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mickandmusings · 4 months

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love you, miss you, mean it

*this is a two part series, read part two here!*

**I recommend listening to 'love you, miss you, mean it' by luke bryan. it's a slight inspiration for this story and it's part two. (sorry, my southern roots are showing oops) **

pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky!reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: before the daggers, before the uranium mission, before even top gun and 'bob', there was just young bobby floyd, finding himself at the doorstep of the kazansky household, year after year, finding family between a father and daughter, and a new understanding of true love.

(based off a request, but i'll post it when i'm finished with both parts, it will give too much away! <3)

warnings: lots of sticky sweet fluff, I accidentally made Ice a single dad??, 'Bobby' as Bob's civilian name, most likely military inaccuracies

The very first time Bob Floyd found himself standing on the Kazansky's front door, he was seventeen years old. He had parked his hand-me-down pickup truck on the street in front of the house, crossed the yard in record time, and rang the doorbell. He was standing on the welcome mat in a spiffy black tux, his sweaty palms clutching a plastic box that contained a corsage made of light purple flowers. Bob had no idea what kind of flowers they were, more than happy to leave that to the florist, but he knew they were the same color as the bowtie that seemed to be choking him. He was incredibly nervous, pushing his glasses up his nose in a repetitive nervous habit. His sapphire eyes caught a tall shadow approaching the door, and Bob felt his spine straighten, his heart hammering in his chest. Bob had heard the stories of Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky, US Pacific Fleet Commander (and more importantly, Y/N's dad) but now, as Iceman stared down at him, he began to realize he certainly lived up to his callsign.

The Admiral's eyes were a cool blue, piercing through the teenage boy's frame as he looked him up and down. He had seemingly only just arrived home from work, still in his Navy attire. His well-pressed, wrinkle-free Navy uniform made him appear taller than he was, a looming presence that demanded respect. The flat, stoic look on his face seemed permanent, only cutting into a small upturn as he spoke.

"You must be the Bobby I keep hearing about."

Bob nods, letting out a measly, "Yes sir," before sticking out a clammy hand to shake Y/N's father's hand.

The Admiral shakes his hand with a firm grip, squeezing Bob's hand so tightly that Bob swore his blood flow had been cut off. Finally, he opened the front door wider to allow Bob in, speaking as he shut the door back into the frame.

"You should probably take a seat, get comfortable. She's been giggling upstairs for hours now, but I doubt she's ready. You'll get used to it, waiting around until she's ready."

Bob chuckles nervously, sitting stiffly on the couch as he watches the Admiral stomp about the kitchen, seemingly making a cup of coffee. The silence is deafening, Bob is too nervous to say anything, but the man's booming voice soon cuts the quiet with ease.

"So, Bobby, Y/N says you're a military brat too, is that right?"

"Uh, y-yes sir, my father, he's in the service as well, my grandfather was too, sort of the Floyd family legacy."

The Admiral nods, absorbing the information.

"What about you, do you have any plans to-"

"Dad!" Y/N's annoyed voice broke the Admiral's sentence. Her heels clack down the wooden stairs, her dress whooshing in the wind created by her motion. Bob turned his attention in the direction of her voice, standing promptly, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of Y/N. She was dazzling in her pastel purple gown, a slight smile on her face as she spoke. "Stop trying to recruit my prom date."

Y/N and her father shared a look, seemingly speaking without having to say a word before she broke out into a smile, matching the wide toothy grin of her father, before turning back to Bob, a slight pink blush forming across her cheeks. Bob blushed as he saw her walk into the room, making his way over to her.

"Y-You look," Bob swallows thickly, gaining his confidence. "You're beautiful."

Y/N blushes fiercely, straightening the lavender bowtie around Bob's neck.

"You clean up pretty well yourself."

The teenagers' awkward gazing is cut off by Ice clearing his throat loudly, his mug of coffee in his hand as he approached them.

"C'mon, kid. Your grandparents'll kill me if I don't get a thousand pictures of you two before you leave."

Y/N cut her eyes at Bob as he stuck his arm out for her to take, helping her over the threshold of the door and into the yard, the Admiral standing in front of them with his camera ready. They all went through the motions of a typical prom photo shoot-the corsage exchange, the awkward photos in front of the house, the send off.

Finally, she and Bob were down the road in his truck, Y/N smiling in his passenger seat, Bob's shoulders much more relaxed, not feeling nearly as tense in the presence of her looming father.

"Sorry about my dad," Y/N speaks over the music playing in the truck, squeezing Bob's hand where their hands intertwined on the console. "He's just a little protective, and, not very good at small talk." She chuckles lightly.

"No, no, it's fine. He was nice. Intimidating for sure, but nice. Made a joke that you take too long to get ready for everything."

"Of course he did," Y/N smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning her head on Bob's arm. The high school juniors had been dating for a little over six months, but both of them were head-over-heels.

The couple arrived and carried on as usual for teenagers on a prom night-mingling with their mutual friend and indulging on PTO-mom made snacks. As the night wrapped up, the last slow song of the night had Bob and Y/N swaying under the sparkling disco ball in the middle of the gym. Bob's tux jacket had been discarded on a chair hours ago, accompanied by Y/N's heels, both tossed about carelessly in favor of running back to the dance floor. Her head rested on his chest, his hands around her waist sweetly. Neither of them were paying much attention to the song playing, or the other numerous couples swaying next to them. Bob's blue orbs were focused entirely on the girl looking up at him from his chest, his hand moving to brush stray curls that had fallen in her eyes. As he looked at her face, his chest filled with warmth, a funny feeling erupting, one he had never felt before. His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing.

"What's the matter, B?" Her voice came soft, just loud enough for both of them to hear.

"I love you," It came out blunt and honest, with no hesitation. Neither of them had said it before, and he watched as Y/N's face went from one of confusion to one of pure elation, a wide grin forming on her face as Bob lightly pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a kiss more meaningful than their previous ones.

That night, when Bob dropped her off back at her house, with the figure of her father sitting in their living room, he smiled as he helped her out of the truck and closed the door behind her. He walked her to the front door and kissed her again before saying goodnight, a permanent smile etched on his face. He watched her get into the house and waited for the porch light to turn off before peeling out of the driveway, his face aching from his never ending smile.

When he got into his own house for the night, his tux coat thrown over his shoulder, bowtie undone and his feet aching in his dress shoes, he collapsed onto his bed with a content sigh. His phone dinged with a new message, and he smiled as he saw Y/N's name flash across the screen. He opened it quickly:

I love you, too. I miss you already. Mean it.

A blush sprouted across his fair skin, typing back a reply as his heart soared.

Over the next few years, Bob found himself on the Kazansky doorstep hundreds of more times-weekend dates, barbecues, birthdays, study dates, movie nights, senior prom, just because, forgetting his house keys in Y/N's room, graduation parties, the list could go on and on forever. He had grown to find the Kazansky household his second home, Iceman's walls slowly melting towards the awkward boy his daughter loved. Y/N's father would allow him to stay over on long weekends and holidays through her first years of college and his of the Naval Academy, letting Bob tag along for family vacations. Bob slowly became an extension of the Kazansky family. Bob learned lots about the Admiral during his days and weeks of being in their home. Iceman loved things that made him seem less and less intimidating from when they first met. Tom Kazansky loved to make homemade banana bread, could often be found dozing off with a book in his hand, leaned back in the recliner closest to the front door, and the Admiral loved rom-com movies with a fierceness only championed by his own daughter. The father and daughter were a well-oiled machine, understanding each other in a way that Bob had never seen before. Bob would observe as the duo would work in fluid motion in the kitchen cooking dinner-knowing what each other was thinking without having to say a word. Y/N tossing her father spices and seasonings as he lifted the spoon to her mouth, and Iceman knowing just how she liked her coffee, her tea, and her favorite shape of ice. They knew one another inside and out, something Bob would often sit in awe of. It was a true display of love for one another, so loved that you know everything about someone, you know what they need without having to say a word.

When Bob had visited the Kazansky's over his final Christmas break from the Academy, he had expected the feeling of closeness and familial love. He found himself in the kitchen with Y/N, an Elvis Christmas record spinning in the living room adjacent. He wordlessly handed her the spoon from the pot he was stirring, her lips pursing as she thought for a moment, handing him a container of salt and other seasonings she knew were needed for the soup. Bob wordlessly adds an estimated amount in the pot before he stops abruptly, realizing what had just happened. His heart hammers, he and Y/N had been dating for nearly five years now, his time at the Academy coming to an end. They had suffered through nearly four years of a long distance relationship-he in Maryland at the Naval Academy, her attending college back in their hometown. They had made it through with phone calls and even letters, long lonely days and nights, and a love for one another that defied odds. He stopped stirring promptly, looking as Y/N was pressing cookie dough onto a pan, her eyes looking up at him.

"B? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." She smiled at him sweetly, wiping off her hands before placing them on his cheeks. "Do you feel okay? You're really red, you're warm. Do you think you're coming down with a cold?"

Bob couldn't make his dry mouth form many words, finally sputtering out a single sentence:

"I-I need to talk to your Dad."

Y/N's eyebrows furrow, looking at her boyfriend incredulously, as if he had grown another head.

"Um, okay? He's in his office. Bobby, are you okay?"

Bob nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on her head before racing off to the office on the second floor. Y/N only shook her head and continued making her cookies.

Bob knocks on the heavy office door, waiting for a response.

"It's open," Iceman's voice sounds from behind the thick mahogany colored door. Bob creaks open the door, Ice's cool eyes softening as he sees Bob enter.

"She drive you out of the kitchen already, Bob?" His voice was laced with humor. "She's too much like me, taking control of every situation. Sorry."

Bob laughs, "No sir, I just, needed to talk to you."

Ice narrows in on Bob's firmly serious expression, leaning back in his chair and looking at the boy man in front of him. Bob had grown up in the past few years, taller and more muscular thanks to the Academy. He only wore his glasses when required by the military, often opting for contacts when he was home, giving him a more mature look.

"What can I do for you, son?"

Bob's heart hammered in his chest. Was he planning on doing this now? No-he had planned for a lovely dinner, perhaps a walk on the beach before he did all of this. He had certainly, at least, planned on finishing the Academy before all of this, but after their interaction in the kitchen, the complete domesticity of it, paired with his overwhelming love for her, he knew now was the right time.

"Mr. Kazansky-"

Tom interrupts him, shaking his head in a good-natured manner. "How many times have I told you to call me Iceman, or Tom? I've known you for half a decade, I don't think the formalities are necessary."

Bob nods, understanding the man's warmth, but this was different.

"Any other time before this, and after this, sir, absolutely. But I'm coming to you for matters that pertain to Y/N, and I want this to be as respectful as possible."

Tom nods curtly, appreciating Bob's respectful nature, hands meeting in his lap as Bob speaks.

"Sir, I-," Bob swallows. He thought about this conversation a million times over and over as he stared at his ceiling at the Academy every night. "I love your daughter. I have for five years now. She is infinitely kind, and overwhelmingly beautiful. She's far too smart for me to keep up with most days, and she makes even my worst days bright. I think that's truly a testament to your parenting, she's the most headstrong yet considerate person I know. She loves fiercely, and looks after those she loves with the same fervor. She knows me unlike anyone else, and she's quickly become my feeling of home. Her music has taken over my truck, my headphones, and my inner thoughts. Her favorite movies have become part of my repertoire, and her favorite books sit next to mine on a bookcase in my room. Her things are scattered all over my apartment, and she is seeped into my every thought. When something good happens, she's the first person I want to call. When something bad happens, she's the first person I want to call. I want to spend the rest of my life with her by my side. I know this is sort of sudden, but I've spent every night for a year thinking about this, and I-I would like to marry Y/N. I graduate from the Academy in less than six months, and I'll be in aviation school, and I just-I want her to know she's a priority for my future. If I have your blessing, I would like to ask her before I go back to the Academy."

Tom's head nods, standing from his chair behind the desk, causing Bob to stand, Tom's palm meeting his in a handshake, a sign of respect. He suddenly pulls Bob into a hug, a tightness that is only matched by Y/N herself, the infamous Kazansky suffocating hug.

"You've got my blessing, kid."

Bob nods in understanding, pausing as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiles lightly at Y/N's name and several emojis beside her name on the screen.

It's lonely down here. :( Love you, miss you, mean it.

He smiles at their simple loving joke that had survived from when she had first said it years ago. He pockets his phone again, looking up at Iceman with a newfound confidence.

"Thank you, Ice, sincerely. Y/N means more to me than I feel like I could express in words."

Tom's face breaks out into a smile, his eyes twinkling with something that might have been the beginning of tears, but that's yet to be confirmed. He lightly slapped a hand on Bob's shoulder.

"For what it's worth, you've got my permission. But it's not mine that matters, kid, it's hers."

part two out now!

#bob floyd x reader #top gun #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #request

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directdogman · 5 months

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Commenting on DT fan OCs!

Alright, I'mma take a look at some DT fan OCs! I've been sent quite a few, so I'll try to keep my comments for each one short 'n' sweet!

great name, snappy dresser. diggin' the bowtie! the pins are also a fun accessory!

Another snappy dresser! Tied well to an existing location in-game and the idea to explain the stickers is cute! attire is unique/memorable and the blues/browns compliment each other well. solid design. I do appreciate him!

Yo, this guy was in the last one! what is this, a crossover episode???

the bandage on side of face is a nice touch! digging the pinstripe pants too! graveyard shift at a convenience store is also quite an authentic job for a DT side character to have too! very nicely done.

Solid OC! well-drawn, unique job and her fit's stylish (it probably goes without saying that i'm a sucker for TV heads with dogs on them. that's gotta be a given, right?) The stickers on the back of the head are also a nice addition! well done!

Stanley's a real cad, huh? pizza delivery guy with a novelty pizza phone head is genius - making him flirt with milves on the job is just inspired though. i almost wish i'd come up with this guy, as i can totally imagine people around town talking about him. excellent job!!!

he's aptly named for an arcade dude! dig the fit too, especially the black + purple fingerless long sleeve gloves! the decals on the phone are neat too!

I approve of his activities but the lack of a visible mouth threw me off, since i've seen these old toy phones before, ofc.

i was about to ask "how does he drink ocean water without a mouth", before realizing that id been bamboozled into asking the fandom-favourite question of: 'how does he eat without a mouth?', only to then remember that practically no DT characters have visible mouths.

i hope you know that you've strained my weary brain today. cool OC, though.

banana phone's a fun concept! also, i must say your username's quite fitting. crept up on me from my peripheral as I gazed upon the banana phone, like a bizarre centipede of some sort. well, i'd assume so. in hindsight, most centipedes i've encountered have been pretty straightforward with me. i guess i should be grateful for that.

i like mary's fuzzy phone matching the trim of her dress but martin's really got my attention. cool name, neat quirk (he kills people, that takes moxie. hell, even pizzaz too, dare i say?) The dial being a lil clock is a neat touch since it ties his interest into the design. also quite like the cord tail matching the phone head's colour. solid design!

i like his head-type and the attire/pale skin gives a nice bit of contrast!

hard to say how randy'd feel about him, as someone who's only seen his design and 2 lines of dialogue (as someone's personality dictates randy's opinion on them far more than their appearance.) if you feel they'd get on though, you're probably correct! (randy isn't too picky, after all!)

Funnily enough, one of the earliest sketches for crown has a similar bolted plate stuck to a mostly intact phone head. it was even sticking from one of the sides. or corners. i'd have to dig up the notebook, as it's been like 4 years since I came up with the character. Sorry, just made me remember since the earliest sketches had one too.

Copper phone head's a neat idea. Contrasts well with his attire as well (nice and complimentary.) if only his attempts to deter jesse from the za worked out as well, eh?

Alright, that's it for me! thanks for the submissions, these were real creative! good job, everyone!

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thehollowwriter · 11 months

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Summary: Jade is drunk. That's it that's the story. Nah, there's some fluff and dancing with gn reader too.

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Mostro Madness

In the midst of bright neon lights, blaring music, and a crescendo of of excited voices, you wondered if your eyes were deceiving you.

They had to be. It was the only explanation. Because the man in front of you right now could not possibly be Jade Leech

Surely, this was Floyd Leech. It couldn't be anyone else, given his current state.

Suit jacket and hat discarded, bowtie undone, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to just above his belly button, his hair an absolute mess and sticking to a face flushed red and stretched with a wide fanged smile.

Alas, Floyd was currently on the dimly lit stage to your left, singing remarkably well into the mic while swinging back and forth with a half empty glass of whiskey in hand

Therefore, unless someone had duplicated Floyd, the eel smiling at you right now was none other than Jade Leech.

Completely and utterly hammered.

"Puffball." Jade was swaying on his feet, his special pet name for you lilted and floaty on his tongue. "You look..." He giggled softly. "You look beautiful tonight."

You briefly wondered if he was pulling your leg, laughing like that, but you decided to humour him anyways.

"Thanks, Jade." You said, sickly sweet. "You look absolutely enchanting yourself, hon."

Jade's eyes widened in surprise and he covered his face with his hands, his golden eye peeking out from between his gloved fingers.

"Oh my." He slurred, giggling again. "My love is kind to me tonight."

You rolled your eyes at his sudden bashfulness. He was going to be quite embarrassed about this tomorrow (unless he decided to be happy about all that transpired) and he had nobody to blame but himself.

A friendly- if you could really call anything involving Jade friendly- drinking competition with Azul and Floyd had gone laughably awry, leaving all three of them a mess.

Azul lay spawled across one of the couches, glasses askew, with eyes as wide as saucers. He mumbled feverently to himself, ignorant of Floyd drunkenly singing on stage and Jade turning into a giggly puddle at your words.

How the twins managed to get Azul to agree to such a competition in the first place was a mystery.

Truly, the Mostro Lounge 10th Anniversary party (staff exclusively) had devolved into chaos, given the utter state of everybody else there too.

"Jade, I think you should sit down." You say, raising an eyebrow at his horribly wobbly legs.

"Hmm... nooo..?" Jade's voice slurred. "I think... I would like to dance."

"Jade, you're in no condition to walk, nevermind dance!"

Jade's smile was lopsided. "But my love, it'd the perfect time to dance. Alcohol on the tongue, a beautiful setting, romantic music in the air~"

You would hardly call Floyd snarling crude lyrics into the microphone romantic, as good as his voice was, but you hardly had the heart to say no to Jade when he looked so excited.

"Darling~" Jade gripped your hands with own. "Dance with me. Please?"

He looked at you with wide bright eyes, crocodile tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

You sigh.

"Okay. But don't whine when you topple onto your ass and bring me down with you.'

Jade didn't reply, instead opting to let out another airy giggle and pull you to his chest.

Right hand on your back and left hand intertwined with yours, Jade led you into a messy attempt at a dance that had you swinging around with erratic janky movements.

You nearly fell over a number of times from stepping on each other's feet and knocking into people and furniture.

Jade didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked utterly delighted. His sharp teeth were on full display, mouth stretched in a genuine happy smile as laughter bubbled from his chest.

It was a Jade that was on cloud nine, happy and free of care. He wasn't blackout drunk, oh no, but he was close. Enough to let go of his carefully crafted facade for a short while, surrounded by friends and loved ones.

Suddenly Jade picked you up and spun you in a circle, grinning at your shriek of surprise.

He came to a sudden stop and pulled you close once more, stroking your cheek cheek his thumb.

"I love you so much, my little puffball.' He whispered. "More than any mushroom in the world."

-End

......................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! I like the idea of Jade calling his s/o mushroom pet names so you're his Puffball hehe

Tagging: @krenenbaker @jadeleechisagoodboy @jaylleoo14 @hoboyherewego @officialdaydreamer00 @dadofdisappointment and @azulashengrottospiano @honey-milk-depresso for the Azul cameo ;)

#jade leech x reader #octavinelle x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #writing #one shot

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safination · 5 months

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Partners in Death...And Life

Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You: Part i

|Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-Host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| |Part 5: Gimpse of me and you: Part ii| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife! Reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationships, Asexual! Alastor, Reader is in hell for a reason Warning: Blood and dead bodies <3| A little bit suggestive Series summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping...*checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Now, I know what you must be thinking. Part 1? Yeah…this chapter is supposed to actually be much longer, but the second part of the fic isn’t complete yet and I have like two more exams. And biochemistry isn’t something to laugh about. I am slowly losing my mind. I close my eyes and I see aldehydes and hemiketals. Anyway, part two of this will be posted in like two or three days. It’s already drafted, just need to edit it. So here’s a bite size chapter. It contains marriage years 1930 and 1931. 1932 isn't complete yet, sadly. It was quite long, so part 2 will just be 1932.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1930

That blasted car is too far.

With each step, the tip of your heels scrape the pavement. Shoe maintenance tells you that dragging the rubber tip shortens its lifespan, but your toes pinch when you lift your shoe. Alastor takes long strides, walking with the pace of a man with his ass on fire. Pick a struggle. One either walks fast but takes short strides, or walks slow but takes long strides. It’s unethical to have both.

Streetlamps illuminate the sidewalk. The dried leaves scattered around catch on your shoe, and the city’s smog particles stick on your skin.

The city sucks ass.

Alastor will have to drag you by the hair to force you to take another step on this cockroach infested streets. One taste of that fresh air surrounding your shared home, and suddenly, you’ve gone soft. Gone are the days where second-hand smoke reminded you of home. Now, home is the radio’s volume turned up in ungodly hours.

Alastor tightens his arm around yours, pulling you closer to him.

He’s wearing his favorite bowtie tonight. Everything from the shine of his shoes to the way he combed his hair screams fancy…except for that bowtie. It’s not something meant for exquisite dinners with your wife. You didn’t understand his instance. It was something you picked up on your way home one day, a measly scrap of fabric you purchased back when you didn’t know what good quality bow ties were. Alastor should know of its poor quality, yet he calls it his favorite.

Alastor lowers closer to your ear. “Is this your way of telling me you wish to visit the city’s zoo?”

“Zoo…?” you echo. These shoes are going straight in the garbage bin once you get home. “Why would I want to go there?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “I thought you were doing a penguin impression. It's a rather fabulous one, might I add.”

“Ha…Ha…Ha. It’s because I’m walking like a penguin. Not your best one, dearest,” you say, patting his biceps. They’re firmer than they look. “That’s a little bit on the nose. Is it an off night for you?”

“Your feet are hurting,” Alastor tells you like you don’t feel the way your toes slowly lose blood circulation. “I wonder…. Will you deny it? Or are you willing to humble yourself before me, and ask for a seat? There’s still a few more blocks until we reach the car.”

Now, there’s absolutely no way you are going to tell Alastor how your feet pinch and your ankle wobble. With a bright smile, and sheer acting, you continue walking. “Did you do this on purpose?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “You were the one who insisted on accompanying me.”

“Well, my feet feel perfectly normal,” you say as your toes buzz. “This is nothing. You should see how long I’m on my feet during work.”

“Yes, because that is a perfectly acceptable thing to happen in workplaces, dearest.” Alastor tightens his arm once more. His thumb brushes up and down your arm. “I would say it pains me to say this, but we both know that would be a lie. I told you so.”

“You did not, actually,” you say, shaking your foot to dislodge the leaves sticking to the bottom of your shoe. “You barely took one glance and said, ‘Those look lovely, dear!’.”

Alastor pauses his steps, and turns to you with a smile. The night does little to dull how bright his brown eyes shine like stardust to you.

He reaches out towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He tugs on your ear, and you slap his hand away. Alastor massages his hand. “That hurt, you know,” he says. “But I meant about waiting. You should still be enjoying your drink.”

“And leaves my dearest, darling husband out here? Alone?” you snort, pulling him to continue walking. “I think I remember someone telling me that thieves don’t dissolve in the sun. Imagine them in the dark!”

“And what would be your plan if we both get robbed?”

You show Alastor your biggest smile. “It’s a good thing I have such a big and scary husband to protect me …. .You…You would protect me, right?”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the air. It’s breathy and light and absolutely everything to you.

Alastor grabs your hand and intertwine his fingers around yours. He leads you further into the streets. Soon, smooth pavements replace the pot holes. Leaves replace the scattered beer cans. Grass replace the asphalt roads. Treen replace the buildings. Alastor pulls you deeper into some tiny park where the streetlamps are brighter, and the air smells closer to home.

You follow him, squeezing his hand.

Alastor squeezes back.

At the corner of this park, a children’s playground stands.

The dark does little to dull the bright colors of the seesaw and monkey bars. In the middle, a pirate-shim themed deck connects to a slide. The swing sways lazily with the nudge of the night’s breeze. There’s not a single living soul except for you and him. It’s eerie to see such a place empty when it should be filled to the brim with the life of children’s laughter.

Alastor’s strides become longer, and his pace even faster as he pulls you closer to the playground’s swing.

He releases his grip, and suddenly, your hand belongs to you once more. Alastor brushes the sand off the swing, and offers you a seat with a bow and outstretched arms.

You take the seat. The pressure lifts from your buzzing toes. It’s almost heavenly.

Alastor slides his coat off his shoulders. With soft giggles and a stupid smile, you watch him pull his arm out. Sleeve garters are worn for practical uses, but as a fashion piece….Hmmm, it’s a great look on him. It’s a shame Alastor often hides how those garters compliment his biceps with a coat. How long would it take to hide every single coat he owns?

Alastor slides his eyes to you. It lingers. “Stop that.”

You offer him your most innocent smile as a reply.

Alastor inches close enough for you to inhale his scent. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, pulling on the lapels to secure it around your shoulders.

You press your lips on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Alastor kneels on the ground. He pulls your ankle towards him, sliding off your heel. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

You kiss his cheek. “Was there something else I needed to say?” you ask. “That seemed like a proper response.”

He glides his thumb over the reddened parts of your skin, massaging your foot. “Exactly….It was a proper response,” he tells you. “Aren’t you going to question me? Demand to know if I’m going to kill you?”

“I think what you’re doing is rather obvious.”

Alastor stores your shoes to the side, and leaves your feet hanging out in the air. He circles behind you, hovering close enough to feel his presence, even with the coat. He wraps his hands around the metal chain connected to the swing, and sways you back and forth. “Did you enjoy the restaurant? A co-worker recommended it to me.”

“And in the off chance I don’t, will I be seeing that co-worker lying in the middle of our basement?”

Alastor smiles at you. “That depends,” he says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You tilt your head backwards to catch his eyes. “Is this a trick question? Am I supposed to say that nothing can compare to your cooking, or something along those lines?”

Alastor shakes the chains, jerking the swing. “You’re supposed to give me an actual answer,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We can come back if you liked it.”

You lean on Alastor’s leg, using it as a backrest. “Every meal is enjoyable when I am in your company, my love” you say. “But that crab was something else. It looked expensive.…We’re, uh, not suddenly going to become poor, right?”

Alastor stares at you. “I’m going to push you off.”

You wrap your hands around Alastor’s, keeping his hold around the chains firm. “What did I do this time?”

Alastor sighs, and swings you gently. “I can afford nice dinners with you.”

“Just me?”

“Only you.”

Alastor pulls you to your feet. Sand pools around your toes. You pull his coat closer around your shoulders as he drags you closer to the pirate-ship themed deck. He releases his hold on your hand, and your fingers brush against each other.

He walks to the platform. The entrance was made for children, so Alastor has to crawl and duck underneath to access the slide.

You fiddle with the lapels of his coat. “What are you doing?”

Alastor glances back at you, smiling as he crawls underneath the entrance. His ass sticks out when he does. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“If your ass gets stuck,” you begin, crossing your arms, “I’m going to leave you here.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, shimmying further into the entrance. “How lucky then that it’s, apparently, horrendously flat,” he says. “There’s nothing there to get stuck.”

“There’s nothing horrendous about it,” you say with a smile. “I see you’re wearing the pants I like.”

Alastor snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

“Not a chance.” Your smile twists brighter.

Alastor grabs the railing, and pulls himself up. His biceps contract when he does. Sleeve garters and railing are for practical uses, but the only thing echoing through your mind were impractical uses right now. Un-practical but exciting....You need to get it together.

“…Flirting,” Alastor says, pulling your mind from wherever it wandered off to. “Really?”

“That was hardly flirting, dearest.”

Alastor ducks into the slide. His ass lands on the sand, and he curses into the air. You cough to stifle a laugh.

He hops to his feet, brushing the sand off his pants. His lips twist and his eyebrows furrow as he cringes in pain. “This is a hazard,” he says, glaring at the slide. He turns to you and smiles. “You should try it.”

“How brave of you to risk a shattered tailbone for me,” you say. “But I’m not sliding down that thing when you just called it a hazard.”

“You are an incredibly boring person,” he tells you. “Is it not a fad nowadays to be loose and goofy against these depressing times of economic downfall?”

Your raise your eyebrow.” You want me to crawl up there and slide down in this outfit?”

Alastor leans on the side of the slide. “I don’t see any good reason not to.”

“If you wish to ogle my undergarments, there’s no need to concoct such a scheme,” you say, smiling at him. “You merely need to ask.”

Alastor’s lips twist. “I’m not—”

“Oh, calm down, I’m just pulling your leg,” you say, snorting. “You would need to think of someone besides yourself to do such a thing. So, there’s no need to get your perfect little head into such a fuss.”

“Stop it.”

You smile innocently. “No.”

Alastor walks closer to you. “And you wonder why no one wanted to play with you as a child.”

You take steps to walk closer to him as well, meeting him halfway. “Everyone wanted to play with me,” you say. “I’ll have you know that I was quite the delight.”

You stand before each other, inches apart.

Alastor stares at you. What do those eyes tell him as he watches you stand before him, buried into his coat? He leans closer to you. “I doubt that.”

You take a step closer and slide your arms around him to bury yourself into his hold.

“How rude,” you say with a smile. You look up at him to hold his gaze, propping your chin on his chest. His arms tighten around your back. “I was such a delightful child that I would have played with you, even when no other kid wanted to do so.”

Alastor leans down, pecking your lips. You inch upwards to chase his lips, but self-control takes over. “You are and always will be a nerd,” he says. “You were probably the type to read during the afternoon.”

You tighten your hug on him. “What an incredible assumption to make.”

Alastor places a hand on your head. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you say, leaning your head into his chest.

Alastor pulls away from the hug, grabbing your hand to drag you to the monkey bars.

He climbs to the very top, and swings his legs to sit between the bars. He offers his hand, and you take it. His thumb brushes over your fingers and you climb up the steps and onto the bars. It’s difficult to maneuver with such a fancy outfit. Alastor keeps a steady hand on you, and the other goes on your waist as you slide to sit next to him.

The whole playground can be seen from the top of the monkey bars.

“If you weren’t a nerd,” Alastor begins, bumping your shoulder with his, “then you were probably a bully.”

You grip the bar, leaning back to stare. His hair brushes over his eyes. Alastor runs a hand over the strands to push it back. You reach out and push his glasses up his nose. “What makes you say that?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You’re a pretty little thing who works in healthcare. Isn’t there a stereotype for that?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, cheeks flushed and tingling. Heat trails up your skin, and you have to turn away to hide from his gaze. “You think I’m pretty?” you ask rather idiotically. Deep breaths are needed to calm yourself. “Look…look who’s flirting now.”

Alastor hooks his legs on the bar, and swings backwards. He hangs in the air, the force of his legs the only thing keeping him from falling.

“Don’t do that,” you say, hissing. “You could break your neck.”

Alastor catches your eye with a wild smile. “I won’t.”

“And I’ll be sure to tell that to my next husband as we’re spending all your money,” you tell him. “Now get down from there before you make me a widow!”

Alastor releases his legs from the bar, and his body smacks on the ground. He lies motionless on the sand.

With a sigh, you carefully climb down the monkey bars. You nudge Alastor’s bicep with your foot when you reach him. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Silence.

You fold the skirt of your dress, and sit across him. You slam your head onto him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Oof!” Alastor curls into you a bit, eyes twitching. He drapes an arm over your stomach, and draws spirals with his finger.

“I think we could have been friends when we were children,” you say, smiling as you feel the way his chest rises up and down with each breath he takes.

Alastor studies the sky. There are no stars to look at here in the city. It’s covered by the lights and the smog. “We wouldn’t. I probably would have hated you.”

“You—Hate me? Impossible!” you say with a laugh. “You think I’m pretty.”

“Ha. Ha,” he says. “You think you’re so clever.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, tracing the ring on his finger. “Sadly, I think I’ll have to agree,” you say. “I probably would have hated you as well.”

“I’m impossible to hate.”

“I'm sure I, of all people, could find a way,” you say with a smile. “Kids can be mean. And you were probably a really weird one.”

Alastor raises his hand to the air, studying his ring against the dark sky. You do the same. Both rings shimmer in the night. “Yet…,” he starts, “here we are, married.”

“I can’t believe we actually got married.”

“I can.”

“Is this where you’ll tell me all about how you fell in love with me at first sight?” your snort. “That my smile and incredible stitching told you I was the woman you were going to wash dishes with for the rest of your life.”

Alastor laughs and his chest rises and falls. “Well, it wasn't flirting.”

“I did not flirt with you.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“On our third meeting, you told me we walked to the wrong house, just to spend four hours with me in the rain,” Alastor says, and you see the smile creeping on his lips. “You were so entrapped by my very being that you couldn’t bear to spend another second without me. You looked like you wanted to kis—”

You slam your head down into his chest. “Oh, shut up.”

Alastor glances at you. “Not a chance.”

“Okay then, well I remember two people underneath that umbrella,” you say with a huff. “You accepted my invitation.”

“I did,” he says. “Although, I had the excuse of needing to gather information on such a suspicious person. That was purely professional.”

“And you decided that an additional four hours of walking was necessary,” you say. “You could have stopped entertaining me in the first hour or even the second, but you spent all four hours getting your shoulders wet.”

“I did, indeed.”

Laughter rings into the air. With each and every of Alastor’s laugh, your head bounces up and down. You bury your face deeper into his chest, laughing against it.

“We’ve been married for more than a year,” you say. “How has it been for you?”

“Nothing much has changed, surprisingly,” Alastor says, shrugging his shoulders. “The only thing that’s different is I get to say the most ridiculous thing like how completing it is to be able to just exist with you.”

You take his hand, bringing it closer to your mouth to brush a soft kiss. “There’s nothing ridiculous about it, my love. I enjoy how completing it is to be able to just exist when you are with me,” you say, and Alastor caresses your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers down your skin. “Shall we head home?”

There’s a brightness in Alastor’s eyes when he smiles. “Not yet,” he says. “Let’s stay like this for a moment.”

Maybe the city isn’t so awful. Alastor could ask you to stay in this park forever, and you would happily breathe in the smog. Later, you will have to stand and grab your shoes, and finally head home to prepare for the next day. But that’s later. This is now.

You giggle against his chest. “You think I’m pretty.”

Alastor groans, placing a hand over his eyes.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you both just exist.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1931

The needle pierces through the fabric. You tug on it, pulling the blue thread up and then around to create a simple back stitch. The cat’s outline pieces together. Later, you’ll fill the cloth with grass and flowers, and a little butterfly to give the cat a friend. Should you gift this to Alastor? Well, either way, he’ll find a way to display it around the house sooner or later.

The radio crackles, and music fades into the background.

Soft taps sound on the speaker. “Before I leave for the night,” Alastor’s voice rings from the radio, “I would like to call any attention to any wives out there, especially the one married to me.”

It doesn’t matter that Alastor is all the way at work, miles away, you still roll your eyes at him…but you turn the volume up, listening closely to what he has to say.

“I know my voice can get, oh, so, entrapping,” he says, and you swear you can hear him smile. “Thus, this is a gentle encouragement to complete any tasks you are putting off. For example, you could take out the trash like what was agreed upon.”

You glare at the radio, flicking its wood. “Oh, I hate you,” you mutter. “I hate you so much.”

“Now, now, dearest, we both know that is a lie,” Alastor says. “Don’t wait up!”

The music fades back in, and the broadcast ends for the night.

He likes to think he’s so clever. Let’s see how clever he’ll be when you kill him in his sleep. It will be easy, barely an inconvenience. You’ll drop a pillow right over that handsome face of his, and laugh as he chokes on his own ego.

However,…with a sigh…you take out the trash…like what was agreed upon.

The air is cold at this time of night. The moon looks beautiful tonight, it’s light illuminating the garden. It would be a shame to waste such a breathtaking sight. A part of you wishes to share this with Alastor, that he could be here, right now, and stare at the moon next to you. And the two of you will exist in each other’s company.

You grab the unfinished art piece, and continue on the rocking chair, stitching and listening to the crickets.

It takes hours of stitching and sore fingers, but Alastor’s car finally pulls up the driveway. The engine dies, and he hops out of the car, circling to the trunk and popping it open.

You drop your things, and take a seat on the porch steps to watch him, the moon no longer being the most breathtaking sight.

Alastor’s still wearing his favorite bowtie. It’s too dark to see clearly, but you think he’s pulling out a body from the car’s trunk. He grabs the straps of the obviously filled cadaver bag, letting it drag across the floor.

A good wife would help their husbands carry a very heavy and very dead body. But…if it means being able to sit and stare at your husband hauling a very, very dead person, then maybe, being a good wife is overrated.

Alastor pauses when he sees you, dropping the straps of the cadaver bag. “What are—Is something wrong?”

You smile at the urgency in his voice. “No, not one bit,” you say, leaning on your head on your hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“You should be in bed,” he says, crossing his arms. “I told you not to wait for me.”

Your huff, blowing strands of your hair off your face. “Did you? This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“I did,” Alastor tells you. “Did you not catch tonight’s broadcast?”

“It was a rather busy day. I had things to do, people to see, and all that.”

Even in the dark, you see the way Alastor’s grin widens. He steps towards the garbage bin, opening the lid to check its content. “You are such a horrible liar,” he says, snorting. “I see you got my message.”

Alastor steps into the light.

Part of his hair slicks back. It’s different from its usually neat look. His sleeves are pulled up, folded until his elbow. There are several red stains on him. It’s on his hair, stains his clothes, and paints his face. His eyes have never looked so brown before. How does Alastor manage to make murder…into…into…. You clear your throat a bit, already counting the day until the next time he goes on his hunts.

“Why, hello there, stranger,” you say, not bothering to fight the smile on your lips. “It’s rather cold tonight. Would you mind keeping a lady company?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, brushing back his hair. “I’m a mess.”

“Red’s a great look,” you say. “The seat next to me is empty.”

“Flirting, really?” he says, but he sits next to you. “You’re getting shameless these days.”

You press your lips on his cheek. “For you?” Another kiss. “Always.”

Alastor takes off his coat. The fabric pools around his broad shoulders and down his back before he pulls out his arms. He throws it at your face, smacking you with it. “I hope you don’t go around saying stuff like that to every man you see,” he says, smiling at you. “I might get jealous.”

You peel off his coat from your face, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Only the one married to me,” you tell him. “You should see how I flirt with my husband.”

Alastor props an arm on the steps, leaning back to meet your eyes. “How disappointing to hear you’re married.”

“Don’t be! This current one won’t be alive for very long, so there’s going to be an open spot,” you say, waving your hands. “Are you interested in taking his place? I hope you are—you’re much more handsome than he is.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Funny.”

You rub your nose a bit. “So…,” you begin, propping your legs across Alastor’s lap, “what is a charming thing like you doing in these woods?”

A strong breeze sways his hair into his eyes. Alastor pushes the strands away, smiling at you like he always does. “What an honor it is to be called charming by you.”

“Oh, not just charming!” you say, clutching your heart as you swoon. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

Alastor laughs, and his glasses slide down his nose. You push it up for him. “Not nearly enough,” he says. “Maybe I should take your husband’s open spot, afterall. My wife never compliments me as much as you do.”

He traces circles on the skin of your legs. You give him a little kick for what he said. “Maybe she would say it more if your ego didn’t inflate every time,” you say. “I would go as far as to say she’s doing God’s work by keeping you humble.”

Alastor pushes your legs off his lap.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his handkerchief. Your eyes catch on the little design embroidered on the fabric. “Since you insist on keeping me here, you should at least help clean me up,” he says, offering the cloth to you. “I would do it myself, but there’s no mirror here.”

“Why clean such a masterpiece?” you say, but accept the handkerchief anyway. “May I?”

Alastor nods, inching close enough for the smell of rusted copper and iron to hit your nose. Intoxicating. It was just plainly and simply…divine. Like a rose that fell straight from heaven’s garden.

You wipe blood off his face. Some of the streaks had already dried. There’s a stubborn spot right on his jaw. You brush the back of your fingers down his cheek, trailing it down until you hook it right under his chin.

How does your face look right now for Alastor to stare at you with wide eyes?

The smudge line of blood that paints his jaw isn’t clearing. It’s too dry. You inch your face closer, brushing your nose on his skin as you inhale the dangerous combination of Alastor mixing with the strong undertones of iron. Soft exhales land on his skin. Your lips part, giving way to moisten that dried spot with your tongue, trailing it up his jaw.

The hints of metal tingle against your tongue. It was sweet and salty, and it combined with Alastor to create something akin to aged fine wine. But not even the most expensive wine could be as intoxicating as this.

Alastor grabs your face, pulling you to meet his eyes. He squishes your cheeks. “That’s unsanitary!” he says, hissing. “You don’t know what type of bacteria mixed in it.”

You pull your face away from his hold, giving him your most innocent smile.

Hopping to your feet, you circle around the dead body that lies in a very dead position on the ground. You kneel, heart thumping, and pull the zipper down.

“Oh…,” you say, taking in the violence this man experienced, “…wow.”

Alastor was not kind to this man, for this one died screaming.

Alastor leans his arms on his knees, smiling at you. “ I got a little carried away,” he says. “Will you still be able to use him?”

“I think he’ll agree that got more than a little carried away,” you say, snorting as you zip the body back into its bag. “Shall I fetch the bone saw?”

“It’s that bad?”

You walk over to where Alastor sits on the steps, climbing to hover on top of him. The only thing keeping you from crashing down on his chest are the way your hands grip the wood behind him. Inches of space separate your bodies. How far will Alastor entertain you?

You smile down at him, trapping him on the steps between your arms. “I can have this one in pieces by sunrise,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “You can grab the spare, and we can call it a date.”

Alastor tilts his chin up to meet your eyes as he smiles at you. “And tell me,” he begins, voice just as soft as yours. He settles his hands on your waist to steady you above him, “how do you plan on achieving his?”

You trace his shoulder, trailing your fingers up his clavicle bone. “It’s like cutting a chicken,” you say. “All I need to do is take my knife and pound the edge across the joints to disconnect his limbs in one swift motion. Smaller pieces would require the saw.”

Alastor pushes himself upwards, and presses a kiss on your cheek. “And you would spend all night cutting this man for me?”

You hum with delight. “Only for you.”

Alastor tugs your waist, and you come crashing on top of him. You curse as your hands slip, and your face lands on his chest. Alastor hugs you, his laughter ringing in the air, breathy and light and so full of delight. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to exist with.”

You laugh, accepting how Alastor is the one doing the trapping now. “I’m honored you think so.”

“I think that was the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life,” he says. “I think I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t let your wife catch you saying that.” You snake your arms around Alastor’s back, tightening the hug he shares with you. “I hear she gets extremely jealous, and it’s never a smart idea to cross a woman who owns a bone saw.”

Alastor’s back digs into the edges of the porch steps. If your added weight lodges the wood deeper into his back, then he makes no complaints. “That’s truly an idiotic thing to do.”

You press yourself deeper into his hold. It’s quite ridiculous. Hugging you on top of the steps must be uncomfortable, but Alastor does so anyway.

In the end, it’s you who pulls away first, but only to save him from an aching back.

Grasping the steps, you climb higher and press your lips on his forehead. You take the seat next to him. Alastor reaches for you, adjusting his coat around your shoulders to secure you from the night’s cold breeze.

“Bad day at work?” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Alastor leans his head on top of yours. “I’m better now.”

You press deeper into him, laughing against his dress shirt. It’s stained with blood, but you don’t mind. “So, tell me, who is this unfortunate fellow that was on the receiving end of your stress,” you say. “And should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that—Do you happen to own a bone saw?”

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes as you do.

Alastor presses his body closer against yours. “I would love to hear you guess.”

“Hmmm….Well, this is Larry, and he comes from humble beginnings,” you tell him. “He’s a self-made man who met this pretty little thing.”

Alastor takes your hand, thumbing the ring on your finger. “You’re getting better at this.”

There are too many stains on Alastor’s shirt. It’s beyond saving. You’ll have to burn his whole outfit. “Larry met this most darling belle. They were happy until tragedy struck.”

Alastor pulls off his gloves, intertwining his bare fingers with yours. “I do love a tragedy.”

“They fell in love.”

“That’s not tragic,” he says, snorting.

“Then you are a fool, dearest. Love can kill in a way no one has ever been able to describe. Not even the greatest poets can describe the true depths of loss,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “Homes have been burned in its name.”

Alastor kisses your cheek. “And how did Larry suffer?”

“His darling got taken away from him, in more ways than one,” you say. “Even on her deathbed, she could not recognize him.”

Alastor clutches his heart. “How truly heartbreak!”

You glance up at Alastor. He’s looking at the moon. “Yet, here you are smiling.”

“That’s because you are the most fantastic story teller.”

You pull away to stand, and your fingers brush as it slips out of his.

The porch stairs creak with every step. You reach for the radio on the windowsill, turning the knob until a faint click. Alastor’s lips twist when you change his pre-set station for softer melodies. That man and his radios—Always so particular.

You offer a hand to Alastor, giving him a small bow. “Dance with me?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Alastor tells you, yet he takes your hand in his.

“There’s no need to worry about such trifling things,” you say. “I think you look divine, like a rose straight from heaven made just for me.”

Alastor wraps his hand around your own, and settles the other on your waist. Dancing can barely describe what you’re doing, not when the both of you only had the energy to sway to the music. But nevertheless, Alastor takes the lead on this dance.

He raises his arm, twirling you underneath. Your eyes lock together when you face him. “Hi.”

You smile at him. “Hi.”

“I’ve been wondering…How did you know work was stressing me?” he says, as you dance to the radio’s music. “Why say work specifically?”

You tilt your head, motioning to the window behind you. “That radio over there,” you say. “The one you keep by your chair. You were listening to it this morning when I gave you coffee.”

You hum the lyrics of the song that plays on the radio. It’s quite nice. Maybe you’ll ask Alastor to play it during his broadcast as a dedication to you. But knowing him, he’ll take this opportunity to become a nuisance made for you, and find something to poke fun about.

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“You listen to that specific radio when you’re happy,” you say. Those brown eyes of his shift to you. In your most humble opinion, they shine brighter than the stars. “You were fine when you left but somewhere between leaving and coming home to me, your mood turned sour.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your fingers, brushing his lips over your skin with each word. “I would love to hear more about this.”

“The one in the kitchen, that’s for when you’re tired,” you say, chuckling. “The one in the office is for when you’re bored. You listen to the one on our nightstand when you’re thinking or upset.”

“Then what about the radio in the basement?” he asks with a smile that could rival the moon. “Tell me when I listen to that one.”

“That one is for me. You leave it there so I have something to keep me company,” you say. “The saxophone, on the other hand, is for when you’re frustrated.”

“And now, you’re just a master of what I’m feeling.”

“Not at all,” you say with a shrug. “I don’t know how you feel right now.”

Alastor inches closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

Alastor places a hand on your cheek, caressing you with his thumb. You lean into how gently he traces your face. He leans closer, nudging his nose against your own. Alastor brushes his lips over you, and the cracks on his lip prick you. Why he decided to torture you with soft touches and hovering inches away exceeds your understanding.

The strong scent of copper and iron on his skin intoxicate every molecule that makes up your body. He’s unfair. Too unfair of him to hold such power over you. Alastor would love to know how he makes your skin buzz with each and every glance of those too brown eyes that shine brighter than starlight. This is a fact you will take to your grave.

Your eyes flutter to a close. Alastor decides to show you mercy, finally kissing your lips.

Open!

The demand drums across your mind.

Your eyelids stay shut as you kiss him back. The need to look at Alastor’s too brown eyes shout at you. What face is Alastor making right now? How does he look? What do those eyes see?

But he kisses you gently. Oh…so…gently. Alastor kisses you like he had something to say. There are words being whispered across your skin as your lips move together. His thumb brushes your skin, and you can’t open your eyes.

Kissing him makes you wish you spent your youth studying poems and soft metaphors instead of the role of hexokinase in turning Glucose into Glucose-6-phosphate. This wish comes suddenly and out of nowhere. Not once have you ever wished for a different pursuit. But you would forfeit all your knowledge to be able to describe the way Alastor’s lips strike you to your very soul.

That thought disappears quickly, mind too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation of soft lips placing kiss after kiss. The arm around your waist pulls you close, your body pressing against his own as if it was the most natural thing to place you there, as if the Seraphim creating your bodies carved you to belong.

Alastor pulls away with a soft smile.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to chase after his lips and pull him back to you. Heat flushes your face. You can’t find the strength to open your eyes, not with how much he makes your cheeks tingle.

“You’ve been observing me.” Alastor brushes your eyelids with his thumb. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter, heeding to his demand. There it is, your favorite sight looking straight at you, holding a beauty that the moon cannot compete against—his eyes. “Hi.”

Alastor’s smile widens. “Hi.”

There are words that bubble on your lips. Words that are begging to be said. Three words that could very well make this man run when he understands just how deep those words mean for him.

And there it is again, that wish to become a poet because those three words can never truly describe what is imprinted on your soul’s very essence. Those three words are not enough for a man who deserves poems full of soft metaphors and sweet analogies.

“That’s because I…I…,” you trail off, hiding your face in his chest. “I think that’s just called marriage, and I always was weak to such radiant beauty.”

Coward…You are a coward.

That’s okay.

You don’t mind the word being shouted to you by your heart, not when it means you can guard it with walls.

It’s okay to be a coward, because it means there will always be a tomorrow. There will always be another chance, another moment, another day to be brave. Another tomorrow. Another next week. Another next month. Another next year.

There’s no need to tell Alastor the word your soul desperately wants him to understand. Not right now, at least.

Not when the evidence is already there: You and him.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you are his.

Next Part: |Glimpse of Me and You: Part 2| Don't be shy to talk to me. I don't bite at all! I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. And all comments really motivate me to work <3. 1932 will be posted in a few days. 1933 on the other hand….Well, let’s just say that such a grand year needs its own chapter. As I was writing this, I kept going back to the idea that Reader can flirt, but can't handle being flirted back. It was too funny not to add. And like I swear heart appears in my eyes, as well as Reaader's eyes everytime Alastor does anything just slightly unhinged. That too was too funny not to add. Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin imagines #alastor x wife reader #human alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel imagines

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gambleofstars · 8 months

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Electrician Reader as Vox’s Assistant (Pt. II)

₍ ⌨ ᶻᶻᶻ gambleofstars is typing ... ₎

↳ ❝ [a/n: i’m on a roll, expect a third part also haha, i kind of love this concept to be honest, not to mention i work an office job too so, pretty relatable to me. also minor content warning for smoking, but it's just casual, really] ¡! ❞

Part I

⋆♡* In fact, you liked hell, because people were much less judgmental.

⋆♡* In the overworld, your coworkers would judge you for every move. You were polite? You were a suck-up. You were cold? You were rude. You were professional? You were distant. So when you started calculating your every move? You were scheming.

⋆♡* But here? Your scheming qualities were greatly appreciated and utilized.

⋆♡* Your boss would let you stay in the conference room for business holder meetings. He doesn’t want you to know, but Vox definitely observed your reactions during these meetings. Every twitch of your brow and rolling of eyes you thought went unnoticed, were important.

⋆♡* And having a boss who sees your abilities is a sure way of making a loyal employee. Maybe this was also scheming on Vox’s part but hey, who judges who in hell?

⋆♡* If Vox’s honest, the 8am coffee and your faint groan of annoyance at his client was a bit of a highlight of his day, if you will.

⋆♡* He has to listen to either: boring meetings or other vees’ tantrums every day, so your small presence is welcome as a solidarity of someone seeing what he has to deal with.

⋆♡* (Even though his own hissy fits are no less ridiculous and much more dangerous)

⋆♡* You do get bonuses for putting up with them though. Don’t be mistaken, this is a business transaction, after all.

⋆♡* Sometimes though, you wonder who he was on earth? Or if you crossed paths in any way. You get this sentimental feeling at times that you can never explain…

★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

“FUCK!” Vox exclaims as he slumps down on his desk (?) chair after raging about the PR management team messing up their work. Yet again. At this point, his bowtie is all messed up and his button-up is half wrinkled.

He’s still seething, but you can see the anger is slowly sizzling out. Good, you were really not in the mood for playing therapist this evening. You already had a long day of sorting out the PR nightmare that is Valentino’s social media (which was partially the reason for Vox’s current exhaustion).

Usually, you’d listen to Vox yap about 99 problems in his vicinity. Let him let it out and then distract him with an upcoming business opportunity - kinda dealing it like you would with a teenager.

For some reason though, this evening the soft breeze coming through the open windows of the office and purple dust color of the hell’s sky, you felt an olive branch form in your heart.

“Would you like a cigarette?”

It always worked for you. After the stress of sorting out numerous affairs for the Vees (primarily your boss), a cigarette felt like a piece of heaven, really. So, why not? Bonding time with your boss or whatever.

He eyes your outstretched hand that’s holding a pack of Malborry Red (delivered straight from the gluttony ring); he seems almost suspicious, which makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry boss, drugs is Mr. V’s style. This is just tobacco”

“Fuck it”

He grabs the cigarette out of the pack and sighs like a single dad of 50 kids. Before you can laugh at this pathetic little man, you get out your lighter and light the cig up as courtesy, seeing as you’re the one who offered it.

There’s a tense moment when he just looks at you. You don’t know what he’s thinking at times and this is one of them. It bothers you a bit, like you can’t read an open book.

Either way, when he takes the first drag, he slowly goes to lean over the balcony railing with his elbows as you light your own stick. You don’t join him though.

Both of you stay silent in the comfort of an otherwise empty wing. The only noise is from the city down below and the quiet whirring of Vox’s fans to filter out the nicotine-filled smoke.

It��s kind of relaxing, in all honesty.

“Maybe I should just jump off here” he says out loud. The casual tone makes you scoff with amusement as you join him on the balcony as well. You stay close to the door though.

“Please think of the company’s integrity sir” you remind him, taking a drag of your own cigarette “Also, you can’t really die here. There are 75 electricians and technicians on standby at all times.”

Vox groans and puts the screen of his head down onto his forearm, his cigarette hanging off the 50 story building with just his two fingers as a safety measurement.

“Then maybe I’ll go out of commission for a week and ignore everything and everyone for once” he concludes with the same casuality.

“You need to be present at the shareholders meeting tomorrow afternoon or it won’t commence” you explain, honestly a bit delighted in deliberately pissing him off.

“You go do it then”

“No thank you”

Another sigh and a comfortable silence. You’d think Vox fell asleep if his fans weren’t still whirring. Even though feeling pity for the rich is a bit ridiculous, you find yourself approaching him and leaning with your back on the railing.

“Tell you what boss, I think you need to present the angelic security plan by tomorrow at 4:45” you suggest, eyeing his reaction.

He looks up at you a bit confused “Right after the meeting?”

You chuckle a bit mean-spirited “What are they gonna do? Leave?”

He picks up at what you’re putting down and a wicked smile crosses his face “So that means I won’t have any meetings until Friday”

You pick up an ashtray on the coffee table next to you and hold it out for him. But seeing as he doesn’t even notice how his cig is burning away as he plans his Thursday, you pluck it out of his hands to put it out for him.

It’s almost laughable how perplexed he looks, but you resist as you put your own stick out too and place the tray back down.

“Do you need me to plan anything for Thursday sir?”

“Do you think on earth we ever crossed paths?”

Well that was out of the blue “I don’t know sir, never thought about it” that’s a lie, you’ve thought about it every time you left the office with a feeling of deja vu.

“Whatever, who gives a shit” he said, aloof and walked back into his office “You’re more useful as my assistant down here anyway”

Maybe. Not like your life was any less stressful on earth, right? (please, do note the sarcasm).

Still, watching your boss blow up like a bomb every other morning was enough entertainment to make this job amusing.

Not to mention, on earth, this fleeting moment of fondness never crossed your heart. How ironic that you find the most vulnerable part of yourself in the flaming pits of hell filled with sinners alike you.

Maybe that’s why. The fact that you found someone who can keep up the pace with your deliberate chess-piece kind of thinking with no guilt, is a bit of a blessing in disguise.

How a string of your heart happily tugs at his victories.

You won’t let him know that though.

i'm really liking writing out my office work frustrations in these small drabbles ahaha >:) anyway, my request box is open if you wanna drop by :) <3

signing off, gambi 💋

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin husk #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin valentino #hazbin velvette #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #the vees

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redacted-rainbows · 9 months

Text

Hey y'all! So I saw this really ~entertaining~ post by @janitorhutcherson the other day and got inspired to write a little drabble based on it. Sorry if this isn't great, this is quite literally my first time ever writing any form of fanfiction much less smut so feel free to give constructive criticism. Hope you guys enjoy this!

WARNING- 18+, consume this content at your own discretion (smut under the cut)

The original post~ peeta mellark the type of man to stick his hand between your thighs under the table at dinner while having the nerve to force you to make conversation

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The plans had been set for days, but you still let out a deep sigh pulling on your favorite black dress and throwing your hair into a loose updo before flopping onto your bed. You and your long term boyfriend Peeta Mellark were scheduled to meet with Haymitch and Katniss for dinner and you were already going to be late. Peeta walks into your shared bedroom, his blonde hair slicked back and muscular frame emphasized by his white button up and half-done bowtie. "Babe, we've gotta be out the door in five minutes or else Katniss might literally shoot me" the older boy says while sitting down onto the bed next to you. "I know, I know, but you're the one whose made us this late already!" you retort, sitting up to run your hands through his gorgeous hair. You laugh as he makes an annoyed face and moves to fix his appearance, so you remind him "Peeta, you look good no matter how your hair is styled, now lemme get that bowtie so we can leave." He gives you a slight eye roll, but can't help but smile when you tug on the pathetic attempt of a knot your boyfriend tied on his neck. "You know if you wanted to choke me, all you had to do was ask" he teases, making your face go slightly red as you look away. "Oh shut up bread boy, in your dreams" was your only response as you gently fix his bowtie and straighten it on his neck. "Do I look perfectly handsome yet?" he jokes, cocky grin on his face, and you sigh. "Sure you do loverboy, just not as gorgeous as I do" you say with a wink.

You arrive at the resturaunt at 7:18, much to the dismay of Peeta who had promised a prompt 7:15 reservation for the quartet. You grab his hand and drag him into the building, where he sheepishly looks around for his companions. "Peeta! Y/N! We're over here!" you hear a familiar rough alto lilt. "Hey Katniss!" Peeta greets shyly as you two walk over to the corner of the restaurant. You feel your boyfriend lean his head into yours and hear him start to whisper "this place has a no bow and arrow policy, right?" You can't help but giggle aloud at his comment. Even though Katniss was a legend with her weapon of choice, you knew she would never hurt anyone unless necessary, even if they are wandering into dinner late. "Where's Haymitch off to this time?" you wonder aloud, glancing around the resturaunt for sight of the older man. Katniss rises from where she is seated to give you a warm embrace while sighing. "He ran off to the bathroom a few minutes ago, but knowing him he could be halfway to the Capitol at this point". Turning to Peeta, she opts for a gentle flick on the nose and an eye roll, "for almost certainly being the reason you're both late". You all get situated into the booth, you and Peeta next to each other and Katniss across, with room for Haymitch whenever he appears again.

You're deep into your second round of drinks, gossiping about Gale's newest act of narcissism when Haymitch stumbles up to the table with a lopsided grin on his face. You're not quite sure, but you think you hear him mutter something about "bread boy and his flower girl" under his breath, and you blush at the nickname. The first time Peeta had introduced you to his loved ones, Haymitch and Katniss included, you had prepared a fresh bouquet from the forest behind your cottage for each of them. While most found the gesture sweet, Haymitch laughed playfully at you and told Peeta he had found a keeper. You snap our of your memories when you hear Peeta ask "Y/N, do you know what you wanna order?". "Oh sorry, I'll just get some fried noodles if that works?" you reply, to which he nods.

"So anyways Y/N, how is your little kitten doing? Last I heard he was tearing up your bedsheets at night with those sharp claws" Katniss remarked. You're about to answer when Haymitch pipes in, "I think the bedsheets were torn by someone else we know", a smug smirk resting on his face. You can feel your face flush as Peeta nearly chokes on his drink next to you, sputtering in shock at his mentor's crass insinuation. After a moment of shocked silence, you reply "oh yeah he's a little troublemaker little Charlie, silly little guy". 'Real smooth, Y/N' you think as you internally groan. "Well then..." Katniss thankfully intervenes, "Buttercup has been a complete menace the last few days and we can't figure out why". You zone out a bit as she explains the older kitty's disasterous ways until you're snapped back to reality by the familiar feel of Peeta's hand on your thigh. This wasn't an uncommon occurances for the two of you; you know how much your boyfriend loves to tease you while you were out together, but doing so in the company of others was completely new. You cast him a questioning glance out of the corner of your eye, still stuck in the world inside your own head. "I just don't see why you let those furry rascals behave like that. They seem more trouble than they're worth" Haymitch grunted. 'Oh right, cats' you remember and quickly start "our little Charlie is just too cute to discipline too much, he should grow out of his kitten curiosity soon enough". From beside you, Peeta responds "I tried to yell at him for getting fur in my dough, but Y/N scolded me instead". All you could think about was his hand dancing up your inner thigh until he's so close to where you need him. 'Is he absolutely insane?!' you ponder as you kick his leg under the table. "Hmm, seems like there might be a little trouble in paradise over there" Haymitch declared, to Katniss' disapproval. "No, I'm sure they're too infatuated with each other to even consider arguing over parenting a cat" she chortles as you force yourself to laugh along.

The only thing on your mind is Peeta. Peeta's strong arms rubbing against your side as you talk. Peeta's smooth voice laughing alongside your own. Peeta's thick fingers sliding the hem of your dress up further and further to gain access to the one place he truly desires. Thankfully, Katniss and Haymitch seem to be unaware of the tension unfolding across the booth from them as they bicker over who knows what. You hear Peeta chime in "Well I guess that makes sense, but wouldn't the Capitol stop that from happening in the first place?". Asshole, how could he be so calm and collected while his fingers are rubbing circles into your upper thigh. "FUCK!". You can't help but yelp in surprise and unexpected pleasure as Peeta's fingers slide under your underwear and slip between your wet folds. Conversation at the table halts as your three companions look at you with concern, but you can see a taunting glimmer in your boyfriend's eyes as he remarks "babe, are you feeling alright?". Katniss quickly chimes in, "I can call Prim if you're ill, her healing abilities are getting better every day.". 'Goddammit Peeta' you think as you try to formulate a coherent response. "Oh no no no no I'm alright, I just got a little cramp in my leg is all, everything is alright now" you reassure the group, making extra care to glare at the blonde boy next to you.

He just hums in response, sliding his fingers up so they rest on your swollen clit. 'Oh what a jackass'. "Anyways, how is Effie doing these days? Haven't seen her in weeks." Peeta asks as he starts making slow circles over your clit. Your breathing quickens. Across from you, Haymitch starts explaining "her mother got ill, she's been staying with her parents while helping her mom recover". You're trying to listen, but your eyes slide shut as Peeta's gentle caresses turn more rough, gaining speed and pressure against your throbbing clit. You let out a sigh as you feel a finger prod at your sensitive entrance, slowly sliding in and exploring it's newfound territory. 'You're alright, Y/N. Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out. Don't give him the reaction he's looking for and he should stop.'. Another finger enters, curling into your sweet spot. Katniss and Peeta have moved onto grilling Haymitch about just *how* he knows so much about Effie's life as the older man sputters trying to find an excuse. As Peeta's fingers keep moving inside you, you're grateful for the excuse to recluse yourself from the conversation. A few weeks before Effie departed for the Capitol, she had drunkenly confessed to you the extent of she and Haymitch's relationship. She proceeded to swear you to secrecy, a vow you refused to break.

All was going well in the conversation, or as well as it could be with your boyfriend steadily assaulting your core with his rough hand, until Peeta glances at you and asks "well Y/N, since Effie told you you can't say anything from that night how about instead you tell us about when Effie accidentally got high on her birthday flowers you gave her?". "I'm sorry, the time she WHAT?" Katniss gawked at the blonde's outrageous statement before turning to you. "Now this is a story we have to hear" Haymitch pitched in, a confused smile lurking on his lips. "Well babe? You've gotta share now" Peeta smirks, moving his fingers inside you at an increased rate. "W- w- well it was Effie's birthday like Peeta said" you began, all of your focus going into keeping your voice steady as your boyfriend continued his movements, "a- and I couldn't afford a r- real gift for her so I gathered a nice bouquet from the f- forest.". You couldn't find the words you needed, your brain instead resorting to a steady chant of 'Peeta, Peeta, Peeta, Peeta'. You take a deep breath in, more of a gasp, before trying to continue "basically Effie thought they would be edible so she put them on her slice of cake Peeta made her and I found her later in town trying to play catch with a stray cat". You heave a sigh of relief as Katniss and Haymitch start laughing, too enamored by your tale to notice your speedy finish and reddening face. Just as you think you're in the clear, Peeta slides a third finger into your entrance while challenging "yeah, and what happened after that babe?". At this point you can barely breathe, needing an escape from this booth and fast, so you say "sorry I need to go to the restroom" and try to close your thighs to stand up. Peeta, however, has other plans, telling you "you can go in just another minute, you've gotta finish your story for me first" with a wink. You feel his fingers moving in and out of you, curving perfectly into the spot that nearly makes you see stars, as you try to stammer "I got Peeta to h- help a- and the stray cat was C- Charlie who we rescued". "You feel the muscles in your stomach start to contract and you know if Peeta doesn't stop his ministrations right now you're going to cum at the table. Your hand flies down to grab his wrist and he instantly halts his movement, retracting his hand and subtly helping you resituate your garments before you stand and rush to the bathroom. The last thing you hear as you're leaving the booth is the blonde whisper "good girl" into your ear, making you weak in the knees.

'Get yourself together Y/N' you thought as you splashed cool water on your face. You had been so close to your orgasm you could almost taste it, and now you had to calm your mind and body before you return to the group and finish dinner. You took a few more deep breaths and thoroughly readjusted your clothing to hide any lingering evidence of your encounter before stepping back out into the resturaunt and rejoining the table.

In the time it took you to compose yourself and return, food had been served and your three companions had already began to dig into their meals. "Hey, you're back, are you sure you're feeling alright?" Katniss questions, genuine concern shining through her usually flat tone. "Yeah I'm alright, that leg cramp was acting up again so I just needed to stretch it out a little bit" you lie as you sit down to try your noodles. The rest of the meal goes smoothly, and attention is diverted from you when Haymitch finally decides to reveal some details about him and Effie. As the four of you laugh away the evening, you feel like you're at home, surrounded by the people you love most in life. "Well, it was a pleasure getting to see you guys tonight" Peeta sighs standing up and stretching. Your group ended up staying at the resturaunt until all of you are yawning trying to stay awake amidst your chaotic conversing. As all of you stand up and start grabbing your jackets, Haymitch asks "is anybody interested in catching dessert before we all depart? I'm personally stuffed but I guess I'll cover you guys for some cake, my treat". Katniss smiles, but replies "I'm good Haymitch, use that money to buy Effie something nice", then laughs. You catch Peeta's eye with an inquisitive glance, but notice his eyes darken as he turns to you with a smirk. He responds, "Thanks Haymitch, but I think Y/N has dessert covered for me tonight."

#peeta mellark #peeta mellark smut #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson smut #hunger games #the hunger games #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut

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