#I WEAR BLACK AND GOLD DAILY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strawberryya · 9 months

Text

Santa baby

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

synopsis: Christmas is coming around, and you decide a new outfit is in its right place - for you and your boyfriend of course. Will he like the holiday themed outfits you have picked out enough to give you a couple needed gifts in return?

word count: 3.4k

genre/cw: SMUT, cosplaying Santa for devious purposes, idol au, establish relationship, softdom!san, sub!reader, a slight voice kink, use of sextoy, unprotected sex, cockwarming, oral sex - both recieving, borderline cumplay, soft aftercare.

rating: 18+

a/n: surpise @millennial-fangirl! I'm your cod secret Santa! I'm so sorry this took forever to finally post, but I hope you like it nonetheless!!

network tagging: @cultofdionysusnet @svthub @k-labels @kvanity-main

How would San react to the slutty reindeer outfit? Would he think the tail was cute? You imagine the look on his face as he opens the Christmas present you are trying to pick out. Usually, he would be the one deciding what you would dress up as. This year you want to try something new, you want to surprise him with a sexy new outfit. For him.

When you see the sexy Santa outfit hanging neatly on one of the rows of the toyshop, you can’t help yourself. It was so perfect. Tiny red briefs in velour, black gloves, and a matching belt… you figured that the belt had other purposes than holding up the nonexistent pants. You want to see San in the skimpy outfit. You need to see how it would fit snuggly around his large cock, and experience the feeling of the leather gloves when they meet your plush skin.

You are getting too excited just thinking about it, and Christmas Eve is still a whole week away. Pulling yourself out of your thoughts you take a set of the skimpy outfit for San and continue browsing.

Maybe you should get something for yourself as well? You debated it for a bit, looking at all the different seasonal and general costumes. You had quite a few at home already, with San loving to dress you up you had tried on quite a few over the years. When you spot the matching Mrs Santa Claus set you realize what needs to be done.

After all, he needs something pretty to look at too. This was his present after all. You could hear his seductive voice as if he stood right beside you, “Such a pretty whore, all dolled up for me on Christmas Eve.”

You imagine his smirk as he sees what you have planned for him. Your stomach flutters with anticipation at the thought. He likes to be dominant just as much as you love being his submissive, but sometimes you want to be the one taking the initiative, the one to take control. Picking out the sluttiest Christmas outfits for the two of you as a Christmas gift felt like the perfect opportunity for you to do so. You get to choose what and how it is going to be done. At least, that’s what you have in mind right now.

Before leaving the store with your new costumes, you ask for a good recommendation from the staff for your third surprise for San. A vibrator, just a small little thing that you could use as a helping hand to make him feel as good as possible. You don’t use toys on him very often, but why not? They always make you feel good. You decide to try it out this once.

The gifts are wrapped in red and gold when Christmas Eve comes around. After a week of thinking daily about how to go about giving him the gifts with the best result, you decide to put on your own outfit and hide it under your pajamas until the right moment.

San had not had the day off. The life of an idol could not be put off even on holidays such as this. You watch his performance on your TV as it airs, fixing your boobs in the lacy bra one last time before covering up with your Christmas pajama shirt. There was a matching velvet choker, but wearing it could ruin the entire surprise, so you decide to hold off on putting it on until later. The show was a holiday-themed special, San was acting even cuter than normal, fitting right in with his group members as they danced and pranced across the stage in their snowman outfits and reindeer headbands. It is adorable, you can’t deny that.

San has some serious talent when it comes to hiding his dominant streak. The cute cheek pokes and eye smiles almost convince you that he isn’t the same man who had ordered you to choke on his cock just a couple of nights ago. You had gladly done so of course, but it is sometimes hard to believe they are the same person.

The door slammed shut, making you almost jump out of the couch where you were sitting while waiting for San to arrive. He seems agitated as he drops his bag on the floor. He falls onto the couch the moment he sees you sitting there looking pretty and soft in your red and white checkered pajamas. His head buries itself in your thighs, making your cunt clench a bit, but innocently enough for you to chuckle it off as you begin patting his head. “What’s wrong Sannie?”

“Too much cuteness, can’t do it anymore. So, so tired.”

He groans into your thighs after looking over to the TV and noticing that you are watching his performance. “Please, turn that off, I really cannot look at that anymore.”

You chuckle but shut off the TV. “Rough day then, huh?

“Very. But I am free now~,” he says, suddenly sounding a bit more cheerful, his sharp eyes looking at you instead. Arms folding to hold his head up, his biceps balancing on your thighs. He looks so charming, you think. Leftover makeup is still sparkling on his cheeks and in the corners of his eyes. You wipe his cheek gently, “I have an early Christmas present for you. Maybe that will cheer you up and get you in the holiday spirits?”

San gives you a pleased smile in return, pulling you down with a gentle hand to kiss you softly. He tastes like chocolate chip cookies. It made you not want to pull away, but the thought of finally seeing his reaction to his gifts finally won over the pleasure of feeling his lips on yours.

You run to fetch the box from under the tree that you had decorated together a couple of weeks ago. The shiny red and gold paper is glistening in your hands when you excitedly hand it over to San. You position yourself next to his legs on the soft carpet, looking up at him with so much hope in your expression. He’s sitting up now, the sweats he had worn when getting off work showing off his dick-print, it feels a bit like he is teasing you even though he doesn’t know it.

“What is it?” San asks, eyebrows curiously knitting as he picks up the rather light package he had seen under the tree for a couple of days now.

“You can’t ask me that! Just open it!”

He doesn’t waste any time ripping the paper open after that, the red and white fabric soon appearing to the both of you. San picks up the gloves, the briefs, the hat, and the collar. There is nothing more to the outfit, it’s honestly even less fabric than what you have on underneath your pajamas… You watched his face turn from a small smile into a dark smirk.

“Are these for me, baby?”

You nod, meeting his piercing gaze. Heat spread across your skin when San stood up without a word, throwing off his shirt, picking up the tiny Santa collar, and putting it on without much effort. He had practiced putting variations of these on your neck for years, and it wasn’t much harder adorning his own neck with one.

His proportions always stunned you, and seeing him so causally pulling his pants down to reveal his large bulge sitting prettily in his boxers made your mouth water. His body is seductive, that was the only way to put it. The small red and white briefs are quickly pulled on, and you can’t help but be a bit sad that he was putting on more clothes right now, even though you loved seeing him try on his Christmas present just as you had planned.

“Will you hand me those, love?” Obediently you hand over the black gloves and the hat he pointed toward, earning a “Good girl,” from San. The way his voice isn’t hiding the smirk behind those words is making your walls clench around nothing. He is a vision when he stands towering above you, your eyes flickering over the details of his body. Gloves snuggly hugging his hands, arms veiny just like the pretty part right above the edge of the snug briefs. He has gotten so big during the last couple of years, his broad shoulders make you want to throw your arms around him, inviting him to do whatever he pleases tonight.

“You like what you see, don’t you?”

“Very much, San, I like it a lot,” you agree, gaze still wandering between the different parts of his body.

He scoffed, “Don’t you think you’re enjoying yourself a bit too much? Have you been a good enough whore this year to act this shamelessly? And you know very well that it’s Sir.”

You suck in a breath. His stern, but teasing tone made your heart beat faster. Not to mention the way his gloved hand has begun fondling his clothed cock.

“I have been a very good whore, Sir.”

“Oh, really?” San flirts, a smirk growing wide on his lips when you begin unbuttoning your shirt. You look down, intimidated by the way he watched you, embarrassed about having planned this entire thing out as a Christmas gift. When the red fabric covering your breast begins to show he bends down to your level on the floor, a leather-gloved hand lifting your chin, forcing you to look at him while you pull the rest of your pajama shirt off.

“Be a good girl and keep your eyes on me, won’t you?”

You do as he wishes. Your breath is shallow as you let him inspect your figure, still kneeling on the floor in front of him. Your tits are barely being held back by the red lace. You wait until San nods with approval at your new lingerie. He sits back down on the couch, your gaze catching the way his bulge has grown even more.

“Are you all dolled up for me, baby?” He asks, not expecting any answer. “Will you show me the rest of your outfit now?”

You were reminded of the collar you had hidden in your pocket, pulling it out and handing it over to San submissively. “Could you help me put it on, Sir?”

With a swift hand, San helps you snap the collar in place. The golden bells that adorn it ring prettily as you run your fingers over it. His touch lingered on your neck, the warmth of his hand chasing chills right down to where the heat had begun pooling between your legs. Without a word, you stand up. Carefully pushing down your pants to reveal the last piece of your outfit. The lace is already sticking to your wet lips. It’s a lewd sight, the fabric covering almost nothing, your bra making your tits look like they were about to burst the tiny thing open at the seams, and the collar ringing softly as your breath moved your chest.

”Like it?”

“Of course I like it. You have indeed been a good little whore this year,” San responds, his eyes meeting yours with hunger. “Come here, pretty girl.”

You straddled him without hesitation, needy for his touch. San’s hands quickly find your curves, gently caressing you with familiarity and need. His erection presses deliciously against your cunt, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

You kiss down his body, eager to please him with your mouth when you remember that you have almost forgotten about the third gift. “Wait! I have one more thing,” you mumble, getting yourself off from your confused (and horny) boyfriend. When you returned with yet another gift in your hands San doesn’t hesitate for a second to rip it open to see what could be more important than an orgasm right now. The tiny red vibrator that he unwrapped was a good answer to his questions.

“For you?” he asks.

“No, for you.”

San’s eyes widen when you take the vibrator from him. You had made sure it was ready for use right away. Proud to have prepared so thoroughly, you giggle a bit as you start kissing up his thigh, knees firmly planted on the carpet again, hands fondling San’s erection. It’s fun challenging San’s authority in this way. His hard cock smacks up against his abdomen when you pull down the fabric covering him. He groans above you as you lick along his needy shaft. You let your saliva drip down, sucking gently on his reddened tip. One of your hands works at the base of his erection, and the other fiddles carefully with the vibrator. A slow buzzing sound melts together with San’s pretty sounds as you press it against his hip, slowly dragging it toward his hardness. You hollowed your cheeks, letting the vibrations of the toy go through his hardness, softly at first.

He jerks up into your mouth, his body fighting to regain control over the situation. With a firm grip, he pushes your head down further on his needy cock. He’s lost in the chase of his own high, the way you are gagging around him only taking him closer to the edge. Your pussy clenches uncontrollably, even when he isn’t ordering you around with words. His actions always manage to give him the upper hand in these situations. He cums down your throat with a series of moans, so pretty you almost begin detesting the vibrator for giving off any sound at all that distracts your ears from hearing him. You let him fuck your throat until he pulls you off of him, teary-eyed and heaving for air.

“So good for me, fuck-” he gasps out. He looks down at you, hands desperately clinging to his thighs, your nipples having been pushed up above the edge of your tiny bra, hardened and suckable. Cum is dripping from the corner of your mouth, he reaches up a gloved hand, wiping it up only to order you to open your mouth once again. You lick the tiny amount of spilled cum from the black leather.

You are becoming needy. As much as you love pleasing him, you crave his touch too. Will he grant your wish if you simply ask? It was always a gamble, whether or not he would continue to play with you or please you like you needed.

He was always careful not to move too fast, loving to tease you and play with you until you were ready to take him inside of you. But after preparing for the surprise and wearing the sexy lingerie while lounging around, and then seeing just how quickly San had slipped into the usual dynamic between the two of you, you felt like you could take him with ease.

To be completely honest, you are more than convinced that you can take him. Your cunt aches for him.

“If you don’t stop wiggling your ass like that I might think that you’re already ready for me to get a taste of that sweet pussy,” San smirks as he watches your thighs squeeze together in search of some relief.

“I’m ready for you, Santa baby.”

“That’s cute,” he scoffs, “You seem like an eager little whore today.”

He gives you a look of mischief. An expression you love seeing, since it tells you that he has made his plans for what to do with you next.

“Can you lay down for me, pretty girl?”

You rise from the floor and position yourself next to San, your pussy available for him to use as he sees fit. The black leather gloves he still wears touch down on your soft thighs, helping you spread your legs for San to see just how wet you have gotten. With a swift finger, he pulls your red panties aside, watching as your folds spread beautifully. Slick and glistening.

He hums, “Such a sweet pussy you have, baby. I just can’t get enough…”

You gasp as he dives in for a taste, finally giving you something to help satisfy your urges. His tongue swipes at your pussy lips, lips kissing your clit, eyes closed, and his moans reveal just how much he’s enjoying himself as he eats you out.

A warm feeling spreads throughout your body when he sucks on your clit as a finger or two begin slipping into you and curling against your sensitive spot. He has a talent for making you cum fast, and hard. You are grinding up against his face when your first orgasm washes over you.

He works you through it, kisses against your inner thighs and a calming touch making sure you ride it out until you are panting and begging him for another.

San’s eyes shine at the pleading sounds. “My very own little whore, so desperate for cock.”

“Please… just one more!”

“I need to give you something back for this wonderful Christmas present, don’t I? A couple more orgasms sound like a good idea to me,” he says as he pulls you up by your arms, and with your assistance, you are now straddling him as he kisses you. He doesn’t taste like chocolate chip cookies anymore, now he tastes of you. It makes you feel dizzy.

You slip onto his hard erection, taking him in with a moan. He helps you start bouncing on his lap, the bells around your neck ringing softly as he stretches you out. The gloves aid him in holding a steady grip around your hips and thighs as he lifts you as much as he can while simultaneously watching your pussy coating his cock in your slick. His muscles become even more defined with each curl. You can’t take your eyes away from him. You whimper that you are close, and in response, San reaches down to pick up the tiny vibrator that lies next to him on the couch.

He presses the toy against your clit, your walls contracting around his length at the sensation. You are coming undone within seconds, but he doesn’t remove the vibrations, overstimulating you until you are squirming on his lap. Nails clawing at his bare, sweaty shoulders, and walls squeezing him uncontrollably.

You didn’t mean to come a second time, but when you go silent, and your entire body tenses against him San knows that he has succeeded in returning the favor. He cums inside of you, filling you up, eager to see it run out of you. He would’ve eaten it out of you, but you are already spent. Next time, he decides.

With a soft hand, he removes the toy from you, a gentle touch soothing your clit while you whimper at how sensitive he has gotten you. He lets you calm down, his cock softening inside of your warmth, just how you like it. It makes you feel close to him when he lets you feel him like that.

“I’ll go get some towels, could you stay right here for me baby?” he says, soft voice feeling like a warm blanket around your exhausted mind. You nod and slide off of him, missing his warmth the moment his arms let you go. He comes back with damp towels and water, making sure you’re cleaned up completely, and that you drink the entire glass of water before he finally forces you on your feet so you can go to the bathroom. He has taken the Santa outfit off, instead, he’s dressed in the nice grey sweats from before and a simple t-shirt. He dresses you in your softest pajamas and gives you new underwear. He patts your hair while he snuggles up next to you in your shared bed. The lights from the Christmas tree shine their warm light all the way to the bedroom. You let San take care of you completely, falling asleep in his warm embrace after having begged him for at least ten kisses.

“Thank you, that was a really nice present, baby.”

You smiled a drowsy smile, “I’m gonna have to think up something for New Year’s now because I wanna do this again…”

“Maybe I could be the one to surprise you, I have some ideas already,” San said and pulled you even closer, fingers running softly across your back.

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

#codn: santa23 #kwritersworldnet #ateez smut #choi san smut #choi san x reader #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #san smut #san x reader #choi san #atz san

507 notes · View notes

insuke69 · 10 months

Text

What's in a name?

✰⁂ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

Part I, Part II

1/3

Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩Warnings: cussing, Some angst, 'crybaby' reader, misunderstandings.

(mostly based on how earth-138 is)

Rated 13+(??).

✰5.7k words.

⚥Afab reader

_________________

Osborn.

“Norman Osborn”

A name everyone has learned for the worst part, the name ‘Osborn’ has run though the streets of Camden through the blood and dirt that drips through its pristine and marble image, spoken like the candyman–as if it were uttered three times, they’d be cursed and face the consequences. The man who hated the poor and less fortunate that were scattered through England. The man who kept his paws clean by hiring those who needed the money, then turning them into the crooked police for the crimes he made them do. The cruel family man who’s destroyed homeless shelters and remade them into his own buildings for business, legal or not.

“(Y/N) Osborn.”

Here she was. The daughter of this monster, the girl who receives bloody money that her father steals from the innocent, The daughter who people are afraid to even talk to out of fear of her dad, the girl who can’t refuse what she’s given because she understands how much worse it can be. That doesn’t stop her from still trying as much as she can. Sneaking out of her mansion most nights to try and get a taste of college parties. Whenever she goes out during the day with her dad’s black card, She spends it on clothes and gives it away to those she knows really needs it, always wearing a face-covering balaclava so her father doesn’t somehow find this out. Instead of the piano lessons she attended where her fingers gracefully flowed between those white elegant tiles to create beautiful classical music–she tried to learn the electric guitar, mostly teaching herself to the rhythmic sounds and rough rumble of the guitar that Hobie Brown wields.

“Hobie Brown“

A name recognized as well throughout Camdon but for the exact opposite reasons, a name that drips with earned respect, a firm rough hardwood image that's covered in stuck-out nails and splinters. A Punk that directly strives against fascists like Osborn, and who’s blood boils when he learns Osborn’s cruel plans to begin using the old Canals again–mostly to flush out the homeless that reside there, The homeless who Spiderpunk always seems to be visiting and helping out.

“Spiderpunk”

Oh. Spiderpunk. A name Y/N can recognise due to her father’s phone calls that she overhears late at night, a name she always hears that is spit out with venom through her fathers and his colleagues lips, the name she sees in bold graffiti almost daily on her dads main company building. Jet black graffiti and red with blue undertones that drip almost beautifully down the glass panes it was sprayed upon. She always bites back a grin smile whenever she hears her dad ranting about the punk he ever so clearly despises.

_____________

Rough Meeting.

It was one of those days, those days where you despised everything in your life–that was unlucky, bad luck of yours to have been born in this universe. Bad luck that you were the daughter of a sadistic monster, how you were seen as a monster for even being related to him.

Guilt.

Rage.

Frustration.

These emotions burned through your veins, making your hands tense and chest heavy. These emotions pool in your eyes the moment you walk through your large white bedroom door and crash into your Jado Steel Style Rose-Gold Bed. Your tense body relaxing but messy black mascara tears flowing down your face. Nobody understood, it's like you were speaking their language on deaf ears that didn’t care to hear you out. They didn’t care to hear out the brat, The Spoiled girl who has her life handed to her, the brat that no matter how hard she tries-

Can’t prove anything to everyone who is dead set on her being a spoiled daddy’s girl.

With boiling tears drying upon your soft smooth skin, You get up and change out of the clothes your main ‘Maid’, Roxanne, had put out for you earlier for your Dads event of a damn Factory opening that was built over another destroyed shelter. Removing the ruffle black dress with small cute green ribbons to show off your dads company colors along for him to display his gorgeous daughter. It’s not like he cared for anyone's image besides his own anyways.

Glancing at the clock, you sigh and dip your head into the pillow again,

6:36pm

You take a calming breath and change into some jeans and a loose black tee after crying some more for a few moments, the shirt only allowed for you to wear at home since it wasn’t perfect and elegant enough for the Osborn image. Ugh. You enter your private marble bathroom to wash your face free of those streaks of ‘weakness’ as your dad would call it.

“Hey! Uhm, Roxy?” You call out softly, your door soon opening with Roxanne standing by it and looking over at you expectantly.

“Yes, Miss?” Roxy said back in her usual calm and blank expression, her expression shifting ever so slightly at the sight of you wearing your usual clothing you do whenever you plan on sneaking out without Osborn knowing.

“Don’t let father see me going out, if he asks about me, tell him that I’m upset and tired from the event and to not disturb me.” you tell her as you reach under your bed to grab a shoebox where your balaclava, hoodie, and gloves are stored and hidden away. You wish you didn’t have to wear all this just to be an actually not-bad person, but you can’t risk angering your dad. He always told you to never dwell on what has to be done.

“It’s a dog eat dog world, You can’t cry about others who don’t have the guts to do what has to be done.”

Those words are always playing in the back of your head, your own dad telling it to you soothingly to help stop your tears–when you were about eight. You were crying because you were thinking about the lives he’s ruined and took for you two. Well.. More like for Oscorp.

You snap out of that memory as you clear your throat and put everything on to hide the safety of your identity while Roxy watches with that neutral face you’ve seen and known your whole life. She’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a mother, by textbook definition because she brought you up with care and some affection. But your actual birth mom had died while giving birth to you, you never met her once besides the moment she passed with you in her arms. Since then, Your dad has seen you as if you were the last living part of her that he has besides memories and pictures of her. He's always telling you that you’re her spitting image but you just.. Can’t see it. Probably because she is always glowing and happy in her pictures with anyone, she had a normal college student experience with friends and parties, she didn’t have an overprotective dad.

You roll the glove over your wrist, pausing ever so slightly at a white gold bracelet your dad gave you when you turned thirteen, with your grandmas and mother’s name engraved into it, and yours engraved below theirs. An important and old heirloom to your dad since he wants you to always remain in touch with your moms side of the family–not like your dad spent much time with his family anyways.

“When are you going to get over this phase?” You suddenly hear Roxy ask from behind you which makes you jump ever so slightly before subtly moving it a bit lower on your wrist so the bracelet chain does not get caught in the fabric of the gloves.

“You really want me to answer that?” You ask rhetorically before fixing the balaclava over your features while walking to your window and sitting on the sil, Kicking your legs out and looking out on the city and lowering sun before actually answering Roxy, realizing she sounded even a little.. Disappointed.. in you.

“The Osborn name has done- Irreversible damage, And I’m just trying to help out the people who need it, and pay for my dads actions with actual kindness.” Your tone is soft and a bit honest, you adjust your hands to push yourself out of the window before Roxy can even reply.

Your thick black boots break your landing as you fall in the green fluffy grass garden that surrounds your mansion, rose bushes and flowers adding some color to it since your dad agreed it would look good for our image, as if it wasn’t soiled already.

You make your way out of your house and just walk, stopping by an old tree that stood beside the path from your house to the city. Your foot stands on a nook where the tree had a brach that went out and folded in itself and your hand stretched up into one of its hard woodend pockets until you feel a familiar fabric, you pull on it until the backpack falls out with your hand holding it by the handle and hopping off of the tree.

This was your secret backpack that you didn’t even want on your own property so you kept it safe in a tree. This bag contained little necessities along with spray paint, some basic tools, cash, and pepper spray. You keep walking down the path and arriving at the city, where the air was polluted and slightly hard to breathe while the rest of the city had occasional litter, trash, and shady looking people who make it seem like it's better to walk across the street to the other sidewalk.

You usually went out at night to be able to put some of your art on display in the streets: You had a sketchbook full of small things that you usually spray-painted on canals, or outside the wall of abandoned buildings. You didn’t know what this secret ‘hobby’ was really called, you just walked the streets of the city until you found a good spot and started to make your art.

Nothing was out of the ordinary until you walked past an alleyway and in the corner of your eye, you saw someone in dirty clothes wearing messed up jeans and a worn out jacket, sitting on the ground outside a little blue tent with a small fire in a bin that lights up some of the alley.

You come to a small halt and debate whether walking over to the person or leaving them alone, your vision focusing in the dim lighting and revealing the other few tents there, some of the tents zipped up and indicating that whoever is in there is sleeping, and some people standing around with a lit cigarette in their calloused hand.

You swallow that gut feeling to leave them alone and walk over to a gas station, buying some instant pizza, sandwiches, and food for the people you told yourself not to bother and walk back over to them with the plastic bag in hand.

You approach the person you saw, but they look over at you and seem to tense and quickly stand as they face you.

“Hey! Hi, relax, I brought some things for you and your friends?” You said with a gentle soft tone as you stepped closer slowly since the vagabond seemed wary of you with their eyes locked on your face.

“Oh! Damn, I forgot, hang on.” You murmur as you reach up to pull your mask over your eyes to show your face so that the person would be less afraid of you, holding out the bag of food.

Their face changes into a grimace, as if disgusted at how you’re trying to help them out. Recognizing you as the creation they and their whole community despised due to the cruel name that comes after your first.

Osborn

They grimace at you and stare at you as if you were the one trying to drive them out of the city. The one that’s destroying non-profit shelters, as if it were your company that’s dumping all kinds of waste to the community- but that didn’t seem to have any matter to them anyways.

Staring at you like you were some Monster.

“You’re not welcome here.” The person murmurs with a coldness and genuine hatred in their tone, sharp like an icicle that cuts through your heart sharply. It’s not like you couldn’t understand that, they didn’t know anything about you besides what your dad has done.

Before you can respond, they continue as they walk closer to you with their hands fisted to their sides,

“You aren’t welcome anywhere around here, you don’t even know what has been going on here, ‘princess’. You’re just some brat who needs some kind of sick ego boost to try and make people love you and respect your image.” Each word spat like venomous cold spikes as they gesture one of their hands, as they get closer–you can see the other people in the alley look over and seem to tense up and get worried in some way.

“I know what my father does, I’m so s-” You begin as you take a step back, but being cut off be the person speaking louder with exasperation in their tone.

“No you don’t! You don’t have any idea what Norman is even doing to us! You just sit there and look pretty while your dad is ruining lives!” And if there weren’t other people around- well, if there weren't one of their friends, a girl with baggy jeans and a gray beanie holding them back, you don’t question what would’ve happened to you or what they would’ve done if that girl wasn’t holding them back.

“Dude..” The girl whisper yelled as she pulled the person yelling at you away from you and closer to herself, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t piss her off because she’ll tell her dad and he’ll fuck over each and everyone in this damn alleyway.” and she swats them on the shoulder.

Damn.

You really are just ‘daddy’s girl’.

You stay quiet and just place down the bag of treats and just walk off, out of the alleyway. Feeling the earlier emotions come to a boil once again as you fix the balaclava back on your face and walk down the pavement of the dimly lit street.

Rage.

Guilt.

Frustration.

With your eyes prickling with tears and resurfaced emotions following, you decide to walk to a part to calm down as the hot watered sadness drips from your eyes, down your cheeks and soaking into the fabric covering your face.

You find yourself here. Late at night. Silently sobbing your eyes out on a cold metallic bench you vividly remember your dad showing it to you when you were a kid.

You were about seven and you had fallen off a swing set and scraped your knee badly, you still have it slightly scarred on your knee if you looked for it enough.

Hot tears because of the burning pain on your soft flesh, you were sitting in this exact spot as your small hands were holding up your black and white striped leggings with your leg up, and Roxy tending to your wound with your dad sitting right beside you with his hand on his shoulder.

“You were reckless, and your mistake cost you. You don’t want to be getting hurt,” He begins before gently taking your chin with his calloused hand and making you look at him through sniffled sobs, “and you can’t be showing this weakness unless you want it to hurt you later on.” Your dad continued as he wiped away your tears with his leathery thumb brushing against your babyfat-filled cheeks.

And Now.

Crying like now you always did, as if you didn’t change. Still that little girl who only knows one thing: how to cry.

You sit back and hold your legs with your face in your knees, it's like everything that has been being held in–caused by your father or not.. Was crashing down and flooding your eyes like a broken dam through a canal. The balaclava grew damp before you hear an odd THWAP sound which makes you raise your head and look in the direction of the sound.

You see a familiar man with his gaze focused on you, wearing what seems to be a red spandex suit below a torn blue t-shirt and black ripped jeans that accentuate his already skinny and lanky body with a spiked leather jacket over his shoulders with several pins that decorate the chest and a spiked mohawk on his head.

Once you notice him approaching you quickly reach your hand under the balaclava to wipe your cheeks from the excess tears, internally grateful that your mask was already dark and the moisture from your tears won’t be too visible to this man.

“Excuse me? You- you alrigh’?” The man asks, his soft yet cockney voice immediately making you recall who this man specifically was: You’ve heard his booming words at protest rallies but never saw from who the vocal fighting came from because of your dad and his security quickly ushering you away to keep you safe–or to keep you unaware of your father’s negative popularity.

You sniffle for a second before answering “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a shitty night.” while you clutch your bag a bit closer to you since he was still a stranger to you. He sees you tense and he chuckles while shaking his head and putting his hands into his pockets.

“Calm down there, ‘m just making sure you’re not some dealer tryna make bad lives worse.” He says jokingly as he glances at the bag you’re clutching, but also at your body language, “You’ve gotta understand how it looks for me, to find some masked person sitting in a bench in the crappy part of town.” His voice was playful yet gentle as if to calm you, he had some kind of charm that made him seem almost easy to talk to–especially since this is the first conversation you’ve had in a while that wasn’t swayed against you due to your name.

“And imagine how this looks for me, some dude walking up to me as I’m sat happily on a park bench.” You say back to him with a smirk under your mask.

“Touché.” He chuckled as he shook his head and stepped closer while offering his hand, “The Name’s Spiderpunk.” Once he introduced himself, you felt a splash of relief as he confirmed who he was. His name is said in his own way, in such a calm manner that contrasts the venomous words your father speaks of him when he thinks you can’t hear his disrespectful language. “And you are..?”

His body language is weirdly calm and relaxed, not at all judging you or making you uncomfortable.. Is that a green flag or a red one? You take and shake his gloved hand with yours. This was the only time a stranger wasn’t immediately hostile or rude to you, and you didn’t want to lose that. ..So what’s a little white lie?

“Emily.” You answer him with a soft nod. Your mothers name? Why say her name?

“Emily,” Spiderpunk echoed with a smile in his voice, “And uh.. Wha’s with the whole.. getup?” He asked as he gestured to you vaguely, mostly to your mask that's covering your face and only shows your dark eyes and long lashes, that were ever so slightly red and puffy because of the earlier crying.

“Don’t worry about it, just- lets just say my face around here is.. Disliked.” Because of my damn father.

He nods slightly, if he has some kind of expression on his face then you can’t even tell what it is because of his mask, you open your mouth to at least try and ask about that but he continued without realizing he practically interrupted you: your face is equally as covered.

“And uh.. Not that I don’ believe ya for your word, but I’ll have ‘o check that bag.” He says while gesturing at your backpack that you're clutching against you.

What? What kind of request is that? It’s not like you’ve even done anything to prompt this question in the first place, and who is he to ask about the bag or something?

“What are you, a cop? Some kind of narc?” You ask with your tone slightly more hostile than you’d want it to be. It’s not like you’re hiding anything either, but you literally have money and spray paint: You can get in trouble for some vandalism you haven’t even done yet.

He pauses for a second, seeming genuinely offended that you accused him of being a cop, as if you called him something below the respect that even vermin have.

“No. Nothing of the sort, never compare me to a cop.” He tells you firmly before muttering under his breath, “fucking pigs.” and without warning, he thwips a white silky rope out of his wrist and it attaches itself to your bag and rips it from your grasp.

You find yourself staring at Spiderpunk as he starts to casually go through your bag as if it were nothing and like you fully offered it to him. He chuckles as he sees some of your spray paint, you hear the cans clink as he shoves his hand into it and checks everything out.

“Tha’s it? Here I was partly thinking you’re some dealer trying to make sure this part of camden stays ghetto, but nah,” He hands you back your bag–He seems mostly amused by the obvious grin in his voice, “You’re just a stree’ artist?”

Street artist? That's what it’s called? You always loved art ever since you were a kid–So your dad always provided you art lessons, good paint, expensive sketching pencils, but he always made you draw boring things like fruit bowls or paint sunsets. But you even one time helped him with ideas for the Oscorp logo! That was fun for you at the time before you knew the shit Oscorp was doing.

But you realize he was pretty much asking for you to confirm if you’re a street artist or not. “Yeah- Yeah, I’m a.. Street artist?” You respond as you take the bag back, not even knowing if you’re saying it right, but you shouldn’t rely on someone to teach you so you reword what you said with a bit more of a firm tone “Yeah. I’m a street artist, tonight I haven’t really done art though.”

He nods and stays quiet for a moment as he looks at your masked face before he looks around and holds out his hand for you as if to help you up.

“Come with me, I know a good spot where you can put up your stuff. I was on my way there anyway so I could show you.” He had this tone where you knew you could say no, swat his hand away and run, politely decline and leave, Something but..

“Sure.”

You take his hand and stand before slinging your backpack handle over one of your shoulders. His mask hiding every bit of emotion he can possibly be showing besides the lenses over his eyes that squint slightly at an expression every once in a while but beyond that–you have to heavily rely on reading his tones and body language.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he glanced over at you. He seemed like he wanted to do something and just wanted some of your approval. He seems strong and like he’s able to do a lot–and he leaves the decision all up to you.

With an unsure nod of your head, he pulls you closer and wraps his arm around your waist, "Hold on." He told you before shooting a web of his up to a building, your arms wrap around his neck–over his shoulders.

You shut your eyes tightly as you suddenly stop feeling the ground below your feet and cold air hitting and blowing against your body as you swing through the city and hold onto him for dear fucking life.

“My god, holy shit.” You say as you try not to yell but unable to be silent. Spiderpunk holds on to you with one strong slim arm around you and the other expertly shooting webs and slinging through the streets of Camden as if it's some common occurrence for him–well, it was.

Your vision is slightly blurred with the lights and the slight tears forming because of the dry wind blown against them. But before you know it–you’re on the ground again with a soft thud with Spiderpunk still holding onto you like it's nothing.

“You alrigh’?” He asks with some kind of smug tone that implies he somehow finds how you clung on to him amusing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It's just that not everyone is used to slinging through the air.” You respond sarcastically as you let go of his with his hand on your waist lingering for a second before it falls to his side and his other arm raising his hand to gesture where you guys are and you feel your stomach drop once you see a familiar green logo- no, a familiar cut ribbon as well.

This is the new factory my dad opened.

Well, it wasn’t completely new that Spiderpunk was on his way to vandalize your dads newest business- how could you have forgotten? Your heart beats in your ribs as your eyes dart to the hidden cameras you know are there because your dad asked you to adjust them and help so you make sure they cover the whole area. “W-we shouldn't be here, at all.” you tell him as you grab his arm to keep him from getting too close to which he fully laughs while shaking his head and putting a hand over his eyes, Is this some sick joke to him?

“Didn’ think of you as the type to be afraid of Osborn. You’re full of surprises.” He coos while softly clutching his stomach teasingly.

“What? No! It’s just- there's security and-” You begin, before being cut off before he shoots webs in all directions and corners of the wall as though to cover the cameras- he over did some webs but they are definitely covered now.

“And we’re wearing masks. Osborn has nothing on us- and that sadistic fascist probably can pay someone to clean up. Bet this is worth pennies to him.” Spiderpunk scoffs, his voice full of disdain and genuine venom towards your father–and he doesn’t even know it.

Something about his words ring into your ears, it’s not like you didn’t know your dad was practically hated by everyone that wasn’t rich and privileged.

So why did this feel more.. real?

More true?

As if watching these acts in person other than the news you secretly watch is more.. In your face about these situations?

You swallow a big gulp and nod and take out your bag and open it to show the spray paints. Spiderpunk’s lenses squint as if he were smiling at you.

“Good girl.” He teased

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. A blur full of laughter, smiling, story telling, and paint. Spiderpunk makes his usual tag on the building as you try to get the hang of using spray paint cans. Genuine laughs from Spiderpunk when you have a stupid yet funny comment, and a smile seen in your eyes when he has a joke. Something warm develops in your chest and cheeks by being in his playful presence, a bit foreign but it's a nice feeling. Like a warm hug..

At one point you two actually get to painting, with a practice ‘drawing’ being a little spider like the one he has on the back of his jacket. “Aw, nice! Am I like your muse?” He coos as he looks at the art you’re making with a hand on his hip.

You chuckle as you glance at him then look away to focus on the spider itself, “Like it? It looks l-” You pause and cut yourself off at the sound of a camera and a light flashing. Your head whips towards the sound and you see Spiderpunk took a polaroid picture of you.

You watch as the picture prints and he shakes it while it develops before giving it to you with a squinted lensed smile again. You see the picture is of you with your back turned and the spray paint can in your hand while it decorates the blank gray wall it's on.

“Keep i’, let it be a reminder of the time you met Spiderpunk.” He comments playfully as he picks up another spray paint can and goes to the free spot of the wall beside you which makes you laugh and shake your head while he chuckles softly.

But then you think of a question that ends up erupting from your throat as you put the picture into your jean pocket.

“Hey, Spiderpunk..” You begin as you spray a line of your paint, leaving a streak of black since you’re starting on the outline.

“Yeah?” He responds as he holds his own spray paint can in one spot to create the little dripage to give his tag the right style.

“Why do you hate Osborn so much? I mean, I dislike him too, but do you have a specific reason to hate him?”

Spiderpunk pauses slightly but keeps his gaze to the wall instead of looking at you.

“He is ruining lives and screwing people over for his own selfish gains. He’s a fascist twa’ that likes the power trip. And I can’t stand his pompous daugh’er either.” He answers while going back to what he was doing with his paint.

At this, you’re the one who pauses and keeps your gaze away. Before you can ask a little follow up–your phone goes off and you check it with eyes going wide once you see the time.

1:03am

Shit.

How long have you two been spray painting? You have to seriously get home before Roxy worries-

Or before your dad finds out you’re gone.

“I have to get the hell home- like.. Right fucking now.” You say as you scramble to grab your things and shove the almost empty paint cans into your bag, suddenly aware of what can happen to you if you arrive late- Roxy is always giving passive aggressive threats of telling on you to Osborn if you arrive home late.

Spiderpunk gets confused at how you suddenly have an urge to leave but helps you pick up your stuff anyway. “Heh, did you sneak out or something..?” He asks with a chuckle but is mostly curious as to why you’re leaving in such a hurry now.

You breathlessly chuckle before zipping up your bag. “Yeah, something like that.. Can you-” You cut yourself off as you realize you were about to ask him to take you home. Obviously he can’t know who you are- you cant lose this friendship.. Or whatever this is.

“Take me over to the park you found me. Now. ..please.” You say as you sling your bag over your shoulder and wrap your arms around his neck again–even if this time his body is warmer and there's something there that makes your heartbeat a little faster.

“Wow, and I was ‘bout to ask if you were sick of me already.” He coos teasingly before putting his arm around your waist, and with a secure grip you’re swinging through the air again.

You roll your eyes and hold onto him, he comes to a stop at the park and leaves you exactly where he found you-

On the bench.

You awkwardly say your goodbyes before bolting away in the direction you first came, you hastily put your backpack back into the tree and make your way through the dark garden. You smile to yourself as you think back on everything that you and that masked punk did tonight.

You climb up the tree beside your window and jump into your warm bedroom where the only lighting was the bathroom light you probably forgot to turn off and the hallway light outside your bedroom door peeking in from below the wooden barrier.

You kick off your boots and start removing your mask as you walk back over to where the shoebox under your bed hides. You enter your dimly lit room and see it just how you left it. You take a breath of relief and smile to yourself like an idiot as you think about Spiderpunk, walking to your bed as you remove the balaclava from your face and put it into the box along with your gloves and the picture.

Once you close the box and safely hide it under your bed, your dad suddenly bursts through your bedroom door and Roxy behind him.

“No! Mr. Osborn, She’s-” Roxy was saying to your dad before she looks at you and stares daggers for a moment before continuing more calmly, “See, sir? She’s right here.”

She had been distracting your dad while you were gone and you definitely owed her something since she was busting her ass. Your Dad seems like he was fuming but his gaze softened when he saw his daughter in her room like roxy had been saying to him.

“Hey, sweetie.” He greeted, almost awkward because of his aggressive entry. “It’s late, you should go to bed.” Osborn says as he walked over to you kissed you on the forehead.

“Yeah, I was just about to do that.” You retort in the usual chipper tone you used with him so he really had no idea of all the things you did against his back.

___

The next morning you go downstairs to your kitchen but overhear your dad livid on a call, so you stand by the door and listen in without making yourself known.

“What?! What do you mean he already hit the damn new factory at Elm street?” He practically roars but keeps mind to his volume since he thinks you’re asleep.

You smile to yourself as he begins ranting about Spiderpunk, the grin widening once he says something that made your heart pump slightly faster.

“A second one? Who the hell does he think he is, bringing some kind of date to ruin my work.”

___ @eyesxxyou .... I did it.

I'll make part 2 if this does well since I also have sm shit to do now that I have a job.

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #atsv hobie #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie spiderverse #spiderpunk x reader #spiderman #fanfic #hobie brown #what’s in a name?

540 notes · View notes

coquettetoji · 11 months

Text

{ 🪩 } EREN JEAGER MOODBOARD

★ general eren hcs ★

— hot type of nerdy * defo majors in computer science

— my boy by billie eilish coded

— has hot hands ( the veiny kind with long fingers but his hands defo aren’t abnormally huge 💀 ¡ALSO WEARS RINGS! )

— probably smells like weed, mint gum, and expensive cologne. i’m thinking creed aventus with a woody type of scent

— has a silver chain, not gold obvi 👎 defo does the tiktok arm leaning against door frame chain dangling pose

— solid 6’2 maybe 6’3 depending on shoes and lean muscular

— emotion damaging fuck boy (takes ‘hurt people hurt people’ on a whole nother level but he’s hot so who cares?)

— drives a blacked out camaro with tinted windows bc uh

— doesn’t vape, but will always occasionally smoke weed

— gym bro with a sleeper build * bench is probably 265-270 and rubs it in armin’s face atleast once a week

— has 1 playlist because he listens to spotifys default made daily mixes 💀 ( daily mix 4 is always his go to )

— his actual playlist consists of the most overplayed main stream indie songs but then has rnb songs with 3k listens per month mainly from eren that lowk hit?

— mama’s boy and likes cats > dogs

— doberman boy

— has his snapchat in his insta bio with the ghost emoji next to it

— can play guitar and surprisingly well, favorite song to play is sparks by coldplay

— wears prescription clear frame glasses with the blue light lenses on them at night but wears contacts during the day

— all his $$$ comes from stocks, doesn’t have a job but is so smart when it comes to shit like that **defo has one of those metal credit cards that clink against tables 😏

— has dimples on his lower back and deep smile lines with that joker type of smile lol hot

— 3.8 gpa, math and science smart but not reading/english smart

— has a black phone with a clear case, black background, and his most used app is tiktok and messages

— wears street wear, wife beaters, baggy jeans, graphic tees, expensive sneakers, and cargos

— brown / green eyes, show more when they’re in the sun

— has a single diamond piercing on his right ear bc he’s slutty like that

{💌} new message from mica

hopefully this wasn’t a horrible first post bc i’m new to this whole thing, i’ll figure things out after a couple youtube tutorials >:)

i will gladly go emo for eren omfg he’s such a *moan*

SETTING THIS WHOLE BLOG UP SOON I PROMISE 😛

#eren x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren fluff #eren headcanons #aot headcanons #aot #eren jaeger x reader #moodboard #aot moodboard #aot fluff #attack on titan #eren smau #eren x you #eren x y/n #aot fanfiction #aot smau

985 notes · View notes

ladamedusoif · 1 year

Text

Café Crème

Javier Peña x f!reader (one-shot)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: ~ 1k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); established relationship; Javi enjoys a healthy breakfast; Javi hates embassy coffee; smut; this is literally just smut.

Summary: Your boyfriend Javier likes mornings at your place for more than just your coffee.

Notes: I keep getting sent to horny/self-deprecation jail by @julesonrecord and @lunapascal. Now, while I’m an abolitionist this is at least a productive carceral system because your punishment results in smutty little thots that turn into smutty little ficlets. And then @julesonrecord gives you a title you can’t resist. ☕️

This is my first time writing for Javier Peña. I enjoyed writing this little morning “fun”, please enjoy reading.

Javier Peña loathes what he refers to as “embassy coffee”. Correction: “shitty embassy coffee”.

You learned this early in your relationship. The first time Javi took you out for dinner, he’d savoured the strong black coffee served at the end of the meal. The white coffee cup with its gold trim had looked comically tiny in his large hands.

“God, this beats the fuckin’ pigswill they call coffee at the embassy. Only the Americans could come to Colombia and still serve up shitty coffee.”

You’d added a little cream to your own coffee, stirring as you watched him talk, interspersing sips with deep drags on his cigarette.

“I know somewhere you can get good coffee. Fresh ground beans, French press - definitely not pigswill.”

He looked at you, cocking his head in curiosity. “Oh? Where?”

You’d smiled and arched a brow. “My place, tomorrow morning.”

That was a year ago. With Javier now spending most nights at your apartment, the morning coffee ritual had become a near-daily fixture. Whoever wakes first takes charge. Boil the water. Shower. Grind the beans. Stir. Brew. Press. Serve.

You blink awake first, Javi still sleeping soundly with his body tucked against a pillow. You reach for your favourite vintage silk robe and quietly pad out of the bedroom. Your apartment is in an older building and its layout is eccentric, to say the least: the bathroom is accessed via the narrow, galley kitchen.

You put the water on to boil while you shower, as usual. Washed and wrapped in your robe, it’s not long before the noise of the coffee grinder rouses Javi. He shuffles into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up every which way and a hand scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

He’s wearing an old Texas A&M T-shirt and a pair of the boxers he keeps at your place for the mornings. You’d had to convince him to wear them, arguing that Señora Hernández in the block opposite did not need to see just how, um, gifted your boyfriend was. And especially not at 7.30am.

“Morning, mi amor. Just going to put this on to brew.”

Javi grunts and plants a kiss to the crown of your head as he squeezes past you in the narrow kitchen, hands pressing into the soft flesh on your hips as he heads for the bathroom and his shower. You know him well enough now to know that Javier Peña is essentially non-functional until his shower and coffee.

You place the lid and plunger at the top of the French press jug, and rest your hands on the countertop as you wait for it to brew. You can hear Javi humming lightly in the shower, the scent of your bergamot shower gel gently wafting into the kitchen. The running water stops.

He always looks fucking delicious fresh out of the shower: wet hair combed back, starting to curl up at the ends; T-shirt slightly clinging to the damp skin of his broad torso; jaw freshly shaved and moustache trimmed. You slyly glimpse at him out of the corner of your eye, not wanting to let him realise you’re admiring him so intently.

Fuck. He’s so goddamn hot.

As he nears you, Javi’s scent becomes more obvious and more intoxicating. Bergamot, toothpaste, mouthwash, shaving foam. The heady combination goes straight to your core.

His shoulders are pressed against your back. One arm on the counter, one trailing on your hip and waist, seeking the edge of your robe.

“I know what you’re after.”

You feel the bristle of his moustache against the side of your neck and you moan lightly. A kiss combined with the lightest of nibbles to that sensitive place at the crook of your neck.

“Do you?”

You bite your lip and try to keep it casual, as if you aren’t already getting wet for him.

“Coffee, right? Can’t start your day without it.”

Another kiss, this time to your shoulder where the skin is exposed. You feel those long, thick fingers edging inside your robe and against the soft skin of your tummy, inching to the underside of your breast.

“That’s not the only thing I can’t start the day without.”

You turn to face him, still pinned between his arms but now placing your hands on his forearms. You cock your chin as you meet his gaze, a little defiant, perhaps, but more teasing. More willing him on, asking him to do his worst.

“Oh? What else do you need? What else do you want for breakfast?”

He does that half smile that devastates you, arching an eyebrow as he lifts a hand and trails a finger along the line of the soft, silky fabric that barely covers your chest. “I want…” A soft kiss to your décolletage. “This.”

You can feel your core pulsing now, slick gathering between your legs. Still, you try to retain your composure.

“Anything else?”

He loosens the belt of the robe and lets it fall open, exposing you. Moving one hand along the curve of your waist and lightly grasping the flesh of your hip, he brings his mouth to each of your nipples in turn, swirling his tongue around them, sending your hips bucking upwards. “And I need this.”

You notice that he’s begun to move his way down your body, throwing the robe fully open as you lean back against the kitchen counter.

“What else is on the menu?”, you gasp, feeling like your knees might give way.

He’s on his knees in front of you now, T-shirt clinging to his damp, post-shower body. He gently encourages you to part your legs, before trailing his mouth up the inside of your thighs.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He finally reaches your wet folds and, looking up at you for a final time, grins. “Best meal of all, cariño.”

Those lips. That mouth. That tongue. On you, in you, sucking, lapping, as if you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

It’s no time at all before you come with a gasp and a shudder, your release soaking him as he moans in delight. With a final kiss to your thighs and belly he pulls himself back up to standing and kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself as he wraps you back up in your robe.

“I’ll have that coffee now, if that’s okay, baby?”

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña one-shot #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javi you absolute menace #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #cafe creme fic #further adventures in big hands regular sized mug

409 notes · View notes

twst-drabbles · 2 months

Text

Dire 9

Summary: Dire like to make little mental bets with himself about which pixie will be tailing around the dear, dear Janitor.

Originally, Dire wanted the rest of the staff to play this game of his. He wanted to have fun, make some bets and see which faerie follows the Janitor around and potentially bond with everyone. And also get some pocket money on the side but that’s besides the point. Do you know what they said to him when he proposed the idea?

“Why would we bother when we know you’re going to lose?”

The gall of it all! They have absolutely no faith in his ability to gamble! Sure he almost ran himself into debt before but he had the self-control to stop himself before things got worse. Besides, it’s not that much money, only a few thaumarks and perhaps a nice antique item. And maybe a few dishes and some vacation days…

Anyways, point being, Dire had no one to bet with, so he had no choice but to bet with himself. Play his own private little games, since seeing he has no choice.

There is practically no end to the amount of pixies that love and adore you. Dire did make sure to recruit as many as possible in order to ensure the stability of this college, after all. And, while his memory is a little but foggy, Dire is more than sure he can take a daily guess as to what faerie or faeries will be following you around.

Today was a moist day, as yesterday there was a storm that nearly flooded the campus had it not been for the water pixies that were there. As such, the water pixies won’t be around, as they will be resting somewhere, or playing in a lake. The winds haven’t been all that active so Dire can cross out wind faeries following you around. Those of fire will be hiding away until the moisture calms down, oh but it is an incredibly cloudy day, so the pixies of light might be around.

Yes yes, let’s place his bets on those of light. You do go around and clean in the darkest of places no problem and pixies do so love to help you out. The rewards you grant are generous after all.

“Now then, where did I put the tag,” murmured Dire as he sifted through a drawer in his desk, filled to the brim with a number of fancy black name tags. “There it is!”

With the gold-trimmed tag in hand, Dire walked over to the calendar and pinned it.

“Now I just have to wait and see.” Because you always come by his office to do a general checkup and also report any interesting findings–and there are no shortages of it–to him.

And, as one would expect, you came in not even twenty minutes later. And sitting on your shoulder was–

“Dire, there’s a leak in my dorm and I’m gonna need you to order some materials for me,” you sighed, work outfit covered in muck and dust. A little pixie with a veiled mushroom hat swung their little feet, limbs colored black from their work. “A bunch of mushrooms and mold started growing right in the corner of my bedroom.”

Another little faerie, laid on your head, wearing a jacket of dark green, puffy mold. They grinned and sunk deeper into it’s… ‘luxury’ items.

Dire took in air, then let his face slam on his desk.

“Uh, you doing okay?”

“It’s nothing. Just wading through the ocean of my loses. Please, pay me no mind. I’ll order new floor boards and other such things soon enough.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #drabble #night raven college staff #dire #dire crowley #janitor au #reader insert #ask

79 notes · View notes

purpleenma · 3 months

Text

Listen.

✨The Spirk eyeshadow palette✨

A double palette set of 4 colours each where Kirk's is one palette and Spock's is the other. You can use them separate or you can put them together and you have the 8 colour ✨Spirk✨ palette.

You can also get an even bigger palette by combining the ✨Spirk✨ one with McCoy's palette and make a ✨ Mcspirk✨ one. You could really make all the combinations for your triumvirate ships!

So for Spock's palette we would have his signature indigo, a nice purple with blue shimmer for formal wear, a dark bronze with a touch of shimmer to do some fierce cat eyes and a deep black with black glitter for his dramatic goth ass.

For Kirk's palette we would have a warm tan for the daily, a beautiful soft orange with gold shimmer to wear at important events, wrap-around green with coppery shimmer for dating Spock and intense yellow with gold glitter for the diva inside.

And for McCoy's palette we would have his modest blue, baby blue with silver shimmer for being fancy, a cold grey to frame the judgy eyes and champagne with baby blue glitter when feeling bold.

So...

Paramount hire me when.

I could revolutionise their merchandising department if they let me.

75 notes · View notes

opaloharas · 2 months

Text

the adventures of himbo miguel

himbo miguel who is wholesome and loves cinnamoroll

(thankies to my server friends mwah for entertaining my silly thoughts)

cw: none :3 just fluff, miguel being ooc.

miguel’s days started like any other day. he woke up, ate breakfast, and hit the gym.

his philosophy was healthy body, healthy mind. or was it the other way around? don’t ask him.

as he finished his last rep, he let out a contented sigh. “good job, miguel.” he praised himself, wiping down the machine he was using at max weight before taking a long sip from his water bottle.

he smiled at the Cinnamoroll stickers that smiled back at him, his eyes focusing on one where the little character was wearing a chef hat, flipping a little heart shaped pancake. he tucked his bottle back into his bag, stretching a final time before leaving the gym.

his after workout activities consisted of getting a little treat. he would power walk in his tight little black shorts (that he thought made his peach of an ass stand out. he would never share this though) to a little bakery he visited as a child for his daily sweet fix.

he leaned down in the doorway to enter, the smell of fresh baked conchas and cinnamon lingering in the air. the little ding from the bell alerted his arrival, causing the little old lady, Julia, behind the counter to perk up from her seat.

“Miguelito!” she cooed, waving him in, her apron tight on her body.

“the usual?” she asked after leaning over the counter and hugging her favorite and most loyal customer. “there’s one slice left and the frosting is the right thickness and the sprinkles are just the right amount.” Julia assured, boxing up the cortadillo.

she put it in a little bag that he took quickly before paying her a hefty amount, refusing to hear any complaints, “if you come by tomorrow, my granddaughter is gonna be here! so i am telling you to come!” she called after him as he walked out of the bakery with a nod of his head.

as he walked back to his apartment, his mind lingered on the little old lady’s words.

‘Granddaughter?’ he thought, shaking his head. his mind raced as he thought of why she would mention that. he never voiced a desire to date to her. why was she trying to set him up?

he shook his head when he stopped at his building’s entrance, sighing as he made his way inside. he feasted on his piece of cake, letting out a moan of satisfcation. he looked to the Cinnamoroll figurine on his bartop, tilting his head to the side.

“you need a friend,” he spoke to the figure, smiling at it before getting ready to make a monthly trip to Miniso.

Miguel’s figure loomed over the shelf of Cinnamoroll figures, eyes looking down at the little phone holder in his hand, that looked like the top half of a cupcake and a small Cinnamoroll laying on his belly.

“i grabbed you first.. it would be wrong of me to set you down for something else..” he voiced his dilemma softly, eyebrows furrowed as he thought.

curse him and his big golden heart, thinking every inanimate object had feelings.

“i will always make more money,” he shrugged, grabbing the figure, walking to the front of the store.

he whistled along to the Twice song that was playing over the speakers while he checked out, swiping his card.

‘declined!’ the machine chirped. Miguel was confused, swiping his card again only for the machine to give him the same message.

all he wanted was his figures and to get home so he could maybe catch up on assignments he was missing.

he looked around before looking down when he felt a presence, seeing a shorter

woman standing, holding her hand out, gold bracelets dangling.

“sir, if you swipe your card again, the machine will start singing. it needs to you insert your card.” you smiled, not seeing a single thought register behind the man’s eyes until he blinked, a dopey smile forming on his lips.

“oh.” he mused, pushing his card in, hearing the little ring from the machine. he thanked you before he left the store. something about your eyes and your smile made his heart skip a beat. was it the twinkle from the fluorescent lights of the store? was it the brown lipgloss you wore? perfume even? the little hamster that kept his mind lightbulb on was overwhelmed.

oh, his brain was spinning.

the next day was cardio day. he adorned a black crop top, wiping his brow on his forearm, as he let out a low groan. after almost causing the machine to malfunction from his running speed and after slapping the treadmill’s screen until an employee glared at him, he decided he needed a treat. again.

his walk to his usual spot was uneventful. he whistled at some birds, helped some old ladies cross the street, and gave some musicians a few tips.

when he walked through the familiar door, he cleared his throat to announce his arrival. he saw someone pop up but it was not Julia, the face he was used to. it was you.

“miniso girl!” he cheered, clapping his hands together after a few moments of silence to remember where he recognized your face from. “you are Julia’s granddaughter? she mentioned you yesterday. i am Miguel, her most favorite customer?” he nodded slowly, squinting as he tried to see her in your face, brow raised.

you gave your name before giving him a full response.

“yeah, i help her out here on my off days.” you gave a polite smile, remembering the man’s air headed ways from the day before, “but anyways.. what can i get you?” you asked, grabbing the pink plastic tongs from the case, watching as he tapped his chin, adjusting his gym bag, biting his full bottom lip.

“i want… one of the pink frosted conchas, please.” he grinned, “they are my favorite.” he added, taking out more money than was needed while you packaged up the pastry for him.

he handed the stack of bills to you, grabbing the box quickly. his smile was radiant as he saw your shocked expression, calling after him as he walked out. your grandmother heard the commotion and sighed deeply, “that is just what Miguel does. he keeps my business afloat.” she sighed happily, patting your back as your eyes stayed focused on Miguel while he crossed the street outside.

while he slipped your mind while the bakery got busy, his mind kept replaying the interaction he had with you for the rest of the day.

his love for treats was going to be satisfied but his wallet was going to hurt from them and buying unneeded trinkets from Miniso.

Himbo Gods, help him.

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #baking #cinnamoroll #himbo miguel #fluff #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader

116 notes · View notes

ladystarksneedle · 10 months

Text

The eye of awe

Aemond x maid reader

Summary: A maid at the Keep relishes in the sweetness of gratitude.

Word count: 1.2k

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

She hears the familiar clang of steel as she passes through the courtyard, wicker basket in hand daring to glance at the flash of silver dancing in the sun. He moves with the fluidity of men from myth, of childhood tales told by mothers of the Realm willing their meddlesome children to bed. Stories of agile and fearsome warriors fighting to save kingdoms of might and maidens of beauty, slender and graceful with their arms and legs, dancing to tunes of mystery. She finds him to have both, equal parts grace and ferocity as he dodges another blow before his blade lands against his opponent's throat. As the crowd erupts in applause she ducks under the archway leading indoors. Just like her childhood, her escape for the day is at its end and her eyes wide open to the life ahead.

Work at the Red Keep is equal parts arduous as it is rewarding. Despite her young age, she's been promoted from a scullery maid to working in service to the one eyed prince himself. She assists him daily, organizing his clothes, tidying his chambers, ordering his baths, serving his meals and above all making sure the order he has in place is never disrupted.

“Chaos is only tackled well on the battlefield” he'd said to her when she was brought to him “I do not expect an ounce near me. Should I find you lacking, you'll be sent away before you can make your apologies.”

His return to his chambers is angrier than usual. His bath lies ready at his disposal, his clothes laid out meticulously on the bed. A linen tunic, leather surcoat and coat, linen breeches, trousers of wool and two leather belts lined with gold are arranged in that order, all in shades of ivory, black and brown, adorned with the familiar three headed dragon glinting in gold ready to greet him once he finishes. The only piece of cloth that remains askew is his eyepatch discarded on the dresser in haste, as she stands waiting outside, unwilling to initiate change.

It is the only one he wears rather religiously despite its condition. It is whispered by the maids in passing, that it was Princess Helaena who made it for him, ever since he lost his eye at ten, the dreaded incident never spoken of lest one incur his wrath. It is said that the wound itself was inflicted by a lad of eight, his own nephew, for a purpose widely disputed by all she's heard from. She finds the whole thing rather nasty, a cruel punishment or perhaps an unfair trial from the Gods. The others think it rather fitting for a man so cruel to be felled in such a way, yet she finds it akin to being cursed, for him to be so beautiful yet troubled. Despite his harshness and cold gaze, he's been nothing but courteous to her which is the most she can expect from any master she serves and is far better than one with grabby hands and wayward eyes. He's expectant and demanding, yet acknowledges a task well done. Perhaps it is his look of quiet praise on a hard day that carries her to the markets at noon, skipping her meal with ease. The leather she requires has been borrowed from scraps cleaned at the dressmaker’s, earning her a bewildered gaze and an equally prompt dismissal. The clasp she looks for however, costs a silver dragon. It is a lot, nearly half of her earnings yet she parts with them willingly. The gold ornament burns her palms as she heads back in time to resume her duties, a thrilled smile on her face.

She's been taught how to sew since she was a child, enough to be able to fix a hole, a gape or tear in both tunic and chemise alike.

She has fixed her father's breeches after a hard day's work and her brothers’ after they'd torn theirs running through the crowded streets of King's landing. Even stitching a wound comes easy to her now, having learned how to do so, after a shoddy job a few moons back, when coin had run dry to turn to the local healer. She smiles to herself as she pulls the threads through the leather at hand. It is brown enough to hide the gaps in her work and though it isn't as fine as the embroidery of a lady she's satisfied with it nonetheless. She stares at her little contraption in awe as she finishes in time. It has a single strap running across its breath held together by a gold button she'd found lying on the floor. On its side she's opted for a sturdier one with the golden clasp holding it all together behind, a single flame for the prince she serves, the closest she'll ever come to the might of the dragon.

There's a feast to be held tonight, in honor of his nameday. Guests from all over the Realm have arrived and as the Keep buzzes with excitement of the festivities at dusk and she finds it hard to contain her own delight. There is much work to be done before she can part with her surprise. She tends to him soon, dressing him for dinner in leathers of green and black, clasping the familiar worn out strap as he leaves grumbling. It is hours later when she sees him again as she's summoned by the familiar ring of the bell in her quarters. She creeps to his room in trepidation, hands clasped behind her back as she greets and readies him for bed, her gift heavy in her pocket. As he turns to dismiss her she looks at him shyly

“If you don't mind me saying, I'd like to wish you a happy nameday my prince”

He nods in response, humming as he makes his way to the fireplace, seating himself as he stares ahead.

“I have something for you” she continues moving towards him as he looks up “It isn't much but a mere token of my gratitude” she says extending her hand. “Thank you, for everything” she continues, stopping as she looks at him. He takes the leather in his hand, turning it over in silence.

When she was a child her mother had taken her to see her aunt. It was the first trip she'd taken outside the capital to visit a dying woman and provide her comfort. As they'd returned she'd shown her the sky, full of stars at night, bright and beautiful away from the haze of the city.

“Your aunt's up there now girl, watching over you just as I'll be someday” she'd said pointing to the drops of light adorning the skies.

His eye runs over the gold in hand, flame fitting into his palm like it belongs, shining like the stars of a forgotten past.

“Come, help me wear it” he remarks as he leans back.

As she clasps it in place and curtsies, she’s lost to dreams of silver chased with a flame of gold.

Clashes of steel greet her the next morn, a flame of gold glinting in the sun. Her dreams don't end with the battle at hand anymore, for the mighty warrior now carries a part of the maiden with him and she's content to hold his gaze just a little longer.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

#house of the dragon #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x maid reader #aemond fics #aemond imagine #zae's fics #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader

372 notes · View notes

solitaire-sol · 6 months

Text

Daily Prongsfoot Thought 010

James spends a good chunk of his life not fully understanding how hot he is. I know, that sounds impossible, but consider: He’s spent as much of his life as possible, from age 11 on, with Sirius Black. It’s not like James thinks he’s hideous or something, he knows he was a cute kid, but 11-year-old Sirius Black looked like one of Effie’s china dolls that she kept out of reach once James started walking (and had to repair anyway because, well, James). Once a few years passed, it was impossible to notice that Sirius was already eye-catching, though his early height and generally cool-towards/others attitude meant he was never the type adults cooed over (unlike bright-eyed James, with his big grin). And once puberty kicked in? I mean, James might wear glasses but he isn’t blind.

This never bothered James, though; on the contrary, he was proud! Look at how amazing his best friend is! Damn straight everyone stared when they walked into the Yule Ball! James has no idea that people were also staring at him, because… Well, why would you ever look at anything else when Sirius Black is standing there, all sleek and regal? James is so used to automatically looking to Sirius, often to the exclusion of others, that it seems natural for people to do so, too.

When they finally get together, James will finally experience self-consciousness for the first time in his life, and Sirius will be utterly bewildered to realize what and why. The problem is solved when Sirius resolves to spend the rest of their life telling James how much he loves his toned build, his flyaway hair, his hazel eyes that turn gold in the light, the strong line of his jaw, that firm yet eminently squeezable ass, the way James’ mouth curves into a pout or a smile and shapes itself around Sirius’—

Sirius appreciates every part of James, is what I’m saying, and James returns the sentiment, and honestly, they’re both pretty ridiculous about it well into their sunset years, wrinkles and graying hair and all.

#prongsfoot #bambibelle #james potter x sirius black #sirius black x james potter #jirius #sbjp #daily prongsfoot #and yes they live to a ripe old age whatever that is for magic folk #prongsfoot dilfs and then prongsfoot silver foxes #horrifying their kids and grandkids with their pda #but the partners of said kids and grandkids think it’s sweet

120 notes · View notes

cookybananas · 4 months

Text

The Aftermath - (Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Deceased!Reader)

author's note: Vaderkin x Deceased!Senator!Reader (yes, another angsty fic because I'm tired of the lack thereof and I'm in an angsty phase)

summary: The Former Ruler of Naboo is visited by a familiar figure

"Would you like to know more about Naboo's former glorious excellency, Queen Y/N L/N, sir?" The protocol droid spoke up, trailing behind the dark figure attempting to assist him.

"No..." The Sith Lord paused. "I have heard it before." his tone sounding defeated.

"If you have any questions or require any further assistance, I will be right here. Carry on then." The droid responded before returning to his previous position outside the temple, keeping an eye for any other visitors that might enter the mausoleum.

Outside the structure was a statue of you in your coronation dress. At age 14, you were the youngest Queen the Naboolians had elected. You were considered a beacon of hope and prosperity to the people of Naboo during the Clone Wars and your reign. The mausoleum was built just shortly after your untimely death that occurred over five years ago.

The rainy night, had a cold breeze that blew through the dark lord's heavy black cape as he made his way inside the structure.

The dark lord took his time, slowly walking through the large structure, admiring every little detail along the way. It was as if it was his first time here, but it wasn't, he wanted to soak up every moment that reminded him of you at any given chance. Sound of the rain, his heavy footsteps, and his mechanical breathing accompanied the atmosphere.

Tall pillars held the inside of the structure where your tomb was. There were dark red curtains draped from the high ceilings that were neatly tied to the pillars with a gold sash. At the base of pillars, were large pots of the Naboo native (and your favorite flower): the red millaflower.

There were numerous amounts of your personal belongings exhibited in enclosed, locked display cases. These items ranged from the gowns and jewelry you wore, to the beauty items you had used daily, and to the items that were personally gifted to you to preserve them.

The Sith Lord sighed to himself, looking down at his gloved hands. If he were to close his eyes and rest his head against the glass of your personal belongings, he can faintly remember the memories of you attached to the item.

It had only been five years since your passing. Five years since he had wrongfully killed you in an act of desperation. He should have listened to you in that moment and time, but fear drove him off the edge. He wanted, needed to save you. The nightmares of you dying haunted him at the time and needed a way to resolve them quickly.

He strongly believed that if he turned to the dark side, he would be able to learn the power to heal you from any sickness, even death itself.

But he was wrong. He force choked you, depriving you of oxygen as a way to get you to listen to him, but killed you in the process.

"Anakin...I wanted was you...your love." you whispered out to him, before fluttering your eyes shut, slipping into an eternal slumber in his arms.

Your words echoed in the back of his mind as he remembered the painful memory. Soon after, he had become this revering machine that everyone feared, a monster, a dark lord.

A glint of an object out of the corner of his eye captured his attention. The Sith Lord made his way over to the display case that had a light shining down on the japor snippet that was neatly displayed on a velvet pillow. The very japor snippet he had made for you many moons ago.

He gifted it to you when he was just 9 and you were 14, right before he left for his Jedi training. He gifted it to you as a token of fortune and in hopes for you to remember him if your paths were to ever diverge.

There were moments where he would catch you wearing the necklace when he came over to your apartment after a long mission. At times, he couldn't help but tease you about it in private, but also feel proud of himself, as it meant that you were all his and only his.

Anakin stared at the gift he had given you all those years ago, wishing he could turn back time and be that little boy who was smitten for you. But he couldn't, the damage was already done.

He soon found his way over to your tomb. The Sith Lord used the force to brush off the fallen debris and dust that had coated the top of your sarcophagus. Incased in duracrete, the tomb was engraved in aurebesh that stated:

"Here Lies

Her Royal Highness

Queen Y/N L/N of Naboo

Beloved Queen, Senator, and Fighter for the People of Naboo."

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A flash of lightning flashed through the glass stained artwork of you that was just a couple of feet from your tomb.

With a hiss, Vader, Anakin took off his helmet. He looked up at the glass artwork of you in your red, royal gown and styled headdress. He remembered you had wore face paint and would often switch positions with your handmaidens to keep your identity and yourself protected from any assassination attempts.

Anakin choked out a sob, falling to his knees in the process. Feeling overwhelmed at the waves of emotions he felt at the situation. He tried to steady his breathing, as he grasped the edge of your sarcophagus to keep himself stable.

"I'm so sorry my angel...for all of it. Forgive me, alas.." Anakin choked out. Hoping that if you were a ghost or a spirit just somewhere in the room, hearing his cries, but you weren't.

You didn't possess any force abilities, you were just a human that was a Royal Member of Naboo Royal Family and leader to your people. You couldn't pass over to the next life and be seen by force-sensitive individuals, simply because you weren't one.

Anakin stayed there, quietly sobbing to himself. He had wished he listened to you and his old master, but didn't. This was one of the dire consequences that he had cause himself and most importantly, affected you.

But alas, the trail of blood Vader leaves continues. He had a new master to follow orders, an empire to rule. But deep down, he seeks retribution on your behalf and for his sake towards the Emperor.

104 notes · View notes

sherewrytes · 4 months

Text

ℂ𝕆𝕄𝔼 ℂ𝕃𝕆𝕊𝔼

Gym Bro Satoru x Tom boy black reader

Synopsis: You met Satoru at your apartment complex's gym

It was a typical evening at the apartment complex's gym. You had decided to squeeze in a quick workout before dinner, hoping to burn off some stress from the day. As you approached the treadmill, you noticed someone already on it, running at a steady pace.

"Hey there," a voice greeted you, pulling your attention away from your thoughts.

You looked over to see a guy with a friendly smile, his white hair swept to the side and laced with sweat. He had a calm, inviting presence about him.

"Hey," you replied, offering a small smile in return as you stepped onto the treadmill beside him.

Satoru was eyeing you up next to him thinking "Damn, who's that?" he thought, his gaze lingering on your figure. Your confidence exuded as you warmed up on the treadmill next to him.

The way your black tank top hugged your curves, and your loc'd hair was pulled back into a ponytail and dyed red and the ends. It was like you were the only person in the room, and everything else faded into the background.

As you both continued your workouts, you found yourselves falling into an easy conversation. Satoru talked about his job as a freelance software engineer, and you shared stories from your own work as a graphic designer/ creative director.

Despite your different backgrounds, you found common ground in your love for fitness and shared interests.

Time flew by as you ran side by side, exchanging laughs and smiles. Before you knew it, your workouts were over, but the conversation continued as you cooled down.

"So, same time tomorrow?" Satoru asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

You grinned. "Definitely. It's nice to have a gym buddy."

The next day, you met Satoru at the gym again, and the day after that, and the day after that. Before long, your daily gym sessions became the highlight of your routine.

Outside the gym, your friendship blossomed. You grabbed post-workout smoothies together, went on evening jogs around the neighborhood, and even teamed up for the occasional Brazilian Ju Jitsu class.

Satoru found himself being more attracted to you the more time you guys spent together outside of the gym.

One day, as you were finishing up a particularly grueling workout, (one that Satoru crafted for you to get a more toned back and waist) Satoru looked over at you with a grin.

"Hey Ma, my friends are coming over to my apartment tonight wanna come over and hang with us."

"Sure, I'd love to," you replied, flashing him a smile. "I could use a break from all this sweating."

Satoru laughed, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Great! It'll be fun, I promise."

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside Satoru's apartment, nervously adjusting your casual fit. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

The door swung open, revealing Satoru with a wide grin on his face. "Hey, you made it!" You eyed Satoru up and down. He was wearing a black fitted vest with a gold chain and matching bracelet paired with grey sweatpants. He looked good you thought. Satoru caught you checking him out and smirked. He opened the door wider for you to walk in the apartment.

Satoru really loved your lil fit, he knew from you both always texting and talking that you were a bit insecure about your more tom boy side, but he always assured you that you looked damn good. You stepped inside, greeted by the cozy atmosphere of Satoru's apartment. Shoko, Geto, and Nanami were already there, lounging on the couch and chatting animatedly.

"Hey guys, this is y/n," Satoru introduced you, gesturing towards you. "She's my gym buddy."

"Nice to meet you," Shoko said with a smile, while Nanami nodded in greeting. Geto being the messy best friend of Satoru's piped up and said "Oh she's the baddie you won't stop yappin' about." Satoru's eyes cut to you then Geto.

You felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks at Geto's comment, but Satoru's reaction made your heart skip a beat. His eyes flickered to you, a mixture of surprise and amusement dancing in them.

Gojo hid his face a lil then said "Geto wtf man forreal. but yah that's y/n" he said, his tone teasing. "She's the one who's been kicking my butt at the gym."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Please, you're the one who's been pushing me to lift heavier weights."

Shoko chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, it's nice to finally meet the infamous gym buddy. Satoru hasn't stopped talking about you."

Satoru's cheeks tinted pink at Shoko's words, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was clear that his friends meant a lot to him, and you felt honored to be a part of this moment.

Geto nudged Satoru with an elbow, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Looks like you've got yourself a crush, bro."

Satoru's blush deepened, and he shot Geto a mock glare. "Shut up, man," he said with an amused tone, while he playfully shoved Geto.

Nanami, ever the voice of reason, simply nodded in agreement. "You two seem to get along well. It's nice to see."

The rest of the evening flew by in a blur of laughter and conversation. You found yourself fitting in seamlessly with Satoru's friends, sharing stories and inside jokes as if you'd known each other for years.

As the night came to a close, Satoru walked you to your door, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Thanks for coming, i know the invite as kinda last minute" he said, his voice warm with sincerity.

You grinned up at him. "Thanks for inviting me. I had a great time."

Satoru hesitated for a moment before leaning in to give you a quick hug, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace.

You felt a flutter in your stomach at the contact, a rush of warmth spreading through you. You felt his body pressed against yours, the light scent of cologne and Geto's cigarette smoke on his shirt.

"Let's do this again sometime," he said, pulling back to look at you with a smile.

You nodded, your heart racing with excitement. "Definitely."

As you walked inside your apartment, the memory of Satoru's hug lingered in your mind, sending shivers down your spine. The air felt charged with anticipation, and you couldn't shake the feeling of wanting more.

Thanks for reading. Wrote this in one go. lemme know if you want this to be explored more

#jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x black reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo x black reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo fluff #gojo x black fem reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x black y/n

142 notes · View notes