Full haunted house experience—fog, jump scares, maybe a maze in the backyard.”

Josh groaned dramatically, but I could see the smile in his eyes. “I’ve created a monster.”

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang again. More trick-or-treaters. I hopped up, practically bouncing with excitement.

Josh watched me with that look—the one that said he was more than willing to let me drag him into my Halloween obsession. He’d give me grief about it all night, but I knew the truth.

As I opened the door to another group of kids, Josh leaned back on the couch, letting out a content sigh. And I knew, deep down, he wouldn’t trade this—our spooky little tradition—for anything.

REQUESTS OPEN

Tags for bandito battle:

@banditobattlemotherfuckers @the-paladin-gay

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roguelov · 1 year ago

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sending this before i go to sleep bc i need to tell someone lmao: i think i remember you answering an ask about dream giving his s/o a piece of jewelry with a ruby on it to show that they’re his, but i’d like to raise something even more beautiful to represent him: a glass/obsidian shard made out of his own sand from his sand bag 🥹

Obsidian shard??? Oh my god this is amazing!!! I love this!!!

“Wait, what is this?” You asked, taking the small box from Dream.

“A gift.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. “Obviously, but what’s inside?”

Dream smiled, “Open it and you’ll found out.”

You snorted. “Right.”

You carefully pulled off the lid. Inside, on plush white cotton - which appeared to be actually clouds - sat a ring, a band.

Your eyebrows pinched together.

You carefully picked it up. It was an ordinary band, yet it appeared to be crafted out of a dark glass. Holding it up higher, you twisted and turned it in the light. It sparkled like the endless vast night sky. Peering through the dark translucent glass, you saw galaxies shifting and forming. Spinning around in awe, your line of sight passed over Dream. For a fleeting moment, he wasn’t a man. He was an ethereal dark shapeless being with spiraling galaxies for eyes. You quickly dropped your hand to see Dream in his mortal form.

Whoa.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

“I do, it’s beautiful.” You carefully set in back in the box. “I … I just have a couple of questions.”

“Then ask.”

“Did you make this?”

“Of course, I formed it from my own sand.” He said it so matter-of-factly.

Your eyes dropped to the ring, an elegant ring created by his own sand, formed by his own hands. Your heart swelled. A smile spread over your lips. “I guess my next and only question is why?”

“Are you asking why one gives gift to the one they love?”

Your cheeks warmed. “I - I mean -“

He gently took your hands. He plucked the ring from the box and discarded the box entirely. He carefully took your hands, sliding the ring on your ring finger. At first you feared it was too big, but it shrank to easily fit your finger. Dream’s eyes softened at the sight. His thumb brushed over the smooth glass. “I simply wished to show my affection to you.”

You smiled widely. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, my love.” He leaned in kissing your temple. “This pales in comparison to all your love I receive, I only hope I can repay just a fraction.”

You laughed, shaking your head. You cupped his face, and kissed him properly. Dream melted into the kiss. “You are enough, and this ring is more than I deserve.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but you quickly kissed him again happily silencing him.

And he let you.

And he would let you do it again and again.

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #bigtiddythanos #ask

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angelsmooches · 2 years ago

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hiii ur works are so good omg i’m obsessed!! could i plz request barbatos fluff where he’s teaching mc how to bake bc there is absolutely not enough wholesome barb content out here lol—thank u!! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

★﹐black cloud cakes ．﹑

synopsis: barbatos gives MC a crash course in baking.

wc: 2,391

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

a/n: I LITERALLY LOVE BARBATOS SO MUCH OH MY GODNUIBHYGVYFC THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING THIS o(≧▽≦)o i’m so happy that my first request is for one of my fav characters ugh barbatos doesn’t get enough love. PLUS i absolutely love baking so this was so much fun writing!!

no matter how many times you visited it, the demon lord’s castle will always be an intimidatingly grandiose sight to see. with its countless towers, its towering walls, all shrouded in darkness, you couldn’t help the ominous feeling that spread through your veins.

that ominous feeling always dissipated as soon as you stepped inside. with how often you’ve been here, it began to feel almost like.. home. much like how the house of lamentation feels. you wandered about, passing the magnificent staircases and the shining pillars, walking down hallway after hallway until reaching the one room you were looking for in particular.

every single surface in the kitchen always shone with pride. strangely, the kitchen had become one of the rooms you were most comfortable in here at the castle. it carried many fond memories that you always smiled at the thought of.

“good afternoon, barbatos!” the butler turned towards the sound of your voice, smiling in greeting.

“good afternoon, MC. i’m glad you could join me today. come, i’ve just finished laying out the ingredients we are to use.” barbatos gestured towards the numerous bags and containers in front of him, then pushed a recipe book towards your direction. “this is what we are to be making. please read over it.”

you skimmed over the page before looking back up at him dubiously. “we? as in you and me? i’m not so sure about that, barbs. i’ve never really baked before, i’ve only watched.”

“precisely, you’ve watched,” he said. “you’ve watched me countless of times baking assortments of desserts. surely you’ve retained some information, yes?”

he had a point. everything that was in the book were things that you already knew just from observing barbatos in his element.

“i mean, yeah, but... what if i burn down the castle?”

barbatos chuckled at your pessimism. “i highly doubt that. have confidence in yourself, MC.” he entrusted the whisk he was currently holding over to you. “would you mix the chocolate and the butter together while i beat the egg whites? thank you.”

hesitantly, you took the whisk from barbatos’s gloved hand. he offered an encouraging smile before turning back towards the pile of goey clearness that you assumed were the egg whites.

“may i ask why we’re making this dessert in particular?” you asked, the whisk gliding through the dark mixture. “if i remember correctly, these cakes are massive. why would you want to bake one if you didn’t really need to?”

“the young lord has invited quite a number of people over today, and he requested that i create something special for them,” barbatos replied.

you turned this information over in your mind, adding the cocoa powder into the mixture. “and another thing, why not ask luke to help you instead? even if luke refused, i’m pretty sure you could do this without anyone’s help.”

barbatos was quiet for a moment, his cheeks tinged a subtle shade of pink. “i desired your company. baking with you is always an enjoyable experience.”

“thanks, barbs,” a smile blossomed across your face. “i really enjoy baking with you, too.”

a comfortable silence overtook the room, the sounds of whisks scraping against bowls filling the empty space. your bowl had been thoroughly whisked within a couple of minutes. barbatos, on the other hand, was still occupied with getting the egg whites to form soft peaks. not wanting to break his concentration, you simply decided to examine your surroundings, your eyes naturally drifting towards the demon in front of you.

it was obvious that barbatos took his title as pastry chef very seriously. every single pastry that he baked was the result of meticulous work, and this pastry would be no different. he would carefully add a small amount of sugar, whisk the eggs, then add more. his brows were furrowed ever so slightly, as if he were counting every single grain of sugar that entered the bowl. you found it endearing.

“may i ask why you’re staring at me?” barbatos’s question popped your little bubble, grounding you back into reality. his cheeks were once again that warm shade of pink.

“ah, sorry,” you awkwardly looked away, the mental image of barbatos’s baking face making you inadvertently smile. “it’s just.. you put a lot of time and effort into everything you bake. i admire you for it.”

the normally calm and composed butler seemed caught off-guard by your response. it’s true, he’s heard this from many other appreciators of his pastries, but hearing it come from you was entirely different. “you have no idea how happy that makes me. thank you, MC.” with one last test, barbatos lifted his bowl and brought it next to yours. “excellent job. i couldn’t have done it better myself. would you please whisk the egg yolks and the hell poison honey while i mix these two?”

you did as told, bringing over your bowl back over to barbatos, who took it with a ‘thank you’ and poured it into the main bowl. he methodically folded it over and over, taking great care not to move too fast.

“barbs? i have another question.” he hummed in response. “why don’t you just mixed the whole thing? it would be a lot faster.”

“are you getting bored of me already, MC?” he mused.

“n-no! it’s just—”

“i’m only teasing,” a playful smile overtook his features. “but to answer your question, i’m taking my time to prevent the mixture from deflating. it wouldn’t be a black cloud cake if it didn’t have a cloudy texture, now would it?” barbatos poured a little bit more of the egg whites into the main bowl, repeating the methodical folding process. you hoisted yourself onto the counter, idly kicking your legs.

“talk to me, barbs. it’s too quiet in here,” you complained, folding your knees into your chest. “c’mon, quiz me!”

“if you insist,” barbatos decided to give you an easy one. “what temperature should we preheat the oven for a black cloud cake?”

your mind blanked. “oh, crap... uh.. 350 degrees?”

“fahrenheit or celsius?” barbatos’s teasing smile showed itself again.

“fahrenheit.” you replied, biting back the urge to add an ‘obviously’ at the end of your sentence.

“excellent. if you wouldn’t mind, could you please preheat the oven now? i’m just about done with this bowl.” barbatos folded it a few more times as you turned the knob on the oven, making sure there were no unmixed pieces hiding in the abyss-like mixture. you lifted yourself back up onto the counter, the two of you waiting patiently for the little ding! that the oven would make.

you hummed a tuneless song while barbatos folded the mixture a couple more times just to be safe, the ding! of the oven echoing through the shiny room. without hesitation, barbatos opened the oven door, slid the cake inside, and closed it back up again. the first time he had done this in front of you, your jaw dropped from the shock. barbatos rarely wore oven mitts, but then again, he didn’t really need them.

“is something the matter?” the butler always seemed to notice every little change in expression that gave away your thoughts.

“no, no, it’s nothing,” you shrugged off the unease. “could you just wear mitts every once in a while? i’m scared you’re gonna burn yourself one of these days.”

barbatos laughed at this, leaning against the oven. “it would take quite the oven to burn me.”

“what if i gave you oven mitts?” you suggested. “would you wear them?”

the hypothetical made barbatos strangely happy. “i would gladly wear anything you gift me.”

barbatos could certainly be a teasing nag at times, but he could be a sweetheart when he really wanted to be. though you haven’t put it together yet, barbatos only shared these moments with you. the more you two spent time together, the more barbatos found himself feeling more drawn towards you. he had no idea when or how a human became so important to him.

the sound of your sigh broke off barbatos’s thoughts. “what should we do with all of the excess ingredients? we still have a whole bunch of that liquid chocolate, we didn’t even use the flour, and there’s still some sugar and eggs. do you think we should bake something els— oh!” the feeling of something slimy slid down your hair and onto your back, causing a shiver to wrack through your body.

“i have a vague idea of what i would like to do with the excess,” barbatos replied, smiling cheekily. a broken eggshell was in his hand.

“barbatos! what the hell was that for?” despite wanting to sound upset, you couldn’t hold back the bubbly laughter that came out with it. you quickly took another egg from its container, aiming for his head. the demon was far too fast for you, instantly catching your wrist before your egg could come into contact with him. “cheater.”

barbatos only gave you that same mischievous smile, his arm easily overpowering yours, using your own hand to crack the egg onto your head instead of his. you used your other hand to reach in back of you, grabbing a fistful of flour and ruffling it into his hair, barbatos releasing your wrist in surprise.

“ha! karma!” you grinned. barbatos’s smile only grew wider, adding a more sinister tone to it. aw, crap.. you had unintentionally started a food fight. barbatos would more than likely finish what you had begun.

you squirmed past the butler, careful to maintain your distance as the two of you began throwing all sorts of things at each other. clumps of butter, streaks of melted chocolate, handfuls of sugar and flour, pretty much whatever you two could get your hands on. you ran all around the kitchen, using the island as a sort of barrier between you and barbatos, who looked nothing like he usually did. his neat hair was disheveled and white from the powder, his apron was stained with chocolate and butter, and he was absolutely enjoying himself. this was, by far, the most fun he’s ever had with baking, and to be sharing this experience with you only added to it.

in one swift motion, barbatos slid across the island and grabbed hold of your wrists in one hand, the other hand menacingly holding a handful of dripping chocolate.

“wait! wait!” you cried out. “truce! please! i give up!”

barbatos smiled triumphantly. “what was that? i’m not quite sure i heard you.” his hand drew closer and closer to your hair.

“truce! i give up!” you yelled, hanging your head in defeat. “i’m no match for you, barbs..”

barbatos withdrew his hand, although he did not let go of your wrists. his eyes scanned your face, your clothes, before glancing around the room. “oh, dear. it appears that we’ve made quite a mess,” he looked down at his own clothes, smiling almost chastisingly. “what am i going to do with you? it’s hard to be upset when you look so adorably funny.”

you two couldn’t help but erupt in a fit of giggles, barbatos’s hand traveling from your wrists to your shoulders. “look at you, you’ve even got chocolate in your hair.”

“and whose fault would that be?” you retorted, barbatos reaching up to gently pull at the strands of hair covered in chocolate, tucking the strands away neatly.

“i’d have no idea whose fault that would be” he replied innocently, his fingers combing through your hair before settling on either side of your cheek. your giggling fell silent, the intensity of barbatos’s gaze sending a painless jolt through your body. barbatos couldn’t bring himself to look away from your face, drinking in every single feature. drips of egg yolk on your forehead, a smudge of chocolate on your cheek...

“you seem to be quite the messy eater, MC,” he teased, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. your eyes narrowed at that, earning another laugh from the demon. “you have a chocolate stain on your cheek. allow me to clean it for you. stay still, please.” you locked your joints into place, afraid that if you moved even a fraction of an inch you might scare away barbatos or something. slowly, carefully, barbatos leaned in, pressing his lips to the smeared chocolate. the feeling of his tongue gliding against your skin made you shudder.

he pulled back to look into your face, blinking once, twice, then smiling apologetically. “please pardon me. i don’t know what has gotten into me as of late. i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“no, no,” you replied hastily, your hand moving to lay atop his. “it’s fine... thank you.” another comfortable silence blanketed over the room, except this time, it felt more.. intense. as if the entire room was filled with electricity. your cheeks stung without pain where barbatos held them.

“i’m not the only one with stuff on their face,” you grinned, cupping barbatos’s cheek and turning his head slightly. “you have chocolate right... there.” your thumb brushed against the corner of his lips, the demon’s eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “please, allow me to clean it for you.”

barbatos fully turned his face towards you, a tender smile curving his lips. his thumb brushed against your cheek once more as the two of you slowly began leaning into each other, the warmth of barbatos’s chest seeping into your own.

gradually, barbatos’s face drew closer and closer to yours, your lips only centimeters apart.

his sweet breath fanned across your face..

ding!

the sound of the oven made you both jump, your cheeks becoming overwhelmingly warm underneath barbatos’s touch. barbatos didn’t take his eyes off of you.

“it appears that the cake is done baking,” he said simply.

“...yeah..” was all you could say. “you’d better.. go get it before it burns.”

“that would be the wise thing to do.” he still didn’t move an inch, his eyes piercing into yours.

barbatos's loving touch made your brain feel fuzzy. your grip on his sleeves grew tighter. “i’m sure diavolo’s guests wouldn’t mind a little crispiness to their cake, right?”

“i believe it is called black cloud cake for a reason.” he agreed

barbatos pressed his lips onto yours without a second's delay. he found that you tasted sweeter than any pastry he's ever created.

#obey me #obey me game #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me x you #obey me x gn!reader #gn reader #barbatos #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #barbatos x reader #om! barbatos #om! barbatos x reader #baking with barbs #he's so babygirl #i want to braid his hair

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