#rereading it is certainly interesting

[octoir]

i’m bored and currently procrastinating on at least 3 major projects…

so what if i did actually finish that tompercy life debt thing

[forgetful-river]

It's sad but I'm not really into Homestuck right now. I've been more interested in my physical art and writing recently and I don't want to abandon this blog to be updated once a year for 4/13 but I also don't want to just shove my original work on people who follow me for Homestuck content.

[unsettlingcreature]

Logged into my kindle account for the first in a long time to do my regular cathartic read of AFTG and got jumpscared by Dick Fight Island. Like wow. I really paid for that. And read it. Wowie zowie.

[jagged-peaks-number-1-fan]

see the thing about clear sky that drives me in fucking sane is that it's impossible to separate his likability from his character. like. it is through a LOT of charisma and ability to find what motivates the new cats (from fear to pride to dreams of conquering one's enemies) to fight and die for him. he is extremely charismatic, even when he's being horrible. in fact, it you cannot divorce his terribleness from his charisma. there is something about him that makes other cats do many things for his approval, which he knowingly uses to his advantage. im obsessed with him and i need him dead (at the same time)

case in point: his scolding woud have much less effect on jagged peak if the latter didn't look up to him so much.

[ambrosiagourmet]

I've been thinking about Laios' succubus lately. Mulling it over a bit.

Because I've seen these pages brought up a fair bit, but almost entirely in the context of shipping (on all sides, really). And I really want to understand what they are doing for the story beyond that.

When I went back to reread the scene and section, a few things caught my interest: the way Laios responds to both forms of his succubus, the themes of the volume the chapter is found in, and the other events of the chapter itself.

So let's dive into those three things, and what I think they say about the succubus scene's purpose.

Laios is never fully frozen by the succubus

So. If you compare Marcille and Chilchuck's reactions...

to Laios':

-

There is a difference. Sure, the basics may look the same once it turns into Scylla Marcille, but even then, it functions differently.

Chilchuck and Marcille are completely frozen once they catch sight of their succubus. Izutsumi, as well, isn't able to look away, and completely freezes up once her 'mom' starts talking to her. As Chilchuck describes, "just looking at them makes you unable to move."

And yet, Scylla Marcille has to actively convince Laios to comply. He even looks away from her at one point!

Laios accepts this succubus, but he is never actually helpless to it in the same way. Taken in? Convinced? Sure, at least enough to let things happen that he probably should question more than he does. But magically compelled? Not really. Not the same way as everyone else is. So that's interesting. But let's move on for now.

2. Volume 9 is all about drive and desire

I don't often look at chapters within the context of the volume they are included in, but I think there's some really fun things to be found with that perspective in mind.

For one, volume 9 starts with an exploration of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

And ends with a question of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

It's also very concerned in general with questions of why people do what they do. Why they are in the dungeon, why they are with the people they are with, why they stay, what they fight for.

In addition to Laios, we see it with Marcille...

Izutsumi

Kabru

and Mithrun

Hell, we even get it for the demon!

It's certainly not the only volume concerned with desires and motives, but it is particularly focused on these ideas.

The succubus scene fits quite well into the ongoing question about desires, especially Laios' desires. It is even placed at an interesting spot within the volume. The volume is six chapters long, and the scene takes place at the start of the 4th chapter. It's almost smack-dab in the middle.

With all this in mind, it is interesting that, with both versions of the succubus Marcille, it's not totally clear which parts of her Laios is rejecting.

The first version of Marcille looks human, but Laios attacks when he identifies her as a monster. The second Marcille looks like a monster, but he seems to believe that she is the real (human)(ish) person that he knows. So is he rejecting the monster at first, and then accepting the person? Or is he rejecting humanity and only interested in the monstrous?

Something to consider as we look at the next point...

3. the rest of the chapter is a seduction, too

This is one of those things that might not be apparent on a first reading, but is crystal clear on a revisit. We see the succubus try and charm Laios over 7 pages, and then see the Winged Lion do the same thing for the next 19.

Much like the succubus, it offers the mingling of monsters and humans. Much like the succubus, it offers belonging.

(and this is the point where I absolutely must also link this post by fumifooms on the succubus, which has some great ideas on how the scene is informed by Laios' trauma and desire for acceptance!!!)

But, back to the point. The Winged Lion wants to feed on Laios just as much as the succubus did, and it uses similar strategies to try and make that happen. Though this chapter isn't really the turning point for the next Lord of the Dungeon (it is Marcille who will, eventually, become the Lion's next victim), it certainly behaves like it is.

Laios is convinced. The succubus gets its meal. By the end of the volume, the reader begins to understand how concerning his desires are. Together, it is all very good at building up that sense of dread and pending disaster, as we see exactly how and why Laios might just fall into the Lion's open arms and bring about the end of the world.

-

So that's the three things I noticed. But there's still something I want to touch on by looking at the way these observations overlap, and what they reveal, together.

As I said, by the end of the volume, you can feel the tension growing. Just as Kabru and Mithrun do, you look back for an answer to the questions that have been built, chapter by chapter: why is Laios here? Where will his loyalties fall? This chapter, and scene, seem to prove the inevitable truth: he will choose the monster, of course. He will choose the seductive, easy power of the Winged Lion.

But the details of what actually happens tell different story: one in which the Lion is wrong.

First, as a reminder - even in Scylla Marcille mode, the succubus never fully entrances Laios. It convinces him, but it doesn't have him completely under its thrall.

Similarly, in the dream, the Lion does convince Laios to embrace the world he is offering. But even within that dream, Laios continues to ask questions that will be vital to him later. It is because of those questions that Laios comes to a new understanding about Thistle.

And it's this realization that he cites later as part of his reason for refusing the Lion's offer.

He is thinking through things the entire time, just like he continues to question the succubus even after it turns into Scylla Marcille.

Laios also expresses an interesting reason for why he wants to see the future of this world. He's not just invested because it would mean people liking what he likes, or him getting to spend time with monsters. The thought that comes immediately before his acceptance is about what he wants for monsters and people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this statement - "we're living beings that share the same world, but all we can do is keep killing each other" - can apply to the various humans races just as much as it does to humans and monsters. The thing he is thinking about here isn't just a matter of his personal daydreams. It's an idea that underpins every conflict in the story.

Laios caring about how people as well as monsters in this manner is something that the Lion gets wrong every time. Even at the end, he still frames Laios' desires entirely around hating people and loving monsters.

The Lion has heard him express an opinion about the future of the world! It happened right there in the dream, right in front of him! He just didn't take it seriously, and didn't view it through any lens other than "Laios likes monsters more".

He's convinced that he understands how to get to Laios. Maybe the Lion can't truly see everything, or maybe his vision into everyone's deepest desires has made it hard for him to realize how much choice still matters. That people can, and do, choose which desires to act on, and how to act on them.

Whatever the case, he's wrong about Laios, and the story shows us this over and over again.

After all, look at how the succubus interaction plays out:

A monster uses Marcille to appeal to Laios...

He realizes that something about the situation is wrong, and rejects her.

It changes strategies, and makes new offer: to turn him into a monster.

It also assures him that his friends are, or will be, taken care of.

He accepts. Or rather, allows the monster to have its way with him.

But Laios is not as helpless as he initially appears, and what the Lion thinks is a successful seduction also contains the seed of an idea that will allow Laios to later resist him.

We even get to see Izutsumi playing a similar role in both instances, as the one person fully able to take action in the face to the illusion.

The story lays out what is going happen, and then explicitly tells us that the demon and the succubus are thematically related.

The chapter performs a great sleight of hand here - everything about it seems to indicate that Laios is doomed give in to the option to have his deepest desires realized. But if you look closer, it also contains the evidence that he won't. There's a lot more going on for him.

Yes, he still falls for obvious tricks. He is still extremely into monsters, and he still doesn't feel like he fits in with other people. He may, deep down, crave to surrender to the monstrous - to let it absorb him. But he questions more than he seems to. He considers more than people realize. He cares so much more than anyone gives him credit for.

And I think this is part of why we see the succubus called back to so many times, especially with the wolf head addition to his Monster Form, which he specifically added due to his encounter with the Scylla Marcille.

This all stays with Laios. It doesn't just foreshadow the path of the story, it is fundamental to how and why he walks that path. It's not about him choosing monsters, and it's not about him choosing people. It's about how he considers both, and cares about both.

And it's about the forces that think they already know his answer. Mithrun and Kabru. The Winged Lion. The succubus.

It's about how they are wrong.

[stargazersroom]

Time for translations of Galactic! [White beginning scene] Are you stuck in the infinity room with us? We are here Untill there's nothing left [Mumbo/Grian hug] I'm sorry (repeated) [Tango 1] There's no reason to get out Stop her [Black scene] I'll answer [Tango 2] We're friends

[There it is! It's not much but it was fun to make ^^ hope y'all enjoy it]

[wyrmwinds]

crying about Hermes and perhaps thinking a little too deeply into amaurotine society’s imperfections I think. And how Hermes and Adra are similarly hopeful and hopeless

[godzexperiment]

speaking of canon medias- it's still amusing that 1 variation of lucifer who is like 'i only care about & tolerate few people one of which is my niece who i look out for'

and then just his casual 'let me use my brothers death explosion to create an new universe peace out'

[kettle-bird]

And we sang dirges in the dark The day the music died... Woof, so, been at work on this in between comm work and college for a solid while now- the decision to draw that many hands was certainly a choice on my part- but I read, reread, and rereread @modmad's brilliant fan comic The Ascension of Thespius Green and I absolutely couldn't get it out of my head, and I knew I couldn't rest until I did art about it, hence- this!

Seriously, if you're into Great God Grove, have a passing interest in the game, or just want to cry over the song Time in a Bottle, I cannot recommend this comic (and quite frankly all of the comics Mod has made) enough.

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For the Night | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 2, Finale!!

Summary: During a night out with the team, you and Spencer find yourselves together at the bar. So, when a creep tries to pick you up, he tries his best to defend his best friend (by being MORE than just that…)

Tags: fluff, pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption 🤷‍♀️

Words: 1.4k

|

It was often, after difficult cases, someone on the team would shout out a suggestion of “what’s everyone doing tonight?” or “anyone wanna go get some drinks?” This time, it just so happened to be Penelope.

“Come on, you know it’ll be fun,” she pleaded to the boy genius packing up in the bullpen.

“I don’t know, Garcia. I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile, putting another file in his over-the-shoulder bag.

“Pretty Boy, you’re plenty of fun,” Morgan jested, one arm around Garcia. “Plus, I think Pretty Girl is going, too,” he smiled.

Spencer knew that was your nickname, given affectionately by Derek. He mulled over it in his mind. At least, if you were there, he might have someone to talk to about common interests. You were, after all, the only one on the team that could follow along with his ranting, taking the chance to blab about your own latest interests, as well. “Fine, I’ll go,” he came to the conclusion that hanging out with team would probably be more exciting than rereading a scientific journal to the soothing sounds of Vivaldi. Plus, he would get to see you outside of work.

“Yay!” Penelope clapped her hands together, her blonde pigtails bouncing. “This’ll be so much fun!” She grabbed Morgan’s hand and started walking out of the bullpen. “See you guys there!”

—

You spotted him as soon as he walked in, grinning wide with a small wave.

“Spencer!!”

He laughed, waving back, in response. He scooted in next to you in the tight booth, his leg hitting yours. “What did I miss?” He asked, smiling at the team.

“Just hearing about Emily’s worst dates,” you smiled up at him, elbows on the table.

“Captivating,” he joked, a little stiff from the close proximity between the two of you. Spencer couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you. Well, he could, and he has been, ever since he met you. Sure, it earned him some teasing from the team, but you weren’t free from it either. ‘That’s just what happens when a man and woman are friends,’ he rationalized. But your relationship was closer than just friends. (Best friends?) It was hard to ignore the way you turned to him, when in a group, or how you always lit up when someone mentioned his name. And if Spencer was trying to hide how big his smile got when he got to rant to you about his favorite subject, or how much you two laughed about who-knows-what in the bullpen when the team wasn’t around, he wasn’t doing a very good job. And he certainly wasn’t doing a good job now, trying to keep his composure as you giggled next to him, as the conversation went on.

“Well, I’m getting another drink,” you spoke between a laugh. “Spencer, you wanna come with?” He looked up at you, standing with your purse over your shoulder.

“Sure,” he smiled, following you out of the booth and to the bar.

“I’ll have…” you leaned against the bar, tapping your chin in thought. “Whiskey and coke, please,” the bartender nodded. “Spence, you want anything,” he looked down at you, hands in his pockets. He squinted down at the little plastic menu that the bar had printed out.

“Just club soda, please,” he smiled shyly at the bartender. You stood up, leaning your hip on the counter.

“I’m glad you could make it,” you spoke to him, smiling.

“Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Penelope, but I can’t hear about what she does in the bedroom with Kevin anymore,” you laughed at the end of the sentence. Spencer did, too.

“I know what you mean,” he noticed the way you messed with the zipper on your jacket as you spoke to him, a habit he picked up on quickly, when he first met you. “However, I think listening to Morgan talk about his one night stands is arguably worse,” he laughed.

“It’s SO much worse!” You hit him on his sweater-clad arm, playfully, a wide smile pulling up at your flushed cheeks. He laughed with you, putting his head down a little to hide the blush that bloomed up on his nose.

“Only about fifty percent of first dates result in a second one,” he continued, cracking his knuckles nervously. “there are ways to increase that likelihood, like a good first impression, or establishing shared interests early on,” he gained a little confidence. “actually, over sixty eight percent of successful couples report that they were close friends before dating,” he spoke the last part before he could think about it. After he realized what his words might have suggested, he closed his mouth, turning away shyly. You smiled to yourself, putting your head down a little. “That’s, uh, probably why Morgan hasn’t found someone yet,” he turned back to you, smiling tight-lipped. “At least ONE reason,” he laughed. His lips pursed gently, his chestnut hair dangling around his ears. You looked up at him gently as he loosened his tie, still laughing a little at his joke. Your eyes wandered toward his lips. He licked them nervously, glancing back down at you, eyes scanning your face.

You were snapped out of you Reid-filled daze when an unknown man spoke up next to you.

“Hey, pretty lady,” his voice was gruff and had an inflection that somehow communicated that he had never touched a woman in his life. “Can I buy you a drink?” You turned around to see a man no older than thirty smirking slyly next to you, leaning on the bar. He absolutely REEKED of cigarette smoke.

“I’m okay,” you smiled nervously, subconsciously moving closer to Reid. The doctor narrowed his eyes, a little put off by the advance.

“Come on, pretty girl like you, here all alone?” He advanced. “Let me buy you a drink,” he reached out to put a hand on top of yours, but Spencer stepped in.

“Uhm, actually, she isn’t here alone,” he ran his hand through his hair nervously, giving the man a tight-lipped smile. The man looked between you two, a confused look on his face.

“For real?” His voice came out like gravel, and he scoffed a little bit.

“Yeah, for real,” you grabbed Reid’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” his heart skipped a beat or two when you called him that. Boyfriend. He couldn’t help but smile proudly at the man.

“You’ve GOTTA be joking,” he slurred, laughing.

“No, she’s not joking,” Reid stood up straight, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And, actually,” he began, his tone changing to how it usually did before he went on a rant. “According to surveys, around seventy percent of women find unsolicited advances in bars to be unwelcome and uncomfortable, rather than flattering,” he pressed his lips together, shrugging a little while squeezing your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt to scare the guy off. The man just stood there, confused. “Studies show that people decide within the first seven seconds if they're interested in someone. If you come off as aggressive or disrespectful, your chances plummet, which,” he looked back at you, smiling. “I think is what happened here,” he was proud of himself; you could tell.

“I don’t need your statistics, Einstein, I think-“

“Actually, Einstein had an IQ of about 160; I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read over twenty thousand words per minute,” this effectively wore the creep off, because he just mumbled an angry ‘whatever’ and walked away toward another group of girls.

You looked up at your friend and broke into laughter. He joined. “I cannot believe that worked,” you squeezed his hand a little, turning to face him.

“Honestly, me either. I figured he would either get bored and leave, or end up punching me,” he laughed out. “I may be in the FBI, but I don’t think I can handle a drunken bar brawl.” The bartender set the drinks on the counter in front of you and you gave him a small smile, grabbing yours. “The team’s probably waiting for us,” Spencer grabbed his drink, dropping your hand. You picked it back up, looking up at him.

“Just in case we come across any other creeps,” you smiled, a warmth running through the both of you.

“Good thinking,” he mused, squeezing your hand tightly, walking back toward the booth.

Morgan spotted the both of you, turning away from his conversation with Hotch.

“Oh? What’s this? Pretty Boy and Pretty Girl holding hands,” he crossed his arms. You rolled your eyes at the comment.

“Some weirdo tried picking me up, so,” you held your intertwined hands up so they could see. “Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

(‼️💕IF YOU LIKED THIS, REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[yrenesbrainrotss]

aeveryone so often writes about what would happen if the reader got into the Dream BBQ world, but what would happen if ENA got into the human world and met the reader? This could happen in many ways, but the most understandable one for me is through the BATHROOM. I don't know if this will be interesting to you, but I would be very grateful if you would consider this request)

A/N: Hellooo! I managed to write your request FINALLY and i hope it came out okayyy🫶🏻

Enjoyyy💘

•Summary: You meet a strange barely conscious girl.

•pronouns : not specified

•warnings :none!

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Trying to hold on to your last drop of consciousness felt like a real chore right now.Cheek smushed against the palm of your hand, a pencil in the other as you tried to desperately revise for your upcoming test, seemed like a desperate attempt at staying awake. The letters on the white paper in front of you seemed to move and dance , your brain fog making it hard to decipher or make any sense of them.

Your roommate was gone at another party tonight, and it seemed like you were the only one wasting your youth on learning and overworking yourself. She was usually like this,always having some sort gathering with her group,always visiting places while you were stuck in your small college dorm room.You weren’t failing classes and you certainly weren’t a genius, the efforts you put in school only made you an average student trying their best to hold on to their scholarship. Instead of rereading that paper in front of you your mind kept drifting to your highschool days.

You were thriving back then, never missing a party or event, living life to the fullest. You even had a boyfriend and a friend group with whom you’d always hang out and go on road trips with. Unfortunately you all went on separate ways, two of your friends wanted to pursue a career in law and the other medicine, like you. As for your boyfriend, you didn’t really miss him, you knew your relationship wouldn’t last forever,the thought of going to college was a very painful thought for him, so it was only natural you left him behind for an attempt at a life you desired.

As these thoughts plagued your mind you felt a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. You swinged your legs off of the bed and carried you sleepy self across the squeaky wooden floor. However,now in front of the white bathroom door, the sound of a few bottles clattering could be heard from behind it. You took a few steps back,a grimace plastered on your face. Maybe it was a bat? You did forget the small bathroom window open..

You hesitated for a moment but you pushed the restroom door open,peeking your head through the door slowly,with caution. Gazing across the bathroom you didn’t notice anything out of place, maybe your laundry threwn on the marble tiles but the coast was pretty much clear. “Huh…am I being paranoid right now..maybe i should really get some- AH!”

As you closed the door and turned around you were met with a pair of wide eyes boring into yours. You backed away against the wall completely frozen-your mouth couldn’t muster any words due to your shock,your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, and you were sure they could hear it too. You started to edge along the wall, barely breathing, but they moved with you—like they weren’t gonna let you out of their sight.

At closer inspection you could see that this person was a young woman, maybe in her 20’s, kneeling on the floor with her hands in her lap,with a short black bob and bangs. Her clothing reminded you of an asian highschooler,with a green hat to match her shorts. She looked pale and almost sick,eyes wide and empty bored into your very own wide glass orbs.

“Uh..can I help you…miss..?” You asked nervously.

Still stuck with you back against the wall,you tried to speak up through your fear. She just tilted her head sideways and parted her pale-bluish lips “Ena…”. Then,she tries to stand—slow, unsteady, a hand gripping the edge of a desk chair—but her legs gave out almost immediately. You catch her before she hits the floor. Her body’s cold, heavy with sleep and the weight of what you supposed was a really bad hangover. Sighing you curse yourself for your bad luck and massage your temples in exasperation.You hesitate for a moment, glancing around the room. The floor is out of the question so it’s gonna be your bed then.

You lift her cold body and gently support Ena in your arms and carry her to your plush bed. She stirs a little as you lay her down, murmurs something incoherent, then curls up against the pillow. You stand there a second longer than you need to, watching her breathe,thinking about how in the world you got into this position,a strange sick woman in your bed,sleeping without a care in the world,then head to your roommate’s empty bed for the night.

You’re almost asleep when you hear the sound of the squeaky bed next to you, then the soft clicking of a pair of shoes. A moment later you feel the mattress dip behind you-her weight settling next to yours. She makes herself comfortable,her forehead pressed lightly against your back,a arm sneaking underneath the covers and embracing your warm middle. You let out a small gasp,surprised by the coldness of her arm and her boldness, you however didnt make any attempt at pushing her away or ushering her to go into the other bed in the other side of the room.

You turn, slowly, carefully, and she meets you halfway—tucking herself against your chest like she’s been there a hundred times before. Without thinking, your arms go around her. She sighs, content, and your body relaxes into hers like it’s the only place it wants to be.

You hold her close, instinct more than intention, your hand resting gently on her back. She fits against you like she’s been there forever, like this is normal. But it’s not.

Just earlier, you didn’t even know her name. You found her in your bathroom—barely conscious, hungover, looking at you like she wasn’t sure what planet she was on. And now she’s here, in your bed, curled up in your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing through her hair, soft and tangled from sleep. She shifts slightly, and without thinking, you press a kiss to the top of her head. It feels too intimate, too easy.

What the hell are you doing?

You stare at the peeling paint on ceiling for a moment, your heart calm, your thoughts anything but. Somehow, in the blur of everything, this happened. And now she’s here, breathing slow and steady against your chest, like none of it needs explaining.

[ddragonqueenn]

To Take Care of You

Word count: 1,280

Summary: People fade from his life as fast as crops when out of season, when confronted with the fragile mortality of those he knows now, Aventurine panics. (Or, you pass out in front of him and get nursed back to health. Badly, but helped all the same.)

Tags: Mostly fluff, but it's got a sad air to it, Aventurine carries the misery with him always, the tragedy is his appeal, reader is like an irate cat who doesn't want to be held, Aventurine is trying to be silly about how much he wants to hold reader, you're not sly bitch we know you're down bad

Notes: my beta reader said it was a fun and light read, but still goes into the emotional details that I love about him. So. Have fun

Would you consider yourself a sickly person? Not by any means, no… Sure, there's an ache when you first awake, and oftentimes your joints disagree with exertion- disagree loudly. With pain. But overall, you don't suffer from anything but being lazy, truly. The tired fog is because you yearn for bed (not from a breakfast skipped days in a row. And a lunch skipped… some days you pass on dinner, too. Definitely not), sympathy should seldom be given to those who refuse to better themselves.

Aventurine chatters as you pick at your meal, paid for by the chirping peacock across. He invited you out for a bite to eat, saying he got a bonus at work and wants to spoil his dearest friend.

…You feel just a little faint, but it's brushed off easy with a bite, “...Really? Pearl voted to keep you?” You comment; something about a trial by the other Stonehearts that Aventurine had to go through after his work trip.

“Yeah- I was shocked too!” He nods, shifting up his collar. The conversation continues, Aventurine's work stories make interesting topics- though, sometimes he must be lying, an Emanator of Nihility? THEY don't gaze at anyone…

Your legs feel strangely weak as you stand, a sudden daze blurring up your vision as the table and chair become convenient supports for your stumbling body- Aventurine guides you back to the chair, hand resting on your shoulder, “Hey- hey, friend, don't stand if you can't. How about this-” the concern fades to an salesman-like voice, though his worry remains an undertone, “I could carry you back to my car! Bridal style, nice and romantic!” He teases.

You shake your head- and quickly regret the decision. Strange, dizziness like this shouldn't last too long, and you even ate something today! But, you should be in good health, therefore, you push his hand away and force yourself to stand, “I can walk-”

A statement which is quickly proven false as you eat dirt. Or… concrete. Wood? It's hard to tell what you're now laying against, but it's certainly something more solid than how you feel. Or, how you would feel, if your consciousness didn't slip as fast as your feet.

Aventurine stares down at your limp (dead?) body, frozen with a stupid smile before he crouches down, “...Friend?” He asks, mumbling a quiet apology as he presses two fingers to your pulse, the tension leaving his shoulders as he feels a consistent and steady flow of blood just under. He sighs, standing up and tapping his foot, “Oh… what to do with you, dearest troublemaker…?”

Opting to pick you up, as he suggested earlier, Aventurine leans down and scoops you into his arms, carrying you out to his car.

He stands over your bed. Sits down. Stands. Paces. Stands. He can't hold still, worry makes him sick, but he's worried over you being sick. You're hot to the touch; Aventurine replaces the towel he's set over your forehead (ignoring the fact that he did so only 3 minutes ago, his hands need to do something), wiping off his hands before he checks his phone, rereading Ratio's advice.

His eyes scan over the words from the doctor, lowering his phone to look between the text and your limp, ill body. Aventurine grits his teeth- you've been ill, but you haven't been eating. You passed out from the lack of food, a simple cold like yours won't make a person faint, but both are mixing together to make your condition much worse.

“...Skipping meals,” the hypocrite mutters to himself, “What were you thinking…” He shakes his head, standing up to go cook something.

You wake up to the smell of… soup. Soup, an utter mountain of blankets, and the walls of your room. It's a struggle to sit up, and the second you do Aventurine practically pushes you down, “No no no- stay down, it's not good for you,” he chides, “You know what is ideal for you? Liquids, salt, and actually eating a proper meal.”

You stare at him for a minute, “...How am I supposed to eat while lying down?”

…Aventurine blinks. He reaches over to tug down the blankets with a huff, “Touché. But after you finish, lie right back down- and don't forget to drink water, and stay under all of those blankets. I'm going to leave and buy some medicine for your cold.”

You swallow a spoonful of soup, chewing on a softened potato, “...I'm not dying,” you deadpan.

“You don't know that-” He toys with his gloves, tugging them down over his hands, “A common cold is much more deadly than anyone assumes. Finish that, your body needs it.”

You resent, not quite in a fighting mood. Picking through the soup, it seems to be some pre-packaged beef broth with a mix of potatoes, carrots, chicken. No noodles, though. Granted, the only kind of noodle in the house is spaghetti. You take another spoonful as Aventurine closes the door behind him.

You could've sworn you saw his hand shake for a moment.

Aventurine drops a bag near comically filled with medicines. He hands you most of the strange remedies, even child’s cough syrup and regular cough syrup- which you try to push off, before hacking up some of your own phlegm.

Sorting through his medicine, you end up taking a painkiller, the aforementioned cough syrup, and he manages to talk you into an antihistamine. Aventurine smiles, leaning back and cleaning his hands like he just finished with hard labor, “So, feeling better?”

“I just took them.” You lean over to grab your water bottle, taking another sip. Aventurine practically deflates, crossing his arms, before leaning forward to fuss with the way the blankets sit over your lap.

He brushes a gloved hand down your hair, smoothing it down, “You can't fault me for wanting my dearest friend to recover fast, can you? You wound my poor, aching heart.” He closes his eyes, clutching his own chest as though his heart were truly damaged by words alone.

“I don't need you to take care of me,” Your hands tense over the metal, head turning to the side, away from his hand, “I'll recover on my own. I don't need someone to dote on me.”

Aventurine slides his hand down to the opposite shoulder, pushing you back down to the bed. He leans down, pressing his face against your neck, down to your collar, “But isn't it nice? I bought out a whole pharmacy for you- well, not quite… But still, I'm treating you like royalty!”

Your hands push against his shoulders, “I don't want pampering, I don't want a pile of medicine I'll never use, I don't want to be treated like a hapless maiden in a tower!”

To your surprise, your pushing gets Aventurine to lift up. His expression is something you've never seen- on him that is- upset and conflicted. He blinks, stutters, stares, deciding to lean down once again, this time pressing his face to your stomach. Your strength fails you as you can barely push him off, his hands squeeze you before suddenly moving to a hug instead.

“...Just let me take care of you,” Aventurine pleads. It's weak, his voice is pathetic and small, you can feel his left hand shake as he grasps you like you'll fade into dust otherwise, “Please.”

He reaches up, interlocking fingers and- you don't have the heart to decline him further. You lightly squeeze his hand, “...Fine.”

You've recovered in due time, though… You stare at the very entertaining message from the doctor, containing an image of a poor, sickly Aventurine and text informing you that he had passed out.

[kittyit]

one of the very offputting and indigestible things about a lot of modern media is the pivot to the quality being the same experience as reading fanfiction. I've only read a little fanfiction in my life, and of course, there are always stand outs in fan works. But I feel everyone can know what I mean when I say it's like reading fanfiction. And I feel like it's a spectrum. For example, right now I'm rereading Hench, and I would say there is a distinctly fanfiction flavor to the work, in that I can tell the author has read a lot of fanfiction, I can clearly guess at some of their favorite tags and tropes, the taste of fanfiction is in my mouth. However, the work itself is compelling enough, the characters flushed out an interesting enough, and the story inviting enough that I am able to bear it with grace. This is like the middle of the spectrum. The far end of the spectrum is when reading a book is exactly like reading a fanfiction (term for this? If the other is flavor...) It's all trope. it's cheap and unearned. It's shallow. It's enjoyable mostly to people who read a lot of fanfiction because it does exactly the same thing. Fanfiction flavored is sometimes tolerable to me, but I resent it, especially when the tropes are paraphilias and fetishes in disguise, but not only then. It's distasteful. And more and more new books and TV series and movies are further and further on the spectrum of how much like fanfiction they feel, how clearly they are made by creators who grew up in fandom, "living and breathing fandom". And because fanfiction-adjacent creations are stripped down to the most appealing and easily accessible plot points and paths, characters & emotions for a fandom-steeped or fandom-ready (innocent) audience, they sell well, they test well with test audiences, they make money. I just routinely see the idea that fandom is basically a free space, it's not hurting anyone everyone's having fun, why do we need to be critical of this? And it's like well it's profoundly transforming the entertainment industry, which profoundly transforms what media people grow up on which is certainly something worth thinking about. And media literacy is a term that's now reached internet driven semantic satiation and become a meme. Instead of something that is important to moving through the world and a practice you can develop your entire life. And I hate how defensive everyone gets about this. I have no power to take away your fandom. I just want think critically and deeply about this like any other social phenomenon.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Office hours.

Pairing: modern!Javier Peña x f!reader Words count: 3059 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI

Summary: You should concentrate on work. But you can't do that with the charming bastard you share the office with in front of you. Why not find a more fun way to spend your office hours? Tags: porn with very little plot, modern setting (they have computers and chats), POV second person, reader is described wearing a skirt, blouse and heels & having pussy and breasts, no other description of her is given, Javier is an unhinged menace and has a filthy mouth but so is reader, dirty talk, teasing, improper use of office chat, cockwarming, masturbation (f!receiving), pet names, slurs, pussy pronouns, mention of a sex toy, no Spanish because I don't really want to butcher another language since I am doing this extensively with English 💀, squirting, sexual activities in a public place, no age gap, age unspecified so it’s up to you (they’re both in their 30s in my head), the work they do is not specified so you can imagine what you want. I think it’s all? If I realized that I forgot something I’ll add it right away.

A/N: This is the second time I've tried to write Javi P and I'm terrified but because it came out on its own in a frenzy: here we gooo. I'm ovulating and I'm horny af. LOL It probably doesn't make sense, I don't have a beta reader, I reread it myself but my eyes are tired, English is not my first language so I ask your forgiveness if you find mistakes. I hope you like the dirty talk of this thing, I feel like it came out particularly well…fingers crossed.

You should really focus on your work, you have a deadline to meet tomorrow and you're still behind. And you certainly can't focus with a certain coworker in front of you. When they decided that you had to share a big office you secretly decided that your boss was an idiot. How productive could you have been with Javier Peña sitting at the desk in front of you? Obviously your boss expected you both to be adults, capable of controlling your own instincts. What you thought instead was that it would be the hell that it actually is. Because Javier is a charming bastard and you have had a crush on him since day one and he's definitely the type to flirt with all the women in the office.

You hate his guts and you fight practically all the time over any little inconvenience, but the creeping attraction between you, that feeling of always being on the edge of a cliff, that constant urge to provoke him to see which one of you would crack first never left. 

And today, when he showed up in yet another shirt that left his chest partially exposed-because the bastard in question wasn't the least bit interested in buttoning the last few buttons-and those damn skinny jeans straight from the ‘70 that on anyone would have looked silly and anachronistic but on him did nothing but send you into a frenzy of desire, you felt it might be the last straw.

Appropriate office attire does not exist for him, he only wears a tie for meetings with your boss but the rest of the time he dresses as he wants and apparently no one says anything to him. Fucking great, just what you need, seeing his chest displayed right in front of your eyes all the damn time.

You never even liked mustaches but now you couldn't help thinking how much you wished they would rub against your folds as he lapped at your cunt. You dreamed of him carrying your scent on him for the rest of the day, dreamed of kissing him and tasting you on his tongue.

You dreamed of getting up and going to sit on his lap as you continued to type the report you promised your boss and his cock rubbed against your thighs, your panties, and even better your bare pussy. You thought about it practically all morning and got so wet that you risked wetting your office chair, so much so that on your lunch break you had to hide in one of the bathroom stalls and take them off, to store them in a bag inside your purse. 

But now you are naked under your skirt. Which is even worse and makes things even harder for you. You jotted down in your mind that it was time to think about bringing a change of underwear with you. Now the fact that Javi was on the other side of the room was even more unbearable than before, setting you on fire. The temptation to do something stupid and make yourself a needy fool was eating you up. 

Javi looks up for a moment from the documents he is working on, casting one of his typical glances at you, big brown captivating eyes that stare at you many times during the day, only for a few seconds at a time. Minutes of each day flow so slowly when he is in front of you. You really shouldn't think about him; you're here to work. In theory. And you need this damn salary if you don't want to live without electricity or run out of food. The selfish asshole in front of you however doesn't seem to care that you will probably be fired soon and end up under a bridge, because he continues to tease you in any way he can. One day it's a quip about your nail polish, the next about your overly revealing blouse, the next about the length of your skirt. And then there are those glances, sometimes accompanied by a wink, mischievous smirks, a tilt of his head, little things that no one ever notices but you. He never pushes the envelope, but oh, by now you know he wants to. A week ago he asked you if you wanted to have a drink after work, and you said no, absolutely not, never mix business and pleasure, it was a very strict policy in your department. 

You regretted it right away, but what else could you have done? He's not someone you can trust.

He didn't push further, of course, which made you even more impatient, nervous, incredibly horny.

It's a challenge now, you have to have him. And you have to have him before your female colleagues, at least the ones on your floor. You always notice how they look at him, languid and sweet eyes, lip licks and lower lip nibbled, hair moved behind their ear, every time he walks down the hallway of your floor, there is no lady who doesn’t stop working at least for a moment to marvel at him.

It’s late now, the sun has long since gone down, almost everyone around you has been gone for at least 30 minutes, but you have been distracted all morning and now you have to catch up. You hoped he would leave with the others but he stayed here. You’re doomed at this point, you can’t even think straight anymore. You know there’s some other colleagues three offices ahead, down the hall, whom you saw five minutes ago when you got up to get a cup of coffee. As you reread what you wrote, with your eyes fixed on the computer screen, you can't get him out of your mind, feeling his eyes on you, heat blazing under your skin. You turn toward the door in a clumsy attempt to avoid his gaze, realizing that you have closed it.

And well, after all, you've been working hours, maybe you can take a little break. Just five minutes. And what better to do in those five minutes than tease Javi? 

You don't mind playing and playing with him seems almost natural and physiological given his constant attempts to sabotage your self-control; perhaps you could try to sabotage his a little without risking too much.

So you open your legs. Just a little bit, just enough to show him that you're not wearing panties. 

And you look at him, without saying anything. Javi licks his lips, you know his eyes have caught in full what you wanted him to see. His jaw tenses, his hand clenches into a fist over the papers he is examining. Little imperceptible reactions that you crave like water in the middle of a desert. 

Until the chat banner you use to communicate with colleagues lights up on your desktop. 

“I can smell you from here.” it says. The sender is obviously that bastard you share an office with. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” you quietly type. 

After a few seconds another message appears.

"Your delicious pussy, of course, you tempting little slut." You turn to look at him who is totally deadpan.  

You click your tongue and type, “You should be thinking about your work, not my pussy, you know? Highly unprofessional. I should go straight to someone in HR and report you”

“Oh yeah? And so you want everyone to know that you come to work without underwear. Typical greedy slut behavior." 

You lean against the desk, pretending to be shocked at first, looking at him with disappointment. A small smile creases the corners of his mouth, a hint of teeth between his lips, his eyes fiercely twinkling, he is convinced he has made you uncomfortable. 

Smiling in turn, savoring the taste of victory, you lower a hand between your legs, grazing your now totally soaked folds.

His eyebrows rises slightly, his eyes fixed on your fingers moving slowly over your outer lips. 

You type “I think you like what you see” With your other hand. 

He swallows, lowering a hand to his jeans in turn. You lean against the back of the chair to get a better look and clearly catch the tent that is growing under the crotch. He bites his lower lip, one hand moving up and down over his bulge and the other typing on the computer keyboard. 

“I bet you don't have the guts to come over here and make my cock feel that tight pussy of yours.”

Okay, you think, if you want to play dirty that's what you're going to get. 

You look around, listening to every little noise from the other rooms, the office seems empty and quiet. 

You close your eyes, just a moment, before grabbing some papers from your desk, getting up and walking toward him, swaying on your heels. 

What you've been dreaming of doing all morning is about to happen, you feel yourself floating like in a bubble.

He unbuckles his belt and pulls down the zipper of his jeans, freeing his huge shaft as he stares at you.

He turns his wheeled office chair toward you and you straddle him. 

He grabs your hips gently pushing you down on his cock, the tip grazing at your folds “such a slut” 

“If anyone here is a whore it's you. Do you think I don't know that you're getting off with half the accounting department?”

“Mh, maybe you should inform your pussy, she seems to have lost the memo judging by how much she's dripping on me.”

He holds his cock with one hand as you lower yourself onto him, looking down to where your pussy and his cock are coming into conjunction.

“Oh please shut up, I don't give a shit about your office banter.” 

You drag this out for months, days upon days of longing and teasing and nights spent in bed imagining that he was the one sucking you off instead of your toy.

You lean down holding his shoulders and whisper in his ear, “Stuff it all in.’” and you start rubbing yourself against him, feeling his huge dripping cock all inside your cunt. He stays still. 

You moan lightly and he shushes you "you have to be quiet honey, do you want us to be caught? Do you want them to notice that you are cockwarming me instead of working?”He places one of his hands on your mouth, your stifled moans vibrating on his fingers as you grind until your cream is leaking down his balls, his jeans, making a mess on his chair.

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet” he murmurs thrusting a little and starting to hump his whole dick inside, he reaches your clit with two fingers and starts moving them slowly in circles over it “she’s squeezing me so right, baby, I can go on for hours just like that, stuffing you full with my cock” His other hand is resting on your hip, just above the waistband your skirt and he holds you close to him. 

He pulls out a little and pounds it back in, making you writhe and moan “Fuck yeah, you hear it? Your noisy sticky little cunt gushing for me? It’s like a fucking symphony” he whispers 

Your whines vibrate on his fingers “oh baby, you really have to learn your manners. I said keep quiet.” He removes his hand from in front of your lips and sticks two fingers in your mouth “suck these. Maybe you'll learn to be quiet with your mouth full. Or should I fill that one with my cock too?”

You suck them greedily, feeling the taste of your pussy spread over your tongue. “That’s right, baby, just like that”

You hear the main floor door slam, the last people have also left, you are now alone and his cock is buried inside you.

“Jesus, look at the mess you’ve made on me, sucking my cock in like the desperate little slut you are… you wanna come, huh?” 

You nod, as your tongue swirls on his digits, licking and sucking enraptured by your taste and his gaze locked on yours. 

“Yeah, I bet you want this cock to pound you senseless, am I right?” 

You nod again, feeling your heart raging behind your ribcage. 

You never felt so desperate for anyone, the way he’s torturing you, his cock deep down inside you without moving an inch, your pussy drenched, his precum smearing all over your walls mixing with your fluids. 

You feel delirious. 

“I know baby but not here.” He whispers mischievously and your eyes are almost on the verge of tears “you can come tho, let me help but you have to be very quiet for me, okay?” 

You think the office is empty, but you can't be sure, there are so many rooms and someone could still be inside.

He slides his fingers out of your mouth and puts them back on your clit, starting to rub it gently. They are coated in your saliva and slide pleasantly over it, sending you almost over the edge. 

“Look how swollen she is, poor little cunt, she wants to come so badly, isn’t she?” his low hoarse voice gravels in your ears as he pinches your clit and begins to jerk it off faster. 

You writhe trying to stand up a little to ease your numbed legs but he pins you down on his cock digging his fingers in your hip “nah, you stay where you are, honey, gonna come full of me and at the pace of my fingers” 

You bite your lower lip hiding your face in the crook of his neck “no, look me in the eyes, I want to see that pretty face while you come like a whore for me”

One of your hands wraps around the back of his neck as you force yourself to look in his eyes. They are black with lust and desire, pupils dilated and fixed on yours in a frenzy.

His fingers move faster and faster, his cock throbs inside you.

“Come apart for me, babe, let me feel your greedy cunt squirting for me, come on” 

His words are enough to send you over the edge, you come copiously squirting on top of him as he doesn't stop rubbing your clit.

“Yeah, baby, just like that, you’re so fucking beautiful right now” 

You strive to keep your eyes on him but eventually throw your head back overwhelmed by the heat spreading inside you, enveloping every cell in your body and pulsing uncontrollably in your veins. 

It’s too much, it’s all too much and he didn’t even fuck you properly yet. 

You collapse onto his shoulder, holding onto his neck, panting against his skin “Fuck” 

“Yeah, baby, I know, that’s what you wanted huh? Coming full of me like a bitch in heat?” 

You look into his eyes and whisper, “Oh, no, I want so much more.” 

“Oh yeah? What else do you want?” He grins.

“Take me home. Now.” 

“Ask nicely, baby” 

You huff “Take me home, Javi, please” 

He chuckles “Hungry little thing, what do you want me to do for you once we get home?” 

You sigh and then looking into his eyes defiantly whisper “I want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me so hard that I scream, I want the whole neighborhood to hear me. I want your cock pounding inside me all night”

He clicks his tongue and replies, “So cheeky asking me to take you home and fuck you while my cock is still inside you.”

“That’s what I want, do you think you can do that for me?” You ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Of course. You chose the right man for the job.” 

He slaps your ass before you stand up and fix your clothes as best you can. His jeans are completely covered in your juices and his cock still rock hard, you hope that no one is really there or they will notice what you have done.

“Here, put this around your waist,” you say, handing him your black cardigan. 

He looks down at his jeans, laughing. “Damn, you made a real mess. I think I’ll have to get rid of that chair, too.”

He wraps your cardigan around his waist so that the sleeves hang down the front, almost completely covering the dark, wet stain.

“Let’s get out of here” 

You take a deep breath, turning the doorknob down and looking out into the hallway, you look left and right and there doesn’t seem to be anyone “come on, let’s hurry” you say waving and he chuckles behind you. You walk out the door in silence, walking down the hallway to the front door.

You press the elevator button while he pinches your ass “stop it” you hiss. 

You enter the elevator, side by side, and as the doors are about to close, a hand reaches between them, stopping them. 

Your boss enters and looks at you in surprise. “Oh, you’re still here?” 

You’re screaming internally as you struggle to keep a poker face and reply calmly “Yes, of course. I had to work on that report and Javier offered to help me out.” 

Your boss nods, completely unaware. “Good, I expect it to be on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

You nod, lying, “yeah sure, definitely, it's practically over.” as you hear Javier stifle a laugh. 

You turn to give him a disapproving look as he covers his mouth and looks down to quell his giggles.

You arrive at the lobby in the longest elevator ride of your life.

“See you tomorrow then, have a good evening” Your boss says as soon as you three come out. 

“Good evening” you babble thanking God he didn't notice anything.

“Oh shit, that was a close call!” Javier laughs as soon as your boss gets in the car.

You slap him on his shoulder “does that sound funny to you? Come on, take me home and make me forget that I just risked losing my job”

“I can’t wait, honey,” he puts his arm around your waist as he walks you to his car. 

Sure, you don’t know what’s going to happen and you don’t know if it’s worth it but you can’t wait to ride him on a bed and forget your name too.

general tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @almostempty @lovely-vamp-princess @pedrostories 🌹

[alexanderlightweight]

Ok, so I read your pinned post and it says it's ok to prompt out of wed. But it feels wrong but I'm doing it, bc I happened to be rereading mob wife Alec (such a good verse, I have read it sooo many times now. Just 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻) and honestly this thought would not leave my mind. So imagine at one of these meetings, Alec happens to notice a sketchy smarmy guy and he's watching him closely bc he's concerned he's going to do something bad. (maybe something to one of the women who are there serving or one of the wives.) Sketchy guy notices Alec watching him and he assumes its bc Alec is interested. (bc straight guys and their absolutely stupid egos, do not get me started.) anyway, things happen, guy accuses Alec of coming onto him. And Alec is so insanely offended, he's speechless. All he can manage to do is point at Magnus and go, "have you seen my husband?!" Bc absolutely not a single person can hold a candle up to Magnus.

it doesn't quite match up 100% but this is where mob!wife Alec took it. it's been a while but I was delighted to write in this verse again so thank you for this delightful prompt

<3 lumine

dressed to kill

-

Now Alec knows he’s not the best at this undercover work.  

Whether as a distraction or in desperation, pretending to be something he’d not has never been one of his fortes. Something Magnus is very fond of reminding him of and well, enough time has passed that Alec can admit he was pretty terrible at pretending to be straight.  

Especially in front of Magnus.

And even now, for all the effort Alec, Magnus and even Simon have put in, Alec is still horrible at blending in with mundanes. 

Which leads him here. 

To a situation that he is truly unable to fathom and still doesn’t know how he ended up in.

“I’m not sure I heard you correctly.” Is what he automatically responds with, it’s an attempt to buy time but the thought of having to hear such stupidity again changes his mind.  “No,” he immediately says when the man opens his mouth again, “no need to repeat it.”

Alec knows denial intimately.

He lived submerged in it for over two decades and now he firmly reaches for the long since abandoned feeling and wraps it around himself.  Denial may not have worked in the face of Magnus but fortunately for Alec, no one compares to Magnus so he’s safe.

“I’ll ask someone to get you medical aid, you’ve clearly had more than you can handle.” Alec says it to be gracious.  He’s trying to not make a scene and he’s certainly not interested in having to explain his involvement in yet another mundane death. 

Or at least he tries.  

Then the true absurdity of the situation hits him and he can’t help it.

He laughs.

Not a full-bodied laugh, the kind Magnus, Izzy or Jace can draw from him, but the deep, darker chuckle that builds when he’s on a hunt.

“You think you’re something worth my interest?” Alec’s voice is low, the predatory instinct of a hunt entrenched in him. 

The quieter a shadowhunter is, the more deadly they are.

Alec has never needed to shout to make his threats known, he also doesn’t need a threat to teach this mundane a lesson.

“I am already married to the most gorgeous being in any dimension, who are you to think you can compete?” All the evidence Alec needs is the hand he points in Magnus’ direction and it’s with a scoff of disgust that Alec leaves. Even without active runes he’s faster than the most agile of mundanes and in an instant he’s at Magnus’ side. 

He really doubts he had the self-control to listen to one more assumption of Alec’s interest in someone other than Magnus.

-

It’s automatic, for Magnus to reach for Alexander even as he slots into place next to him.  No words of greeting are needed for Alexander to automatically tuck himself into Magnus’ side.

“What’s wrong?” It’s clear that Alexander is flustered, and not in a ‘I-lost-track-of-this-mundane-conversation-ten-minutes-ago-and-would-like-to-be-done’ kind of way.

“Someone had the audacity to think I was interested in them.”

Magnus’ hand tightens on Alexander’s hip even as he processes the words.

Unfortunately, despite how much he despises hearing such a thing, it’s not unexpected.  One of the prices Magnus has had to pay during these ventures are the mundanes who show interest in Magnus’ boy.

In the shadowworld they are fairly prominent figures and between the two of them, they have few enemies who would risk crossing them both.

That includes coveting what isn’t theirs to desire.

And while Magnus doesn’t doubt for a minute that the mundane was making absurd assumptions, he is curious as to how a mundane thought Alexander was approachable.

“How?”

It’s a genuine question, Magnus has met quite a few people who have been interested in Alexander, he’s just never met one that had the gall to think it was reciprocated.

Alexander pauses, brow furrowed as he thinks and then he shrugs, expression soft and a little sheepish. “I stopped paying attention pretty quickly. I just wanted him to stop talking.”

Magnus can’t help but laugh, delight thrumming through him as he disguises his humor with a kiss to Alexander’s hair.  

-

(the guy was too straight for alec to deal with, the vibes were just a no and the guy’s prey instinct kicked in via survival mode and he took off before Alec could point him out to Magnus. the reason the guy thought Alec was interested in him? Magnus and Alec will never find out but it was actually because alec was watching the bartender make drinks with fire -he was comparing it to Magnus talent and finding it lacking- and the guy happened to be somewhat in eye zone)

and it is 100% canon that Alec goes around this universe and all my universes comparing mundanes and shadow world beings to Magnus and finding everyone else lacking.

magnus finds it absolutely charming when Alec is tired and starts mumbling about how the bartender completely lacks the same elegant flair that makes Magnus' alcoholic fiery drinks so much more enticing and appealing (tipsy Alec admiting he only tried that first drink Magnus offered him because he wanted to see what Magnus' magic fire tasted like and instead he got a mouthful of blue vodka and everclear and a part of him has never forgiven Magnus for that betrayal and Magnus is always treated to a wrinkle of Alec's nose when he's offered a new drink before he tries it). Magnus doesn't say anything about it because he thinks its both adorable and hilarious.