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never2tired4u · 2 days

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Hey!! I hope you're doing well! I just read your post about the dateables reacting to MC back in human form, and I really loved it! Your writing was great and I loved how their personalities were on point!! I saw your asks were open and wanted to ask if you'd like to write a bit of a domestic fluff with the dateables reacting to MC cooking/teaching them how to cook human food! (especially Solomon bc he's the worst at it lol) Thank you and please write more in the future, you're amazing 💗

— 🦇

Note: Thank you so much 🦇 anon! Also I love this idea, unfortunately i actually didn't know what to do with it :( but tried my best and sorry for not replying soon. Been busy with life in general… Came back to NB yesterday only to get a message from Luke saying he was being chased by Devildom tomatoes lol

You are amazing too and I will try to write more in the future <3

OBEY ME! Dateables x Reader

Characters: 《°•[ Solomon , Simeon , Diavolo , Barbatos...]•°》

Summary: 《°•[ Cooking with them!]•°》

Warnings: 《°•[ Fluff, Solomon wanting to cook.]•°》

With Solomon, cooking isn’t easy. He is a free spirit, curious, and itching to try different combinations with a smile on his face, be it potions or spells, or cooking. Thankfully, he is powerful enough to fix those failed experiments and let it be a learning experience for him, except when he is tasked (himself) to cook. He tries, fails, and just accepts it as perfection, never learning his lesson, never improving. You don’t have the heart to tell him to not join you in the kitchen since he seems to genuinely love cooking for people, however, sometimes he really tests your patience.

Like right now, as he tries, once again, to add some sort of weird ingredient to the pot. Something that DEFINITELY doesn't belong in a human dish…Or any realm's dish for that matter.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Put that down.” you warned him with a stern voice, Solomon just smiled while slowly lowering the thing, “Not in the pot!” you yelled, barely managing to stop him before he added his ‘touch’ to the meal, “Solomon, what did we talk about?”

Solomon frowned, “I know, it just…” sighing as he glanced at the book, reading the instructions again, “The recipe seems so boring.”

“It’s a soup recipe.”

He dramatically sighed again and stepped back, putting the “ingredient” he was going to add back into his pocket, making you wonder what it even was. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by him wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his cheek on your shoulder, “Sorry, I promise I won't try to add any DemonFlower Eyeball into it.”

“Just don't add anything!”

“Okay okay,” he laughs, “Only human stuff, got it.”

A smile formed on your lips after hearing his voice next to your ear, a gentle and calm tone. Ready to do anything you requested from him. For now.

After all, even though Solomon is a free spirit, his love for you makes him come back down to earth. If it is you who tells him to follow the recipe, then he will. And surprisingly enough, he isn’t a bad cook once he stops his ways of…adding things.

He fetches you some ingredients then stands next to you, waiting for your instructions (since you sadly don't trust him much to do anything on his own). You finished rather quickly and ready the bowls. Both of you sit on the table and Solomon takes his first sip, “And here I thought I was the teacher in our relationship. It seems I have a lot to learn from you too.” he says as a genuine smile graces his lips.

“Hm? Why do you say that?”

“This tastes delicious.”

“It's a simple dish.” you say, a little confused by his low tone, and the far away look in his eyes.

“It's been forever since I've eaten any human world food,” his smile never leaves his face, “It may be a simple dish but that is what makes it so special. Thank you for the food.”

Simeon is someone who enjoys cooking, not as much as Luke perhaps, but he is still okay at it. For him, trying new recipes every now and then, helping Luke around is something of a routine at this point. Cooking in general has always been a job he needed to do, until his view changed quickly when you decided to enter the kitchen with him. The angel then quickly realized that cooking can also be fun and engaging too.

If you are around that is.

Tonight, you had a craving for some human world food. Luke asked to try some too so you decided to get to work and Simeon offered to help.

“So, where do we start?-” he is suddenly stopped by your arms wrapping around him and completely stops moving for a moment, however he gently hugs you back.

“Simeon?” you ask in confusion, “What are you doing?”

Simeon slightly pulls back, only to realize you were just tying the apron around him, “Oh.” he smiles gently, while mentally hitting himself on the head and pulls back, “I thought you wanted a hug.”

“Maybe later, now let's get to work!”

Simeon is out of his usual attire and wearing something more comfortable instead, with an apron tied to his waist thanks to you.

He listens to what you want to make and what he can do. (Un)fortunately he usually finishes his work pretty fast and then tries to take over yours to help which you refuse. Giving him another, much more simple task and while he does that Simeon often starts to ramble.

“...Would it be rude of me to say that I like how human ingredients are so normal?”

“Compared to what?”

“Anything from Devildom really...” Simeon can't help but look guilty, it feels like he is insulting the whole Devildom himself, a place most of his friends consider a home, but he can't help it, “At least these don't try to attack us.”

“Oh, that's true,” you almost let out a chuckle at how nervous Simeon seems as he chops tomatoes, probably imagining them starting a fight, “What about Celestia?”

“Celestia? Well, hm…” his hands pause for a moment as he gets lost in thought, “They are…Okay? Though, some of them are…Too much.”

You aren't really sure what Simeon means by ‘Too much.’ but decide not to ask about it as he seems annoyed. A memory of an energetic cucumber crossed his mind, perhaps?

“I'm glad you like our normal and boring tomatoes then.”

Simeon laughs nervously, “Yeah, I like it, especially since they don't grow legs and run around.” he turns to you with a smile, “So, we can just focus on making the food and enjoy talking like this.”

Even after the food was finished and the three of you sat down to enjoy the food Simeon can't help but ask you to teach him more human world recipes, “Luke enjoyed it.” he says. Hoping you don't notice how he just wants to spend time with you.

“You want me to make a human world dish?”

“No.” you shake your head, “We are going to make it together, Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiles, when people come to him they always have requests. For example, Beelzebub. The young devil always says he wants to eat his cooking, or use the big kitchen at the palace for a new dish. No one ever came to him and asked to cook together since it was usually his job alone to do, he is a butler after all.

“Alright. However, I don't know the dish you want to make, so…” he can't help but chuckle a little as he bows his head, “Please treat me kindly.”

His words are a complete lie though, Barbatos may not know how the recipe goes but he can tell what needs to be added. He is a great cook, and so graceful while he does the work. He is pretty quick too so the food is almost done already.

“Hmm…” after taking a small sip from the pot you can't help but think that something is missing, it tastes good but it could be better you think, so you turn to your helper, as he likes to call himself, “Barbatos, what do you think of this?”

He casually takes the spoon you hold for him and hums, “It's great, but how about adding some bay leaf?”

“...Bay leaf? We have that?”

“I do, I sometimes use it.” he walks up to a random cabinet and pulls out a jar, “It goes well in foods that need to be cooked for a long period of time. You just need to take it out after it's done.”

“Huh. So, you use human world ingredients in your cooking?”

“Only when you are around,” you watch as Barbatos adds two leaves into the pot, “It's amusing to see your reaction when you eat what I cook for you.”

“That's why they taste so familiar!?”

Barbatos innocently smiles at you, “Don't forget to stir, dear. Or would you like me to take over?”

“Barbatos, don't tell me you actually have been making me human food that looks like Devildom food.”

“I thought the familiar taste would make you happy.”

“...That's kind. Thank you.” you smile, but then squint your eyes at him, “You sure there's nothing else…?”

Barbatos doesn't say anything as he starts cleaning around the kitchen, picking up the things you've used and no longer need.

Of course there's another reason why he secretly cooks human dishes for you. It's so you can visit him, compliment him and ask for him. It's a selfish reason. However, for someone like him it's not surprising. He is a demon, and when it comes to your time and attention, he selfishly wants it all.

You are asking the prince, the future ruler of Devildom to cook with you, a human dish? And he agrees with a laugh? If anyone heard this, they would be thinking the Devildom is coming to an end. His butler however, can't help but think Diavolo agreed without hesitation only because it's you and only because it's a way to escape from his duties. Considering the prince has never touched an utensil in his life, it is weird to see that he seems so confident.

His confidence, however, quickly shaders as he accidentally pushes on the tomato too much while trying to chop it and makes a mess. Covering your aprons and walls with tomato seeds and juices.

He turns to you and smiles, “Have I ever told you that you look good in red?”

You scoff but can't help as a smile grows on your face, “Yes, usually when I'm in a red outfit, not when in a red mess.”

“Small details.” he laughs, but a sigh leaves him as he looks down at the chopping board, “I didn't think they would be so soft and delicate.”

“Don't blame the tomatoes.” when he turns his sad eyes towards you, you wave your hands around quickly, a feeling of guilt settling in, “Don't blame yourself either, accidents happen in kitchens! We can still use it.”

“That's great! Then I'll continue with the cutting,” he says, smiling again, “I'll be more careful from now onl.”

Diavolo may not have a lot of experience in the kitchen, no matter which realm the food is from, but he still finds his own failures fun. Laughing when he accidentally drops the salt shaker in the pan or when he almost burns himself. As a prince he never had mishaps in the kitchen before.

It's new, it's entertaining.

“Thank you for helping me.” you can't help but look at the bandages around his fingers, “Even though it was kind of a disaster.”

Diavolo laughs as he searches for the plates,”No no, thank you! This was a lot of fun. And we get to taste the fruit of our labor too!” he finally finds the right cabinet, “And I'm always happy to learn about the things you enjoy, like this dish.”

He might still have a lot of papers to read and sign but every once in a while he goes into the kitchen to cook the recipe he learned from you. He is extra careful while making it if he is making it for you but is more care free if it's only for himself. He also eats it when he misses you when you are unable to visit him, the same human world dish brings comfort to him as he imagines it bringing comfort to you.

#obey me #obey me x reader #solomon x reader #obey me solomon #simeon x reader #obey me simeon #barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #🦇 anon

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bloodmoonmuses · 2 months

Text

yeah x10 | mark & haechan

summary: a tennis match illuminates the complexities in your relationships with mark and haechan.

genre/warnings: mark lee x reader, lee haechan x reader, challengers au, tennis au, suggestive/suggestive themes implied (mdni), strong language

This match is just for fun, but the stakes feel so much higher. It’s in the air- adrenaline, nervousness- the latter of which you’d never admit to, but it’s ravaging through your body in shock waves. Lightning accompanying the thunderous beating of your heart.

It’s just for fun, you say to yourself, over and over again. This means nothing. But doesn’t this mean everything? That you’ve gotten over it to some degree?

Wishful thinking on your part, to think for a second you could let either of them go, but the trying has gotta be worth something.

Mixed doubles. You and Haechan against Mark and Winter. You wish you could play Mark one-on-one, like you used to back in high school, but this’ll have to do. Haechan walks up to the service line, and you can feel his slurry of emotions permeate the atmosphere, even with your back to him. It’s distracting how much he wears his heart on his sleeve.

Anger; You hadn’t told him you’d be playing against Mark. Confusion; Why do you care about this match so much? Why are you twirling your racket around like a bashful school kid? Lust (or envy rather, Haechcan reasoned to himself- but are those not two sides of the same coin?); Mark is glistening in the sunlight and the tennis skirt adorning your form barely covers your ass.

Haechan wishes to be sought after in the multitude of ways you are. Sure, people yearn for him, but the fervor tends to be one note. He wants to consume someone’s waking thoughts- like you do his. Like you consume Mark’s. He’s jealous of you, as are many people, and he hates that he loves you. But he can’t look away. Haechan watches Mark’s eyes rake over you in ravenous awe.

Unlike Haechan, Mark's mind is on one thing only. He’s twitching with anticipation, overcome with the desire to humiliate Haechan in front of you specifically. Just the thought of doing so puts a smile on his face which, when paired with the furrowing of his brows, makes him look absolutely sadistic.

A bead of sweat forms on your forehead, dripping downward and settling on your eyelid. Quickly, you wipe it away, only for another to immediately form in its place. Fuck.

LOVE- LOVE.

Haechan serves, and it’s fast- you can hear the sheer force of it- but the ball hits the net. The sound that escapes his throat is akin to a growl. He takes another tennis ball out of his pocket, rubbing it against his thigh- a nervous tick of his- and Mark’s smirk deepens.

Winter looks back at Mark and says something inaudible to you, then turns her attention back to Haechan. The look in her eyes makes the grip on your racket tighten. You bend your knees and dig your heels into the ground.

“Focus,” you tell Haechan in a hushed sort of whisper-yell.

“I am.”

He serves again and, this time, Haechan’s ball makes it over the net, nearly hitting Mark in the head. Mark returns the ball, but just so, slightly caught off guard by Haechan's erratic blow. You hit a sloppy backhand, barely getting the ball to the other side, and Winter hustles to track it. She volleys it back towards you, but you’re quick on the uptake, slicing both Winter and Mark as the ball lands just inside the doubles alley. You allow yourself a breathy grin.

30- LOVE.

Mark throws down his racket in a fit. Winter attempts to calm him down, spewing variations of “It’s okay, it’s just the first point” and “Shake it off”. The hand she has on his shoulder makes you nauseous. If this were an official match, he’d get a code violation for racket abuse- but it’s not. It’s a friendly competition, as Mark had pitched last night.

Last night. It feels like a lifetime ago, like you had molten and shed numerous bodies since then, but the truth is that you can still feel his touch living under your skin. Feverish lips grazing the vastness of your body. Blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs. You were a few vodka sodas too deep when you had snuck off to Mark’s place in the dead of night, leaving Haechan fast asleep in your hotel room.

“Golden boy off his game today?” Haechan prods, tugging you out of your remembrance (for the best, you think).

“Shut up and play,” Mark says. He squares up to the net, knees pointed at Haechan.

Your serve. It’s not as powerful as Haechan’s, but it makes it over the net, the ball promptly returned by Winter. The four of you get swept away in a rally- the first point clearly a warm up on everyone’s part- grunts and expletives orchestrating an otherwise silent display of resentful longing.

It’s a cacophony of squeaking tennis shoes, the ball hitting the rackets, and your own panting as Winter tires you out. That’s her technique after all, to make her opponent work for it, and you stumble to return a particularly wayward stroke. The ball just barely kisses the frame of your racket, failing to properly hit it. You fall to your knees.

30-30.

Haechan bends down to comfort you, palm flat against your back. You feel your sweat slicken his hand, and his lips come to touch the shell of your ear, raspy voice fighting against the thumping of your heart as he whispers, “Don’t let her run you like that again. Don’t give him the pleasure.”

“Him”? Is he talking about Winter or Mark? All you can do is nod as you try to catch your breath.

“Don’t give him the pleasure” echoes in your headspace like a mantra. “Hey… you gotta… faster,” Haechan says to you distantly, but you’re distracted- visions of the night prior flashing behind your eyelids.

Faster… faster… your arms are pinned above your head, Mark gripping you by the wrists as he hovers above you. “Faster,” you manage to plead in your drunken state.

Mark shakes his head slightly as he mouths your ear. “See, that’s the problem with that ‘coach’ of yours. You don’t wait for the ball to come to you. Always trying to be fast.” He says the word like it tastes bad. “Fast.”

“He’s not my coach,” you croak as Mark nuzzles into your neck, his exhales sending shivers down your spine.

“So it’s unsolicited advice,” Mark scoffs, “That sounds more like Haechan.” He bites you, enough to entice but not elicit the pleasure you’re desperate for. Your body arches towards him.

“Are we seriously talking about tennis right now?”

Mark moves down your abdomen, tongue dipping into your navel, then he drags the flat of it along the waistband of your shorts. “Depends,” Mark says, looking up at you from his precarious position. You evade his eyes.

“On what?” you ask.

“How often does he have you this way?”

Your mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out.

Mark hums, the vibration of it coursing through you torturously. “Then, yes.I’m talking about tennis.”

Haechan pulls you up from your knees, trading spots so he’s playing at half court and you’re back at the service line, watching Mark dry the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, toned abdomen exposed for half a second. He feels his mouth water and shifts his focus to you, seeing the way you bend over to tie your shoe. Mark’s eyes narrow in on where the hem of your skirt covers the inside of your thighs, hypnotized by the way the white fabric blows in the wind (and the bruise on your left wrist growing more purple with each passing minute).

You stand to serve, calling out the score again.

“Faster,” Haechan demands. “We need to tie it.” You exhale shakily, throwing up the ball, and try to smash it. But there’s too much topspin on your stroke. Fault. So you serve again. It hits the net again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

30- 40. Match Point.

Haechan’s jumping in place, resisting the urge to slam his racket against the ground. With flared nostrils, he wordlessly directs you to return to the half court line and let him serve this time. You should’ve told him to do that last point, you think. Haechan’s serve has always been better than yours. Speed while maintaining accuracy. Not better than Mark’s, purely because of his strength, but a solid serve nonetheless. It’s a weakness of yours that agility and intuition makes up for only slightly, and usually the main focus of your practices with Haechan.

He’s not your coach or your partner in any sense of the words- but he’s more than a friend. You think of the first time you kissed Haechan, a day or two after meeting in college, only for it to never be spoken about again. At least, not in words. It’s something you do occasionally; kiss and nothing more- save for wandering hands when one of you got too into it. Late nights where the other simply needed a warm body. Kisses used as a placeholder for someone else.

Like the night Mark broke the news that he’d be transferring colleges. He gets a tennis scholarship, full ride, leaving you and Haechan to slum it with tennis hobbyists- not the pros Mark got to brush shoulders with. You and Haechan drank a lot that night- under the guise of celebrating Mark, you guess. You kissed a lot that night too, both you and Haechan feeling hollow as you sloppily made out on his twin-sized bed. If you had been more disciplined, more willing to sacrifice as Mark had, you’d be at Stanford too. But, alas. Here you are three years into a business degree, mourning a dream deferred.

A part of you would always resent Mark for leaving, but his raw talent is evident when Mark returns a particularly venomous serve from Haechan with tenured ease, the ball flying past you in a flash.

That’s game. Mark and Winter have won the match.

Haechan wordlessly goes to get some water, sitting on the bench with his head to the sky and draping a towel over his shoulder. Winter does likewise, sitting beside him. Mark, however, meets you at the net. Your breath hitches.

“How’s school been?” Mark starts, but there’s layers of meaning refracting off the condescendingly mundane question. “Didn’t get to ask last night.”

“Fine. Made the Dean’s List last semester.” It’s true, but you don’t care much. You can feel Haehan’s stare burning the back of your neck. Winter’s too, as she tries to piece together the puzzle in front of her.

“I’d expect nothing less.” Then Mark says, “You still haven’t cleaned up that serve of yours?”

You shrug in response.

Mark nudges his head towards Haechan. On the bench, Haechan sits dejectedly, muttering to himself in between sips of water. “I know he's always been a sore loser but-”

“You and Winter?” you interject, cutting off Mark. Enough of the thinly veiled niceties. You can’t take it anymore. If something’s going on between them, you have to know. Otherwise, the image of her porcelain hand on his shoulder will be a mainstay in your thought spirals.

“No.” Mark says, understanding your inquiry despite its brevity. He clarifies further when you give him a look. “We haven’t slept together.”

You sigh. Out of relief or something else, you’re not sure. It’s not like you could be with Mark in any real way. Not as long as Haechan’s in the picture.

Mark smirks. “You and Haechan-”

“Stop it.”

“Have you? You didn’t answer my question last-”

Enough about last night. The casualness with which it’s being regarded is driving you mad.

“What do you think?” you spit, voice laced with irritation.

“‘Who cares what I think? It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no question.” Mark shrugs.

Winter walks up to the net after having retrieved her water bottle and sunglasses. She looks very chic for someone who just kicked your ass in what’s supposed to be your best sport. “Good match,” she says. “Your stamina’s impressive.”

“Haven’t rallied like that in a while,” you reply, lips tight. You shake her hand, noting how fragile it feels. “Going pro?”

Winter gestures to Mark, pointing a thumb at him. “This guy’s been trying to convince me, but I’m playing local tournaments for funsies lately. You?”

“Definitely not. That dream escaped me years ago.” you confess. When Mark left, particularly.

Haechan too walks up to the net, seeming as though he’s cooled down until he says, “Didn’t know you were gonna be here, Mark. Or that your parents moved back.” If he’s made any attempt at hiding his anger, he’s done so very poorly. The tension is eating you alive.

Mark’s shit-eating grin returns. “Is that why you two served three faults collectively? So excited to see me that you can’t play properly?”

Haechan rolls his eyes.“Fuck you.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, Haechan, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Very funny, Mark,” Winter remarks sarcastically. “Ready to go?”

You butt in as well, wanting to be anywhere else but here. “Yeah, great match, you two. Wanna head out, Haech-” But Haechan’s eyes are locked on Mark.

“Touring this year?” Haechan asks, a blush burning across his plump cheeks.

Mark leans on the net, chin in hand and looks at Haechan coyly. “Yep, trying to get my rank higher this year. Aiming for #20.”

Not wholly over-ambitious on his part. In fact, you think he could do better.

“Well, good luck to you.” With that, Haechan turns to leave the court, and you follow closely behind, gathering your things as you do so.

“Let’s play, Donghyuck!” Mark yells, just as the two of you reach the fence door. Haechan freezes at the use of his real name. ”You and me. One on one. Just like the old days.”

Haechan whips around, shouting back at Mark hoarsely. “I don’t need this like you need it. I have nothing to prove.”

“Then play.”

Haechan concedes, dropping his bag at his feet and running to position, leaving you to watch the two men from the court's entrance. You’re frozen in time, memories of the two of them in highschool fogging your vision.

LOVE- LOVE.

Mark’s serve. Just before he throws the ball, he stops, looking at Haechan with tempered ferocity. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he says “Did _____ tell you where they disappeared to last night?” Then he hits it- an ace that lands squarely in the service box. Untouched by Haechan.

Haechan looks at you with wild eyes, privy to the shame written all over your features. Winter looks between the three of you in confusion. After throwing down his racket, Haechan bounds to the net, face to face with Mark. Their lips are nearly touching.

“You’re getting off on all of this, huh?” Haechan questions. “The bragging? The smirking? Galavanting around in your ugly ass Polo?”

Mark’s nose brushes against Haechan’s as he speaks. “Very much so. C’mon, dude. Let’s just play.”

Haechan rips himself away from Mark’s visage, walking off the court for good this time, and you follow, shoulder checking Mark on the way out.

“Hey, _____,” Mark calls after you, “Had a good time last night!”

By the time you catch up to Haechan in the facility’s locker room, you’re panting like you were during the match. For a moment, you and Haechan exchange nothing but ragged breaths, unsure of where to go from here. Last night. Fuck last night.

“Where’d he kiss you?” Haechan asks.

You bristle. “What?”

Haechan takes your face in his hands. “Where did Mark touch you?”

“I-I… Everywhere,” you confess in a murmur. Slowly, Haechan walks you backwards, with your face still in his hand. When your back hits the locker, the two of you linger there, chests heaving frantically in the summer heat. Then, Haecan takes your hand, kissing the bruise on your left wrist, all while maintaining eye contact.

“Be more specific. Point,” he demands. So you do.

You point to the column of your neck, your collar bones, your stomach, your hips, the insides of your thighs. Haechan explores the expanse of your body, replacing Mark’s reverence from the night before with adoration of his own- a trail of fire left in each bite’s wake. He does so until you're whimpering from the rawness- until all remnants of Mark have been etched over with his teeth and lips.

Haechan envisions Mark laying waste to your body, and he’s jealous in ways that confuse even himself. Why’d you have to leave last night?

“I’m sorry I lost the match.” Haechan says when finally pulls away. Your body is littered in flecks of purple.

“You didn’t lose me,” you say.

(But did he ever truly have you to begin with?)

#bloodmoonmuses #mark lee fic #nct 127 #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct dream fic #nct dream #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan fic #haechan imagines #mark lee imagines #nct 127 fic #if you saw me post this yesterday... no you didn't. lol

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