#i do not care a jot that his name is so on the nose - it works for him 😉

[starleska]

Just a quick note, but it is making me laugh that "Le Mal" means "the Bad" and Maxime means The Greatest. So his name just means "The Greatest (of) The Evil. "

ah yes...my favourite notorious supervillain:

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 4

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Dacryphilia - Seungmin

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: After pining for you from a distance for years, Seungmin’s world is turned upside down when you approach him to be partners on a semester long project.

————————————————————

Seungmin has always thought about how pretty you’d look when you cum. 

He can picture it so perfectly in his head. The way you would tilt your head back, eyes rolling in your skull, your perfect lips would part and a silent scream would twist your expression. 

If his face was between your legs you would pull his hair so tight it would leave his head aching. 

Perhaps if he was bullying your g-spot with his cock, you would wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a searing kiss. He would swallow each of your moans and refuse to close his eyes just this once so he can see your face when you clench around him. 

He just knows your voice would be music to his ears. Fuck, just thinking about your moans in his ear gets his dick so hard, he has to either leave whatever room he’s in or fuck his fist until he paints his stomach white. 

Kim Seungmin knew for sure that if he ever had you in his hands, he wouldn’t stop until you were utterly satisfied.

He doesn’t even care if he cums once, he just wants to make your body hum with pleasure. He wants to make you see stars and have your toes curling while you pant his name over and over. 

But there’s a slight problem. He’s not even sure you know he exists. 

You, perfect you, are in a majority of his classes. You’re Miss Popular, always talking to whoever sits in the seat next to you. Your hair, makeup, and nails are always done so cleanly and perfectly. 

Everyone was your friend. It didn’t matter where you were, you were talking to someone with that beautiful, bright smile. 

Never him. It was never him, though. It’s not like you’re avoiding him, but he’s not the only person vying for your attention. 

Seungmin has also never been brave enough to approach you. 

So, he sticks to his lonely seat in the back of the class, pining for you from a distance. 

For the entire class he’ll steal glances your way and watch as you chew on the back of your cute little pen, or watch as your fingers fidget with the bottom of your skirt. 

Sometimes he’ll sit by the door so that when you leave before him, he can smell your perfume as you walk by. 

That’s exactly what he’s doing today. The professor just finished the lecture and everyone is packing up their belongings.

Seungmin is making sure to take his sweet time. He’s jotting down last minute notes in his planner, scanning over little details that he may have questions on later. 

Then the smell hits him. That beautiful warm vanilla and coffee scent. It wraps around Seungmin’s nose and invades all of his senses. 

His heart flutters and a chill rips through his body, goosebumps raising on his arms. 

Typically, you walk by so fast he’s only able to inhale the beautiful aroma for a split second. 

But today, it lingers even longer and never wavers. 

“Kim Seungmin, right?”

Oh my god?  

Is this what it’s like to hear angels sing? 

His heartbeat skyrockets and he looks up at you with a shocked expression. 

“Y-Yeah?” Seungmin internally cringes at the way he stutters in front of you. 

But you’re looking down at him with literal stars in your eyes. How are you this perfect?

“I’m Y/N,” You hold out to shake his hand. 

“I know.” Another inward cringe. Yeah, keep putting your foot in your mouth, Seungmin, great job. 

His hand grabs yours and an electric shock goes up his arm. Your skin is so soft, does your lotion smell just like your perfume? Does it smell better?

All you do is giggle in response. 

“I didn’t realize I was famous.” You beam and Seungmin swears his glasses are going to melt off his face from how much his cheeks heat up. 

“Anyway, I’m super sorry to bother you,” You could never bother him, “but the professor talked about that project today and said we needed partners. I really enjoyed your presentation last semester on the causation between beautifying city streets to decrease traffic flow on main roads and increasing them on side streets!”

Surely, he’s died. He’s died and gone to Heaven. Is he alive? If he was hooked up to a heart monitor, he’s sure that it would be flatlining right now. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to work together on this one? You can say no, I’ll totally understand. But, I am a Statistics major after all, I can make it super easy on the analysis side.”

You really think you need to sweeten the pot? All you need to do is ask and he would do the entire project and just stick your name at the top. 

“Sure,” he says weakly.

“Oh, awesome!”

You plop down in the seat next to him, the smell of your perfume is so intoxicating. Seungmin finds himself leaning closer and closer to you before he realizes what he’s doing and his back straightens out. 

He shuffles in his seat to play it off, but you don’t seem to notice in the slightest. 

“I have to run because my next class is across campus, but,” you reach over and grab his pen from his desk. “Here’s my number.” You scribble it down in the margins of his notebook with a little smiley face next to it. 

His head feels so fuzzy. Seungmin is positive he’s about to wake up from a dream. 

The cherry on top is when you grab his hand between both of yours. You’re so pleasantly warm and soft, what if those hands were wrapped around his c—

“Thank you so much!” You chirp happily at him, “Text me ASAP and we can figure out what we want to do! We can meet up and get coffee or something to eat! Thank you, Seungmin!”

And just like that, you stand up and leave in a harmonious whirlwind of vanilla and coffee, leaving Seungmin dumbfounded. 

Did that… really just happen?

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

Just like you requested, Seungmin texted you almost immediately. 

Seungmin: Hey, this is Kim Seungmin 

Y/N: Hey! :) Thank you again for agreeing to work with me! Such a sigh of relief lol

Seungmin: No problem at all. I also liked your presentation on the effect different forms of advertising has on sale numbers for the theatre group on campus. 

Y/N: Aw, thank you! I can’t believe you remember it. I worked for weeks with that group to collect data, but it was totally worth it. 

Seungmin stares down at his phone in the middle of the dining hall. 

He’s… he’s really texting you. So many months of pining, of watching you from a distance, and he’s texting you so casually. 

This morning when he woke up, he had no idea that this is what his day was going to turn out like. Maybe he should send his professor a fruit basket.

Another text comes in while he was staring at the last one. 

Y/N: I’m pretty free this weekend if you want to meet up for coffee to discuss the project! I know it’s a semester long thing and the due date isn’t until finals week, but I think we should get a head start, especially if we want to do a longer study. 

Seungmin: I agree. How does Saturday around 2 sound? There’s a small coffee shop tucked away that I know of. 

Y/N: oooh, sounds fun :) See you then! Can’t wait, Seungmin!

Seungmin drops his phone onto the table in disbelief. 

Even in his wildest dreams, never did he ever conjure up the idea of you approaching him and asking him to work with you. 

He blinks his eyes in disbelief down at the conversation several times. His stomach was doing flip after flip in excitement. 

Saturday could not come soon enough.

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

“Seungmin!” you call out to catch his attention. 

He raises his hand in a greeting and picks up his pace to walk towards you. 

You both agreed to meet outside by the library and walk to the coffee shop together. He told you it was pretty tucked away, so you asked him to show you, who was he to say no?

He’d carry you on his back if you asked him to. If you were on his back, he’d grab your legs underneath your knees, be able to feel your soft skin underneath his palms. Feel your clothed cunt against his–

“Hey!” You smile widely at him as soon as he’s next to you. His heart flutters. “I’m super excited to see this coffee shop, I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it.”

“My two friends work there, that’s the only reason I’ve heard of it, really.” He mutters as the two of you walk side by side. 

“Even better, they’ll know the best things on the menu.”

How are you doing this? You’re so glass-half-full, so sweet it makes his teeth rot. 

The two of you chat on your entire walk to the cafe. Occasionally your arms will brush against one another and each time it goes straight to Seungmin’s heart— and, well, other places. 

He’s always noticed from a different how touchy you were as a person. It didn’t matter if you just met the person or if they were your closest friend in the world, you would reach out and grab their arm for their attention, touch their hands when you laughed, anything. 

Each time you would touch someone else, the ugly curl of jealousy would furl up in his gut. 

But here you were, casually touching him as the two of you walked to what most would see as a date. 

It’s not a date. But, Seungmin is deciding to play pretend and tell himself it is one. 

The coffee shop is so warm when you both enter. It’s not too busy at all, that’s why Seungmin likes coming here so much. 

There’s only about three other customers sitting at tables. 

Immediately, Seungmin sees Jeongin behind the counter. Jeongin, who has heard Seungmin pine about you for years at this point. 

The other boy practically drops the cup of coffee he’s holding when he sees the two of you together. 

His eyes and mouth widened so much you’d think he saw a ghost. 

“No way,” Seungmin sees Jeongin mouth to himself. 

You don’t notice as Seungmin mouths back, “Shut up.” You’re too busy staring at the menu. 

Jeongin immediately sends out the coffee he was working on and practically runs to the counter to take your order. 

“Hi,” he says warmly to you. “What can I get started for you two?”

“Hey!” Your smile mirrors his. “What is your favorite drink right now? Hot, not cold.”

Jeongin’s eyes brighten a bit and he smiles even more. It switches from his customer service smile to his genuine one. 

“Oh, well I’m a huge fan of the maple bourbon spice latte.”

“That sounds amazing, I’ll get that. Can I get it with oatmilk if it’s not too much trouble?”

Jeongin shakes his head in a bit of disbelief, “It’s no trouble at all, you got it. Your usual Seungmin?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Total is $8.17.”

You turn your wrist around to activate your fancy Apple Pay on your watch but Seungmin is faster. He taps his card before you’re even able to blink. 

You look up at him with a mock angry look and grab his arm. “Hey, I wanted to pay since I forced you to be my partner.”

Jeongin smirks and raises an eyebrow, Seungmin sees it, you do not. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Seungmin tries to act nonchalant about it. “Go find a table, the ones in the back are nice.” He smiles gently down at you. 

“Fine, but the next round is on me.”  You squeeze his arm once and walk away to find a table. Seungmin watches you walk away with a lovesick look on his face. 

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Jeongin is bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Oh my god! Why didn’t you say you finally grew a pair and asked her out?”

“Because this isn’t a date, she asked to be my partner for a semester-long project in our regression course.”

“That’s even better. Play the long game.”

“Go make my coffee.”

“Min,” Jeongin whines.

“I’m taking your tip out of the jar.”

“Fine.”

Seungmin walks over to the booth you found tucked in the corner between bookcases, both of your coffees in his hands. 

You already set up your laptop and various textbooks and notebooks around you.  

And to top it all off, the most adorable pair of pink, clear plastic blue light glasses are now perched on your nose. 

If he could, he would take a picture of how adorable you look. 

When he places the drinks down on the table, you look up with a grin, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Seungmin sits down across from you and starts to unpack his own things. 

“So, I‘ve been thinking about ideas,” you start, grabbing his attention. 

“Whatcha got?” He asks, taking a sip from his coffee as his laptop boots up. 

“The library started a new program this semester to keep it open 24 hours instead of closing at midnight. I think we should study the amount of students that come in during those hours around various points of the semester.”

“That’s… a great idea, actually.”

You giggle at the small bit of praise, “Thanks! I was thinking we could find a list of events that the library and student centers are hosting and make a schedule based on that. But, of course, this does mean we’ll have to spend more than a couple days monitoring the library at ungodly hours of the morning.”

Seungmin can’t believe his ears. It’s like good news after good news. This entire week he’s been practically walking on air, and it just keeps getting better. 

“I think I can handle that,” he responds with a smile of his own. 

“Perfect!” You squeal and reach across the table and grab both of his hands. “You’re the perfect partner, Min!”

The nickname is not new. All of his friends call him this. But hearing it tumble from your lipgloss covered mouth goes straight to his head. And not the one on his shoulders. 

“T-Thanks,” he stutters out. He’s basking in the warmth of your hands. “I think this is the first time I haven’t had to come up with the idea myself.”

“I’m chock full of them.” You squeeze his hands once more and bring them back to your laptop. “Now, let’s compile the list of events. Also, maybe we should see if there’s other studies done at different schools like this.”

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

Research continues for weeks. Each time you and Seungmin see each other, his attraction for you only grows. And he didn’t know that was possible.

Another plus is that now you go out of your way to sit next to him in every single class you share. 

It’s distracting but in the best way. 

Now when he goes back to his apartment after class, he can still smell your perfume on his clothes. So many times he’s brought his shirt over his nose to fuck his fist just to smell you and picture it was your hand. 

He’d moan your name out loudly and have some of his most powerful orgasms of his life just having your scent surrounding him. 

Yes, he’d feel a bit of shame the next time he saw you knowing that not even an hour before he was picturing you underneath him with your cherry flavored lips around his cock. 

But he just can’t help it. 

Tonight was another night when you two were going to pull an all-nighter in the library. 

Seungmin is carrying two fresh coffees in his hand, several snacks packed in his bag for your stay in between the bookcases. 

Your face lights up as soon as you see him. 

It always does. 

No matter what. 

Even if he had just seen you a couple hours before, you always perk up. It tugs on his heartstrings in a way that nothing else ever has. 

“T-minus five minutes until the count begins,” you joke with him as you take a coffee from his hand. 

He has since blocked you on Venmo ever since your first “date” at the coffee shop. 

“Anyone even here?”

“I think there’s one person down in the basement. But I haven’t seen anyone else. It’s bid night for most frats plus it’s the Friday before holiday. I’m imagining no one else is going to come in.”

Seungmin nods and sets up his laptop at the table in front of you two. 

He pulls up Netflix, clicking around to the show that you two started the first night in the library. One earbud is handed to you and he takes the other one. 

This routine that you’ve both settled into makes his soul warm and curl up in a happy comfort. It feels so horribly domestic. 

Seungmin dreads the day you finish this project. What is he supposed to do after that? Go back to pining after you from a distance? Watch as someone else takes the seat next to you in class? 

He shakes the thoughts from his head and presses play on the show. It’s just a silly cartoon that keeps you both awake. 

About an hour later, a student comes up from the basement and leaves through the front door. 

“And then there were two,” you giggle and look over at him. 

“The things we sacrifice for research.”

You laugh at his joke and turn back to the show. Reaching in the snack bag, you pull a piece of popcorn out and eat it. 

Two hours later, Seungmin feels your head lean on his shoulder and his heart stops for a moment. 

You’re not asleep, your eyes are still focused on the show with rapt attention. No, you just decided to rest your head on him. 

Seungmin gulps quietly and tries his best to focus. 

He was doing well until you and your tactile nature decided to wrap your arms around his. So now, not only was your head leaning on his shoulder, your two arms looped around his one.

Did you do this on purpose? Was it absentminded?

Your hand comes down and your fingers begin to gently play with his. 

Seungmin thinks his heart might explode. Can you hear how loud it’s slamming against his chest?

What’s even going on in the show anymore? 

His mind completely blanks out when you begin to trail your nails over his skin. 

He turns his head slightly and inhales the smell of your shampoo. It’s just like he walked into a beach vacation home. 

Seungmin shifts on his chair as he feels his pants begin to tighten. It was only a matter of time, really. 

You notice his movement and you bring your head away from him; Seungmin almost cries out from the loss of contact. 

“I’m so sorry,” you stutter a bit. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Oh, geez. Sorry I should’ve asked first, I’m just such a touchy person I forget to ask—“

Seungmin cuts you off by grabbing your hand firmly, “It’s fine.” His voice comes out a lot more confidently than he thought was possible. “I, ah— I don’t mind at all. Actually, I was really enjoying it.”

Your worried expression quickly morphs into a relieved one. “Really? Oh, awesome!”

You hug his arm against your chest and rest your head against his shoulder once more.

It’s sick how much he focused on the way his arm squeezes against your breasts. The feeing shoots straight to his dick and his pants feel even tighter. 

His face is so hot he thinks he might explode. 

“Ugh, can I get so sentimental, Min?”

That nickname again. Jesus, please, not now, Y/N. Sweatpants can only conceal so much. .

You don’t wait for his response. “I’m so happy we got to work together.” You reach down and lace your fingers in between his. He squeezes your hand after you hold his. “You’ve always been in most of my classes and I always enjoyed seeing your projects and everything.”

You pause, then hum wistfully, looking at the laptop and not up at him.

“I have such an easy time approaching people to talk to them.” Another pause, you laugh under your breath. “Except you, Min.”

His heart drops; was he unapproachable? What did he do?

You must’ve noticed his reaction from how he tensed up, so you pull back and look at him closely, your arms and hands still intertwined. 

“Not because of anything you did!” You quickly say and he relaxes a bit. Averting your eyes, you look down at the table, “If I’m being honest I just was so nervous that you would push me away. I’ve just… always um… admired you from a distance. Interpret that how you want.” You laugh, your cheeks turning redder and redder by the second. 

Is he… reading into this correctly? Are you admitting what he thinks you’re admitting? 

“Y/N…”

“Sorry, God. I told myself I was going to wait until after the project to say something.” You pull back away from him a bit. Seungmin is so flabbergasted by your words that he can’t react. “I like you a lot, Seungmin. And I’m super sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I can … I can finish the project on my own if it’s too much—“

Seungmin’s brain finally rebooted and he shuts you up by pressing the most urgent kiss possible against your lips. It’s sloppy and he practically misses your mouth with how fast he swooped down. 

He’s surprised your teeth don’t clack together. 

A surprised grunt comes from your throat, but you melt into the kiss not even three seconds later. 

Seungmin is on cloud nine. Your lips are the softest thing he’s ever felt in his life. It’s better than he even imagined. No fantasy could ever compare to the real thing. 

His free hand comes up and grabs the side of your face, bringing you closer to him. 

The kiss slowly turns from a messy press into something more heated. Mingling exhales and swapped spit.

You grab his hand tighter and slide your other one up into his hair. 

Your touch on his body already feels so sinfully good and you’ve only grazed his face. 

His eyebrows pinch together as he focuses on the feeling of your mouth gliding over his. On the way he can already taste your chapstick in his mouth. 

“Seungmin,” you pant in between kisses. 

He doesn’t open his eyes, he never wants to tear his face away from you. He wants to die with his lips pressed to yours and his hands on your body. 

“Seungmin,” you repeat. 

“What?” He rasps against your lips, bringing them back in for another searing set of kisses. 

Your hand tightens around his. 

“Do you … do you feel the same, then?”

He laughs out loud and presses his forehead against you. 

“Your favorite color is mint green. You take your coffee with oat milk but only if they use Oatly brand, otherwise you don’t like it. You always chew your pen when focusing. No matter how hard you try, you can never spell the word ‘restaurant’ right on the first try.”

Your eyes stare deeply into his, they’re unwavering and caring. 

“I’ve wanted you to be mine for so long that it hurts, Y/N.”

Instead of responding, you surge forward and eagerly kiss his already swollen lips. 

You clamber out of your seat and onto his lap, both arms wrapping around his neck and his arms loop around your waist. He physically cannot pull you closer to his body.

Both of your mouths are frantic over one another as if you’ll die if you don’t devour each other right there in that moment. Seungmin kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to breathe. 

His hands move up and down your sides, up your neck to thread into your hair and then back down to your hips. He can’t decide where he wants to hold you, where he should put his hands.

He’s been dreaming of what you would feel like forever, and now that it’s happening his brain is kicking into overdrive.

Your tongue comes out and licks the seam of his lips and Seungmin’s hips jolt up and his clothed erection presses right into your groin.

Both of you moan together into each other’s mouths.

His tongue eagerly slithers out to meet yours.

You taste like popcorn and coffee. His new favorite combination. 

One of your hands comes down and slides down his chest, he feels every single touch and his body keens, skin singing. 

Down, down, it travels until it gets to the bottom of his shirt. Your hand snakes up underneath the fabric and onto his bare skin. 

His muscles jump at the contact and he whines into your mouth. Both of his hands grab your hips tightly, thumbs pressing into the bone. 

“Want you,” you moan into his mouth.

“Do whatever you want,” he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, gently pulling on it. “I’m so serious, Y/N, fucking do whatever you want to me, please.”

You gulp, he watches your throat bob. Both of you are panting from the heavy kissing. You quickly look over your shoulder.

There’s absolutely no one in the library, and you’re positive no one is going to come in either. They don’t even have a security guard posted in here.

While you’re scanning the room, Seungmin is only looking at you. His eyes are tracing every single inch of your face, every freckle, every curve, everything. The way your eyelashes curl and the asymmetry of your eyes.

Everything about you is so perfect.

He pulls himself up and travels up your neck with open-mouthed, heated licks and kisses. A low hum of pleasure rumbles in your chest and your hips roll down into his.

A bolt of pleasure shoots through his groin, Seungmin moans into your skin.

Warm vanilla and coffee; your skin smells so fucking sweet he could almost cream in his pants. Your smell wraps around him and invades every single sense. 

His tongue licks a fat stripe up your throat and your head tilts back to give him more access.

“Please, Y/N,” he murmurs when his mouth gets underneath your chin, he nips at the skin. “Use me, please. I need you to feel good.”

Every word goes straight to your head. Kim Seungmin is begging you to use him for your own pleasure?

“Are you sure?” you ask, panting. 

His hands tighten on your hips in a bruising grip, “Please.” He basically cries into your skin. He’s squirming around underneath you, writhing like he’s already in the throes of pleasure. “Please please please.” 

With a gulp, you take one more look around the library. Seungmin continues to kiss at any inch of skin that he can reach, his hips basically humping against your core.

You pull his mouth away from your neck by his hair; he whines, he actually whines at that. His eyebrows screw together and his eyes glaze over.

Quickly, you bring your mouth down to him and kiss him again, your tongue finding his immediately to twist together and slip over one another.

Seungmin’s mind is so fogged over he’s not sure if he’s awake. With every kiss, he’s shoved further and further into a lustful haze.

Your kisses are intoxicating, like he was crawling through the desert and you’re his oasis. 

From underneath his shirt, your hand travels even further south until it gets to his bulge. When you cup him through his sweats, Seungmin has to pull away from the kiss to throw his head back with a pitiful whimper. 

His mouth drops open and his eyes screw shut.

You squeeze him even tighter and he bucks into your hand.

“Fuck, you feel so big.”

That goes right to his head and his ego. Every inch of him is buzzing, right down to his fingertips.

“Can I tell you one of my favorite things to think about in class?” you whisper to him and Seungmin nods.

“Please.” Desperate.

“I like to imagine sitting in the back with you, no one else is in the same row as us. I’m wearing one of my shortest skirts.”

Seungmin gulps, your hand is rubbing him so well. He opens his eyes to meet your eyes. He’s so far gone. He’s somewhere else entirely. 

“You reach over while the professor is talking and run your fingers up my thighs, feeling every single inch of exposed skin.”

Would you look at that, you’re wearing a skirt now. 

The hand that’s not on his bulge comes out of his hair and down to your legs. You do what you just described, Seungmin’s eyes watch closely, mesmerized by the action. 

Up, up, up, your fingers go until they reach the hem of your skirt. 

“In the middle of class, you’d reach your long, beautiful fingers underneath my skirt and up to my panties.”

Seungmin follows your hand as it does what you say, the fabric flips up and he groans, pushing his cock into your hand to relieve some of the ache he’s feeling. 

“When you got to my cunt, you’d feel that I already soaked through my panties just thinking about you and the filthy things I let you do to me.”

Your fingers rub against your clothed cunt and your mouth drops open in a sigh.

“You’d then pull them to the side and touch me during class, playing with me, making me squirm. Maybe you’d lean over and tell me I’m being too obvious and to pull it together. But you always make me feel so fucking good, how am I supposed to be quiet about it.”

Just like in your fantasy, you pull your panties to the side and Seungmin moans at the sight of your dripping wet core. You’re already soaked, true to your word. Slowly, your fingers inch over and run through your folds gently.

The sound is something of sin but it makes Seungmin squirm around, his hands staying firmly on your hips.

You reach over and grab one of his hands, bringing it up to your mouth, then you take his middle and ring finger into your mouth and begin sucking on them.

Seungmin almost loses his fucking mind and cums right there on the spot. His back arches off the chair. 

Your tongue swirls around his fingers and makes his head spin. His hips squirm around underneath you when you take your hand off his cock.

His nerves are on fire, firing pleasure through his veins. 

“Fu– uck, Y/N.” he whimpers out when you suck on his fingers.

You smirk with them still in your mouth, teeth grazing over the skin gently.

How are you able to make him feel better than when he jacks off just by sucking on his fingers?

When your tongue slithers between his two fingers, his thigh muscles tighten and he has to physically stop himself from cumming. 

“Hng– Y/N!” He cries out. 

You release his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, but you don’t let them go, no. You trail them down your body and under your skirt. 

“Will you touch me, Seungmin? Please?” You say as you press his fingers into your soaking wet folds. “Pretty please?”

He moans at your voice and the wet warmth coating his fingertips. 

Immediately, he moves his fingers around, pinching your clit and then rubbing it gently with his thumb. 

Your eyes squint shut and your mouth drops open. 

Fuck, if only he could take a picture of you right now. Angel. Beautiful. Goddess. 

You move your hand from his to run up his arms and over his neck. 

He stares at you like you hung the moon. Each sigh of pleasure and twitch of your eyebrow eggs him on further. 

The faster he rubs at your clit, the more your hips twitch and buck against his own. 

Seungmin is panting with you, your hot exhales fanning over his wet lips. 

“Inside, please.” You request. Seungmin wastes no time sliding his middle finger inside you.

Both of you moan together at the sensation. Your head tilts back and once more he latches his mouth to your throat. 

He cannot get enough of the taste of your skin.  

“Fuck, Seungmin…” you sigh and your head rolls around on your neck.

His speed picks up when you moan his name, he slides another finger inside you and curls them slightly to press on that spongy spot within you. 

Your hips jerk against his wildly. 

“Min… oh, fuck, Min…”

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” he pants into your neck. “Fuck yes,” he groans when you clench around him. “Fuck yes, baby, that’s right.”

The amount of pleasure he’s getting from just touching you has his head spinning. 

With each flick of his thumb and thrust of his fingers, you approach the edge. Toes curling in your shoes. 

“Min… wanna cum on your cock.”

Said cock jumps in his pants, he’s sure there has to be a wet spot showing from how much he’s oozing precum. 

After a few more thrusts, he brings his fingers out of your core. You whine at the feeling. 

Seungmin brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks around at the juices that cover your hand. 

You taste so fucking sweet he could cry. 

One of your hands grabs his wrist and you lean in, licking your own essence off his fingers at the same time. 

He whimpers and every time your tongues meet around his fingers, sprawls fly behind his eyelids. 

With your free hand, you reach down and pull his throbbing cock out from his pants. 

When your skin makes contact with his, Seungmin hisses and his mind whites out. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

“Sit on my cock, please.” He begs shamelessly. It comes right out of his mouth before he can even stop it. “Please, please god, please. Need to feel you around me, Y/N.”

You watch him beg for a moment, he’s completely lost in the throes of pleasure and lust. His face is scarlet, eyes hazy and half-lidded. Lips swollen from kissing you relentlessly. 

“You wanna feel me cum all over your cock, Min?” You whisper to him and his eyes roll back at your words. 

“Please!” He begs. “Ride me until I fucking break, Y/N. I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

His hands slide everywhere all over your body again. 

With a smirk, you lift off his lap and position your pussy right over his cock head. He can feel the humid head radiating down over him. 

“Please, please, please, please— hnnnng!” 

The stretch is so delicious and Seungmin’s head falls back as you drop down onto him. Your mouth drops open and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fu— uh— uck.” You moan out and plant both hands on his chest. 

“Mmmmoooove…!” he whines out between swollen lips. 

Leaning forward, you bite his bottom lip and at the same time you lift your hips just to bring them down again. 

Seungmin’s face twists up almost like he’s in pain from how much pleasure he feels. His legs feel numb. Every nerve is on fire. 

You’re so hot and wet around him. It’s the only thing he’s able to focus on.

Just as soon as you’re lifting off him, you’re coming back down. 

It’s so intense, every bounce on his lap sends Seungmin’s mind into orbit. Where is he? Are you both still in the library? Is he in a void of pleasure now?

“Wanted you for so long,” he cries out. “Thought about this every single day.”

“Yeah? You thought about fucking me?”

“Yes!” His head falls forward and his forehead rests on your chest. “Yes, yes, I did.”

“Thought about you all the time, Seungmin. Every time I would touch myself I would wish it was your fingers or your tongue.”

Seungmin whines so loud.

“Would stare at those beautiful lips, see your tongue come out. Wanna suck on it like candy.” yu continue.

He feels so powerless at the moment. His body is singing such a sinful song; moans, whimpers, whines, and groans all fall from his lips so easily. Like water spilling from a cup. 

His head is spinning, he can’t think of anything else. 

Warm vanilla and coffee has him in a death grip. But he would so happily die right now, completely consumed by you. 

His eyes begin to glisten from the overwhelming pleasure, everything hitting him like a ton of bricks. You’re bouncing on his cock so well he thinks he might die. 

The grip he has on your hips is so bruising, his fingers curl into your shirt. 

Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes and he can’t do anything but let them fall, his face buried in your chest. The fabric of your shirt absorbs his cries of pleasure. 

You grab his face and bring it away from your chest, looking down into his eyes. Seungmin’s pupils are blown out, tears freely falling down his cheeks. 

“Feel good, puppy?” You moan out. 

His eyes squint closed and his cock jumps inside you.

He can’t even form words to respond to you, all Seungmin is able to do is babble a few jumbled moans and grab you tighter. 

How is he ever going to fucking walk again after this? Any time he ever smells your perfume he’s going to ruin his pants. 

“So close to cumming all over you, Min. How would you like that? You want me to cum on your cock? Then you can fill me up?”

He’s gone, his bones are not in his body. 

More tears spill down his face, you lean down and lick all the way from his jaw to his cheekbone. 

A grunt punches from his chest. 

“Close, close, close.” You pant in his ear before your walls clench down on him so hard, Seungmin sees white. 

His vision is gone. 

He’s cumming so hard he’s not sure he’ll ever come down to Earth. Your cunt is milking him for all he’s worth. 

Is he making noise? He can’t tell. Seungmin could be screaming, he could be quiet, but he for sure has no idea. 

A long few moments pass before his mind reboots and he feels you panting against his chest. Your fingers are carding through his sweaty hair gently. 

He then picks up on your gentle coos in his ear, “So good for me, you did so well, Minnie.”

Seungmin’s arms move and he wraps them tightly around your waist. 

“There you are, baby…” you whisper warmly into his ear. 

Your fingers continue to scratch his head and comfort him closely. Eventually, you begin humming lowly. 

Everything you’ve done tops the last. 

After a bit, you pull back and look down at him. Seungmin stares up at you with an exhausted, fucked out expression. 

“Hi, baby.” You whisper, running your fingers down his cheek, over his lips, then his chin.

“Hi.” He mutters back. 

“Good?” You ask.

“Jesus fuck,” he groans and his head rolls into your hand. “I think I passed out.”

“Hmm,” you hum happily. “That is good, then.”

He turns his head and kisses your palm. 

Both of you sit in silence for a few more moments. 

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” He suddenly turns shy even though he’s still buried inside you.

“Yeah, you’re not getting rid of me, Min.”

[pursuitseternal]

“Beg me…” Ascended Astarion tells you, you naughty darling… highly NSFW drabble

Also known as I blinked and wrote 2K of dom!Ascended Astarion x turned female reader. Oops 😇😈

Ascended Astarion x f!reader |E| 2K of BDSM

Summary: you burn, waiting for his return, waiting for your punishment…. Waiting for him

CW: degradation, BDSM, bondage, orgasm denial, and the sweet satisfaction that comes with its fulfillment

Continue for your delicious recompense…

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You lay stretched on the bed, arms numb from where they are tugged tight, bound to the headboard far above you. Your legs however, you wiggle, writhing, the ache he’s left between your thighs still burning hot.

And you are powerless to do anything about it. Your folds tingle, left untouched, unsated for the hour he’s been gone. And all you’ve been allowed to do is watch as the clock ticks, left wanting as he attends to matters of state.

Punishment.

You seemed a little too friendly with some Druid, someone… you don’t even remember his name. But the smile you gave was enough to stoke Astarion’s ire and flame his jealousy. Enough to have him sweep you away and bind you to your bed. To tease you with his fingers and tongue until you were close.. so close to bursting. Only to have him pull away.

And then he ordered you… compelled you… not to lose your focus on just how badly you wanted him.

You don’t know for certain if it was your bond, as master and bride, as maker and spawn, that kept your loins absolutely on fire for him, or if it was just the magic of your lust for him.

Does it matter? Not a jot, not as you squeeze your thighs together, the sheets beneath you soaked with your arousal as you wait.

Footsteps approach your door, whimpers escaping your mouth as you tug at your bindings. The clock begins to strike the hour, its resonant chime deafening to your ears, every sense of your body burns with overstimulation. You can almost smell him on the other side of the door, the waft of spice and bergamot making your mouth water.

Making your cunt drip more down to the bed as you hear the faint click of the key in the lock.

The bolt draws back, and he enters at last. His face is cold, eyes heavy-lidded as he turns his back on you to shut the door.

And to lock it again. Pocketing the key inside his doublet.

Your heart races, a slight edge of fear spiking your pulse and clamping around your lungs.

But he only shushes you. “Oh, you naughty little girl,” he sneers. “Glad to smell you’re still so hot for me,” he croons as he turns and crosses to the bedside. Instantly, he shoves three long, cold digits into your cunt.

The hum of approval from his throat is nearly enough to send you into bliss. But he simply withdraws his touch. Not a stroke, or a curl or catch on your clit. He merely pulls away to wipe your slick on your panting belly. “There’s hope for you yet, my sweet…” his eyes flash, his body coming to cage you in, the bed buckling beneath you as he slinks over you, careful not to let one inch of his body touch yours. “….that is assuming you still want me? That you’re not ever going to throw seductive smiles and come-hither eyes at anyone else.”

“I wasn’t…” you moan, but his hand flies to cover your mouth, fingers tangy and wet from your arousal.

“Shhh, don’t you insult me by arguing,” that gaze rakes down your naked figure. His lips curl into a sad sort of smirk. “The least you can do is assure me, darling, that you are mine…”

You nod, vigorously. Your breath stifled, his palm over your mouth and nose. He lifts it away, smiling as you gasp for air. “Yours, only ever yours, my love,” you pant. You strain against the silken bonds that still pull at your wrists.

“Better,” he purrs, “much better. Your body says as much, as well. But you’ll still have to prove it, darling. Prove to me that your words are not false.” The tips of his fingers ghost down your neck, trailing feather light between your shaking breasts and circling over your clenching belly.

His hand comes to slink beneath your ass, his hand clutching hard as suddenly he flips you on the mattress. All that power surges from him, stinging your skin as your world spins. Your numb arms ache, your face buried into the silken sheets. The sounds of his clothing rustling is the only warning you get before you feel the hard, cold lines of his body coming to rest on your back.

He bears all his weight down on you. Crushing you. Suffocating you. But his kiss at the sensitive spot beneath your ear is gentle. His voice, that honeyed melody that only makes you wetter. Hotter. “Are you going to be good, my sweet, sweet little slut, so wet and needy?” He takes your ear between his teeth, his sucking kiss deafening, making your whole spine tingle and twitch under him.

You nod, breathless, pained. You moan, “yes,” wanting nothing more than to show how much you do desire him. To show him how wrong he is to doubt you. You shiver, burning and throbbing in agony. But then you feel his kisses, trailing down the curve of your spine. Heavy, sucking, they ground you. Soothe you. His hands lift your hips, holding you steady, fingers sweeping through your drenched seam, catching your clit with just enough force to make you buck against him.

“How badly do you want me, darling?” he rasps in your ear, bracing an arm by your head to press his hissing lips right against your temple. “You tell me, you beg me, and I might do something about it, my love.”

“So badly,” you buck your hips against his hand, feeling his fingers slide deep inside your channel.

He chuckles as he strokes you. “But how badly, darling?” He withdraws his hands, his tongue lapping at your ear to send tangible shivers through your frame. “Badly enough for you to beg?” Those fingers catch that secret spot only he knows between your slick walls. “Badly enough to have you on all fours, keening for me to fuck you?”

“I… beg... you…” you do keen, relief instantly flooding your core as his fingers dive right back in, as they assume a demanding pace, one finger teasing your clit with such command and precision, your vision blurs.

“Good girl… for now… but you have been such a bad, lustful slut, you know,” he purrs into the creases of your ear, the weight of his body easing as he shifts behind you, his hand caressing over every inch of you, the other still stroking deep inside, bringing you so close to your bliss, you can taste its sweetness and feel its tingling heat just starting to crest.

But then, with a low-throated giggle, he extracts his touch, “You better beg me again for my mercy, better show me you’re not just willing to spread your legs for any powerful male that comes sniffing after you…” fingers claw into the fullness of your ass, squeezing it as he growls in your ear. “After all, you were so easy to seduce, to make you mine… always so wet and greedy and eager for a fuck… maybe a little reminder of how much you’re mine is in order.”

You feel the swell of his cock’s head pressing just at the edge of your folds.

“Remind me all you want, my love, but I know I'm yours alone,” You want to cry, tears in your eyes and drool in your mouth as you moan, “So please, dammit, I beg you. I’ll only ever be yours, and you know it.”

“I do know it,” he croons, mock condescension warming his voice as he slides his length in just an inch or two before he pulls back out, “but I do just so like to hear it from those lips of yours, darling.”

“Fuck you, Astarion,” you groan as he does it again, just the bulge of his head dipping into your wetness.

“That’s what you want… isn’t it?” he taunts you, that silken wickedness in his voice, “for me to fuck you?” An arm wraps around your waist, a single finger slides between the crest of your folds to catch your clit again.

You groan, throat going sore with how loud you cry. “Yes, please, please, my love…” you pant. “My body, my smile, my glances are only for you,” you add. Praying, as he strokes you harder, dipping his cock in you shallowly again, that it’s enough.

“Oh my sweet,” he purrs, thrusting slowly until he fills you, the delicious length, the pressure finally making you whole, “now you’ll taste my mercy.” He laughs slowly. Darkly. “I hope you’ll last, hope you’ll take it like the good girl you want to be…”

Withdrawing, he slams into you, bottoming out at the edge of your channel. Pain. Pleasure. It’s all one. The saccharine relief of him buried and thrusting inside you finally soothing that burn you’ve had festering inside you for hours. You can’t even hold your head up anymore. You can barely keep your face high enough to breathe, letting him plunder you at his relentless pace. Gasping, twitching, bucking. You put all your remaining energy you haven’t had burned up with your desire for him into just riding his cock. Another catch on your clit, and you feel yourself hurling into orgasm. His hands hold you firmly up, even as you spasm and clench so hard around him, that length is almost forced out.

He laughs, slow and deep, setting you down, rolling you on your back as you still twitch with your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Another four orgasms should do the trick, don’t you think, my love… enough to make you learn your lesson.”

You groan, burying your mouth into the inside of your arm to hide the noise of pleasured anguish.

Slowly, languorously, he covers you with his body, its weight a comfort and an arousal, especially as you feel his knee tuck under yours to spread your folds wide. The breadth of his cock sweeping along the seam of your cunt.

“Four?” You gulp, already feeling another wave of climax burgeoning between your thighs. He gives a little thrust of his length over you, and then another. The hardness of his erection sweeps over you, catching every nerve that flares on fire for more in your slick. Your arms tug on the restraints, your head thrown back to press hard into the bed. Every muscle in your legs clenches, heat and pain and pleasure tingle, bursting down every nerve.

You scream as you come again, but it’s muted, covered by his own devouring mouth. “Three,” he breathes over your tongue. “Perhaps more, if you’re extra obedient, an extra good girl.” Reaching over your head, his finger slips into the silken binds around your wrists, the fabric instantly easing. Your hands fly to embrace him, your touch running up and down his back, riding the scars that cover him, gripping into the pert swell to his ass, pulling him even harder into you. You sigh, his cock returning inside you with a gentle little thrust. “My little love,” he purrs as his hand cradles your cheek softly. “Forever mine…” he gives a slow, attentive thrust, the undulation of his hips catching right on every tingling, overstimulated sensitive nerve inside you. “You’ll come for me again, won’t you? And you’ll let me come too?”

“Yes,” you moan, tangling your tongue with his. “For you my love,” you whisper into his mouth, “for you I’ll come for eternity.”

For @marimosalad ❤️

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Read More Ascended Astarion: “The Rogue You Were”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read More Vampire Rogue Astarion: “Bites in the Night” series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[spookyrea]

Love at First Sight (or should I walk by again?)

Everyone keeps pointing out the fact that Loki can't keep his hands off of you - but that's just the kind of guy he is, right? Right...? (Or: the one where Loki keeps giving you mixed signals and you decide to take matters into your own hands. To mixed results.) Chapter 1 / 2 to read on AO3, click here

The office was empty and drearily dark; the sun had only barely crossed the horizon, bathing the 27th floor of the Avengers Tower in a deep purple haze. The early morning silence was tempered only by the sound of rain pattering against the window and the occasional rumble of the metro a couple blocks away. It was the kind of morning best enjoyed in bed under a mountain of blankets - not filling out cost-analysis reports.

Fury had had you out in the field for three weeks straight on consecutive missions, meaning you had returned home -  bruised, exhausted, dreaming of clean sheets and hours of mindless television -  to a veritable mountain of paperwork. Paperwork that you probably could have finished by now - or, at least, made way more progress on - if it weren’t for your resident distraction-on-legs.

Loki rearranged himself in the seat across from you; the toe of one of his meticulously polished shoes bumped against your sneaker, bullying its way between your feet to hook around your ankle. Your desk lamp cast a warm golden glow across his cheeks, accentuating the long line of his nose and the narrow cut of his jaw. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was loose and curling wildly.

You signed off on the file in front of you, pointedly ignoring the warm flush that crept along the back of your neck, and added it to the mounting pile to your left.

Not twenty minutes after you’d settled in at your desk, Loki had strolled out of the elevators into the office. With all the magnificent theatrics he could muster, he’d thrown himself into the chair opposite yours - his chair - and plucked up the paperback he’d left dogeared a fortnight ago.

(Loki had a desk, kitty-corner to yours in the Avengers semi-circle. He seemed to prefer to sit at yours and complain about the lack of space.)

Not that it mattered where he sat. Your eyes seemed intrinsically magnetized to him; to the dark curls that brushed his jaw; to the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. You could spend hours watching the meticulous flick of his wrist when he crossed his t’ s, or the way his fingers deftly rolled his cufflinks free to turn his sleeves up. 

Or, like you were doing right now; your pen hovered lamely over your paper while you admired him through the fan of your eyelashes, fixated on the way his index finger and thumb rolled the corner of one page as he read.

“Particularly interested in fourteenth-century extraterrestrial poetry, are we?” Loki intoned. Your eyes darted up to find that his were already on you, watching with a peculiar expression. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he wasn’t human, but up this close there was a preternatural edge in his eyes that pinned you in place.

“No,” You replied quickly. Flustered, you flipped a random dossier open and scanned it over, adding the appropriate signature on every other page. Loki’s eyes burned a hole in the side of your face - you could practically feel the patronizing arch of his brow. “Just tired. Zoning out. You know. What was the name of the knife you let me borrow?”

“Earthbreaker.”

“Right, thank you.” You jotted the name down under Resources Returned With. It was the only weapon you’d not lost in Shanghai; all your other daggers and close-combat tools had been dissolved by an alien gunk that ate through Earthly metals like sugar in water. Loki had sliced the offending creature’s head clean off its shoulders before flipping the knife around to you, hilt-first. 

You did not, however, mention the pocketful of extra-terrestrial stones Loki had shared with you after the fact - but you knew from experience that Finance didn’t care about Loki’s magpie-like tendencies.

( These were very rare on Asgard. Courtiers sometimes sewed them into their sleeves as symbols of status.

They’re beautiful.

Yes, he’d agreed. But I think they’d look better against your arm, no?)

You finished off a comment on page seven and tucked your report into the Shanghai, Domestic (Earth) Threat folder. Despite Tony’s seemingly endless pockets, the Avengers finance department was meticulous about tracking your spending, which required an extreme detail when justifying any and all decisions made out in the field.

(It probably had something to do with the Berlin Incident, where a stray explosive arrow and a couple hundred tons of Hulk had cost Stark Enterprises a few hundred million dollars. Which, you would like to remind everyone, was not your fault. You were off a few blocks away wrestling mutant bat-dog-horses away from some celestial object intent on challenging Thor for his hammer.)

Loki materialized something out of thin air and slipped it between the pages of his book. “I think a break is in order, pet.”

“It’s only been forty-five minutes.” 

He flicked an errant curl out of his eyes while leveling you with a truly magnificent pout. “Forty-five agonizing minutes.”

“You haven’t even done anything today.”

“I’ve been keeping you company. It’s exhausting work. Really - I have a sudden appreciation for the court jesters back home.”

“Well your jester routine could use some work.”

Loki gasped. “I’ll have you know I am a wonderful jester.”

With a syrupy petulance, Loki plucked the folder from your hands and handed it off to the little robot Tony had assigned to the bullpen - the Paperwork Assistant Lite, or PAL for short. PAL shot off with a chirp, zipping on his tiny treads, the security badge on his chassis swinging merrily behind him.

You tried to tug your foot away in retaliation but Loki was faster. His other foot slid along the side of your shoe until your ankle was trapped between both of his. You twisted in his grip but with a quick yank Loki had you teetering on the edge of your seat. He leaned across the desk and bracketed your forearms with his. “Yield.”

You blew out a breath and screwed your face up in mock defiance. “No.”

“Do not force my hand, mortal.” His eyes shone a brilliant green and a crackling bolt of seidr whispered across your wrists warningly. He plucked your pen from your hand and tossed it aside carelessly. “Yield.”

“You’ll run out of things to throw eventually.” You swatted ineffectually at his calf with your other foot.

“And when that happens, it will be you I put over my shoulder.”

He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You could hear the storm outside swelling; the rain was deafening, the wind rattling the glass in its frame. The desk groaned under his weight as he leaned in just a hair closer. Your breath caught in your chest as his mouth parted, lips shiny where he’d chewed them in contemplation. “You’ll yield one day, pet.”

The train rumbled along in the distance.

Twenty-seven stories below, a car horn blared.

Your pinky brushed the inside seam of Loki’s sleeve, and the whisper of skin on wool seemed deafening.

Loki fell back in his seat with a shove and loosened his grip. He slipped his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “What if I promise to leave you alone. On the condition that you let me buy you breakfast.”

You blinked at him. “Alone-alone? Or ‘alone for ten minutes before you blow up the coffee machine’ alone?”

He nodded grimly. “Alone-alone.”

You sank back in your chair. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that the smarter, more sensible part of your brain cautioned you about. When you didn’t immediately respond, he offered his hand and wiggled his fingers enticingly.

“Fine.” As soon as you acquiesced, Loki unfolded from his chair and rounded the desk. He had already pulled your jacket off the back of your chair in the time it took you to locate your security badge and was holding it out for you. He helped you slip your arms in and straightened the collar so it lay flat across your shoulders. “But I fully intend on eating you out of house and home.”

He grinned. “Only the best for my little mortal.”

Loki stood at mock attention, his body ramrod straight but eyes slitted rebelliously, and offered you his arm. You rolled your eyes but did not deny yourself the luxury of folding your hands over his bicep.

Sleepy beams of sunlight filtered through the gaps between high-rises, drowned out by sheets of rain. The first few commuters were filtering along the sidewalk, heads bowed and shoulders up to block out the chill. Loki magiced an umbrella from nowhere and drew you in tightly. The cover it provided was cramped, giving you an excuse to tuck into his side. 

The two of you made the three-block journey to your usual coffee shop in companionable silence. It wasn’t until he had deposited you safely under the store’s awning that he dropped your arm, only to usher you inside with a hand on your back.

The shop was a hole-in-the wall, the kind of place without any seating except for a few mismatched tables in the back. Narrow enough that you could almost touch either wall if you stretched hard enough. But the coffee was good and the food even better, and on freezing mornings like this it was a welcome distraction from the sharp cold outside. 

Your usual barista, Yvonne, barely glanced up when you entered. Her dark eyes flickered knowingly between the two of you, lingering on the casual way Loki thumbed the seam of your coat sleeve.

“Morning,” She pulled open the pastry display and piled an assortment into a paper bag for you. “Coffee will be just a second. You want to try something new today?”

Loki was already nodding, sliding a stack of bills across the laminated countertop. To you, he said: “pick whatever you want, pet,” and then slipped to the end of the bar to wait for your drinks.

Yvonne dipped into the kitchen before returning with a little plastic container. “It’s a new recipe but we’re not sure if we’re going to sell it yet. Let me know what you think.”

You smiled and accepted the box, along with a paper bag containing your usual orders - a bagel for you and a couple of honeyed pastries for Loki. You and Loki were the only patrons in the shop, so you didn’t feel too bad lingering at the register. Yvonne leaned her forearms on the counter and poked your forearm. “So how’s it going with… you know.”

You took a forlorn bite of your bagel and cast your eyes to the end of the bar. Loki was chatting with the other barista, leaning over the counter to whisper something conspiratorially to her. She hung off of every word which, how could you blame her. He was, after all, charming and handsome and princely and a notorious flirt.

It was no secret that Loki thrived off of attention. When he had first arrived in his brother’s tow he’d been nothing but easy grins, sandwiched between Thor and Banner. It only took a week before Loki was grudgingly accepted after helping to stop the Bad Guy of the Week in a fishing town in New Brunswick, Canada and saving Natasha’s life, and it only took a year and another brush with near-death - which involved Loki using his seidr to literally hold Steve’s insides inside - for him to gain some leeway among the team. 

Which he abused immediately.

He was a terror. He was unpredictable, constantly underfoot, and he and Thor spent just as much time brothers-in-arms as they did at eachothers’ throats. He flirted his way out of most scrapes and connived his way out of the rest. Meaning - he absolutely thrived.

You had all come to rely on having him in your back pocket for missions. He was a great strategist and an even better fighter - even if he gave Tony a run for his money in the obnoxiousness department.

And you liked him. You really liked him - liked his company, liked his dry sense of humor. You liked the way your stomach swooped every time you heard his voice from around the corner, and how your heart clenched whenever he shot you a private smile during briefings. He was a great sparring partner and he seemed to have a sixth sense for when you needed a pep talk. But his attention never settled on you the way it did on marks or pretty secretaries or baristas.

A larger-than-insignificant part of you understood that what Loki liked about you was how your focus never waned. He liked the attention - for his little mortal to fawn over him. 

You’d thought he’d been interested at first, in the week after he’d saved Natasha. 

The touching. 

The pet names.

And then months went by and you watched him flirt with anything that breathed. And, on one occasion, something that didn’t.

“I still think he likes you,” Yvonne said. “He practically hangs off of you. Like one of those little baby sloths in a Dodo video.”

“That’s just Loki,” you said around a mouthful of bread. You’d confided in her a few weeks prior about your little crush in a moment of weakness and she, like Natasha, had taken to the cause like a dog to a bone. “He’s like that with everyone. I mean - look at him. He doesn’t really like me like that.”

The doorbell chimed, and Yvonne pushed away with a dramatic sigh. “He’s an ass then. Not worth it.”

“Who’s not worth what?” Loki sidled up beside you, coffee cups balanced in either hand. Yvonne shot you a look and waved the question away. You said a hurried goodbye and let Loki corral you into the deluge outside.

Heavy droplets of rain battered the pavement. Cars trudged along through broad trenches of water. Sliding his arm around your waist, Loki steered the two of you back the way you came. He held you tightly against his side to keep you both under the umbrella, so that your hips bumped with every other step and you could feel the heat coming off his coffee cup at your elbow. You took a sip of your own drink to distract yourself.

“Oh, I think you gave me your drink by mistake.” You pulled the cup away to check the label. Instead of an order, you found a ten-digit phone number scrawled in thick black marker.

“Terribly sorry, pet.” You didn’t miss how Loki’s grip tightened on your forearm when you strayed a little too far from the umbrella. He swapped your drinks, then made a disinterested noise. “I have to admire her bravery. I mean, it was clearly a stupid decision, but brave none the less.”

“Oh, be nice. The poor girl can’t help being charmed by your wiles.”

“I am devilishly charming, aren’t I?” Loki jostled you with his shoulder. You swallowed a sigh when he turned his nose into your cheek, his hot breath fanning over your jaw. “But I’m clearly not interested.”

“Loki,” you chided. “Your idea of clearly not interested is most peoples’ ‘oh god take me now’.”

“Preposterous. On Asgard we took courtship incredibly seriously. There were steps involved. A whole process. That,” he waved his hand, “was merely my enchanting nature.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jane told me that Thor offered her the head of a robot overlord he took down in Brazil.”

Loki pulled you to a stop to wait for the crosswalk sign to turn. “It likely would have been a stag on Asgard. Thor made do with what he could. Though I always imagined myself offering up a manticore, personally. Maybe a giant serpent.”

You hummed. “What a romantic.”

Loki shot you a curious look. “I spent much of my boyhood imagining how I might court my future mate. The gifts. The parties. I always imagined a woman at the edge of a dancefloor, how I might ask her to dance. She’d be dressed in my colours in a public declaration. Covered in gold. My sword at her hip…”

The crosswalk chirped. Loki drew you along, finishing lamely: “So no. That’s not ‘interested’.”

The rain was coming down harder, whipped up by the wind so it blew directly in your faces. A bead of water slid down your cheek; the umbrella only covered so much, and dark splotches were beginning to pepper the shoulders of your jackets and creep up the hem of your pants. A chill had settled over your skin unpleasantly… yet you couldn’t help but groan as you rounded the corner and the crisp steel contours of the Avengers tower melted into view.

Loki glanced over his shoulder, a boyish grin tilting his lips upwards. A few damp curls clung to the column of his throat.  “Tell you what, pet. Why don’t I practice my court jester routine a little longer?”

Loki crowded you against the side of the Avengers tower, shielding you from the worst of the storm. He launched into regaling you about the book he was reading - a collection of alien poetry from sometime around Earth’s 14th century, found in one of Tony’s art collections gathering dust. ( We called them engagements on Asgard. Because suitors would often ‘forget’ them in their intendeds’ parlors as an excuse to return later. ) All the while, he drew the plastic container Yvonne had given you from your paper bag and pried the lid off. Inside was a collection of small pastries with cracked sugar shells on top - profiteroles, you thought. Loki plucked one and gestured with it wildly to emphasize his point, nearly upturning the entire box in his enthusiasm.

“Okay, that’s enough.” You took the container from him and held it securely in your free hand. “What were you saying?”

“I was quoting. I said ‘ If love was like an ocean, then mine was like a well.’”

“Deep and drinkable?”

“Hand-dug.” Loki popped the sweet in his mouth. His eyebrows rose comically. “That’s good. That’s very good,” he said around a mouthful.

You hummed and held out your coffee so you could try. Instead, Loki took another one out and held it up to your mouth.

You sputtered out a nervous laugh. “What? No, take my coffee.”

Loki tsked and prodded your lips with the dessert. He fixed you with a strange look, something coy but serious at the edges. A warm flush rose along the back of your neck under his scrutiny, growing so unbearable by the second that eventually you opened your mouth and let him place the treat between your teeth. Sweet cream burst out of crisp, flaky pastry and chips of hard sugar - he was right, it was delicious. 

His narrowed eyes shone with mirth. “Good?”

Your breath stuttered when Loki pressed his lips to the pad of his thumb, licking away some sticky residue. His mouth pulled away with a wet peach sort of sound.

Your knuckles brushed the fabric of his shirt, warmed by his skin - a pleasant contrast to the cold, wet city air. You felt his muscles twitch under the barest touch. 

His mouth tipped upwards; the back of your hand slid against his abdomen when he leaned his hand against the wall next to your head, dominating your personal space.

In a panic, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have a date for the party tonight?”

“Oh sweetling,” he purred. “I thought you would never ask.”

You grimaced. “Very funny. I thought you would have already asked Emily from Accounting.”

Loki blinked down at you. “What?”

“Emily? Tall, big hair, legs for days?”

“Why would I ever ask her?”

You picked at the label printed on your coffee cup. “I don’t know. I just figured someone like you would…”

“Would…?”

You huffed out a sharp breath and glanced at him from the corner of your eye. A strange expression had crossed his face. You regretted asking at all; it wasn’t like you wanted to know the answer to that question anyway.

“Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ll be fending people off left and right anyway.”

Silence settled over the two of you, decidedly less comfortable this time. His hand slipped from the brick wall and into his coat pocket roughly.

“Do you… Do you have a date tonight?”

“No! No, I…” You laughed uncomfortably. “No. No dates right now.”

Loki hummed. The furrow between his brows lessened but only slightly. 

You pushed away from the wall a little awkwardly, still balancing the box of profiteroles in your hand. Loki followed a step behind, pulling the door open for you mechanically. 

You rode the elevator up in silence.

When you reached the floor for the common office, you found PAL waiting dutifully outside the elevator. His little paper tray bobbed as he spun circles around your feet. 

“You are entirely too kind to him,” Loki chided while you cooed down at his adorably square face.

“Maybe he’ll be my date tonight. What do you say, PAL? Want to dance the night away?”

PAL lead the two of you to your desk, where he waited for you to assign him another file. The city was shrouded in a thick grey haze behind the floor-to-ceiling windows and bright, early morning light had flooded the room - a far cry from the intimate room you’d left. You sighed and slunk heavily into your seat.

Loki loitered. He drew the tip of one long finger down the cover of one of your folders, flipping through a quilt of post-it notes. “Ok. I’ll keep my promise and let you work now.”

“Thank you.” Before he could leave you reached out and grabbed his sleeve. He startled, glancing down at your hand before his eyes flickered back up to yours. You rolled the seam of his coat sleeve between your thumb and forefinger, dropping his gaze when it grew too hot. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

Loki hummed. “I’ll be the one in black.”

You couldn’t help but feel like you’d said something wrong. His hand slipped from yours and into his pocket, his little book of poetry tucked under one arm. Your eyes lingered on the elevator doors long after he’d left.

—

You were in the process of deciding between two pairs of shoes when your front door slipped open. Never one for boisterous entrances, Natasha sashayed down your front hall into your living area, shoes and makeup bag clutched in one hand, and made a bee-line for your bathroom. You padded after her, adjusting your glittery skirt as you went.

It had become customary for you and Natasha to get ready together in your apartment, even outside of Official Team Events, so you didn’t bat an eye when she leant her hip against your counter and started pinning her hair out of her face. You hoisted yourself up onto the bathroom counter while she unpacked her tools, idly playing with a tube of toothpaste in companionable silence.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the crisis you’re having?”

“How can you tell I’m having a crisis?”

Natasha waved her hand, as if to say international super spy, duh.

“Like a twelve,” you moaned. “I can’t do this anymore. I just get so… so awkward around him. And he gets off on it, I know he does. He amps it up to a hundred because he knows it makes me uncomfortable.”

Natasha leveled a look at you through the mirror. 

“He called Lydia in the mail room ‘Enchantress’ for a week. He calls me his pet. ”

“Some guys are into that.”

You made a face. “He’s not a guy though. He’s a god. How could I ever live up to that.”

You heard the front door open. Wanda had promised to come by once she’d gotten dressed. You called out her name, then returned to your moping.

“He just- ugh - he makes me crazy, you know? I like him so much. I swear if he touches me one more time I’m going to burst into flames. Or cry. Or worse, say something embarrassing. Something needy like ‘I love you please oh please let me have your babies’.” You wailed and buried your face in your hands. “I just need to find a guy to fuck it out of me.”

“If you’re looking for sex, Loki would be more than happy to help you,” Natasha grumbled. “Even if he wasn’t doing the roll-over-and-show-my-belly routine for you - which he absolutely is - he’d jump at the chance to ‘fuck it out of you’ .”

“You are not being helpful at all.” You hopped off the counter and adjusted your skirt. You were beginning to regret your decision, but the dress was a beautiful shade of green that both Wanda and Natasha had cooed at over Facetime a week ago. “I’m serious. I just need some random guy to blow off some steam. Get my mind off of him.”

Natasha tossed her eyeliner pencil in her makeup bag and zipped it shut. “Maybe you’re selling yourself short. Maybe you’re way more of a catch than you think you are.”

“And maybe sleeping with someone who actually wants me will fix my ego problem. Maybe my problem is that I’ve been spending way too much time around super soldiers and GQ models. Someone in my league. Someone totally normal who won’t laugh in my face and pat my head like I’m a horny lap dog.”

Natasha tsked. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. So, what’s the plan? You find some guy, take him home, ride him into the sunset and then… Go on pretending you’re not totally in love with-?”

“Don’t say his name! I’m serious, you’re going to jinx it or something.” You glared at her reflection. “The guy doesn’t matter. In fact, he shouldn’t matter. Someone I have absolutely no interest in, who I can spend one fun night with and then move on from. I just need to regain control over the situation.”

“Mhmm. I just don’t see why Loki’s not an option here. Plug this in for me.” You squawked indignantly while she handed over her curling iron. “Worst case scenario, he’s only ok and you never have to talk about it again. Maybe he has a tail or something. Horns.” 

You tried to imagine her head exploding. Or stubbing her toe really hard. Tripping up the stairs. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Natasha hummed. She sorted through the belongings strewn across your bathroom counter mindlessly, straightening out your array of weapons leftover from when you stumbled home in the early morning. One of her manicured fingers traced the edge of an ornate gold knife. Earthbreaker . “Interesting choice for a telekinetic super spy. Abandoning quiet and calculated for something a bit more ostentatious, are we?”

“I’ve been meaning to return that.”

“Return what?” Wanda rounded the corner, a tote bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in another. “Cute dress.”

You smiled. “Thank you. What took you so long?”

“Oh,” Wanda sidled up next to Natasha and began pilfering through her makeup bag. “Nothing, really. I couldn’t decide between this dress or an old red one I found in the back of my closet. I came as fast as I could.”

“No, I mean, I heard the door-”

“She’s going to hook up with a stranger tonight,” Natasha interrupted.

“What? Shit-” Wanda dropped the kohl pencil she was using and licked her thumb, scrubbing at her eyelid. “Wait, why not Loki?”

“I never said I was certain,” you interjected.

“She’s worried he doesn’t feel the same way she does.”

Wanda pouted at her reflection, assessing the symmetry of her eyeliner. “Not to be dramatic but… does it matter? He’d say yes.”

“You don’t know that. Just this morning he turned down a barista when she gave him her phone number.”

“But with a little wine? A little dancing? He looks amazing, by the way, I passed him on my way here.” Wanda turned to face you, leaning her elbows on the counter. “He’ll say yes.”

“Speaking of wine, why don’t I-”

“Worst case scenario he’s only an okay lay. Loki will leap at the chance for a one-night stand. Why would you-”

“I don’t want to just fuck him, okay?” You cried. “I know he’d fuck me. But I want more. ”

You turned on your heel and fled to the kitchen. You had never gotten around to buying wine glasses - something Natasha loved to make fun of you for - so you pulled mugs down at random.

It was only your familiarity with Natasha that tipped you off to the fact that she’d joined you. You avoided her eyes while digging through your cutlery drawer for a corkscrew.

“Babe.” Natasha took you by the shoulders and tipped her head so you were eye level. “Hey. Tell me what the worst-case scenario is.”

You shrugged, a little pathetically. “I don’t know. He’s uncomfortable. Or- or he makes fun of me.”

“He already does that.”

“But not- not like this.” You scrubbed the heel of your palm over your eyes. “I really like him. And I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

“I think you’re gonna lose him as a friend no matter what if this continues. And I think he likes you a lot more than you think. I- and you can never, ever repeat this - I think he’s a lot more empathetic than he lets on. Hell, his brother has tried to kill him multiple times and they live on the same floor.”

Her thumbs worked in small, soothing circles over your shoulders. You leaned forward to rest your forehead against her chest and sighed. “What if he says no?”

“Just ask him to dance tonight. If he says no then no harm, no foul.” She pushed you back by the shoulders and leveled you a look. “We’re master tacticians. We can seduce that stupid peacock. Now come on, come help me do Wanda’s hair. I curl, you pin.”

You took a deep breath in and held it. On the exhale, you pulled away. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You gathered up your glasses. Wine bottle in hand, you started to formulate a plan. A strategy. Something Peter might call Operation Get Laid if he didn’t blush every time a kissing scene came on TV. 

You nodded. “Okay.”

-

part two!

[fleckcmscott]

At Long Last

Summary: With Y/N's help, Arthur begins to discover what openness truly means.

Words: 2,287

Warnings: Swearing, Adult situations

A/N: A hearty welcome and hello to new readers! 😃 And much love and thanks to old! 🤗💜 This story came to me right after watching the sequel. I wanted to return to the beginnings of Arthur and Y/N's relationship, revisit those trepidatious yet thrilling early days. This piece takes place four days after After. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing! Please enjoy!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Arthur trudged into his apartment, dragging a sopping wet hamper behind him.

Out of Order signs had hung from 225a Anderson Avenue's row of dryers for the better part of two weeks. He'd managed to avoid the basement laundromat, its abandoned bowling alley charms. Scrubbed a stain on his trousers in the sink, soaked t-shirts in a basin with a scoop of Borax. But with the armpits of his cardigans too funky to wear, he'd found himself in a pinch.

His last three quarters had clinked to the bottom of the Speed Queen - and the machine had quit as soon as it'd hit the spin cycle. Not a shock, really. That was the way everything went for good old Arthur Fleck. His minor celebrity status hadn't spun a better thread.

Splats across the basement floor, a puddle in the rickety elevator, streaks down the hall to 8J. A trail of clues for the absent super to follow and lay blame.

Arthur kicked the hamper for bad measure. Water seeped onto the entrance runner. Shoulders sagged under twenty pounds of resignation, a peck of indignation ground his teeth. He shoved another cigarette between his lips and puffed storm clouds from his nose.

Just as he was draping a thermal shirt over the side of the tub, the telephone rang. Scoffing, he grabbed a crumpled pair of briefs.

The hospital had called during skipped breakfast, said his first choice for a home to send Penny to had no space. He'd offered a suggestion ("Can you tell them I was on Murray? Maybe they'll have a bed then."), then told them to try another, any other. A Gotham Hydro bill marked Past Due had put him on notice, but he'd mailed the check two days ago, so whatever. They could leave a message.

But the answering machine didn't answer. It hit him that he'd unplugged it last night, the result of a prank caller asking him to do his dumb laugh. A minute more and the branging and bronging continued, a ring that would ricochet in his skull for hours.

"Fuck," he muttered. Wiping his hands on his pajama bottoms, he charged to the kitchen phone. "Hello?"

"Arthur, hi," Y/N said.

Warmth melted the icicle of frustration lodged in his chest, the out of the blue call instantly easing his load. His girlfriend, a brand-new thread that wound him up in all the right ways. He sighed her name and leaned on the counter as she continued. "Are you busy? I can call later."

"No. No, I'm good. Free, I mean." He tapped his cigarette into a pink ashtray. "You can talk to me now."

"I was wondering if I could have my joke a little earlier today. Patricia is at a conference of counsel on that goddamn Wayne case, and I'm losing my mind."

"Well..." He eyed his wet feet, the puddle he needed to mop up. "What did one washing machine say to the other?" After giving her three chances to guess, he offered the punchline. "This is a draining job." Light laughter on the other end. He grabbed a pencil and jotted the quip before he could forget it.

"Do you want to go out tonight?" she asked. "There's an Italian place a block from me that makes a great chicken parmesan."

He did. But Arthur didn't have to check his wallet to know it was empty. "No, thank you."

A photocopier hummed in the background. "Well, why don't you come over for dinner? Matt won't care if I take a long lunch. I'll throw a soup together in my crockpot, it'll be ready by the time you get there. You could take leftovers."

His eyelids slammed shut, the need to cling to her battling his pride. She'd already paid for lunch last Thursday, bought their movie tickets Saturday, and made dinner that evening. He'd wished her good night and left, heavy steps carrying him back to his place despite her pout that he loved so much. He refused to be the burden on Y/N that he'd been on Penny.

"That's really-" He spoke with the same steadiness he practiced for performances. Gulped against a watery tremor. "That's okay."

"That's okay? Does that mean yes?"

Tongue tied, he swiped at his nose. God, she was stubborn.

The creak of her office chair. Her voice lowered, like she was cupping her hand over the receiver. Throaty and conspiratorial. "Arthur, I've needed you inside me all morning, and I don't see that ache going away without you."

Only his furrowed brow kept his eyes from falling out of his head. His mouth watered at the idea of sharing a meal with her - but not as much as at what she'd just confessed.

God, she was sensational.

Swiping greasy strands of hair from his cheek, he decided to move the laundry from the tub to the sink. "I- I'll be there."

~~~~~

It was breathy and quick, a speed Arthur associated more with first times than sevenths. (He'd been without his meds for about a month and assumed that was at fault.) He blinked at her after he came. Swallowed and squirmed between her legs.

Y/N giggled and washed away his embarrassment. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said, nimble fingers lacing through freshly shampooed locks. Her pelvis canted upward, her mouth striving towards his.

He rolled to her left, to her side of the bed. Turned to study her profile. Her hand was splayed on her sternum, which slowed to rise and fall at an easy pace. He tucked himself under the floral comforter, thicker and softer than anything he had at home.

A few huffs later and she cackled with laughter. "I haven't been this horny in ages."

Parted fingers covered his eyes, a swelling pride permeating bashful chuckles. He hadn't been this horny ever. Yeah, there'd been urges. The same desires as any other man. But getting to know himself as a sexual being, having a sex life, being and having a lover felt like a long-desired suit. A suit he'd finally gotten his hands on and was now learning to tailor.

He folded an arm behind his head. Good thing something this wonderful was free.

She propped herself on her elbow. "We need to catch another movie soon. I keep thinking of you in the theatre, humming along to all the songs. How many times have you seen it?"

Shall We Dance was a perennial favorite, the tale of two dancers driven to marry by spectacle and rumor, who in the end fall in love. "I dunno. Fifty?" It was in constant rotation on GMC, a soundtrack to his growing up.

He nestled back into her pillow. "I used to imagine I was Fred Astaire. That one day I'd meet my Ginger." His face heated at that admission, the fantasies of a schoolboy he carried to this day. But perhaps telling Y/N without hesitation was what intimacy was. What safety and security were supposed to feel like.

"That's a high bar." She rucked the sheet to her armpits. "I hope you're not disappointed."

"No. I'm not," he said, as serious as an NCB interviewee. "You get me."

"You're not that hard to figure out."

"You're perfect."

A grimace flashed across her forehead. "No. I'm not."

Looping an arm about her middle, he tugged her to him. "Well, you're perfect for me."

That appeared to suit her. She snuggled against his side, lay her head on his bare shoulder. He nuzzled at her sepia hair, kissed her brow. His focused stare dwindled, a story unfurling in his heart.

Full page notices of their impending matrimony splashed across the Gotham Examiner, the Gazette, the Globe, papers read by the poor and powerless. The Gotham Times and the Journal, papers read by the prosperous and powerful. Announcements for everyone who'd made fun of him, everyone who'd underestimated him. Hoyt, Randall, Mur-ray. Hell, even Penny, who'd told Y/N she'd never believed he'd find a girlfriend. Treasures he'd tear from the newsprint and paste in his journal. Reminders of all he'd earned, that he'd gotten what he deserved.

Y/N murmured that the pea and ham soup should be done, and his daydream gave way to reality. When she asked why he hadn't wanted to come over, he gave a grunt of acknowledgment but no answer. He let his gaze roam the room, a grounding exercise he'd learned during one of his stints at Arkham State Hospital. A way to make himself present.

A two door in-wall closet was across from the foot of the bed, a walnut bow-back armchair sat in the corner by the door. Against the left wall stood a chest of drawers, on top of which sat a jewelry box, a watch, a vanity mirror, and a hairbrush. Little pieces of her that would be joined by his.

On her nightstand was a ceramic lamp, mauve and round, accompanied by a digital clock radio and a pen. A short stack of softcover books was next to it, five in total. The top book lay open, face down. He cocked his head to read the spine. Loving Someone with Major Depressive Disorder.

"What's this?" he asked, plucking it from the pile.

"A series I'm reading through."

He scanned the other books long enough to catch partial titles. ...someone with manic... ...traumatic stress... ...iety disorder... Manuals of misfortune. He worried the tip of his tongue. "Because of me?"

She ran her palm across his abdomen. "Because I want to do the right thing."

He skimmed the page she'd left off on.

Telling your loved one, "If you'd only try harder" or "Why can't you just be happy?" merely serves to worsen his mental state. Such phrases contribute to the hopelessness and shame a patient is already feeling. It is as useful as telling a cancer patient that with enough positive thinking, he can cure himself.

Y/N would never say anything of the sort. Of that, he was sure. She listened, took him seriously, even when she disagreed. She was as far from Penny as east was from west, a woman who'd slapped him with a nickname and treated him like an invisible man. Y/N having these paperbacks on her nightstand meant that she saw him. That she cared.

That he was the first thing she thought of in the morning and the last each and every night.

He replaced the book, cuddled her closer. "Maybe I should read a law book or something. You know, to learn about your job?" Though he had a vague understanding of her work, knew it had to do with the legal system, the specifics eluded him. She seemed to be detective, secretary, and lawyer all rolled into one.

She pushed herself from the mattress and went to the closet. Pulled the corner chair before it and climbed. He admired the shapeliness of her bottom, the ease of her nakedness.

After some shuffling, she hopped back down and threw on a robe. Returned to his side to hand him a green hardcover with gold lettering: Paralegal Practice and Procedure.

The textbook was lead in his hands, the thickest he'd ever held. He flipped to the last page. Glimpsed the size ten font and page number 356. Twitchy fingertips drummed the cover. "Can I- Can I borrow it?"

"Of course," she answered, and set it aside. She drew a line down his forehead. "I'll dogear the important parts. You can always ask me about it, too. I'd like that."

Long eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheeks. "What's the hardest case you've had?"

"The Wayne case." Her trail continued along the bridge of his nose.

"And the best?"

Her breath brushed his face. She followed the groove that ran from his nose to his mouth. "The Wayne case," she said with unexpected warmth. Her thumb traced the scar on his upper lip.

On a flinch, he seized her hand. Thought to move it away, to a smoother part of his body. The sharp plain of his cheek, the swell of his bicep, the sinewy inside of his thigh. Places she loved to caress, spots he'd accepted she admired.

But her kind expression, soft yet inquisitive, forced him to reconsider.

For the most part, the scar didn't bother him, though it could be a pain to shave around. Its origins were unknown. If it was a parting gift from one of Penny's boyfriends, or if he'd been born with it. If he'd been malformed in the womb. The flaw was visible for everyone to see in the same way his laughing condition was audible for everyone to hear.

No one had gone out of the way to touch it. To touch him. People had avoided him his whole life. Gossiped behind his back after he'd pass, scoffed when he'd offer his laminated card. The strangeness of this woman diving into him was hard to take.

Was it possible for vulnerability to no longer invite further pain?

A quick blink against the wetness flooding his eyes. His heart beating against hers. He pressed her to the scar, tilted upward into her grasp. Not trying to halt the watery tremor in his words, Arthur whispered what he'd longed to since she'd returned to him. Since he'd taken her on his kitchen floor.

"I- I'm in love with you."

Beaming, Y/N twined her legs with his, her center damp on his thigh. "You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me." Her thumb dragged along the scar once more. "I'm in love with you, too."

She bent to kiss it, then kissed him. Full and wet and sweet and the whole world.

~~~~~

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[munson-blurbs]

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 001: I Wouldn't Remember Me, Either

Summary: A new patient arrives at the lab unable to recall his past. With a parallel universe seeping into the real world, you've been assigned to pull his memories to the surface, but what you remember threatens everything.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction

WC: 3k

Divider credit to @saradika

He awakens with a jolt, heart pounding in his chest. The room is bathed in a fluorescent haze that pinches his retinas and has him squinting as he adjusts to the light after days spent asleep. 

“Wh-Where…” His throat is raw, and he coughs up blood, spattering his chin and the top of the hospital gown he’s tied into. He tries to wipe it off, but metal digs into his wrists as he realizes he’s cuffed down. He gives another yank, one handcuff clanging against the gurney’s rail. Pain rips through his torso at his sudden movement, so fierce and intense that his vision blurs. He swallows the bile inching up his esophagus and lays back down in defeat. 

A group of men in head-to-toe white surround his bedside within thirty seconds of him waking up, clipboards and charts clutched tightly in their hands. They jot down his vitals that pulse on the nearby monitor, and murmur amongst themselves. One of them must have just come in from a smoke break; the scent of tobacco wafts past 086’s nose and elicits a craving for a pull from a cigarette. 

He shakes it off and musters up all of the energy he can to try and make his voice heard. “What’s going on?”

Only one of the men acknowledges his words, turning to him with a blank, stoic expression. “Patient 086,” he addresses him, the heels of his Oxfords clicking against the hard tile, “we are…pleased to have you here with us.” He lets out a singular heh, a pathetic excuse for what passes as laughter.

086’s stomach twists at this; he takes a deep breath that heightens the ache radiating behind his torn flesh. 

“Why am I…handcuffed?” he grunts out, teeth digging into his lower lip in a grimace. 

The man ignores his question yet again. “You will answer a series of questions before we can determine where to place you.” He glances down at his checklist, pen perched atop the paper, ready to write. “Question one: what is your name?”

A grin appears on 086’s lips, cracking where the thin skin is chapped. “My name? It’s…” He trails off, smile faltering as quickly as it came. “It’s…” No. I have to know it; it’s my goddamn name. He wracks his brain, a throb pulsing against his temples as he struggles to remember the most basic detail about himself. 

“Date of birth?”

Days, months, years fly through his head. Maybe April; that seems right. Or is it August? He mouths the word, rolling it over his tongue to see if it brings back a familiar feeling, but it doesn’t sway him in either direction. “I don’t know.”

He can only offer the same response to the questions about his hometown, his parents, his school. Each missed answer draws an amused expression from the man in white, his eyebrows nearly reaching his salt-and-pepper hair when the patient before him fails to recall his own life history. 

086 watches as the man nods at one of his colleagues, a short man with a crew cut, who promptly pulls a small key from his pocket. In one swift motion, he unlocks the cuffs, still standing guard in case 086 tries to lash out and attack. 

And though 086 feels the urge to fight, to demand answers he should already know, all he can do is bring his left hand to his right wrist. He massages where the handcuff has indented his pale skin, taking note of the three digits etched just below his palm. 

086

“Is this…did I…” On the same arm is a small collection of bats; recognition burns in his brain, but he can’t bring forward the memory of why the tattoos are there. 

“You already had a host of markings before coming into our care,” Salt-and-Pepper remarks brusquely, “but the numeric identifier is our way of keeping track of patient whereabouts and achievements.”

Confusion furrows 086’s brows and creases his forehead. “My…achievements?”

“Your achievements,” Salt-and-Pepper confirms, his mouth pressed into a straight line. “Once you are healed enough to participate in lessons, we can begin determining what assets you bring to our project.”

“Project?” he repeats dumbly, disorientation morphing into ire at the lack of answers. His fists clench instinctively; the older man’s eyeline flickers towards the slight movement, but he doesn’t order him to be re-cuffed. 

The already frigid air chills even more as the man offers a horrible smile. “You have an awful lot of questions, don’t you?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth with another unnerving laugh. “An inquisitive one. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to provide those answers.” He nods at the colleague holding the keys, who promptly slides the handcuff around the patient’s wrist once again, his brief moment of freedom slipping away as quickly as it came. 

“After I help with the project…then I can go home?” The patient looks at the men before him, scanning their faces for some inkling of a response. “When can I go home?” he asks more forcefully, body aches be damned. 

Salt-and-Pepper crosses his arms over his broad chest. “And where is home, 086?” His voice is soft, but his eyes are steely with malice. “Tell you what: give us your address and we’ll take you there right now.” He waits a beat, smirking with the knowledge that his patient won’t be able to remember. “That’s what I thought.”

He pivots on his heel and walks out the door. The group of men follow him without another word, their footsteps disappearing down the hall. 

086 lays back down and breathes a terse exhale of frustration. Tears sting at his eyes as the realization of his state of utter helplessness sinks in. He wants to call out for someone, anyone, to save him, but he can’t think of a single person.

This is Hell, he thinks. Numbness overtakes his body as he begins accepting his defeat. I’ve done something to royally piss off God, and now I’m in Hell. 

Fingers from his unchained hand reflexively fly to his scalp, a nervous habit that penetrates the fuzziness coating his sense of self. He’s met with no resistance, no tangles, no snags; his hair had been buzzed down while he was unconscious. 

A neuron fires: this isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but something is very wrong. It’s the final straw that sends him hurtling over the edge. 

“Goddammit! Let me go! LET ME GO!” He thrashes against the restraints, ignoring the pain ripping through him. A stitch on his abdomen pops with a ping, fresh blood seeping through the thin hospital gown. 

Three of the white-clad men rush into the room. One holds down his free hand while another pins his head to the stiff cotton masquerading as a pillow. 086 leans over and bites the nearest man’s wrist until he can taste metal on his tongue, spitting red. The bleeding man holds strong, almost unfazed; it’s clearly not his first time having teeth sunk into his skin. 

The third man is Salt-and-Pepper. He stands to 086’s left and plunges a needle into his neck without a moment of hesitation. The syringe’s serum leaves him warm and tingly, eyelids weighed down. “Good night,” the man whispers in sing-song, his malicious chuckle warped as the patient floats into a sedated slumber. 

The last thing 086 registers before sleep pulls him back into its embrace is the voice of the man with the now-empty syringe. 

“He’ll learn.” A pause. “C’mon, Snell. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Snell. The man who I bit is called Snell. 

And then he’s out. 

270 days. You’ve been here for 270 days, each one identical to the last. Wake up, attend hours upon hours of training, sleep, repeat. Every morning brings the sinking realization that escape is impossible and freedom is a far-off dream; your new destiny is that of a lab rat. Even the hands of the wall clock have stopped ticking by, their batteries petering out some months ago at exactly 2:17. 

If only you’d ignored the phone when it rang that evening. If only you’d run the other way. If only you hadn’t quite literally bumped into Dr. Snell as you’d bolted through the woods, desperate to avoid the evil looming over your ill-fated town. If only–

“055.”

Your head snaps up from your worn copy of Of Mice and Men when Dr. Moseley calls out your identifier—you refuse to consider it your name—from the doorway. He offers a half-smile that has you shriveling inward. Ever since Dr. Brenner’s untimely passing days earlier, Dr. Moseley has been increasing your training, trying to make you the secret weapon that would allow him to step into the late scientist’s shoes.

“Yes, Dr. Moseley.” You force a chipper tone, swallowing your fear and dog-earing your page. You’ve read this book so many times that you could rewrite it from memory, but it serves as your only source of entertainment. It’s rumored that the scientists have access to a small television set, but none of the patients have ever seen it.  

He crooks a finger, gnarled with arthritis, to beckon you over. You stand up from your cot while his eyes bore into you, smoothing the nonexistent creases in your hospital gown. The tile floor is frigid against your feet; you have no socks to serve as barriers against it. Every square inch of this place is always cold.

The doctor fixes his posture and peers downward, an assertion of dominance that does not go unnoticed. “Your…expertise is needed.” His nose twitches slightly. “Come.”

You and he both know that he doesn’t even have to tell you to follow him; obedience has been ingrained in you well before you’d been brought to the lab. Before it was the doctors, it was your friends. Before your friends, it was your parents.

A semblance of a smile flutters across his face as you comply with his order. “We have a new patient,” he explains, keeping his volume to a minimum as the two of you make your way down a dimly-lit corridor. “Like you, he was raised on the outside, but there are two major differences between you and him. Number one, he’s not a good listener.” Dr. Moseley chuckles, clammy thumb and forefinger gently perched underneath your chin in a display of affection that leaves you wanting to retch. “I had to sedate him earlier today after an…outburst. And, number two, he cannot recall a thing about his past. Not even his name. That’s where you come in, my dear.”

Another unnecessary statement; besides subservience, your only real use is memory pulling. It’s what you’ve been training for since arriving here last summer.

“We need to know why he was in The Nether, what he did, and anything he may have altered,” he continues. “It’s also highly unlikely that he was alone, and we need to know who else was with him. We can’t have people with this knowledge going unmonitored.” He pauses and makes unwanted, harsh eye contact. “You will find out this information for us so we can ensure everyone’s safety.”

“Of course,” you murmur, nodding your head and casting aside the doubt you harbor over the truthfulness of his words.

Dr. Moseley pushes open the door to the new patient’s room, where Drs. Snell and Cavendish are already awaiting your entrance. You note the beige bandage wrapped around Dr. Snell’s forearm but refrain from asking questions.

“This is 086,” Dr. Moseley reports, gesturing to the gurney where the young man lay sleeping on his side, arm crossed over his face in a makeshift shield. Bits of dried blood still stick to his exposed cheek despite the attempts to clean him up. His chest rises and falls rhythmically; if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was in the midst of a peaceful slumber. But there is no peace here. There never has been. 

“Is there anything we do know about him?” The more information you have, the easier it will be to access his memories. 

Dr. Cavendish clears his throat. “I was part of the team that rescued him from The Nether,” he ventures hesitantly. “I can allow you into the memory so you will know what to look for.”

You nod, but Dr. Moseley puts out a hand to stop you before you can even begin. “If she does that, will she have the stamina to access 086?” His voice is clipped, not wanting to waste more precious time. 

“It’ll just be a moment,” you reassure him. Memory retrieval is much easier when the person brings it to the forefront of their brain; the challenge occurs when memories are tucked away as though being stored for safekeeping. 

When Dr. Moseley says nothing, you take a step towards Dr. Cavendish. “Tell me to stop if it hurts at all,” you say, taking his hand in yours. Your eyes meet his steeled blue ones as you pull the ribbon that unravels his thoughts. 

The night isn’t pitch-black, but is submerged in a bluish gray that permeates the atmosphere. Thick, tentacle-esque vines snake along the ground, and you—Dr. Cavendish, rather, since you’ve wormed into his perspective and don his skin—carefully avoids stepping on them with Hazmat suited feet. 

“I’ve got one!” An urgent voice calls from a distance. “But if he isn’t dead yet, he will be soon.”

Dr. Cavendish spins to face where his colleague stands, striding over to the crumpled body lamely laying in the dirt, surrounded by a flock of dead creatures. The victim is covered in blood; it’s smeared across his face and oozing from punctures along his abdomen. It mats his frizzy hair, tints the ground maroon, and fills the air with the smell of iron. 

“I’ll get his legs, you get under his arms.” Dr. Cavendish commands, already bending at the knees and bracing his back to lift the young man. “On the count of three. One, two—”

“That’s enough.”

Two words from Dr. Moseley drag you back to reality. You swipe at the blood that’s gathered under your right nostril and sniff, steadying yourself on the gurney rail. In front of you, Dr. Cavendish massages the bridge of his nose to quell the inevitable headache that follows memory accession. 

Your journey was brief, but you’ve gathered sufficient information to delve into 086’s history. 

“Okay,” you breathe, grabbing 086’s cuffed hand. This is a much different set-up than you’re accustomed to. For one, there’s no way to make eye contact, not while 086 is asleep. Everything prior to this has just been practice with scientists with the goal of eventually infiltrating the minds of Russian nemeses. 

A tattoo peeks out from the patient’s drooping collar, an insect’s spindly legs emerging from a soft tuft of chest hair and fresh scars. There’s a familiarity to the faded ink, but Dr. Moseley does not afford you the luxury of uncovering it.

“055.” His voice is stern. “Please begin.”

Your open eyes find 086’s closed ones as you try to ignore your nagging conscience. This is a person; someone who, as far as anyone knows, has only committed the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything within you screams no, that this is a violation, but another brusque throat-clearing catapults you into compliance.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood. You grasp onto the image from Cavendish and let yourself into 086’s mind. 

You wade through darkness for a bit, hyper focused on finding a resembling memory. Your temples throb as you concentrate on your search. Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

Nothing.

Squeezing his hand a bit tighter, you will the wave of remembrance to crash over you. You’re pouring out every ounce of energy you possess, a draining battery, as you stand alone in utter darkness.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood. 

You latch onto something and pull yourself into it. The visual is hazy, likely because of 086’s own inability to recall it naturally, but you can hear it all. 

Unidentifiable screeching objects–possibly the bat-esque monsters you’d seen in Dr. Cavendish’s memory–shriek and thwack against metal in rapid succession just as a scream roars over the clatter. It’s not one of terror, but of vengeance, and you feel your physical self tense up with a rage you didn’t know you held.

“Come on!” bellows 086, the challenge rising up from his diaphragm and rattling his whole body.

The next sounds happen almost simultaneously: fabric tearing, fangs hungrily sinking into flesh, and an unmistakable cry of pain.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand to listen to this man wail in torment as he’s ripped apart, teetering on the brink of death. The cry becomes strangled as though his throat is being compressed, and it allows you to hear a far-away shout, a boy’s voice thick with anguish.

“EDDIE!”

At this one word, you stumble out of the memory and nearly fall to the tile floor. Your breathing becomes shallow as the present infiltrates your psyche, too distraught to keep your nosebleed from snaking down your lips. You’ll be reprimanded for not remaining in the memory longer to identify the mystery boy, but you can’t bring yourself to find it again. 

Dr. Moseley catches you by the crook of your elbow, keeping you upright long enough for you to get a better look at 086. His hair is shaved down to the scalp, patchy in places where his curls were particularly knotted and hard to remove. He’s added a few more tattoos to his collection since you’d last seen him almost one year ago, including a swarm of bats trailing up his arm. His fingers are naked without his signature rings; the base of his knuckles are tinged green from the costume jewelry. But it’s him; it’s definitely him.

Patient 086 is Eddie Munson, and for good reason, he absolutely despises you.

--

[a-case-of-attachment]

So in Hell’s Greatest Dad, Lucifer tells Charlie that ‘with a punch of a pentagram’ and ‘usually I charge a sacrificial lamb’ when he’s offering to help her with the hotel and it got me thinking. Surely he must have had people sacrifice things in his honour or for favours before right? So….what if when something is sacrificed to him it ends up down in Hell?

It works like some sort of inter dimensional postal service. Lucifer will just be doing whatever then a portal will open up above him full of weird oil slick coloured clouds and lightening cracking across the endless sky with the boom of thunder not far behind. Out of the portal flies a cherub sized faun wearing a shirt, waistcoat and bow tie brandishing a clipboard that’s got the contract attached to it. All the important things will be on there like who’s doing the sacrificing, what they are sacrificing and what they want in exchange for it. Lucifer can either accept the sacrifice and sign the document, giving the sinner what they want or just straight up refuse to sign, decline the sacrifice and instead have it sent off to purgatory.

The problem is that Lucifer is so jaded that he doesn’t even bother reading the contracts any more. Sinners all want the same thing anyway, fame, fortune, revenge, so what’s the point even bothering to look these days? It’s not like he gets that many sacrifices in his name anymore and when he does it’s mostly just lambs and goats, the occasional dog or guinea pig and a cat that one time. He often just gives them to people as pets, it’s how Charlie had gotten razzle and dazzle.

But you know, people are deranged and over the centuries there have been a handful of human souls that come his way. Lucifer never accepts those, often get angry that people actually think killing someone would make him happy. Shocker, it doesn’t. All it did was prove that humans really are just the worst, a race of violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. Yes Lucifer felt bad that these people had died and for nothing but he wasn’t about to reward some lowlife scumbag for taking another’s life so unfortunately that meant the sacrificed soul was purgatory bound. It wasn’t ideal but it also wasn’t permanent. At least there they would get the chance to move onto heaven eventually and not be stuck in this infernal nightmare for all of eternity.

So no, Lucifer didn’t do human sacrifices. Except, well, maybe he did.

It was an accident! Lucifer had been distracted, him and Charlie having a slight disagreement about the hotel and her expectations when it came to heaven. He hadn’t meant to upset her but she needed to realise that very few angels would be as open to the idea of redemption as he or Emily had been. It had been just about the time Lucifer had been urging Charlie to proceed with caution when it came to Heaven that a portal opens above him, a little faun flying out, clipboard already in hand and looking down at Lucifer through the spectacles perched on its nose.

Lucifer had attempted to ignore the blasted thing but it just flys around his head, brandishing the clip board and tapping impatiently at its wristwatch until Lucifer finally had enough and snatches the board off him, quickly flipping to the back and signing it before shoving it back at the startled faun. It just huffs at him, jotting something down before tearing off a sheet and giving it back to Lucifer only to disappear back into the portal. Lucifer doesn’t look at the contract he just signed, not caring what shallow and self serving thing the mortal had asked for. He goes back to Charlie, continuing to urge to not trust heaven so easily, all the while holding his arms out expectantly to catch whatever animal is going to drop out of the portal.

Lucifers expecting a lamb or a goat, heavyish for a human but nothing for him, except he gets something much larger and heavier, the shock of it knocking Lucifer to the ground. His first thought is some wretched mortal had sacrificed a cow or horse, either to lazy to find the usual offering or thinking the bigger the sacrifice the better the reward. Either way Lucifer is already regretting his choice to grant their wish, no clue what he is supposed to do with a cow other than send it down to a farm on wrath. Grumbling Lucifer sits up slightly, tugging at his hat that had been pushed down over his eyes but when he mages to pull his hat off Lucifer realises it’s so much worse than a cow.

There’s a person on his lap. A very human person sprawled across his lap and legs, their weight pinning him to the floor. You are dressed all in a white, the fabric almost see through though the top part was stained red with blood. Lucifer can’t look past your chest, the demonic sigils carved there still oozing blood. When he does manage to look up it’s to fined wide fear filled eyes staring back at him. The two of you just stare at one another, Lucifer feeling more and more panicked as the seconds drag on whilst you look close to passing out.

The whole room is silent and Lucifer just knows that they are all staring at the two of you, just as shocked as him and waiting for one of you to do something. Charlie is the first one to make a move, slowly creeping across the room to lay a hand on your shoulder. She probably meant to be a reassuring gesture but it’s a mistake nonetheless. It startled you, causing you to fall from Lucifers lap and giving you the first real view of the room and the rest of its inhabitants. Things go about as well as you would think.

You start screaming, Charlie panics as she tries to calm you down but only makes it worse, Angel dust offers you a drink that gets knocked out his hand and ends up all over Husk and Alastor offers to silence you permanently. Needless to say that none of what they are doing helps calm you down or make you feel any less afraid and all Lucifer does is sit there, staring down at the smear of red on his white pants and struggling to wrap his head around what in the hell is happening because he couldn’t have just accepted a human soul as payment. He’s never done that before, never, and yet there you are, cowering in the corner like a frightened animal, eyes franticly darting around as you look for some form of escape.

It’s that look of pure terror that gets Lucifer up and moving, handing off his hat and cane to Charlie as he gets everyone to back up and give you some space. He approached you slowly, hands held up in front of him to show you he meant no harm and keeping his voice soft and calm as he tells you that no one’s going to hurt you, that your safe here with them. He makes sure to leave a little bit of space between you when he stops, sinking down into a crouch so he’s eye level though you won’t look at him for long, eyes darting around at even the slightest movement. You’re still bleeding, the sigil for his name looking the deepest. It makes Lucifer feel sick, that someone could do this to you and claim that it’s in his honour. He found no honour in an act like this, only hate and disgust, igniting a strong desire inside him to hunt down those responsible and show them the same kindness they had you.

It takes a good few minutes of Lucifer talking at you before he gets any form of response. He introduces himself, tells you once more that he isn’t going to hurt you and that he just wants to help and maybe even clean up those markings so they don’t get infected. It’s slow going but eventually you give him a slight nod, uncurling from where you had been trying to make yourself as small as possible so he can get a better look at the ugly mess of cuts on your chest. He startled you when he conjures water and a cloth, Lucifer apologising as you bang into the wall behind you in an attempt to get away from the sudden action. He does get you to calm down though, at least enough for him to clean away the blood and apply bandages.

These wounds will not disappear like the injuries the now resident of Hell would sustain, their origin in magic and acting as a physical sign of your binding to him. But Lucifer vows to look after them and you, after all this is all his fault and though he knows that Charlie would care for you if he was to up and leave he can’t bring himself to do so. It’s his responsibility to look after you, you are his after all and isn’t that just a horrific twisted little thought. Lucifer wants to cry, to beg your forgiveness because unless he was to gift your soul to another you were bound to him from now until eternity, forced to obey his every request regardless of what you wanted. He can’t cry though, not when you already are, silent tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin onto his hand and arm as he cleans away the blood. So he fights back the tears, completely focused on his task and trying to be as gentle as he possibly can be.

When he’s done and the now ruined rag and pink water are vanished away with the wave of his hand Lucifer doesn’t know what else to do other than offer you a safe space of your own and a comfortable bed to sleep in so he does exactly that. You look terrified when he asks if you would like to go to bed, eyes dropping down to just below his belt. Lucifer might actually be sick when he realises what you are scared is going to happen and he can’t get the words out quick enough to reassure you that he means to sleep and that you will be the only person in the room. His obvious horror at the implication seems to reassure you and you give him a small nod.

You use the wall to support you getting up but as soon as you go to take a step forward your legs buckle and Lucifer has to lurch forward to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Your to weak, wether that be from the shock or the blood loss Lucifer doesn’t know, possibly both, but what he does know is you are not going to make it up the several flights of stairs on your own.

He asks before picking you up, waiting for you to give him a nod of agreement before he slips one hand behind your back and the other behind your knees. It’s nothing for him to pick you up but it had you squeaking in surprise, flinging your arms around his neck and pulling yourself tighter against him. Lucifer can’t help laugh softly, assuring you that he was stronger than he looked and that he wouldn’t drop you. You don’t seem to buy it though, your hold around his neck tightening as you hide your head against his shoulder. He can’t blame you for being scared, Licifer looks like a strong breeze would send him stumbling but he supposes that’s one of the perks of being an angel, he’s stronger than he looks.

It’s only when he turns around that Lucifer realises the rooms completely empty except for the two of you. He doesn’t know when everyone else disappeared but he’s grateful for it, not sure how you would have reacted to a room full of weird looking people staring at you. He talks to you the whole time up to your room, telling you where he was taking you and a little about the hotel and it’s residents, though he mostly tell you about Charlie and Vaggie, the only other people he trusts to look after you correctly if he wasn’t around. Lucifer picks a room for you on the same floor as him though a couple of doors down in an attempt to keep you close and also give you some probably much needed distance. He sets you down on the bed, tells you where everything is including his room, just in case you need him before he comes back to check the bandages in a few hours. He does conjure you some sleep clothes though, making sure they were the softest and most comfortable thing you have ever worn. He wants you to be comfortable, to actually feel safe after what you have been through and though he knows the simple kindness he has showing you will not erase that it will hopefully show you that despite what you may have heard Lucifer isn’t all that bad.

Lucifer hates himself just a little bit more after what he does next, crouching down to look you in the eye and telling you that you can’t leave the hotel room unless he comes to get you or you are going to his room and nowhere else. Normally it would just be words but you are bound to Lucifer now and even you don’t want to you will have no choice but to obey him. You stiffen, nodding your head slightly but still you don’t say a word, not even when he bids you good night. He doesn’t even get the door half way closed before he hears you start to cry. He wants to go back, to take you in his arms and apologise for what has been done to you whilst reassuring you that life here will not be as bad as you think. He doesn’t though, wanting to give you time to greave and mourn the loss of your life.

He doesn’t even make it two steps down the corridor before it all really hits him and Lucifer crumbles, sinking to the floor and pressing his hand against his mouth in an attempt to muffle his own sobs. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, or how he’s even meant to care for you correctly. Animals were easy, simple to please, humans not so much. Plus Lucifer owned you, he would have to be extremely carful of what he said because even an offhanded comment would be taken as a command and you could end up getting seriously hurt.

It’s too much, Lucifer not equipped to deal with such responsibility but he has no choice, he has to. This is all his fault after all and he couldn’t abandon you in your hour of need. No he would figure this all out, tend to your wounds and help you adjust to life here in hell. He would help you find a place to call home, maybe at the hotel helping with the sinners or maybe something down in one of the other rings. Just somewhere you could feel truly safe and at ease. Whatever you wanted Lucifer would make it yours, giving you as much a slice of paradise as he can. How else would he atone for his mistake?

[pileofmush]

cw: they're kinda toxic </3 suggestive discussion. grim humor (kys mention). also cheating vibes? …yeesh. dw she’s silly

“I’m tired of this,” says Yuuta, out of the blue.

The two of you are slumped over a wooden library table, locked away in one of the study rooms Yuuta booked ahead of time. It’s Sunday evening and you’re doing all you can to study for an upcoming Modern Philosophy exam, reading and jotting down notes on your too-tiny iPad. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to meet up like this; work on assignments for a few hours while exchanging dry quips. Your friend—and in this context, “Accountability Buddy”— sits across from you, hunched over his laptop doing God-knows-what. Probably completing problem sets for the mumbo jumbo he’s learning in Chem. 

You lift your head from the wall of text you’re slogging through, tired as well. Any second longer, your eyes’ll bleed from their sockets, slip out, and roll across the table. 

Slumped in your seat, you nod in concession. “If Descartes weren’t already dead, I’d murder the little Frenchman myself."

Yuuta peers at you from beneath his dark curtain bangs, chin lazily propped in a ghostly pale hand. 

“Cute,” he says, “but not what I’m referring to.”

You blink. 

“Well, fuck you then.”

And that should be the end of that. But the insolent man hums, so sickly sweet it rots in your mouth. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

Ah.

Everything slows.

The pit in your stomach swoops. 

Your eyes flicker to your book, then back to him. From his wiry reading glasses perched delicately on his nose, to his subtly pleased countenance.

Alarm bells sound off in your head.

At once, your brain whirs and begins to re-contextualize the question mark that is Okkotsu Yuuta: Charming, inviting… and a whopping load of trouble. 

You squint at his prior insinuation. Roll the thought around in your head. “And when, pray tell, have I ever been nice?” 

Yuuta just tilts his head like a doe and stares at you with wide, unblinking eyes. They’re contemplative—unobscured by the thin frames of his glasses—considering you with an undercurrent of…pity ?

“You’ll still try for me, won’t you?” He asks, imploring you with those mopey fucking eyes.

It upsets you. Blunt nails dig into your thighs. Carve into your flesh. “I have a boyfriend,” you manage to get out. It’s a waste of breath.

(Who are you reminding?)

He doesn’t bat an eye. “You don’t really like him, though.”

You flinch.

 “I do.”

“You don’t.”

This fucking bitch.

Across from you, Yuuta tuts. “You’re not a very good liar,” he tells you, a flash of pink darting across his bottom lip. “Because we both know you don’t care for him.”

Anger—hot and dry—flashes and dies underneath your skin, leaving your body cold and brittle with nothing to warm you but the deep, heady embers swirling in your gut. Catching on dry leaves and twigs lying at the bottom. 

Enough.

“Yuuta,” you say, patience razor-thin. “I’m two seconds away from stabbing you with my stylus.”

It’s as if he can’t hear you. He leans forward and pulls, drawing your hands onto the table and saying your name like it means something to him. “Come home with me,” he urges you, snaking a nimble hand around your own and entangling his long fingers with yours. He’s messy like that. Tying your fingers and common sense into jumbled knots. Casually asking you to warm his bed.

“Kill yourself.”

Yuuta smiles coyly and hums in thought. He flexes his outstretched hand, flipping your palms up toward the ceiling.

“Double suicide?” He suggests.

A spark pops. Smoke starts to curl around your ribcage, enter your lungs. “No. Too romantic.”

You wonder if you can asphyxiate from the inside out.

[spideyhexx]

oct. 20th - closing arguments

Jack Prescott x Intern!FemaleReader

mdni!!! wc; 4.1k cw; power play technically, age gap, blowjob

kinktober masterlist

jack is an oc! here is his fact sheet!

a/n; aha! the first jack fic :) love you all who have loved him since his creation this is for all of youuuuu

There is no way this day could get any worse. 

Jack prides himself on being able to handle high levels of stress. He would not have gotten through law school if he couldn’t. 

But every fiber of his being was being tested today. 

A meeting right as the clock struck eight was not always so bad, but when it was a horrid divorce case with a fumbling husband sobbing at Jack’s desk and blowing his nose into tissue after tissue, it got tiring quickly. Then of course a client cancelled last minute. This would sound like a good thing, but it sets Jack back a bit because this is the third time said client has rescheduled. 

And this time, he didn’t give a new date!

It’s a surprise Jack hasn’t popped open his liquor cabinet. 

Lunch was fine, but the leftover spaghetti he brought in tasted like a freezer burn. His afternoon became jam-packed. He expected it, yet it still caught him struggling to maintain his sanity. Between meetings, and dealing with an insolent co-worker who wrote up a report so incorrectly, Jack wondered if the guy was drunk, his secretary having to leave early, to the fact his damn computer keeps running slow…yeah. 

It was a bad day. 

Perhaps even worse, today was the day he scheduled overtime for half of the office. A little ‘bonding’ thing he learned from the law firm he worked at before having his own. He’d order dinner for everyone from a fancy place and everyone would get to know how one another works at nine p.m.

Perfect, right?

The dinner itself was okay. The food was good, which was a win in his book. Jack makes sure to jot down the restaurant name in his little notepad for future reference. The co-workers he scheduled for overtime were always on the cusp of complaining, but when he entered the room, they were all smiles and enjoying their heavy pasta. 

After food though, it was a time crunch until 10:30 when everyone could go home and Jack left everyone to their work to do his own. And maybe have some whiskey. He deserved it, didn’t he? 

That’s what he tells himself, at least. 

He stands from his desk and smooths his palms on the front of his slacks, walking the short distance to his liquor cabinet. He bends down to swat and opens it, taking out the glass and bottle that was mostly full. 

A knock on his office door almost startles the glass out of his hand and Jack puts both objects back into the cabinet. He straightens up, clearing his throat as he walks back to his desk, tugging the sleeve of his fitted dark green sweater, “Come in,” his voice rings out clear and loud to whoever is on the other side of the door, and he takes a seat in his chair. 

The door creaks open and you peek your head in first before pushing the door more open, “Uh, Mr. Prescott, can I speak with you a minute?”

The intern. You’ve been here for four months now, mostly doing the busy work of paralegals and assisting Mr. Prescott. Jack’s sure you’re the best intern he’s hired. He’s already started a draft for a recommendation letter (which you did and did not ask for, but more-so implied you would like at the end of your internship) and Jack feels quite good about your future prospects. Not that he cares too much, but it will be sad to lose you as a worker, the least he could do is help you in your next career journey. Right? 

Jack glances at the time, then over at you, leaning back in his chair, “Yeah, make it quick,” he says and you promptly walk in and close the door. 

Your palms already sweat at the fact you’re in here alone with him. Mostly because of what you need to talk about but also because it’s Jack Prescott. One of the top lawyers around the city. A bachelor. An incredibly handsome bachelor that looks like literal sex when he comes into work some days. It was torturous working for him and meeting his striking blue eyes when he held eye contact with you like he wanted you to feel it in the pit of your stomach. You did. You sure did, every single fucking time. 

You weren’t sure if he was aware of how hot he was. Or if he even thought about sex. Or if he dated. You gossiped with one of the only other women in the office about it one day, since you typically saw his calendar that included personal stuff like a lunch with his mother, doctor’s appointment, etc. But nothing on there seemed like a date. Your co-worker thinks he hooks up and that’s it, but even that you can’t get behind. The man is a mystery and good at keeping hismelf that way. 

You stop in front of his desk and pull at the hem of your skirt in a nervous tug, then open your mouth to speak, only to close it when he starts clicking at his keyboard. 

Jack takes a glance at you and gestures with his hand, “My apologies, just an email. One second.”

Jack types for another minute to finish the email, but it feels much longer than that. Much longer that you clasp your hands behind you and watch his fingers work at the keys in a manner so elegant. The metal of his watch glints off the light of his lamp at his desk. His overhead lights in his office are dimmed down, the city night skyline shining through his large windows behind him. 

His hair, which is usually slicked, has some strands out of place. Jack’s eyes are more tired and being his intern, you know the day’s been hectic. Part of you wants to ask if he’s doing okay, but his head is turning back to you and your words are caught in your throat. 

“Alright, go on,” he gestures once more with his hand to you, leaning back in his desk chair, one hand resting on his desk, the other dropping to his thigh. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow it before looking into his eyes. 

“Right, well two things uh,” you pause, shifting on your feet, “One, George messed up the printer somehow so-”

“The printer?” Jack’s brow immediately furrows and you want to smooth out the lines so bad it makes you heat up. You should not be thinking that way. 

“Yeah, I don’t know specifically what’s wrong with it but-”

“So you don’t know the specifics and you still came to me?” Jack interrupts again and you feel that urge to shrivel at his tone. 

“I thought it best that you know right away sir-Mr. Prescott,” you get out your words as calm as you can, keeping your voice level and your gaze on him. You learned it from him. To not cower. 

Jack gives one nod, his jaw setting and a hand swiping to his jaw. He taps his fingers to it, then says, “Is it gonna set us back then? I don’t have anything to print and IT won’t be able to help until Monday.”

“George still had like four copies to print and Rosie said she needed it too,” you tell him, unable to avoid the hesitancy in your voice. 

Because Jack does rub to his face again in semi-annoyance, “Can anyone try to fix it?” 

“Don’t think so.”

“Great. Thanks. What else do you need then?” He says flippantly, tugging at his sweater to fix it, and your eyes naturally follow the movement. 

The slight bite in his voice makes you very hesitant to ask him your question, but you steel yourself, squeezing your hands together, “I know it’s last minute but I need to take off on Monday and I know-”

Jack raises his hand to stop you from speaking and then runs his hand through hair. Gods he must be stressed. Annoyed. If he’s gonna mess up his hair like that. In front of you. 

“I did need you, Monday. That big client from SoHo is coming, thought you knew that.”

“I did! I did, but…,” you take a breath, “I have my like…last exam of college ever on Tuesday and I just need to study and relax and y’know it’s obviously super important and-”

“Okay,” he interrupts. He has a penchant for that tonight. “Fine. Take the day, but I’m not rescheduling with that client, so it’s your loss,” Jack tells you with a shrug, a look on his face saying he’s slightly disappointed but he’s not gonna harp on it much longer. 

The look does not make you feel any better, but you let out a deep exhale and nod to him, “Yeah, okay, thank you, Mr. Prescott, really.”

Jack’s voice is quick, almost sharp, “Don’t thank me.”

You nod again, albeit a little more awkwardly this time. A moment of silence befalls the two of you and you find yourself smoothing your skirt. 

You’re about to turn on your heel to leave his office, when he stands up, eyeing you up and down with a curious gaze, “You good? You look stressed.”

“Oh, just long day and the exams,” you say with a half-hearted chuckle, watching him closely as he stalks over towards his bookshelf. 

Jack gives a hum, then leans down to his cabinet, contemplating what he’s about to do. He shouldn’t. He knows that. But it’s close to closing. And you look as tired and stressed as he is. There’s no harm in it. He grabs the whiskey bottle he was pining for earlier and two glasses, “Do you drink?”

His question catches you off guard, but you nod, “Uh, yeah.”

Jack sets the glasses down, then looks to his office door, and back to you, popping open the bottle, “It’s whiskey. Keep this between us, I’m not sharing with the lot,” he gestures towards the door. 

A nervous tingle runs up your spine as you watch him pour the liquid into the two glasses, glancing from his hands to his face, which has a look of concentration and something else in it. 

He walks closer to hand you your glass, your fingertips brushing his as you take it from him. You’re not sure if he also felt what you felt, but you push it to the further recesses of your mind. 

You look down at the liquid in your glass as he leans back against the edge of his desk, sipping the whiskey. His eyes are on you, you know they are. You’ve sipped wine in front of him before, so what was so different about this? 

The dimmed office lights? The fact that your coworkers were probably packing up to leave? The fact he even offered a drink in the first place?

He breaks you from your thoughts, “Do you know how to drink it? The whiskey?”

You’ve not had it before. But even if you did no, you say no. 

Jack hums, “Small sip. Swish it in your mouth a little, then swallow,” then he does it himself to demonstrate. It’s pure desire what you feel when you watch him sip. How his eyes stay on yours over the rim of his glass and his free hand pushes into the pocket of his slacks. Everything about him right now is so at ease and sexy. 

You nod, and take a small sip of the drink, only swishing it in your mouth for a second, before you swallow it and grimace, “Oh…wow.”

Jack stifles his smile. Smile. He shakes his head, clearing his throat, “Yeah, it’s…you don’t have to drink all of it.”

“I won’t,” you chuckle, walking closer to him so you could put it on his desk. The lack of hesitance in your action to come over close to him has him straightening up just a little. You pause at the movement though, looking at your whiskey. “Maybe one more sip.” 

Jack lets himself chuckle. A breath of a chuckle, “It gets you.”

With your eyes on his, you sip, swish it, and swallow, trying to hide your grimace. Jack sets his glass down, then takes yours, his thumb ever so slightly brushing the tip of your thumb. He puts the glass down and maybe this is when you should move away from him but your feet feel stuck to the floor, admiring him up closer in the dim light. 

Jack doesn’t know what he’s doing either. He’s yelling at himself internally to dismiss you. He still had some work to do. But you’re there. Pretty in your work attire. Pretty. He shouldn’t think of that. 

He clears his throat and crosses his arms to his chest, “You should…head back to work and all. Think you got like 15 more minutes.”

Jack could never admit to himself he found his intern attractive. You were younger than him and again, his intern. So he avoided those thoughts like the plague, but you standing right here in front of him while you’re both tired was not helping. 

Jack picks his whiskey glass back up as you give the slightest nod, but make no move to go. “Yeah…have…some work…,” you trail off, “question?”

He raises his brow, sipping a very small sip, then he says, “Yes?”

“Just wanted to know for that uh…what that lawyer gala thing you have to go to-”

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, what about it?”

“Are you bringing your girlfriend as the plus one or?”

You don’t know what’s come over you and you know deeply how wrong this could go but you can’t stop. Not when he’s looking like this and you can smell his cologne. Fuck has it been that long of a day? 

“Girlfriend? I don’t have one,” he says, a confused look etched onto his face. 

“Oh? I thought maybe…,” you stop yourself, then say, “Well, I know you’ll have the extra ticket and I know you took Ethel last year because she mentioned it like five times to me but maybe I could go with you?”

Jack takes a second to study your face, like he thinks you’re lying about what you truly want to say, but he doesn’t press. “Yeah, maybe. It’s near the end of your internship, so it could be a good way to close it out.”

You take a mindless step closer to him, a genuine smile on your lips. You didn’t give a fuck about that gala but the idea of attending with him all dressed up certainly made you feel good. Your breath feels heavier as the two of you look at one another. 

Jack notes the step and you swear you see his eyes glance to your legs, “What’re you doing?”

You falter at the question, taking a small step back, “Nothing, Mr. Prescott.”

Jack tilts his head at you. God, he’s thinking so hard. You can practically see the gears turning in his head working overtime and you’re trying not to rub your thighs together and make it more obvious what you’re feeling. 

“Think maybe I do want another sip of whiskey,” you joke, but mean it, to break the silence. 

He huffs, a slight smile curving his pretty lips, “Come get it, then.”

You swallow. Then take the steps closer, reaching your hand to the side of him to take the glass. Maybe you purposely brush your arm to him. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose. 

When you take a small sip, your eyes find his once more. He’s so tall. And you almost catch how he’s gazing over well, all of you. “Come closer,” he says, a hint quieter, like he didn’t mean to say the words aloud, but you surely heard him. 

You listen and do so, to his surprise, but he sets his glass down, then reaches his hand out for your glass, taking it in his hand. 

He parts his lips to speak, then hesitates. Jack glances to his office door, then back to you. 

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Until, “Open your mouth a little.”

Your eyes widen immediately and you can tell he’s about to rescind his words, but you do it. You open your mouth for him and pray that it’s not so deplorable that he scoffs and kicks you out. 

Jack swallows hard, his jaw tightening and he brings the lip of the glass your mouth, pouring just a bit of the whiskey into your mouth, then nudging under your chin with his fingers to close your mouth. You obey the action, letting the lliquid swirl in your mouth before you swallow and he puts the glass down, fingers still to your chin. 

His eyes bore into your eyes. Fucking thinking and surrounding themselves with intent. “Open…open again.”

How could you refuse?

When your mouth parts the slightest bit, Jack’s bringing his mouth in close. An embarrassing noise leaves your lips at the action and your hand holds to his wrist. 

Jack stares intensely at you, “Just…just go…back and do your work,” he whispers, his breath hitting your lips, “I shouldn’t…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence and you finish it for him, “No, you shouldn’t do this.”

Your eyes tell him a different story. The way you squeeze to his wrist and not once glance away from him tells him you’re not uncomfortable. You’re not leaving his space, you move closer until he can feel the brush of your chest to his. 

Jack doesn’t know what’s come over him, but his breath shudders and he pools the saliva in his mouth, the slowly spits onto your bottom lip into your mouth, before crashing his lips to yours. 

It’s a rough, messy kiss, as though Jack is starving for the feel of your lips on his. Like he wants them melded to him and imprinted for a long time. Your tongue slides his bottom lip and sucks on it, which is when he breaks the kiss and lets go of you, walking straight to his office door to lock it, before he’s coming back over to you, scratching a hand at his head, “You should go, I-”

“Mr. Prescott, it’s-”

He groans at the title you give him, granted the one you always call him and his hands are bringing your head closer, kissing you once more. He ends up leaned against the edge of his desk again with you pressing yourself into his fit body, taking the opportunity to slide your hands on his arms and his chest, to feel the muscle you’ve somewhat seen but knew he had. 

Jack is lost in it, clearly still fighting with himself, but also leaning into the way you suck and bite at his lips. His hands move down your body, caressing your hip and keeping you pulled in close to him. 

When you pull for a breath, his eyes are dazed and his lips much redder. You can’t think. All you can do is slip down till you’re on your knees in front of him.

Jack curses to himself, looks away from you for a moment before looking back down to you, “I can’t come back from this.”

“I’m an intern for one more month,” you say, like that makes it any better, but god does he look good from this angle.

He doesn’t like that answer, but he drops his hand to his belt to undo it, his other hand in your hair, “Have you done this before?”

“Gone down on a guy?” 

He nods, putting his belt on his desk, quickly looking to his door before looking back at you.

“Yeah, I have,” you admit to him, watching his fingers undo the button of his slacks. 

“Okay. So, you know what you’re doing?” 

You nod, eyes glued to his fucking hand, unzipping his slacks and pushes them down just a little, “Show me, then,” he says, voice a little quieter. 

You waste no time, tugging to his boxers before he could do it, exposing him in his office. There’s no time to think about how this is your boss’ cock, it’s just Jack, you tell yourself in the moment. You spits into your palm and ignore the way his hand tightens to your head, wrapping your fingers to him. 

You give him a few languid strokes to help him harden, a low groan leaving his lips before he clears his throat, “Don’t tease, right now, we can’t…it’s gotta be-”

“I know, Mr. Prescott,” you interrupt him this time, giving his tip one small lick. Jack bites to his cheek, watching you intently. 

You open your mouth a little and let the head of his cock rest on your tongue, your free hand holding to his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, resisting his urge to push himself all the way into your mouth. You wrap your lips to him and take more of his cock into your mouth, humming around him.

“That’s it,” he mutters, watching as you try to take more of him and immediately realize you can’t. Jack shakes his head at you, “Can’t take more of it?”

He’s just big and thick. Jack fills your mouth and it feels good to have the weight on your tongue. You bob your head on what you can fit, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking him hard to get the ball rolling since the quicker this is, the better. For now. 

Jack is good at keeping quiet, but his heavy breaths and curses right under his breath make you want to escalate this to something more than you simply sucking his cock. 

When you try to take him more into your mouth, your throat constricts and you gag, closing your eyes and breathing deeply through your nose. 

“Don’t hurt yourself. Take what you can, it’s good enough,” he says through a rushed breath, a surprisingly tender feeling coursing through you when he rubs his thumb into your temple. Once the feeling passes, you continue to work him, using your other hand to stroke what you can’t fit in your mouth. 

You know Jack likes it, even with your eyes closed, because his hand tightens to your head and he lets out a shakier breath. The Jack Prescott with a shaky breath is something you couldn’t imagine but here he was. 

“You’re so fucking good,” he whispers, the volume of his voice just enough for you to hear, but not too loud, “Really taking it, huh…this is fucked up,” he groans at himself then swallows his noises, his hand moving to the back of your head. 

“C’mon, pretty, just hurry up, make me cum, this needs to be over, c’mon,” Jack says, patting the back of your head a few times and you move faster, the slick of your spit on his cock making the most noise in the room, but you hope it can’t be heard outside of it. You pull back, only to swirl your tongue on his tip and suck on the sensitive head, your hand jerking him in quick motions

“Almost, almost,” Jack warns you, his chest breathing heavy and his hand pressing more into your head as you focus mostly on his tip, sucking it over and over again. You flatten your tongue to it, then open your mouth and slap his cock to your tongue, a desperate move to turn him on as much as possible and have him cumming down your throat.

The action does have an affect on him. Jack’s breath sutters and he pushes your head to take more of him, “what the fuck,” he whispers to himself as he tips his head back, putting his arm over his mouth and lets out a muffled, but strangled groan.

His load shoots into your mouth, coating your tongue in it’s salty sweet taste and you moan around him, swallowing every drop he give you and eagerly licking at any that beads out of his tip as he finishes. 

Jack takes his cock out of your mouth and pulls his boxers up, followed by his slacks and his quickness makes you stand. You weren’t even touched yet you feel wobbly on your feet.

He stares at you as he fumbles with his belt, “Uh…I think you better get home, it’s uh…it’s time.”

Jack clears his throat, shaking his head and trying to forget what just happened as you stand there dumbfounded.

“Um…Mr. Prescott-”

“Go home,” he repeats himself, his tone more stern than he means to come off. He smooths at his slacks and moves around his desk to sit in his chair, moving the mouse of his desktop to turn the screen on. 

“Work…on Wednesday?”

He glances at you. A blank stare coating his face. “Yeah. Work on Wednesday. 9 am. Good luck on the exam.”

You nod and turn, wiping at your mouth as you walk straight to his door, messing with the lock and leaving him alone in his office.

[soft-mafia]

Modern AU Buggy headcanons/ideas(?)

warnings: SFW, mentions of drug use

a/n: I’m surprised I haven’t seen a lot modern x reader AUs with Buggy, so I decided to jot down some ideas I had!! This is also just an excuse for me to imagine Jeff Ward bc the brainrot is consuming me he’s so hot.

• Off the bat the first thing people notice about him is his nose; it’s not a ridiculously large, red clown nose, but the tip of his nose is abnormally rounded; after a few seconds of looking at it, it goes relatively unnoticeable once you get used to it but he is still VERY insecure about it.

• “Buggy” is probably a nickname he got from either playing on a football team as a kid, or a username for some video game. His real name is something he’s embarrassed about like Benjamin or something.

• I imagine that instead of pirates and pirate crews, these people are bikers with biker gangs. Idk it sounds hot to me.

• Sorry not sorry but I can’t see a modern Buggy who isn’t a stoner.

• I don’t see Buggy having a clown persona in a modern AU since he doesn’t have the nose for him to wanna cope with it, BUT he seems like a guy who can do some pretty rad sketches and he often just draws creepy clowns.

• Still has his luscious long blue hair of course, I imagine he uses box dye and usually keeps it in a pony tail or a man bun. It’s super soft and fluffy bc men just have a natural talent of having healthy hair without doing anything to take care of it for some reason.

[stephsageek]

I have COVID. Enjoy my barely coherent Five x Lila writings I've been doing:

Excerpt from Chapter 3: Eight Months, Two Weeks, and 4 Days: December 17th, 2019 (Five's POV):

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Hargreeves for coming,” a matronly woman greeted as she stood up from her secretarial desk.

Lila smiled graciously, shaking the woman’s proffered hand.

“Not at all. Anything for my precious baby brother.”

Lila glanced over just in time to watch Five’s eye twitch from where he was slumped, seething, in a chair just outside the principal’s office. He’d already had his thorough ‘dressing down,’ and was more than ready to leave

His clothes were rumpled, and he hadn’t bothered to wipe the blood that dripped from his nose. His mouth twisted in barely restrained irritation as he scowled at nothing in particular.

Several chairs over sat another boy much bigger than Five.

He looked decidedly sullen, what with his torn letterman jacket, two black eyes, a broken nose, a split lip, a patch of hair missing, and two wrists that sat in awkward angles while a paramedic fussed over him.

Five gave him a slow reptilian grin when their eyes met, and the boy hurriedly looked away, shifting his entire body as far away from Five as he could.

Five couldn’t quite recall the boy’s name—Skylar? Tyler? —he was sure it was something irritating.

Five had caught him bullying another student, taking the braces she needed for walking and holding them above his head. He remembered Diego once doing something similar to Viktor when they were eleven.

Five had been less than amused by his antics; much less how he’d suckered punched Five for trying to break it up.

At least it wasn’t a teacher that had crossed Five this time.

That History teacher at his last school had been way too handsy with her students and had been less than responsive to Five’s warnings against the wisdom of such improprieties. It had unpleasantly reminded Five of the Handler.

Shitty public school system letting in any yahoo off the streets.

“Just sign here and you can take him home,” the woman explained, picking up a clipboard from her desk.

Lila jotted down several signatures for Five’s withdrawal, occasionally glancing over at him, and putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. Five rolled his eyes each time. He was unsure of who’s benefit it was for.

“All right. Everything looks to be in order,” the woman announced as she picked up the clipboard and flipped through a few pages. She gave Five a stern look of reprimand before saying, “You can both go,” her tone conveying that it was mostly Five to whom she was referring.

Five stood, gritting his teeth, and roughly grabbed a backpack. He headed out the front doors without so much as a look back.

“Thank you, Mrs. Capwell. I’ll be sure to contact his social worker,” Lila hurriedly thanked the other woman before hustling after him.

“You need to stay out of trouble young man! You’re running out of chances!” the older woman harshly called out to his retreating back, her voice growing distant as he sped away.

Lila found him already standing before Wanda, his posture impatient and angry.

Lila unlocked the driver’s door and disengaged the locks. She shifted uncomfortably, trying her best to make room for her distended belly.

“So, another bust then?” Lila remarked casually as she slid herself behind the wheel.

“I’ve had it!” Five burst out from the passenger’s seat. “I don’t care what deal I made with Viktor. This is it! I tried regular school—it is not working!” he bit out harshly. He looked over at the way Lila shifted uncomfortably, trying to make room for her distended belly while still being able to somehow reach the peddles. Five sighed, roughly opening his door and all but stomping over to her side and yanking the door open.

He was not doing this for her.

He just hated sitting there watching her shift around lollygagging. It pissed him off.

He took hold of Lila’s wrist pulling her from the driver’s seat and onto the asphalt.

“Oi! Wha—”

“I’m driving!” he snapped, taking the keys from her hand and pushing her by the small of her back over to the side he had just left. He made sure not to be too rough as he hustled her along impatiently.

Lila huffed in annoyance, but once she was settled, she looked undeniably more comfortable.

Five roughly swiped at the blood on his face as he checked his mirrors, preparing to leave.

Lila frowned as she took in his frustration.

“So,” she drew the word out, “Why me?” she questioned once the car was in motion.

“What do you mean?” Five bit out, to which Lila rolled her eyes at his attempt to be obtuse. He hated that it rarely worked with her. She was much more stubborn than the rest of his family.

“You know exactly what I mean, Five! Why me and no-not Viktor? O-or any of your other brothers? Hell, even Allison—?”

“You know why,” he muttered.

[blankwashed]

"Whoosh! God, I'm so high. S-Suguru, this hits the spot! I feel like I'm 10 years younger!" Satoru yelled across the room at his roommate. Suguru recently bought some jewels of, God knows what kind of drugs. This was your boyfriend, Satoru who was not really into socializing, despite studying Masters in Communications. It was either communications or plowing land, so obviously, princess Satoru picked the one where his nose had to be in books instead. He was already a bookworm as a child, so he didn't think twice when his parents asked him to choose. There, he met you along with Suguru, his roommate.

Suguru has a very different personality from him despite studying the same course. He was a party-goer, flirt, womanizer—you name it, he's already done it all. That's why it was so surprising to see them hanging out around the learning grounds together, with you, of course, being Satoru’s girlfriend.

The way you met Satoru was special as well. Although cliché, it was when you were trying to view your grades for the semester. Unfortunately for you, your name was placed high up on the list. Despite being short and usually getting bullied about it, you didn't care anymore because height shouldn't matter for anyone. It was just this one time when you tried hopping, jumping, just to get a view of your name and grades. When you attempted to get a box to step on, you bumped into him – a 6'3" tall and muscular man with hair as white as snow. His reflexes were good because he caught you before you could fall down.

“Oop! Better watch out,” He said as he brought you back onto your feet. You were blushing while looking at how good looking of a man he is.

“S-sorry! I just wanted to look out for my name on the list and find my grades out, mind if you can help me look? My name is f/n l/n,” You blushed when you asked him to help you, despite bumping into him before. You had no choice!

He smiled at you and looked for your name, “Y/n, you’ve got the best grades! Almost a 100 in all your subjects!” You were overjoyed. Those late-nights of studying, ditching your friends for having your nose burried in books all paid off!

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You unconsciously hugged him, and oh wow, he smelled great. A musky scent with some wood? When you realized you were hugging him, you let go and looked away, blushing once more.

He was shocked at your sudden hug but understood why you would do that.

“It’s okay y/n. I would do the same thing if I was you. Congratulations on such a perfect score! Bye!” Some of his friends waved at him and did kissy-faces, mocking him for spending so much time talking to you.

As days passed, you meet him more often in campus and finally after asking you out, you became his girlfriend. His friends were right, huh?

That was all before he had to be assigned to a new dorm as his old roommate flunked his studies. That's how he met Suguru. Suguru was already a difficult student, sent over to Jujutsu High after getting kicked out from Hokkaido High. He was a troublemaker, tripping students (and some lecturers if he didn't like them). Suguru and Satoru got friendly with each other fast, though. They were known as the strongest duo in the sorcerer world. This was all because even if Suguru was mischievous, he still scored well on all of the examinations, making it hard for Jujutsu High to decline his request to join them.

“Try to mix the blue and green ones, Guru! Hey! Isn’t this y/n’s phone? She left it here last night…” Satoru notices you left your phone in their room. He didn't want to be a prying eye but as he was high off the crystals, he entered your passcode and started scrolling through your notes.

Of course, he would find you trying to jot down notes and spells but he was shocked to find a folder that was locked with a different passcode.

"Guru…..what is this?" He asked Suguru, showing him the sealed page. At that time, Suguru did not take any crystals yet, but he definitely drank some beer.

"Satoru….don't you know it? You're her boyfriend, for crying out loud!" Suguru smirked and laid back on the sofa, hugging his plushie of Pochita.

Satoru thought to himself, what could it be…..their anniversary? The day you met him? The day you got your first pet hamster? To his surprise, (not really a surprise), it was your anniversary. He then started to read and his jaw dropped.

To him, you were an innocent, hardworking girl who was not really into what other girls your age were into. He just read fanfictions smut that you've written about him. Not some idol, not some actor, but him. Fanfictions that you can say aren't really PG13 but more of your fantasies.

Although he was high, he didn't want to show the phone to Suguru. He still loves you, doesn't he?

"So? What's in there? Did she take any nude photos?" Suguru smirked and asked his best friend. Despite being high as hell, Satoru knew that it was personal so he locked the screen once his friend's eyes were on your phone.

Suguru was confused, "Really? Nudes?" He scoffed. "She doesn't seem like the kind who would take them and wouldn't she have sent them to you? I know you guys are keeping it chill for now but wouldn't she tease you with her boobs or something? Why would she want to hide them in her notes?"

Satoru tried to shake the elevated feeling off his head. "N-No…" he didn't want to tell his friend what you've written in your notes. Although he wonders why you even kept them there, that's besides the point.

Still being nosy, his friend smirked. "She fucked some other dude or something? Why are you suddenly so shy, Toru?"

He stood up and said, "No! No way, Guru, Its something else. Something pers-"

Suddenly, the doors swing open, you had their spare key. You noticed Satoru was holding your phone and your heart beat out of your chest from fear. Did he read it!?

"Ah babe! Your phone was here, you probably left it here on accident last night…" Satoru tried to speak his words clearly, despite being stoned.

As you enter the room and see Satoru holding your phone, you immediately notice a shift in his demeanor, a slight unease in his expression. Your heart races with anxiety, wondering if he stumbled upon the locked folder containing your fanfictions about him.

"Babe, I was just about to bring it to you," Satoru stammers, his attempt to act nonchalant falling somewhat short.

You walk over to him, your eyes flickering between him and Suguru, who seems to be watching the scene play out with a smirk. "Is everything okay?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. Suguru still has no idea what is going on but was able to read the scene perfectly.

Satoru's gaze meets yours, and for a moment, you see a mixture of emotions flicker in his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty, and perhaps a hint of guilt. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assures you, handing you the phone. "You should be more careful though, leaving it lying around. Who knows? Someone might use it against you~"

You take the phone from him, offering a grateful smile, though inside, you're burning with curiosity and worry. Did he see the folder? Did he read any of it?

Suguru, ever the instigator, chimes in, "Yeah, y/n, you wouldn't want anyone stumbling upon your little secrets, would you?"

You shoot him a warning look, but he just grins back mischievously, clearly enjoying the tension in the air.

Satoru clears his throat, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic at hand. "Anyway, what are your plans for tonight, y/n? We were thinking of grabbing dinner together."

You nod, relieved that he's not pressing the issue further. "Sounds good," you reply, though your mind is still reeling with questions and uncertainty.

As you leave the room with Satoru, you can't help but wonder what he saw on your phone and what it might mean for your relationship. But for now, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the evening ahead and hoping that everything will be okay. Feeling a bit bashful, should you muster up the courage to ask him if he read what was inside?

what is this i have no idea JUST RANDOMLY WROTE IT THE OTHER DAY I DONT KNOW i was having satosugu feels and i just wrote this crap HAHAHAH

[justkpopjokes]

Rune & Written Wizardry

Ft. Jeonghan + gender-neutral!reader

AU: magic bookkeepers

Word Count: 963

A/N: Leave it to me to make a 1 word prompt into an unserious-but-still-totally-serious fantasy au lmaoo. @loving-doyoung​ you requested this so long ago that your url is different LMFAO

It’s a quiet day at your family’s bookstore. Not many people have come in today—go figure, it’s a Tuesday morning—so your father sent you to the back of the store to take inventory of some older books. Predicting a slow day, you invited your friend Jeonghan over to help.

The both of you were upstairs in the attic; Jeonghan is cleaning some shelves while you’re re-cataloguing books so to be moved downstairs.

The next book you’re logging is a cookbook:

Signora Orechietta’s Razzling Recipes… Mmm, pasta.

This isn’t an ordinary cookbook, though, which is evident as you open to a random page and the warm smell of pie hits you in the face. Another page spread has a richer smell of soup. It’s almost like the food is right below your nose—every word your eyes take in is like another tasty bite.

Smells just like Mom’s cooking…

Your daydreaming about lunch is only interrupted by a loud “OOF!” followed by echoing thuds.

“Are you…okay?” You ask aloud, leaning back to look through the doorway beside you.

“Do I sound okay?” Jeonghan grumbles, kneeling down to pick up the stack of books he had dropped.

“Har har,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Okay, but like, seriously.”

“Yes, I’m fine. I finished clearing out that bookshelf over there,” Jeonghan responds.

Jeonghan walks up to you, adding the books to the precarious stack accumulating at your feet. There’s a lot to sift through, which is exactly why you need an extra pair of hands.

“Why’d you need my help, though?” Jeonghan sighs, reclining on the slightly dusty (but comfy nonetheless) armchair behind you. “Wonwoo would love this place! We both know he’s more bookish than I am. Why not ask him?”

“Mm, I like you better,” you tease.

“Okay, but like, seriously.” Jeonghan replies, mirroring your previous words.

“Because he’d get distracted and forget the point of what we’re doing,” you laugh, “and besides, he doesn’t know about the family business.”

“I’m sure he’d understand.”

“Maybe, but my dad wants to keep this as secret as possible. You found out by accident, remember?”

“True. Introducing him to magic books will probably be a disaster, anyway. We’d have to drag him out of here!”

You laugh, closing the cookbook, which cuts off the smell of home cooked meals. Picking up a pen, you jot down the details of the book in a logbook.

TITLE: Signora Orechietta’s Razzling Recipes

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: August 12, 1957

CONTENTS: variety cookbook

ODDITY: enchantment; can smell recipes by reading the words

Once the cookbook is properly catalogued and sorted into a stack, you pick up another. Your family’s selection had anything from flying books to spell books and everything in between. You had read most of them throughout your childhood, though your parents prohibited you from reading any high-level spell books for your own safety. Taking inventory may just be your chance to take a peek at some more complicated magic…

Before you can attempt to grab an even remotely dangerous book, your father shouts something from the staircase.

“We have a problem!” Your dad yells, stumbling up the steps.

“Careful, Dad!” You shout, running up to him. “You could’ve tripped on the way up!”

“It’s the Society, they said—wait, who is—?”

“It’s just Jeonghan, Dad. He knows about the Society already, remember?”

“Hi, Mister L/N,” Jeonghan greets, having sat up straight once your dad came into the room.

“Oh. Right. Well, good, because we have a problem! The Grand Grimoire was spotted just earlier today!”

Your heart drops at the name—black magic was at play.

“Who’s that, a magic criminal?” Jeonghan raises a brow, “You act like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What, not who. And, demon, actually,” your father quickly corrects. “The Grand Grimoire is one of our Society’s most feared books. It gives the reader control of black magic and can summon otherworldly demons, which is why I need to make sure it’s here!”

Your dad begins looking through a bookcase to the right of Jeonghan’s armchair, with you waiting behind him. You lock eyes with Jeonghan, the younger man starts feeling the tenseness of the room.

“Why would it be here, Dad?” You ask. “How could we possibly have it?”

“Y/N, our family is the world’s longest and strongest bloodline of Rune and Written wizardry. They entrusted your great-great-great—actually, forget it. The point is, it was locked in this very building decades ago! I need to check if it really has been stolen.”

“But—but you just had black magic hidden under here? This whole time? I grew up in this place! I could’ve—”

“I know, honey, but if we told you, it would only put you in more danger.”

Jeonghan stands up beside you awkwardly, tapping your shoulder.

“So, should I…uh, leave?” He whispers, not wanting to distract your dad.

You can’t find the words to respond, so you take Jeonghan’s hand instead, squeezing it tightly.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Before you can argue with your father any more, he finds a particular book that slides the bookshelf further to the right, revealing a small opening in the wall. You have no recollection of the opening being there, even though you swear you’ve checked every corner of this place.

The opening reveals a curving stairwell heading to a lower flower. Your dad peers down into it, carefully. He doesn’t even need to take a step before he turns back to you, his face already pale.

“Dad?” You ask, squeezing Jeonghan’s hand tighter.

Your dad quickly moves the bookcase back.

“It’s gone,” he stammers, “I don’t know how anyone could’ve gotten down there! Oh, what is the Council going to think…”

You turn to Jeonghan, nibbling on your bottom lip. Jeonghan has only one thing to say:

“Oof.”

[unknownjpegs]

five letter word

The assassination attempt on Dr. Sullivan is peculiar at best.

Happy stands at her desk, looking down at the black coffee cup. He picks it up and holds it underneath his nose. Doesn’t smell any different from her usual. Considering she drinks sludge for breakfast, any sort of poison would probably be masked by this oil slick coffee.

It’s not peculiar that someone would want to kill Bunny. He gets that; she’s pretty…killable. Not exactly everyones cup of tea—of coffee, he supposes, to himself with a small satisfied snort. That was a good one. He’d write it down later, or something. But, Dr. Sullivan, surely, is not nearly as high profile as an assassination attempt. Moreover, it feels…amateur.

There’s the intern that makes it obvious. She’s in heels—which makes it real obvious. Because she’s on her feet all day, running the errands. Picking up lunch orders, delivering paper, getting the coffee. They very poisoned coffee. Should be in flats, or loafers, or something comfortable like all the other interns wear. She’s not young enough to be in that stage of just got onboarded and I’m so excited to work! Which would explain that attention to detail regarding her appearance. But she’s also not old enough to be the type to I’ve worn heels longer than you’ve been alive, my feet are permanently destroyed and I don’t care.

Also the intern was really fucking nice to him. Which also made it far too apparent, because people weren’t generally nice to Happy. People usually ignored Happy—unless they had to directly interact with him, which wasn’t too often. People avoided Happy, he was easy to avoid; he was exhaustingly miserable, difficult to hold in conversation, good at his job in a ruthlessly efficient but baseline way. Clocked out every single day at the exact same time he was supposed to and took every hour of sick and personal hours he could.

Happy, also, notoriously, only got along with about two people if that. Sometimes three. Maybe, maybe, maybe four was stretching it.

That meant, someone had told the intern, stay on Happy’s good side. Which didn’t exist—but staying on no side was essentially the best way to be with Happy. She’d not done that. She’d brought him a coffee with extra cold foam, she’d warmed up his scone for him, she’d given him that big, I am so friendly and excited smile when she’d dropped it and Bunny’s tepid, oily, poisoned coffee.

She’d asked, “Need anything?” with bright, white, perfect teeth.

“More staples,” Happy had replied, tapping his stapler with two fingers. It had a label on it that read DO NOT REMOVE FROM DIONDRE’S DESK.

With her gone and the coffee moved from Bunny’s desk and over to his, he leans back in his office chair with the email open. S3RPIC0’s handle has always puzzled him. Unsure if the hacker is alluding to the 1973 neo-noir crime drama that Al Pacino looked ruggedly handsome in; or if they were trying for the serpent motif. Hm. Serpent. Happy flips to the crossword puzzle on his desk. WHAT IS A DANCE THAT IS ALSO A SNAKE? Six letters. Mamba. He quickly jots it down.

Anyway, S3RPIC0’s email is encrypted, or had been, an hour ago. But now it’s plain text, and it details the interns, well, details. Real name, country of origin, specific details, a faction list tacked onto her name. Big chunks of text that he doesn’t feel like imbibing. He sips his un-poisoned coffee.

Still no real reason for her to target Bunny specifically. Happy could potentially dig. He could email back, wire transfer the hacker more money, get a little more info on how she could have slipped her way onto this base unnoticed. But, he decides, glancing at the clock, that he really, truly does not care. They’re supposed to have dinner at one of those fancy places later, where the sushi costs twenty dollars for four pieces.

When the intern whose real name he’s already forgotten (kind of doesn’t remember the fake one either) returns, he says, “Thank you,” and then pulls the taser from his pocket and gets her in the throat. Its one swift, smooth motion. Really underlines the must be new to assassination thing, because she probably should have caught his hand. Instead, she crumbles, twitching and Happy scoots back from his desk.

The operator he’d asked to hide in the big steel locker slides from it. He gets her easy, a lanky arm around her neck. There’s only a bit of struggle, which makes Happy pick up the poisoned, and deliciously un-poisoned coffee off his desk so it doesn’t spill onto his keyboard. He places the black coffee on the windowsill and watches the blond operator efficiently finish off the little spy. He’d barely broken a sweat out and his long, slender body unfolds as he stands.

“Wicked,” he says, smiling at Happy. “Haven’t do-done that in a while.”

“My treat,” Happy says blandly, finishing off the iced coffee and licking a little bit of foam from his upper lip. The operator slings the woman up onto his shoulder, stumbling slightly under the weight.

Bunny’s wife opens their joint office door, stepping inside. Now there is a woman who can wear heels all day and not suffer a single sore muscle. Oh, four letter word, shoe that is also an animal. Mule. Happy crosses over to his desk to quickly write it down. Jack steps further into the office when Bunny comes slinking in as well, pushing back her short black hair.

“Forgot my fucking coffee,” she’s snapping, mumbling under her breath when she also stops. The weird, blond operator is huffing a little under the weight of the dead body and is staring with giant, pale blue eyes. He darts them back and forth awkwardly, huffing. “Happy, what the fuck?”

“Bunny,” he replies, tapping his pen on the book of crosswords. “Have you pissed someone off recently enough they’d wanna put poison in your coffee?”

She blinks those tired eyes and looks to her wife, then the operator, who is slowly attempting to flatten to the wall and slide out of the room. It’s awkward, with the dead woman. Her head keeps flopping around, her brown hair out of the bun she’d kept it in. The operator swallows and smiles and raises a hand at Jack, who has only tilted her chin slightly and looked at him in that way she looks at people. It’s either, I have summarized every single detail of you and pinned you like a bug for examination or your shoes are untied.

“Probably,” Bunny replies, opening a desk drawer to slip out her cigarettes. She hip checks it close and the blond operator finally manages to get out the office. Happy watches the dead womans shoes clack against the door as it shuts.

[deviouslittledoughnut]

love potion | Albedo x GN! Reader

Warnings: None.

Albedo hummed softly as he carefully examined the bubbling rose-colored liquid, concentrating with narrowed eyes as he took careful notes.          

It was the crunch of snow that caught his attention, but he didn’t lift his gaze, choosing to feign obliviousness. After a few minutes of examining the flask, he cracked a smile when a little distorted face gazed back at him through the glass.          

“It’s such a pretty color, Albedo,” they spoke. “What are you making this time?”          

He watched as you took a stand, straightening your posture from behind his table. Looking up, he saw it, that lazy smile spread upon your lips- that same one that made him hold his breath in anticipation and his heart lift from the cold of Dragonspine and to the touching warmth of sunlit rays.          

He averted his eyes, pretending to jot a few things onto his clipboard.          

“It’s just a simple concoction,” he says methodically. “There's a specific flower that blooms around this time of year on Dragonspine, and I wanted a chance to experiment with it.” 

You cocked your head to the side.         

 “I didn’t know flowers grew on Dragonspine. I thought it was too cold.” 

Albedo, continuing to pretend to jot down notes, examined your face.          

“Life sprouts out in the most surprising places. The snow will melt to provide nurture for a split-second of beauty, before shrouding the land back in cold. You can think of Dragonspine as a desert of morose beauty.” 

His heart stops as laughter echoes and reverberates around his small campsite, your bright eyes filled with mirth and amusement. 

“You’re always so poetic and elegant. As expected of Mondstat’s Resident Chief Alchemist, I guess haha…”

His eyes flutter at the compliment, cheeks flaring as his heart- his rapidly beating heart -pounds in his chest, threatening to explode in euphoria. Oh, what he would do to hear it again for every moment of his day.          

“Do you want any help with today’s experiment, Albedo?” He couldn’t take it. With every single thing that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t help but fall deeper and deeper into that aching longing. 

And he couldn’t help but enjoy the way his name rolled off your wet lips like a beautiful psalm. If you kept going at it, he was going to do something he was going to regret.  Oh, how he hated and craved it every time you chose to grace him with your presence.          

He clears his throat, shaking his head, realizing that he had taken too long gazing at you with what he could only assume as tenderness instead of responding to you. But he couldn’t help it; not when you had found the stairway into his dull heart.          

“No, you don’t need to help me today.” Your face sullens, and he almost regrets denying your help. Almost. Instead, he takes the time to watch you attentively as you furrow your brows, taking a deep breath in through your nose.          

“Huh.”          

“Is something wrong?” His hands continue to glide across the page as he so shamelessly stares. He can see it, the embarrassment that had begun to creep on your face and the way you coughed into your fist, hoping that it would diffuse the attention away from you. But he could never take his eyes off of you, and that was the undeniable truth.          

“It’s just, uhm-” He tilted his head, resting his chin on his clipboard as he watched you flail and struggle to form a sentence. “I don’t know if it’s supposed to be like this, but your potion smells a lot like… you.” 

The pen in his hand snaps.          

You gape at the crumbling pen with wide eyes. “I uh, sorry, wrong thing to say I guess. I’ll just ah, get going then.” 

Albedo could only stand dumbfounded as you rush out of his campsite.          

Curiosity filling his veins like a drug, he hovered over the glass flask containing the flower essence. Standing just where you stood, he sniffed the air. His cheeks flush as his mind clouded, fogging up with thoughts of you.         

Dear Celestia, your scent was so overpowering that he had to take a step back, but even then, the smell persisted to linger like his fluttering thoughts of you. He looked down at the pen he had broken on the floor, and then to the clipboard. Any piece of sanity he had left crumbled as he stared at what was supposed to be his notes.          

He had been so heavily focused that he didn’t even realize he began drawing. His hands shook as he gazed at everything: the eyes, the mouth, the way you smiled- the same smile he had been so caught upon.          

Albedo groaned, pressing a hand against his burning forehead. What was he doing, making a love potion? When did he get so lost that every single moral reason had been thrown out the window? But he supposes it didn’t matter. You already confirmed his suspicions

And now he was falling in fast and he hoped that you would catch him.

[imtooscaredforthis]

Entrapment

Chapter Nine: Plans For The Future

Mentions of: Stalking, Graphic Depictions of Murder, Bruises, Slight NSFW, etc.

A/N: Well, here we go…

Tags: @moonshineinasippycup @darthwhorecrux @autisticpickle @dead-bxxxtch-walking @froegis

You had an awful headache when you woke up. A part of you wanted to stay home, but you knew you couldn’t. It’s not like you could afford to take a sick day right now.

It was barely even a month since you started and you already wanted to take time off? You couldn’t. You had to show them that you’re willing to commit. That you’re willing to stay with them in the long run.

So, you rolled over in bed, checking the time. Luckily, it seemed like you had just enough to take a shower and get ready for the day without being late. With a long groan, you reluctantly got out of bed, stumbling to your feet.

A warm shower and a cup of coffee helped you feel a little better, awake for the day, at least. After you got yourself all ready, you walked off to the cafe to grab some donuts and coffee.

Once you reached the office, you handed out the donuts and coffee to your bosses and friends, including Rachel. “Hey, how’re you doing? I couldn’t find you last night. I thought you ran off with someone.”

“No, I just had to go deal with something. But I have the worst headache. That’s the last time I drink in a while.” You told her, making her smirk.

“That’s what I used to say. But then I found myself going to the bar every other week, and then every week. You’ll get used to the drinking soon.” That was something you didn’t want to hear.

The last thing you wanted to be was a drunk. And while Rachel is a great person, she seemed to have her problems with alcohol. At least she didn’t let it affect her work.

“Yeah, I’m going to go bring Jed his drink now.” You said with some nervous laughs. “Okay, just be careful. He’s in a meeting with some modeling dude he’s writing a paper about…I can’t remember his name.”

You walked over to the conference room, spotting the man from last night sitting across from Jed, recognizing him almost immediately. From the looks of it, you did quite a number on him, with his black eye, and some bruises on his nose.

Should you bring Jed his coffee now? What if he tried to hurt you? You took a deep breath, shaking the paranoid thoughts away.

It’s not like he can. He’s too obsessed with his image anyways to try to go after you. Especially not in a place full of journalists.

And so, you knocked on the door, waiting for Jed to answer.

–

Bored. That’s how Danny felt listening to this narcissistic prick ramble on and on about himself, occasionally jotting some notes down.

He didn’t even know why he was here. He should be writing more about Ghostface and the mystery of who he is and who’s next. He had more than enough content for that, but according to Jamison, he needed to have more “diversity” in his writing.

Apparently, diversity meant this shit, interviewing some model who was on the front page of a few magazines or something, thinking he was some sort of big shot. Thankfully, there was a soft knock at the door, finally shutting him up for once.

“Sorry to interrupt. Here’s your coffee, Jed. Can I get you anything to drink, Sir?” You asked Aiden politely.

His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his eyes seemed concerned, angry, and afraid. But he still plastered on a smile all the same. “No, thank you.”

“Alright, and that’s an awful shiner you got there. It looks very painful. I hope you feel better.” You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, and Danny couldn’t help but notice the way he shifted in his seat.

That’s when he realized what happened. He had seen you beating a man up when he was following you, but he had no idea who. This was definitely an interesting turn of events.

Someone had to teach this asshole a lesson and Danny was so happy it was you. He could see how embarrassed and angry he was, probably upset that you humiliated him, that you even hurt him in the first place. It gave Danny quite the show, and it’s all thanks to you.

He wished he could’ve seen it up close. Heard the sound of your fist smacking against him, over and over again, and watched as his face got all bloody and bruised.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had a knife, would you stab him? Would you jam it into him repeatedly, hearing the nice little shiks it made, the delicious sound of tearing skin, muscles, and breaking bones? He could picture you doing it, cutting him open, with blood splattering all over you.

Danny bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his blood rush from his head, to somewhere else. His pants tightened, his cock pushing up against the zipper uncomfortably. Shit.

He needed to finish up this interview fast.

–

There were a few reasons as to why Danny wasn’t stalking you that much. He had other victims to deal with, and he didn’t want to rush into things with you. He wanted to take things slow and steady, but you were making things very hard for him.

He’s liking you more and more, and he knew that wasn’t a good thing. Then again, he always did prioritize his favorites, and you are going to become one of his toys…

He couldn’t help himself. He found himself flipping through the pages of his address book, scribbling down your name, address, and phone number, something he knew by memory. He put a few stars by your name, reminding himself to go check on you soon.

He pulled out his map next, marking an X at where you lived. Then, he got out his journal and started to write down a description of you.

________. In her 20s, pretty, young, and naive. Ambitious, strong-willed, and hot-tempered. Works at Roseville Gazette from 9-5 on Weekdays. Lives in Shady Oaks Apartment Complex, which is in a bad neighborhood + easy to break into. New Toy**