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ka-za-ri · 4 years

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Personal Assistant pt. 1

Hi. I’m in complete and utter Obey Me! Hell Enjoy some Lucifer x MC smut shamelessly put into a modern day CEO!Lucifer AU. Many parts to come. I’m completely covered in filth and thirst. Unbeta’d because we die like heroes here. Let me go back to being a gremlin now.

Paring: Lucifer x MC Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Shameless, filthy smut Tags: Multiple Orgasms, sex on a desk, Finger fucking, overstimulation

Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 4: here Part 5: Here Part 6: Here Part 7: Here Also found on Ao3: Here

Lucifer has been sent to the human realm to study them and acclimate to and learn about their behaviors. By some miracle, you landed a job interview with his illustrious company as his personal assistant. A lot of extra work not listed on the job posting is required of you, to say the least.

Part 1: Interview

Adapting to the human world wasn’t hard. Humans were after all, predictable little things, easily swayed by their desires, it didn't take much effort at all to make them bend to his will. Lucifer’s time thus far ‘learning’ about the human realm had netted him a sizable company under his control. It wasn’t long before he became bored of that. Being a CEO of Akuzon meant many things. One being that he was always busy and needed some help around his office. Previous attempts at having a personal assistant failed him as they never satisfied his needs and kept up with the workload.

Somehow, you found yourself looking at the ad in the paper and hastily applying to the job It seemed too good to be true. It paid well, was for a reputable company, was close to home, and you fit the criteria listed. It was a shot in the dark, you knew there must be hundreds of others clamoring for the position as well. However, much to your surprise only a couple of weeks passed when you received an email requesting your presence for an interview.

The office building was massive, fitting right in with the many sky scrapers of the city. After putting on the best interview clothes you had and making your makeup was on point, you had thought you were ready for anything. Seeing the building and stepping inside it’s grand spaces had you faltering for a moment, a shiver of nervousness running down your spine. Almost everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing to see who it was at their front door. The nervousness increased as their gazes bored down into you, making you think you had gotten the wrong building.

“Are you here for an interview?” A young lady at the front desk asked cheerfully, noticing how lost you seemed.

“Ah! Yes! I am! For the position of Lucifer’s secretary.” You explained, relieved that there were some helpful people there.

The lady raised an eyebrow, surprised that someone so green would be chosen for such a high ranking position, but didn’t press the issue any further. Dialing a few numbers into the phone at her desk, she made a quick call. “Yes, she’s here… I’ll bring her right up.” She looked up at you, a sweet smile on her face and got up to guide you to the elevators on the other side of the floor. “He’ll be ready to see you once you get to his floor.”

“His floor?”

“Yes. His office is one of the top floors of the building. As his secretary, you’ll be responsible for taking care of it as well as any other duties he asks of you.” She explained. “You’re so lucky… I applied for that position ages ago, but couldn’t pass the interview phase. I hope you fare better than me.”

“I hope so too…” You agreed, hoping to hide the shaking in your voice.

The trip to the top floor seemed to stretch forever. The light music in the background did little to soothe your anxiety as you watched the numbers climb higher and higher until they stopped at 60 and the doors slid smoothly open after a soft chime.

“Well, this is where I leave you. He’s right beyond those doors.” The lady gave you a small reassuring push forward and before you could have any second thoughts, the doors closed and you were left alone, facing tall frosted glass doors. Taking one last stuttering breath, you took the steps forward to push open the doors. They were much heavier than expected and after a bit of a struggle, you finally managed to open it.

Before you sat the most impeccable man you had ever seen. The very image of power in a young and handsome man. The name plate placed at the very edge confirmed to you that he was indeed to be the man who was going to be conducting the interview. It was difficult to get your mind past how handsome he was. His perfectly parted hair framed his face and its long, delicate features. He wore a black fitted suit, one that probably cost more than any number you could imagine. Each stitch in its place to accentuate the lines of his body and to cut an imposing figure, even when seated. Everything about him oozed control and power. You had every right to be nervous.

He sat behind a massive desk; the only documents in front of him were what you expected to be your files. Most everything else, save for his nameplate, had been cleared off. If he had done this to intimidate you, he was doing an exceptionally good job without even saying a damn thing. “Come in. Have a seat. I’ve been expecting you.” He beckoned and gestured at the seat in front of him, his eyes raking up and down your figure, assessing everything about you. All the while, you were powerless to deny his request. His voice was soothing, low and lulled you into a strange sense of security.

Sinking into the seat in front of the desk, you sat just at the edge, reminding yourself to keep your posture proper and to keep your appearance as professional as possible. You needed to employ every trick in the book in order to succeed in the interview; and Lucifer knew that. His expression was unreadable as he waited for you to settle in, his hands idly flipping through your resume. “So, tell me, what do you think you can bring to this company working for me?”

Ah, there it was, the interview questions. You had prepared for this and the answer you rehearsed fell easily from your lips. “I have a lot of experience in working as an office manager. I understand that my duties may extend past what was listed in the job posting. However, I am willing to take in the extra hours and to work whatever job is given to me to ensure that your position and your reputation remains as impeccable as it has always been since the start. I will bring a new level of efficiency in your workflow and I will be a great asset to your company as such.”

He hummed, seeming uninterested in what you had to say. You began to sweat a bit at the back of your neck. Perhaps he had expected something more unique? Once again, he flipped through the pages of your resume, not really reading anything, just looking at the information you had put down. “I see… And how do you deal with pressure or stressful situations?”

Again, another question you had prepared for. “The easiest way to diffuse stressful stressful situations or overwhelming workloads is to make extensive lists. I like to break things down into their basic components so that large tasks are much more manageable in a timely manner.

He hums again, a vague sound of approval this time, nodding only slightly before making a mark on the papers in front of him. “Very good. Final question. How do you like to be managed?” His eyes flick up to you and there’s something in the way he gazes in your direction that makes your heart beat faster. There was something in the way his eyes trailed up and down your body that had you sitting up straighter than before.

“As long as I have clear direction, I will be able to work independently or as a team as needed.”

Much to your surprise, Lucifer smiles at the answer, circling something on the paper before getting up and sauntering over to you. “That’s very good to hear.” he said quietly, turning to look out the floor to ceiling windows to the cityscape his office overlooked. “There will be a lot of times where I can be demanding and ask you to stay later than usual hours. Will your priority still be this job if I ask this of you?”

You swallowed, not sure how you felt about the question, his tone had an undercurrent of electric energy that had you heating up and shivering at the same time. “Y-yes.” You stated after a brief pause, entranced by the curve of his spine and how well his pants fit his ass. “I can do that. I plan on making this position more than a job. I am looking for a career here.”

Lucifer nodded again, still not making any eye contact with you, which gave you plenty more time to ogle at how his posture and his stance against the window struck such a formal and imposing figure. At this point, he could tell you to work three twenty hour shifts in a row and you wouldn’t complain. The prospect of a hot boss, great pay and a job that was close to home was too tempting to you.

“If you accept this position, you will be placed on a probation period, as is customary for this company.” He explained and your heart started to beat faster. Did this mean you landed the job? You couldn’t tell if he was psyching you up for potential disappointment or if he was genuinely starting to offer you the job. “Once I’ve gone over your performance during your probationary period, your salary will increase. Additional raises and bonuses will be offered as I see fit for… exceptional work.” You couldn’t see it, but rather, you felt him smirking at his reflection in his reflection. “Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Yes…” You breathed, mouth watering at the aspect of being able to make so much money. It was more than any other job you worked for paid.

Humans were such easy little playthings to control.

Lucifer walked back to you, standing in front of his desk and leaning against the heavy wood. “Your job will be of course to do what I request, many times without question. There will be many sensitive documents that you will handle and that requires your utmost confidentiality.”

“I understand.” You said bluntly, trying to calm your heart and your breathing to no avail.

“You understand that this position also may also involve some after hours activities which I will ask for you to partake in. They are not written on the job description, but they are paramount to this position. Don’t worry… I’ll be sure you receive clear and concise directions on exactly what to do as my personal assistant.”

You blinked. The way he worded the phrase seemed off, but you couldn’t put your finger on what. It was odd, he had always referred to the job as ‘this position’ until just now. It was the first time the actual job title until he tugged at the cuffs of his suit, undoing the buttons. “Oh…” You breathed, eyes wide, cheeks blushing brightly when you realized what he meant, the bulge in his pants was all the proof you needed for there to be absolutely no miscommunication. From the looks of it, you could only surmise that he was barely half mast in that state. Fuck, what kind of monster is he hiding in there?

“Before we sign the papers and you accept the job, I would like to do a test run to make sure you’re a good fit for the company.”

“Yes… of course.” You were practically panting, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. You pressed your legs together trying to hide the arousal that started pooling there after the realization that you would be servicing your future boss in rather intimate ways. That fact alone had you ready to sign whatever contract he produced in a heartbeat.

“We’ll begin by seeing how good you are at following directions. Stand up, please.” He flicked his fingers upward, eyes traveling up and down your body, knowing exactly the kind of reaction he was pulling out of you.

You were upon your feet in an instant, hands at your side, back straight as a board and your legs together. You barely dared to breathe as he left his spot on his desk to circle you. You could feel his gaze taking in every detail. He was close enough for you to smell the cologne he wore waft past you as he passed your side and you suppressed a shiver.

“What kind of posture is this?” He chided, pressing the spot between your shoulder blades gently, pushing your shoulders back. “Just because you’re standing up straight does not mean you’re doing it properly.” Lucifer tsked, shaking his head slightly. “How do you expect to represent me and this company if you look like a cardboard cut out.” His hands left a trail of goosebumps across your skin as he adjusted your body as he saw fit. Your hands folded neatly in front of you, your legs now just shoulder width apart and your shoulders back, he took another circle around you to reassess your stance. “Much better.” He murmured. “It will do you well to remember how this feels. I won’t be so lenient if I see you looking so foolishly in front of a client.”

You nodded, memorizing just how he had posed your body, reminding yourself to practice in the mirror. You didn’t dare speak unless he gave you permission to, just something about how he stalked around you made it impossible to raise any objections.

“Stay still unless I say otherwise.” Lucifer commanded next. “It’s important that you are at attention no matter what the circumstances. When I ask for your… special services, you will refer to me as Sir.” His finger traced the hem of your pencil skirt, pulling it up just a bit and you fought back the urge to flinch. “But of course, I should say that right now, you have the power to stop this at any time. Understood?”

“Yes…”

“Yes who?” Lucifer’s tone was sharp and the hand playing at the hem of your skirt moved to place a firm spank on your ass. The pain coursing down your leg, you jumped a bit, but remembered his command to stay still.

“Yes… Sir…”

“Good.” He nearly purred, leaning in to kiss the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin and his hand once again traveled to the hem of your skirt, playing with the fabric and pulling it up until he got a good view of the lacy lucky panties you decided to wear that day. “Very good.” he praises, tracing his fingers across the flimsy fabric. Your breath hitches as he brushes light touches across your bare skin. You stay still, demanding that your body stop trembling, though Lucifer can clearly tell just how nervous you are, shaking like a little lamb at his behest. In a show of dominance, he lets your skirt fall back down, cupping your face to pull you into a heated kiss.

Your mind is practically blank at this point, hands still clasped in front of you, gripping each other like your life depended on it while he claimed your lips and took your breath away. At some point you had reciprocated, kissing him back and earning a low growl from the back of his throat as a reward. He pulled away, your lipstick smeared across his face and his eyes glittering in lust as he looked at your disheveled form in perfect posture. “Hmm… yes… I think you’ll fit right into my needs.” He appraised, rubbing his chin and smirking. The expression sends a shiver down your spine but you didn’t dare move.

His hand guides you two steps forward towards his desk. “Bend over.” He commands and you oblige, your chest laying on the surface of the mahogany desk. Your hips flush against the edge of it while your hands stretched out to grasp at what it could to stay still as he asked. He readjusts you again, spreading your legs further, straining the fabric of your skirt. With a tsk of frustration, he pulled the offending piece of clothing up to your waist, letting the cool AC hit the back of your thighs and allowing him to spread your legs even further. In your heels, you could feel your calves tremble as you struggled to keep the position he had set for you. Thankful for the desk to cling onto, you used it to ground yourself as your ass is exposed to him. Your legs spread to the point where you were bent sharply, completely level with the desk and your hot core could feel the air conditioning blow past your heated nether lips. “You look good spread across my desk like this. I’ll be sure to make use of this position often.” He commented, rubbing your ass gently, teasing you through the fabric of your panties. His fingers brush across the wet spot on your panties and you can feel the it mold against your wet heat. Embarrassed, you stifled the whine that formed at the back of your throat. Even if the two of you were on a separate floor from others, you didn’t know if there were others right outside those heavy glass doors.

His teasing seemed to last forever and you could just see how much he was enjoying it whenever you dared to glance up and see your lewd reflection in the mirror with that salacious grin on his face as he fingered you oh so gently and left you on the edge of wanting more. Every time you glanced up even briefly, he always made sure to make eye contact with you in the reflection, knowing just how much you were affected by his basic touches.

Of course, he wasn’t getting out of the exchange with nothing. The slight bulge in his pants earlier had strained into an impressive tent seeing his new assistant splayed out before him, eager to please. Humans were such predictable creatures. Predictable, yet so much fun to toy with. He couldn’t get enough of the soft sighs that came from your lips as you held back your noises. It only made him want to see break for him even more. His slender, manicured fingers finally gave you a little relief, pressing against the wet spot in your panties and following the curves of your pussy lips that had molded themselves there due to your slick. At that, your hips bucked back, urging him to give him more but a firm hand on your lower back stopped any further movements. “I did not say you could move.”

You whined, clutching onto the edge of the desk, your fingers sore and locking up from how hard you were holding on. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this sort of treatment on the regular when the trial run was already driving you mad with need. As if he could sense your impatience, he finally pulled down your panties, allowing your legs a brief reprieve as he took them off and tossed them to the side before making you resume the position you had held for who knew how long.

“For a trial run, you’re doing very well.” He cooed, smirking as he saw your glistening folds. “I should remind you that there are people still working in the building. We may have a floor to ourselves, but please keep that in mind and don’t scream too loudly now.” He chuckled darkly, tracing the curve of your ass and finally sinking a finger into your heat. Just the feeling of being penetrated by something had you keening and you struggled to keep yourself from screaming. “Ooh, that’s a pretty noise you make… Please make more of those.” he encouraged, slowly sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Y-yes sir.” You panted, your legs ached, but the pain was absolutely nothing compared to the pleasure that was building up in your abdomen just from feeling a finger slowly fuck you. You had come in for an interview and your soon to be boss was unraveling you in ways you had only fantasized about. All the while, Lucifer remained the very image of composure, if it weren’t for his very obvious hard on being pressed against the back of your thigh, you would have thought he was impervious to the scene he had orchestrated. Every time his finger dragged itself out of you, you let out an appreciative mewl, mind reeling as he pressed every button he needed for you to submit completely to him.

You lost track of time and how many times he left you wanting more with how his finger moved in and out of you. At some point, he had added a second, then a third, deliciously stretching you out. You were so wet and ready for him, you could feel your essence drip down your thighs as your legs struggled to keep you upright. Lucifer was patient, he had lived several millennia already, edging you until you were a begging mess on top of his desk for a few hours was absolutely nothing to him.

In a show of surprising restaurant, he pressed hot kisses against the back of your neck, nipping at your skin whenever you let out a particularly breathy sigh. The scent of sex and his cologne enveloped you and you were practically dizzy with need. “Sir…” You whined after he had curled his fingers in you, making you see stars and your walls trembled, clenching around his fingers. “Please… I need more…”

“Oh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and removing his fingers, much to your dismay. He watched in amusement as your pussy twitched, clenching around air now that his fingers were no longer filling you. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he was surprised how long you had held out before you were begging for him. His erection had pressed against his impeccably tailored pants for so long, it was almost painful, yet, he couldn’t let you have your way just yet. Even if it was a trial, he still wanted to see just how far he could push you. “You think you really deserve more? You haven’t even gotten this job yet.”

His fingers were back on your wet, sopping cunt, sliding up and down your labia, rubbing slow, firm circles around your clit. You wailed, bucking your hips and forgetting the command to stay still until his other hand reminded you by spanking your ass cheek. “No moving.” He growled and you struggled to obey, stilling your body even though every part of you screamed to squirm and beg for him. “You will get more when I decide you get more.”

You could only nod in reply, letting him use your body as he saw fit. “For your next test. You will cum when I tell you to.” he breathed, pressing his finger against your clit, making you choke back a sob of pleasure. “After that, I promise you, you’ll be at the last part of the interview.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do what you want, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir.” You babbled mindlessly, your body aching for relief and release. The torture and pleasure he could pull out of you with just his fingers had your mind jumping to the future to what other things he could elicit out of you.

“Good girl.” He praised, patting your hair in a surprisingly soft gesture. He followed the gentleness with a chaste kiss on your lips before going right back to being the commanding figure you had met him as. He plunged his fingers into you again, knuckle deep and pumping in and out of you furiously, loving the way your walls fluttered and clenched as you held off on your orgasm until he permitted it. “You are so obedient… just what I like.” He praised breathlessly, working you closer and closer to the point of no return.

You couldn’t think straight, you didn’t care if others heard the lewd sounds coming from your lips as you whined, begging for release. You were so close, you wanted to cum so badly, but your determination to pass his test outweighed your desire and you held out until his silky voice whispered the blissful word into your ear. “Cum…” He purred and you gratefully crumbled, your body spasming around his fingers, milking it like it was his cock. Soft whines escaped your lips and tears of gratitude streaked down your face.

“Thank you, Sir.” You panted, blissed out and feeling weightless after such a powerful orgasm. Your vision blurred as you stared blankly at the wall, wondering if this was the end of the interview. Lucifer’s fingers leaving your sore pussy sure seemed to signal that things had reached a conclusion. Glancing up at the reflection in the windows, you flushed bright red when you saw Lucifer lewdly cleaning his fingers off with his tongue.

“Hmm… I think you would do well.” He said once his fingers no longer shone with your essence. He sauntered over to the other side of the desk where you clung onto for dear life. Sinking into his chair, he casually opened up one of the drawers, pulling out a contract and placing it in front of you. “If you believe you can keep up with my demands, then all you have to do is sign on the dotted line at the bottom. He slid you an ornate fountain pen into your hand.

Your trembling digits could barely hold onto the pen and you moved to start reading the contract, going over the terms and conditions of your new position. Most of it was the basic business jargon seen in every typical job. There were a few things that seemed out of place, but in your just fucked state of mind, it was very difficult to focus on what about them seemed wrong. Unable to really think straight about what you were getting yourself into, you placed the pen onto the paper, eager to start your new job.

Just as you the pen started to move, you heard the sound of a zipper being undone and the hard erection you had felt earlier on the back of your thigh now pressed up against your sore pussy. You gasped, eyes going wide at the feeling of being stretched out once again. “Well? Will you sign?” He asked casually, sinking into you inch by inch as you struggled to breath and think, let alone sign a contract.

“Yes… Yes, Sir…” you whined, starting to shakily write your name as he bottomed out inside of you. He hissed, taking a hold of your hips and roughly slamming them back into him to get as much contact as he could. You yelped, unable to write your name at all. Your hips banged against the edge of the desk with every one of his rough thrusts. No doubt, there would be dark bruises there the next day reminding you exactly what you did to get the job you were signing for now.

With each pass, Lucifer lets a little more of himself go, grunting in effort as he relished in the feeling of your hot walls surrounding him. He hadn’t found such an obedient human in a long time. It would be such a fun time for him to push your limits every day you were in his office. What he offered now was only a glimpse of what he had planned for you. Every time your hand stuttered in the middle of signing your name, his grin widened. The closer you were to sealing the contract with him, the closer he was to his own release that he had been holding back for hours now.

“Just a little more…” he urged, slowing down his thrusts so you had at least some time to get a few more letters of your name out. Just as you finished, he let out a primal growl, slamming his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room as he fucked you without abandon. The fountain pen fell from your fingers and you were back to clutching onto the edge of the desk as yet another explosive orgasm started to build in you.

Glancing up into the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what Lucifer looked like while he was coming undone inside of you, you were surprised at the image you saw. It was only for a brief moment, but you swore you saw horns on him, and dark, feathery wings framing his body. The sound of the pen you dropped falling to the floor broke the illusion and the image of the prim and proper business man with an utterly feral look was all you saw.

He knew he wouldn’t last long once he entered you and so, he chased his release inside of you. As soon as the contract was signed, he was done for. His hand snaked around your abused waist to reach for your clit, bringing you to climax in time with his own. With a grateful groan, he released all the pent up tension in him, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you while your walls spasmed around him, milking every inch of him and accepting what he had given you. “Very good…” he cooed, his eyelids fluttering as he relished in the rush that came after such an explosive climax.

You whined, your body bruised and beaten, but also feeling absolutely boneless and euphoric. You hadn’t experienced anything like that before and it was all rather mindblowing to say the least. The contract in front of you with your shaky signature, ink blots from when you lost control of the pen and a fair amount of your tears stared back at you. This was your future. This would be a regular part of your life going forward; and you didn’t feel a shred of regret from it. You zoned out for a moment, hardly believing that it was all real.

Lucifer’s cock slipping out of you and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you snapped you back to reality. “Very good job. I’ll say you passed all the tests with flying colors.” He said, fixing his suit and continuing on as if he hadn’t just fucked the living daylights out of you. “I expect you to come in on Monday ready to work. I have a lot of filing for you to catch up with.”

He smirked, taking the signed contract and slipping it back into his desk. He cupped your chin in his hand and planted soft kisses on your lips, once again leaving you dizzy and breathless. “You are free to move now.” He said and you gratefully worked on closing your sore legs, wondering how you were going to make it out the office in the state that you were in. You weren’t sure you were able to walk, let alone get all the way home with how weak you were. Lucifer chuckled, dialing a few numbers into his cellphone. “I’ll arrange for a ride home for you.” He offered. “As a thank you for such a lovely interview.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing you had a way to get back without catching too many unwanted stares at your disheveled state. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Lucifer.” He corrected briskly.

“Thank you, Lucifer. I’ll be sure to arrive on time Monday.” You sank into the chair to gather your wits about you, staring at your trembling hands.

“Good.” He said coolly and looking up at him, you gasped when you saw him casually twirling your panties on one finger as he looked down at you. “Your ride should be here shortly, please make sure you’re presentable, you do not want to dishonor me.”

“Yes. Of course, Lucifer.” you hastily combed your hand through your hair, hoping to take care of the worst of the flyaways. You glanced nervously at the panties in his hand, figuring they were a lost cause at this point and simply accepted the fact that you’d be taking this arranged ride with your boss’ cum dripping down your thigh. Carefully standing up, you remembered to assume the proper posture he had shown you earlier and he smiled in approval.

“Very good.” He gestured to the heavy glass doors, opening them as if with magic with a press of a button. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yes,Lucifer.” You replied obediently, taking the first shaky steps out.

“Oh, and one more thing.” he called out to your retreating form. You turned, blinking and wondering what else he could want from you. “Wear the same lipstick, will you? I’d love to see what that color looks like smeared all over my cock.”

“Yes, of course. As you wish.” You replied, blushing a deep red and rushing out of the office now, high off of getting the coveted position of Lucifer’s personal assistant and the prospect of what else he could ask you to do for him.

Watching you slip into the elevator, Lucifer smiled to himself. He reached into his desk and pulled out the contract, skimming the terms and conditions you had agreed to.

Humans were terribly predictable. Yet, they were also infinitely entertaining.

#Obey me #lucifer x mc #smut #obey me smut #my writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #shameless smut

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

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Just a Dream - Outcome 3 (Bourne Legacy)

A/N: So @santiagogarcia asked about writing from Outcome-3 and I had no idea who that was. But the idea stayed in my head for weeks and today this is what came out of it. I hope you like it. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. Name credit goes to @veuliee2 ;)

Pairing: Outcome-3 x F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, gunshot wounds, guns, and interrogation. Angst but not all.

Word Count: 1.3K

My Masterlist

You stood at the window, overlooking the view of the lake. It was a quiet life. Every single day the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The small cabin on the edge of the world was far enough away from the bustling town but not so far as to be isolating.

Your life had changed so drastically in the last eight months. What started as a one night stand with a handsome stranger became the most passionate and intense love you would ever feel in your life. He was like no one you had ever met. Cold and calculating when he needed to be but warm and soft under your touch. You loved him, and he was gone.

That first night he made love to you beneath the crescent moon shining into your apartment through the sheer curtains. You begged for something to call the man who had you wrapped around his little finger in what felt like minutes. All you got was three—a number. What you later came to learn was that was all he was told. In the dead of night, after doing a thorough sweep of your apartment for bugs, he’d told you everything. There were no more secrets between you, not anymore. The undying love you poured into each other was all you both needed.

They had come the next day. Somebody threw a bag over your head and shoved you inside the van as they took you to gods knew where. Locked in a room with a two-way mirror for four days as they interrogated and tried to find out everything you learned. But you lied. You could feel him on the other side, the heat of his gaze burning into you as they screamed at you over and over again.

They had nothing to hold you on, so they released you, finally. Three taking you home a letting you rest before he pulled out the gun from the back of his jeans. He clicked the safety off, his eyes bore into yours, and you nodded. Mouthing that you loved him before he pointed the gun at you and shot. The bullet flew through the air almost in slow motion as he yelled for you in anguish.

You closed your eyes, and when it hit you, fell backward, slamming into the ground. There was so much blood, and you lay there what felt like hours but couldn’t be more than a few minutes. His boots echoing on the ground as he stood above you, eyes streaming with tears, and moved to press the gun to your head.

His other hand caressed your cheek and, to your surprise, placed an ear plug in it. He leaned down and kissed your cheek and whispered, “They are watching,” he slid the other earplug into your ear before standing tall above you, shooting the gun three times into the hardwoods beside your head.

You’d always imagined your death to be a simple affair. Hopefully, in your sleep at an old age. But being covered in blood, some of it your own, but most from the local blood bank poured over you and zipped up into a black body bag was not how you pictured it. You felt him lift you and, under cover of darkness, throw you into the back of a van and drive off.

Not only was he expected to kill the woman he loved, but clean the mess and dispose of her body. The lake was beautiful, much like the one you looked over now. He climbed into the back and unzipped the bag. Your shoulder, where the bullet went through, was cleaned and wrapped. Three put a bag, water-resistant next to you as he told you the plan.

You had to die. To the people who trained him, that turned the man you love into a machine; you were dead. He would throw you into the lake and drive away; then, you would need to get out and go. Never come back. His hands cupped your cheeks, “Do you understand? You can never come back here. They will kill you. I’m so sorry.” You cried for the life you lost but even more so for the man.

“Come with me,” you’d begged, but in your heart, you knew he never could. He kissed you hard, prolonging the inevitable parting before he pushed you back and zipped up the bag. You held your breath as he tossed you into the lake, and you counted to sixty. Ripping it open and swimming to the surface, and cresting to breathe. You didn’t dare go back to shore instead, swimming as hard as you could across the lake and into the woods. You found a cave to shelter in that night and lit a fire for warmth, teeth chattering as you opened the envelope.

He had thought of everything. Trusted contacts to help you along the way that was far out of the system, money, a home, everything. It became very apparent when you’d finally reached your new home and found the documents for your new identity that this was not done in a few days. He’d been planning this for months. You had settled into the new life with relative ease.

However, the first excursion into the small town was unsettling to your nerves. Each person who met your eyes striking fear into your heart. Were they part of the people who took him away? But no one came, and life settled.

The wood from the porch creaks, and you freeze. Head-turning slightly to look behind you, your other hand reaching for the assault rifle under the window. Three had made sure the home was stocked with every sort of weapon imaginable. One of his ‘friends’ who smuggled you to safety had taught you how to clean and shoot, and you spent weeks during the first month here practicing. You lift the gun and take the safety off, moving slowly towards the front door—feet were shuffling every few seconds on the other side before a hesitant knock sounds.

“Whose there?” you call, and no one answers. “I’ve got a gun trained on the door, and I’m not afraid to kill anyone who dares threaten me in my own home. Announce yourself,” you shout.

“Do you know what to do with that thing?” You flick the safety and almost rip the door off the hinges to pry it open. You rub at your eyes repeatedly, and he just stands before you, almost waiting.

“You’re not here,” you whisper, eyes flooding with tears, “This is another dream, and I’m going to wake up and be alone again.” You reach toward him and touch the dark beard on his face. “I wish you’d just killed me...that way I don’t have to keep losing you over and over again.”

His large gun-calloused hands cup your cheeks and force your eyes up to his, “I’m here; this is isn’t a dream.”

You let out a humorless chuckle, “that’s what you always say.”

“I’m here,” he drags you closer and kisses you tenderly. The saltiness from your tears blending on your tongue as he opens your mouth to him. He’s large and warm beneath the layers, and his hands move to your waist to pull you flush against him. “Touch me,” he pulls away, breathless, “Feel my heartbeat, as it always has only for you. I’m real. You will never be alone, my love.”

You’re full-on sobbing now, and you can barely see his blurry form through your tears as he pulls you both into the cabin and kicks the door closed with his boot. It’s impossible to tell where he ends, and you begin as he moves you back towards the bed—discarding layers until you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. “Three? It is you,” you tremble and pull away to look at him, and he shakes his head no.

“No. Not anymore,” he kisses you softly and lays you down on the bed before falling in beside you and holding you close, whispering, “David. My name is David.”

I’m already planning more...would you like to see it?

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes @santiagogarcia

Tagging some who might be interested: @veuliee2 @justrunamok @propertyofabelmorales @writefightandflightclub @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @itspdameronthings

#The Bourne Legacy #Bourne Legacy #Outcome 3 #Oscar Isaac #Outcome 3 x reader #female reader #Autumn Writes

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petrichoravellichor · 3 years

Text

Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Chapter 2 (of 5) (Ch. 1, Ch. 3, Chs. 4 & 5)

Days go by. Crowley remains in his room, keeping the door locked and stubbornly ignoring any attempts by Sam or Dean to gain entrance, although he does spare a breath to shout that if they want something to do, they can go ward the rest of the Bunker against further intrusions from certain Hell witches. In the end, the brothers leave him alone, and Crowley tells himself he’s glad. It nearly works; he is, after all, a very good liar, even to himself.

Then comes a newer knock, a softer one, followed by a voice Crowley recognizes as belonging to the new God-Kid, Jack: “Hello? Mr. Crowley? Are you still in there?”

And maybe it’s because he’s bored—it’s certainly not because he’s lonely— but Crowley decides to answer. “Why are you knocking?” he snaps. “Can’t you just blow the bloody door off its hinges?”

A beat of silence; then: “I...could, but it wouldn’t be very polite.”

Wouldn’t be very—?! Crowley gapes at the door; dear God, the boy really was Castiel’s son. Eventually, Crowley asks, “What do you want?”

“Do you know how to play chess?”

Whatever Crowley is expecting, it isn’t that. He goes to the door, unlatching the bolt and opening it a crack. “What?”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Jack repeats and holds up a battered old set. “I found this in the storeroom a while back, but I don’t know how to play, and neither do Sam or Dean.”

And it’s...strange. Crowley knows, logically, that this is the golden-eyed man he saw in the Empty, the supremely powerful being who is not only Lucifer’s spawn but also the new God; he knows this...yet somehow, as Jack stands before him and smiles almost shyly, Crowley can’t help but think Jack looks rather...small.

He frowns, opening the door wider. “What about Castiel?” Crowley demands archly. “Surely he’s familiar with what it means to be a pawn.”

Unfortunately, the jab appears to go right over the boy’s head. “He knows what all the pieces are called,” Jack says, nodding, “but he’s never played before. Have you?”

Crowley has. He actually rather likes chess, although it’s been some time since he’s faced a worthy opponent. As King of Hell, he’d of course been able to order other demons to play with him, but most of them were so abysmally bad at it that he’d stopped bothering after a while. “Why do you ask?” he says, instead of answering.

“Will you teach me?”

The request catches Crowley off-guard; he can’t help but feel it’s some sort of joke. “You want me,” he says slowly, “to teach you how to play chess.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Jack’s face falls; he looks down. “Okay. Sorry for bothering you; I’ll leave you alone.”

Jack turns and begins to walk away, and the sight really shouldn’t bother Crowley...but it does. He feels a sort of painful pressure building in his chest, and suddenly, the thought of being alone any longer is downright unbearable. Bollocks...

“Wait!” Crowley calls, stepping out into the hallway as Jack turns to peer hopefully over his shoulder. “Just...wait. I’ve changed my mind. The answer is yes.”

Jack beams. “You mean it?”

And he looks so bloody happy that Crowley has to focus his gaze on Jack’s shoulder; looking too long at that smile feels like staring into the sun. “I said as much,” he grumbles. “What more do you want?”

“Can we play in the library? The lighting’s better there.”

Crowley flicks his gaze back to Jack’s face, fully prepared to say no, they’ll play in his quarters or not at all...but Jack is giving him these blasted, begging eyes that Crowley would bet good money were learned from Sam, and what actually comes out is, “Lead the way.”

*****

They take to having daily lessons in the library. Crowley demonstrates various openings and defenses, and when they progress to actual matches, he shows no mercy, checkmating Jack’s king in what feels like a record number of moves.

Still, what Jack lacks in natural ability, he makes up for with eagerness to learn and ample appreciation of Crowley’s knowledge, which is...actually rather nice, if Crowley’s being honest with himself; he can’t remember the last time anyone appreciated him for anything.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel look in on them from time to time, although Crowley pretends not to notice them. Once, he catches a glimpse of a woman Jack says is called Eileen Leahy.

“She’s Sam’s girlfriend,” Jack explains brightly as he takes one of Crowley’s pawns with his remaining bishop. “Sam brought her back from the dead after a hellhound killed her.”

Ah. That explains the dirty look...Crowley frowns, moving a knight to capture Jack’s bishop. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Sam, years ago, that he hadn't known who Eileen was when he lent a hellhound to the British Men of Letters, and besides, they were the ones who’d decided to sic said hellhound on the woman, not him. It’s not his fault the bastards had apparently thought it sporting to use an invisible weapon against someone who couldn’t hear it coming. If Crowley had wanted to kill Eileen, he would have at least had the decency to use a weapon she could see. Still, what’s done is done, and Crowley does his best not to dwell on it. The topic of hellhounds is, after all, rather painful at present, given that he still doesn’t know what’s become of Juliet.

Not for the first time, Crowley curses himself for losing his temper with his mother before having learned the fate of his favorite hellhound. Was Juliet still in Hell, where he’d left her? Had she been well-cared for in his absence? What if one of his adversaries had harmed her out of spite? What if his mother had harmed her out of spite? Crowley has no way of knowing, not unless he wants to contact his mother again or just show up in Hell, and neither option inspires optimism. Rowena could very easily lie to him over the phone, and setting foot in Hell feels far too akin to walking into a trap: enough of Crowley’s enemies have probably survived the past few years that he’d be stabbed the moment he got through the gates, and for what? Only to learn that Juliet had been butchered years ago? At least as things currently are, he can still hold onto the chance, however slim, that Juliet is alive. If only there were some way to know…

Go on then, universe, Crowley thinks savagely, give me a bloody sign.

No sooner does the thought form than Crowley hears the click of paws against the Bunker's floor. He freezes, hardly daring to believe...but his hopes are abruptly dashed when a moment later, a tan, scruffy-looking mutt who is neither Juliet nor a hellhound enters the library. The dog pauses when it catches sight of him seated across from Jack at the table, then growls.

Jack looks over and smiles. “Hey, boy, it’s okay,” he calls soothingly, reaching a hand down to get the dog’s attention. “This is Mr. Crowley; he’s a friend. Come say hi.”

To Crowley's surprise, the dog scampers forward, apparently willing to take Jack’s word on the matter. It stops next to Crowley’s chair and sniffs him curiously until Crowley reaches out and hesitantly pats its head, at which point it starts wagging its tail and lets out a friendly sort of bark. The sound fills Crowley with a sense of unexpected warmth.

“When did you lot get a dog?” he asks, glancing back at Jack as the dog lies down at his feet.

“A little over a week ago,” Jack replies. “Dean found him after Chuck made everyone disappear. His name is Miracle.”

“Miracle,” Crowley repeats, looking down at the dog, which yawns back at him, apparently settling in for a nap. “Of course.”

After they finish their lesson, Crowley starts to return to his room, only to hear Miracle trailing after him into the hall. He turns to regard the dog with a frown.

“If it’s treats you’re after,” Crowley says, “I haven’t got any.”

Miracle cocks his head, seeming to consider him for a moment, then pads over, tail wagging and eyes bright. “Woof.”

Crowley arches a brow. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

“Woof.”

“Right.” Crowley sighs. “Well, come on, then,” he says, turning and continuing the rest of the way to his room, Miracle trotting alongside him. “You’re no hellhound, but I suppose you’ll do for company.”

And to himself, with grudging approval: Well played, universe. Well played.

*****

More days pass. Crowley spends most of his time in his room, leafing through books borrowed from the Bunker library with Miracle curled up at the foot of his bed. The dog comes to visit him more often than not, scratching insistently at the door until Crowley lets him in. Having him around doesn’t make Crowley’s anxieties over Juliet fade away, but it does lessen the sting of her absence, if only a little.

Jack also stops by with increasing frequency, and Crowley honestly still doesn’t know what to make of him. Lucifer’s blood flows in the boy’s veins, and by all accounts, that should make Jack terrible beyond reason, a vicious, manipulative creature whose only goal is to bring about the downfall of mankind in the most horrible way imaginable.

Instead, Jack sits cross-legged on Crowley’s bed and talks cheerfully about Star Wars or whatever other interest has his attention that day, and his only vice seems to be an insatiable sweet tooth. During one of his visits, he asks about Crowley’s life before they met, and there’s something so maddeningly sincere about the way he does it that Crowley finds himself telling Jack more than he means to, about himself, about Hell, about his mother...

By the time he finishes, Crowley feels raw and a little embarrassed at having said so much, but Jack just smiles softly. “It’s okay, Mr. Crowley,” he says. “We can be more than the people we come from; my dads taught me that. We can choose to be good.”

Crowley isn’t so sure about that, at least not as far as he himself is concerned. His soul is about as damned as a soul can get, and besides, his choices have a nasty habit of blowing up in his face. Still, it’s...a nice thought, if nothing else.

He’s still thinking about it later that night, long after Jack’s gone off to Heaven for a bit to do whatever it is he and Amara do up there. Crowley’s sitting in the dark kitchen having a cup of tea—cheap stuff that comes in a bag, unfortunately, but at least there’d been a kettle—when Castiel appears in the doorway, an almost-silhouette against the soft glow of the hall light, and peers in at him through the darkness.

Crowley stares stonily back. Apparently, his assessment of the shift in Dean and Castiel's dynamic had been correct: Castiel is barefoot, wearing a t-shirt and sweats that were probably once Dean’s or maybe still are. Crowley can practically smell Dean’s scent on the clothes even from where he sits, and the low-quality tea does nothing to chase the bitterness from his mouth. Who would have thought that all it would take to tear away whatever final shred of heterosexuality Dean Winchester had been clinging to all these years was a deathbed love confession followed by a romp in the Empty? Not that Crowley cares a whit about that; he doesn't, not even a little bit, not at all.

“Hello, Castiel,” he says darkly. “Out for a stroll? You should try the dungeon; from what I recall, it’s lovely this time of night.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know,” he says evenly, “having never spent the night there.” Then, before Crowley can think of a suitable comeback, Castiel gestures at an empty stool on the other side of the table. “May I?”

Crowley shrugs. “This is your home, not mine. You don’t need my permission to do anything.”

“Even so, I’d like to have it.”

“Then consider it had. I’ll take my tea elsewhere.”

Castiel frowns. “There’s no need for that.”

Crowley lets his eyes linger on Castiel’s shirt, on Dean’s shirt, then snaps his gaze back to Castiel’s face. “Not for you, perhaps.”

Silence. Crowley is hyperaware of the clock on the wall, ticking out each passing second as they stare each another down, and he half hopes Castiel will charge, practically dares him to. Crowley’s not stupid—he knows his odds against an ordinary angel aren't particularly good, let alone a former leader of garrisons—but at the moment, he doesn’t care: worst-case scenario, Castiel kills him and he goes back to the Empty. Maybe if Crowley's lucky, he’ll actually get a funeral this time.

Eventually, however, Castiel’s shoulders relax, and he sighs. “You should know,” he says, quietly, “I bear you no ill will over our past grievances.”

Crowley bristles; for a second, he considers getting up and throwing the first punch himself. He isn’t sure what Castiel is playing at, but whatever it is, he’s not in the mood for games. “Of course you don’t," he growls. "They all worked out in your favor.”

Castiel regards him carefully. “You’re referring to Dean.”

“I’m referring to everything!” Crowley snaps, nearly shattering his cup as he slams it down on the table. “Haven’t you noticed, Castiel? Your choices are lauded, held up as grand examples of what one does for love, and mine?” He lets out a mirthless laugh that comes out closer to a sob. “Mine end with me on the business end of an angel blade, dying for a world where I’m not even missed, not by Dean or anyone else.”

No sooner does he say the words than Crowley feels like he can’t breathe. Which is stupid, because he doesn’t need to breathe, hasn’t for centuries, but the feeling’s there all the same. The place his heart would be if he still had one aches; it’s as though a well-healed scar in his chest has been sliced wide open and now Crowley’s choking on all the blood. He blinks back the bitter tears he can feel prickling at his eyes, staring fixedly down at the tabletop and wishing it would swallow him whole.

Eventually, he manages to get himself under control, and by the time the choking feeling subsides, Crowley is more exhausted than angry. Maybe Dean should have left him in the Empty after all, he thinks tiredly; it would have saved a good deal of heartache.

Through it all, Castiel remains silent; when Crowley finally looks up at him, he’s surprised to be met with something strangely akin to pity. Ordinarily, it would be infuriating, but right now, Crowley just can’t find the energy to give a damn; he slumps forward over the table and sighs. “What is it you want, Castiel?” he asks listlessly. “You came here to say something, so by all means, say it. There’s nothing you can take from me that I haven’t already lost.”

For a moment, Castiel lingers on the threshold; then he steps into the dark kitchen and sits across from Crowley at the table. Crowley waits, expecting to be told off...but when Castiel speaks, his tone is surprisingly, solemnly gentle.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, “for the interest you’ve taken in Jack. What he’s been going through lately...facing Chuck, rebuilding Heaven...it’s been a great deal of change very suddenly. He’s trying so hard, and Sam, Dean, and I are supporting him as best we can, as is Amara, but it's still an incredible burden for a child to bear.” Castiel smiles sadly. “Especially when it’s so easy for others to forget that he’s a child.”

As he listens to Castiel speak, Crowley thinks back to that day in the Empty, at the cosmically powerful golden-eyed being who shielded him, shielded all of them, from the surrounding darkness. Jack is powerful in ways Crowley can only begin to imagine...but he’s also more than that. He's the boy who knocked timidly on Crowley's door and asked to learn chess, the boy who sits on the edge of Crowley’s bed and talks to him and smiles in delight when Miracle chases his tail. He’s curious and well-mannered and kind and—

And God, Crowley realizes with a start; bloody hell, when had he grown so fond of God?

“But, as I was saying,” Castiel says, snapping Crowley out of his thoughts, “the time you’ve been spending with him, treating him like he’s anyone else, giving him space to just be himself...it’s been good for him.” A pause, then: “You’ve been good for him. And while you and I have had our differences—”

Crowley can’t help it; he snorts. “That’s putting it mildly,” he says, and Castiel actually cracks a smile before continuing:

“—and while you and I have had our differences, Jack’s happiness takes precedence over all of them. He’s my son, and you matter to him.” He looks at Crowley intently, then adds, in a tone of absolute certainty, “And he would miss you if you were gone.”

The weight of Castiel’s words nearly knocks Crowley to the floor. He’s never mattered to anyone before, and now...now he matters to God. Crowley swallows; he doesn’t know what to say.

Castiel seems to understand, though. They sit in silence, and it’s not exactly amicable, but it’s not strained, either. Like for the first time since Castiel entered the kitchen, there’s enough space in the room for both of them.

Eventually, Crowley clears his throat. “There’s still some water left in the kettle,” he says, “if you’d like a cup of tea.” Then, because he doesn’t want to appear too agreeable, he gestures despairingly down at his cup and adds, “although what passes for Earl Grey according to Winchester tastes is, unsurprisingly, questionable at best.”

And Castiel, to Crowley’s surprise, smirks. “Leave that to me,” he says, rising and heading over to the cupboard. “I know where Sam hides the stash Rowena gave him for Christmas.”

#crowley #spn crowley #fergus macleod #crowley macleod #jack kline #spn #supernatural #spn fic #spn fix-it fic #spn spoilers #a new kind of life #my writing #this was supposed to go up tomorrow but i finished editing early and figured what the heck #one less thing to worry about tomorrow :)

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yukiobeyme · 3 years

Note

For the MammoBarb bartender AU!

The bar is a joint project, owned by both Diavolo and Lucifer. And Barbatos is their best (and only) bartender. His skill’s are absolutely top notch, and none can compare. But he is also only one person, and business has been booming.

Diavolo starts to worry for his friend, that the stress of it all might be too much. But Barbatos insists that the tips alone are well worth all of the effort. Still, he can’t help but tell Lucifer about his concerns. And Lucifer agrees.

Mammon is a troublemaker, in every sense of the word. He often gets into fights, and gambles away most of his money. (His prized possession is his motorcycle Goldie!) And one day, after bailing him out of jail yet again, Lucifer has had enough.

He tells his brother that he’s going to be a bartender at his bar until he can pay off all of the money that he owes, to both Lucifer and the debt collectors. It seems like an impossible task, but if Mammon could get tipped as well as Barbatos...

It’s up to Barbatos to get Mammon, his new coworker, into tip top shape. And Barbatos isn’t easily pleased. When he first meets Mammon, he definitely isn’t impressed. Yet despite that, he’s determined to turn him into the perfect bartender.

And maybe they start hanging out after his lessons. Maybe sometimes Mammon drags him out on that motorcycle (which Barbatos insists is a death trap). It’s only natural for them to drink together, and to chat. It’s all in the name of teaching him... right?

And if Mammon becomes a waiter at times, and walks around the bar wearing bunny ears and a tail, he definitely isn’t starting. (Despite what Lucifer and Diavolo may think).

~ s8ncake 💚🎂

@s8ncake you spoil me so much! (and I love it) looking back now I guess my hand spilled I hope you enjoy and feel a little spoiled too?

Mammon is known for his bar fights, loud mouth, and Goldie. He has a record as long as he is tall, starting from age 18. Though if his record was wiped when he turned 18 it would probably be twice as long. Most of the stuff is minor, usually just consequences from bar fights or his motorcycle being too loud, but it’s enough that he has spent a night or two. The cops, Simeon and Solomon, are use to Mammon’s antics and they usually let stuff slide or just give a warning. Though Simeon will always goes to Lucifer to let him know when Mammon gets in trouble. I also imagine him having tattoos, especially hand tattoos.

Mammon is now an apprentice bartender for Barbatos to pay off debts. And honestly Barbatos is equal pissed and nervous. Barbatos knows of Mammon through stories from Lucifer and Diavolo but also from other bartenders. None of those bartender stories are good, they paint a picture of a man that is rowdy, loud, and disrespectful to anybody who has authority. Though Barbatos decides he will raise to the challenge and sets to work.

Mammon is clumsy and dropped bottles while doing drinks, which hurts Barbatos’ soul. But the sheepish look Barbatos gets makes him forgive him instantly. Mammon is in awe whenever Barbatos does a trick and Barbatos just rolls his eyes.

Mammon gets about two weeks of intense training from Barbatos before his first real shift. Barbatos might not have been impressed when he first saw Mammon but Barbatos can’t lie, he cleans up nicely. A black button up with his sleeves rolled up, his tattoos on full display and tight black jeans. Mammon might not be able to do all the tricks Barbatos can, but he definitely is a hit with the ladies and the men (and the non-binary folks). Barbatos is quite impressed by the end of the shift, Mammon didn’t break anything and he made all the drinks correctly, though he had to ask Barbatos twice what a drink was but Barbatos let it slide.

They know only have intense lessons twice a week and just meet up two hours before the bar opens where Barbatos tests his knowledge and teaches his some simplier tricks. And on Sundays after the last person leaves at 3am and they are closed after three full swing days, they each make a drink and toast to surviving the weekend crowd. Mammon goes for a simple rum and coke and Barbatos a gin and tonic. The chat about everything, or that’s what Barbatos thought. He just didn’t think there was much to Mammon but he was wrong.

It was about month of Mammon being a bartender before he got into his first fight. Barbatos was shocked and surprised to watch Mammon get out from behind the bar before picking a fight with a patron. Barbatos is furious as he watches the patron getting kicked out and Mammon being dragged to the back by Lucifer, Diavolo following close behind. What surprised Barbatos the most though, when he hears that the person Mammon just beat the crap out of was a creep and making unwanted moves on someone and even talk about a tampered drink. It leaves Barbatos wondering and he makes a note to ask Mammon about it.

Barbatos leaves the bar unattended to check on Mammob, bringing ice from the cooler. Mammon is in a heat debate with Lucifer, telling Lucifer exactly what Barbatos heard from the patrons. Mammon was defending someone. Barbatos doesn’t know what caused him to say something but he speaks up and defends Mammon and thrusts the bag of ice for him. Gesturing to Mammon’s brusing face. Lucifer freezes, not knowing Barbatos was there and shocked to have someone stuck up for Mammon. Lucifer leaves with reminding Mammon, that he can’t throw the first punch. Barbatos waits half a second before realizing he has left the bar unattended, so he ducks out the room and makes his way back to the bar. Mammon is still a hot topic, most wondering if he will come back out or not. Barbatos tells them he has the rest of the night off but would be back the next night.

That night when they finally close, Barbatos finds Mammon standing awkwardly at the bar before making his way to clean up. They work in silence before Barbatos finally asks, if that’s how Mammon usually gets into fights. Mammon seems to light up in anger and before Barbatos knows it Mammon is talking about how people don’t pay attention. That it takes one second and something bad can happen. Or how it takes one second and a creep in trying to make a move on an unwilling person. He hates it and won’t stand for it, and if he doesn’t do something no one will, bystander effect. Barbatos feels something shift inside him, he realizes he growing a soft spot for Mammon. Mammon didn’t fight because he was drunk, he was fighting to protect. Barbatos makes sure he doesn’t condemn Mammon’s choice. Because Barbatos has been a bartender long enough he knows that. Lucifer’s words from earlier makes sense, Mammon throws the first punch which is what gets him in trouble. Then why Simeon and Solomon seem okay with just giving him warnings and not making it so charges aren’t pressed. Mammon is trying to do good, justice.

After the first fight, Barbatos makes a code system with Mammon. Let him know through drinks what’s going on. Giving Barbatos a heads up what’s happening in his bar and let’s him contact security. Which successfully keeps Mammon out of trouble. While Mammon seem to fume a bit and needs to walk away for a few moments, he always comes back without having to throw a punch and each time Barbatos has pride flowing through his veins.

The longer Mammon works at the bar, the more Barbatos learns about him. Mammon isn’t shallow and easy to read, he is an ocean and complex. Barbatos finds himself wanting to understand. Something Barbatos knows is Mammon has some angry issues and some days are harder than others. Those days Barbatos finds Mammon at the bar before their lesson, in old clothes and messing with his motorcycle out front. Barbatos has learned to not talk to Mammon but just sit near him and watch him work. It’s therapeutic in its own way, Mammon knows his way around this death machine and it’s attractive. Mammon moves so fluidly and eventually Mammon will start narrating what he doing, whether it’s just checking fluids, readjusting his seat or handles, or just purely messing with the engine. Then about thirty minutes before their lesson Mammon will head in and try and clean up the best he can. He mostly grease free and Barbatos says as long as his hands and arms are clean, he can mix.

It’s on a summer day when Mammon is working on his motorcycle and they are sitting in silence, when Mammon mentions he made enough money to pay off all his debts. So he is free to leave, but he is holding off until he decides what he wants to do. Barbatos felt his heart dropped, he wasn’t ready for Mammon to leave yet. He doesn’t want Mammon to leave, he forgot it was a temporary employment. Barbatos tries to shove away all his emotions. Barbatos is unusually quiet that night and Mammon notices and doesn’t know what to think of it.

After two weeks, Mammon breaks the news to Barbatos that he won’t be bartending with him... full time anymore. At first Barbatos is heart broken but then it hits him, full time? Mammon tells him, he going to be helping Beel with the kitchen being a waiter. He even grumbles about having to wear the stupid bunny outfit. Mammon tells Barbatos he hopes he doesn’t mind, but tells him he still willing to help during the busy hours.

The first time Barbatos sees Mammon wearing bunny ears and a tail, he looking respectfully. When Diavolo and Lucifer come to watch, grab a drink and catch up with patrons. They make a comment about how Barbatos seems distracted by something. Which is by far ridiculous. Barbatos isn’t staring, and he sure isn’t staring hard at the white tail that matches Mammon’s hair color perfectly. At some point though, Mammon notices and definitely starts throwing winks and exaggerating bending over for Barbatos, which leaves him hot and bother and flushed.

The patrons catch on to the show and while some are disappointed the great Bartender and the hot assistant are not only taken but taken by each other. Which Mammon never denies and only fuels that rumor through a red face, while Barbatos is barely holding composure. Though when Lucifer and Diavolo catch on, Mammon completely denies everything, which only makes him seem more quilty in their eyes. And on the nights they flirt the most, if there is an increase in tips, they don’t speak about it.

Mammon asks Barbatos if he wants to ride on his motorcycle with him and Barbatos instantly says no. It takes another month before he says maybe and by the second month he says yes. At this point, they are completely dancing around each other. Awkward pauses and staring at each other’s lips, brushing fingers, and blushing and avoiding other eyes. Barbatos hates he agreed to go on the death trap, but it’s their first day off in a while and he doesn’t want to be away from Mammon. Barbatos makes it known and Mammon flashes him a dangerous smile and tells him to hold on.

Barbatos squeezes the life out of Mammon, brushed flush against his back and tries to hide his face in Mammon’s neck. After what feels like forever, Mammon tells Barbatos they have arrived. It’s to a cliff side that over looks city and it’s dark now so there are city lights. Before Barbatos can say anything, Mammon pulls him close and clashes their lips together. It’s a messy first kiss, too much teeth and their noses kept getting in the way. They pulled away flushed, swollen lips, and panting. The second kiss Barbatos leads and isnt as urgent but expresses the same amount of emotion.

Now the bar is more lively and fun, and if Lucifer or Diavolo had to pinpoint why, it was because it seemed a strict and uptight bartender fell for a no good troublemaker. Though they can’t say they are too happy when those two start work with the outfits already askew or if during the night they both disappear for a few moments. Though Barbatos says Mammon is still a trouble maker, just in a very different way.

#long post #super long post #I world built way too much #like i should have just written the damn fic #yuki rambles #yuki writes #mammobarb #obey me mammom #mammon obey me #barbatos obey me #obey me barbatos #s8ncake i love you

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