di-42 · 6 hours ago
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October's Oh, Wow! Fictions
Only WIPs and fairly short stories this month, hopefully I'll have more time next month. But a lovely selection of them, nonetheless! If you are checking out this list, don't let yourself be fooled by the number of kudos some of the fictions received: there are some real gems among these recs that for some obscure reason don't get the interaction they deserve, be the person who looks past the numbers!
As always, I'll tag the tumblr usernames I know, if you are on this list and you'd rather I didn't please let me know!
WIPs:
Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon (Rated E, chapters 13/?)
I swear, every time I get a notification for a new chapter of this fiction, I do a little jump. I can't wait to have a little break to start drinking their words. This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Human enemies-to-lovers where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but, while we know they do from the beginning, we don't know what it is. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies.
You're The Bad Guys by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula (Rated E, chapters 16/?)
Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.
My own WIP And I Did (Rated E, chapters 12/15)
This is a story about faith. This is a story about love. This is a story about loss. This is a story about being apart and about being reunited. This is a story about fighting. This is a story about choices.
Where do we choose to place our faith? Will a god we have faith in come and save us? Will a friend? A loved one? When do we start doubting our faith? How long before we snap, before we raise our head? How far can we go before we crumble under the weight of our own misplaced faith? Under the weight of our choices? What does it take to make us feel betrayed, abandoned, left behind? What does it take for us to turn our back on what in which we had faith?
Who are we loyal to, and who is loyal to us? Who do we trust, and who trusts us? What are we ready to risk in the name of faith? What are we ready to lose in the name of loyalty? When are we going to take our lives into our own hands? What are we going to fight for?
This is a story about unbreakable faith. This is, after all, a work of fiction.
OR:
Yet another Good Omens post season 2 fiction.
Complete works:
Be Still, My Love, Be Still, by entanglednow (rated E, 26,766 words)
AU where Aziraphale is a human and Crowley is a sleep paralysis demon. Aziraphale is hit by spells of sleep paralysis and is curious about the man shaped being he sees in his room when he's in between sleep and wake, when his eyes are open, but he can't move a muscle. So, he does the thing any decent human being would do, he introduces himself. and leaves books around for Crowley to read. Oh, this fiction was so good. Potential for great angst, but with a beautiful happy ending. All my comments from chapter 1 to 5 read something on the lines of: "I'm going to cry so hard, god, I'm going to cry so hard." My comment on chapter 6 was: "I knew I would cry, but I cried happy tears." This is an E rated fiction where Crowley is a sleep paralysis demon, please read the tags and notes and mind as you go.
Until (Little) Death Do Us Part by Mimsynims (Rated E, 30,066 words)
Follow up to the equally great A Little Help From A Fiend, this story is hot, funny, and fluffy. And it has a happy ending. Aziraphale has summoned a demon. For reasons I won't spoil, this demon is accompanying him to a wedding in Paris as his plus one. Need I add more? Of course it's only for the weekend. This could never last. Crowley is a demon, after all.
Pay Per View, by IneffableToreshi (rated E, 22,050 words)
Set after season 1. Aziraphale has an event to attend in Canada and asks Crowley to accompany him. Crowley is delighted to oblige of course, until some additional reasons for Aziraphale's trip emerge. This story features fanon!Crowley at his best! The fiction goes from tender to heartbreaking to smutty in a heartbeat and it's great.
Something Good And Right And Real by @foolishlovers (Rated T, 30,884 words)
Lovely, delicate human AU where Crowley is a famous singer tired of fame and being on the road. He goes back to his hometown of Tadfield for a break, and there he finds something he thought he had lost forever. This is a story about love, about friendship, about finding a home and about happiness.
One shots:
One Conversation And Several Moments, by Angelica_Tree (Rated Teen, 3311 words).
This lovely fiction is set after season 1 and is not season 2 compliant. After the failed Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley are free to be themselves and to be together, but after spending 6000 years avoiding certain subjects, some conversation may be difficult to start. Or, in Crowley's case, difficult to take part in with ore than a monosyllable and a blink every couple of hours. Aziraphale is not deferred, of course. Sweet and funny in equal measure!
You Can Stay In My Bed, If You Like, by AppleSeeds (rated Teen, 3294 words)
Lovely human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley wake up together in Crowley's bed after Aziraphale's birthday party. Alcohol was involved. And Gabriel. Should they be alarmed? Mortified? Thrilled? Did anything happen? Let's find out while the two roommates snuggle a little closer to each other.
Will You Ever Stop Surprising Me? by @curiouspupsicle (Rated M, 1,077 words)
This fiction is a little gem. Set in a hypothetical future after our heroes averted the apocalypse again, it focuses on Crowley wondering if he might ever get bored of life on earth with Aziraphale. and then spending the rest of the story trying to catch up with all the ways the angel still surprises him. In the words of the writer, this is a story about Aziraphale being sex-positive. But it's that and so much more. It's joyful, it's clever, it's funny. The characterisation is spot on. I would have loved to have more of these two in this fiction!
A Little Help From A Fiend, by Mimsynims (Rated E, 2,615 words)
Sweet, funny, and, goodness me, so hot! What more can you ask of a fiction? AU where Aziraphale is human and in need of help, so of course he decides to summon a demon, who wouldn't? Did I mention it's hot? The just as good follow up to this fiction is also on this list in the multichapter section.
The Chains That Freed Us, by angelsnuffbox (MrsCaulfield) (Rated E, 6,747 words)
Set during the event of season 1. Crowley accidentally finds a way to go back in time and when and where would he accidentally go if not to 1793 in Paris? smut and sweetness ensue.
The Exponent Of Breath, by possibilityleft (Rated Teen, 8,566 words)
This is another absolute gem that I loved so much this month! It shows us moments in time when Aziraphale and Crowley have attended weddings. It's a mix of past, future, better times, warm feelings and happiness. Deep and beautiful. Some fictions you can clearly put it into words why you liked them, and some just speak to you at a deeper level, they just touch something inside you, and this is one of those.
My own one shot, An Angel And A Demon Go To A Halloween Party, (Rated E, 4,575 words)
Just a silly little thing to try my hand at smut (and end up in fluff. And a little humour, hopefully.)
Art:
Good Omens Art Therapy To Get Me Over Season 2 by Beet_Feet (Rated G)
Amazing Good Omens drawings and paintings, check them out!
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wolff-cub · 1 day ago
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Last Laugh
a Landoscar stand-up comedy AU
“Okay, so, let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.” “Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.” Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando. “You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage... watching a set you hate.”
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As the most successful comedian on the Fringe Rising showcase lineup, Lando believes he should have been given the show's prestigious final billing slot. Over the course of the festival, his resentment for the amateur Australian comedian who's stolen his spot grows... into something else altogether.
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Special thanks to @jadesaturn for beta-reading and @afriques for the lovely banner!!
Read on AO3 or below the cut:
“Papaya!”
Onstage, the spotlights shine almost directly into his eyes as Lando springs upwards like a demented jack-in-the-box, popping forth on one leg, arms swinging around wildly. A split second later, he stops abruptly in the middle of the stage, directing an unimpressed look into the inky blackness beyond the stage.
“Okay, but really. Have any of you even had a papaya? That’s right. It’s a shit fruit. It has none of the zest, the fun, that its name implies. Who even named it? What the fuck were they thinking?!”
As his tone borders on hysterics, laughter washes over him like a warm blanket, sent his way from the shadowed masses before him. Keeping his energy up like this, even as his set draws to a close, is never easy — but so worth the laughs. The spotlights shining into his eyes are so bright that the crowd is nothing more than a series of imposing, faceless silhouettes. 
But Lando doesn’t need to see his audience to connect with them. If performing a comedy set is like screaming into the void, well… Lando has always been capable of drawing laughter from within the void.
“Yet here I was, sipping from a glass of papaya juice so good that I thought I’d tasted heaven. One sip was all it took… to move me to tears.” Here, his voice grows theatrical, and he begins feigning an almost clownish kind of sadness. His fingers tremble as he mimes a comically small sip from the world’s tiniest teacup. Somewhere in the audience, someone cackles so loudly that their voice cracks.
“Thank you.” Lando can’t help but grin back in the face of such open adulation, which only garners him even more cheers. “Anyway, I’ve changed a lot since then. I discovered therapy, for one. And antidepressants. The lows? No longer as low. The highs? No longer juice-related.”
Cheers. Whistles. Laughter. Oh, how he loves the sound of it.
“That’s right, folks! It’s only going uphill from here! I’m taking my life and making it papaya!”
“Papaya!” someone in the crowd shouts back.
Lando doesn’t miss a beat, turning that tiny bit of reciprocity into a full-on chant, clapping his hands over his head in time with the beat. The crowd roars back at him without needing much encouragement at all. Their silhouettes sway back and forth in time. “Papaya, papaya!”, and the abyss laughs, and laughs, and laughs right back at him.
“Thank you so much, everybody! I have been Lando Norris, and you… oh, you have been such a great crowd!” Lando crows, even as the crowd keeps up its chant for him. Not even his clumsy attempts to affix the mic back to its stand — the customary sign that his comedy set is about to end — discourages them from continuing to bid him farewell. “I’ll be here doing Fringe Rising every Tuesday and Thursday, along with a solo show during the festival, every other day of the week! Hopefully, I’ll see some of you there, but until then, that’s my time! And��you’vebeensuchagreataudiencethankyoubye!”
The grin that spreads across Lando’s face as he rushes offstage is so wide, it makes his cheeks hurt. The crowd’s sustained clapping is so buoyant for his spirits that he might as well be floating down the stage steps, a cartoon character drifting through the air on a cloud of his own high. He’d had no doubts about the success of his set tonight — he is, after all, the biggest name on the lineup. But god, does it feel good to bask in an audience’s adoration. 
Lando almost wishes he could run back onstage again, arms outstretched, and drink it all in. He is, after all, none other than Bristol’s boy king of comedy, whose career went stratospheric after two years of pain, self-doubt, and tireless honing of his craft through it all. He’s worked hard for everything he has to his name — the slot on this prestigious, curated showcase at the Edinburgh Fringe, the sold-out solo shows running all month long, the appearances on primetime comedy television, and even the Netflix comedy special in the works. Every clap, every cheer, has been earned. After so long, Lando is finally — finally! — reaping what he’s sown.
It isn’t exactly going uphill from here. As far as Lando is concerned, he’s already at the top.
Lando’s eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the venue in time to give the MC a customary high-five and backslap, as tradition calls for. Every comedian gets a high-five no matter how their set goes — a congratulations if the set goes well, or a commiseration if it’s bombed. Of course, Lando hasn’t had any of the latter in a while. Failure is something he no longer remembers the taste of. And with how hard he’s been working… surely, that’s just what he deserves.
“Whoa! Wow, wow, wow! You guys!”
Onstage, Alex Albon — part-time comedian, full-time zookeeper, all-around good guy, and tonight’s MC — has to shout into the mic over the rapturous applause, still going after Lando’s set. “Oh my goodness! I would tell you to give it up one more time for Lando Norris, but you guys clearly got the memo already!”
Lando’s smug grin remains even as he weaves past the front-of-stage seating, beelining towards a swarthy, dark-haired man nursing a beer alone at the back of the venue. He parks himself smoothly on an adjacent bar stool and gratefully fist-bumps his old friend, his grin not fading as Alex continues to sing his praises onstage.
“Oy, cabrón! You fucking killed it up there!”
“Aw, thanks, Carlos. It was nothing.”
“Oh no, Lanno. You cannot be doing this false modesty thing all the time. You know you did well, so… take the compliment, eh? Most of these people are probably here because it’s the only way they’ll get to see you. Your solo show sold out so fast!”
Lando smirks at the sound of his longtime comedy compatriot’s signature mispronunciation of his name, courtesy of the strong Spanish accent that makes him so popular with crowds. “No way, mate. You got plenty of cheers before your set even started, and you’ve been doing this comedy thing for much longer than I have. All the Fringe veterans are probably here to see you, all the way over from España.”
“Ah, but I am not the one who has been on Taskmaster in two countries. I don’t even want to do this full-time. If a genie came to me and asked me, ‘Carlos, would you rather have your own Netflix special, or improve your golf handicap by two?’ I would take the handicap.”
“But I still think you should reconsider that way of thinking. If I’ve made it to where I am today, you’d make it farther in half the time. Your comedy is genius, Carlos. You deserve a sold-out solo run and a Netflix special as much as I do!”
Carlos just shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s not about what we deserve, cabrón. It’s about what we want, and what we do to get it.”
Lando is about to argue, but Carlos shushes him so dismissively that he sits back in his seat like a told-off child. Onstage, Alex’s speech is approaching a crescendo, and Carlos has always been the type to show fellow performers as much decorum as possible.
“Anyway, thank you all so much for being here tonight at Fringe Rising! You’ve made it such a great opening night for me and our amazing line-up here, and we all appreciate you taking the time to come out and see our little showcase. Please, put your hands together one more time for our wonderful comedians from far and wide — Charles Leclerc from Monaco! Carlos Sainz from Spain! And Britain’s very own, Lando Norris!”
Lando’s grin reappears as the cheers wash over him, while Carlos puts on a demure smile, ducking his head down behind his beer bottle jokingly.
“Where is Charles, anyway?” asks Lando, suddenly realising that the showcase’s usual opener is absent. “Doesn’t he know you aren’t really supposed to leave before everyone’s done with their sets?”
Carlos shakes his head. “Don’t be so harsh on him, Lanno. He’s new, but he’s not stupid. He had to leave early to do that showcase that George Russell hosts every year.”
Lando has to stifle a snicker. “Charles is doing the comedy Powerpoint showcase?!”
“Ay, don’t look so surprised. He’s actually very funny if you give him a chance.”
Lando would beg to differ, but doesn’t want to argue with Carlos over the sound of Alex’s speech. At the risk of sounding petty and mean, Charles is still a rookie comedian, and all his sets that Lando has seen have been unpolished at best and amateurish at worst. Lando can tell that Charles cruises through his sets; that he doesn’t workshop his material and probably doesn’t even know how to. And Lando would definitely never say this out loud, but deep down he suspects that Charles had only landed this Fringe Rising spot (and plenty of other comedy club slots) only because he might be the hottest man to ever attempt a career in stand-up comedy.
But, that also explains why Charles is a rookie, and why Lando is within grasp of the top rung of the stand-up comedy ladder. Nobody works for this quite as hard as him. Nobody deserves this like he does.
The crowd soon falls into hushed whispers as the cheers for past performers gradually dies down. Onstage, Alex quickly segues into the next bit of his speech before any more stray cheers add even more time onto their already overtime showcase.
“We’ve got one more set for you tonight,” says Alex, “and boy, am I excited to introduce him. Now, this next act is like the ghost of international stand-up comedy. Almost nobody’s seen him perform… and yet everyone’s talking about him! This man is so very difficult to pin down, mark my words — but we’ve managed to wrangle him to the Fringe Rising stage, all the way from Australia, for what might be one of the rarest and most hype-worthy performances at this fest. Let’s get the energy back up in here, guys! Please give it up for… Oscar Piastri!”
Carlos leans in towards Lando. “Oh, I’m interested to see this guy. Some people are saying he’s only done five shows total, and nobody can stop talking about him.”
Five shows total? Is he fucking serious?!
Lando’s fist clenches involuntarily. Just like at concerts and festivals, the last set in a showcase is always awarded to the most prestigious performer on the lineup. When he’d gotten the email that he would be performing second-last in the night, Lando had presumed that Alex had somehow managed to land a real big hitter — one of the rare few comedians who sold out arena tours and ran their own TV shows. 
But this is who they’d given the final billing to instead of him? A complete fucking amateur?!
“You’d think the show closer should be someone more… accomplished,” Lando starts, only to get shushed by Carlos again as Alex ducks offstage and the lights dim once more.
The filler music fades, and a lone figure clad in a hoodie, cargo shorts, and Birkenstocks — no mean feat for Edinburgh weather — walks slowly onstage, lifting a hand in front of his eyes to fend off the harsh spotlights. His short brown hair is accentuated by a long, floppy wave of a fringe that falls into his eyes carelessly, making his boyish face look even younger than he already is.
“Whoa,” says the newcomer, his voice slow and languid with a stereotypical Australian drawl. “Pretty bright up here, hey?”
A few people in the crowd start chuckling. Lando’s brow furrows. What the hell is going on? The man hasn’t even said anything actually funny?!
“Anyway, how’re ya doing tonight, Edinburgh? My name’s Oscar, and… well, apparently I’m here to do some comedy. But I’m not quite sure how this whole comedy thing works in these parts — I’ve come all the way from Australia, and, well, you know. We do everything upside down there. So, uh, you’re gonna have to be pretty patient with me, alright? Cause I’m, uh… not actually supposed to be here.”
He shoots the audience a conspiratorial look, and a rustle of both anticipation and uncertainty travels through the crowds. No laughs yet, though — and Lando secretly hopes that it remains that way for the rest of his set.
“So, I just moved up here from Melbourne,” continues Oscar, “and I don’t really know anyone here — no friends or family. But the other day, I had to go to the hospital, and the nurse… she took down my details, and what I was at the hospital for… and then she asked me for an emergency contact. And I told her, ‘Barbara, I don’t have an emergency contact in this country. I don’t know anyone here except… well, you. So maybe you could be my emergency contact.’ And Barbara just shakes her head and keeps saying, ‘No, I can’t be your emergency contact. You need to give me the name and phone number of someone in the United Kingdom that you trust.’”
Lando slumps over onto his crossed arms and lets out a yawn. Overly long buildup, lacklustre delivery… where is this even going?
“Now, I’m a little offended by this.” Oscar puts his hand over his heart, feigning shock. “I said, ‘Barbara! How could you imply that I don’t trust you?! You’re the only person in this country who knows my deepest, darkest secret, Barbara. You’re the only person in this country who knows I have haemorrhoids!
“I put my trust in you, Barbara, and this is how you treat me? By not wanting to be the emergency contact for someone who has been so vulnerable with you by telling you that he has haemorrhoids?!”
A few isolated laughs rise from the crowd. Oscar raises an eyebrow at the crowd, seemingly dissatisfied by the reception to this joke.
“Uh, hello?” A small smirk flashes across his face. “Did you guys get that? No? Ah, fuck.”
To Lando’s horror, this blatant request for more laughs gets Oscar exactly that. Full-bodied guffaws and a lone whoop rise from the crowd, as Oscar pulls a comically mortified expression. Lando scans the audience, tries to read into their body language from all he can see of their backs. Are they even watching the same set as he is?! Is this really what counts as comedy at the Fringe these days?
“Long story short, guys, Barbara didn’t want to be my emergency contact.” A chorus of ‘aww-s’ prompts Oscar to nod along, gratefully accepting the crowd’s pity. “Thank you, thank you. Anyway, now that I’ve also entrusted all of you with knowledge of my haemorrhoids… would anyone here like to be my emergency contact?”
Something in the room snaps as soon as Oscar’s joke comes full circle. Even though he’d forcibly torn open the floodgates himself, the crowd suddenly seems more than happy to grant him their approval. No sooner than he delivers his first punchline with a self-deprecating smirk, the audience starts shrieking, howling, with pure delight. 
Next to Lando, even Carlos is crowing with laughter; his wheezy chuckles reminiscent of a dying pterodactyl’s cries. Lando regards his friend with utter disbelief — but Carlos is too busy laughing; too enraptured by Oscar’s joke to even notice Lando’s disdain for the set.
“Wow,” Oscar remarks dryly, once the audience’s hysterics have calmed to a volume low enough for him to be heard once more. “You guys really liked that one, huh? Okay, noting that down.” 
He flashes a comically embarrassed look at the crowd, and a new wave of cackles escapes the audience. 
“Like I said, I’m not really supposed to be here. After leaving the hospital, I just Googled ‘things to do in Edinburgh that don’t involve sitting down.’ Aaaand… now I’m here. Doing stand-up.”
Lando rolls his eyes at the pun, feeling embattled as the crowd rewards this lowest form of humour with roars of laughter. He’s almost grateful that there isn’t a real scale for measuring how much a crowd is enjoying any given set. If that existed, he’d certainly want to compare his own metrics to Oscar… and he’s no longer confident that his results would knock the other comedian’s out of the park. 
For some unfathomable reason, the Australian doesn’t need to work for the house’s approval at all. He merely needs to ask them to laugh, and the crowd will acquiesce like clockwork.
Oscar leaves the stage to thunderous applause and cheers so deafening that it feels as if the walls might crumble any second. Carlos turns to Lando as the venue lights come up, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat. Even as Lando is slumped over onto folded arms beside him, Carlos remains completely oblivious to his new pensive mood.
“Oi, Lanno, come on.” Carlos hoists himself off his bar stool, boisterously gesturing for Lando to do the same. “Let’s go to the green room and congratulate him. What a set for an almost-newcomer, huh?”
Lando shakes his head slowly. “You know, I actually don’t really feel so good. Might go back to the hotel and get an early night…don’t wanna risk having to cancel my show tomorrow.”
Distracted by his intent to head backstage, Carlos doesn’t see through his lame little lie. “Ah, okay. You push yourself too hard, Lanno! Five shows a week is crazy, even Charles isn’t doing that many. Get some rest, okay, cabrón? I’ll tell the new guy you said hi.”
“Yeah, sure,” replies Lando, even though the last thing he wants is for the new guy to think that he holds him in any kind of esteem.
Part of him wants Carlos — one of the only comedians in this room that he actually respects — to notice his frustration. To ask what’s wrong, and maybe abandon going backstage in favour of buying him a drink. But, just like all the flaws in his set; all the failures of comedy theory that Lando could so easily list if asked, his contempt for Oscar is both as imperceptible and irrelevant as his growing chagrin. 
Nobody notices… and nobody feels the same.
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Over the next few days, Lando’s disdain for Oscar grows and festers like an untreated wound. His excitement for Fringe Rising before the start of the festival had been virtually unquenchable. Now, he thanks his lucky stars that he only has to do this showcase twice a week. Having to see Oscar any more than that would make him inclined to blow his brains out on stage. 
Every time he sees the floppy-haired Australian and his shit-eating smirk, he is reminded of just how unfair everything has become. Lando is only where he is today after shedding plenty of blood, sweat, and tears. He owes his success to the countless nights spent perfecting his sets, even when it meant pushing through sheer exhaustion accumulated over too many shifts at too many thankless part-time jobs. 
All that, and for what? To be ousted for final billing at a Fringe showcase by a no-name from the world’s most godforsaken continent, with a mere five shows under his belt? 
That just doesn’t seem right. Something’s gotta give.
But night after night, Oscar never bombs — never even comes close to bombing, because the audience always inexplicably becomes putty in his hands the moment he asks them to laugh at him. 
Lando never bombs either, but nobody seems to care that he doesn’t.
So Alex never offers Lando final billing, and Lando’s own opinion that this is a grave oversight never changes either. The Fringe soon becomes a kind of mental purgatory for him, with nights spent stewing in a cocktail of his own envy and rage. Day after day, the festival ticks by… but nothing ever changes. And Lando grows ever more resentful.
In an ideal world, his path would never cross Oscar’s, apart from the times they are forced to watch each other’s sets from the back of the venue in the name of artistic courtesy. But, as this entire experience has already shown him, the world he lives in is very far from ideal. 
In reality, their paths cross more times than he would like. In the dressing room backstage, where Oscar always sends a meek hello his way, and where Lando — without fail — doesn’t even acknowledge him before storming back out. At the venue bar — same thing. Lando even runs into Oscar at the grocery store, once. That pre-show snack run ends with him leaving Tesco empty-handed, after lying that he’s leaving and  in a big hurry, just to avoid any further conversation with him. 
Lando does his show hungry that night. His stomach starts hurting twenty minutes into his fifty-five-minute set — but at least the loud growl of his gastric pangs earns him an unexpected extra round of laughter from the audience.
Wednesday may be hump day, but Tuesday and Thursday are the real bookends to Lando’s shit sandwich of a week. Unlike Charles, Lando has nowhere to be — or even to pretend to be — during Oscar’s sets. So he always has to stay, to watch a set that never gets funnier than the last, delivered by a comedian who never grows more appealing, no matter how many times he’s forced to look at him.
And look at Oscar he does. Because what the fuck else is he supposed to when he’s a captive audience member for a set he can’t walk out of for fear of being cancelled by comedy Twitter? 
Soon enough, the Australian’s visage becomes one he can recall on command, every detail instantaneously available. The short, shiny, yet floppy brown hair. The long, rabbit-like front teeth hiding behind lips almost permanently curled into a lazy smile. The smattering of freckles and tiny moles all across his cheeks and neck. The deep brown eyes.
Sometimes, when he is alone at night, Lando summons all these details in his mind’s eye, painstakingly assembling as detailed a picture of Oscar as he can. Then he tacks it to a dartboard in his mind and fucking obliterates it.
The most infuriating part of all this? Despite how open Lando’s hostility is, Oscar doesn’t seem to notice… or care. Before every show, a hello. After every show, a wave goodbye, even though Lando scrambles out of his seat to leave the moment Oscar descends from the stage. 
Lando soon convinces himself of a secret third possibility — that Oscar has noticed, and does care, and is using their forced proximity as a reason to rub his omnipresence in Lando’s face. To terrorise Lando with his constant hellos and heys and painfully Australian okays. To ensure, simply speaking, that Lando will never know peace as long as the Fringe is running.
What’s worse is that, after barely any time at all, Oscar’s nefarious form of psychological warfare actually works. As Lando’s animosity towards the Australian grows, he begins to search for him wherever he goes, obsessed with fantasies of telling him exactly what he thinks of him. 
He searches for Oscar in the crowds at his solo shows, his eyes straining under the spotlight, desperate to catch sight of that floppy brown fringe somewhere in the seats. He even begins frequenting the Tesco Metro on snack runs more often than not, hoping that Oscar will be there for him to unleash the full power of the contempt in his heart, even if the Australian opens with his naive little hello.
But, as always, this is not an ideal world. Oscar never returns to the Tesco Metro. Lando never goes to the green room. Their paths remain as distant as they can, for two comedians working the same show.
And then, one night, Lando is offered redemption.
He spots Oscar in the crowd for his solo set immediately after he bounces onstage. The Australian’s placid brown eyes are fixed on him in the split second that Lando notices his presence — and, judging by the slow, relaxed smile that crawls onto his face, he knows he’s seen him. Lando’s smile freezes for a beat as he spots his nemesis. He fumbles to remove the mic from its stand, spending extra seconds clambering about as the audience waits for him to begin. 
So, Oscar has really done it. He really had the balls to show his face at the superior comedian’s set. Well, if he wants so desperately to get schooled in the art of real stand-up, who is Lando to deny him?
That night, the show is unequivocally the best solo set he’s ever put on in his entire life. Lando’s brand of comedy has always been fairly slapstick and energetic, but tonight he is something else altogether onstage. He’s a whirling dervish — jumping higher, acting harder — all to get the crowd laughing louder and louder to feed the hungry void of ambition within him. 
Not even halfway through the set, a few people in the front row are actually wheezing with exertion. The air positively sparkles with mirth, along with the glint of teary-eyed audience members, who are doubled over and crying with laughter. 
But Lando barely notices any of this. He’s performing for one audience member alone, eyes fixed on the dead centre of the room, tracking Oscar’s every reaction like a hawk. He sees when Oscar smiles, sees when he laughs, sees when he throws his head back and lets out a full-bellied guffaw right when Lando’s repertoire is meant to take the audience by surprise.
Do you see it now, Oscar? he wants to say. This is how comedy is meant to be done.
The crowd is electric when the lights come up. The buzz and rustle of their post-show discussion remains at a constant volume as his audience relives their favourite moments from the set amongst themselves. Only a few figures make their way to the exit almost immediately. The rest remain milling around the bar, or even in their seats — waiting for Lando to come around and mingle with the audience, all wanting a piece of him.
Lando spends the rest of the night working the crowd. Making small talk with new fans. Hugging old fans he recognises from back in the day. Taking pictures with Fringe grannies who have dedicated their twilight years to exploring the arts — and don’t they love a dashing young man who can make them laugh. 
He almost forgets about the unwelcome interloper in the audience altogether. But then the crowd thins out, the bar staff get ready to close the venue for the night, and Oscar appears in front of him once more — a fluffy-haired nightmare emerging from the pub’s gloomy atmosphere.
“Lando!” His name sounds foreign on the other man’s tongue; so unrecognisable that he wishes he would say it again, just so he can better get used to the sound of it. “Congrats, man. That was an amazing set. I’d heard a lot about you, but tonight completely blew me away. I never really knew comedy could be like this before.”
It takes all of Lando’s willpower not to let out an exultant scream directly into the Australian’s smug little face. He barely hears Oscar’s continued babbling over the imaginary crescendo of a million variations of his triumphal speech, all meticulously laid out in his vengeful fantasies. Now is his chance to put Oscarin his place. Now is the time to live out his dreams.
Oscar has stopped talking now, and just looks at him expectantly, as if Lando would care about anything he has to say. He reaches within himself; searches for the words that he’s rehearsed for so long.
And all he can say is a lame, muted, “Thanks.”
Lando can’t tell if it is disappointment or satisfaction that makes Oscar turn away. “Okay,” he says, in that same semi-ironic deadpan cadence he uses incessantly onstage — or is that just his voice? “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to take you away from your other fans. See you on Tuesday, mate.”
And then he turns away, waving over his shoulder as he disappears out the pub doors and into the night. Lando immediately turns to the next fan waiting to speak with him, but something about the night has inexplicably changed for the worse. His smile feels plastic, his enthusiasm more strained than genuine.
After leaving the bar, he finds himself looking around the doors, half-expecting Oscar to emerge from the darkness again and shoot him that infuriating smile of his. But of course, the other man is long gone. 
And Lando walks home alone, burning with shame.
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The third and final week of the Fringe dawns, and Lando senses that a reckoning is near.
Festival fatigue has set in for most Fringe performers now, taking root so deeply in their bones that most of them barely have the energy to go out for drinks after their sets. 
Lando himself is no exception. He has been curling up beneath the covers of his hotel duvet earlier and earlier each night, unable to keep up with Carlos and Charles’s constant, fervoured partying. Lando’s especially unable to face the possibility of running into Oscar; to see that smile directed at him under the warm fairy lights of some outdoor beer garden. 
All he wants is for the festival to be over, so he can go back home to London, sleep for a week, and forget that he’d ever been upstaged by an amateur comedian from fucking Australia. Who he still can’t stop thinking about.
Performing the same material for two weeks straight grows stale for even the most seasoned comedians. So, in this third and final Fringe week, Lando decides to try something different. 
Ensemble showcases at comedy clubs are more often than not used to test new material on unsuspecting audiences — so what better time to switch up his set than in front of one of the most distinguished festival audiences in the world? 
At worst, he doesn’t get a laugh after one punchline and immediately switches back to his tried and tested material. And at best? He proves himself to be the best improviser in the comedy arena and gives the usurper of his rightfully-deserved final billing slot a run for his money. 
“So, what is it with so many people these days thinking I’m Australian?” he starts one night, in place of his old set closer about papayas. “I was actually down under for a short tour recently, and no matter what I did, all the MCs just kept introducing me as a local comedian. But I’d never been to Australia before that. Don’t have the accent. Have never even tried imitating the accent — I know, right? Aren’t I a saint?
“So, after a couple of nights of letting it slide, I decided to bring it up. I was like, ‘Hey, man, you’ve got to stop telling the crowds I’m Australian. Why do you even think I’m from here, anyway? Is it my hot surfer bod? Is it the fact that I’m kinda sun-kissed and incredibly fuckable? Cause, uh… thank you, but you’re still wrong. About me being Australian, I mean. All the rest of it, you’re toootally right about.”
This gets a fair few laughs from the crowd — Lando’s anecdote is building nicely. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar watching his set from the bar, an inexplicable smile forming on his lips. He forces himself to pivot to the opposite end of the crowd, to ignore his urge to storm offstage and grab the other man by the throat, and scream, This is not about you! This is my set!
This is about me!
Every comedian always envisions their jokes being met with at least a modicum of enthusiasm when they’re delivered for the first time. But never in his wildest dreams had Lando expected this strong of a reaction from the audience tonight — certainly not for a joke fresh out of the oven with no feedback in sight. It is a twisty, turny anecdote, one about scandal and mistaken identity with a second punchline that leaves a few audience members braying hysterically. 
By the time he walks off that stage, Lando is convinced that tonight has confirmed which one of them is better, once and for all. He’s done it, now. He’s out-written, out-performed, even out-Australian-ed Oscar. 
The reckoning has come, and Lando has come out on top.
Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Oscar saunters onstage a few minutes later. He stops. Squints at the crowd. Pulls a sheepish expression and says, “Well, uh… g’day, everyone. It’s me again. Lando Norris.”
And of course, the crowd absolutely. Fucking. Loses it.
So this is what all of Lando’s efforts have come to. Hours spent crafting new jokes, weighing up the risks of debuting untested material in front of a discerning crowd… all for Oscar to ride in on his high horse and deliver his first joke of the night, entirely at Lando’s expense. 
The rest of his set passes in a blur, as Lando seethes and fumes and curses Oscar for taking a comedic opportunity that he knows, deep down, is perfectly fair game. But that taste of victory, the way it felt in his hands before slipping out of his grasp again — Lando’s ego won’t allow him to let go of it just yet.
And so, he launches himself out of his chair before Oscar has even fully left the stage, leaving a bewildered Carlos calling out questions in vain. His footsteps thud angrily on the bare concrete backstage as he makes his way to the green room, shoving its flimsy wooden door open so hard that it bangs against the opposite wall.
Oscar is in there, gratefully chugging down an entire bottle of water only to choke with surprise at Lando’s frenzied entry. When he turns to see who it is, that shit-eating little smile returns — and Lando can’t wait to wipe it off his face once and for all.
“Oh, hey, man!” Oscar caps his bottle, feigning nonchalance — or maybe he really does respect Lando that little; maybe he really just doesn’t give a fuck. “I don’t usually see you back here. What’s up—”
“You little shit!” yells Lando, not caring who can hear him even as he slams the door behind them. “You fucking amateur. You think you can come here with your unfunny little set, and your shitty jokes that say please, please, please laugh at me, and take my fucking top spot on the billing? You think you can do all that and then piggyback off the joke I spent half of this festival writing?!”
Oscar’s eyes widen with genuine shock. Whatever sort of blowback he’d been expecting from Lando had certainly not been this loud or intense in his mind.
The Australian holds up his hands as if to placate him, and Lando can’t tell if the mocking edge to his movements is actually there, or if it’s entirely his imagination. “Dude, hey, no need for that. I would never have built off your joke if I knew you’d object to it. I’m really sorry, okay? If you’re gonna run that bit at the end of your set again, I promise I won’t repeat what I did tonight.”
“It’s not about whether I’m objecting to it now,” Lando replies through gritted teeth. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to make jokes of your fellow comedians like that! What, did you want to fucking rub it in a little harder? An amateur, taking last billing over the guy with the real solo hour and the real Netflix special? Well, fuck you too, dude!”
Oscar flinches slightly at Lando’s grotesque imitation of him. “Lando, I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about, okay? I respect you a lot; I think you’re one of the coolest comedians at the fest. But… isn’t that what we’re all here for? To make jokes out of ourselves?”
Lando chuckles bitterly. “Of course you would say that. You haven’t worked for this for a day in your life, have you?”
He pivots to leave, but is overcome by a fresh wave of self-hatred as Oscar’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Hey, come on. Can’t we talk this out?”
“Oscar! Oscar.” Lando lets out a hysterical laugh. “You don’t need to pretend you want to be my friend any more, alright? There is nothing to talk out! In fact, I would rather not be talking to you at all, because everything you do gets on my last fucking nerve. So let’s just do our last show on Thursday, and not step on each other’s toes, and then we can both go back to never seeing each other again. Okay?”
Oscar blinks. And then, to Lando’s continued frustration, he smiles. Again.
“Nah, hold up. There’s definitely stuff to talk about here. Just… let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.”
“Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.”
Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando; brought to life for once by a wry spark that flickers into being for just a split second. 
“You hate me… and yet you can’t seem to get enough of me.”
Lando lets out the most patronising scoff he can muster. “Untalented and delusional. Just when I thought you couldn’t—”
“You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage.” Oscar’s eyes remain locked directly onto his, his tone mirroring the half-dead neutrality of someone reading boring facts off a piece of paper. “You could just go home and call it a night, but you’re always there anyway. Watching a set you hate.”
Lando opens his mouth to speak, and nothing but a shaky, slow exhale hisses out of him. He is spent; a deflated balloon. When he inhales, the air feels stale and used — Oscar is so close now; breaths mingling in the shared air.
“You hate me, so you keep looking for me every night in the audience of your solo hour… and when you do find me, you don’t even look away again, so it’s like you’re delivering your entire set to me alone.”
“You’re insane.” Lando means to spit the line in his face, heroically aggrieved, but it comes out as a plaintive, airy whine instead. He swears he sees the corner of Oscar’s permanently impassive mouth twitch — the ghost of a smug, triumphant smile passing over and through him. 
“You hate me,” Oscar continues, as if Lando hasn’t even said anything. “Which is why you think about me all the time, right? You hate me.”
Lando feels his expression spasm involuntarily. Control over his facial muscles appears to be rapidly slipping out of his grasp. “Yes,” he manages to growl; his voice a ferocious whisper rising from the back of his throat. “I hate you.”
“Okay,” says Oscar — that fucking stupid, guileless, deadpan okay again. Something about the way Oscar says it — the detached sheen that descends over his eyes, the nasal twang of his Australian accent — makes Lando want to punch something. 
But he can’t even feel his fingers; couldn’t clench a fist if he tried. Oscar’s shoulder knocks against his provocatively, daring him to say something. To do something. 
Surely Oscar knows, then, that the proximity of his body to Lando’s is the thing that has neutralised his opponent. He is a cat, toying with the prey he holds immobilised beneath one paw.
He’s enjoying this.
“You hate me,” says Oscar, his face now unfathomably close to Lando’s, “and you definitely don’t want me to kiss you.”
“No.” Lando’s voice is barely louder than a breath on the wind. “I don’t want you to kiss me.”
Oscar blinks ever so slowly, those impassive brown eyes like a vortex threatening to swallow Lando whole. His lips part, revealing a flash of teeth — a snarl, a smile; an indecipherable, predatory, in-between thing.
“Then stop me,” he says.
Lando hates the way his voice shakes when he speaks next. “What?”
“Stop me,” Oscar repeats. “You don’t want me to kiss you. So stop me.”
There it is — a real smile now. Tentative. Shy, almost. Oscar may have the upper hand, but he doesn’t know that he’s won.
So Lando does the only thing he knows will catch him off guard. He pushes out with the flats of both palms, shoving Oscar so that he stumbles slightly, balance transferring to his back foot. 
And then, while the surprise is still fresh on his face, Lando grabs the collar of Oscar’s hoodie in both his fists, pulls him back in, and kisses him first.
Time freezes, turning a single moment into eternity. Lando can taste the surprise on Oscar’s lips — and oh, does his little reward taste sweet. 
But neither does it last long. Oscar returns the kiss slowly, tantalisingly… only to shove Lando away just as he eases into the tempo of their shared movements.
“Look at you,” teases Oscar, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever. “All red in the face for the world’s most boring comedian.”
One of Oscar’s hands pushes him back up against the green room wall. The other begins tugging at Lando’s belt buckle slowly, drawing his attention to the fact that he is undeniably, achingly hard. All he can think about still is Oscar’s lips; the burning need he has to shut him up again; to kiss him so long and deep that they both forget how to breathe. 
Yet he can’t move; can’t brandish another witty retort against Oscar’s verbal onslaught. His open palms brace himself against the cool brick walls of the dressing room. The only sound that escapes him, right as Oscar’s hand roughly curls around his cock, is a small, plaintive moan.
“Stop me,” says Oscar, looking him right in the eye; a request for consent disguised as more vicious banter.
Lando sees his opportunity, takes it. “Don’t tell me what to do. Shut the fuck up and finish what you started.”
Oscar’s eyes brighten with a new, mischievous twinkle. His smile grows even more insidious. Contrary to Lando’s expectations, he seems positively delighted that Lando has finally found some bite. 
“Ah.” His brown eyes grow coy. “So you do want this. Maybe I should just go, then. Or maybe I should make you beg for it.”
“Like you beg your audience for laughs?”
Oscar draws closer to Lando once more, his lips hovering just out of reach from where he has Lando pressed against the green room’s walls. Down below, his spit-slicked hand begins working Lando’s dick slowly, to a rhythm that is as delicious as it is infuriating.
“Sure, I may beg,” he says, as Lando’s breath begins to hitch in his throat. “But I also get what I want. Every. Single. Time. And now, you’re going to give me what I want too.”
Lando’s palms, still braced against cold, hard brick, clench inconsequentially into fists as he fights back another moan. “Fat fucking chance.” He barely manages to get the words out from between gritted teeth as Oscar’s thumb tantalisingly circles the head of his cock, right as he begins to speak.
Oscar’s eyes widen with mock surprise. His hand all but stops moving, his grip loosens… and to Lando’s embarrassment, the shock of it is so jarring that he lets out a pathetically loud whimper.
“Okay.” There it is, that hatefully deadpan delivery sending a fresh rush of blood to his erection even as Oscar withdraws. “That’s cool. Let’s call it a night, then.”
For a moment, Lando actually falls for Oscar’s feint. The sudden void left by Oscar’s hands, no longer on Lando’s chest or cock, is wholly unbearable. A wave of embarrassment courses through him, as he struggles to pull his briefs back up with trembling fingers. “Fucking arsehole.”
Oscar lashes out almost faster than Lando can process, both hands snatching up his own and pinning them to the wall. “I’ll ask again,” he says teasingly. “Are you going to give me what I want?”
“What the fuck do you want?!” Lando’s growl is equal parts anger and desperation.
“Tell me I’m not boring.”
“No way.”
Oscar’s right hand loosens on Lando’s left, returning to caress Lando’s cock slowly — too slowly.
“Tell me. I’m not. Boring.”
“No fucking way.”
In response to this, Oscar tightens his grip, moving slightly faster again… and Lando understands the rules of the game now. He has to grudgingly respect Oscar’s ruthlessness when it comes to flipping the rules whenever he wants — especially if this is the effect it’s having on him offstage.
“Say it, Lando. Give me what I want.”
“You’re a hack,” he retorts, as forcefully as he can in between shaking breaths, while Oscar’s hand moves faster with every vitriolic syllable that falls from his lips. “You being in this show was a total fluke. You are painfully. Fucking. Unentertaining.”
“Am I, now?”
Lando presumes the question is rhetorical, but his lack of a response earns him another sudden stop that makes him choke with surprise.
“Am I?” Oscar repeats.
“Yes,” whines Lando, even as he senses a new trap being set. The return of Oscar’s smug grin confirms his instincts barely a second later.
“Aw,” he coos, voice dripping with toxic endearment. “You’re a good comedian… but a veeeery bad liar.”
Lando can barely speak through the pressure building in his chest. Through the frustration of his imminent orgasm being withheld yet again, Oscar diabolically slows his pace. “I’m… not… lying.”
“Are you sure?”
Faster once more, to Lando’s relief.
“Cause if I’m so unentertaining…”
Faster, and faster, and faster—
“…then why was it so easy to make you come?”
And Oscar steps away deftly, just in time, as Lando makes an absolute mess of himself.
A strange, potent cocktail of shame, embarrassment, and elation bubbles through the haze of Lando’s post-orgasm brain fog. A hand on his shoulder brings him out of his reverie — Oscar has brought over a towel from the green room rack.
The Australian’s brown eyes search his again. No trace of mischief or malice remains in them. Now, they are just curious… and, dare he say it, kind.
“You okay?” he asks.
Lando just nods as he wipes himself off, still too buzzed to speak.
“Okay. Good. Phew!” Oscar smiles, and it is a real one this time; a cheek-to-cheek beam with a hundred megawatts of charm. “I don’t usually do that without dinner and drinks first, by the way. But you can buy me a beer tomorrow before the show to make up for it. Sounds good?”
Lando’s head jerks back up to look at Oscar. The earnest expression on his face catches him completely off guard. There are clearly no more games left to play now — all that’s left is to decide where they go from here. And Oscar has clearly already decided for the both of them.
But the change in tone is still as absurd as it is welcome, bringing with it relief… and amusement.
Lando cracks a smile — small, at first, but it grows and grows.
“Sounds great,” he says.
And then for the first time, as Oscar looks on, he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
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atsu-i · 10 months ago
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my-current-obsession · 2 years ago
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I have officially beaten FE Engage! Overall it’s a great game. I really enjoyed the gameplay this time, though a few chapters and paralogues were pretty frustrating. This was definitely the hardest FE game I’ve played (although ironically I found the final battle to be fairly easy), and mostly that’s a good thing. The extra challenge made it more satisfying when I came up with winning strategies. The story and characters were pretty good too! I definitely think this game has gotten unwarranted hate. Anyway, since I previously made a tier list showing my perception of the characters as units, here are some actual stats from the ending showing how right (or wrong) I was:
There was a 3-way tie for who made MVP the most between Alear, Yunaka, and somewhat to my surprise, Alcryst. They each were MVP 4 times. Clanne, Celine, and Alfred were right behind them, each being MVP 3 times.
Alear was unsurprisingly the fighter with the most battles (199) and wins (123). The benefits of being locked into EVERY story & paralogue chapter, I suppose. Her most used Emblem was Sigurd.
I talked at length about how good my Alfred was in the other post, and his stats back it up. He had the 2nd most battles (180) and tied for 3rd on wins (92). Most used emblem was Ike.
Similarly, Yunaka, who I thought might have the most battles and/or kills, had 166 battles and 92 wins. She was great, just not able to outdo Alear’s protag privilege or Alfred seeing a lot of action through Ike. She used Lyn most.
Alcryst had 150 battles and a whopping 107 wins. The boy killed. A lot. His most used emblem was Leif since I appreciated being able to switch weapons and fight back if attacked up close as well as potential Luna procs on Quadruple Hit.
I seriously undervalued how much use I got out of Clanne. He was 5th for both battles (127) and wins (89). Even though he’d fallen off by the end due to subpar magic attack, he did pretty well in early and mid game. His most used emblem was Micaiah.
As for other notable fighters, Citrinne, Diamant, Fogado, Rosado, and Kagetsu each had 100+ battles and 60+ kills. Everyone else either only achieved one of those feats, or neither. So these 5 finish out the “top ten” for my units, I guess.
I maintain that Hortensia is an MVP in her own right as a healer, but tragically the game doesn’t track that so her stats are poor since she didn’t fight much. Seadall was also essential to my team.
Finally one last fun statistic - the EMBLEM that achieved MVP the most was Sigurd. He contributed to 7 wins. I guess it’s not surprising considering he was the “most used” Emblem for 3 of my heavy hitters - Alear, Kagetsu, and Rosado.
#fire emblem#fire emblem engage#fe17#i'm honestly not surprised sigurd is the big winner among the emblems in terms of MVP and who was used most#(technically a couple other emblems had 3 characters but only sigurd had 3 PROMINENT fighters for me)#i love to stick him on someone who can either dodge or tank a few hits and nyoom them into enemy territory#so whoever wears sigurd often ends up handling a good chunk of the map by themselves#my biggest complaint remains that there are no paired endings. i want to play matchmaker. :/#but aside from that i actually quite enjoyed the characters and story. and not all supports are great but some are AMAZING#easily on par with or even better than the best that previous entries had to offer#anyway i'll probably start a 2nd playthrough immediately. i'm antsy to put everything i've learned to use#reclass anna and clanne. save-scum the arena. take advantage of the new support options from the beginning#i'll probably play on hard again but classic this time since i have had a chance to try everyone and will know what's coming#hopefully i'll get at least a few different units in the endgame.#it's really hard to justify using lapis when kagetsu is SO GOOD (and also i love him). & etie basically NEEDS to reclass to stand a chance#but maybe (hopefully) the next run will be better for amber and framme and anna. and i'll give bunet a chance this time#you know a game is good when you beat it and IMMEDIATELY are thinking about and excited for the next run
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luridparty · 3 months ago
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waow fall is almost here.. epic.. awesome.. jjust great. grnining For Real. ahahhaha. FUCK.
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angelicgirlmj · 3 months ago
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cultivating your hobbies to become that girl
as summer starts to end, i find my days a little emptier and im full of anticipation for the coming academic year. but the last thing i want to do is waste the last part of summer so now is the perfect time to cultivate or begin a new hobby, focusing on four areas to level up your body, skills, mind and passions! enjoy angels and i hope this gives you some inspiration.
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body
having a hobby that helps you reach your dream body, maintain a healthy lifestyle or just help with your mental health (as moving your body always does!) is such a good idea. the past few months my workout schedule has decreased due to the amount of schoolwork i have had and exam season so now is the perfect time for me to get more disciplined and build up a good workout scheme. my hobbies based around my body are pilates or yoga, both of which help me with my fitness goals. here are some more ideas/inspiration for some hobbies you could start:
‘hot girl walks’ - set a goal for your daily steps and go on walks everyday to help you achieve that.
running daily.
swimming daily.
tennis or badminton daily.
joining a sports club such as football or gymnastics.
dance - could be by yourself at home following dance workouts!
strength training.
starting a fitness challenge - such as a month long youtube challenge.
start making your own fitness content! film videos or write tutorials.
bike riding daily.
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skills
finding a hobby that helps you develop/cultivate your skills is so important. mine personally is cooking/baking as it helps me focus on giving my body what it needs, becoming more independent and providing for those i love. here are some ideas/inspiration:
painting.
making your own clothes - sewing, knitting or crocheting.
gardening.
scrapbooking.
photography.
drawing.
writing - poetry, novels, articles or anything similar.
acting - helps with public speaking, confidence and making friends.
jewellery making.
chess or a similar intense mental game - cultivates your thinking skills and mind.
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mind
finding a hobby that helps you mentally, especially if relevant to schoolwork or career plans is so helpful. mine is reading/engaging with literature as not only does it align with my academic work but also helps me with how i think, view the world and allows me to be more empathetic.
mindfulness/meditation.
learning to play an instrument.
writing/researching around your subjects.
budgeting - good way of keeping track of and understanding money even if you aren’t planning on doing anything economics based!
journalling or keeping a diary.
joining/starting a book club.
starting a studyblr, study youtube channel etc.
learning a new language.
tutoring someone - great way of helping yourself learn as well!
joining a debate team.
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passions
finding a hobby around one of your passions is such a fun and unique way of engaging in things you enjoy. mine personally is visiting museums/areas of historical importance as i am so passionate about history.
visiting art galleries.
attending the theatre/cinema.
going to live music events.
visiting libraries/book shops - growing your wish list, finding new book inspo etc!
going to cooking classes, restaurants or cafes.
travelling to new areas (could be local or international) - perhaps to develop language skills, find places to hike etc.
attending lectures on subjects youre interested in.
watching documentaries or video essays.
starting a new course - i do several history courses, my most recent was on European empires!
making a blog, channel, instagram etc for a new hobby or interest.
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────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─────── thank you for reading angels! hopefully this will help us all on our hobby journeys and have given you ideas of hobbies to try or develop for the end of summer or just in general! love, m.
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monstersflashlight · 3 months ago
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To kill a king, to fuck a dragon (Day 8/8 of 10k followers event)
A/N: Hi there people! I’m so, so glad that all of you took time to read all the stories I post, especially these past 8 stories that had been super exploratory for me. I think I did good enough, at least y’all seemed to like it. For this last one I added a bit more plot than usual, this is a tiny bit longer and I think the story is really good. I hope y’all love it as much as I do. Also, and once again, I want to thank ALL OF YOU for following this little corner of the internet and being so supportive and great, special thanks to all my patrons to make my life a little bit easier <3, this has been a blast so far and I hop y’all keep reading, hopefully this account is just the beginning of a much longer exploration of monsterfuckery for us all. (PS: If someone catches the very subtle Grey’s anatomy reference please let me know so we can be friends)
Dragon x fem!reader || size kink, slow-burn (kinda), sex with feelings, magic saliva, spit on pussy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation || tw: mentions of murder
You enter the cave and are surprised to find a door, a normal human door caved into the rock. It looks like a house, a house on the rock, but still normal. What the fuck? Your hopes and dreams of finding the dragon slowly disappear, your eyes teary.
Someone chooses that moment to speak behind you: “Who are you?” You turn around so fast you fall to the ground with a scream. The stranger looks at you like you are a bug he needs to squeeze, and you feel a tear running down your cheek. Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry even if there wasn’t a dragon. “Again: who are you?” His tone is harsh and you want to cry even more, but you bit your tongue.
“I- I came to find the dragon,” you confess, swallowing around the knot in your throat.
He looks at you like you are a joke, not even trying to help you to your feet. “What dragon?” He asks, his tone amused.
You get up and look at him, trying to look as serious as you can when you say: “They- They told me there was a dragon here.” You fail.
He chuckles, inspecting you up and down, his eyes zeroing on the few tears that escaped your eyes. “No dragons, just me,” he finally answers, his tone a lot softer than before.
“Uh-oh… Sorry. I’ll be on my way, then.” You try to get pass him, sniffling as you do so, trying really hard to get out before you start sobbing.
He sighs, and adds: “do you want some tea?” He offers you his hand, and weirdly enough, you don’t feel threatened or scared, you feel calm around him.
“Really?” You don’t want to sound too hopeful but you are thirsty and tired and you want to cry because there is no dragon and you basically lost hope of everything.
“Yeah, come on.” He motions you to follow him inside the rock house, and you are surprised about how cozy and homey it feels inside, like out of a fairy-tale kind of thing.
He makes some tea as you lean against the door frame of the kitchen, trying to look around as much as possible without looking too snoopy about it. Not that he seems to care that you are curious about everything, he just looks at you every once in a while like making sure you are still there.
“Why were you looking for a dragon?” He asks when he sets the tea cup on the table in front of you. A similar one in front of him. You sit and start sipping on the best tea you’ve ever had.
You sip the tea for a couple seconds, trying to decide if you can trust him, at the end you decide why not, your life is already ruined. “To kill the king,” you say. He chokes on the tea he’s drinking, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from giggling.
“What?” He asks again when he recovers, his face red from the coughing.
“To kill the king,” you repeat. He still looks stunned so you give him more context: “I- I was bought when I was in the womb. My parents promised me to him in exchange for gold, and the day we marry is approaching. I don’t want to do it, he’s a foul man, and I didn’t choose this. I overheard some servants talking about the dragon in the mountains, and I though… I thought they would help me.” You try not to sound too bitter about it, but you can’t keep the despair out of your voice.
He looks at you like you are suddenly the most interesting specimen of a bug. “You escaped the castle and came here?”
“Yes,” you answer truthfully. There was a lot more implied in that simple question. You escaped, but not only that, they are probably looking for you and the king would probably kill those guards you ran away from. You try not to be too sad about them, they were cruel with you, laughing at you every time you passed, talking about how the king got a new hot wife.
“Are they still looking for you?” He asks, a lot smarter than you give him credit for.
“Probably.” It’s the truth but it still carries a lot of pressure as you say it. You understand though, you know it’s not his problem and you shouldn’t even be there. You’d find another way to escape the king. “I’ll be out of your hair, I promise. You didn’t sing up for any of this.” You realize the sun is setting in the horizon and you don’t know if you could find your way back to the village. Fuck. “I need to go. The village is a long journey from here,” you try not to sound scared, but an edge of fear permeates your voice.
He surprises you by saying: “Stay. I have a guest bedroom and there’s no way you could get back to the village if it’s this dark.”
You want to say no, to refuse, that’s improper, but the idea of going back to that golden prison is enough to make you say: “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” It’s a promise you do to him, but also to yourself. That man showed you more caress that anyone in your life, and you didn’t want to cause him unnecessary trouble. You’ll leave in the morning.
Problem is… You never do.
The next day he prepares breakfast, and insists on showing you around his house. It’s so beautiful you are mesmerized. His garden especially. It’s so colorful and big and calm…. You feel an instant connection to the earth, and to him. He’s so easy to be around, he treats you so differently like what you are used to. And you like it. You like it so much that you get distracted until the sun is setting once again. And he never tells you to leave.
And days pass. One day turns into another, and you… never leave. You know someday they will come back for you. You know you can’t run away from your problems. But right there, in the side of the mountain with that nice man that took you in… It feels possible to run away. It feels possible to avoid the awful destiny that was set for you before you were even born.
He teaches you to cook, to take care of plants, to polish wood… He’s like a handyman that can do all, and you are his new apprentice, even though he insists on doing all the heavy lifting. But on top of that, he just… amazing. He takes care of you, but also you two argue about stupid stuff until you are red faced and you want to hit him, just to end up laughing when he tells you a stupid joke. You have the most fun you had in ages with him.
Until one day all shifts (pun intended).
You are laying around under the tree as he does some gardening. He wouldn’t let you near the roses in case you got hurt. “I have something to tell you,” he breaks the silence.
“What?” You ask, looking directly at him, a spark of something unknown raising inside of you, like bugs in your stomach, crawling around every time you set your eyes on him, on his beautiful smile.
He looks at you intently and says the most ominous thing: “I- I think it’s better if I show you, actually.”
“Show me what? Why do you sound so serious?” You try to joke, but it doesn’t land because he still looks at you with a poker face.
He looks worried, apprehension settling on his features. “Just… Wait until I’m done to say anything, please?” His tone is more than pleading, is more like he’s begging you to understand, and you don’t know what could possibly be so bad.
“Okay…” You tell him, anxiety spiking.
And then he turns. Literally. His body contorts and cracks, and there’s a bunch of things happening at once, and before you realize, there’s a dragon in front of you. A full on real dragon. What? He’s majestic, as big as a house and skin covered in the most precious scales. He looks like a work of art… you are mesmerized.
“You said there was no dragon!” It’s the first thing out of your mouth, an edge of hysterics creeping in your tone.
You laugh then. You laugh so hard and so much you have tears rolling down your eyes. He changes back, and tries really hard to cover his manhood with his hands, failing and making you laugh even harder.
“You are a dragon,” you say when your laughter dies down.
“I am,” he says simply, approaching you slowly until he’s right in front of you. “And I will kill the king for you,” he adds.
There’s no point in asking why he didn’t tell you sooner, you understand why. Why would he? Why would he trust his deepest secret to you? But him showing you now? It meant more than the world, it made you forget about everything and anything chasing you down. It makes you happy. He makes you happy.
“No. I don’t care about the king. I just… I love you. I think what I feel is love, I never felt like this before.” You tell him, heat creeping up your cheeks. He looks at you like he’s surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that at all. “Do you feel it, too?” You ask shyly, your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat faster and faster.
“Ye- yes. I love you, too.” His confession is followed by his hands cupping your face, so soft and tender, you feel a tear running down your cheek as he kisses you for the first time.
You should have known better than to think your life could be so perfect.
You don’t hear them before you are captured. At least four soldiers appear at the edge of the garden and catch you before you can scream. You think about him, about your dragon, and lament how confused he will be when he returns and you aren’t there. You worry he would think you abandoned him… But you can’t do anything as they take you away from the only place you felt like home.
They don’t even wait a whole day before they are dressing you and pampering you in the best silks and makeups. Nobody says anything as you silently cry during all the process. The servants looking worried but not arguing with anyone, three guards at the door of every chamber you enter.
You are caged once again.
You walk to the aisle in between a crowded place full of people who don’t like you, nor the king for the matter. They just want to appraise his old self to gain some benefits, the same as your parents did even before you were born. He looks like a nightmare standing in front of the altar, and you want to run, to run far away, back into your dragon’s arms. But you can’t, guards all around the open garden the ceremony is taking place in. You stand before your soon to be husband and have to swallow back the tears and bile, his rancid smell hitting you like a brick.
The minister starts speaking about love and marriage, and you cry during all his speech. You dream of being far away from there, as far away as possible. Or at least as close to your dragon as you could.
When you hear the people mumbling around you, you turn around, a shadow obscuring the sun. You look at the sky and sigh, so happy to see him you could cry. Maybe you would cry if you weren’t so shocked that he actually showed up.
He roars as he lands, people running in all directions, hiding in every possible place. “YOU STOLE FROM ME!” He growls, breathing fire to the sky and making people cry out in fear. You look at him in all his glory, fascinated by every inch of his skin.
“We- we saved the queen to be,” the guard’s words are short lived as your dragon looks at him and breathes fire right over his body, instantly burning him to the ground. There’s a chorus of screams and cries again, and you have to bite your tongue to stop from smiling.
“She’s not yours! SHE’S MINE!” You shiver at his words, feeling them so deep inside you think you might combust, butterflies dancing inside your stomach once again.
“You can’t take her! I bought her,” the king’s words don’t help his case at all, your dragon roaring and launching for him.
It all happens so fast, one second he’s there, and the next one the king’s head is rolling onto the ground as everyone screams and runs away. You are shocked to the core, but he doesn’t let you wallow in that. He picks you up and takes flight. You realize he’s being very careful not to pickle you with his claws. You don’t know where he’s taking you, but soon enough you are in a place you know, a place that brings you memories of joy and love… The garden.
As soon as he sets you down, he orders you to: “Go inside.” His tone is harsh, almost a growl.
“No,” you answer, not recoiling, not moving. You approach him more, your hand softly caressing the scales of his chest.
He roars over your head, trying to scare you away: “Go inside, I’m not in my right mind right now, I can’t answer for my actions.” You aren’t scared of him, though. He saved you from your most fearsome nightmare, he’s just the big monster you are in love with.
“No,” you repeat, a big smile playing on your lips when you look up at him.
“Come on, princess… Please.” Him begging in that form does something to you, such a big and scary creature asking you to go inside so he can protect you from himself… You are more sure than anything that you are safe. Safer than you’d be with anyone else. Human or monster.
“No. I want you. I love you.” Your words finally go through him, making his big body shiver, you feel it under your hands, a big shake that leaves you breathless. “Take me, my dragon.” You know adding that isn’t necessary, but you are more than ready to be a bride, to be his bride.
“Don’t joke around,” he growls, grabbing your body with his big clawed hand and positioning you to look straight into his yes, his big dragon head so beautiful you have to reach out and touch him. He scrunches his nose, making you giggle.
“Make me fully yours,” you say again.
His responding growl is so loud it makes the earth vibrate under your feet. You shiver in anticipation. He tears your wedding dress of your body, wrapping his wings around you to create a bubble, so you won’t feel a single spark of cold in your human skin.
Your wedding dress is torn off your body as he launches for your body, your naked form shivering at the cold temperature around you, but he solves that easily. He wraps his wings around your body getting you close to his much warmer scaled body. You sigh happily.
He lets you down onto the ground and you look up at him, completely vulnerable. “Fuck me. Claim me. Love me.” You lower yourself to the ground, your upper body to the ground, your ass up. You know what you must look like: an offering, a sacrifice. And you are okay with that. You are okay being his.
“You sure?” He asks again, always the gentleman, always worried about you. You are more sure of this that you were about anything else ever.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chant as his claw proves your entrance. You look around in time to see him biting on his fingers, two seconds later he’s claw-less and his now not-dangerous fingers enter you. You cry out and bury your face on the mossy ground, his chuckle making you flush all over.
He plays with your pussy for what feels like an eternity, making you come twice before he starts stretching you fully. He gets to three fingers, way bigger than anything you tried before, and you can’t stop moaning.
You come again as he spits on your pussy, the sensation so filthy and so good you scream and fall over the edge again. You feel tingly all over after that, your pussy relenting under his ministrations and somehow widening further, accommodating one more of his fingers. “My saliva has magic in it,” he explains, his tone amused as he keeps finger fucking you. You don’t know if you can come again, you didn’t even know that much pleasure was possible.
“Come on, come on, please,” doesn’t matter how much you beg, he doesn’t relent.
He starts scissoring his big fingers inside of you, stretching you impossibly wide, and you squirm under him, a pleasure so big you don’t know how to deal with it, your body pliant under his actions, your brain completely void of thoughts. And then he stops and you curse him so loud he starts to laugh, moving your body and making you squirm under him. He grabs your hips to stop you from moving and you feel the tip of his cock against your entrance.
He enters you slowly, so slowly. You want to scream, but your brain is frozen with the over-sensitivity of his dick inside of you. He can’t fit inside, there’s no way, he’s probably just aiming for a third of his length, but right now, with just the tip inside, you feel like you are about to burst. You reach down and rub your clit, unlocking something inside of you and crying out so loudly he roars as your orgasm makes your pussy constrict around him. He pushes in a bit more, and you keep coming.
From that point on, it’s all a blur of sensations and emotions, so much pleasure you are blind to the world around you. His dick is barely inside, but it seems to be enough for him, and more than enough for you. You feel like he’s going to split you in two in the most amazing way. He feels so big inside of you that you think you might die if he keeps rubbing against all your special spots at once. And if you do… You’d die happy.
“Take me. Take all of me,” that’s all the heads up you get before he’s filling you, one last thrust inside before his hot seed floods your insides. It propels you over the edge one last time, the world fading into blackness.
You pass out.
When you come back to your senses, you are laying on a bed and there’s a warm body behind you. You sigh happily as he kisses your forehead and makes sure you are comfortable and warm. You feel such intense love for him in that moment, that you have to turn around and try how well it would feel to fit his human dick inside of you (this time all of him).
He feels perfect.
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girlboypersonthingy · 8 months ago
Note
Hi yes i saw hazbin requests were open??? Anything involving pining Lucifer. Or lucifer seeing reader dressed super nice for like a fancy party or something (full makeup, fancy revealing dress, that sorta thing) for the first time. Maybe feelings are revealed? I’m a sucker for pining
I love that we are all so disgustingly thirsty for this man. He deserves it ❤️‍🔥 but seriously tho…all my Lucifer posts have gotten at least 100 likes in the first day that they’re posted. Like damn yall, we need to talk about our husband more! We all have such good taste 😌 I love our little short king. Thanks for the request. Enjoyyyyyyy~
Notes: fem!reader, reader wears a dress in this one
TW: suggestive themes, hardcore pining, heavy making out
🪽The King of Pining🪽
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This morning, Charlie invited everyone to the lobby of the hotel, shouting out that she had great news and a wonderful idea. Husk and Angel grumble about their annoyance with it being too early in the morning and them being way too sober for group activities right now as they plop down on one of the couches. The rest of the group files in, finding spots to relax as Charlie bounces up and down in her spot, bitting her lip and clenching her fists out of pure excitement. You follow along, deciding to stay standing and a bit behind the group, glancing back to see Lucifer coming to join the pack, standing just behind the couch that sat Vaggie and Nifty. You stare at him for a moment and when he finally glances your way, you offer him a sleepy smile and a quick wave of your hand. A small smirk finds its way to his lips as he nods his head at you, quickly looking away after.
“So…what’s the news?” Vaggie finally speaks up once everyone is settled and all eyes are on Charlie standing front and center. “Sooooooo, I had a brilliant idea that will be equally fun and beneficial to the hotel. Ready? Ready for it?” Charlie looks around the group, looking as if she might burst into flames of enthusiasm any moment now. “WE ARE GONNA HOST A BALL!!!”
Angel smirks as he nudges Husk beside him. “Heh, balls.” “She said ‘ball’, jackass. Singular.” Husk spits back, rolling his eyes as he scoots away from Angel a bit.
“It’ll attract new recruits for the hotel! We can mingle, talk about all we have to offer. AH! It’s gonna be soooooo funnnnnn.” Charlie is yelling now, she can’t control herself in the slightest.
Charlie goes into explaining the details- it is to be a huge party with a formal dress code that everyone and anyone is invited to. It’ll be here at the hotel, with an open bar (Husk wants to die) and music! The group lets out noises of mixed emotions, Nifty and Angel shouting out of excitement and anticipation while Husk and Alastor both let out noises of dread. You, on the other hand are nervous but looking forward to having a fun night and getting to know the hotel staff and residents better. As Charlie’s speech ends, the group begins to disperse and talk amongst themselves.
You watch as Charlie approaches Vaggie, shyly dropping to her knees in front of her on the couch so that they are eye level with each other. “Will you…be my date to the ball, Vags?” You can’t help but smile as you watch Vaggie laugh, her cheeks and nose slowly changing color. “Of course, you goofball. You’re my partner. There’s no one else I’d rather go with.” They share a long hug, a beautiful positive energy radiating off of them.
“They’re just adorable, aren’t they?” The low, charming voice that sounds right next to you causes you to flinch a bit, now turning to see the king of hell himself standing beside you. “Oh! Hey. Yeah. They are pretty cute. They make a great couple.” You look back to the two girls holding hands and giggling but Lucifer keeps his eyes on you, taking this opportunity while you’re distracted to examine all the little details of your face up close. Hopefully no one else catches sight of him in this moment of utter hopeless romanticism.
When he finally snaps out of it, he lets out a sigh before putting on his best smile, clearing his throat just to get your attention again. “Speaking of great couples~” And as soon as your eyes land on him again, your lips curved up ever so slightly, his courage quickly leaves him. Lucifer freezes for a moment, mouth going dry as he tried to find a way out of this. Say something you idiot.
“I-I ha! I uh…I wonder what other great couples we’ll see at this party. Maybe some of hell’s highest royalty?” Nervous chuckles just keep rolling from his lips and he’s really hoping you don’t notice the way his hands are shaking as they rest on his cane. One of his trembling hands comes to the collar of his shirt, lightly yanking it down as if that would help bring air back to his lungs, the air you’ve sucked out of him with one simple glance.
“Hm. Yeah. Maybe.” You reply plainly, looking back to Vaggie and Charlie and before you can converse with Lucifer any further, he’s walking off with his tail between his legs, eyes wild and full of doubt. “You’ll be there. You are the king of hell after all, I’m sure everyone will be too focused on you and Charlie to notice any other royals. Are you uhm…planning on going with anyone?” You ask, still watching the two girls near the couch. Your voice stops Lucifer in his tracks, making him pause for a moment as he listens. He turns slowly back to you, wearing a bashful smile as he tucks both his arms behind his back.
“No, actually. I hadn’t even thought of it.” He lies, watching as you finally pull your gaze from his daughter and relax it on him. He slowly saunters back your way, unable to control his wandering eyes. “And what about you? Do you have anyone in mind that you’d want to go with?” And now his nervousness is rubbing off on you, making your voice shake as you respond. “Me? No, no…I’ll probably just tag along with uh…”
As you look around the room, it seems all couples have already paired up. Vaggie and Charlie sat on the couch still, Charlie’s legs strewn over her girlfriend’s lap. Angel and Husk seemed to be having a bit of an argument over what they will wear together. Angel wants to wear all pink but Husk is like FUCK NO. Even Sir Pentious was trembling in front of Cherri, as he looked to he asking her out. Obviously, Alastor is bringing his shadow along. That’s kind of a date…right?
“Uhm I mean, who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone there.” The pride that inflated Lucifer’s chest just seconds ago seems to suddenly be punctured and drained by your lack of acknowledgment to his flirty hints. He wants to ask you to be his so badly it’s making his chest hurt now. Not his for the night, not his during the party, his all the time, any time he needs you. As he opens his mouth to speak, he hesitates and then decides to let out a heavy sigh instead. “Well..I will see you there.” And with the tip of his head, he finally turned and left you standing alone in a herd of conversing couples.
~night of the party~
You figured there’s no harm in showing up fashionably late tonight. At least, that was your excuse for showing up late. In reality, you were fully ready before the ball even started but your legs were so weak and shaky, you couldn’t find the strength to get yourself out there. So instead, you’re sitting in your room, fully clad in your nicest dress along with some accessories, sunken into your plush bed as you try to steady your breathing. Maybe if I stay here long enough in this dress, I can just say I was there but not actually go…
A knock on your door has you straightening up in your spot, a warm surprised feeling lighting up your chest. “Come in.” You respond, wondering just who was coming to see you right now. You assumed it was Angel trying to get you to come out and start partying with him. To your surprise, the princess of hell pops her cheerful little face inside your room.
“(Y/N)! I was wondering when you’d be coming…out…there. Oh my gosh! You look so gorgeous EEEEE!” Charlie steps into your room now, her big yellow eyes shining with enthusiasm and hope as she fangirls over your getup. “Oh, thank you. You look stunning yourself.” Charlie watches your eyes fluttering all around the room, unable to focus. “Yeah…I’m coming. Just…feeling anxious I guess.” Taking a deep breath, you finally stand, straightening out your dress and checking your hair in a mirror quickly. “Oh stop it! You look flawless, (Y/N). Let’s go have some fun.” Charlie quickly links arms with you and drags you out to the lobby full of people, lights and music.
Within just a few minutes of joining the party, you find yourself looking around a sea of strangers all on your own. Seems the princess of hell has a line of guests wanting to meet and greet with her. Understandable, but you’re starting to get overwhelmed. You’re desperately looking for a familiar face, needing a buddy to help you feel included and secure. As you swim through sinners and other residents of hell, head turning side to side, you finally spot Lucifer after nearly an hour of wandering around alone.
Sure, His typical white suit is nice, very flattering on him. But, oh boy, did he look fantastic tonight, heavenly even. For this special occasion, Lucifer was dressed in a deep red suit with accents of white and no hat, instead sporting his pretty, slicked back blonde hair. You’re not quick to rush to him, I mean are you trying to look desperate and pathetic? No, just stay calm. But once again, you two share a glance from afar and give each other a small wave of the hand. Lucifer looks…pained. He looks like he might just collapse to his knees and start vomiting. His shift in body language causes your smile to drop, your expression shifting to one of concern as you mouth to him ‘you okay?’.
From Lucifer’s point of view, the room became silent, empty, dimly lit with you there at the center of it all under this glowing golden ray of light. You looked angelic, innocent and sweet, elegant but also nervous and out of place and adorable and fuck it, he can’t wait. He nearly pushes the sinner trying to talk to him aside, rushing to you as his brain became overloaded with ideas of what to say to you.
With each and every stride he takes, your cheeks flush deeper shades of red. With every step, his knees begin to feel more and more like jelly. Finally, he’s joined you in the spotlight, the rest of the party fading away before both of your eyes as you stand just inches apart. Now, it’s all wandering eyes and heavy breathing from both of you. Licking your lips first, you force words out to break this awful silence.
“Wow! Y-you clean up well. You look nice, Luci.” As your voice reaches his ears, his dream-like state abruptly ended. The room floods with loud music, chatty people and bright lights again. He seems to perk up at your compliments, feeling like a dog in heat as his eyes travel up and down your lovely outfit. You watch as his eyes finally leave your waist and come up to meet your own gaze.
“Holy hell. You look absolutely divine.” He scoffs quietly, wondering how an angel like you ended up down here. “Oh, Lucifer.” You swat a hand at him and you can feel your face burning up, sweat starting to form on your upper lip and forehead. “Stop it. You flatter me.”
Lucifer looked as if he might pass out, becoming more and more flustered the more you blush. Although, a pleased smirk graces his face because oh~ you like when he flirts with you, huh? It’s okay, he’s hella into you too.Together, you’re just a ticking time bomb of gushy feelings and sexual tension. He figures if he wants to have any chance of confessing his feelings to you tonight, his best option is to lead you out of the way and put a little distance between you two and the crowd. So, he reaches out and gently takes your hand, pulling you along to the now vacant bar with an extremely forced and up tight grin.
Husk is standing behind the counter, looking not as irritated as you’d thought he would tonight. Luci pulls out a stool for you, gesturing for you to sit before he does because he’s a gentleman and ladies always go first. “Hey. Whatcha want, doll?” Husk ask you first, giving you a wink after you answer. “And for you, sir?” He eyes Lucifer who shakes his head, politely refusing his offer. As Husk begins whipping up your drink, yet another tense silence falls between you two.
“Are you having a good time?” The blonde finally speaks up, side eyeing you. “Eh. I’m not a big party person. I’m not a fan of big crowds either so…not really.” At long last, your unhappy and disappointed attitude brings all of Lucifer’s courage and gall to his mouth. Now’s his chance. “Let’s get out of here then.” He blurts out as Husk slides your drink to you, the bartender giving you an awkward look. “What? But all these folks wanna meet you.” Once you look over to him, a devious smile makes its way to Lucifer’s thin lips as you take your first drink. “And? I’m the king of hell! I do as I please.” He teases and now you’re both smiling brightly, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you push his arm playfully. “I love Charlie but I hate this party. Let me finish my drink first, yeah?”
Lucifer continues to side eye you and also scan over the entire room, checking out the scene as you sip on your drink. You can see his casual glances and the way he quickly diverts his attention as soon as you catch him staring. Now you’re the one feeling some bravery. You quickly and smoothly slip your hand into his, letting your thumb rub back and forth across his knuckles as you try to quickly suck down the rest of your drink.
The grip you have on each other grows stronger, tighter with each second that passes. You notice Lucifer bouncing his leg now, growing impatient and needy. As soon as a slurping noise comes from the straw at the bottom of your glass, Lucifer is trying to pull you up off your seat. He’s not worried about hiding his eagerness from you at this point, not when you’re looking like you do now and getting so blushy and shy at his flirtatious comments. He has to shoot his shot, he has to try. You’re the only person who’s made him feel young and love sick again after Lilith, he can’t afford to let you slip away too. That would crush him more than the weight of the embarrassment and discomfort he is feeling right now.
Lucifer leads you to the library, doubting anyone would be occupying it at the moment and he is correct. Finally, alone together, his hand in yours still, fingers interlocked. His big eyes, full of worry and second thoughts stare deep into yours as he gives himself a moment.
“Oh, my. Where do I even begin?” His other hand comes to yours, holding them both oh so delicately. “You…I’m so….” You nod, smiling to give him some encouragement to continue. “I want you so bad. I want to hold you, I just want to touch you already. I need to kiss you. (Y/N), I love you-“
You’re not sure what came over you but now your hands are exploring his blonde locks, your lips moving feverishly against his. Besides the faint, far away music playing, all you two could hear was each other’s soft gasps and the smacking of wet lips. At first, Lucifer was very engaged in the kiss but he was hesitant to touch you, unsure of where to put his hands. Like hell he wants to rest his claws on your hips or your butt, but he waits for you to give him the okay, his hands balled into fists and held up near his shoulders.
Finally letting him have his way, you guide his hands to your torso before breaking the kiss to whisper, “It’s okay, Luci. You can touch me.” It’s more of a whimper than a whisper but Lucifer isn’t complaining in the slightest. The tone of your voice and the feeling of finally touching your perfectly soft body had his eyes glowing bright red now.
Quickly and without warning, he crashes his lips back into yours sloppily, his long forked tongue gently gliding across your lip, giving the slightest bit of attention to your teeth. He would devour every bit of you right now if you only asked. He wished you would ask right now. He’d even beg for it…You happily let your mouth open more, inviting him in as his arms slowly stretch their way around you until he’s holding you tightly against him. Lucifer squeezes you tightly as he savors your taste for a moment, pulling a soft whine from you before loosening up.
With your eyes closed, you tried to just follow his lead and do your best at impressing and arousing him but he’s sort of doing the same. He hasn’t been with anyone like this in so long, he’s rusty as hell. So, yall are an absolute mess. After about a minute of wild making out and rapidly moving hands, you’ve found yourselves on the floor. The two of you sit up on your knees, holding onto each other as if your lives depend on it. Your hands held his cheeks so tenderly, pulling his face as close to your own as you possibly could.
Lucifer couldn’t help but smile against your mouth, a soft laugh leaving him as he remembers all those nights he dreamt of this exact situation- you looking beautiful and magnificent as always and him having the freedom to let his hands roam your darling figure. He’s been craving you, dreaming of you, wishing for you, praying for you. The laugh that escapes him results in you pulling back to get a look at him. And fuck was he gorgeous- hair a disheveled mess, the purple shadow on his eyelids smudged ever so slightly, his once impressive suit now wrinkled and shifted awkwardly on him, his lips still shiny from your saliva, his breathing loud and heavy and his smile just kept getting bigger, toothier.
“What are you laughing at?” Lucifer rests his forehead against yours, his eyes moving across your breathless, flushed face, just dying to know what’s on your mind now. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages, darling. More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire existence, I’ve wanted to be alone with you like this.” A breathy giggle leaves you, your hands shaking as they travel down from his face to his biceps.
“Oh really? Why don’t you stop telling me and…keep showing me?” You tease, your hands coming to rest on his puffed out chest. Your touch combined with your sweet flirting and breathy voice has all of his wings popping out momentarily. You can’t help but laugh at this, but Lucifer is all business right now. You told him to show you, and oh darling, he’s gonna teach you a whole lesson on how beautiful and ethereal you are to him…and he’s gonna teach you with only his hands and his mouth.
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novemberheart · 3 months ago
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{overview} John tightens his control. You get a reality check
{warnings} a/b/o dynamics, fem reader, cursing, this is a John-heavy chapter
Chapter 6 <- Chapter 7 -> Chapter 8
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You were thoroughly exhausted by the time you got back home. Johnny watched your sluggish form, half tempted to throw you over his shoulder.
“There you three are.” John greeted as soon as Kyle opened the door. John's eyes widened as Kyle came in with two large shopping bags. “I see you enjoyed your day out.” He raised a brow, his eyes roaming over your sleepy state.
“I had a very good day,” you spoke, beginning to take the bags from Kyle to bring them to your room.
“I got it,” he assured softly. “Dinners in a few,” he reminded. The thought of eating anything else today made your stomach hurt.
“I don't think I can eat anything else. I'd like to just stay here if it's alright with you?” you questioned as he set the bag down by your door. One of your hands came up to rub at your eyes. He smiled knowingly, nodding his head in agreement.
“I’ll bring you back a dessert.” he winked.
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You had begun to curl yourself up in bed when your phone went off.
“Hey, honey.” Kate greeted, almost hesitantly.
“Hi.” you chirped back. You could practically see her shoulders relax. “Guess who had a great day today.” you sang, pulling your covers over your head.
“Please God, be you,” she smirked on the other end.
“Ding. Ding. That would be correct.” you cheered. “Kyle and Johnny took me to the aquarium today, then out to lunch and then shopping.”
“Those are the boys I know.” she sighed- relieved. “Actually better than the boys I know. How'd you swing that?” she questioned.
“I didn't do anything. At first, I thought you said some”-
“I wouldn't do that,” she interjected.
“I know.” you soothed back. “I think maybe they felt bad about yesterday.” you reasoned.
“Well, hopefully, they keep it up. The good part, not the guilt part.”
“Fingers crossed.” you sighed. “Thanks for checking in Kate.”
“Of course, Honey. Oh and by the way you and John are going to have to stop by my office tomorrow. Paperwork and key cards. Nothing fun.” she huffed.
“Alright. See you then. Tell wifey I said ‘hi.’” you smiled, pressing the big red button.
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You awoke especially chipper that morning. Only for that to be squashed the second you realized you were the only one in the house. John had left a note on the fridge.
Morning,
Out for a morning meeting, we’ll pick you back up for breakfast. Have fun with Simon.
-John
Simon?
“Don’t scream.” a voice echoed from behind you causing you to shriek. “Fucking hell,” Simon muttered under his breath.
“What are you doing on the couch?” you gasped, wondering how you missed his imposing frame spread out.
“You need to work on your awareness.” he chided, adjusting so he was sitting up. A pained groan escaped him and you rushed over to help. He held up a hand to stop you. “Don't need babying pup.” he groaned.
“Help isn't babying Simon.” you ignored the flutter in your stomach at his nickname for you. You plopped down on the couch next to him.
“How was your date yesterday?” he questioned, his blank eyes boring into yours.
“I had fun.” you smiled widely, cuddling into the plush cushion.
“Good.” he sighed. He turned back to the TV that was on mute.
“Why are you on the couch?” you repeated. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”
“Beds shite.” he huffed. He flicked the mute button off, deciding it was the end of the conversation.
“Are you happy to be home?” you piqued up.
“Happy to be in a quiet home,” he answered.
“Message received.” you snorted, turning to watch whatever prank show he had on.
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“Honey, I'm home,” Johnny called bounding into view. He was carrying two takeout bags, handing one to Simon who eagerly began digging into it. Johnny pushed Simon's feet aside to make room for himself on the couch.
“How'd you sleep, Bon?” Johnny questioned.
“I slept good,” you replied, a little too focused on the food.
John rested a hand on the back of the couch, his other hand resting on your shoulder.
“Ready?” he hummed, nodding his head towards the door. You blushed as your stomach growled. “I'll take that as a yes,” John smirked. His large hand found a familiar spot on your back. High enough to be respectful, but low enough to send a message to those who passed.
“How was your day out?” John asked. He chose to eat next to you at the table. Considering it was just you and him, he wanted to be within arms reach of you. It was the second time you had been asked the question, but at least they cared.
“It was wonderful.” you declared, turning back to your breakfast.
“Glad to hear,” he spoke softly. John had a very natural and comforting purr to his voice. It was commanding- yet playful. Raspy - yet smooth. The baritone lull in his voice shot from your ears all the way down to your toes. You curled them in your shoes. He was a complicated man. You wondered if he would let you close enough to figure him out.
“Everything alright?” he said slowly. You had been staring at him. You shut your eyes tightly, tilting your head down towards the table.
“Yeah, sorry,” you assured quickly.
“S’alright, Sweetheart. If I've got something on my face please tell me.” he half joked.
“No. I just like the way your voice sounds.” you complimented. You know it didn't have anything to do with the way he looked, but it was an explanation- and the truth.
“That right?” the satisfaction in voice making you preen. “Well I got it from years of yelling and chain-smoking,” he explained, causing your shoulders to relax and a giggle to escape you.
“Well it suits you,” you added. The corners of his lips began to curl before his face fell. You didn't take it personally. You doubted it was professional to show a variety of emotions in the cafeteria.
“Kate has some things for us,” he spoke up after a while.
“Sounds good,” you already knew, but you were worried he would wonder why you didn't say anything.
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As soon as Kate opened the door to her office you nearly flung yourself at her, desperate to catch even the slightest hint of a familiar scent. She huffed and patted you on the back before pushing you away. You snickered and plopped down in one of the cold leather seats. John bit back a smile at your excitement and sat down next to you.
Kate's office was nice. There was almost no effort put into it since it was just a temporary one for when she needed to be in the area.
“How have you two been?” she hummed, opening one of the filing cabinets, and fishing out two hefty manila envelopes.
“Good.”
“Fine.” John and you spoke at the same time.
“Heard Simon was able to go back home.” Kate smiled, plopping down in her desk chair.
“He’s recovering quicker. Thanks to this one.” he praised, nodding his head in your direction. You still doubted your part in the process. You had spent half a day with him and you two weren't yet bonded. But the belly-up omega in your head didn't care.
“Glad to hear, keep me posted please.” she requested. “Honey, this is for you.” she handed you the thicker of the two. “Think of it like a diary. It's going to have daily and weekly questions or surveys. There's a month's worth there. After you complete it the Omega Standards Bureau will send you another one and you'll turn that one into the representative on base.” she explained.
“Okay.” you agreed. “Do all omegas have to do this?” you questioned, taking a peek inside the envelope.
“They pick and choose who they give them to. I think they chose you because you're in a smaller SAS pack. With an equal number of alphas to betas all of which are male. Also, you were picked to be in the pack by an outside member, me.” she explained.
“I’m quite the experiment aren't I.” you chuckled, glancing over at John. His eyes were trained on the envelope and you knew he was just itching to dive in there himself.
“Can I ask what type of questions.” he finally spoke up.
“From what I understand it's going to be based more on how she feels throughout the adjustment period of the pack.” Kate clarified.
“Don't worry, I won't be overly specific,” you swore. You could sense his hesitation, which you assumed could be boiled down to having things about his pack exposed. He offered you a reassuring smile.
“This one is for you John.” she passed over the envelope to him. “Hard copies of her records, medical history, and that sort of thing. Also has the Omega Committee calendar with events and things.”
The Omega Committee. You remember Kyle talking to you about that at the aquarium. It was advertised as a club that rounded up all the omegas to do activities, but in reality, it just looked like a daycare.
“There was something else I wanted to discuss with you.” John cleared his throat. Your brows furrowed your mind automatically jumping to the deep end of the paranoid pool. “How would you feel about getting chipped, honey?” John inquired.
You had heard about that before. It was usually done in large packs so alphas knew which omegas belonged to who.
“You can say no of course and I don't want to scare you but I think it would be safer given our line of work,” John explained carefully. He spent half the night discussing with Simon how to bring this topic up to you.
“What would that entail?” you asked softly.
“It’s a small incision behind your ear- wouldn’t even leave a scar. It'll have mine and Simon’s name, and phone number,” he explained. He debated on whether or not he should tell you he wants one with a tracking ability. “How would you feel about one with tracking?”
“Tracking?” you gasped a bit taken aback. “Is that really necessary?” you were beginning to grow worried. You either had very paranoid alphas or you were in more danger than you imagined.
“Not necessary,” he assured quickly. “But I strongly feel it would be a good idea. Kyle has one. We kept getting separated from him on a mission. It’s also easy to take out, should you ever want to.”
The ending made you wince. While he didn't specify you knew the implications.
“I also think it's a good idea.” Kate agreed. “Not that anything will happen, honey. But even something small like getting separated while shopping, just knowing they already know where you are would make you feel better right?”
You weren't sure if Kate had a point or not. You weren't sure if you were ready for that type of control. Then again you have been controlled your whole life. An omega’s ‘purpose’.
“Can I think about it a bit more?” you reasoned gently. John sighed not so much in anger but in disappointment.
“Course.” He responded.
“There’s one more thing.” Kate spoke, her eyes drifting over towards you. It seemed to be time for you to go swimming again. “Tomorrow’s my last day, before heading back to the states.” Your heart dropped into your stomach. What if something happened? What if you needed to leave? Who would be here to help you? She was leaving you here completely and utterly alone. “John, can we have a moment?” She asked, her eyes beginning to water from the sudden tang in the air.
“Course.” He moved quickly, his own mouth watering (not in a pleasant way) at the sourness burning his senses. At least now he knew you had a strong defense mechanism.
“I know”-
“You’re abandoning me!” You cried out cutting her off. “How could you? You said you would be on base.” You sputtered, your fingers digging into the desk.
“For your first few days, honey.” The nickname just rubbed salt in your wounds. “I’ll still be able to help you if you need it. But I believe this will be better for you.” She half- snapped.
“Better for me? How is leaving me with strangers better?” You gawked. A sudden gust of Jasmine and peppermint hit you in the face, followed by the known smell of angry alpha. It was a difficult scent to describe. It was smokey, not in a soothing way, but in an all-consuming hard to breathe way.
“You are relying on me too much. You aren't giving this your best shot because, in the back of your mind you already believe you are going to leave. Do you know what the truth is, honey? You are lucky to be here. You have been paired with a very well-established pack- who, yes, have had a few reservations about you joining, but have made no effort to get rid of you- and they aren't going to. They are just a bunch of stubborn men who don't always know what they need. You are going from the safety of an omega house to the safety of one of the most vital packs in the world. You don't have to bargain for a place to live while you wait for a hopefully kind alpha to choose you. I love you like you are a part of my pack, honey, but I really need you to see how fortunate you are.” She was pleading with you now. The smoke from the air was gone, as were the bitter lemons. You slumped in your seat, your head resting in your hands.
“I’m sorry Kate.” you apologized softly. “I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I guess I just didn't realize”- you trailed off. There were a lot of things you hadn't realized. How important this pack truly was. How highly Kate thought of them. How significant your role in this pack would be. Along with even more respect for Kate, a feeling began to arise in your chest. A tangled web of stress, relief, and most importantly a nauseating wave of hope. You had the chance most omegas could only dream about.
Be the backbone of a strong pack.
And you finally felt ready for the challenge.
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Another chapter is done and gone! The next chapter will be posted tomorrow because it's a short one! See you then! 🧡
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ayyy-pee · 6 months ago
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𝔼ℙ𝕀𝕊𝕆𝔻𝔼 𝟙 - 𝕀ℕ𝕋ℝ𝕆𝔻𝕌ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊 ℙ𝕋. 𝕆ℕ𝔼
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Discord 18+ - Twitter - Last Episode - Next Episode - Masterlist
Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader
Episode Summary: The season has begun! Which one of these contestants will be the first to make an impression on your heart?
STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS
Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)
Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219 Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)
A/N: sorry it took so long! i said it would be up the next day but yall know i lie
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Apparently, you were the perfect pick for the show. At least, that’s what the producers had told you as they spent weeks screening you for this and prepping you for what was to be expected. 
“She’s not heavily involved in society, but can still see curses,” they’d said.
“And none of the Sorcerers would know her either since she’s practically nobody in society,” they’d note.
“No expectations from someone like her,” they’d comment.
And all the while, you sat there, letting them pick apart your life.
A window – hardly useful, new to Kyoto so the chances were slim that you had met any of the men who had signed up for the show, a nobody, just…there. Unimpressive, plain, hardly a step above the non-gifted. And somehow, you were supposed to win the heart of one of these men.
- - - - - - 
Jesse stands before you, a wide smile on his face when he asks, “Feeling nervous?”
“Just a little.” That feels like an understatement
“Anything you’re looking for in one of these Sorcerers?” Jesse pushes. You’ve honestly got to give it to Jesse. He’s a great host. You’ve gotten more comfortable with him in the short time you’ve been speaking. You think he’s a nice person. At least while the cameras are on.
“Nothing in particular, Jesse,” you respond. “You know, I’m pretty open right now. Just looking to find someone who speaks to my heart.”
Now you’re just pulling things out of your ass, because where did that come from?
“Good, good.” Jesse pauses briefly, taking a dramatic inhale of breath before he speaks your name. “Alright, listen. The first man who will be competing for your heart should be pulling up here shortly. Best of luck. But, I have a strong feeling there’s going to be someone out here for you that will end up sweeping you off your feet…” He leans forward and embraces you once more. Then he turns and speaks directly into the camera, where all the viewers at home can see. “Remember, this is a very special season in more ways than one. While our Bachelorette tries to find her soulmate, you, the viewers at home, are in charge of choosing who will not be receiving a rose for eliminations.”
Your head snaps to the camera and you see the cameraman swivel the large machine so that Jesse’s head blocks your wide eyed, open mouthed stare.
“Hopefully these men know how to make an impression, because that will greatly sway you viewers. Be sure to tune in…” He claps his hands together. “And with that…let the journey begin.”
Jesse is off before you can even call after him, not sparing you a glance as his assistants swarm around him out of view of the camera. There’s a lot of movement that follows as Jesse leaves you standing outside of the Bachelorette mansion in what now feels like the frigid cold. Was it always this freezing? Was your dress always so tight, so suffocating? You feel like you can’t breathe.
The viewers. That’s what Jesse had said on live television. The viewers would be deciding who moved forward?! That was not what was advertised! This was not what you were told would be happening! You were supposed to be choosing for yourself!
How could you possibly find the love of your life among a group of Sorcerers you’d be meeting for the first time in your life. Not to mention, you had to depend on the viewers of the world to decide who was your soulmate?! They didn’t even know you! How could you trust them with your heart? How would they know who would be the one best suited to take care of it?
Hell, you don’t even know who would be the one best suited for that. But the only thing you are certain of is that this is a mistake. A very big, very stupid mistake.
How could you have let Utahime talk you into this? Let this be the last time you’re swayed by that drunkard!
Your eyes dart around, trying not to catch the attention of the many people surrounding you at the moment. The crew is busy fiddling with the lighting. The sound team is checking and adjusting mics. The cameramen are moving into position to catch every possible angle. And suddenly you feel more exposed, more vulnerable than ever. You need to get out of here, quickly. 
Spinning on your heel, you take a single step forward in an attempt to dart past all of the commotion, hopefully unnoticed. But the moment you turn around, you hit a wall. At least what feels like a wall. But the only thing standing between you and your escape is one very tall man dressed in a nice and clearly incredibly expensive suit. 
Your gaze climbs up this man’s body and you’re met with a pair of the most insanely (and downright terrifying) pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. They sit behind a pair of sunglasses (it’s nighttime?) so dark, you can’t see a thing through them. And atop this man’s head sits a head full of stark white hair. He’s so…unnatural looking. Almost alien-like, but beautiful nonetheless.
Still. It doesn’t change the fact that less than two seconds ago, you’re absolutely positive that this man was not here.
“Hey there,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face. 
It’s then that reality crashes down on you. That this strange-looking man appearing out of thin air feels real. And you let out a blood-curdling, earsplitting shriek that has the staff gasping and screaming along with you. You quickly stagger backwards. And because you seem to be blessed with nothing but bad luck tonight, your heel of course catches in the ridges of the outdoor tile. You’re sure to be tumbling to the ground soon and you can only pray the cameras aren’t trained on you when you inevitably hit the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the impact to come.
But it never does. You’re sort of just…floating there. You hesitantly peek through one eye, aware that you’re now in the arms of the man who had appeared out of nowhere. His eyes stare down at you, a hint of amusement behind them as he holds you to his chest. Well, you think it’s his chest? It feels like you’re touching him…but not? It’s such a strange sensation. Is this his cursed technique? It has you reaching up and almost pressing your hand to the man’s chest. That is, until you realize what you’re about to do. Aghast, you scramble out of his hold and straighten yourself up. 
What was it the producers had told you in preparation? Stand tall and confidently. Even if you don’t feel confident, you’ll at least be able to look confident.
Well, you definitely don’t feel confident, and you doubt you look confident either. But you clear your throat quietly anyway, folding your hands in front of you and offer this man a polite smile. 
“Thank you,” you mutter.
He chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets as he peers at you from over the rim of his glasses. He purses his lips together, taking you in. Then that grin from earlier is back, like he approves of what he sees. “Any time.”
You’re not sure who the hell this man is. If he’s a contestant on the show, he shouldn’t be here yet. He’s supposed to be pulling up in a stretch limo and let out in front of you so that introductions can be done properly. You wait for him to introduce himself, but instead he just stands there, a shit eating grin sitting on his lips. Like you’re just supposed to know who he is.
Should you? Maybe you should.
He waits there…staring, annoyingly if you’re being honest.
So you wait, too. Because isn’t he supposed to be impressing you? Not the other way around. He’s clearly a sorcerer. You can feel the light airiness his cursed energy exudes, but you can’t for the life of you pinpoint who he is. Maybe it’s your nerves. Maybe you’re still on edge from this entire experience. Or maybe it’s the way your heart is still racing from him scaring the absolute shit out of you fifteen seconds ago. Either way, this guy seems awfully sure of himself and his expectation for you to show him some sort of reaction to his presence. 
But you can’t place who he is. Mentally, you want to kick yourself for the way you always checked out, daydreaming about cheese fries instead of listening to Utahime give you the 411 on all of the sorcerers she knew. It would probably come in handy right about now.
When you don’t give this stranger the reaction he’s waiting for, you watch as his brows slowly knit together behind those glasses of his and his mouth turns down with a scowl.
“I thought a sorcerer would be more…” He waves his hand in the air lazily. “...excited about this.”
You fix him with a deadpan look. “You popped up out of nowhere, then almost knocked me on my a–”, you glance over to one of the cameras quickly. It stares back at you, one of many giant eyes suddenly hovering to catch every expression and word from you and televise it to the world. So really, you should be more careful about what you say. “I mean…you came out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me!”
You toss in a laugh to lighten up the mood, and let the man know you’re not upset even though deep down your heart is still hammering against your ribcage from his annoying little stunt. 
Annoying…
…Stunt
Suddenly it hits you. Through the fog of cheese fry filled memories, you can hear Utahime’s drunken slurring come through.
“Everything’s a fucking joke to him. He takes nothing seriously. I hate that guy so much! Him and that dumbass blindfold and that damn forcefield he keeps up around him. Gojo Satoru can kiss my ass.”
And because he’s Gojo fucking Satoru, he can see the instant you realize he’s him written all over your face.
“Looks like you finally figured it out.” He’s as cocky as Utahime told you he was.
Even still, you hadn’t paid it any mind because you hadn’t expected the strongest sorcerer in a thousand fucking years to be standing in front of you on a damn dating show.
He saunters over to you, long legs quickly closing the distance. Then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his shiny pink lips. And you must look like a deer in the headlights, staring up at him with wide eyes, mouth open slightly as The Strongest, places a soft kiss to the back of your hand.
“I’m Satoru,” he breathes against your skin, and from your peripheral, you see the cameras move closer to catch this gesture.
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They’re so close, you can even hear the staff whispering worriedly behind you: “Wait, wasn’t everyone’s montage supposed to be in black and white?” and “Why are his photos in color?” and “Something about his eyes? I don’t know.” and “Management’s gonna kill us.”
When Satoru pulls away, he’s smiling down at you. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to his height. “You’re…stunning,” he speaks with an air of disbelief. And you can’t help it. You swoon for him immediately. It’s kind of pathetic, really. “As The Strongest, I think I’m the only one here capable of taking care of your heart.”
Again, you hear the staff behind you, men and women alike sighing and quietly squealing. You respond with a sweet smile and a genuine laugh because, although a little cheesy, that was definitely a good line. “Maybe so.”
You think he likes your cheekiness, because he’s beaming now. “Definitely so. And I can’t wait to prove it.” He kisses your hand again. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Satoru gives you his most radiant smile and you can’t help but return it. “I’ll see you inside.”
And with that, he’s gone in an instant, like he was never there. It’s just you, with your hand still in the air and the impression of Satoru’s cursed energy before you…and the impression he’s already left on your heart.
You turn to the camera, pressing your hand to your rapidly beating heart. “He’s so charming.” It comes out as more of a sigh and you think you can hear Utahime groaning, see her rolling her eyes all the way from her couch. But you can’t help it! You just met the Satoru Gojo!
Unfortunately, you don’t have time to dwell too much on Satoru’s unique entrance because shortly after he poofs out of sight, you hear the sounds of tires approaching. With a wide grin to the camera and the audience watching, you spin back around and try to calm your nerves for the next arrival. 
“We’re already off to a good start.” The cameras move into position, ready to capture everything. “Looks like the next contestant’s coming. Wonder what he’ll be like.”
Just as you finish speaking, a long, black and luxurious limousine rounds the corner and pulls into the lengthy driveway. You steady yourself, feeling optimistic after your first meeting. It’s as though all the nerves and apprehension you’d felt earlier were washed away. You can’t help but feel giddy now, eager to meet this next contestant as the limousine comes to a stop.
But as the driver exits the vehicle – a small, sweaty and almost sickly looking man – he comes around to the back of the limo and opens the door...only to see that the backseat is empty. He peers inside, then whips around when he finally sees there truly is no one in there. You can see his face begin to go almost green, his black rimmed glasses fogging as he stutters out, “H-has Gojo-san a-already arrived?”
He’s trembling, this poor man, and you simply give him a nod. Was he supposed to be bringing Satoru to you? If so, he failed miserably at his task.
The driver looks like he’s about two seconds away from passing out and the camera crew pick up on it, scurrying forward to catch his expression. He’s panic-stricken, murmuring to himself and it’s just loud enough for you to make out a “I hope Gojo-san doesn’t hit me when he’s back. How did I not notice he wasn’t there anymore? It was so quiet in the backseat. I must have simply enjoyed the rare peace I was given and didn’t question it...Oh, I’m so dead–”
He hurries back around to the drivers side without sparing a glance back, quickly hopping inside and taking off. The tires smoke and screech as he speeds around the corner, driving far too fast for any limousine to be moving.
The cameras pan back to you, and you smile uncomfortably, an equally uncomfortable laugh bubbling up from your chest. You shrug to the audience because what can you even say to that?
Dealing directly with sorcerers is already proving to be more chaotic than you imagined.
The next limo pulls forward not long after Satoru’s and the nervous pale man, and one of the most striking men you’ve ever seen steps out easily. He makes eye contact with you immediately, confidently. And it sends chills up your spine. He’s just barely shorter than Satoru, with a face carved by the gods, shiny blonde hair that looks so soft and probably smells incredible, and deep brown eyes that have definitely seen some shit in his line of work. They house deep bags under them. You wonder when the last time he got a good night’s rest was. 
The man strolls across the driveway, so handsome in his khaki suit. You take that time to let your eyes rake over his form. Utahime didn’t tell you that these sorcerers were so damn big. If you had been given a warning, you’re sure you wouldn’t look like an idiot drooling over only the second guy you’ve seen tonight. 
When he’s about arms length away from you, he stops suddenly and bows. It’s a perfect 90 degree formal greeting and you return it politely. This man must really care about customs and tradition. Surprisingly, you find that quite attractive.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greets when he stands. His voice ignites goosebumps along your skin. It’s deep, rough and if you’re being honest, fucking sexy. “I’m Kento Nanami.” 
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“For now, you can simply refer to me as Nanami until we become more familiar.” 
His words confirm your first impression of him. This man carries an air of confidence that makes you feel like you can trust him with your life. You know that sounds dramatic, but it’s a trait that is highly valued in the Sorcerer world. You’ve never seen a battlefield in your life, but you think that if you had a cursed technique, you’d want to go head to head against a curse with Nanami.
The cameras have moved forward again, just in time to catch you grinning like a goofy idiot. Nanami is the polar opposite of Satoru, in a good way. He’s far more serious and stoic than Satoru, but for some reason, you have a feeling that there’s more to him beneath the surface. You’re willing to bet he’s a lot more sensitive and caring than he lets on. You’re hoping you get to see that side of him soon.
“It’s so nice to meet you too, Nanami. You can call me by my first name. No need to be formal with me.”
Nanami presses his lips into a thin line. Like he doesn’t want to agree to that, but he doesn’t argue about it. And though brief, you see his eyes quickly snap up and down your form, taking you in so fast you almost miss it. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. And while his voice gives nothing away, you see the tips of his ears grow a little more crimson.
‘Cute.’ You can’t help but think. Yep, he’s so clearly adorably soft and shy underneath that hard exterior. Interesting. It gives you a small boost in confidence for a second. Someone as attractive as Nanami finds you beautiful. Of course you feel good about yourself.
“You’re very…”
‘Very what? Sexy? Ripped? Built like a fucking house?’
“...good looking yourself.”
‘Yeah, reel in the horny, please.’
Nanami gives you what looks to be the smallest smile you’ve ever seen and much like how you reacted to Satoru, you swoon for him too, heart racing in your chest. You can't help it. He’s just so cute!
“I’m happy to be here. Really lovely meeting you. I'll be seeing you again soon.”
With that, he gives you another bow and that shy smile that you can’t wait to see again. Then he’s moving past you and into the mansion to join Satoru. The cameras face you now and you mouth “wow” into the lens. When you turn back around to ready yourself for the next contestant, you hear the mansion’s door swing open behind you and what you swear is the faint sound of Satoru screaming, “NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”.
You hope to know more about Nanami soon. He really seems as though he has a lot to offer once he opens up. You’d love to be the one he opens up for.
Just like after Satoru, the next person arrives shortly after Nanami and the cameras move into position quickly. The limo has barely parked when several people who are definitely not contestants (how did they all fit in there?!) jump out from the vehicle and swiftly form a line along the pathway to you.
There’s a shirtless man with heart-shaped nipples that opens the door and after one very long minute has passed, a man exits the vehicle.
Right away, you’re taken aback by how breathtaking this man is. His long black hair is lustrous, voluminous and hangs freely down his back with half of it tied up in a top knot. He’s as beautiful as the two men before him, standing tall in a dark blue form-fitted suit.
His deep violet eyes scan along his surroundings until they land on you at the end of the path, waiting for him. He meets you with a smile so sweet, it almost scares you. And as he strolls towards you, you see why. Every person who had lined the path previously falls forward as the man passes, bowing at an even more perfect 90 degrees than Nanami did just moments before. They offer him praise as he goes.
It’s freaky, downright strange. It’s almost like they worship him.
Now, while everyone in the Jujutsu world knows who Satoru Gojo is because of his reputation, he was actually quite a rare sight. Always busy, always out and about keeping Japan from being wiped from the earth. It wasn’t easy to catch sight of Satoru unless he wanted you to see him, you were a student or staff at the Tokyo campus, or unless you were an unfortunate curse coming face-to-face with him. And so, a little small town Window like yourself had no idea what he looked like in person and a brief description from Utahime hadn’t helped much.
But this man heading your way? Everyone, even Windows, knew who he was and what he looked like. His reputation preceded him, and not in a good way. His air is a lot more intimidating, menacing even. And he’s just as pretty in real life than in any picture you had seen. They did not do him justice. So you were ill-prepared when you realized that heading towards you, with the most stomach churning aura was none other than the worst Curse User of all time, Suguru Geto.
When he reaches you, without a word, he waves a hand and those kneeling behind him shoot up to standing position immediately. They chant “Thank you, Master Geto” in unison, bowing once more before they all pile into the vehicle and leave the vicinity.
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It’s creepy…and intriguing all at the same time. You’d never seen anything like that before. So all intel given to Sorcerers and Windows alike weren’t exaggerating. This man really was operating as some strange cult leader. And now the show has captured all of that live on camera.
How was he even able to get on the show anyway? He’s a curse user, not a Sorcerer.
He peers down at you, brows knitted together as he takes you in. He’s quiet for quite some time. Even the crew is on edge, the tension palpable.
When Suguru meets your gaze, it’s almost as though he’s not looking at you at all. More like he’s looking past you. He raises a hand, reaching towards the side of your head, and your eyes drift shut, only for a brief second before you hear a soft whirring right behind your head, and can just make out a soft blue glow highlighting the man’s features.
It’s over as quickly as it began, and when Suguru brings his hand back, he holds a small black and gold ball in front of your face. You peer up at him again, and his eyes are closed in a pretty crescent shape as he beams down at you.
“There must be some mon– humans on staff if there are little flyheads buzzing around freely like this.” He’s making a face, like he’s holding down vomit just having to utter the word humans and for some reason this makes you laugh. Out of finding it genuinely funny? Out of fear? Out of nerves? Who knows? But, your laughter dies down after a few seconds and your eyes fall to the ball in his hand again. 
“Did you just…absorb a curse?” You’d heard of his cursed technique, but obviously hadn’t seen it in action before. Until now.
Suguru chuckles softly, the sound making you shiver. You’re not sure if it’s in a good way or not. “I would need to swallow it later to truly absorb it, but I’ll spare you the sight for now.”He tucks the curse into his pocket, then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his chest where he presses his lips to the back of your hand sweetly.  
Right. Him and Satoru used to be the best of friends. You’re sure they’ve used the same pick up lines on other people that they’ll probably end up using on you. You’re only hoping they’re here for genuine reasons. But more than that, you just hope that they’ll be able to coexist with each other.
“Absolutely breathtaking,” Suguru purrs, his lips curling into a bright smile. “More than I was expecting.”
You’re not sure what he means by the last part, but who cares? You’re fucking swooning again.
No wonder he and that blue eyed bastard were so close at one point. Two beautiful men that know how to say all the right things. It makes you feel shy, like a child trying to talk to her schoolyard crush and the cameras are quick to capture your expressions and broadcast them to the world.
“Thank you so much. You are, too.”
And because he’s Suguru Geto – charismatic, playful, manipulative – he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. It’s your first kiss of the night from any of the men so far, and this one has your stomach doing flips, has your heart crawling up your throat.
You give him a wide smile and he shakes his head like he’s just in disbelief. “Beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you acknowledge again.
“I’m so glad to be here. Can’t wait to get to know you more.”
“Likewise.”
Suguru kisses your cheek again before he waves goodbye and heads towards the mansion. You watch as he retreats, and for a second you think he doesn’t seem that bad. Except…he’s a fucking mass murderer. 
You really need to pull yourself together.
There are still four more people to meet, but so far, you’re enjoying this experience. You don’t think you’ll mind meeting the others and you’re definitely looking forward to spending more time with the men already inside.
At least, you think so. Because just as the director calls “CUT” for commercial break, the hairs on the back of your neck stand high as you feel the telltale rush of two very opposite sources of cursed energy flare from inside the mansion. Those in the crew with even a smidge of cursed energy feel it too, because their heads snap over towards the building the men will reside in as well.
IN THE MANSION
“And then Yuji was like– what if we just put Panda in the exhibit? How much do you think it will freak everyone out when he stands up and just starts talking?!” Gojo speaks to Nanami enthusiastically. He’s waving his arms retelling the story, bursting into raucous laughter. “I swear that kid is hilarious!”
Nanami stares patiently at the wall ahead of him. In all honesty, he hasn’t heard a word Gojo has said. That’s usually how things go between them. Gojo rambles, Nanami grunts with feigned interest and eventually, Gojo gets bored and leaves to bother someone else. Unfortunately for him, with none of the students around or Principal Yaga, Nanami is now his sole target. 
But Nanami doesn’t care about that right now. He’s thinking about you, and how he should have said more, made more of an impression. Now he’s inwardly beating himself up since he stepped into the house and was greeted by his colleague. He wonders if he’ll stand out among the other contestants. He should have put himself out there with you instead of scurrying off as soon as he had the chance.
It’s just that…you’re a lot more stunning than Nanami had anticipated and the moment he saw you, he’d reverted into formalities and awkwardness. It reminded him of how he was in high school.
Nanami is drowning out Gojo with thoughts of you and how he could possibly get more one-on-one time with you later tonight when he hears Gojo suddenly shut up. He peers up briefly, catching sight of Gojo’s scowl, brows furrowed harshly as he stares hard at the entryway. Another contestant must be here, one that Gojo isn’t particularly fond of. 
And Nanami knew exactly who that would be.
The moment those soft steps carry in Curse User, Suguru Geto, Nanami instantly finds himself in the center of a pissing match of their cursed energies fighting for dominance in the room. Unlike most Sorcerers and curses, Suguru doesn’t fear Gojo in the slightest. Most people would cower away, move to the other side of the room and take a seat. But not Suguru. In fact, he strides right over to where his two old classmates sit on the sofa – Gojo on the end, Nanami in the center and now, Suguru on the other end of the sofa.
He grins tauntingly at Gojo, who holds his stare. “Nanami,” he greets, not even bothering to look at the blonde. His eyes are locked on his target. “Satoru…”
“Geto-san,” Nanami nods curtly. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you here.”
Suguru hums cheerily. “Well, I suddenly found myself in the market for love.”
Satoru snorts, rolling his eyes. “You? Like you’d know how to love anyone besides yourself.”
Nanami sighs between the two men, already feeling his annoyance begin to build up. He had not missed these petty arguments.
“Oh, you know I’m capable of loving more than just myself,” Suguru purrs and Nanami can feel Gojo’s cursed energy waver slightly. Beside him, Suguru chuckles happily. Probably because he got the reaction he was looking for and so easily, too. “Anyway, Nanami, I’m truly surprised to see you here. You don’t strike me as someone interested in romantic relationships.”
Nanami doesn’t reply. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling a headache already coming on. There were days where he had hoped to have Geto and Gojo be able to coexist in the same space again, as chaotic as they were together. But if it was going to be like this, they may need to get sent home quickly.
Wait–
Nanami’s eyes shoot open, scanning the room until his gaze falls on the bar across the massive living area. This is the perfect chance to get some time alone with his thoughts. 
“Excuse me,” he interjects, pardoning himself from whatever was going on with the two men beside him.
It was time to think about how he can make a better impression, get some time with you after the others have arrived. Maybe even secure a rose tonight. He’s only interested in moving forward with you. And while Gojo and Geto are too busy taking sly digs at each other on the sofa, Nanami’s thoughts are cooking up a petty scheme to get rid of those two as soon as he can.
“You’re lucky I don’t blow a hole through your head right now, Suguru,” Satoru threatens, scowl deepening if possible.
But Suguru just smirks, leaning back against the sofa. “Well, you always were good at blowing my head, weren’t you?” He closes his eyes, smiling wide, like he’s reminiscing on some sweet memory. 
It makes Satoru…feel weird. Suguru knows just how to get under his skin in ways that remind him of the old Suguru. But he’s not him anymore. Outside of this, he’s his enemy. In this house, he’s just his competition.
Satoru is here for you. He hasn’t seen his ex…friend in years and it’s bringing up all of these strange feelings that he hasn’t had to face in so long. And to make matters worse, Suguru is here for you, too. Now there’s just another person in the way of him winning your heart. Suguru was always popular with women and men.
Nanami? Satoru could absolutely win against him. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Nanami, thinks he’s great and respectable and maybe he’d be a great fit for you. But Satoru would be an even better fit for you. Perfect, even.
But with Suguru here now, there was real competition. And now The Strongest was beginning to doubt himself.
BACK OUTSIDE
“When’s the next contestant supposed to show?” The director calls to someone in the cast.
You’ve been waiting for a while now, and you’re pretty sure you should have been on commercial break twenty minutes ago.
“They’re having car issues,” someone calls back, a phone pressed to their ear.
Great, more waiting. Not that you have anywhere to be. You’re simply here to look pretty and smile when a Sorcerer shows up.
The mansion seems to have calmed down, those cursed energies dissipating and you hope that wasn’t the result of the guys killing each other in there. You don’t know all the gory details of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship. You just know they’re the strongest modern day Sorcerers at the moment, that they used to be extremely close when they were kids and then when Suguru snapped, their friendship quickly went up in flames.
If they had any contact after Suguru’s defection, you’d have no clue. But with the way those cursed energies went into overdrive the moment Suguru entered the mansion, you’re concerned with how their history will affect their time on the show.
You can’t say that you’d hate to be stuck between the middle of those two. How could you? You’re literally on a reality show about being the center of attention for multiple men! And so far, everyone is sexy and charismatic and–
The intense screech of metal scraping along the concrete disrupts your thoughts, and the cameras pan around just in time to catch a limousine rounding the corner and approaching the driveway. The rear tires are completely blown out, the metal wheels barely carrying the vehicle forward. The sounds make you want to cover your ears and hide. The car’s bumper hangs from the back, dragging and knocking loudly along the road as the car moves along. Sparks fly haphazardly across the ground and the smell of burning rubber almost has your eyes watering.
From the corner of your eye, you see another camera swinging around to catch your reaction which is that of astonishment. 
“Who is this?!” You speak into the lens, eyes wide like saucers.
The sudden noise of the engine popping and sputtering, surely giving out, pulls your gaze back to the vehicle. It’s stopped for all of three seconds before one enormous fist bursts through the blacked out windows and sends shattered glass flying. Behind you, several people on the crew gasp. That same hand pats around the outside of the car, tattooed muscles flexing until it finally lands on the handle of the door. The chauffeur exits the limo and backs away as quickly and quietly as possible, abandoning their passenger.
And it isn’t until that large hand tears the entire car door from its hinges with little to no effort and tosses it aside carelessly that you see why. Out climbs the largest being you’ve ever seen in your life. No shirt – because how could you dress the four tattooed arms he possesses?! And surely wearing a shirt has to be quite uncomfortable when you have a mouth on your stomach! 
It’s clear who this is, because everyone in the Jujutsu world is educated on the strongest curse to have ever existed. And yet you still can’t believe what you’re seeing with your eyes. You need someone else to confirm it for you. And so you turn your head towards the camera, staring straight into it as you shakily ask the audience…
“Is that **BLEEP** Ryoumen Sukuna?!”
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prettygiri222 · 10 months ago
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New Year New Me Us
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Summary: your new year's resolution is to be done with your toxic ex, how long did it last?
Gojo Satoru x Black Reader PLOT + SMUT
“I don't want to keep doing this with you Satoru… we're done.” you managed out through hiccups. tears were streaming down your face from another pointless argument that started after your boyfriend came home from work. it became a constant and you finally reached your limit.
“...” Gojo bit back his tongue not wanting to say anything else that could hurt your feelings. but that ended up being the wrong idea. he watched in silence as you packed up your things.
you had a suitcase packed for a while now ready to leave but you couldn't do it. you and Gojo were high school sweethearts and he was your first everything. he was your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first time, you met his parents and vice versa. so you didn't want to give up on him through a few hiccups. but it was too much now.
your friends, having witnessed the relationship from the beginning, watched how you slowly started hanging out with them less. your excuses went from “being out with your boyfriend" to “Toru says it's dangerous” to “Toru said it's too late” and lastly to “Toru said no.”
it was a shame seeing how you used to gush about the things Gojo has done and bought, to you not wanting his name to be mentioned during the few times you all got together so you could have a break from his draining antics.
with the New Year’s coming up at the end of the month they finally managed to convince you to dump him. you planned to participate in the new year tradition of eating twelve grapes under a table to hopefully invite a new love into your life, something healthy.
“bye Toru,” you didn’t look back once you reached the door. you had already steeled your resolve. you two were done for good. you heard him kiss his teeth behind you but he stayed quiet, burning holes into your back. he just followed you around the shared house that you were leaving to him since he was the one who bought it. you were going to stay at a friend's house till you got back on your feet.
“we're not done,” Gojo mumbled under his breath. you had already walked out the door so you didn’t hear him. he knew he wasn't acting as the best boyfriend right now but it was because everything was acting as a stressor in his life. and you were the only thing able to keep his piece.
but your friends were getting to your head and it pissed him off. always trying to take you out to parties and clubs. you were a good girl with a boyfriend at home so there was no point. that didn't stop him from attending though. your friends sent you pictures and videos of him at the same places he didn't want you going. 
when you brought it up he claimed that it was for business. since he's been in these places and as the owner of a few he knows the vibes and energy, “it's just single women dressing like sluts and horny men.” no place for his perfect housewife, although you were still his girlfriend by name. 
yet that’s exactly where Gojo had met you. it was at a mutual friend's house party and you were the one who came up to him. you had a huge crush on him back then, everyone did, he was a senior and you were a junior. after a few coolers and hushed whispers, your friends convinced you to go up to him. 
you stumbled over to him with your hips swaying to the music. he was in the corner standing up against the wall by himself nursing a red solo cup. once you were close enough his head snapped towards you, making you all flustered. he shot you a small smile wondering what a cutie like you was doing here. when you got back to your friends you were flaunting his number.
he was far from being done with you but for now, he was going to give you some space to clear your head.
☆☆☆
the different scents of musk, weed, vape, cologne and perfume both overwhelmed you and gave you a sense of comfort. it's been so long since you've been out with your girls, this was going to be a great way to bring in the new year. the music was vibrating through your body and the dark lights made way for a great ambiance. 
Gojo hadn’t left your mind since you broke up but he was at the forefront either. although you missed him at times and craved his presence you knew it was for the best. but tonight you had forgotten about him completely.
tonight you were dressed to impress. you adorned a honey blonde wig with big bouncy curls and a black satin jumpsuit that exposed part of your chest. you couldn't wear a bra with it so you wore some pasties to prevent a nip slip.
to avoid drama and actually spend some time together you and your gals had pre-booked a booth. as well as a table so you could participate in the new year tradition to bring in love as your friend snuck in some grapes. the alcoholic taste of casamigos burned your throat as you all took shot after shot. feeling your body and brain slowly begin to numb. 
it was a blur how you all got to the dance floor but bodies were rubbing and bumping against each other. you were whining, shaking ass, popping and locking and even threw some legwork into the mix. you and your girls were having the time of your life without the presence of any men, except for the occasional guy who came up behind one of y'all.
Gojo watched you with a frown face as you had fun in his establishment. you knew he owned a few clubs but he never told you the names not wanting you to stop by. little did you think you would waltz right in. it was the new club that was making a name for itself around the city that your friends decided on.
Gojo knew you were going to be out partying with your girls on the new year so he told his men to be on the lookout. once the bouncer let y'all in he alerted Gojo of your whereabouts. Gojo had pictures of you plastered all around his office, it would've been hard for his men not to notice you. 
anger coursed through his body watching as you let men come up and dance behind you. this was the exact reason he didn't want you coming to these kinds of places. though you rejected every advance to take it further it still had him seething. in his eyes you were still taken.
he took deep breaths to calm himself. if he wanted to win you over he was going to have to play nice. Geto, his best friend and right-hand man, gave him some advice, if he wanted to win you back he was going to have to show some growth. so that meant not snapping at every little thing.
and he was trying, it was so hard watching as you bounced around the club with your tits spilling out of your one-piece. how could you not feel the breeze? but he knew if he went down to the floor, picked you up in front of all your friends and took you home so he could fuck you until all you remember was his name you would be pissed. 
but it was hard. he was stone-cold sober so he could have a clear head when you two talked. anytime he came down to his clubs he was always high, he couldn't stand being around these types of people. most of the time he left it to Geto but when he had to present he was fried out of his mind.
“man fuck this shit,” Gojo's last straw was watching you giggle when another man slapped your ass when you bent over to twerk. he stormed out of his booth and towards you. the crowd parted at the sight of a 6 '4 pissed off heavily tattooed man storming through.
you oblivious to his presence kept on. “it’s the speaker knockerz,” the throwback song blared on the speakers, of course you had to show out.
“e-excuse me!” before you could get into the song a strong grip found your arm. you stumbled as it dragged you out of the crowd. your eyes trailed the body, the hand was attached to see who it was ready to scream at them. ice rushed through your veins upon seeing a familiar tattoo, you only knew one man with red lips tattooed to his neck with your signature underneath. “Toru…”
he didn't say anything but his grip on you loosened. you wanted to pull your arm out of his grip and head back to your friends but your heart panged at the sight of your ex-boyfriend. the clock projected behind the DJ's booth read 11:20. you should have time to sort this mess and say your goodbyes before the new year, right?
deciding to give him his last chance of the year you followed him to the back of the club and into the elevator. his hold on your arm hesitantly slipped down to your hand where he held his breath. he was testing the waters to see how you would react.
you did not pay it any mind, too busy collecting your thoughts. how did Gojo find you? you had a month of no contact and had him blocked and removed from every social you had. he didn't follow any of your friends so how did he know where you were?
the silence left you time to realize where you were, this place was one of his clubs. you sighed in embarrassment. you've heard him on the phone talking about closing a deal on a new place but you didn’t connect the dots. Gojo kept you in the dark about his line of work, not wanting you to get involved.
DING! the elevator reached the top floor and Gojo exited first with you slowly following behind, scoping out the place. he led the way to a door where two men dressed in uniform stood taller than him. “Sir.” they greeted him before turning to you, “Ma'am.”
“I don't care if the building is going up in flames, do. not. interrupt us,” Gojo spat out. they just nodded and opened the door. you raised your carefully threaded brows in shock. Gojo gestured for you to enter first which you did, uncertain to where this would lead.
you looked around the vast room stunned, it had a luxurious interior design. there were pictures of you and Gojo decorating the room. it was a lot but not enough to the point it was worrying but romantic. it's been a month since you last saw each other so he should have taken them down by now. but he didn't.
the room was thick with tension, no one wanted to make the first move. you, afraid to be on the receiving end of his anger and him, not wanting to say the wrong thing. 
“...princess, can you please look at me?” there he goes with that sweet nickname that made your knees feel like they were melting. when he used his charm he was irresistible to you. you loved it when he was sweet, it's how he wooed you in the first place.
but it no longer affected you, you've been focusing on yourself this past month. so no way were you going to let him back in with a few sugar-coated words. that's what you believed until you turned around and your resolve quickly depleted.
Gojo stood with his regular hunch in his back but he still managed to tower over you. he was wearing leather pants and a short-sleeve button-up that showed off his arm tattoos and gave a glimpse of the one on his chest, with a single chain decorating his neck. his hair was tousled back with a few strands falling out in the front. he looked really good, but you weren’t going to fold.
“Satoru…” a gasp caught in your throat when you looked up to see his bright blue eyes. they were swollen with eye bags underneath, a tell that he hadn’t been able to get enough sleep. god knows when the last time you two had slept separately before the breakup, always snuggled close. he hadn't had a proper sleep since you left.
“I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend as of late and I truly did not mean to take it out on you but c’mon you see how your friends get in these types of places.” Gojo exasperated, gesturing to the door. you frowned, if this was his attempt at reconciling with you he was going about it the wrong way. “you're better than this.”
“from what I remember I'm single and in your club so I'm just as bad as those girls you see,” this time it was Gojo who was frowning. his club was such a nice place with good music and food, there were lots of security and friendly female bartenders who made you feel safe. it was such a shame he wanted to keep you from it.
“you know that's not what I meant…” he shook his head looking down at your revealing outfit. suddenly uncomfortable in your outfit you crossed your arms in front of your chest.
“so what did you mean?” the both of you stood in silence. he bit his tongue to hold back from saying something slick. you took his silence for the nonchalance he liked to flaunt. you sighed at the realization that he hadn’t changed in the time you were apart. there was no point in wasting any more time with him.
you moved to walk past him. “where are you going?” he asked, moving to block your path. you rolled your eyes at his advance.
“to be a whore-”
“don’t be like that, you know shit-” you could see how hard Gojo was racking his brain to find the right answers. your heart swelled a little, maybe he did have a change of heart. “you know how I struggle to find the right words.” 
Gojo was right, in this relationship, he always used his actions to show you just have much he cherished you acts of service and gifting giving being his main love language. he would go out of his way to open every door for you, he loved indulging you in your stuffie obsessions, buying ones he thought you would think were cute, a few even having his voice in them, and he pays for everything, clothes, nails, hair and makeup. 
when you fall asleep in his car after a late night drive he would pick you up and bring you to the room without waking you and complete your skincare so you wouldn’t wake up with pimples. he would surprise you with gifts after you completed strenuous tasks. and his exquisitely planned date nights he went all out for every Friday night. 
he took your stillness as you contemplated his previous actions as a chance, “give me consent,” you looked at him in surprise as if he had just shot you. he wanted to fuck? that’s how he planned to apologize to you? “give me consent and I’ll show you just how much I love you.”
“no.” you bluntly stated, visibly upset. after all these years this was how he viewed you, an object of sexual desire. you held yourself as you shivered at the thought, it made you feel disgusting. this was not how you wanted to start your 2024.
“I promise you you won’t regret it,” he picked up your chin so you could look him in the eye. you could tell he was serious about it, his eyes glazed over. but there was so much yearning in his eyes as he looked at you. “just say our safeword and I’ll stop, no hard feelings.”
butterflies you didn’t know you were holding erupted in your stomach at his gesture. you felt like your high school self again. getting all nervous when he would rest his hands on your thigh while he drove. 
“...ok, one last time...” you couldn’t help but already break your new year resolution and give in to his charming antics. and it wasn’t the alcohol clouding your judgment, that was just the effect Gojo had on you. whether it was a good or bad thing.
you found yourself pressed against his wooden desk with his hands wrapped around the sides of your neck pushing himself closer to you. your lips were captured in a passionate open-mouthed kiss. you moaned deeply into his mouth feeling him slurp and pull on your tongue. each caress sent waves of tingles to your neglected pussy.
his hands gently roamed your body, down your neck to grope at your breasts before they found a place at the curve of your hips. Gojo felt you rutting against the leg he placed between the both of yours. temporarily breaking the kiss he rested his forehead against yours to watch you get off on his thigh. he couldn’t feel you through the thick leather material of his pants but he knew you were wet. 
the way you move your hips against him was sinful. you had the motion of water pushing and pulling of water at the beach. the material of your jumpsuit was so thin the roughness of Gojo’s pants was enough to stimulate your clit. he grew hard just looking at you.
returning to your lips he could taste all the liquor you consumed throughout the night mixing with the fruity taste of your lip gloss. he devoured your lips this time, nipping at them as he swallowed your moans. when you struggled to keep up with his kisses stopped. 
he peppered kisses down your neck relving in the way you were so responsive and sensitive to his touch. you went from having constant sex to being celibate for a month, so you were definitely feeling it. 
“Toru…” you whined. you didn't have time for all of this. you wanted to get back to your friends before the countdown. not to mention you were going to have to clean up.
“I know baby, but lemme take my time with you,” once his kisses reached your chest he pulled back. he slipped the satin off your shoulder exposing your perky breasts that sat nicely without the help of a bra. “I didn't get to tell you earlier but you looked gorgeous today.”
the honest look in his eyes told you he was speaking the truth and not just wanting to get into your pants. it had you feeling all mushy inside. “thank you,” you shyly muttered.
he peeled off the pasties covering your nipples and dropped them on the floor fully exposing your brown tits and dark brown nipples. he quickly busied himself sucking on one while he fondled the other. he soon switched sides not wanting to neglect the other.
you were so uncomfortably wet. you could feel how your thong stuck to your cunt, your wetness seeping through your jumpsuit and dampening Gojo's pants. you arched into his mouth desperate for more.
“yea, I hear you,” Gojo stood up shifting his dick in his jeans. the tightness of his pants was insufferable but his focus was on you right now. he had to make sure you knew how he felt. 
he unbuttoned his shirt with haste not wanting to be apart from you for too long, revealing his cut abs and carefully trimmed happy tail. you took the chance to remove the rest of your jumpsuit and heels as well. clothes were strewn across the room without a second thought. 
he licked a long stripe from the middle of your chest and up your throat before finding his lips against yours. how he missed this, how he missed you. he picked you up and placed you on the desk, your bare pussy leaking onto the wood.
“need you now,” you whined, breaking away from the kiss. you looked into his blue eyes with your dark brown ones, both dilated but his were more noticeable. he hissed seeing your swollen lips and already fucked out face.
“I gotta stretch you out baby,” Gojo was big and thick. it was always a bit painful when you tried to take him without it claiming you were a big girl. but the stretch was so delicious, it had your nails scraping against his back. “haven't taken my dick in a while.”
he picked one of your legs and held it up by the back of your knee so he could have easier access. he collected the wetness seeping from your pussy and spread it all around your lips. coating you in your own fluids. “stop teasing me Toru,” you were so whiny tonight.
you let out a pleased moan when he finally slipped one of his fingers into your tight hole. he smiled down at where his fingers disappeared into your dark folds watching as you bucked your hips wanting more. when he tried inserting the second one it struggled to get past your ring of muscles. 
“relax,” he whispered. his warm breath fanned your face only inches away from your lips. your tightness proved to him that you hadn't seen anyone during your little break and he revelled in it. it meant he didn't have to pay anyone a little visit after.
“ok” panted out. you had to will yourself to relax, the little bit of stimulation was already overwhelming. you hadn't been able to even touch yourself in the month you were single out of respect for your roommate. so when he added another finger you lost it, feeling them nudge at your insides. when you started to clench around his fingers he knew you were ready. to your disappointment, he pulled out.
“oh hush” Gojo heard you whimper, he was going to give you what you really wanted. he unbuckled his belt and let out a sigh of relief. he felt like he was going to burst, his tight pants were cutting off the circulation of his dick. when he pulled out his dick it was flushed an angry red. he smeared your wetness on his tip, jerking himself a little. 
this time he laid you flat on his desk knocking off the paper and items he had on it with no care in the world, both of your legs rested on his shoulders. his ice-blue eyes were fixed upon your beautiful self, there was no way he could lose you. you were flawless in his eyes.
from your natural hair that he loved when you rocked to your brightly coloured and styled wigs. your aesthetic that seemed to be ever-changing from Y2K to coquette to bohemian to baddie to alt when you felt like it. the way you never failed to take his breath away with or without makeup. your body that looked amazing no matter what you wore and how it fit so perfectly against him.
but nothing made his day more than when he would come home from a stressful day and be greeted by your pearly white smile. someday it would be the smell of your home-cooked meals that greeted him first followed by you in a little apron only in your underwear claiming it gets too hot when you cook and he could feel the tension melt from his body.
“mhm,” you both moaned at the same time. Gojo intertwined his fingers with yours beside your head at the same time he pushed the tip of his dick into your stretched hole. you were so wet that he slid in with ease. his dick spreading the inside of your pussy as he pushed deeper into you feeling your wet warmth suffocating wrap around him.
“missed this, missed you Toru,” you blabbed, already drunk off his cock. Gojo was giving it to you slowly and deeply, he was making love to you. his hips were moving at a tamed pace making sure his tip kissed your sweet spot at the end of every thrust. he wanted to make sure he was consuming all five of your senses. and that he was all you knew leaving you no room to question his desire for you.
“yea?” Gojo was trying so hard to maintain his composure but he was about to go crazy. how could you try and keep this from him? try and leave him? Gojo maintained eye contact with you watching as you grew shy under the sheer intensity of his gaze. “gonna be my sweet little housewife again? let me put a ring on it so you won’t be able to leave me so easily.” 
“mhm,” you closed your eyes, a soft moan leaving your mouth. you heard his first question clearly but you didn’t want to give him the answer to avoid ruining the mood. you felt your orgasm slowly approach, there was that growing feeling in your lower stomach that had you grinding up against him. “I’m close Toru,”
Gojo frowned at how you so blatantly ignored his confession. he kept up his pace watching the in-between of your brows crease as you focused on the building sensation. your moans switched over to mewls as you drew closer. but he felt a pang in his heart, the anger from earlier begun to simmer under his skin again.
“you gonna cum for me, darling?” Gojo already knew the answer. he could feel the way your soaking cunt pulsated around him. you could only nod overwhelmed, your eyes were still screwed shut. it pissed him off how you were getting off on him while he was suffering. he roughly grabbed your chin and forced it up. “and look at me when you do.” 
“oh god,” you lost it at the command, barely able to open your eyes as it hit you like a truck. you cried out, feeling the building sensation burst. he let out a groan feeling your juices gush around his dick. 
“it’s not god princess, it’s me.” you could tell Gojo was angry now. he always snapped at the littlest of things when he was. his last straw was when you squeezed your eyes closed again, shaking from pleasure. you just weren’t listening tonight and it pissed him off to no end. Gojo didn’t say anything else as he turned you around, you were now stomach flat on his desk while your ass hung off.
“wait Satoru! what time is it?” you attempted to get up from his desk in a panic but his strong palm kept you down. what about the new year and your friends? he pushed his tongue against to cheek, you were trying to leave him again.
“oh, so you get to cum and I don’t and when you want answers you get them, is that right? you know that’s not how things work around here princess.” Gojo tried to keep his voice smooth but after years of knowing him, you could hear how he strained. “it’s my turn now so keep still.”
Gojo didn’t give you a chance to talk back, he inserted his slick-coated dick back into your gaping hole. there was no resistance this time allowing him to bottom about almost immediately. a gasp was forced out of your mouth with how rough he was being. you should have been used to it but you weren’t. 
“you don’t love me anymore?” his eyes darkened at the thought. no way in hell was he ever going to let you leave him. you were his little sunshine,  he wouldn’t know what to do with himself without you. he grabbed the front of your neck pulling you back into his chest so he could whisper in your ear, “you must’ve found someone else if you can’t even look at me anymore.”
“I didn’t,” you whined out. this new angle allowed him to reach deeper. you struggled on your tippy toes to maintain it while his cock plunged deep into your cervix, bullying it. tears began to well in your eyes, “Toru, it hurts.” 
“so say it then. say our safeword and I’ll stop,” this was Gojo’s attempt at provoking you. he knew it hurt, with the way your hips jerked after every hit. but he knew that you were feeling good. your moans were high-pitched and caught in your throat and your pussy was oozing more liquid than usual, it was running down both of your thighs.
you bite your lip. your safeword was at the tip of your tongue. if you said it you knew Gojo would stop no matter how angry he was. then maybe you could go back down to the club and ring in the new year with your girls. but you couldn’t.
your head dropped against his shoulder as you let out loud cries. if the guards didn’t hear you before they must be able to hear you know. the wooden desk rattled under you at the force of his thrusts. the ceiling of his office was nothing more than a blur at this point, your tears stuck to your lashes and clouded your vision.
“so why are you trying to leave me, pretty girl?” Gojo wiped the tears that were running down your cheeks. acting all nice and sweet as if he isn't bullying your cunt as he speaks. he relished in the way you were becoming putty in his hands.
“I already told yo-” he cut you off delivering an unexpected strike against your g-spot. “Toru!”
“told me what?” he was acting dense. while he kept his tattooed hand around your throat the other picked up your leg so he could change the angle of his thrust at will. he was alternating between hitting your cervix and g-spot. 
“oh fuck” you cried out. you felt your climax approaching at an alarming rate. you weren’t going to last much longer at this rate. the one leg you still had on the floor shook as you struggled to keep your balance and from pleasure. “I’m close.”
“what were you saying before?” Gojo purposely slowed down his thrust to draw out your whines, missing both of your spots with his shallow thrusts. you were going to be his again by the end of the night.
“nothing!!” you cried out pathetically. you reached out behind you to grab his back for some balance. but you still shook pathetically feeling as though you were about to burst. Gojo felt his balls swell at the sight of you all fucked out from him. 
“so we’re back together again?” Gojo asked already knowing the answer. he fucked you dumb, turning you into his little doll who said yes when he asked. it was so cute when you got like this. you hated orgasm denial so he used it as a punishment when you weren’t listening. you would do anything to cum. “you’re gonna let me put a ring on your finger, have you be my real wife?”
“yes! whatever you want!” you babbled. Gojo immediately picked up the pace, your sopping cunt was so wet that his dick was just gliding in and out of you. it was the end after that, your climax hit you harder than the last time, your toes curling in. your eyes focused on a dark spot on the ceiling as you let it all out, soaking Gojo’s dick. you could barely hold yourself up, “I’m cuming Toru!”
“Shit, me too princess” it didn’t take much for Gojo to cum after you. with the way your warm pussy wrapped around him and the liquid that trickled down his dick he couldn’t help but release inside of you. stuffing your insides with his thick load of hot cum.
after you both calmed down after your intense orgasms he set you down on his desk. he checked the time on his wristwatch seeing that it was now way past midnight, “happy new year, my love. may we see many more.”
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criibibi · 20 days ago
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Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.
Masterlist: Prev; Next;
Chapter 2 - Spider Luck
Morning came quickly despite the shitty sleep you received that night. The constant tossing and turning, the constant fear and anxiety of getting caught or broken into, really you couldn’t catch a break. 
Despite that, you did get some sleep, even if the sum total was like three hours. Still, it’s not like the nightmares would have let you sleep regardless. All your failures would consume your thoughts and drown you, reminding you of your losses. 
Sure you moved on, but it’s not like you had forgotten. Uncle Ben’s wisdom, Aunt May’s lessons, and Peter Parker’s kindness. You vowed to honor and cherish those memories, but here you are, in another fucking world, with a high possibility of you breaking some laws just to get out.
Desperate people do crazy shit, and you aren’t that sane to begin with.
Luckily this motel has a shower and you plan to use it. Making sure to clean yourself with what you have (unfortunate) and pick up the necessities that you desperately need. 
Taking your time (since you paid for it) you get yourself ready, making sure your mask, gloves and (stolen) wallet are secured inside the hoodie’s pockets. Suite nice and tucked underneath the turtleneck and leggings. First order of business is shoes. Maybe that should have been your first mission yesterday- oops. 
You definitely should have followed the young spiderlings example and fight crime with shoes. Well if you ever meet them again, you will…
When you meet them again. You will. You have to. No matter the cost.
And then your stomach rumbled. “Great! Time for cheap food. Wonder if that knockoff Wack-Donld place is open. 
Oh that’s a nice plan. But you forgot one thing, genius. Where is it? How would you know where it is? You can’t even map it since you also don’t have a phone. 
About to unlock the door, you realized something. It already was unlocked… “Hmm…” Well, it was good that you webbed the door then.
“Fuck.” Leaving the motel keys at the front, you skedaddled your way back into the streets, looking for either a bodega or a shoe store. In order to keep yourself somewhat sane, you start softly humming music you recall Miles shared with you.
After some time of walking around aimlessly (you avoided asking others for directions, gods know gothamites unwritten rule is to mind your fucking business), you found a thrift store.
Guess what you realized while browsing for shoes. If you buy and fight crime with shoes, and (as of right now) are your only pair, you will get found out. So crocs it is!
Black ones, because white gets dirty too damn easily.
Finding your size and other clothing necessities, face-mask, a backpack and a portable sewing kit, you were good to go and all for a cheap price! God you love thrift stores. You used to go to as many and as often as you could with Peter. Ya had a bad spending habit and Peter certainly never discouraged you. He was your terrible financial buddy.
Not now! You can’t reminisce right now, not until you found a way home. Asking the cashier for directions while also subtly declining their phone number (your excuse is that your phone got stolen) you made it to a corner store. Hurray!
Making sure to stock up on snacks, since- let’s be real, this will be your food source for a while, (no income, remember, silly) you stand in line to pay before your spider sense goes off.
Behind you. There’s a man, hoodie on, looking down, covering their face, hands buried inside their pockets. You’re betting it’s either a gun or a knife. 
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” Oh, it’s a gun. How original.
The cashier seemed to clock in to what is occurring and subtly reaches under his counter. Not subtle enough because the man behind you yelled, pulling out his gun and pointing at the back of your head.
What the fuck spider luck.
You quickly assess your surroundings, making note that there is only one exit, two normal people not including you but including the gunman, and the room feels tight and too small to do anything.
Conclusion? You’re fucked. 
“I said don’t move, hands up! Give me the money, all of it!” From the corner of your eyes you can see just how fidgety this man was. Probably trigger happy if you do something stupid.
“He-hey man, I don’t got much in here.” The cashier had his hands in the air, trembling and freaking out. 
“I don’t care, give me the money! Yours too, bitch. Now!”
How rude. “Alright, I’m going to get my wallet. Don’t shoot.” You made slow movements of reaching into your pocket for the wallet.
“Hurry up! Both of you!” The thug yelled impatiently. You could practically feel how sweaty and anxious this guy is.
You watched the employee open up the cashier and take the money out. The assailant motioned for you to place your wallet on the counter, which you do and step to the side, getting out of his way. Just as he goes to grab the money you quickly grab the wrist with the gun and twist it, making sure he dropped it before smashing his head onto said counter, money flying everywhere. 
Both you and the cashier watched the assailant fall to the ground, nose bleeding and out cold. “Um,” The cashier looked at you, spooked. “I panicked.”
Hey look at that, no shots fired baby! Ya still got it! You are a pro-fess-io-nal~!
“Hey man, no-um no sweat. You saved me.” He replies with a tremble in his voice.
“Cool, cool, I also didn’t want to get shot. How much for my stuff?” You asked, picking up the money on the floor, handing it back while placing your snacks on the counter..
“What stuff? I see nothing. Just go. I already called the cops.” Oh, so he wasn’t reaching for a gun (corner stores usually have one under the counters) but a buzzer or something? Nice, cool, great.
“Thanks buddy!” Hey man, free food is a blessing. Picking up your wallet and bag of snacks, you step over the knocked out guy, (pick pocketing any cash he had on him,) picking up the gun with your sweater sleeve and placing it at the counter. “Here, for the cops.”
“Thanks so much, again for everything. Hey, can I get a name? For the next time you come and…buy stuff.” He shot his shot.
“I appreciate it man, but I don’t give out my name like that. You know?”
And he missed.
“Ye-yeah…” He looked like a kicked puppy.
Just as you stepped out you heard the sound of a motorcycle nearby and your senses went off again.
“Stop right there, not another step.” A third party voice joins the fray.
What the fuck, spider luck?!
Instantly you recognize the vigilante in front of you but regardless you are not taking any chances today. 
Taking a step back inside the store, making sure to close the door on the guy. “Um, hey not to alarm you or anything but there is a guy with a mask standing outside.” Bringing your hands up (again) you back away from the entrance, snack bag swinging around with your movements. 
The employee nods pulled out the pistol from the counter (what the fuck, why would you grab that with your fingers my dude?) and aimed.
Well at least he doesn’t hold grudges for being rejected.
The door swung open and there stood a masked vigilante, but a familiar bat symbol on his chest caught the employee’s attention.
“Oh thank god it’s not another one.” Putting the pistol again he sighed in relief.
“Ah!” The yellow vigilante turned his focus onto you, (who backed up so much you tripped over the k.o.ed dude, fucking embarrassing) hands still in the air and snacks littering the floor.
Some professional you are. Fuck you spider luck.
“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” God, you're embarrassed and stressed.
The vigilante ponders for a few seconds, taking in the scenario, glancing at the employee who nods and turns his attention back. “Sorry about that. Here.” He extends a hand out towards you and to not be suspicious you hesitantly take it, your body tenses on instinct, pulling away immediately.
“Thank you.” you mumbled silently cringing at your embarrassment over spilled snacks.
“What happened?” He still faced you but you knew that question was for the other party member. And even if it was for you, you’re silent.
“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” The cashier looked at his hands. “This is his.” And placed the pistol on the counter.
This looks like the perfect time to poof away so you do. Right after you pick up your snacks. Signal sees this and silently aids you. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?”
No you fucking don’t.
Holding out the bag as Signal placed the last snack in you as you shook your head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” And you walk out for the second time. You could still feel his eyes on you until the door closes.
And guess who shows up.
The men in blue.
“Hold it right there.” Bro, you just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask? This time instead of bringing your hands up (for a third time), you instead clutch your bag to your chest, mask down and point inside, making sure your voice matches your facial expression.
“In there, he stopped him there.” meek, timid, nervous.
It seems to have worked as the pair of policemen entered the store and you didn’t think twice and booked it (in a non suspicious manner- if you run, they might chase). Passing by a yellow motorcycle you take a glance back and see the vigilante stepping outside the store, looking somewhat bothered in the presence of the authorities. 
Sucks to suck, bud, you know that feeling very well, not your problem anymore.
As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his face towards you, your eyes meeting a mask. Oh fuck! You felt your hair stand up. Holding his gaze for a few seconds before turning away (any other abrupt movement would definitely make you look suspicious) you continue on your way.
Forcing yourself to not tense up and fight the urge to shiver at his cold gaze you round the corner and you feel somewhat safer again. But it’s a false sense of security, because you know you’re slowly losing your mind.
Hopefully you won’t run into him or any of the other bats.
-
Duke Thomas was patrolling his territory, the Narrows, when he got a notification.
“Signal, there’s a robbing occurring five blocks from your location. The corner store Convenience. Know it?” Oracle’s voice spoke through the comms.
“I know my way. I’m checking it out now.”
“Checking the cameras- there are only three people inside. The assailant, a civilian, and an employee.”
“Got it-”
“Oh wait. Huh, well look at that.” Disbelief could be heard through the comms.
“What is it?” Did things escalate too fast?
“The civi knocked the guy out. Basically one move.” Color Oracle impressed.
“I’m here, anything else I should know about?”
“I’m scanning what I can see of their face, but I’m coming up blank. I’ll let you know if anything.”
Duke didn’t reply, instead as he pulled up he saw someone coming out of the store. “Stop right there, not another step.”
He watched the figure (gender unidentifiable with the oversized hoodie) freeze before making eye contact with him-er his visor. Despite the hood being down, he could not see their face completely with their mask, only their eyes and hair. Just a normal civilian, who apparently knocked out a guy with a gun.
Then silence and no movement.
Until the civilian backed away, closing the store door.
Stunned for a moment, Duke could hear Oracles snort through the comms. “Think they’re scared?”
“From what, me? They took down a guy with a guy and I scared them?” 
“Careful, gun pointed straight at you inside.” warned Oracle.
He moves towards the front door, pushing it open to see the civilian from earlier backing away still, hands up before turning his attention to the employee with a gun. “Oh thank god it’s not another one.”
“Ah!” A yelp caught his attention and it seems the civi tripped on the knocked out guy he just noticed. They immediately spoke, catching his eyes,“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” 
Duke holds in a snort before glancing at the employee who nods in confirmation before he focuses on the fallen person. He calmly walks towards them, taking note of their discomfort and reaches his hand out. “Sorry about that. Here.” 
Despite his covered eyes somewhat obscuring his vision, he couldn’t will them away from this stranger’s visible face. 
Duke watched their hesitation but placed their hands in his, and he swore he felt a spark that sent shivers down his spine. How curious. He pulled them up, noting just how light they felt in his hold.
“Thank you.” Their voice was soft, but audible.
They quickly pulled their hand away, the warmth gone. His hand held its place for a couple of seconds before he let it fall to his side. “What happened?” He still faced the civilian, both unmoving. He already knew what occurred, Oracle told him everything, but he wanted to hear them talk more.
Only the employee replied. He took note of their lack of eye contact. 
“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” Duke glanced as the cashier placed the gun on the counter. He’ll leave that for the cops to pick up if they don’t get here before he leaves. “This is his.”
His attention is once again stolen as the civilian in front of him kneels to pick up their half empty bag. Standing above them, he notes the tips of their ears are red, how cute.
“You good there, romeo? You kinda have a staring problem.” Oracle’s voice snapped him out of his trance.
Duke cleared his mind (he hoped he didn’t look weird or creepy, yikes) before leaning down as well and helped pick up the tossed chip bags.
Though he did take his time, just to squeeze a bit more time with this civilian that he has yet to identify. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?” He mostly directed this question to them than the cashier behind him. He wonders if Oracle figured out this civilian's name. 
Placing the last snack inside the plastic bag he watches them straighten up before shaking their head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” His eyes couldn’t seem to leave their figure as he watched them walk out the door.
“Cops outside, Signal.” Oracle once again breaks his attention. 
“Got it.” Duke turns his attention to the guy on the floor, sitting him up as two officers enter the store. One takes the guy off his hands while the other questions the employee, taking the gun.
A slight restless feeling took over him and he made his way outside, the one carrying the passed out guy following. Duke quickly takes notice of eyes watching him and he turns to see the complete unmasked civilian from earlier. 
This time, he really felt like he had a staring problem. He drinks up their appearance like water. Their nose, lips, face shape, everything. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he really couldn’t look away this time. Everything around him suddenly felt silent. He felt his body shiver.
Such a pretty face, this civilian caught his breath regardless. He’s not one to lose himself by a pretty face but it seems this one was an exception. He felt mesmerized, entranced, and tongue-tied. Something about this person had a strong lock on him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat excited then put off. It felt like a very tight leash, and he doesn’t mind one bit.
Three seconds. Ever since he caught their gaze, they made eye-contact (despite him wearing a mask) before she looked away and left, turning the corner. (Their features look pretty feminine so he’s going with her). 
“Anything Oracle?” He mumbled, still a bit lost.
“No dice. How strange…”
Bummer. He mounts his ride and drives off to finish the rest of his patrol. He’s tempted to drive in the direction the civilian went to, but he wills himself to not do that. God it’s like he’s down bad. Really bad.
Hopefully he gets to see you soon, it seems you’re staying in the Narrows which increases his chances to see you. As much as he curses himself internally, he hopes he can save you next time something dangerous happens again.
Something formed in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s desire or obsession.
Regardless, he embraces this feeling whole heartedly.
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I struggled really hard, like REALLY hard. Duke is new to me (i only learned of him because of the webtoon) Now I'm reading issues he has been in and I don't know his character well but there is a SEVERE lack of Duke fics and I made it everyone's problem. So now he's down bad.
Updates are random and spars, no update schedule and don't plan to make one. This is my hobby not my obligation.
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azriels-shadowsinger · 8 months ago
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“All you do is push me away. I'm done. Whatever this is, it's done.”
Azriel x Reader
wc: 2.3k
a/n: responding to this request. sorry this took forever, i started my new job this week! also, thank you for 400 followers!!
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“It will be fine, y/n!” Feyre reassures, rubbing a gentle hand down your back. You bite your lip anxiously.
“I don't know, Fey. It's already awkward enough trying to introduce my boyfriend to the high lord and lady, the general, and scariest of all, Amren.” You chuckle. “But seriously, I’m even more worried about Azriel. He’s been so weird and distant since we ended our... situationship?” You sigh heavily. “Whatever it was, he got all weird when it ended. I’m worried he’s gonna make tonight weird.” You whine.
“Rhys already talked to him. Azriel promised to be welcoming.” Feyre reassures
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You grumble. Truthfully, you knew very little about your new boyfriend, Wesley, and you had no idea how he would behave around your friends, but when Cassian caught you on a second date and blabbed about your new boyfriend to everyone, you had no choice but to introduce him to the group. Hopefully, Feyre was right that everything would be fine.
———
Everyone at the table was visibly uncomfortable, thanks to Azriel. He had spent the first half of dinner in a very tense silence, ignoring everyone’s attempts to interact with him. He only responded with mocking laughs under his breath at every other thing Wesley said. Rhys had tried to speak to Azriel in his mind, Feyre told you, but his walls were up and he refused to drop them.
You thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, but once the final course came out, Azriel switched from chilling silence to obnoxiously challenging everything you or Wesley said. You were going to kill him.
“So what do you do for fun, Wesley?” Feyre asks, attempting to alleviate tension.
“Uh, I like studying history.” He answers quietly. Azriel chokes down a laugh, and you internally groan at the most boring answer he could’ve chosen.
“Hm, that's weird y/n. I thought your usual type was...” Azriel eyes Wesley with distaste “much different.” You scowl at Azriel.
“I don’t have a type, Azriel.” You say defensively. “And if I did, it would be Wesley.”
“Sure it would.” He says smugly. “I seem to recall you have a preference for tougher guys, specifically Illyrians-“
“That is enough, Az.” Rhys commands, cutting Azriel off and using his high lord voice. Everyone sits quietly, not sure what to say next.
“I think I should leave.” Wesley says uncomfortably, breaking the silence and moving to stand. “Goodnight everyone, it was wonderful to meet you all.” He says with a forced smile before heading towards the door. You hurry after him, heels clicking loudly on the floor.
“Wes, please stay! There’s dessert, and I promise it won't be as awkward. I’ll make him leave.” You beg once you two are out of earshot.
“Don’t bother. You didn’t tell me you used to date him. That would’ve been great information to have going into tonight.”
“We never-“ he cuts you off.
“Save it. I have no interest in competing with the fucking spymaster. You are not worth the effort.” You visibly flinch at the harsh words and tears begin to form in your eyes, as he turns away. “I’ll see you around.” He mutters and leaves.
———
When you return to the dining room, Azriel is sitting there with a victorious smirk on his face, eating his dessert. One look at the rage in your eyes, and everyone else had the bright idea to leave you two alone.
“Are you happy now?” You holler.
“Kinda, yeah.” He says smugly. You let out a frustrated groan.
“You spiteful, ignorant, selfish male!” He laughs slightly at your outburst.
“What’s wrong sweetheart? Could Wesley not take a little joke?” He grins.
“He broke up with me because of your gods damn immaturity!”
“Good. You can do better, he doesn’t deserve you.” Azriel replies nonchalantly.
“What the hell is your problem? Is this because I ended things between us?” That causes him to freeze, dropping any amusement from his face.
“No.”
“It is, isnt it? Well guess who’s fault that was! You don’t date, you told me so yourself. And any time I tried to get closer to you, you put up walls and shut me out.“ you let out an exasperated sigh. “Even now, all you do is push me away. So you know what Azriel? I'm done. Whatever this is, it's done.”
“There’s nothing to end, we aren’t dating. We aren't even fucking anymore.” He spits coldly, but you see the hurt lacing his features, matching your own.
“Yeah, I got that. Loud and clear.” You murmur. “Stay the hell away from me from now on.” You growl before exiting the room, leaving Azriel alone.
———
You had not so much as looked at him in three weeks, and it was driving Azriel crazy. He had assumed that with your now ex-boyfriend out of the way, you would eventually turn to him to resume your previous friends-with-benefits situation. He couldn’t help but miss your company.
Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys sat around the table at Rita’s drinking whiskey. As soon as Azriel began complaining about you again, Cassian rolled his eyes, finished his glass of whiskey, and stood up.
“I’m tired of hearing about this every damn day. I’m getting another drink.” He grumbles.
Azriel wasn’t sure why he was bothered so damn much that you were avoiding him. Sure, he had plenty of females offering him pleasure every time he went out in Velaris, there were two eyeing him from across the bar right now, but he didn’t want them.
“Honestly, what I miss most about her isn’t even the sex.” Azriel admits, slurring his words slightly as the alcohol takes effect in his system. Rhysand’s ears perk up at this admission. Previously, Azriel had only ever admitted to missing the consistent sex or complained that you were overreacting, but this was new. Rhys wondered if Azriel even realized what he was saying.
“What do you mean, brother?” Rhys probes.
“I miss the nights we spent talking. And how somehow she managed to know exactly what I needed, without me having to say it.” Azriel downs the rest of his drink. “I just want things to go back to the way they were. Like when she would fall asleep next to me and I would actually be able to quiet my mind enough for once to fall asleep too. Or when she smiled and I felt all warm inside. I don’t even know why I shut her out when she asked about becoming more. Maybe because it scares me.” Azriel prattles on, talking to himself more than Rhys.
“You love her, you idiot.” Rhys states, which immediately pulls Azriel’s focus.
“That’s not… don’t do that Rhys. Don’t put shit into my head.” Azriel says defensively. Cassian returns with another round of whiskey for everyone.
“What did Rhys do?” Cassian asks casually as he passes a glass to each of his brothers.
“I informed Az that he’s in love with y/n.” Rhys smirks and sips his whiskey.
“I’m not-“ Cassian cuts Azriel off.
“You totally are!” Cassian laughs. Azriel huffs out a breath and downs his whiskey in one big swallow. There was no use arguing with his brothers once their minds were made up.
“I gotta go.” Azriel mumbles and storms out the door. Rhys and Cass just exchange knowing glances.
———
You hear someone banging on your door late that evening. You want to say you’re surprised to see Azriel when you open the door, but no one else would bother you this time of night. You just look at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he has to say.
“I was wrong before. I should've never pushed you away when you said you wanted more. I was just scared of how I felt and scared of getting hurt by you. I’m sorry for being a dick and I’m sorry for ruining that dinner with your ex-boyfriend, I just couldn’t stand to see you with someone else. Please, give me another shot.” Azriel has such a hopeful look in his eyes, waiting for your answer.
“I told you I was done.” You say, trying your hardest to stay calm and collected.
“But I-“ he takes a deep breath. “But I love you. Please, give me a chance to make things right.” You pause, mind reeling at the admission. As much as you want to admit the same thing, you can’t afford to get hurt by him again, so you do your best to calm your racing heart and force the words out.
“It’s too late, Azriel. I’m sorry.” You shut the door quickly before you can give in, immediately letting your tears fall once it's closed.
———
More weeks passed, and you eventually decided that you had to stop wallowing in self-pity and try to move on again. Wesley might have not been the one for you, but surely someone out there is.
You had decided to go out to Rita’s with Mor and eventually found a decently nice male to talk to. You two chatted for a while, and as the end of the night drew closer, you decided to shoot your shot.
“So, I don’t really do this, but do you wanna come home with me?” You ask the male nervously.” The lights of the bar turn on, indicating that it’s closing time.
“Yeah I-“ he pauses, looking you over. His eyes go wide and he backs away. “No. I can’t go home with you. I should’ve never talked to you.” He hurries off quickly, almost seeming frightened.
You turn towards Mor with a confused look, trying to ignore the hurt you feel from the harsh rejection. Did you really look that different with the lights on, you wonder.
The next day, you were in your room telling Feyre about the night before, trying to understand what went wrong.
“I don’t get it, Fey. We were having such a nice conversation. I was sure that he would agree to come home with me. But as soon as the lights came on and he saw me, he ran off. I didn’t think I looked that bad in the light.” You complain, flopping back onto your bed. Feyre choked on her drink for a moment, seeming startled.
“He didn’t…” she mutters to herself, shaking her head.
“What?” You sit up, confused. Feyre gets a far-off expression, likely speaking to Rhys in her mind about something. “What is it Feyre?” You ask curiously. She groans.
“The other day I overheard Az and Rhys talking, and Azriel made a joke about how he could just threaten all the males in Velaris that they can’t go anywhere near you. I assumed he was kidding, but I just asked Rhys about it, and apparently he wasn’t.” Feyre explains awkwardly.
“Are you kidding me?” You yell as you shoot up off the bed and storm out your door, muttering some apology to Feyre about having to leave.
———
You put a city-wide ban on dating me?” You scream angrily as you storm into Azriel’s room, not bothering to knock.
“Yeah, I did.” Azriel smirks at you.
“What the fuck Azriel? You don't have some claim over me! Call it off.” You shout.
“No.” His firm, unyielding voice gives you goosebumps.
“Stop it with the territorial male bullshit. It won’t change anything, so call it off!” You try to keep up the anger in your voice, but as Azriel stalks closer, you lose your boldness.
“I’m not calling it off.” His voice is dangerously low.
“Why not?” You mutter. Azriel leans closer.
“Because eventually you will realize that you still want to be with me, and when you do I don’t want anyone getting in the way of that.” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver slightly.
“I told you before. I’m done.” You try to sound confident, but it doesn’t come out quite right.
“Sure you are. Whenever you decide you wanna change that answer, I’ll be here.” He says with a wink. As you leave you feel conflicted. This may be the most territorial male bullshit you have ever witnessed, but you can’t help but smile slightly, realizing that Azriel basically just publicly announced his feelings toward you.
———
You lasted two days without returning to visit Azriel. You had told yourself it was to yell at him some more, but deep down you knew it wasn’t. Azriel opens his door after hearing you knock and looks genuinely surprised to see you.
“You win. You managed to scare off any decent male in Velaris. So congrats, I’m all yours.” You concede reluctantly.
“It was never about winning, sweetheart.” He shuts the door behind you, caging you between him and the door. You look up at him earnestly.
“Then what was it about?” You ask.
“It’s about getting a second chance to prove to you that I was an idiot. It’s about the fact that I will spend every single day for the rest of my existence trying to prove to you that I love you, and praying to the Mother that you decide to let me show you.” He whispers, leaning closer. You look up at him, seeing that hopeful look in his eyes again.
“Just one more chance?” Your voice comes out so soft he almost doesn’t hear you.
“One more chance, I promise that’s all I’ll need. I don’t plan on ever doing anything to mess it up again.” He answers sincerely.
“Okay then.” He doesn’t get a moment to process that you agreed before you pull his face towards yours, closing the gap between your lips. He immediately pulls your body into his and runs his hands through your hair.
“Thank the gods.” He murmurs into the kiss. You pull away for a moment.
“By the way, I love you too, Az.”
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yes that last little bit about the dating ban was inspired by the deal by elle kennedy, but i just thought that was so funny and i believe without a doubt that Az could threaten all of Velaris to stay away from you
prompt list
taglist: @fxckmiup
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ghcstao3 · 2 months ago
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Ghost is being discharged after his luck ran out, now partially deaf with a knee he needs to watch.
At the ceremony is families of other soldiers getting ready to take them home. All cheering and happy to have their loved ones back. Among the crowd someone Price seems to recognise and smile at.
Once it's all over, Ghost is getting ready to leave when he notices the lone man talking to the others. Eventually coming over to him.
The scot is from the mechanics department, unable to enlist due to be partially deaf from his family. He's there to just talk to everyone leaving and hopefully give them a good moment before leaving the life they've grown used to. Ghost being one he wants to talk to as well.
Ghost wants to refuse the offer of a drink, but he's intrigued by this stranger so decides to take it.
Being alive for the end of his military career is something Ghost had stopped planning for a very, very long time ago. Yet here he stands, medically discharged with a bum knee and shit hearing, just wishing he could go home.
Price had claimed the socialization would be good for him ("Can't become a recluse in retirement, Riley"), and that it wouldn't hurt to give himself some proper closure, but Ghost begs to differ—he's exhausted, his leg hurts, and even just talking with his former captain has begun to feel draining.
So it's a great relief when the din of conversation begins to die down and Price reluctantly gives him the green light to leave—but it's at this point that, upon casting a cursory glance around the thinning crowd, the captain spots who Ghost must assume is a friend, by the smile and curt wave Price throws over Ghost's shoulder.
Curious, Ghost turns to follow Price's line of sight across the room, his gaze falling on a man he hadn't noticed prior, nor that he recognizes. The man raises a hand in acknowledgement of Price, his face friendly (and handsome) even half-turned and far away. He's helping with clean-up, in conversation with a few lingering veterans, though Ghost notes he isn't in uniform like himself, Price, and others; Ghost wonders how he and Price could be familiar.
But as he turns to ask, he finds that Price has disappeared on him, and now Ghost feels terribly awkward standing alone in the middle of a room he already didn't want be in with someone he knows.
Then someone clears his throat beside him, and Ghost suddenly finds himself face-to-face with Price's mystery friend, acquaintance, whatever.
"Hey," the man greets, sticking out his hand for Ghost to shake, "I'm John. MacTavish. But you can call me Soap."
Ghost eyes Soap's hand, but doesn't accept it. He arches a brow at the nickname. "The hell kind of a name is Soap?"
Somewhat to Ghost's surprise, Soap merely laughs, something loud and warm and bright. He offers a wry grin, the expression (charmingly, endearingly) lopsided. "Long story," he says, then pauses, briefly searching past Ghost like something's missing. "Saw Price was here with you, but he seems to have vanished, aye?"
Ghost can't help but snort. "Tell me about it. Bastard made me attend, forced me to stay, then left me alone," he mutters. "Thinks he's still my captain."
"Your captain, huh?" Soap's grin twists into a calmer, more tame smile—polite and considerate, like Ghost had seen him wear while chatting not several minutes before. His eyes, however, electric blue and brimming with the unknown, tell a different story, one that Ghost finds himself wanting to read. "What say you to drinks? If you'd be open to talkin' more, that is."
Ghost frowns. "You don't even know my name."
Soap shrugs. "I'd find out eventually."
"Presumptuous," Ghost replies, deadpan.
"I call it ambitious," Soap counters, teasing. He tilts his head, and only then does Ghost notice the hearing aid in one of his ears. "So?"
Ghost stares. "So?"
"Drinks," Soap reminds. "You look like you could use a nice scotch."
The former lieutenant considers the proposal, more inclined to say no—but a second longer of thought has Ghost wanting to unearth the mystery of John "Soap" MacTavish, strangely enough. So he nods, tentative, and does his best to ignore his hammering heart when Soap's face lights up as he does so.
"Make it a bourbon and you have a deal," Ghost says, and somehow that makes Soap beam even wider.
There, Price, Ghost thinks, as Soap leads him out of the venue, not as socially inept as you thought.
He just hopes that going along won't turn out to be a mistake.
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snoringkitty1 · 7 months ago
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Nightmares (1)
Tw: Fluff, a bit of nightmare comfort. To celebrate his release, enjoy.
༺☆༻
It had just been a long day, and Aventurine and you had finished off the day with a nice couch date with dinner and cozy blankets. He may have spent more time teasing you then watching the movie but, all's well that ends well? And now, here you two were in bed, on the brink of falling asleep, mumbling sweet nothings to eachother until you each fell asleep. But not everything was all that great, nor was everything so peaceful.. Aventurine doesn't wake up from nightmares very often, and when he does, he usually doesn't wake you. But tonight was very different, he was stirring and grumbling in his sleep..He was balled up in the fetal position, covering his ears and scowling as well as tearing up..though that was harder to see nor would he admit that even when he wakes up. "Aven..?" You whispered softly and sat up a bit and rubbed your eyes, looking down at him in confusion before gently rubbing his back to ease him out of his slumber. "Wake up.." You called softly and gently shook him but received no response. This nightmare seemed to be rooted deep in his mind, persistently tormenting and invading his thoughts even in the safe space of his own bed. He trembled slightly when he was touched until he opened his eyes and realized his nightmare was just that, a nightmare. "Hey-" you pulled him close once he sat up, gently rubbing his back and making sure he felt safe. The way his arms trembled and the way he sobbed made your heart ache, it was rare to see him so..broken. "You're alright..you're safe, i'm here." You reassured softly and kissed the side of his head, your voice and words of reassurance seemed to ease him and his sobs gradually were reduced to soft sniffles and hiccups. He squeezed you tightly before leaning back, "I don't know what game i won to have you." He muttered softly and held your face. You leaned into his touch and chuckled, "i would've ended up with you even if you lost." you smiled and held his hand before gasping as he suddenly pulled you into a kiss that he immediately deepened. He squeezed you again, furrowing his brows briefly before leaning back and smiling smugly seeing you out of breath. But even if he was smug, his grin was loving and playful, though the aftershock of that nightmare still lingered in his eyes. "You can just say i love you, y'know?" You teased and pecked his lips before flopping back and pulling him down with you. He gasped, but in the end wasn't very surprised as he looked at you, blonde hair messily framing his face as he tilted his head, "But i think my tongue works better in your mouth." He mused softly, chuckling seeing you pause. "Shut up!" You huffed and pinched his cheeks before squeezing him, "Aw~ You don't like when i state the truth?" he grinned, like a cheshire cat and pushed up a bit to kiss your forehead, smiling down at you. "You-!" Aventurine was so good with his words, and flooding you with embarrassment so much so that you couldn't muster the heart to respond. It clearly was his favorite form of entertainment, "Just- just go back to sleep!" You demanded in embarrassment. He tilted his head before scooting down again, setting his chin on your chest and smiling up at you. Those hauntingly beautiful eyes burrowed into your own, as if to get a good look at your own soul. "Your eyes are beautiful." You hummed and set your hand on his head, beginning to brush your hand though the messy golden locks. His smile seemed to disappear for a brief moment, but returned too fast for you to point it out in your sleepy state. "Hm..I like yours more." He muttered, the soft silence in-between words of love and praise along with your warmth seemed to be doing just the trick, lulling him back to sleep slowly but surely. Seeing him starting to nod off, you didn't respond..just brushed your hand through his hair until, finally, he was off to sleep..hopefully without anymore nightmares.
Thanks for reading.
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ebonyslasher · 8 months ago
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Can you do more yandere slashers part 2 please.
Hopefully, I'm getting better at writing yandere characters! There are some possible triggering themes ahead so read with caution.
Roses are red, violets are blue
Here's
Yandere!Slashers Pt. 2!
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A strained sob bounced against the dingy walls that you were held captive in. Your existence, normally happy and calm, turned desperate and miserable. You looked around with teary eyes, taking in your unfortunate new home. The air was littered with specks of dust, paint torn from the walls, and all the windows crudely covered and broken. It was a scene taken from a horror movie that you desperately did not want to be in. The tears silently flow down your face before the raggedy door flings open.
A shadowy, foreboding figure stood tall at the door frame. You recognized that figure, it was the one who kidnapped you to this horrid place.
“Please ... .please let me go…,” you whimpered out, your sobbing revitalizing before this monster. He stepped forward and you shrunk back. He stops. The next movement he made your heart stop. Michael flings a body beside you. The patch of light coming from the mostly covered window showed the gouged out eyes of your crush. They lay lifeless and their once beautiful face was now covered with blood. 
The image of a dead body, especially of someone you knew, caused you to hyperventilate. Feeling an extreme urge to flee, you stand up and attempt to run towards the door. Michael grabs your arm painfully and throws you down.
“Let me go, let me go! You monster!” you screamed. You attempt to stand again when Michael kicks at your legs. He quickly places his dirty boot on your right leg, right on the tibia. Stomping down, Michael relishes in your painful cry after the sickening snap of your bone. You could not run from him and he could not be happier.
—--
Michael knew everyone who lived in Haddonfield. Most by their identifiable features and home addresses.
Michael stalked all his victims, but only for a short time as their existence would not last long.
However, if he becomes obsessed, not only will he stalk them every single day. He will keep them alive for an undecided amount of time.
As you place your existence in Haddonfield, Michael becomes hooked. 
He paid attention to your needs, placing toiletries that you ran out of/low on in various places in your house. It escalates into leisure items that you spoke about with your friends. Things that he knew that you knew you did not purchase
Making himself known, he begins to appear and reappear in different places, from a distance. Toying with you.
Anyone who will get in the way will be removed, permanently. Especially any love interest.
He is not above harming you to make you submit, stay, and be quiet. He knew what was best for you.
Injuries looked especially good on you anyway
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“Kitten ... .how disappointing,” Asa remarks, seeing the piss-poor excuse of a Valentine's Day present on his bed. It was made haphazardly, the paper mache butterfly looked tattered with paint, some sort of adhesive, and drenched paper.
Asa had shown you how to do the technique weeks ago, disguising the activity as a fun bonding moment. He made an off-handed comment that a paper mache insect would be a great gift for Valentine’s Day. Of course, his smart little kitty caught the hint. But, it was obvious that you did not practice enough. 
You sat upon the bed, head down in embarrassment at the state of your gift. “Asa, I tried! I really did! You know I’m not that good at-” You started to explain. Asa put his hand up and you stopped talking immediately.
“You had ample time to practice, y/n. But, you did not. Therefore, you will be punished. Get on all fours on top of your disaster,” Asa instructed coldly. You did so, feeling humiliated at the action. You desperately wanted to make this up to him while also feeling apprehension at the punishment. 
Asa starts to hit your back and ass with his hands. You endure, but the force of his hits ends up making you fall on top of your gift. The burn of his hits combined with the uncomfortable feeling of wet paper and glue slathering your stomach. It made you cry out, strengthening the boner Asa had. 
---
Anyone who’s moving, living, or even traveling through the town gets observed by Asa. When you arrive, you capture his interest in ways he never thought possible. 
He searched your name, address (and floor plan if available), and knew all your family members. He breaks in to look at everything you have.
 He had notes dedicated to what you like to eat, what size of clothes you wear, etc. 
Once he captures you, he doesn’t make you a part of his collection. Instead, you'll be his personal pet. A little kitty he can enjoy. 
Life was starting to get a little boring. Your existence changed his life. He just needed to train you so you would not be useless to him.
His training includes the way you react (in the way that he likes), enduring physical punishment and sexual sensory overloads, how to care for him correctly, etc. 
Any spouse, family, or friends that were living with you are now part of his collection. They would be a distraction to your duties.
If you perform extremely poorly, he will drag you across the floor to see any loved ones in the collection. Digging his fingers into your eyelids to force you to look at their display.
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“Dr. Lecter?,” You asked as you knocked lightly on his office door. You let yourself into his practice, as was normal for your appointments. 
“Y/N, please come in,” he said smoothly so as to not betray his excitement at your arrival.
You plop down on the sofa across from him and your weekly sessions begin. You’d had them for a month now. It was last week when you noticed that you were getting weirdly attached and attracted to Dr. Hannibal. It wasn’t right with the power dynamics in your current relationship. Also, all the blaring issues he knew about your life. This did not dissuade your budding feelings, with the unintentional help of Hannibal. He did not know that your conflicted romantic feelings were about him. It was like he always knew the right thing to say. He spurred your mind to think outside the box or his perspective. Everything he said, he seemed to always be right about. 
“.....I feel a romantic connection to this person, but I know I shouldn’t,” You say.
“And why not?” He questioned
“Our relationship right now…it would be inappropriate to say the least.”
Hannibal leaned forward, his face schooled in its perfect neutral expression. Internally, he was fighting a smirk to bless his sharp features. “And what is love without risk?”
“....I…”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t know, y/n. I am merely throwing out a different perspective. You like this person right? What makes it inappropriate?”
“His…status and title do. The power dynamics would be unequal,” you say, trying to be as vague as possible.
“It will always be unequal. You possess powers that he would not have. And vice versa. Titles mean nothing. You see, I am your psychiatrist. I know who you are, I can see the power that you have. A relationship between you and me would be risky, in the eyes of others. But, only our eyes matter in the end.”
“A relationship between us two…?”
“Just as an example, Y/n. To help you see the big picture.”
--
You were his patient. He fell in love, becoming obsessed with you. You looked like the perfect partner, one to parade around at the envy of others. 
He would make sure to format your mind to see how perfect you two would be. That he would be the only one for you. 
Hannibal being Hannibal does this covertly, planting seeds into your head every session. He even stops taking payment for your appointments, to ensure you would still come.
The medication he would prescribe you was a level of biochemical control over your emotions. He knew the side effects and how the medication would affect your mood after you took them. 
He acts like the perfect gentleman. He has perused your home, making sure to have items that you need or want coincidentally at appointments. 
Anyone who is a threat to you or the budding relationship will be removed.
You will see them for the last time, served as a decadent meal. He will feed them to you, without your knowledge
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“Taylor Layknn’s party is in two days, I’ve taken the liberty of picking out your look for you,” Patrick says dismissively. He thrust the outfit into your arms as he checked his phone. You stood flabbergasted at his gall.
“Patrick, I already had an outfit planned out,” you explain. You look over the outfit, trying to imagine how it would look on you.
“Yes I know, but I saw this while shopping and thought about you immediately. I knew it would be flattering on you. It goes with what I’m wearing. We’ll look great together.” Patrick looks straight into your eyes, watching your reaction.
You felt annoyed, a little offended, but flattered that he thought of you. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think that’s exactly my style.” You began to hand the outfit back to him. He thrusts the outfit back against your chest.
“It is your style and you don’t even know it. Here, look at how the color compliments your skin. How it’ll hug your figure in the right places. You know, most of these bitches don’t even know how to dress. You’ll be the talk of the night if you just listen to me.”
--
He tries to shelter your interactions from others, feeding you lies and pretending like he is giving you inside information to gain your trust
He purposefully talks bad and compassionate about others to uplift himself in your presence, disguising it as competition.
He is always extra with his appearance but was even more so when he knew you were going to be there.
He even wears the cologne that you love. He sends you flowers, your favorite ones, to show how much attention he paid to you
Once he has you wrapped around his finger, He tells you what to say and how to act. He needs you to be the perfect partner that even Paul Allen would be jealous of. 
The desperate yuppie that he is needs you to look and act a certain way to fit in with the 'in-group'.
He buys you clothing and expects you to wear it for him. He will send you makeup tutorial videos that he likes.
Patrick will also send photos and videos of people with what he thinks is the ultimate body type. He will do whatever to shape and mold you into his perfect partner.
Patrick has a doll that looks like you in his office drawer. He dresses up in what he would want you to wear. He has another at home where he acts out fantasies of your eventual marriage. 
He constantly questions where you are or slyly questions others. He gets mad if he isn’t invited anywhere, especially to his favorite place.
If he could, he dreams of hiring you as his personal assistant (if that was your profession). He has thought many times about firing his current assistant just to have you perched there, sitting pretty.  
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