3kish words, E, pr: dialuci, #frantic handsy grinding where both parties are grimy and trapped in a place. that’s what romance is, thanks @devildomz

“Lucifer,” Diavolo purrs, and Lucifer tosses a halfhearted glare up through his lashes at the ornately carved ceiling at nothing in particular. Spares a moment to wonder for the owner of this tomb, and if they ever had someone that said their name just the way Diavolo says his. 

He shivers at the thought. 

alternate summary: a dialuci addition to a modern magic!au i wrote, where Lucifer is a world-renowned curse-breaker that takes a teaching job at the academy Diavolo is in charge of. they then go on a field trip that ends with them trapped in a tomb! but don’t let this fool you, it’s a frottage pwp. 

(based in the same universe as this asmo/solomon magic college!au)

because i have no impulse control, and because @kareirakugaki is a *terrible* influence that went “what if they went to a tomb” and 

tumblr user indiavolojones: oh fuck yeah

i also play loose and fast with the details. don’t look too into how magic works, guys.

~~~

“A university funded trip,” Lucifer summarizes, looking at the proposal in front of him, “You want me to take a group of children to an ancient tomb with a potentially large amount of obscure, lethal curses.” 

“They’re hardly children, Lucifer!” Diavolo laughs, waving his hands. It’s partially true, the Advanced Curse-Breaking course hosts only students aged twenty and up, but Lucifer has seen much older adults lose their cool at less. Lucifer smothers the knee-jerk reaction to squint suspiciously as Diavolo just keeps giving him that megawatt smile. The same one that both charms and infuriates the Board, much to Lucifer’s secret, vindictive glee. 

“Besides,” Diavolo’s smile softens, and softens Lucifer’s carefully constructed walls with it, “You said you missed being out in the field. I thought this might be fun for you.” 

Lucifer sighs. Maybe this will be fine. 

-

-

-

Never again. 

Absolutely no more field trips for the curse-breaking department. Lucifer will bring back every obscure jinxed item he stumbles upon back to campus before he ever, ever goes on another university funded trip.

They’ve been trapped here for nearly a week. 

More specifically, six days since Lucifer missed one curse, delicately woven into the surface of a pressure plate, and he hasn’t stopped beating himself up since. An ancient magic that had immediately sent shivers through the entrance hall, Lucifer barely managing to shout get back! at Mammon and the rest of their party when the foundations began to crumble. 

Mammon and the others should find the exit easily enough, considering it’s only a few hours in the other direction. Getting back to Lucifer and Diavolo is the hard part, now that the site of their cave-in (aka the only known way out) is an unstable path, they have to find another way out or hope that someone out there can find them. Magical tombs are notorious for being hard to get in and out of without using the intended entrances, too many wards layered over the walls to dissuade those who would try to use brute strength to get through the labyrinth. Thankfully, Diavolo and Lucifer are both powerful mages in their own rights, so they’re far from helpless. Lucifer’s able to siphon water from the moss and wildlife to keep their water pouches adequately filled, even if it tastes a little strange. Diavolo has an intense amount of obscure knowledge of herbology, and somehow manages to deduce which of the strange plants won’t kill them to consume. 

They stick close to the cave-in, but the ground grumbles in warning every so often, and Lucifer makes the call for them to venture further into the depths but... They aren’t any closer to finding a way out. They’re running out of supplies, their mana reserves at an agonizing all time low, and one can only live on bitter moss and plant water for so long. 

The kiss itself is not a surprise, but merely a culmination of months of unspoken tension and lingering, awkward affection, spurned into action by the adrenaline, the danger. Diavolo’s hand massaging enticingly into Lucifer’s hip as he pushes him against the mossy wall, the wandering nature of the other hand as it traces up the side of Lucifer’s neck, cupping his jaw.   

When his back hits the stone, Lucifer’s lips part to warn Diavolo against the act, as it might trigger any wall traps they might not have initially noticed–but Diavolo reads this as an invitation, tongue dipping deeper into the other’s mouth. Lucifer’s traitorous legs spread to accommodate Diavolo’s increased force, tipping back so that he’s balanced by Diavolo’s body and the surface behind him, so hm, maybe it was an invitation. 

If this is how they’re going to go out, Lucifer would rather be kissed breathless than die wandering aimlessly through these ruins… Although, now that he thinks about it, it would hurt his ego terribly to be found mid-embrace, skewered by some magical spear trap. 

After all his hard work, for his research and reputation to be dragged through the dirt at his tragic end...

Lucifer’s hand on Diavolo’s chest starts pushing insistently, until Diavolo tilts his head back. The kiss breaks, but not the heat between them. Lucifer can’t help the glancing down at the spit-slicked sheen of Diavolo’s swollen lips, dragging his gaze up to catch the burning gold of his eyes. His heart stutters, but Lucifer keeps his composure as he speaks: 

“Do you think now is the time for this?” 

As if Lucifer is not hard, hot, and wanting against Diavolo’s body, his breath rattling in his chest–but Lucifer’s hands are pressed flat against the cool wall behind him, fingers wordlessly easing magic into the stonework to search for signs of ancient curse-work.  

“I think everything will work out in the end,” Diavolo says, calm and measured, yet light and playful–his words are vague enough that Lucifer’s eyes narrow. 

Desperation is a heady, powerful drug. 

It would make perfect sense for Diavolo to kiss him now, when their tension is at an all time high, when the harsh need for survival is offset by the human desire for comfort. There is a heat in the other’s motions, in how Diavolo’s hands twitch to explore Lucifer’s body, but none of the desperation that Lucifer would expect from a rowdy, passionate encounter in an ancient, abandoned tomb.

“Why is that?” Lucifer scoffs. Why does he have such confidence? What does he know that Lucifer does not? 

Lucifer is no stranger to dangerous situations–curse breaking is the equivalent of bomb diffusion, essentially. Including all the morally dubious, soul rotting side-effects of knowing how to build those bombs. So Lucifer, who has on more than one occasion thrown himself into death’s arms only to come out victorious, should not be more frantic than Diavolo, a fucking chancellor to a prestigious magical academy. 

A man that spends more time sitting inside, filling out paperwork, and guiding young, impressionable minds than anything else should not look so calm.  

“Because you’re here.” Diavolo grins, a boyish honesty to his words. A record audibly screeches in his head. Lucifer blinks, magic stuttering to a halt at the other’s words, peppering out against the unforgiving stone. 

“You’re Lucifer Morningstar–world-renowned curse-breaker.” Oh, he’s playing at Lucifer’s pride in the best way, and Diavolo knows it. “You have more accolades than most of the staff. You’re the best person I could have possibly been trapped with in a place like this.” 

Diavolo raises the hand from Lucifer’s hip to gesture at the tomb around them, before reaching down to prod at one of the hands Lucifer has against the wall, urging until he laces their hands together. Residual magic sparks off Lucifer’s hands, and Diavolo rubs his thumb into the nooks between his knuckles.

“How could I not think everything will be fine?” 

If Lucifer were Mammon, he would be spitting vehement dissent until the moment passed. If he were Levi, he might spontaneously combust. If he were Satan, he–Lucifer doesn’t have time to ponder what his stupid brothers would do when faced with such shameless praise. His parted lips speak no words, Lucifer knows that he likely has a few precious seconds before Diavolo teases him on his speechlessness–

–Diavolo kisses him, and it wipes away all coherent thought anyway. 

-

-

-

Lucifer, a healthy thirty-something year old man, is not a virgin. 

(Granted, most of the people he sleeps with tend to not have any knowledge of what he truly does. Being a world-renowned curse-breaker has its perks, but most people that find out his profession tend to be a little put off. Professor has a much more respectable edge to it, not that Lucifer’s been able to think about anyone but this absolutely infuriating chancellor.)

With this thought in mind, Lucifer will kill both Diavolo and then himself before he ever admits that Diavolo manages to work him into, dare he say it, a mess. 

He’ll only acknowledge that Diavolo’s plans to completely blindside him with his honesty worked perfectly, much to his chagrin, however much Diavolo denies there being any kind of planning involved. (Lucifer hears Diavolo’s infuriating, lilting voice, full of amusement: How could he have planned a cave-in, Lucifer? Lucifer has too much faith in him!) 

Regardless, Lucifer flourishes under Diavolo’s touch, the hand on his neck tracing back to fist into his hair, the hand laced with him against the wall refuses to let Lucifer go. 

He’s sure that he doesn’t smell great, that they’re both covered in layers of grime–they’ve taken the best efforts to keep clean with what they have available, but Diavolo bites at Lucifer’s neck like he smells and tastes like a fucking delicacy, and Lucifer lets out a gasp too loud in the echoing chamber. His mouth snaps shut, fierce blush crossing his cheeks, but he can feel Diavolo’s smile against his skin. 

“Lucifer,” Diavolo purrs, and Lucifer tosses a halfhearted glare up through his lashes at the ornately carved ceiling at nothing in particular. Spares a moment to wonder for the owner of this tomb, and if they ever had someone that said their name just the way Diavolo says his.

He shivers at the thought. When Diavolo says his name again, it’s accompanied by a gasp turning into a muffled shout, bitten into the exposed skin just above the collar of Diavolo’s leather jacket when Diavolo slides a thick, muscular thigh between Lucifer’s legs. 

Diavolo presses the weight of himself, slotting perfectly against the spaces of Lucifer’s body–Lucifer’s free hand flies to grab Diavolo’s bicep, marvels in the flex of it under the fabric. 

“No one’s here, Lucifer,” Diavolo murmurs–Lucifer somehow spares another moment to curse him for this, for the quiet intensity that Diavolo only displays in the tenderest of their exchanges. Granted, before this, it was quiet evenings in the faculty room, a coffee gifted after a sleepless night of grading papers. Now it’s Diavolo grinding against him. 

“You don’t have to hide your voice.” 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, deciding that he’s been pliant and demure for long enough. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer replies, almost nastily, but it holds no true malice and Diavolo’s always been a sucker for Lucifer being a bit cruel anyway. Lucifer would have to be blind to not notice that when others shy away from his harsh tongue, Diavolo takes to it like breathing. 

It’s a quick, easy motion for Lucifer to slide the hand from Diavolo’s bicep to his hair, to grab tighter onto Diavolo’s short red hair. Dirt streaks across Diavolo’s cheek from somewhere, and Lucifer has to fight to hold onto his feral lust, instead of the foreign burst of affection, the desire to dotingly wipe it away with his thumb. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” He asks, and the question comes out quieter than intended. 

“I want a lot of things, Lucifer,” Diavolo admits, and truly, his honesty will be the death of Lucifer. His head tilts into Lucifer’s hand, melts into his grip. “Pretty much all of them involve you.” His amused, lidded eyes drip with intent so pointed that Lucifer almost balks at the weight, hesitant at the promise Diavolo offers so freely. 

Lucifer will forever claim his apprehension is a mix of exhaustion and concern for their situation, not an oppressive doubt, the latent insecurity that shades all of Lucifer’s decisions. 

But when Diavolo shifts back to clumsily undo the button and zipper to Lucifer’s pants, slipping his hand in, cupping over the thick line of Lucifer’s cock through his boxers, Lucifer finds it hard to doubt the other at all. Groaning through grit teeth at the new, too-close friction, Lucifer tries to jerk away. Diavolo takes his face in hand, stares directly into his eyes. 

“Just, just let me,” Diavolo stumbles over a laugh, huffs the rest of his sentence, his fingers dragging over the head of his cock, dampening the fabric with his precum. It makes Lucifer feel like a teenager again, each breath too hot in his lungs, nearly delirious with want.

Diavolo hisses when Lucifer tries to reach for his cock as well, batting the other’s hand away, warning, “Lucifer.” 

While Diavolo is a powerful mage, there’s generally a difference in the level of skill between himself and Lucifer. Lucifer’s talents lay in the practical, in understanding the groundwork and complexities of something in front of him, something tangible. Diavolo is brilliant in his mastery of diplomacy and the theoretical, the open, endless possibilities that magic and its future leaders will present. 

Physically, though... Not by much, but Diavolo is taller. Diavolo is broader. Lucifer is aware of his own physique, pleasant to look at, although slightly softened by the last few months of grading papers and helping students get uncursed by their own experiments. 

Diavolo has a natural strength to his motions, a warrior’s confidence, a king’s authority–but Diavolo is an educated, if not eccentric, man. Lucifer has never seen him resort to paltry shows of brute strengths for anything his mind could conquer.

So when Lucifer makes another attempt at getting in Diavolo’s pants, Diavolo pins Lucifer’s hand against the wall by his shoulders. The jarring impact of the back of his hand hitting the stone wall sends an unexpected thrill through him, sends something like magic through his nerves, setting off his synapses. The novelty of it. Of Diavolo, so aloof, so charming–the intensity of his force is exhilarating, and Lucifer does not quite know how to temper the want in his chest at the sight of it. 

Once Lucifer relents, folds to this interesting new sensation, Diavolo finally gets a proper palming grip on his cock through the boxer briefs. Lucifer groans, not entirely muffling his voice, but the hand in Diavolo’s hair tightens again, and he presses his lips to the shell of Diavolo’s ear so that the other can hear how he feels. It works as intended, because Diavolo lets out another quiet curse, his impossibly warm, big hand stroking faster along Lucifer’s shaft. 

In the end, it’s easy to let himself get swept up in Diavolo. The angle is awkward, but Diavolo’s enthusiastic motions are consistent enough that Lucifer feels pleasure building low in his belly. Diavolo’s grip on his wrist loosens to the point, where his motions are jerky enough that somehow, he’s not sure which of them cause it, their hands lace again. 

The act is so intimate that it almost startles a laugh out of Lucifer, or it would have, if Lucifer had any air in his lungs left to spare for such things. 

It is laughable, to have them hold hands like this when the act they’re engaging in is so shameless in itself. There is nothing romantic or intimate about how they’re pressed against the wall of a long forgotten tomb, Diavolo’s hand shoved down his pants and Lucifer desperately holding onto him as Diavolo threatens to tear him apart from the inside out. 

Lucifer is exhausted, strung out, his mana deficient a hollow ache inside his chest, but Diavolo’s touch is everything. Distantly, he wonders if Diavolo is adept at any kind of healing magics, but no, Diavolo is just as magically depleted as he is. There is no other reason for the scorching heat between them other than their own stupid libidos. 

Lucifer can barely breathe, his nails dig into Diavolo’s skin hard enough to leave bright red, crescent marks in both the nape of his neck and the back of his other hand. Pleasure shoots up his body at the too-dry strokes, his toes curling as he rocks into Diavolo’s steady form. He kisses Diavolo, wet and messy. Their teeth clack, Lucifer bites down on Diavolo’s lower lip hard enough that he tastes a hint of blood, sharp and coppery in his mouth. 

Diavolo keens, and the sound is so wanton, so needy, that it makes Lucifer’s entire body shudder. 

Lucifer’s orgasm is a surprise that shoots through him like a flare. When he cums, he lets out a strangled cry at his release into their kiss– the sound swallowed by Diavolo’s greedy mouth. He arches against Diavolo, his entire body caught in a thin line of tension. He screws his eyes shut, shaking as Diavolo’s hand continues to work him through each wave of raw pleasure. 

Diavolo talks him through it, murmuring quiet words of encouragement that would have Lucifer snarling were it anyone else. Diavolo does not mean to be patronizing, a voice deep inside Lucifer knows, and in the dreamy, post orgasm-haze, he clings onto it. He clings until his cock becomes too sensitive in his boxers, his body twitching away from Diavolo’s thorough touch. 

It is now that he realizes the uncomfortable situation of having cum in his pants, a truly disgusting sensation as it drips down his thigh, embarrassingly coats the front of his boxer briefs. 

“Don’t say anything,” Lucifer growls, and Diavolo pets his hair gently. Lucifer refuses to admit that it feels nice. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he promises, and before Lucifer can say anything else, he feels the accidental bump of Diavolo’s hard cock against his thigh. Another flash of embarrassment crosses his features at his own selfishness, easily reminded of how Lucifer had so desperately chased his own release in Diavolo’s hands. 

“Don’t get that look in your eye,” Diavolo croons, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer stifles the instinctive reaction to jerk his face away, cheeks burning bright red at the action. “I wanted to do that for you.”  

“I thought I said not to say anything,” Lucifer says, but then his hand is reaching down to cup Diavolo’s cock in hand, “And who said we were done?” 

“Let me down,” Lucifer commands, still breathless, unsure of why he’s requesting that they move positions. What Diavolo thinks is going to happen when they both get to the ground is just as much of a mystery to Diavolo as it is to Lucifer, although there’s a stunned, somehow still turned-on part of Lucifer’s brain that demands Diavolo kiss him on a horizontal surface. 

Maybe they’ll use some of their water rations to clean themselves, that way Lucifer can get on his knees, slide between Diavolo’s legs. Take the other into his mouth, heavy, thick weight of it on his tongue, and reduce the man to the same level of incoherency that Lucifer dreamily feels. 

Diavolo, the hapless fool, does his best to help Lucifer accommodate the new uncomfortable wetness in his pants, but his attempts are quickly in vain. With a quiet oof, one of his feet tangles with one of Lucifer’s, and they crumble to the ground. 

Lucifer lands unceremoniously on his ass, Diavolo on top of him. Diavolo’s hand reaches out to catch himself, bumping into a stone previously unnoticed. The stone shifts, unexpectedly, but what’s more of a surprise is the sharp sudden singing of triggered magic– –still reeling from his own orgasm, Lucifer reacts on instinct alone, one hand reaching out to grab a fistfull of Diavolo’s shirt, clutching him close to his body, another to sweep his arm up to cast a wide barrier around them. Diavolo grunts as his knees bash into the rough ground, propped up between Lucifer’s spread legs. He steadies himself on Lucifer’s knees, head twisting to turn around when nothing shoots out at them–

“Is that–” Diavolo begins, as Lucifer breathes, “–An exit.” 

---

Once they meet up with the rescue team, Lucifer has to handle Mammon being annoying and fretting over him while he’s got dried cum in his pants. That’s the end. I didn’t write it, but just know that Diavolo cannot stop grinning. Mammon’s like, what the hell man, i just SAVED YOU?? and lucifer is like, YES YES now can we PLEASE get the fuck out of here

i’ve been feeling kind of self-conscious about my obey me content recently so... thanks if u got this far huheuehe 

Bare.

Wen Junhui | TattooArtist!Junhui | Fluff | 2,176 words ↳ In which you’re a florist and the flirty stranger who waltzed into the flower shop ends up being the one who gives you your first tattoo. Warning(s): Swearing, Mentions of Sex

You had seen your fair share of people walking through the glass door of your grandmother’s flower shop over the years. From shy teenagers and flustered boyfriends to frantic husbands and grieving women, you had seen them all. Hence why you were pleasantly surprised to find a completely new character added to your mental profile log on a rainy Tuesday evening.

The store was well-lit in contrast to the stormy skies outside, soft jazz music playing in the background for a relaxed feeling. You were waltzing from cluster to cluster, watering can and gardening sheers in hand. The chime of the bell above the door caught your attention, prompting you to halt in the tending of daisies to attend to the customer.

The first thing you noticed when you emerged from the rows of plants was a mop of shocking blond hair. A male who looked to be around your age stood at the entrance, soaked to the bone from the downpour. His platinum locks were plastered to his forehead while his clothes clung to his toned body.

The next thing you noticed was the amount of ink he had across his tan skin. A huge array of things decorated his skin — some peeking out from his collar and others lining his arms, while the wide arm holes of his muscle tee revealed that more were hidden beneath his clothes.

Your eyes went to his face immediately after, not wanting to be rude, though his eyes were not on you as he attempted to comb out his hair with his fingers. From where you stood, you could see that his eyes were lined with kohl and a few piercings adorned his ears.

He basically looked like the textbook definition of ‘trouble’. However, you were not one to discriminate. Putting on your usual service smile, you approached him.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” You were met with a dark and piercing gaze, almost prompting you to take a step back. Yet you stood your ground, patiently waiting for a response. The male blinked at you, unsure as to what he should ask.

“I need flowers…” You almost rolled your eyes at him. Of course he needed flowers. Why else would he venture out to this store in the pouring rain?

“Any specific kind?” You managed to ask, maintaining a professional mask. His eyes widened slightly, as if taken aback by the thought of having to select a type.

“Roses?” His tone was unsure. “Girls like roses, right?”

You failed to conclude if you wanted to slap him or yourself more at that point.

“Is there a particular sentiment you are trying to convey?” He seemed to wince at your question, taking a moment before responding.

“That I’m sorry.”

“Forgot an anniversary?” You enquired, raising a brow in question. He was about to fall into the “asshole boyfriend” category.

“Hurt my sister’s feelings,” he clarified. His response already took you by surprise, yet his genuine feelings towards such a “small” thing amazed you. As he spoke, you could see his gaze soften and flood with guilt, his shoulders drooping in the slightest bit. That was enough to change your initial perception of the male.

“Lilies and roses,” you said while gesturing to the flowers in question. “Pure love and gratitude.”

His eyes light up instantly before he gave you a nod.

“Yes, please.”

You nodded in acknowledgement before moving to get the flowers. When you returned to the counter with the flowers to ring up his order, his entire demeanour seemed to have taken a shift. He had gone from anxious to confident, flashing you a charming grin as you approached.

“Why’s someone like you working in a place like this?” He asked causally, making you cock your head at him.

“What do you mean ‘someone like me’?”

“A babe,” he responded without hesitation. “The kind you’d find in my bed.”

“I was almost flattered,” you deadpanned with an unamused expression. “Now, please pay and leave.”

“What’s got your underwear in a bunch, sweetheart?” He let out a deep chuckle as he placed the money on the counter. “If you want, I can get them off you.”

“Fuck you,” you muttered while rolling your eyes, not even bothering to hide your irritation.

“Are you offering?” He leaned over the counter with a challenging look in his eyes. Frowning, you shoved him back before tossing the bouquet to him across the counter. Annoyingly enough, he caught it with ease.

“Thanks, babe.” He gave you a two-finger salute paired with a smirk before he disappeared out into the rainy night.

Definitely an asshole.

-

You took a deep breath as you stared up at the large oak door. It was tall and painted black, a brass knuckle adding to its aesthetic and increasing the trepidation in your bones.

You had met Wen Huimin a few weeks ago. The moment you laid eyes on her, your interest was piqued. Similar to a certain male you found your thoughts drifting to lately, her skin was painted in various works of art - hand drawn by her, she had told you.

You had always wanted a tattoo, yet you had never found the right time to do so. When Huimin mentioned she was a tattoo artist, it felt like there could not have been a more perfect timing. Hence why you found yourself standing outside the door which the address she gave you had led you to.

You took a deep breath, lifting the knuckle to knock the door before entering the store. You took in the interior design with interest, noting the clean minimalist theme of the place, its accents mainly gold ornaments here and there.

Contrary to your expectations, a male voice called out to you instead of Huimin's voice, taking you by surprise.

"Have a seat. I'll be with you in a second.”

The tone you had associated with that voice was so vastly different from the calm and serious tone you were hearing now that you would not have thought it to belong to the same person until you saw for yourself.

A familiar male emerged from beyond the curtains. He was in a similar garb from the day you had first met him - a muscle tee and ripped jeans. His platinum locks, however, were pushed back and styled up with gel.

Upon catching sight of you, he halted in his steps. His eyes widened a fraction as a chuckle of disbelief left his lips.

"What a surprise, sweetheart. Didn't expect to find you here of all places," his lips quirked up as his eyes glinted with amusement. You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, raising an eyebrow at him.

"What are you doing here?" He chuckled again before gesturing to the surroundings.

"I own this place, love." Your eyes widened at this, not expecting his answer. Yet, you recovered quickly.

"Anyway," you cleared your throat while averting your eyes from his smug face. "I have an appointment with Wen Huimin.”

"You're the one my sister has been nagging me to take care of?" His eyebrows raised to show his surprise.

"That sweet girl is your sister??" You gaped at him, not even bothering to hide your shock. Though your brain went to the latter bit of his question. "What do you mean 'take care of’?"

"Unfortunately, for you" a sly grin appeared on his face. "She had to tend to an emergency, so I'll be handling your tattoo.”

You frowned, merely not thrilled by the idea of him doing your first tattoo for you. Sensing your unease, Junhui's playful expression turned serious.

"Are you comfortable with me handling it? Otherwise, I can reschedule you for another day with her.”

You were about to jump on the offer, yet you knew that with the amount of courage you had to muster to step into the parlour, you were never going to get it if you left now. Sighing, you shook your head.

"Let's do it.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were seated topless on the leather chair, with only a towel to cover up your modesty. The air in the room was cold, yet you felt warm. It was probably because you were going topless in front of a stranger who had flirted with you before, and he was even going to touch your bare skin.

As if on cue, the male strode in through the black curtains separating you from the main store area. He had a sketchbook tucked under his arm while a few bottles of ink were held between his fingers.

"I have the sketch Huimin worked out with you, so you don't have to worry about me inking on something you don't like," he joked in an attempt to diffuse the tension in the room. You recognised his effort, yet you could only give him a stiff nod in return due to how nervous you were. "Go ahead and lie down, we'll get to it right away.”

You did as you were told, fingers clutching tightly at the towel. Your heart was thrashing about in your ribcage, fear of pain clouding your thoughts.

"I never got your name, sweetheart. I'm Wen Junhui." You opened one eye to glare at him, temporarily distracted from your worries.

“Y/N," you gritted out. "Now you know, so stop calling me those names.”

"No can't do, love. I call 'em as I see ‘em."

You rolled your eyes at the greasy smile he flashed you, yet you could not stop your lips from curving up at the edges. He had successfully distracted you, having you focus on the conversation between the two of you instead of the happenings around you.

It was only when Junhui's cold latex covered hands made contact with your skin that you flinched with realisation, eyes flitting down to see that it was only a pencil in his hand.

“Scared?" He chuckled at your reaction, hand reaching out for the sketchpad. You could not even muster a response at this point, merely following his movements with your eyes. You watched as he flipped through the pages before showing you a familiar sketch.

"This is what she sketched out with you, right?" You gave the drawing a quick look over before nodding stiffly. Brushing off your sudden silence, Junhui gently nudged your shoulder as an indication for you to lie down.

As he sketched the lines out on your skin, you remained ramrod strait, not moving an inch. However, the moment the buzz of the needle filled the air, your entire body visibly flinched.

The buzzing stopped immediately, Junhui’s worried face entering your field of vision a second later.

"You're really afraid?" He enquired softly, finally picking up on all your body cues. You nodded again, muscles tense from your nervous state. Your eyes widened when you felt his calloused fingers lace through your own. You stared at him quizzically, only to receive a chuckle, although this time it bore no mockery. "Relax, sweetheart. It will only hurt a lot more if you keep your muscles tense.”

Your eyes narrowed at him in disbelief. Was that his way of comforting you? Unconsciously, your muscles did relax. As the needle finally pierced your skin, all it drew from you was a frown.

"There we go," he cooed encouragingly in an exaggerated manner. "You're doing great, sweetie.”

Your lips curved up at the edges from his antics, which he continued casually in an attempt to distract you from the pain. He worked smoothly with one hand, the other laced through yours and running his thumb soothingly across your knuckles.

Before you knew it, the buzzing ceased and the shop was silent once more. You heard some movement from him along with the clinking of equipment.

"Hey. As much as I love holding your hand, I need both hands to wrap up your tattoo," he teased. It was then that you realised you were still holding onto him. Flushing a faint pink, you dropped his hand and looked away awkwardly.

"Cute." You felt warmth pool in your cheeks, prompting you to mentally scream at yourself for acting this ditzy in front of the flirt.

You waited patiently for him to wrap the tattoo up before putting your clothes back on once he had left to ring you up. For the rest of the time, you remained silent, avoiding his eyes as you made payment.

"Getting shy now, love?" You almost choked when he spoke up. How had he-

"Of course not," you spoke as you resumed your usual poise. He chuckled and shrugged in response, but the look in his eyes told you he didn't buy it one bit.

"See you around, babe. Maybe next time you're naked in my presence, it'll be in my bed and not my shop." He threw you a flirty wink, making you snort.

"You wish.”

"Oh, I do," he countered, leaving you speechless. Rolling your eyes, you turned around and made your way towards the exit, lips unconsciously curving up at the edges.

⧼ Masterlist ⧽

What Element are you?

You are Lightning! (Fire/Air) (LMAO ARE YOU SURE, QUIZ??? Isn’t that my brother’s department?)

Explanation of Loki’s results under the cut because he has two!

Tagged by: @the-renegade-child-of-time

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do this!

Fire is the element of will-power, courage, and vision. Air is the element of freedom, independence, and curiosity. Therefore, Lightning combines the best of Fire’s courage and dynamism with Air’s freedom and flexibility. This is a passionate crusader for freedom, justice, and independence – and often quite the daredevil. Lightning’s overwhelming energy means that it can easily prove to be a dynamic leader in politics, business, science, the arts, or entertainment. Anywhere that quick thinking, adaptability, and fiery determination are in demand, you will find Lightning there to enthusiastically take center stage. Lightning is quite the talker – whether it’s telling a story, telling a joke, giving a speech, acting in a play, or getting into a spirited debate, Lightning always has something to say. Lightning tends to be especially bewildering in debates due to its ability to be both very forceful and jump from subject to subject like the zig-zagging bolt of electricity for which it’s named. If you debate a person whose element is Lightning, be prepared to defend against countless arguments at once. This dynamism extends to Lightning’s personal life as well. There’s never a dull moment for any of Lightning’s friends – there’s always an adventure to go on, a problem to fix, a far-off destination to explore, or a tragedy that needs justice. As might be expected, Lightning is very much a daredevil – no height is too high, no speed too fast, and no thrill too risky. It’s common to see it in extreme sports, martial arts, or exploring the great outdoors. Lightning’s quick reflexes, keen senses, and can-do attitude often mean it is quite athletic. It is passionate in everything it does and can be either a fierce and unpredictable enemy or a passionately devoted friend. Since this Mixed Element combines the two warm elements (Fire and Air), Lightning will tend to be very hot. Here, “hotness” refers to being highly active – i.e. being extroverted, brave, socially-skilled, excitable, and adventurous. Lightning can be made by Fire and Air in many ways. ESTP is essentially Air with the added courage and will-power of Fire. ENTP is essentially Fire, but is flexible, talkative, and unpredictable like Air. ENFP is technically a mix of Air and Water, though with enough courage, will-power and vision, an ENFP can end up here. On rare occasions, ENFJs may end up here. MBTI: Lightning tends to be highly extroverted, highly intuitive/abstract, and possessing a paradoxical combination of orderly and chaotic tendencies. Functions: Extroverted Intuition, Introverted Thinking, Extroverted Feeling, and introverted intuition Enneagram Types: 2, 3, 4, 7, and 8 Platonic Solid: Pyramid (Tetrahedron) and Diamond (Octahedron) Aristotelian Environment: Hot (either Wet or Dry) Temperament: Choleric-Sanguine or Sanguine-Choleric Cardinal Virtue: Courage (Fortitudo) and Justice (Iustitia) Yin-Yang: Yang Opposite Element: Ice – while Lightning (Fire/Air) is brave, willful, lively, free-spirited, dramatic, and visionary, Ice (Water/Earth) is wise, calculating, self-controlled, dignified, calm, and innovative. Core Strengths: Lightning is adventurous, communicative, socially skilled, independent, cheerful, flexible, adaptable, curious, adventurous, generous, forgiving, optimistic, energetic, creative, brave, bold, ambitious, strong-willed, energetic, charismatic, honest, loyal, just, honorable, dedicated, idealistic, independent, creative, and passionate. Possible Weaknesses: When immature, Lightning might be unrealistic, lost in fantasy, arrogant, angry, harsh, have judgmental tendencies, be hasty, impulsive, restless, bossy, rebellious, excessively competitive, frivolous, impatient, impulsive, hedonistic, fickle, and lecherous. Fire Summary: Fire is the element of will-power, courage, and vision. Fire is an active, focused, goal-oriented element. It is courageous, bold, strong-willed, passionate, ambitious, and fiercely dedicated. Fire insists on always moving onward and upward, always boldly going somewhere. It needs a goal, a direction, a dream to pursue. When given a noble goal, nothing is more majestic than Fire as it breaks through all obstacles, transcends all boundaries, and forges ahead through all hardships to make dreams into reality. Fire has a strong sense of justice, honor, and integrity. Fire is the spark of inspiration, flashes of deep insight, and bold visions for the future. It is creativity, plans, goals, intuition, patterns, archetypes, and the sense of a cosmic driving purpose. Fire is passion, so apathy is a foreign concept to it. Fire has strong opinions and beliefs about pretty much everything. This passion carries over into all areas of life, whether it is work, school, hobbies or personal relations. There is no more fiercely dedicated friend, lover, or enemy than Fire. Fire can be the warm-hearted fireplace to give warmth to the weary, the torch to give light and direction in darkness, the Sun that brings life and light to the world, the Promethean Fire that inspires invention and science, the forge that drives industry onward, or the raging fire that annihilates every enemy in its path. It has such tremendous mental and emotional energy that other elements often feel overwhelmed. However, just like physical fire without fuel turns to ash, so Fiery people sink into deep, restless depression when they lose their drive and have no dream and no goal to pursue. Also, Fire’s single-minded zeal can at times turn into arrogance and a tendency to belittle and devalue anything or anyone that stands in the way of Fire’s Goal. Immature Fire can also have issues with anger, harshness, being judgmental, bossiness, hasty decisions, and being excessively competitive. Air Summary: Air is the element of freedom, independence, and curiosity. As such, it’s the most difficult of all the elements to define since there is so much variety in it. It is the most flexible, adaptable, and unpredictable of all the elements. Airy people are known for their quickness and freedom in thought, feeling, will, and movement. Just like physical air quickly moves around any obstacle in its path rather than resisting, so Air confronts its problems indirectly. When troubles come, Air is known for avoiding harmful situations, diffusing tensions, deflecting antagonism, using humor, wit, and occasionally using tricks or manipulation. Regardless, Air is known as the most out-of-the-box thinker of all the elements. It always sees things from a different perspective and is adept at approaching and solving problems from an unusual point of view. Air can be light and playful as a spring breeze, clear and confident as the noon-day sky, as swift and daring as the jet stream, as kind as the warm summer rain, or as fierce and destructive as a hurricane. Air is, of course, the element that carries voices, music, and communication in general, so it is known for communication skills and a love of the arts. It is the element that most frequently mingles with the others, such as lightning (Air/Fire), sandstorms (Air/Earth), or rain and hail storms (Air/Water). So Air is the most sociable, the most outgoing, the most cosmopolitan, and the best at people skills in general. Air is highly skilled at compartmentalizing: treating things it doesn’t like or doesn’t care about as if they weren’t real. This can make Air aloof and detached from reality at times. Paradoxically, Air is either the most socially skilled and popular of all the elements or else an eccentric and non-conformist. This reflects their kindness and sociability, but also their strong independent streak. Air is also known for its cheerful attitude, social skills, sense of fair play, confidence, fierce sense of justice, resilience, spontaneity, curiosity, sense of humor, and enthusiasm for everything life has to offer. It’s greatest strength and weakness is its lightness and changeability. It can adapt to anything, and foresee and avoid problems before they arrive; but immature Air can also be impatient, restless, impulsive, fickle, easily bored, frivolous, flippant, unreliable, or lecherous.