#love is silently passing them a pickle because you know it’s their favorite

[hitlikehammers]

taste like loving

rating: t ♥️ cw: pre-relationship-to-established relationship, SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: idiots in love, pickles, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day seven: Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite (@steddieasitgoes)

@pearynice and @hbyrde36 suffered my languishing over this more than once; it felt wrong to delete it (which was the original plan) 🥒 (and yes I am well aware this is VERY late for @steddielovemonth but I had this one and one more that I never got to post bc schedules and I still wanted to...not-delete them? so the other one will go up sometime before the 29th's over worldwide) ♥️

The first time he notices is the first time they all hang out after he’s discharged. The first time it feels almost normal. Eddie’s still not mobile enough to leave the couch at most—at least a little variety of the one-room view of his bedroom, at least—but this.

This is awesome. Because there’s no hospital to remind him of the way he’s a mishmash of still-healing incisions that he can ignore if he doesn’t move wrong, or breathe to deep, and when he does breathe to deep and reminds himself it’s for laughing, it’s a raucous and joyful thing and it’s wild in a way he never knew he was missing because—or else, he thinks because—probably there wasn’t a deep pit inside him full of all the horrors they saw and stood against together, and so he’s got this new capacity to be bowled over and filled past the brim with a kind of giddy, buoyant relief that’s unbound in ways he probably didn’t dare to even tease at, despite all his ranting about conformity and letting your fucking freak flag fly: he never could have envisioned a time he could be this unbound. Untethered.

Just…fucking free.

Because these people have seen his literal fucking insides, right? One of them held those insides in his hands, held them where they belonged long enough for him to be sitting here cackling with them, aching for the jostling of his laughter but hell if it’s not worth it, if he pops a stitch or two he won’t even fucking complain because these people saw him inside-out, y’know, and from the first he felt safe with them, with all of him, spoken and unspoken because it really felt, for the first time, like all of the things that mattered to the world at large, that could get you killed in the wrong company: it all felt…dulled; distant, after what he’d seen.

What he’d survived.

So in the now: home, on the couch, with the Buckley and Harrington tag-team feature show splitting his fucking sides and making him feel like he’s drowning in only good things and breathing full for the first time in his fucking life—

That’s when he first notices it happen.

They’re opening the boxes with deli sandwiches from Leeanne’s down off Brooklyn, the big towering fuckers with the toothpicks in the center to hold them together, and Eddie’s fucking ecstatic about the Reuben he’s staring down because real-not-hospital-cafeteria food is still an honest goddamn thrill, but he sees Steve flip open his monstrous looking Club and it’s not even all the way flipped back, the top half of the little foldy-box, when Robin slips her equally-big-ass dill spear next to the one lined up against the bread of Steve’s lunch, flashing an overstretched grin as she plops it down:

“For my Dingus,” she nods to him almost graciously and he chuckles before he picks it up and chomps it almost…almost aggressivelyand yes, okay, fine: Eddie notices because he pays attention to his friends, especially some of his very best friends, but yeah, sure, he probably notices Steve’s biting enough to characterize it because, well.

And look, see: after Steve had set himself up as permanent guardian at his bedside?Eddie might not have had all the reasons for it, all the answers to the whys, but he did have Steve Harrington in the flesh beside him always, kinda day and night, and after that? Eddie had stopped telling himself it was useless, the things he was feeling, all the relentless want in him. It might still be hopeless—just because he knew now that Steve swung that nail bat for both teams didn’t mean he’d want Eddie specifically by default—but there was no harm in feeding the deathless little lust-monster that’d lived in him from sophomore year, and that now, fed by the knowledge that Steve Harrington was beauty and brawn and brains in a way no one never expected because it wasn’t theirs, all on top of a heart of fucking 

: the monster was now a full-grown beast that wasn’t…just prone to lust, anymore.

Whatever, though. Eddie could fucking look.

So he noticed the way Robin gave Steve her pickles. The way he playfully accepted and usually leaned into her, grateful and tactile in their shared-brain kind of way.

And if he keeps noticing, what the fuck else is he expected to do? The more he learns, the closer they grow, the stronger and bigger and louder his not-lust creature gets, its stomping like a riot in his pulse save no, that’s actually just his heartbeat for what it is: hopelessly and pathetically and godawfully smitten, kinda recklessly and unrepentantly devoted, and he…

Okay, so in the beginning, Eddie knows it’s a long shot. He knows what he was doing, but it’s easy to play off as something…less. Something just playful, instead of playful-and. He already sits next to Steve when they’re all together, on a floor or a sofa or in a booth: he’s expected there. That is his place. One side him, one side Robin.

Robin even takes across-from-Steve when there aren’t enough spaces. Eddie has somehow…made the cut.

He isn’t throwing a fucking party inside his ribs about it or anything, but.

(Yeah, he is.)

But it starts small, and sorta-almost-casual: when he pops his pickle on Steve’s plate the first time. And Steve blinks at him, tilts his head in that way Eddie associates with softness, with safety, with something so adorably protective, cute and yet let herbal, on alert while breathing slow: and there’s something irresistible in the dichotomy of it that has Eddie’s pulse ramping-up by instinct at just the little gesture, the little tip of the chin and then Steve’s grinning, slow but so big, and at him, and, okay. Okay, yes, fine.

Eddie may or may not be playing this like one of those fucking birds that brings pebbles to court their intended, that drops shining little bits and bobs of nothing special that mean everything special as they try to convince their mate they’re a good bet. It may or may not be a thing he should be at least a little embarrassed of, whatever.

The way Steve chomps with fucking gusto on that pickle though: the way he grins as he chews and keeps his eyes locked on Eddie’s the whole goddamn time?

Eddie’s not gonna be embarrassed of jack shit, if he gets that in exchange.

He’s also sure as shit not going to stop, when he gets that in exchange.

He tries to up his game as the gesture extends, expands: he does his best to make it clear that he fucking loves his beloved briny cucumbers, that the way he saves them and gifts them to Steve isn’t just mimicry of his platonic soulmate; that it’s deliberate and intentional and he’s willingly and willfully forgoing something he loves for something he loves—yeah, yeah he’s ready to say that, at least in his head, because the days turn to weeks turn to months and there’s no fucking denying it anymore—so very much more, and he just…wants to make sure Steve notices. Knows it and, like, whether he decides to act on it or not, Eddie just wants him to know that a choice was there to make, right? Like, he doesn’t want it to go unnoticed.

It’s only once Steve sucks half a spear through his lips, hollows his mouth wholly unnecessarily and positively sinfully, and puckers around the pickle with wide pleading but teasing, goddamn teasing eyes trained on Eddie expectantly with the bare half sticking out his mouth, an invitation from where he sits next to Eddie at the table: it’s only then that Eddie thinks maybe there was hope after all.

He bites the loose half clear just shy of brushing Steve’s lips because he’ll be damned if their first kiss—if this is where it’s headed, if this is really possible and a thing—he’ll be fucking damned if he kisses Steve Harrington for the first time over a fucking vegetable.

Given the way Steve’s lips ultimately close around a pout all on their own: Eddie thinks…yeah. Yeah, that’s where they’re headed.

Their first kiss is very much not-pickle-flavored, but they laugh about the almost of it, once they settle comfortably into a version of ‘we’ that’s not entirely unlike the one they had before; this one just says the love part out loud. Which honestly kind of highlights how much it was there, just unspoken, almost the whole goddamn time. Which is wild.

Then of course it grows. There’s always a jar of pickles on their shopping list, because there’s always a need when the last one’s always empty. Sometimes because he wanted something to eat in the middle of the night. Sometimes because he feeds a slice to Steve Lady and the Tramp style, and does lick the taste from him after, now, not because it isn’t momentous; kissing Steve. But more because it’s…it’s going to be momentous again, whenever he wants.

For, like, ever.

Though it’s carrying on in that fashion that kinda leads in to, about a year-and-change and going strong, Eddie getting his mind goddamn blown.

It starts, mostly, with Eddie thinking—mistakenly—that his boyfriend’s not gonna be late for dinner and honestly, Eddie just doesn’t want the spear to get all warm and floppy so he figures he’ll quick eat the ones he set out, cannot let a delicious pickle go to waste, and he’ll get a fresh one for the plates when Steve gets in, no problem, he’ll just—

He’s maybe almost fucking fellating the pickle when Steve clears his throat unexpectedly from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Am I interrupting?” the arch of his brow is enviable, and the giddy delight in his tone is delectable, and Eddie wants him to come over and kiss the fucking blush he feels just lightly heat his cheeks as he tries to decide what to do because…

Eddie’s never not given his pickle to Steve, or not shared his pickle with Steve, in Steve’s presence, okay? It’s just…that’s for Steve.

And Steve probably wouldn’t be grossed out with Eddie’s slobber all over it, but, like, he deserves better by default any—

Steve’s next to him before he fully notices him crossing the distance, and he’s nudging Eddie’s hand with just a finger, pressing the pickle past his lips, slow enough to chew but steady with the pressure, and hell if it’s not erotic as fuck.

Steve goddamn Harrington.

And he smirks when Eddie swallows with a gulp, leans to kiss him and comments kind of idly:

“That was hot, babe.”

Eddie huffs, and then looks at the pickle-less plates and remembers.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I’d have kept it for you, but I wasn’t sure how long you’d be—“

“Eds, relax,” Steve laughs, unbothered; “you don’t have to save me the pickle. I buy you whole jars.”

Eddie frowns a little, because that wording sound…off. He’s not quite sure why, until Steve picks up on his confusion, the grit caught in the works that he can’t pick out, because Steve always notices; and Steve always finds the catch to smooth it clean.

He’s amazing that way.

“They’re your favorites,” he goes and grabs the jar in question from the fridge, pops the lid and meticulously catches the drip on the glass lip before offering it to Eddie with a smile so warm Eddie can feel it in his knees, because it fucking makes them melty and shit even now; he prays it’ll never stop making them melty and shit, honestly, but—

“I never even really liked them, until you.”

And that’s the part that catches Eddie up entirely, almost chokes him on the end of his hand-fed pickle feast.

“What,” he pauses, clears his throat; “what d’ya mean?”

“Robin fucking hates them,” Steve shrugs, still smiling that knee-targeting smile; “so she always pawned them off on me, and I didn’t have any strong feelings either way, but then,” he reaches, traces Eddie’s lips and gathering any stray juice before sucking his thumb between his lips to clean it off. Eddie almost fucking feels his pupils dilate.

“You know I wanted it to mean something from the beginning,” Steve says simply, because Eddie did know; “and then when I found out it wasn’t just, like, convenient, but you liked them so much yourself, then it felt,” and then Steve’s biting his lip, which is that knife’s edge between adorable and hot-hot-sex that regularly threatens to explode Eddie goddamn brain, but than he’s smiling again, a little softer, a lot more fond:

“It felt like they meant you liked me,” Steve ducks his head solely to glance through his lashes, a little bashful even still; “it felt like it maybe meant you, you know, maybe, like maybe you loved me?”

And Eddie can’t handle the question mark there, dives in and kisses Steve sound and sure and licks his way in to rub away that bit of punctuation that could ever possibly cast any doubt on Eddie’s feelings at basically any point they’ve shared fucking air.

“It tastes like that, now.”

Eddie cocks his head a little.

“What tastes like what, baby?”

Steve leans and licks into Eddie mouth again, but this time it’s got direction, like he’s seeking something, but then just as quick he pulls back, though not far, and looks up at Eddie with a little extra curl to his lips as he murmurs between them:

“I fucking adore pickles, now. Because they kinda taste like you loving me.”

And Jesus H., this man is gonna kill him.

And Eddie—who can do nothing less than capture Steve’s lips again and let him taste this particular flavor of loving as long and as deep as he wants—Eddie kinda thinks that’ll be a fucking glorious way to go.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

♥️

divider credit here

[lady-lostmind]

Diner

Love is: Silently passing them a pickle because you know it’s their favorite.

a @steddielovemonth prompt Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this!

WC: 170 | Rating: G

ao3 link

Eddie slides into the booth next to Steve, sitting as close as possible without just fully sitting on his lap like he wants to. The waitress comes over a minute later with a tray of food and Eddie smirks at Steve as a burger and fries is placed in front of him. 

“You order for me, big boy?” 

Steve’s face blooms red and he shrugs. “I know what you like.”

Robin rolls her eyes at them from across the table, mumbling something under her breath before taking a big bite of her grilled cheese. 

Eddie ignores her, reaching over to snag the pickle off her plate, along with the one next to his burger, and piles them on Steve’s plate without a word.

Steve’s eyes flick over to him, full of adoration as Eddie gives him another grin. Steve nudges his shoulder as he picks up one of the pickles and takes a bite, juice dripping down his chin as he returns Eddie’s smirk and Robin scoffs across the table.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 7: Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite @steddieasitgoes

Steve loves pickles, luckily Robin hates them, claims they're an abomination. So, whenever the diner messes up and there's a big green pickle on her plate she doesn't even need to say anything he's already reaching over and taking it off her plate. They're a perfect match in that regard.

Eddie also loves pickles, he spends about five minutes at the beginning of the meal deciding if he wants to eat his burger or pickle first, it always makes Steve laugh.

Steve looked across the table after picking up his own burger to see a dejected looking Eddie. That wasn't normal, in fact Eddie had just been laughing telling Steve about the time Jeff got tangled up in his bass cord while twirling around the stage with Eddie.

"Eds? What's up?"

Eddie glanced up from his plate, a clearly forced smile growing across his face.

"Oh, nothing Stevie don't worry." He replied picking up his burger. Oh that's what was wrong, Eddie's plate was very much devoid of green crunchy goodness, they'd forgotten his pickle.

Steve picked up his pickle and plopped it on his boyfriend's plate, "What were you saying about Jeff? Did he really almost fall off the stage?"

Eddie looked shocked down at the pickle, "But, Steve, you love pickles."

Steve smiled, "I know, but I love you more." And Steve would give Eddie a million pickles just to see that smile.

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @steddielovemonth Day 7 prompt: Love is: Silently passing them a pickle because you know it’s their favorite. Rating: T (for suggestive language) | no cw

Eddie wouldn’t call Steve a push over, he’s witnessed him annihilate the kids with a bitchy retort and a pointed stare too many times for it to be true, but there are times when Steve’s soft center oozes out, allowing the ones he loves to walk all over him. 

Like when it comes to food. 

Eddie’s always known Steve’s willing to share his food with his friends. He witnessed it enough times in the Hawkins High cafeteria — Steve wordlessly passing Tommy his unopened applesauce seconds after he finished his own or scooting his tray closer to Carol when she opted for a salad and looked at her choice with regret. 

It’s only gotten worse though. 

Now, Steve’s plate barely gets set in front of him before there are hands making passes at it. Dustin’s grubby paws snatching the pickle spear from the plate, Max and Erica harvesting his fries until all that’s left are the burnt and wonky ones, Mike and Lucas occasionally shoveling spoonfuls of Mac and cheese into their mouths before it’s even had a chance to cool. Even Robin gets in on it, swiping a slice of garlic toast from his plate like some feral bird. 

And Steve never says anything. 

Well, most of the time. 

If anyone ever takes something he really wants — like the time Dustin tried to get a sip of his Neapolitan shakes a few weeks back — bitchy Steve comes out in force, defending his food with the same ferocity he used to rip a demobat apart with his bare hands in the Upside Down. 

With that knowledge in mind, Eddie comes to the conclusion that pickles, fries, Mac and cheese, and occasionally thick slices of garlic toast are low on Steve’s favorite food list. 

So, one can imagine Eddie’s surprise when he excuses himself from the movie marathon going on in the living room of Steve’s place in search of a beer refill to find Steve chomping on a pickle spear in the bright light of the fridge. 

The sight is something, sure. Especially the way Steve’s sweatpants strain against his ass as he squats to put the jar back. But Eddie doesn’t want to get caught intruding on Steve’s secret pickle whims so he quietly retreats to the living room — beerless, sure, but with a lot on his mind that he doesn’t even care. 

If Steve liked pickles all this time, why hasn’t he told Dustin off for always stealing his? And if he’s secretly harboring a love of pickles, what else is he selflessly giving up without anyone knowing? Does Robin know about his pickle love affair? 

Eddie spends the rest of the night rethinking everything he’s thought he’s ever known about Steve until he’s so worked up he makes up some lame excuse about needing to help Wayne with some yard work in the morning and leaves right in the middle of the third movie of the night. 

On his drive home, he comes to the conclusion that he’s not going to let Steve miss out on pickles anymore. Not if he can help it. 

Operation Save Steve’s Pickle gets put in motion the following day when Eddie is summoned via Dustin’s booming voice over the walkie-talkie to lunch to make up for his abrupt departure last night. 

It’s business as usual so far in the diner, just with fewer faces. Steve, Robin, and Dustin are the only ones in attendance today, making the corner booth more spacious than it has ever been. 

Eddie feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins as the waiter approaches with their food. He might not be running for his life this time around, but his heart sure hasn’t gotten the memo practically beating out of his chest in anticipation of what he’s about to do. 

Like clockwork, Steve’s plate is set in front of him and Dustin’s hand snatches the pickle without a second thought. The little shit even has the audacity to take a bite, juices pouring down his chin, as he lets them all know that it’s the best pickle yet. 

Eddie wants to strangle him, but he refrains and sticks to the plan. When Steve’s preoccupied lathering his burger in more ketchup than one person should consume, he picks up his untouched pickle spear and slides it onto Steve’s plate. 

“Are you giving Steve your pickle right now?” Dustin screeches, drawing the attention of everyone in the crowded diner. 

“Maybe don’t phrase it like that, please,” Robin chimes in, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. 

Eddie can’t help but bark out a laugh before glancing at Steve who hasn’t broken eye contact with the pickle on his plate. He’s pretty sure he sees the smallest twitch of his lips, threatening to pull into a real smile but gets interrupted from watching the sight by Dustin’s hand. Eddie swats it away. 

“What the hell!” Dustin groans, massaging the back of his reddening hand. “If you’re going to share your pickle, you should give it to me, not Steve. He doesn’t even like them” 

“Except he does.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

“Steve,” Eddie huffs, turning in the booth to face him. “Can you please tell this insufferable know-it-all that you do like pickles? Like them so much you have a secret jar in your fridge?” 

“I mean, yeah I do—wait how do you know about the secret jar?” 

“I caught you eating one last night.”

“You have a secret jar of pickles in your fridge that you’ve never told me about?”

“That is what secret means,” Steve deadpans, rolling his eyes. “You get my pickle every time we come here. Why should I share them at home too?” 

“This is a betrayal of epic proportions!” Dustin whines. 

“Oh can it, Henderson. Go back to eating your lunch and let Stevie here enjoy a pickle from Sue’s for once in his life!” 

Surprisingly, the kid actually listens to Eddie and the table launches into silence except for the crunching of fries and pickles in Dustin’s case because Steve still hasn’t touched his. 

Eddie nudges Steve’s forearm, “Better get to it before Henderson makes another pass for it.” 

“We could share?”

“No need. This one’s all you.” 

Steve gives Eddie one of his uncharacteristically soft smiles before taking a heaping bite out of the pickle. Juice dribbles down Steve’s chin but he doesn’t seem to mind judging by the pure bliss on his face. Eyes closed and head tipped back as if he…

Jesus H. Christ 

Maybe giving Steve his pickle wasn’t a good idea after all. 

“Holy shit,” Steve moans, taking another bite. “This is the best pickle I’ve ever tasted. Thanks, Eddie.” 

Eddie's stunned for a moment, eyes locked on Steve's throat, watching as he swallows before he comes to his senses.

“You can have my pickle anytime, Stevie,” he says without thinking, high off Steve's pickle-drunk expression.

It is not until Robin groans and they all erupt into a fit of laughter does the euphemism lands on Eddie. He didn’t mean it like that, not in the slightest. But hey, if Steve wants that pickle too, Eddie’s sure as hell not going to say no. 

[oh-stars]

Unspoken Habits

Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 733 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

It’s been forever since they all got together. Steve’s got an arm slung over Robin’s shoulders and is leaning toward Max to talk shit about Mike, while Eddie’s squished between Dustin and Nancy on the opposite side. The rest of the party surround the table, laughing and talking so loudly he’s not even sure if you could call it that anymore. 

As nice as it is, Eddie feels a little bad for how rowdy they are in the middle of a restaurant. Thankfully, it doesn’t last too terribly long once the food comes out. 

“Okay,” their waiter says as he brings out two others with big trays of food, “help me out here.” 

It’s an ordeal to get everyone’s orders where they need to go, but once it’s settled, they all start to tuck in. 

Eddie’s squirting ketchup all over his fries when he looks up to see Steve’s plate has a pickle on it. His chicken fingers didn’t come with a pickle. Dammit. 

Steve’s not even looking, still listening to Lucas’ story about the game he had the other day. He just picks up his plate and holds it out for Eddie. 

Fuck yeah! Eddie plucks the pickle off Steve’s plate and takes a big bite, then sets the rest down on the edge of his basket. 

“Can we please talk about the new player’s handbook that came out?” Dustin says, muffled around his straw. 

“I haven’t picked it up yet,” Eddie admits. 

Dustin groans, then launches into a full comparison of the last version and this new edition. Which brings Mike and Will into the conversation, too, and soon they’re all debating about the merits of all of the editions, which one is superior and the best in both the standard and advanced games. 

He’s so lost in the topic that he nearly misses Robin handing Steve her pickle. 

Eddie’s got a mouthful, chewing faster so he can correct her mistake because Steve doesn’t like pickles. He doesn’t like a lot of things, he’s almost always handing Eddie something at every meal, whether it's olives or pickles or green skittles. 

But then Steve stops him in his tracks and takes the biggest bite out of the pickle. 

What the fuck is this?

Eddie turns away from the nerd talk to lean forward, mouth finally free to talk. “What was that?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow and puts the pickle down on his plate, hanging off the edge so it doesn’t touch his remaining fries. “What was what?” 

“That!” Eddie points to the pickle.

Robin looks like he’s lost his mind and she may have a point, but the input isn’t necessary. “Is he not allowed to eat? Jesus, Munson.” 

“Not pickles, he’s not,” Eddie says. “You hate pickles.” 

Steve’s cheeks go pink as he shakes his head, fringe bouncing on his forehead. He’s bashful when he meets Eddie’s eye. “No, I don’t,” he says softly. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. It’s like the world has turned upside down (no pun intended) and he’s left marooned on an island of imposters. The fuck is this?

He shrugs and leans forward a little, mirroring Eddie’s posture as they rest their crossed arms on the table and try to get a little closer despite the distance. “I like pickles, Eds. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie says half-heartedly. “Since when?” 

“Always?” Robin interjects. “You guys have been together for almost a decade! How do you not know that he loves pickles?” 

Steve’s face gets even redder. 

Eddie feels like he’s been shot, the ultimate betrayal playing out before him. He clutches at his chest. “Stevie?” he squeaks out. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, reaching a hand across the table. 

“Then why do you…” 

Steve just smiles. “You love them.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s all that matters,” Steve says softly. 

“Can you two stop being all sappy for like two seconds? Some of us are trying to eat,” Max says, nearly snarling with disgust (even though her eyes are all gooey so it doesn’t land the way she’s hoping for). 

Steve laughs and takes his hand back. He winks at Eddie from across the table before turning back to Robin to talk in their weird twin language. 

Dammit, he really loves this man. With his stupid winks and silly sacrifices. If that’s not true love, Eddie doesn’t know what is.

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART TEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS 18+ ONLY! sexual content (finally), pot use, alcohol use Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: Okay, guys. If you missed it, this chapter is NSFW. This was the best to write, seriously. Love you all, don't be afraid to tell me what you think of it! 

taglist: @valleyd0ll​​ @satingrass-maidensfair​​ @guitarfingers​​ @thebohemianpenguin​​ @peaceisouranthem​​ @oblvions​​ @hansonobsessed​​ @myownparadise96​​ @lara-gvf​​ @anditsmywholeheart​​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​​ @bigblack-catattack​​​ 

MASTERPOST 

Two weeks before the Saturday of the play, the forecast had called for a blizzard. “Polar vortex” they had called it on the tv at school, flashing graphics of a polar bear wearing a scarf. 

After classes on Friday, you had asked Kate if she wanted to go for coffee. You had been working like a dog on the play - sewing and painting to the point where your fingers perpetually hurt and the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes was the shade of green that every foliage prop was painted.

You ordered a caramel macchiato and genuinely tried to enjoy it, propping your legs up on the chair next to her. 

“So,” she started, eyeing you like she had a bone to pick. She still looked so pretty when she was coming for your life. “We’ve been so busy with Josh, we haven’t had any alone time to talk about Trevor.”

You sucked in a deep breath and relaxed your stiff neck muscles, achy from behind hunched over while sewing. “Yeah. I kind of forgot about it, to be honest.”

“I have not, however. So dish,” she requested, reaching into her purse and pulling out a tube of lipstick. She applied it carefully in her phone camera as you spoke. 

“Josh did it,” you admitted, making her eyes flick over to you momentarily. “I mean, I still slapped him, but Josh was the one that gave him a black eye.”

“And how do you feel about that?” she asked carefully.

You shrugged, wrapping your fingers tightly around your cup, half to leech the heat, and half because you were anxious. “I don’t know. I was kind of upset, but only because he could have gotten kicked out of school for that.”

She just nodded for you to continue as she cleaned up the lines around her lips with a paper napkin. 

“I mean, and for what? He could have been arrested. Just for revenge. I feel like the best revenge would be just be keeping your head high.” You rolled your eyes at the beginning of your statement, just for emphasis. 

She stared at you blankly as she picked up her mug. “Aren’t you flattered? I wish a guy would punch one of my hookups.” 

“I mean, it’s cute, but I feel like he did it more for himself - for his own pride, you know?”

Her expression changed then to something a little heavier, her features sharpening in accusation. “Are you for real? Like, for real, for real?”

You frowned at her, feeling like you were being scolded. “What are you talking about?”

She let out a long breath, looking dumbstruck. “I haven’t really pressed it because I guess I just thought it was something that everyone knew but wasn’t talking about but-” She paused, putting her hand over yours on the table just to really drive the point home. 

“That boy has it bad for you.”

You knew your expression was ridiculous by the way she looked at you with pity. “What the hell are you talking about? Josh? Are we talking about Josh?”

She closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and nodded. 

“Kiszka?” you tried again, still refusing to let her statement sink in. 

“Yes,” she said through a laugh. “Yes, your roommate Josh. Curly hair, hippy bullshit - that guy. I swear to God I thought you knew. I mean, there were times when I was like ‘does she actually know?’ but then I thought ‘there’s no way she lives with him and doesn’t know that’. You’re telling me I was wrong?”

You were struck silent for a few long moments. “Are you sure?”

Thankfully, she was looking at you like you were a puppy with its head stuck in a peanut butter jar. “Look at me. He punched a guy in the face for you.”

You closed your eyes and tried to suppress a smile. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. There’s supposed to be a huge snowstorm this weekend. Now that you’ve heard me say it, return to me on Monday - after spending all weekend in the same place as him - and tell me you don’t see it then,” she said simply. 

“Okay, I will,” you challenged. 

“Okay, you do that,” she quipped with a smirk, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest confidently. 

+++

In preparation, you had gone grocery shopping together, picking out everything you’d need to be stuck in the apartment together. He had even made you take him to a thrift store, just so he could see if there was anything fun. In the end, he had come out with a card game in a box, still wrapped. 

Saturday morning the snow started falling, this time in huge, fluffy flakes, and it wasn’t supposed to stop until Monday evening. 

While Josh was in the shower, you decided to get everything ready for the evening’s festivities that you had planned together. You had gone to find a good cheese board at the market until you found out they were too pricey for your (nearly nonexistent) budget, so you ended up laying out different crackers and cheeses onto a circular pizza pan. 

By the time he got out of the shower, you had grapes, pickles, olives, and chocolates laid out on the coffee table, and he caught you just as you were pouring each of you a glass of wine. 

The charcuterie was his idea - actually, the first thing he suggested when you said you wanted to have a fun night in on Saturday. The three different kinds of alcohol had been your idea.

“Okay, it’s all yours,” he informed as he trotted out from his bedroom, dressed in a fresh set of clothes. 

The shower was still warmed up, the mirror still steamy. You got a towel out and stepped in under the spray. 

You took the time to enjoy washing and conditioning your hair - your mom had been sweet enough to send you some of the expensive kind you love. Once you had hinted over the phone that you were homesick and the smell of it reminded you of home, she was already googling it. 

Once you felt sufficiently clean, you stepped out and dried off. The clothes you had taken into the bathroom weren’t anything special - you had chosen comfort over aesthetic - but they were warm, which is what you really needed as the snow fell outside. 

When you joined him back in the living room, Josh was waiting patiently on the couch.

“Ready?” he asked, handing you your glass of wine. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You gestured down at the untouched food. 

He smiled at you. “I know.” 

You sipped at your drink as he gestured to the tv. 

“Movie for background noise?”

You hummed in thought. “Maybe music?” 

He nodded in agreement. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you pick will be perfect.”

By the time he had made a selection, you had nearly finished your glass of wine. “So, the costumes are coming along well. I got the cutest lace for the trimmings of Alice’s dress. I’m not sure you’ll even be able to see it from the audience, but she’ll look adorable in pre and post-performance pictures.”

He shot you a beaming smile. “That’s some master craft. Your attention to detail is unrivaled.”

You knew that he was just playing, but it still made your stomach flip.

“Should we play our card game?” he suggested, padding over to the kitchen and snatching the bottle of wine off the counter.

You watched his movements as he poured your glass full again. “Thank you. Yeah, we can. Or did you want to be drunker first?”

He hummed. “One shot each?” 

“Of vodka?” you inquired as you picked yourself off of the couch. “Where are the shot glasses?” 

“I don’t think I own any,” he admitted as he watched you rifle through the cupboards. 

You shot him a shocked look. “You’re a college kid; why would you not own a shot glass?”

“Well, we haven’t needed it thus far. I don’t throw a lot of parties if you haven’t noticed.” He gestured around the empty room. “We’ll each just take a pull from the bottle?”

“Okay, you first,” you agreed, thrusting the bottle at his chest. He took it from your grasp with a smirk and then pressed his lips to the rim. He drank until the count of three before swallowing hard and passing it along. 

You followed suit, except with more difficulty. He had made it look so easy, you had almost forgotten how vodka tasted. You swiped your thumb across your lips, wiping them dry in the process. 

You took your seats back on the couch next to each other as the music played through the room. 

“Charcuterie?” you offered, gesturing to the coffee table full of food. 

“Yes, of course.”

As you watched him make a cracker sandwich, you spoke. “So, should we crack this game open?”

After he nodded excitedly, you ripped into the plastic wrap. 

“Okay, it looks like it’s essentially just a questions game. We just draw one at a time and the other person answers them,” you explained after skimming the inside of the box. “And you have to finish your drink if you can’t answer it.”

He laughed. “Okay, ladies first. I’m ready.”

You pushed the stack of cards over at him. “No way, you ask me first,” you stated with a cheeky smile.

He raised his eyebrows at you but relented. As he plucked a card from the deck, he took a sip of wine.

“What is your favorite color?” he asked, leaning in and squinting like the information you were about to provide was essential to his existence. 

You snorted. “Really?” He nodded, prompting you to continue. You hummed as you thought about it. “It’s blue.”

“What kind of blue? Like navy or sky?”

You shook your head. “No, more like that blue that’s so blue it hurts your eyes. The one that was a new pigment discovered not that long ago - so bright it hurts.”

He gave you a sincere smile.  “That’s a good pick.”

“What’s yours?” 

“That’s not how this game works,” he said through a breathy laugh. 

You frowned at him. “Yeah, well. Then I’m asking you as a friend. Josh, what is your favorite color?”

He pursed his lips as he considered his answer. “It’s hard for me to pick, but maybe either red or orange.”

You nodded in agreement as you reached for the deck. “I could see that. Okay, your turn.”

You stared at the card in your hand that read, WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU SLEPT WITH?

“Are you alright?”

You snapped your eyes up to him, quickly nodding as you realized that he had been waiting patiently for you to read it. 

“Okay,” he agreed cautiously. “That’s good. What’s the question?”

You couldn’t suppress an awkward smile as a heat rose to your face. 

“It says, ‘who is the last person you slept with?’,” you informed in a humored tone. You even held it up for him to see.

He stared at the card like it just accused him of a heinous act. “You really got to answer the color question and I have to answer this?”

His intensity made you snort a laugh, though you were trying to hold yourself together so you didn’t spill your wine. “Okay, okay. I’ll answer it too. Maybe we can play the game where we both just answer it.”

“Do you just want to hear me talk about sex?” he prompted with a shit-eating grin. 

You gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you- You’re the one that picked this game out!”

Your overreaction was clearly exactly what he had been looking for. You were anticipating his ribbing to continue, but it didn’t. 

“The last person I had sex with,” he started, pressing his lips against the rim of his glass as he took a swig. “Was from my music theory class.”

“When?” you quickly asked, shocking even yourself.

 “Is that part of the question?” he teased smugly, picking a kalamata olive off of the tray and piercing it with his finger before popping it in his mouth. 

You licked your lips nervously. “No, it isn’t,” you admitted. “You don’t have to answer that, I was just curious.”

“You wanna get high?” 

He was staring directly into your eyes when you looked up at him again. 

“I feel like it’ll make it easier to answer these.”

You nodded at him, biting your bottom lip. “Yes. Yes, I do want to.” 

“My room?” he asked, picking up both of your glasses as he stood. 

“Your room,” you confirmed, following suit. 

Through the slats in his blinds, you could see that the ground was completely covered in a white blanket of snow. You spent some time watching it fall from his bed as he packed a bowl. 

“Here,” he said gently to get your attention. “You take the first hit. I’m going to light it and you’re going to suck in and hold it in.”

You nodded in understanding. 

“Not too much though,” he warned. 

The glass was cool in your hands as you took it from him. When he held the flame to it, you did as you were told before exhaling with care. He was looking at you with a proud expression when you met his eyes. 

You handed it back over to him, waiting until he was in the process of taking a hit before you spoke. 

“Tell me when you slept with her,” you demanded calmly, biting back a smirk at the way his breathing faltered. 

It had turned into a game of chicken as you held each other’s gazes silently. 

“You haven’t even answered the required question yet and you want me to do the extra credit?” he quipped. 

“The last person I fucked was a guy from tinder back home, and it happened a couple of months before I left,” you informed him confidently. “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and he was a prick, so when we broke up, I went on a tinder bender just to feel something.”

A small smile spread across his pink lips as he listened. 

“Now you.”

“She was my girlfriend last year. We broke up in April and I had a hard time saying no to late-night texts until the end of June.” His tone was sincere as far as you could tell, as were his eyes. 

You were starting to feel the hit you’d taken by then, and you took a pause from the conversation to lean over the side of his bed and grab the bag of suckers you knew was waiting there for this very occasion. 

The high washed over you in a gentle, pleasant manner, leaving you feeling a little dreamy. 

“Sucker?” you asked, holding the bag open for him. He breathed a laugh - probably at you offering him his own candy - and then plucked one from the bag. 

After he had it unwrapped, he held the bowl out to you again. “Want another? Or am I going to have to smoke the rest of this myself?”

“Yes, I’m sure that would be very rough on you, poor baby,” you teased. 

He huffed a laugh, sitting up a bit straighter in his position. “You want another one or not?”

You stared at him wordlessly for longer than was socially acceptable, but when you finally spoke, it was with conviction. “I’ll have another baby hit.” You pulled the cards from the pocket of your pajama pants. “But then we’re playing another card, right?.”

He glanced down at the bowl and then back up to you. “When you say ‘baby hit’-”

“I mean I want you to blow it into my mouth with your mouth,” you explained cheekily, making him huff a laugh. 

“You liked that, huh?” he asked, risking a dark glance up at you through his long lashes as his fingers played along the glass piece. 

You knew exactly what you wanted to say - could hear it in your head, but your body felt tight with nerves at the thought of actually saying it. “Not as much as you did, I’m guessing.”

Oh, damn, you said it. 

A smirk played across his mouth, his eyes half hooded. If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would have thought he was completely unaffected by your teasing, but you had been listening to his breathing, so you were perfectly aware when it changed slightly. It was just the smallest difference in sound like he was pulling in air through tighter lungs. 

“Be careful with what you’re accusing people of.” A warning, definitely, but almost more of a challenge. In the months that you’d spent with him, you’d never seen him like that, but you suppose you wouldn’t have unless- Unless you were about to make him do something truly reckless. 

You bit your bottom lip out of an anxious, excited energy. “Oh, my mistake then.”

The ball was in his court, and you could tell that he was expecting him to continue pressing him. A look of slight disappointment flashed behind his eyes, but you weren’t done yet. 

You nodded toward the bowl, prompting him to glance down at it like he had forgotten what he was doing in the game he was playing with you. He kept eye contact with you as he brought it to his mouth and lit it. You watched the white smoke circle the inside of the globe before he sucked it into his lungs. 

You tilted your chin up in invitation and tried to relax your muscles as he leaned in, his throat looking tight. 

You felt his nose brush yours first before you realized you had closed your eyes in anticipation. The smoky smell hit you first when you realized you were supposed to be taking it from him. You opened your eyes and tried to breathe it all in, but most of it was lost to the room. 

He had a tiny smirk playing on his features until you reached out and wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pressing his forehead against yours in an abrupt motion. You could tell he had his teeth clenched by how tight his jaw looked. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from playing your fingers along the sharp line of it. 

“Do you want me?” you whispered, voice barely there at all. 

Through a labored breath, he responded with a smoky sounding, “What would give you that impression?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but unsurprisingly, it came out sounding raw. Your fingers brushed across the short hair on the nape of his neck, the pleasant feeling causing his eyelids to flutter. 

You leaned forward until you pressed your cheekbone against his, lips right by his ear, and pointedly asked, “Do. You. Want. Me?”

“Fucking of course, I do,” he spat through clenched teeth, sounding distressed as his hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs pressed into your hipbones on either side. 

“Should we?” you asked, pulling back so you could see his face. 

“Probably not.” His words were humored, a melodic laugh accompanying them, but still somehow managed to not sound any less strained. 

You considered what he was saying for a moment, relishing in the idea that this was the last moment before the point of no return. “Just one hookup,” you reasoned. 

He smirked at you, looking all too smug and disbelieving. “Okay,” he agreed. 

Patiently, you waited for him to make the first move, your heartbeat bouncing around like a basketball in your chest. When you felt his hands move from your hips, your body tensed, trying to predict where they’d end up next. 

As he cupped your jaw with both hands, you melted a little, muscles noticeably relaxing. 

The kiss was tentative at first - just a brushing of his lips on yours like he was testing the waters. He held your face like he was afraid that you were going to vanish into thin air - like your presence was the key to his existence. 

You could hear his shallow breaths as he opened his mouth, pressing it against yours. His tongue tasted like the orange sucker he’d abandoned on its wrapper on top of the dresser next to his bed. You lapped at it, body rising as you shifted to crawl into his lap. With the way he was sitting, cross-legged on his bed straddling him was a bit of a strain on your inner thighs, but the feeling was oddly pleasing - like a warm-up for the workout you were about to endure. 

He let go of your face to place his hands back on your hips, pulling your body as close to his as it physically could be. Before he could situate you too firmly, you started to unbutton your pajama shirt, and bless his heart, he couldn’t help but watch your fingers work. 

“Is this really happening, or this just a super high fever dream?” he asked, shaking his head as he frowned like he wasn’t sure he could trust his eyes. 

You wanted to laugh at him, but you could hardly blame his disbelief. If someone had told you even earlier that week that you’d be in this position, you would have rolled your eyes at them. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted this until it was about to happen.

The last button undone, you let the garment fall, the pink and white striped fabric slipping off the bed and to the hardwood. 

The cool air was shocking on your bare skin at first, causing it to tighten - well, that and you could practically feel his eyes raking over your chest. 

“It’s happening,” you assured, leaning in until you were speaking against his parted lips. 

The feeling of him brushing the pads of his fingers over your nipple made your breathing shudder. When you tipped your head back, he ducked in and pressed his mouth to your throat, dragging a stripe across your skin with the flat of his tongue. Every part of your whole body felt hot, but none more than between your legs. You tried to grind yourself down on him, but couldn’t seem to get a good angle - luckily, he seemed to notice, and halted your movements with his hands on your hips, stretching his legs out straight.

He pulled back just far enough to see your face when he ground you down onto him, the outline of his cock slipping against your core. Even with all the layers between you, the feeling still made you crumble against him, a whine escaping your lips of its own volition. It was clear that he felt it too as he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering. 

You seized the opportunity to get your fingers under his shirt, lifting it over his head as he held his arms up for you. Before he could prepare for it, you pressed closer, pressing a kiss to his temple and then nipping at his earlobe. The cool metal of his earring was pleasing against your tongue, and you reveled in the moment as he sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. 

His hands snaked around your sides, palms wide as he cupped your ass and used the leverage to pull you against him again. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, he let a shaky breath escape him.

You could feel his thumbs hook under the elastic band of your pajama bottoms as he started to slip them down the cleft of your ass. Once it was bare, he ran his fingers over it, movement stalling as he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“Are you not wearing panties?”

You scoffed. “Not to bed, obviously. Are you implying that you wear something under those loose pants?”

The corners of his lips tilted up in a wicked smirk. “I encourage you to find out.”

You giggled at his confidence, sweetly nudging your forehead against his, so he didn’t expect the swift movement of your hand as you tugged the tie of his sweats down. The answer to your previous question was “no” - he hissed as you grabbed his erection, swiping your thumb across the head, glossy from the dim light through the blinds. It was just a tease though, because a split second later, you let go of it in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your mouth against his again. 

As you pressed him back, he tried to hold you, but once he realized you weren’t just leaning on him for support, he relented. You laid him back on his bed, pulling back as you slipped your bottoms off the rest of the way. 

“Jesus,” he breathed as his eyes took in the whole of your naked body above him. “Hang on.” 

He reached to the bedside table and grabbed the bowl and lighter. After he sucked in another hit and set the piece back down, he tugged you in roughly, depositing the smoke directly into your mouth. You tried to hold it in like he had taught you, but you were much more interested in getting your tongue into his mouth. 

Still, you were plenty high, so much so that looking down on his bare form had tears threatening your eyes. He looked so soft and sweet despite the position he was in, his eyes half-lidded and one hand behind his head, one on your bare hip. 

You shifted until you could grind your core against the length of him, the wetness letting it slip through easily. 

“Fuck.” You had thought it was an exclamation of pleasure until you opened your eyes and saw a scowl painted across his face. “I definitely don’t have a condom.”

You hummed through a smile. “I don’t blame you, I definitely didn’t expect this.”

He frowned up at you. “We can just try something else if you want,” he offered.

“Well, I’m on birth control, and given the length of time between our last sexual encounters, I’m guessing we’re both clean - I know I am.”

He stared at you for a long moment before really realizing what you were implying, but once he did, he licked his lips in consideration. 

“Come here.” You weren’t sure what he was requesting until he grabbed onto your thighs and guided you up until you were straddling his face. 

The thought of it made you blush, and surely your cheeks were hot to the touch. 

He started with broad strokes of his tongue, just dragging it through. You briefly wished he had a headboard for you to brace yourself on, but your thoughts quickly became completely incoherent. You decided you were going to lean back instead, placing your palms flat on his bent knees. When you were completely comfortable and situated, he started pointedly flicking his tongue against your clit directly, first very soft and teasing, but building to something rougher and more deliberate. 

You thought you were actually going to shake apart when he sucked your clit right into his mouth, rolling the bead of it around on the flat surface. When you could feel yourself getting close to the edge, you threaded your fingers through his curls, keeping him close. 

The moment you lost it, everything in the room melted away from you - just a black expanse with flicks of color littered throughout it. 

You took a moment to catch your breath, trying to bring yourself, at least partly, back to reality. When you pulled away from him, you were met with the sight of him - the entire bottom half of his face slick with your come. 

He only let you watch in fascination as it dripped from his chin for a second before he was pushing you back, your head laid at the foot of the bed. He slipped his sweats off the rest of the way before crawling over you. 

There was no way you could have blamed him as he pushed in, seemingly not having any time for a slow entrance - you did make him sit there, untouched, for god knows how long. You certainly couldn’t name even a rough estimate for the amount of time passed. 

The spark of pleasure that shot through you made you throw your head back, your spine arching as you let out a whine. 

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” he breathed, through tight teeth.

“Yes,” you hissed as you ground yourself down onto him. “Keep going.”

Your eyes were closed, but you were sure he was wearing an awed expression. You grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in until your foreheads were pressed together. When he started to move his hips, you let out a long, pleased hum, pressing your nails into the skin on his shoulders. 

Your whole lower half was still incredibly sensitive, so every time he brushed you, it made you writhe a bit beneath him. “Mm, fuck,” you growled as he intentionally reached down and pressed his thumb into your clit, the feeling resting somewhere between “just perfect” and “way too much”.  

He was biting his lip as he watched your reaction intently. You felt his hand snake down your outer thigh, gripping it from the bottom. He lifted it up, near-forcing you to wrap it around his hip.

The new angle was a different kind of feeling - something hot deeper in your gut like someone placed a smoldering ember in your belly.  You weren’t paying attention to anything but your own impending orgasm, so you didn’t expect it when he sucked your nipple into his mouth. He raked his teeth over the bud, causing your hips to jerk against him. 

When you opened your eyes and met his, you took a moment to absorb his expression - like he was seeing another dimension through your face. 

You could tell he was close when his lips fell open, but that was perfect because he was taking you with him. You hitched your legs around his hips and squeezed, letting your head tip back. 

When you came a second time, it was with his open mouth pressed to your throat, his hot breath hitting your damp skin. You let out a low whine, fingers tangled in his hair, probably a little too tight.

You suspected it was probably your muscles clenching in orgasm around him that set him off, a string of expletives falling from his kiss-swollen lips. His hips shuddered as he fucked you through it. 

The other side of your collective climax was warm and fuzzy, like watching home videos from the ‘60s. When he was able to hold himself all the way up, you ran your fingers through his damp curls affectionately. 

He was clearly trying to get his bearings, his breath flowing in and out of him like a tide. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered, sounding like he might not be able to speak any louder than he currently was if he wanted to.

 You hummed through a smile. “So good, Maybe never better.”

He rubbed his nose against yours, the smallest hint of an upward tilt to his lips. “I’m high as hell, so I’m not sure what’s acceptable for our situation right now, but can I kiss you?”

“We probably shouldn’t,” you admitted, making his expression fall slightly. 

He nodded at you in reluctant agreement. “You’re right.” 

You bit your bottom lip. “Ah, fuck it, we’ll start going back to normal tomorrow.”

[symphonicmetal101]

After watching some anime, can I request the brothers and Side characters with an MC that makes really great bentos in their aesthetic with their favorite meals? MC could make Lucifer a fancy dish of steak done to his favorite temperature, side dishes are organized neatly, and the bento is red and black to match his design or she made pink/pastel treats for Asmo is a very cute bento that matches his style. I think it would make their day when they receive something so cute from the human

ABSOFRICKINGLUTELY! ANON! I LOVE YOU! THANK YOU! However, I write gn! Whenever possible, so I hope you don't mind. Also, I've only made bento once, so I did a tinny bit of research. Most of them stray from traditional bento, however I tried to make sure I had the four components, (protien, carbs, salad/veggies, and fruit) (except Asmo), and different cooking methods for each. Some of them I forgot to explicitly say what colour the box was, so I'm sorry about that. I didn't do Luke because he had a role in Simeon's, and I blanked. (Sorry) Also, some of them have links bc I started to lose inspiration and motivation to write the same thing over and over again bc brain juice went bye. Hopefully I did this justice, I may have gotten a little carried away...sorry for rambling.

MC Makes Bento For The Boys

Lucifer

Lucifer had been working non-stop for the past few weeks

You had barely seen him, as he was so busy going back and forth from the castle, meetings, and he had banned everyone from his office. It had gotten so bad that he would "postpone" his meals, but nobody had seen him eat in a while.

You had a lot of spare time, so you did meal prep for the whole week just for Lucifer.

It was a little past noon by the time you finished, (and made Beel swear he wouldn't touch the food because you would treat him at Madam Scream's later), so you decided to make a bento box for Lucifer's lunch today with some leftover beef and rice you had.

With your protein and carbs taken care of, you prepared some roasted asparagus to add some colour to the box as well as a couple of carrots. You also added an umeboshi plum on top of the rice to match the colour of the box. (A/N I personally don't mind umeboshi on it's own, but if anyone wants to try it, I highly suggest you eat it with rice or have water on hand 😂)(oh yeah, umeboshi is a small, sour, pickled plum.)

In the final box you arranged a couple of orange slices, strawberries and grapes.

Satisfied, you brought the box and a glass of water up to his study. You didn't even bother knocking, knowing he would just send you away anyways.

You were greeted by a low growl. "Get out."

You rolled your eyes. "No. You need to eat Lucifer, and I'm not leaving until I know you've finished this."

"I don't have time for this MC. I have to-" he was cut off by his stomach rumbling.

He blushed slightly, and continued to busy himself with work.

"Please? I hate seeing you overwork yourself like this. Have you looked in the mirror lately? When was the last time you slept? Eaten? Had something other than coffee? Have you even gone to the bathroom in the past 48 hours?"

He sighed, folded his hands under his chin and looked up at you through disheveled raven locks.

"...you really aren't going anywhere until I eat." It wasn't a question, rather a statement with a trace of relief in it.

You extended the bento box out to him once more, though this time he accepted it.

"....thank you MC.....this is quite delicious. Perhaps once I'm done my work I can take you out to Ristorante Six to show my appreciation."

You pushed his hair back and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Once you're done your work, you're going to sleep. That's an order, sir."

He silently cursed himself as he felt himself blush again

You were planning to stay until he finished, but then you heard Mammon and Levi fighting.

"I'll take care of that love. Make sure you drink that water too. Also, I prepped meals for the rest of the week for you, so you have no excuse to not eat. I bribed Beel, so they should stay there, but as an extra precaution I got Satan to teach me a protection spell. I didn't tell him what it was for, so it should be fine."

He watched you close the door behind you and wondered what he did to deserve someone like you.

Mammon

He was complaining to you because his actions finally caught up with him, and tomorrow he had to go out and repay some witches with time and favours, (being a bagboy), instead of money

He started belly-aching even more when you told him you weren't interested in joining him.

Luckily you were on dinner duty tonight, so you had a legitimate excuse to leave his pity-party

However while you were making dinner, you decided to show Mammon a little bit of sympathy, and set some rice and pork cutlet aside that you could use later.

After dinner, Mammon followed Lucifer, trying to convince him to give him money.

So you had ample time to continue working on his bento.

He had a three compartment wooden box

You scooped the rice into the box, put the cutlet on top, and two thinly sliced pieces of lemon on top.

You cut up some yellow, red, and orange bell pepper to put in the top left corner of the box

In the last compartment, you cut up golden kiwi, pineapple chunks, and a couple blueberries

You were about to put it in the fridge, when Mammon came screaming into the kitchen.

"MC HELP ME LUCIFER'S MAD I DON'T WANNA GET STRUNG UP AGAIN AND- wait, what's that?"

You sighed. "It was supposed to be a surprise Mammon! I made lunch for you for tomorrow, because you're going to be doing some running around and who knows when you'll get a moment to yourself? I was going to cast a spell on it to keep Beel from eating it, so it would have lasted overnight too... I just want to make sure you have something healthy to eat and so you don't have to spend money on take out. If you don't want it though, I'll just give it to Beel..."

He blushed furiously. "Ya don't gotta worry bout me, silly human. The Great Mammon can take care of himself! But-uh, I'll probably end up taking it anyways, because it's umm, it's free food! And Mammon ain't about to pass that up!"

He tried to grab it, but you pulled it close to yourself and turned, blocking him.

"You only want it because it's free? Ok. Fine. You'll have to pay me if you want it." You teased

He whined a bit. "Aw come on, ya even said ya didn't want me spendin money tomorrow! And ya said it was for me! MC, this ain't fair!"

"I didn't say you had to use money."

The next day while Mammon was out and about, trying to carry multiple bags of stuff for the witches, he happily ate his food, a light blush on his cheeks as every bite reminded him of the way you felt against his lips yesterday.

Leviathan

Levi had lost out on another draw despite having spent copious amounts of money on the tickets

As such, he had locked himself in his room to temporarily drown in his sorrows

You decided to make Kyaraben, character bento, for him. (Kyaraben can also refer to animals, real life celebrities, or natural settings)

(I would do Ruri- Chan but I have no fricking clue, so here's a link to a recipe for Pikachu Kyaraben because that's what you did instead)

Hesitantly, you brought your creation to his room and lightly knocked on the door.

"...I don't wanna talk to anyone right now."

"Levi, it's me. I brought something to cheer you up! At least let me give it to you if you don't want me to stay."

You could hear some scuffling and mumbling from behind the door. "I highly doubt there's anything a normie like you can do to help."

You tried to brush that off, because, ouch, but you knew he was upset so you tried not to take it to heart.

He was pouty as he opened the door, his demon form on display.

His expression immediately changed when he saw the bento in your hands.

"WOOOOOAAAHHH!!! THIS IS FOR ME??!! YOU MADE ME BENTO??!! This is something straight out of anime!!! Uh...uhm...d-do you maybe w-want to share it?"

The last part of his sentence had him blushing furiously, and he refused to look you in the eye.

"Sure. Maybe we can watch that anime you texted me about a couple days ago too."

His eyes lit up with joy as he used his tail to gently grab your wrist and pull you excitedly to his couch.

Once he had arranged everything to his liking, he sat down and bashfully accepted the bento.

At some point, he asked if he could feed it to you, however, there was only one pair of chopsticks

Blushy otaku very much enjoyed the bento, not only because it was like his anime, but also because it was you who made it.

He also got a couple indirect kisses, and could not focus on anything but that for the next few days.

Satan

You and Satan had been spending a lot of time together lately because he was helping you study for a test

Thanks to Satan's tutoring, you had managed to get a much higher score on the test than you had imagined.

As thanks, you wanted to make a kitten Kyaraben

You found him in the library at a desk, hunched over a book, studying some foreign language.

He was so engrossed in his studies that he didn't notice you right away, so you tapped him gently on his shoulder.

"Ah, MC. I'm afraid I missed you coming in. Are you alright?"

You smiled and nodded. You brought the box out from behind your back with your test papers on top, the mark clearly visible.

"I couldn't have gotten that mark without your help, so I made you some bento as thanks. I hope you like it."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh MC, that wasn't necessary. Spending time with you was enough for me, but thank you."

He slid the lid off the bento and chuckled when he saw what you had done.

"That's quite clever kitten. Perhaps next time you can show me how to make it?"

His pet name made you blush a bit, but that didn't stop you from agreeing.

You two spent the next few hours discussing different meals you guys could learn to make together.

Asmodeus

Asmo had been taking you shopping lately, hyping you up and helping you destress with spa nights

In return, you decided to make a dessert bento box in a pretty pink container.

It was a square container split into nine compartments.

Across the top three compartments, you arranged a rainbow of mochi.

On the bottom three you arranged a rainbow of macaroons.

In the two outside compartments left, you put a mini Wicked cupcake in each

Finally in the middle, you arranged Hershey's kisses into a heart.

Satisfied, you made your way to his room and announced your presence at his door.

"Come in darling~ I'm just finishing up my nails!"

You let yourself in and settled across the table from Asmo.

"I brought you something. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out lately and show you how much I appreciate you!"

You placed the box next to him so he could see what you had done.

His squeal of excitement almost decimated your eardrums, however moments later you were enveloped in a very tight, heartfelt, "smooshy" hug, but his elated expression made up for your temporary loss of hearing.

"Ohh MC! You're so sweet!!!! These look delicious, let's share them!! Just let me take a picture first with my favourite snack!!"

You sat back and expected him to pick up a cupcake, but yelped as he pulled you into the frame.

"I said with my favourite snacc MC, and I meant it!!" (Yes, he still took a picture of the bento)

Beelzebub

You wanted to plan an outdoor date for the two of you that wouldn't require you to excersize.

So you decided to try and make Koraku Bento, or picnic bento, but even bigger in hopes you would be able to temporarily satiate Beel's hunger

Because you were making so much, you needed multiple boxes, and a couple days to prepare, so you asked Simeon if you could work at PH so Beel wouldn't get to it early.

Of course, he agreed

Day one, you prepared five different fillings for the Onigiri you were planning to make: sha-ke (salted salmon),umeboshi (Japanese pickled plum), okaka (bonito flakes moistened with soy sauce), kombu (simmered kombu seaweed), tuna mayo (canned tuna with Japanese mayonnaise)

Day two you prepared three large protiens, (chicken, beef, and pork), each enough to fill about two containers each. You cooked each of them differently. You also cut up/prepared vegetables you wanted to use for tempura.

Day three you woke up early in order to be ready to take Beel out after his game. You made rice and finished making the Onigiri, (which Luke was adamant you let him make with you).

And Simeon helped you make the tempura and a beautiful salad to accompany everything else.

However, now there was a lot of stuff to carry and you wanted to greet Beel out of his game.

So the angels took care of transporting the food to the roof while you went to get Beel

"Why are we going to Purgatory Hall? Are we having dinner with the angels?"

"Not quite. The date I wanted to take you on had a slight change of plans. We just need to get to the roof-"

"Do you want me to fly us up there?"

You considered it for a moment then agreed. If nothing else, you would be avoiding Solomon.

Once you landed, appreciation for the angels swelled as they had laid everything out so beautifully.

"...oh. It looks like someone else is doing something up here. It smells really good, so we should probably go. I don't want to eat someone else's food and ruin their night by accident....again." He tried to leave, but you pulled on him gently.

"I'm glad you think it smells good. This is for you! I made it for you, and the angels helped me bring it up here when I went to pick you up."

His eyes widened. "...All of that...you made it for me?"

You couldn't help but smile and nod at his bashful expression.

He hugged you gently. "Thank you MC. I know that took a lot."

"It was worth it! You haven't even tried it yet. Come on, I'm hungry!" You giggled.

Beel's stomach growled in response, causing a slight blush to light his cheeks. You're so good to him❤

Belphegor (this has a bit of crack energy, I'm sorry. So will Solomon's😅)

"MC....can you pass me my D.D.D?"

"MC....can you give me a massage?"

"MC....can you switch my laundry for me?"

"MC....can you pass me my pillow?"

"Belphie, I love you. I understand you're the Avatar of Sloth. But what the actual fuck? Your pillow is under your arm, just move it under your head. I've already gotten up, like six times to do stuff for you."

He groaned. "But it takes too much effort!" He smushed his cheek into his arm and attempted to give you puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry, only Beel can pull that off. If you want your pillow moved less than a foot, you're going to do it yourself. You of all people should now how frustrating it is to get up as soon as you sit down."

He groaned again and grumbled as he moved his own damn pillow.

You tried to relax a bit. Normally your time with Belphie consisted of cuddles, movie nights, planeterium visits, or just plugging into some music and enjoying each other's company, like you were trying to do now.

Until you made eye contact with him again.

He was going to ask something-

"MC........... can you get me a snack?"

Dear God, he was not gonna like this.

"Of course Belphie. I'd love to."

You made your way to the kitchen with new found energy.

You were going to make Shikaeshi Bento (revenge lunchbox)

Basically, it's supposed to be inedible or embarrassing, and be used to convey anger or overall dissatisfaction

So you grabbed his bento box, dumped uncooked rice into it, cracked an egg and left the shell in the box. You used purple food colouring to make a heart.

You brought the box up to Belphie, who was surprisingly still awake

"That was quick."

You grunted in response and walked out

"Hey why are you leaving?!"

A few seconds later, you heard, "MC! ...WHAT DID I DO??!! I JUST WANTED A SNACK!!...MC PLEASE COME BACK I DON'T WANNA GET UP!!"

Diavolo

So, usually Barbatos is in charge of making sure the Demon Prince eats

However, you told Barbatos that you wanted to make something special for Dia

"My Lord would thoroughly enjoy anything you made for him. He's been very busy lately, so I'm sure he would appreciate the kind gesture."

Barbatos graciously gave you precedence over the kitchen, giving you full access to everything you could ever need or want.

You decided to make him bento with your favourite protein

One compartment you filled with rice, using sesame seeds and an umeboshi for garnish

You arranged pieces of your favourite fruits in one of the smaller compartments

Then you made your favourite type of tempura, and prepared the sauce to go in the last two compartments

You asked Barbatos where Diavolo would be, and he escorted you to his office.

"My Lord, MC has come to speak with you."

Diavolo's head shot up and his face lit up with delight as he watched you walk through the door.

"MC! A welcome surprise. How are you? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine! I actually just wanted to give you something." You gave him the black box.

"I made bento with some of my favourite things...you mentioned wanting to get to know me a little bett-"

You were cut off by Diavolo crushing you in a hug

"...My Lord, MC needs to breathe."

"Ah, my apologies MC. This is the most wonderful, meaningful thing anyone has ever given me. How can I adequately express my gratitude? Simply name anything you want, and it shall be yours."

Once you had regained your breath, you gave him a small smile.

"Anything? Could I trouble you for your time?"

"MC, Lord Diavolo must finish his work in a timely matter. I can clear his schedule for afterwards."

"Barbatos, could they stay long enough for us to share the wonderful meal they've prepared?"

Usually Diavolo's begging and sad eyes™ would be powerless against him, however the soft spot he had for you and your much- less-seen sad expression were enough for him to bend this once.

"My Lord, I'll be back in an hour. I'm afraid that's all the time I can allow."

He stepped out, and allowed a small smile form on his face as he heard the two of you celebrate, also knowing that later on he would be listening to a very happy prince recount everything you two talked about and how much he loved you.

Barbatos

You, the brothers, and the other exchange students had been invited to the demon lord's castle for another event

It wasn't for another day, but you felt your chest tighten as you remembered Barbatos

Did he even get to eat those days when everyone was there?

You didn't want to take that chance, and decided to set up a small, filling bento box.

It only had three compartments, so you stuffed each one.

One had rice and meat.

You made some sushi and tamagoyaki to go on top.

For the last compartment, you made a simple chickpea salad.

The next day, Barbatos welcomed you all to the castle, as per usual.

However, this time he stuck around once the brothers and others had left.

"I...Well you already know, but this is for you!"

He nodded and graced you with a smile. "My knowing does not take away from my appreciation MC. Admittedly, nights like this are very demanding. I will repay you later. Thank you."

He tried to walk away, but you yelled after him, "You're not supposed to repay someone for a gift! Just take it!!"

He smiled to himself as he started to eat some food.

Perhaps this night would not be as taxing as he thought

Simeon

You had been experimenting new dinner recipes with Luke at Purgatory Hall; you were watching him while Simeon was away.

"If we leave these leftovers out, Solomon will get to them and ruin them."

"....why don't we make bento for Simeon? He's coming back tomorrow, isn't he?"

Luke beamed at you. "Okay!"

He went to get a small bento box divided into fifths (two large bottom compartments and three small top ones).

"Ok, so in one of the big ones, we can fit the rest of the rice."

Luke nodded. "Can I use this?" He held up a star-shaped cookie cutter.

"Of course!" You helped him mould the rice into a stable star shape.

He looked so happy designing stuff, you let him take the lead.

By the time you were finished, it was easily the most stunning dish you had seen.

"Wow MC! We should do this more often!" He was very proud of himself, and rightfully so. "I can't wait to give it to Simeon!....Is it ok if I give it to Simeon? It was your idea, so it's ok if you want to do it instead..."

You just smiled at him. "You can give it to him, you did most of the work anyways. For now though, you need to get to bed."

He pouted slightly, but complied.

The next morning you woke up to Luke speaking very animatedly to Simeon.

"Yeah! We tried a bunch of new things, and then MC suggested we make you a bento box with the leftovers, and it turned out really well so I can't wait for you to try it!!"

You leaned against the kitchen doorframe observing the interaction.

"Thank you Luke, it looks wonderful. Good morning MC. I hope you slept well. Thanks for ba- for helping Luke while I was away."

He smiled gently at you before Luke was trying to get him to try the bento again.

He took a bite and smiled at Luke.

"It's delicious. You guys must have put a lot of love into it, as always." He looked directly at you at that point, but Luke was too elated to notice the silent exchange between you too.

Solomon

"Don't get mad at me! You agreed to test spells with me!"

"You asked me when I was half asleep Solomon! I also meant later, not right away!"

"Well, you're not a frog anymore, so I don't see what the problem is."

.... No, you weren't a frog anymore

That didn't mean you were happy about being a frog in the first place.

You texted Simeon, 'Who's on lunch duty today?"

"Me. Why?"

"I'll make us bento. We can picnic, the exchange students, that is."

So you spent the next little bit making normal bento for the three of you.

"Simeon said we should probably leave in five minutes" you thanked Luke and started on Solomon's.

You made Shikaeshi bento; you cracked four eggs and aligned their yolks into a rather phallic shape, added way too much fish oil, and threw a few sesame seeds on top.

However, once you made it to the picnic grounds, Solomon opened his box and gasped.

"MC, you know me so well!" And proceeded to drink right out of the box, the rest of you looking on in horror.

"I thought you were mad at me and you were going to give me something disgusting like Mac and Cheese. I guess all is forgiven. Thank you!"

At that point you couldn't even stay mad, that was just disgusting.

Aye, I hope you liked it anon, not sure if this is quite what you meant but....yeah.

Love y'all!

Masterlist

[jeromesxreader16]

Such a Joker (54)

Part 53 Here!

~o0o~

"Who are you?" Bruce's voice booms through the study. He stares at his newly crafted parents with confusion, and shock. His mind must be going in circles. "Well, look who decided to join us," Martha speaks to her boy. "Hello, champ." Thomas follows.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred pops in with a tray of tea and biscuits. Bruce looks at his friend in shock. "Alfred, how did you..."

"Look at the state of you. What have I told you about rolling around in the muck?" Bruce stares at everyone, Jeremiah and I hide away watching for the time being.

"Alfred, what's going on? Who are these people?"

"Whatever do you mean, Bruce?"

"We're your parents." Silence from the billionaire boy Bruce Wayne.

"Right. Well, let's get you spruced up. After all, we have guests."

Jeremiah pulls us both out with smiles. His hand around my waist and his other raising a glass. "Welcome home, Bruce."

"Jeremiah. You're alive." Bruce's eyes travel to mine.

"Well, you didn't think Selina could kill me so easily, did you? Or that I'd ever leave my wife and my unborn sprees? I just had to put you off my scent until I could finalize my... project." Jeremiah pinches Martha's cheek. Bruce lunges for him before Alfred stops him. "Manners, Master Bruce. Let's not be rude to our guests."

I look to Bruce with a slight smile. If I play along I might be able to stay safer if I play the victim. I smile kissing Jer's cheek. "Especially when we come bearing gifts." I present the bomb to them all on the table. "Oh, Mrs. Valaska. A cake. How exceedingly kind of you. Is it Italian meringue?" I look back at Jeremiah with a smile, about to burst into laughter. He shrugs his shoulder. "Sure." Bruce strides towards me with fury, until Jeremiah pulls out the trigger.

"Now, now, Bruce, you come any closer and I blow up Wayne Manor, with all of us inside of it. I have a dozen more of these, uh, Italian meringues sprinkled throughout the house." Bruce glares at me with ill intent. "What did you do to Alfred? And who are these people?" I roll my eyes leaving Jerimiah's side and plopping on the couch. "Ah, glad you asked. Come."

Jer strolls over to look at Wayne's personalized smiles with Bruce. "Mommy and Daddy dearest were just an innocent couple I kidnapped based on... bone structure and, um... build. Just a touch of plastic surgery, and voila... Waynes. Alfred, I nabbed in the Green Zone." Bruce waves his hand in front of their faces, connecting the dots.

"They're hypnotized."

"Well, I'm afraid there was no room for improv in our script. Today is a... very important day, Bruce. Just look at the way they're dressed." I walk around Martha, admiring her pearls. "I like these, J." He hum. "I'll get you some just like it, love, but these ones are important for tonight." I giggle and kiss his cheek.

"It's the night my parents were killed," Bruce says with sadness.

"And I'm giving you the chance to experience it all over again."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? Bruce... this...this was the most important day of your life. And I didn't get to be a part of it. We didn't get to comfort you on your big day. We need to rectify that." I stretch my arms out, planting them on my swollen belly. "Alfred, is dinner done? I'm hungry."

Jeremiah nods looking at Alfred. "Chop-chop. We're on a very tight schedule. My wife needs to eat." Alfred bows his head. "Of course, Mr. Jeremiah."

Jeremiah pulls out a chair for me in the dining area. Very comfortable and quaint! Jeremiah passes me a plate full of fruits and toast. "Alfred told me such great tidbits about your childhood. Any jam, darling?" Jer paused to ask me. I shake my head, kissing his cheek. "No love."

He nods, "Anyways, yes, How you used to eat here, in the kitchen, when it was just you and the family. My, how... homey and intimate. That's exactly how I'm raising my children."

Alfred walks over with Jer's food. "Grilled cheese and Branston pickle sandwich, Mr. Jeremiah. Master Bruce's favorite. My influence, though Thomas did add a dash of aioli for extra flair." Jer looks at Bruce with judgemental eyes. "Oh. Come on, Bruce. That's a weird favorite food for a 12-year-old."

"I'm playing your game," Bruce says smacking the plate off the table. "Now let Alfred and these people go. They're innocent."

"I'm sorry, Bruce, it's just... it's very important to me that I get every detail exactly right. Speaking of which... the final touch. What was it like... losing your parents that night? I lost my family, too, Bruce. The wound still hasn't healed. I... think about it often." Jeremiah falls into his thoughts, trailing off.

"None of this is real. You're trying to manipulate me. It will never be real." Jer smirks seeing the despair and sadness on Bruce's face. "But you are thinking about that night. That's all I need. I just want to be connected to you. I offered for you to be my best friend! You could've been the godfather to my children. But I've realized if we... can't be friends... then we can be connected in other ways."

"How?" Bruce asks frightened.

"You'll see. In time." Jeremiah looks at his watch humming. "I'm sorry to cut tonight short... but... your parents and I have a very important date ...with destiny." He laughs as we stand up and disappear with the Waynes. "You might want to find your faithful butler and leave. Quickly." as we rush out of the home Bruce struggles to find his butler.

Jeremiah runs through the tunnels, dragging me behind. "Exhilarating. Isn't it love?" I grab the wall as we near the end. "I... I need to slow down." His face smooths and he presses his hand to my back. "Aw, my love, I'm sorry. Giving you a hard time today?" His hand comes to my stomach and the twins kick excessively. "When you're around." I laugh leaning onto the soft fabric of his blazer. Jer looks down at me with sad eyes. "This is dangerous. You shouldn't be here." I furrow my brows. "You brought me along!" "And it was foolish of me. Gents, for the rest of the night, keep my wife safe. At safe blast range."

~

"Jeremiah!" Bruce calls in the theater. "Show yourself!"

The screen starts running a film. "Ol?! Hola, Bruce." Jeremiah swings in the frame on the big screen. "Well, here we are, the theater where your mommy and daddy took you to see The Mark of Zorro. Ha-ha! I had heard you were obsessed with this man as a child. I wonder what was it

that intrigued you so? Was it the fact that he struck fear into the hearts of his enemy?" Jeremiah in his costume fights off his enemies on the screen.

"En garde! Take that, you villain."

Jer looks into the screen. "Perhaps the movie was a bit too effective. Isn't this the part where you became frightened? When you asked your parents to leave? I wonder what would have happened if you hadn't done that. If you had conquered your fear. Maybe your parents would still be alive."

"Well, on to the last and final stop down memory lane."

~

Bruce runs out of the theater in a sprint. He stops in his tracks when he sees Jerimiah and I. "Stop! Stop! That's far enough, Bruce."

"Jeremiah. You don't have to do this."

"But I... I do. You see, I-I came to this realization. I realized that no matter what I did to bond us, some random gunman in an alley would be the man who you were tied to the most. The man you saw when you closed your eyes. I want to be the star of the show! Jeremiah says dramatically. "So if I can't have you as a brother bonded by love, then we'll just have to be bonded by hatred." Bruce huffs at him in anger. "And you think killing two people that look like my parents will do that? It won't."

Jer tightens his grip on me. "Well, then it's a good thing I already put a bullet in both of their fraudulent skulls." I look up at him with furrowed brows. "You said-" "Oh, you're both confused. How sweet." I look back to the couple with their backs facing us. "Jer, who is that?"

"You're wondering if I already shot them, then who's this lovely couple?" I jerk away from Jerimiah in an attempt to see the two. "No."

"Thomas, Martha...why don't you turn around?" Tears well in my eyes. "Jer, why?" He looks down at me with venom. "It's always been a roadblock, darling. Even for Jerome. With Jim in the way. No family of ours will survive. So why not have some fun with it, huh?" He winks at me. "No! You- you can't. These kids need him." "They need me," Jerimiah says with a smirk. "And so do you, doll."

"See, Bruce throughout our little adventure, fate brought to me James Gordon and Leslie Thompkins, and I thought to myself, why not... why not kill the man who you think of as your second father figure? And your dear, dear, dear friend Lee Thompkins. And when I do, finally, you and I will be bound together. Because you see...reunification with the mainland hangs on by a thread. Those fireworks go off and toxic chemicals rain down onto the city, and the government...cuts us adrift for good." I let a tear fall. "Jeremiah, please. Don't" He hold me tighter, never letting go of his hold.

Jer pulls me to the car, shoveling me in. "Dad!" I scream over his shoulder.

"I had Jervis Tetch hypnotize them so that they'll wake up the moment these beautiful pearls hit the ground. I want you to see them realize what I've done to them as life drains from their bodies. Never forget, this is all for you, Bruce." Jerimiah hops into the car with me, closing the door as we speed off. I stay silent. Sitting alone. "Aw, darling. Come on now. You know I had to. A wife can never live a life with two sides. You'll understand one day." He kisses my cheek while looking out the windows at his destruction.

"You know... I always liked him." I look up across from me to see Jerome. "He got on my nerves, but he always kept it interesting, didn't he, doll?" I push a smile out on my lips, nodding. Jerome leans over and kisses my forehead. "Cheer up love. Look down, look at our kids. Give them a laugh for me. Keep that one in check." He winks before setting back and vanishing.

I shake my head pushing all the nerves back in my mind. "Jerimiah, love? Where are we going?" He smiles grabbing my hand. "To the finale." Rounding a corner I see the big illuminated letters of ACE Chemicals. The inside reeking of strong odors.

"Jeremiah! Face me!" Bruce's echoed scream bounced through the factory. "Here, Bruce," Jer calls loudly. I stay behind pipes, hidden away safely as Bruce runs after my mad husband.

"Jeremiah! This ends. Tonight."

Both gentlemen on the metal walkway above the vats of acid. Bruce hits Jerimaih making him stumble against the railing. "No, Bruce. Now it begins." Bruce kicks Jerimaih down the catwalk, towering him. "You feel it.

The connection between us. You do. Don't you? Bruce, you feel it." Bruce punches Jeremiah as he continues. "Tell me you feel it."

"You mean nothing to me."

Jerimiah's head butts Bruce before getting to his feet again. "Why don't you understand?" Jer grabs Bruce pushing him against the railing, causing it to bend. "You need me. I'm the answer to your life's question! Without me, you're just a joke...without a punch-" Jerimiah throws his hand at Bruce, but Bruce moves at the right time causing Jer to miss. His arm follows through in the wind, his body hitting the railing hard causing it to break and Jerimiah to fall into the vat. "NO!" I scream running over. Bruce tugs me back as I try to reach down into the vat. "(y/n), no!" I cry holding to the broken railing. "No... no..." I lower my head into my hands. They're both gone. I'm all alone now.

An ambulance rolls up fishing out Jerimiaha's body from the vat. "Miss." I continue to watch as Jerimiah's body is laid on a table and carried away. "Miss." I look up to see a nurse with worry-filled eyes. "I need you to come with me. You've been surrounded by hazardous chemicals. We need to make your child is okay." I nod numbly. Passing Bruce, keeping my head down. "(Y/n)," Bruce calls. "Let me follow." I nod without a word.

~

"Well, Mrs. Valeska. You're set. Two healthy twins." I nod standing. "Where is-" "Room 204. He's unconscious." "I don't care." I stand walking to the locked room, two guards on each side. "I'm his wife," I say before entering. In the bed, Jerimiah lays still, wrapped up in bandages from head to toe. I feel my tears well up with tears. "He did it to himself, doll. Nothing you could've done." Jerome kisses my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me. The ghostly feeling so comforting. I lay hand hands on his feeling the cold skin. "I wish you were here." "I know, but someone else is." The door opens and none other than my father walks in. "Dad." "Oh, my god." He covers his mouth, tears welling up, as he wraps me in his arms. "You're okay." I cry into his shoulder.

Selina and Bruce arrive in the room. "I can't believe he's still alive," Selina says with hatred, but I can't blame her. "They've been doing scans, and he has no brain activity," I say never taking my eyes away from Jer. "So, he's no longer a threat to you. To anyone." I turn around walking away from the room. "(Y/n)," Dad calls out. "Come home with me, honey. You need to be-" "Okay. I'll meet you there." I continue to walk out the doors into the dark night of Gotham, a quiet night. 

[moribundanchor]

The Pelle/Dani Receipts, Post 11: The May Queen

The last lap of the film is the culmination of two separate tracks: one, Dani breaking with Christian, coming to terms with her grief, and sloughing off her old life, and two, Dani being embraced by her new family and, with that final, slightly-mad smile, finding joy with them. Much as in the “Do you feel held by him?” scene, Ari masterfully keeps the final scenes of Midsommar walking that tightrope between validating the Pelle/Dani romance and minimizing it in order to center Dani’s broader character arc and story, and to that end, he doesn’t even wobble. Still, he can’t get out of this without some explicit (though not explicit) mushy stuff for the OTP, and that, of course, is why we’re here.

We already mentioned the dance competition in the context of Pelle and Team Hårga winnowing Christian real good so he can be Maja’s baby daddy, but this is yet another opportunity for Pelle to demonstrate to Dani the contrast between him and Christian. As Dani begins to dance, Pelle is right up front, attentively, patiently, smilingly watching. She has every bit of his attention and support. Meanwhile, Christian stumbles into the audience late, burdened and internally roiling after his meeting with Siv. 

Now, we don’t know how Christian ultimately answered the Matriarch when she asked if he would mate with Maja. Ari, the imp, cuts away. Not to taint our favorite scene with comparison, but very like Dani’s protests in “Do you feel held by him?” Christian’s evasions, more pronounced in the Director’s Cut (“I’m here with somebody,” “We haven’t even talked.”) are frail, toothless things against the truth joined with temptation. He doesn’t love Dani. And he does want Maja. By the time he comes to watch the dance competition, Dani dancing is the furthest thing from Christian’s mind, even though betraying her is the crux of his dilemma.

And do please remember that Siv proposes this ritual snuggling to Christian as something Dani will not know about, so he really is contemplating betraying her, as opposed to what Pelle suggests to Dani. 

This is the contrast that waits for Dani during a break in the dance. Pelle smiles at her flirtatiously, even proudly, and silently applauds--totally here for you, Dani--while Christian is literally looking the other direction, back towards where Maja--oops, I got myself eliminated, teehee!--has taken her seat. During the dance, Dani is, yes, tripping balls and speaking gibberish, but she is still having the best time ever. So, initially exhilarated, Dani wilts the moment she sees Christian, and if we were going to argue that Dani doesn’t reciprocate Pelle’s feelings, the visible heartbreak on her face here would be Exhibit A. Except people are more complicated than that. Relationships are more complicated than that. Dani is definitely more complicated than that. Letting go still can hurt long after you know it’s over.

All that being said, even the most complicated relationship stuff can get simple real quick with a grand, unambiguously romantic gesture, and as Dani is crowned May Queen, finally, finally, finally, we get one. No evasions, no apophasis. Stunned, still kind of high, Dani’s new family washes her away in a tide of congratulations. Odd welcomes her home again, in Swedish this time, and it’s just a lovebomb lovefest all the way down. The only ones who don’t hug and/or paw at Dani are hallucinations (or are they) of her parents in Hårgan garb, her mom laying one surrendering caress on Dani’s shoulder as she passes by, and, of course, Christian, poor dope, standing by the maypole, looking every bit as alone and lost as Dani probably has felt up to this point. The Fire Temple is a ways off, but he will never again be allowed close to her. They are over.

At the end of the procession, for maximum dramatic effect, Dani’s happy Hårgan sisters tilt her toward OHAI PELLE. As Pelle bends down to her, initially he appears to be in supportive friend mode, (“My God, Dani! May Queen!”), but then he just sweeps Dani up in a kiss that isn’t long enough to stop the ceremony, but just long enough to be undeniably romantic. In the script, the kiss is actually described as a “blunt, passionate kiss.” While so much of the Pelle/Dani ship is not scripted, here it is plain: Pelle, now wearing the Wunjo rune, is Dani’s wish for an understanding, loving partner come true, and for the minute she can be spared from the procession, he is kissing her for all he’s worth. Let’s just watch this on a loop for a while.

This is the moment that has launched several thousand “Did Pelle like Dani?” Google searches, and it looks like a freaking wedding because it kind of is. Look at all the Hårgans bursting with happiness, not just for Dani, but for them. We are all Hårgans because all Hårgans are clearly Pelle/Dani shippers. (Okay, there’s something going on with Inga, but that’s a different analysis post.) Dagny in particular looks like she’s going to cry. My sweet brother birthmate found him a newblood and they are the cutest. Both Pelle and Dani are in full Hårgan dress for this kiss, as though their relationship always had to be consummated with Dani fully planted in the fifth panel of the spoiler tapestry. Also note that the pink flower in Dani’s crown reflects her heartbeat. Notice how it speeds right on up while she’s in Pelle’s arms. At this point, Dani might yet equivocate--not that she’s very equivocal in the moment--but crown flowers don’t lie.

Christian probably doesn’t see this moment. In addition to succumbing to “the tea with special properties,” he’s watching from the maypole, and Dani and Pelle would have been obscured from that vantage by a few dozen white-clad bodies. But if he cared enough about Dani to celebrate her triumph instead of blankly witness it, if he had been able to refuse the tea...but then, if he cared that much, we wouldn’t have had a movie.

Once Pelle surrenders Dani, the happiest and proudest of all possible soft cult boys, she’s urged toward a litter in the shape of the sun and lifted high off the ground. The Hårgans serenade their queen in a procession to the dinner table, Pelle prominent among them, his hands arranged in a cradling gesture previously seen when the Hårgans burned Dan’s body. This is an assumption, but it seems a fair one, that the gesture conveys Pelle bearing Dani’s spirit, even if he’s not one of those physically carrying her litter. In the wide shot, you will notice they are sailing Dani right past an image of Terri hidden in the trees. In this scene, Dani is very literally leaving her birth family and Christian behind. When Dani takes her throne at the head of the mirrored banquet table, Pelle will placidly sketch the moment, and as previously mentioned, we’ll see him reflected in the table surface, indicating how he’s still plotting even in that idyllic moment which would seem to be the culmination of all his hopes and dreams. After all, Christian’s still breathing.

Sadly, this concludes the dramatized Dani/Pelle content. We know. We’re sad, too. In the major scenes around the kiss itself--the serenade, the photograph, the dinner after her crowning--Pelle is near Dani, but not next to Dani. No more close communicating reaction shots. We can see Pelle enthusiastically toast Dani at the dinner table, and she seems to trade a sly, flirty smile with him immediately afterward, but that’s it. We can’t even see Pelle’s reaction when Dani gags on the pickled herring. In the final ceremony, Pelle’s crowned, too, just as the movie has been promising all along, but he and Dani don’t share the stage or even a single shot. Blocking and camerawork, so suggestive of their love story up to the point Pelle lays a good ‘un on her, suddenly becomes a blue-nosed chaperone. But consider what the film would be like, what it would have to become, otherwise. Midsommar isn’t primarily a romance anymore than it’s primarily a horror movie. Nope, it’s not a horror movie either, not really. It’s Dani’s story; it just happens to have smooches and blood eagles in it. So the kiss is a great moment, but it’s going to have to last you. (Hey, would you like to see our fanfics?) 

Green Man/May King or not, it would appear there’s more post-canon wooing for Mr. Pelle to do (though Ari has confirmed more than once that Pelle has an excellent chance with Dani, wink.) The script specifies that Pelle is one of the Hårgans that bears Dani’s throne to scoop her up after she stumbles in her May Queen raiment before the film’s final shot, but like so much Dani/Pelle content in the script, that doesn’t actually end up on film. The last we see of Pelle, he’s on his knees scream/crying as the Fire Temple burns, and the last we see of Dani...well, the last we see of Dani is the final, iconic shot of the film. Insane? Eh, maybe. She’s synced up with her new family and having her unholy affekts burned away. Probably should check back later for that one. Happy? Definitely. Ever after? Sure looks like. And why not? Girl got her wish.

Oh, but there’s one more topic we have not quite explored. The writing on the wall. And the ceilings and the tapestries and the clothes and the footwear and the decorative flourishes and the furniture and the tables and plinths and the...

For more, click on The Pelle/Dani Receipts Masterpost

[velvetmel0n]

Jasmine Sambac

Summary: You decide to surprise your sugar daddy when he has a late night at work

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9k+. Don’t look at me like that.

Warnings: Sugar daddy!Cassian/sugar baby relationship, age gap probably? don’t worry Reader is at least somewhere in her early/mid twenties it’s fine, spanking, it’s Cassian but with Félix’s hair, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, little bit of dom!Cassian, mutual pining, unrequited (or is it?) love, bit of cum play, the old trenchcoat surprise lingerie trick, unspecified job titles, rough sex, angst if you squint, exactly ONE instance of daddy kink because c’mon he’s a sugar daddy I had to

A/N: If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been the last few days, this fic has consumed my life.

@damerondjarin @okay-hotshot @poeticandors @tintinwrites @darksideofclarke @acomplicatedprofession @lesqui @himbopoes @winters-buck @duamuteffe @ah-callie @paniclana @huliabitch @yougottakeeponkeepinon @halfwaythereroyal @leahsafae @myguysbsmokin @qveenbvtch @queenofheavenandhell @pascalispedro @agentpike @arcadianempress  @beskars @slfreya​ full disclosure I have no idea who to tag for this

Your cell phone is mocking you.

 It’s sitting on the stool you had dragged into your tiny bathroom and it’s been glaringly silent the entire time you’ve soaked in your small bathtub. The water has gone tepid at this point and the ache in your legs from being on your feet all day has faded away, clouds of Epsom salt-scented steam are still hanging in the air and your cell phone is silent.

It had barely been a week since you’d last seen him and already you feel yourself missing him, an almost physical ache that manifested somewhere in the first days without him and it’s stayed with you— you miss his touch, the sound of his voice. You even miss the smell of his cologne and how it rubs off on you, how it follows you home to the shoebox apartment you won’t let him buy you out of.  

The water sloshes around you as you crumble, lapping dangerously at the edge while you reach for the towel to dry your hands before you grab your phone. You open your conversation with Cassian, leaning back against the slick tiled wall as you read through the last series of messages. Your heart flutters, maybe stupidly, at the words on your screen. At the promises he makes of what he’s going to do to you or the gifts he’s going to give you, the food he says he’s going to feed you. 

Just like the last time you checked, you have no new messages from him— just his customary good morning message that he sends you at an ungodly hour almost every day, the timestamp from today’s reading 4:47am. Not for the first time you wonder if he doesn’t sleep well, trying to mask the concern as curiosity as it looms to the front of your mind. You wonder if he’s stressed, if he’s been losing sleep over the business deal he’s mentioned to you a handful of times when you ask about his work and you feel your heart twist in your chest at the thought of him still cooped up in his office at this hour. 

Your teeth dig into your lip as the idea begins to ignite in your mind, an idea that you’ve been playing with ever since your arrangement with Cassian had been cemented what feels like ages ago and you can’t shake it. You don’t have work tomorrow or any prior engagements, there’s no real reason why you shouldn’t. There’s nothing concrete that you can hang onto as an excuse to not go, as if your burgeoning feelings will wash down the drain with the bathwater as long you ignore them, as long as you don’t feed them.

Your thumbs move before you can think better of it, asking if he’s still at the office. Your phone clatters back onto the stool as you stand and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel—  one gift that you had bought yourself and you drain the tub. When the water hiccups you can still feel a slow, stubborn warmth suffusing you at the thought of him.

You try not to think about your phone as you dry yourself, trying to take your time and wick every drop of moisture away from your supple skin. The Epsom salts had drawn the aches and pains from your limbs and had softened you to an extent, but it’s not enough, not if you actually go through with the scheme that’s unfurling, becoming more and more extravagant as the moments pass. If you’re going to do this at all you’re going to do this right. And that means breaking out the body oil.

You crouch in front of your sink and pull the cabinet drawers open to be met with a small army of glass bottles full of perfumes and oils that you’ve deemed too special, too decadent for daily use— but this is a special occasion. You fish out a bottle from the back, careful as you grip it. The oil looks barely used because it is, one you reserve even more than the others because it’s one of your favorites.

And Cassian’s.

You’re smoothing the oil along your legs, forcing yourself to take your time with the act and making sure you pay attention to each part of you when your phone dings, loud and shrill. It cuts through the jasmine fog you’ve created around yourself and somehow your stomach drops at the same time your heart leaps, lodging itself in the back of your throat.

You pretend not to notice the way your fingers tremble as you pick it up, a miniscule thrill arcing through you at the sight of his name on your screen. You know it’s pathetic that his name is enough to do this to you and it makes you feel a little like a schoolgirl with a crush on her professor, complete with breathless anxiety at the thought of seeing him again.

Still here. I’m sorry baby, I was planning to take you out if I finished early enough.

You imagine him sitting at his big desk in that big office of his, hunched over files and his computer as he tries to iron out details and numbers and whatever else it is that makes business deals work in practice. You know he keeps his hair slicked back for work— one of your favorite things to do is run your fingers through it but you think that he must have already done that for you, agitation making him break that perfect image of his. 

You smile to yourself, sit your phone face down on the sink to resist the temptation. You finish oiling yourself, making sure to dab extra onto your pulse points in lieu of perfume. Behind your ears, in the hollow of your throat. Between your breasts and on your wrists. 

You choose your lingerie next, all silk and lace and buttery fabric between your fingers as you slide it over your skin. Your mind is running rampant, excitement flaring hot and bright in the pit of your stomach as you wrap yourself up like a present and daydream about the look on his face when he sees you, how he’ll react. 

The doubt only surfaces when you’re buttoning your coat, starting to curdle the butterflies in your stomach— because what if he’s annoyed with you showing up without a word? What if he just wants to power through his work before he calls it a night and you throw a wrench into it? But...he has confided to you in the past that he doesn’t know how to stop working, that sometimes he wishes he knew how to actually take a break. You’d seen Cassian in action on multiple occasions, had even rubbed his shoulders for him as he took conference calls on what was supposed to be a day off. 

This is the thought you cling to as you slice into a loaf of bread to make him a sandwich, meats and cheese and pickles all laid out on your cutting board when your phone dings again, this time from the pocket of your coat and again his name is on your screen.

Baby?

You’re at the front of his mind now and the edge of your worries smooths a bit even as you stop yourself from texting him back. Regardless of what happens, if you step into his office to see him tired and wanting to finish his work, only staying long enough to give him a kiss and tell him to eat his food, you want this to be a surprise. 

You layer the condiments and the ingredients together, toasting the sandwich off and wrapping the finished product in wax paper and then into a brown paper bag and all of a sudden you’re ready to leave. You check and re-check your buttons and the belt of your coat, thankful that there’s enough of a chill in the night air that no one will look at you sideways for wearing something that’s all done up and falling below your knees.

You take a deep breath, the little hairs along your arms and on the back of your neck standing up and you worry your lip, and call your taxi from in front of your building, the butterflies starting to swarm up again from somewhere deep in your stomach. If you’re being honest with yourself you had always wanted to do something like this, had always wanted to have someone that you wanted to surprise like this.

His company’s building is almost empty but the security guard who lets you in smiles and greets you by name— just as you do him. He teases you for being sweet on his boss, something you can’t deny and it makes you fluster. It’s the only explanation for why you had suddenly appeared on the list you imagine he has, your name one that’s waved through despite the odd hour even if the true nature of your relationship with ‘Mr. Andor’ is one that’s kept secret, only known between the two of you.

When the guard goes to buzz Cassian and let him know you’re here you stop him, all bashful smiles and holding up the lunch bag as if it’s some kind of defense, a shield for your ulterior motives. “I want to surprise him, he works too hard.” You admit and share a good natured chuckle with the older man when he readily agrees with you. He’s been with Cassian for years and this is far from the first night he’s stayed late.

Though this is the first time anyone has brought him food, and he makes sure to tell you that. 

You’re still thinking about it as you ride the elevator up to the top floor, but the sight of such a large building empty aside from security personnel with all non essential lighting turned off is something eerie. It makes your skin crawl and you regret all those horror movies you like to watch, convincing yourself that because you watch them during the day it won’t be as bad as if you were watching them in the middle of the night. 

You try to think of Cassian instead to assuage the chills that are creeping up the back of your neck, telling yourself to give the horror movies a rest for a while, and as the elevator climbs higher it begins to work. Your heart starts to beat a little faster, your breaths shallowing and you find yourself grinning to yourself as the doors open. 

It’s empty, as expected, and you can see the closed door of his office as you step out, the route through a small seating area and past the secretary’s desk one you have memorized and your blood begins to heat with each step you take. You pause outside his door, blowing out a slow breath and raising your hand to gently knock. You hear nothing on the other side of the door and instead of knocking again you reach for the handle and step in.

Cassian is seated at his desk just like you had imagined him, washed in warm light while the lights of the city below are sparkling like stars behind him. At the sound of someone entering his head shoots up and his eyes widen, only to melt into something softer and warmer as he recognizes you and leans back in his plush leather chair. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t sound accusatory— he sounds curious. 

He watches you with dark eyes as you lock the door before you walk further into the room and you feel a smirk growing on your lips as you drop the lunch bag into one of the chairs placed opposite of him, his eyes barely straying from you. “I brought you dinner,” You say it simply, nonchalantly— as if your fingers haven’t untied your belt and gotten to work on the first buttons of your coat at the same time. You work carefully, making sure nothing more than a sliver of skin is revealed as you work your way down the front.

“And what did you bring me?” His eyes don’t leave you, watching with rapt attention as you deftly undo button after button. You feel yourself start to flush underneath his scrutiny, drinking in the sight of his brows furrowing and him sitting up in his chair. You wet your lips, gripping the lapels of your coat for a long moment. To draw it out or muster the courage needed to actually drop the thing in the middle of his office you don’t know because all you can see is how he’s looking at you now, shifting his weight onto his forearms as he leans on his desk for a closer look at you. 

“Me.” You grin then, your residual insecurities being drowned by the thrill of it all and the heat of his gaze, and your coat falls in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

Goosebumps cover your body at the noise he makes, a low groan from somewhere deep in his chest and you feel your nipples peak against the lace of your bra— if you can even call it one. The garment seems almost purely decorative, doing more to show you off than it does to conceal. He shifts in his chair, leans back again and rubs his hand over his chin, over the short hair that you’ve come to crave rasping over your skin. 

You see his eyes go heavy as you saunter around his desk, trying not to grin too brightly because for all the nerves you had getting ready and in the elevator, you don’t think you’ve ever felt better in this moment with his eyes all over you like he can’t decide where to look, his hand gripping the arm of his chair and shifting his weight. 

He stands before you can slide yourself between his legs and he’s so close you feel the warmth coming off of him, the cologne you had daydreamed about swirling around your head and you can’t help yourself from taking a deep breath of it. He moves slowly, dipping his face into the crook of your neck and you think you feel his eyelashes flutter against the delicate skin, no doubt smelling the jasmine you so lovingly doused yourself in. You do your best to stay still, even as you feel his large palms sliding along your sides, gripping your hips over the lace and silk he finds there. 

When he finally raises his head his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black, swallowing you up whole. “And you think you can just interrupt me?” His words are quiet and his accent is more pronounced than it was only moments ago. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how his voice sounds. You love how it doubles and triples in weight and you would be lying through your teeth if you said one of your goals isn’t to have him speaking another language by the time you leave the building. It’s the same goal you have every time you see him.

“I wanted to see you, Daddy,” You try not to smirk, you really do, when you reach up to give the open collar of his dress shirt a little tug, playing at fixing it. You know exactly what game he’s playing and it makes your heart race because you know what’s coming next— your mouth might even be watering for it.

“Bend over the desk.” He says it softly. He says it softly enough that it almost doesn’t sound like the order it is but he squeezes your hips to emphasize his point, his fingers indenting the soft flesh and you almost melt right there. 

You nod, wetting  your lips as he shoves the files on his desk to the side and he doesn’t seem to care as they clatter to the floor. You arrange yourself in front of his desk with your legs spread and bend over at the waist, bracing your weight on your forearms and the muscles in your belly are already clenching when you feel him step up behind you.  He runs his hands lightly over your sides and you almost fold in on yourself when he hits that one spot underneath your rib cage, the one that’s the almost-but-not-quite kind of ticklish that just makes the hair on your neck stand up and your muscles quiver. 

Your eyelids flutter and you try your best to stay still as he pets you, ghosting his hands over your hips and your backside, teasingly slipping a finger underneath the elastic of your panties and letting it snap back against your skin. Your back arches in response and you bite your lip, the anticipation almost enough to make you moan.

 “Just look at you, dirty girl,” He murmurs from behind you and you think you can feel the fabric of his slacks if you concentrate hard enough, the touch maddeningly fleeting and you have to keep yourself from pressing back into him, from rolling your hips in an effort to entice him. You know from experience he’ll just make you wait longer if you do but it does nothing to dull the ache that has flared to life between your spread thighs. If anything the knowledge just makes it burn hotter. 

“Coming all the way here in lingerie I bought you and nothing to cover it except that flimsy coat,” His words are scolding but his hands are still gentle on your skin. “Anyone could have seen you, do you know that? Anyone could have seen what is mine,” If someone had told you six months ago that you would be dissolving into Cassian Andor’s desk at the sound of his voice in your ear, at the sound of him taking verbal possession of you, you would have laughed in their face. 

And yet here you are, trying to concentrate on your breathing and trying not to shake, waiting for his next move with bated breath. He has to know what it does to you when he calls you his. His anything. His baby, his girl. There’s been a handful of times where he’s called you his darling outside of having sex and it makes your heart race each and every time. He has to know. 

But then he leans over you and you can feel his shirt drag along the bare skin of your back and the cold press of his belt buckle and then you can’t think of anything else. His breath skates over your ear and your teeth dig into your lip, your eyelids fluttering as you try to listen to what he’s saying. 

“For every one you don’t count, you get five more. Okay?”  If someone had told you six months ago that you would want to be spanked, that you would crave the burn to the point you thought about it at night, that would make you whine, you would have laughed them out of the building. But here you are. Here you are and the way he’s making it sound in this context, like it’s a punishment for interrupting him or going out in lingerie with the only thing protecting you from flashing the wrong person being one measly coat, is only cranking you hotter.

“Yes,” Your voice almost gets stuck in your throat and slips through your teeth in a hiss because he’s pressing his hips forward and you can feel the wood digging into the front of your own and all you want to do is press back. You don’t realize your mistake until he hums behind you, low in his throat and sounding as disappointed as a hum can be and he squeezes your hip in something that might be a warning. 

“Yes what?” You can’t stop the shudder that wracks through this time, just like you can’t stop yourself from leaning back into him, a small whine tumbling from your lips.

“Yes, Cassian,” Cassian. Somehow calling his name makes the room feel hotter and the air heavier because it’s intimate. There’s no sir, no generic, false title to hide behind when you’re together, nothing you can use to distance yourself from him. No corner of your mind that isn’t consumed by him. 

“Good girl.” You feel his lips behind your ear in a quick kiss, his beard just barely scratching your skin and you want it everywhere. He’s straightening up, taking a step back from then you mourn the loss of his heat. Your breathing picks up and you shift, reaching up to grab the edge of his desk in a vain attempt to ground yourself. 

He doesn’t give you any other warning before his palm is coming down on your right cheek, sharp enough and hard enough to make a sound, to make you jump and your body go taut, the air stalling in your chest before you’re melting over his desk. “One,” Your voice is trembling already while his hand returns to you, smoothing over your skin and soothing the sting he just inflicted and you know if he touched you right then his fingers would come away wet. 

His hand comes down on your other cheek, lower this time, close to where your thigh meets your ass and you count him off with a gasp because the biting sting is already beginning to turn into something different, worked into something new under his kneading fingers and it makes you keen as you count him off.

Three, four and— you don’t count the fifth one even though you’ve slipped from your elbows, your cheek pressing into the cool wood. Each smack had gotten progressively lower until each of them landed where your thighs meet your ass, the vibrations going straight straight to your pussy. 

You don’t bother hiding your smile from him, not seeing the point in hiding your enjoyment from him. He can’t help but tease you for it though, leaning over you again and your abused ass smarts when his slacks rub against it, chills ripping through you. “Dirty girl,” He sounds like he’s laughing at your pain but there’s an almost reverential note in his voice even as you squirm underneath him, the wood rubbing against your nipples in the exact right way to have sparks flying. “I almost forgot how much you like this,”

Liar. He knows. He knows and that’s exactly why he’s letting you try to rock back into him, rubbing yourself like a cat in heat against the bulge of his cock. Your belly is coiling tight and your mouth is watering for more, everything just enough to keep you on edge. To tease without offering any real relief and for some reason you love it. You love how he can boil you down to sensations alone, to make you crave and ache and need.

The next smacks land dead center on the junction of your thighs and your ass and you count off every one, the contact going right to your buzzing clit that you’re trying to grind into the edge of his desk in a vain attempt to dull the edge. You’re gripping the desk so hard that your knuckles are lightening a shade, the skin pulled taut over the bone.

The last one is the one that kills you, that makes you hold your breath and arch. Your legs are spread wide enough for his hand to easily fit between them but you still aren’t expecting him to slap you there, an obscene noise filling the room that makes your ears burn. Your moan is delayed but it’s loud, electric pleasure rocketing up your spine and he keeps his hand there. He keeps constant pressure against your thrumming cunt and lets you grind into it, whimpering the count while you push yourself onto your hands now for more leverage. 

The lace of your panties drags through your soaked folds and the friction is amazing. So amazing that you almost don’t feel him lean in closer, all your attention on your pussy but then his mouth is at your ear again and his free hand is sliding up your chest, fingers splayed across your collarbones and holding you against him.

His head dips and he mouths at the side of your neck, teeth scraping and his beard scratching. His hand moves again but doesn’t go far, his fingers pinching your nipple. “You’re so good for me,” He mumbles and he sounds almost as lost as you feel. 

“Turn around,” His accent has thickened in the way you love and you swallow back the disappointed moan when he takes his hands from you, waiting for you to comply. 

You’re trembling as you do, your eyes fluttering open and the lights of the city swim in front of you before your eyes focus on the man who pulled away before you could cum on his hand, nearly all from spanking you. Not for the first time you wonder if he’s even real— but the ache at the very core of you says he is, says that you don’t know how but his hands on you are your favorite thing.

And then he’s grabbing you and lifting you onto his desk, stepping between your slick thighs and you have to reach for him, unable to stand it anymore and murmuring his name. He beats you to it, warm hands sliding around your jaw and cupping your face as he leans in.

The first brush of his lips on yours makes you sigh, as if his kiss brings you relief even while it stokes the fire deep within you. Your hands fist in the sides of his shirt as he deepens the kiss, angling your head just how he wants and slicking his tongue into your mouth. A moan rises from the back of your throat as you wind your legs around his hips to keep him pressed close, unwilling or just plain unable to do anything that would make him break the kiss because you aren’t, not until your lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen. 

The most you can manage while he eats at your mouth, his beard abrading your skin in a way you know you’ll curse him for later when it turns painful but you can’t seem to get enough of it, is yanking his once perfectly crisp, pressed dress shirt out of his pants because you keep grabbing at him like he isn’t already close enough, your spine bowing with the way he’s leaning into you.  

If this was a purely business relationship you don’t think you’d be like this, you don’t think you would go out of your way to see him at all, to make him food. But you are and you did— you wrapped yourself up like a present for him in the hopes he’d fuck you the way that makes your toes curl, better than he really has any business doing, but you had brought him food. That’s the detail that doesn’t fit, the one crooked picture frame in the hallway. You took the time and effort to make him something you know he likes because you know he hadn’t eaten yet.  He has to know.

His mouth only breaks from yours when your back hits his desk and your lips are shiny and wet from your combined saliva and your chest is heaving as he trails openmouthed kisses along your jaw to your neck. His hands leave your face in favor of lavishing attention on your breasts, groping you through the lace and the silk just adding to the softness of you that he adores. 

His teeth scrape down the sensitive skin of your throat, rolling and tweaking your nipples between his fingers as his mouth continues a steady and determined path path until his mouth is engulfing one over your bra, wetting the material with his tongue and for some reason that makes the muscles in your belly twist tighter. Your hands have slipped to his shoulders, nails scratching into his shirt for something to hold on to and because you can’t imagine not touching him. He gives your other nipple the same treatment and he’s slipping a hand underneath the thin, flimsy band of your panties to knead your hip.

But then his hand is turning, grasping the band and yanking it, a tearing sound filling the room and this time when you say his name it’s a yelp of both surprise and a poor attempt at a reprimand as you push yourself up because that pair was one of your favorites. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he looks up at you, his mouth traveling down until he’s mouthing at your stomach and the look in his dark eyes makes your breath catch at the back of your throat. 

“I’ll make it up to you, cariño,” His voice is low and crooning, placating you as he throws your ruined underwear somewhere to the side and you have a crystal clear realization of what he means by making it up to you when he reaches behind him to pull his chair up, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s going to eat you alive. 

Your breath stutters as he starts arranging you how he wants, spreading your thighs wider and one hand smoothing down your leg to grasp your ankle and lift, placing it on top of his desk and you’ve never felt more on display in your life. You lean your weight back onto your hands, unable to look away from him as he looks at you with heavy eyes, the sigh loud as it leaves his mouth and it’s the same sigh you hear when you wrap your lips around his cock, the sigh he only makes when he’s being pleasured and he’s making it while just looking at you.  It makes your head spin in the best way, your skin prickling when he strokes that same hand back along the line of your leg until he reaches your thigh, giving it a squeeze that makes you feel as if you might burst if he does it again.

You barely register the cool air on your weeping slit because he’s leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up the length of you and you don’t know who groans louder— you or Cassian. You feel like you’re going to collapse as he begins devouring you in earnest, one hand pressed into your thigh to make sure your leg doesn’t slip from the desk and his teeth and tongue flickering over your clit, but you can’t look away from him. 

The lights behind him slide together into a neon haze and he’s looking up at you with blown out pupils and strands of hair falling across his forehead and you don’t think you’ve seen anything more beautiful than him at this moment. Your nails scrape against the wood as you reach one hand down to clutch at his hair and the sound he makes when you tug on the strands burrows into your cunt and leaves you reeling. 

As if that knocked over some domino he starts to mumble against your swollen flesh, his tone dark and rich as he goes on about your taste, how sweet you are under his tongue and how good you are for him and the praise goes straight to your head, your heart pounding against the weight of your ribcage. Somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you wonder how you made it this long without him—  like you do every time you’re together again after any absence, any time apart.

And you’ll never tell him that outside of the bedroom— office, as it was right at this moment. You’ll never tell him that in a voice that isn’t rushed and panting, begging to be touched because you don’t know what this is anymore. You know what it started as, a way for him to have company and a little eye candy on his arm for industry functions. A shield against unwanted advances. But then you actually, genuinely enjoyed your time with him. Had started looking forward to it and the way he wasn’t pushing you for sex. That part of your relationship had evolved on its own and once it did there was no stopping it, and you both just...ran with it. 

And now here you are, making him food and letting him fuck you for what might as well be free and you’re reveling in it.

You’re rocking your hips forward, incapable of staying still now with each of your nerve endings on fire and that’s when he decides to feed one of his fingers into you, stretching you open in ways that make your own fingers pale in comparison and it’s like a dam bursts somewhere within you, mewls and whimpers pouring from your lips and if he was anyone else you might be embarrassed about the noises you’re making. 

But you’re not. You’re not because in response, as if the bastard is rewarding you for starting to fall apart underneath his mouth, his mouth latches onto your clit and sucks, pressing his tongue into the bundle of nerves hard enough to make you see stars as your eyes squeeze shut, your thighs jumping. 

“I think you can take another, don’t you?” His voice is rough and you feel the blunt pressure of a second finger pressing against your entrance—  but he doesn’t go any farther than that, not until you’re nodding, almost frantic with his name stuck in your throat. 

The second digit makes your mouth fall open and your head tips back before you can help it, because he’s sinking it into your fluttering cunt up to the knuckle with the first and holding them there, just letting you have the sensation of being filled while he sets his mouth back on your clit. 

His free hand leaves your thigh and he groans into your soaked folds a moment later, and somehow you manage the strength to lift your head and look. What you see makes your hips roll forwards, grinding yourself into his fingers and his tongue because you can see his hand moving, palming his cock through his slacks. The cock that you know is heavy and hot to the touch and must be aching at this point and suddenly that’s all you can think about. 

He’s taking you apart with his mouth and you’re still greedy for more of him, because of course you are. You want his mouth and his fingers and his cock so deep inside of you that you can feel him in the back of your throat. 

A pathetic, needy sound spills from somewhere deep in your chest just like that all his focus is on you again, his hand returning to slide over your hip and lock down to keep your hips pinned to his desk. He starts pumping his fingers, curling them in the exact right way to have your vision start to fuzz out at the edges.

Distantly you hear him goad you on in that honeyed voice, coaxing you to the edge and shoving you over it. He keeps driving his fingers into you, stretching and curling as your cunt flutters around them and mercilessly dragging you through your orgasm. His teeth catch your clit and you melt down, your body clamping around his fingers and your world narrowing to this one delicious point.

Stars burst behind your eyelids and you cry something that might be his name when your lungs remember how to work while your nails scratch over his scalp, but he takes care of you. 

He soothes you, guiding you back to earth with a gentle hand and turning his head to mouth lazily at the inside of your thigh when the sensations get to be too much and you have to push him away from your cunt. Your legs are quivering on either side of his head and your heart is erratic in your chest, and Cassian has started to rub your thighs as if he's trying to soothe you, as if he can't get enough of you even now. 

You can't seem to unlock your fingers from his hair as he starts to rise, his mouth and beard glistening and he's— he's smiling at you while he crowds into your space all over again. This time when you kiss it's slow and languid and utterly filthy because you taste yourself in his tongue, the damp bristles of his beard scratching your chin and you never want it to end. 

The hand in his hair slips to his face, cupping his jaw as it works while your arm winds around his shoulders, holding him close and it's only when your trembling legs wrap around his hips, your ankles crossing at the small of his back that he pulls back, a dark chuckle on his lips. "Greedy girl," he nudges your cheek with his nose, angling your head just right so he can suck a mark underneath your jaw. 

You don’t try to deny it— why bother when you’re reaching to fumble with his belt, trying to focus enough to yank his zipper down while his teeth are at your throat. Desperation makes you clumsy as you shove his slacks and underwear down his thighs and you don’t bother stifling your moan when you see him,�� flushed and weeping, a pearly bead of precum slipping down the tip of his shaft and if was physically possible to dissolve into a puddle of pure need you think you would right there. 

Like a magnet your hand goes to it, wrapping your fingers around the searing girth of him and stroking. Cassian huffs into your throat, grunting as you twist your wrist and swipe your thumb over his tip. He lets you play, leaning more of his weight into the line of your body and the heat pouring off of him makes you shudder. 

He doesn’t make any move to stop you despite him straining closer and the ache flaring, sharp and bright deep within you. You know what he wants, had played this particular game with him countless times, each of you trying to outlast the other while being driven out of your minds with want. You love it, love how the need strips you down to base urges and emotions without fear of looking foolish. How it makes your time together, short as it is at times, seem to unravel in front of you and spool into something greater than it is. 

But you’re weak. Your first orgasm did nothing to satisfy you, if anything it just made everything worse in some twisted way.

“Cassian,” You beseech him, your voice gone soft and breathy as you try to pull him even closer.

“What is it, querida?” He husks into your ear, lips pulling into a sharp smile when you rip your hand away from his cock to brace yourself as he pushes forward,  just enough for you to feel the weight of his cock pressing against your folds, so close to where you want him that you can almost taste it. “Do you want my cock so badly you’ve forgotten how to speak?” 

He’s hitting his stride now, delighting in the way you choke on a moan. “Please, Cassian,” You try again, wetting your lips. “Give it to me,” You pull on his shirt and roll your hips and what’s left of your brain almost short circuits because he catches the dip of your entrance and you still, breath whooshing over your teeth.

“Since you asked so nicely,” He concedes, voice scraping the air between you and then he’s filling you. Your legs tense around his hips and some high, keening noise fills the air that you realize a few moments too late is coming from you because you think you can feel every ridge as he thrusts home. Your hands are everywhere— flitting from his shoulders to his back to his arms and back again, because you can’t seem to figure out the best way to keep him as close as possible. 

He’s not any better than you are, his fingers digging into your hips, your thighs. Refusing to allow you any space to pull away from him when the sensations get to be too much, refusing to allow you any reprieve from him at all because his mouth is at your neck as he starts to thrust, groaning against your skin. 

One thing about Cassian is that he talks. As if something about experiencing pleasure jumpstarts his tongue he’s only quiet when he’s kissing you or sucking at your skin, and he’ll inevitably break away to start murmuring nonsense to you, languages getting muddled and mixed in his mouth the closer he gets to completion. He talks, and he expects answers.

“That’s it, princesa,” He breathes at your ear when you roll your hips just right, when your cunt tightens even further around his cock like you never want him to leave. He always praises you, telling you how you feel wrapped around him like a vice. How good you’re being for him, how well you’re taking his cock. “I make you feel good, don’t I?” 

All you can do is moan at him because the bastard knows he does, as if it isn’t staggeringly, blindingly obvious in the way you’re holding onto him, the sounds you’re making as he drives into you over and over again. But as much as he likes to talk, he likes hearing you more and you’ve taken too long. 

“Answer me,” He says and swats your thigh, hard enough that a tingling warmth spreads out along your skin from the point of contact and the bite of pain somehow puts the pleasure into a sort of perspective, contrasting it so perfectly that your legs are tightening around his thrusting hips and your mouth is falling open.

“Yes, yes, Cassian, you do,” The words fall over themselves in the push to get out of your mouth and he’s praising you again, both verbally and in the way his hand snakes between you, fingers unerringly finding your clit and it makes you jerk like you’ve been electrocuted, arcs of sizzling pleasure sweeping through your body.

He leans over you and he doesn’t stop, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing world-ending circles into your clit and all you can do is hold onto him, squirming and arching against him because his other arm has wound around your back to pull you flush and there’s nowhere for you to go except Cassian.

Cassian, Cassian, Cassian. How he speaks like he does you have no idea because the only thing you can seem to reliably get out of your mouth is his name, unburdened by things like sentence structure while he grunts and groans, tongue tying himself in Spanish and you’ve picked up enough to get the gist of what he’s saying. He’s telling you how hard he’s going to make you cum, how he’s going to fill you up. How the next time you show up like this he’s going to make you ride him.

Everything combines and your gust twists, the pleasure turning caustic as it burns you up from the inside out, vision blurring as you try to scramble back away from him out of instinct, away from the looming threat of overstimulation but his arm at your back prevents it and he just keeps fucking into you hard and deep, this fingers never leaving your clit. The only thing you’re able to do is dig your nails in and hold on as you sob, squeezing your eyes tight enough, the pleasure sharp and intense enough to have a tear slip down your cheek.

In the next moments his pace falters, his hips stuttering and turning sloppy. He bucks into you with an almost bruising force and holds himself there as he releases and you can’t help but whine at the feel of it, of him shuddering in your arms.

Neither of you speak for long moments, instead just weathering the aftershocks in each other’s embrace as you both come down from your highs, breathing raggedly. His hand sweeps over your back in long, soothing strokes and he presses kisses into your shoulders, your neck, his touches soft and mindful now that the frenzy has passed.

“Are you okay?” His voice is as soft as his hands and you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips as you nuzzle closer to him, humming your answer into his neck while his hand comes up to stroke your hair.

“Words, princesa. Are you okay?” He admonishes gently and you can’t help the small chuckle that bubbles up in your throat at his insistence, at the warm feeling that spreads throughout your body at the sound of his concern.

“Yes, Cassian. I promise,”  It’s then that he smiles down at you curled into his chest, reassured, and you don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped around each other and each of you not wanting to be the first to let go. It’s in these moments, your heart rate calming while he rests in you, seemingly loathe to pull out, that you think there may be something more to this than just sex or companionship at parties for him. 

No matter how rough he is with you during the act he always treats you like some precious thing afterwards, all murmured words and comforting touches. Running his hand down your spine, over your hair. Telling you how good you did, how proud he is of you for taking everything he throws at you and calling you things like beautiful girl and all the pet names he uses while he’s fucking you except there’s a distinct affection to them now and they make your heart jump and butterflies fill you stomach.

You’re almost drifting off, a consequence of being warm and sated and well-fucked, when he speaks again. “Did you really bring me food?” He sounds equal parts excited and cautious, like he’s trying not to get his hopes up too much and you can’t help but laugh as you start to untangle yourself from him. 

“I made you a sandwich,” You tell him, a fresh wave of warmth swelling up in your chest at the look on his face. You readjust on the desk, your breath catching when his cock slips from your cunt and then you’re reaching back, your fingers just snagging the lunch bag because you don’t trust your legs to work quite yet. Cassian once again pulls his chair up, leaning back to watch you unwrap the food and like he’s incapable of not touching you one of his hands returns to your thigh, idling stroking from your knee to your hip so gently you’re not sure if it’s a conscious movement or not. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” He starts when he sees the sandwich, one that requires actual effort instead of something that only calls for throwing together leftovers and calling it good enough, but you only shrug a shoulder. 

“I wanted to.” There’s more there but he doesn’t question you further, and you don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse. “You were working late and you don’t always eat, so…” You let the words fade into the air, revealing to him that you listen to what he tells you and remember. The remembering is the important part and a flash of regret ignites in your chest almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, but he’s looking at you with the same expression you think you had when he took you to the art museum for the first time, never complaining as you wandered for hours.

“There’s two halves— I’ll only eat if you share it with me.” His smile turns tricky at the edges and he doesn’t reach for the sandwich at all, waiting for your answer and despite yourself, despite knowing it shouldn’t, you feel your heart melt a little. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Andor,”  You smile, try for a light, casual tone as you reach for your half and ignore the way his eyes light up. 

You eat slowly, savoring the tastes and textures, the office filled with a downy, plush sort of silence as you bask in the afterglow. He’s watching you the entire time, holding the sandwich with one hand because his other hasn’t left your skin, tracing patterns into the inside of your knee and sweeping his fingers over the curve of your thigh. 

You try to focus on the city behind him, afraid that if you look at his face too long you’ll get caught up and start confessing things to him, things that are better left unsaid, carefully danced around in conversation no matter how blatant they are in your actions— like going out of your way to come see him when you could’ve just stayed home and enjoyed a quiet night in. Like coating yourself in sweet smelling oils that make your skin even softer to the touch, like wrapping yourself up in lace and silk just for him.

You almost don’t realize the chill creeping over your exposed skin, goosebumps following in its wake and before you can complain Cassian is slipping his suit jacket off the chair behind him and holding it out to you. “Here, put this on,” There’s no question in his tone, no tentative ‘are you cold?’ And maybe that’s the reason you find yourself so drawn to him; he pays attention to you, to the things you think no one else bothers to notice.

You murmur your thanks and slip the fabric over your shoulders, warm and smelling of his cologne and you feel...you feel almost content sitting up on his desk and sharing the meal you made, his watch pressing heavy into your skin when he squeezes your knee.

You lick at the last bit of mustard clinging to a finger as you finish your half, acutely aware of his eyes on you as your tongue dabs at your own skin. He’s leaning his elbow onto one of the arms of his chair, his chin resting in his hand and covering his mouth,  his eyes never wavering from your body and just like that your skin starts to prickle again, sensing a change in the air between you.

His eyes rove over your body, slow and heating again at the sight of you like this, his jacket hanging loose on your shoulders and almost seeming to frame your breasts, your thighs spread on his desk to keep yourself upright and maybe to relieve the scratches left by his beard. His eyes catch on the pearly drops on the dark wood on his desk, your combined essences leaking out of you and his breath leaves him in a long sigh, watching it ooze from your flushed cunt.

The hand on your thigh starts to move, slowly as to not startle you as it smooths along the inside of your thigh and you don’t stop him. You watch him with bated breath, watch the way his brow knits with concentration and his breathing deepens. 

Your thighs jump at the first brush of his thumb along your oversensitive folds and you see his head tilt, visibly engrossed with the sight in front of him and the realization of what he’s doing hits you like a punch to the gut. 

He runs his thumb down and up, scooping his cum up as it seeps out and pushing it back into you, his thumb thick and insistent and your mouth falls open in a silent moan, eyes fluttering. He rubs his mouth, not looking up at you as he repeats the process again while he begins to speak, words heavy in the air between you. 

“How did you get here?” 

You breathe slow and deep, trying to make your brain connect to your tongue but it’s hard to think. It’s hard to think because you’re hypersensitive, but he’s moving so slow and soft, mindful of the razor’s edge you’re sitting on and the depths his thumb is reaching within you are just shallow enough to have you starting to want more all over again.

“I— uhmm,” You cut yourself off, a hum rising from the back of your throat as his thumb stills, sheathed in your quivering core and acting as a plug to keep any more of his cum from escaping for the time being. “I took a cab,” 

You lean back on your hands, trying to breathe through the sensation of being filled but not enough to truly satisfy you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to live without this when the arrangement inevitably ends, because you know it will. He makes no effort to hide how much he likes spoiling you, but you think that it’s only a matter of time before he decides that bleeding money for you is too much of an unnecessary expense, and then what? 

Are you supposed to move on knowing what it feels like to have lingerie that costs more than your rent ripped off you, only to be replaced in the next few days and knowing that you’ll probably never experience the thrill it brings again? To know what it feels like to be so thoroughly taken care of you can’t see straight and try to find it in someone else? Cassian is passion and intensity paired with soft smiles and bright laughter, and you don’t know if you’ll ever find that in someone else, and it scares you more than you care to admit, even to yourself.

He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and glimmering in the low light, his hair mussed from your fingers and your chest bows. For how much you tried to focus on anything else but him while you ate, you can’t look away from him now.

“Good,” He starts, his voice warm and slow as honey. “You’re coming home with me.”

[secreteddsworldblog]

Can I Buy You A Drink?

Eduardo x M!reader

You really don't know how you thought going to a bar to drink Diet Cola all alone was a good idea. Though you're not really in the right set of mind to make reasonable choices.

 You've recently had a mutual break up from a long term relationship. Years, not petty months, walked out the door. Regardless if you were the one who brought up the conversation when confronting your Ex about the change of mannerism towards you it still hurt. You still felt like the Dumpy. 

Even a month now since the night it ended you still felt an overwhelming sense of loss. You're no stranger to the feeling though. You've actually had worse relationships you rather not think about unless you want to go into a fit of sobs between Cola sips. 

"Another diet cola please," you had already gone through a few cans but didn't want to stop. It's your favorite drink. Why not indulge in things to make yourself better? You're actually really picky with what you drink. Nothing makes it past your lips unless its water, milk, and Cola. 

"You've had enough, sir!" The bartender was in the middle of drying a wet drinking glass with a yellowed white rag. 

How dare he deny you, you're a paying customer, and in pain, "I know when to stop!"

From just the right distance away to hear the exchange sat Eduardo who was had been deep in thought about his own moarning. He always considered himself a tough man, the definition of machismo, someone who can't be knocked down. 

Many would say he has no right to feel the way he does after how he behaved before the life changing event he had to go through. But sometimes it takes a rude awakening to trigger a well needed over due self reflection and change in character. 

Eduardo's head perked up the moment he heard a man ask for another diet cola. Who orders diet cola at a bar? Besides him that is. If someone can enjoy a diet cola enough to drink it everywhere then obviously it's someone with good taste like him.

Temporarily getting out of his own head he got up and reached the counter, " Bartender, I DEMAND you bring a pair of diet colas for my friend and I!" 

"FINE, Mr Eduardo," the bartender slammed the glass he was working on down and went to get the cold refreshments firmly holding them out, "But this is all either of you is getting tonight."

"Whatever," Eduardo passed one of the cans over to you, "Cheers!"

You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel a little bit of second AND first hand embaressment. It's not everyday a cute rando just comes up and makes somewhat of a scene for you. You have a feeling he's the kind of guy who calls out underpaid fast food joint employees when they put pickles in his friends bugers when they asked for none. 

With the sound of a 'Tink' from cans tapping you lightened up a little. It would do you some good to know new people. Not in a thottie way. You've had to move  homes for a fresh start, staying in that house with the memories were only going to make things harder for you to recover from, so you're actually in unknown territory.  

"So what's a guy like you doing drinking cola all alone?" Eduardo glaced at you from the corner of his eyes still letting the diet cola can hover next to his lips after the first sip. You didn't know what he meant by 'a guy like you'. Though you weren't the most traditionally masculine looking bloke at the bar compared to him. You wouldn't go as far as calling yourself an E-boy but you're definetly decked out in more of a casual alternative attire. Some would call you a pretty boy, like your Ex before he stopped-

"Probably for the same reason you are?" It was strange to see someone else drinking the same thing alone- Unless this is normal for a guy like him. He didn't look like a traditional loner but weirdos come in all sorts of flavors. You knew that fairly well. 

Other broken souls in the bar are getting properly drunk and a man out with the boys would only drink non-alcoholic beverages if he's the designated driver.

"I see... You come here often?" He lowered his drink to have his other arm reach over to scratch the back of his head. Eyes avoiding yours. 

"No. I'm fairly new 'round these parts," You paused for a second deciding to say something risky, "Do you want me to come here often?" A little flirting never hurt anyone. It might be too soon to get back on the sattle but you weren't looking for anything serious any time soon nor were you planning to go far while you're still healing. You just miss being who you used to be before devoting yourself to you Ex. Your confidence wasn't always real but you'd love to go back to being the cocky flirts you used to be. Seeing just how many people call fall for you knowing you can have absolutely anyone. 

Eduardo seemed to almost spit his drink seeing his subtle attempt at hitting on you be returned. "A-Are you serious?" His eyes widened a little looking at you. He must have been on the market and unsuccesful for quite some time hm? He hadn't been seen in a serious relationship since the one with his own Ex, Laurel. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" You flex your classic side smirl and eyebrow raise. You might be a little rusty and you could use some practice in the mirror before trying that on anyone else.

Eduardo seem to have trouble thinking of what to say next only to be saved by his phone ringing, "S'cuse me, I have to take this-". On his phone Mark's icon and name popped up. 

Mark had it together and seemed to have taken the loss a lot better than Eduardo. He was the more mature one of the trio and because of that he took it upon himself to look after eduardo  remaining roommates with him. 

As Eduardo went to a less crowded corner of the bar you checked your own phone. 

You had roommates of your own. Some pals who ARE locals of this town. One of them even owns a music shop a few blocks form the bar. You couldn't trust yourself to exist alone after the break up so they were nice enough to let you move in as long as you helped around the store and did you part of house chores. 

You scoffed at the text from Kasey the other roommate who has an online business and likes to call himself an 'influencer.' 

[Kasey]: Are you still being a lil bitch baby? Where are you? Bill and I are going to lock you out of the house if you stay out late again.

With a roll of your eyes you respond back saying you'll be home in a bit. Even though they were nice enough to take you in the dynamic between the three could be considered playfully rude but tipping too close over the line into toxic. Kasey could say 'Fuck you' and you could say 'Eat my ass' then go out for a movie. 

"Sorry about that. My roommate was checking up on me". Eduardo sat back down looking at your face wondering why you looked peeved. 

Rent must be terrible in this town. It seemed everyone had a roommate. "That's fine. So were mine. I have to split actually-" You got up slyly putting your coat jacket on waiting to see if the man really was interested in you enough to say anything about seeing you again.

"O-Oh wait. How often are you thinking of coming by this spot?" Eduardo didn't have many people to see when he left home. Aside from a stiff friendship with Tom. Since the incident they've bonded over their hatred for Tord. They took turns doing each other's interests like watching a sporting event when it's Eduardo's turn to pick the activity or going to a concert when it was Tom's night. It would usually end in some fight over bashing each others choices but they always silently made up and made plans for another night. 

"Mmmm. I don't know really," it was the truth. Even if you were to say what days you'd potentially show up it wasn't for sure. You'd play hard to get but this could become a good friendship. Someone who isn't calling you slurs, reclaimable between you and your roommates among themselves of course, and someone who might actually like you. "Here, let me save my number in you phone-" You reach out placing you hand on his forarm that held the phone testing to see if he'd flinch or push you away from the gentle touch. 

Eduardo felt goosebumps from around you touch. You could have sworn you saw a hint of green blush on his face. No one really touches him besides Mark when he pats Eduardo on the back when he things he needs it. "S-sure". 

You glided your hand from where it was to his hands sliding the phone out from his grasp. Your brain did a buffer effect when seeing the person that was his lock screen. A guy with small eyes, light brown hair, and blue button up. Who was this? This better not be some unnamed boyfriend. You didn't take him for a cheater. You still saved your number on his phone but took a mental note not to flirt as much until you know for sure the guy was single. Even if it's just casual the last thing you want to be is a homewrecker. 

You handed the phone over back to him, "See ya." Okay, you can spare a wink before walking away from him. 

Eduardo sat there confused. That really happened. He really got someone's phone number. He took one last sip from his diet cola before setting down the money to pay for their drinks. 

Authors note:

What's up fellow LGBTs. I didn't see any xM!Reader content much less for Eddsworld charas so I took it upon myself to actually provide for any of the other losers who simp for Eduardo. Might do a love triangle down the line tho- 

[juddygirl]

Hi! Could you do director's commentary for "Lost in an empty bottle"? The scene where they're going for burgers after the game?

I adore your fic!!

Oh anon, it would be my pleasure. ❤️❤️

this is my first one, so let's go.

There’s just out of the city, when Daniel asks “I don’t want to go back yet. Can you keep driving? ” sheepishly.

Max pulls to the side, and for a second Daniel’s scared they’re going to have to talk about the beer, Hodginkson Brook, or his issues. But instead Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and sets his GPS to a location Daniel doesn’t know.

“Where are we going?” “Didn’t you say you were dying for a burger?” Max says. Daniel’s eyes light up, he smiles at Max and bobs his head to the music.

[Here I wanted to show that neither wants to go back to the rehab, because of the consequences, but also because neither want this to end. Max pretty much forgot about his actual boyfriend. Daniel is unsettled because Max paid attention to what he said (the burger), usually, people tell Daniel what he wants. For the first time in forever, he's being listened to and that to him is a relief and something so new he wants to cherish it]

They don’t talk much, but on their way, Daniel notices they pass by several Burger King and Mcdonalds. He doesn’t ask him to stop there and simply let Max drive.

[Mcdonalds or Burger King would have been fine, Daniel isn't picky about that. If they stopped at any of them, it would have made the journey back too short. Max picked somewhere far to be with Daniel for as long as possible. He feels torn throughout the whole car ride, it's obvious that Daniel likes him, like that. He doesn't too, but there Esteban...]

He feels good and calm, two sensations he has been longing for too long, but it's here, and it's not stopping yet. It’s been an hour, and finally, they arrived at a small restaurant, it’s packed with people, even at this late hour. This time Daniel insists on paying for their food.

“Will you be eating here, or take away?” The cashier asks.

Daniel glances at Max, silently asking him what he would like to do. Daniel is a very social person, he loves to be surrounded with friends, he can make conversation easily, he loves to laugh, know what to say and when to say it, but tonight, he doesn’t want to be around anyone else but Max.

“Take away.” Max says.

[Daniel's too scared to disappoint that he let Max choose. He knows he can be recognized at any moment, he knows it would ruin the mood, bring him back down to earth, it would show Max what it's like to be famous. Max saying take away is everything he wanted to hear. Max said it because he selfishly wants to have Daniel all to himself, just for a little more.]

They are served very quickly and go back in the car. Daniel waits for Max to drive somewhere else but instead he gets comfortable, and takes everything out of the paper bag. Daniel’s heart skips a beat at that.

The burger isn’t the best he’s ever tasted, it’s a little dry and has too many pickles. He’s had better ones, one served on very fancy plates, with expensive meat from around the world, handmade, and presented as if it’s a work of art. Somewhere in Perth, there is a burger named after him. And yet, as a tomato slips out of the sandwich, he thinks this might be the one he’ll always remember. It tastes of freedom, and love.

[Pretty obvious there, but if you've ever had the most average meal with the most amazing person this quickly becomes your favorite. And again, here he doesn't have to pretend to be a classy guy that eats like a princess, showing that with Max he can be himself!]

Max talks a lot, and Daniel listens. He tells him about what he likes to do in spare time, how he became a physio, and how he loves to play video games with his friends. Daniel asks what kind, maybe they could play together, or he could teach him. 

[He doesn't care much for video games, but seeing the way Max talks about it, he wants to learn how to, just again to spend time with him. He has always rejected any invite from other drivers to play call of duty or fifa with him. But Max makes it sound interesting.]

Max asks once if Daniel is going to finish his fries, and then three times if he is sure he can have them. It makes him giggle, and shove them in his lap. While he eats, he asks questions about Formula 1. He’s done research but still asks about free practice and qualification. What it feels like to drive so fast. Is he scared when he overtakes someone. Daniel says he'll get him tickets if he wants to, Max seems very enthusiastic at that.

“Do you miss it? Racing?” The side of his head is resting on the headrest, he is looking at Daniel, in a new way Daniel can’t describe. “I do. I’m eager to go back.” He wants to add something else. “I’m also terrified.” “Of driving?” “No, I'm not scared about it. It’s more about going back to the team, and seeing them. The guys in the garage are great, the best. Always doing their best to make sure it’s a smooth race, an easy win.” His media training is hard to fight off. He does love the crew, but there’s so much more to it than a bunch of guys rushing to tend to him and his care every race. “But it’s the rest that terrifies me. Going back to HQ and telling my bosses what happened. I’m not really looking forward to it.” The random texts for the CEO, filled with direct and hurtful messages, calls in the middle of the night, on days off, and vacations. The team principal always avoids telling him the truth. It would have been way less difficult to be told they’d favored his new and talented team mate rather than showing it to him. The comments that were told out loud, when he was near for him to hear, for him to understand he had to do better. The way he knows they don’t have his back, they’re ready to throw him under the bus whenever an issue arises.

[He's finally being honest with himself. That all of the pressure got to him, he's not fully admitting they are the main reason why he's not okay but it's a step forward. He's also sharing it with Max, which shouldn't be a big deal, but really it shows and comfortable and trusting he feels when he's with him.]

“But yes. I can’t wait to go back. Hopefully I can still make the top 10.” Saying feels like he’s just jinxed it. “With that with that fully functioning arm, I think you can aim top 5 or even top 3. You were top 5 before I worked my magic.”

Daniel’s surprised. His heart might be melting He tries to poke Max’s ribs, he wants to touch him, and this seems like what’s most appropriate. Max doges him.

[Max dogging him is only because Max's big no-no is cheating, and he feels like if he let Daniel put his hand on him he'll want so much more. Max is stuck in a relationship where he is left touched starved, miserable, and feeling unloved, but still, he's in a relationship, so no, no touching.]

“Maxy! You’ve googled me!”

He feels it again. The happiness he never thought he’d experience again. Right there, in this foggy and little bit rusty car, looking at Max who’s furiously blushing, he feels something. He wants this moment to last forever.

[before that Daniel believed Max didn't really know who he was. He knows who Daniel is, learned about his results, and still doesn't treat him like he's anything but a human being, he doesn't expect Daniel to act a certain way, and that's everything to him. It goes both ways though, Daniel doesn't care much about Max's rusty little car or how much money he has. ]

Outside, it’s pouring rain, the parking lot is empty, everybody else has gone home, but they’re still here, and it seems like none of them want to go back.

[Again I hope you've experienced this once, but here I wanted to show that time flies by when they are together when it feels like minutes when it's actually been hours! They've been talking so much that the restaurant closed, everyone else has gone back home and they are still here. There is still so much to talk about that they want to stay here.]

It’s past midnight and Daniel wants to wait for the sun to rise here.

“We should really get back there. I don’t want them to think I kidnapped you.”

Max turns the ignition and gets out of the parking lot. They barely make it to the intersection when there is a loud bang that makes both of them jump, and then nothing. The headlight is dead, the motor is quiet. No matter how many times Max tries to bring his car back to life, nothing happens. Daniel can see the panic and fear in his eyes, he keeps saying no, no, no over and over again.

[This is Max freaking out about his car because it's his only mode of transportation, he doesn't have enough money to fix it. He didn't plan on her giving up on him right now. To Daniel it's just a question of how they are going to go back to the rehab. It's a first look at their "status" difference. Daniel isn't out of touch with reality but he's so loaded that he forgot about struggling with it. To him it's just a couple of hundred pounds, to Max it's almost a month pay's worth.]

When Max suggests they go check out the motor, Daniel reluctantly agrees. They’re drenched in seconds. When the hood is propped open, Max put the flashlight on his phone and looks expectantly at Daniel.

“What?” He asks, confused. “Well, you’re the expert. I don’t know shit about these kinds of things!” He’s still stressed. “I don’t know shit either. I just drive them, and the team fixes them.” Max groans in frustration. “Fuck!!” He kicks the tire and goes inside, to be sheltered from the rain.

Daniel closes the hood and follows him.

“We should call a tow truck.” Daniel suggests. “You call them.” His arms are crossed, he’s pouting and freezing. “I told you I hate phone calls.” “Really??” Daniel tries to keep his calm, but the beer smell is back. It’s ponant, and distracting. He’s trying not to think about it. “Yes, really.”

[Obviously this turned sour. Max really hates phone calls, they only bring bad news. This car breakdown has clearly shifted the mood and now they are back to reality. Max has a boyfriend, and Daniel has a problem with alcohol. This will never be the romantic version of events Daniel had imagined. He hates how quickly the situation has changed]

He doesn’t want to argue. He actually has no problem with phone calls. He’s very much used it. When he finally gets a hold of someone, he asks Max the approximate address, repeat it to the person on the phone. They’ll be here in twenty minutes. He hangs up. Max is shivering. His lips are getting a worrying shade of blue. Daniel digs in his backpack that he left at his feet and fishes for a towel, and then hands him his jacket. He assures Max he’s fine, he doesn’t need his jacket. It’s a lie, he’s freezing too, but the smell of beer is making him nauseous.

[They would both be tense, and freezing. No heating since the car broke down. It takes of Max's willpower to not snuggle against Daniel, it would be the best way to warm up, but again, there is Esteban. It's Daniel still being caring when he's angry that will push Max to rethink his whole relationship because he knows Esteban wouldn't have given a shit if his lips turned blue.]

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 4

3rd Person POV

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers follow Harry from the moment he and Ron left their dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms standing on tip-toe to get a look at him. Harry wishes they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were the doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, Harry thinks, because it all seems to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and (Y/N) and Hermione were sure that the suits of amour would walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist when you were late to class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!" The only person that Peeves seemed to get along with was, strangely, (Y/N). When she would pass by him in the halls, he would ask how her day was going. The first time, (Y/N) was shocked, looking surprised at the poltergeist, then she nodded saying, "Uh, its going pretty well."

Even worse than Peeves, Harry thinks, if that was possible, was the caretaker Argus Filch. Harry and Ron manage to get on the wrong side of him on their first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, he was sure that they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing by.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone – except perhaps the Weasley twins – and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick. Marvel, (Y/n)'s black and white kitten had taken to attacking the dust colored feline whenever she had the chance.

Then, once you manage to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

(Y/N) enjoyed Wednesday nights where they went out to the tallest tower and learned the names of different planets and stars. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class, in (Y/N)'s eyes, was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns hand been very old when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while the students scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Hermione had told (Y/N) that she actually liked the class, and (Y/N) looked down at her.

"Honestly, Hermione," (Y/N) teases, "I'm not surprised."

One of (Y/N)'s favorite classes so far had to be Charms. Professor Flitwick was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class, he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight, (Y/N) rolling her eyes.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she tells them. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then, she changes her desk into a pig and back again. They were very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon they realized that they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After they take a lot of complicated notes, they were given a match and told to start turning it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger, and (Y/N) (L/N)-Granger had made any differences to their match. Professor McGonagall shows the class how they had gone all silver and pointy and gives the two a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turn out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, hand been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnegan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell goes pink, and starts talking about the weather. For another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards.

There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron, the two had managed to find their way to the Great hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asks Ron as he pours sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron answers. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them – we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us," says Harry. Professor McGonagall was the head of Gryffindor House, but it didn't stop her from giving them a huge pile of homework the night before.

Just then, the mail arrives. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She would sometimes fly in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she flutters down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and drops a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tears open the letter at once, and it says, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry, borrowing Ron's quill, scribbles, Yes, please, see you later on the back fo the note, and sends Hedwig off again.

(Y/n), who was sitting across from Harry and Ron, and between Hermione and Fred Weasley, had just received a letter herself.

Dear (Y/n),

My name is Remus Lupin. You mother named me as you godfather, and I was good friends with both your mother and Harry Potter's parents when I was at Hogwarts.

I left you a box of presents and letter in you Gringotts vault, in a large wooden box. I didn't know if you had picked it up or not, but I decided that it was time that I sent you a letter at school. I hope you're doing well.

Love,

        Uncle Remus

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry got the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry – he hated him.

Potions lesson took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call and like Flitwick, he pauses at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he says softly, "Harry Potter, our new – celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle snigger behind their hands. Snape finishes calling the names and looks up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made (Y/N) think of a dark tunnel.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," the Potion Master begins. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence follows this little speech. Harry and Ron exchange looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione and Iliana were on the edges of their seats and Hermione looks desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" says Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glances at Ron, who looks as stumped as he was; Hermione, Iliana, and (Y/N) had all raised their hands.

"I don't know, sir," Harry says.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't anything."

He ignores Hermione and (Y/n)'s hands, his gaze flicking between Harry and (Y/N)'s hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Snape asks.

Hermione's hand stretched higher into the air, as far as it would go without her leaving her seat and (Y/N) leaves her hand into the air.

Harry didn't have to faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir," Harry answers.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape taunts, (Y/N) frowning slightly.

Harry forces himself to keep looking into Snape's cold, dark eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?"

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's hand, still glancing between Harry and (Y/N).

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape asks, and (Y/N) and Hermione's hands remained in the air, Hermione standing up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon's ceiling.

"I don't know," says Harry quietly. "I think Hermione and (Y/N) know, why don't you try them?"

A few people laugh; Harry catches (Y/n)'s eye, and she winks at him. Snape however was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snaps at Hermione, "(L/N), answer the questions," Snape says, his head snapping to look at (Y/N).

(Y/N) straightens her back, clears her throat. "Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, but they also go by aconite. A bezoar is a stone taken from a goat that will save you from most poisons, and asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so strong that it is called the Draft of Living Death." (Y/N) rattles off, Harry and Ron exchanging shocked looks.

"Correct, ten points to Gryffindor," Snape says to (Y/N), before snapping at the other students, "Well, why aren't you coping that down?" There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment, and over the noise, Snape says, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor because of Potter's cheek." At this, (Y/N) turns around from her place in front of Ron, and smiles sympathetically at him.

Things didn't really improve much for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape set the first-years into pairs and set them to mixing a potion to cure boils, sweeping around in his black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush shake fang, criticizing everyone but Malfoy and (Y/N), whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at how well (Y/N) had stewed her horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing fills the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools wile Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moans in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarls Snape, clearing the potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpers as boils start popping up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the Hospital Wing," Snape snaps at Seamus. Then he rounds on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd made you look good if helot it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Harry thinks this is so unfair, he opens his mouth to argue, but Ron kicks him from behind their cauldron.

"Don't push it," Ron mutters as (Y/N) turn around to look at him, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As the first years climb the stairs out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racking and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week – why did Snape hate him so much? At least (Y/N) had won those ten points for Gryffindor.

"Cheer up," Ron tells Harry, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?" he asks.

(Y/n)'s POV

Hermione and I are walking up from the dungeons behind Harry and Ron after the end of Potions Class.

"I noticed something strange," Hermione says.

"What?" I ask.

"Professor Snape seems to like you a lot," Hermione says, looking at me with her brown eyes.

"That was kind of weird," I agree, looking forward, then back at Hermione.

"Maybe he was wondering how you got to be so good at Potions," Hermione suggests. "You were the only one of us with a perfect potion."

"Yeah, that must have been it," I say as we enter the Great Hall.

After lunch, the two of us walk outside to sit by the Black Lake. I see Ron and Harry walking down to Hagrid's Hut, and I hear a faint barking coming from the same direction.

"Hello (Y/n)," comes one, well two, voices.

I look up to see the Weasley twins standing above me and my sister.

"Hey Fred, George," I answer cheerfully.

"Whacha first years doing out here?" Fred asks.

"Well, the first week of school is over," Hermione begins, her frizzy hair blowing in the wind.

"So we're enjoying the last of the summer air," (Y/n) finishes for her sister.

"(Y/n), we have a question for you," George says.

"What?" I ask curiously.

Fred and George look at each other before saying in unison, "Do you like funeral marches.

Hermione bursts into laughter at the question, and Fred and George sit down beside the two of us.

"Well, of course," I say, grinning. "It's my favorite song," I begin to hum a slow funeral march, and the Weasley twins join in, Hermione exchanges a look with me, shrugs, then joins in.

Word Count: 2887 words

Well, I'll see you see on the next chapter.

See y'all!

Love,

           Kaitlynn ❤️😍

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #392

“l.a. is where stars come to die”

Do you think there’s anything you did better when you were younger? I think I was a better writer, honestly. Like I've developed in some areas, like being less over-dramatic, but I just think my creativity in wording and such has dulled down. Who was the craziest teacher you’ve ever had? I've never had a "crazy" teacher, honestly. What’s the last thing you got paid to do? Take pictures. What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for someone else? How should I know? Ask either Jason or Sara. Have you ever wanted to model? No. Have you ever seen someone have a seizure? I THINK my sister? Teddy had seizures in his old age, too. What’s your favorite car? I don't have one, really. Do you know any HTML or CSS? If yes, how much? I know veeeeery little basics. LIke, I can change the color of shit and that's about it lmao. Do you tend to care about the lives of celebrities? Why or why not? Only celebrities I really really care about, like Mark. What do you think of the scene style? #aesthetic and I will ALWAYS be envious of the hair. Have you ever told an extremely inappropriate joke? Oh god, I remember one. What is the highest you have been up, other than in an airplane? On a certain faire ride, I wanna say. Is there any hope of you ever seeing your favorite band in concert? Ozzy does want to do another tour at some point, but he's fighting Parkinson's currently, so it's not guaranteed it will happen. Mom and I planned on going to his last one that was scheduled, but the diagnosis cancelled it. :( What is your favorite non-green vegetable? Uhhhhh I guess potatoes. What is your favorite non-traditional fruit? I don't think I've even had a non-traditional fruit. Just basic stuff. Have you ever had Swedish Fish? Yeah, I'm not a fan. What is your favorite origami shape? Birds, I guess. Do you usually take the stairs or the elevator? I pretty much always take an elevator if one's available because my legs can barely handle stairs at all. It's agonizing for me. Do you need a key card to get into the building you live in? No. What was the last takeout food you had? I had a burger from McDonald's a few days ago. Do you take the pickle off your burgers? No, I love pickles on burgers. Do you share a bed with anyone? Just my cat. If you’ve read or watched Harry Potter, which book/movie is your favorite? I haven't. What’s the last app you downloaded on your phone? I re-installed DragonVale. What do you know the most about? Meerkats, Markiplier, and Silent Hill, probably. What TV shows can you not stand? What's that stupid show on Adult Swim, Rooster Teeth or something like that? That shit was so dumb. Have you ever tasted your own tears? I mean not intentionally. Sometimes tears just fall down a spot where it happens. Are your legs hairy? I can almost guarantee to you that I probably have the hairiest legs of any woman you've ever met. Do you like Cheese-Itz? I love them! We don't really buy them though because both Mom and I can destroy a box of them. Have you ever built a sandcastle? I have. Did you ever watch Barney as a child? Yeah, I loved Barney, but not as much as my older sister. She literally "married" him, haha. Have you ever had a pet rabbit? No, but my older sis did as a kid. That poor thing died and Ashley didn't know for THREE DAYS. Mom took it out earlier and I guess she wanted to see how long it took Ash to notice? She didn't take great care of it, so. Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? Yes, my friendship ring with Sara. To you, what is especially distracting? Tapping noises. When was the last time you did some major cleaning? MAJOR cleaning? Good question. How do you feel about people who neglect their pets? It sickens me. Have you ever contemplated cheating on anyone? Nope. When are you likely to lie? Probably when I don't want to seriously hurt someone. What is a personality type that you do not like? I hate people who think they know everything, are unwilling to acknowledge their flaws and work on them, feel they're better than others, are closed-minded, sexist, bigoted, racist... What is a personality type that you DO like? I am drawn to people who are empathetic and try to understand and consider more than just themselves, are caring and genuine, philosophical and think deeply, are calm, friendly, good listeners, and have a light sense of humor. Which of your friends is the least like you? In what way? I actually don't know. MAYBE Mini with her being extremely conservative to a frustrating degree and overwhelmingly religious. We diverge pretty strongly in beliefs that are important to me. How about the most like you? In what way? Sara! We have incredibly similar interests and morals, and we both are wild over animals. When was the last time you felt under-appreciated? I'm gonna be completely transparent here, even though it's uncomfortable to admit. I was very unhappy with the literally two interactions a poem I was really proud of got on dA. Like it was one I was trying to get published prior to just posting it there, so it was really disappointing to feel so overlooked when you worked hard on something you felt came out great. Does anyone take advantage of you or take you for granted? No. Are you taking anyone for granted? I sure as hell hope no one feels like I do. I definitely try to appreciate those I have to the utmost. What is one selfish thing that you do? I prioritize my alone time probably too much. How about something selfless? I'm pretty much always willing to listen to people's hardships and comfort them even if my own mental health is in poor condition. What do you like to do on your favorite holiday? Just be with family and really focus on how lucky I am to have them. What helps you fall asleep? I guess really paying attention to slowing my breathing, but that doesn't always work. It takes me at LEAST half an hour to fall asleep, so I struggle no matter what. Is there anyone you wish you were still friends with now? Megan. I really, really miss her. What is a fear you want to overcome? SOCIAL ANXIETY. UGH. What is something you do not like about yourself, with good reason? I'm lazy. What do you usually cry about? PTSD. Do you like pizza better on the second day? No. What do you like on your pancakes? Butter and normal syrup. Have you ever made up your own emoticon? I don't think so. How do you generally meet people? Online in one way or another. Have you ever seen a Broadway show in New York? No. Are you listening to music right now? Yeah, "God Hates Your Outfit" by Jeffree Star lmao. Look, it's catchy. Can anyone in your immediate family play the guitar? No. Have you ever wished to be an internet celebrity? How about a ‘real’ one? No. Like I've actually *loosely* considered trying to be a let's player with my love of games, but I don't even want to *risk* popularity; not that I think I'd get to that point, but still, I don't like the chance. Have you ever been kayaking? No. Do you still live with your parents? Yes. Do you believe you will never get over someone? I think Jason will always occupy at the very least a small corner of my mind. I just deal with loss so poorly in general, but that... that breakup was something. What do you order at Burger King? I don't like BK. Have you ever lived by yourself? No. Pretty sure I never could with my depression. What brand cell phone do you have? It's just a Tracfone, lol. Did you ever have a ‘security blanket’ when you were younger? Yes, my stuffed moose. What is your lucky charm? I don’t have one. Have you ever been in a wedding? Yeah, I was a bridesmaid in my sister's. Do you believe in yourself? ehhhhhh What time does your dad usually wake up in the morning? I don't live with him, so I can't say for sure. He's a mailman though, so he gets up early, I know. Who was the last person/people you were in a car with? Mom. What movie do you plan on watching next? I've been meaning to watch Jacob's Ladder for like... over a year, lmao. It served as an inspirational work for Silent Hill, and I know its reputation is brilliant, so I really want to see it. I just... don't really watch movies unless I'm in the theater. When something really scares you, what’s your immediate reaction? Gasp or go "what the fuck" or something along those lines. I can almost promise a curse word is coming out of my mouth, lol. Using song lyrics, say something to your most recent ex: I don't wanna get emotional digging through the songs that remind me of her, so pass, lol. You can only watch 4 TV shows for the rest of your life. What are they? Meerkat Manor, That '70s Show, maybe Pokemon even if I don't watch it anymore (it could be like a comfort show if I'm limited to four), aaaaand I think Ginga Densetsu Weed. Do you think it’s possible for a rap song to make you cry? ... Yes??? There are a couple that have for me. Does the idea of having a baby at your age scare you? I'm not having kids, sooo I don't have to worry about this. What band has the power to make you cry by splitting up? None. I'd be really upset if some did, but I wouldn't cry. Who is your favourite famous person who isn’t a singer, actor, or athlete? Well, I WOULD say Mark, but considering he's officially an actor now... guess not, haha. Uhhhh. Put him aside and I guess maybe Bindi Irwin. I'm not sure.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

Atrium - Part Two

Part two of the Library AU for @mistkissedmoon 

Part one

————–

Jason walked under the pyramid skylights in the atrium. There was a warm glow filtering in through the large windows on the ceiling. It touched each aisle, filling the rich mahogany bookshelves in turn with sunlight. Funny. It often seemed as though rays of light could only travel through muted grey clouds. Where the library and the manor were concerned. And much of Gotham.

But now, it was radiant. The place hadn’t gotten as much foot traffic or attention in recent years. Though since Raven had come around, it already looked brighter. Alive, even.

It moved him to see the place like this. She had done a fantastic job so far. Jason knew that there was something about her. He could tell from the first time he looked at her that she had come to Wayne Manor with a purpose. Despite the initial mishap about what that purpose entailed, he knew he was right.

Oh.

Speak of the she-devil and she might appear.

Jason could see the slim contour of her body. It was bent toward the desk by the fireplace in the front of the room. Thick, black framed glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose. Fair fingers twining the cord of the old rotary phone as she spoke. She nodded, no doubt, agreeing with the words uttered by the party on the other line. Her profile turned. She was facing him as she replaced the filigree gold and white handset on the switch hook. Scribbling something down quickly. Rachel tapped her cheek twice with the arm of the glasses, before setting them down on the desk.

Black kitten heels echoed through the lofty space, as she drifted over to him. In her black button-down and dark wash denim, she was every bit the picture of casual meets sexy-sophisticated. “Jason.” She had at last dropped the formalities with him. This was something he was increasingly grateful for. Rachel extended an arm with a bag in hand. “Here, for all your efforts.”

“Well, what’s this?” He asked. His fingers furled with deviousness, as he peered into the paper bag peace-offering. Appearing much more enthusiastic, than he should have been, for whatever she handing him. “Looks like I’m getting my compensation in the form of -” He paused. “Is it a severed head? From one of those useless volunteers?”

And surprising him once more, she actually let out a little laugh. “It’s actually lunch. My lunch.” He motioned for her to elaborate, his face split into its usual grin. “Well, Jason. I was wondering if you would split a sandwich with me.”

The grin faltered.

Another fragment of the veneer that kept him concealed, chipped away. There was a surprising amount of vulnerability in that simple request. And in Rachel that moment. She was just a girl standing before a boy asking him if he would… split a sandwich with her. That was it. Yet, he found himself dumbfounded - unable to speak. And it was crazy. It was crazy that a simple request would render him speechless. That he was nearly incapacitated by a single utterance from her. He cleared his throat and repeated her question. “A sandwich - you want me to have your… sandwich?”

Rachel stared honestly and earnestly into Jason’s uncertain and uneasy blue. “Yes…” She nodded. “I get it - Alfred’s food is legendary. Even I know this, with my limited experience with his repertoire… But, I hoped you might still consider it.”

Jason shook his head immediately. “No - no - I… it’s not -” He paused. Then, he tried once more. “Rachel, I would love to share your sandwich.”

The two of them found themselves seated on the hard ground beneath the dark wooden bookcases. Their bodies leaned back on long ladders. Such ladders were normally used for ascending to higher learning. Which, of course, one could take quite literally. After all, wasn’t that the supposed purpose of a library? To allow one to obtain things that appeared out of reach - to make them out of reach no longer.

Maybe this was why it was there they sat. To eat two halves of a pastrami sandwich out of a paper bag.

Jason didn’t mind sitting on the floor at all. He had found it difficult to notice anything aside from the girl next to him, and the richness of the meal she was sharing with him. If Rachel was experiencing discomfort, she hadn’t felt the need to mention it either.

Yet, just across the way from where Rachel had come, was the desk. Not far from it, a ring of comfortable leather chairs situated near the grandfather clock. But, this seemed more fitting. Jason couldn’t shelf certain thoughts in his head. About how normal this seemed. The two of them at ease with one another like this, in one of his favorite rooms in the manor.

“Here…” She fished into the wax paper, and passed him one of the two halves of pickle. “Cheers.” Rachel touched hers to his, a little laughter in the depth of her indigo eyes, and she took a big bite.

Jason took a little bite of his own. “This was, uh, really good, Rachel…” He swallowed.

“Don’t mention it.” She licked the juice from her lips slowly. Unconsciously, his pupils traced her pink tongue.

“I’ve never had a sandwich like this one.” Jason told her. It was true - in some ways more than others. “Did you make it?” He asked her curiously. He was trying not to appear as though he was prying. But he was.

He definitely was.

“That’s because it’s special.” She tilted her head towards him. He could see her loosening up. Her left arm looped through a rung on the ladder. “And no, I bought it. I get these sandwiches from a little store.” The purple-haired girl took another bite of the vert, vinegared vegetable between her fingers. “This hole in the wall Jewish deli my mother used to bring me to when I was young. She’s Jewish.” Rachel’s throat moved as she gulped down a piece. “Every time I need a little pick-me-up, I stop there.” She gestured with the remaining piece of pickle. “Sometimes, I miss it… Those easier times.”

The entire time she spoke, Jason listened to her with rapt attention. For a split second, he stared off into nought. He hadn’t known any of that. Or much of anything about Rachel, really. He hadn’t asked. Until now, he hadn’t asked. But, he knew - he wanted to ask. He wanted to know her. If she was willing, he wanted to know her. But - one thing in particular stood out to him. “Why would you need a pick-me-up?” Rachel stared at the half-eaten pickle in her hand. She took a few thoughtful bites. And chewed it slowly and finished it. “Rachel?”

She turned to him, a somber half smile on her face. “I don’t… know what I’m doing, Jason.”

“What are you talking about, Rachel?” He shook his head. Rachel was the best thing that ever happened to this library. And the single best thing he had seen walk through the manor doors in a long while. She didn’t even know. “That makes no sense to me.”

“Correction - I meant - at all. I don’t know what I’m doing at all…” Rachel sipped from a water bottle, shaking her head slowly. “I mean look around. I can barely find my way around most days and I’m supposed to be the head of the project…” Her voice lowered to a murmur that he could just make out. He slid his own ladder closer, he didn’t want to miss it. “This place, this library - it’s the most amazing private library I’ve ever been in.” Her arms widened to denote its vastness. “It’s been my dream to do a project of this scale. But, this is Wayne Manor - I think I’m in over my head.”

“That's it, Roth.” Jason said seriously and then, he stood up. He dusted himself off and waited. When she didn’t join him, he gave her a quizzical stare. Still seated, she gawked up at him. He tapped his foot, impatiently. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come on, where?” Rachel sounded skeptical. He held out a hand. She lingered for 3 seconds, before she took it. And he gently pulled her to standing, her ponytail fluid with motion; Rachel was within inches of his lips. He followed her line of sight to his mouth. Their warm breath mingled for several moments. Rachel broke first. And she glanced off in the distance, blinking to refocus her gaze. Her other hand slid slowly down his bicep. After a second, his arm reluctantly released her waist. Jason grasped her hand tighter, his fingers weaving tightly into hers.

“I… want to show you something.” He explained.

“Okay…?” She agreed. Though he could tell by the twinkle of mirth in her eyes, that she was more than curious.

“So let’s go - right now.” Without any more warning, he broke into a run. His long legs forced her to sprint along behind him. As he ran, he marveled at his surroundings. Rachel was right, even though he grew up here, the place was truly massive. Like a maze almost. With multiple floors and multiple wings. It had several staircases in each wing and on opposite sides of the atrium.

But its size allowed it to contain its fair share of secrets.

Including his own.

After running for a couple of minutes, darting around shelves, around lamps, and dodging boxes and a book cart, she finally called over the wind in their ears. “Jason, where are we going?” Finally, after two more lefts, he stopped. They were both panting, but he was excited. To show her. “W-what… is this?” They stood before what looked like a large wooden cupboard or pantry.

“You’ll see, Rachel.” He said in lieu of an explanation. “I want to see if I can still get in; it’s been a little while.” He dropped her hand to finger the outside of the cupboard. “Ah!” He exclaimed, as he pried it open. The door opened with a creak. It wasn’t a cupboard at all, it looked like something else entirely. There were pulleys and cables. A small platform. It was large enough to crawl into. It looked like a miniature lift, but not quite.

Rachel was confused, as she watched. “Jason… what is it? I don’t -”

“Shh… it’s a library…” He put a finger to her lips. “And this… is a secret.”

——————-

He stroked a path down her mouth, before he let his fingers fall off the slope of her chin. They silently took each other in for several moments, before he turned back towards the dark, half-sized room.

“It’s my little hideaway - from when I was first taken in as a kid…” Jason offered. “It’s a dumbwaiter - for servants to leave food for anyone in here. All so they could eat without ever having to leave.” Rachel slowly nodded, taking the contraption in, as she peered inside. “I think over the years, it’s been forgotten…” He had never told anyone about this before. But, he was telling Rachel. “I used to have hidden spots all over the manor and all over this place. But this one, was my favorite…” He smirked. “No one ever thought to check the library for a scoundrel like me.” He snorted.

Rachel smiled. She watched him closely before she asked a question. “Why was it your favorite?”

“I liked getting lost in here - in the library.” He shrugged, his feet shuffling. “I would get lost in here for hours reading or thinking… When I was feeling unsure, or like I didn’t belong, I would come here… I’m still glad for it, this place taught me a lot.”

“What… did it teach you?” Her face mystified and awed by his confession.

“Many things. But mostly, that I was wrong.” Jason admitted. “I didn’t need to be in some hole in the wall. I did belong - I was exactly where I was supposed to be.” Jason faced her, his hand on her own. “And so are you.���

She glanced at the dumbwaiter, processing this. Her face angled back toward the ground, before she came up, with a wistful stare.

“I don’t want to say… I get it or I understand… As no one ever quite can - get it - I mean.” Rachel tried. She licked her lips. Rachel hesitantly reached up and skimmed his face with her index and middle fingers.

“Yeah… Tell me about it. Everyone says that, but the truth is, they really don’t.” Jason nodded, he was grateful for this. He was glad that she wasn’t one for generic replies, especially to his admission. But truly, if anyone could grasp what he was saying, he felt she would.

“What I didn’t say before was, well… was.” Jason waited patiently for her to elaborate. “My mother… She was Jewish. "I lost my parents - too…” Oh. He felt a turning in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t hesitate and he pulled her close. Rachel froze, before she settled into his arms.

When he let her go, she spoke again. “Going to get a pastrami sandwich with her, is one of the last true, dependable memories I have of her.” Rachel’s voice wavered. But then, after a moment, it sounded full of something akin to hope. Or was it acceptance? “It’s almost like it gives me guidance, or answers to questions I can’t ask her… It… fills something inside me. More than an ordinary meal does.”

“Food for the soul.” Jason agreed. She did understand… She really did. He knew it as he saw Rachel’s deep sparkling eyes search his.

“But, like you, I found family in unexpected places… It’s so much more than blood ties, isn’t it?” She gave him a soft smile.

“Yes.” Jason thought of Bruce. His brothers. Alfred. Ace. Though it had seemed unlikely at first. And they were the oddest bunch of misfits he knew. They were a family. What they had become and why they had become it, was mixed up in the wonderful and the terrible. But, he wouldn’t trade for anything. “It’s whatever or whomever you need it to be.”

“And that’s what matters.” She finished. He couldn’t have said it better.

“Yes. Yes it is.” She knew what it was like to lose family. How he must have never felt quite right or the same, until he found his place, his people. And if he hadn’t known then, he knew now, how a sandwich could satisfy a different kind of craving. As that meal had sated him in immeasurable ways. It had filled the cracks and fractures inside him in ways no meal before it had managed to. It was his heart that felt sated.

“Thank you for showing me this, Jason.” Her words were measured and careful. But, he could tell that this talk had invigorated her, especially when she said, quietly, “I think I needed that.”

“And thank you - for lunch.” Jason clarified. “That really was some sandwich…” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. They walked slowly. Ambling around the shelves listlessly. Neither ready to leave each other’s side just yet.

She shifted a lock of hair away from her face. “I told you it was special.” Rachel brushed his shoulder and blushed, when she realized what she was touching him with such ease.

“No, it’s not.” Jason told her. And he could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t getting it. Or maybe she had yet to figure it out. “It’s not the sandwich, Rachel.” His low voice speaking as he moved closer, the corners of his lips turned up. “It was never the sandwich that was special.”

[sebthesnipe]

Baby Steps

February Prompts 2/6

Prompt List

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The February Collection on AO3

Other works by me

Prompt: Early/Echo

Ship: Intrulogical (Not that great at writing Remus but we’ll see how this goes)

WARNINGS: Mentions of knives, sweat, incorrect baby handling, and mention of starfish porn.

It started with a thimble, Patton’s Thimble to be exact, not that Logan was aware of it at the time. In fact, there was quite a lot of information Logan had no idea of at that point in time. The worst of it all was things were about to get a lot worse.

Logan sat at his desk tirelessly working away at the steady flow of information that passed through his small work area. It wasn’t much but it was his designated corner of his room where he didn’t have to worry about anything but being productive. Or so he thought…

He had been working steadily for a little over an hour when the smell of pickles, and some form of cheese he couldn’t quite place, had him glancing up. The smell wasn’t exactly unpleasant though it was quite unique in its own right.

He glanced over his shoulder, gaze searching for the source that he knew he would find there. Remus sat on the edge of the logical side’s bed, a large disturbing grin on his face as he bounced excitedly.

“Hello, Remus.” Logan greeted simply, setting down his pen and turning to give the man his utmost attention. “While I acknowledge that you are always welcome here, I do believe knocking is customary.” Logan reminded.

“Knocking is so dull, Logan.” Remus scoffed with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I have something for you!” Remus giggled with a small applause of his own.

“For me?” Logan repeated, brows furrowing in confusion. He couldn’t recall doing anything that would warrant a gift and, as much as he did care a great deal for Remus, he wasn’t so sure he felt confident that he would enjoy whatever the man had in store. “That is very kind of you Remus, but-“

“Butter on a walrus’ butt?!” Remus blurted, unable to contain himself. The darker side of creativity was obviously over excited. Whatever this was it had to be important to the man. He was usually far better at controlling his outbursts when he was calm. Logan supposed whatever was in store, he could handle.

“Quite.” Logan offered with a soft smile. “What is it that you have?” He inquired softly holding out a hand.

Remus’ excitement seemed to double as his eyes brightened at Logan’s cooperation. The strange individual began to dig in his pockets until he managed to fish out the small metal tool in question. He placed the thimble, the initial’s P.S. engraved in the side, gently in Logan’s palm before peering at him expectantly.

Logan examined the small object carefully, knowing it was probably best not to point out that it didn’t actually belong to Remus. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he wasn’t quite sure of the importance of the gesture but then again, he usually wasn’t sure of anything with Remus. It was that fact that actually made spending time with him quite enjoyable. The man was a mystery and Logan loved to learn.

“It is lovely Remus.” He reassured, making the man’s smile brighten even more. “I am afraid I have nothing for you in return.”

“That’s perfect! I like nothing!” Remus reassured before disappearing far more quickly than he usually did, leaving Logan to contemplate the interaction for a long while.

……

The next incident happened a few hours later and was slightly more unsettling.

Logan was taking his daily hour of relaxation, curling up in his oversized reading chair with an encyclopedia of astronomy in his lap. He had read the book a few times, but it was one of his favorites. By the time that Remus appeared Logan was just getting to the good part.

The strange man appeared in the center of Logan’s room, his usual flamboyantly green suit replaced by a flowing almost lime colored gown that took up almost a one-foot radius around the man. His hair was still a curled mess and he was drenched in perspiration as he hurried forward, breathless, and sank to his knees in front of the logical man.

Logan eyed him a moment. He was quite beautiful dressed in such a way, gown pooling around him as he grinned up at him. Of course, Logan found him quite attractive in his suit as well, so there was no real surprise there.

“Salutations Remus. I didn’t expect you to visit again so soon. You look stunning by the way.” Logan complimented as he set his book aside.

“Like seaweed stuck between two starfish going at it!” Remus commented confidently. Logan took the words as affirmation to his compliment. Remus always did see things in a different light, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was meant as a good thing, though very inaccurate.

“Quite. Was there something I could help you with? You look as if you have exerted yourself quite a bit.” The logical side pointed out.

Remus didn’t bother with a response however, instead he began to dig under his arm, brows furrowing in concentration. The beautifully dressed man proceeded to produce a browning apple slice from his arm pit and gleefully offered it up to Logan.

The overall level of confusion Logan had been experiencing with the other man seemed to skyrocket. Another gift, one with a meaning he was even more unsure of. He hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

“Thank you, Remus…” he offered carefully, reaching out to accept the slice. “That… is very kind of you.” he studied the slice carefully before setting it aside, still utterly at a loss.

Remus’ excited smile evaporated suddenly at Logan’s reaction. He seemed almost… disappointed; not that Logan could venture a guess as to why. However, before Logic could ask, Remus was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

……

Whatever Logan had done wrong really seemed to upset the other man. Days passed without another word from him. Of course, it wasn’t unusual for Remus to disappear for stretches of time, but something felt off. Logan was certain he had offended the man in some way or another.

It was almost a week before Remus resurfaced. This time the shower of gifts was a bit more aggressive. The first incident after Logan’s injustice was during Logan and Virgil’s weekly video game night. The entirety of the interaction with Remus was very short, very confusing and very hot.

Logan had just sat down his controller in lieu of more snacks when Remus appeared directly in his path. Not expecting the man, Logan and the other man collided sending the bowl of hot soup in his hands pitching up and covering them both in the murky liquid.

Logan pulled back at the pain while Remus seemed to just stare silently onward. By the time Logan managed to recover enough to make sure the other was alright, he was already gone, leaving Logan and a frankly distressed Virgil in his wake.

….

The next was approximately a day later when Remus appeared just long enough to shove a number of seemingly random objects into the other’s hands before disincorporating as suddenly as he had appeared.

While Logan was quite accustomed to a certain amount of puzzlement that came with associating with Remus, things were getting a bit out of hand. Something needed to be done. Logan needed to find a way to understand. However, if Remus was going to continue to disappear before Logan could get his answers, then perhaps he could settle for the next best thing.

…..

Roman pulled his door open swiftly, revealing a concerned looking Logan standing before him, arms wrapped around a rather large satchel.

“Hey Teach, fancy seeing you here.” He teased lightly. It wasn’t often that Logan ventured out of his comfort zone and headed towards the more creative side of the Thomassphere.

“I need your help.” Logan replied, getting straight to the point. “May I come in?”

Roman arched a brow at that, adding another mark to ‘All-the-things-that-are-out-of-place-with-this-picture’ list that he was already making in his head. Still, he stepped aside, motioning for the other man to enter.

Logan didn’t bother with pleasantries or small talk as he moved into the room. He was on a mission to gain some much-needed knowledge and he needed it quickly before things got worse.

“I was hoping you could assist me with these.” He informed before turning out his bag onto Roman’s bed. Out tumbled the thimble and apple slice (perfectly preserved due to Remus’ power of imagination) along with the bowl the soup had spilt from, ornate sheath, a knife from the same time period, an outrageously ornate hand-carved wooden spoon, a small fan and a hollowed stick.

Roman frowned as Logan dumped his ‘junk’ onto the man’s perfectly made bed but didn’t comment. Instead he moved to inspect the objects carefully, picking up one or another before placing it back down. For a long while he was silent before something seemed to click in his mind.

“By the Gays!” He began to laugh, the sound booming through the room. “This is rich!” He continued, Logan looking on obviously unamused.

“What is it? What are they?” He urged.

“Logan…” Roman breathed, doubling over as he continued to laugh. “You… Logic is…” He wheezed, testing Logan’s patience.

“Roman, I would appreciate it if you took this matter seriously. I am concerned for your brother’s wellbeing.” He pointed out, causing the laughing to cease immediately.

“Wait… What?” Roman mumbled, smile fading. “Remus gave you these things?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… dude…” He sighed softly before sinking down onto the edge of his bed, running a hand through his perfectly groomed hair. “That is… well… surprising… but then again it /is/ Remus.” He sided.

“Forgive me Roman, but I am afraid I am not following. What is surprising? What does this mean? Whatever it is, I fear I’ve offended your brother in some way because of it and I need to make it right.” He huffed in annoyance.

“Right… Sorry.” Roman mumbled before turning to collect one of the items. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out Pocket Protector.” He teased once more before lifting the wooden spoon up to examine. “You’re being courted, wooed, pursued.” He clarified.

“Hardly.” Logan scoffed, face flushing as he glanced away.

“Just because it is not a modern version doesn’t mean it isn’t the case.” Roman pointed out. “Many cultures have many different forms of courting.” He reminded. “You should know this, Bookworm.”

“I don’t handle matters of love, that is yours and Patton’s job.” He retorted.

“Fair enough. Then listen to me when I say that this is the case.” He offered out the spoon. “This is called a Welsh Love Spoon. It is from the Early 17th century. It is supposed to be hand carved by your lover and exchanged. They still are given out now-days, but it isn’t as common as it was.” He explained as Logan accepted the spoon once more, examining it in a new light.

Warmth bloomed in his chest as he realized how much hard work Remus must have applied in order to make it for him. For Logan. It was… sweet.

“That’s probably the most PG one.” Roman explained before selecting the small fan. “That and this Victorian fan. It was used to determine if you were available or interested in a man. One wrong move and you could offend half the country.” He handed it over before collecting the stick. “Early 18th century no one was allowed to be with their suitors without parents present so lovers would use these sticks so whisper through so that their parents couldn’t hear while still remaining a distance apart that was considered ‘decent’.” He handed it over and moved on. “I assume this bowl had some kind of soup in it?”

“Yes. I believe it may have been some form of vegetable?” Logan offered, his chest tight with emotions he wasn’t quite used to feeling.

“Celery.” Roman explained. “Hot creamed celery is a main dish at Amish weddings. It was one of the only ways you knew someone was courting because they were required to keep it secret. So, you check their garden for ingredients of celery soup. That’s how you find out if someone was about to be married. As for the sheath, early 19th century, Finnish. Women would wear it in their girdle once they were of age. If they managed to catch a man’s eye the man would buy or forge a knife and present it to them. It was basically a proposal. If a woman accepted the blade they’d be engaged. If not, their knife was returned. The thimble is an early Puritan practice. They didn’t believe in wedding rings, saw them as frivolous, so they used thimbles instead.” He mumbled, examining the inscription on the small bucket. “Patton’s been looking for this you know; been going on and on about ‘sewing safety’.” He chuckled.

“And the apple slice?” Logan pressed, heart racing. He was reeling. He couldn’t believe Remus had felt this way and he hadn’t noticed!

Roman’s nose crinkled at the mention of the browning object, not bothering to touch it. “Yeah, that one definitely has Remus all over it. Literally.” He grumbled. “It is an early 19th-century Austrian ritual. Eligible women would keep an apple slice under their armpit during dances. At the end of the day they would present the slice to the person they most fancied. If the person felt the same, they would eat the slice. If they didn’t eat it then they rejected the girl.” Roman shivered in disgust. “Dodged a bullet on that one.” He teased lightly.

So that was why Remus was upset! Logan rushed to scoop all the items back into the bag, fumbling a bit in his hurry. This was bad! Remus thought Logan had rejected him! He needed to fix this!

“Whoa, slow your roll.” Roman urged, moving to stand. “Did I say something? I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No offense taken, Roman.” Logan reassured frantically as he tossed the bag over his shoulder. “Thank you for your help. I have to go.” He rushed before disappearing out the door, the creative side not even having a chance to reply.

….

Two days had passed since Logan’s conversation with Roman. He had had a lot of time to think about how to respond to the eccentric individual that was currently courting him. Time to think and time to muster his courage.

Which brought him to the darker sides’ territory. His hand rested on the knife, dangling in its sheath as it hung around his neck as he followed Virgil silently. The smaller side had questioned Logan’s mental state when he had requested guidance through the area but he had come around eventually.

“You’re on your own from here.” Virgil informed him as they stopped in front of the gate to the estate.

“Right. Thank you, Virgil.” Logan nodded.

“Don’t mention it.” He replied. “Seriously… Don’t.” Virgil tucked his hands into his pockets before pausing. “Good luck, Lo.” He mumbled before dematerializing.

Logan took a moment to breathe before heading into the courtyard. “Remus!” He called loudly. “Remus! I need to speak with-“

“Logic?! You can’t be here!” The man’s nasally and panicked voice came, causing Logan to spin on his heels. “If the others find out-“

“Remus! I fear that an apology is in order.” Logan interrupted, ignoring the concern obvious on the other’s features. It was a look Logan had never witnessed from Remus, but he didn’t have time to consider it.

“Is that…” Remus mumbled, gaze dipping to the knife around Logan’s neck, offering a slow, soft smile that was far too toothy.

“Yes.” Logan replied, glancing down at the blade in question. “I have so much to apologize for. I had no idea what you were doing.”

“You should go. You don’t belong here.” Remus urged moving forward to take Logan’s arm.

“No!” He pulled away. The action allowed him a moment to dig into his pocket and produce the withered apple slice, causing Remus to pause. “I was ignorant of the importance to you. For that, I am deeply apologetic.” In one quick movement, Logic did the most illogical thing in his existence. He shoved the slice into his mouth, swallowing it down.

Remus’ chest tightened uncomfortably at the sight. He had grown accustomed to rejection. Everywhere he turned, he was ushered away or shunned, seen as disgusting or inappropriate. Yet, the one person in the entirety of their world that everyone either feared or respected, that made everything made sense had just… had just accepted his courtship, his affection. Remus, the worst part of Thomas… Tears filled his eyes as waves of emotion began to wash through him, the sight making Logan far too aware of his inadequacy.

“I… Was that incorrect?” He asked unsure. “Roman had assured me that- Mmph!” A startled grunt escaped him as Remus pulled him into a kiss, mouth slamming against Logan’s desperately. The world around them disappeared (literally) as Logan melted into the embrace, rematerializing safely in Logan’s bedroom once more.

“Does this mean I can smash that ass of yours now?” Remus asked excitedly when he finally pulled away, leaving Logan a bit breathless.

“Perhaps, we should refrain from such large steps so quickly.” Logan replied, obviously a bit embarrassed by the lewd suggestion. “Yes, far smaller and much slower baby steps.” He nodded, as he adjusted his tie. “Also, if I may, the next time you decide to court someone, perhaps it would be best if you refrain from using early century methods?” He suggested, earning a giggle from the other man.

“We get to step on babies?!” Remus bounced excitedly.

La Fin

Reference: https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/28950/9-strange-courtship-rituals-around-world

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