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stellaspectral · 2 days ago

Note

Could I request headcannons on how the rise! and 2012turtles would react to artist reader, who draws them for fun, is embarassed to admit it though but they catch a glimps of a drawing of them which they made? :)

A/N: Sure! 💖

Rise & 2012 Turts React to Artist!Reader

💚 ROTTMNT & 2012 Turtles/Gender Neutral Reader 💚

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Rise!Leo

He’d spot your art with a smirk. “Well, well, well, what artistic endeavor are we hiding here?”

Once he realizes the artwork is of them, and especially him (hopefully in a dynamic, cool pose): “Oh ho ho! You’ve captured my good side! And my other good side!”

Finds it immediately hilarious and endearing. Like, “Aw, you’ve been drawing my perfect face this whole time?” 100% teases you about it but never in a mean way.

He’d absolutely lap up the attention, even if it’s accidental. He’d tease you good-naturedly about your “secret fan art.”

“Don’t be embarrassed! Clearly, you have excellent taste in subjects. Especially this handsome devil.” *finger guns*

Might start posing more dramatically around you “just in case” you want to draw him again. “You know, I am your muse now. That’s canon.”

Like he’ll dramatically fling himself onto the couch, “Oh, woe is me, struck by the sudden urge to be artistically rendered in a moment of heroic contemplation!” He’ll then wink.

Lowkey keeps checking your sketchbook when you’re not looking. Not to snoop—just in case you drew him again.

Rise!Raph

At first, upon seeing your art, he’d be like, “Huh? Whatcha got there?”

Once he sees it, especially if it’s a cool action shot of him looking heroic: “WHOA! Is that ME?! That looks SO COOL!”

He’d be genuinely impressed and flattered, not really understanding why you’re embarrassed. “Why hide this? It’s awesome!”

Raph will pretend he’s not paying attention, but he’ll definitely be flexing a bit more or holding his “cool big brother” stance a little longer if he thinks you might be drawing him.

Raph wouldn’t request, but if you drew a really good action sequence of him protecting his brothers, he’d stare at it for a long time with a big smile.

Gets all flustered but proud. Keeps sneaking peeks at your sketchbook like he doesn’t want to be caught doing it.

Sometimes acts nonchalant, but if you show him a drawing you’re proud of, he gets super shy.

If you ever draw him looking soft or happy, he’ll stare at it longer than he means to. Those are the ones he secretly likes most.

Rise!Donnie

He’d approach your art with scientific curiosity. “An unauthorized artistic rendering? Intriguing.”

He’d analyze the style, the accuracy of his tech and the anatomical proportions. “Hmm, the depiction of my battle shell’s articulation is surprisingly accurate. Did you have reference material, or is this from memory?”

He’d be genuinely impressed by the skill, even if his compliments sound a bit clinical. He might subtly suggest improvements for “technical accuracy” next time.

Probably starts asking technical questions about your process before realizing you’re blushing like mad. “Wait, you’re embarrassed? But you … nailed my jaw structure.”

Donnie might “casually” start working on a particularly intricate piece of tech nearby, angling it so you get a “good view of its complex inner workings, should you choose to document it.”

Donnie might offer to 3D print little maquettes of them for you to use as reference. “It would improve anatomical accuracy by at least 15%, though your current observational skills are, frankly, quite impressive.” He’d also be fascinated if you drew their mystic powers, analyzing how you interpret non-physical energy.

Starts leaving small upgrades for your drawing supplies—new pens, sketchpads, even a custom-built stylus if you’re digital.

Might ask if he can scan your sketches into his files for “data preservation.” (It’s 100% just because he wants to look at them.)

Rise!Mikey

Pure, unadulterated excitement upon seeing your art. “O! M! G! Is that US?! You DREW us?!”

He’d be bouncing off the walls, absolutely thrilled. “This is the COOLEST THING EVER! Look at me, I look so dynamic! And the colors!”

He’d be the most understanding of your shyness but also the most enthusiastic about getting you to share. “Aww, don’t hide it! This is amazing!”

Would probably hug you and the drawing (if you let him).

Mikey is your hype-man. He’d also try to “collaborate” by adding his own doodles or stickers to your sketchbook page if you let him (and sometimes if you don’t).

Wants to see every single page. Will not drop it even if you’re begging him not to look.

Might tape one of the sketches to the wall in the lair, claiming it’s “museum-worthy.”

Starts calling himself your “muse supreme” or “artspiration.”

2012!Leo

Sees the sketch accidentally while helping you pick up something. His leader instincts would kick in. “What’s this?”

Once he sees it’s them: a moment of surprise, then a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You … you drew us?”

He’d be quite touched. “This is … very good. You’re very talented.”

He’d be gentle about your embarrassment. “There’s no need to be ashamed. It’s clear you put a lot of effort into this.”

He’d appreciate the gesture deeply, seeing it as a sign of your trust and friendship, but might subtly ask if you’ve shown anyone else.

Leo might “coincidentally” practice his katana forms where you have a good vantage point, holding poses slightly longer. If you look up and catch his eye, he’d offer a small, encouraging nod before resuming.

“You drew me … with my swords out. That’s … really cool. And kinda flattering.” He’s a little shy about it but tells you he likes it. Probably doesn’t mention it again unless you bring it up, but will treasure the mental image. Secretly hopes there’s more.

Also secretly keeps a folded version of your sketch in a book or drawer. Doesn’t talk about it much, but it clearly means a lot. He’ll defend your art fiercely if anyone downplays it.

2012!Raph

“Hey, what are you hidin’?” Gruff as usual when he spots your art, but still curious.

Sees the drawing. Eyebrow ridge raises. A beat of silence. “… Is that supposed to be me?”

At first, he might joke a little to hide how touched he is. “Could’ve made me buffer, but okay.” Gets a little red in the ears. “Thanks … for drawin’ me, I guess.”

If you made him look tough and cool, a tiny, almost invisible smirk might appear. He’d scoff at your embarrassment. “What, you think it’s bad or somethin’? It’s … not terrible.” (Which is high praise from him).

Might try to act like it’s not a big deal, but he keeps checking if you’ve drawn him again.

If you catch him staring at a drawing for too long, he’ll grumble, “It’s not like I asked you to draw me lookin’ cool …”

You notice he starts sticking around longer when you sketch, trying to act casual. And he might leave little “suggestions” like: “If you’re gonna draw me again, maybe this pose would be cool. Just sayin’.”

Once, after a hard mission, you gave him a sketch of him looking strong and protective. He kept that one.

2012!Donnie

His initial reaction is genuine curiosity. “Oh, what have you got there?”

His eyes would widen slightly upon seeing the drawing. “Fascinating! Is that … us? Your grasp of our unique physiology is quite impressive! Did you use references? This foreshortening is impressive.”

He’d be technically complimentary. But then he looks up and sees you looking like you’re about to evaporate and realizes—oh. You were keeping that private.

He’d be understanding of your embarrassment. “Oh, please don’t feel self-conscious! It’s a wonderful piece of art. Perhaps you could even help me design some new tech interfaces with your artistic eye?”

He’d probably ask if he could scan it to “analyze the artistic rendering techniques for his database.”

Donnie might start explaining the mechanics of his latest invention to you in more detail, “hoping you can visualize it.” A subtle hint for you to draw it.

Donnie would scan them at high resolution and keep them in a password-protected folder on his T-Phone, possibly analyzing your evolving style over time.

He’d love a drawing of you and him working on tech together. He might even frame it in his lab.

2012!Mikey

Upon seeing your art: “What’s that?! Ooh, a drawing!” Then his jaw would drop. “NO WAY! YOU DREW US?! THAT’S AWESOME-SAUCE!”

He’d be incredibly hyped, grabbing the drawing (gently!) to get a closer look.

You’re dying inside but he’s already flipping through your sketchbook. “Why didn’t you show me sooner?! We could’ve been an artist team! I model, you draw—BOOM.”

He’d be completely oblivious to why you’re embarrassed, or rather, he’d try to overwhelm your embarrassment with pure enthusiasm.

Would immediately start posing and asking you to draw him right now.

Mikey would have a “super-secret awesome art stash” hidden somewhere only he (and maybe Ice Cream Kitty) knows about.

Wants to hang the art in his room. Constantly asks when the next “issue” of “Mikey Art” is coming out.

If you ever get insecure about your art, he’ll hug you tight. “Dude. You made me look awesome. That’s, like, peak talent.”

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justaladyiguess · 3 days ago

Text

A slightly more believable TADC theory

Like the last one, take everything I say with a grain of salt. I’m just a lady watching a show.

One scene that stuck out to me in the new TADC episode was when Jax seemed to genuinely think that Gangle likes it when he's mean to her.

At first glance, it seems pretty counter-intuitive. Why would he think being mean to someone will cheer them up? But I think this whole episode casts a bit of light on his perspective.

There are a lot of indicators that Jax has some concern for the others. The aforementioned exchange is one of them. Then, in the bar, Jax makes the jab at Kinger right after Ragatha talks about her history with her mom.

This one could be read in a few different ways, but I see it as him trying to distract from the somber tones in her story. Especially considering this expression moments before.

And then he apologizes to Pomni about the president thing, something even Pomni thinks is odd. Granted, he does it in a semi joking way, but there does seem to be some sincerity behind it.

If you’re a bit delusional, you could interpret later actions as this as well. When Ragatha blows up at Pomni and apologizes, he jokingly asks for an apology. But then seems surprised that he got one. It’s possible he was intentionally trying to distract from the semi-harsh thing she said before.

And finally, while the Poacher's Paradise is pretty self-indulgent, the President Pomni adventure seems like a surprisingly genuine attempt to make a fun adventure. Everyone gets a character sheet and everything. Minus Pomni, but still.

But if he does care, why does he act like… Jax?

I think it’s for the same reason Ragatha tries to keep things positive.

Some people try to solve things directly. They talk to people about issues. Pomni usually does this, but that’s a post for another day.

Ragatha and Jax try similar approaches on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Ragatha tries to lift everyone's spirits by keeping them positive and avoiding the negative. But I think Jax tries to lift everyone's spirits by trying to keep anything from being serious. After all, if none of it matters, nobody gets upset. Either way, nobody is confronting the actual issues at play.

To get a little personal here, it reminded me a bit of myself. Sometimes I find myself acting like Ragatha. Trying to find the good side so everyone else can see it too. But most of the time it's just easier to joke around. It's a band aid solution, sure. But it lightens the atmosphere. Seems to make things better. Granted, I usually don't do it by insulting the people I'm trying to cheer up, but still.

In Jax's mind, the reason everyone is so miserable is because they take it too seriously. He says it himself multiple times. Granted, he's a bit of a hypocrite in this respect. He can take insults and banter, but being humiliated in any way tends to send him off the edge. But even Ragatha seems to be acutely aware that her up beat attitude hasn't done much to keep her happy.

Their similarities are further enhanced by the scene on the bench.

Their back and forth strongly implies that their motivations and facades are similar. While both assume the other has negative intentions, I don’t think either of them do.

I do think he’s partly a jerk who gets pleasure out of making fun of others. And his philosophy of not caring is probably mostly to protect himself from negative emotions. He’s certainly not a saint.

But I think it’s possible that he’s got dual motivations. That he thinks everyone would be better off if they stopped trying to be happy and just started doing what he does.

Not taking anything seriously.

But that’s just a theory.. a Digital Circus Theory! And cut..

…

And yes, I did get the idea from that “Funny Things” fan song by RecD.

#tadc jax #tadc pomni #jax #pomni #tadc #the amazing digital circus theory #the amazing digital circus #character study #sort of #mostly guessing #just for fun #haven’t read anyone else’s takes yet #so who knows how many others have said this already

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berryispunk · 3 days ago

Text

Counting Sheep

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to ???, soft! Frankie, insomnia mention, anxiety mention, mental health talk, bad inside jokes, slow burn, comfort, unresolved tension

summary: Two insomniacs who met by chance share a late-night coffee, an almost kiss, and the quiet kind of connection that lingers long after the sun comes up.

word count: ~ 3k

Happy Frankie Friday, my loves <3

It was one of those nights where everything felt a little too loud inside your head. You were bone-deep exhausted, but your mind refused to quiet down. It kept looping through every worst-case scenario on repeat, like a broken record you couldn’t turn off.

You blew a few wild strands of hair out of your face and stared at the ceiling, hoping if you just looked long enough, something might change. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

You tossed and turned, from your back to your stomach, desperate for sleep that wouldn’t come. The digital clock on your nightstand glared back at you — 1:45 a.m., stuck somewhere between too early to be morning and too late to be midnight.

Your eyes were shut, but restlessness clung to you like a shadow.

Then your phone buzzed, the screen flooding the room with light.

Frankie: Tell me how many more sheep do I have to count before I can fall asleep? Because I’m at 633 and still wide awake 🥱

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile. Typical him.

You: At 633, you’re probably part of the flock by now. Maybe you should stop counting and start naming them? 🤭

A moment later, his reply came, quick and cheeky:

Frankie: Naming sheep sounds like a full-time job. I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment. But I could try naming one like you. Maybe it’ll help me drift off 😙

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did that little skip you weren’t entirely ready to admit.

You: Smooth. But don’t flatter yourself if you want to sleep, try imagining me kicking you off the couch at 6 a.m

Frankie: Ouch. Harsh, but fair. I’ll take my chances if it means one less sheep to count 🐑

You: Hey, if you fall asleep, you owe me a coffee tomorrow ☕️

Frankie: Deal. But only if you promise to be my personal barista 😉

You laughed, despite the heaviness in your chest.

You: Fine. But don’t expect any gourmet lattes. I’m more of a ‘stir and hope for the best’ kind of barista 😅

Frankie: Perfect. Imperfect coffee for two insomniacs 😴

You smiled again, feeling that little weight inside you ease just a bit, grateful for the quiet company in the middle of the night.

You: You’re good at distracting me, but the noise in my head doesn’t quit so easy. Feels like it’s always just one step ahead, no matter what I do

Frankie: I get that. Some nights it feels like your own brain is a wild animal you can’t calm down. But you’re not alone in it. I’m right here, in the middle of my own chaos

You: It’s crazy how much easier it feels just knowing someone else gets it. Like, you don’t have to pretend to be okay…

Frankie: Yeah, no pretending. No masks. Just… two wrecks trying to hold it together. I trust you with the messy parts. You ever feel like you can say that about anyone?

You: Not really. You’re the first person I haven’t felt like I had to hide behind words with. It’s weird, like we’ve only known each other a little while, but I already trust you more than some people I’ve known for years 🫣

Frankie: Same here. It’s like we found each other in the middle of the chaos. That kind of connection doesn’t come easy

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Maybe… maybe we should stop texting in the middle of the night and actually meet up? I mean, I know it’s late, but there’s that shitty 24-hour coffee place downtown. Could be nice to sit in a real chair instead of my bed

Frankie: You serious? I was thinking the same thing. Could use real caffeine and a break from my couch jail 🛋️

You: Only catch is you gotta pick me up. I’m not about to haul my exhausted self through the subway at 3 a.m, also I am pretty sure I’d get murdered 🔪

Frankie: Deal. I’ll be your designated driver for the night. No subway for you — I got you covered. Need you alive 😉

You: Okay, don’t expect much tho. Might look like a racoon on drugs. 🦝 But maybe some terrible coffee and even worse pastries can fix our insomnia ?

Frankie: Good thing I love racoons. Shitty coffee, questionable pastries, and zero judgment. Just two insomniacs trying to catch a break, got it

—

The city was hushed in that strange 3 a.m. way—dim street lights casting golden pools on the concrete, everything muted except the occasional car sweeping by. You heard the low hum of Frankie’s engine before you saw his headlights.

He pulled up to the curb like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like this wasn’t something a little ridiculous and a little intimate. You tugged the sleeves of your oversized pullover down over your hands and climbed into the passenger seat, the soft interior light flicking on the second you shut the door.

Frankie glanced at you, and you caught it—his expression soft as melted sugar, eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. You knew you looked a mess, hair up in a lazy bun, your favorite pajama pants covered in tiny constellations. But there was no judgment in his gaze. Just that quiet calm he always gave off when you needed it most.

“Nice look,” he murmured, lips twitching up in that boyish grin of his. “Didn’t know I was picking up a raccoon princess.”

You laughed, heat rising to your cheeks. “Royalty and insomnia. We’re full service over here.”

The light above dimmed out, plunging the car into a soft twilight glow from the dash. You realized you were still looking at him—eyes dragging over the slope of his jaw, the worn hoodie stretched across his chest, the way his hands looked so steady on the wheel. Too long. Definitely too long.

He arched his brow without turning his head. “See something you like, or just making sure I’m real?”

Your stomach flipped, but you played it off with a smirk. “Just wondering how you manage to look so annoyingly composed at this hour. Unfair, really.”

Frankie shrugged lightly. “Veteran of the night shift. Plus…” —his tone dropped slightly, just enough to make your breath catch— “kinda different when you’ve got good company.”

You tried to say something, maybe joke back, but it caught in your throat.

So instead, you buckled in.

“Where to, Captain?”

“24-hour coffee stop, as promised,” he said, pulling away from the curb with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping softly to whatever lo-fi track was playing low through the speakers.

You looked out the window, trying not to notice how your whole body had started to relax the moment you got in his car. And trying even harder not to notice how much you didn’t want this night—this feeling—to end.

—

The silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy either. It was that in-between kind, like both of you were waiting to see who’d crack first.

Outside, the city rolled by—streetlights, shuttered stores, a few late-night wanderers bundled against the cold. Inside, the soft hum of the engine and lo-fi beats filled the space between you, and still neither of you spoke for the first few minutes.

Then Frankie cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said, glancing at you with that sideways grin, “I gotta ask. Those pajama pants—are we talkin’ a celestial theme because you’re deep and mysterious, or because you were too tired to find the other pair?”

You snorted, grateful for the break in tension. “Excuse you. These pants are a lifestyle choice. I contain multitudes.”

He laughed, that warm, real laugh that made your chest flutter in ways you tried not to examine too closely. “My bad. I should’ve known I was in the presence of intergalactic fashion royalty.”

You smiled at your hands resting in your lap, then glanced at him. “Honestly? I just didn’t want to wear jeans.”

“Strong choice,” he said solemnly. “Jeans at 3 a.m. are a crime.”

Silence settled again after that, but something about it felt softer this time. You watched the glow from passing headlights move across his face. He looked different at night. Or maybe just more himself. Less guarded. Like the world was finally quiet enough for him to breathe.

He glanced over at you again, more tentative this time.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now, “can I ask you something kinda weird?”

You turned to him. “We’re on our way to drink bad coffee in our pajamas. I think weird’s fair game.”

He huffed out a laugh, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, okay, true.” A beat. “Did you really mean it earlier? About trusting me?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But then you nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

He nodded too, eyes on the road. “Good. Just… wanted to say same. You’re like. I don’t know. One of the only people I don’t feel like I have to wear the ‘everything’s fine’ face with.”

That pulled something in you—gentle and aching at the same time.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s what scares me.”

You turned your head toward the window again, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind his words.

And then—

“So…” he added, playful again but softer, “if I ever spiral so hard I show up to your place in my own galaxy pajama pants, you won’t judge?”

You cracked a smile. “Only if you promise to wear matching socks. Raccoon royalty standards.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But no promises. You know I live on the edge.”

—

A little while later, you pulled into the parking lot of the shitty 24-hour coffee shop. The flickering neon “OPEN” sign buzzed above the door like it was fighting for its last breath, and inside, the place was lit with the kind of cheap fluorescence that made everything look a little too honest.

The guy behind the counter didn’t even blink when you walked in. He looked like he’d seen every version of rock bottom come through that door. Just gave the two of you a lazy once-over and gruffed out, “What can I get for you?”

You glanced at Frankie, suddenly realizing—you didn’t actually know how he took his coffee. But you knew him well enough to make an educated guess. No fluff. No syrupy distractions. Just real.

You ordered a black coffee for him, a cappuccino for yourself.

While you waited, Frankie wandered into the sad little store section in the back—magazines, old candy, cheap trinkets. You watched him drift through the narrow aisles, squinting under the flickering lights, his brows knit like he was hunting for something important in a place that didn’t sell much worth finding. He looked entirely out of place, and at the same time, exactly where he needed to be.

You walked over, careful not to crowd him. “Hey,” you said softly, offering the cup. “Got you some coffee.”

He startled slightly, eyes flicking to the cup and then up to yours.

“How’d you know how I like it?” he asked, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Took a wild guess,” you said, smirking. “Tell me if I got it right.”

He took a sip, paused—then raised his eyebrows like you’d just performed a magic trick.

“Are you a witch or something?”

You shook your head. “I wish. Just good at reading people.”

He gave you a look, one that lingered. “Well, guess I’m readable.”

You smiled and tilted your head toward the booth tucked in the corner, cracked plastic seats and all. “Come on, let’s sit.”

You slid into opposite sides, the table wobbling a little when Frankie leaned his elbows on it. Outside, the streetlights painted the windows in tired gold. Inside, the world felt paused—just the two of you, awake in the hour where everything quiets down and nothing pretends anymore.

—

At first, the conversation was all nonsense. You pointed out the absurd headlines in the magazines (“Apparently celery juice now cures loneliness?”), and Frankie lamented the loss of pretzels in the vending machine like it was a national tragedy.

It didn’t take long before you were laughing—real laughter, the kind that shook your shoulders and made you momentarily forget every shadow trailing your thoughts. And every time you laughed, you noticed how Frankie’s eyes softened. How the weight he carried seemed to lift, just a little, like your laughter helped him breathe.

He leaned back, stretching out in the booth, his coffee cup between his hands.

“You know,” he said eventually, glancing at you with a crooked grin, “this is still the weirdest way I’ve ever met someone.”

You mirrored the grin. “What, you don’t usually bond with strangers over mutual insomnia and spiraling anxiety at 3 a.m.?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, not usually. But it worked out. I mean… what were the odds? Both of us just lurking in the comments of that anonymous thread about sleep deprivation and somehow ending up here.”

You smiled at the memory. That thread. Some stranger had posted something like "Why does 2:41 a.m. always feel like the loneliest minute in the world?" and the replies were flooded with people sharing half-awake confessions. Your comment had been dry and half-joking—“because 2:42 is booked solid with existential dread”—and his had come right after.

“Alright, you win. Let’s co-host a late-night radio show for the mentally unwell.”

And something about that had made you reply.

“I almost didn’t answer you, you know,” you said, nudging your cup between your hands.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought you were either a serial killer or some guy who’d try to impress me with unsolicited guitar covers of ‘Wonderwall.’”

He let out a laugh that startled even him, warm and genuine. “Wow. You really had low expectations.”

“I was being realistic,” you said with a shrug, then added, “but I’m glad I answered.”

Frankie looked at you over the rim of his coffee, his expression softening like you’d just said something important.

“I was real close to deleting everything that night,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, maybe a bit guarded. “Like... just done with people. But your dumb little radio comment? It made me laugh. And that was enough to keep me talking.”

His smile turned gentle, almost boyish. “Guess I’m glad I said something stupid, then.”

You raised your cup to him in a mock-toast. “To dumb jokes in the comments section.”

He clinked his coffee cup lightly against yours. “And to insomnia bringing weirdos together.”

You both smiled, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside that booth had fallen away.

—

The hours slipped by without either of you noticing.

At some point, the coffee went cold, the vending machine buzzed like it was haunted, and the sky outside started to shift—inky black softening into gray, then blue. A quiet kind of light began to creep across the city, brushing over the buildings like a secret. The world was waking up, but inside that booth, it still felt like night.

You didn’t talk much after that—not because there wasn’t more to say, but because everything that needed to be said was sitting in the air between you. Easy silence, soft glances, a shared kind of tired that wasn’t just from the hour.

Eventually, Frankie stood and stretched with a groan. “Alright, raccoon royalty,” he said, voice low and sleep-rough. “Let’s get you home before the sun fully exposes us to the judging public.”

You smiled, grabbed your empty cup, and followed him out to the car. The seats were cold when you slid in, but his presence warmed the small space fast.

The drive back was quiet again—comfortable, half-drowsy silence. The city looked different now in the early light. Less lonely, less haunted.

When he pulled up outside your place, he didn’t kill the engine right away. Neither of you moved at first.

You turned toward him. “Thanks for the coffee. And the kidnapping.”

He chuckled softly. “Anytime.”

You hesitated, then leaned over the center console, arms wrapping around him in a sleepy, lingering hug. His arms came around you just as gently—no tension, just warmth. Safe.

But when you pulled back, you didn’t go all the way.

You were close, too close. So close in fact that you could smell him, the faint trace of smoke, some cologne from a different day and slight sweat.

The shift in the air was instant, inevitable.

His eyes were on yours, wide and unsure but somehow hopeful. His breath was shallow, yours caught.

You could kiss him. Right now. You could close the space and see what this strange little thing between you really was.

But then your heart stuttered—too fast, too loud—and you panicked.

You blinked, mumbled something that wasn’t even words, and practically scrambled out of the car like it was on fire.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

—

A few days passed. Not a word from either of you about what almost happened.

It was a normal afternoon when your phone buzzed with his name—no late night, no shadows to hide in this time, which somehow made it all the more terrifying. Because in the bright light of day, the almost-kiss felt even more like a mistake. Like you’d nearly ruined the one steady, grounding thing you had right now. The thing that kept you tethered when the floor felt like it might open up and swallow you whole.

Frankie: Can I ask you something?

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering for a moment before you started typing.

You: Sure

There was a pause before he replied.

Frankie: Did I imagine it? The other night in my car. I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you wanted to kiss me

Your stomach dropped.

You: I did. I wanted to. I just got scared…

And then, almost immediately, his reply came.

Frankie: I would've loved to kiss you, just so you know.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you let it out.

The message sat there, glowing quietly on your screen, and your cheeks burned, pulse picking up.

You didn’t know what to say—not yet. But something in your chest ached in the sweetest way, like a door had been cracked open, just enough to let the light in.

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reveryfics · 18 hours ago

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Evening Dip

Bucky Barnes x Male Reader

Summary: Summer was here, which meant the backyard pool was finally open again – and that meant some much-needed quality time with Bucky, now that his congressional duties had slowed.

A/N: I really want to do summer pool fics, and well I had this idea for Bucky that I've been sitting on. This was supposed to be soft smut, however it didn't end up like that. I couldn't wait.

TW: Fluff - Pre-existing relationship - Skinny dipping - Making out - Fronting - Hand job - Females DNI - Minors DNI

The air hung thick and heavy, a humid blanket announcing the true arrival of summer. For you, this wasn't just any summer week; it was the week your personal oasis, that magnificent backyard pool, would finally fulfill its destiny. For nearly a month, it had sat, a gleaming testament to your persuasive powers over Bucky, silently awaiting its grand debut. The past few days had been a flurry of activity, a meticulous ballet of scrubbing, rinsing, and the glorious gush of water filling the pristine basin. You'd worked tirelessly, fueled by the promise of cool respite from the oppressive heat, a heat wave that had effectively turned your town into a collective of hermits.

You'd even managed to coax Alpine, Bucky's notoriously bath-averse feline companion, into a tentative paw-dip once the water was deemed safe. Her wide, curious eyes and a surprisingly cooperative demeanor had kept you entertained, a welcome distraction while Bucky toiled away. He’d been working at a relentless pace lately, a desperate push to clear his workload so he could finally, truly, be present with you. The past few weeks had been a blur of early departures and late arrivals, him coming home, eating a quick meal, and collapsing into bed, utterly spent. But today, he’d promised. He’d sworn he’d be home early, a vow sealed with the anticipation of a shared swim, a blissful escape from the sweltering afternoon.

At least, that's what Bucky promised.

He had left just as the first sliver of dawn peeked over the horizon, a phantom in the quiet house. He moved with practiced stealth, a silent guardian, careful not to disturb your slumber or Alpine’s contented purrs beside you. The familiar ritual played out: the soft rustle of clothes, the quiet click of the bathroom door, the tender kiss pressed to your forehead, and the rustle of the lunch bag you’d packed for him – a daily reminder of your presence, and perhaps, the only proper meal he’d consistently eaten since you’d walked into his life.

But by the time your internal alarm clock chimed, as it always did around nine, the house was empty save for you and Alpine. She lay sprawled across your chest, a warm, furry weight, her rhythmic purr a soothing counterpoint to the growing hum of the air conditioning. You stretched, a languid arch of your back, and reached for your phone.

Bucky’s name glowed on the screen, a notification waiting. You braced yourself, fully expecting a text about another interminable meeting, a dull report, or some mundane work crisis. But no. Of course not. It was worse.

He was going to be working late again.

The words hung in the air, a punch to the gut. He promised, of course, to make it up to you later that night. A low growl rumbled in your throat, a sound that finally prompted Alpine to open her emerald eyes, fixing you with a curious, unblinking stare. She let out a questioning chirp, her purr intensifying as you absently reached up to scratch behind her ear.

"Make it up to me," you murmured, the words laced with a potent mix of disappointment and a burgeoning, mischievous resolve. You let out a huff, a release of exasperated air. "He better give me the best mind-blowing sex of my life."

The sun, though long gone, had left its scorching signature on the evening. The air remained thick and heavy, a humid embrace that clung to your skin, making every breath feel like drawing in warm soup. The digital clock on the kitchen counter glared 8:47 PM. Still no Bucky. But someone else was making their impatience known.

A persistent, rhythmic tapping at the sliding glass patio door finally drew your attention from the simmering annoyance bubbling within you. Alpine, a furry shadow in the dim light, was perched on her hind legs, forepaws batting at the glass with surprising intensity. Her tail swished with an urgency that spoke volumes. She wanted out. More specifically, she wanted in the pool.

A small smile, the first genuine one of the evening, touched your lips. How could you resist that insistent demand? You had to admit, the idea of slipping into the cool water was becoming increasingly appealing. Bucky or no Bucky, this heat was relentless.

Giving in to the unspoken plea, you headed to the bedroom, shedding your clothes for your swim trunks. Then, with a chuckle, you retrieved Alpine's life vest. It was a bright, almost ridiculous, yellow, perfectly tailored for feline escapades, complete with little fish scales printed on the fabric. You'd bought it on a whim, a silly impulse purchase that now seemed like a stroke of genius. Alpine, surprisingly, tolerated it with a stoic resignation, perhaps understanding that it was the price of admission to her aquatic adventures.

With Alpine secured in her buoyant gear, you slid open the patio door. The cat wasted no time. With a determined leap, she launched herself off the edge of the patio, a fluffy, yellow projectile arcing gracefully through the air before landing with a surprisingly quiet splash in the center of the pool. She immediately began to paddle, her tiny paws churning the water with an earnestness that was both comical and endearing.

Watching her, a wave of calm finally washed over you. The day’s frustrations, Bucky’s broken promise, the suffocating heat – they all seemed to recede in the face of Alpine’s pure, unadulterated joy. You grabbed your phone and a plush towel, setting them carefully on one of the cushioned patio chairs before making your way to the steps of the pool.

The first touch of the water was pure bliss. It was surprisingly cool, a refreshing embrace against your heated skin. You descended slowly, letting the water lap at your shins, then your knees, a sigh of contentment escaping your lips as the coolness enveloped your waist. Alpine, noticing your entry, paddled closer, her green eyes wide and sparkling in the reflected pool lights. You dipped fully into the water, the last vestiges of the day's oppressive heat dissolving into the shimmering depths. The world seemed to narrow to this moment: the cool water, the quiet hum of the pool filter, and the gentle, rhythmic paddling of your tiny, yellow-vested swimming companion.

Nearly two hours later, the initial novelty of the cool water had begun to wane, and the first shivers were setting in. Alpine, too, seemed ready to trade her aquatic adventure for a warm, dry spot. You scooped her out, her yellow life vest now a bit bedraggled, and carried her inside. After a thorough towel-drying, she shook herself vigorously, sending droplets flying, before trotting off to find her favorite blanket pile, a contented blur of fur.

You checked your phone, half-expecting, half-dreading, a message. A text from Bucky popped up: “Just leaving. Few hours. So sorry, promise to make it up xx.” A few hours. The familiar ache of disappointment, quickly followed by a spark of rebellious determination, ignited within you. His "few hours" could easily stretch into the dead of night, and you weren't about to let this evening fizzle out without a fight. His promise of making it up to you echoed in your mind, fueling a mischievous plan.

You walked back to the laundry room, shedding your swim trunks with a decisive shrug. Tonight called for a different kind of freedom. Tonight called for skinny dipping. The air still hung warm and humid, and the thought of the silky water against bare skin was an irresistible lure.

Back on the patio, the pool lights cast an inviting, ethereal glow on the water. You slipped in, the cool caress of the liquid a delicious shock. The silence of the night was broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against your skin. A daring idea began to form, a way to send Bucky a very clear, very undeniable message.

Without a second thought for where he might be – in a crowded office, stuck in a last-minute meeting, surrounded by colleagues – you reached for your phone. A picture of the pool itself would be too subtle, too easily dismissed. A selfie would be too direct, too obvious. No, this needed to be more nuanced, more tantalizing.

You held the phone steady, focusing the camera not on your face, but on your body from the chest down. The water reached your waist, shimmering and reflecting the pool lights in a way that offered a revealing glimpse of what lay beneath the surface. The droplets clung to your skin like scattered jewels, each one catching the light. Below your naval, your happy trail was matted down by the water, a dark, intriguing line disappearing into the illuminated depths. The curve of your hips, the line of your inner thighs – all were subtly, yet distinctly, visible through the water's playful distortion.

You pressed send.

A shiver, not of cold but of anticipation, ran down your spine. This was it. Either Bucky was going to get the undeniable hint of exactly how you wanted him to make up for his absence, or you’d be spending the night relegated to the couch, with Alpine as your only bedfellow. Only time would tell.

It wasn't even an hour later. The initial thrill of your daring photo had settled into a quiet hum of anticipation. You were still in the pool, floating on your back, the cool water cradling you as you gazed up at the vast expanse of the night sky. The stars, pinpricks of light against the inky black, seemed to hum with the same silent energy that now thrummed through your veins. The air was finally starting to lose some of its earlier oppressive heat, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves in the trees.

Then, the soft slide of the patio door cut through the peaceful silence. You didn't move, your breath held. The subtle click of it closing confirmed it, followed by the faint, distinctive sound of bare feet against the patio deck. A wave of warmth, entirely unrelated to the lingering heat of the evening, spread through you.

Bucky’s voice, low and laced with a familiar mix of exasperation and amusement, broke the quiet. He called out your name, his tone a little breathless, a little rough. You kept your eyes fixed on the stars, a smirk playing on your lips. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions and a hint of playful defiance. You waited, letting him stew just a little.

A moment later, the water around your feet rippled, then settled. He was in the pool. You felt the subtle shift in the water as he moved closer, and then the warmth of his body near your head. You finally let your gaze drift, turning your head just enough to see him. He was standing beside you, looking down, his face a shadowed silhouette against the faint glow of the patio lights. His eyes, even in the dimness, held a spark of something intense.

You started to push yourself up, intending to face him, to perhaps tease him a little more. But Bucky was quicker. His vibranium arm, cool and surprisingly gentle, slipped around your waist. With effortless strength, he pulled you back against him, the sudden contact sending a delicious shiver down your spine. A low rumble vibrated through his chest, a sound you knew well, a prelude to something wonderfully intimate.

His breath ghosted against your ear as he whispered, "I've had a hard day, baby." His voice was rougher now, tinged with exhaustion, but laced with an undeniable possessiveness. He tightened his grip slightly, holding you flush against him. "I'm not in the mood to chase you around the pool, especially not after that picture you sent me." The last words were a low growl, a promise and a threat all rolled into one.

His words, a low growl against your ear, sent a potent wave of heat through you, despite the cool embrace of the water. The vibranium arm tightened further, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His other arm, the human one, slid around your ribs, his hand splaying warm and possessive over your abdomen, just above where the water veiled your secret. The gentle sway of the water around you seemed to amplify the sudden, intense awareness of his proximity.

"You knew what you were doing, sending that," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. He dipped his head, nuzzling your temple, then tracing a line down your jaw with his lips. "You know exactly what that picture did to me, sitting in that stuffy office, pretending to care about quarterly reports." A soft, almost pained groan escaped him as his lips found the sensitive skin behind your ear.

You finally let out the breath you'd been holding, a soft sigh escaping your lips. "Did it work?" you teased, your voice a little breathless, a little shaky. The smirk was back, wider now, despite the rapid thrum of your pulse.

Bucky chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated through your back. "Oh, it worked, alright," he confirmed, his voice thick with unfulfilled desire. He shifted slightly, pressing his hips against yours, leaving no doubt as to the extent of his "hard day." "It worked so well I nearly drove off the road trying to get here. Forget the 'few hours,' I was out of there the second I saw it."

He continued to hold you tight, letting the silence stretch, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water and your increasingly ragged breaths. The stars still twinkled above, oblivious to the simmering tension in your private pool. His fingers, warm and calloused, began to trace languid circles just below the water's surface, over the curve of your hip, then slowly, deliberately, lower.

"So," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, "how do you want me to make it up to you, baby? Because I have a few ideas, and I'm pretty sure they all involve whatever your dirty mind is thinking about." His words were a direct hit, and a gasp escaped your lips as his touch intensified, sending shivers trailing down to your toes. You arched into him, a silent invitation, and the night suddenly felt far, far more interesting than just stargazing.

The sensation of Bucky's already erect cock pressing hot and insistent against your ass was a potent counterpoint to the cool water. His words, his scent, his presence – they coalesced into a dizzying rush. As his hand continued its slow, deliberate descent, brushing over your hip, you felt your own cock twitch in eager response, a silent acknowledgment of the primal dance beginning between you. Every nerve ending seemed to hum with anticipation.

He chuckled again, a low, satisfied sound that seemed to reverberate through the water itself. "Too easy," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he dipped his head closer. Then, with a fluid, almost effortless motion, he turned you around in his arms until you were facing him.

The change in position brought an immediate, intense awareness of his naked body against yours. The cool vibranium of his arm was still a firm anchor around your waist, but now you could feel the raw heat of his skin, the powerful musculature of his chest, the hard plane of his abdomen pressing against your own. Your legs tangled underwater, a dance of limbs in the shimmering light.

He began to walk, slowly, deliberately, pulling you with him. Each step brought a renewed friction between your bodies, a delicious tease. The gentle lapping of the water became a sensual soundtrack to your movements. You could feel the slight drag of the water against his powerful thighs, the brush of his chest hair against yours. The faint scent of chlorine mingled with his unique scent – a clean, masculine aroma that was undeniably Bucky.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your back finally met the cool, unyielding edge of the pool. You were pinned, not unpleasantly, between him and the tiled wall. The sensation was electric, the pressure of his body against yours leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. His eyes, dark and intense in the low light, devoured your face, then dropped to your lips, a silent question hanging in the air. His hands, one vibranium, one flesh, moved to cup your face, his thumbs stroking gently along your cheekbones. The playful defiance of earlier melted away, replaced by an overwhelming desire that mirrored his own.

His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, searched yours for a long moment, a silent question passing between you. The only answer he needed was the way your body instinctively arched into his, the desperate little gasp that escaped your lips. Then, with a soft groan that seemed to tear from the depths of his chest, Bucky captured your mouth.

The kiss was everything you’d been craving, a raw, unrestrained explosion of pent-up desire and unspoken longing. His lips were hot and demanding, crushing against yours, tasting of chlorine and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Bucky. His tongue swept in, hungry and seeking, intertwining with yours in a primal dance that left you breathless. You responded with equal fervor, your hands, freed now by the support of the pool wall, tangling in his damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still.

The cool water swirled around your hips, a stark contrast to the burning heat that flared between your bodies. You could feel the rigid length of his erection pressing insistently against you, a constant, throbbing reminder of his arousal. Your own cock, already alive with sensation, twitched and hardened further with every grinding movement of his hips.

He deepened the kiss, a low growl vibrating in his throat as his vibranium arm, still wrapped securely around your waist, tightened its hold, lifting you slightly against him. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, pulling your bodies flush together. The friction was exquisite, a dizzying blend of skin on skin, hair on hair, the water rippling around you with every shift.

His human hand, the one that had been cupping your face, now trailed down your neck, across your collarbone, before finally resting with possessive weight on your hip. He broke the kiss, just barely, gasping for air, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes, still smoldering, bored into yours.

"God, I've missed this," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, his lips still brushing yours with every word. He didn't wait for a response, diving back in for another searing kiss, this one even more desperate, more demanding than the last. His tongue ravaged your mouth, plundering every corner, leaving you weak and pliant in his embrace. You whimpered into the kiss, the sound lost somewhere between his mouth and yours.

As he continued, a dizzying spiral of sensation, Bucky began to press you harder against the cool tile of the pool wall. His body was a hot brand against yours, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both. His kisses moved from your lips, trailing down your jawline, to the sensitive hollow of your throat, each one leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You arched your back, offering yourself more fully to his ministrations, your fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders.

The initial annoyance of his late arrival had completely evaporated, replaced by a singular, overwhelming desire. This was his apology, his "making it up to you," and it was already proving to be everything you’d hoped for, and more.

Bucky finally tore his mouth from yours, the abrupt separation leaving you gasping, desperate for air. But the reprieve was fleeting. His lips, hot and swollen from the intensity of your shared kiss, immediately descended to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. He began to pepper the sensitive area with fierce, open-mouthed kisses, each one sending a jolt through your system. You could feel the slight tug of his teeth as he nuzzled and gently bit the soft skin just beneath your ear, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you.

A low, involuntary moan rumbled in your chest, escaping your lips as he continued his delicious assault. His vibranium arm kept you pinned against the cool pool wall, his other hand sliding from your hip to cup your ass, pressing your pelvis even more firmly against his. The friction between your bodies, already electrifying, intensified with every movement.

He worked his way down, his lips trailing a searing path along your collarbone, then onto the curve of your shoulder. You arched your back instinctively, offering more of yourself to his fervent attention. His teeth scraped lightly, then bit down with just enough pressure to leave a delicious ache, a promise of a mark. The water around you, once cool and refreshing, now felt like a heated vortex, swirling with your escalating desire.

"Bucky," you choked out, your voice hoarse, as your cocks brushed against one another beneath the water. The contact was exquisitely sensitive, a jolt that sent a wave of pure need coursing through your veins. You could feel the rigid head of his penis nudging against yours, a silent, insistent demand.

He responded to your plea with a deeper bite, a low growl rumbling in his throat, a primal sound of possession. His kisses continued their relentless journey, finally reaching your chest. His tongue swirled over your nipple, then sucked gently, sending shivers through your entire body. The pleasure was almost unbearable, a delicious torment that left you gasping and writhing against him.

"God, Bucky," you moaned again, the sound less a word and more a guttural expression of pure sensation. His head dipped lower still, his mouth hot against your abdomen, just above the waterline, where the subtle outline of your happy trail had been revealed in the revealing photo. He was making good on his promise, and then some.

Bucky's head lifted slowly, his mouth tracing a searing path back up your chest, over your collarbone, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, he captured your lips once more. The kiss was soft this time, almost tender, a stark contrast to the raw hunger of moments before. It was a kiss of profound connection, a silent acknowledgment of the desire that thrummed between you.

Then, he pulled back, just enough for his breath to ghost over your mouth. His eyes, still dark with passion, met yours. A soft, almost incredulous whisper escaped his lips, barely audible above the gentle lapping of the water. "You do this to me every time."

You took a deep, shaky breath, still reeling from the intensity of his touch. A knowing smirk played on your lips as you retorted, your voice a little breathless, "And you're always horny enough to fall for it, aren't you, Sol-"

Before you could finish teasing him, before you could even utter his name, Bucky's hand, the human one, slipped underwater. His fingers found your cock, and began to stroke it slowly and deliberately. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming. Your head rolled back against your shoulder, a guttural curse escaping your lips, lost in the open air. The playful banter died on your tongue, replaced by a singular focus on the exquisite pleasure blossoming under his touch.

A low, resonant chuckle vibrated through Bucky's chest, a sound of pure triumph and satisfaction. He continued his slow, hypnotic strokes, his fingers wrapped around you, applying just the right amount of pressure. While one hand worked its magic, his lips brushed against your neck once more, a soft, teasing caress, before trailing across your chest, lingering on your nipple for a moment, sending another shiver through your core. The combination of his mouth and his hand was pure, intoxicating bliss, leaving you pliant and moaning in his arms.

The exquisite torment of Bucky's hand on your cock was abruptly, deliciously, replaced. He slowly moved his hand away, the absence of his touch a teasing void, only for it to be immediately filled by the hard, aching press of his own cock against yours. The cool water around you seemed to ripple with the sudden, intimate contact, amplifying the sensation.

A ragged breath tore from his chest as he began to slowly buck his hips against you. It was a gentle, tantalizing rhythm at first, a soft push and pull that sent shivers through your entire body. Your back was still pressed against the cool edge of the pool, providing a stable counterpoint to the fluid movement of your lower bodies.

A low moan rumbled from deep within Bucky's throat, escaping against your neck as he buried his face there, inhaling your scent. The sound was raw, filled with a desperate longing that mirrored your own. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the powerful muscles of his thighs pressing against yours as he continued his slow, deliberate movements.

Without conscious thought, your own hand came up, wrapping around both your cocks, joining the dance. Your fingers, a little shaky, gripped them together, slowly stroking them in unison as Bucky’s hips continued their insistent rhythm. The combined friction was almost unbearable, a searing pleasure that built with every stroke, every grind. A guttural curse tore from Bucky's lips, a testament to the escalating intensity, his body trembling slightly against yours. The pool, the night, the very world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a dance of pure, unadulterated desire.

The rhythm built, a slow, agonizing crescendo that pushed you both to the brink. With each gentle, rolling thrust, the sensation of your cocks sliding together under your hand, amplified by the water's cool caress, became almost unbearable. Bucky's breath hitched, coming in ragged gasps against your ear, and his hips picked up their pace, the slow bucking transforming into a more urgent, demanding rhythm. His vibranium arm, still locked around your waist, pressed you even tighter against him, as if trying to merge your bodies into one.

You could feel the tremors starting in his powerful frame, a clear sign of his nearing release. Your own body was screaming, every nerve ending alive and buzzing. Your hand, still clutching both of you, mimicked his movements, stroking faster, harder, adding to the delicious friction. You whimpered, unable to form words, your head still thrown back, exposing your throat to his hungry lips.

A guttural cry tore from Bucky's chest, a raw sound of pure surrender, as his body stiffened against yours. You felt the warm gush of his release against your skin, even through the water, a wave of profound pleasure washing over you both. Almost immediately, your own body followed suit, a groan escaping your lips as you came hard against his abdomen and your hand, the warm rush of your own climax echoing his.

For a long moment, you simply sagged against him, breathless and sated, the last tremors of pleasure fading into the cool water. Bucky held you tight, his breathing ragged, his head resting heavily on your shoulder. The pool lights shimmered around you, casting long, dancing shadows on the patio. The silence that followed was profound, filled only with the soft lapping of the water and the fading echoes of your shared release.

The tremors faded, leaving only the profound warmth of shared intimacy. Your bodies, still pressed together against the cool pool wall, slowly relaxed, the tension bleeding out of every muscle. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water and the ragged, heavy breathing of you and Bucky, slowly returning to normal. Your hand, which had been clutching both of your cocks moments before, now came to rest gently on Bucky's damp shoulder, your fingers splaying against the broad, firm muscle.

He shifted slightly, then brought his head up, his forehead coming to rest against yours. His eyes were closed, his breathing still deep and uneven, but a soft, contented sigh escaped him. "God," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and pleasure, "I'm going to have to clean the pool again now." The words were almost lost in the humid night air, a half-hearted complaint that held no real malice.

You chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated between your intertwined bodies. Reaching up, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his nose, feeling the slight stubble against your lips. "Well," you murmured, a playful glint in your eye, "if you don't, Alpine wouldn't be too happy."

He let out a tired groan, but a small smile touched his lips. He knew. He'd gotten your hint, loud and clear. The pool, your carefully constructed oasis, had certainly gotten its use tonight, perhaps not in the way you'd initially envisioned when you filled it, but certainly in a way that left you both thoroughly satisfied. The heat wave outside still pressed in, but within the cool, shimmering embrace of the pool, you and Bucky had found your own perfect storm.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x male reader #marvel x male reader #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #mlm #x male reader #xmalereader #sebastian stan #mlm smut #smut fanfiction #smut fanfic

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em1i2a3 · 3 days ago

Note

OMG THIS MOVIE JUST CAME OUT- HOW DID YOU?!

(I love it don’t stop)

Movie came out May 2nd, I posted my first fic may 3rd. The went absolutely off my rocker and have been writing one a day ever since. Watched the thing 3 times in the theatres and preordered the thing for when it comes out on digital 😂

My hyperfixation on Bob and Lewis’ other characters is bad 😂. It started with Bucky tho. But it spiralled into Bob so fucking fast 😂

Thank you though for enjoying my stuff ❤️❤️❤️

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thirstkanaphan · 1 day ago

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Tinytown Digest - June 2025 Week 3

Hello! These recaps come out at the end of the week and new entries will be pinned to my blog and reposted to the Ateez Community.

What Did I Miss?

SO MUCH!!!

Lemon Drop Martini

youtube

IDOL 1N2D - Part 2

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Lemon Drop MV Making Film

Lemon drop on Inkigayo

Lemon Drop on Show! Music Core

Lemon Drop on Music Bank

Seonghwa on Lee Mujin Service

ATEEZ on Dingo Music 'Tipsy Live'

youtube

Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho appeared on 'NOPOGY' with Shownu and Jungwoo

youtube

Hongjoong, Yunho and Mingi on 'ZIP Daesung'

youtube

ATEEZ HONGJOONG "KIM JONG KOOK'S ANYANG Successor"

youtube

ATEEZ on Spotify House on our K-Pop ON! Video Podcast (you will need a Spotify Premium subscription to watch...until I find a screen recording to share with you)

ATINY Care Center w/ MIGHTEEZ LINE FRIENDS

youtube

The King's Birthday Party 2025 in British Embassy Seoul | KQ Family

ATEEZ attended 'Mrs. GREEN APPLE presents CEREMONY' Currently there is no official recording of their performance.

This Week

6/23-6/25 ATINY, you are invited… A year ago, history was made with you. Now it’s time to relive it together. Check the full schedule, we’re looking forward to your participation.

6/25 San will attend Swiss luxury watch brand Tag Heuer’s Gala Evening on June 25 at 7PM KST

Coming Soon

Mingi will appear on Hyoyeon's YouTube show 'Hyo's Level Up Season 2: Home Party'

6/25 [RUMOR] The official Songzio account tagged Seonghwa for their upcoming Paris Fashion Week summer collection show on June 25th

6/29 [RUMOR] Hongjoong liked Jacquemus's' announcement of their show at Paris Fashion Week. Could we be getting a MATZ PFW reunion?

Voting, Streaming, Charting

Lots of good news this week!

Golden Hour : Part.3 is aiming to debut at #2 on the BB 200

Golden Hour : Part.3 debuts at #5 on the UK Official Album Downloads Chart Top 100. It is their highest peak, surpassing GOLDEN HOUR - PT 1 (#8)

Lemon Drop had the second highest first week song debut on Spotify (6,196,441) right behind Bouncy!

We are in Week 2 of tracking! Keep streaming the album, watch the mv, and purchase the digital tracks! LINK

Atiny, let's vote ATEEZ to sing LIVE at Dingo Killing Voice again!

Magazines and Modeling

ATEEZ for Billboard Magazine

Hongjoong for ELLE KOREA

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by ELLE KOREA 엘르 코리아 (@ellekorea)

instagram

Yunho for Marie Claire Korea

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by marie claire korea 마리끌레르 (@marieclairekorea)

instagram

Jay Songzio on METAL Magazine Interview was also asked about Seonghwa (who is rumored to return to Paris for Fashion Week)

ATEEZ on touring, their ATINYs and what’s coming next for The Artists Vol. 2

Extras

ATEEZ x LINE FRIENDS MIGHTEEZ

Wooyoung is taking part in MK Sports’ 15th Anniversary Charity Auction. He’s donated a hat he often wore during practice and rehearsals, signed with his autograph.

ATEEZ x VandyThePink COLLAB MERCH Global Drop COMING SOON

ATEEZ performed 'BOUNCY' at 'Immortal Songs 2025 Gyeongju APEC Special' You can also watch their performance of The Real and Ice On My Teeth

Song of the Week

'Lemon Drop (TOPPINGS Drift Ver.)' is way more fun than I was expecting!

That's it for this week!

If you would like to be tagged for weekly updates reply below!

#tinytown digest #ateez #song mingi #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #choi san #kim hongjoong #jung wooyoung #kang yeosang #choi jongho #Youtube #Instagram #Spotify #kpop #k-pop #k pop

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hellothisisangle · 22 hours ago

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Thank you!

b/w, lineart, ink- it’s what I’m comfortable and familiar with. I actually used to only do traditional art until I got a tablet around 2018, and I preferred using these micron pens. Any old art is who-knows-fucking-where, I’m not sure how long it’d take me to dig around and find it

The ink brush I tailored for digital art is supposed to sort of simulate that “bleeding into the paper” look. And yeah when you’re only working with black and white, every line and every dot becomes important. The intention of your lines are as significant as the negative space left

When I first starting out with digital though… I fretted over making things CLEAN, because it was easier to do so, because I had the capability, didn’t need to have a steady hand and so on. But in my experience & over time that style did not reflect myself, so I started being more loose with my lines and not caring if something was out of place. It’s definitely more freeing, way more fun, and typically captures the vision I have in my head better. Plus the ink brush does some of the work for me in keeping/making it feel organic

And at the core I’ve always wanted to draw comics, and gravitated towards “vintage” traditional styles of comic art

(I wish more western comics were still in b/w, not dropping names but some of the coloring finish-work on gorgeously inked panels is dumpster garbage)

I also love love love character interactions, the seemingly mundane but personality defining little moments that make a fictional thing feel real!

I’m currently finishing up the prologue for TDIAHM reboot and only hope I can execute a lot of the ideas I have for it! Sorry if I’m regurgitating a lot of shit I’ve already said, I-know-that-you-guys-know I’m passionate about this, and I greatly appreciate all your words and the time you take to tell me! Trust me, I read it, I save it, I go to bed fuller 💕

#ask #my art #personal

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whoo0sh · 2 days ago

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love at first spike!!

pairing: shoyou hinata x fem!reader

word count: 512

warnings: pre-timeskip, sfw!!!, secondhand embarrassment, sho has no rizz, meet cute (meet ugly in disguise), not proof read

author’s note: no comment i don’t wanna talk about it

“hey dumbass, weren’t you supposed to keep score?”

"what?" shoyou answered suddenly, snapping out of his staring. his gaze finally left the spot it had been glued to the last fifteen minutes. you.

"oh my— stop checking her out, the score is supposed to be 21-19," another teammate sighed, exasperated. unfortunately, this wasn't the first time this match. the karasuno girls' team was having a practice match, and in an attempt to 'encourage team spirit', mr. takeda had suggested the boys' team come watch and help out with water while the girls occupied the gym.

hinata quickly flipped the scoreboard a couple times to put up the correct score, trying to focus. just as he did so, you jumped up and slammed the ball down on the linoleum gym floor, your feet landing just barely in front of the service line. he tried to ignore how your jersey hiked up slightly, fixing the score to account for the service ace.

then the whistle blew, the opposition calling for a timeout just as your team was starting to hike up points. classic.

though it was clear that the timeout wasn't going to stop the celebration of your serve, a bright smile sat on your lips as you jumped up and down, the other girls doing similar bunny hops in excitement. it was actually kind of endearing how excited you got, even if you looked as if you'd done it a hundred times before.

after the strategy talk and whatnot, which shoyou had spent fangirling to his teammates about you, he froze up the second he saw you approaching. he felt his heart start pounding in his chest and he really tried his hardest not to look you in the eyes too much.

"sorry, could you pass me my water bottle? uh, to your right," you corrected upon seeing the ginger frantically look around for it, trying your best not to giggle. he managed to hand it to you in an at least somewhat composed manner, smiling nervously.

"oh, thanks—"

"you're really pretty.”

he finally stammered out, and you could tell that it came more from an impulse than a deliberate flirting attempt, though that fact didn’t stop you from feeling a little flustered. shoyou just hoped you couldn't hear his heart racing out of his chest and that the heat on his freckled cheeks wasn't visible. it was, but you didn't have the heart to say so.

“oh thank you! i was thinking the same actually… i need to go back to my team but uhm, here’s my number. if you want.” you managed, obviously nervous but not quite as bad as him. you quickly grabbed a ballpoint pen beside him and scribbled your phone digits down on a spare piece of paper, your fingers brushing his as you handed it over. before the male could respond, you were pretty much already off, your coach lecturing you for being gone just as the final set was about to start.

karasuno ended up winning that game, but in your opinion, the most important win that day happened off-court <3

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thattheater-kid · 1 day ago

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I just watched the newest episode of TADC, and I’m crashing OUT.

The first thing is, holy SHIT Ragatha. I feel so much for Ragatha. She was never my favorite character (I relate more to Jax and Pomni because I was a “troubled kid”), but I definitely always liked her, while she didn’t seem entirely genuine she always seemed like she was making an effort to reach out, which I do relate to as someone who struggles to open up, and I relate to her more now after she opened up about her mom. That hit very close to home, and I can so clearly see why she is the way she is. While her behavior isn’t entirely good, and I do think she’s a bit controlling of Pomni and tries to get her to just shove aside all her negative emotions and stay positive, and while she definitely seems a little fake at times, I really didn’t leave this episode with hate for her, and in fact slightly more understanding. I feel she’s deserving of some criticism, but she is not a bad person, she’s clearly traumatized and never healed, and she’s struggling with that.

You can see her relationship with Pomni, which was already weak and hung by a thread, starting to become distant as Pomni connects with Jax, someone who was rude to her from the start in contrast to Ragatha’s kindness. I can feel the sting of rejection through the screen and I feel bad for her. It’s so sad for her.

From another angle, I feel like while Jax was more open and vulnerable this episode, I feel like he was also more violent. “I’m going to kill Ragatha” and “I want you dead” feel a lot more violent than he’s been in the past, and with the way he picked up Evil Jax and shook him around like a dog’s chew toy felt out of character even for him. It’s also interesting because Jax is fully aware they can’t die in the digital circus, but he still says he wants them dead. It’s interesting how much more violent he is, and the symbolism of him threatening and hurting a nice version of himself is very interesting as well.

Also, I think Jax is trans. The first thing he says about his appearance in the Digital Circus that he likes is that he looks masculine and considers himself “the peak of masculinity”, and his reaction to being forced into a maid dress felt beyond just being embarrassed. You’d expect Jax to try and brush it off with a joke or trying to get back at Gangle with a mean prank, but not react the way he did. He was visibly uncomfortable and upset, and even Zooble pointed it out, with “I’ve never seen you this upset”. It’s also meaningful that Zooble, who has been shown to have dysphoria, seems to pick up on it more than anything.

It’s also really interesting that Evil Ragatha seems to be a very hoity-toity rich lady, with a fancy British accent. It makes me wonder if Evil Ragatha is based on, or similar to Ragatha’s mother.

There was so much in this episode, I can’t even fully understand all of it.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc zooble #tadc pomni

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hartleychristopher · 2 days ago

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Juno pt. 2

Pt. 1

Pairing: long-term bf!chris x fem!reader

Summary: telling Chris you’re pregnant!

Warnings: pregnancy, fluffy fluffff, Chris being cheesy and in lovvveee <3

A/N: here is the little part two! I hope you enjoy, I really love this idea, like it’s one of my favorite daydream scenarios 🥰

You hear the front door open, then shut gently behind him.

“Baaaabe?” He calls, his voice is sleepy, worn out. “Is it too early to say I’m ready for death? Because if one more guy on my dev team says ‘just push it live and fix it later,’ I’m gonna scream into the void—”

He walks around the corner of the hallway into the living room, backpack slung over one shoulder, shirt a little rumpled, glasses sliding down his nose.

His eyes land on you and he freezes. You’re standing there, waiting, holding the plastic test stick in your hands.

You say nothing at first, you just hold it out with both hands. As if you’re offering him a gift you’re shy to give him.

Chris stares at you, squints and then walks closer. slowly, skeptical, analyzing.

You watch the moment his eyes focus on the tiny digital screen.

One word: Pregnant.

And he just stops completely.

“Wait-waitwaitwait. wait.” His backpack slides off his shoulder and hits the floor with a low thud, fuck his laptop I guess??

His shirt sleeves are all bunched up, his mouth opens, then closes—then opens again.

“Is that—? Are you—?? Is this real?!” He sputters.

You nod, eyes wide and bright. “I didn’t want to wait. I took it like twenty minutes ago.”

He makes a small sound, like a broken exhale and a squeak mixed together.

Then starts laughing—but the kind of laugh that’s overwhelmed in the best way.

“Holy shit, I made a person. I made a person with you. I’m—I’m—oh my god, you’re pregnant???”

You nod again. “Yeah. You did it.”

“I did it?! we did it!! oh God—do you feel okay? Are you gonna throw up? Should I make toast?! Toast is safe when you’re nauseous—fuck, you’re pregnant—” He walks in a circle, literally. like turns a full 360 degrees and grabs his own face.

“I need to sit down—but also stand up…but also hug you—maybe at the same time???” He’s rambling.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him, and he immediately pulls you in, holding you tight—but gentle, reverent, like he’s worried about squeezing you too hard.

“You’re sure?” he mumbles into your hair. “like really sure?”

You nod against his chest.

“I triple-checked. This is the third test and then I googled the chances of three false-positive tests—.”

He laughs, weakly, “that’s my girl.”

He pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, eyes a little glassy now.

“I’m going to be a dad….” he says, voice cracking a little. “I’m going to teach them so many things…like how to ride a bike and tie their shoes and that the prequel trilogy is severely over-hated—oh my god—can I…?” he asks, nodding toward your tummy.

You lift your shirt just a little and guide his hand there. He lays his palm over your stomach, like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever touched.

There’s no bump yet of course. Just soft, warm skin, but he touches you like he can feel the future under his fingertips.

“There’s a person in there,” he whispers. “half me, half you. Oh my god.” He swallows hard, rubbing slow, tiny circles with his thumb. “I know it’s probably like… a lentil right now. A jelly bean, but I swear I can feel them.”

You grin. “You’re petting my stomach like I’m an egg incubator.”

“You are. My favorite one…I’m gonna talk to them through your belly button.”

“I don’t think they have ears yet?” you point out with a giggle.

“Well they might be able to sense my aura, you don’t know…” he gives a half-shrug, smirking.

You start laughing, and he just smiles at you like he could live in that sound forever.

His hand stays on your stomach, comfortable now. Protective.

You sniff a laugh. “Are you crying?”

“I’m not crying. My eyes are just really watery from all my… winter allergies...”

You both dissolve into laughter, holding each other in the middle of the living room—just two dorks who made a baby and are now so stupidly in love they don’t know what to do with themselves.

Chris pulls you even closer and murmurs against your temple: “this kid’s gonna be really lucky, y’know? Because their mom is you.”

And then, very quietly, he whispers, “We’re having a baby,”

like he still can’t believe it’s real.

like he’ll be saying it every day, over and over, until the moment he’s holding them in his arms.

Chris taglist: @fritzhardt @avwade69 @maiiuelle @avrells @fordthegamelord819 @xoxocher @sweetcalebb @z0mb1epuzzy @dnpo1son

Wanna join my taglist? Click here!

#chris hartley #chris until dawn #christopher hartley #chris hartley x reader #chris hartley until dawn #until dawn #my writing #chriswriting #chris hartley x reader fluff #chris hartley fluff #chris hartley x you #chris hartley fic #x reader fic #x reader fluff #until dawn fic #until dawn fan fic #christopher hartley x reader

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defectivevillain · 20 hours ago

Text

cooking up a storm

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's pronouns are he/him and he's written to be gay; otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

summary: You start a new job as a cameraman for the show Kitchen Nightmares, featuring award-winning chef Hannibal Lecter. Every day brings something new—often something disgusting, uncomfortable, or otherwise baffling. But, hey, that’s what you signed up for. Hotels and bars, on the other hand… You didn’t expect to add those to the list.

word count: 7.7k | ao3 version

warnings: cursing, suggestive humor & themes, partial nudity from an unnamed character, alcohol consumption.

notes: this is an absolute beast of a fic, just because i wrote it in narrative/script hybrid format. so it's a LOT to scroll through. you've been warned!

I was watching Kitchen Nightmares/Hotel Hell/Bar Rescue as I wrote this. I took inspiration from them, but I’m not writing about any of the real people. Hence why this is a Hannibal fic.

Kitchen Nightmares is infamous for… well… kitchen nightmares. As foolish as it may sound, some of the restaurants on the show are completely and utterly disgusting. Health violations, animals like rats and raccoons running through the restaurants, fruit flies in drinks, raw chicken stuck together in a greying sludge… The list goes on. None of it is appetizing. Watching the show religiously would probably give a person enough reason to swear off restaurants forever.

Why you apply to be a cameraman for the show, you’re not exactly sure. You did want more action and adventure—your previous jobs had been too monotonous and boring for your liking. But going from a simple advertisement agency to filming Kitchen Nightmares… It’s a full 180. Still, you know you’re good at what you do—so you go through the interview process with confidence. You get through the first phone interview, and then a digital interview. Your final interview has you entering the studio and filming some promotional material. The supervisor assures you that you’d be out filming at restaurants more often, but he wanted to get a sense of your abilities. And apparently, all of your demo footage wasn’t enough.

It’s stressful, but when you receive the call a few days later informing you that you’ve gotten the job, you’re ecstatic. It’s a well-paying job; not to mention, you’re sure there’s never a boring day. Combined with good benefits and generous vacation time, you’re convinced you’ve made the right decision.

Your first few days aren’t very eventful—namely because you’re confined to the studio, where virtually no filming occurs. The show is always on the road, as Chef Hannibal Lecter visits restaurants across the nation. Producers comb through submission tapes and choose what restaurants he’ll visit. Then, Lecter will stop by to inspect things and get a sense of what he’s working with. After that comes extensive training, menu refinement, and sometimes even interior design and renovations. Safe to say, Lecter has his hands full. While it may seem like the work on the show is easy and smooth, you recognize that he’s a lot more involved than people may think.

You haven’t met him just yet, but you’re sure you will once you’re on the road. You don’t expect to be bustling through the studio one day, only to nearly crash into the man himself. You reel back a bit, righting your balance.

“Sorry,” you say quickly. That wasn’t necessarily the first impression you were hoping for. But oh well. There are rarely any other people in the studio, so you don’t necessarily blame yourself for nearly colliding with him. Lecter doesn’t seem too bothered about it either, instead waving off your apology with a kind smile.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he hums. “Hannibal Lecter. Pleasure.”

You extend a hand for a handshake; he returns the gesture and places a free hand on your shoulder, before leaning in and kissing you on each cheek. When he pulls back, you’re flabbergasted. It takes you a moment to remember to introduce yourself in return. You’re a bit flustered. But, then again, you’re probably reading into it. The guy’s Lithuanian and frequently in Europe, so that was just a European greeting. Right?

Fortunately, you’re spared from any further embarrassment by the production assistant, who grabs you and starts briefing you on the next restaurant the crew is going to visit. As you walk away, you feel like Lecter is watching you—but when you turn around, he’s engrossed in conversation with someone else.

INTERIOR – Confessional.

A short individual interview with you. On a banner near the bottom of the screen, your name and role (“camera crew”) are displayed in white font. You’re seen pinching the bridge of your nose, shaking your head in disbelief before looking at the camera.

You I’ve never smelled something so foul in my entire life. Some of us were wearing face masks when we were filming.

The camera then cuts to a behind-the-scenes shot of another cameraman, who can be seen nearly gagging as he places a hand over his mouth.

You (sighing) Yeah… Not fun.

Twitter

judasjudahahas who’s the hot camera guy on Kitchen Nightmares???? And can we see more of him??? Asking for a friend. #KitchenNightmares

→ upsidedownapple: yesss omg his confessionals were so funny

→ gratattata: we stan him fr

INTERIOR – Chef Lecter’s car. Mid-day, rainy weather. Hannibal sits in the driver’s seat; you’re seated in the passenger’s seat, behind the camera as you film his reaction to this restaurant’s “Soup of the Day.” It was served to him through the drive-thru, which isn’t exactly promising.

Hannibal holds a styrofoam cup in his hand, and he glances down at it with a mildly disgusted expression.

Chef Lecter (sarcastically) Wonderful. Smell this.

You (quickly) No thanks. That’s your job, not mine.

Chef Lecter (laughs) Fair enough.

A beat of silence.

Chef Lecter But look, at the very least. (tilts the cup down)

The camera zooms in on the soup served in a styrofoam cup; the texture is chunky and there are weird orange bits in it.

You Ew.

Chef Lecter This looks like one of those McDonald’s desserts.

You A McFlurry?

Chef Lecter Yes. That.

You (restrained laughter) Pffft. You didn’t even know the name of it?

Chef Lecter That’s not my job.

YouRight, fixing mediocre mom-and-pop restaurants is your job.

Silence. Hannibal’s lips quirk at the edges, close to smiling. Then he shakes his head to refocus.

Chef Lecter (grimacing at the camera) Here goes.

You’re quiet as you film him. Hannibal dips the spoon into the mixture, picks some up and looks at it. Chunks fall from the spoon and back into the cup. You shudder.

You’re watching Hannibal expectantly. He’s entirely silent, his face almost completely devoid of emotion. You’re not sure how long you sit there in complete silence. Hannibal just isn’t saying anything.

Chef Lecter (diplomatically) …Well then.

You (bursting into laughter) I’m so sorry— hold on—

The screen goes dark as you place the camera in your lap. For a few moments, all that can be heard is your laughter. Then you regain your composure and pick the camera back up again, pointing it at Hannibal.

Chef Lecter (smirking slightly) Ready now?

You (still fighting off laughter) Yes. Go ahead.

Hannibal repeats the same actions as before, dipping a spoon into the mixture before bringing it to his lips.

Chef Lecter (contemplative) Hm. Cold.

You (sputtering) I’m sorry— That was—!

A few more moments of laughter. Then, you take a slow breath.

Chef Lecter (fighting off a smile) You’d better straighten up soon. I don’t think my body will tolerate much more of this soup.

You (pulling it together) You’re right, my bad. Okay, last time. Go ahead.

Chef Lecter tastes the soup, pulls a face. He describes the abhorrent flavor profile and cold temperature; you watch on silently. Eventually, it’s clear you’ve gotten the shot.

Chef Lecter Finally. I’m starting to think you did that on purpose.

You (with faux-innocence) Me? Never.

INT. – Confessional. A voice from off screen speaks: So, you were the one to find that hidden freezer in the preliminary inspection.

You (shuddering) Unfortunately.

The camera cuts to black-and-white footage of a door hidden behind piles of boxes. From behind the camera in the flashback, you reach and open the door. The camera shakes a bit as you evidently grasp what you’re seeing.

You Chef Lecter wasn’t pleased to see that. But I don’t really blame him. I mean, that’s gotta be several health violations. And a secret freezer? Their walk-in freezer was huge and it wasn’t even full. Very suspicious.

INT. – Jack’s Pub. It’s a rowdy dinner service, with waiters and guests bustling around the far too small space.

You’re filming some B-roll when you’re suddenly jostled by a passing guest. You’re thrown off balance for a second before you manage to steady yourself.

Chef Lecter (turning to look directly at you) Are you all right?

You (blinking) Yeah, I’m good.

Chef Lecter (looking at the tight space around you) Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.

You (jokingly) Maybe us crew members need camouflage or something. Like those National Geographic photographers.

The chef laughs. You’re surprised by the gesture—you’re not sure you’ve ever heard him express such amusement before.

Chef Lecter Yes, that would be beneficial. It is somewhat akin to photographing wildlife, isn’t it?

You (scoffing, before lowering your voice) Yeah. But without, y’know, the dignity and respect. These places are dumps, so even the best shots look completely shitty.

Chef Lecter (lips quirking at the edges) True. But you’re making me look good.

You That isn’t exactly difficult to do.

You don’t realize the gravity of what you’ve said until you see Hannibal’s eyebrows climb up his face. You immediately look away, trying to pretend as if you hadn’t said anything.

EXTERIOR – Dumort Hotel. A gaudy hotel with bright pink walls and pastel yellow shingles looms over you. This is one of the first few episodes of Hannibal’s new show, Hotel Hell. After four successful seasons of Kitchen Nightmares, the network is deciding to expand and give him another program.

You pay a disbelieving glance at Hannibal as you stand in front of the garish hotel.

You You’re really a masochist, huh? Was all the food poisoning and filth not enough for you?

Hannibal (huffs in amusement) I suppose it wasn’t. Now we’re adding crumbling wallpaper and burnished antiques to the mix.

Hannibal heads up the steps and you follow after him, filming the whole way. When you reach the front doors, there’s a comically large door knocker that he pointedly ignores. He holds the door open for you and you murmur a word of gratitude quietly, before stepping into the space.

The lobby is just as much of an eyesore as the exterior of the building. There’s a complete mess of colors: each as bright and dizzying as the last. There are furry armchairs and leather sofas scattered around the space. You zoom in on the cushions, which are tattered and look stained.

The owner of the hotel, Maxine, steps out from behind the desk. To your surprise, Hannibal doesn’t kiss her on the cheek—instead opting for a more formal handshake. This only reminds you of your first meeting. You take a deep breath and focus on the conversation as you’re filming.

Maxine Chef Lecter, I’m so thrilled to see you!

Hannibal Oh, please, call me Hannibal.

Maxine Very well, Hannibal. I just know that you’ll enjoy your stay here.

Hannibal I’m sure I will.

The smile on his face is ever so slightly sarcastic, as if he knows just how much of a nightmare this place is going to be. Maxine doesn’t seem to notice this, instead looking at the camera.

Maxine (curiously) And who’s this?

You’re hiding your face behind your camera at this point. But she doesn’t relent, and eventually you’re forced to show yourself.

You (awkwardly) Oh. Um… hi.

Maxine Hello! Enchanted to meet you, darling.

She holds her hand out pointedly.

You (hesitantly kissing the top of her hand) …Nice to meet you too.

That’s strange. She didn’t do anything like that with Hannibal. You frown, hiding the gesture behind your camera as you continue filming.

Maxine Now, shall I lead you to your room, Hannibal?

Hannibal Please.

His tone is almost imperceptibly clipped, as if he’s slightly frustrated.

INT. – Confessional. Hannibal recalls his first impressions of the Dumort Hotel lobby.

Tell us about the lobby.

Hannibal There was a veritable mess of colors. Way too much neon. And I believe the chandelier in the center was broken, which is a safety hazard.

And the owner, Maxine, seemed quite…

Hannibal (tersely) Friendly.

Overly friendly, some might say.

Hannibal I would agree. If that was her attempt at buttering us up before we explored the hotel… Well, it didn’t exactly work in her favor.

EXTERIOR – Dumort Hotel hot tub.

You’re standing on the deck, where an above-ground hot tub rests innocuously. Hannibal left briefly to change. Upon his return, you quickly tilt the camera down,

Hannibal (curious) What are you doing?

You Just figured you wouldn’t want to be shirtless on national television.

Hannibal Ah. That is… a good point.

You (stammering) Not like you have anything to be ashamed of! I just mean—

Hannibal (with a fond huff) I understand. I appreciate the gesture.

You (attempting to recover your dignity) Good.

It’s quiet as Hannibal steps over to the hot tub. You still have your camera pointed down. He eventually crouches and manages to step in.

You Ready?

Hannibal Sure. Care to join me?

You (shaking your head) No thanks. I don’t even like regular hot tubs. Let alone… whatever that is.

Hannibal A shame.

You You’re not supposed to be talking to me, you know.

Hannibal Oh?

You I mean, the viewers aren’t supposed to know I exist.

Hannibal You filmed some confessionals for Kitchen Nightmares , no?

You You know what I mean.

Hannibal (teasing) And what am I supposed to do by myself, hm? This hot tub is depressing enough; this situation is completely undignified.

You lock eyes with him over your camera and roll your eyes.

INT. – Your room at Dumort Hotel, later that night.

You open the door and are immediately hit with a nauseating wave of stench. It’s thick enough to give you a headache right away. For a moment, you’re just frozen in the doorway in shock and horror. This is where you’re supposed to sleep for the night…?

Then you sigh and pull out your camera, turning it on.

You (briefly turning the camera to yourself, before showing the room) So… this is where I’m supposed to stay. And it smells like death. But, hey, at least we’ll get some good footage. Right? Haha…

You explore the room in search for the source of the smell. Eventually you find it: it’s the mattress. You almost don’t want to look. The last thing you want to find is an animal or fungus and mold. You pull the mattress back in what feels like slow motion.

…There’s nothing. You frown and put the mattress back down, only to feel something hit your arm. You look down in confusion, finding a drop of water running down your forearm. You pan the camera up slowly, unable to hide a choked gasp as you see the hole in the roof above. Zooming in on it reveals a consistent flow of liquid.

You (to the camera) It’s supposed to rain tonight too. Great.

You pause the camera and watch the ceiling for a moment, before confirming that it’s still leaking. Damn it. You’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep. There is a sofa a ways down the hall… You could just sleep there.

You’re sitting on the sofa for no more than a few minutes when Hannibal exits his room and heads down the hall, pausing when he sees you.

Hannibal What are you doing out here?

You Um… nothing important.

Hannibal (astutely) What is it?

You (sighing defeatedly) My room had a hole in the roof. And it’s raining, of course.

Hannibal (with a sympathetic smile) Of course.

Hannibal …I’d be happy to share my room with you.

You (politely) No, it’s fine—

Hannibal I insist. Can’t have you getting sick—it’s drafty out here.

Hannibal’s soon helping you to your feet and guiding you with a hand on your shoulder, leaving you no choice but to share his room with him.

INT. – Hannibal’s hotel room. Early the next morning. You’re wearing a simple shirt and sweatpants; Hannibal is wearing a cardigan and slacks. His version of a casual outfit, you suppose.

Hannibal (looking at the camera) So we were roused—

You (interjecting, briefly panning the camera down to the floor) Wait, wait, wait. You should probably just say “I”.

Hannibal Why?

You Otherwise, y’know. We shared a room, people will think…

Hannibal I don’t mind.

You (surprised) Oh. Okay. Then… start over, I guess.

Hannibal (staring at the camera once more) We were roused this morning by an ear-piercing shriek, which proved to be a rooster outside…

Twitter

Trending Hotel Hell Related tags: #HotelHell, #HotelGayHell, #ChefLecter

spaghettihands what am i watching and why do i love it SO MUCH #HotelHell

imeankingggg Production is WILD for keeping the whole Maxine/Camera Guy interaction in the show #HotelGayHell

→ grrrrr8ate: RIGHT?????

→ fuygieri: hannibal seemed lowkey jealous

→ greenhamneggs: LOWKEY??? Bitch he was so snippy with maxine after

→ ooglyboogly: trueeee

drhouseapologist that shit was so gay. They stayed there OVERNIGHT. TOGETHER. IN THE SAME ROOM??????????? #HotelGayHell

→ bananananana: lIKRRRRR i’m in shamblessss

→ crystalmegs: and judging from the clip he filmed, the camera guy had his own room!!! I think his was the one with the hole in the ceiling 😭

→ grianbriffin: ^i just know that mildew smelled so rank

→ yagamilightoh: YES BECAUSE HANNIBAL SAID “we were roused”

→ yugylimaf: WAS THERE ONLY ONE BED????????

→ thespudhutmanager: LORDDD the people need to knowwwwww pleaseeeeeeEEE

yopapa anyone else think it’s funny that hannibal dresses so nicely to go to these absolutely awful hotels and restaurants

→ user39751: yes lolllll

→ toucanscram: he’s so charming that i think people forget he’s there to tear them apart

→ tropicannotdothis: **help them. supposedly. hahaha.

INT. – Sylvie’s Bar and Grill. Noon.

What was a relatively peaceful lunch hour is quickly interrupted by the sound of loud music. Dancers draped in gaudy, revealing golden fabric weave their way through the tables. Everyone is immensely uncomfortable. The display is entirely unnecessary and inappropriate—there are children eating at the restaurant.

You’ve had plenty of memorable moments throughout the seasons you’ve been filming, but this one easily takes the cake. It doesn’t help that one of the dancers locks eyes with you (or the camera, you’re not sure) and advances on you, to the point where you’re backing away from her. Her hand grazes your arm and you can’t scramble back nearly quick enough for your liking. In your attempt to escape, you bump into someone behind you.

A sudden hand on your shoulder makes you flinch. Fear races through you.

Chef Lecter (reassuringly) It’s just me.

His hand slips from your shoulder. You’re barely paying attention to the shots you’re getting, at this point—too wound up from what just happened. There’s a displeased expression on the chef’s face. He clears his throat pointedly.

Chef Lecter (firmly) Please do not touch my crew.

The air falls silent. The music is paused. The entire restaurant seems to be holding its breath. The diners are uncomfortable, and the dancers are still. Eventually, they retreat and return to service.

You (turning to Hannibal) Thanks.

Hannibal Of course. Are you all right?

You Um… yeah, thanks.

Hannibal (imploringly) Take a breather, please. I can’t imagine we’ll need any more footage of… that.

He looks disgusted, annoyed. Repulsed, even. It takes you a moment to comprehend his offer, but once you do, you nod jerkily and head out the side door of the restaurant. You pause your camera and take a deep breath. Within a few minutes, you’re composed enough to return to the restaurant. Seeing Hannibal berate them in that sophisticated diction of his is all you need to feel better.

YouTube

kitchendreamsfan1

chef lecter simping for the camera guy for six minutes gay

featuring some moments from hotel hell!! if you haven’t watched it, then you should. episode 5 at Dumort Hotel has a shit ton of gay moments between these two. mwhahahha…

Comments:

diefrownhate: you are a SAINT

→ broombroommm: a POPE

→ keonlennedy: a BISHOP

→ poppyistired: pope is better but alright…

→ keonlennedy: shut up i don’t know christian mythology leave me alone

→ poppyistired: christian mythology? i’m stealing that lolol

saphael4L: lecter putting his hand on the camera guy’s shoulder at 3:04 !!!!!!! and the fucking look on his fucking face!!!!

dokidokidookie: do you think they’ve explored each other’s bodies

→ charizander: do you think you could log off for me

→ dokidokidookie: never

→ charizander: ok well i’ve done my civic duty idc anymore

INTERIOR – Colby’s Restaurant. Morning.

Chef Hannibal Lecter has a reputation for being cool, calm, and collected. He never lashes out at people, never even reacts to their insults. And most people, they’re able to recognize that—and respect it. But there will always be morons.

This particular owner, Colby Smith, is a piece of fucking work. He’s been a complete and utter asshole to his staff, his customers, the crew, and even Hannibal himself from the very beginning. And while Chef Lecter has a commendable amount of patience, it isn’t limitless.

Colby is going on another tirade, hurling insults left and right. He’s cursing so much that practically every other word will have to be censored. And the target of his ire? Hannibal. That’s right. Hannibal Lecter, the angel who gives people second and third chances when they don’t deserve them.

All it had taken was a simple question from Hannibal for Colby to go ballistic. Suddenly he’s spouting off about being emasculated, manipulated, used for profit, forced to play a role, painted as the villain. He goes on and on and on.

Hannibal is… uncharacteristically silent. Usually, he attempts to reason with people. Today, he is silent and nearly frozen in the face of this owner’s criticisms. And even as you keep filming, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s genuinely upsetting him.

“Cut!” the director yells.

Hannibal is tense. His shoulders are drawn tight. His posture is perfect as always, but it almost looks rigid now. He hasn’t budged since the cameras stopped rolling.

You’re moving before you can think better of it.

You Audio’s a bit spotty. Hannibal, mic check, come on.

The audio’s fine. You just needed an excuse to get him away. And you get the feeling he wouldn’t want to be asked after in front of the entire crew. So you lead him through the restaurant and to the alleyway outside.

You (considering him for a moment) Are you okay?

Hannibal (without hesitation) Of course.

You don’t believe him.

You Just take a few minutes.

You can’t help but sneak concerned glances at him. Hannibal is quiet, much too quiet. The blank expression on his face would fool most, but you’ve been working with him long enough to recognize when it’s a facade.

Hannibal is still silent. You feel compelled to speak, to reassure him somehow.

You You always want to help people. You see the best in them. And I’ve always respected that about you.

More silence.

You (gaining more confidence) But you need to know when to draw the line.

Hannibal is looking at you now.

You You don’t owe these people anything. They’re fucking dicks. And if they can’t accept your help, then they sure as hell don’t deserve it.

There’s a pause. Neither of you try to fill the silence. You study Hannibal. There’s a harsher pull to his lips now. His mask is cracking, slowly but surely.

You (slowly) You can’t help everyone. I know it sucks, but it’s the truth.

Hannibal (exhaling in a measured breath) You’re right.

You (jokingly) And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s no shortage of bad restaurants in this country.

Hannibal (a hint of a tired smile rising on his lips) I am beginning to realize that, yes.

Twitter

Trending Kitchen Nightmares Related Tags: #ChefLecter, #CameraGuy

wildonesare oh the camera people were SO SHADY for filming that convo between hannibal and the camera guy… not that i’m not grateful, ofc 😏 #KitchenNightmares

→ torturedpoetrydept: IKR

→ phineasferbfanfic: they made that shit as dramatic as possible

→ boo_briangriffin_boo: right??? no video, just audio?? and the subtitles were crazy too. “loaded silence” ???? like, helloooo??

grapesouda did we really just find the one restaurant that even hannibal lecter couldn’t save? #KitchenNightmares

→fourthpowerpuffgirl: lord i think we did

→ nerfornuthin: the owner seemed like such a fucking dick, hope he rots <3

→ fourthpowerpuffgirl: supposedly he’s in prison now, so… i think he probably is rotting

→ nerfornuthin: …oh! oh! i didn’t know that LOLLLL

→ fourthpowerpuffgirl: ahaha you’re good, dw abt it. i think it was pretty recent.

thatsnotbullying the camera guy was so sweet i’m sobbing

→ kissmya33: hannibal probably appreciated it so much

asstutes I HAVE A THEORY THAT THE RUSTLING CLOTHES AT THE END OF THE CONVO WAS HANNIBAL & THE CAMERA GUY HUGGING #KitchenNightmares

→ potatoh_: GENIUSSSS

INT. – Jack Crawford’s car. Jack Crawford, the host of Bar Rescue, has invited Hannibal and you as guests for the episode. He’s visiting a bar in Virginia called Sadie’s.

Hannibal and you enter the car. You’re nervous, your chest practically stewing in unease as you hop into the backseat. Maybe you can just sit here quietly, and everyone will forget you exist.

Jack Crawford Welcome, you two.

Hannibal We’re delighted to be joining you.

Jack Crawford Chef Lecter, you’re an expert on food. And you’re— (he turns to glance back at you)

You (quickly) I’m not an expert on anything.

Jack Crawford That’s not what I was going to say.

Hannibal (chidingly) Don’t sell yourself short, dear. Besides, if there’s one thing these people are lacking, it’s common sense—something you have in spades.

Jack Crawford Very good. There we go.

A few beats of silence.

Now, before we get started, I have to ask: are you two close?

You decide to wait for Hannibal to answer.

Hannibal We’re good friends, yes.

You blink in surprise. Truthfully, you thought the same—but you didn’t want to make any assumptions. Plus, Hannibal isn’t exactly the type to make friends. You’re happy to hear he sees you as a good friend, though. The two of you have been working together for a few years now, after all.

Jack Crawford Excellent. Just asking for the fans. (he winks at the camera)

Twitter

Trending Bar Rescue Related tags: #ChefLecter, #JackKnows

mikuhatsunemikukuuuu LMFAO Jack wasn’t slick 🤣 “asking for the fans” yeah right… #JackKnows

→ corporatepridemonth: i mean he was brave enough to ask to their faces so

→ byebyebyeeee: right???? he said what we were all thinking. the voice of the people.

→ waitin4u: sry… what is it we’re all thinking

→ user9191: that hannibal and the camera guy are dating!

→ waitin4u: ohhhh! well duh

→ user9191: lmfao exactly

boomboompowww the camera guy was so self-deprecating 😭😭 which, i mean, mood. but also SIR YOU DESERVE TO BE IN THAT CAR 😭😭

→ therealjoeyjoe: yeah he’s probably more familiar with crazy people than hannibal and jack. just because of his crew job on the shows.

→ tyyoufish: i just know he has some wild stories…

→ witharakemom: and then hannibal noticing he’s being quiet and encouraging him to talk after😭😭

→ comeonbeverly: omfg i didn’t even notice that until now!!!!!

INT. – Jack Crawford’s car. Some time has passed since you both first entered. The three of you watched the bar through the hidden cameras for a while.

Jack Crawford (determined) Now, I have a bit of a special assignment for you two. You’re going to join me for recon. We’ll go in and pose as customers. Are you ready?

You Ready as I’ll ever be.

Hannibal nods in evident agreement.

Jack Crawford Good. Let’s go.

The three of you exit the car and enter the restaurant. You’re seated at a table, Jack Crawford next to you and Hannibal across from you.

You It’s weird being on the other side of this.

Waitress Hi, folks. What can I get started for ya?

Hannibal Do you have a drink menu?

Waitress No.

Jack Crawford Alright. He’ll get a Manhattan and I’ll get an old-fashioned. And he’ll have—

Oh, and she’s walking away already.

(laughs disbelievingly, staring after the waitress before shaking his head)

You It’s okay; I’m fine with water, actually.

Jack Crawford Your liver thanks you.

You laugh.

Jack Crawford And apologies, Chef Lecter, for ordering without asking you first. I’m sure you’d prefer wine, but judging from the look of this place…

Hannibal (nodding) They don’t have it.

Jack Crawford Exactly. Now, let’s take a look at the menu. I’m going to defer to Chef Lecter here for some of the specifics.

Hannibal (humming) This is a strange menu for a bar. These items aren’t exactly… affordable to the standard bar patron.

Jack Crawford I agree. $30 for a burger is highway robbery. But we’ll be ordering it, of course. When our waitress remembers to come back.

Five minutes pass… then ten… then fifteen.

Jack Crawford I suspect she’s forgotten about us. Not great service.

Hannibal No. And I believe I see the bartender sneaking drinks over there.

Jack Crawford Great. Just great.

The waitress returns after around twenty-five minutes, which Crawford times on his watch.

Jack Crawford (greeting her) Ah, so you do remember us. Where are our drinks?

Waitress (motioning back to the bartender) He’s making them.

Jack Crawford Well, in the meantime, we’d like to order some food. Let’s do… the nachos, the bison burger—medium, please—the mozzarella sticks, and the pepperoni pizza.

Waitress Got it. (walks away)

Jack Crawford I tried to simulate the dining experience with that one. Sometimes, we have recon order the whole menu. I have a feeling we won’t need to do that here.

Hannibal I suspect you’re right.

The bar is, safe to say, a complete and utter mess. Most of the staff is drinking and messing around. Some aren’t even behind the bar. And the owner, as Jack points out, is taking shots and flirting with the customers. One bartender passes by another, calling her a “messy bitch” and “whore.”

You I can say I’ve been in the trenches too. My first job was working for a fast food place—I did headset for the drive-thru. Minimum wage, close quarters, busy lunch and dinner hours, rude customers… I get it. But that’s no excuse to be talking to coworkers like that.

Hanniba I agree.

Jack Crawford I’ve noticed these things often happen because of a lack of management. The owner or manager doesn’t have any credibility, so the employees get comfortable. They do whatever they want because they can get away with it. And the blame lies with both parties there: the owner and the employee.

You Also, I don’t think people realize that having a bar means having a business. It’s not a playground or a hang out space for your friends. So many of these people just buy a bar because they think it’ll be fun. Free drinks! But it sinks them every time.

Hannibal and Jack are both quiet.

You (self-consciously) What?

Hannibal (sincerely) I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Jack Crawford (nodding in agreement) Yes, that’s what this often boils down to, isn’t it? These owners never consider the practical parts of running a business: food and drink costs, labor costs. They don’t enforce any kind of standards; they let their staff get away with whatever the hell they want. And then they wonder why they’re failing.

You I don’t envy you, Jack.

Jack Crawford (diplomatically) Oh, I’m sure you two can relate. You’ve seen hotel and restaurant owners of the exact same breed.

Hannibal Yes, we have.

You Hannibal definitely has the harder job. I just have to film it.

Hannibal (politely) We’ve both had our moments. You’ve been nearly stampeded by chefs before, if I recall correctly.

You Oh, yeah, that’s true.

The waitress returns with the drinks.

Jack Crawford (muttering) Right on time.

Hannibal frowns down at his drink. Jack does too.

You I’m not an alcohol expert, but… that doesn’t look right.

Hannibal (takes a sip, pulling a face for a fraction of a second) That’s revolting.

Jack Crawford (takes a sip of his drink) Disgusting. This doesn’t taste anything like an old-fashioned.

You How long do you think the food will take? I’m guessing… thirty more minutes.

Jack Crawford At least.

As expected, the food doesn’t arrive for forty minutes. It doesn’t look particularly appetizing: the bison burger is dripping with grease, the nachos are a giant clump, and the pepperoni pizza has sauce on top of the cheese. Maybe the mozzarella sticks are safe? You hesitantly poke at one with a fork.

Hannibal Don’t eat that, sweetheart.

You blink, surprised to find his hand on your wrist as he prevents you from putting your fork into the mozzarella stick.

You Okay, I won’t. But I’m curious to see what it looks like on the inside.

Hannibal’s hand slips away; you cut through the mozzarella stick with the side of your fork. The inside is a liquidy mess. You put a hand over your mouth in disgust before thanking Hannibal. He nods and smiles ever so slightly in return.

Jack Crawford This is so disgusting. And look at these nachos.

Jack grabs a chip from the nachos and they emerge in one giant clump.

Jack Crawford Chef Lecter, have you ever seen someone fuck up nachos this badly?

Hannibal Never.

You That looks like it could be a decoration for the wall.

Jack Crawford (huffing as he holds it to the brick wall) It does.

You On that note, what kind of bar just has empty walls? This place is depressing.

Jack Crawford I’ve seen alleys with more interior design.

You Me too.

Hannibal cuts into the burger with a fork and knife. His sleeves are getting closer to the juice dripping from the burger. You’re reaching out to push his sleeves up before you can stop yourself.

Those stains would be a nightmare to get out.

Hannibal (appreciatively) Thank you.

He pushes the sliced burger apart with the knife. The inside of the burger has no pink.

Hannibal This is well-done.

You It looks past that. Like charcoal.

Jack Crawford Here.

Jack reaches out and removes the patty from the burger. Then he knocks it against the table. There’s a dull thunking sound, as if the burger is completely solid.

You Oh, gross.

Jack hits it against the table a bit harder and crumbs come off in chunks.

Hannibal The pizza dough looks raw. None of these dishes are successful.

Jack Crawford I want to meet the chef who served these. Let’s go to the kitchen, shall we?

The three of you get up from your seats. You follow behind Jack and Hannibal, briefly pausing at the host stand.

You Their computers aren’t even on. If they have a POS system they’re paying for…

Hannibal Then they’re certainly not using it.

You (surprised he was listening) Right.

You linger before the kitchen. Truthfully, you don’t feel like you should be here. The show usually has guest experts. But you’re not really an expert at anything, save for filming.

Actually… that gives you an idea.

I’m going to grab some B-roll. Make myself useful.

Hannibal (frowning) You are always useful.

You You know what I mean.

You turn on the handheld camera you brought with you, before turning to Hannibal.

You You go tear their kitchen apart, and I’ll find a moldy toilet or something.

Hannibal (huffing a laugh) Sounds like a plan.

INT. – Sadie’s.

Hannibal and Jack are exploring the kitchen now. Jack looks disgusted, and even Hannibal looks mildly revulsed.

Jack (pointing to a bin kept off to the side) What the hell is that?

Hannibal Looks like… raw chicken.

Jack Of course. Of course. Right next to the cooked chicken, in the same fucking freezer.

Hannibal A health inspector would have an aneurysm here.

Jack That they would.

The two of them investigate the filthy fryer and dirty grill with scrutiny. Jack inspects it for a few moments before seeming to come to a realization, glancing around the room.

Jack Wait. Where’s your boyfriend?

Hannibal (without hesitation) He’s getting B-roll.

INT. — Confessional.

Jack I had a feeling the two of them were dating. Lecter seemed moments away from climbing into the backseat to sit with the camera guy earlier. And he called him sweetheart earlier, too. Not very subtle, that one.

They’re not dating.

Jack They’re not? (sighs heavily)

Twitter

Trending Bar Rescue Related tags: #ChefLecter, #CameraGuy

bornbloodynbroken SWEETHEART???)?? BOYFRIEND???!??!? #BarRescue

melaniemartinezismygod #CameraGuy coming back to the kitchen confused 😭😭 mf knew he missed something important ��😭😭

1kyokokirigiristan Swear on my life, #ChefLecter literally relaxed when the camera guy came back.

→ demonicinfluence: I SAW THAT TOO

generalgrievousrepairtech what do you mean he called him sweetheart. and then stopped the camera guy from eating that vile shit. the camera guy rolled up Hannibal’s sleeves for him. Jack just sat there amused. what do you mean this show isn’t for the gays??? #ChefLecter #CameraGuy #KitchenNightmares

→ swimmerladdy: there’s drama, drinks, and homoeroticism. that’s all i need.

→ sportsgirl179: same tbh

thezoruark the way Jack was so surprised to hear they aren’t dating. willing to bet my life that there are more moments between #ChefLecter and #CameraGuy that got cut

→ hellokittyluvr: i need the full unedited version and i need it right NOW. raw footage. I don’t even CARE.

kingkeonhee what the fuck is with my tl. why is everyone talking about this cooking guy and bar show. do i need to watch it orrrr….. #BarRescue

→ seokjinnie132: you don’t need to watch it, you can just be uneducated and uncultured.

→ kingkeonhee: oof, my pride…

→ seokjinnie132: ahhahaa. kidding. jokes aside, the show is already chaotic and entertaining enough on its own. add two oblivious gay men and you have yourself a masterpiece.

→ kingkeonhee: oh purrrrr i’ll check it out then

→ polywhirlygig: keep us posted. i expect an essay of book report length.

→ kingkeonhee: don’t test me, because i will absolutely do that.

→ polywhirlygig: wait actually just watch it on call with me, i need to see everythingggg

→ kingkeonhee: BET running to discord rn

INT. – Jack Crawford’s car. A few months after your first time on the show.

Jack (looking at the camera near the dashboard) Now, our special guests for the episode are making a return appearance. These two were very popular with fans. I’d almost be insulted, if they weren’t my friends. At least, I think we’re all friends now.

Hannibal Good evening, Jack.

You Hey.

Jack Hello, you two. I was just saying that we’re all friends now. Or I hope so, at least.

You Yeah, we are. There are some things you go through that are just so horrible that you become friends after. Trauma-bonding.

Hannibal (amused) Yes, we’re friends. It’s good to see you, Jack.

Jack You too, Hannibal. (looks to you in the backseat) And you, of course.

You both will be pleased to know that I’ve hired two other people for recon tonight.

Hannibal That is a relief.

Jack They’re entering the bar now, as we can see on the screen here. On the left there is Alana Bloom, a practicing psychiatrist and good friend of mine. On the right is Freddie Lounds, a journalist. They’re heading in… Let’s see how they’re treated.

Hannibal Pardon me, Jack.

Hannibal gets out of the car. Then, to your disbelief, he enters the backseat and sits next to you. At your confused look, he explains.

I couldn’t see.

You (skeptical) Right… So you moved further away from the screen.

Silence.

You If you wanted to sit with me, you could’ve just said that.

Hannibal (shameless) I wanted to sit with you.

You (surprised) Oh.

Jack Enough flirting, you two. Take a look at this. The bartender is on the wrong side of the bar.

You (leaning forward and considering the screen for several moments) That one server’s busting her ass just to keep the place alive.

Hannibal Right. And the bartenders aren’t even serving drinks.

Jack Oh, and now one’s offering “boob shots”.

You (covering your eyes) Oh no… No…

Jack I can see this is happening the opposite effect.

You (muttering in disbelief) I’m too gay for this.

Hannibal’s eyes snap to yours. He looks incredibly amused. A few moments pass.

Hannibal (patting your knee briefly) You can look now.

You (removing your hands from your face). That’s crazy! That’s illegal. She could have the cops called on her for indecent exposure!

Hannibal (sincere) You’re correct. This isn’t—or, at least, shouldn’t be—a strip club.

Jack She would also lose her liquor license.

You Not to mention… that’s just inappropriate.

Jack No wonder the place is filled with men—that’s what’s bringing them in!

The three of you are stuck in shocked silence for several minutes. Jack is the one to break through it.

Jack And checking back with our recon agents… we can see they’re uncomfortable. Understandably. They’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes. They still haven’t gotten their drinks. And here comes Paul, the owner.

The three of you are quiet as you stare down at the screen for several minutes.

Jack He’s drunk and he’s flirting with them. Not the best first impression.

You Not at all.

Hannibal They look visibly uncomfortable.

Jack He’s practically sitting in their laps, at this point. And he’s married. Flirting right in front of his wife, who is the bartender. Completely ridiculous.

You Let’s get them out of there.

Jack I’m with you. Let’s go.

The three of you exit the car.

Hannibal and you manage to get the owner away from Alana and Freddie. They seem relieved, to say the least. Jack has since stepped into the back, and you can hear him yelling at the owner from out here. Good. The guy deserves it.

Then Alana, the psychiatrist, places a hand on Hannibal’s forearm and leads him to a nearby corner. They converse privately for a moment. Your eyebrows climb up your temple as you see how she’s practically draped herself over him. Freddie’s voice draws your attention.

“That drink was nasty,” she scoffs.

“I bet,” you grimace in sympathy, taking a look down at it. You’re not much of a drinker, but you can still tell what makes a good one. Fruit flies don’t make a good drink, that’s for damn sure.

Hannibal comes back soon enough. Alana and Freddie exchange a look; Jack returns from the kitchen and leads them out of the bar, apologizing profusely for the situation he unknowingly put them into.

Hannibal and you are left standing together now. “Hey,” you greet him. “Looks like you have an admirer, huh?” you joke, referring to the interaction you witnessed between Alana and him just now.

“I was going to say the same to you,” Hannibal says, nodding at Freddie, who is being led out by Jack.

You huff and ignore the remark, trying to ignore the strange tightness in your chest. “So, did she ask you out?” you continue. You know you need to stop talking, but you can’t quite get yourself to just shut up . “To a cleaner bar, maybe?”

Hannibal exhales in amusement. “She did,” he admits.

“And?” you prompt him. Why are you pushing this? You don’t think you even want to know the answer, you don’t want to be thinking about Hannibal sitting close to someone at a bar—

“And I denied her,” he answers.

“Aw,” you say, managing to smile sympathetically. Secretly, you’re relieved—even though you shouldn’t be. “Why? She seemed nice. She’s a friend of Jack’s, right?”

“I wasn’t interested,” Hannibal says with a brief shake of his head. His hands are in his pockets now. He seems completely at ease, despite the fact that he’s standing in the middle of a very dingy, dimly-lit bar. “And I have plans.”

“Plans?” you repeat. “Look at you.”

There’s a strange expression on Hannibal’s face. He almost looks… smug? You soon realize why. “You almost seem jealous,” he notes.

“Jealous?” you echo. Fuck. “Me? Aha… No… definitely not. At all. Totally. I’m completely fine over here. Totally… good. Great, even.”

You’re not sure how much longer you would’ve kept rambling if Hannibal hadn’t leaned in to kiss you. You’re immediately reminded of your first meeting, and how his hand found your shoulder as he got closer. Then, there was some room for interpretation. You had only just met.

There’s no room for interpretation now. There’s nothing platonic about this gesture—he’s holding you tenderly, smoothly entering your space before swiftly breaking away. “You are ridiculous,” Hannibal says with a smile.

“Oh,” you blink. Suddenly everything starts to make sense: all of the behavior you had just perceived to be friendly. “...Ohhh.” You smile.

“Yes,” Hannibal responds with a knowing look. A fond one.

“Okay, we’re going to redo that somewhere less filthy,” you assert.

Hannibal is fully smiling now. You’ve never seen him look so expressive. His eyes are gleaming. “Yes, we are,” he promises. He reaches out and clasps your hand.

The two of you don’t seem to break apart quickly enough, as Jack storms into the restaurant once more. He stops in front of you, seeming moments away from going on an angry tirade about the owner before he sees your hand in Hannibal’s. “Finally,” he says dismissively. “I thought you’d never get it together.”

“Yes, thank you, Jack,” Hannibal replies in amusement.

“Glad something good came out of tonight,” Jack says with a shake of his head. “Because the owner’s bat-shit crazy. I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”

“You definitely will,” you acquiesce. “Have fun with that.” You smirk teasingly.

“You’re lucky the fans love you,” Jack sighs, sensing that you’re leaving.

You just smile. “Bye, Jack.”

“See you two,” he nods. “Hopefully in a slightly cleaner establishment next time.”

“One can dream,” Hannibal responds. You all laugh before Jack heads into the kitchen again, leaving Hannibal and you standing outside the bar hand-in-hand. Hannibal glances over at you and smiles; you squeeze his hand. The two of you head out to the parking lot, the night air a welcome change from the stuffy and warm air of the bar.

“You remember when we first met?” you ask. Your hand still clasps his. A cool breeze runs through the air and it’s refreshing. You feel safe here, comfortable enough to be vulnerable for a moment. You glance at Hannibal, awaiting his answer.

“Of course I do,” he answers.

“Were you messing with me?” you question. “With the kiss on the cheek thing, I mean.”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” Hannibal recalls. A smirk dances on his lips. “Maybe.”

“Seriously?” you nearly exclaim. “You had me second-guessing myself for months .” Years, even. But he doesn’t need to know that.

Hannibal laughs. “Apologies,” he says, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. His free hand moves to glide across your cheek, settling just near your jaw. “I just couldn’t help myself.” There’s an unmistakable fondness in his eyes. He’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“And you say I’m ridiculous,” you remember to say. You can’t bring yourself to be cross with Hannibal for long, because he’s soon pulling you into another kiss and taking your mind off of that embarrassing encounter.

i found Bar Rescue on youtube yesterday and i haven't been the same since.

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