#corporate flower bouquet

[st4rstudent]

tis the valentoons

[slinkywhat]

I got laid off on Monday, so my besties sent me these flowers and a note that said “Fuck Corporate America”

[driedflowerdelivery]

Corporate Dried Flowers

Dried Flower Delivery specialises in Corporate Dried Flowers, creating beautiful floral arrangements to elevate any business environment. Dried Flower's skilfully designed dried flower collections add elegant and enduring beauty to corporate spaces ranging from greeting areas to executive offices. Our corporate dried flowers are perfect for improving your company's image because they require little upkeep while leaving a long-lasting, attractive impression. Dried Flower's unique designs can transform your corporate environment.

[thebloomstory]

TheBloomStory - Corporate Gifting

The Bloom Story is all about fresh flowers right from the farm. From vibrant bouquets to elegant floral arrangements, explore a variety of handpicked blooms for every occasion. Order online to add a touch of freshness and hues to your life.

[jtownraindancer]

achievements today:

overcame social anxiety long enough to fool people into thinking i’m normal

didn’t get a tea stain on my new blazer

tripped only three times trying to navigate the stairs

[isleoffloweruk]

Where Can I Find the Best Flower Bouquets In London

There are many florists and online flower delivery in London that offers a variety of flower bouquets at different price ranges. Here are some options for finding the best and most affordable flower bouquets in the UK.

Many supermarkets in the UK have a floral department where you can find affordable and beautiful flower bouquets. They have a good selection of flowers and arrangements. Several online florists in the UK offer affordable flower bouquets. You can compare prices and choose the one that fits your budget.

Local florists provide the best flower bouquets which can be checked out by local florists in your area. They may have more affordable options than some of the bigger chain stores. Many markets towns and cities in the UK have weekly markets where you can find fresh flowers at affordable prices. You can check with your local council or chamber of commerce for information about markets in your area.

Isle of Flowers is a well-known flower delivery service in the UK that offers a range of affordable flower bouquets for different occasions. It is another online flower delivery service in the UK that offers a range of affordable flower bouquets for different occasions. It is a popular department store in the UK that offers a range of affordable flower bouquets and arrangements. Isle of Flowers is another option for finding affordable flower bouquets in the UK. We offer a range of fresh corporate flowers in London, custom flower bouquets UK, a bouquet and fresh flower wedding bouquets for delivery.

Remember to compare prices and check for deals and discounts before making a purchase. Also, consider the delivery charges if you're ordering online. When choosing a flower delivery service or florist, it's important to read reviews and compare prices to find the best deal for your budget.

[etanow]

Do you have any showtime monster labs headcanons? 👉🏻👈🏻☺️

OH BOY DO I HEHEHEHE

Caine was the last to realize Pomni was in his residency (He was,, otherwise preoccupied), and was absolutely flabbergasted that Jax did such a thing as raising the dead. Caine has a strict policy on not letting humans(dead or alive) that far down in the C&A facility unaccompanied considering how many monsters reside there.It was one of the few times anyone had seen him properly upset at something Jax had done. Pomni was rightfully freaked the fuck out at a giant pair of floating teeth and eyes saying he's a long-forgotten God, needless to say, their first introductions were confusing on both ends LOL

Understandably, Pomni has a LOT of issues with herself appearance-wise. She avoided mirrors for weeks, and tried her best to keep distant from the others. Caine didn't walk on eggshells around her like the others did as she adjusted and that was something she appreciated, at least provided a little sense of normalcy. He was easy to talk to and remembered EVERY little detail.

Caine can change his form at will, but Pomni prefers his big ol' toothy head because he said he was most comfortable appearing that way.

Everyone has their own unique smells; Zooble smells like brimstone, musk, and campfire, Jax always smells like hand sanitizer and chemicals that make your nose burn, Kinger like old earth and soil, Ragatha smells comforting like your favorite old plushie, and Gangle didn't have much but she liked occasionally putting perfume on her ribbons. But Pomni always has a hint of the smell of death following her. She tried Gangle's perfumes and all sorts of scented soaps but nothing could truly mask or make it go away. It was only when Caine gifted her a bouquet of flowers that the smell was almost forgotten. Hell, maybe the plague doctors with their floral and herb-filled masks were on to something. Since then, Caine often surprised Pomni with fresh flowers, herbs, and plants to the point of her shelves overflowing with vases and pots of flowers in all states. Eventually, she gets to pressing flowers between books as a memento for every flower he's given her.

.

Pomni sometimes needs blood transfusions as her body doesn't make blood anymore but still needs it- she hates needles. Caine and Ragatha alternate sitting with her during it since it can take a few hours at a time and distract her with books or idle chatter until it's done. Caine is an amazing storyteller, he's existed a long time as both a noncorporeal and corporeal being and has countless stories of battles and moments long lost to time. He hasn't really had anyone to share these stories with, and the only other being who was around during all of it, well he doesn't get the chance to talk with him much these days...

Ragatha and Pomni got together first, they spent a lot more time together in the beginning since Caine only popped in once or twice a week usually. He started hanging around longer after a while and I'm getting sidetracked now I'm just imagining Pomni bursting into Ragatha's room sobbing with a "I'M SO SORRY I JUST KISSED CAINE PLEASE FORGIVE ME-" And Ragatha doesn't miss a beat, totally unphased and unbothered, "Ooh nice! Was he any good?" And Pomni's just standing there like "Wait What"

They are all very bad at communication lmao but they're TRYING THEIR BEST OKAY

Caine is not used to the concept of resting, meanwhile, pretty much all Pomni does in her free time most days is nap or laze around- it took Caine a while to not see it as a waste of time and now loves it when Pomni rests her head in his lap. He likes playing with her hair and watching her sleep peacefully.

Pomni keeps her gloves on often because she doesn't like the sight of her skeletal fingers but absolutely MELTS with palm and backhand kisses.

Caine is very touchy-feely, he rubs backs when talking idly or loops arms together, floats a little closer, and matches their pace when walking together (even imitates walking itself with little bobs in time with whoever he's walking with). On some bad joint days, Pomni has a bit of a limp from her exposed bone leg and Pomni finds it absolutely hilarious when Caine unintentionally matches that movement.

Pomni misses facebook memes a lot :(

[delicatebarness]

barnes' girl | prologue

Summary: Your flower delivery to a major corporation takes an unexpected turn when an encounter with the enigmatic CEO, James Barnes, leaves you feeling both intimidated and intrigued. As your paths continue to cross, you find yourself drawn into a world far removed from the peaceful confines of the flower shop.

Warning: Age Gap. Power Imbalance. Intimidation. Sexual Undertones.

Word Count: 1368

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: I am incredibly ill right now and did not expect to be writing at all so I do apologize if this is terrible. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Barnes' Girl: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this series. | @im-alestan | @carrotlove

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan

Stepping into the bustling flower shop, the scent of fresh blooms envelops you as you start another day of deliveries. Arrangements of roses, lilies, and tulips fill the space with vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances. Above the door, the bell softly chimes, signaling your departure into the city– A particularly exquisite bouquet in hand. An imposing skyscraper of a major corporation was today’s first destination, a rare delivery for the quaint little shop.

Carefully cradling the flowers in your arms, you navigated the crowded streets until reaching the towering building. Sleek and modern, the lobby contrasts starkly with the charming disarray of the flower shop. You couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves as you approached the elevators. Hearing the door ding open, you begin to step inside, unbeknownst to you that James Barnes, the CEO, was stepping out. 

Suddenly, and chaotically; the collusion causes the petals to scatter across the polished, marble floor in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

“I’m so sorry, sir!” The words spilled out in a frantic rush, and you dropped to your knees, gathering the fallen flowers desperately. Your hand shook as you tried to salvage the bouquet. Panic surging through you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Mr Barnes stood above you, a towering figure of authority and magnetism. Sharp and discerning, his eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you. For a moment, his expression is inscrutable, then suddenly, his lips twitch as if suppressing a smile. Your breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze, as if he was sending unspoken commands that sent a shiver down your spine. 

Giving you a momentary reprieve, he looked away, clearing his throat. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you interpreted his reaction as disdain. Scrambling together the last of the petals, you muttered apologies and small comments about how your boss would be furious. 

As you manage to compose yourself, you catch sight of the now crumpled box that the flowers were in. Unbeknownst to you, Mr Barnes took a mental note of the shop’s name emblazoned on the side. You were left flustered and humiliated, convinced you had left a terrible impression on the older, powerful CEO.

~

Later that day, you were surprised to hear that he had called the shop. He explained the incident was his fault, not yours, and agreed to order flowers for the building regularly. “To brighten up the office,” he claimed, but his motives were more complex, layering with an interest that went beyond mere floral appreciation. 

The routine of delivering flowers to the building became almost comforting as the weeks passed. Yet, one morning, as you stepped into the lobby with a small bouquet of pink hydrangeas, you were unaware that he was watching, waiting for you on the cameras. The phone on the receptionist’s desk rang, echoing through the lobby, and she answered with a practiced smile. 

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, her accent thick. She turned to you after hanging up. “Mr Barnes wants you to deliver these personally today.” 

Taking the visitor key card she offered, your pulse quickened, and a mix of anticipation and dread bubbled within you. While making your way to the top floor, it was as if you could feel his gaze on you through the security cameras, a silent, omnipresent observer. The elevator doors open to the executive floor, and you step out, your grip tightening around the bouquet.

With a deep breath, you walked toward his office. The encounter of your first meeting played over and over in your mind. Ruining his suit, you felt jittery and self-conscious. Yet, as you enter his office, you see him there, every bit as intimating as you recall. His broad body was wrapped in a dark suit, attempting to look welcoming but still imposing. 

You felt small by the opulent surroundings as you hesitantly stepped further inside. “Hi… I, I’m, I brought the flowers you ordered,” your voice trembled slightly as you held up the bouquet– The vibrant pinks contrasting against the muted elegance of the office.

“Thank you, come, place them on the desk,” he instructed, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice was low, commanding yet inviting, almost like a purr.

As you made your way towards the massive glass desk, you couldn’t help but notice the way he watched your every move. His gaze followed you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. Placing the flowers down carefully, you turned to face him, your heart pounding.

You begin to thank him before his low voice interrupts. “What’s your name?” You stutter as you tell him, feeling even smaller under his intense gaze. A small, almost predatory smile curved his lips. “Such a sweet little doll, tell me, are you always so clumsy?” 

Shifting uncomfortably, you felt a heat rise to your cheeks. “I… I didn’t mean to be. It was an accident.” 

A hint of amusement glinted in his eyes, his smile widening. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again. From now on, bring the flowers directly to me. Understood?” 

“Y-Yes, sir,” you whispered, nodding quickly. You turn to leave, his glass of whiskey in his hand catching your eye. “I b-better get going,” you stammered, slightly moving toward the door. 

“Do you not want to join this old man for a drink?” He held out the glass toward you, the amber liquid glistening in the light.

Glancing nervously at the clock behind him, you hesitated. “I really shouldn’t… I’m still on work time.” 

Raising an eyebrow, a hint of a smile still played on his lips. “Just one drink. It won’t take long.” 

Your fingers brushed against his as your trembling hands took the glass. The contact sent a shiver down your spine. “Thank you,” you whispered, nervousness and curiosity coursing through you. 

“To unexpected encounters,” he toasted, his eyes still locked onto yours.

Taking a small sip, the warmth spreads through you. “To unexpected encounters,” you echoed, your voice barely audible. 

He watched you intently, an unspoken tension thick in the air. The walls of his office seemed to close in around you, the lighting added to the intimacy of the moment. “Tell me, doll, how long have you been working at the flower shop?” he asked, leaning back in his leather desk chair slighting. 

“About six months,” you replied, your finger tapping the glass nervously. 

“And, do you enjoy it?” he asked, his gaze never wavering.

“Yes, sir, I-I do… it’s peaceful,” you said, your heart still raced but your voice became steadier. 

“Peaceful, huh?” He tilted his head, considering your words. “Not like this place,” he added with a wry smile, his whiskey glass-filled hand gesturing around the room. The walls were lined with large abstract paintings and bookshelves filled with finance, and self-improvement books. 

Taking another glance around, you took in the grandeur of his office. “It’s… very impressive,” you admitted, your eyes returning to his. 

“Oh, you think so?” His smile widened once again, amusement dancing over his piercing blue eyes. “You don’t find it… intimidating?” 

“A little,” you confessed, your cheeks growing hotter. 

“Good,” he said, his tone serious as he leaned back again. His fingers steepled beneath his chin. “It’s meant to be. But, you, doll,” he added, his expression softening slightly, “you shouldn’t be intimidated.” 

You swallowed hard, his comments catching you off guard. “I- I should really get back to the shop,” you said, your voice barely audible again. 

“If you must,” he conceded, reluctance lacing in his voice. “But remember, little doll… I expect to see you here every week with those fresh flowers.” 

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, a strange sense of excitement and apprehension rushing through you. “I, um, thank you for the drink.” 

“Anytime, babydoll,” he replied, his eyes lingering on you as you turned to leave. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you walked back to the elevator. The marble floors echo your footsteps, and the soft hum of the employees fills your ears. The conversation replayed in your mind, every word, every glance.

The enigmatic and powerful James Barnes had taken a particular interest in you, and you realized that your weekly deliveries were about to become much more intriguing.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[cinnasweetss]

to love and to cherish. | l.hs

genre: smut, very minimal plot, fluff (a pinch.)

characters: husband/dad!heeseung, wife/mom!reader, “uncle”!jake at the end, seung (reader & heeseung’s son)

wc: 2.8k

content below cut. (plz read…or you’ll be v surprised…)

content: established relationship, mentions of pregnancy & marriage, domestication, reader is a stay at home mom, body insecurity, body description, SLIGHTTTT dacryphilia, lactation, love making, tit play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (hun, love, baby, etc.), praise, etc etc…

A /N: i’m experimenting in my writing (still tame imo)! this might not be everyone’s cup of tea n that’s ok <3 thanks for reading!!

"dinner looks great, hun." heeseung slides in, slipping a hand around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek.  it startles you, whipping your head around to him, soft smile plastered on his face. 

"Didn't hear you come in." you mumble, returning his smile before you continue the dishes. "Got you something." he pulls away, shuffling behind you, "give me a second, hee." you need to finish these dishes tonight. it'll be pain the ass tomorrow if you don't. "Did you put Seung to bed? Told you I wanted to see him, hun." he says, immediately noticing how quiet the house is tonight. lights dimmed, living room picked up and neat instead of the usual plethora of toys. "he got fussy." 

"Baby, come on-"  he nags, only because you have barely looked at him since he stepped in. no 'how was work, honey?' and a cheerful smile like usual. 

"Give me a minute, heeseung!" 

there's a long pause in the air, making you immediately regret raising your voice, dropping the plate in your hand back into the soapy water, "I'm sorry." 

heeseung told you to not let it get like that. he told you to not stress yourself out when you both found out you were pregnant. he knew this would happen. it was inevitable. but you promised him. "Look at me." 

"Oh, hee..." you immediately soften, face falling into your hands once you see the beautiful, huge bouquet of flowers in his hands. he sets the bouquet down on the island, quickly moving to wrap his arms around your crying figure. you quickly accept the embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Why are you crying?" he chuckles, rubbing his hand on your back soothingly. "I'm sorry!" 

"It's okay, love." he pulls you off of him, wiping away your tears. "so pretty." he leans in to kiss you, using his thumbs to wipe the rest of the stray tears. 

Heeseung is so good to you. he always has been. when you met him six years ago, when you married him three years ago, and when you gave him his firstborn a year and a half ago.  his love has been unconditional, unwavering, always consistent. all you could ask for and more. 

"I told you not to stress yourself out. You can ask me for help." he's smiling, despite your continued tears. you feel so awful. "But you're working-" he stops you there, "so are you, love." he knows that being a stay at home mom is a lot, a lot more demanding than his silly little corporate job. "what are you handwashing the dishes for, anyway? we've got a dishwasher." 

"cause, it's a lot to run it..." he sighs, face shifting to a scowl. he hates when you talk about the price of things, bills, anything with money. "It's not, and that's not for you to worry about." it's firm, almost scolding. but you know it's just because of the many times he's had to tell you to not worry about the bills. not that you've seen one in years. 

"Get in bed. I'll finish up." he pulls away then, moving to the sink. you scurry behind him, grabbing a vase to put the flowers in. "Bed, babe. I'll do that too." 

"let me warm up your food-" he doesn't have to say much, turning with a dissatisfied expression across his face as he leans on the counter. "Get upstairs." you know better than to argue after the third time, so, you do as told.

...

he joins you just an hour later, walking in on you fumbling with the baby monitor, making sure it's on and working before you set it on the bedside table. he eyes you, wet hair stuck to your shoulders and neck, saturating the t shirt you have on. 

he grabs your hand, pulling you back to the bathroom. he places you infront of the mirror, reaching for the hair dryer in the cabinet. "Did you even towel dry it? you're soaking." 

"Thought I heard Seung crying..." you mumble, heeseung running a brush through your hair. "That hairdryer- Dyson. it's so expensive. you won't even use it."he grabs a towel, gently drying each lock of your hair, then your neck and shoulders. 

"I do use it!" five times since he got it for you during Christmas. You'd brought it up maybe once, showing him a video on TikTok of some influencer using it. it was probably the millionth video you'd showed him. still, he paid attention. "Sometimes." he agrees, flashing you a playful smile in the mirror. 

"you don't have work to do?" you look at him through the mirror, squeezing the water out of your hair with the towel. "Work? While i'm at home with my wife?" he turns on the hairdryer after, running it over your now damp hair. 

this week he's been coming home without his laptop. spending almost no time in his office downstairs, instead getting into bed with you every night after work. 

you hadn't said it out loud, but he knew you were bothered by sleeping first. sleeping next to an empty space that he only filled from the hours of 1am to 6am. disappearing into his office right after dinner. you continue watching him through the mirror, fond smile on you lips as he finishes. his eyes catch yours, mouthing a playful "what?" before he shifts his eyes back to your hair. 

he turns off the hair dryer, using a brush to smooth out the now dry hair. he guides you out the bathroom, stopping you in front of your shared dresser.

reaching for the bottom of your tee, he pulls it up, only stopping when you step back and push his hands away. "come on, you gotta get out of this. it's wet." 

"I'll do it." "Babe, really." 

you surrender at that, raising your arms so he can lift your shirt above your head and get you a new one. Only he has his gaze locked on yours...trying to remember the last time he was intimate with you. the last time he saw you undressed. you notice his expression change, unfamiliar glint in his eyes. 

had it really been that long? 

"What, hee? you're staring..." you ask worriedly, afraid he might not like what he sees. you damn sure don't look like the woman he married, not after having his child. 

each time you look in the mirror you're reminded, each time you look at your wedding pictures, each time you get naked infront of him, each time you look at your son. 

your arm lays against your chest, holding your breasts as you reach for another shirt. Heeseung's way quicker, grabbing your arm before you can reach it. "Wait."

his lips are on yours seconds later, pulling your body flush against his, trapping you in a very passionate kiss. 

you know what he wants when he kisses you like that. when he pulls you in by your waist and holds your cheek with one hand. when he lifts you up and takes you bed, placing you against the mattress softly. your stomach flutters with excitement, eager to experience a different type of intimacy with him.

he pulls away, pulling at his tie with one hand and letting it fall to the ground, undoing a few buttons of his shirt after.

he connects your lips again as wall as your groins, grinding softly through kisses. it's enough to get you worked up, moaning into the kiss when he gropes at a tit. 

he gives it some love with his mouth too, sucking one and squeezing the other. its enough to stimulate your ducts, breasts tingling as they secrete milk. he purposely squeezes a nipple, milk spilling from the ducts, as you squirm beneath him. his skilled hands force a moan from you, his tongue swirling as he sucks, likely making your other breast leak too. 

his hips rut against yours, grunting at the little bit of friction it gives. he's gotta get out of these slacks, and fast. he pulls his mouth away, kissing down your chest and abdomen, paying special attention to those areas he knows youre insecure about. 

your lower belly that's riddled with stretch marks and hips that look the same from carrying his child. he wouldn't trade you for the world, not when you've given him the best gift on gods earth. a family. 

he pulls your night shorts down with one motion, doing the same with your panties before he spreads your legs. his kisses move to your thighs, stopping when he reaches your core. he moves your hips to the edge of the bed, kneeling before you. "Fuck.." he feels his mouth water just looking, pushing your legs before he dips his head between your thighs. 

six years and every time feels like the first. six years and neither of you can get enough. 

he always takes his time, soft kisses against your pussy to start, soft licks against your clit when he slides his tongue through your folds, huge hands that knead at the flesh of your thighs to stimulate you even more. he gradually moves to sucking, tongue flat against the little bundle of nerves, forcing moan from you.

your eyes flutter closed, sinking further into the mattress as you reach for his hands. 

your fingers intertwine perfectly, much like they did the first time you two met in college. he was sweet then, he's even sweeter now. always, always so compassionate and caring, even more since you've gotten married. 

he watches from between your legs. eyes shut, brows furrowed, mouth agape as you let out the prettiest moans. matching the pretty expression you have. 

he knows you like the back of his hand, sucking your clit just how you like it. your back arching off the bed tells him so. especially when you remove a hand from his, sliding it through his hair instead to swirl your hips. 

"oh, god- hee!"

he can hear your breath quickening. short and shallow through endless curses as your orgasm builds. "fuck, baby, i'm cumming!" it hits you like a truck, heeseung moaning as you cum right on his tongue, nothing else. holding your hips steady so he can eat you through it. through the soft convulsions and quiet moans, hands that grip his and his hair. 

heeseung finally pulls his lips way, rising from the floor with lips coated in your arousal. he doesn't lick them, keeps them wet and moist so he can lean down and kiss you. he's letting you taste yourself as well, sliding his tongue past your lips to give you sloppy, wet kisses. 

you pull at his button up, pulling it from his slacks, moving to remove his belt right after. you pull away from the kiss, pulling at the buttons with frantic hands. "help me, hee..." you mumble, looking up at the man above you. he forces you both up, reaching to unbutton his pants as you work on those damn buttons. 

"take your time, darlin'. Im not going anywhere." he kisses your forehead gently, capturing your lips again once you finish. you push his shirt off his shoulders, only satisfied when you hear it make contact with the wood flooring below. "tell me how you want me." you barely manage to get out between kisses. he doesn't respond for a minute, focusing on kissing you before he makes up his mind. 

"bend over." he pants, catching his breath from the very heated kiss. you do as instructed, turning around to bend over for him. his hands immediately attach to your hips, one hand pressing against the small of your back, guiding you into position. "Arch that back, yeah..." he pulls you back against his dick, hard length sitting right between your ass. he retracts, sliding his length through your folds, coating it in your arousal. 

you can feel him line himself up with your entrance, head of his cock just barely penetrating, pausing before he decides to fully slip inside. a soft cry leaves you,  leaning yourself away from the intrusion that has your walls stretching. "Uh-ah, keep that back arched for me baby." that makes you whine, forcing yourself back into position as he pulls you right back on his cock. "Good girl..." he coos, hand rubbing softly against your back to soothe you, legs already trembling just from him sliding in. 

he takes you painfully slow, pulling half his length out, pushing it back in, in a long drawn out movement. his eyes are stuck right where you suck him back in, despite your little noises that tell him you're struggling with it. he barely has to move his hips, you're pushing back on him likely without even realizing. 

"Fuck," his dick is soaked, coated in your wetness, glistening in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp. He grabs both hips, taking over your soft and cautious movements, replacing them with his own. Still slow, but much deeper, holding your ass to his hips each time he pushes himself back in. 

"Taking it so good, baby." heeseung doesn't know why you're always so caught up in your own thoughts. each time he fucks you like this, you forget all about your silly little insecurities. It's all proof of the woman you are today, anyway. the mother and wife he's built within you. 

"Hee..." you reach a hand back to hold his, heeseung quickly pinning your arm behind your back, hand clasped within yours. His movements increase, throwing his own head back as your body drives him to near madness. you sink further down, hand knitting into the soft fabric of your cream coloured duvet. 

so deep, so big. he's hitting all the right spots, bending over you to reach and grab a tit. he squeezes at the flesh, mouth steady kissing on your shoulder as he fucks you near completion. the both of you. "fuck, baby! harder!" nothing but a word, he happily obliges. he's been waiting for you to say it since he started. "Yeah?" his breaths shallow and short as he fucks into you harder, a loud moan of approval from you forcing a smirk on his lips. "Yes! god, heeseung!" from his lips on your neck, to the way his balls repeatedly slap against your clit, you're already there before you realise. "Like that, yeah, let it out."

you grab at his flexed arms beside you, crying out as you both ride out your orgasm together. Heeseung's hips stutter as cums inside you, sloppy uncoordinated thrusts pushing more waves of pleasure through you. "Shit." He blinks through the haziness coursing through his body, only pulling out when both of your breaths return to normal.

you stay even when heeseung leaves, relaxing your body against the bed. he comes back, turning you back over so he can clean you up, laying next to you right after. 

comfortable silence fills the air, heeseung pulling you into his arms when you snuggle up close. "I love you, hee."

"I love you more, baby." 

...

"Say hi!" you grab your sons arm, waving at the man in the doorway. "My big man! Say hi to uncle Jake." he takes the baby from your arms, bouncing him in his. "Where's your dad, big man? always leaving mommy to do the work, huh?" you move to the kitchen, starting the coffee maker for heeseung.

"Dad is doing laundry." Heeseung emerges, passing Jake the diaper bag. You furrow your brows at that, heeseung hadn't said anything about Jake taking Seung. "Morning." he slips behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Seung is-"

"You need a break." he quickly interjects, eyebrows raising when you don't immediately respond. "What? You don't wanna spend some time with me?" it's sly, the way his hand slips under your shirt to grab the soft flesh of your ass.  "I was the only man in your life at one point, you know." he smiles, moving his hand back to a more appropriate position. "Whatever." you laugh, eyes shifting over to Jake who's preoccupied with your son. You slip past heeseung, going to say your goodbyes. "Thanks, Jake. You really-"

Heeseung's familiar hiss of disapproval stops you. Jake simply laughing, "It's all good. My girlfriend wants to see him anyway. she calls it playing 'house'."

"Marry her and have your own, dude." heeseung comes over, kissing his son’s cheek. "Yeah, yeah." he's always dismissive when the topic comes up, but you know he's just waiting on the right time. "I'll take off then." Jake smiles at the both you before he makes his way to the front door. Heeseung pulls you in as you both wave Jake and your son goodbye. 

"Let's have another one." 

[sukunasteeth]

The Pleasure's All Mine - Chapter One

Based on this post from @winterrbluess

If Shibuya had a pulse, it would be at the rate of a hummingbird's wings.

The human race operates at a speed that oftentimes seems too quick to catch up with. It had been that way ever since you moved to the city for work about three years ago.

You came for a corporate job made up of ink black suits and pencil skirts, smiles that felt more on the side of uncanny valley than they did of genuine kindness, and handshakes from skin cold with carpal tunnel. You lived a corporate life. Everything is muted tones of tan and relies heavily on the concept of "modernizing". You wake up, go to work, go home, work on what you couldn't finish at the office, fall asleep on your colorless coffee table, and wake up to your alarm going off what feels like hours too soon. It was a cyclical cycle.

And the day you broke it, happened to be the day you met Sukuna.

~

You noticed the new shop on the end of the street maybe three weeks ago. It was so out of place, after all. The building was the only non-skyscraper to be seen on the block. It was a shriveled up little thing, built out of chipping brick that seemed to teeter on the edge of dilapidation from the inability to meet building codes. Overgrown ivy crawled up the sides of it and it still had plots of dirt in the front for planting as opposed to concrete and metal benches. 

When you had first seen the For Sale sign a few months ago, you were sure they were going to tear it down and pave over it- happy to be rid of the only spot of character left in the business district. Then a new sign appeared over the door, one that looked hand carved out of wood and haphazardly painted over so that you could make out the words "Carnation King".

It’s funny, flowers had never been much of an interest to you. You had seen them as just another task to take care of when you returned home after a long day. Even filling a vase with water always sounded like more effort than it was worth. But as the days blend together from monotony, you find yourself desperate for color.

You changed your walking route to work so that you can pass by the shop everyday. You knew nothing about flowers. You could barely tell a rose bud apart from a tulip, but that didn't stop you from ogling at the new bouquets and potted plants that lined the sidewalk every time you passed them. Signs made out of toothpicks and painters tape said words like “Butterfly Ranunculus” and “Brown-Eyed Susan” and learning their names became one of your favorite things to do. You never stepped foot inside, and yet the flower shop was now one of your happy places. 

You would meander by on your lunches and watch the butterflies play. You would walk by in the morning and smell freshly watered earth still hanging in the air. On your way home, when the sun was at its fullest shine, you would walk beneath the misters hung under the lip of the roof, and the coolness of the water droplets left behind on your skin saw you all the home. 

You hadn’t realized how important the flower shop was to your daily routine until the day it was interrupted. 

It happened to be one of the only days you had been forced by your workload to stay past sunset for overtime. You didn’t do it for the money, you did it because your boss had asked you nicely. But as you finally exit the office building for the night, you find yourself regretting staying so late. 

You hated walking home in the dark. Even though Japan was notorious for its low crime rates, that didn't mean it was an innocent city. After 9pm, your street was notorious for being a ghost town. The only signs of life were the few work martyrs left in their floor to ceiling window offices- acting as makeshift streetlights. There were only a few lights on the way home, and their solidarity only seemed to pronounce the darkness along the rest of the empty roadside. When you were just an intern, before you got better hours and were finally promoted to the shining 9-5 that everyone dreams about, you used to take your heels off and sprint back to your apartment. Always weary of what you couldn’t see. At the time, you didn’t know that the scariest people don’t have to hide in the dark. 

You hadn’t planned on walking past the shop that night. It was closed. It had to be. Normal flower shops closed well before 7 pm let alone 9. But the moment you touch the sidewalk outside your building, you see light glowing against the dense night. 

The shop at the end of the street was draped in tiny fairy lights. Every square inch of brick was twinkling slowly, glimmering like resting fireflies. It looked almost otherworldly in comparison to the towering pitch black shadows of corporate offices surrounding it. In fact, the effect of the glowing lights against the mirror windows made it look like the shop was hanging in space. 

Outside, the flowers you had walked past in the afternoon had been replaced with new pots, overflowing with buds you had never seen before. The usual delicate smell of Honeysuckle and Roses was now one of the sweetest scents you had ever experienced, so sweet, you could almost taste it on your tongue. Warm golden light floods out of the shop's window and the numerous white and yellow petals seem to gather and hold onto its dull shine. 

You didn’t even realize you had completely abandoned your original plan of taking the shortcut home until you were standing in front of the Carnation King with your eyes entranced on the display before you. One flower in particular had caught your eye, a huge luscious display of delicate tow-colored petals, tall with endless growth and reaching towards the moonlight as though it’s been waiting all day to see it. You can’t help but reach out to touch, and yet just before your fingertips make it, you feel coolness trickling onto your hand, breaking the spell that the lights and colors had placed on you. 

 "Evening Primrose." 

The suddenness of a voice beside you should have put you in fight or flight mode. It should have been a cold bucket of water to the face. Adrenaline spiking, you should be sprinting in the opposite direction. Instead, you found the tranquil trance that the flowers had put you in to have a lasting effect. 

You blink at the man who seemed to appear out of thin air standing next to you, and the first thing you notice are his eyes. Such a dark shade of golden rich hazel-brown, they were nearly shining like two cuts of Cat’s-Eye. They gleamed suspicion. 

He was much taller than you, but where most are lanky you can see strong muscles and broad shoulders. Collared sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealed skin kissed rich and deep by prolonged sunshine. Tattoos slithered around his wrists and had made their way to his sculptured face, meticulously drawn black lines frame an annoyed expression. When you see the rest of him, you’re certainly not expecting to notice tufts from a head of true strawberry blond hair hang in his frigid gaze.

In one of his hands is a water can, still pouring trickling water onto your momentarily petrified fingertips, and in the other hand is a cigarette, only a third of the way lit. 

The sight of him takes you so far back, if the sound of his voice wasn’t still echoing in your head you might not have remembered that he had even said anything to you. 

"I'm sorry?" You pull your hand away from the water spray, drying it on your slacks.

The man takes half a drag of the cigarette before he answers you. Slow and unrushed. "They're called Evening Primrose.” He speaks through a cloud of tobacco smoke, glancing at the flowers that had caught your eye. His lip twitches slightly, "Need full sunlight but only bloom in moonlight. Fickle bastards." 

Okay. Owner. Mean owner. Unexpectedly rough-and-tumble looking for being the caretaker of a flower shop. You glance at his apron, but you don’t find a name tag. He takes a step back while you’re searching for it, but he only moves far enough to start watering the next plant on the table. 

You look back to the Evening Primrose, and even the smell of the burning cigarettes is nothing in the face of the scent that had pulled you in earlier. The two flavors mix like a tea garden on fire. You caress the petals once more, unthinkingly. 

"They smell incredible." You mutter, mostly to yourself. 

"Not them.” His voice is colder than his eyes. He flicks a bit of ash onto the cement behind him, and tilts his head in the direction of a different bush, one that’s even bigger than the healthy Primrose, with hundreds of tiny buds that flutter in the nighttime air. “That'd be her." 

"”Her”?" You repeat, wondering if you heard the man correctly. 

"Night Jasmine." He answers in return. 

As standoffish as he was, you still found yourself making mental notes of the names he had given you. When you look at the Night Jasmine directly, it’s clear that the wind was sweeping that delicious smell straight from the direction of its honey-hued petals. You’re not sure you had seen plants like this at even the most expensive hotels and events that you had been invited to. Maybe tiny cuttings, but nothing to this size and level of lush. 

"Well she's very pretty." You reply softly, letting out an airy laugh through your nose at his use of pronouns. The man doesn’t even crack a smile in return, his eyes giving you a pointed once over. 

“And invasive.” He adds, resting his gaze on yours once again. 

There’s a thick silence that follows after, during which you consider apologizing. For what? You were unsure, but somehow standing in his towering shadow and feeling his accusing eyes had you feeling like you were in the wrong for merely existing in his presence. 

Before you can think to just turn around, take off your heels, and sprint home like you had years ago, his voice demands your attention again. 

"So,” he says, “you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me, then?"

Now, surely, you were hearing things. 

"E-Excuse me?" 

He seems to take in your shock with some thought while he takes another languid puff, "You come by here every single day,” He lets the smoke go from his lungs, ”but you never buy a thing. In fact, you never even come in." The tone of his voice tilts towards annoyance. “You just stand at the window and pout like some sad puppy.” 

"I-I work in the building next door?" You offer, bewildered by the entire situation. Were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep at your desk and given yourself some sort of stress-induced nightmare?

"Hmm," The man takes you in without breaking your gaze, tilting his head to the side while he takes another drag of his cigarette. "You don't seem like the pencil pusher type to me."

You’re not sure why that comment makes you defensive. In retrospect, it was even a compliment to you. You hated sitting at a desk all day, watching the sun rise and set over a stack of papers. But you had worked hard to get to the position you were in now and it wasn’t the first time a man had told you that you didn’t look like you belonged. Before you can catch yourself in the name of politeness you find yourself scoffing out, "Sorry, but you don't seem like much of a florist to me."

The silence returns. You watch as the disdainful glint to his eyes shatters, and is replaced with a split second of surprise. He blinks and it’s only then that you realize how much larger this man is in comparison to you. If you had seen him walking down the street, you’d probably think to yourself “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side” and yet here you were, on his bad-getting-worse side from the moment your eyes met. 

Or so you had thought. But, as the antithesis of anger crosses his hardened features, and an unexpected bitten-back grin takes the place of his glower, you’re not sure what to think anymore. 

He snorts out a laugh, finally releasing you from the cold grasp of his unbreakable gaze. He takes another step back and focuses his attention on watering the flowers again. "Touche." 

The cigarette gets flicked from his fingertips and he smears it beneath his boot into a tiny canal of rocks separating the soil of the garden beds from the cement of the sidewalk. 

"So, you gonna buy something then? Or just stand there with that strange look on your face all night?" He tilts his head to mirror your stance, but the amused grin remains in place of your confused gape. “I close in five minutes.”

“I have to hand it to you, you’re a fantastic salesman.” You’ve never met a stranger more brash and uncaring, so you were giving it a shot in return. It only serves to further his easy smiles.

“Am I not offering the right thing?” Now apparently after confirming to himself that you weren’t a threat, his tone of voice seems almost playful. It only serves to further your confusion. “Hmm, a lock of my hair maybe?” 

“I am not a stalker!” 

“Then buy something.” 

You take a deep breath through your nose. Feeling the need to save face when you haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Yet, the thought of turning away empty handed had embarrassment threatening to heat up your neck and cheeks. You didn't care if you had to drop a pretty penny, you just didn't want to boost this man's ego.

"Those." You point to the nearest flower, another pot of proud blossoms sprouting from a stem unseen past the abundant greenery of strong leaves. Soft moon colored petals unfurl at the top, and sprouting from the center are tiny, deep yellow pollen covered buds. 

The man follows your pointed finger and graces your choice with all of one second before he turns back to his watering. "Not those." He decides flatly. 

You’ve never made a more difficult purchase. "Why not?" 

"Casablanca Lilies need constant care. A white-collar like you couldn't keep up. And I don't raise 'em so people can kill 'em."

"I think I can take care of a plant, thank you." You retort, sarcasm oozing off your sentence. 

It seems you can only really catch this man’s attention when your tone has a touch of negativity, because suddenly he’s back to watching you. 

There’s a pregnant pause before his next words. He searches nothing but your eyes for a moment, as if to gauge. 

"Wanna bet?" He cocks a brow. 

And it angers you how handsome you find this annoying, pompous, self-entitled stranger. 

"Bet?” You repeat incredulously. “Are you making a sale or trying to fight?” 

Instantly, as if you were offering the two scenarios as possible options, his smile darkens and he takes a step forward instead of continuing his line of watering. 

That was all the reply you needed. You had seen the movies. The documentaries. Handsome men, provoking women, hungry eyes, it never added up to something good. So that was your que to keep walking straight past him and go home. 

“Right, I don’t need this.” You scoff. 

And yet, just before you're able to step aside him, like a true businessman, he says just the right thing to keep you there.

"So I'm right then?" 

The sound of the droplets from the watering can against the cement in place of your footsteps has you cringing in self-disappointment. You force your head to turn and meet his infuriating amusement. 

"What's the bet?" You grind out from clenched teeth. His eyes fall to your mouth, and he takes a pointed second to look at your bite before he steps away from you and back to the place where your interaction began. He reaches beside the huge Evening Primrose bush to reveal a small green potted sapling with the same leaf pattern. 

He holds it out to you and you reach out to take the little thing like you’re scared for its safety. 

"Come back in two weeks. If it's alive, I'll give you the lilies for free." The calmness in his tone of voice doesn't match the excitement glittering in his dark hazel-brown eyes. "And if it's dead, you owe me." He adds, rather nonchalantly. 

"Owe you what?" You squint your eyes at him, maybe then you could see the little horns that match his devilish little grin. 

He shrugs, almost too innocently, "A favor. Haven't thought of it yet." The stranger gives you one last once over, but this one leaves the strangest chill running down your spine. His eyes seem to follow it, as if he can see it rattling through you. "Should I? You're so confident you'll win, I didn't think I'd have to."

Now it was your turn to look him up and down, tattoos, scars and a face that seemed too comfortable with that murderous look he had first given you.

"...There's no way you're just a florist."

The comment is completely ignored as he leans forward, invading your airspace a little too close for comfort, and murmuring the words "Yes or no?" with a thick sugar coating. 

"You're on." You hope your own words convey your complete disdain for him… and not that tiny glimmer of attraction you feel prickling under your skin. 

A surprised laugh seems to escape him, as though he didn't expect you to make the deal. "You're either quite confident in yourself or a damn fool." 

Like a rabbit bearing tiny teeth in the face of a lion, you mirror him and lean in closer until there's only a small space between the two of you. "Maybe I just like showing up cocky men."

"Oh, and I'm gonna love a favor from such a mouthy brat." You're lucky he pulls away from you after he practically purrs his threat. There's another thoughtful pause before he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes again.

"Two weeks. I know where you work too now." He lights another, and examines the cherry after he takes the first drag, smiling like it just told him a joke. “Don’t forget.” 

[makeyoumine69]

Before You Fade (Memory Reboot x3)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: After moving to Chicago, you thought you had left your former life behind. But when you receive a mysterious invitation one day, you realize you still have unfinished business in New York.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, mutual pining, obsessive behavior, desperate & sensual foreplay, anal fingering, penetrative & oral sex, biting, spanking, creampie, masturbating, mild praise kink & degradation, body worship, pet names, dirty talk, misogyny, swearing, gaslighting, manhandling, mind manipulation, cheating.

WORDS: 6.8k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent — Before You Fade

A/N: Hello everyone! A new chapter is finally here! This story has me in a chokehold! I highly recommend you to read the first chapter and the second one for a better understanding and as always I hope you like it! If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST].

A new city, a new life, new people and new opportunities—all this was supposed to bring some relief, to ignite a new flame in your chest, to set a new goal, to make you forget everything that happened in New York. It was supposed to, but it never did.

After a few months of living in Chicago and working in a prestigious financial corporation, you began to notice that your life now looked like a vicious circle and the days blurred into one long day that never ended. That was probably the price you paid for running away, for being too cowardly to face the truth that what you shared with Bateman was not just a history—it was a goddamn passion and obsession that most people could only dream of. But you, you were not like them. For you, this obsession was like a plague, a disease, and you were sure that Patrick felt the same way. Still, the words he said that day were like scars on your mind. The poor guy really thought that you would stay with him, that you would miss a chance to reboot your life. Since you couldn't reboot the memory, this was the only way out.

Was that it?

The sleek interior of your office greeted you with the invigorating aroma of fresh coffee waiting for you on your desk made by your lovely assistant—a handsome guy named Vincent—he was quite modest but smart and sometimes you even thought you should have asked him out for something more serious than coffee. But then again, the shitty memories kept ruining all those weak impulses to try something new.

Sighing, you closed the door behind you and took off your coat, placing it on the nearby hanger and glancing at the beautiful bouquet of flowers on the small coffee table next to the big black couch. These flowers…you bought them for yourself just because you wanted them, not because you felt lonely or…

'Fuck, not again,' you shook your head, not giving yourself a chance to spiral again, knowing how quickly that could happen. Today was the worst day for self-digging, because you were going to present a final plan for a future quarter, and you couldn't fail. Not today, not ever. The moment you finally settled into your favorite armchair, you heard a soft knock at the door. You knew who it was even before you let the guest in.

Vincent, smiling as if he saw the brightest star in the midnight sky, opened the door and entered with cat-like grace. "Are you busy?"

Embarrassed by the man's persistent gaze, you folded your hands and leaned down on the table. "No, not really, I just came," you brought the coffee cup closer and wrapped your elegant fingers around its handle. "…and realized I have the best secretary in the world."

A sonorous chuckle rumbled from Vincent's chest. "Oh, you're too kind," the man walked into the office holding a pile of documents. "I brought you some fresh correspondence you might like to see."

"Uh, yes, thank you. Put it here, please."

The brown-haired secretary complied, and soon there was a large white envelope in front of you, next to the documents. There was something odd about having such a large envelope of mail since it was almost the end of the work week, but you just tapped your fingers on the smooth surface of the table in a slightly skeptical manner before turning your attention back to Vincent, who was standing in front of the desk, ready to assist you with anything you might ask.

"Anything else I can do?"

"I think that's about it for now," you answered, staring at the envelope from time to time out of the corners of your ears, sipping the hot drink and letting the warmth flow down your tensed body. "Oh, did you hear that our CEO won't be at the presentation today?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, he…has some unfinished business in LA…with a hot blonde chick."

You both laughed in unison, everything was clear as a bell. "Well, that sounds important." Vincent crossed his arms over his chest, the Oliver Peoples O'Malley glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though you tried not to focus on that little detail that constantly reminded you of Bateman. As if he was the only yuppie to wear such glasses. "Have you…"

As soon as Vincent started to speak, your phone rang—the loud sound even startled you a bit, but you quickly shook yourself and picked up the call, being extremely curious who could be calling you like this. "I'm listening."

"(Y/n)!" Paul Allen's cheerful timbre came from the other end of the line, making you almost jump in your seat.

"P-Paul?" You gave Vincent a worried look, and your nervousness seemed to affect your assistant as well, because he didn't look relaxed anymore. "Did something happen?"

"What? No! Of course not," Allen chuckled, and a female giggle could be heard in the background. "I'm calling to ask when we can see each other in New York…"

A noise grew louder, making it difficult to hear Paul's words, so you had to close one of your ears and furrow your brows in irritation. "Where are you calling from? A brothel? I can't fucking hear a word!"

Such a remark made Vincent laugh a little shyly, but then the man bowed his head and retreated in his professional, polite manner.

"Can you repeat…" You began to speak at the same time as Paul.

"…so when can we meet?"

Grumbling, you rolled your eyes. "Why did you even decide that I would visit New York?"

"Didn't you get the invitation to the wedding?" Paul's question made you feel something heavy in your stomach.

"Wedding? Who's wedding?"

There was a moment of silence that left you so nervous that you didn't even notice a pencil in your hands that was about to break because of how desperately you were squeezing it.

"Halberstram…" another pause, then another female snicker. All of it made you sick. "He's marrying a hardbody named… Cecilia, if I'm not mistaken."

Somehow you felt strangely relieved.

"But it's been several months since I quit, why was I invited?"

"Gee, (y/n)," now it was time for Paul to grumble a bit. "You think a few months are enough to forget you?" He laughed shamelessly into the phone. "Okay, okay, maybe I chose the wrong time to call you. But seriously, I'm looking forward to hanging out with you when you get here."

"Argh, fine," you muttered, finally letting go of the pencil only to grab the annoying envelope. "I'll call you later, today is really a fucked up day for me."

When you heard nothing but women laughing, you just hung up. 'God, it's only ten in the morning and Allen's already having fun. What am I doing wrong with my life?' You vented to yourself, twisting the envelope in your hands as if you were about to open Pandora's box.

With a deft move, you pulled out a postal knife and carefully cut open the envelope to gain access to its contents. Time stood still for you as your hands involuntarily reached for a beautifully decorated card that could definitely be a wedding invitation. After a short exhalation, you opened it and it took you several minutes to process what you had just seen, as you thought you were hallucinating.

The card had the following text:

“The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of

Evelyn Arwyn Williams And Patrick Pierce Bateman

Saturday, the twentieth of October nineteen hundred and eighty-seven at twelve o'clock in the afternoon

Ziegfeld Ballroom 141 W 54th St New York, NY 10019.”

The card fell from your hands without any resistance. You felt dizzy, even nauseous, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the office and you were literally suffocating.

'How dare…' you cursed to yourself, grabbing the collar of your blouse in a feint attempt to unbutton it from the burning itch on your skin, '…you…fucking bastard!'

Dazed, you stood up faster than you should have, making your head spin and nearly knocking you over if you hadn't leaned on the back of your chair. You need some fresh air or a sip of heavy alcohol or a fucking gram. Something that will take you out of this situation, even if only for a moment.

"Boss?" Vincent's worried voice came out of nowhere. "Are you okay?"

Panting, you shot an angry glance at your table, then at your lovely assistant, whose bright eyes were like two glowing beacons. "Vincent, listen," you stammered, unable to find the right words. "Can you please order me a ticket," you closed your eyes for a second, counted to ten and gripped the back of your chair. "…to New York."

"New York? Something wrong?"

"N-no," you managed to laugh off your tension and stop grazing the leather under your fingernails. "It's just… seems like I have some deals to settle in New York, some old ones I thought were closed."

"Only one ticket or…"

"I need a ticket in both directions, of course," you mumbled nervously before taking a coffee and finishing it in one go, thankfully it became less hot. "I won't be there for long," you said as if you were trying to convince yourself, desperately trying. It was only when you met Vincent's eyes that you noticed his sad look and realized that you might have upset him. "Uh, I really wish I could take you with me… but I want someone to look after things here and…"

The dark-haired man smiled sympathetically, and that helped to calm you a little. "Oh, please, don't apologize; it's my job," he said, visibly relaxed, considering his casual pose with his hands in the pockets of his Armani trousers. "I'm just worried about you, I don't want anything bad to happen."

Slightly embarrassed, you couldn't help but grin sincerely. "Ah, Vincent, you're such a sweetheart," you rumbled with undisguised amusement. "Everything will be fine. I promise, you have nothing to worry about."

"All right, then," Vincent pulled himself up and opened the door. "I'll let you know when I have information about your flights."

After that you were left alone again. The muffled din of the city outside the office could be heard faintly whenever you walked past the windows, restlessly making circles around the room.

'Maybe I should just ignore it? Maybe it's just a bad joke and I should call Tim and ask him about it?' You covered your face with your palms before sighing tiredly. Once again, Bateman was forcing you to make strange decisions and you hated it. You hated him, you hated the wedding that hasn't even happened yet, and you hated yourself for being so easily overwhelmed.

No way in hell did you expect to visit New York too soon after you left the city and everything that happened there behind your back the moment you took your seat in an airplane to Chicago. And who would dare to judge you for that? Right, no one but you.

The wedding was supposed to be tomorrow, so you had some time to prepare for… for what? Yawning, you stretched your legs in the uncomfortable backseat of the taxi, the driver asking you where you were from and if you had ever been to New York. And at some point you felt sad because you really wanted to say no, you haven't. But you did, and only God knew how hard it had been for you to survive the past months of constant self-digging and dead-end conversations with your vicious subconscious.

Thanks to Vincent, you didn't have to worry about where to stay in New York, as he booked you a luxury suit at the Plaza Hotel. Ah, Vincent…that boy was so sweet that sometimes you could even believe in supernatural beings, as if life was trying to make amends for the unpleasant situation with Bateman.

Sitting on the big bed, you tried your best not to have a panic attack or, even worse, go crazy and empty the minibar, drinking as much as you could as if tomorrow would never come. 'Gosh, I'd sell my soul to see Bateman's face if I came to the wedding being completely drunk.’ With a silly smile on your face, you kept dreaming about some nonsense to distract yourself until the night came and you had to get some sleep before the wedding.

The next day started terribly when some random maid came early and mixed up your suit with someone else's. In the end, you couldn't say that you were rested enough, but you didn't have much time and you still had to come up with an idea for your outfit. 'Should I wear something extravagant or perhaps something more modest?' You spun around in front of the large mirror, the clock was ticking and that sound was really getting on your nerves.

"Uh, to hell with it…" you cursed to yourself and finally picked out a blue Gucci suit that fit your figure perfectly. "I don't want to overshadow the groom."

Winking at your own reflection, you added a few accessories before leaving the Plaza, where a beautiful Cadillac was waiting for you. A driver opened the back door for you, smiled politely, and at some point you even began to think that this day wouldn't be as shitty as it promised to be.

By the time you arrived at the Ziegfeld Ballroom, it was already quite crowded, with many luxury cars lining the street, delivering more and more stylishly dressed guests. With a heavy heart, you held an invitation in your hand and fought the urge to tear it apart and tell the driver to drive away. The sudden appearance of Courtney and Luis in your vision pulled you out of your doubts. 'So that bastard even invited Courtney,' you hummed and slowly opened the door to get out of the car.

All the way to the Ziegfeld Ballroom, you tried to be careful not to bump into anyone you didn't really want to interact with, like Timothy, Craig, David, Paul… Even though you were sure it was going to happen one way or another, you still didn't want to face reality too soon.

Inside the huge hall, you stopped near the long banquet table decorated with white and red roses—the whole style of the wedding screamed Evelyn. Nothing special, though, Bateman probably didn't care about such things as wedding decorations.

Taking a glass of champagne, you moved deeper into the hall and watched the guests split into groups. Still, you were lucky because you didn't see any familiar faces, even Luis and Courtney got lost somewhere among the faceless yuppies and their dates. Everything seemed fine, you had a plan to see the couple get married and then… slip away? It was such a stupid plan, but at least you had one.

Puzzled, you told yourself to leave all thoughts to the latter, when you wouldn't be so vulnerable, staying in the middle of the ballroom and watching the several waitresses bringing more and more appetizers. You were even about to try one of them when you accidentally noticed Tim and Craig coming your way. Trembling, you almost dropped the glass, but somehow you managed to put it on the nearby table, startling a waitress with your erratic behavior, but you didn't care.

As fast as you could, you rushed in a different direction from the group of your former friends, desperately searching for any room you could get into. Your pulse pounded in your eardrums, forcing you to open the first door and enter.

Breathing heavily, you pressed your back against the door and closed your eyes for a second, only to open them in a blood-chilling shock as you met a pair of hazel, dark eyes as bewildering as your own.

"You?" Bateman's startled voice bounced off the walls of the small bathroom, his face frozen in a confused grimace as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Me? You invited me, you fool!" You barked back, pulling away from the door and moving toward the brown-haired man. "Have you forgotten already?"

Patrick looked absolutely stunning in his wedding tuxedo, the black bow tie being the cherry on top of his impeccably styled appearance. For a brief moment, Bateman studied your angry expression, his thick eyelashes batting like bird wings.

"It was Evelyn," he replied curly, standing still. "How delusional you must be to think I would invite you?"

Crossing his arms, Patrick smiled, and at first glance he seemed calm, but his slightly trembling lips betrayed him. With a soft chuckle, you moved closer until you noticed a beautiful bride's bouquet—a combination of roses again.

"So did Evelyn get what she wanted? I can see her in every little detail of this wedding. The Ziegfeld Ballroom was her idea too?"

The man sighed wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly. "No, my mother insisted."

"Oh," you beamed, carefully taking the bouquet in your noticeably shaking hands. "How sweet."

With a quick movement, Patrick snatched the flowers out of your hands and placed them back on the bathroom counter. "I had to walk around with this bouquet like an idiot, because I didn't even see Evelyn all this time!"

Such an outburst made you pause for a moment. "Relax, Bateman," you pretended to cheer him up. "Soon you'll be a family man."

The words forced him to clench his teeth as if they caused him physical pain. "Why did you come here, (y/n)?"

"Do you have any ideas?"

The distance between the two of you became smaller and smaller, melting like ice under the burning sun. You didn't even notice that every time he spoke, you couldn't take your eyes off his plump lips, his perfectly shaped chin that you wanted to touch, the way his eyebrows curled… God, you shouldn't have come here in the first place…

"I'm not gonna play your games anymore," Patrick suddenly blurted out, pulling you out of your lewd dreams. "If you came here just to get on my nerves, I'll tell security to kick you out."

"Woah, woah," you jerked back as Bateman stepped closer, your foreheads almost bumping into each other. "You seem very tense, marriage is a stressful thing, right?"

You continued to back away until you hit the wall behind you, and in the next second, the man caught you between his arms, placing them on either side of your trembling little form.

"Bateman?" You asked him breathlessly.

Frowning, he leaned down. You thought he was going to kiss you, but he just gasped and turned away. "I hate you," those words hurt you more than you could ever imagine. "Do you see these hands?" He asked, raising his hand and bringing it closer to your face. "I could break your neck so easily and watch your dead body fall to the ground."

A creeping fear rippled through your chest as he spoke. "You're kidding, right?" You tried to make a joke out of it, but as he tightened his grip around your throat like an iron ring, a muffled whimper escaped your tense lungs. "Ahh, w-what…"

Instead of actually hurting you, the dark-haired man brought you closer, so that your lips finally collided and the way you kissed was beyond any normalcy of kissing. Growling like a beast, Patrick literally bit into your trembling lips, almost tearing the soft flesh away, his grasp on your neck never loosening, only tightening when you dared to hug his shoulders, snuggling against him.

"Fuck," you cursed as he pulled away to nip at your neck. "You… scared the shit out of me! You psy…"

His hand abruptly covered your mouth, not letting you finish what you were about to say. "You came here because you couldn't forget me, huh? Because you are so fucking miserable in Chicago and no one gives a fuck about you?"

With your eyes shut tight, you whimpered against his palm at the faint physical contact with his hard groin. It was already too much, but then you heard a soft click of the door lock. 'Am I really going to die?' The thought alone made your knees weak. Meanwhile, Bateman was nuzzling against your cheek, inhaling your scent like an animal in rut, and you couldn't do anything, trapped in the strong arms you'd been dreaming about all these months.

The question he asked hung in the air for some time, even after Patrick removed his hand, waiting for your answer, you couldn't speak because… he was right. But to admit it would mean that you had lost. Lost in your own game.

"Why did you run away from me?" The man asked unexpectedly, his whole mood changing from wild to sad, bordering on despair. "Tell me!"

"I thought it would be better for both of us, okay?" You hated yourself for not finding better words, but it was so damn hard to think in a situation like this. "And I still think so."

With a wry grin, the man distanced himself a bit. "And that's why you're here with me… in some random bathroom… in the middle of my wedding?"

It did look familiar. That fleeting moment you gave in to temptation in the Tunnel that changed your life forever and for which you're still paying the price.

"You don't love her, do you?" You didn't even recognize your own voice.

"It's none of your business," Bateman replied before lowering his palm to your hip and squeezing it. "Now get on your knees, I don't have much time."

The audacity of this man was unbearable. Embarrassed but extremely aroused, you stifled a moan from the way he stroked your ass, encouraging you to obey. Biting your lower lip, you remembered how delicious this man tasted—a memory that haunted you every day—you should have resisted, you should have just stopped everything here and now, because there would be no happy ending.

‘I should have, but I can't,’ these six words flashed through your cloudy mind as you slid down the wall to meet the visible bulge in Patrick's tight pants.

"Good, good," he praised, casually unfastening his jacket and then his belt, just as you saw his white suspenders hugging his shoulders so deliciously that you had to hold your breath. "God, if I knew Evelyn was going to give me a wedding present like that, I'd postpone the wedding."

"You're a sick man," you murmured, but he just chuckled. "I hope you know that?"

"So are you.”

There was a small lounge chair in the other corner of the bathroom, and the moment Bateman saw it, you knew what he would do. Smirking mischievously, the man lifted you up with practiced ease and moved you to the chair, sitting down and spreading his toned legs so you could take your place between them. Patrick used all the self-control he had left to undo his pants without actually tearing them apart, his erection jutting out the moment he lowered the confines of his garments.

This scene made you lick your lips with undisguised hunger. Slowly, you leaned down between his wide-open legs and teasingly took his swollen tip into your mouth, then pulled away. "You're going to marry a woman who can't suck you off better than me, aren't you?"

Instead of taunting you back, the man grabbed the back of your head and made you take him deeper until your nose rubbed against his thick pubic hair, but it was still not enough, his cock was too big.

"Ahhh, what's that? Your mouth is too small to take me in?" Bateman commented cheekily as he watched your eyes get wet as you gagged. "You can only use it to say shit, but when it comes to real business…" the man pushed into your mouth again, fixing your head in one place. "…it doesn't seem to be useful."

"Mhmm," you tried to slip out of his grip, but he held you deadly tight. At one point you even wanted to use your teeth, but fortunately a loud commotion from outside attracted Patrick's attention and he let you go. "You…you are so pathetic…" you coughed several times, understanding that your end was near. "Even in a moment like this…you can't keep quiet! Like a fucking chatterbox…"

You wanted to say something else, but the way Bateman's dick pressed against your cheek, the weight of it, the warmth, it was all too overwhelming for both you and him, considering how tense Patrick's face was when you let his erection slide along your jaw as you descended lower to tease his sensitive balls with your tongue.

"Oh-fuck…" The man gasped, tilting his head back to lean against the wall and mumbling something incoherently.

Ashamed of what you were doing, you paused for a second, wondering what consequences awaited the two of you in the future. But all your attempts to stop yourself from falling into the abyss of consuming depravity were mercilessly crushed by reality— Bateman, all spread out for you, his cheeks blushing slightly as he enjoyed the oral pleasure you were giving him. This reality hit too hard. After all, you were enjoying that dick as well.

"So let it happen," you murmured suddenly before you wrapped your wet lips, covered with your saliva and his pre-cum, around his blushing shaft once more, your hands still rubbing his heavy sac. His skin was so soft there that you literally wanted to scream.

"W-what?" The man asked suddenly, as if he had just woken up from the enticing spell. "What are you talking about… are you so cock drunk that your brain can't function?"

At first, dirty talk like that could be really arousing, but now, hearing it for the hundredth time in a row, it was more amusing than hot. Without saying anything, you raised your eyes to him, your sneaky fingers delving deeper between his legs to stroke the rim of his tight muscles. A throaty moan escaped his suddenly dry lips. 'Cock drunk, huh?' You were proud of yourself, having a man like Patrick in a chokehold with your deliberate ministrations.

"Look at you, Bateman, you're such a naughty boy who loves it when someone plays with his ass?" You teased in between heavy gasps, as sucking such a huge cock was quite a challenge. "Does Evelyn even know about this?

Clenching his teeth, he tried to pull at your hair, but you dodged, pressing your finger persistently against his tight asshole before gently probing it, and you could swear to God, if heaven really existed, you wanted Patrick's moans to be music there.

"Uh, you're such a brat, babe," that nickname made you freeze. "This is going to end you one day…" His eyes rolled back into his head as you pushed your finger deeper into him, using a small amount of liquid on it as a lubricant. "(Y/n), you seem to need to bother your hands with something else…" you gave him a questioning look and he grinned in satisfaction, admiring the way his veiny, leaking dick slipped in and out of your lips. "Touch yourself… I know you want to…"

Fucking bastard. Why did he have to say it now? His words involuntarily triggered the memories of the lonely nights you spent in Chicago, masturbating almost every day when you thought of Patrick, telling yourself that he probably did the same. After all, maybe that was true?

As you pulled his cock out of your wet mouth, you quickly undid your belt and then your pants, pulling them down like an obstacle standing between you and mind-blowing pleasure. Locking your eyes with his walnut ones, you got up and tugged at the lapels of his jacket, forcing him to bend over so you could kiss him. Bateman didn't flinch, kissing you back, tasting himself on your lips and sucking on your tongue as you moaned shamelessly. Afterwards, you slipped a finger into his mouth and he licked it obediently before taking it inside.

"Oh, Patrick," you gasped before sitting down. "Why can't it be like this all the time?"

The brown-haired man smiled, exactly that smile that could make you commit a crime, how charming it was, it made you want to cry here and now.

Silently, Patrick leaned down to take your hand and place it between your legs, then he took your other hand and brought it back to his engorged dick, forcing you to resume your ministrations and from that moment on, you just let yourself go.

Rubbing your most sensitive spot, you whimpered and closed your eyes as you jerked him off, feeling the drops of his warm pre-cum dripping down your palm. Your orgasm was looming somewhere near, but it felt like the pleasure of your own hand was not enough. Bateman, as if he could read your mind, suddenly lifted you up by your shoulders, made you straddle him, and in the next moment you let him impale you on his thick cock, giving you the abundance you thought you had lost forever. A loud shriek echoed off the marble walls of the bathroom, a sound that made Patrick grin even more arrogantly as he knew that no one but him could make you feel complete.

He fucking knew it.

Groaning, the man grabbed your hips and set the pace, and at some point you found yourself riding him with pure abandon, literally bouncing on his beefy cock. "A-ahhh, Patrick, yes! Fuck-fuck me, just like that!" You mewled into his ear as he spanked your ass, squeezed your buttocks and spread them. "Mmhm…holy…shit…"

Another slap made you tremble on his lap. "So fucking needy for me," Bateman purred in a husky voice, his hair a mess, you managed to undo his bow tie and several top buttons to stroke his bulging chest. "Argh, you gonna make me cum, babe."

With that, he began to thrust his hips up, meeting yours with a shameless slapping sound. Dumbfounded, you were also so close, but you wanted him to fall first. Passionately rocking back and forth, you wrapped your hands around his neck, catching him off guard.

"You…you missed me just like I missed you…" That was more a statement than a question but the man didn't say anything, he just nodded with his eyes closed as he was completely lost in the embrace of incoming rapture. "SAY IT!" You nearly beat him into his chest. "Say…it…you bastard!"

Your crying compelled him to open his brown eyes which now were so dark, you could draw in them. "Yeah…" Each word was so hard for him to pronounce as his hips began to shake. "…I…I've missed you…too!" Patrick had to hide his face into the crook of your neck and before you knew it, the man bit into your soft flesh to the point of blood.

"A-AWWW, PATRICK!" You whimpered when you felt him exploding inside of you, shooting his hot load and sinking his teeth even deeper, holding you tightly in his strong arms.

"Shhh," the man strived to shush you, licking the fresh wound on your throat. "Just…take it…"

Still trembling, Bateman squeezed your hips so painfully, that you instinctively tried to pull away but he didn't allow you to. Sobbing, you cursed yourself for forgetting how rough he could be or…maybe you simply didn't know about this side of him? By the time Patrick stopped shaking, you were pumped with his seed till the brink, it was pouring out, staining the furniture beneath you, but no one cared. You sat like that for a moment until you began to move again as you still didn't reach your climax. With every buck of your hips against his, you hoped he would understand what you were asking for, but as soon as you reached out to kiss him, the man indifferently pulled away, tapping on your hip.

"Get up," Patrick commanded you, a bit annoyed.

"W-what?"

Bateman didn't repeat, taking you off from his lap before standing up on his feet and zipping his pants. Lost and confused, you sat on the floor, watching him sliding his hair back, opening the faucet and cleaning his face.

What the fuck was that?

"Bateman?" You stammered, finding yourself in the most humiliating position ever.

"You better clean yourself up, too," he commented briefly without looking at you, his voice drenched in venom. "You don't want the guests to think someone brought a hooker here, do you?"

Furrowing your brows, you ran a hand down your tear streaked cheek. "You're going to stop talking to me like that, or…"

"Or what?"

Anger and despair mixed together in a cocktail of pure madness. You wanted to fucking beat this man until he begged for mercy, but unfortunately, it was you sitting on the cold floor with your bare ass, his cum flowing shamelessly between your thighs.

"Fucking scumbag!" You yelled, picking up your shoe to throw it at him, but he quickly moved aside. "You're going to regret this…pathetic…"

Bateman started to say something but was distracted by several female voices. He checked himself in the mirror for the last time and finally spared you with his pitiful look. "You're going to walk around my WEDDING with my SEED inside you. Maybe you should look in the mirror and think about who's really pathetic in this room?"

And then he left.

Being left like that has set your body on fire, your nervous system was on the verge of bursting, but you managed to pull yourself together, gritting your teeth to suppress a loud scream. You felt nauseous, the bite on your neck was bleeding and aching, you were even afraid to touch it. Knowing that the door was now unlocked, you couldn't sit there any longer, so you gathered all the strength you had left to pull yourself up and get dressed. Then you slowly moved to the place where Patrick had been standing moments ago…but it felt like it had been so long ago, as time had stopped. After you cleaned yourself, you were really lucky to find a first aid kit, so you managed to clean your wound as well.

The ceremony had already begun when you finally decided to leave the bathroom. Dazed, you stumbled around like you were drunk. You couldn't remember how you found your way to the main event, where a large altar awaited the newlyweds.

All the guests were in their seats, and you moved stealthily, trying not to attract unwanted attention. The last row of chairs was almost empty, and when you suddenly recognized Timothy Bryce, lonely sitting there, you didn't hesitate to sit next to him.

"Well, well, well," you mused, a little cheered up. "Hello, Bryce."

The dark-haired man almost jumped in his seat when he saw you. "Jesus Christ, (y/n)? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Mmhm, Evelyn invited me."

Timothy visibly grew sadder. " Right…she probably tried to invite all the people in New York."

This sudden change in his demeanor confused you. "Tim? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

The music began to play exactly when you opened your mouth to ask some more curious questions. Soon, the priest and several other people appeared in the alley. They walked up to the altar, everyone around was excited to see the main stars of this event. And as if that were not enough, some women in front of you began to cheer so loudly that you had to cover your ears.

"Stupid bitches." Tim grumbled as he sat back.

"Craig and David…where are they?"

Bryce pointed to other seats that were almost next to the altar. "They're with their chicks and they want the best seats."

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, avoiding craning your neck when it wasn't needed because it still hurt. "I see…and I thought they were doing coke without you."

"They did."

"Really? And what about you?"

The man sighed. "No coke is enough to get lost."

Now it was even stranger.

Another loud reaction from the guests signaled that something was starting to happen. You have to stand up a little to see the tall figure moving down the alley—it was Bateman, looking like he was not the one who fucked you in the small bathroom an hour ago. The way he smiled at the guests made you want to puke. Timothy noticed your trepidation and narrowed his eyes curiously.

"Are you okay?" He asked, not paying attention to what was happening near the altar. "You look unhealthy."

"I… I'm fine, it's just… it's very hot in here." You wanted to loosen your collar, but then you remembered the bite, so you had to sit like that.

In a few minutes the music changed and then Evelyn appeared, accompanied by her father who led her to the altar where Patrick was waiting for her. You held your breath and bit the inside of your cheek, but you forced yourself to look at the way Bateman took Evelyn's hands in his, touching them with absolute tenderness. A single drop of sweat trickled down your forehead and you probably intended to chew your cheek until it bled, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered now, nothing could hurt you, you felt like a ghost destined to walk the earth in search of its salvation. Only when the priest said that the newlyweds could kiss now, you turned away and so did Tim.

When the official part of the ceremony was over, Patrick and Evelyn walked out of the room towards an unknown destination, you and Bryce just sat there, not even talking, just sitting, as if you had nowhere to go.

"I'll get us some drinks." Timothy suddenly rumbled and stood up as quickly as the idea had occurred to him.

You didn't even have a chance to answer. You closed your eyes and rubbed your face tiredly when you heard a child's voice next to you. Turning sideways, you opened your eyes to see a little girl with a small bag in her hands. "Oh, hi…could you please repeat what I need to do?"

The girl smiled and opened the bag in an inviting gesture. "Pull your hand in and choose your destiny advice!" Giggling, you did as she said. Soon you were unfolding a small piece of paper. "What does it say?" The girl asked with undisguised curiosity.

After you rolled up the paper completely, you could read the text. "Find the courage to face your destiny." You swallowed nervously, on the verge of tears again.

"You didn't like it?" The little girl asked you, her face turning sad as well.

"No! Of course not, thank you very much!" You tried to smile. "You're so sweet, thank you!"

The girl suddenly hugged you. "Please don't be sad!"

And with that, the little child picked up her bag and ran to another person, doing the same thing she did to you. Nervously holding the piece of paper in your sweaty hands, you reread the text until several wet stains appeared on the paper. 'I am such a fool.' Wiping away tears, you heard several footsteps behind you. 'God, what if it's him?'

Excited, you turned to see Tim holding two cocktails. "They don't have anything strong."

You took the drink and watched Bryce sitting next to you. "Thanks Tim."

"No problem," he took a sip before looking at the piece of paper in your hands. "What is this?"

"Uh, nothing, just a childish game." You mumbled and took a sip of your cocktail.

After a minute of total silence, Timothy suddenly rested his arm on the back of his chair. "You know, maybe some coke is not such a bad idea after all," he looked at you, his dull eyes now glinting with a mischievous spark. "And since you're here… do you have any plans?"

"No," you replied frankly. "I… I have no plans, Bryce."

Nodding to himself, the man sat a little closer. "What about you coming to my place?"

Fidgeting in your chair, you wanted to turn to face him, but instead you hissed in pain, how crazy must the man be to leave such a mark? You crumpled the piece of paper in your fist and felt your nails digging into your skin, but still no pain came.

"Why not?" You finally replied, giving Bryce a smile he couldn't ignore as he smiled back.

'When one door closes, another always opens.' Was that what the taxi driver told you yesterday? A quote that had made you cringe in skepticism now played with different colors. But in the end, life was a good thing, even when you thought it was not.

Right?

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[st4rstudent]

[fraugwinska]

Dude, i had an idea out of nowhere, and in my head it's so funny for no reason ☠️☠️ So, you know that theres like, that canon drawing that Alastor made for Angel's birthday?

((https://twitter.com/HazbinHotel/status/1642135435085217793?t=U6Kzncfye-QAjtJYy8R23A&s=19) This one)

So like, imagine that is Alastor's S/o birthday, and he decided to make her a drawing like that ☠️ idk it's weirdly funny in my head

So - a few things need to be said.

1. I know that Alastor canonically likes to doodle, and ever since episode 1 we really know just how awfully funny these doodles are.

2. what I didn't know was what the hell you were talking about, so I looked it up and... my god. The snorts I snaughted, the wheezes I whoze, the cackles I cuckled. He may be a 'gentleman', he may try to behave cordial and appear classy, but Doodle-Artist-Alastor is a fucking menace, no filter and so snappy, holy shit.

3. Now, for my highly professional opinion (*cough cough*) of what would happen if you, Alastor's s/o, would get a picture like this as a birthday gift. In front of everyone.

❤️ You agreed on celebrating your birthday, as redundant as you thought it was, only under the condition that no one would buy you a gift. If they wanted to hand you a present, you wanted it to be a small, handmade thing, valuing their time and thought behind it much more than the actual thing.

❤️ Everyone would hold true to this request, and the gifts you get match the giver perfectly.

❤️ Charlie and Vaggie crafted together, handing you a bejeweled jewelry box covered in glitter glue and snippets of photos they had taken of you and the gang over the time you were guest in the hotel.

❤️ Niffty, being both skilled in sewing and the chaos gremlin she is, presents you with a abysmal looking pile of different, sewn-together fabrics. You turn and twist it in your hands, thanking her without knowing what it is, until you find a golden snap lock hidden in the masses of layers. It's a very inconvenient coin purse.

❤️ Opening Angels gift has everyone holding their breath - preparing for something phallic, kinky or lewd. instead, you squeal as you pack a crochet version of Fat Nuggets, including his stubby little horns. Angels smug expression at the sheer surprise at his very unusual (and unexpected) talent of the gang quickly turns to a sweet smile as you crush him with your hug, telling him how much you love it.

❤️ Husk's gift for you is nothing corporeal. Instead, he announces he'd teach you one of his many magic tricks he often did for your sheer delight at your many evenings at the bar. He blushes a bit when you thank him with a kiss on his cheek.

❤️ Alastor would wait to be the last one to present his gift - it's known the best is always saved for last. He hands you a large envelope. Curiously you open it, careful not to tear it, and pull out a thick sheet of paper

❤️ Five heads hang over your shoulder, five pairs of eyes widen at the sight: The paper is full of scribbled doodles, a crude, macabre looking version of yourself in the middle, around it splatters of what looks like blood, grinning faces, and scribbled words: cutie pie - talks in her sleep - MINE MINE MINE - I love Alastor (in a speech bubble over your head)

❤️ Reactions would be mixed, Charlie would find it weirdly adorable, Niffty would point out anything she likes with bashful giggles, Vaggie would be as disturbed as Husk, while Angel would make fun of it, laughing while mocking the quality of the drawing.

❤️ you however, would be torn between genuine laughter and earnest emotionality you've never received something handmade from Alastor. He'd often shower you in little tokens of care, a bouquet of flowers, a new necklace, a dress or a scarf he's seen at Rosie's. You found it not only endearing, the thought of him, dressed in his pompous attire sitting at his bureau, drawing this made your heart ache with affection.

❤️ Quietly staring at the picture, Alastor would interpret your silence as veiled ridicule, and vanish into shadows, retreating. He had failed, his gift shown to be juvenile and lacking. Sulking, he would avoid you for the rest of the evening, only returning to your shared room when night already fell and everyone was fast asleep

❤️ He would find you in deep slumber, cheeks a bit puffy and shimmering from trails of dried tears. He'd tilt his head in curiosity, wondering what would've possibly made you cry, then he sees it - his painting, clutched in your hands and pressed to your heart.

❤️ He'd hurry to change for the night, scolding himself for drawing hast conclusions - he should know you better. When he gently pulls the paper from you to set it aside, youd awake, reaching out to him, starting to apologize for not giving him an appropriate reaction.

❤️ alastor would shush you, slipping into bed with you, and give you your other, much more intimate present.

[starrystevie]

based on this headcanon i posted previously!

"what do you mean you've never had a valentine?"

eddie rolls his eyes and swings his arms across his front as if to gesture to his entire being at steve's question.

"consider me flattered that you think all this," he gestures again, "would land me a date at all, but it's not like i even want a valentine in the first place."

they glare at each other as steve picks at his cold diner fries and eddie finishes off his strawberry milkshake. they've landed at a stand still, steve trying to figure out how eddie can experience a real valentine's day, and eddie trying to figure out how to talk steve out of whatever sympathy thing he's planning. he opens his mouth to say something, and before he can get a word out, eddie cuts him off.

"whatever you've got cookin' up in that pretty little head of yours, i want you to stop. i don't want a bullshit pity date on a fake holiday that only puts more money in the hallmark ceo's pockets. forget it."

eddie watches as a grin spreads across steve's face and he knows then and there that there's no way in hell steve will forget it.

it's four days later that eddie is packing what is bound to be the best bowl of his life, feet up on the coffee table and the wizard of oz playing faintly in the background, when he hears a knock at the trailer door. he ignores it with a huff and shakes his curls out of his face, bringing the bowl up to his lips only to be cut off by the knocking once more.

"what?!" eddie yells out. he doesn't want to get up and see who it is. he wants to wallow in the weird liminal space of self-pity and anger about capitalism and smoke weed until the flying monkeys in the movie seem even scarier than they already are. he doesn't want to deal with someone when he feels so crushingly lonely-

"it's me!" steve's voice is muffled through the door. "let me in, munson!"

something vaguely hope-shaped catches in eddie's chest before he pushes it away with a deep breath and a shake to clear his head. "open the door yourself, lazy. it's unlocked."

he hears something hit the door, a loud thump that he thinks might be steve kicking the door, and then hears the door handle rattle for a few seconds before steve clearly gives up with a groan.

"come on, a little help here?"

"this better be fucking worth it," he grumbles under his breath. eddie rolls his eyes and set the pipe down on the coffee table next to his pbr with a huff. "fine, fine, i'm coming hold your horses."

he doesn't really know what he is expecting, but steve with his arms wrapped around a bouquet of daisies, a too-big heart shaped box of chocolates, a stuffed bear and a card is at the bottom of the list. he's smiling that smile, the one that eddie takes a mental picture of and files into the steve-shaped folder in his memory every time he sees it, and he has on a stupidly charming button up shirt to go along with it all.

"what." eddie says blankly, the cold february air making him shiver as it hits his bare arms. steve thrusts the gifts towards him with an even brighter smile that has his eyes crinkling and eddie's heart thumping painfully in his chest.

"be my valentine?" steve breathes out and eddie has half a mind to pinch himself.

"steve, i don't-"

"nope," steve responds and pushes past eddie to get into the warmth of the trailer. "you don't get to say no or tell me it's stupid or that today's only a money grab for the corporate elite or whatever-"

eddie balks as steve beelines to the kitchenette to pull out a large glass to put the flowers in. "it is, though."

"-we're going to sit and order a pizza and eat these stupid, over-priced chocolates for dessert, and you're going to like it."

there's butterflies and knots and something that's too close to love fluttering around in his stomach, so eddie sits down on the edge of the arm of the couch and watches as steve finishes adjusting the bouquet.

"daisies?" eddie asks after a beat of silence.

steve beams. "they're your birth flower so i thought..."

dorothy's in the background saying something about not being in kansas and eddie feels the same.

this is all as foreign to him as tin men and scarecrows and wicked witches would be. he's never had anyone, let alone someone like steve fucking harrington, barge into his house and demand a date. he's never wanted anyone to demand a date out of him, especially on valentine's day of all days. he sees steve reach for a phone book and start searching for a pizza delivery number to call and it all feels right in a way that it probably shouldn't.

"are you fucking with me?" eddie asks. his voice feels small.

steve looks up, face smoothing out from determination to something softer, and puts the phone back in the cradle. he hesitates before grabbing the card and teddy bear, this fuzzy brown thing that's holding a heart that says 'i love you beary much', and hands them to eddie.

"not in the slightest," he tells eddie. with a wave of his hand, steve motions for eddie to open the card before pulling his hand up to his mouth to bite at his thumbnail.

the front of the card is simple, just some hearts with a 'be mine' in a fancy script, but it has eddie's breath catching anyway. it's a real card with real stupid hearts and real meaning behind it and it forces him to pause before he can open the rest. he's too cowardly to admit that he's afraid of whatever it could say.

"open it," steve says like it's the easiest thing in the world and eddie pulls his eyes away from the front of the card to see how steve is staring at the paper like it's going to burst into flames. "but don't read it out loud. please."

it's an easy request to follow. with the card open, eddie glances down to see only a few short sentences written and yet it still hits him like an arrow through his goddamn heart.

you're going to think this is a joke, the card starts, but i promise it's not. it's not pity, either. it's just some crazy little thing called love. be my valentine? xo, steve.

eddie can feel how big his eyes are, wide as dinner plates, as he looks between the card and steve who probably won't be hungry for pizza after he finishes chewing off his thumb out of nerves. a laugh sneaks out in a gust of wind through his nose and it has steve wincing despite himself, which has eddie rushing into action.

"you mean it?" he asks, wrapping his hands around steve's shoulders. their eyes meet and steve looks as scared as eddie feels as he nods with a watery laugh of his own.

"yeah, i mean it. you haven't had a valentine and what better way to start than with a harrington that is absolutely nutty over you?"

the tin man is the background singing something about having a heart while eddie's beats out of his chest as steve connects their lips in a soft kiss. and eddie might be against valentine's day, against capitalism and the mass-produced niceties that it brings to the everyday consumer, but if steve keeps pressing into him like this, it might just become his favorite holiday yet.

[rainyinautumn]

Scar does not lay down and die. He’s fought too hard to go out like that.

It’s a strange feeling, to know that he’s in full control of when he dies. No one chasing him down, no ticking clock, no curses. Sure, he doesn’t have regen, but he has a full row of hearts—a whole life ahead of him that he can spend in Sunflower Valley.

He doesn’t remember until he arrives that there’s nothing for him there. It’s about fifty percent craters. Some of them are blackened by the wither, and others by gunpowder. Despite it all, though, there are still sunflowers. Not many, but they’re facing his way when arrives, as if trying to be the welcoming party he never had. Scar sits down at the edge of one of the craters and swings his feet back and forth over the drop. It’s not deep enough to kill him, hardly even deep enough to take a heart off of him. The ash settled at the bottom is picked up by the wind, blowing into Scar’s boots and hair. He doesn’t wipe it out. It’s his only reminder that he wasn’t always alone in this world.

Across the crater, the air shimmers purple. Before Scar can figure out what it is, the color coalesces into a ghostly figure with a faint halo that shines just like the sun. Grian smiles at him wanly and holds out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs.

“You’ve won, Scar,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

“But I’m not ready yet,” he objects.

“He didn’t get me any flowers,” Scott mutters as he sits down beside him, transparent and crowned with a dozen tiny stars. “Trust me, you’re ready. You’ve won. There’s nothing left.”

“Well, I never had much anyway,” Scar says coolly. “Can’t say this feels too different.”

“I know.” Pearl’s voice comes from his other side along with the soft glow of the moon, and his heart aches, unwilling to turn toward her. “I know, but the game’s over, Scar. You did well.”

He wants to tell her sorry, but that would be disingenuous. He wouldn’t change a thing about that fight—the only thing he regrets is that it had to be her.

“More than well, I’d say.” Martyn takes shape in the center of the crater, his coral crown glittering the angry red of Mars. “I’m loving the trend of villainous winners we’ve got going here. Who do you think’s gonna be next? Joel? Gem?”

“Maybe we’re due for a more heartfelt finale,” Scott says, sending a sidelong glance Scar’s way. “No offense.”

“Didn’t you win through a battle royale?” he retorts.

“Didn’t we all?” Grian sighs. “It’s just the way of the game. Killing people. It’s a bit hard to get a heroic winner out of that.”

Scar stares at his feet. “I thought I’d feel more relieved,” he admits. “Like I’d- like I’d, y’know, won something. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, it’s all just kinda…”

“Empty?” Grian fills in for him.

“Disappointing?” Scott suggests.

“Sad?” Pearl says.

Martyn kicks a rock. “Fleeting?”

“One of those things,” Scar sighs. “So… now what?”

“I already told you,” Grian huffs, tired but good-natured. “It’s time to go.”

“Die, you mean,” Scar says. “It’s time for me to die.”

Martyn draws an axe that looks far more corporeal than the rest of him. “It’s my turn to take you out,” he tells him. “I was planning on a nice quick beheading, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scar stammers, scrambling backward. “I don’t get to choose how I go?”

“Well, sort of,” Grian explains. “You’ve won. The only thing that can take you out now is another winner.”

“Pearl zapped me when my time was up,” Martyn says. “Didn’t hurt for more than a second.”

“And what if I don’t let you?” Scar asks.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder, but it goes right through. “There’s no way around this, Scar.”

“Martyn has to kill you,” Pearl reiterates. “It’s not up to him, or us, or you. No one can move on until you’re gone.”

“Says who?”

Grian gestures broadly at the horizon. “Who do you think?”

The Secretkeeper looms in the distance, a dark sky overhead. It’s watching him. Scar knows it is. It’s waiting, impatient as ever, for its final task to be completed.

Martyn hefts his axe over his shoulder. The move should be threatening, but there’s no malice in it. His hand sits firmly on the handle, white-knuckled and duty-bound, but the rest of him is relaxed. He doesn’t want this to be a fight.

“I guess everyone’s waiting on me, huh?” Scar says. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks up to Martyn and kneels, removing his hood to expose the back of his neck. He feels the cold edge of the axe blade placed against it and screws his eyes shut.

“Any last words?” Martyn asks.

“I’m taking away all your reputation points for this.”

He laughs, genuine and nostalgic. “Fair enough.”

The axe lifts, and a breeze ruffles Scar’s hair as it comes back down on his neck.

There’s a searing flash of pain, and then nothing. His eyes stay closed, staring at the darkness.

“Scar,” Grian says, his voice closer than before. “Scar, it’s done.”

He blinks warily, taking a moment to process the view he sees. The rest of the world now has the shimmering transparency of the ghosts, while the other winners are now solid and real in front of him. Grian is still holding the bouquet—when he extends it to Scar, it changes shape, twisting into a flower crown.

“Wait,” Pearl says. “One last thing.” She waves her hand and two glowing sunflowers wrap themselves into the wreath, blooming side by side. “There.”

Grian steps forward, right in front of Scar, who’s still kneeling in the center of the crater. “Congratulations, Scar,” he says. “You won.”

The crown is a perfect fit.