#He's gonna smell like apple pie!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boop-le-snoot · 1 year

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I just had this vivid scene play out in my brain. Dropped to my knees in a local chain grocery store, had to pretend I was grabbin the bootleg brand chips from the bottom shelf. I'm definitely normal about this. Yea, I'm so abso-fucking-lutely normal about this.

So what if I'm ovulatin'? It ain't me sittin' here clenching my fuckin' thighs, no ma'am, nu-uh. Even my predictive text talks like Daryl now- okay, I may have a tiny little problem. I hope I never, never ever get the chance to look Norman Reedus in the eye.

4.5k words. VERY VERY NSFW. Just sweet and a little rough monkey lovin' where Daryl enjoys something for the simple sake of it feeling good. A little undercooked plot-wise but the smut has been grilled to a perfect medium-rare, slightly juicy, collard greens and mashed potatoes on the side with the mushroom sauce. Two packs of cigarettes later (he owes my lungs an apology),

Imagine you and Daryl going out on a - run, scouting mission, whatever - and hunkering down in a secure cabin for the night. It's summer, it's hot and stuffy inside, but luckily, the cabin has running water, even if it's ice-cold. So you wash up and apply some of the essential-oils-homemade-perfume-thing that someone at the community made for you.

You change into your PJs and come downstairs to amuse yourself til the sun sets completely.

He's smoking next to a crack in the boarded up windows and you, being on friendly terms, banter a bit and bum a cigarette off him. He doesn't mind when you use one of his knees to sit down. As you two joke, you ruffle his hair slightly, not missing the way his eyes narrow in pleasure.

That sparks a conversation about letting oneself to feel good things.

You say that it's different for women because they get judged for wanting to experience pleasure just for the sake of it and Daryl says he always thought it to be stupid. You say that he's not exactly the resident expert on that, which briefly makes his natural competitiveness overshadow his shyness and self-loathing.

Petulantly, he places your hand back in his hair and stresses the purring growl of pleasure as your scratch his scalp and let his moist tresses glide through tour fingers.

You laugh and say you're gonna braid his hair one day, in jest, and he growls back "yer pushin' yer luck, pretty girl," but his smile is hidden rather badly.

In revenge, you stomp out the cigarette and straddle his lap fully, attacking his head with a massage worthy of a spa parlour professional.

He grips your waist as his head hangs forward, a low rumble coming from his mouth as his nose comes that much closer to your neck.

Daryl takes a deep breath, and sensing you unbothered by it, says "ya smell good. like apple pie."

"Oh," he doesn't miss the slight hitch in your breath, "'member when I fixed up the 'lectric in number twelve? they paid me in some essential oil perfume they made. feels nice to... not smell death all day, every day. 's a nice change."

He nods, agreeing, remembering your strong feelings about doing some things just because they feel good. Not because it's useful or to survive, but just for a surge of happy hormones in your bloodstream.

Despite his best efforts to distract his body, one wiggle from you is all it takes for his excitement to be obvious. He freezes, but you adjust simply, politely, keeping your weight off his boner. Confused by your chill attitude, he lifts his head, forcing you to brush all of his hair out of his face.

Daryl feels vulnerable and exposed.

Your eyes slide down to his lips, once, twice, but you - just as stubborn as him - pick them back up. As he parts them to run the tip of his tongue over them in hopes of finding something to say, he notices it fully.

He notices the flush of your skin. His hands move on your waist, provoking another blink-and-youll-miss-it twitch of your fingertips and toes.

Gathering his ducks in a row, Daryl leans into you - your neck, not your lips, not yet - softly running the tip of his nose along your collarbone and up to your jaw.

"That feel good?" Voice gravelly low, it sends reverb through your chest.

"Yeah," you breathe quietly, your fingers in his hair shaking slightly. You lean more into him and that is all the encouragement he needs for the time being.

"Wanna make ya feel good," he admits, dry lips and scratchy stubble gliding along the length of your jaw. His breath is hot on the shell of your ear. "Can I do that, suga'-pie?"

"Mhm," you respond, his cheek now against yours - you rub into him gently, like a cat. The affectionate headbutt makes him chuckle quietly in his throat.

He continues nosing around your neck, feeling the muscles in your back and your thighs unclench one by one. You're practically on top of him, almost right there, over the throbbing erection in his pants, and he feels your control slip away bit by bit.

The flimsy wooden chair you two are sitting on creaks; Daryl doesn't place much trust in it. Planting his feet wide, securing his position, he inadvertently lands your cunt right over his cock. Both of you shudder and hiss at the contact.

The damn chair creaks again.

He curses under his breath, hands sliding down to your ass, hoisting you up and urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he stands up, sending the raggedy chair clattering to the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat, your hands grab at his shoulders, kneading into the meat there. A few steps later, both of you land on the couch heavily; it creaks, too, but your legs have room and your body can finally relax against Daryl as you stabilise yourself on the surface.

He's panting, open-mouthed, looking at you with those stormy blue eyes, searching for something in your earnest, open face.

The corners of your mouth tug up.

He runs his palm over your back, settling on your nape to pull you into him. Your mouths connect; the kiss is slow and unhurried as you take the time to explore each other's mouths. There is no need to rush, no risk of being caught or ambushed; it really feels good. Following someone's advice for once, Daryl lets himself become utterly lost in the sweet kiss.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging softly every now and then, tipping the cup of him ever-so-slightly for short groans to spill into the kiss. Sometimes, you let your hands traverse the hills of his shoulders, the plains of his chest, fingertips poking around the collar of it.

It's overstimulating but at the same time, it's not enough. To give you a hint, Daryl timidly strokes the single bare inch of skin between your shirt and your pants, feeling the goosebumps even through the thick, calloused skin of his working hands.

The way your hips respond: restless and fluid, pressing into him just that much closer, prompts him to slide his hands further under your shirt, mapping the bony ridges of your spine. The skin along it is sensitive on any mammal, that much he knows, so he expects the twitch, expects the breathy moan leaving your lips; he revels in it, the kiss growing humid and sloppy.

Your hands slip into his shirt, finally, your warm palms on his hot skin. He's burning up inside out and you're- you're diligently adding fuel and accelerant to the fire. Blunt nails scratching over his uneven skin, you snag his bottom lip on your teeth as moisture gathers in the corners of your mouths.

The need for oxygen is strong.

Daryl inhales deep as he rests his forehead against yours.

Both of you are panting. Necking like horny teenagers, not a care in the world, no worry for tomorrow; it's near impossible to focus on anything else but the pulsating need at the spots where your bodies are pressed together.

It's all too much but neither of you want it to stop.

"Holy shit," your awed mumble causes Daryl to smirk lightly; as you shift in place, he swears he can smell how wet you are. His jeans must've gotten ruined by now, if not by you then by the weeping of his own cock.

It feels almost regretful to proceed. This exact feeling, if someone could figure out how to bottle it, would have people sellin' their soul for it, Daryl is damn sure.

It's the moment before lightning spears open the stuffy air of a muggy, stormy day. The millisecond before a heavily pregnant cloud gives birth to a solid wall of ice-cold rain; the blink of skies as they generously cool the overheated earth, filling up its parched cracks with invigorating liquid.

"Fuck," Daryl groans, tossing his head back onto the backrest of the couch, watching you through lidded eyes, "whatchu doin' to me, girl?"

You offer him a shaky, sheepish grin before your lust takes over your senses, pushing you back up to him. Your mouth connects with his neck, suckling, licking, nipping at the caramel skin there.

Daryl tastes of cheap soap and clear sweat, that musky scent of gasoline and leather unfurling into notes of pinewood and smoke as you nose deeper; right next to his ear, tickled by his hair, he smells and tastes like the best dessert at the carnival inside the town fair.

A little greasy and drenched in spices. You can't get enough of him. Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out flat and lick.

Daryl groans. It's open-mouthed and loud. His hands grab your hips firmly, dragging you over the tent in his pants.

Both of you hiss at the friction.

Your knees wobble as your stance widens in an attempt to cover more surface are, to bring the feeling closer to your clit. There's at least four layers of fabric between your skin and his and it is something that is so sweetly, arduously annoying.

He pushes down again, harder this time, offering another delicious groan that you can't help but swirl in your mouth and recreate. The noise attracts his attention; Daryl watches you, watches your face, the flush on your chest, your heaving breasts. Like many men, he licks his lips utterly unintentionally when his eyes settle on your hard nipples.

Inwardly, you find enough clarity of mind to chuckle. Men and breasts nevel fail to amuse you when placed in close proximity. You push them outwards and his mouth is immediately right there, shirt and all, rolling a stiff nipple gently between his teeth.

The soft, damp cotton adds an edge to it; you feel your underwear slide over your cunt, the fabric absolutely saturated with your arousal.

Daryl's hands knead your ass as he takes in his fill of your breasts.

"That's, fuck," you pant, needing him to know, "that's really fuckin' good."

"Yeah?" He groans wetly before taking in as much of your breast as he can fit in your mouth; there's no finesse to it, just raw, unadulterated need.

"Uh-uh," you nod: his eagerness is what takes the cake.

Daryl tugs your shirt up; up and over your head and fuck knows where it flies, forgotten the moment his lips are back on one nipple, his fingers on the other. He rolls, he bites, he sucks.

Your breasts are wet with spit and sweat.

His breath ghosts over the damp areas, pebbling the tender bud to a state almost frigid.

You moan, loudly, wetly and openly. You gasp, you squirm, anything to quell the restlessness. It's like an army of fire ants trotting their primal, tribal dance under your skin, reducing you to a disoriented mess with a one-track mind. Your fingertips are pale where you hold onto Daryl in a feeble attempt to ground yourself.

He's smirking when he surfaces up. There's spit glistening on his chin, his lips are puffy, the deepest, most delicious shade of maroon. It's obvious the state of your undress and the intensity of your want is echoed by him.

"Feel good?" He has the audacity! to ask.

"Yeah," your response is lackluster in words but the tone and the pleading expression on your face conveys it all: your desire, your desperation.

With you on top of him, the only relief to your aching cunt so far has been provided by his bulge rubbing against your clothed slit. It's not enough, it's not even nearly enough.

Daryl's biceps bulge as he effortlessly lifts you up, "c'mere," placing you back-to-his-chest.

Your legs fall open on your own accord, hanging limply over his muscular thighs. The meat of his cock digs into the cheeks of your ass; you feel it twitch along with you when Daryl's thick palm cups the mound of your pussy in a gesture both tender and possessive.

"Fuckin' shit," his low mumble travels down the shell of your ear, "this all fr'me, sugar?"

"Yes," you breathe out as he slides his middle and ring fingers up and down your slit. There is no hiding it: your cunt had soaked right through your panties and the cotton of your pajama pants.

With some more maneouvering that comes unfairly easy to him (in your opinion), your pants join your t-shirt somewhere in the deepest pits of hell (a far corner of the room). The panties stay on and for that, you're grateful - a little - as the simplest, straightest of touches on the sensitive meat of your cunt feels like clear honey being poured over a-

Daryl taps two fingers at the top of your slit, right where you outer lips part to reveal your swollen clit.

"Fuck!" You yelp.

"So responsive," he mumbles. He sounds fascinated as he spreads his fingers, the rough tips gliding along the skin and the thick meat sliding over the soaked fabric. You quiver and he can't resist running his mouth, "that feel good?" His smirk is a little mocking, a little breathless.

Your resolve hops between strangling Daryl and begging him, the rabbit of your heart leaping in your chest, doing a binky when your lover shows you mercy by moving aside the sticky fabric covering your crotch. It immediately cools and you wince as it touches the hot flesh of your thigh.

Daryl's inhale is sharp, deep and loud as he dips the same two thick fingers inside your slit.

You're swollen and so wet, its practically dripping. Your clit twtiches under his fingers.

"Jesus Christ," he exhales his disbelief, "you like that, huh? This all for me?" The question proves to be rhetoric when the arm that holds you by your waist tightens on you and Daryl grinds his hips up into the small of your back.

The pitch of his voice drops impossibly low, "bet you taste sweet," as he scoops up some of the fluid, fingers snagging on the snug ring of your entrance, before bringing them up to his lips. He noisily sucks your cunt off his fingers, slurping, "fuck yes!"

Your eyes flutter shut as you cunt pitifully clenches around nothing, no doubt making an ever bigger mess between your legs and on his jeans. Your soft whine is an earnest compliment to the man doing his best to clean up your mess.

Daryl repeats the motion several times, scooping up the sticky droplets of your cunt juice, immediately sticking his fingers in his mouth.

You feel a little sad you can't see it, but your imagination supplements that which is lacking. You imagine his brow, furrowed; his eyes, closed; the tight 'o' of his lips around his fingers. Your cunt flexes again, spasming.

Daryl's reward for it is to circle your clit with a featherlight touch of a single finger. His breath is heavy as he reaches lower, same finger sliding to your entrance: not breaching it, just circling, like a predator circles its prey. He must have the patience of a saint.

You, however, do not. Your hips have a mind of their own as they arch into him, your cunt so empty, it practically hurts.

"Tell me whatcha need," Daryl orders, the low of his voice seasoned with a pinch of pride and a pinch of desperation, "tell me, sugar."

"Inside," you keen, out of your mind, "I want you. Inside." There's drool gathering in the corners of your mouth.

Daryl obliges, but not before lubricating the entirety of his thick finger by sliding it over the outside of your cunt, causing another loud keen to fall from your lips.

When he pushes in, you swear you could cry from the sheer relief of finally getting something for your hungry cunt to wrap around.

Experimentally, he drags his finger in and out, slowly, tense as he watches your reaction, before adding in another. To say they're big would be an understatement: long and thick and textured, it's everything your cunt has craved for the past some minutes. Daryl pumps them in and out as you pant through the new sensation, acutely aware of the loud squelches coming from your hole with every plunge.

Your swollen lips and throbbing walls attempt to keep him hostage with every pull.

Daryl curses, something completely unintelligible, his rough voice completely lost to lust. "Gonna cum for me, eh?" He breathes as the contractions of your cunt become quicker, more rhythmic.

Your neglected clit pulses, your nipples are stiff as rocks, your breathing is uneven and shallow. You couldn't find your voice even if you tried; you don't try at all, letting your body do the talking. You fuck back onto his fingers to the best of your limited ability to move as short, loud, primal noises choke their way up your throat.

The throb of his cock against the small of your back is what sends you over the edge.

Daryl's panting, whimpering himself at the unabashed state of your being; you don't think he realises it, even, his eyes set on your cunt gripping onto his fingers.

When it clenches for one last time, you arch, you paint the walls of the room with curses and whimpers that would make even a prostitute blush as more sweet slick drips out your spasming hole and onto his fingers. Your legs tremble as your entire body goes limp in Daryl's hold.

Soft lips rest on the crown of your head, hot, uneven puffs of air frizz your damp hair.

As your brain does a factory reset, you become hyperaware of the hard, thick flesh pressing into you; a stark realization comes over your being, washing your body in a new layer of shivers. Your cunt still tingles, still aches for more.

"Daryl," you mumble, feeling him go stiff and hot, his name like the sweetest honey on your lips, "I want you inside me."

He shudders, he pants, his cock twitches pitifully once again in his pants. The tight denim had provided some relief, enough to focus on you, enough to stretch the time a little bit more. But now, with your body warm and lax and fucked out of your skull, how could he resist?

He didn't want to resist. He wanted to feel good.

In your dazed state, it was easy for him to pick you up, bridal-style, and carry you towards the singular bedroom in the cabin. He grinned at the clumsy way you immediately reached out to him, tangling your fingers in his hair, placing sloppy kisses on the nearest inches of skin you could reach.

The whine you let out when dropped onto the cool comforter?

Daryl's cock twitched demandingly.

The man stood at the foot of the bed, admiring the view: you, blinking up at him, breasts moving with each shallow breath, feet on the comforer and legs bent at the knee, a hint of flushed, swollen pussy peeking out from the crooked gusset of your underwear.

This may not be heaven but it was as close to it as he'll ever get.

The buckle of his belt clinked, denim shuffled as it was left somewhere behind him- Daryl wasted no time dropping to his knees, using two strong hands to bring your cunt up and into his face. The force of his inhale made your sensitive pussy quiver, it was something that made him smile against the fabric of your panties as moved it aside once more - this time with his teeth.

"Oh, fuck!" You yelped as the broad, wide, flat expanse of Daryl's tongue licked messily up your cunt, hole-to-clit.

"Mmm," he groaned, "fuckin' candy apple pussy," taking another taste. And then another, and another until your skin was raw from the stubble of his beard and you were left in a shaking, whimpering, wet mess of a human. His face was drenched. "Messy girl," he chided in a soft mock as your cunt provided him with another gush of arousal, "ya like bein' messy for me, don't cha?"

"Uh-uh," you arched, your usually concise vernacular reduced to whimpers, groans and two-syllable words that barely made any sense to your own ears, much less anyone else's.

Daryl was like a wild animal, lapping up the liquid, uncaring of the mess he made of you and of his own face.

"Please," you fought with your tongue and finally, finally won, "I wanna- uhh," well, maybe not quite.

Momentarily, he withdrew, wiping the side of his face on the inside of your thigh, "you want what? Tell me."

In your state, he could have touched you anywhere and it would have reduced you to a mindless, blabbering mess. So you settled on the next best thing. Your hand, the one that was in his hair, tugged him up - or tried to.

Daryl's responding growl, the shift of his shoulders, the absence of a single hand on your thigh - you knew the tug had him palming himself through his boxers. Another, purposeful tug was given, another growl followed as he stood up.

You weakly pushed yourself up higher on the large bed.

In the dim twilight of the bedroom, Daryl stood, shirt soaked through and through with sweat; his chest heaved as damp strands of hair fell over his face. They were unable to conceal the glistening layer of you on his chin, neither they could hide the blown pupils of his stare. There was almost no blue visible in his eyes.

You licked your dry lips, forcing them to cooperate, "c'mere," your hands stretched out towards him.

Daryl crawled on the bed and over you, sitting between your spread legs. Obedient, he leaned into you, placing sloppy, damp kisses over your face as you wound your arms around his neck. The tent in his boxers hovered less than an inch away from your bare cunt.

"I need ya'," you breathed, tasting yourself as you licked into his mouth, hoping to convey with you body what you couldn't with your words.

"Ya sure, sugar?" Ever the gentleman, Daryl pressed his clothed cock over your bare cunt, ruining his underwear even further; his muscles flexed under your palms.

"Uh-uh," the heat, the feel of his thick cock backtracked any progress you'd made on getting your vocal cords and your brain cooperate. There was nothing but lust and saliva gathered in your mouth now, something that both of you shared during another slow, wet kiss. Your teeth clashed, your tongues ran over each other, all graceless and sloppy.

With one swift, ragged motion of his hand, Daryl shoved his boxers down and over his cock, freeing it from the tight confines; that action alone was enough for him to let out a grunt as the cool air hit his leaking, flushed tip.

The same tip that slapped against your clit, jerking your body and his.

"F-f-fuck," Daryl wheezed, fisting his cock at the base, running the tip slowly over your lips, your clit and down to your hole, "m'not gunna last for shit like this."

Just get inside me!!! You wanted to scream. Instead, you wiggled your hips, you squeezed his shoulders.

The fat head of his cock slipped in, slowly, steadily. More wet, sticky noises got lost in the growl coming from Daryl's gritted teeth.

Your cunt was sucking him in, all wet and hot and snug and constantly flexing, rippling as it adjusted to his size. The roll of your hips that followed was utterly unintentional, driven by the most primitive of instincts.

"Oh, sugar," Daryl grasped your hip tightly, holding it in place, "fuckin' shit. What're you doin' to me, woman?" His speech slurred.

All you could reply was a series of small breaths, 'ah-ah-ah's' with every inch of his cock sliding into you, until you felt his heavy balls pressed against your ass.

If your eyes weren't clenched shut, you would have seen the wild look in Daryl's eyes, the way they darted between the blissed-out look on your face and the root of his cock secured against the entrance of your cunt.

Slowly, he withdrew, hissing at the smooth pleasure of your wet pussy sliding over his cock, and then he slammed back in.

Your body curled, arched; a shriek left your lips at the sudden realization. You held onto him tightly, his shoulders, his arms; the sweet feel of his skin, slick with sweat, bombarded your senses, drowning you in that natural, masculine smell of him.

You babbled some nonsense, something about how good he felt, how he fit just right and so nicely, how he was so good to you-

"You're so good to me," Daryl objected, Daryl stated, "s'fuckin' sweet. My sweet, messy girl."

The words alone brought you closer to the edge as he hammered away inside your oversensitive cunt. In fairness, he could have flicked your clit just once, or even taken his mouth to one of your hard, throbbing nipples-

Daryl's need to feel you come, to clench and gush around his rock-hard cock was at the forefront of his mind, followed closely by awe at the way your body molded perfectly against his. The way your thighs quivered as they attempted to wrap themselves around his hips, the desperation in your grip on his shoulders.

"Fuck!" He cursed, teethering at the very edge of his orgasm, "come for me, pretty girl, c'mon," he urged, swallowing his own moans and gasps.

"I- uh," you, too were almost right there. The coil in your stomach at its most tense, it sent small tremors inside your cunt, shocks of pure, hot, liquid ecstasy-

That traveled down Daryl's cock. Like damn rings during a heated game of muckers, the spasms of your cunt collected at the root of his shaft, one on top of the other, until he could do nothing else but rut roughly, sloppily into the equally sloppy mess of your cunt.

He felt it. It began somewhere at the deepest part of you, squeezin' the head of his cock firmly and traveling all the way down his shaft, until each ring of pleasure popped, releasing his seed into you-

Throbbing, your cunt pushed and gushed, a flash of lightning zapping your clit as Daryl's pubic bone ground into it with force. A hoarse scream tore from your throat, your body curling inward with the force of your orgasm. Strong, heavy spasms of his cock shooting hot ropes into you lulled you into the aftershocks.

It made both of your bodies limp with exhaustion. The cord had snapped and tension finally leaked out, dissolving like smoke and fog into the open air.

Sweaty, sticky and hot, the two of you panted your relief onto each other's cheeks.

Your lips connected with the rough stubble on Daryl's. Hair hung over his face, obscuring your smile.

"Whatchu grinnin' at?"

Boy, did he sound fucked-out. All smoke and gravel and spice and everything nice.

"Feels good."

"Heh," he chuckled, the noise coming from somewhere deep within his chest, "sure does."

#WHEW I NEED TO BE NEUTERED Y'ALL #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #twd smut #fuckin' tiktok editors wirh their fuckin sexy edits #fuckin norman reedus with his stupid fuckin face #ALL OF YOU GET OUT #of my head #please.

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supercap2319 · 2 months

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You're such a good boy. Y/N replayed the words in his mind over and over again, smiling and blushing like an idiot.

What had Mr. Rogers meant by that? Surely, it was just a friendly display of affection, right? There was no way that Mr. Rogers meant those words in Innuendo. Like in Y/N's fantasies late at night. The way Mr. Rogers would come to him at night, tall, muscular, and sexy. Sometimes, he'll be wearing tight black boxer briefs. Other times, he'll be wearing nothing at all, cock big and hard and leaking precum.

Those were the best. The way he can imagine Mr. Rogers on top of him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears or be really nasty depending on how horny Y/N is. He knows it's wrong to feel this way about his boss, but he can't help it.

Nor can he help that after he checks on Matthew and gives him his mid-sleep bottle of milk, Y/N goes into Mr. Rogers' room and just sits on his bed. Frankly, this was some yaoi shit, but Y/N couldn't help it. The room smelled like Mr. Rogers. He inhaled the fresh Irish soap and strangely apple pie smell that was Steven Grant Rogers.

Y/N decided to do something risky and found one of Mr. Rogers' underwear. Red, white, and blue, go figure. He knew it was wrong, but pulled his pants down to his ankles and laid down with Mr. Rogers' underwear wrapped as around his cock as he stroked himself off. Feeling the way his cock twitched and leaked precum down the dirty boxers as Y/N moans and closed his eyes, imaging all the things he wanted from Steve.

He was so close now. He was gonna...gonna...

"Y/N? I'm home." Mr. Rogers' voice carried from downstairs.

Shit! Y/N came all over the underwear, and some landed on carpet. He quickly stood up and pulled his pants back on and stuffed the boxers somewhere safe before returning downstairs to greet his boss.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #Steve Rogers x male reader #guy jerking #chris evans #Chris Evans x male reader #captain america #Captain America x male reader #babysitter au

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1989butcher · 5 months

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Apple Pie

dean winchester x reader

you try all day to bake a pie for dean

wc: 1.3k, complete and utter fluff

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you slid another pie crust into the oven. After shutting the oven door with your elbow, you turned to find Cas in the doorway. “Please, don’t make me try any more. I cannot taste it, Y/N.” you half-laugh and sigh. “I’m sorry. Honestly, if this one doesn’t turn out good, I am just going to toss everything and pretend it never happened.” Castiel looked at you, a confused look plastered on his face.

“Why would you throw it all away?” He asks, making his way towards the counter, his eyes going over the mess of cooking ingredients and cookware all over the place. His eyes make his way to you, your apron covered in flour, hair all tousled and falling out of the bun it was put in hours ago. You had clearly exerted loads of effort.

You begin to run the sink, bringing over some spoons and dishes that were covered in various flavors. “I don’t know, it’s embarrassing I guess. Like, how am I unable to bake a pie?” Cas almost cuts you off, “You’ve baked five pies, I think.” You shake your head, turning to him.

“I’ve tried to bake about five pies. And not one of them was good enough. I’m not asking for your pity, I’m just, saying I guess.” you reply wryly. He shrugs, now assisting you with cleaning the dishes. The two of you cleaned in silence, since he wasn’t sure how to comfort you or even wanted to be comforted.

He eventually excused himself to the war room to continue a case he had been working on, leaving you to stare at the pie, watching it slowly bake in the oven. You had placed a chair in front of the oven, just staring into the void, basking in your embarrassment and failure. Then, you began beating yourself up for being upset over not being able to bake. It was a vicious cycle.

Only to be broken by a warm laugh. “Now, now, now, what do we have here!” Dean exclaimed. He just about floated down the stairs and into the kitchen. Although those first few pies didn’t exactly taste good, they still smelled it. You blinked hard and turned around to see him. His hair is a bit flat, wearing a worn green flannel with a pair of blue jeans. But the largest smile was plastered across his face.

Dean’s arms were outstretched for you to fall into, pulling you into a deep hug. His hand instinctively went to the back of your head to cradle, kissing your forehead as you hummed. He breathed in your hair, to find it speckled with flour and something sticky. But you smelled good.

You smelled like pie.

He licked his lips and pulled you out of the hug, you whining a bit in retort. You look up to him with your doe eyes, his weakness. Dean gave a smug smile before pulling you in for a quick kiss. Your lips tasted of apple with a hint of cinnamon, making his heart soar.

Dean pulled back from the kiss, his hands on your shoulders. He gave them a slight squeeze, trying to come up with something clever to say. “Oh, please, Winchester. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

He shook his head, laughing a bit and sliding his hands down your arms. The warm taste of apple from your lips still lingered. “You gonna tell me about this?” He nods his head to the rest of the room. The sink was filled with dishes, although cleaned. But the counter was still covered in crusts and apples, and tons of flour.

You felt your cheeks flushed red and your gaze hit the floor and his boots. You shook your head, laughing a bit. “No way.” your voice is light, trying to hide your frustration. The last thing you wanted was for him to walk in the door to this mess, not even knowing if what you were attempting to make was good enough.

Dean’s smile dropped a bit, his finger lifting your chin to meet his gaze again. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s not like you burned the place down.” his joke struck a nerve with you. He was an excellent cook, and all you wanted to do was repay the favor. He takes your hand as you walk over to the counter, covered in the mess.

“Ta da!” You exclaim sarcastically. Dean doesn’t look away from you, knowing you are seconds away from spilling out your guts. “Y/N-” he starts. “I’ve tried all day to bake one pie. One god damn pie. I have gone to the store twice today Dean. Twice! Are you aware we live in a small town? There’s like a couple hundred people so when you go to the store twice and buy the same things, the cashier is going to notice. Even better that it was the same person.

You would think as an adult, I would be able to bake a single apple pie for my boyfriend. But no. I can make rock hard crust,” you pick up and toss one of the burnt crusts on the counter down. “And mediocre filling. I honestly don’t think there’s enough apples in the world for me to be able to get this recipe right.”

As your rant continued, Dean looked at you with nothing but love. He had no idea he could feel this way. He loved you for trying so hard. You didn’t have to bake a pie. Honestly, you still have a pulse and wanting to be within 10 feet of him was enough. As you went on about your day and all your baking attempts, it made him realize how much you loved him.

And the word boyfriend rang through his ears. The two of you never defined anything. Sleeping together for years, living together, you had even convinced him to go on a weekend trip for fun once. But to his face, you had never called him your boyfriend. All those nights spent in each other’s arms, yet afraid to label anything to make the other run away.

But there you stood, what you would call a complete mess but he thinks you are prettiest this way.

Whatever you were saying at this point, something about the oven being your enemy, was in one ear and out the other. Dean pulled you in for a deep kiss, both hands on either side of your face, stopping you mid-sentence.

“I love you.” he said, breaking the kiss. You pulled back just enough to look into his green eyes, that somehow had a little more sparkle to them since you saw him this morning. “I love you, too.” you smiled, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. Staring into each other’s eyes, the words “my girl” slipped Dean’s lips. Heat rose in your chest as you pulled him in again, this time his tongue slipping in your mouth.

Right on time, the oven dings. The pie is done, and so is the moment. You slide out of his grasp and sigh. “Don’t get your hopes too high.” He watched you take the pie out, some apple oozing from the crust. The smell alone sent him over the edge.

“I can’t believe you went through all this trouble for me.” he said quietly, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear. You raise an eyebrow. “Dean, I’ve pretty much died for you, yet this is something you can’t believe.”

It was the mundaneness of it all. The normalcy. He felt there was no room in his life for it. That he didn’t deserve it no matter how badly he longed for it. He shrugged it off, not quite ready to dive into that. But more ready to dive into what laid in front of him.

“This one actually looks edible!” you sigh in relief, inspecting the pie closer. Dean scoots behind you, placing his hands on your hips.

“I’ll tell you what else looks edible.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x yn #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fluff #jensen ackles

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hazbininlove · 1 month

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Hopelessly Devoted - Chapter 3

-About 5.5k. No real warnings in this chapter!

Charlie is more or less freaking out at the moment. She received news a week ago that Esther would be coming back down to assist with the Hotel and would be bringing a guest. Now today is the day of that visit and she feels like nothing is ready. Everything in the hotel feels out of place and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Charlie, you need to relax,” Vaggie says, coming up to her and placing her hands on Charlie’s shoulders. Charlie grabs at her own hair in frustration.

“I can’t, Vaggie! Esther didn’t come into the hotel last time and I just want it to be perfect! And she said she’s bringing someone else! What if it’s Sera? What if it’s Michael?! WHAT IF IT'S GOD?!”

“Charlie! She’s not bringing God to our hotel! And I doubt she’d bring Michael here! He’s probably the last person who’d ever willingly down here.”

Charlie groans and slumps into Vaggies hold. “What am I gonna dooooooo-“

“Do about what?”

“Ah!” Charlie jumps out of Vaggie’s hold and looks to the entrance where her dad is standing. His eyebrows furrow in concern.

“You doing alright, apple pie? You look uhhh kinda tired,” he inquires.

“Dad! Hi! I could really use your help right now! Esther is coming down any minute now and he’s bringing someone and-“

“Esther!” Her dad yells, his hands now gripping her arms. “She’s coming here?! Today?! Now?!!”

“Ooooh I see I forgot to mention that,” Charlie replies sheepishly, laughing awkwardly to herself. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Lucifer’s hands let go of her to grip his own hair, knowing his hat off his head. He starts pacing as he freaks out.

“Oh hell she’s coming here. I haven’t prepared anything. Nothing has felt right! I haven’t even had the time to fix up my wings. My WINGS!”

He yells, and his wings pop out behind him in the largest form Charlie’s seen from him in months, knocking over a painting as he does so. “Satan’s smelly asscrack! They’re a mess! How the fuck am I supposed to impress her with this disaster?!”

“I don’t think Uncle Satan would appreciate that comment,” Charlie mumbles, trying to defuse the situation.

“He’s an ugly sweaty fuck! He can handle a few insults in his name!” Lucifer yells back. He pauses, groans, and rubs at his temples. “Sorry, apple pie. I’m just nervous and didn’t mean to yell. Satan definitely deserves it though.”

“Aren’t the two of you supposed to be twins or something?” Vaggie asks, approaching the two of them. “Isn’t that why people confuse you two so often?”

“Aha, no, you know all those pictures of a red dude with horns that people think is me? That’s Satan. He’s just such a damn menace that of course when shit goes sideways, they think he’s the actual devil which then confuses people and- you know what? It’s a whole thing. The point is, he smells like shit half the time I see him and I think he does it on purpose.”

“Dad, I think we’re off track again. Why are you freaking out about your wings? And can you please make them smaller before you break anything else?” Charlie asks.

Sheepishly, Lucifer does just that, letting them get smaller until they’re at a more appropriate size indoors. He snaps his fingers to fix the things he knocked over and continues pacing as he fiddles with his hands.

How does one explain to their daughter that he has an inside joke of sorts with his soulmate and now as part of proving himself to her again, he has to behave like a duck during mating season and impress her.

Shit, had Esther even meant that literally? Knowing her humor, she probably did, though she definitely expected more than just that as an apology. He wasn’t entirely sure how to apologize either. He’d told her everything the week before. Of course, just because he explained and apologized doesn’t mean she had to forgive him. And he knew one apology wouldn’t make up for several millennia apart, due to his own actions, but he really didn’t know what else to say or even do to make it up to her.

It just stressed him out more that he couldn’t think of anything to do about this. He couldn’t lose her again, not when he finally had a second chance. He’d been struggling to sleep for the past week just thinking about her. Her beautiful dark blue eyes, her wavy black hair with the streaks of white, the rich blue on the underside of her beautiful wings. Lucifer feels his heart beat a little faster at the thought of her bright smile aimed at him, eyes crinkled at the end in pure joy and those cheek marks on the corner of her mouth so high they almost look like they’re reaching her eyes.

“It’s nothing Char,” he replies to his daughter. “I just want to look my best when she arrives. And you said she’s bringing a gues- Who the fuck is she bringing?”

“We don’t know, sir. We can only assume it’s another angel,” Vaggie answers for her, likely stopping Charlie from panicking again.

“Oh fuck me! It’s probably Michael! It’s definitely Michael,” he replies, hands in his hair again as his eyes start to turn red and his voice sounds almost layered. “She talked about him so much last time, it probably is him. That fucker probably did mess with her head. She said she doesn’t love him but someone with Stockholm Syndrome probably wouldn’t admit they have it!”

“Okay!” Charlie claps loudly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here! Vaggie’s right. We need to relax and think things through. I doubt she’d bring him of all people here. So let’s just focus on one thing at a time! Like cleaning up the lobby!”

Lucifer looks at his daughter with a blank stare and snaps his finger. A burst of gold sparks from his hand and sweeps around the room, cleaning up any dust and straightening out paintings and chairs alike as it goes.

“Can I go back to panicking now?”

“No!” Charlie yells, grabbing her dad and leading him towards the elevators. “We’re going to go get ourselves looking presentable!”

Vaggie watches in amusement but also concern as her girlfriend drags her whining father out of the lobby. Looking around the room, he definitely did a good job of cleaning up and saved them a good amount of time. Especially after the disaster left in the wake of Charlie’s own panicking.

She’s thankful that her and Charlie’s relationship isn’t as complicated as Lucifer’s and Esther’s. She feels bad for them. Knowing what she knows now, it all seemed like a “right person, wrong time” situation. And who knows how long those two even actually spent together before Lucifer had fallen.

The books she read aren’t exactly clear on how long between Lucifer’s creation and the creation of Eden took place. Lucifer is older than Earth, that much she knows, but how much older remains a mystery to everyone except the man himself, and she isn’t sure if asking is appropriate.

And to an immortal being who’s been around for as long as he has and still looks like a relatively young adult, how does time pass for him? Sinners remain the age they died at, but was Lucifer like Adam, Lilith, and Eve? Was he also created as an adult? Were the older angels created as children and then raised into adulthood before the aging stopped? Looking at a picture of Lucifer and Charlie, Lucifer looks the same age now as he did then. Now that Charlie’s older, he looks like he could’ve been a teenage father.

Had Lucifer and Esther had thousands of years between their creation and the Earth’s creation to spend together, or had it just been a few short years together before their forced separation? It doesn’t really matter, at the end of the day. They seemed to be the first and most functional of three pairs of soulmates ever made.

Like Esther had said the day before. The first attempt to recreate them ended in disaster with Adam and Lilith, Eve… No one in heaven had seen Eve in thousands of years and Adam never cared to talk about her besides when insulting her. The only pair that seemed to want to be together was Lucifer and Esther, and even they weren’t actually together because of the miscommunication between them that caused eons of loneliness for the two of them.

No wonder God never made more soulmates. The more Vaggie thinks about it, the more her head starts to hurt. She walks around the lobby instead, making sure nothing was out of place even with Lucifer’s magic.

A knock on the door alerted her to a guest. Vaggie paused, looking over to the bar where Husk had paused in his own polishing, and stared back at her.

“Try to keep the drinks to a minimum, please,” she says to him. He rolls his eyes but continues wiping the bar as she walks towards the door.

Before she can reach the door, a swirl of shadows lifts from the ground, and she curses to herself as she sees Alastor appear from it. She’s practically sprinting and he shifts his eyes to look at her, smile stretched impossibly wide, as he grips the door and pulls it open.

”Welcome, dear guests, to the Hazbin Hotel,” he says, greeting the two at the door.

There is Esther, smiling softly in greeting, with a taller man beside her. His skin is ghostly white like Lucifer’s, but his hair is black like Esther’s. It’s a bit longer than Lucifer’s, falling more into his face and curling around his neck. His suit is impeccable, white pants, black coat, and gray waistcoat. Along the shoulders of his coat are black pads lined in silver with intricate designs. His eyes are dark gray, bordering on blue closer to the pupils.

He looks like royalty, carries himself with an air of importance, but his eyes look soft and his expression is easygoing. It takes Vaggie a few moments before his appearance clicks in her mind.

This is Azrael, the Archangel of Death, the Virtue of Patience.

He’s rarely seen in any of the spheres of Heaven. He, like Raphael, spends most of his time on Earth. When he does return to Heaven, he passes through the spheres and says his hellos, but typically spends most of his time on Primum Mobile with the other higher ranking angels that aren’t ruling over a sphere like Sera.

If he spends any time in another sphere, it’s likely the first sphere where the majority of the winners reside, or in the third sphere where he was created, Venus, just as Lucifer and Esther were.

Well, Azrael is certainly better than Michael in terms of who would stress Lucifer out the most, but Vaggie isn’t holding out much hope. Esther had mentioned that Azrael was likely to visit, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Especially since it’s only her second visit.

At least she could say that of all the virtues or archangels to bring, the Virtue of Patience would probably be the best to deal with all the chaos the people of this hotel were capable of causing.

Both of their wings were tucked away and out of sight, which was probably for the best both to get them through the door and so they wouldn’t take up too much space. They likely planned on spending a good amount of time there, if that was the case.

Vaggie bows to both of them, nervous at the sight of one of Heaven’s strongest angels. Azrael doesn’t fight, might as well be a pacifist, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable. The Seven Capital Virtues all have more power than most beings besides God himself, and even they aren’t the top of the hierarchy the way that the Seven Deadly Sins were down here in Hell.

“Welcome! It’s an honor for you to visit us,” Vaggie says. She may not live in Heaven anymore, or agree with everything they do, but even she knows the Virtues and the Archangel of Death deserved her utmost respect. Esther visiting had been a shock, especially since Vaggie had never seen her so she didn’t know her importance.

“Please, no need for all of that,” Azrael replies. His voice is light, almost airy, but strong. It’s so different from Lucifer’s rich and smooth tone of voice. Lucifer, despite his awkwardness around his daughter, talks in a voice that is loud and boisterous when he wants it to be, like he’s demanding attention. Azrael’s voice sounds more like a soft breeze, calming and comforting.

She supposes when it’s your job to console the souls of the dead and guide them towards their final resting place, a comforting tone is probably for the best.

“I assume you know who I am?” Azrael asks, taking a step into the hotel after gesturing for Esther to enter first. Vaggie nods, not sure what else to say. “I don’t get to say this often, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He holds his hand out for her to shake, and she takes it. His grip is just as soft as his voice. “It’s nice to meet you too, sir.”

“None of that. Azrael is just fine,” he replies.

Behind them, Esther is greeting Husk and Alastor. Vaggie wants to warn Esther that staying away from Alastor is for the best, especially considering Lucifer’s hatred for the other man, but there’s really no nice way to say that.

Lucifer’s not going to be happy when he sees both a brother of his that he hasn’t seen in eons suddenly here, and Alastor around the love of his life.

Today’s gonna be a shitty day in hell, that’s for sure.

“Well, where is our lovely host? I’ve been dying to meet my little niece,” Azrael says, looking around the lobby. Esther chuckles behind him.

“The puns will never stop with you, will they?” Esther asks him, a knowing smirk on her lips.

“Not until my last breath,” he teases back. It’s then that Vaggie realizes he’s been making references to death. It’s not something she expected, but knowing how Lucifer acts, she can’t say she’s entirely surprised that the weird jokes run in the family. “Now, my niece, please?”

“Right, yeah, she actually just went upstairs with her dad a few minutes ago, so they should be down shortly,” Vaggie’s replies. She wants to offer to go get them, but the idea of leaving them alone with Alastor sounds like a bad idea. Especially knowing that Husk is likely too drunk even this early in the afternoon to do anything about it.

Something in Azrael’s eyes flash at the mention of Lucifer, and his smile tightens just a bit. It’s not a good sign in Vaggie’s eyes.

“Samael is here as well? How splendid, I’ve missed the little one,” Azrael says back. Vaggie sees Esther roll her eyes at the nickname. It appears Lucifer’s height is a running joke. “My workload increased drastically when my fellow angel of death fell. Of course there are others but Samael was always a joy to work with.”

“You know he prefers to be called Lucifer,” Esther scolds him. Azrael pats her gently. They don’t look alike, besides the black hair, but they act almost like siblings.

The way Lucifer and Esther were created, to be practically married, and the fact that they’ve known each other for thousands of years, Vaggie wouldn’t be surprised if the other Virtues did see her as a sister.

Azrael hums but stays silent on the subject. Instead he chooses to move around the lobby. He goes to the bar to greet a stressed looking Husk as Esther approaches her.

“It’s Vaggie, correct?” She asks and Vaggie nods. “It’s nice to see you again, dear. I apologize for not mentioning Azrael’s visit. He likes surprises and once he has it in his head, there’s no stopping him.”

“Yes ma’am. It was definitely surprising, but I think that’s because I tend to forget that Charlie’s dad was also a high ranking angel.”

“Technically, he still is,” Esther replies. She smiles down at Vaggie, her eyes warm despite the dark cool blue color they have. “He may not be allowed in Heaven anymore, nor is he a Virtue as he once was, but he’s still one of the oldest and strongest of the angels.”

“How interesting,” Alastor says, approaching them. “One would think we’d see more of this strength you speak of.”

“If that was the case, you’d be wiped from existence with the way you like pissing him off, asshole,” Vaggie replies to him. She pauses for a moment to look back at Esther and apologize for her language, but the angel doesn’t look upset at all.

“Well, I suppose some good came from our king’s reclusive nature then!”

Alastor’s eye twitches but he says nothing more, thankfully.

Even after the battle against Adam, Vaggie knows that was nowhere near Lucifer’s full strength. The man was once a Virtue, an Archangel who answered directly to God, and a Seraphim, the highest rank of the angels. He wasn’t called God’s favorite angel for nothing. With all the power Lucifer was given upon his creation, being called the favorite almost felt like an understatement.

Not that there weren’t angels stronger than Lucifer, but Vaggie read about the fall. Lucifer wasn’t just tossed out of the gates like Charlie’s story makes it seem. Lucifer fought, and he fought hard. Michael may have led the charge against him, and been the one to throw him and Lilith towards hell, but it took several angels, mostly Seraphim, to finally weaken him.

Lucifer truly was a terrifying being, even before becoming the first sin.

“I hope you know you have nothing to worry about, dear,” Esther says to her as Alastor walks away. “If he’s anything like he was before, he’s never cared much for power.”

That much is obvious. Alastor didn’t call him a recluse for nothing. Lucifer has made it clear many times that he doesn’t care for sinners or want to truly rule them. The only times he shows off his powers is when he wants to show off for Charlie or do something for her.

“Now, tell me about the hotel, dear. Any new arrivals?”

Vaggie sits with her on the couches as she discusses the details. She’d prefer Charlie to be here, but she won’t keep her waiting either.

They haven’t had any new guests. Half the sinners were scared another attack would come from Heaven and wanted to avoid it. A few cannibals wanted to but really only for the promise of more angels attacking so they could eat more angels. Rosie had taken those few back quickly enough.

Vaggie wasn’t going to mention the cannibals to her, though she did mention their dilemma.

“I see, so an announcement should be made then, to confirm the end of these exterminations,” Esther decides.

That would require either Vox or Katie Killjoy, neither of which Vaggie wanted to deal with or felt Esther should have to.

Before she can respond, the elevator dings. Before she turns, she notices Azrael’s attention now off of Husk and turning towards the elevator as well.

“Okay, we’re ready to get this plan done!” Charlie says as she exits the elevators! Lucifer is behind her, messing with his clothes and patting himself down to make sure nothing is out of place.

“Uhh, Charlie?” Vaggie says, loudly enough for Charlie to hear her. Charlie looks to her, catches sight of Esther, and her eyes go wide.

“Oh shit she’s here already!”

“Where?!” Lucifer calls from behind her, his wings once more popping up. He doesn’t make them as large as last time, but they definitely look a bit better compared to minutes before. They puff up behind him, shaking a bit like a rattle snake’s tail, though clearly more from anxiety than warning.

Vaggie’s eyes shift to look at Esther, who’s covered her mouth a bit and looked away from the display, though based on the way her cheeks are raised, she’s trying to hide a smile.

“Well isn’t this a marvelous display?” a soft voice says. Vaggie turns to her other side where Azrael is standing now beside her, a smile on his face just as before. “Wonderful display of wings, brother.”

“A-Azrael? What are you doing here?” Lucifer shuffles closer to the door of the now closed elevator.

“I do believe Esther mentioned my desire for a visit. I simply couldn’t pass up the chance when she mentioned her plans to return so soon. It’s not often I have a moment to myself after all. But enough of that, this must be my niece, Charlotte, correct?”

“Yes! Hi! I’m Charlie! Um- Uncle?”

Azrael chuckles at Charlie’s stammering and approaches them. It’s at that moment that Lucifer moves forward, eyes narrowed and wings spread high and wide to cover Charlie behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer repeats, his tone much harsher now compared to his panicked tone before. Esther moves forward now, stepping between Lucifer and Azrael calmly.

She steps closer to Lucifer and grabs one of his hands. “Listen to him first, please. Don’t be rash.”

“Don’t be- You want me to believe one of my brothers just suddenly wants to visit?! Out of the goodness of his heart?!”

“Lucifer-“

“It’s fine, dear,” Azrael says, cutting Esther off. Lucifer’s eyes narrow further at the term of endearment. “He has every right to be suspicious. Our siblings, myself included, have let this go on for far too long right under our noses. And after the last time he saw us, it’s only fair he should be worried.”

Lucifer looks at Azrael with suspicion as he continues.

“Worry not, dear brother, I have no ill will. My intentions were solely to express my apologies for not being aware of this massacre of souls.”

Lucifer’s wings lower a bit when Esther’s hand tightens on his own. He looks at her briefly before looking back at Azrael and rolling his shoulders, allowing his wings to fully disappear again. Esther sighs in relief in front of him and gives him a comforting smile before moving completely out of the way, giving them the full view of Azrael.

It’s Charlie who looks between the three of them before coughing and offering them a seat. Both men nod and Charlie guides them back to the couches where Vaggie is still sitting.

“Thank you, my dear. It truly is wonderful to finally be able to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances but I suppose there’s no better time than the present,” Azrael says to Charlie. She lights up a bit as she sits beside Vaggie, and motions for him to sit across from her. Esther sits beside him on the couch, and Lucifer looks conflicted before taking a seat beside his daughter, his scowl clear and directed at his brother. “I’m sure you’re aware, but I am Azrael, one of your father’s older brothers. You may call me uncle if you’d like!”

Lucifer’s scowl deepens but says nothing as Charlie squeals in excitement and bursts with questions towards the older man. Vaggie is grateful that Azrael just happens to be the Virtue of Patience, because she isn’t sure any of the other Seven, especially Michael, would’ve lasted as long as him or answered as many questions.

“Babe, slow down. How about we talk about the hotel,” Vaggie suggests. Charlie takes a deep breath before rushing to go get her poster presentation that she’d apparently made especially for this.

She goes into detail about how she understands the number of sinners is greater than the number of winners which is why redemption would help even out the numbers and keep Hell’s population more steady. Azrael and Esther nod along as she speaks, taking in all of the information she presents to them.

“My biggest concern is that so far, we’ve only redeemed one person, and we had to watch him die for that to happen. Does that mean every sinner has to die and just hope they’ll be redeemed?”

“That’s hard to say,” Azrael replies. “Little is known about this, or that redemption was even possible. It shouldn’t be a surprise though. Father always says there is time in one’s life to repent for their ways.”

Charlie nods, happy that someone agrees.

“However,” Azrael continues, “it’s hard to say exactly in the afterlife. There’s a reason I never realized what was going on. I am fine tuned to the lives of living souls, and it is my job to guide them towards their afterlife, whether that be Heaven or Hell. Once they pass either gate, my connection to that soul is lost. They are not meant to die again in their afterlife. They are meant to remain where they are, whether that be punishment in Hell for their sins, or reward for their good behavior in Heaven.”

“But we can change that! We can give sinners a chance to repent in their afterlife,” Charlie replies. Azrael nods, but his face grows a bit more serious.

”I will be honest with you, dear child. This is new territory for all of us. We have yet to see if the souls of the dead can receive a retrial that does not require a second death. But if those from Heaven can fall,” Azrael says, his eyes shifting briefly to Lucifer beside Charlie, “then I have no doubt those from Hell should be able to ascend. I ask that you remain patient as we all navigate through this new discovery.”

Charlie nods along and Azrael smiles brightly at her. He stands, patting down his clothes to remove any wrinkles and offers his hand to Charlie.

”Now! I would love to hear more of your plans to entice sinners to the idea of redemption and a tour of this lovely establishment of yours! Let’s go, I believe your father needs a break from my presence and I would love to hear more about you without his glare on my head,” Azrael announces, already walking towards the elevator with Charlie who’d taken his hand. Vaggie follows after them, confused and a bit entertained by the man’s behavior.

“Now hold on a minute,” Lucifer begins to say, before he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks over his shoulder at Esther who is smiling at him, and nearly forgets his worries. “Esther, I don’t know how I feel about this.”

”Do you believe I’d bring anyone here that would harm your daughter?” She asks in return. Lucifer pouts a bit but shakes his head. “He’s been very excited about this trip to meet her. The other Seven have wanted to visit as well but Azrael convinced them not to overwhelm you.”

“I think I would prefer Ramiel. Or Raphael. Or Uriel- Or, really anyone but Michael,” Lucifer replies. “Ramiel definitely would be preferred though.”

“Funny you should say that. Uriel and Cassiel send their regards, by the way. They say they love and miss you, and that they will be sure to judge you themselves should I choose to forgive you.” Esther laughs when Lucifer throws his head back and groans. “Ramiel managed to convince them not to, though Michael… Well you know how Michael is. He is hopeful, though he has his concerns.”

“Michael can shove his concerns up his own ass,” Lucifer mumbles to himself, though he smiles finally when Esther laughs a bit at his words. She moves her hand down his arm until it stops around his forearm just below his elbow. He instinctively curls his arm and moves his other to hold her hand on his arm.

“How about you give me your own tour?” She asks him, changing the subject. “I didn’t get to see the hotel last time I was here.”

Lucifer nods and guides her through the hotel for his own tour while his daughter shows his brother around. He’s still wary of it all, but he knows Esther is right. She wouldn’t bring anyone that would hurt them, and Azrael is the least likely, besides Raphael who’s dedicated his life to saving lives, to ever start a fight. Had it been Michael, Lucifer isn’t sure if he could’ve been stopped from attacking him on the spot. He at least has much fonder memories of Azrael.

He guides Esther through the hotel, showing off some of the different rooms such as the parlor, kitchen, or the more recreational areas he added himself simply because he could upon the hotel’s reconstruction. He puffs his chest in pride as she looks on, impressed by the hotel’s amenities.

He vaguely motions towards Alastor’s radio tower, not keen on taking her there, and she doesn’t question his reasoning, thankfully. She seemed to have caught onto his distaste.

Instead, towards the end of their tour, he leads her towards his own workshop. Not his room, he knows she won’t appreciate that level of forwardness, but he knows his new growing collection of rubber ducks will amuse her.

It’s not something he’d typically show off to anyone, and he’s sure under normal circumstances this isn’t something you’d show to someone you were interested in dating, but Esther wasn’t just anyone. This was something so much more than dating.

Part of him wondered, after Hell’s creation, if maybe they were meant to be separated. If humans were allowed to choose their partner, why couldn’t he? It had bugged him for so long. Part of it was what led to Charlie’s creation if he was being honest. But then he’d think of Esther, of her beauty and kindness, of the warmth he felt just when her eyes were on him, and he thought being bound to someone like her was the greatest gift his father ever gave him. He doesn’t regret Charlie, not in the slightest, even if he wishes Charlie’s mother could’ve been Esther, but sometimes he thinks his greatest punishment wasn’t his fall, it was the loss of his other half.

He’d give up everything if it meant another chance with her.

He leads her into his workshop, grinning proudly at the wonder in his eyes at the sight of all his rubber ducks.

She moves further into the room as she lets go of his arm, rushing towards the ducks in the rooms and grabbing at a few.

“Lucifer, what is all of this?” she asks as she chuckles, holding a rubber duck in her hands to inspect its design.

“My rubber duck collection,” he says, laughing to himself as he picks one up. “This isn’t even half of it.”

“Where are the rest?”

“In my manor,” he responds. He sits at his desk and watches her inspect another duck. “I think I made at least one a day for years.”

”That… doesn’t sound very healthy,” Esther says, lowering the duck in her hand and approaching him.

”No, I don’t think it was,” he responded, a melancholic smile on his face. “But they were something that comforted me when I felt like everything else was falling apart. Lilith left, can’t say it was without warning. She was getting tired of my moping and there was really nothing either of us could do about it. The friendship was already falling apart after Charlie’s birth. We tried to get along, we’re still friends, I think, but she didn’t want my hatred for Hell to affect Charlie. Charlie and I weren’t always close because of it. And for a long time, I felt more alone than ever. So I started making these to take my mind off things, and it helped.”

Esther is silent as she kneels in front of him, a hand on his knee in comfort.

She looks at him with those beautiful dark blue eyes, hair falling into them, and he reaches out to move her hand behind her ear.

”Why ducks?” She asks, voice just above a whisper.

”They reminded me of you,” he replies, pressing his forehead against hers. “They were something we created together. I used to create these beautiful projections of them for Charlie when she was a little girl and she loved them. They felt like a little piece of you here with me.”

Esther’s hand that isn’t on his knee moves to his hair, moving through the short hairs on the back of his neck.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I’ll admit I wanted to sometimes. I thought maybe it’d hurt less if I just erased the memory of you, but then I’d think of your smile and everything hurt a little less. I’d think of the times we spent together, of how blissful everything felt with you by my side, and I couldn’t forget you. And then Charlie was born and I wanted her to have a piece of that happiness.”

He closes his eyes as his hands comb through her hair, enjoying the feeling of her’s in his own.

”You truly are something special, Lucifer Morningstar,” Esther says to him. He chuckles lightly and lifts his head to place a kiss on her forehead.

“Only because of you, Esther Eveningstar,” he replies, lips still pressed against her skin.

He never wants to be apart from her again.

————————————————————————

Apologies for any typos. My sleep schedule this week has been lacking to say the least.

Another character introduced! Learning about Azrael was fun for this. When I read he was from the “third heaven” I panicked a bit because it didn’t seem to fit with Dante’s spheres of paradise, but then I remembered that he and Lucifer(Samael) are angels of death, so having them all from the same sphere felt fitting! I was originally going to have Ramiel be the first to visit, as the Virtue of Kindness, but decided on Azrael instead because I thought Patience would be the best for Lucifer to be reintroduced to.

Anyways, at this point I feel like I can’t post a chapter unless I include a drawing at the end. This time I I decided I wanted to draw an idea for Lucifer’s look when he was still the Virtue of Humility. The Story of Hell shows him in a robe and still with his hat. I’ve seen people say his eyes were blue before his fall, but as his name means “the shining one” I feel like gold is more fitting. I also headcanon that his halo didn’t take the shape of a snake until after his fall, with the apple being added because of his actions, and as he took on a more demonic form, his appearance shifted as well. His eyes shifted to red, and when in his demonic form, his irises shift back to gold, but now with red sclera.

I’m not entirely happy with this drawing but, I didn’t want to hold off on posting the chapter so here it is!

Taglist: @dreamcatcher62 @art3misa635 @cimadreamer

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer reader #lucifer morningstar hazbin hotel #lucifer x oc #hazbin hotel lucifer x oc

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its-the-pilot · 5 months

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Can't Fight This Feeling | One-Shot

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Hope you enjoy this little festive one-shot 😘

Summary: When Maverick gets called up for a mission on Thanksgiving, you and Bradley make new traditions of your own. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: mild teen sexuality

Length: 3k words

Pairing: teen!Bradley Bradshaw x teen!Female Reader

| Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

Message or comment to join the taglist!

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Can’t Fight This Feeling

The smell of a freshly baked pumpkin pie filled the house as Maverick entered, and it made him dread the news he was about to deliver. As he turned the corner into the kitchen, he found you slicing apples for another pie, completely focused on your task until he moved closer and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, Uncle Pete,” you greeted, pausing in your work to turn toward him. “You’re home early.”

He nodded, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “It smells great in here, Squirt. Where’s Bradley? I have some news.”

“He ran to the store for me, I needed a couple things for Thanksgiving tomorrow,” you explained, turning back to your apples when he mentioned ‘news’. You had heard him say it enough over the 8 years you had lived with him to know immediately what it meant. “But I guess it doesn’t matter, you’re gonna miss it.”

Maverick sighed, leaning against the counter. “I don’t want to, Squirt,” he tried, hating that you were frustrated with him. “I got called up for a mission, I have to leave in a couple hours.”

Your jaw clenched as you fought back tears, still slicing away at the pile of apples in front of you. “You promised you’d be here for the holidays. It’s the first year without Mama Carole.”

“I know, I’m sorry. You know the Navy--”

He stopped when you cut him off by dropping your knife onto the cutting board. “You. Promised.” Your words were firm even as you lost the fight with your tears, feeling them slide down your cheeks. It wasn’t the first promise he’d had to break, but after losing Carole earlier in the year, you had hoped that he would find some perspective.

The sound of Bradley’s voice as he entered the house did little to relax the situation. “Hey, they didn’t have the butter you wanted, but…” he trailed off as he stepped into the kitchen, stopping when he saw your tears and Maverick looking like a kicked dog. Before either of them could say anything else, you left up the stairs to your room, slamming the door. “Ooookay…” he started, confused as he set the bags he was carrying on the counter. “What happened?”

Maverick ran a hand through his hair and pushed off the counter where he had been leaning. “I got called up for a mission, I’m leaving tonight. She’s pissed because…” “... you promised to be here for Thanksgiving,” Bradley finished for him, looking toward the stairs where you had disappeared to. He understood why you were upset, all you wanted was for the three of you to be together for the holiday. Turning back to Maverick, he shook his head. “Just go. She’ll be fine, just like every other time.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He had his struggles with Bradley, but since the two of you had started dating things seemed to have lightened a bit. “This is my job. I go where I’m told, I don’t have a choice in it.”

Bradley shot him a look that immediately reminded him of Goose as he came to the defense of his girlfriend. “And she knows that, Commander,” he retorted, using his rank as a jab. “Doesn’t mean she can’t be upset that you broke another promise. I’ll talk to her, just… come back safe.”

He didn’t wait for Maverick to respond before he headed up the stairs, stopping outside your door and knocking gently, waiting for your permission to enter. “Dimples, it’s me.”

There was a long moment of silence before he heard your voice inviting him inside. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, frowning when he saw you curled up on your bed, tears staining your cheeks. Crossing the room, he sat beside you and pulled you into his arms, kissing the top of your head as he rocked you back and forth gently.

You felt a fresh round of tears starting up as you leaned into him, your fingers gripping the fabric of the hoodie he wore. “It’s so dumb. I shouldn’t even be upset, I should be used to it,” you sniffled, allowing your boyfriend to run his hand over your back slowly in an attempt to relax you.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” he reassured you, tucking your head under his chin. “We all miss mom, but look at it this way… we get to make new traditions this year. Just you and me.”

A smile found your lips as you considered creating new traditions with Bradley that would last the rest of your lives together. “I’d like that,” you nodded against his chest, closing your eyes for a moment. “What about all the food?”

Bradley shrugged. “We can still make it if you want, it’ll give us leftovers to experiment with over the weekend.”

“Okay, that sounds--” you stopped when you heard a knock at your door, causing you to sigh heavily knowing it was your uncle. “Come in.”

Maverick opened the door but remained in the hall, and to his credit he didn’t say anything about the way you and Bradley were intertwined on the bed. “I’m heading out,” he stated simply, his pack on his shoulder.

You surprised yourself when you detached from Bradley and practically ran to hug Maverick, the force of it making him stumble back a step. “Be safe, come home,” you whispered into his shoulder. “Please.”

He dropped his bag and hugged you back, smoothing your hair with one hand. “I always do, Squirt. I love you, and have a good Thanksgiving. I’m really sorry I’m gonna miss it.”

Bradley stood from the bed as you ended the hug, coming to stand beside you, a comforting hand on the small of your back. “See you when you get back, Mav.”

He nodded at the tall brunette who looked so much like his fallen friend. “You two be good. Don’t do anything I would do,” he teased lightly, picking up his bag again. “I’ll call when I can. If you need anything…”

“... call Ice,” the three of you said in unison. With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Maverick said goodbye once more before he headed down the stairs and out the front door.

Once you and Bradley were alone, he gave you a soft kiss. “You wanna finish your apple pie? We should probably get those groceries put away too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you offered a smile, following him down the stairs to the kitchen. You were still upset about your uncle missing Thanksgiving, but you were looking forward to creating new memories and traditions with Bradley.

-------------------------

The next morning, Bradley woke up to the sound of pots and pans in the kitchen. Sitting up on the couch where he had fallen asleep with you the night before, he scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, leaving his caramel curls standing in all directions.

“Dimples?” he called, padding through the living room toward the kitchen. “What are you doing up so early?”

You looked a little frazzled, your hair in a messy bun on top of your head as what looked like every pot in the kitchen sat out on the countertops, waiting to be filled with food. “There’s a ton to do, I needed to get started early. I made coffee if you want some.”

He was leaning with his shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you. “Coffee… that explains it,” he mumbled before stepping forward and taking you gently by the shoulders, leading you to sit at the table. “How many cups have you had already?”

“Two… no, three cups,” you nodded, trying to get up only to have Bradley stop you. “Brad, I have a lot to cook.”

“Slow down. It’s not a race, and it’s just us. We don’t need a twelve course meal,” he tried, kissing your forehead. “Stay here. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten.”

You watched him return to the kitchen and rummage around before sticking a bagel into the toaster. “Not yet, no.”

“Call me a mind reader,” he teased, returning a minute later with a toasted bagel smeared with cream cheese and handing you half. “Eat. Soak up some of that coffee, then you can tell me what your plan is.”

You did as you were told, taking a bite of the bagel as Bradley did the same, sitting beside you. He smiled as you seemed to relax some, leaning back against your chair as you finished breakfast together.

Once you were done eating, you pulled a list out of the pocket of your apron and set it on the table. “The turkey will take the longest, so I need to get that going first. Then I was gonna work my way down the list.”

Bradley looked over the list you had and shook his head. “Baby, this is every one of mom’s recipes. We’ll never eat all this food,” he said, taking your hand in his larger one. “Remember what we were talking about last night? Making new traditions?”

“I know, I just…” you sighed, looking down at your joined hands. “I miss her, and I thought… making her recipes would help, you know? She taught them to me for a reason.”

The previous Thanksgiving happened just after Carole’s diagnosis, and she started teaching you all of her best recipes, wanting to make sure you and Bradley weren’t stuck eating Chinese takeout on the holidays because Maverick couldn’t cook. Unfortunately it had been the last holiday she had been well enough to cook, the cancer progressing quickly and leaving her wheelchair bound by Christmas.

Bringing your hand to his lips, he kissed it gently, never taking his eyes off of you. “How about we pick two or three things, okay? That way, we can feel close to her but still make the meal ours.”

You nodded, turning your hand over to lace your fingers with his. “Okay. Which ones do you like best? I think we have to do a stuffing, for sure.”

“Absolutely,” Bradley smiled, looking over the list as he squeezed your hand gently. “Green bean casserole? And… pumpkin and cheddar scalloped potatoes?”

“Those are my favorite,” you confirmed, standing from your chair and moving to stand between his legs, kissing him. “So we have a menu. I did have an idea for a new tradition, if you want to hear it.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and nodded, looking up at you. “I’d love to hear it.”

“Maybe a picnic in front of the fireplace? And after we eat we can listen to music and look at photo albums?” You bit your lip, your hands resting on his shoulders as you waited for his response.

“That sounds perfect,” Bradley agreed, guiding you back a step so he could stand as well. “Do you want some help in the kitchen? Or should I just focus on getting our picnic set up?”

You leaned up to kiss him sweetly. “I’ll handle the food. You go watch the game and I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

-------------------------

The next several hours left the house smelling amazing with the various dishes you were cooking. Bradley had set up a nest of blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace with the couch behind it for support before settling in to watch the football game. Every so often you would take a break from cooking and join him, sitting on his lap for a few minutes and stealing kisses.

When the game was over Bradley helped carve the turkey, then settled in with you to eat in front of the fire. You had each picked out a few records from the extensive collection that came from both his parents and your uncle Pete, taking turns playing them.

“The food was incredible, Dimples,” Bradley praised, giving you a kiss before standing to take both of your plates into the kitchen. He had already made the decision that he would take care of the dishes later, but he wanted to spend more time with you first.

You smiled at the compliment, glad that he had enjoyed the meal. While he was up, you pulled out the photo albums and started flipping through them, glad that Carole always seemed to have a camera in her hand.

“Starting without me?” He teased, returning to sit with you in the nest of blankets. “I always forget how many pictures mom used to take.”

“I love that she did. I wish my parents had taken more pictures, I hardly have any from before they passed,” you countered, snuggling into his side.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders as you examined each page, moving through the years of your childhood spent together -- happy memories of holidays, summer vacations and even small candid moments that would have otherwise been forgotten. You couldn’t help but feel regret and grief when thinking about all the moments that hadn’t been captured since she passed, and the ones that would miss being documented in the future.

Almost as though he was reading your mind, Bradley snuggled you closer. “I miss her too,” he whispered, his voice slightly deeper than usual. “She’s here, though. Remember how she used to tell us my dad and your parents were always with us? She’s with us now too. Always.”

You lifted your head to kiss him sweetly just as the record that had been playing came to an end. As the quiet static sound played through the speakers, you smiled against his lips. “Y’know… we need a song.”

Bradley laughed, returning your kiss. “What, in case one of us gets deployed in World War 3?”

“No, I’m serious!” You slapped his chest lightly before climbing out of the makeshift nest and crossing the room. “It’s something we can keep forever, that’s just ours.”

He shrugged and watched you remove the current record from the player, sliding it back into its place on the shelf among the others. “Alright. Go ahead and pick one.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder, the flickering flames of the fireplace casting a warm glow over his skin and making his hazel eyes sparkle. “There’s nothing romantic about just picking one,” you explained, settling on your knees in front of the record collection before closing your eyes. “I have an idea. Tell me when to stop.”

Propping his elbow on the seat of the couch behind him, he rested his chin on his hand and watched you run your fingers along the spines of the albums, back and forth slowly until he finally said your name. Your finger stopped instantly and pulled the record out, not looking at the artist before placing it onto the player and gently dropping the needle.

Turning back to him, you held your hand out, offering for him to come dance with you as the opening chords to “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon played over the speakers. You smiled when he stood and took your hand, spinning you gently into his arms.

“Look at you,” you praised, resting one hand against the back of his neck while the other held his, your fingers laced together.

“I’ve been practicing,” Bradley replied, his free hand resting at the small of your back as he held you close to him, swaying with the music.

You looked into his eyes, letting him lead. “With who?”

“Mav,” he admitted, slightly embarrassed until you giggled and kissed him.

He returned your kiss, placing another on your temple and then your forehead before you rested your cheek against his shoulder. “I could kiss you forever,” he murmured against your ear.

“Oh yeah?” You replied, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks when he kissed your neck just below your ear.

“Yeah,” he grinned against your skin before pulling back to look you in the eye. “Yeah, I could. You think I’m lying?”

You shook your head, getting lost in his dark hazel eyes. The two of you moved slowly with each other until the song ended, then Bradley led you back to your spot in front of the fire, tucking you against his chest once again.

“Today was amazing,” you whispered, staring at the fire as the flames danced. “You make every day better.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your neck gently as he held you. “How?”

Tipping your head up, you kissed his jaw tenderly. “By just being you. You always know when I need you, how to make everything better.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” he promised. “I cherish every part of you.”

You bit your lip and turned your head into his shoulder, attempting to hide the blush on your cheeks. “It’s scary. You’re the only one I’ve let in like this. Ever.”

Bradley nodded, smoothing his hand over your spine to reassure you. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

The music continued playing in the background as you both fell quiet. Finally after a few more songs had played, you spoke, your cheek against his chest. “I give you permission to break my heart, Bradley.”

He was surprised by your statement, and it took him a moment to process before he could respond. “I won’t,” he whispered, tipping your chin up with his free hand so he could look you in the eye once again. “And I give you permission to end me if I ever do.”

You searched his eyes for a moment before kissing him deeply. When you parted, slightly out of breath, you slipped deeper into the blanket nest you were in and tugged Bradley down with you. No words were needed as you snuggled into his side, head pillowed on his chest and your leg wrapped over his hip almost possessively.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you, making sure you were both covered by the blankets as you settled in for sleep. “Goodnight, Dimples.”

“Goodnight, B,” you replied, your voice already tired as you closed your eyes. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #Youtube

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summerslashers · 7 months

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Dinner: Thomas Hewitt x Reader

PART ONE | PART TWO

Summary: You have dinner at the Hewitt House. (takes place during tcm the beginning well before the cannibalism)

Warnings: Charlie/Hoyt, Swearing

Author’s Note: This took so long pls forgive me. This is the end of this short series but I will write more small stories that are based off of this series where you live across the street from Tommy :)

You stood on the porch of the Hewitt home with two thick oven mitts protecting your hands and a hot apple pie fresh out of the oven. You just barely had enough time to make a nice dessert without being late, but you didn’t want to show up empty handed after the polite invitation you received. You stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to figure out how you were going to knock on the door without a free hand to do so. Suddenly, as if someone had read your mind, the door swung open to reveal Thomas.

He was dressed nicely in a button up shirt with a striped tie and a pair of khaki pants. He looked clean, his curly hair soaking wet as if he had just stepped out of a shower. You looked up into his soft blue eyes, a blush warming your cheeks as he gazed at you gently.

“Hi Thomas.” You smiled up at him. “You look really handsome.”

Tommy felt his cheeks grow warm at your sweet compliment, his eyes glancing off to the side and fingers twitching at his sides anxiously. You always made him flustered with your pretty smile and kind words. It was nice.

He stepped aside politely to give you room to come inside, a silent invitation that you gladly accepted. He used a strong arm to hold the door open for you and you joined him in the house, thanking him for the kind gesture.

The inside of Thomas’ home seemed just as big as the outside. It was huge- much bigger than your own small home- with tall ceilings and a large, open foyer. Immediately, there was a delicious, garlicy smell in the air that made your hungry stomach growl, and you could hear the clattering of pots and pans coming from the kitchen in the distance.

“Your house is so nice.” You smiled at Thomas, but before you had the chance to say anything else, an unfamiliar man rounded the corner dressed in a pair of blue jean overalls and a plain baseball cap. He was old- much older than Thomas.

“Well I’ll be fuckin’ damned, Tommy! You didn’t tell me you had a fuckin’ girlfriend!” He grinned, giving Thomas a firm pat on the back. “And she brought dessert too! Shit, I like her already!”

You laughed, and Tommy was sure he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life. Your eyes met his and he swore his heart skipped two beats. It wasn’t a mocking laugh- no. It was a happy, joyful laugh. He couldn’t help but look away again, a cute pink tint to his cheeks that peeked out from behind the black leather mask.

“Oh, mama’s gonna want to meet you.” He smiled, and there was something just a bit off-putting about it. “Mama! Our guest is here!”

“Now I done told you to quit yellin’ in the house, Charlie.” A woman came from what you assumed was the kitchen, scolding the man who simply rolled his eyes in response, muttering a half-hearted apology.

The older woman was dressed modestly, her blonde-gray hair pulled up into a gentle updo and a pair of glasses rested on the bridge of her nose. There were deep wrinkles on her face, her expression stern with furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead- a result of working in the hot kitchen you were sure. Her expression seemed to soften when she noticed you standing next to Tommy shyly, still holding the hot pie.

“Now aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” She smiled warmly. “You must be y/n.”

“Yes ma’am.” You returned the kind smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Luda Mae.” She looked down at the pie in your hands. “Come join me in the kitchen and we can set that down.”

You nodded, smiling back at Thomas before following Luda Mae into the kitchen and setting your apple pie down as instructed. You were relieved to finally take the hot oven mitts off of your hands, and you set them off to the side where they wouldn’t get in the way. It was then that you noticed the small vase with the wildflowers you had gifted earlier that day with a soft smile on your lips.

Luda Mae turned away to stir a pot on the stove, adding what looked to be salt and pepper to whatever it was she was making. It still smelled wonderful.

“Not often we get new folk ‘round here,” she spoke as she made her way around the kitchen, working quickly to finish things up. “Almost didn’t believe it when word got out that someone moved into that house-” She chuckled softly before continuing.

“And you’ve been so kind to my boy, Tommy.”

You smiled brightly. “Thomas is wonderful. I was so nervous to introduce myself earlier, but he was really sweet about everything.”

“He’s a real nice boy,” Luda Mae gushed, happy that someone else could appreciate her son just as much as she did. “Been treated poorly his whole life- nothin’ but cruelty and ridicule from folk that don’t take the time to know or understand him. Never did nothin’ to deserve it either. It’s nice to see someone finally treatin’ him the way he ought to be.”

“I could never be mean to Thomas.” You spoke fondly of the man, your brows furrowed sadly at the thought that he had been mistreated. “He’s too kind.”

Luda Mae smiled softly and hummed in agreement, turning off the stove and setting the pot aside on a cold burner where it could cool down a bit. She turned to face you, her eyes wandering down to the apple pie you made. It turned out just shy of perfect. The crust was golden brown and it had a crunchy cinnamon sugar crumble on the top.

“Thank you for providin’ dessert.” She smiled at you warmly. “Nice of you to go through the trouble of doin’ that.”

“I didn’t want to seem rude,” you smiled shyly. “It wouldn’t feel right showing up with nothing after your nice invitation.”

“Well that’s awful’ polite of you.”

You smiled, looking around the messy kitchen for a moment. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“You really are just the sweetest thing,” she said. “How about you help Tommy set the table while I clean this mess in here.”

You nodded in agreement, glad that you could be of some help.

“Thomas Brown Hewitt, get in here and go help set the table,” she said firmly as she set a stack of wide rim soup bowls, silverware, and napkins down on the countertop beside you.

The man lumbered into the room, his eyes meeting yours. You smiled at him softly as he walked over to you, picking up the bowls and silverware that suddenly seemed a lot smaller in his large hands.

“I’ll get these,” you grabbed napkins before turning to face the large man. “Will you show me where the dining room is?”

He nodded, waiting and making sure you were ready before leading the way. He guided you through the house to a large, open room. In the center was a large dining table with an elegant table cloth and white lace table runner. Above the table were high ceilings and a chandelier style light. There were six chairs around the table, and at each spot at the table there was an empty glass. You silently wondered if there were one or two more people you hadn’t met yet.

You moved to stand next to Thomas as he set the bowls and silverware down on the table. You did the same with the napkins. You both reached for the stack of bowls, your fingertips brushing together for a moment. The two of you looked up at one another and retracted your hands slightly, a small laugh escaping your lips as your cheeks grew warm.

“Sorry,” you smiled and awkwardly gestured for him to go first.

You and Thomas spent the next few minutes working together to set the table in comfortable silence, exchanging glances every so often. Each time your eyes would meet you would smile at him warmly, something that made his heart flutter and cheeks turn pink.

As the two of you finished, Luda Mae called for Charlie and another man named Monty, letting them know that dinner was ready before entering the room. She set the large pot of what you could now see was stew onto the table. Neither Thomas nor Luda Mae had taken their seat yet, and you were still waiting for Charlie and Monty, so you stood politely to the side near Thomas to wait for further instruction.

After a short moment, the unfamiliar man, Monty, entered the room. He looked to be close to Luda Mae’s age with lots of deep wrinkles on his face and gray hair peeking out from beneath his baseball cap. His eyes met yours from behind his glasses and you offered a small wave.

“Y/n, this is my brother Monty.” Luda Mae said, noticing your silent interaction.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You offered a polite smile.

“Somethin’ smells damn good, mama!” Charlie announced loudly as he entered the room, standing above what you assumed to be his chair at the head of the table, resting a hand on the polished wood. “Now everyone take your seats and bow your damn heads so we can say grace.”

Luda Mae shot him a disapproving glance and shook her head, but said nothing as everyone began to take their seats. You ended up sitting between Thomas and the empty chair at the end of the table, silently grateful that Thomas had put himself between you and Charlie.

“Now,” Charlie said, still standing tall and proud at the head of the table. “Let us give thanks for this meal which the Lord has provided us. Bow your heads.”

After the short prayer, everyone passed their bowls to the front where Charlie put a generous helping of stew in each one. Soon, everyone had their food and a tall glass of water in front of them, and it was finally time to eat. You were so hungry after a long day of unpacking at home and the stew looked absolutely delicious. It was steaming hot and contained large chunks of meat, plenty of vegetables, and potatoes all sitting in a thick broth. Everyone began eating and as expected, it was delicious.

“Thank you so much for dinner.” You said to Luda Mae, who was sitting across from you. “It’s very good.”

“Why thank you, dear.” She smiled. “It’s a pleasure havin’ you here with us.”

“Thank you.” You smiled back shyly. “It’s really nice being here.”

The two of you continued to make small talk over dinner, the men at the table remaining mostly quiet as they ate their food. The only exception was the occasional comment or question from Charlie who always seemed to have something unpleasant to say. Even then, you were happy with how well everything was going with your new neighbors.

After everyone had finished their meal, you and Luda Mae went to the kitchen where you brought out dessert and plates to serve it on. You gave each person a large piece of your apple pie and everyone seemed happy to indulge. You were given several compliments. Even Monty told you that it was good and he hadn’t said a word for the entire meal. Thomas, on the other hand, didn't need to say anything. You could always see the gratitude in his eyes when he looked at you. It made you smile.

Soon, everyone was done with dessert, and the table was littered with dirty plates, crumpled up napkins, and empty cups. Charlie excused himself from the table, and Monty did the same, both carrying a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen. It was just you, Luda Mae, and Thomas.

“Would you like me to help you with the dishes, ma’am?” You asked Luda Mae as you placed your own dishes, silverware, and napkins into a neat stack in front of you.

“Don’t you worry about that, dear.” She said appreciatively. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“‘Course I’m sure.” She smiled, standing up from her seat. You and Thomas did the same. “Besides, it’s gettin’ late. Tommy, how’s about you walk with her ‘n make sure she gets home safe.”

Thomas nodded his head with sincerity in his eyes and body language. Of course he would keep you safe. He wanted to be by your side, to protect you and care for you.

You smiled up at him. “Thank you, Thomas. That would be really nice.”

You stood in the foyer at the front door with Thomas at your side, and Luda Mae returned your cookie platter, empty pie plate, and oven mitts.

“Thank you so much for everything,” you smiled at the woman. “It was really nice meeting everyone and the meal was wonderful.”

“Thank you, dear. It’s been a pleasure havin’ you here with us.” She looked at Thomas. “You get her home safe now.”

With that, you and Tommy were on your way, walking side by side down the long driveway towards your house. The sun had just gone down, the orange sunset fading away and darkening into the night sky. It was peaceful, the only sound was the gravel crunching beneath your feet and the insects chirping in the distance. You liked being by Thomas. It was nice.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence until you reached the front door of your small house. You turned to look at Tommy with a content smile on your lips.

“Thank you for walking me home- and for having me over. It was really nice.”

Tommy looked at you fondly, with that usual softness in his eyes that brought warmth to your cheeks and butterflies in your stomach. He didn’t need to speak, because you could always understand what he was trying to tell you simply by the way he would look at you.

“I hope I see you again soon.” You smiled, though you were sad that the night had come to an end. “You’re welcome to come over here any time... I really like spending time with you.”

Tommy felt his cheeks grow warm, his hands fidgeting at his sides and his weight shifting just slightly. You were so kind to him and he was sure that he would never get used to your sweetness. It made him feel so warm, so happy inside. There was a twinkle to his eyes as he looked at you, a joyful expression shown only through his eyes and nothing else. That was all you needed.

You stepped inside of your home, not yet closing the door as you looked so fondly at the man on your porch.

“Goodnight, Thomas.”

Tag List: @ostricx @sagis116 @motomamita @dij-ology

#thomas hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #tommy hewitt #leatherface x reader #leatherface #tcm the beginning

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kookiecrumb · 2 years

Note

I'm still not over the Needy one shot. I know it's on your archived masterlist, but do you think we'll ever see anything of the needy bunnies again? Any more heat sessions?

😚 They're cute together, aren't they? Mmm...

I'll re-read it and see what I can say about their future together.

This looks like a good place to start:

jjk || Needy (2)

warnings: smut (18+), alpha!jungkook x fem!omega!reader, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, they're bunnies, ddlg/Daddy kink, omegaverse, boob touchin', just kinda generally messy sex, a little vocal this time, pheromones, praise kink

Recommended: READ NEEDY

Jungkook munches innocently on his apple pie strudel while still inside you. "Mm! It's actually better than I remember it..." he laughs.

"It's really good, Jungkook," you laugh.

"The pie or my dick?" He asks.

You roll your eyes lightheartedly. "I can't believe we're doing this."

Sure, it was expected that eventually you would go into heat. You're in your sexual prime, as weird as it is for you to admit. It's natural and normal for you to have these feelings, especially towards a male of your species.

You'd never mentally processed that if you were to have such an emergency on campus, that Jungkook would be the one to mate with you.

You've always felt a pull towards him, but you had always dismissed it as an afterthought, a "what if."

He, on the other hand, has had his sights on you forever. Jungkook knew this would happen and therefore he spent the entirety of his first rut craving your pussy and imagining it stretching for him and flooding with his seed.

He just learned to act casual about it around you.

"You know, I knew you and I would end up like this," he says.

"Why didn't you tell me, then?" You reply, after thinking about all the times you caught him looking at you a certain way during a lab. You could never seem to crack his code.

"I dunno. It was inevitable that we ended up like this, but I wanted to give you the freedom of choosing me. I was confident that it would be me, anyways," he thinks.

"You were confident that our relationship would end with your cock buried inside of me so I could have your babies?" You ask.

"Would you believe me if I said yeah?" Jungkook hovers over you with his arms on either side of your head, simply gazing into your eyes for a minute.

Love is quietly blooming in them, as he starts to deflate. Your bodies are warm against one another's, and all Jungkook has to do is kiss you a little more to get you to melt for him completely.

His hands move down your body, touching every inch of skin from your breasts to your ass, his bunny tail twitching in the process.

"Jungkook I'm ready to go again," you gently remind him, admiring his innocently playful face while looking at you.

"I love your tits," he grins, taking them in his palms and gently squeezing.

"They're gonna get big when I'm pregnant with your babies," you remind him, placing your hands over his hands in a careful embrace. "You need to be gentle with me."

Jungkook's expression grows calm. "You're my mate. Of course I'll be gentle with you," he hums. "C'mere..."

He plants an experimental kiss on your lips.

A moment of silence is shared between you.

You lean forward and kiss him again, prolonging the kiss until he lets out a small moan.

"You sound so good...do it again," you ask, running your fingers through his soft hair.

"You gotta kiss me again..." he mumbles.

So, you do exactly that.

He deepens the kiss in excitement, moaning confidently against your lips.

You hum happily, holding his face. "You're so cute...are you gonna start releasing the pheromones soon?"

"Hm? Do you wanna nap first?" Jungkook asks, concerned with his tired bunny.

"No~" you whine. "M'chillin'."

"You're chillin'. Got it," he repeats.

A thick scent of vanilla lingers around the both of you, the softer, top notes of honey pronouncing themselves as it develops.

"That's what you smell like...?"

"What is it?"

"...Vanilla...and honey," you say, weaving your fingers into his hair, your eyes softening towards him as his hands caress your torso.

"Is that so...is it good, baby?" He purrs into your ear in a low, seductive hum.

"Yes, Daddy..."

Fuck, even calling him that feels so strange. It's almost humiliating but your heart skips a beat every time. It's so terribly satisfying to hear the name roll off your tongue and his reaction is never less than satisfactory.

"That's a good girl..." he floods your senses with more of him, causing your mind to haze and your body to relax. There's no feeling better than having your alpha inside of you, sedating you with his pheromones as he prepares to pound his kits into you again.

His rut is delicious.

Your eyes flutter back in excitement as you start to feel him again, pressing against you. It's such a tight fit, but Jungkook makes a way.

"Ohh please be careful with me, Daddy...I'm still..."

"Sensitive," he finishes for you, his breath hitting your neck as he swells in arousal. "Babybun--" he moans. "You're squeezing me..."

Your hands travel to where you are connected and you feel him heaving and rutting. "Do you think we're going to have pretty babies, Jungkook?" you ask, quietly as you watch him panic with lust.

"Yes. Ohh~ fuck yes, I think so," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. "So warm, mmm--"

You gasp quietly, feeling him finally thrusting inside of you again. You spread yourself beneath him and kiss his lips chastely. "Your cock is so amazing, Daddy...please don't stop fucking me..." you sigh.

You're gushing for him, your slick covering his cock and dripping onto the padding below you as his inflated cock penetrates you.

Jungkook tries another angle, holding your leg over your bodies and fucking you from the side. He breaks out into a pleased smile, panting desperately as he fills you. "Nnnhhh~"

You flood for him, your whole body heating up as you accomodate for his massive load. "Jungkook~" you squeak, unable to formulate a coherent thought.

"You and I are the same species...it was inevitable that I would end up fucking this pussy full of my kits...I'm surprised you didn't figure it out before I did..." he speaks to you in a soft growl.

"Ohhhh..."

"You're so smart, y/n..." he smirks. "Now you're going to be a dumb little fuck bunny for Daddy..."

No matter how hard you tried to deny yourself an orgasm, you cream around him then and there, causing you to spasm and for him to quickly hold you down and spew his cum into your still-dialated cervix.

His strong hands force you on the pillowy surface beneath you as he finishes filling you, growling softly as your tail twitches wildly. "Mm!mmmm~" you whine. "Daddy~ daddy-- ohhh Daddy-- daddy," you gasp sharply.

You kiss him in a tangent, and he smiles through it, swollen tight against your walls so that none of his cum can escape. "That's a gorgeous knot..." he praises. "That's beautiful."

Jungkook's eyes light up, his heart pounding as he holds you between his arms.

You watch them bloom for you. "And so are we..."

a/n: honestly you can send me an "encore request" to any of my fics and I'll gladly fulfill it when my reqs are open.

permatag gang gang: @kooliv , @koobsessed , @angelwonie , @carolynanderson , @hoseokgrecns , @bangsterz , @swyseren , @sxtaep , @koostarcandy , @hgema , @jjkeverlast , @armys-dna , and @nglmrk

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Text

Promptober: Day One

Eddie Munson x fem!reader 879 words.

Honestly, Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when you asked him to take you to Millbridge farm. Apparently there was a pumpkin patch there and all the kids were demanding they needed the biggest ones in order to win the carving contest.

Which Eddie thought was extremely bratty of them considering they all had school and were pestering you instead of Steve about it. But the other boy shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something about overtime and how Eddie’s van would fit more pumpkins in it than his car could.

And besides, Eddie had learned very, very quickly, that he couldn’t say no to you.

So there he was, on a cold Sunday morning, standing between pumpkins and looking very out of place amongst the families with their matching raincoats and children in strollers.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna break your back,” Eddie grumbled, slopping through a muddy puddle in order to grab the too big pumpkin you were trying to wrestle from its roots.

It had been a game of chase from the start, Eddie following you around orchards and through vegetable patches as you excitedly buzzed through the farm, telling him that he needed to hurry or all the good ones would be gone.

The boy had rolled his eyes, not unkindly, but continued to mumble about kids and ‘why the fuck weren’t the little gremlins doing this themselves?’

“They’re all going to Lucas’ basketball game, be nice Eddie,” you’d replied.

He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd, his sneakers swapped for combat boots and a black hoodie underneath his leather jacket for a change. But apart from that, he was still very Eddie looking, just a little cosier.

You loved it.

And apparently he was rather taken with your autumn wardrobe too, his eyes fond as the too big bobble hat that Joyce had knitted you wobbled comically on top of your head. You were all soft sweaters and a scarf that was close to trailing in the mud and Eddie swore you now constantly smelled like cinnamon and sugar, a pleasant after effect from all the baking you were doing with El and Robin.

So he didn’t really mind when you piled his arms with pumpkins, some big, some adorably small, some fantastically orange and others in pretty shades of sage and cream. He didn’t really mind at all.

‘Cause after every time you settled another in the crook of his arms, you beamed at him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and you waited patiently for him to stoop down to your height.

You gifted him a kiss, some on his cheek, one on his nose, and when he got really lucky, you’d glance around to make sure no one was staring before sliding your lips over his. You were soft and slow with it, your cold nose pressed to his rosy cheek, your gloved hands curled around the leather cuff of his jacket so you could hold him to you.

You kissed him until he was pink, the boy being more than pleased with your affection and suddenly Eddie didn’t have much to moan about anymore. You helped him back to the van with your haul, murmuring apologies when you saw the mud that littered the floor of the back cab, but Eddie waved you away with a dismissive hand.

“She’s seen worse than a little dirt, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

You promised him a treat for helping you, hiding your smile when the boy grinned roguishly at you in return. But he let you take his hand in your smaller one, let you pull him over to the small farm shop with its adjoining cafe.

You tried your damn hardest to pay when you both picked out a cake with a coffee each, the small hall smelling like apple pie, toffee and lattes. But Eddie made the cashier laugh by pulling you into his chest by the nape of your neck, crushing the money in your hand against his tummy and handing his own to the waiting lady.

She’d grinned, fussing over giving you both extra sugar and cream for your drinks, telling Eddie that he was ‘such a gentleman,’ and ‘aren’t you two the sweetest thing in here?’

Eddie was more than smug when he grinned down at you all pretty, head tilted and hair a little messy from the cold wind outside.

“Oh, we’re adorable alright,” he told you.

He smiled harder when you flushed, digging your fingers into his ribs not unkindly, just embarrassed by all the attention. He took your hand in one of his, holding the tray in the other as he led you to a quiet table by a fireplace.

Eddie split his brownie with you even though you protested and he happily bit a chunk out of your caramel tart when you offered it to him over the table. It was warm and sweet, like him, like the day had turned out to be.

You decided then that the boy was fall, he was warm colours, rich shades, sugar and spice and everything you wanted to wrap yourself up in. And when he took you home to his trailer, the day turning darker and gloomy, you tumbled into his bed with him and did just that.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #upsidedownwithsteve's promptober

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eadanga · 21 days

Note

Hii 🥰

I saw these picture prompts and I thought I’d send them your way. You can create anything you’d like. Moodboards, edits or even write a story, whatever makes you happy.

The most important thing is that you have fun (and don’t worry you can answer the ask whenever you have time or feel inspired) 🥰

@peonierose thanks for the ask here are the two stories for these prompts

Muffins

Chris pulls into his driveway he sighed as he put his car in park "Another day of dealing with those teens really hope they don't kill each other before the game" He chuckles to himself as he gets out his car.

He walks into the house and he's hit with a an amazing smell he grins "Something smells amazing" He drops his clipboard then walks into the kitchen he smiles when he sees his wife MC in the kitchen washing the dishes. He walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her "Hey you"

She smiles "Hi Chris welcome back"

"You making your muffins what's the occasion?"

"Just wanted to surprise my husband"

Chris smiles "I love you baby thank you" he kisses her cheek

Apples

MC gets out the truck and grabs the basket of apples then heads into the house. She drops them into the sink and begins washing them

"You got the apples great"

She smiles as she sees her husband Sawyer "Yup what are you doing with these?"

"So many things you can do with these" He grabs one and takes a bite "Especially with one as sweet as these one apple pie coming up"

MC laughs "How about something other than apple pie?"

Sawyer raises an eyebrow "What's better than my apple pie?"

"My apple tarts"

Sawyer smirks "Naw the judges will love mine better"

"We'll see about that!" MC throws the dish towel at him as he laughs "Everyone's gonna love mine and you'll be eating my dust" MC walks towards the door "Now I'm going over to Juilette's I don't want you sabotaging me"

Sawyer laughs "I don't need to baby I'll win without it" She reaches for the apple but Sawyer pulls them away "And these are mine"

"I picked them"

"But you brought them to my kitchen"

"Fine keep the apples I still got more or I can use Juliette's peaches"

"That's not fair!"

MC playfully sticks out her tongue as she walks out the door giggling

#choices #choices fanfiction #choices fandom #choices fan fiction #answered asks #asks

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mamawasatesttube · 1 year

Text

@deadchannelradio said:

obsessed w "civ hostage" kon. obsessed.

THANK you for giving me the opportunity to talk abt this one bc it is, if i do say so myself, funny as hell. like, i talk a bit hurt/comfort character study etc game, but i am also just a guy who deeply, DEEPLY enjoys some good old fashioned shenanigans.

SO. to set the stage: we have conner kent, good ol sweet country boy conner kent, spending a weekend in the big city to visit his buddy tim. things are going well, for the most part, until tim and conner make the mistake of going to hang out at a nice café. why?

the cafe is SO nice that it is, in fact, right next to a bank!

they are in gotham city (uh oh!).

the bank gets robbed.

sirens start blaring, the gcpd are there, the robbers burst out of the front door frantic to get to their getaway car, and oh, hell, the gcpd is right there, they need some kind of leverage to not get their tires shot out from under them--

they need a hostage!

there's a cafe patio full of civilians right there!

this guy who's jumped to his feet as if to get between all the guns and his buddy? oh sure yeah he'll do cmon grab him get him in the car lets go lets GO MOVE IT MOVE IT

FLOOR IT LETS GO KEEP A GUN TO HIS HEAD MAKE SURE THE COPS SEE WE HAVE HIM LETS GO

[!] Congratulations! Your Conner Kent is now a Civilian Hostage™! In order to protect his secret identity, he may not use any of his powers to escape. Make sure he doesn't run his mouth too much, or else getting shot will reveal that he's bulletproof!

tim, left at the cafe: what the fuck. kon, sitting in the getaway car: what the fuck. the bank robbers, who have no idea what they've just brought upon themselves: phew! that was quick thinking!

what follows is a progression of increasingly more ludicrous conversations as kon desperately tries to control his inability to shut the fuck up. the bank robbers start to argue.

"boss, he's just a teenager!" one argues. "he isn't even from here--look how much he's talking about his grandma. i feel bad. we don't have to keep the guns on him at all times, do we?"

"if he doesn't shut up about his grandma, shoot him in the foot," boss grouches.

"oh, please, don't do that, sir," kon wheedles, valiantly resisting the urge to ttk the duct tape off his arms so he can gesture rudely at the big boss. he does his very best big, innocent doe eyes instead. "my grandpa bought me these boots, and he passed a couple years back!"

"oh, now look what you did!" a third guy exclaims. "he's gonna talk about BOTH grandparents now!"

kon looks back and forth between the bank robbers. two out of three are glaring; the first one, the sympathetic one, tries to smile at him.

kon looks at them all some more.

tim is somewhere up in the rafters of this random gotham wharf warehouse by now, he's sure. this will all be over soon. he doesn't have to keep resisting the giggles too much longer. right?

"could i convince you guys to let me go?" he blinks so sweetly. so innocently. "shucks, i can sweeten the deal! how's this?"

he flutters his eyelashes a little. smiles so innocently.

"i'll give you my grandma's apple pie recipe--"

this is the worst day of these bank robbers' lives.

tim, in the rafters: forget the robbers. I'M gonna strangle him.

anyway, red robin swoops in to rescue Sweet Innocent Country Boy Conner Kent. of course, he can't stay long, but he makes quick work of the hostage situation.

Sweet Innocent Country Boy Conner Kent is more than happy to give a quick statement to the press outside, of course. he looks directly into the camera and gushes about how amazing it was to have red robin himself rescue him! he's so suave and mysterious and cool, and his hair smells so nice--

tim, who is the only one who knows that kon is just very smugly patting himself on the back for finally convincing him to try his fancy shampoo and conditioner set: :|

trending on gotham twitter: Red Robin Smells Like Rosewater

tim is going to kill Sweet Innocent Country Boy Conner Kent. he's gonna do it.

"i'll fucking leave you there next time," he tells kon, who is scrolling through all the tweets with glee. "see if i come rescue you ever again. i'll let the assholes with guns keep you."

"sure you will, rob," kon agrees oh-so-sweetly. tim is going to throw things at him. kon is so smug. god dammit.

but hey, at least he makes tim some apple pie afterwards.

#rimi writes #sort of #timkon #deadchannelradio #its about the shenanigans you see

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 4 months

Text

A Second Chance Is A Better Chance - Christmas As A Roamer - The Ninth Christmas

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch Reader, eventual ? x Omega Witch Reader and Alpha Steve Rogers X Omega Witch Reader

Summary: Rejected by your true mate at 21, you’ve given up on the Fates and the Moon Goddesses giving you a second chance. Being a Roamer for the last 9 years, you’re an Omega hardened by the world. You’re safe on your own because of your witchcraft, but it doesn’t stop Alphas and plenty of others sniffing around, especially when you’re an unmated Omega witch, who’s wolf also happens to be white, the rarest kind. You don’t need anyone, but why do you keep coming back to Brookville and why do you keep walking into trouble and helping people that you don’t know but for some strange reason feel like family. And where is that smell of apple pie coming from?

Warnings: A/B/O, eventual smut, violence in parts, witchcraft, shapeshifters,

You watched as the flames flickered in the fireplace, ignoring the buzz of your phone again. The library was your favourite room in the X Pack’s house. Dark bookcases lined the walls with a mix of the classics and modern tales along the shelves.

“You’re gonna have to answer that at some point” pushed Logan.

You sighed and flipped your phone over, so it was face down on the couch you were curled up on.

“I don’t know who it is.“ you lied.

“Oh so it’s not Frank then? Trying to make sure that you’re not on your own at Christmas, I didn’t realise you were on such close terms with them.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, but I’d appreciate it if you’d pick up the phone, then at least he’d stop calling me.”

“What? he called you? Why would he do that?”

“I’m guessing because he cares. He called the Coulsons too.”

“How did he even know I was here?”

“Well, your list of friends isn’t exactly long, is it?”

“Rude.”

“And it doesn’t really take a rocket scientist, or Sherlock Holmes to figure out where you’d be. Either you’re gonna be back home, which is very unlikely, or with someone you know.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve spent Christmas alone before.”

“But it ain’t pleasant kid, take it from someone who knows and understands.”

You huffed and looked up at the ceiling.

“You can stay as long as you need to”

You nodded and let out a broken thank you.

“But I might need a favour?”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“You’re asking a favour of a witch that isn’t yours Logan?”

“I am.”

“Go on then. Although I’m not into women if you’re wanting to turn your throuple into a quad.”

“Ha ha ha” Logan replied dryly “I think I’ve got my hands full without throwing you into the mix.”

You snorted with laughter.

“Yeah you might have a point.”

“It is about them though, well, us.”

“OK. This is very vague so far.”

“Jean and I are ready for pups.”

“And Storm?” You answered quickly.

“She’s partly ready.”

“Again vague.”

“She’s scared.”

“Well being a mother is scary. Birth is scary. Even being pregnant can be scary for some.”

“And throw in being a witch into the mix and it’s got her, well, even more scared than she should be.”

“Do you usually dictate how your mates should feel?”

Logan held his hands up in surrender.

“That’s not what I meant.” he sighed “I, how do I put this without sounding like an asshole alpha?”

You said nothing but raised an eyebrow.

“I already sound like one don’t I?”

“I mean……”

“Yes you do.” Came a voice from the doorway. Jean.

“You understand her in ways we never can” she added as she set herself down beside you.

Logan went to interrupt but was cut off by a firm look from his mate.

“You can understand her where we can’t. We don’t know what it’s like to be an omega. To be an omega witch. To be a rarity. When your powers have been a cause of pain, ridicule and questionable childhoods.”

You shot her a stern look.

“And where do I fit in this?” you asked.

“She’s scared her powers will get out of control when the labour starts.” Jean replied.

“Getting ahead of yourselves aren’t you? She’s not pregnant yet.”

“Exactly, she’s not off birth control. She won’t even consider it without having a plan in place.” Logan snarked.

“And that’s her choice and we have to respect that.” Jean added.

“I’m not going to ask her to come off birth control or convince her to let you knock her up just because it’s what you want!” you quipped back.

“Damn straight sister.” Came another voice and Storm stepped out of the shadows.

Both Logan and Jean eyes went wide with shock.

“How? Why couldn’t we smell you?” Logan almost barked.

“A concealing spell, a damn good one!” Jean frowned.

“Oh I wonder where she learnt that.” You sniggered.

Storm perched herself on the arm of the couch you were sitting on and started to play with your hair and smirked.

Jean and Logan glanced at each other. Storm hadn’t taken the overheard conversation as badly as they’d thought. They quickly discovered they were wrong, as she opened the bond and rushed her emotions through it.

“Don’t ever pull this shit again!” Storm snapped. “You aren’t as discreet as you think you are. White wolf ears, remember?”

“We thought you were sleeping.” Logan replied

“Well, that’s your own dumbass fault.” You quipped.

Storm’s expression softened as she looked down at you, still fiddling with your hair.

“We’ve already spoken. Y/N has agreed to be around during the pregnancy and during the labour. Logan you can speak to the Coulsons about a long term rental on the cottage and you two will be paying for it.”

Logan rolled his eyes as Jean replied.

“Of course.”

“You didn’t tell them the best part!” you added, smirking at Logan.

“Oh of course, she’s going to be godmother.”

“What!!?” Logan was quick to reply.

“Storm, that’s usually a mate decision.” Jean added.

“Yeah, so is trying for a baby.” she quipped back.

Jean and Logan locked eyes and it was obvious to you and Storm that they were mind linking.

“Well, it makes complete sense. Whoever guides our pup safely into the world should be a godparent.” Jean confirmed.

“And that’s me. You’re welcome.” you replied.

“Great, now we’ll never be rid of her.” Logan threw in and you snorted with laughter.

Meanwhile on the other side of Brookville……….

Steve stood learning against the window frame looking out on to the packs land. Two years ago he had a letter in his hand telling him of his inheritance and now his pack were settled.

Well as settled as a bunch of ex-military reprobates could be.

“Uncle Steve” called a little voice pulling his attention away from the window. He looked down to see Lila, Clint’s middle child, starting to climb his leg.

“You k?”

“Yeah, sweetheart I’m ok.” Steve replied lifting him into his arms.

“Face sad.”

“I’m OK.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Steve spotted a shooting star dance across the sky. “Hey look, you think that’s a star or Santa?”

“Oooting star”

“Shooting star sweetheart.”

“Wish”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’ll make one and you make one, ready?”

“Yes”

Steve closed his eyes and made a wish and peeked as little Lila made hers too. He held her tightly in his arms and planted a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Would he ever gets this? His own child in his arms? He didn’t know anymore, he was starting to think that the chance had been taken away by the mate that rejected him.

“Everything OK over here?”

Clint asked, picking up on the melancholy in Steve’s scent.

“Yeah sorry, we were looking at the stars.”

“Oooting stars Daddy”

“Oh wow, you make a wish?”

“Yes for Uncle Steve?”

“You used your wish for me?” Steve asked.

“Yep!”

“That’s sweet baby, time to say goodnight though.” Clint replied, lifting Lila from Steve’s arms.

The Barton’s kids made their way around the pack saying goodnight, giving out hugs as they were told to go straight to sleep ready for Santa.

The whisper of little Lila wasn’t missed as Clint carried her upstairs, Laura following as she held Cooper’s hand and carried baby Nathaniel.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah sweetie.”

“I wished for Uncle Stevie to be happy.”

The remaining pack members turned to look at Steve, who promptly turned back to the window, swallowing hard to try and contain the lump that had formed in his throat.

‘Let’s hope your wish works sweetheart’, Steve thought to himself waiting for another shooting star.

On the other side of the room Natasha locked eyes with Bucky and mind linked with him. Bucky frowned at her, she knew he didn’t like mind linking since he was a POW.

“The Luna you keep dreaming, about what does she look like?”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at her, which she returned both turning to look at Steve.

#steve rogers x reader #avengers au #alpha steve rogers #alpha steve rogers x reader #alpha steve x omega reader #steve rogers x witch reader #alpha steve rogers x omega reader

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natimiles · 2 months

Text

Mimos (Arthur x Isaac)

Summary: When Isaac looks completely exhausted, Arthur can’t take it anymore. He’s going to make him rest, even if it’s the last thing he does today.

Words: 1988

Tags: they literally take a bath together (it’s nothing explicit, so still sfw); lots of pampering (like lots); extremely tooth-rotting fluffy; lots of kissing; established relationship; cuddles; they’re smitten, and they show it.

Notes: the best part is that this quote: “Such big, beautiful eyes, and yet they can’t see what’s right in front of them.” is canon. “Mimos” is pt-br for “pampering”.

Arthur can’t help but notice the dark circles under his boyfriend’s eyes. He’s been staying up late working on something and waking up early to go to the university all week. The writer considers talking about it, but he knows Isaac will just dismiss it and insist that everything is okay.

He thinks Isaac will finally rest when the weekend arrives, but when he wakes up on Saturday morning, he finds an empty bed and an “I love you” note left on the pillow — just as Isaac always does when he has to leave early.

That’s it. That’s the final straw. Arthur’s gonna make him rest, and it’s gonna be today.

He knows he can’t set anything up in Isaac’s room; he’d see it as soon as he arrives and he’d find a way to turn it around and spoil him instead. That won’t do. So Arthur decides to do it in his own bedroom.

When the evening comes and the sun starts to set, Isaac finally returns home. He heads to his bedroom first, intending to freshen up before meeting his boyfriend. However, as soon as he opens the door, the physicist realizes his plans won’t work out as intended.

Arthur is sitting at his desk, writing. He turns around when the door opens, a smile spreading across his face.

“Welcome home.” He gets up to meet Isaac at the door, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and giving him a peck on the lips.

“I’m home,” Isaac sighs, wrapping his arms around the other man and burying his face in the crook of his neck. He inhales deeply, enjoying the warmth and sweet scent. But he feels his fangs hurt and he pulls away begrudgingly.

“Hungry?” the writer asks, brushing the brown locks away from his boyfriend’s face to get a good look at him. He looks so tired, and Arthur feels his heart squeezing inside his chest.

“Yes, I forgot my afternoon snack,” he leans on the touch, closing his eyes for a few seconds to enjoy the caress on his cheeks. “I think I’ll have it now, even if it’s too close to dinner.”

“Mm… Let’s go to my room then.”

“T-that’s not what I meant!” Isaac frowns.

“Me neither,” Arthur smirks. “Honestly, luv, is that all you think about?” He makes a show of shaking his head and clicking his tongue, feigning disappointment. Isaac deadpans, but his cheeks acquire a lovely shade of red, and the writer can’t help but kiss it. “I have something for you there.”

The brown-haired man squints his eyes in suspicion but nods in agreement. Arthur smiles and laces their hands together, guiding his boyfriend to his bedroom for the surprise.

And Isaac is truly surprised when Arthur opens the door to his bedroom.

Flower petals are scattered all over the floor, forming a path leading to the en suite bathroom. The curtains are closed, and a dim light softly illuminates the room. A pleasant aroma fills the air, and the physicist assumes it’s probably from a scented candle.

“It’s apple pie,” Arthur says with a smile, noticing his boyfriend trying to discern the smell.

“Now that was uncalled for,” Isaac pouts.

“Maybe,” Arthur chuckles, kissing his lips softly. “Now, come on. Let’s start your pampering time.” He guides him to the bathroom.

"My... what?" Isaac asks, puzzled. “...What are you doing?”

The brown-haired man frowns as they arrive in the bathroom, watching his boyfriend start to remove his apple pendant and tie, quickly taking off his vest.

“Pampering time,” he replies simply.

Isaac considers questioning but decides to observe where this is leading. The writer is not in a rush, calmly and carefully helping him take off his clothes. When he finishes, he turns to the tub, which Isaac only now notices is almost entirely filled. Arthur turns on the hot water to finish filling it and uses this time to undress.

He turns off the water and reaches for Isaac’s hand, kissing the top of it softly, earning a slow blink from those beautiful cherry-blossom eyes and a blush that tints his cheeks. Arthur leads his boyfriend to the bath, guiding him to sit down before settling down behind him.

The physicist turns his head to look at the other man, his eyebrow raised questioningly, but the only answer he gets is a tender smile — accompanied by gentle hands guiding his head back to face forward.

“I see I won’t get any answers,” he says. Arthur can’t see, but he can hear and imagine those adorable lips forming a pout.

“I said it’s your pampering time, darling,” he says, wetting Isaac’s hair. The physicist absentmindedly throws his head back to make it easier.

“Yes, you said that. But why?” Isaac inquires. “It’s not a special occasion or anything.”

Arthur smiles. His boyfriend is a genius, but he still struggles with some “couple’s things” and it’s endearing.

“Such big, beautiful eyes, and yet they can’t see what’s right in front of them,” the writer chuckles.

He gathers some shampoo in the palm of his hands and spreads it over the strawberry-brown hair, gently threading his fingers through the strands. He works all the way from the scalp to the tip of the hair, being careful not to pull it. When he’s satisfied with the sight of the entire hair covered in foam, he starts a slow, gentle massage on the scalp.

Isaac can’t help but close his eyes and sigh, his head tilting further back.

“You look exhausted,” Arthur finally replies. “You’ve been like that for a while.”

“Sorry,” Isaac murmurs.

“You don’t need to apologize. I know how it is when you’re too focused on your work,” the dark-haired man chuckles. “But I get worried about my Newt. Just take care of yourself and make sure to get proper rest, at least on the weekends. Don’t make your boyfriend so worried, okay?”

“I will work on that, I promise,” Isaac says, fluttering his eyes open and turning his head slightly to glance sideways at his boyfriend. He gives him a boyish smile, one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and Arthur’s heart skips a beat. “And thank you,” he murmurs softly.

“You’re welcome,” Arthur returns the smile, kissing his shoulder gently. “Now, let me continue.”

Gently, he nudges Isaac to make him face forward again, and they fall into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. Arthur knows it’s taking a lot of effort on the physicist’s part to not reciprocate everything he’s doing for him right now, and he appreciates that he’s trying to keep himself in check and accept the acts of service directed his way this time.

He can’t help but smile at himself. A little over a year ago, they were in an awkward situation, trying to understand their own feelings and accept them. It was especially hard for Isaac, who had never had a special someone before and thus had a hard time trusting that Arthur’s feelings were real. Arthur couldn’t blame the man; after all, he had a well-known past. The only thing he could do at the time was show Isaac he meant it, that his feelings were genuine, and that he really wanted to be with him.

Thankfully, they worked it all out. And now, here they are, happier than ever.

Arthur finishes massaging his boyfriend’s head and combs all the hair to the top, uncovering the nape. His hands delicately slide down to the neck and shoulder blades, working on the tension there. His movements are soft yet firm, eliciting contented, relaxed sighs from the man in front of him. He makes his way down his boyfriend’s back, then returns upward — and he can almost feel Isaac becoming boneless and limp under his ministrations.

Only when he knows his boyfriend is relaxed enough does he stop. Arthur tries to help him soap up, but the physicist blushes furiously and insists he can do it himself. Chuckling, he agrees and waits for the other man to clean himself. Then he gently rinses Isaac’s hair and back.

Arthur gives one last kiss on the nape, then directs Isaac to leave the bath. He tries to dry him, but the physicist denies it again. Isaac is starting to think his boyfriend is only offering these things to fluster him — and well, he is succeeding.

The writer uses the moment while Isaac is drying himself and heading to the bed to clean himself up quickly. When he finishes and walks into the bedroom, he sees the physicist sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, wearing one of the pajamas he keeps in Arthur’s bedroom and eating the snacks Arthur left for him on the tray.

He offers a bite of his sandwich, and Arthur accepts, settling in to sit with his back against the headboard.

“Thanks for everything,” Isaac says sheepishly, leaning forward to give Arthur a kiss on the cheek.

“Do you think it’s over?” the writer raises an amused eyebrow.

“Is it not?” he tilts his head to the side, blinking. “It was already so much. Why don’t you—”

“It’s not my pampering time, Isaac. It’s yours,” the dark-haired man smiles softly. “So, now that you finished your meal, give me the towel…” He spreads his legs and pats the mattress in the space in between with a suggestive smirk. “And come here, darling.”

“Honestly…” Isaac rolls his eyes and throws the towel at Arthur’s face, pretending to be annoyed.

Arthur laughs heartily and pulls his boyfriend by the hips to settle in between his legs. He grabs the towel and starts to dry Isaac’s soft hair — they’ve done this before, and the physicist admitted he really liked it, so they started doing it from time to time. Arthur works gently, careful not to pull the hair accidentally. When he deems it’s good enough, he throws the towel across the room, to land on his couch; he can hang it to dry later.

Reaching for the nightstand, he grabs the brush he left there and starts to brush the soft strawberry-brown hair, carefully undoing any knots. He brushes it all back, then gently takes Isaac’s head in his hands, cupping his cheeks, and tilts it back slightly before leaning forward to press a kiss to the exposed forehead, accompanied by a loud “muah”.

“Thank you for loving me,” Isaac murmurs with a timid smile. He stares at Arthur with those beautiful cherry-blossom colored irises that seem to look right into the writer’s soul. “I love you.”

Arthur takes one of his lover’s hands and brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle tenderly. “Silly physicist… of course I love you. How could I not?”

Letting out a soft, affectionate laugh through his nose, Isaac closes his eyes, leaning against his boyfriend’s chest. These little, almost silly, moments were the most precious to him. It’s because of moments like these that they could spend more time together, that Arthur showed him how much he loved him, that he allowed himself to love someone for the first time in both of his lives. And he is thankful for that.

Arthur rests their hands over Isaac’s torso, allowing him to embrace his boyfriend better. The dark-haired man starts massaging the hand he’s still holding, from the wrist to the tips of the fingers. Isaac feels drowsy and starts to doze off, his body relaxing even more against Arthur’s.

Carefully, he adjusts both of them to lie down comfortably. His own hair is still a little wet, and he hasn’t brushed it, but he couldn’t care less. Right now, he just wants to hold his lover and make sure he’s having a good rest.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” Arthur gives a kiss on the crown of Isaac’s head and closes his eyes too, nuzzling his face against the soft hair.

And in a few minutes, he drifts off to sleep too.

Taglist: @bicayaya @silverbladexyz @koco-coko @yamarireads @judejazza @echoes-in-the-forest @chevcore @fang-and-feather

Masterlists

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp fanfics #ikevamp writings #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp arthur x isaac #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire isaac #cybird ikemen

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