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wheels-of-despair · 9 months

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Closed Doors Pairing: Michael (Hoard) x You Summary: A certain brown-eyed boy needs to be reminded what a closed door means. Contains: Domme!Reader who is well above the age of consent, a guy named Mike who needs to be taken down a peg, a writer who has finally found a JQ character to unleash her dominant side on. Also nudity, bratting, threats of violence, handjob, controlled orgasm, etc. Words: 800ish Note: No one is making you read this. Do not waste your time (or mine) with bitching, moaning, or lectures. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's really that simple. Youths and ageless blogs, DNI. Writer will block your ass.

"Remember that conversation we had about closed doors and personal space?"

He's in here. You know he's fucking in here. You open the shower curtain a crack and glare at his back. He's standing at the sink, in a dingy tank top and black underwear, wetting his toothbrush.

"That couldn't have waited 'til I was done?"

"Nope," he says, carefully squeezing the toothpaste onto his brush. You can see him smirking in the mirror.

You jerk the curtain closed, ripping one hook from the cheap plastic. Five fucking minutes. You wanted five fucking minutes to yourself. You rinse off the remaining suds and turn off the water, stepping out of the shower angrily, with the intention of dragging him out of the bathroom by his hair and throwing him down the stairs.

But the way he's looking at you in the mirror gives you a better idea.

Without reaching for the towel, you walk slowly to him. You can't help but admire the way those tight underwear hug his ass. They're so snug that they can't be comfortable. The definitely won't be when you finish with him. Who are you wearing those for, Mike?

When you get close enough for your breasts to brush against his back, you place your hands on the sink, boxing him in. He pushes his ass back into you, and you know what he wants.

But he's not getting it. Not yet.

You step closer, pushing him up against the sink. He grunts when his cock makes contact with the cold, hard surface. His hands come down to grip the edge of the counter before you can push him further, leaving his toothbrush sticking out of his foamy mouth.

With your dominant hand, you reach around to his front and cup his bulge through the black fabric. Just as you suspected; hard as a rock.

"Who's this for?"

He doesn't answer.

"I asked you a question." You give him a squeeze, and his breath hitches.

"You," he garbles, toothbrush still in his mouth.

"What if I don't want it?" Your voice is as hard as he is. He opens his mouth, dropping his toothbrush into the sink with a clatter.

"Guess I'll just go find someone else to give it to." His eyes sparkle at you in the mirror.

"It'll be the last fucking thing you ever do," you hiss.

You slide your thumb into the waistband just beside his happy trail, pull it as far away from his belly as it'll go, and let it snap back on him. He grunts.

"Out."

He pulls his pretty little panties down just enough to let his cock bounce free.

You wrap your arms around him from behind; one hand settling in his happy trail to hold him still, and the other taking hold of his cock.

"You want this?"

He nods. You squeeze, and raise your eyebrows at him in the mirror.

"Yes," he forces out.

"Good boy."

Your praise makes him twitch in your hand. You smirk and raise your palm to his mouth. Without even being told, he licks, coating your hand in saliva and foam.

You bring your hand back to his cock and take hold. You begin pumping slowly, and he grips the edges of the sink harder. When he drops his head and breaks eye contact, you bite his shoulder.

"Eyes on me, fucker."

He raises his head and gives you a pleading look in the mirror. You speed up, and he begins to pant.

"If you cum before I say you can cum, I'm giving your filthy cock a scrub." He moans. "With your toothbrush."

He bites his lip, trying to hold back.

"What are you gonna do next time you see a closed door, Michael?"

"Leave you alone," he pants.

"I knew you could listen," you coo, slowing your pace. "Just needed a firm hand," you squeeze for emphasis, "to set you straight, didn't you, pretty boy?"

"Yes," he whimpers.

"You ready to cum for me?" you ask sweetly, slowly swirling your thumb around his leaking head.

"Please," he whines.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum," he begs. He looks like he's about to cry.

"Now," you breathe.

He splatters the sink with his seed, leaning back into you with a delicious moan as his body shakes. You let him, even though he's been a pain in the ass. He's just so pretty when he lets go.

When he stands up straight again and meets your eye in the mirror, his demeanor has changed completely. Gone is the cocky asshole who thinks he can do as he pleases. Now he's just Mike again.

You reach for the towel and wrap it around yourself, looking down at the puddle of water you've dripped onto the floor.

"Clean up this mess and put some fucking pants on," you order on your way out, giving his ass a sharp smack as you pass.

It's hard work, keeping him in line, but somebody's gotta do it.

#writings of despair #michael x you #michael #i am purposely undertagging because of all yesterday's drama so if you see this congrats/sorry #if you wish to avoid this character on my blog in the future i'll be using those two tags until i get a last name #although another fic in the near future is highly unlikely unless he keeps sluttin' it up in previews and whatnot #hoard #fuck it #lick it up girlies

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lou-struck · 3 months

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Made with Love Part 1

Obey Me Brothers and Datables x reader

Part 1

Part 2 HERE

MASTERLIST COMING SOON!

~After Luke uses a bowl from Solomon's Lab to make some Cookies for the Valentines Day party. Everyone starts acting a bit... Love Drunk.

a/n: I hope you guys like this little Valentine's Day series! If you want to be tagged in part 2 Comment Below!

Introduction:

As the Angel reaches up on his tiptoes to reach an upper kitchen cabinet, Luke's little white beret slips from his white blonde head. The sweet smell of angelic sugar cookies wafts through the air around him from the dozens of batches he has made today. From what he has 'sampled' earlier, he can tell that if he were to wrap them up right now, even Barbatos would have seconds. But he wants to frost and decorate the little heart-shaped cookies with a whipped-cloud icing you like before bringing them to Diavolo's castle for his Valentine's Day celebration.

The party may be small, but it was planned especially with you in mind.

Although he was up in the Celestial Realm running an errand for Michael, Luke heard all about the little prank that Solomon played on Simeon and the others about some evil, human-world monster called Cupid that was trying to steal you away.

You were never in any real danger, but he and everyone else agreed that the prank made the day less enjoyable for you. Which is the last thing anyone wanted.

Meetings were held, contracts were signed, and it was agreed that for this Valentine's Day, there would be no funny business.

Today has to be perfect for you, so his cookies need to be frosted.

Fueled by his good-natured desire to make you something sweet, Luke is able to reach just a bit higher, his fingertips grabbing the ceramic mixing bowl by its patterned edge.

This victory is short-lived, however, as it slips past his butter-coated fingers and thuds to the ground, the heavy bowl splitting in two.

The broken bowl in front of him causes the Angel to feel a bit distressed. Why couldn't he be bigger?

To clean up the fallen pieces.

But as his kitchen timer takes down slowly he realizes that he's running out of time. He has to get the frosting made soon.

"Where are all the other mixing bowls?" he wonders aloud as he looks through the other cabinets and dishwasher, finding none.

He knows that there are more than just the ones he has been using for the batter. But where are they?

He puffs out his little cherub cheeks with a pout as he tries to think where they could've gone.

And then, it hits him.

Solomon…

The Sorcerer has a habit of 'borrowing' things from the kitchen, bringing them into his Lab, hoarding them, and not bringing them back for weeks. The batch of cookies in the oven only has a few minutes left, so he wastes no time scampering up to the Lab to retrieve the stolen mixing bowls.

Thankfully, the dark wooden door to the Lab is unlocked, and he slips inside. Every step is anxious for the little Angel. You never know what is crawling about Solomon's Lab.

This time, the air is unusually sweet, like cotton candy and pomegranate seeds.

The mouthwatering smell has the angeling giggling to himself, although Solomon can't cook an edible meal to save his life, some of the spells and potions he cooks up can be classified as tasty.

From the corner of his eye, Luke sees a small stack of his mixing bowls on the countertop. But as he gets close, he sees that they are completely filthy, covered in remnants of some experiment.

Luke knows not to try to touch those ones; after all, the last time he tried to clean some of Solomon's dishes, he ended up cursed with webbed feet for a whole day.

As he shudders from the memory, he spots a light blue bowl on the edge of another table.

It's his favorite bowl; this one would be perfect for him to use to make the frosting.

The best part is it looks clean.

BUZZ...

The sharp ringing of the kitchen timer causes the little Angel to jump as he hastily grabs the bowl and runs downstairs so his cookies won't burn.

But in his rush to prevent what he thinks would be the day's biggest disaster, he fails to notice the small layer of shimmery glaze that has gathered at the bottom of the bowl.

There is Love in the dark, chilly air of the devildom as you make your way to the Demon Lord's castle. Your feet are not quite running, but they step with an embarrassed quickness,

The Valentine's Day outfit that Asmodeus picked out for you earlier had caused a few delays, so now you worry you are running late to the party.

How can one shirt have so many different types of buttons and zippers?

A part of you wonders if the Avatar of Lust had given you this particular outfit to distract you and prevent you from leaving for the party with the other brothers.

Your hands pat the back pockets of your jeans again as you feel the solid outline of your DDD through the fabric and sigh in relief. Barbatos wrote on the invitations that bringing the device was necessary for today's events since he had planned a few party games that required them.

It's then you notice a little figure dressed in white slowly making his way up the path just ahead of you.

Luke's steps are as small as he awkwardly carries a large container. You are about to ask him if he needs any help, but the look of determination on his face tells you not to try and take it from him, so instead, you raise a friendly hand and call after him.

When he sees you, he stands up a bit straighter.

"Mc, Happy Valentine's Day." he beams.

"Thank you, Luke." you look down at the box curiously. "Whatcha got there?"

The little Angel's cheeks turn a bit pink as he looks shyly away from you. "I made angelic sugar cookies for the party.

Your grin is elated at his words. "Those are so good. That was very thoughtful of you, Luke."

He perks up like a little dog at your compliment. "It was nothing, I made that frosting you like too, but I didn't have all the ingredients I needed, so only a few were frosted."

"I'm sure everyone will love them." you smile purposely, making your strides small so the little guy can keep up with you. "Did you remember to bring your DDD for the party games?"

His blue eyes widen in shock, and he looks at you with an expression of pure distress. "Oh no, I knew I was forgetting something."

"Since you have that big box of cookies, I can just run back to Purgatory Hall and grab it for you." you offer with a kind smile. "Where did you leave it."

He looks at you gratefully, and his shoulders relax as much as he can with that huge box of cookies in his hands. "You would really do that for me? Thank you, you're the best Mc; I think I left it on the kitchen counter."

Sounds good, I'll see you in a little bit." you smile. As you turn around, you remember one more thing. "Make sure to save a cookie for me."

"Don't worry," he calls back happily. "I will."

The enormous doors part for Luke in an almost haunting manner as he approaches the castle door. He fights the shudder as he steps inside, clutching his box of cookies with a death grip as his ears pick up the faint sound of conversation.

He follows it closer and closer to the banquet hall, where he was told the party would be held.

As the sounds grow louder, he can make out the excited rambling of Leviathan, the loud and merry laughter of Diavolo, and the animated squealing of Asmodeus.

Although they are demons, their happy chatter soothes his nerves as he pushes open the door with his shoulder.

The conversation in the room dies as the door creaks open. And when he steps out from behind the wood, he notes that everyone has been staring at him. When everyone sees it's just him, they quickly return to their usual conversations.

"I'm glad you could make it, Luke," Barbatos says with a polite smile, being the first one to recover from the momentary disappointment.

Simeon approaches the smaller Angel friendlily, placing a hand on top of Luke's head and ruffling his hair. "It seems everyone heard you approaching and assumed you were Mc."

"It could've been." he mumbles embarrassedly, "I had forgotten something back at home, and they offered to get it for me so I could bring over the cookies."

"Cookies?" Beel says, his head snapping towards Luke with gluttonous intent.

Luke's fondness for the Avatar of Gluttony's interest in his sweets causes him to smile and place the box on the table.

He removes the first layer of beautifully frosted cookies for all to see. "Yeah, I made these for the party. That's why I was running late today.

"Smells good," Beel mutters, taking a slow step toward the tray of cookies. Luke is so proud of the attention he garnered that he doesn't realize that everyone else is staring at the plate as well, enthralled by the sweet smell.

"Ohhh, they're soooo cute." Asmodeus gushes, holding up the heart-shaped cookie with his freshly manicured nails. The little red heart decals stand out on the glossy pink background.

Lucifer clears his throat. "May I try one?" he asks, "I do not have the biggest sweet tooth, but since it is a Holiday, I may as well."

"S-sure." the Angel replies, as everyone reaches for a cookie. There are only a few left on the plate, so he decides to wait to have one himself until you get here.

"Thank you, Luke, these look delicious," Barbatos says, removing his white glove before touching the gooey sweet.

Luke watches as everyone takes a bite of the cookies, his heart feeling full when he hears the sounds of approval as they chew.

"Wow," these are really good," Levi says, being the first to try to take another cookie.

"Wait," he says quickly, snatching the plate off the table. "These are Mc's favorite; let's wait until they get back to eat another one.

Lucifer giggles and stumbles back clumsily. "Yay, Mc's coming…" The dreamy lift in his tone makes Luke's eyes go wide in alarm.

Something is wrong.

Are they drunk???

"Mc…Cutie Pie." Satan hums; the usual sharp intelligence in his expression is gone and replaced with giddy lovesickness.

There is a haze to the Prince's eyes and a ruddiness to his cheeks as he nods thoughtfully. "I'll bring this plate up to my chambers. I want to feed them every bite myself.

"No way," Levi says way too confidently. "If anyone will be alone in a room with Mc. It will be me.

Barbaots stretches his arms out lethargically. "I'm… going to lay down in my room." he yawns. "Tell Mc to come to my room when they get here."

"You're tired, Barbatos?" Belphegor asks, the Avatar of Sloth looking wide awake."

"Yer not?" Mammon slurs, his pupils dilated. Luke turns and looks into the Avatar of Greed's eyes and sees that his pupils are now heart-shaped.

"How could I be?" the youngest of the seven answers. "Mc is coming soon, and I don't want to waste my time sleeping when I can be looking at them.

"Do you think Mc would give me a piggyback ride?" Beel hums absentmindedly.

"Course they would." Mammon gushes. "Mc is super strong and pretty and smart. And….~" his love-sick rambling is cut off by a dark chuckle from Simeon.

"No way," he coos. "You would crush them if you jumped on their back. You clearly don't know how to treat someone as special as Mc.

"And you do?" Levi laughs.

Simeon's smile is sinful. "Let's just say once I had my turn with them, Mc won't be thinking about any of you."

"That's so inappropriate." Asmodeus gasps with wide eyes. "I-i can't have you speaking about Mc like that." he covers his ears with his hands to block out the sound.

"Some Avatar of Lust you are," Simeon smirks, leaning in and using his writer's brain to get a bit descriptive with what he would like to do to you when you get to the party.

"What is wrong with you guys?" Luke stammers as he tries to block out Simeon's sinful words.

With everyone else thinking about nothing but you, Solomon shyly taps a rather distressed Luke on the shoulder. His cheeks are a soft shade of pink as he stares down at the floor, "I-i think I know what is happening…"

~Why was in those cookies??? Find out what happens next in part 2

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me #Diavolo x reader #Barbatos x reader #Simeon x reader #Solomon x reader #Lucifer x reader #x reader

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squigglebottom · 2 months

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Food Fight Fun

Happy Hoard Trailer Premiere Day!

I was inspired by this certain part of the trailer where Michael and Maria are having a food fight and just the way he’s towering over her like that gave me naughty thoughts! 😛

Micahel(Hoard) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: food fetish, p in v, food fight, nipple sucking, oral sex, language.

It was a pretty uneventful Thursday night. Nothing really good on telly or funds for a shopping spree. Michael stopped by to relieve your boredom and get a free meal out of you.

You decided on a simple taco night since you really didn’t have anything else to make, payday was tomorrow. Michael grabbed the ground beef and started frying it in the pan as you fetched the condiments and plates.

While cooking, Michael talked your ear off like usual about work, his favourite team, and the stupid shit his mates did. You didn’t care so much and every now and then let out an “uh huh.”

You both sat at the table and munched away. Michael asked why you were so quiet, “I’ve just got nothing interesting to say…besides you were going on and on and I couldn’t get a word in edge wise.”

Michael looked at you in shock, “Well, excuse me for having an interesting life unlike you ya hermit.”

“I am not a hermit! I just choose not to interact with the crazies out there for longer than I care to.”

“I’m out there everyday…am I one of the crazies?”

“Yah…maybe you are and I shouldn’t let you in my house eating up all me food!”

You looked down at your plate, the corner of your eye you can see Michael smirk.

“If you don’t like me eating up all your food…then you can have it back!”

With the end of that sentence, Michael flung his half eaten taco right at your face! It took you a while to process what just happened and then you responded, “What the actual fuck you crazy bastard?”

Michael started laughing. You stood up and walked towards him. “Oh that’s funny, huh? Laugh at this, you twat.” You took your taco and slammed it on top of his head, smearing it all over his hair and face. He started to go after you as you went into the kitchen for more “fire power.”

You started throwing eggs at him that pretty much landed on the floor since he was so good at dodging them. He went to the sink and grabbed the hose spraying you all over. You had the peanut butter in hand, grabbed a huge hand full and smeared it all over his face. While he was blind from peanut butter, you were able to get the hose and started pouring water down his pants.

“Oh fuckin’ hell! That’s cold! Stop!”

He then grabs you, picks you up, and lays you on the dining room table. He towers over you as you’re both out of breath. You take your finger and wipe the peanut butter off his face and stick it in your mouth with a gentle “mmm”.

“Do you want a taste?”

“Sure, love.”

You swipe another bit off his face and are about to put it in his mouth, when you get a wicked idea. Lifting up your shirt, you smear your finger over your stomach. Michael takes his long, thick tongue and glides it over your torso.

“That was good. Perhaps we need more peanut butter and other tasty treats.”

You remain on the table as Michael walks back to the kitchen to retrieve the peanut butter but also the whipped cream, ice cream, and chocolate syrup. He makes it back to the table, ripping off both of your soaked and food stained clothes.

You look over at the items with confusion, “ I understand everything else…but what’s with the ice cream?”

“I decided to make you into a delicious little sundae.”

Michael smeared the peanut butter on both sides of your neck licking so slowly. His hot breath on your lobes. He poured the chocolate syrup over your breasts and your belly as he wiped it all over you like a sensual massage. He took a spoonful of the ice cream and placed it carefully on both your nipples. The instant coldness made them perfectly hard as Michael lowered his mouth to them. His lips sucked them with force as his tongue waggled around.

He proceeded his waggling down to your belly button stopping right before your needy pussy. He grabbed the can of whipped cream, spraying it all over you. You stared down at that gorgeous face, biting your lip. He dove right in as if he couldn’t wait a second longer. The whipped cream was all over him as he eagerly gobbled up every inch of you.

Your moans grew louder, you grabbed your breasts and wiped the chocolate on your face. Michael started to pick up the pace as he clasped his hands with yours. Your body started to shake as your release mixed with whipped cream covered his face.

You sat up, grabbed the syrup, and dropped to your knees. You wanted a taste of the sundae as well. Michael leaned back against the table as you covered his hard cock in chocolate. You took him in your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat. He let out a loud moan as he grabbed your hair.

“Oh fuck! Yes! Suck my cock, baby. Mmmm…fuck…your mouth feels so good. Such a dirty girl.” He tasted so good, so sweet, you never wanted to stop. You squeezed his thick thighs as he fucked your mouth. His cum ran down your throat as you swallowed every drop.

He fell down to the floor then laid on his back. He lifted you on top of him, guiding his cock into your pussy. You were still so sensitive and him filling you up felt incredible. He might be an immature little shit but damn he knew how to fuck you silly. You rocked back and forth gaining momentum with each thrust. You grabbed the closest item on the table-the whipped cream-and went to town all over his large chest. You ran your tongue all over it before collapsing on top of him.

Holding him tightly, you could feel the topping rubbing against the two of you. He sat up, reached for the syrup, and you grabbed it out of his hand. You poured it in his hair and down his back. Your fingers massaged it into his curls.

Michael grabs you closer as you lay your head on his shoulder. You can see the syrup running down his back all the way to his perfect peach bottom. Damn, the boy had a great ass.

“Are you going to cum with me, baby?” He asks still holding you tight.

“Yes, I’m so close. Oh fuck yes keep going!”

You grasp his hair pulling back his head as he fills you full of his hot cum. Falling to the ground, you both lay on your backs catching your breath.

“Looks like we made quite the mess, yah?”

“Sure as shit we did…I’m not cleaning it up though.”

“What? Why not? I’m the guest…I shouldn’t have to clean up!”

“You fired the first shot, big boy. This is your mess!”

You start to get to and walk towards the bathroom. Michael proceeds to ask where you are going.

“I’m filthy…I’m going to take a shower. Now, if you quit your bitching and clean up fast…perhaps you can join me.”

#joseph quinn #hoard film #michael hoard x reader #hoard fan fiction #fanfiction

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jamdoughnutmagician · 6 months

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Someone Special

(Steve Harrington x Reader) Fluff

Summary:Last minute Christmas shopping was not something that you had planned on, but neither was running into your high school crush. Can the festive period help bring you close together?

Word Count:2,630

This fic was written as a companion fic to the very lovely @slutty-thevampireslayer who has written her side as a Jonathan Byers x reader (which you should totally check out too!!)

Masterlist Steve Harrington Masterlist

It’s the day before Christmas Eve as you rattle down the road sitting next to your best friend in her car. It's a tight squeeze with the two of you and your suitcases packed into her small car, but it’s all a part of the holiday experience as you make your way into Hawkins.

“So, what have you got left to do before Christmas day?” Your friend asks you, above the sound of George Michael's smooth voice filtering through the car's radio.

“I've still got to do some shopping, try to find gifts for my parents.” You huff. Your parents were always tough people to get presents for, and although leaving it to the last minute wasn’t the smartest decision, you remained hopeful you would find the perfect gifts for them.

“Cutting it kind of close aren't you?” She laughed. She was right though, you only had one day to find the perfect gift for your parents.

“I know, I know” you cringe. “But I'm going to find something, I just know it.” You said confidently.

“Well good luck with that!” she cheered. “I’ll see you on Christmas Day” she calls out to you as you make your way out of her car. This year you and your family were spending Christmas at her place, with both of your families coming together to enjoy the festive period.

You rushed into the arms of your parents as you got to their house, hugging them tightly after not seeing them for a while.

“It’s so nice to have my girl back home!” your mother gushed, cooing over you and instantly trying to push food on you, insisting that it was only her job as a mother to take care of you.

“It does feel good to be back.” you smiled. You looked around the living room, and everything was just how you remembered it, albeit ornately decorated with beautiful Christmas decorations and a tall, sparkling tree in the corner of the room.

You spend the evening getting settled and making yourself comfortable in your old childhood bedroom, as you get ready for bed. Knowing that tomorrow you were going to have to join the hoard of last minute shoppers in the mall.

You find yourself in the middle of the busy shopping centre, the bright lights and christmas music is slowly becoming overwhelming for you as you desperately sift through the shelves.You’d already found a nice sweater and scarf for your father, and now you were looking for a nice gift for your mother.

Your attention is elsewhere because you’re so focused on finding something that you accidently collide into the broad sweater-covered chest of another shopper.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorr- Steve?” you begin to stutter out your apologies when you realise that you had accidentally bumped into the boy that you had had a crush on for all of your highschool years.

He’s a little older, but that head of hair is no less luxurious as when you first laid eyes on it. His broad frame is snuggled into a deep wine-red cable-knit sweater that fits him to absolute perfection.

Steve couldn’t believe his eyes. That girl that had been the object of his affections all throughout his high school days, but had been too stupid and afraid not to ask out for fear of what it might have done to his role as ‘King Steve’ , was standing right in front of him. He cringes now, thinking back on how he used to be, always so concerned about what people thought of him, and in the end it never even mattered.

But now he’s here, in the middle of a crowded department store, quietly thanking whatever gods were up there, that he’s been given a second chance. A second chance to redeem himself, and show you that he’s grown up a lot since high school.

“So, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages?” he starts, keeping the conversation light.

“I’m doing well thanks, I’m back in town to spend the holidays with friends and family!” you smile “Just doing a little bit of last minute shopping. What about you, though? How are things with you?”

“Things are good.” he nods, with a slight creeping flush rising to his cheeks. “Seem like we’re in the same boat with our last minute shopping trips though.” he chuckles with a pearly, boyish smile.

“Oh? Who are you shopping for?” you ask him.

“Robin.” he huffs. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great friend, but she is a hard one to nail down when it comes to gifts. Who are you shopping for?” he returns your question back to you.

“My mother. I just want to find something that she’s going to like.” you respond with a sigh.

Steve’s eyes light up with an enthusiastic sparkle, like he's had a brilliant idea.

“Hey, how about we help each other find our gifts?” Steve offers. “Two heads are better than one, right?” that cheeky boyish smile gracing his features once more.

You smile, happily accepting his offer. Spending your Christmas eve doing last minute shopping was not your idea of a good time, but with Steve by your side, suddenly it didn't seem all that bad.

Steve had actually proved to be a great help in finding the perfect present for your mother, insisting that the dainty gold bracelet you had picked out for her was just the right thing.

In turn you had helped him find a beautiful leather bound journal and pen set, as well as a book of poetry by Sappho that both you and Steve agreed that Robin would love.

With each of your successful gifts purchased, you and Steve had made your way to a little cafe in the centre of town. Sitting in a cosy corner of the cafe, each of you with your own mug of marshmallow-topped hot chocolate in your hands, talk turns to the big day tomorrow.

“So what’s happening in the Harrington household tomorrow?” you ask, sipping on your drink.

Steve looks a little sad all of a sudden, but he quickly masks it with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I was just going to spend it at home, dad’s away on one of his usual business trips, and mom doesn’t trust him not to let his hands wander, so they’re both three states away for Christmas.” he sighs dejectedly.

“Wait, so you’re spending Christmas day by yourself?” you ask, your eyebrows drawing together in pity. You hate to imagine Steve all by himself in that big empty house.

“Yeah but it’s okay, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” He quickly brushes off.

“No.” you shake your head. “I won’t allow that. You’re spending Christmas with me, and my family. We’re all going to my friend’s house for the day.” You tell him with a smile.

“It’s fine, besides I wouldn’t want to impose on you and everyone else.” he frowns with a shake of his head.

“You’re not imposing, Steve.” you reassure him, reaching your hand across the table, placing your hand over his, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles softly. “I’m inviting you. Besides, the more the merrier I say!”

Maybe it was the sugar rush from the hot chocolate, or maybe it was the Christmas spirit in the air, but with the way your fingers are grazing against his knuckles as your eyes look sweetly into his, Steve can’t fight the warmth he feels deep in his chest. He can’t help but think how perfectly your hands fit together, and he hopes that you feel the same about him as he does about you.

You link your arm in Steve’s as you and your parents make your way to your friend’s house, carrying bags of presents on your arm as you walk up to the door.

You knock on the door and are immediately greeted by the welcoming smile of your friend who brings you into a tight hug. As he leans in close, she whispers in your ear.

“Tell me all about it.” she smirks, before pulling away from you to greet your parents, and Steve with a bright smile. She had been all too well aware of your crush on Steve in your high school years, jokingly teasing you about it whenever you would walk past him in the hallways between classes.

“Merry Christmas guys! Come in, come in!” she cheers as she gestures for you to make your way into her home.

You stay behind in the hallway as Steve and your parents go on in, wanting the chance to talk to her alone for a moment.

“I met him when I was shopping yesterday and we got to talking.” you say shyly “said he was spending Christmas day by himself, and I couldn’t bear the idea of him sitting all alone in that big empty house, so I invited him, I hope that’s okay with you?” you grimace, as she looks you over with an all-knowing smile.

“You know my mom always makes enough food to feed an army anyway!” she laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Besides, I’ve got a little confession of my own..” she trails off as you both make your way into her living room.

As you step through to the living room you see both your mom and your friend’s mom sitting beside each other on the sofa, chatting to Steve, who is now sat opposite Jonathan Byers. Your best friend’s high school crush, who you had in turn teased her about anytime she teased you about your crush on Steve.

“So, I happened to be walking around town yesterday, and I was admiring all the decorations, and the big tree in the town centre, and then I heard the sound of a camera going off behind me.” she begins to explain. “I turn around to see Jonathan, there, camera-in-hand. Long story short, I invited him home for Christmas.”

You look over your friend’s shoulder to see both of your mothers gently grilling the poor unsuspecting boys on the couch about their relationships with their daughters.

Both boys sporting matching flushed faces as they best try to answer the questions put to them.

“Why don’t we go over and help them out?” you smile at your friend, nodding your head over to your two guests.

“I think that’s a good idea.” she giggles as she links her arm with yours gently tugs you toward the couch.

You go to sit next to Steve, your shoulder bumping against his as you give him a shy smile. Steve takes this as his opportunity to lace his fingers between yours, to hold your hand like he always longed to.

“So, Steve, how come you’re spending Christmas day with us, and not your parents?” your mother pries.

“Mom-” you start, ready to defend Steve from your mother’s invasive questions. You loved her, you really did, but your mother could sometimes be very nosy. However, Steve is all too happy to answer her as best as he can.

“What? I just want to know why this handsome young boy is suddenly choosing to spend his Christmas with my daughter, that’s all.” Your mother defends.

Steve’s face redden’s slightly out of embarrassment of having been called ‘a handsome young boy’ by your mother, but he plays it cool. Call him old fashioned, but Steve liked you a lot, and he really wanted your mother to like him too. He wanted to see you more than just for Christmas, and having the nod of approval from mom never hurt.

“Well, my parents are out of town this year, my father’s business has a conference meeting over in Arkansas, and so my mother went out to meet him a few days ago,” he explains. “And when I told y/n this, she very kindly offered to invite me here for Christmas.” Steve finishes, looking over to you with a rosy smile.

Your mother nods approvingly, smiling at you as you beam brightly at Steve.

“Hey, Steve? Can I grab you for a moment? I want to show you something.” you ask, giving him an out of continuing an awkward conversation with your mom.

“Oh, uh, sure.” he nods as he gets up. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” he smiles politely to your mother.

You tug him away to a room in the back of your friend's house.

“I’m so sorry about my mother, she can be a bit overbearing sometimes.” You start, worried that your mother may have scared Steve off before you'd even had a chance to talk to him properly.

“She's just looking out for you, it's nice, she cares about you.”

“Yeah I suppose so.” You sigh. “I wanted to give you your present now, away from everyone else.” You say as you hand over a small gift bag to Steve.

“You didn't have to get me anything.” Steve blushes.

“No, no, it's Christmas day, I wanted you to have a little something to open.”

You watch as Steve opens up the bag and reaches in, pulling out a soft navy blue scarf.

He smiles fondly at his gift, before wrapping it around his neck.

“How do I look?” He laughs, as he stands with an exaggerated pose to show off.

“It looks good on you, Steve!”

He pulls you close into a warm hug. You feel safe in his arms, happy to be held by him, like this was how it was meant to be.

“Thank you, I love it.” He smiles as he pulls away from you. “I'm just sorry that I didn't get anything for you.” He says, his head ducking down, almost embarrassed.

“No, no it's fine Steve, I don't need anything. Just having you here is better than any present I could ask for.”

Then Steve looks up between you, how either of you never noticed it was a mystery, and spots a decorative sprig of Mistletoe hanging above you.

You follow his eye line, looking up at the decorations hanging up.

“I know I didn't get you anything, but is there a chance you believe in Christmas traditions?” Steve smirks playfully, even with the heated flush adorably spreading across his cheeks.

You feel giddy, excited and nervous all at once. He makes you feel exactly the same way as he did when you first laid eyes on him all those years ago back in high school.

“You know, I think I do.” You nod, a bright smile spreading across your face.

Steve stepped closer to you, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, and his other hand resting comfortably on your hip, as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His kisses were light, and soft, almost as if he were afraid that you might crumble under his touch, until you take the lead and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, eager to taste him on your lips.

You pull away from each other, but neither of you stops looking in the other’s eyes. The blissfully quiet moment between the two of you felt perfect.

Until your peacefully romantic bubble is burst by someone coughing, alerting you to their presence.

“Uh..We’re about to start opening presents in a moment, if you guys wanna join us..” your friends laughs, slightly out of awkwardness at having caught you in a rather intimate moment.

With pair matching, slightly guilty smiles, you both have the grace to laugh about the being caught kissing under the mistletoe.

You take Steve by the hand, and tug him toward the living room to join everyone else.

“Come on, loverboy, let’s go enjoy our Christmas.” you smile.

@penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfirebunnyxx

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #Steve Harrington x reader fanfic #Steve Harrington fluff #Stranger Things fanfic #stranger things fluff

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gothiccortez · 2 years

Text

ghosts on parade

tate langdon x reader

summary: trick or treating with tate!!

wc: 1.3k

contents: fluff, trick or treating. based off a request i received! this is just very cute and fun. no pronouns mentioned, so gn!reader. happy halloween :))

A mixtape of Halloween themed songs shuffled on the stereo as you searched for the mask that would finally complete your costume.

A hoard of clothes were scattered on your bed that you’d thrown out from the closet. You shifted through them, wondering how you could’ve possibly misplaced the item.

With a sigh, you turned, and nearly jumped out of your skin as you ran right into the chest of Tate, who was holding your mask up to his face.

“Trick or treat.”

You could practically hear his grin, though his features were hidden.

“I’ve been looking for that for an hour!” you snatched the mask away from him with a sigh. In return, he simply smiled at you playfully

“I didn’t take it,” he said as he walked across the room to your bed. He flopped down on it lazily, making the forgotten articles of clothing fall to the floor. The black robe of his costume flattened out over the bed, creating wrinkles that you knew would be obvious. “I just wanted to help you out, baby.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

Tate stared back at you, trying to decipher if you were actually angry or not. When you crossed your arms over your chest dramatically, he relented, rolling closer to you on the bed.

“Alright, fine. You caught me.” He took your hand in his own, running his thumb over the smooth veins and bones on the back of your palm. “Will you forgive me?”

The pout on his face was unnecessary, though you melted into him anyways.

“I suppose,” you said, your laugh betraying you. “Come on, idiot. We’ll miss out on all the candy if we don’t go now.”

You tugged Tate to his feet and he stumbled off the bed, following you out of the room. On the way downstairs, he put on his mask, nearly tripping down the steps in the process.

Addie was sitting on the kitchen table when you approached, busy occupying herself with a game. How she kept finding her way into your house, you weren’t sure, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much.

“Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?” she asked, only sparing you a glimpse as she focused on her task.

You laughed, gesturing at her fully in costume. “Aren’t you?”

She made a face at you, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “No.”

“Of course not,” you agreed. “Besides, no one will know if we're too old or not.” You completed your costume with the mask over your features. “That’s what the masks are for.”

Addie finally examined your full look, nodding with approval. “I like Michael Myers.”

“More than Ghostface?” Tate asked, sounding almost disappointed as he gestured towards his own costume. He took the mask off, frowning at his sister as his blond hair fell over his face in tangled strands.

“Oh, come on, Addie, don’t you think he looks cute?” You said teasingly as you pinched at Tate’s cheeks.

He swatted you away though his cheeks still turned pink under your compliment.

“Gross,” Addie said as you took Tate’s hand, rolling her eyes at you.

You laughed, pulling Tate along with you out the kitchen door. “Lets go,” you said, already excited to get out there. You hadn’t gone trick-or-treating since you were a kid.

All your problems seemed to wash away, just briefly, as you walked around the neighborhood hand in hand with Tate. You admired all the costumes and the creativity, the decorations that were on almost every lawn.

“You seem happy,” Tate observed, though he couldn’t even see your face. It must have been the way you were nearly skipping down the street, buzzing with energy.

“I am,” you said, feeling the smile curl on your lips. “I love Halloween. Don’t you?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I like spending time with you more though.”

You knocked him with your shoulder, your skin warming with the comment.

The night went by quickly, and you had no idea how long you had been out. You went to as many houses as you could before the lights went off, getting a compliment from each owner on your costumers.

By the time you’d made your rounds, reciting the same trick or treat at each front door, your bags of candy were full.

You walked back home with Tate, sifting through your bags as you searched for the best candy. Your masks were gone, the sweat at your hairline drying.

“What did you get?” Tate asked over your shoulder after he’d finished looking through his own stash. A full-size chocolate bar laid at the top of your pile, shining at you like a grand prize. It immediately caught Tate’s eyes, and he started to reach into your bag to take it from you. “I want the—”

Before he could grab it, you jerked the bag away, scowling. “No way!”

“Huh?” Tate seemed surprised, his eyebrows raising towards his hairline. “Do you even like those?”

“Maybe.” You narrowed your eyes, watching his every move. “Doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you.”

As predicted, Tate lunged at the bag, trying to grab it away from you. You were much faster, though, and took off in a sprint, laughing as he chased after you down the street.

He was faster than you, and would catch up easily, but you didn’t mind.

“Come on, baby, just a bite!” he shouted from behind you, running to catch up.

“No!” You could hear Tate right on your heels, the sound of his sneakers loud against the pavement.

Before you could pick up your speed, Tate was on you, throwing his arms around you from behind. He tugged you into him, and you fell into his chest, laughing loudly. As you flailed, you nearly spilled your bag of candy.

“Tate!” You glared, trying to swat away his hand, though he’d already stolen the candy bar from you. He quickly stuffed it into his own bag, giving you a kiss on the cheek to remedy the situation.

“What if that was my favorite candy!” You frowned. In return, he held you closer. His hand grazed your hip as he pressed kisses into your neck from behind. “You would really ruin my Halloween like that?”

“Of course not,” he said, finally spinning you around to face him. He traced the edge of your jaw softly, staring at your unmoving lips. “I know that’s not your favorite. You don’t think I have all your favorite candies memorized?”

Your glare intensified, though only for a moment before Tate was kissing your pout away. The action made you melt a little, all your previous frustrations (as miniscule as they were), draining away. “Do you really?”

“Well, obviously…” he said, somewhat offended. “I love you.”

You stuttered, though returned the sentiment with a grin you couldn’t keep away.

“I’ll trade candies with you anyway. I don’t mind taking all the bad ones.” His eyes were completely serious, somehow concerned that he’d actually ruined your Halloween.

“I don’t care about a stupid piece of candy, Tate,” you said, throwing your arms around him in a hug as you pressed your face into his chest.

It caught him off-guard, though his hand quickly came to your back, lovingly tracing your spine. His embrace was warm, a shield against the cool autumn air.

“Come on, let’s go back. We can squeeze in at least one scary movie before the night’s over.”

#tate langdon #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon x you #tate langdon imagine #ahs x reader #ahs murder house #ahs #american horror story #evan peters #gn reader

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 4 months

Text

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part five - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: Bullying

Michael has a lot of stuff. A lot of heavy stuff. Despite him assuring her that he can move it all in on his own, she still wants to help.

It would be kind of a dick move if she didn’t assist with all of this. An hour in, and the apartment is already transformed from bland and empty into a hoard of pastel rainbow decor and soft white staple pieces.

She takes a break to admire the painting of a fluffy white angel cat over watercolor Van Gogh scenery. Michael comes through the door, panting, with his white, vintage microwave in tow.

“Who painted this?” She asks him.

He smiles, blushes, puts the microwave down and then his hand on his hips. “I did.”

Her eyes grow wide. “This is amazing.”

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

She likes Michael a lot already, but she’s also very jealous of him and his many talents and cool possessions. He makes her want to decorate and be creative, both skills she’s never been able to possess correctly.

She hasn’t gotten the key made yet, so she goes out and does that while he starts unpacking his things. By the time she’s done, her apartment looks astonishing. Fairy lights twinkle over gauze white curtains and a big speaker plays soft hiphop music in one corner of the living room. Her couch is full of comfy white and grey fluffy throw pillows. An incense burner releases gourmand, smoky aroma into the air.

Michael is stretched out on the couch, taking a break, watching Legally Blonde on DVD. Her small TV is now in her room and his bigger flatscreen dwarfs the stand that it was on.

She sits down beside him with two glasses of water. Before she can set hers down on the coffee table, he stops her. “Wait! Coasters!”

He digs through two boxes of stuff before he finds white marble coasters for them to set their drinks on.

She laughs at him and he grins back. “I know, I know,” he tells her, “typical trust fund kid BS.”

“You’re fine,” she tells him. “I was laughing at the coasters because the table is already a mess.”

“Listen,” he says, “this table just needs some tee ell cee . A sander and some paint would do her wonders.” He pats the wooden top.

“Can I help?” She asks, excited to take on a project with a new friend.

“Of course you can,” he assures.

She remembers him telling her that his mother is an artist. “Did your mom teach you to paint?”

He nods. “She also taught me how to make miniatures. You know, like dollhouses but for adults?”

“That’s amazing. Do you trade art with her?”

“I do,” he says, “we send things back and forth in the mail. Although my dad says it ‘ clogs up their post office box ’.”

“He’s not a fan of art?”

Michael snorts. “He hates everything except golf. Sometimes I think he hates me.”

She shakes her head. “Does he really hate you? You’re the perfect son.”

Michael sighs. “No, but he hates gay people, so it’s close enough. When I first came out to him, if my mother wouldn’t have been there, he would’ve probably shot me. He’s a real man’s man if you know what I mean..”

She nods, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”

Michael thinks for a moment. “We should get a dog.”

“I would love that, but it’s no pets here.” She frowns.

He raises his eyebrows and sips at his water. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

They decide it has to be a quiet dog, one from the local shelter who’s comfortable being alone at night. They look online for local pounds to read up on some potential candidates.

“Rocky. Pitbull mix. Potty trained, good with kids and other pets, sweet and loves everyone.” She shows Michael a picture of a medium sized black, stout dog with shiny grey eyes.

Michael shows her his own selection, a retired service beagle named Winnie. “Short for Winnifred,” he reads, “loves people and other pets, very polite, and hardly ever barks.”

“I love them both,” she groans, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Same,” Michael sighs. “It’s one in the afternoon. Do you work tonight?”

“Yup.” She presses an arm over her face, blocking out the ceiling light.

“Don’t you have to sleep?” He asks.

She’s not tired at all because she slept through the night, but she agrees because Michael sounds like he needs some alone time. Plus, her DVDs and TV are in her room now, and if she can’t sleep she can watch an old horror movie again.

The problem isn’t getting to sleep, it’s staying there - waking up sweating, gasping, whining John’s name. She slaps her mouth shut, presses her face into her pillow, and prays to any deity listening that her voice wasn’t loud enough for Michael to hear. First day in the new place and his roommate has a wet dream. It would make any sane person want to revoke their rental agreement immediately.

She should be embarrassed and anxious that Michael potentially heard her, but instead she’s grinding against her sheets and thinking of tall men handcuffed to beds.

This won’t work. This isn’t working. She’s so pent up that it’s borderline painful. It’s taking over her mind. She sticks her hand into her sleep pants, past her underwear, and into a sloppy mess, tries to think about anything but John while she rubs her clit, but in doing so her brain latches onto the thought of him and pretty soon he’s the only thing on her mind. It’s like her body thinks John and pleasure are one and the same.

She tries to paint a decent fantasy of what she would like sex with him to be, but really she doesn’t give a shit as long as it’s him. And that’s what scares her. He could be absolutely celibate and she’d still crave him, and this is the worst time for her to realize that because her alarm is going off for work.

She orgasms at the cost of being ten minutes late.

The locker room lights are off when she goes to put her things away, which is unusual. Since she started, they’ve been lit around the clock. In fact, she’s not even sure where the light switch is in here because she’s never had to use it. Fumbling around in the pitch black is making her even tardier. Finally, she finds the switch and flips it. The room illuminates, and standing under the migraine-inducing glow is someone who makes headaches seem like a dream come true.

Benny grins from his seat on the bench, which he quickly abandons in favor of looming over her. Once again, the sweaty, edematous mass of him blocks her exit.

She’s too busy contemplating if anyone would hear her scream to see him hold his open palm out expectantly.

“Give it to me,” he says.

“What?” She asks, imagining in another universe she sounds angry and oppositional instead of whiny and terrified. In another universe, she can also kick his ass. Not in this one, though. In this universe, she does as Benny demands and hands him her phone so she doesn’t have to suffer through the touch of his greasy skin a second time.

He holds her phone in one hand while the other holds his own. She doesn’t bother trying to see what he’s doing because she can’t get her feet to move let alone stand on tiptoes and look over his shoulder.

This goes on for a while in which her only thought consists of asking herself if she could run to the door and make it into the populated infirmary before he can catch her. Again, this is a solution mainly dependent on her stubborn feet.

She’s not really worried about what he sees on her phone. It’s what he’s getting from it that sets her pulse careening.

He reaches out and tries to shove it into her jacket pocket, but luckily that’s when her feet decide to save her and step away from his hands. He scowls at her like she just insulted his mother.

“Fine.” Benny opens his hand and drops her phone on the stone floor. She winces when she hears the shatter, then looks back up at his pleased expression.

“Remember our trip.” He pushes past her, not enough to hurt but to make her yelp and stumble, and slams the door shut on his way out.

Her phone isn’t broken. The screen has a tiny crack in one corner but other than that it’s still perfect. She doesn’t understand why she heard it shatter, but chalks it up to losing her mind from repeated stress and unregulated sleep.

She grabs her bag from her locker and brings it with her to the nurse’s station, labeling the locker room as an unsafe and off limits space, which are becoming more bountiful by the day.

John is not her patient tonight. On her day off they must have had an influx of admissions because she’s responsible for 10 of them and the infirmary is unusually and appropriately staffed.

Her hopes of his nurse trading him are slim to none because he’s a wonderful patient and over time everyone has seemed to agree that they want him on their assignment sheet.

The other nurse’s that take and give her report always talk about what a cool, easy going guy he is and how they’re surprised that he needs that many guards with him.

“What do you think he did?” Stan, one of the day shift nurses, asks her.

“My bet’s on released a circus full of wild animals and let them trample a small town, but I could be wrong.” She taps her pen against her report sheet and laughs at her own joke.

Stan snorts. “He probably killed some rich guys.”

The other nurses like him so much that most of their theories on why John is in four point restraints with four men guarding him at all times is because he’s done something valiant that pissed someone powerful off.

That’s probably the other reason his wound looks better; not just because of her, but because if you like a patient or connect with them you’re more than likely going to give them the best care you can provide.

If she’s honest, it kind of makes her feel sick. Not because everyone has grown to like John, but because that means she’ll have less chance of being his nurse from here on out. Also, she knows it’s five-year-old mentality, but she liked him and treated him well first while the other ones had to get to know him beforehand.

Her case load is heavy. A couple IV’s, wound changes, someone with a tracheostomy. She sits down to chart, finally, at 3 AM.

One of the other nurses, Bill, calls for her across the hall.

She fights the urge to groan while standing on sore feet and walking over to his medication cart.

Bill grins at her, looking like he’s really enjoying himself. “My patient in 9 wants to see you.”

“Me?” She asks.

Bill shrugs, still looking very amused. “He says he needs to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Bill tells her. “Seems that he likes your company, though.” He gives an eyebrow raise at the awkward expression crawling onto her face.

She reminds herself that this her workplace for the 80th time and that Bill’s suggestive expressions are just him messing around. Joking. That’s all. He’s joking.

John is watching the door, waiting for her. When she pops in like a mouse and scurries to his bed, He feels the urge to pet her on the head for showing up, which is strange but not unwarranted. She does act like a cute little pet. That’s not the most respectable way to think of her, but he likes it so it sticks.

His smile is wide and genuine. “How’s the roommate search?”

“Uh, I got one.” She smiles timidly, hoping he doesn’t think she’s erratic and air-headed for finding someone so fast

His eyes widen just the smallest bit. “That’s good, are they nice?”

She nods too eagerly. “He’s great. And he has great decorations.”

The key word here - at least the one his ears attune to - is he. Not because a woman and a man living together automatically entails romance or connection, but because John knows men - John is a man - and most of them turn out to be less than good.

He tries not to look mean, to keep his smile, to focus on her being here with him in the present and alive and well; If he doesn’t, rage will start talking, nefarious, whispering sin in his ear, assuring him that it wouldn’t be hard to break out of these handcuffs and make sure her roommate becomes her loyal dog for the rest of the time he spends living with her.

“If you wouldn’t have suggested it, I’d probably be homeless by next week.” She tries to sway the conversation toward optimism because she sees something in his expression that reads like he’s a little upset. He probably does think she’s a moron at this point.

Maybe it’s just good that she’s happy. He tries to shift focus onto that. The roommate can’t be that bad if she’s so upbeat.

It’s been very easy to talk to John most times, but then there are moments like this when something awkward and unsaid hangs between them and more often than not she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he doesn’t either.

“Just be careful,” is what he decides to say.

She chuckles. “I will, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t understand what’s funny.

One of the security guards stands, stretches, yawns. He says he’s going to take a break. The other guards are asleep, so once he leaves they’ll be, essentially, alone.

“I’m gonna go to vending, John you want anything?” He asks.

John shakes his head no. “Thanks.”

The security guard nods at both her and John and walks out.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you while you were busy,” he says, apologizing with his eyes, too. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She purses her lips, which he thinks means she’s trying not to leak an expression that will probably be embarrassing. Really, she’s trying to tame her lion heart back into its cage before it sinks its teeth into him and refuses to let go.

“I’m okay, John.” She attempts smiling. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

He shrugs like his stab wound and near death are just a hiccup.

She talks again. “And I’m glad you called me in. I like talking to you.”

His face is all smile now. “Likewise.”

He tells her to pull up a chair if she wants, and she steals one of the metal ones that the breaking guard left behind. She sits by his bedside and they have a conversation about the weather that turns into a discussion on harsh winters in Belarus.

“Did you grow up there?” She asks him.

He nods. “I traveled a lot.”

“So, you’re Russian?” She puts her chin in her palm and stares at him like he is the most interesting person in the world. She’s adorable like this.

“Yes. American, now.”

“Do you speak Russian?” Her eyebrows raise.

“da, ya krasivaya.” His tone automatically slides into a deep baritone when he says this.

He needs to be nerfed. Outlawed. He should not be handsome, nice, like-able, and be able to speak a different language in his perfect voice. It’s really not fair at all.

She’s too busy trying to tame her rogue thoughts to ask him what he even said. The desire to climb into his lap and straddle him crosses her mind twenty times in different ways. She blinks heavy. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

He murmurs a laugh.

They talk until the guard comes back from his break, mainly about Belarus and what it was like there and where else he has traveled. She’s not sure if she’s always had the desire to travel, but if she didn’t before she does now.

Although she has a ton of charting to catch up on, she doesn’t want to leave him. The taste of human connection is on her tongue after a couple years of abstinence and she’s becoming addicted.

When she leaves his room, it’s with inner reluctance and impressive self control.

She tells him to sleep. He promises he’ll try.

It would be easier to do her job if she wasn’t catching Benny sneering at her whenever they’re in the same space, but she gets through it, reasoning that John has it worse than her because he has to suffer through six hours with the asshole guard in his room.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction

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stardancerluv · 9 months

Text

Petal and the Beast

Part Two

Summary: You are out with friends hoping to forget Michael.

Notes/Warnings: Suggestive 18+ thoughts, drinking (be safe!). For the collage I used pics of Joe from the GQ red carpet because he was rather 🥵 to give the idea of what he looks like at this bar. The ankle-boots & cocktail are to give an idea of how reader & her interests. Reader is fem.

Thank you for reading! Re-blogs, feedback & ❤️ are wonderful, thank you!!!

Meeting your friends for cocktails, you were able to lose yourself in their idle chatter. All week long, all your mind did was lap back to Michael.

The way his devil may care smirk curled his lips, how his chain grazed your chest as he moved between your legs. You couldn’t believe it possible, but you were addicted to the crumbs of that night. You yearned for another tumble between the sheets with him.

Sighing, you glanced out the window as you friend Rebecca shared her office gossip. Eager to lose yourself in the twinkling lights of the office buildings that filled out the skyline. Your breath caught, forcing you to cough as you watched Michael walk in. You grabbed your cocktail and finished what was left of it.

“Y/N, love are you ok?” Your other friend Janet patted you on the back, looking at you concerned.

You nodded and giggled nervously. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“So, you won’t give Andy a second chance?” Rebecca, had really felt good with the match she had made for you.

You glanced as he made his way by your table. Your heart began to race. Yet again, you had trouble gathering a breath.

Pressing your lips together, you shook your head. “No, he had his chance. He didn’t even call to apologize.”

Your friend made a face. “He told me he did.”

To be honest, he did but then Michael had showed up and you stopped looking at your phone. At this time, you didn’t care to tell your friends of your tryst with Michael. The waitress, placed a fresh cocktail in front of you. You were grateful.

“Well, the next morning doesn’t count.” You took a sip.

“Oh my god. Did you just see what walked by?” Rebecca leaned towards you and Janet.

You tried to play dumb and shrugged. “Who?” You glanced around.

Spotting Michael, you spotted how like you he was with others. You swallowed, seeing a red head grab his upper arm smiling up at him. How you wished to trade places.

“Now if we do, sweetheart. Don’t be catching feelings since I saved you from weaving and wobbling home by your lonesome last night, alright?”

You weren’t, you just wanted to feel his passions again. That was not feelings. You were not a silly little school girl with a crush.

You had felt so alive and reckless with him. Was it bad you wanted that again?

Chewing your cheek, feeling your frustration grow you quickly excused yourself from your friends. Finding, the ladies and seeing that it was empty, relief filled you. You leaned heavily on the door and sighing, you relaxed.

Going to the sink you splashed some cold water on your face. Dabbing yourself dry, taking a breath you headed back to your friends.

A small sound escaped your lips when a hand reached out in the shadowy hallway pulled up against them. “Let me go!”

You wiggled, a rich chuckle filled your ears and you stopped struggling. You looked up and gasped.

“Hi there, petal.” A smile was splashed across his face.

You pulled your wrist free, his gripped tightened before letting you go.

“You’re strong.”

Your bracelets jangled as rubbed your wrist.

“Do you always pull people to you in darkened hallways ?”

He chuckled. “Only ones who I slept with.” His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, that made your stomach do a somersault.

“You could just say hello.”

He took a step closer, his torso grazing yours. “What’s the fun in that?”

You grimaced and shook your head.

“Its nice to see you again Petal.”

You felt heat fill your cheeks at his pet name for you.

“I’m glad you are happy to see me too.”

“I only blushed.”

His face drew close. “That means your happy to see me too.” You could feel as he breathed.

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.” His lips now grazed yours.

“Yes, it does.” You relented, and just as fast he pulled back.

He chuckled. “Since that is settled.” You could feel as his eyes moved over you. “Want me to meet me later for darts or something?”

“Or something?”

He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Where we met.”

“When?”

“Say 9?”

“Ok, that will work.”

“Good.”

You looked at him and then back towards your friends and back at him.

“Oh, after you Petal. I want to watch you move.” He made a gallant gesture.

You smiled and shook your head. “Alright, see you later.” With butterflies flapping hard in your stomach, you turned and walked away.

@amethyst-serenade @jamiethebanished @babybluebex (because you’re such an inspiration with your writing…hope you don’t mind!)

@lavenderquinn @moviegirlsblog @eternalmunson @munsongirl48 @seatnights (since you were all so wonderful to reblog me…I tagged you all, hope you don’t mind!) @emma77645

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wheels-of-despair · 9 months

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Commercial Conditioning Pairing: Michael (Hoard) x You Summary: You find an interesting way to keep yourself entertained during commercial breaks. Contains: Boredom, a little psychological experiment, teasing, TV-watching, a very confused brown-eyed babe. Words: 400ish Youths and ageless blogs, DNI. Writer will block your ass.

It didn't take long to train him.

You were watching a sitcom together on the couch, and getting sick of seeing the same boring ads during every commercial break... so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

So you reached over and entertained yourself with the python between his legs.

It started with a few light strokes. You increased pressure with each commercial break, fighting back a smile when he'd grunt softly and subtly move his hips against your touch, and then returned your hand to your own lap when the show came back.

When the show ended, you settled yourself on the floor between his legs, raked your nails down his thick thighs, and made him moan so loud, you wished you'd left the TV on so the neighbors wouldn't hear.

On the second night, you noticed him glance at you as the first commercial started, waiting to see if it would happen again. You obliged him, working him with your hand during commercial breaks and sucking him off again when the show ended.

On the third night, he sat closer to you. You kept your eyes on the TV as usual, squeezing him through the thin fabric of his shorts during every break, just like the previous two nights. You had him.

On the fourth night, he practically sat in your lap. He wasn't normally the cuddly type, so you knew exactly what he was after.

And tonight, he wasn't going to get it.

You let him sit there, so close, and watch the show as usual. When the first commercial break came on, he shifted to get your attention. You could see the outline of his already-hard cock out of the corner of your eye, just begging you to touch it.

You didn't.

"Is it new, or is it improved? Kinda sending a mixed message there," you observed at the advertisement.

"Mhm," he agreed, squirming next to you, waiting for your touch.

It didn't come.

It didn't come during the next break.

It still didn't come during the final commercial break.

When the show was over, he didn't come either.

You got up and went about your night, leaving him alone and confused on the couch with an aching, untouched hard-on.

Always keep them guessing.

#writings of despair #michael x you #michael #hoard #idk man y'all see some big dirty man you want to use and abuse you #i see a brat who needs to be played with *shrug*

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pollenallergie · 9 months

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Some Older!Tom Grant x Reader Headcanons

Description: Exactly what the title says. (I’m lazy).

Warnings: Terrible attempts at using British/Cornish slang, some American-isms may have wormed their way in here, swearing, and smut is implied (and also sort of mentioned?? a male orgasm is mentioned, but that’s it). I think that’s it, but let me know if there’s more warnings that I should’ve listed here. 18+ only!! If you’re a minor, go away, do not read this!!

Word Count: Who cares? Just read it. (Again, I’m lazy).

A/N: I’m using a gif of Michael from Hoard because, in my opinion, that’s what older!Tom looks like.

You were the one that got away.

Tom met you when he was 18, while you were on vacation with your family at the caravan park.

You two hit it off and became great friends despite having only known each other for about a week.

You liked Tom as more than a friend, and he sort of felt the same way about you… sort of. Things were complicated because he was still hung up on his recent breakup with Ruth. Had he met you under any other circumstances, he probably would’ve fallen head over heels in love with you before you could’ve even said hello, but he didn’t. No, Tom met you while recovering from his first heartbreak, when he was still in love with his ex despite all she had put him through. He wasn’t ready to experience the kind of feelings being around you gave him, so he pushed them down, repressed them, smothered them, and pretended like they didn’t exist.

You’d managed to summon the courage to ask Tom out on a date on your second to last day at the park, and he’d declined. You’d thought he felt the same way. He'd been flirting with you ever since he first met you, and you’d done your best to reciprocate despite the fact that, back then, you weren’t used to flirting (nor being flirted with). But then he rejected you, leaving you to high tail it back to your caravan so you could lick your wounds and helplessly wonder if you’d misread the signs. Had he even been flirting with you at all?

Tom had been flirting with you but never with the intention to act on it. He never figured that anything would become of it anyway, never figured you were actually interested; Ruth wasn’t, so why would you be?

In retrospect, he sees how daft he was being. Ruth wasn’t interested in him because she wasn’t interested in men at all. What happened with Ruth wasn’t a personal slight against him, even if, at the time, it truly felt like it was. He was young, and he was hurt, and, frankly, she’d gone about the whole thing pretty poorly. Granted, she was young too.

Anyways, Tom was young and hurt, and he thought he was utterly unlovable and undesirable. So, he figured you only reciprocated his flirting to keep yourself entertained whilst you were so far away from home. You certainly wouldn’t have been the first tourist to give one of the guys at the caravan park that treatment.

When you’d asked him out, he’d been so taken aback and unprepared that he’d let you down quickly and, admittedly, not as kindly as he should’ve. All the years that have passed since then, and he still remembers exactly what he’d said, “What? Oh, er, nah. I’m alright. Thanks though. I’ll see you round, yeah?” Then, like an even bigger idiot, he’d run off under the guise of getting back to work. That memory continues to haunt him on nights when it’s hard to get to sleep, along with every other embarrassing fuck up he’s ever made in his life, of course.

Your friendship had fizzled out that very afternoon, and the two of you never even said goodbye when you left the park to return to your home country. You never spoke after that summer either, even though you’d exchanged contact information earlier on in your holiday, before that fateful afternoon.

Tom has spent years regretting the way things ended between the two of you. Mostly, he wishes that the two of you could’ve remained friends. However, there’s always been a part of him that’s been disappointed in himself for ruining his shot with you.

Fourteen years later, Tom miraculously gets a chance to redeem himself.

You move to the UK — Cornwall, specifically — for your new job, and, as luck would have it, you move to the very same town that Tom moved to after he left his work at the caravan park behind.

One morning, whilst working on a construction site across the street from your new job, Tom spots you carrying some supplies into your office. He can’t believe his eyes. You look almost exactly the same, albeit a bit more mature, with some more lovely curves as well, but with the same kind eyes and the same beautiful smile.

Tom can’t help himself; he has to go over to you and say ‘hi’ to you, at the very least. So, when he catches you leaving your building for lunch, he jumps on the opportunity, sacrificing the last fifteen minutes of his lunch break to talk to you.

He manages to convince you to come out to dinner with him at a nearby pub, framing it as two old friends catching up. Although, the lack of a ring on your finger sure gives him hope, more hope than it probably should.

What started as dinner, a quick chat and a bite to eat, turns into staying at the pub til the bartender calls out five minutes to closing time.

The two of you are drunk on cheap beer and ale, with your stomachs full of greasy pub food, and Tom, ever the gentleman, insists on walking you home.

When the two of you arrive at your new place, you insist that he stays the night, refusing to let him walk back to his place in such a state. He’s fully prepared to stay on your sofa, but, in your inebriated state, you seem to think it’d be better if you both just slept in your bed together. In his own inebriated state, he finds that offer impossible to refuse.

Nothing happens between the two of you that night; even drunk off his arse, Tom’s still respectful, insisting that he sleep in the same jeans and t-shirt that he’d worn out to the pub and, much to your chagrin, putting as much distance between you two as your bed will allow. However, the next morning, Tom takes a big risk and asks if he can kiss you before he leaves to go back to his own place. The eager nod and shy smile that you answer him with makes his heart soar.

If you ask Tom, that kiss was well worth the wait. However, if he could turn back time, he’d still have rather gotten his shit together back in ‘09 and kissed you then; then, he could’ve just been kissing you the whole time these past fourteen years.

After the two of you reluctantly pull apart, Tom asks if he can take you on a proper date sometime soon, maybe to get some dinner at a fancy restaurant or something like that. You agree, but only on one condition: Tom takes you to the spot in town with the best food, no matter how fancy or not-so-fancy it may be. He agrees.

Your first “proper” date ends up being at that very same pub, though this time, you two do much less drinking and catching up, and a lot more eating your weight in greasy chips and bantering.

Tom’s still just as cheeky as ever; you’d figured that out the first time you went out with him, but you get to see even more of that on your first date. He holds doors open for you, partly because he’s a gentleman and partly because it gives him a good opportunity to take a geek at your arse. Once he’s given the green light to touch you, he never really stops touching you. The whole night, he has a hand resting on your thigh or lower back, or an arm wrapped around your shoulders or waist so that he can subtly tug you closer to him. He lays the compliments on thick, too, but in a way where you can tell that he really means them, that it’s not just baseless flattery.

Tom’s also incredibly sweet and genuine, too, asking questions about your work, your family, your friends back home, etc. He asks if you’re settling in alright here in Cornwall, so far from where you’re originally from. He offers to show you round the town, show you where all the essentials are, like where to get the best produce, and to show you which places are nothing more than tourist magnets and which are actual local-approved spots. He talks about himself, too. He tells you about his mum, how he moved here so that he could be closer to her, so she wouldn’t have to be alone. He talks about his housemates: his mate, Callum, from primary school, who’s hardly home enough to truly be considered a housemate, along with the dog he (Tom) recently rescued and the stray cat that just sort of showed up one day and turned himself into a housecat. He pays for everything, always having some cash out and ready before you can even reach into your purse to get your wallet. He walks you home again, of course.

Tom ends up staying the night at yours again. Although, this time, it’s not because you think he’s too drunk to walk home. No, this time, he winds up in between your sheets for an entirely different reason, and he certainly doesn’t leave any space between the two of you this time around.

The next morning, Tom wakes up before you, as he’s used to waking up at 4:30 for work. By the time you wake up, he’s made breakfast, the closest he could get to a full spread with the stuff you had in your fridge (it’s basically just eggs and toast). You two eat breakfast together, and you find out that he’s still an adorably messy eater. He cleans up after himself well, though.

In fact, Tom doesn’t let you help him clean up at all, doesn’t let you touch a single dish because, according to him, he can’t, in good conscience, let you lift a finger after the way you made him cum last night. “You deserve the Nobel prize in shaggin’, love. I’m serious. I mean, I was seeing stars afterwards ‘n everything. You’ve gotta, at least, let me make you a ‘thank you’ breakfast and clean up after meself. ‘S the least I can do after that,” He says, like the dork that he is, before planting an emphatic kiss on your forehead.

He leaves a couple of hours later to go check on The Lads™, but not before asking you to come round to his place sometime next week so that he can make you “the best fucking lasagne you’ll ever have in your whole life. Seriously, it’s me mum’s recipe. It’s fuckin’ amazing. You’re gonna love it.”

#older!tom grant #tom grant #tom grant x reader #older!tom #tom grant smut #tom grant (make up)#make up (2019)#tom grant headcanons #tom grant hcs

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thorniest-rose · 9 months

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Just blocked a girl on Twitter who was like "he needs to stop taking these weird ass roles before he ruins his career because no" under a video clip of Hoard. Like, sorry he's not playing another lovable dork? I actually think it's good for him to branch out into this kind of role to avoid type casting after the huge sensation of Eddie Munson.

Here's an excerpt of what the creator of the film had to say about Hoard: “The experience of making this film was beautiful, erotic, disgusting" and I, a woman with much better taste than the woman I blocked, am rabid to see what this movie has to offer us in Joseph Quinn content. I'm ready for erotica and grossness. In fact, I hope it inspires more dark Eddie content in this fandom.

before he "ruins his career"??? How is this going to ruin his career? Michael Fassbender played a sexual predator in the British film Fish Tank in 2009 and went on to be in the X-Men and Prometheus etc and to be nominated for an Oscar. Like this isn't going to ruin his career, if anything it's going to show how much range he has, playing a role like this after playing Eddie Munson!!! Also thank you so much for including that quote from the director, I'm honestly SO excited to see it and to see another side to Joe beyond the good-natured dork. He obviously has more to give, and I think it's incredibly silly that people feel weird about the character and the film and are trying to criticise his acting choices when I actually think it's brave to play roles like this. Plus I'd much rather see him in small, independent and arthouse films like this than the fucking MCU.

#asks #hoard

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averagestudent03 · 1 year

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I Know The End: Chapter One, Over And Out.

(Pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader, stranger things rewrite)

(Word Count: 3.7k)

(AN: Would anyone be interested in a tag list? This is my first story and I plan to start a series as I haven't seen many for Robin Buckley, and she deserves the world oml- thanks for reading!!)

Series Warnings: swearing, fear of abandonment, era-relevant homophobia, etc.

More warnings included in future chapters.

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

29/06/1985 - Cerebro's Hill

Dustin Henderson was a boy with large ideas.

When he was five years old, he waddled around his mother's house mumbling on about space, time, and the monsters that hid beneath the bed. They crawled and infested the wooden frame beneath him, squirming when he shone a flashlight directly at them. This happened because he happened to catch an image of a shadow from the corner of his eye (which turned out to be a coat rack, but he wouldn't figure that out until he was seven,) and refused to sleep in his room for a week.

He still found himself afraid of the dark some nights.

When he was eight, his mother purchased his very own D&D manual, and the boy was convinced that the woods were haunted. In his mind, creatures from Fei to Celestials roamed the forests, and the boy spent three weeks attempting to lure out a unicorn. His friends joined him, Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair and Will Byers disregarding even the thought of schoolwork for 22 days and six hours.

Despite never finding a unicorn, the boy remained just as invested in the fantasy game as the day he was introduced. He held a figurine in the shape of a horse with wings as a reminder of his larger-than-most imagination, slowly coated in dust and left alone on his windowsill.

He never told anyone.

When he was thirteen, Dustin Henderson found a slimy, writhing creature that he quickly tried to identify as an aquatic pollywog in his trash. However, after finding out faster than he would've liked that it wasn't, in fact, a pollywog, but a creature from an alternative shadow universe; heart beating below his beloved town of Hawkins, the idea that terrifying things walked among him began to truly sink in. He had faced the issues regarding Will Byer's disappearance and possession, but was never truly able to fathom the danger he was in for simply existing until Steve Harrington made his way to the boy's side. He never assumed that Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High would ever willingly help him out, but was quickly proven wrong when he found the older boy dragging buckets of bait down a set of train tracks for monster-hunting.

Somehow, the largest truth he had to face up until that point was that Steve Harrington might not have been the complete and utter dick that Mike Wheeler described him to be. Instead, he was ruthlessly swinging his baseball bat from years prior (now adorned with rusty nails and a fresh coat of crimson,) to defend the hoard of kids gathered in an old school-bus.

So, when Dustin Henderson returned from camp and was faced with a terrifying Russian translation, he wasn't as fast to dismiss its existence. The idea that Russian soldiers may have been trying to contact the cursed town of Hawkins was not as unfathomable as it had been years before.

This, of course, was how you came into the picture. Dustin Henderson had never been more grateful that the rusted walkie-talkie you had gifted him for his ninth birthday still worked. He held the button for hours sat on top of the grassy hill, begging for just a moment to speak with you.

It was rather difficult, considering the pair of the walkie-talkie that you owned remained stuffed inside a drawer at the bottom of your desk. Buzzing at nothing, Henderson's angry voice echoing against four wooden walls.

"Come in! Jones, come in!" He begged, breath hitching in the back of his throat as the nickname slipped past his lips. The boys had been known as ghostbusters, code names rattling off of their own devices, long before you became involved in the joke. By then, there were few interesting characters in the franchise left, so you had become the next best alternative. Indiana Jones, in fact, certified treasure-hunter from one of the most iconic films of your time. It was purely coincidental that the name had been decided during one of your babysitting sessions with the young boy rather than the time you and he fought on an actual adventure.

"Jones, please-" He tried again, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he attempted to push through everything. The emotions from the day were already running high, feeling more than abandoned by the remainder of his friends as they ditched him, leaving him to call for his girlfriend on his own. It was disappointing that they refused to believe him, but leaving on his first day back in Hawkins?

Truly unfair.

It was no surprise to the boy that he was beginning to worry, thoughts of the Upside-down seeping into his head without permission. In the silence, he remembered the stretched face of Will Byers as he was forced to burn the Mind Flayer out of him. He remembered how the second he was certain that the events were over, he rushed to his house and rocked himself to sleep in your arms. He was frightened, and currently, there was no-one else to turn to.

"Short?" His nickname in your voice echoed back, crackling out of the plastic device. The boy was so happy, he swears he could've cried.

"Jones! Oh thank god, you need to unlock your house, right now-" He begged, rambling and struggling to get the words out.

"Hey! Hey, kid, breathe- is everything alright?" Your voice was hushed, a relaxing tone despite the static coating it. He shook his head, realising that you weren't a psychic like El, and wouldn't be able to see him, before repeating his issue.

"No, Jones, everything's wrong." He muttered, hanging his head and packing up his belongings.

"Okay, are you alright? That's the most important thing, Henderson." Your voice was certain, strong despite the emotional turmoil the boy was facing.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'll be over in ten?" He questioned, silently wincing as he realised he might've been intruding on an important night.

" 'Course, kid. You know you're always welcome at my place. You need Harrington, too?"

"No!" The boy exclaimed, quickly muttering reassurances while you sat in confusion, trying to piece together his uncertainty.

"No, not Harrington, just you tonight. I just- I just need you and movies, please. I'm really scared." He croaked out the last part, hoping you'd come to your senses and realise the urgency of the situation before he cracked.

One second of silence, and then another, before your voice returned, calming as ever.

"Okay, kid. I'll set Indiana up and grab some leftover snacks from before you left, is that okay?"

His smile widened, hands rushing to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Yeah, sounds great Jones. I'll be over in ten. Over and out." He clicked a red button on the corner of the device, shoving it deep into his bag as he packed up the remainder of Cerebro. He had recorded the message, just in case, pondering over the words as he willed his heart to stop racing.

The mind flayer was gone, he was safe. The upside-down wasn't coming back.

He reassured himself, running through the affirmations Hopper had set him after the fallout of 1984. He began to lug his bike down the hill, returning Cerebro to its rightful place in his garage before making the treacherous bike to Steve Harrington's street. You lived three doors down from him, parents absent the majority of the year. The only proof of them having existed at all was cash thrown onto the side hurriedly before every visit.

It was more than enough to last you a while, and whilst you tried not to spend when you could avoid it, you figured ordering a pizza for you and the kid you used to babysit couldn't be deemed an unreasonable cause.

You quickly recognised the repetitive knock at the door, pattern familiar from the times he'd ambushed you over the years. Christmas parties, birthday parties, random visits from him and the boys, Dustin Henderson would always use the same knock. Three fast knocks, three slow knocks, three fast knocks. Morse code, in case something were to ever happen to either of you.

You would greet him in the same manner, because if an alternate dimension wasn't off the table, then neither was kidnapping. You rushed to the door, throwing him a small smile before the boy flung himself into your arms, burying his face in your shirt.

"Hey! Hey, whoa, kid, are you alright?" You mumbled quickly, pulling him closer to provide him the reassurance he needed.

"What happened?" You questioned, leading him to the large sofa in the abandoned living room.

"I'd rather just show you." He hung his head, pulling an old recording device from his pocket that blared angrily, Russian grunts and groans through almost unintelligible words.

The syllables slurred together as a confused expression plastered itself on your face, frowning as you glared at the device.

"Where did you find this, Henderson?"

"I was trying to contact Suzie after the others ditched me," he began to ramble, moving quickly and disregarding the look of shock on your face at his previous sentence, "and then all of a sudden the channel wasn't working and there was Russian, I think, and now I don't know what to do because I don't speak languages and what if the upside down is back?" He blurted out, panting and attempting to catch his breath.

The curly-haired boy slumped forward, straightening his cap and staring up at you as you processed his words.

"They ditched you?" The words slipped from your lips as you tossed the boy a pitied expression, attempting to make sense of his rant.

He only nodded, basking in the silence.

"And you found a Russian translation?"

Another nod.

"Russians are trying to contact Hawkins?"

A final nod, and a deep intake of breath from you.

"Right," you started, blinking slowly and trying to piece the words together.

"I tell you what we're going to do. Tomorrow, we're going to go find Harrington, we're going to get this whole thing cleared up, and then I'm gonna go yell at the others for ditching your ass, sound good?" You offered him a small smile and he chuckled, a look of relief painting itself across his features. He nodded eagerly, hugging you again, interrupted by the blaring of a doorbell.

"Pizza?" He exclaimed, widening his eyes and almost vibrating with excitement, the previous topic and worries slipping further and further out of his grasp with each passing second.

You nodded, rushing to greet the man at the door. He was grimy, sweat dripping from his forehead as he threw you a shameless wink and tried to slide his number into your hands, with you quickly crumpling the note up and tossing it into the nearest bin.

Dustin Henderson was less worried, now. He was safe, in the house that the boy practically grew up in after his father left, with you. You led sprawled out across the sofa, mindlessly picking at the edges of the pizza as numbing sound blared from the nearest radio.

"You upset they ditched you?" A small sentence, but one that stopped Dustin Henderson in his tracks. He glanced up at you, risking a short breath before looking away, hanging his head in shame.

He didn't want to be disappointed. He was worried enough earlier that they had forgotten him, replaced him with someone better. He had begun to think that maybe you had forgotten him, too.

Now, obviously, the thought wasn't even a possibility, but he hadn't confronted the gnawing feeling in his stomach when the boy's friends were mentioned.

"...yeah." He whispered out, finally admitting it. He knew that his words wouldn't leave your house, and so he let them go. Let the secret linger, like an ancient prophecy or a foreboding message, because he knew you would comfort him.

He knew you would understand.

"Oh kid." You muttered, shaking your head before pulling the boy closer, wrapping him in another hug as he began to spill his guts.

He told you about Suzie, and how disappointed he was when they had dismissed the possibility of him finding one so easily, how betrayed he felt when they had turned their backs on him. How worried he was that he was going to be replaced, having been out of the loop for so long.

"I'm just- I don't know, the summer was great, and we were fine, and now it's all coming back." He practically whimpered, shaking slightly in your arms. You grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around the boy as quickly as you could, running a hand through his curls.

"I know. Believe me, I know- but tomorrow, we're going to find Steve, figure out what's wrong, and it's gonna be fine, okay?" You questioned, glancing him over to check that tears were no longer streaming aimlessly from his eyes. He nodded his head, wrapping his arms around you once more, curling into your side.

"So, this Suzie girl, she seems pretty special, huh?" He blushed at your words, launching into a rant about how intoxicating his girl was, and how everyone else paled in comparison to Suzie Bingham. He had failed to notice the way your eyes lit up when he spoke about her, genuinely happy for the boy. He was far too engrossed with a story about how they'd won a contest at Camp Know-Where for the largest functional rocket, or the tallest solar panel built from scraps.

You simply nodded along, mind subconsciously drifting to another girl. One with brown hair, most recently seen wearing a sailor's outfit at Starcourt Mall. To say that your summer had been wildly different was putting it simply, your mind filled to the brim with thoughts about Robin Buckley and her insatiable laugh.

If someone had asked you how long you'd known her, you would be unable to give them an answer. Only that one day, she appeared, slumped at a History desk in the corner of the room with her eyes trained on Tammy Thompson. She had been there the day before, and the day before that, and many, many days before that, but she had only struck your radar two years ago. Maybe that was due to the fact that suddenly Steve Harrington had disappeared from your life, seen dancing around the corridors with a girl by the name of Nancy Wheeler, or to do with the fact that you hadn't been entirely sure who you were. A trip to a far-away summer camp filled to the brim with other girls harbouring tainted thoughts about one another had sorted that out quickly. Your parents hadn't approved, of course. Maybe that was the reason why they spent so much time away.

Ashamed.

And so you bit your tongue, finding any and every reason to talk to her during school hours, but avoiding her like the plague when you caught a glimpse of her around Hawkins. Slipping into dark alleyways, jumping into bushes; you had become acquainted quickly with hiding in Hawkins. It was a talent, a skill. An art, if you will.

You had successfully managed to evade Robin Buckley's radar for over two years, and were fully intent on continuing that streak until monsters crawled from the depths of hell into Hawkins, bringing Steve Harrington rushing back into your life. He had demanded your help to appease his thoughts about Nancy and Jonathon after the cinema incident, and you had slapped him.

Quickly, painfully, across the face with no time to think about it. Screamed at him for hours, demanding what was he thinking?

How he could treat her like that was beyond you, and so he was swiftly forced to apologise. Hand wrapped around a bouquet of roses before being violently abducted by the loudmouth himself, Dustin Henderson.

Still, you had managed to avoid the likeness of the brunette, and that was enough for you.

Until he began working with her, of course.

That created an issue.

A few issues, really.

Firstly: It reminded you how painfully head-over-heels you were for the girl. How although she had managed to evade your sight, the image of her was forever imprinted in your mind and the second you saw her in that white and blue polo, the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew. Your face flushed red as you willed it away, hands nervously tapping against the side of your jeans as you attempted to make casual conversation.

You nearly had a heart attack on the spot when she asked you how you wanted her.

It, she foolishly corrected herself. How did you want it?

She chuckled, utterly and entirely clueless as to the affect she'd had on you. You simply stood there flushed red, finding a sudden interest in the floor, wondering as to what caused the slip up. Of course, Tammy Thompson was in her peripheral vision and so the girl couldn't be held accountable for any actions whatsoever, especially flustering a clueless stranger in an ice cream shop.

Secondly: It meant that you couldn't see Steve. You had to actively avoid the man for no reason whatsoever, and you couldn't tell him why. You had to suck up a visit to Scoops whenever you felt like you could stomach it, but would then avoid him until you were in the for most of either of your homes. Hangouts were rare, rarer than they were over the summer and the gnawing in your stomach was only growing.

And finally: you were convinced that Steve Harrington was growing closer to the girl. Steve Harrington, your childhood friend with an irresistible smile, thousands of friends and the reputation of a God, was all over Robin Buckley. Like white on rice, except that white on rice didn't make your stomach churn when you saw it.

Instead, you threw yourself into your studies. Into your own job at the arcade where the boys had met Max, and into caring for the party themselves. You spent weeknights planning campaigns with them and any free time was immediately pushed into late nights out with everyone and anyone you could find. Unlike Robin Buckley, you didn't have music. Music didn't float through your veins the way it did hers, and the nerves still bubbled up when you saw her, only soothed with the buzz of a few drinks.

In fact, the only reason that you had even considered letting Steve Harrington back into your life again was due to the Halloween party, in which you drove the boy home and allowed him to weep shamelessly into your shoulder over the loss of Nancy Wheeler. It was a rough night, for both of you. You cried with him, and he seemed in awe of your talent to empathise and feel the heartbreak seeping through his blood, when in reality, you just wanted someone to cry to.

Someone to hold you as you sobbed over the brunette that had infested your thoughts and wormed her way into the cracks of your heart. You were perfectly aware that the last person to accept you would be the man who called Jonathon Byers a 'queer,' but it was nice to pretend that he might care.

Even a little.

So, you got to pretend, for the night, and wrap yourself in his embrace. Weeping into each other's arms, sprawled in his living room; a tangle of limbs illuminated by the streetlamps outside.

You had drunk, and drank some more, and you kept drinking until the night was a blur and you woke up throwing up into Steve Harrington's bathroom, a place you hadn't been to since you were a child. You had scrambled out the door, before being questioned by the man himself as to why you were in such a hurry.

"I uh- I don't actually know." You had said, eyes narrowed and attempting to recall Steve Harrington's downfalls over the past few years. He had dug himself a rather large grave, but was slowly, and surely, burrowing his way out. Step by step.

It didn't, however, make up for the way he'd spoken to you.

You cooked him breakfast, you ate in silence, and he left without a second glance.

As if nothing had happened.

"Jones?" The timid voice of Dustin Henderson broke you from your thoughts, staring intently up at you as to gauge your reaction.

"Hm?" You responded, eyes heavy and words hushed, pulling the boy closer to your chest.

"You believe me, don't you?"

"About Suzie?"

"Yeah." He whispered, almost afraid of the answer he might receive.

"Yeah, of course I believe you, kid. She sounds amazing." A small smile grew on his face, lips quirked upwards as he clung to your side on the sofa.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed. It'll kill your back."

He chuckled, standing and grabbing a blanket and a mountain of pillows, heaving them up to your room. He wouldn't use any of the spare bedrooms, he had stayed over far too much for that. Not tonight. Not on a night like this.

Instead, he launched himself at the double bed sitting in the centre of your room, facing a large set of windows. The blinds were drawn, and a pile of his clothes sat strewn over your desk. They had been from months prior, the last sleepover he'd insisted on as he helped figure out his most recent campaign before he left for camp.

"Get some rest, and we'll go bother Harrington in the morning, 'kay?" You muttered, crawling into bed next to him as he clung to a random pillow.

"Thank you." He whispered, sleep coming for him swiftly after that. Your eye caught a book resting on the edge of the table, one that a certain brunette had snagged from the library a year ago. The first time you had run into her outside of school hours, as she tossed you a dazzling smile while rambling on about the uselessness of Mrs. O'Donnel's English class that the both of you happened to share.

The Woman In Black, Susan Hill.

The girl had scribbled in the margins when she had returned it, and you had stolen the book for yourself. The slightest of self indulgence, given that you were unlikely to receive anything like it again. It was a small reminder of the girl, and of the reason you stayed in Hawkins.

Your thoughts were accompanied by Henderson's gentle snores, and you could relax knowing that you were alright, and Dustin Henderson was safe.

Dustin Henderson would always be safe, left to his large ideas and moments of comfort, if you were around. That was all that mattered.

You'd make sure of it.

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #robin x reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things x reader #stranger things rewrite #st3 #st4 vol1 #st4 vol2 #dustin henderson #steve harrington #tammy thompson #gay #new fic #chapter 1 #I know the end

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filypadreams · 1 year

Text

[ Guardian Angel ]

(Obey Me Brothers x gn!reader) angst/fluff ] based on Nightbringer's initial synopsis.

A-Asmo-chan!? It's ok Asmo, it's gonna be ok, look at me sweetheart. H-hey now…crying isn't a good look on you, let me help.

I had been looking for Asmo since Michael's blast. We were right next to each other but the light was so strong I was scared I would go blind.

(Y/N)...? (Y/N)! My wings!! The left side hurts and, and… I think I smell iron? Is my wing ruined? Please fix it, fix my beautiful wings!

Silly goose, you shouldn't be worrying about at a time like this. What if your flight gets impaired? Turn around, will you? Let your local dashing doctor see them~!

Asmo had a broken wing. He still looked as beautiful as the day he was born. Even whilst sobbing.

*sniff* I-I know but it's important! Michael always called me the cutest of archangels. Not that it matters now…

《It never will but at least you'll always be beautiful even without my help.》

_________

Levi? Leviathan where are you?!!

Ah! Finally I found you! Where were you? You got Lucifer worried.

I hadn't meant to be a burden to them but I couldn't shake away my worry for Asmodeus. Besides, there were so many casualties.

That's my line, I've been looking for you since the blast! Are your eyes ok? It was really bright.

…To be honest it's all a little blurry. The only thing that differentiates you from all the white plumage around me are the jewels decorating your wings!

Levi…they are quartz. Clear quartz, how can you see them if everything looks as bright?

Is my Levia-chan hallucinating??

The only assurance I got that he didn't hear the shake in my voice was his goofy smile. Like me, Levi was trying to keep himself together. He was happy to see a familiar shape.

I brushed his bangs away, his eyes were unfocused but nothing too serious, I hoped.

Hahaha! Silly normie. Your wings always shone brighter than most! My eyes do hurt, can you fix them? I'm…afraid to be honest.

《Oh, Levi… you ain't alone. I'm also afraid. Afraid I couldn't help anymore.》

__________

(Y/N), stop for a moment, please! You've been flying around non-stop. Aren't you hungry? I managed to keep some Pão de Deus* stashed away.

…Beel where did you even stash it?? In your pants?!

Probably the only time I got a good laugh out of this war. The bread tasted great regardless of where he took it from. Beel was relatively fine even if he looked worse for wear.

I assure you it's not contaminated. I need to go back and look for Belphie before he gets himself… … Please be safe.

He didn't dare speak his thoughts less they became reality. Which it almost did. He was always so gentle. Too gentle.

Wait Beel, you have a huge gash on yoru chest- LET ME FIX IT!

《How pathetic could I be at this point. To still even try, to believe I wasn't forsaken!》

__________

MAMMON!! Come back here this second or I'll throw you down to Earth myself!

Oi! That's not funny at all (Y/N)! We could end up there ya know?! Stupid Belphie…

I admit, bad choice of words. I couldn't let that idiot roam around with a gash in his chest though!

You don't mean that…nor did I mean to sound callous. But you need to sit down this instant, a gold piece fell off and you are bleeding! Honestly, what were you thinking when you got those??

Got a problem with my war medals?! They represent my proud and precious achievements for your information.

They say to be proud of your scars for those are marks of bravery. Of life.

Those are also heavy and attached to your skin in an impractical and unwise way. Let me fix that gash for you then we can look for Lucifer together.

Hmph! If you insist. Take haste, I can't stay idle for too long!

Really though, thank you. I'm scared for once…

《It's tragic you couldn't see yourself equally as treasured as your hoard anymore. I wonder how many you'll have. How many scars once this conflict is over will mark your body, that I couldn't heal?! There's too much gold on you.》

__________

…

…..

Lu…Lucifer? Hold on I'm here to help!

Even if for a moment, Lucifer had fallen on his side. The first of many during that battle.

I never saw him as damaged as in that moment. I had to do something!

Get…away from me! It's not safe out here for guardian angels! Hasn't Raphael provided you with shelter or something like that?

My brothers, sisters and, and… e-everyone was dutifully safely guided, sir! You need to worry no more, I'm here to…

To help.

(Y/N)...thank you. But I'm afraid you are of more help alive than with dead weight. Don't make me drag you with us.

Every guardian angel under Raphael had been dispatched to safety to help the wounded. I was one of the strongest but still low in rank, especially compared to someone as prideful in their capabilities as "The Light Bearer" himself. Please sir, don't push me away this time. Let me.

What are you saying…? Lucifer what are you doing you baboon? Stop being so incoherent, you know this is not like you.

I think the blunt end of a spear hit your head pretty hard, let me fix that for you, sir! It's my duty to be here.

《To be a useless withering and trembling angel. How can I expect to clean all that blood if I couldn't even fix Asmo's wings?!》

__________

Where is she? My sister…where's my bubbly, kind, naive sister?!!!

He screamed into the void, voice hoarse. No one was in the right mindset to help him. It's a blessing…it's lucky we survived. Most of us.

Belphie don't force yourself to speak! You…it was a huge fall. It's a miracle we are not as mortally wounded as I expected, hehe… let me have a better look at your leg, it seems to be broken. I'm sure I can fix it-

SHUT UP! Who have you "fixed" since we started fighting?! You can't help anyone anymore, you couldn't "fix" any of us. You were useless, (Y/N)!!!

And you fell just like that, like…like an incompetent!

Belphegor, please don't say that, I tried…I'm sure I can… I can still…

I let my tears spill after holding them in for so long. He was right, I had long lost my powers or at least I was forbidden to help them.

There's nothing I can do.

If you could fix this you could help Lilith. Where is she? Please tell me she's going to be ok, (Y/N). Can you do that?

He sounded desperate. I myself wasn't sure of what Lucifer was doing but I didn't have it in me to tell the truth.

Beelzebub saved you. Lilith was mortally wounded. If she's not gone yet then she's about to die.

Belphie would be none the wiser by looking me in the face, as I would find out.

… …

Yes. She's- There's someone much stronger than me. Lucifer is talking to him right now. I'm not sure what will be of dear Lilith but it's hard to deny that thanks to him, everyone will be fine.

Better tha-

Thank you. I apologize, you never disappoint. I should know.

I can't see anything, could you take me to Beel? He doesn't feel quite right.

Of course. I'm so lucky to be blessed like this even down here, uh? Your local doctor will fix all your troubles!

《Better than with someone as useless as me, who left you blind.

Who even Raphael* has forsaken》

_____[ House of Lamentations]_____

[ Some unknown time in the future]

Fix them. Fix them, fix them, FIX THEM (Y/N)!

In the silent living room your form shakes on the sofa. You fell asleep again.

" Oh? Mammon, call Lucifer!! I think (Y/N) is having a nightmare again! "

Asmo shrieked in panic at his older brother. He had stayed to look after you. You were such a cutie in dreamland!

" Another one?? On it!

Oi, Lucifeeer!"

Mammon's voice is carried through the halls, echoing his worries. Meanwhile Asmo tries to find a comfortable place to sit close to you and pets your head.

" What are you dreaming of this time, angel?"

" Fix…"

Asmo inclines his head curious. Fix? Mammon's garage?

" Fix them. You can't… useless… why?"

Why are you also alive? Why were you able to walk, why did you keep wings stronger than Asmo's to fly?! Why do you still exist-

You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, shaking you awake.

Your eyes unfocused on orange eyes and hair that today is brown, some other days is pink and in-between.

" Angel?! Wake up beautiful you shouldn't be in dreamland right now. It's not yours to live in."

" Asmo? Your wings, where are they? Oh, look at your face, you'll get wrinkles if you look at me like that. Don't be sad!"

Asmo blinks at you, worried. You lift a hand to his to caress his cheek.

He manages to force out one of his signature giggles.

" Silly goose~ Did you forget? This is how I look when I want to rest my wings! No need to use them indoors. Hehe."

" Rest… oh, I fell asleep again in the sofa. So… Levi and Belphie…?"

" Their eyes never worked better. Well, bright lights are not as easy to take in anymore but we are healthy. Thanks for always guiding us, angel~"

You are silent for a long moment, looking who knows where while Asmo puts a hand on your forehead. You weren't sick at least.

" Did Beel eat yet? That scar-"

" Yet?! (Y/N), he's always eating! Hahaha, I'm so jealous of his metabolism~

What scar? He hasn't gotten hurt since the last time Dia sent us to scout the lower levels. I tell you, I might be 5th but those restless incubi have sharp nails and temper!"

He jokes. That's all he has ever done whenever you wake up from a memory. It's all he knows to do whenever you have such a vivid nightmare.

" I admit that Mammon looks as dashing as ever, although I have better taste of course. He went to go fetch Lucifer."

Oh, oh. He started sweating once he said that name. Your bulging eyes didn't help.

" No, wait. What I meant- (Y/N) it's fine, Lucifer would be in a worse mood if he wasn't there to comfort you!"

You grab his arms, quite painfully, begging him with your eyes to not tell Lucifer.

The guilt in them makes Asmo tremble.

Luckily someone unexpected was reading close by.

You were never as close to Satan as you were with the other brothers for obvious reasons. Yet he never minded your presence.

If anything you were a great reading buddy. Not too loud, not completely silent and a great listener.

He didn't need to know the details to help you whenever Asmo talked too much.

" Even I would panic at hearing that name. Did he find out about one of my pranks? Truly scary."

He says condescendingly (at Asmo) but also with a lilt of humorous sarcasm. He aproaches you, ignoring Asmo's tantrum and shows you the new book he picked up.

" Sorry Satan, I didn't mean to disturb your reading time!"

" Any time is reading time (Y/N), don't sweat about that. Have you heard the tale of King Midas? I think that Solomon had a hand in it if this book is to be believed…"

Any shady business done by the shady wizard is worth your immediate notice.

Fifteen minutes of gossiping about Solomon and what he might or might not have done pass before Lucifer pushes the doors open, the poor things weren't a match to his strength as they hit the walls so loud everyone except for Satan jumped on their sits.

" Lucifer! (Y/N) had another nightmare and I might have said too much-"

" Calm down Asmo, you are fine. Everything 's fine.

It's late, you better get your beauty sleep. I'll take it from here."

Asmo nods fervently, ruffling your hair as he gets up. You giggle at the gesture, Satan pats your leg before he also takes his leave.

" Do I also have to go? Doesn't The Great Mammon, deserve to help our miracle worker~?"

Mammon jokes. Lucifer doesn't take it kindly if his glare is anything to go by.

" I trust we both know why it's best if you go to bed too."

" Fine, sorry… welp, see you tomorrow (Y/N). We are still having that shopping trip, daddy needs some new specs~"

" Daddy doesn't look good on you Mammon. RIP your future significant other."

With a grumble he stomps away.

" Don't forget you still have a huge debt to Lord Diavolo!! I swear if he breaks another statue…"

Lucifer rubs the bridge of his nose before helping you sit up.

" Don't you prefer to go back to your room? Or talk in the study?"

" … Can we… talk in yours?"

Lucifer is caught off guard by your proposition but relents.

He clears any other doubts you might have about the state of the family while you walk down the corridors to his room.

" Belphie is still grieving, I don't think that will ever be fully healed. Levi is faring well, he sees her in Henry…both of them."

You laugh, the memory of the giant serpent who now inhabits the catacombs coming to mind.

" Satan couldn't be happier to have a friend who isn't as closely related to us or the war. Take it as you will, I guess."

" And you…sir?"

Lucifer pauses for a moment, solely the sound of his footsteps is heard.

You arrive at his lascivious bedroom and he locks the door behind.

" I enjoy my privacy so forgive me for locking you in."

You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders in indifference. At any other time it would feel quite intimate, possibly.

" I'm doing well as you can see."

" I'm worried about what I cannot see."

Once again Lucifer's eyes widen but he let's you speak.

" There's Satan, your new job, position…workload."

" I told you to stop worrying about my work ethic. I sleep enough."

… …

" Enough to take care of my family."

You smile, a little smug perhaps.

" You couldn't have done anything. Not because your blessings were stripped from you, at least some of them."

He adds remembering your state after the fall. You were for the most part healthy save for ripped bloody feathers, a bent arm and a bruised face.

" Simply, I wouldn't let you. I ripped them out of my sheer will, wings I didn't need anymore. You shouldn't be in the middle of a rebellion you aren't part of. You would have been happy with the others. No need for nightmares."

You fidget in place.

" You can't be so sure. I couldn't bear to see everyone I cared for hurt. Yet I was powerless for once. If not for the prince…

Is it my fault…?

Are you a slave of another because of me?!!"

Lucifer grabs a hold of your shoulders as you scratch as your scalp with both of your hands, helding your head in place.

He guides you to his bed, leaving to start a fire in the fireplace and returning with a handkerchief in hand to clear your tear stains.

" I'm no one's slave, (Y/N). You haven't stripped me of my most valued aspect. It's simply a different job in a different world under a different ruler. I take pride in my achievements here and my prowess the same way.

Stop blaming yourself. No one holds resentment towards you and no one wishes to go back, if we are to be quite honest.

The nice days are gone so we can have new days."

He holds both your hands.

" I told you I would drag you with me if you kept pushing your luck. You made the choice to be at our side. We are happy to have you."

He cleans the snot like one would do to a toddler, his thumb making circular motions on your hands still clasped in his gloved one.

" I can't make them stop Lucifer. The nightmares, Asmo's face- every time! I want them to stop. I don't want to disappoint anyone ever again… sometimes I wish I could disappear so this wouldn't happen again and again and again!"

Lucifer hugs you against his chest, taking deep breaths waiting for you to follow along.

" I'm only good at making people sad now."

" I know this won't help. It never goes away. But a reminder, (Y/N), that it was never your job to fix the already broken. Those who deny help won't get help and you never let anyone down. Even Belphie has a soft spot for you.

For we remember you as our guardian angel who still fusses over Levi's addiction to technology because he might hurt his eyes.

Who worries that Beel's stomach might burst someday, the one person who relents to having a self-care day with Asmo even when it's mostly him who gets the self-care.

The angel who takes responsibility for half of Mammon's debts, don't think I haven't noticed.

What you couldn't do back then, you do now.

Thank you for your sacrifice."

You burst into tears, hiding your face on his chest.

" I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, sir! But everyone is taking care of me when they should move on…I'm tired of being kept behind by my own mind!"

Lucifer ponders for a moment, checking your scalp for signs of self-inflicted injuries.

"Hmm. I also have my fair share of nightmares.

How about we help each other? Do you want to stay the night?

Like back in the day."

You nod your head. Lucifer lays you down, covering you under the sheets.

Before changing himself into anything comfortable he adds:

"Also, stop addressing me as sir."

" Sorry. Force of habit."

You say eyes looking as the flames dance beautifully. Back then seeing everyone naked as a baby wasn't as embarrassing as it is now. You sometimes wonder how much you, yourself changed.

Something brown and fluffy is put on your line of sight, moving up and down like a cartoon character.

" I couldn't find one like Mrs. White Feathers, the Dove. So I hope you like Cerberus Jr. as much."

You smile picking the three headed plushie.

" Thank you…Lucifer. I still miss Mrs. White Feathers."

Lucifer nods, thinking of mentioning it the next time he speaks with Michael. Or perhaps Raphael could retrieve it for him.

" Sweet dreams, angel."

___________ Notes! __________

*Pão de Deus > a portuguese crunchy and sweet bread usually topped with grated coconut. It's one of the delicacies baked by nuns back in the day where they would take offerings like eggs to help bake sweets for religious festivities or for themselves to have something different to eat (some nuns were previously noble women).

**Raphael > an archangel cited to be the patron saint of healing the sick and ill and the angel of all healthcare workers. The staff that he carried can be a nod to the caduceus, Hermes' own staff and symbol of health.

#obey me #om! nightbringer #fanfic #obey me brothers x reader #platonic #romantic #can be read as both #angst #fluff #mentions of war #mentions of injury #shikibutterfly

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