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nadvs · 11 months ago

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out of bounds (part one)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

note i know most of my readers follow me for rafe fics so i hope y’all can bear with me indulging in a fluffy and angsty (and eventually spicy) summer romance with the sunshine character that is zach 🙂‍↕️ all my love to @juniebugg who inspired me to write about him ilysm 💘

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Once you’re finally sitting down in the main lodge, a massive wooden cabin nestled in the center of the campground, you feel like you can take your first real breath since you arrived.

The morning was chaos. You made it to check-in just in time and met your cabin-mate Ami, who you learned is also new to the job.

Then, you quickly changed into your new bright orange staff t-shirt, which is so bright orange that it hurts to look at, and chatted with her as you rushed over for orientation.

Now, you’re settled on one of twelve wooden chairs facing the grand fireplace, set in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, which boast a cobalt blue lake under a cloudless sky.

Campers are set to arrive tomorrow morning and today is dedicated to preparation. You’ve already done countless training modules online before arriving, so today will be all about learning what’s left.

You hope you get a chance to explore the place before it starts teeming with preteens, because the photos on the camp website don’t do the grounds justice.

Your interviews were over video call and today is the first time you’re seeing the stunning campground in person. It’s stretched out on a wide expanse of greener-than-green pine trees, rustic buildings, and pristine soccer fields.

This job is your best case scenario for the summer. You can’t wait to spend seven weeks in one of the prettiest places you’ve ever seen and gain confidence in your athletic skills while coaching kids in your favorite sport.

As a center back on your college’s girls’ soccer team, you feel your best when you’re out on the pitch, but the pressure of the past school year was hard to navigate. You hope that teaching kids excited about soccer will remind you of why you like it so much.

As Zach sits in the front row, he notices the smell of this place never changes. It’s woodsy and brisk. It smells like comfort. But he’s pretty sure he’s biased. Camp Summit is sort of a haven to him and has been since he was a kid.

The chatter in the lodge has grown louder as more and more counselors settle into their seats, but once the camp directors walk up to the front, the noise wavers.

Tom and Ruby offer a kind welcome and then, like they do every year, quickly jump into training.

After two hours of going over the how-to’s on welcoming campers, facilitating activities, walkie-talkie etiquitte, and establishing rules, they announce that everyone can head to the dining hall for lunch.

“We won’t force you through any awkward icebreakers,” Tom says to the group, “so, we encourage you to get to know each other over lunch. We have a good mix of vets and newbies this year. We want you to be friends with your coworkers. But before you go…”

He looks over the room.

“We should mention,” the director continues, “that we have a strict policy against anything more. It can get unprofessional and inappropriate when counselors date each other.”

“Is that legal?” Ami whispers to you. “They can’t, like fire us for that, right?”

“You like someone already?” you amusedly ask your new friend.

“I might,” she says with a smile, her eyes on a dark-haired guy sitting ahead of you. You quietly laugh, glad you’re already so comfortable with the girl you’ll be bunking with.

“Aren’t you guys married to each other?” a girl behind you calls out.

The way that Tom and Ruby laugh tells you that they are, and that the counselor who shouted that must be a vet, already familiar enough with them to make comments like that.

“Yeah, but directors can do whatever they want,” Ruby jokes with a lighthearted shrug. You look down at their hands to see wedding rings. “In all seriousness, we hate having to enforce it, but please, no dating.”

Once counselors slowly rise out of their seats to go to lunch, your eyes land on a tall, messy-haired stranger standing at the front, who starts a conversation with the directors.

Maybe you shouldn’t tease your cabin-mate, because when you see his charming smile, you think you might have a crush of your own.

Tables are arranged in a neat grid in the dining hall, with a big buffet table prepared at the far wall.

You line up, noticing Ami a few people ahead, already striking conversation with the guy she pointed out to you.

You slowly inch forward with the line as counselors start to load their plates. You realize just how many people were in front of you when you get to the table and see one fork left.

You pick it up and turn to see only one person behind you. It’s the guy you noticed back at the lodge. His blue eyes sweep over your face. He’s even cuter up close.

“There’s only one left,” you say, holding out the fork with a small frown.

Zach stills when you look at him. You’re so pretty that it’s like he’s buffering. That’s the only way he can think to describe it.

You’re in the same orange shirt every other counselor is wearing and such a harsh color shouldn’t look this good on anyone, but it does on you. He reads your name-tag.

And then he realizes you said something. He completely missed it because he was too busy staring.

“What?” he asks.

Your eyes flit down to his name-tag hanging on his lanyard. Zach, in black marker, punctuated with a smiley face. His tag is worn and scratched up, a hard contrast to how new and shiny yours is.

“There’s only one fork left,” you clarify, a soft laugh in your tone. He looks dazed, a gentle crease between his brows, almost like he wasn’t expecting to see you even though you were standing directly ahead of him.

“Oh,” he says. He looks past you to the table, his lips screwing up. “It’s cool. You can have it.”

Zach gazes at you again, a smile on his face now that he’s feeling a bit more grounded.

“I’ll find one. I…” He crosses his arms, feigning pompousness. “I have connections around here.”

“Yeah?” you play along.

“Oh, yeah. I was a camper until I aged out,” Zach tells you. “And I’ve been working here since I was 16, so I have friends in high places.”

You laugh again. That explains why he seemed so comfortable with the directors back at the lodge. He’s clearly been here for quite a few summers.

“I can tell you’ve been here a while by the state of that name-tag,” you tease. He looks down to tilt up the worn out plastic rectangle hanging over his stomach, his bottom lip jutting out.

“Poke fun all you want, but you don’t know how impressive it is that I never lost this,” Zach replies. “Name-tags go missing all the time. I bet you’ll lose yours.”

“I thought staff were supposed to be friends,” you say. “You’re already betting against me?”

“You want some advice?” He leans just a little closer, his tone fake-serious. “It’s actually very cutthroat here.”

“So, the be friends with your coworkers stuff, that was all talk?” you say with a gasp, mirroring his playfulness.

“All talk,” he echoes with a smirk.

“Wow,” you half-whisper. “Thanks for the advice.”

You share another smile with him, already sure your crush on him isn’t going away. He’s friendly and kind of goofy and probably has all the girls after him. You wonder how seriously he takes the no dating rule.

Then, you turn back towards the table, surprised at how quickly your mind is running away from you.

After you load your plate with food, Ami calls you over to a table with a few other counselors. You get to know a decent amount of other staff, including Malcolm, the guy your cabin-mate is openly flirting with. He seems to be just as into her.

It’s a long afternoon of training and once you step out of the lodge, you feel like you can breathe again. It was a lot of information at once and the thought of wrangling nine campers on your own feels a bit overwhelming.

But at least for every activity for the first two weeks, newbies will be paired with vets. That gives you some relief.

The sounds of birds chirping and wind blowing through the trees fill your ears as you walk towards the staff cabins hidden behind the dining hall. Your shoes dig into the dirt and you breathe in the smell of pine and earth, feeling a sense of peace settle into the bones.

Despite the tinges of anxiety, you feel grounded here, like you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

As you finish unpacking with Ami, a coworker comes by to tell you that the counselors are going to have a bonfire after sunset. You set up your room and both head towards the lake once the sky starts darkening.

Zach is arranging logs in the fire-pit, kneeling on the ground while Malcolm leans close by. No other counselors have joined yet, and he’s glad because it’s taking embarrassingly long to set up the fire.

“Just let me know when you need the lighter,” Malcolm says.

”I could use some help on lining the kindling up,” Zach tells him.

“I think you’re doing great on your own.”

Zach snorts a chuckle. His cabin-mate and best friend of two years always tries to get away with doing the least amount of work.

“Is this the party?” Ami calls.

Zach turns to see you walking towards the pit. It gives him a chance to drink you in completely, the sight of your figure making his cheeks burn.

“Just getting it started,” Malcolm says. “This place would fall apart without us.”

You and Ami chuckle, settling on one of the logs.

“Us? It looks like Zach’s the only one doing any work,” you say.

“Thank you!” he says with a sarcastic sigh, looking up to smile at you. Your gazes hold a bit longer than they need to.

“Want any help?” you ask.

“All good,” he says. “I’m used to carrying the team.”

“Cold,” Malcolm says. “Strikers and their egos.”

“You’re a striker?” you ask Zach. It tracks. Strikers tend to be on the taller side, and you practically had to crane your neck to meet his eyes when you spoke to him before lunch.

“Yeah, you?” Zach asks.

“Center back,” you reply.

“Most important position,” Malcolm adds.

“Jeez, I wonder what you are,” Ami says with a laugh. “What was that you said about egos?”

The fire starts to slowly blaze and Zach stands up, exhales tiredly and scratches his forehead. It causes his shirt to ride up and expose an inch of his stomach.

Even under the dark blue sky, the flames only offering dull, flickering light, you can’t help but notice the v lines carved into his skin.

You look away. You feel like you’re practically thirsting over him at this point. You’re convinced that the fact that fraternizing between staff is forbidden is what’s making you even more tempted to stare at him.

The four of you continue to make small-talk as more counselors start to join. You learn that Zach and Malcolm share a cabin and that they play together on their college’s team, a school only an hour away from yours.

You also notice Malcolm jokingly calls Zach a nepo baby at one point, but before you can ask why, the conversation stirs in a different direction.

Soon after, a few counselors rough-house dangerously close to the fire. It’s only for a moment, but Zach perks up.

“Be careful around there, alright?” Zach says.

“Relax, dad,” one of the vets says. “We will.”

This is the only place in the world where people tell Zach to relax. He feels a sense of responsibility here. He’s sort of an unofficial babysitter, keeping everyone in check.

You notice his dimples dip into his cheeks. He’s obviously used to being teased for being the dad of the group.

You find it a good time to privately ask him about his other nickname, the staff chatter and wood crackling loud enough so only he can hear you.

“Why’d Malcolm call you a nepo baby?” you ask.

“Oh,” Zach says with a chuckle. “Ruby and Tom are my aunt and uncle. I’m not really a nepo baby, though. I don’t get any special privileges. The opposite, actually.”

“Opposite?” you ask, amused.

“They feel way more comfortable getting mad at me than any of the other staff,” he admits lightheartedly.

“Who would get mad at you?” you joke.

“I know, right? I’m adorable.”

It’s way too easy to flirt with him. This is going to be hard.

As the night goes on, you notice Ami and Malcolm slowly drift closer towards each other, laughing and talking. Eventually, they rush away into the dark.

Admittedly, the thought of sneaking off in the night with a cute guy is kind of exciting. You look over to see Zach noticed them leave, too.

“I think our cabin-mates are about to hook up,” you say quietly.

“On the first night, too.” He shakes his head, pretending to be disappointed. “It happens every year.”

“Do they actually fire people for dating?”

“I’ve seen them get close,” Zach says. “But people hide it well for the most part. Honestly, I think most do it just because it’s against the rules.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” you say with a laugh. “It’s the whole forbidden part of it. Tell people they’re not allowed to do something, and guess what they want to do?”

“Something,” he says, earning another laugh from you.

You wonder if he ever has broken this particular rule, but it’d be too forward to ask.

“I wouldn’t risk it,” he offers, looking at the fire. You’re pretty sure he’s just giving you advice, but you take it as an opening, the curiosity killing you.

“So, you never have?” you ask.

“Nope.”

Over his many summers working here, Zach’s had crushes on other counselors, and he definitely has one on you, but a fling isn’t worth losing his job and letting down his family.

He owes a lot to his aunt and uncle. He wouldn’t disrespect their rules, no matter how pretty the new girl is.

When he looks over at you again, at the way the flames are casting shadows over your features, he corrects himself. Pretty is an understatement; beautiful is more fitting.

He almost suggests you don’t take the risk of dating either, but it’d be purely selfish. He doesn’t like the idea of seeing you in a summer romance with another guy.

And he feels insane for already feeling hypothetical jealousy, but he’s never clicked with a girl this quickly before. You’re sweet and interesting and you get his humor, and he feels like he couldn’t not like you if he tried.

“So, what brought you here?” he asks.

“Interview answer or real answer?”

“Real answer,” he says with a smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Playing at the college level is a lot more pressure than I expected,” you admit. “I want the experience and obviously the pay with this job, but mostly, I just want to be reminded of why I like soccer so much. Honestly, I lost my confidence in my skills this past year and I’d like to get it back.”

You’re surprised at how open you’re being, but something about him makes you want to be. He gives you a sense of safety. You can tell he’s kind-hearted.

“One of the best parts of working here is that you get enough downtime to practice,” he tells you. “I’d be happy to help you on your defense if you want.”

Your stomach numbs imagining it. It’s such a sweet gesture, especially because you’d just learned that he’s on a full-ride athletic scholarship. You know he’s good.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“If you’re looking for a reminder of why you like soccer, you came to the right camp,” he replies, his smile bright and sincere.

“You really like it here, huh?” you ask, kind of in awe of him.

“I owe a lot to this place,” he says.

You make a note to yourself to ask him to elaborate on that later, as another counselor takes his attention with a question about tomorrow before you can reply.

You look back at the fire and you promise yourself that you’ll just be Zach’s coworker. At most, his friend.

You won’t risk getting even close to dating. You don’t want to lose your job. And you certainly don’t want Zach to lose his, especially because it seems important to him to follow the rules.

Besides, maybe he has a girlfriend already. You can’t imagine a guy like him being single. And maybe he’s not even into you like that. He could just be very friendly.

As the fire dwindles and counselors start to retire to their cabins, Zach leaves and returns with a bucket of water to extinguish the remaining flames.

You’re not sure why, but watching him be so hands-on with no expectations to be thanked for it makes you like him even more.

“Which cabin are you in?” he asks you, looking over his shoulder. You hope he didn’t catch you staring.

“Four,” you answer.

“We’re neighbors,” he says. “I’m in five. I can walk you back, newbie.”

There’s a chance he’s just being nice, but even though it’s against the rules, you hope it’s more.

You check your phone to see it’s just past ten o’clock. The moonlight is bright as you and Zach walk towards the staff cabins.

You’re chatting about how beautiful the campground is and he grins as he looks down at his feet. He loves this place and hearing someone else appreciate it feels nice.

When he looks up, he stops in his tracks. You follow his eye-line. There’s a shirt hanging on his cabin’s doorknob.

“Oh, man,” he whispers.

“Does the shirt on the knob mean what I think it means?” you ask.

“If you think it means walking in there would make me see something I can’t ever unsee, you’re right,” Zach answers.

You chuckle. You’re definitely going to ask Ami about the details of her hook-up with Malcolm later. And you feel an obligation to also remind her that the no-dating rule is serious.

“I’ll give them ten minutes, then I’m knocking,” he says. “You don’t have to wait with me.”

You know you should go to bed and get rested before the craziness of tomorrow. But being around Zach makes you not want to.

“I can keep you company,” you offer. “I’m pretty wired anyway.”

“Thanks,” he says with a sincere smile. It makes your heart flutter that he seems just as happy to spend more time with you.

“So, what’s there to do around here at ten o’clock?” you ask.

Zach rakes his hair back, gazing out at a soccer field in the distance as crickets loudly chirp around you.

“If you’re looking to burn energy, we can do some of that practice we were talking about,” he suggests. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

“You sure you’re not too tired?” you ask.

“Nah. Let’s go,” he says. “But be warned, when I coach, I’m ruthless.”

You laugh, already well aware of how far from the truth that must be.

“Consider me warned,” you joke. “Lead the way.”

(part two)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#also sidenote i swear on everything that i had this idea before wildfire by hannah grace was even announced 😭#which btw i read and did not like #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren

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cc-cobalt-1043 · 5 months ago

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Arctic Snow:

Arctic Fox Tails au where he gets his winter coat and his brothers are confused by his new look:

Winter was fast approaching green hills, it's residents had all noticed a bitter chill changing in the air, additionally ice had begun gathering on the pavements and paths meaning that the roads and paths would soon need to be gritted.

Snow had now began to fall and Sonic was especially eager because he could now show his new brothers the joys of playing in the snow. Plus they could all wrap themselves up in scarves hats and gloves Maddie had specially knitted for them.

"Sonic, look at my new winter things." Tails cheered his grey and white tails wagging in delight as he held them out.

Sonic took a look and saw a pair of silver grey and white mittens with light blue accents, his new scarf and hat (made specially to accommodate Tails' ears) were both the same colour.

"Looking good little bro, it goes with with your fur so well." Sonic said before suddenly ruffling Tails's bangs.

"Sonic, cmon stop." Tails giggled trying to swat Sonic's hand away and failing.

Sonic continued to ruffle his hair, the giggling only making him do it more.

When he did stop he was surprised to find a large clump of grey fluff come up in his hand and immediately panicked.

"OhmygodTailsI'msosorryIdidn'tmeanit..." He didn't mean it panicked at the thought of accidentally hurting his little brother.

"Sonic calm down, I'm just molting see." Tails said brushing his stomach and sonic noticed a few smaller bits of fluff fall off of Tails and onto the attic floor.

"Oh yeah, I think mom mentioned it, you're getting your winter coat." Sonic said.

Tails nodded.

"Yeah, though I'm probably gonna be leaving fur in a lot of places so sorry in advance." Tails said.

"Don't worry about it little bro, you can't help it, though we should probably warn mom and dad they're gonna be cleaning up more fur than just Ozzie's." Sonic said.

Over the next couple of days Tails' summer fur shed and his winter coat began to slowly come in.

Tom and Maddie took this in stride and everytime Tails got upset about his fur being in places they reassured him it wasn't his fault and it was just his body getting ready for the cold weather.

Sonic and Knuckles also helped out comforting their brother and in addition they made sure his bed was as cosy as it could be as it was a common fact that real foxes tended to grow more malcohent and tired when shedding their fur and this fact seemed to apply to Tails too.

After about four days Sonic was in for a surprise.

He woke up that day and stretched rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up.

He climbed out of bed and went over to Tails' blue plane themed bed.

"Tails little bro, time to wake up, it's a brand new..." Sonic cut off when he saw something unusual with Tails.

The little fox was curled up in a ball on his bed, but his fur was different.

Instead of the grey and silver it had been the day before, it was snow a bright snow White, as a matter of fact the kit was now completely white like a giant snowball.

Just then Tails let out a squeaky yawn his sky blue eyes fluttering open and gazing at the cobalt blue hedgehog.

"Hmm, Sonic what is it?" Tails asked yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Tails, your fur." Sonic said surprised.

"What about it...oh right." Tails said as though suddenly realising something.

"What's going on bud?" Sonic asked confused.

"This, oh this is just my winter coat." Tails said.

"How come it's all white?" Sonic asked.

"To blend in with the snow, you know like earth arctic foxes." Tails said.

Just then Knuckles awoke.

"Good morning brothers, I hope you have rested well." The echnida said getting up and stretching.

"Knux, check this out." Sonic said indicating Tails' snow white fur.

"Fox, you look different." Knuckles said.

"It's my winter fur Knuckles, what do you think?" Tails asked.

"It is very well suited for this snowy weather fox, and a great camoflauge against any enemy that may attack." Knuckles said.

"Thanks Knuckles but I highly doubt that'll happen." Tails said.

"Maybe so but you never know...plus it is very soft." Knuckles said gently stroking the fur behind Tails' ears making the kit purr.

Sonic tried and indeed Tails' new coat was very soft, somehow even softer than earlier.

"He's right Tails, you look and feel like a fluffy cloud." Sonic said.

Tails giggled and blushed but his wagging tails betrayed the embarrassment he felt.

"Cmon let's go see what's for breakfast, I'm starving." Sonic said before racing out the attic.

Tails' felt his own stomach rumble loudly and giggled in embarrassment.

"It seems you are hungry too fox, come, let us dine on Mother's delicious breakfast feast before the hedgehog eats it all." Knuckles said lifting Tails onto his shoulder and carrying him out of the attic, the fox cheering in excitement.

Inspired by @0vergrowngraveyard's arctic fox Tails art

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #knuckles the echidna #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #sonic wachowski #tails wachowski #knuckles wachowski #wachowski brothers #tails and sonic brothers #knuckles and tails brothers #sonic live action #sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #sonic movie 3

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cece693 · 1 month ago

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Okay okay so silly idea okay so male reader x Hannibal and they are basically the same right and they been married for 20 years but recently the reader started to be less elegant and more reckless he made a man cave in their nice furnished house started to eat hot cheetos even leaving crumbs in their bed. And the worst part is he got a ps5 at his big age (the reader and Hannibal around same age )

Write about how Hannibal would react seeing the most elegant smartest man he knows turn into a man child please 🙏

Okay, so this might seem like an AU because (let's be real) Hannibal would rather kill you than allow you to become something akin to those 'pigs' he detests. So, the only logical reason for your change in attitude has to be a midlife crisis. So, I hope you enjoy this small, yet fluffy fic.

Midlife Crisis

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: established relationship, just you having a midlife crisis, hannibal being considerate and accommodating, fluff

You have always matched Hannibal—measure for measure, refinement for refinement. For twenty years, the two of you have been twin blades honed on one another: matching Tom Ford suits in the cloakroom, antique opera glasses resting side by side, twin signatures in the guestbook at La Fenice.

Then, six weeks ago, the first crack: a neon beer sign arrived, incongruously aglow in the cellar that once housed your burgundy collection. Man Cave, it proclaimed in lurid cobalt. Hannibal descended the stairs with a bottle of Château d’Yquem and stopped, transfixed, as if he were observing graffiti on a Botticelli.

It has only grown worse.

He wakes before dawn—habitual—stretching an arm across 1,200‑thread‑count Egyptian cotton only to encounter volcanic orange grit. He lifts his hand to the dim light and watches powdered spice cling to the whorls of his fingerprints like evidence at a crime scene. You snore gently beside him, slack‑jawed, an open bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos wilting on the duvet like a wounded animal.

Hannibal’s nostrils flare. He rises without sound, carries the bag to the ensuite sink, and pours the remaining curls down the disposal. Their hiss as they vanish feels symbolic, a small exorcism.

He discovers the PS5 two evenings later, set up in what was once the music room. Your Bösendorfer grand now shoulders aside an ultrawide monitor; game cases litter the piano bench where Rachmaninoff once thundered beneath your hands.

You lounge in an oversized gaming chair—headset crooked, controller flashing—guiding a garishly armored soldier through digital carnage. Hannibal stands in the doorway, immaculate in charcoal silk, listening to the rapid‑fire clicks.

“Darling,” he says, voice smooth as port. “You are wearing...sweatpants.”

You pause the game, swivel toward him with a grin too boyish for the lines at your eyes. “Comfy, aren��t they? Grab a controller; Co‑Op mode just dropped.”

For an instant, Hannibal imagines flinging the console out the window, discarding it like so many bones. Instead he exhales through his nose, steps forward, and lays a hand atop the piano. It is dusty. He feels the dust as betrayal.

“Do you recall,” Hannibal asks softly, “how you played the Adagio of the ‘Hammerklavier’ the night I confessed my feelings?”

Your smile falters. “Of course I do, Hanni.”

“It seems your soldier has taken Beethoven’s place.” You stare, caught between amusement and guilt, and Hannibal sees it clearly: beneath the reckless veneer is a man grappling with an itch of mortality—the sudden terror that excellence might calcify into stagnation.

The following Sunday, Hannibal prepares dinner alone. You are busy “raiding,” whatever that is, and decline his invitation with distracted half‑sentences shouted through a microphone. He braises venison in red wine for hours, layering juniper, bitter chocolate, and a whisper of long pepper. The kitchen fills with fragrant steam, but the seat across from him stays empty, controller clicks echoing from the hall.

Hannibal eats in silence, knife and fork precise, imagining you inhaling takeout straight from the carton. When he clears the dishes, he feels a flicker of something rare and dangerous: resentment. It is midnight when Hannibal finally strides into the man cave. Screens glow like infernal portals; half‑drunk sodas sweat on polished mahogany. You are mid‑match, eyes wild with focus.

Hannibal reaches out and, with clinical calm, unplugs the console.

“Hannibal!” You yank off the headset. “We were about to beat the boss!”

“Then the boss must wait.” He sets the power cord neatly on the desk. “We need to speak.”

You cross your arms, posture defensive. “If this is about the crumbs—”

“It is about everything.” Hannibal's voice does not rise; it descends, dropping like a scalpel into tissue. “You have traded discipline for indulgence, clarity for noise. It is as though I woke beside someone wearing your skin.”

A flash of hurt crosses your face, sharpened by anger. “So I’m not allowed hobbies that aren’t Michelin‑starred?”

“It isn’t the hobbies. It is the abandon with which you pursue them. You used to savor life; now you devour it like junk food—quick, thoughtless, forgettable. And you leave crumbs.”

You open your mouth—then shut it. Silence stretches. Finally, you sink back in the chair, rubbing your brow. “I feel old,” you admit. “Stripped of novelty. Everyone expects perfection from us—every dinner flawless, every gesture curated. I wanted something…simple. Something where excellence didn’t matter.”

Hannibal kneels—not supplicant, but equal—resting elegant hands on your thighs. “Perfection never mattered to me, Y/N. Only authenticity. If you crave new experiences, we shall find them—together. But do not cast aside the artistry that defines you. It is the marrow of our bond.”

You swallow, eyes shining. “Even the Cheetos?”

He allows the faintest smile. “There are superior ways to explore capsaicin.”

A week later, the man cave remains, but the neon sign is gone. The PS5 is relocated to a custom cabinet of dark walnut, its cables sheathed in crimson silk. On Friday nights you invite Hannibal to play; he accepts, fingers surprisingly deft on the controller. Between matches he teaches you to compose a snack of tempura‑fried shishito peppers dusted with smoked paprika—crunchy, fiery, but stain‑free.

The Bösendorfer is tuned. After gaming, you close the cabinet and settle at the keys while Hannibal drapes across the chaise, eyes closed, sipping Sauternes. Beethoven returns to the house—now accompanied by distant victory fanfares echoing from memory rather than speaker.

In bed, you still slip sometimes, sneaking a contraband chip beneath the sheets. Hannibal catches your wrist, brings the guilty fingertip to his lips, and licks away the spice with deliberate slowness.

“Reckless,” he murmurs against your skin, “yet salvageable.”

And you laugh—because in twenty years you have learned that nothing delights him more than transforming chaos into cuisine, disorder into art. Even, it seems, a midlife crisis can be plated elegantly.

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